#i need them willing and urgent to please him

[thirdsonofeve]

Nacho lives AU but only because I want Marco and Leonel to call him Don Ignacio

[redbuddi]

Hi my name is Suezean, I am a co-founder of the www.texas4ukraine.com support group in Austin, Texas. Join me in supporting Vikoriia, Oleksander, and their young son Slava as they begin their journey out of war-torn Odesa, Ukraine. Nightly shelling and drone attacks have turned their once-beloved city into a battleground, leaving them with no choice but to seek refuge elsewhere. The family has obtained Travel Authorization through the Uniting for Ukraine program to come to America and will be living with my family in Austin, Texas until they are able to launch out on their own.

Their decision to journey to the United States is fueled by a profound desire to provide a safer and more secure future for Slava, shielding him from the constant threat of violence and destruction. Leaving behind everything they know is a heart-wrenching sacrifice, but one they are willing to make to ensure their child's survival.

With limited resources and few opportunities for employment in the war-torn region, they urgently need our help to cover the cost of airfare. Every contribution brings them one step closer to safety and freedom, away from the looming danger of Russian rockets and the uncertainty of tomorrow.

Let's come together to offer hope and assistance to this brave family. Your support could mean the difference between life and death for Slava and his parents. Please donate today and help them embark on their journey to a brighter future.

[sickuma]

SILLAGE — a Simon Riley fic. 2/2

❱ again this was an au first written on tiktok! this will be the last part of it, please keep in mind that it is all fiction and that if you're going through the same thing and are having the same thoughts, please seek someone you trust. Please fight for yourselves, you're worth it ꜝ？ Warning. . this is a heavy angst fic, mentions of suicide and acts of committing, if that is something that triggers bad emotions, please exit the fic.

paring is Ghost x Reader this is unedited! mistakes such as spelling and grammatical errors are to be expected !

Part 1 (^_^;)

SILLAGE — (n.) The scent that lingers in air, the trail left in water, the impression made in space after something or someone has been and gone; the trace of someone's perfume.

—hey [name]? I know I'm the last person you want to hear from right now, but I just really—

There was a short pause, as the voicemail erupts a slight static sound.

—I love you. That should have been enough reason. No, you were enough. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I was cowardly, I figured that you'll be happier and safer, being with someone who isn't me. Someone who isn't a soldier.

It was the same night he left your apartment. He swore to himself he would not come crawling back. To protect both of you, at the time, it had been the best solution for him. Until the midnight strikes, he remembered just how serious you looked, just how accepting you looked.

Too accepting.

—because who knows when one of these missions would finally take me out. I can't let you suffer through that, I can't be the one to give you that kind of grief. So I thought leaving you was the best option.

There was a dire pause as he thought of the best words possible to express himself. He’s never been one to do such, but for you, he’s willing to be better.

—it wasn't.

He spoke desperately, almost shaking from just how much adrenaline rushed through him. He had just argued with the team, and after a long hour of explaining to them what he needed to do, he was finally permitted to bail out on this mission, it’s not like he wouldn't leave without permission, that's how urgent this is for him, he needed to get to you as soon as possible,

Even he doesn't know why he’s in a rush,

Maybe it's because of your silence, the unanswered calls, and unread messages that brought him on edge.

—I love you, far too much, my love, to even think straight without you. I love you so much it's hard to breathe. I so desperately love you to the point it hurts.

The desperation and sincerity. It was all there. He knew if he couldn't let it out now, he won't let it out ever. This was his only chance of being happy.

You were his only chance for happiness. He almost couldn't believe he thought letting you go because of his fear was the best decision.

He stupidly let you go, succumbing to the fear of dying while you wait for him. He knows better, he will do better,

For you. Because you're worth changing for, you're worth the risk.

—please don't hate me. I know I was an ass for leaving in the first place, baby, I am sorry. You loved me so much that it felt so good, I didn't know I'm capable of feeling that way, so I was scared that worse would come after. I'm not scared anymore. You looked at me like there's something in me worth looking at,

He felt like he was saying so much yet so little at the same time,

He had so much to tell you but very few words to express it. He needs to be with you. He needs to see you and physically explain to you just how much you mean to him.

—I won't waste it, love, not again. Please open the door for me when I get back. 

He frowned, realizing once again just how idiotic he was. He knew he should not have done what he did, but it was over with. The only thing left to do is to make things right somehow.

—I've never been taught how to love, I have.. I don't— I'm not the best at it. I'm sorry baby, if I'm not loving you the right way, and for leaving just like that, but I promise I'll be better. you're worth the better of me, you're worth learning love for.

He needed you, and you needed him. That should have been enough reason to risk it.

—when I come back, please let me hold you. Please forgive me for making you feel like an option between my job. It's you. It's always been you. I love you, baby, wait for me. I'll make this right.

As the line cuts, the static sound fills the eerie room of yours. The very same room he had walked out from, the same room where you sat breathing hours ago. There were no other living sounds except for the occasional ticking of the clock.

There were no signs nor sounds of life perceived in the room. The silence was thick. With your lifeless body beside the bed in a fetal position, a bottle of used pills tightly wrapped around your hands. It was light, about three to four pills left inside a newly bought bottle.

It was dead silent as if the universe sympathized with you.

Allowing silence in regards to respect for what has passed, for what has ended.

﹑

“My family’s never been the typical joyous family, I guess that affected me, as a person in general.”

You explain, running your hand through his hair while his head laid on your lap. It’s one of those days where he’d be much affectionate compared to the majority of the time. He requested to hear about your childhood while he rests on you,

For a moment you felt your heart and breath hitch.

“I guess growing up in that kind of household really—really influenced my well-being. It's given me problems and worries I shouldn't have.” You were hesitant to continue, “Fear, I started having fears for a lot of things.”It's as if you caught a glimpse of his mind, taking in the details you've just given him.“Fears like?” 

The moment the question reached your ears, he could see your body tense. He understood, and he doesn't plan on pushing it.“You don't have to answer that, my love.” he smiles, “No matter what it is you're scared of, let’s face it together, yeah? You have me. That's enough, I hope.”

Little did he know that fear was yet to come. The fear of leaving soon, the fear of being unable to keep going. How could you ever explain to him that you don't plan to stay long?

﹑

With a ragged breath from exhaustion, he dropped his things once again, the same way he did before he left. Facing your door yet again, panting as a feeling of discomfort plagued him, why exactly? He’s finally here. Why is he so distraught, he wondered.

“[name]?” he knocks,

Swallowing the lump in his throat, his voice strained, and his state dishevelled. “[name] please—it’s me, please answer.”

The lack of response made him think about just how angry he made you,

“I'm sorry,” he whispers,

“I know I was stupid and irrational. I won't do it again, petal, please open the door.”

To say he’s nervous would be an understatement. What would he do if you never find it in you to let him back into the comfort of your arms? Will he return to the familiar cold he had forgotten when he met you?

“[name] I love you.”

He desperately spoke, yearning for an answer; the smallest sign of acceptance. 

It was odd. How quiet it was. Are you that mad? He wonders, but then again, he knew you’re not one to ignore, not even when you’re the angriest you've been. You would never shut him out, not ever. “[name], please, answer, or I'll have to go inside.”

“Baby are you okay?” no response.

Each passing second was like a countdown. He was uneasy and distraught. Afraid even.

The silence felt deafening. He was afraid of what? He had no clue what he was so afraid of, surely you're okay...

Right?

“[name], I'm coming in,” he says sternly, fishing the spare key he oh so gratefully forgot to give back. His heart thumps louder with each action.

The moment he entered, the creak of the door interrupted the silence. He felt like he was intruding on an abandoned space. It felt wrong. He knew something was wrong.

“[name]? I'm back, like—like I always am.” his voice broke, stepping inside, head looking around, hoping to find you and engulf you in his longing arms. “As I told you, I’ll always find my way back… right?”

He kept speaking while he walked, checking and opening every door. Starting from the small kitchen to the bathroom, checking everywhere until there was one room left. He dreaded it, for no reason he was scared and yet he rushed,

He spoke, no—he goes on a tangent, 

“I'll take the month off. We’ll do anything you want, anything to make up for this. I promise we can even get a pet, I always say no, right? This time, I'll agree, anything for you, my love just—”

The silence rung,

Apart from the sound of the door opening by his force, there were no sounds made, not from him, not from anything. He simply stood, dumbfounded at what the room unveiled; at that moment, nothing mattered, not even the breath he had held unknowingly.

A ragged chuckle escaped his lips, though it was hollow. As if he was desperate to know that maybe this is all some sick prank. Maybe this was one of your silly games he always put up with, “Baby? What’s this? Why are you on the floor?”

“Jokes over [name] get up—”

When it all came to view, he was silenced. The second he stepped closer, he saw how your body lay lifeless, how you held that bottle, and how his eyes drifted onto the lone tear, which evidently dried along the hours. 

How long have you been here?

In this state? How long has it been since you left him?

He couldn't feel. He couldn't grasp his head around the sight before him. He’s well familiar with death. He’s seen it before, and he’s lost comrades before, but nothing comes close to what lay in front of him. 

How does one react when their lifeline lies lifeless before their very eyes?

He couldn't approach nor speak. He simply stood with weak knees, tempting to give out. It didn't take him long to crouch, eyes wide open with lips parted slightly. There were no tears, no emotions, the moment numbed him. It didn't feel like reality,

There he crouched, just a few steps away from you. It didn't feel like his heart dropped. It felt almost worse, as if you'd taken it with you. How could this have happened? Did he cause this?

If you had told him a day ago that he would witness the person he loved the most laying on the floor devoid of life, he would have laughed at your face, punching you even. This isn't reality. This isn't a reality he wants to face.

It took every courage in his body to bring himself closer to you, afraid of what more he’d discover. With slow steps, he drew closer, grabbing your hand was the first thing he thought of doing. “Oh god…” his voice broke,

Your body isn't as warm as it used to be,

Not as he remembered. The warmth he loved when he would hold you against him, it’s gone. You're gone.

He had felt countless of stiff lifeless bodies and yet yours hurt the most,

The mere thought of it destroyed him. It hasnt sinked in yet, but he could tell. He could tell his demise is near. The realization will hit him in a short while. 

“Baby, im home…” this wasn't him. This was not his voice. Stuttering over the easiest words, strained with pent-up sobs. His chest felt heavy, almost making it difficult to breathe. 

Yet with hitched breath, he picked up your limp body and placed you in his arms, crushing your icy body against him. He held you tightly, but his hands cradled your body tenderly. It was as if he’s afraid of hurting you more.

Ghost was forever fearless, always facing whatever challenge was given to him, even his mortal enemy would know that he isnt necessarily the easiest solder to crack, let alone destroy and yet he finds himself sat on the floor holding the lifeless frame of his lover,

Cradling whatever is left of you,

Desperately holding onto what he can possibly hold on to.

The lieutenant everyone looked up on, admired and viewed as an admirable man, sat on the floor with a weighing heart. Holding back the tears that had formed without his knowledge as he held your body, 

but right now, he wasn't lieutenant simon ‘ghost’ riley.

At this moment, he was just simon, the simon you loved desperately, the simon who loved you just as insanely.

This person right this moment was your simon,

He wasnt anyone else, he was yours.

As he sat on the hard cold floor, thoughts roaming with his heart screaming, he felt like a mess, but that didn't matter. Words can not describe the regret, remorse, and stupidity he felt,

If i didnt leave,

If i didn't walk out that door,would you still have been alive in my arms?Would i still have to hold you soulless?

He held you closer, bringing you closer to him, as close as possible. He felt nothing but regret, nothing but anger for himself. Why is it that the very grief he tried to protect you from, the same reason he left, the same grief he avoided you to feel, why is it that he’s feeling it now?

His ragged sobs filled the room, and the rest remained still as if everything sympathized for him. As if the world understood the hurt he carried. He sobs, holding onto you as if doing so would bring you back. He knew nothing well, and yet he foolishly cried, hoping you’ll hear him and come back to ease the pain.

Like you always did.

At the corner of his eyes, he saw the letters piled not far from them. Without standing, nor letting go of you, he reached for it. Reading the names addressed on each, until he sees the one for him.

Of all the few letters he saw, his was the only one with tear drops which ruined the ink in front, almost unable to read, he brought it closer, dropping the rest.

Simon,

I felt everything.

Thank you, and im sorry,

I love you :)

Swallowing the impossibly heavy lump on his throat, he opened the carefully folded letter. He was met with even more tear drops. The thought of you crying, alone, while you write him a letter to bid him goodbye, crushed his soul.

He cant imagine a greater pain,

It felt surreal.

How could I..

How could I have lost you this easily.

With his blurry vision, he starts to read—well—attempt to. With every sentence, every punctuation, every meaning of your words, all of it felt like a slap to reality.

How could he have not seen?

How did he not notice? Not paying attention to what you were going through? How could he have been so careless as to leave you all alone.

The very fear you spoke of,

He did just exactly what your family had done.

If anybody could have saved me,

it would have been you.

He read the part over and over again, allowing your words to cut through his heart repeatedly. He left you, and yet, at the end of the day, you still see him as someone—the only one who could save you. 

Despite the war inside your mind,

Inside your mind and unwavering emotions, which he hadn't bothered to unveil, he remained the most important person.

May it be in your chaotic mind or the furthest crevices of your heart, he remained on both.

He read it all,

Understanding every single thing you failed to say in person,

Everything you failed to say while you still lived.

It hurts even more. He thought nothing could be more painful when he saw you laying lifeless. But having to read what you wanted to say,

How sorry you were, how thankful you are to him, and how he made you feel. 

It was surely another cut to an already existing wound. His mind flashed memories while he went over the tear stained letter you left.

He remembered everything as if they were as fresh as yesterday. When you first smiled at him, when you first held hands, when your lips first touched.

Your words were true. The story of you really is short-lived. But he couldn't help but think about the what If's

If he stayed,

If he hadn't walked out,

If he ignored his fear of abandoning you,

If he hadn't been so stupid and cowardly.

He gave up, and the heavy lump on the throat overcame him, letting the sting linger for as long as eternity. He read the last words on the letter, with a loud sob, with repeated pleads.

Repeatedly apologising, repeatedly begging for you to come back so he could fix things so everything could return to normal,

So you could return.

A childish wish. A high-ranking soldier held the lifeless body of his lover all while he begs for them to come back. 

"I'm so sorry." He whispers, voice too broken to speak normally. "I'm sorry for not noticing."

"I'm sorry you had to be alone." 

"I'm so sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He repeats over and over again, holding you against him. 

At the back of the letter, he could barely see the words written with how blurry the tears clouded his eyes.

Thank you for making me feel.

The words only crushed him even more, sobbing and crying harder to no avail. 

"[name]..." He whispers, holding you close. "Did it hurt? I'm sorry, it must have been so hard."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm so sorry for not being here you."

He apologized, wishing he could have been with you. To convince you otherwise, wishing he could have been here to avoid this,

To avoid losing you.

Wishing he could have stayed to keep making you feel.

The thoughts of your words before he left suddenly entered his mind,

"Can I hug you?"

"One last time?"

Now it all makes sense why you looked so serene, why you looked so accepting. Why did you have that small smile on your lips,

You were bidding him goodbye.

That really was the final hug. 

The final touch he'd ever get, the final living affection he would get from you. 

He holds you now, but it wasn't the same, not even close. Back then, you were smiling and breathing, but now you're no different to an inanimate object. Stiff and cold, this is the person he loved so dearly?

It ached.

And it ached painfully.

The type of ache to never go away, the type of ache he'd keep forever.

The type of ache he'll willingly embrace,

As he held you that night, mourning for what could've been, mourning for someone beyond saving.

This was the ache he'd willingly feel forever,

If it means having you in his mind and heart. He would willingly hurt himself by keeping that ache if it means keeping you in his deceased heart forever.

As the remnant of your memories roamed the room, your presence which now passed, the scent of yours he dearly craved. It left a sillage pain to remember,

You left a sillage worth remembering.

"I'll keep you in my heart,

Even if that damage me,

Even if it kills me.

I'll keep you safe forever."

[youronlydarlin]

warning: kinda sad ANGST, Simon losses you :( , ooc kinda?? But he's soft for you only, trust me bro

This was kinda inspired by that one part in the comics where our poor, Si holds his mums skull, n he jus'... Kinda nuzzles into it. I dunno it just bought on some sad feeling, mkay...

Simon who slightly raises the cup of tea he's drinking each time he has one, just to let you know he's relaxing. Or trying his best too, at least. Doesn't know what he'll do if he worried you from beyond the grave. Sometimes he looks at all the belongings you left behind. Saying how they probably miss you, but not nearly as much as he does.

Unlike some, Simon uses your things. He doesn't want the house to go through the pain of loosing you too. So he drinks from your mug, and sits on your chair. Reads your favorite books, but never takes out the book marks in case you want to continue reading them. He also completes your bucket list for you, and even though he's the one doing them he always whispers 'good job, to the wind, hoping they'll carry the messenge to you.

Simon who speaks to your framed pictures. He remembers each, and every memory behind them. "Bet your happy... Now it'll always be my turn to grab the 'bloody groceries.." he jests. He hopes that one made you laugh. Knowing you, you would've. It's a mystery how you always laughed at his lame jokes. Though your laugh's always been better than the awful punchlines.

Simon who passes by that cafe you bugged him to go with you to, and he feels his throat go dry. He never got to take you there because of a sudden call from Price, telling him about an urgent, albeit sudden, mission. He definitely regrets not taking you out on dates more often. There's so many shops opening that he knows you would've loved to see.

Simon who's heart breaks at how quickly the world turns without you. Everything's moving so quickly, leaving him behind like it's already moved on, and he hates it. He hates how there's less clothes to fold now. Food is served, but only for one. The taste of it is flavorless, and dry. It's times like these, that he wishes he should have took the time and learn your recipes.

But what's worse, is that your side of the bed is cold. And it'll remain that way forever. At times he'll reach for you absentmindedly. Nightmares about war traded for dreams about you, but during those dreamless nights where sleep doesn't visit he'll stroke your pillow the same way he'd do to keep your hair out of your face, and pull the covers over the empty space you once occupied. He wonders if it's cold where you are right now. But just know that he's always willing to warm you up if ever you come back.

Simon who...

Stands at the doorway. Bag slinged over his shoulder, full of everything he needs and more for deployment. He knows he can't leave without properly saying goodbye, so he fishes out his wallet, and digs out a picture of you. He holds it up to his face, and it's funny. How you're not even staring at the camera when the photo was taken. No, you were staring at him. This one's always been his favorite. So he clears his throat, and wishes you don't hear the slight shake in his tone.

"..By now you would've told me to be careful.. And I will, by the way. But, m' sorry for all the times I didn't...'

....

" I have to go now. Don't need them gettin' on my ass for 'being late.. so.."

....

"..You just rest now, ok, love? There's nothing else for you to worry about' anymore. I love you, always. Wish me, and the boys luck, yeah?.."

He gives a light kiss to your photo, and it's as if you're with him when he steps outside the door..

a/n: This was a challenge to write, and I don't know what to feel about the results. I'm just polishing my english, I guess. M'not good at writing angst, you can probably tell, also my grammar feels off on this one, again. English isn't my first language, sorry. So please correct me on any mistakes I've made! But putting all that aside, I hope you like this more than I do! And, always remember that you are loved, and cared for! Have an amazing day, my darlings!

Yours, truly,

–dolly

[peachyhalstead]

alive | j. halstead

summary: chasing down an offender doesn't go quite as planned (dw it ends fluffy)

pairing: established (married) fem!reader x jay halstead, platonic!reader x adam ruzek

word count: 1.75k

warnings: canon-level violence, gunshot, hospitals, medical inaccuracies

a/n: meet a seasoned fanfic writer's first fic about jay <3 please let me know what you think of this !! also it was originally written in 3rd pov so if you see anything wrong, no you didn't ---- You followed Adam down the alley, weapons drawn. "Chicago PD! Stop!"

You felt your lungs burn as you raced down the alley, nodding when you saw Adam silently gesture to enter through the front door, and he would take the back.

Noticing the door was already open, you walked in, eyes alert for any sign of a victim or offender.

Hearing Adam call out a "clear!" you opened your mouth to do the same, but didn't make it that far as you heard three shots ring out, feeling two sharp pains tear through your body.

Adam, having seen the offender shoot you, quickly fired a round of his own weapon, pressing a button on his radio. "5021 Ida, shots fired by offender and police! We need an ambo to our location, plain-clothed officers at the scene, one in need of urgent medical care!"

Near the end of the block that you and Adam were on, Jay's head shot up to meet Hailey's, hearing their coworker's distraught call into the radio.

The two sprinted out of their location, and down to the abandoned house, hearing the sirens grow louder.

"Ruz! Where are you guys?!" Jay called, stomping through the house.

He felt his heart plummet when he saw his wife on the floor, bullet hole in your shoulder and belly, Adam holding his jacket over the wounds.

"Y/N!" He fell to his knees next to you, letting out a breath when you looked at him.

"J-Jay, I didn't see him coming." You mumbled, breaths shaky.

"Shh, it's okay, hon. You're going to be alright." Jay reassured you, his hands trembling as he reached out to stroke her the back from your face. He shot a panicked look at Adam, who was still pressing down on the bullet wounds.

"Ambo's en route, Jay," Adam said, his voice tight with worry. "She's strong, she's gonna pull through this."

Jay didn't answer, his attention solely focused on his wife. He held onto your hand, willing his strength into you. "Hang in there, baby."

"I'm trying," you answered weakly.

Just then Voight and Kevin Atwater stormed into the room. The sight of you on the floor left them momentarily stunned before they sprung into action. Voight acknowledged Ruzek with a curt nod and Atwater immediately moved to Jay's side, helping apply pressure to your wounds.

The sirens outside grew louder as the ambulance neared their location. It wasn't long before the paramedics came rushing in with a stretcher, immediately getting to work on stabilizing you for transport to Med.

As they carried you out of the house, Jay followed closely behind, fear etched on his face but determination in his eyes. He watched as they loaded yoiu into the ambulance before climbing in right after them.

The team was left in the eerily quiet house -- a stark contrast to the chaos moments ago. Voight looked around at his team, each one wearing an expression of concern and fear for their colleague.

"Everyone alright?" he asked gruffly, though there was a hint of concern in his tone.

Ruzek and Atwater both nodded, and soon the team made their way to Chicago Med, making home in the waiting room, wanting to be there for both you and Jay.

Jay, having hopped out of the ambulance as you were unloaded and ushered into a trauma room, a few nurses stopping him from going in. "Jay, Jay stop!"

The detective pulled a hand through his hair, looking at his older brother, Will. "Will, you gotta help her, man."

Shaking his head, he nodded to where his coworkers Dr. Marcel and Dr. Choi were working on you, who had since lost consciousness. "I can't, bro. She's family, against hospital policy."

Jay hit the wall, tears coming to his eyes. "I can't lose her, man. We just got married, this can't be the end."

Will clapped his brother on the back, jaw tense. "They got her, Jay. She'll be good, she's a strong one."

The two brothers watched as you were rushed into emergency surgery, being told to wait in the waiting room for any updates.

------

Jay stared at the clock on the wall across from him, watching the hands move as time passed. It had been two hours since you were taken to the O.R., and as much as Will tried, he wasn't able to get any more information out of his coworkers.

"Hey, man." Adam walked over to Jay, handing him a coffee.

"Thanks." Jay spoke, voice raw. "You saved her life, Ruz."

Adam shook his head, sitting next to Jay. "It was my idea to split up. If we stuck together, maybe she wouldn't have gotten hit."

Jay looked at his friend. "Don't blame yourself, Ruz."

The two detectives sat in silence, only perking up when Will and Dr. Marcel walked out into the waiting room.

"Is she-" Jay cut himself off, unable to finish the question.

"She's alive. We got both the bullets out, there was some damage to her shoulder, but we were able to repair it all."

Jay let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, grateful smile on his face. "Can I see her?"

Dr. Marcel shook his head. "Not right now. She's being moved to a recovery room in the I.C.U., a nurse will come out to bring you to her when she's settled."

"Will she still be able to be a cop?" Adam asked, the question plaguing him ever since he saw you hit the ground.

"With physical therapy and rest, Y/N should get full function and mobility of her shoulder. It won't be fast, she'll need lots of rest."

Jay thanked the surgeon, shaking his hand before he walked away.

------

Once the team had all heard that you made it through surgery, they headed back to the district to close up the case, the offender in CPD's morgue.

Jay sat up when a nurse walked over to him, smile on her face. Maggie, he recalled, from when Will introduced them a while ago. "She’s awake, she's asking for you."

Rising from the uncomfortable seat, Jay groaned as his back cracked, following Maggie down the halls to the I.C.U.

He smiled when he finally laid eyes on you, blinking blearily as the door opened and you saw your husband.

"Jay," you sighed in relief, her voice barely a whisper.

His breath hitched in his throat as he approached the bed. Your face was paler than he remembered, hair fanned out on the white hospital pillow. The sight of seeing you awake, those sparkling eyes looking at him despite being clouded by painkillers and fatigue, was enough to bring tears prickling in his eyes.

"Hey, baby," he murmured, carefully taking your hand and pressing a kiss to it. "How are you feeling?"

You gave a small wry smile. "Like I’ve been shot twice."

He chuckled weakly, stroking your hand with his thumb. "They said you did great in surgery."

You shrugged slightly, wincing after. "I don't remember much."

"They also said you’ll need a lot of rest and physical therapy for your shoulder."

You nodded slowly. “That’s okay. I can handle it.”

Jay looked at you, admiration clear in his eyes. Despite having just woken up from surgery and being shot twice, you were still trying to put up a brave face.

"There's my soldier," he said softly, brushing a loose strand of your hair from her your-drenched forehead.

Just then there was a soft knock on the door and Will walked in followed Dr. Marcel.

Dr. Marcel greeted you two with a warm smile as he approached your bed. He checked on your vitals before turning to Will and Jay.

"She's doing well considering the circumstances," Dr. Marcel reported.

Will nodded, sending you a comforting smile. "Should be able to get discharged in a few day’s time."

You nodded, looking at the sling your arm was in. "How long do I need to wear this?"

Dr. Marcel smirked, Will had warned him that his sister-in-law wasn't one to sit around and do nothing. "At least a month, but it depends on how your physical therapy goes. But, for a couple weeks, you can't move your arm. We had to repair some muscles in your shoulder, so it'll be sore."

You nodded, thanking the doctor as he left, Will following.

Jay looked at you, sad smile on his face. "Ruz is blaming himself."

You frowned, trying to sit up, wincing as your abdomen throbbed.

"Hey, hey, take it easy." Jay helped you sit up, making sure you were comfortable.

"Can I see the team? At least Adam, I want him to know it wasn't his fault." You looked at your husband, who nodded and pressed a kiss to your forehead, heading down to grab the team.

------

After a few days, you were finally able to leave the hospital. You had signed the discharge paperwork, and Jay walked back into the room after pulling the car around, soft smile on his face when he saw you struggling to get her coat on, one arm still in the sling.

"Here, let me help," he offered, walking over to you. He helped you put on the coat, paying extra attention to not disturb your injured shoulder.

You met his eyes and offered him a soft smile. "Thanks, babe."

Jay just nodded, his throat choked with emotion. He was relieved that you were okay but knew you had a long way to go for your complete recovery. He gently took your hand, gave it a squeeze, and lead out of the room.

As they walked through the silent corridors, you leaned into him slightly. It was subtle but Jay noticed it immediately. He wrapped his arm around you, offering her comfort and support. The worry lines on his face seemed to deepen as they moved towards the exit of the hospital.

Outside, the city was bustling as usual. The harsh city lights reflected off Jay's face as he helped you into their car before moving around to sit in the driver's seat.

The ride home was quiet. The only sound was the low hum of the engine and the occasional honk from nearby traffic. You were staring out of the window, mind lost in thoughts while Jay focused on driving, occasionally glancing over at his wife.

“Hey, Jay?” You looked over at him, voice quiet.

Jay hummed, glancing at you while he pressed on the gas petal when the light turned green.

“Just,” you paused, feeling a teenager in love again. “I love you.” ---- a/n: did u like it? also please don't expect good titles ever titles always make me wanna punch a brick wall

[yuu-kumeii]

Imagine your husband having what he lovingly calls his 'kiss-o-meter'. An inbuilt measuring system engraved in his mind ever since your wedding day, or so he told. He stresses to you how important it is to have his 'kiss-o-meter' at 100% before he goes to work, unless you want a despaired husband and an unenthusiastic worker as he would put it.

So imagine his surprise when you rush right through your morning routine, not even sparing him a glance. Only acknowledging him when you're about to leave, giving a mere hug before walking right through that door, not a speck of remorse in your step. He couldn't believe it, you just gave him a hug.

A hug.

Just a hug.

This is it, you don't love him anymore. You forgot about the most important part of his day, his morning, and his life. Not to mention he still has work and he doesn't think he can do it. But he has to, for living expenses and for you, even if he was deeply wounded by your international crime. Off to work he goes, meter at a sad 0.2%.

It isn't long into your workday when you receive a rather ominous? phone call from one of your husband's coworkers. It isn't directly ominous, just that no one from your husband's work ever called you unless it was an emergency. Though emergency might be a stretch since most of those calls consisted of people asking for your presence. Why? well, your husband isn't the most subtle of men even if he tries to be. This time is no different, one word in and you already know they want you to do something about it.

"Please—"

"Say no more, I know you want me to come and get him. What's going on with him this time?"

"No idea, he's just been looking real depressed ever since he's got here. So please hurry [Y/N], I don't know how we're going to handle an incapacitated man by ourselves"

"On my way so hang in there"

And with that, you finish up all your leftover papers and submitted them to your boss before going on your merry way. Well, merry makes it sound like a peaceful drive when in reality, you're teetering on the edge of breaking the speed limit. Is the situation ~that~ urgent? Not really.... But it would be great if your husband could get back to work as soon as possible. Someone has got to pay the bills and you're not going to start doing it alone.

Arriving at his workplace, you push the door open to reveal your husband in all his miserable glory. Your outburst caused quite the scene, everyone stopping what they were doing to give you a surprised look before quickly returning to the task at hand. However, your husband immediately looked away with a pout once he got over the initial surprise. A weird expression since you haven't done anything to upset him today right? Definitely not, you still remembered to give him a goodbye hug before you left so things should be ok..... right?

Right?

Foolish of you to think so. But back to the problem at hand, your husband is not looking at you nor is he acknowledging you anymore. Except for his 'subtle' glances at you, those are inevitable even if you fight. So you decide to confront him head on because you need to know why he's acting so petty before he ends up skipping the entirety of work.

"Mind telling me what you're so upset about?" You muse, approaching your beloved husband.

"...Hmph"

This is not going to be easy, you can tell. If he's willing to ignore you for this, it has to be something very important to him. Conflicted by this sudden realization, you quickly turn to your husband's co workers. Only to find them nodding and already ushering the both of you out.

"Sorry for taking him, this is more serious than I thought..."

"Don't mention it, we would've sent him back home if he kept this up anyway so it's all good"

With those reassuring parting words, you affectionately shove your lover into the passenger seat and drive the both of you home.

Rushing through the door to your apartment, immediately setting everything down before standing in front of your other half sitting on the sofa. Still pouting and avoiding your stare, he's surprisingly dedicated to his angry husband act. Your lips curve into a coy smile at his antics, the things you do for him are always going to be far beyond your understanding but if it means a lot to him then you don't mind playing along. A confident stance and dressed for comfort, time to find out what exactly is upsetting your husband.

It's hard trying to deny any of your advances, your husband knows that as much as you do. He's trying to look away, he really is, but the way you call his name with the face of a kicked puppy in the rain makes his resolve crack just a little bit. Actually scratch that, his resolve is about the radius of a single spider web. But you can't blame him, cause everyone and their dog know that one look from you is enough to get the man on his knees, wallet in hand already taking his card out.

To your undying amusement, he cracks immediately. Face retreating into his collar with a red hue, turned away from you, he finally tells you what was bothering him.

"Yo...di.........is...me...is...ning..."

"What? Say that again, I can't hear you"

"You...didn't kiss me this morning...."

Oh.

O H.

So that's why, he's acting like this so you would maybe realize your mistake. It all makes sense now, the dots connect and you know damn well what you have to do now. Although you don't know how much you owe in his terms, the best you can do is overcompensate until your debt of kisses is paid.

The sudden silence prompts your husband to lift his head at you, still looking at him intently. Seconds of silence go by between you, anticipation and panic rising in your spouse. Suddenly, you tackle him deeper into the sofa with your whole body weighing on him. The air blown out of his lungs, his ribs bruised, and heart pounding, your lover can do nothing but watch as you take his face into your hands and squishing his cheeks. A pout of your own looking down at his trapped figure, face nudging closer and closer until he can feel your lips ghosting over the tip of his nose.

Breathlessly scanning your features as you look at him with hearts in your eyes, blushing at the proximity even at marriage. Leaning your foreheads against each other, your uttered words clearing the fog in his mind.

"Why.....are you so..... cute!"

An array of kisses comes his way, quicker than he can comprehend. All over his red face, kisses on his forehead, both his cheeks, the spot between his eyebrows, on the bridge of his nose, anywhere he makes sure to tell you were his favourite to get a kiss.

"You could've"—

MUAH

"Just"—

MUAH

"Told me to come see you at work"—

MUAH

"And I would've come right away to give you as many kisses as you want"—

MUAH

Overwhelmed with your kisses, your husband can do nothing but wrap his arms around you and pull you closer. You only relent when he buries his face into your neck, his head moving back and forth as to bury himself deeper. It's so cute, how your husband tucks his face away from the world and into your shoulder. You can see the tips of his ears burn red, showing that you did more than a good job at lifting his spirit. His kiss-o-meter at a resounding 110% thanks to your efforts, more than enough to last him until tomorrow no doubt.

Your husband can smell the perfume you put on for work, it's faint but clear. He feels warmth all over his face, both from his position and your kisses. More than satisfied with your onslaught of affection, yet he craves more from you. He can never get enough of you anyway, so why stop now. Untucking his face from the junction of your neck and shoulder, he looks up at you. Not surprised to see you staring back at him, loving the way you smile at him. Raising his face to brush his nose against yours, his heart-melting words flow like a whisper to you.

"I love you, can you kiss me again?"

ATSUMU <333, BOKUTO <333, HINATA <333, OIKAWA <333, Sakusa <3, Kageyama <33, Kuroo (Plot twist is that he's doing this to be annoying (affectionately)), Lev

[callsign-rogueone]

liam's lesson

bf! Xaden x reader x Liam Xaden decides to give Liam a lesson in pleasing a woman, but not just any woman; you, his girlfriend, who Liam's had a crush on for years. What could possibly go wrong? words: 5.3k (now officially my longest fic ever!) 🏷: NSFW, afab reader who is referred to with she/her prns and as a "girl", established relationship with Xaden, Liam has a puppy crush on you (we love pathetic, lovesick Liam in this house!), nothing between the boys, they're both just focused on you, fucking someone other than your partner (not cheating, as everyone involved is consenting) while said partner watches, maybe you're a little bit in love with Liam (aren't we all?) Xaden is in charge here, teaching Liam how to make you cum. oral, fingering, and penetrative sex (all f recieving), unprotected sex, very brief misuse of Xaden's shadows, Xaden is the king of Tyrrendor but Liam is the king of aftercare. I think that's everything. once again, proofread with a migraine so be nice. okay byeee

Admittedly, Liam had been a little nervous when Xaden had pulled him aside at dinner and told him to come over to his room around ten to talk — what secret, urgent revolution stuff did they need to discuss? Was something wrong back home? Surely he wouldn’t have waited if that was the case. 

He knocks hesitantly, and the door unlocks for him — part of Xaden’s magic that Liam still isn’t used to. A lot has changed about his older brother in the two years they’ve been apart. 

He starts to ask why Xaden wanted to see him at this hour, but then he catches a flash of pale blue in his periphery, his head turning toward the other side of the room, where he sees you stretched out on Xaden’s bed in your pajamas — which don’t leave much to the imagination. 

He stops mid-sentence and whirls around, averting his eyes. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize…”

“Did you forget about the little conversation we had last week?” Xaden asks, amused.

It takes Liam a minute to realize what the older boy is referring to. “You were serious?”

He catches a glimpse of the lace-clad curve of your hip in the mirror in front of him, shutting his eyes tightly and willing himself not to get hard — not over his brother’s girlfriend. That’s definitely crossing a line.

“Of course I was serious,” Xaden answers.

“And you’re… you’re okay with this?” he asks you, still not convinced he isn’t dreaming.

“You wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t,” you answer.

He still looks hesitant. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Liam nervous, but his normal confident and happy demeanor is nowhere to be seen. It hurts, somehow. 

“Hey,” you soothe, sitting up straight, “if you don’t want to do this, that’s okay. We’ll never speak of it again.”

“No,” he answers, finally looking at you in the mirror, swallowing hard, “I do want to.”

It might ruin him forever, but he really does want this. He’s wanted something with you for ages, and if he can’t have the real thing — his lips on yours and his hands on your body, pleasing and worshiping you the way you deserve — he might as well watch Xaden do it instead.

“Okay, then.”

Xaden wastes no time pulling you into a deep kiss that you melt into almost instantly — so his dominance and control extends into the bedroom, too. That should have been obvious.

He pulls back after what feels like ages for Liam but mere seconds for you, and you whine softly, needing more.

“Hear that? That’s the sound you’re looking for. Those little whimpers, and the squirming. You want to get her nice and needy first.”

Liam nods, still just watching, unsure what his role will be in all of this. He tries to ignore the ache of his cock, tries not to think about it, but the sight of you in those tiny silk pajamas, if you could call them that, is impossible to look away from, and impossible not to get turned on by. He’ll definitely need to sort himself out after this is over, but at least it’ll fill the spank bank forever — he’s never going to forget this.

“Go ahead,” Xaden prods, and Liam feels like he might faint — this is a hands-on lesson? He’s supposed to touch you, not just watch?

You pat the space next to you on the bed, motioning for him to take a seat.

He kicks off his boots hastily, padding across the floor and stopping in front of you.

You uncross your legs, letting them dangle off the edge of the bed, your knees only an inch or two from his thighs now. “Hi, Li.”

Gods, the way you say his name so sweetly, shortening the four letter word into two, the way you’re gazing at him so sweetly, and the sight of you, your usual rider’s leather stripped away, with soft pastel silk in its place that covers less than half of what your uniform does... You even smell sweet, sugary and floral, a mix of all the pretty products you’d used in the shower you’d taken prior to this little engagement. He can tell how smooth and soft your skin must be even without touching it. 

“Hi,” he manages, blinking at you. 

There’s a few seconds of awkwardness before you take the reins, bringing a hand up to cradle his jaw and guide him to where you want him, his lips just an inch away from yours — letting him be the one to close the gap.

“Whenever you’re ready,” you say in a gentle whisper, setting your hand back down. 

You’re too sweet, too kind and caring. This is a mistake, a terrible one, that he’ll likely never recover from, but he’ll regret it forever if he walks out on you right now; this will likely be the only opportunity he’ll ever have to touch you like this.

He leans forward, nudging his nose against yours gently before he goes in for a kiss, thankful that he’d brushed his teeth in the last hour. You taste sweet and minty, your lips slippery with whatever salve you use to keep them that soft. 

You continue guiding him through it, settling one of his hands on your waist and the other on the small of your back, how Xaden had held you, deepening the kiss, introducing your tongue a bit, starting him off slowly. 

He steps forward, nudging your legs apart with one of his so he can be even closer to you.

There’s that cute, needy sound that he’d been instructed to look for. Boldened, he holds you a little tighter, pulling you toward him the way he’d seen Xaden do. You seem to like it, tangling a hand in the soft black fabric of his tunic and tugging him closer, whining softly.

He finally pulls away, breathless, just looking into your eyes for a moment, memorizing them. He’s never been this close to you before, never noticed the little streaks and flecks of different colors within your irises... 

“Good,” a deep voice assesses. 

He startles, stepping back as he remembers that Xaden is still leaning against the armoire five feet away — after all, this is his room, his bed, and his girlfriend.

You’d almost forgotten, too.

“Keep kissing her, and grope her a little,” Xaden says candidly. “She likes being handled.”

Xaden’s wording gives him pause. Her, She. Not girls in general, but you. He’s teaching Liam how to please you. He shakes the thought from his head, reminding himself that this is a one-time thing.

You’re giving him that soft, worried look again. He steps forward, putting his hands back on your waist and pulling you into another deep kiss. You squeak in surprise as his hands slide down to your ass, squeezing gently over the slippery silk. 

He chuckles, a warm, rumbling sound that you’ll never grow tired of hearing, his lips trailing over your jaw down to your neck. 

Xaden likes to leave his mark on you, sucking at your skin hard enough to leave purple bruises the next day, scraping over your pulse with his teeth… but Liam just wants to savor you, to press gentle kisses to every inch of you, to nuzzle his nose into your neck and breathe you in.

You relax against him, content to let him continue kneading at your hips and waist, rubbing his hands over the smooth skin and massaging out any tension left over from the long day of classes and flight training.

He’s worked his way down your neck to your collarbones and chest, his lips brushing the neckline of your nightshirt. He hesitates there for a moment, unsure how to proceed, but Xaden is quick to give more directions.

“Arms up, honey.”

You comply readily, Liam helping lift your shirt over your head. He folds it into neat quarters before he sets it aside on Xaden’s desk, treating the silky fabric as carefully as he does its owner.

You give him a nod of permission, and he slides his hands up your ribs to your chest, admiring the weight of the soft flesh in his hands for a moment, squeezing gently.

“And these cute little nipples,” Xaden coos, curling a wisp of shadow over them. You whine softly at the cold sensation, squirming a bit, but he doesn’t seem to care, still speaking to Liam. “Play with them. Rub your fingers on them, pinch a little bit, suck on them… But be gentle. She’s sensitive.”

He starts off slow, brushing his thumbs over them gently while he returns his lips to your collarbones, pressing little kisses over the soft skin. And then he moves down, down… 

You sigh happily at the feeling of Liam’s tongue laving over your nipple in slow, gentle licks, continuing to tease the other with his fingers. He wraps his lips around it, suckling gently, and you tangle a hand in his hair, cradling the back of his head and keeping him close. 

“That’s a good sign, too,” Xaden instructs. “Keep going.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice — he’s intent on taking his sweet time with you, licking and sucking and teasing the sensitive little buds. He could do this for hours, just to hear your soft sighs of pleasure and see the blissful look on your face while he works.

You decide that Liam Mairi is simply perfect at everything he tries. The top of his class, and an excellent student. He’s done everything right, passing Xaden’s assessment with flying colors. But if he’s this good with his tongue up here… you need that pretty blond head between your thighs, immediately.

“Shh, honey,” Xaden soothes. “He’ll give you what you need in a minute.”

You flush, realizing that your soft whimpers have become more frequent and higher pitched, more urgent, bordering on pathetic. 

Liam pulls back, taking a second to admire you and giving your chest one last squeeze before he moves further down.

Gentle fingers hook into the waistband of the tiny pair of shorts you’re wearing, pulling them down your legs along with the even tinier underwear, a scrap of lace that while very pretty and undoubtedly expensive, must be removed, as it stands in the way of him burying his face between those gorgeous thighs of yours.

He wonders if you’ll taste as sweet as you had in those shameful dreams, the ones that had necessitated long, cold showers in the morning and sitting clear across the table from you at breakfast, trying not to look you in the eye.

“I’ll take those,” Xaden volunteers smugly, and Liam tosses them at him, returning his attention to your pussy.

“Holy shit, honey,” he swears, “you’re soaked.”

“Good,” Xaden praises. “That means you did everything right so far. But you still need to make her cum before I’ll let you fuck her.”

Liam’s eyes widen almost comically. He hadn’t expected Xaden to let him touch you at all, but now he’s allowed to go all the way with you? This has to be a dream.

“Only if you’re comfortable with that,” you remind him gently. “You don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to.”

“I do want to,” he answers, too quickly. Cute. 

You smile at him; another tiny cut that will be rubbed full of salt tomorrow morning, when he’ll have to see you sitting with Xaden at breakfast and pretend this never happened, that he hasn’t known the taste of your lips and the feel of your skin.

“Then hop to it, pretty boy,” you encourage, smiling — it’s clear that you don’t mean it as an insult, but as a sweet pet name; he’s absolutely gorgeous.

Liam doesn’t need instructions for this part. He gets you settled up against the pillows, making sure you’re comfortable there before he gets to work. He kisses each of your hip bones, his hands smoothing over your legs to part them enough to accommodate his broad shoulders as he lays down on his stomach, hooking his muscled arms around your thighs.

Xaden crosses the room toward you, perching on the edge of his desk, right next to the bed.

You gasp softly at the feeling of Liam’s tongue on you — he’s doing exactly what he’d done to your chest, those soft little licks and sucks, his hands massaging your thighs gently… 

“Just like that,” you breathe. He’s worked you up so well that you’re already close, and if he keeps doing what he’s doing, you’ll be cumming on his tongue in a minute or two.

He’s a very fast learner, and incredibly responsive— he’s figured out what earns him those cute little noises that have him throbbing with need, and now he’s doing those things over and over.

He resists the urge to reach down and stroke himself to take the edge off, knowing he wouldn’t last, not with how sweet you taste and the warmth and softness of your thigh against his cheek, your hand in his hair…

“Liam,” you mew, tugging at the soft blonde strands.

Your jaw drops at the realization of just how easily his name left your lips, how natural it felt… You look over at Xaden, wanting to apologize, but it’s hard to form words right now with how good Liam’s tongue feels sucking at your clit.

“It’s okay, honey,” Xaden soothes, tilting your chin up with a gentle hand. “You should let him know how good it feels — how else will he learn, hm?”

You nod, your eyes still locked with his. The depth of those nearly-black irises is such a stark contrast to Liam’s ice blue, but you could easily drown in both, never able to find your way back up to the surface.

“Slip a finger in, slowly.”

Liam’s hands are just as giant as Xaden’s, his fingers just as thick — but rougher, calloused from his constant whittling. Such a cute, innocent hobby. But there’s nothing innocent about the way he’s touching you right now.

“Look for that little rough spot,” Xaden instructs, still looking you directly in the eye. “Press into it a little bit.”

You whimper softly, entranced by the little gold flecks in his irises. 

“Sounds like you found it,” he says, sounding amused. “Now curl your fingertips against it, press up on it gently…”

Liam is a perfect soldier, in every sense of both words; very good at following orders, complying without hesitation and getting the job done, but he might be too perfect, too gentle and handsome and kind, too loving… too good to be true. He’s going to absolutely ruin you — both by making you fall apart for him, in what is undoubtedly going to be one of the best orgasms of your life, and by breaking your heart when this is all over. 

You focus back on the pleasure, the thoughts fading away quickly. “So good, baby,” you breathe, “just like that.”

Liam hums in acknowledgment, continuing the motions, the soft lap of his tongue and the gentle press of his fingertip into that special little spot quickly building up the pressure between your hips, getting you closer and closer…

“Add a second finger. You’ll need to stretch her a little if you want your cock to fit.”

It’s easy enough for him to slip in his middle finger beside his index, your body providing no resistance to the intrusion; you’re aching for it. You have been since Xaden told you about this little plan of his.

You need to thank him profusely for this later. Maybe you’ll get on your knees for him in the shower, or- “oh,” you gasp, the deep pleasure intensifying now that Liam is pushing two fingers into that little spot… you’re not going to last.

“Xay,” you whimper, remembering the rules he’d laid out for you prior to Liam’s arrival — Liam might be allowed to play with you for one night, but you’re still very much Xaden’s, and he’s still very much in control here.

He coos down at you patronizingly. “You getting close, honey? You wanna cum on Liam’s fingers?“

“Yes, please,” you pant, whining up at him.

“Such good manners,” he praises. “Go ahead, honey. Show him how pretty you sound when you cum.”

It only takes a few more seconds of that delicious pressure building before it becomes enough to throw you over the edge. You whine, tightening around Liam’s fingers and squirming in his grasp, babbling a mix of swear words and thank-you’s and both of their names. 

Liam slows his pace, letting you ride it out with a few more soft licks.

“Keep going,” Xaden orders. “She knows what to say if it’s too much. Doesn’t she, honey?”

“Uh-huh,” you manage between your cute little cries, gasping as you feel cold bands of shadow wrap around the backs of your knees, keeping your legs spread while you squirm in sensitivity, undecided between chasing the pleasure and running from it.

Thank the gods for sound shields.

It’s clear to Xaden that you’re reaching your limit, starting to get overwhelmed, and he doesn’t want to wear you out just yet. “Stop,” he orders, calling back his shadows.

Liam withdraws his fingers, and you slump back down against the pillows, spent and panting.

Liam doesn’t have to be told to comfort you after, to take care of you in the comedown — he does it instinctively. “Shh, honey,” he soothes, scooping you into his lap and holding you close. “It’s okay.”

You rest your head against his collarbone, cuddling into him and letting your eyes fall shut, just taking a moment to breathe.

“You did so good for us, pretty girl. Just breathe, hm? You’re safe with us.”

Xaden had convinced himself that this would be a one-off thing, but seeing the tenderness with which Liam is holding you, stroking your hair and cooing soft praises… 

Liam’s a good guy, kind-hearted and caring, but this isn’t just that — no, this is genuine love that he senses between you. It might be heightened right now due to the incredibly intimate experience you just had with one another, but there’s something there. He gets the feeling that there always has been, even before your days at Basgiath; it’s just been brought to the surface tonight, and oddly enough, Xaden isn’t mad about it at all.

It should piss him off. He should detest the idea of another pair of hands, male hands, on his girl, but it’s Liam. He loves Liam. Not in the way he loves you — and he doesn’t want to fuck him, that’s for sure — but he cares for the younger boy deeply, and if anyone else is going to be touching his girl, he’d want it to be Liam. Maybe that’s why he’d suggested this whole thing in the first place.

You’ve made a full recovery by now, caught your breath, and you sit up in Liam’s lap, drawing him into a kiss.

Such a needy little thing, always eager for more. Liam is happy to help, kissing you back easily, smoothing his hands over your sides and kneading your hips. He places a hand on the back of your head, another on your waist, laying you down in one slow, fluid movement — again, with the utmost gentleness, making sure that you’re comfortable.

“Put a pillow under her hips,” Xaden instructs. 

Liam takes one from the head of the bed, his other hand hooking under your knees to lift your lower body off the bed — you giggle, impressed by his strength.

Liam wonders if you like being thrown around a little bit, manhandled, held down… you’d look and sound so pretty getting pounded into the mattress, face-down ass-up, whimpering into the pillows, but he’s not wasting this opportunity on a quick, rough fuck — and Xaden would probably take issue with that, anyway. No, Liam’s going to take his sweet time with you, treat you nice and gently, and look into your eyes while he does it.

Your jaw drops at the sight of him finally pantsless, the thick black uniform fabric pulled off to expose the pale muscle of his thighs. Gods, you’d love to straddle one and just grind against it while you kiss him, those giant hands on your hips helping guide you back and forth until you came, and then…

Holy shit. 

Everything about Liam Mairi is perfect, including — and especially — his cock. And you need it inside you, now.

He strokes himself once, twice, as if he isn’t rock-hard already, dragging the tip through your wetness, letting it tease your clit…

You whimper softly, shifting your hips down to try to guide him into you.

“Words, honey,” he reminds, in a tone eerily similar to Xaden’s. The last twenty minutes have certainly boldened him.

“Want you to fuck me, Liam, please,” you ask softly, pouting up at him. “Need it.”

He could never say no to that pretty face, never deprive you of anything you wanted. He slowly pushes forward, giving you the first two inches. 

You take in that same little breath you do when Xaden slides into you, looking up at Liam the same way, with glossy eyes and parted lips, gripping the sheets on either side of you. He takes one of your hands in his, intertwining your fingers. “You okay, honey?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, taking a moment to adjust. He’s not quite as big as Xaden, but it’s still more than enough to fill you completely, a slight stretch as he slowly makes his way forward, a little bit at a time.

He leans down to kiss you, stroking a roughened hand over the softness of your waist soothingly. It’s taking every ounce of his self-restraint not to lose it right now, at the feeling of you wrapped around him, but he needs to make sure you’re okay first before he does anything else.

“M’ ready,” you tell him softly.

“If it hurts, say the word and I’ll stop, okay? I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Okay,” you answer obediently, your heart melting — Liam has always been sweet to you, if a little shy, but right now it’s increased fourfold, every word and every touch coated with love and care. 

“Attagirl,” he praises, giving you a little peck before he straightens back up, adjusting his hold on your waist and starting to rock his hips into yours.

You both gasp in unison at the feeling, soft pleasure spreading through your core.

“How’s she feel?” Xaden asks, a note of smug amusement in his tone — it's clear that Liam is finally starting to lose his grip a little, his breathing getting heavier, his cheeks flushed…

“Like heaven,” he answers, trying to keep his composure, “so warm and wet and tight… fuck,”

He’s so fucking deep inside you, hitting all the right spots and touching you in the right places, working his way into your heart and carving out a space for himself between your ribs. You hold his hand a little tighter, whimpering softly.

“Doing so good for me, honey, taking me so well,” Liam soothes, stroking his thumb over your knuckles. “How’s that feel?”

“Really… good… So… deep,” you manage, your eyes still locked with his, your breaths coming in little pants and gasps.

“Yeah?” he asks, teasing, “Can you feel me in your tummy, baby?” He lays a giant hand between your hips, pushing down, and your jaw drops — the added pressure makes you feel even more full of him, makes every sensation more overwhelming and intense. 

Where did he learn to do that?

“Uh-huh,” you stammer. “Feels so good, ah,” It’s very good. Overwhelmingly good. 

Xaden makes a mental note to try that with you later — you look like you absolutely love it.

The little fucker didn’t need lessons at all, just a confidence boost, and you’re certainly giving that to him. Xaden knew that deep down, knew about that little puppy crush he’s had on you for years, which hadn’t faded in the time you’d been apart, but decided to offer you up anyway, precise reasons unknown.

He gets the feeling that this might not be a one-night thing after all. But maybe that’s for the best. Maybe Liam can warm your bed and tend to your heart while he’s busy running his revolution and spending late nights on wingleader duty, doing his dagger drops with the fliers…

Liam adjusts the position of his hand, a long finger reaching down to swirl over your clit, and the combination of it all is enough to get you there.

You tear your eyes away from Liam’s to look over at Xaden, a panicked little whimper leaving your lips. 

He knows exactly what that sound means. “Shh, honey, it’s okay,” he coos, stroking your hair. “You can cum.”

“Thank you, oh, fuck,”

Liam hadn’t gotten a proper look at you last time, his eyes closed and his head tucked between your thighs, but looking down at you now, seeing your face; cheeks flushed, lips parted in cute little panting breaths, hands clutching the sheets… and then he feels it — feels you clamp down on him, your thighs trembling against his as you shatter.

“Fuck,” Liam rasps, his fingers digging into your hips to ground himself as he continues to fuck you through it. 

You’re drowning in the deep blue of his eyes, and you need something to hold on to. You wrap your legs around his waist and pull him down by the shoulders so he’s practically laying on top of you — you always do this to Xaden, needing to feel him close to you in your hazy state, and Liam isn’t an exception.

The closeness definitely does something to Liam as well. He braces his forearms against the bed and continues to rock his hips into yours, panting soft praises. “Attagirl. So pretty, so soft and sweet and perfect… you feel so fucking good, sweetheart, doing so well for me.”

If you weren’t his brother’s girlfriend, he’d probably throw an I love you in there too, find some way to call you his, to tell you how much you mean to him outside of this bed, but he still has enough rationality left to know would be a bad idea even without Xaden supervising this whole thing.

He’s so close to you, your entire bodies pressed together, your breaths mixing and noses brushing… you’re clinging to him, continuing to whimper up at him softly… He’s about to fall apart himself. 

“You can cum inside her, if you want,” Xaden offers, too casually.

You keen at the idea, shifting your hips to try to take him deeper.

“Oh, would you like that, pretty girl?” he asks teasingly, through panting breaths. “Want me to fill you up?”

“Yes, please,” you beg, wrapping your legs around him tighter.

He’s not going to last. He starts to move a little faster, chasing his own high — he’s never waited this long, never spent so much time on a partner’s pleasure, and while you absolutely deserved it, he needs his own release desperately. “Oh, fuck,” he gasps, “gonna cum, baby, are you sure you want me to—”

You tangle your hand in the short blonde hair at the back of his neck and yank him down into a kiss, keeping your legs tight around his waist, not letting him pull out.

He whines against your lips, the prettiest little muffled moan as he spills into you. 

“Holy shit,” he pants, his cheeks red from the exertion. He’s always pretty, but nothing beats this, all flushed and fucked out, his hair mussed and lips swollen from the kisses you’d shared, eyes half-lidded…

You commit the sight to memory, suddenly hit with the realization that you’ll never see it again. For all intents and purposes, this “lesson” is over, and starting tomorrow morning, Liam will go back to being your boyfriend’s little brother, and nothing else.

He seems to realize the same thing, resting his head over your heart and breathing you in for a moment, the both of you lingering in the afterglow, not wanting to say goodbye. You hold him a little closer, stroking your hand through his damp hair silently.

Xaden lets you have a minute together, seeming to understand the significance of this moment for the both of you, and backing off.

He slips down from his perch on the edge of the desk, giving you space, but you reach for him, wanting him close, too. 

“Can Li stay the night?” you ask in a small voice, not ready for him to leave.

He smiles at you. “Of course he can, sweet girl.”

“Thank you,” you murmur. “Love you.”

“I love you too, baby. Now let's get you both cleaned up.”

You hum sleepily, letting him pull you up out of bed and get you ready for the showers.

It’s surprisingly not awkward, the two boys working in tandem to clean you up — neither of them mind the other’s presence, having been desensitized to casual nudity from years — or in Liam’s case, weeks — of sharing a bathing room with a handful of strangers.

Liam dries you off, sorting out your hair while Xaden helps rub in that sweet-smelling lotion and dresses you in one of his shirts before you flop down into bed, cuddling up between them contentedly. 

You give Liam a sweet little goodnight kiss before you roll over, working yourself into Xaden’s arms like you always do, curling up against the strength of his chest, your head over his heart. 

This could work, Xaden decides. You have enough room in your heart for both of them, and he knows that Liam’s intentions are pure — the only hitch will be managing his own emotions, namely any jealousy that arises over another man being romantic with his girlfriend. 

It had honestly surprised him when he’d decided to offer Liam a night with you. He’s always considered himself possessive, ready to glare at anyone who looked at you too long — and that had intensified after he’d gotten his magic, once he could “read” people, but maybe that’s why he’d let Liam in, because he felt nothing but love and admiration from the boy. 

Still, he can’t help but feel a little left out, even if he’d been the one controlling the whole situation — he hadn’t gotten off himself, too focused on coaching Liam and making sure you were okay, and then it would just have been awkward to do anything with you while Liam sat there idle… 

Tomorrow morning, after Liam heads back to his own room, you’ll have some fun, just the two of you. Maybe he’ll tie you up with his shadows again, or press you up against the wall in the showers… the possibilities are endless, but he’ll probably decide on sleepy morning sex. It’s a Friday night, so you can sleep in a little Saturday morning, and have time for a lazy, loving fuck before anything is expected of either of you. He’ll remind you how much you love each other, and treat you as sweetly as Liam had — admittedly, he hasn’t been too gentle with you lately, focused on fucking out the stress of his third year, and being wingleader and leading a revolution on top of it all, but you’d taken it well, literally.

He’ll sleep on it, give it a day or two to simmer before he’ll discuss it with each of you; you first, of course, to see what you say so he doesn’t get Liam’s hopes up, but from the way your hand is still tangled up with Liam’s, his chest pressed to your back and his face nuzzled into the side of your neck, it’s pretty clear that neither of you would be opposed to them sharing you.

But all that can wait — for now, you just need to rest, tucked safely between the two boys that love you more than anyone else in the world.

[l4long-winded]

so, i received the following comment on archive:

"it went from sweet, to sensual, to smut in just one short chapter. which i love.

"i like to think that carmen is an acts of service kind of dude, he expresses his affections through things like making meals for reader. i think it’d be cute if reader like forgot they're lunch at home or smth, and then carmen would deliver it to them in person–just a cute lil thought." - topostapocalyptic

so, here is my version of that. i tried so hard and i just can't look at it any longer!

o.s. basil, monterey jack, and the simplicity of a kind gesture

summary: you're late for work, rushing out the door, and carmen notices you've left your lunch behind. he can't help but interject his talents (carmen berzatto x afab!reader)

reflection: this took me so. so. embarrassingly long. i am not super proud of it. i feel like i needed to finish it in order to get out of my current rut in writing, though. i finished school up and graduated recently, on a lighter note! please enjoy and feedback is always appreciated!

warnings: stress, worrying, temper flares, cursing, shirtless!carmy, established relationship, journalist!reader, commentary on nutrition, poor eating habits, inner dialogue (just a little), nature's own slander, anxiety depictions, original characters, moody!reader, some longwinded descriptions (as always), awkwardness, fluff, kissing, carmen's nervous tick, domesticity, implied (like one or two instances) smut, humor, an act of service, laughing while kissing, a small flashback, no use of pronouns for reader (please let me know if there are other warnings i need to add)

word count: 3,207

( this work has been cross-posted to ao3 )

“Stupid shithead,” you mutter.

You’re frantically grabbing items into your hands. Your keys, your purse, the wallet that goes into the purse, your phone. Anything covering the counter. It’s the same counter your knee knocks right into as you turn the corner. Immediately, you bite the inside of your cheek as pain floats throughout your kneecap, a harsh sting that floats into warm pressure down your calf. You’re so self-aware of your blood’s rising temperature in this instance that it nauseates you.

“Motherfucker,” you blurt, sucking in a sharp breath through your nostrils. You lift your foot from the ground and lean a majority of your weight onto your opposite heel, elbow pressing onto the counter you envision your stupid boss’s face on. You would punch it if it didn’t mean breaking your knuckles on ceramic in your growing agitation. No, that’s irrational. You need that hand to type.

“Really hoping I’m not the motherfucker you’re talking about,” Carmen mumbles groggily as he emerges from down the hallway. His curls are tousled, somehow despite sleeping on your satin pillowcase his head continued to slide off. He’s not used to sleeping over here, but he’s willing to learn, if his tossing and turning and eventual spooning didn’t illustrate that to you already. There’s something to be said about the way he adjusts the front of his boxer shorts. Despite the adjustment, the briefs hang low on his hips, the v-line of him greeting you as happily as the trail descending to his waistband does. His shirtless form sleepily walks towards you to place a kiss onto your forehead.

“No, no, not you,” you say, gracious for his forehead kiss, but still rubbing your knee to alleviate the issue. He glances at it in concern, an eyebrow lifting. Before he can ask, you stand tall and give him a quick peck on the cheek. Your knee aches, but the less Carmen worries, the better.

“Stay as long as you like, spare key’s in the bergamot out front, I gotta get the fuck out of here two minutes ago,” you rush out in one string of words.

Carmen’s blinking sleep from his eyes, watching as you stomp out of the front door. He craves a longing kiss goodbye, but he’s not daring to request it seeing how urgently you’re behaving. He heads to the window, two fingers plucking the blinds open to observe you hop into your vehicle and speed off too fast for him to feel secure. He frowns. Carmen’s hand scrubs down his face, a migraine pounding in his temples that feels an awful lot like that worry you didn’t want to implement within him.

You’re working more than usual. He admires your work ethic, he does as it resembles his own, but he can’t stop from thinking about how tired you are when you visit him at the restaurant, or when you stay over at his place. You’re snapping consistently, and it may be at inanimate objects like your broken toaster, or the squeaky hinge belonging to your closet door, or your recent victim, this counter you have apparent beef with. The stress is collecting rapidly and Carmen unfortunately is starting to see the patterns interwoven in his skin stitching up your neck. He doesn’t want that for you. He knows you don’t want it for him either, so he’s trying to think of ways he can bring a smile to your face, or at least ease some kind of method to relax the both of you.

Carmen glances around your kitchen and he notices the brown bag sitting in front of your microwave. Curiously, he maneuvers to grab it into his hand. He opens it up and finds a sandwich there, lunchmeat stuffed between two slices of wheat bread. No condiments, no vegetables, no other ingredients. Just bread and turkey. It’s… it’s such a sad sandwich. He wishes you would’ve at least slabbed on some peanut butter and jam if you were going with the easiest route. Two slices of simple turkey breast are hardly nutritional.

Hypocrite. You drank a Coke and ate a bowl of off-brand Froot Loops the other night for dinner.

Carmen shakes his head free of his intrusive thoughts, picking his phone out of his pocket as he plans to text you that you forgot your lunch. You shouldn’t be too far down the road. Then again, as his thumb hovers over your messages together, he recalls how you’re already late. You don’t have time to turn back around for a shitty sandwich you probably won’t even eat. He’s seen you come home and dump these brown bags, still full of whatever meal you threw together in three minutes because you didn’t bother to take your lunch break.

“Not today,” he mumbles under his breath. He retrieves the sad sandwich and takes a bite, chewing it as he washes his hands in the sink. Then, he opens the fridge, scanning through what’s available. There’s not much to work with, but he’s efficient if anything.

“Blegh,” he scrunches his face, the flavor of the bread thick on his tongue as he smacks his lips, “Nature’s Own.”

You’re typing a storm in your cubicle. The deadline for your story is in a day. A day. You didn’t even have time to gather the interview materials and are still waiting on an email from a supervisor from whoever the fuck knows. The name is written somewhere on the clutter of sticky notes hanging precariously off the frame of your desktop. But then again, who has time to crane their neck to check in the middle of meeting your deadline? You’re making due with what you have on hand, your eyes strained from how long they’ve stared at your computer screen.

“Psst…” comes a voice from behind. Fingertips tap your shoulder, momentarily disrupting you from staring at your keyboard. You swivel in your rolling chair, eyes annoyed and tired.

“What?” You spit. Your gaze is unamused watching the world spin and land on Bill, the secretary from the front desk. You almost cringe the same way Bill in front of you seems to do at the tone in reaction. At that, you pick up your face, clearing your throat and straightening your posture, hoping it’s as polite as you wish to convey.

“Your, uh, boyfriend is up front,” he points towards the hall. Bill is jittery. You wonder if it’s because of an excessive use of caffeine or if because your slip genuinely scared him. You take a deep breath and compose yourself more than you have already.

“Oh… I’ll be right out,” you reassure, feeling bad for the small snap you engaged in. Bill is only doing his job. He’s reporting on a surprise visit from Carmen. That doesn’t mean it’s Carmen’s fault for showing up out of the blue, but yours for letting your cool flee, if only momentarily.

As Bill nods and heads off down the hall, you glance at your computer screen one last time. You choose to stop in the middle of the sentence. You tell yourself it’s because you think it’ll be easier to think of a fresh idea to continue when you come back and not because you’re at a loss for content at the present time. You stand up, palms smoothing the front of your vest down your waist as you walk from your cubicle and repeat the same steps as Bill on his way back to his position at the front of the office building. The ninety degree angle of the corner gradually unveils to you your boyfriend Carmen staring down at his phone, a brown bag in his opposite hand beside his pant leg.

He looks up as if sensing your presence, a shift in energy in the room he detects and smiles at from afar. His phone slides into his pocket the closer you approach him, eyes seemingly glowing underneath the shadow of his tan hat’s rim. It’s that kind of crystal embedded in his irises that makes them sparkle with a glass’s shine and an artist’s yearning. But his eyes carry ocean water, not wine, and the reflection of his muse, your face expanding over the roundness of them as you near him and greet him with a hug.

“Hey, your day alright?” He asks, his voice behind your ear. Your chin rests on his shoulder, one of his biceps cradling the back of your head into him. His other arm is still at his side as he kisses your temple and takes a step backward. You catch Bill glancing up from his computer at the two of you from his desk for a millisecond.

“Sure,” you opt for. Maybe if you say it enough, you’ll believe it. You’re capable of tricking your brain so you don’t psyche yourself on it with your overthinking too much… right? “Why’re you here?”

Carmen’s lips press tightly together. He doesn’t say anything, leveling you with his gaze and a raise of his eyebrows that even cause his hat to slightly lift on his forehead. One single look illustrates how wrong of a statement that was.

Replaying it in your head, you notice the edge to your voice, that small extra bit of irritation that made it to your lips. You didn’t mean it, much like you hadn’t meant it when you sharply responded to Bill’s alert.

You sigh and shake your head, one hand coming up to apologetically stroke his arm.

“I didn’t mean it like that–”

“I know,” he halts your explanation. Unlike you, Carmen falls back on the natural softness of his voice, the one where he refutes raising the volume of his words because you’re always standing so goddamn close to him. Another reason could possibly be that you’re having a hard day and he’s sparing you from an unnecessary argument. It’s not like he hasn’t poured lemon over wounds after particularly rough days at The Bear himself.

His hand with the brown bag thrusts in front of you. Short space separates you further. How ironic. He doesn’t want to poke the bear.

“I, uh, brought you your lunch.”

“Thanks…” You murmur awkwardly.

Carmen’s fingers brush yours once you exchange the bag. He curls those same fingers and attaches the back of his knuckles to his lips, stroking them back and forth over his mouth in that nervous tick of his. He stares along your face, the current contemplation in his head somehow both loud and eerily silent. He’s searching for something to say and it’s obvious.

“Yes, well… have a good day,” he settles for. Carmen turns away for a moment, but you don’t like leaving it this way. Especially not since he took the time to drive here and bring you your lunch. He’s subtly advising you to eat without pushing or adding another task you’ll be fretting over.

Your hand captures his, causing him to shift his eyes back to yours. You smile a little brighter. It’s not forced. The gesture is sweet. You lose sight when you’re stressed as any human does.

“I appreciate it, Carm. Thank you,” you redo your gratitude with sincerity.

Carmen’s hand relaxes in yours. He utilizes the hold you have on him in his own favor, tugging you closer to him, engulfing you into his arms. His scent calms you, lingering cigarettes, mint, pomade, and what seems to be a touch of olive oil. He must be working from home again on his day off. Your belly does a small flip thinking of him working comfortably from your home.

“It’s nothing,” he speaks into your hairline, dropping a few more pecks. He notices your shoulders lowering as he does, encouraging him to continue and then return his eyes back to yours.

“But seriously, have a good day,” he repeats, squeezing your forearms.

“Please,” he whispers. You have no choice but to promise him with a grateful and instant nod this time. You’ll find something to get you through the rest of your shift. You can do it for Carmen.

You can’t say you don’t feel defeated as you trudge into the breakroom with your lunch bag shortly after Carmen’s visit. You highly considered skipping lunch altogether to grant yourself more time to work on your report. However, Carmen walked here to get this to you. It’s not a short thing, either. You had to convince him to take your car so he could run some errands. He’ll be your ride back home after work. In the meantime, you’re going to eat to ease your conscience and so that you’re less cranky, minimizing the casualties of your unintentional attacks today. Your boss wouldn’t be as patient as Bill and Carmen.

You gradually open the bag, reaching in and furrowing your brows when your hand meets a cylindrical container first. You thought the bag felt heavier than a single sandwich should, but you were too distracted being apologetic with Carmen to realize he may have added something to your meal. You should’ve known that he wouldn’t be able to resist doing such a thing with how he’s always taking care of you in that department. He shares his talent where he can’t utter his affections, crafting in opposition to orating. Unless, it’s a different word using the root “ora.” He’s rather good at that, too.

“Carmen, you didn’t,” you mutter under your breath, unscrewing the cap of the first container. Basil, garlic, sweet confection underlying in the background, and roasted tomato spike up in a familiar aroma, the trapped steam floating up to blanket your nose in humid warmth and a nostalgic trip to when you sat with him at a fast food restaurant and he poked fun at you for ordering a grilled cheese.

“Who orders a grilled cheese without tomato soup?”

“Me. I do. Now give me a sip of your soda.”

He did. He said he felt obligated to since your grilled cheese looked dry.

The memory inspires you to reach further into the bag, and of course, you bring out a wrapped item suspiciously in the shape of a square. You already know what’s hidden inside as you undo the layers Carmen meticulously folded for you. Heat sticks to your fingertips. It makes you wonder if he jogged on his way here to get this all to you for it to be this warm still.

The sourdough bread in your hands is perfectly golden without being drenched in oil or even close to being charred on the sides. The bite you take is better than the appetizing appearance it has, a cheese pull connecting your teeth marks on the surprise sandwich to your mouth, steam rising off the strings of the monterey jack and cheddar webs. It pairs nicely with the tomato soup Carmen’s provided, the distinct taste mellowing the salt and tang of the sourdough, something sugary and smooth and still tart melding the classic flavors along your tongue.

You didn’t expect this, and part of you is asking why you didn’t see it coming because of who Carmen is and what he does for a living and for a hobby and for a passion, but you’re not going to mull over your perception’s off-game today. No, you’re going to finish your grilled cheese, soup, and that report. You’ll be sure to credit Carmen in due time.

Carmen’s waiting for you in the parking lot behind your office building. You see his reflection on the driver’s side mirror, his eyes lowered to his phone in his hand. He doesn’t see you coming, his head lifting up curiously as you approach his side instead of getting into the car on the passenger’s. Carmen blinks up at you, the window down most likely for him to get some air. It’s been getting hotter and hotter in Chicago with the change in seasons and your AC isn’t working, as per usual.

“What, do you want to drive—?”

You silence Carmen, obstructing his question with the barrier of your lips. If he’s shocked or surprised, it quickly gets replaced with acceptance and an instant response. He kisses you back, his chin tilting upwards, head perching up out of the window to meet your slumping frame. Your head lolls behind the lead of your mouth, seeking out the feeling and tenderness of Carmen’s lips that he parts to swipe his tongue in rhythm of an upstroking graze. You smile after that, the action creating a centimeter of distance that Carmen closes again, his hand traveling up to the back of your neck to tug you back into him.

You indulge him, laughing against his lips. A smile of his own stretches over his mouth, but he doesn’t detach himself like you did. He goes back for more, stopping only when your hands are patting his wrist to regain his attention back without depriving him too much of your mouth he’s ensnaring with his.

“I finished my report,” you shyly say. You made a big deal about it today and your job in general has been very demanding, causing your behavior to have shifts in line with the spikes in your mood.

“Knew you would,” he replies. He’s still kissing you. They’re spanned out pecks to allow you both to speak during, but he’s making it hard to remember what you wanted to say.

“And my grilled cheese,” you mutter into his smothering stamps. He lets up hearing that, pulling back slightly so he can peer into your eyes. He’s in your shoes this time, sheepish as he tries to casually nod.

“Yeah? And…?” He pauses, gauging your reaction with a suspicious glint in his eyes. You laugh again, nudging his shoulder.

“And my soup,” you stand up taller from the window, fingers resting over the bicep half hanging out of it. “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” he saves you the speech, knowing you far too well about how you don’t want him to waste his time. He’s going to convince you someday that his acts of service for you will never be a waste of his time. His hand comes over yours on his arm, glancing at your twitching fingers he’s heard typing in the long hours of the night. He’s not the only insomniac among you two.

“You should let me make you lunch more often,” he bargains. You playfully roll your eyes. This is one debate you’ll continue to have for a long time, it seems. He already works so hard.

“Slow down there, chef.” You use one of Carmen’s tricks, draping your mouth back over his before he has the chance to bullet point out his argument. He sighs, content from how you feel and yet that knowing frustration intertwined in that one breath lingers because he doesn’t mind putting together your future lunches whatsoever.

“Thank you,” you pur, and Carmen releases his grip on his conviction. For now, anyway. He’s planning on bringing it up again later. He’s just getting too lost in your appreciative kissing. It’s convincing him to do this again, actually. He’s plotting a new list of ingredients, cherries and almonds and white whine and… he loses his train of thought when your teeth scrape his bottom lip.

[tinydefector]

Hi!! 😆

Can I have Soundwave x human reader (smut pls (ง ͠° ͟ل͜ ͡°)ง)?

People didn't write him much, my husband need more love 😔🤌❤️✨

Thank for reading this!!

Stress relief

Soundwave x human reader

Warnings: Smut, Oral, Cockwarning

Word count: 1.5K

Request and ask open, read pinned post

__________________

"Soundwave can you re-check that scanner for me, I can't reach it to recalibrate its systems from here" the human's voice calls out to the intelligence officer, as they move around Soundwave desk in a scattered fashion trying to find maps and energon signals.

 Soundwave helm tilts slightly at the request as he turns to observe his human.he runs his own diagnostics, clearly indicating the scanner does not need recalibration. Soundwave almost uncanny mix of voices patch together speak:  " assistance not required. Scanner functioning adequately."  He remains standing quietly, typing away at the large computer with his servos while his tendrils rearrange scattered data pads. 

Their eyes meet his visor, looking up at him slightly frazzled. "Are you sure they are?" 

 With a sigh, he re reviews the scanner readings again, analysing more closely given the human's evident fatigue. His displays flash as data is processed.  "Confirmation: scanner calibration within normal parameters. However, you appear in need of recharge." The mixed voices of Knockout, Starscream and their own voice echoes back at them as He awaits a response, sensors attuned to subtle cues that could indicate the depth of exhaustion and other issues requiring assistance. 

"I'm fine soundwave" they call out while moving back to continue working, soundwave wraps his digits around them, pulling them back against his form, his visor tilted down to look at their eyes, he knows full well they are exhausted and Fatigue was catching up to their smaller frame. "I promise soundwave, I'm fine"

Soundwave detects elevated stress levels and the possibility of accident or harm at the current state of exhaustion. Soft ventilations cycle through his frame as his digits gently but firmly enfold the human in a protective hold.  "Statement: physiological indicators suggest otherwise."  His visor dims softly. Forcing the issue would risk negative impact, not only on his work but their work too.  

"I'm not gonna win this argument with you am I?" 

 Soundwave's visor remains dimmed calmly as the human speaks. He processes their words carefully before responding.  "Negative." They sigh softly and press their head against Soundwave's shoulder plating, each of his steps echoing throughout the halls.   "Are you going to stay with me tonight, or does megatron have you working even more?" Soundwave processes the question, sensing his partner's wish for company while recharging.

 A brief comm link check confirms he has no urgent tasks requiring his attention for night's cycle. "Megatron: aware of mission status. No tasks assigned to Soundwave at this time. I will remain for your recharge cycle"  he responds as the doors to his quarters slide open upon their arrival.   

A soft nod comes from his little lover as they lay against him. Their body is exhausted, but their brain isn't willing to shut off. After laying against soundwave for another ten minutes with no luck with falling asleep, they sigh, fidgeting around while trying to get comfortable.

 His vocalizer hums a deep, resonant tone, One digit begins tracing lazy circles on the back, slowly tracing their spinal column, "Systems are monitoring. Please attempt to rest,"  comes another of his recordings.

"Not tired," they whisper while looking up at Soundwave, leaning into his touch, enjoying having him focus on them instead of work. They had both been overrun with work as of recent.

helm tilting minutely as nonverbal concern radiates through his plating.  " Do you require distraction from responsibilities through additional stimuli?"  

They sit up resting on Soundwave's lower torso, hands spread out across the Decepticons chassis. "I am tired, horny and frustrated, soundwave, and with  everything happening, when we get even a small amount of time together, you get called away," they mumble. 

 Soundwave cycles a calm ventilated sigh, processing their words. His field pulses with understanding and care for their concerns. "Your doubts are logical. However, my function is to maximise efficiency of all personnel. A brief interface encounter now could provide valuable recharge. I will ensure we are not disturbed."  His field and plating radiate gentle invitation. 

 A soft gasp escapes their lips as soundwave pulls them further up his body. The Decepticon's digits caressing their body. Leaning in closer, they press their lips to his visor.  A low hum resonates from Soundwave's vocoder. One digit trails tenderly down a flank as another cradles them, holding their form against plating of his chest as a loud purring sound vibrates from him.  

A small squeal leaves their lips as Soundwave discards their clothing quickly with nimble digits. Dimming the lights, Soundwave carefully lowers his battle-mask with a soft hiss, His purple optics glow softly in the darkness, as a talon traces down his lovers form, tracing patterns into their skin.

Leaning close 'til his ex-vents whisper against skin, Pressing a gentle kiss to willing lips in silent promise, he commits this moment to memory. A soft content sigh falls from the human's lips as they kiss him back. It's slightly awkward but neither cares at that moment.

Soundwave runs soft kisses along their neck, chest, and hips as he brings them closer.

At the human's content sigh, gentle pulses from his plating as cooling ex-vents whisper against sensitised skin, his touches trailing softly yet deliberately to relax tense muscles and ease away lingering worries. 

As Soundwave’s glossa finds its way between their legs, soft moans fall from their lips. Small hands move to grip his helm. "Soundwave." At the human's soft calling of his name, Soundwave rumbles acknowledgment against flesh, his servos gripping hips to hold them steady as he runs his glossa across their needy sex. drinking in their essence, committing every hitch of their breath, and fluttered responses to permanent memory files saved only for him. 

As warmth spreads within the human's pliant frame, Soundwave's field surges in adoring pulses, lips, and glossa blessing willing flesh in turn as his devotion shows through electronic hums and tender strokes. Their head rolls back as their back arches, soft whines leaving them with each stroke of Soundwave’s Glossa as it presses into their sweet form. "Soundwave, please," they whine out, their hands attempting to pull the mech's face closer. 

At their breathless plea, Soundwave rumbles acknowledgment, Talons gently part willing thighs as his glossa delves with new focus, oral prehensors savouring each hitching gasp and soft cry his ministrations draw forth. As warmth peaks within the willing human, Soundwave dedicates all sensors to saturating their body. It doesn't take long for them to reach release, so much pent up energy, stress and frustration slips away as they go boneless in the Decepticon's hands. Soft pants leaving their parted lips as soundwave cleans up the mess with his mouth. Gentle affectionate rumbles leave him, field swelling with pulses of devotion and gratitude as he cleans every trace of pleasures with care. His glossa traces tender after-touches as their body goes lax in his hold. 

Optics remain darkened as he simply dedicates sensors to monitoring each slowing ventilation and relaxing muscle, wishing only to ensure their full tranquillity. Soundwave raises his helm to cradled hips,kissing it lightly and nuzzling farewell against flushed skin beneath laboured breaths, inhaling the musk of their sex and skin. 

A final hum resounds through his plating, and powerful yet delicate digits stroke through human hair with utmost care. his array's interface plaque shifts aside, hisses open and pressurises his spike.Optics flare softly to gaze upon at his lover's relaxed features. Secured in cradling servos and pulsing field, the human's lax yet willing frame I'd slowly pressed against his body, content simply to maintain sensory contact,

soft whines fall From his human's lips, as they take him in their body stretching with a loud moan. A few soft thrusts are all it takes for Soundwave to settle into them, cradling their body close, At his lovers soft sounds of pleasure, Soundwave rumbles gentle reciprocation, cradling their sated form securely against his form with one arm as his other arm retrieves a datapad

Ever once in a while his optics flicker down to monitoring his partner's relaxation even as his digits skillfully operate the pad's controls. Data streams across the display - ship schematics, translation algorithms, delicate encryption sequences - yet his true focus remains solely on the human resting atop his array. 

Here in isolated peace, all doubts dissolve. His frame supports theirs. Tired eyes slowly drift closer as soft breath even out, indicating they had fallen asleep, small hands are spread out across his chassis, their body moving slightly with each breath they take. This was true contentment. At the human's soft, steady ex-vents and relaxing muscles, Soundwave's field cycles in waves of tranquil pulsations, a digit gently strokes their hair, back and shoulders as his embrace holds them securely. 

“rest well little one” his voice mumbles softly for no one to hear but himself. 

[flowerandblood]

The Fall from the Heavens (11)

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: sex content, smut, angst, violence, swearing, descriptions of wounds, physical and verbal aggression ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

After what had happened, after what he had found out, he ordered his most necessary things to be moved to her chamber. Seeing the look on his face and his fury, his mother dared not say a word on the matter, sensing that he already knew what she had done with his grandfather's blessing.

She had forced his betrothed to drink moon tea without his knowledge, without his consent, knowing that he would never allow it to happen, that if it turned out she was expecting his child he would marry her immediately without asking their opinion.

He thought with regret and remorse consuming his soul and heart that he should have done it right away, but now it was too late.

His moment of hesitation had cost him everything.

For the first two days, the only thing that came out of his niece's mouth was a quiet babble; she was still asleep, and when she woke up, his sister fed her with warm soup.

Helaena was the only person besides the maester and himself that he allowed to be in her chamber.

His mother, grandfather and Cole were not allowed in by his decision – he had vowed to them that if they crossed the threshold of her quarters, neither he nor Vhagar would aid them with their participation in the war they had unleashed at their own request.

As it turned out, his threat worked.

He realised that he was indeed a rider of the greatest dragon living in the world and could use that as a negotiating card, that they needed him and the alliance he could provide for them.

Storm's End.

He only left her alone when he needed to deal with something urgent, always asking Helaena to stay by her side then.

He trusted no one but her.

To his surprise, his brother-king showed a surprising understanding and a kind of compassion he had not expected from him.

He did not mock or joke about the situation during the meetings of the Small Council, and asked if her health was improving, personally giving his permission for him to be able to stay with her day and night even though he was not her husband, against the wishes of their grandfather.

The power they had was turning against him and Otto felt this, his daughter was also no longer so willing to listen to him seeing what tragedy the decisions he was putting into her head had led to.

She had completely broken down after the day following his niece's attempt to take her own life, because word from Dragonstone reached them that Rheanyra had lost her child.

In him his mother tried to find understanding and words of comfort, but he did not speak to her or look at her, unable to forgive her for her betrayal.

He had hoped that as a woman she would show more sensitivity, more caution.

His niece lived as if half asleep, waking and falling back into a dream, not understanding who she was or what was happening to her.

As night fell he would pull off his tunic and boots, staying in just his chemise and breeches, lying down behind her back, embracing her, entwining their fingers, sinking his face into her fragrant hair, inhaling her addictive scent.

She purred then sweetly, involuntarily recognising him, her head tilting back, letting him place soft, warm, wet kisses on her long neck, his large hands tentatively trailing over her body covered only by her thin nightgown, trying to draw on the time he had left until it reached her what had really happened.

His cock throbbed hard in his breeches as she whispered his name, pressing against her buttocks; he sighed quietly then, rubbing against her but not bringing himself to fulfilment, punishing himself in this way, recognising that he did not deserve relief.

He wanted to burn with her.

After three days he was awakened by her quiet hiss; he flinched and opened his eyes, sensing that she was trying to get up. She stared at her wrists wrapped in a fresh bandages before looking at him and he already knew.

Her lips pressed together, her brow arched in pain and disbelief, her eyes glazed over with tears of helplessness, anger and disappointment, her body began to twitch.

"− my love? −" He whispered, but she turned away from him, laying back on the bed and wept. He put his arm around her waist and kissed her neck, feeling the squeeze in his throat, breathing erratically, tears of shame in the corners of his eyes.

"− I didn't know − I swear I didn't know about moon tea −" He muttered, but he knew it was for nothing.

She didn't speak to him then or for the next few days, not even bestowing a single glance on him.

He thought with a sneer that the roles were reversed, that now it was he who begged in his thoughts for her attention, for her forgiveness, and he wondered if she would follow in his footsteps and not speak to him for the next eight years.

He sat in the evenings in a chair by the fireplace, gazing at her silhouette lying on her bed, a book in her hand, her wrists no longer bandaged, her freshly healed wounds still red, dark lines on her skin reminding him of who he was and what he had done to her.

At night he would lie down beside her and embrace her from behind, stroking her hands with his thumbs, and though her whole body tensed and froze when he touched her, she never pushed him away.

It seemed to him that her silence was even worse than her words of condemnation.

The day he was to set out on his mission to Storm's End was approaching mercilessly and she still didn't know it; he had no idea how he should convey it to her, himself discouraged and bitter at the thought of being forced to marry another woman, of living in a purely political marriage, which although he had reckoned with as a child, after his father's decision, he believed he would never experience.

He thought, looking at her face, at the girlish, pleasing shape of her body, about marrying her in secret, but he knew that she no longer wanted him, and no Septon would agree to help him out of fear of the Queen and his grandfather.

A nuptials in the tradition of Old Valyria remained, however, it required a cooperation on her part that he did not expect.

Moreover, guards stood outside her chambers day and night, watching not only her but also him, his grandfather was prudent and seeing his involvement he knew that he would try to act behind his back.

Although he hid behind a stony, indifferent face he felt helpless and tried to find a solution in his mind that would give him more room to act, to lull his family's vigilance.

He decided that, for the time being, he had to act as his relatives wished, so that they would believe that he was going to do what they told him to.

However, he had no idea how he was going to reason with his niece, how he was going to initiate her into his plans when, for obvious reasons, she was no longer going to participate.

He finally decided, experiencing a kind of revelation, that he would write her a letter, just as she had done to him all these years.

He saw her lift her gaze to him from the piece of embroidery she had just worked on, a bird from the crest of the Arryn family, her relatives on her grandmother's side, as he moved towards his secretary's desk, from which he pulled out a quill, ink and parchment.

Her expression of who she was, who she identified with, whose side she stood on.

He didn't give a fuck.

He sank the sharpened quill into the ink and stared at the blank sheet of parchment for a moment, wondering what it was he actually wanted to convey to her, and then he began to write, for the first time in his life openly expressing what he felt.

He thought it was liberating in a way, his words flowed like a river from his mind and his heart.

My Rhaenys,

I set out on my journey to Storm's End to quench my grandfather and mother's thirst with a sense of injustice. It occurs to me that only now am I able to understand what you have been going through all these years, experiencing from me only the silence I deeply believed you deserved at the time.

I'm sure you think the same of me now, and you're not wrong, because I myself am unable to comment or justify what happened through my hesitation, which cost me everything.

I thought it is easy to see what is right and what is wrong, to choose the proper path, but after my father's death it became apparent that none of this was the case, and my mother's and my grandfather's decision set it out for me, against my will, and although I tried to stand up to it, it seems to me that the consequences of their actions have sunk me like a wave that carries me onward, away from the safe harbour that you are.

I want you to realise, my niece, that one word from you is enough for us to slit our lips and hands upon my return and drink our warm, mingled blood, sealing at last our destiny once and for all.

I, unlike Aegon the Conqueror, want you in my bed every night.

I don't think Lord Baratheon's mind can contain what we read about as children and that he would accept that his daughter would be merely a second, and moreover, unwanted wife in my life. Union with him may give us an army to wage war on, but my union with you may in my mind end it with the birth of our child, a descendant of the Greens and Blacks.

I am not, and will not be able to accept, either as your uncle or as your husband, Jacerys, Lucerys or Joffrey as heirs to the throne for reasons that are well known to you, and which neither the marriage nor the threats of your stepfather and your mother can change − we both know full well that they do not and cannot have rights to the crown.

However, Aegon's and Viserys's rights to it are strong, unassailable even by me, and although as your uncle I have no personal interest in your mother or her offspring sitting on the Iron Throne, as your husband I would be willing, as part of a truce, to agree that it should not be Helaena and Aegon's children who inherit the throne, but my half-sister's and my uncle's or, if both sides in the conflict were to be at least partially satisfied, ours.

I have spent the last few days reflecting on what has happened and on what I think would be a solution that would satisfy me, but it has turned out that there is none. Unlike my brother, I don't delude myself that your mother will bend the knee, any more than any person with any dignity or pride would.

We all have to sacrifice something.

He looked at what he had written being filled with awe at how many words were in his mind, how many thoughts he was afraid to say out loud, that one could perhaps even consider a betrayal.

His words to her, to his childhood friend.

He huffed at the ink, wanting to make sure it wouldn't smudge, and rolled the parchment into a scroll. He rose from his seat with a creak of wood, feeling her surprised gaze on him as he placed his letter on the small table beside her bed, and then left, informing his guards that in his absence no one but his sister was allowed to cross the threshold of her chamber.

He changed with the help of his servants into his rider's attire, his leather cloak and gloves reminding him of how long it had been since he was riding on Vhagar, absorbed in all the events of the past weeks.

Rhaenyra gathering her forces around Dragonstone, her wrath that reached all the way to the Red Keep announcing that she would take back everything she had been robbed of.

Her daughter and her throne.

He thought about this, heading for the hill near the keep where his dragoness rested, no longer fitting into the Dragon Pit, like he didn't suit anywhere, didn't belong anywhere.

His journey to Strom's End was unpleasant and tiring; he had the feeling that the heavens were trembling with rage, that he was defying, though not of his free will, his destiny, the storm around him and the rain made him see little and he had to be very careful, gliding between the peaks of the mountains.

When he finally saw the high stone stronghold on the edge of the cliff in the distance he pressed his lips together and thought he would choose the most annoying and unpleasant of his daughters, not to experience a single bit of sympathy towards her when she realised what fate awaited her.

He squeezed his eyes shut, thinking of his beloved, his Rhaenys, and felt his heart beat fast, elated at the thought that she had surely already read his letter.

He thought it was amusing that as he flew to choose his future wife, all he could think about was how much he wanted to marry someone else.

He was welcomed in the fortress with honours. Lord Baratheon with his wife and daughters awaited him in the great circular throne room lit by torchlight, all around them he could hear the thunders being muffled by the thick walls.

"My Lord." He said lowly, looking up at the tall man seated before him, his bushy eyebrows furrowed as if he was judging him as a candidate for a husband for his daughters.

He struggled to contain the grimace of amusement that pressed across his face.

"My Prince. At last you have honoured us with your presence." He said drily, with an impatience from which his lips involuntarily curved into a wide smile. He could see in his gaze that he did not like it, however he clearly cared as much about this agreement as his mother, for he decided not to make any further remark.

"Let me introduce you to my daughters." He said in a low, throaty voice, pointing with his hand to his side, his gaze lazily directed towards them.

They each had dark hair, tied up in elaborate hairstyles apparently meant to add to their elegance and refinement, braided in the back and smoothed in the front, their simple gowns, though sewn of the most expensive materials, looked faded and grey to him, their eyes dark as were their eyelashes and eyebrows.

They were not repulsive or ugly, yet he felt nothing at the sight of them.

The emptiness that taken over his mind was astonishing to him compared to what overwhelmed his body when he saw his niece years later then, when she had watched his duel with Ser Criston, when he saw her bare shoulders, her long, loose, wavy hair, her sweet, puffy lips, her big, bright eyes.

He shuddered, reminding himself of her beautiful soft bare body, of how wonderfully tight and warm her fleshy insides were, of her sweet, shy moans of pleasure as he opened her wide on his fat cock again and again with confident thrusts of his hips.

His manhood throbbed in his breeches so hard at the thought that he swallowed loudly and grunted.

He nodded and approached them slowly, measuring them with his gaze. Only one of them dared to lift her gaze to him – he noticed a barely visible amused smile on her face. He raised his eyebrows seeing this and thought that she liked to coquet and mock men.

Perfect, he thought.

These were the kind of women he despised the most.

"What do they call you, my Lady?" He asked in a low, deep voice that echoed around them.

The girl straightened up proudly, clearly pleased that she had caught his attention, her gaze travelling over his figure from top to bottom, she was just deciding, apparently, whether she thought him handsome.

"Maris, my Prince." She said softly, her voice low, not as melodious, girlish and light as his niece's.

"Hm." He hummed under his breath and shuddered as he heard a guard walk swiftly into the great hall.

"Prince Lucerys of House Velaryon, heir to Driftmark." He announced loudly, and he turned, feeling his heart begin to pound like mad, his lips tightening into a thin line as he caught sight of the silhouette of a black-haired boy, completely drenched from his journey.

When Luke spotted him at the other end of the hall he froze completely, pale and terrified – he felt a wild satisfaction at the thought that he knew he didn't stand a chance against him in a battle neither on the ground nor in the heavens.

He watched with a wide grin and a sneer as little Lord Strong in a trembling voice tried to persuade Borros Baratheon to support his mother's claim to the throne in accordance with his father's oath, and laughed aloud when it became apparent that he had come up empty-handed.

"Go home, pup. Tell your mother she won't call on me when she wishes like some dog." Growled Lord Baratheon, clearly self-satisfied that he could dismiss him with such ease, leaving him with nothing.

He felt like going after him, forcing him to fall to his knees before him and then gouge out his eye, to experience a wonderful sense of justice and atonement at last, but he refrained, recognising that his Rhaenys would never forgive him for that, so he merely looked away and sighed contentedly, grinning to himself.

"Was it not he who took your eye, my Prince? Are you going to let him just walk away?" He heard Maris's amused, mocking voice behind him and looked down at her with a gaze from which she lost her earlier confidence, her smile gone from her face.

"I have made my decision, my Lord." He said in a cold, indifferent voice. "Her."

Though Borros Baratheon's wife had insisted that he stay in Storm's End and not return to King's Landing during such a violent storm, he had replied that he would leave immediately.

Lady Baratheon looked at him then, tightening her lips, clearly wanting to ask something, hesitating whether she should do so, but in the end she could not bear it.

"It has come to my knowledge that Rhaenyra Targaryen's daughter, and your would-be betrothed, is your prisoner, my Prince." She said reluctantly, watching him intently, as if she wanted to see anything in his face that could tell her if he still had feelings for her, if this girl was any kind of threat to her daughter.

He looked at her with an intense, indifferent gaze until she turned her face away, swallowing loudly.

He hummed under his breath and left without giving either of her daughters a single glance.

As he left their stronghold he noticed with surprise that Luke was standing in the distance in the rain, quivering all over, looking at him. For a moment they did not take their eyes off each other, all around them lightning and thunder making the ground beneath their feet tremble.

"I want to see my sister." He called out to him in a shaky voice, forcing himself to be confident, and he snorted, turning his head away.

He wanted to humiliate him, to press his face to the mud and remind him that he was a fucking bastard, but he hesitated.

He licked his lips at the thought that if he allowed them to meet perhaps she would forgive him, believe that he was not her enemy, that for her he had not carried out his revenge, for her he had not killed, but had brought to her the man he despised so deeply.

His expression of goodwill.

"Fly after me, my Lord Strong, if you dare." He sneered and moved towards Vhagar, climbing the ropes to her back, settling into his saddle all wet from the rain to take to the skies with her a moment later.

He looked over his shoulder and spotted the figure of a small dragon among the dark clouds; he thought in the back of his mind that his nephew had been a fool, that he had been guided by his emotions rather than reason.

He decided to take him to Vhagar's lair, and then to one of the back entrances to the Red Keep which he used when he wanted no one to notice his disappearance.

After a few hours of travel, he landed on the hill and slid off his dragoness onto the wet grass, watching impatiently as his nephew took his place a piece away, looking at him apprehensively as soon as he jumped down, catching the hilt of his sword. He smirked mischievously at the sight.

"Don't be ridiculous, nephew. Fighting you would be a little challenge. Come." He hissed impatiently, turning and moving ahead, cold and wet just as much as he was.

"How do I know it's not a trap? That she's alive?" He heard his trembling voice behind him, full of fear and uncertainty, from which he sighed heavily, rolling his eyes, hoping his niece would appreciate how much he had sacrificed for her, how much he had put himself at risk for her.

"If I wanted to kill you or imprison you, I would, my Lord Strong." He said indifferently, stopping him with a gesture of his hand, seeing the guards walking along the wall above them, looking around; he only moved on when they were out of his sight.

They went inside through a small wooden door covered in ivy, which opened with a loud creak; he looked at him with disapproval, his eyes large, his face pale, he breathed loudly through his mouth, knowing he was a fool.

That if he took him hostage their mother's hands would be tied, deprived of her two children and two dragons she would have to bend the knee.

He contemplated whether to do so, whether it would perhaps end the whole war, but he decided that this one, and only one time, he would do something not for himself, not for his family, but for her.

Proof of how deep was his affection towards her.

"Wait here and be quiet." He growled and moved ahead leaving him behind, passing into the pits beneath the Red Keep itself.

He climbed the cramped side servants' staircase to the corridor into which her chamber was located and came upon the surprised guards, who awoke upon hearing his footsteps and stood at attention.

"Bring me my dry garments and inform the servants that I will take a bath." He said lowly, one of them nodded and immediately moved ahead, intending to obey his order, but the other remained in his place, looking at him uncertainly.

"Has she eaten anything today?" He asked him, and he shook his head, swallowing loudly, terrified apparently that he would blame him for such a state of affairs.

"Inform the cook to prepare some warm soup for her."

"Now, Your Grace? It's the middle of the night…"

"He is to prepare her fucking warm soup, I said." He hissed, the man nodded and also disappeared after a moment around a corner.

He walked into her chamber, and she pulled up in bed with a scream – he saw that her face was red with tears and he felt a squeeze in his throat that perhaps it was because of his letter, that perhaps she still loved him.

However, there was no time to think about that.

"− uncle? − what are you − stop −" She cried out horrified, not understanding what was happening, what he wanted to do, when he took a plain grey hooded coat, pulled her violently by her arm and forced her to stand up, putting it over her shoulders and head.

"− no −" She mumbled, but he pulled her forcibly out of her chamber; after what had happened to her she was still weakened and her resistance was having no effect.

"− I don't want to − you won't make me − I'm going to scream −"

"Be fucking quiet. Don't you want to see your little brother? Hm? I thought so." He growled, gripping his fingers tighter on her arm and heard her quiet squeal of discomfort, however, no more words left her lips.

They walked down the same path he had entered, walking for a while in complete darkness – he knew she had walked barefoot, that she was cold and uncomfortable, but they had no time.

They had to get back before the guards informed anyone that she was not in her chamber.

He let her go as they stepped out into the narrow corridor at the end of which Luke was standing, heard her draw in a loud breath and stop in mid-step, not believing what she was seeing.

They both looked at each other as if they couldn't believe it was really happening, completely shocked.

"Luke!" She cried out and ran towards him pulling the hood off her head – they threw themselves into each other's arms, both bursting into sobs like little children.

He stared at them impassively thinking about giving them a few minutes and then bringing her back and taking her in her bed, his cock swollen and hard, he hadn't experienced relief in days.

"A-are you all right? Did they hurt you? Why do you have a bruise under your eye? What is it?" He asked in a trembling voice taking her wrists in his hands, noticing the freshly healed cuts on them.

Luke looked at him accusingly, but she shook her head, grasping his face in her hands, stroking his cheeks with her thumbs, smiling broadly, happy and full of energy, as if awakened from a deep sleep.

"No, it was an accident. Nothing serious." She lied, and he lowered his gaze at the thought that he hadn't spoken a word to Criston Cole since that day, since he found out what he'd done, and the only reason he was still alive was because his mother had begged him to show mercy.

"Please, Aemond." His mother mumbled in a trembling, terrified voice, holding his shoulders, seeing his cold, angry gaze directed at her sworn protector.

"I'm not going to ask a third time, Cole. Did you hit her?" He hissed through clenched teeth, feeling that the bones in his jaw were about to burst with rage, his hands closed into tight fists, his chest rising and falling rapidly in uneven, ragged breaths.

Ser Criston lowered his gaze and swallowed loudly, standing with his hands folded behind him, clearly embarrassed.

"Yes, my Prince. I admit with shame that I lost my temper. I called her an undignified name and slapped her." He mumbled, not daring to look at him; he felt his lips part in a wicked grin that had nothing to do with contentment.

"Did you do it before or after you made her drink moon tea?" He asked in a mocking, matter-of-fact, sharp tone, and saw the glances that Cole and his mother exchanged, horrified that she had already told him everything.

"− Aemond, she cannot carry your child if she is to marry −"

The Queen began but her voice stuck in her throat when he locked her cheeks between his fingers in sudden, violent gesture, digging his fingertips into her skin, Criston Cole twitched not knowing what to do, her pupils dilated in shock and fear.

"I was the one who wanted her to run away with me. For her to give herself to me. I promised her I would marry her. And I fucking meant it!" He growled like an animal and shook her head as if he wanted her to finally realize what he was saying, felt tears of helplessness under his eyelids as he looked at his mother in despair, her gaze changed, she drew in air loudly, her eyebrows arched in pain.

"My Prince, for gods sake, it is your mother!" Exclaimed Criston Cole, and he let her go, panting hard; the Queen took a few steps back, breathing heavily, looking at him in disbelief and pain, holding her hand on her chest, trembling all over.

She did not recognise him.

"Return with me to Dragonstone." He heard Luke's quiet mumble and furrowed his brows, returning with his mind to them; he felt his heart begin to pound like mad, terrified that she would try to run away with him, his hand slipped involuntarily to the dagger fastened to his belt.

He swallowed loudly at the thought that he should have followed his instincts from the very beginning and just kill him.

"N-no. No." She said horrified, seeing in his gaze what he was thinking about, what he was prepared to do; she stroked her little brother's shoulders with hands trembling with fear, smiling again, wanting to comfort him.

"But you go. Tell my mother that I am faithful to her and that I love her very much. Can you do that for me?" She asked softly, her voice breaking as she spoke her last words.

"I won't leave you here. I will never…"

"You will leave. I'm begging you, go now." She muttered, releasing him, but his hands refused to let her go.

"Please."

"I can't, you have to understand me −"

"Time's up." He heard his own low, cold voice, saw her terrified look – she nodded quickly, wanting to be obedient and gentle, wanting him to remain calm, not to do anything under sudden rage.

"Go, Luke." She said.

"I'll set you free, I swear." He mumbled and let go of her hand, escaping at last, disappearing into the rain.

They both let out a loud, terrified breath and looked at each other uncertainly, his hand letting go of the hilt of his dagger. He felt some kind of deep, wonderful relief.

She stayed of her own free will.

He licked his lower lip in satisfaction at the thought that she herself didn't know what she thought of it all, her cheeks red from emotion and tears.

"How did you find him?" She asked quietly, looking at him uncertainly, as if she didn't know what she could expect from him. He hummed under his breath at her question, lifting his chin in a gesture of superiority.

"He came to Storm's End as an envoy." He explained matter-of-factly, approaching her slowly with his heart pounding faster and faster, feeling like his cock was about to explode if he didn't finally touch her.

She swallowed hard at his words, lifting her gaze full of pain and regret to him, her eyebrows arched in a clear sense of helplessness; he thought with delight that he was not indifferent to her.

"Have you made your choice?" She asked quietly, and he smirked, feeling that somehow he had regained his advantage over her, that she was jealous of him.

"Yes."

"Then I'm afraid you can no longer sleep in my chamber. It would not be appropriate." She said softly, not taking her eyes off him, and he felt his heart stop, his lips tighten into a thin line.

"After what I did for you? What I risked for you? This is how you thank me?" He growled, stepping closer to her, feeling burning rage and disappointment that she didn't throw herself happily around his neck, that what he'd done wasn't enough. She furrowed her brow, looking at him with fear and disbelief.

"I'm grateful to you, gods, I really am, but if you think I'm going to be your whore, you're wrong." She mumbled with pain from which he felt a squeeze in his throat, his body trembling with disappointment and rage.

"I don't want you to be my whore. I want you to be my wife." He hissed through clenched teeth, gripping his dagger, which he took out in a swift, sure movement. She squealed as he gripped her cheeks violently in his hand, her fingers tightened on his wrist trying fruitlessly to free her from his grasp, her eyes opened wide with terror as he pressed his blade against her lower lip.

"Don't move. Don't fucking move, I said." He growled when she cried out loudly and clenched her eyes shut as he slashed her delicate skin, a thin trickle of blood dripping from the red wound.

He passed his dagger into her hand, clenching it in her palm; he looked at her pleadingly, sliding his fingers into her hair, pressing his forehead against hers in a gesture of desperation.

"− I can't take it anymore − we both know it was always going to end like this −" He muttered stroking her cheeks, her hair, her neck, her shoulders with his hands, feeling that he was in some kind of frenzy.

"− kill me or marry me −" He said in a trembling voice; she drew in the air loudly, her gaze hot, helpless, terrified, full of pain, resentment, desire, regret, anger, exhaustion.

He looked straight into her eyes as her trembling hand lifted his blade, first stopping on the line of his neck, then grasped his cheek in her fingers – a low, surprised groan of delight broke from his throat as he felt the cold, astringent taste of steel on his lips, then the burning pain of sliced skin.

He looked at her dreamily, feeling that what she had done had aroused him even more, that he was about to throw himself at her and rip off everything she was wearing.

He watched her face as he took his dagger in his fingers and with a sure, shallow movement slit the skin of the inside of her hand. She hissed quietly, clenching her lips in discomfort, tears of horror, emotion, sadness and relief running down her cheeks.

He breathed loudly when he observed her as she did the same, creating a burning wound on his hand from which his warm, sticky blood dripped.

He clasped their bleeding palms together, holding the dagger beneath them onto which drop by drop flowed their mingled blood.

There was something at once frightening and divine about the sight, as if in a mysterious and only known to them way the gods of their ancestors had bound them together for eternity.

He lifted the blade up and licked it with a gasp of contentment as he gazed at her face; he hummed with delight as he felt that forbidden, tart taste.

He repeated the act and this time he held the blade to her lips; he felt his cock throb in pleasure in his breeches as her glistening, pink tongue ran over the bloody steel before his eyes.

He released the dagger from his hand and clung to her with his lips, both of them moaning loudly in pain, discomfort and pleasure, not caring about their wounds, realising that this was what their love had been.

Something so painfully fulfilling.

As much as he craved it, as much as he wanted to spend hours with his face between her thighs, he needed to feel her first, her hands helping him quickly unfasten the clasps of his coat and tunic. He untied the material of his breeches and tilted it aside, releasing what was beneath them, his manhood painfully hard and swollen, its tip wet with his own moisture.

He pulled her nightgown up over her thighs and grabbed her in his arms, lifting her, her legs immediately closing around his waist, her hands entwined in his hair and pressed his face against her puffy, sweet mouth.

He groaned low into her throat, meeting the tip of his tongue against hers, licking her and sucking her lips; they both clamped their hands tightly on their bodies as the fat head of his cock began to push against her leaking folds from below.

"− let me in − let me in, sweet wife −" He muttered between the loud dance of their tongues, teeth and saliva. She squirmed loudly as he slowly slid into her with a sigh of pleasure, her insides and thighs wet with her moisture, making him open her wide with one sure thrust of his hips.

"− Aemond −" She cried out sweetly as he began to root into her with thirsty, desperate thrusts, their whole bodies twitching and vibrating, her hands roaming over his cheeks, hair, neck and back, her throbbing, hot, weeping cunt clenching around him and sucking him inside, refusing to let him go, forcing him to pound into her with more brutality.

"− fucking mine −" He hissed out, tightening his fingers on her soft flesh, leaving a trail of blood on her skin and nightgown, slamming into her violently with his cock, thick and swollen with almost painful arousal.

He was panting loudly along with her, sensing that he was embarrassingly close to his peak, his thighs slapping again and again against her buttocks with a shameless splat of her moisture, her scent, her closeness, her whimpers filled his entire mind, leaving only bliss.

"− g-gods, uncle −" She mewled, tilting her head back, moaning like a whore and yet like a saint, sweet and loud, as if she was surprised at how quickly and suddenly fulfilment shook her body.

He felt her juices running down his thighs, soaking his cock; he sighed with some kind of relief when he finally let go, filling her to the brim with his warm seed, her walls squeezing him greedily.

"− fuck-fuck-fucckkk −" He gasped clenching his teeth, stunned by the pleasure and fulfilment that enveloped his body, his muscles suddenly soft, his body numb.

He fell to his knees with her and heard her squeal in terror, her legs and hands embracing him tightly; he rooted into her for a moment longer with sloppy, slow thrusts of his hips, wanting to savour the fact that he felt her again.

That she was his wife.

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @rwdkarla

[maritotoy]

MAUGA X Support/Medic Reader ((Part. 1))

NOTE: Believe it or not, I never realize how long I've written this one.

This narrative tracks Mauga's obsession with Y/N as it grows to the point where he is prepared to kill everyone who stands in his way. With this in mind, Mauga's commitment would gradually grow. He would start out softly and then this need on you would get stronger.

It all began when your talents were initially utilised for recruitment. You were a terrific help, willing to assist your teammates in whatever way they needed.

Your main issue was that you could never truly let them handle things on their own. As a result, it became increasingly difficult to care for yourself.

They promised you riches if you helped them fight back against their threat. There were only so many ways to profit from rival worlds, after all. You were aware that you were going into a whole new universe when you agreed, but you also felt that you had no choice but to accept them.

Ultimately, you didn't wish to pass away, did you?

It was stated to you when you first joined TALON Organization, that you should concentrate only on the battlefield. Up until you met Baptiste, an exceptional combat medic, it was great with you. Your shared enthusiasm for curing illness is what unites the two of you. It turned into a shared passion. As you try to acquire experience in several areas, like medical supplies, you both hope to discover some more useful abilities, like healing or even a unique kind of combat capability.

But you can hardly ever get to Baptiste, he's constantly at the top. Both a combat mercenary and medic. You're always looking for ways to sharpen your skills.

Even after meeting him again at your base and on missions, you are still determined to improve your ability to deal with any possible emergencies. Not until later do you find out what happens when a member of your unit gets injured.

Baptiste surged in, carrying an imposing stature and a solid, muscular frame. His voice sounded desperate, asking, "I'm sorry if I came to you! I know you are busy, but I need help with my friend, please, Y/N!" The urgency was so obvious that there wasn't much resistance. Even if he was a doctor himself, it must have seemed urgent enough.

Besides... You were in the right place to help.

You rushed over to his side and helped him stabilize his huge friend. "What happened, Bap? Are you hurt?" He didn't reply, but his eyes told you all you needed to know.

You fix your sight on his pal. He does not appear to be hurt or seriously damage. However, the man's body is completely soaked, which looks very suspicious to you. "Is he alright, Bap? I don't see anything wrong." He shook his head and gave a sigh.

"We were attacked. Mauga and I found the source of the enemy attack and got separated."

"How long has it been since then?"

"Four hours, maybe five."

"Do you have any idea of what may have caused the damage?"

"I'm not sure. However, I had already discovered him unconscious but unharmed on the ground. It should not take long for him to awaken.." You glance at the unconscious man again before you say, "Let me take a look at him." He nodded and stepped aside.

"Mauga could never be wounded by shots like that. Despite his size, he could easily absorb one hit thanks to his physique." He explains.

You crouch down and check on his comrade. He seems fine to you. There's nothing unusual about him, other than the fact that he's a bit too heavy.

You knew Mauga.

And with such.

You just don't know how to engage with him.

On a conversation? Yes. Your profession is your duty.

You don’t really get along with those who rely solely on themselves as an advantage, even though you respect their abilities.

The feeling is mutual. Every time someone gets hurt because of something beyond their control, you are there to help them.

Because that's your job as a medic.

You both have quite a difference in interests, though. You can't stand the fact that he’s so reckless, you can't understand why he doesn't think more carefully before he acts. As soon as he sees blood, it's always the most important thing.

Mauga stands tall, towering over his opponents with an impressive height of 7'5 ft tall. (My headcanon)

Mauga is a formidable opponent on the front lines thanks to his strong, muscular physique. His broad shoulders and thick neck gives off an air of strength and power, and his body is well-built, demonstrating his strength and capacity to deal severe damage to rivals.

Did I mention he has two hearts?

Unlike you, Mauga is a ruthless and cunning individual, driven by his own motivations. He never lets anyone interfere with his goals, whether or not they involve you. While he might act with reckless disregard sometimes, he is also able to calculate the best course of action.

Not anyone knows this. But you knew nontheless with Baptiste.

You may be underestimating him in some way, or you may have witnessed the genuine thing, up close and personal, but he always brags about his achievements without hesitation or shame. His fighting style turns wild and unpredictable when he fights. If Mauga doesn't want to win, he will take his time, before using ChaCha and Gunny, his chainguns, to grab the victory, and he won't give up until he achieves his objective.

He definitely is careless, isn't he?

"He's breathing just fine, Baptiste. I would say he is in perfect health, aside from the injuries, I can't detect any signs of any damage injuries either." You said as you stood up. Baptiste sighs relief. "I'll leave him to you doctor. Don't worry, I trust that you have everything under control." He says this to you while nodding in satisfaction.

This gesture of his is a way of gratitude towards the medic's work.

"I will be back later," he says as he leaves to make a round to prepare for battle.

While Baptiste was gone, you sat next to the downed mercenary soldier and begin to observe him. In the midst of his unconsciousness, he seems to be in a good state. There was no sign of discomfort or pain. His pulses are fast but steady, knowing that Mauga have two hearts, one that allowed him to replace his damaged, organic heart with a cybernetic one. That way, his heart will beat twice as fast. You can easily tell that Mauga is in his natural state.

Your eyes began to feel heavy after observing him for some time. You weren't sure if it's due to fatigue from watching him, or simply exhaustion from your duties as a medic.

Before you knew it, you fell asleep.

When you awoke, you find yourself staring back into the face of Maugaloa Malosi, whose lips formed into those flashing, same pasted smile as usual. “Ah, Doctor. How nice to see you again.”

You quickly wake up, sitting straight up on the chair. “M-Mauga!" You exclaimed, alarmed. "H-How is you- I mean are you feeling alright?”

He grinned at you. “I am feeling rather fine.” You let out a long, sigh of relief. However, you didn't anticipate that this would happen frequently. “I see..." You replied.

Silence takes over for a while. Mauga stared at you intensely before taking a step forward. “Your Y/N, correct? Baptiste little assistant. I've heard much about you, but never expect that I would get to get treated from you.”

You flinched slightly at his words 'assistant' and the word 'little', but you remained calm. “I'm glad that you feel better now. You should rest and recover. If you still need them..."

“I appreciate the concern,” he says as he reaches towards your shoulder. You instinctively raise your hands in preparation of blocking. This caught him off guard, causing him to pause in his movements, then booms laughing.

“My apologies, Teuila. I thought that you might have forgotten what I do here,” he said in that familiar, friendly tone.

“If I recall correctly, I haven't given you permission to touch me.” This comment caught him off guard as he chuckles deeply.

He stares at your hand for a while longer. You're beginning to become worried. After a brief silence, he reaches forward and lightly holds onto your wrist.

“That’s a very sensitive spot…” He whispers gently. Your heartbeat begins to accelerate. “And your pulse is fast. Is this normal?” he asks. “Yes,” you respond in a soft voice.

“Then why are you afraid? You know I'm not going to hurt you...” He grinned. His sharp teeth glinted menacingly in the dim light. "Surely you've already made a friend? You also gave him a lot of attention than you do with me. Or have you grown to dislike me?"

"...I... I beg your pardon-" your speech is interrupted by Baptiste with a tired expression.

"Hey... Sorry that I took so long. I went to gather supplies. Mission was a success." He sighed in relief as he approached you.

"Mauga, I'm glad your awake bud." Baptiste sighs in relief and smiles at Mauga. Mauga returned the gesture before looking back at you.

He still has that huge grin plastered across his features while his eyes darted towards yours. "You're crazy out there Mauga. Do you really think that you can defeat the enemies single handedly?" Baptiste says with a chuckle. “You know me Baptiste, I never do things without planning them out.” He grinned, revealing that row of dazzlingly white teeth. “I still don't understand how you've been knocked down so easily. It's hard to believe that you can be beaten like that.” Baptiste gives a half smirk, half frown.

You listen to their conversation, and you try to make sense of it. Mauga laughs at the situation, as if it's all so obvious. "C'mon, Baptiste, we have bigger problems than me right now. The mission is a success because we finally found the enemy camp. But it was a close call, and we needed your medical expertise to treat the wounded," Mauga explains to Baptiste while looking directly into his eyes with a sly smile. "I carried your massive ass in this camp with support of your weight alone. You ought to be pleased to have a subordinate with such skill." Baptiste smirks. He was referring to you. Mauga laughs at his friend's criticism, displaying his amusement at the circumstances.

"So yeah. It was pretty rough, but we managed to secure the objective! Isn't that great news?"

It's not really a surprise to you.

Mauga does tend to put himself in danger, especially when he's in an unfamiliar place.

This guy is completely reckless, which is why you can't believe that he managed to survive so many battles without falling apart or breaking down.

"Your a loose-canon, but I hope ended well..." you say calmly, hoping that you sound convincing enough.

"I can assure that I have the highest respect and admiration for your abilities as a medic. I would never doubt your skills, even if I hadn't personally experience how skilled you are in dealing with wounds." Mauga comments, he sounds sincere as ever.

Baptiste grins again. "That's a big ego of yours, my friend. You should consider giving a few compliments to the people who did more than you."

"I would love to, my friend, but there's nothing wrong with being modest about our accomplishments."

"Alright," Baptiste said, sounding annoyed.

--------

After several hours, days, months of treating your patients at base. You cannot help but wonder seeing Mauga quite often, whether that is purely because of duty or something else. Although it is difficult to tell what he's thinking, there are moments where you notice the way that he is constantly staring at you. Like he's trying to figure out something about you:

studying your appearance, facial expressions, mannerisms. Sometimes he gets lost in his thoughts, sometimes he appears to be lost in his own world, occasionally, you could catch him smirking knowingly, or even smiling to himself. These small gestures usually only occur during times when it's with you with him. Sometimes, the man is just too cheerful, or too energetic in general.

You could hardly handle the stress of handling all these patients in the infirmary on your own. You're starting to miss having Baptiste around to keep him occupied while you go through patients. You sighed loudly not until Mauga appears behind you

You found him with wounds on his chest and torso. You turn to look at him, "What happened?"

"Nothing serious..." He grins, showing his sharpened teeth.

"Just a minor injury, eh?" You raise an eyebrow at the mercenary, crossing your arms over your chest. Mauga simply shrugs as he sits on a table.

There was another period of silence between you two, and the atmosphere seemed to tense up considerably. This time, it's you who breaks the silence. "I'm sorry that you got injured. I don't know how I should react seeing someone else getting hurt so casually. You could have died out there. And that's not the worst thing that can happen," you said sarcastically and sternly.

He chuckles. "Oh really? Tell me more." He leans closer to your face, gazing deeply into your eyes. "Ah. So that's how it is."

You glare at him angrily, but he ignores you as you continue working. "Are you seriously going to mock me for worrying about you?"

"Not at all," he replied, with a hint of sarcasm. "But there is one thing that concerns me."

"What? You're going to insult me too, aren't you?" Mauga laughs while Y/N tends his injury.

The felt of your touch sends shivers throughout his entire body. He tries hard to suppress the sudden urge to grab her hand and hold on tightly. It's becoming harder to control these urges though. He shakes his head rapidly as he pulls away from you. He looks at you with narrowed eyes. "I'm not mocking you, you know?"

Your gaze flicks briefly to his. "Hm."

There was a short silence between you two, until you began to clean a cut on one of his legs. You noticed his gaze follow every movement of your fingers. "Why are you staring at me like that?"

"I'd prefer that you didn't ask questions so frequently, Teuila."

"Teuila?" You face him. "You know, I never asked you of this... But why do you call me that?" He lets out a deep chuckle and replies. "Because you look like Teuila. It fits well, doesn't it?" He flashes you a warm smile before turning his head away again.

You shrugged of his answer, continuing your work without saying anything further, although you were extremely curious. "Teuila... What does that word mean?" There's a brief moment of silence in between the two of you once you finished cleaning up the blood staining his leg. A faint smile plays across his lips again. "I thought you were better than that."

"And you think that you're better than me?"

"Yeah," he replies smugly.

"Then... You've obviously underestimated me, don't you?" You give him a challenging smirk. He returns the smile with a smirk of his own, but he then turns serious again. His eyes narrow. "Let me enlighten you. That name means 'flower'. Do you understand what kind of flower it means?"

You gave him a blank stare. He continues to smirk, waiting for you to understand his meaning. Eventually, you sigh, putting your hands on your hips. "Do I look like I care to know?" You scoff, rolling your eyes lightly.

Mauga laughs. "Well, I guess it doesn't matter what you think of it..."

There was silence between you two for a few seconds, and you looked away with furrowed brows.

You finish patching up the mercenary, placing some bandages around him and securing them securely. "Now that I finished helping you, you're dismissed." You professionaly said after you made sure that everything was covered properly. Mauga laughs at this. "Really? Now? Just like that?" He asks mockingly.

"Yes Mauga, I don't have any other duties besides tending to your wounds. I've been doing that for quite some time now," you responded coldly.

Mauga raises an eyebrow at this. "You know, if you start beginning to care about those wounds, you might find yourself losing them. If you want me to leave your clinic quickly, then you'll have to earn my trust first, which requires some work."

You sigh heavily. Of course Mauga will insist on making things difficult for you. "I am no doctor Mauga, I cannot cure your injuries." You sarcasticly said.

"Oh I know that. But you're still willing to take the risk." He chuckled.

"You wouldn't had to waste precious time coming here in order to talk shit."

Mauga laughs at you again, grinning like a cat that ate the canary. "I wouldn't waste too much time coming here either, but I also wouldn't be able to enjoy it quite as much because you'll be gone by then," he says confidently. "Besides, you're not exactly known for your patience." You roll your eyes, turning back to the table in front of you.

"You know I've always wondered what it feels like to be your patient," Mauga mused. "To be the one receiving the attention of the most skilled medic in your battalion."

"You must be joking," you replied, you know what he meant, not wanting to think that you would ever become his patient.

"No. You know me... " He grins. You groaned. "Don't' make such assumptions, we don't know each other all that well yet."

"Yet..."

You glared at him as he laughed. "Whatever. It seems like there's no stopping you, is there? We haven't even officially met yet, and already you're acting as if you have a good relationship with me." You sighed exasperatedly, massaging the area of your forehead in irritation.

"Listen, Mauga. My job is simple, I care for my patients and treat them well. Nothing more, nothing less."

"Oh yeah? Well, maybe I'm different," he said cockily.

"How? Are you not afraid of dying?"

"No... No I'm not... I've done so much more reckless things than death." His expression suddenly shifted to an emotionless one. For a moment, it felt almost as if he wasn't looking at you anymore. Then he chuckled softly, giving you a playful wink. "But I'm no saint."

"It must be hard to admit being human." You shook your head slightly.

"Sometimes." His grin returned to his features.

You couldn't help but stare directly into his eyes for a little longer, taking in how dark they actually are.

Mauga shows a huge plastered face. His still wearing his dumb smile.

You blinked at him.

He blinked back.

You rolled your eyes. "Stop smiling so much." He continued to laugh, as you turned away from him again. Mauga stood up and stretched lazily, "I have something to attend to, I'll be seeing you later," Mauga teasingly said as he made his way towards the door. He opens it, but he glances back.

A small smirk forms on his lips.

You watch him disappear outside the door, closing it behind him with a click. Once the door closes you let out a heavy sigh, resting your back against the wall behind you. Your heart is racing a mile, a minute, both at the prospect of having finally been alone with Mauga again, and the strange feeling within you after you spent several hours alone with him.

This feeling...

It's definitely not normal.

End of part 1

Part 2- ???

[navybrat817]

Writer's Block

Pairing: Lumberjack!Steve Rogers x Female Reader Summary: Steve provides you with a distraction after a frustrating afternoon of writing. Word Count: Over 2.6k Warnings: Explicit sexual content, vaginal sex (wrap it before you tap it), brief oral sex (f. receiving), dirty talk, swearing, slight feels (it's me), Steve Rogers (he’s a warning, okay?). A/N: Revisiting our lumberjack, I wanted to give you lovelies something for Sinday. ❤️ Beta read by the beautiful @sillyrabbit81, but any and all mistakes are my own. Moodboard and banner by yours truly. Divider by the talented @saradika. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Please reblog or comment as it means the world!

Masterlist | Steve Roger's Masterlist

You tapped your fingers against your keyboard as you read over the last line you typed, stopping when the sound began to annoy you. The silence bothered you more. It was too quiet in the cabin, even though it was done so you could concentrate. All you had to do was finish one chapter.

Just one.

The blinking cursor on the screen mocked you as you deleted the last sentence. There was nothing wrong with it, but it wasn’t right either. You fell back into that trap you set for yourself: always striving for perfection instead of progress. Writing is your job, and you want to do it well. Because of this, as Steve pointed out more than once, you tend to set your expectations too high.  

But it’s in my head. The words are there. Why can’t I get them on the damn paper?

Tears shimmered in your eyes as you shut your laptop, trying to blink them away as you slumped in your chair. Steve was kind enough to leave you alone for the afternoon so you could write in peace, but you hardly got a paragraph written. He told you more than once to give yourself grace on the days you struggled. That you may stumble, but you’ll get to where you needed to be when the time was right.

“Hey,” you heard from behind you. Sniffling, you straightened up. 

“Hey,” you replied, refusing to look behind you. 

“Sweetheart?”

If he saw you struggling not to cry, he’d ask what was wrong and try to fix it. As much as you wanted him to help, you also didn’t need him to save you from this. He helped enough people as it was and didn’t need to deal with a girlfriend struggling to write.

“I may take a break.”

“If you’re taking a break, why don’t you join me? I can whip up an early dinner or you can talk more about your story if you want,” he offered.

Your heart ached as you shook your head. He was always willing to listen to your ideas and gave valuable feedback when you asked for it. He was as close to perfect as any man could be.

“Actually, I can’t,” you said, not wanting to say the rest.

I can’t write this and it’s going to eat away at me. 

“You get started without me,” you added.

Your voice cracked on the last word and you closed your eyes as he began to walk toward you. The steps were deliberate, making sure you heard that he was getting closer. He did that when he wanted your attention, as the super-soldier could practically walk on air if he wished. 

“You sure?" he asked once he stopped at the chair, his warm hands resting on your shoulders. "Because you sound upset."

"I need to not think about writing," you muttered.

"I think you need to take a break and join me."

His words made you tilt your head back, opening your eyes to look up at him. Concern filled his blue eyes as you met his gaze and you resisted the urge to reach up to scratch along his beard. His blonde hair wasn’t even a mess despite how much wood he’d chopped earlier. It wasn’t fair that he was handsome from every angle; the mere sight of him above you made you clench with sudden and urgent need. 

“You don't just sound upset, you look upset,” he pointed out as you wrinkled your nose.

“You know, you usually ask me ‘what’s wrong?’ or you threaten to hurt someone."

"Do I need to hurt someone?" he asked. You quickly shook your head, not wanting him to get worked up over nothing. "I think I know what’s wrong. You feel stuck.”

And it's a terrible feeling.

"Seriously, Steve, how are you never a mess after you work? How do you always look so handsome?"

When in doubt, deflect.

“I’m a mess after some missions and don’t change the subject,” he said, his voice low as he brought a hand to the front of your neck. It swept gently over your skin, causing you to sink further into the chair as it rested against your chest. Your heart sped up, his touch drowning out the noise you didn’t realize was in your head. 

“Yes, sir,” you whispered, putting your hand over his as he inhaled sharply. You knew saying that turned him on and that wasn’t what you were trying to do at the moment. 

“You're stuck. Take a break," he stated, his thumb moving in slow circles as you nodded. The repetitive action served as a good distraction since you didn’t feel like breaking down in tears. “And, lucky for both of us, I know how to help.”

Of course, you do. 

“Care to share with the rest of the class?” you asked, smiling despite the frustration building within you. 

“You need to get out of your head for a bit.”

Easier said than done.

“How do you propose I do that?” 

He spun your chair around so you faced him, bracing his hands on each side of you as he leaned down. You caught a gentle whiff of the outdoors mixed with his cologne when you gripped his flannel shirt, inhaling the scent deeply into your lungs. Before you could pull him in for a kiss, he brought a hand to your lips to stop you. “I’m going to tell you and you’re going to listen.”

You opened your mouth to speak when he pulled his hand away, but you quickly closed it and waited for him to continue. You didn’t have to be a soldier to recognize his “captain” voice. It added to the commanding presence he had in the room and you wondered if he’d put you on your knees by the time he was done talking.

“I’m going to take you to bed. You’re going to shut this off,” he ordered, touching your forehead with his pointer finger. “I’m going to turn this on,” he added, making you whimper as he wedged his hand between your thighs. “And you’re going to take my cock until I say you’re done.”

Oh, fuck. But how is that-

“Do you understand me, sweetheart?”

Your fingers twisted in his shirt as you took a deep breath, The heat between your legs spread, his palm pushing against what belonged to him. You needed his cock in you, anything to distract you from feeling like an utter failure.

Being fucked by a super-soldier is something to be proud of, right?

As much as you needed the distraction, you still felt the need to push.

“Make me.”

His smirk was your only warning before he pulled you to your feet. “Better walk to our room while you still can.”

Steve had been proud of himself when he crafted the bed he had you sprawled out on minutes later, your clothes a heap out on the floor. You were certain he’d ripped your shirt in two, but you didn’t care. You preferred his shirts anyway. And the beautiful bastard still had all of his clothes on.

Even after he made you come. 

“Greedy, pretty pussy always needs more,” he murmured, his tongue pushing into your tight hole. He moaned as you twitched around him. “Oh, sweetheart, you’re dripping all over the sheets.”

You gripped them eagerly as he devoured you, his tongue alternating between circling along your walls and stabbing deep. He was relentless, hooking his arms around your thighs to keep you open for the onslaught. The evidence of your previous orgasm was all over his lips and beard, but it wasn't enough for him. He wanted to drown out everything except for him.

"Steve," you cried as the rush began to flow through you again. You struggled to keep your breathing steady as pleasure bloomed in your core. 

But he didn't let you come a second time.

“Need me to fuck you, sweetheart? Tell me you need my cock.”

"I need your cock, Steve. Fuck me, please!"

“Good girl.”

He pulled away with a smile as you lifted your head. Your pussy throbbed with the need to come, but it had to be on his cock. The tent in his jeans showed how badly he needed to be inside you, too. He wasn't ashamed to admit he got off on the taste of you. 

Who knew my pussy could be that powerful?

"On your hands and knees," he demanded, unbuttoning his pants as you managed to roll over and position yourself how he wanted you. Your legs shook from being so close to your orgasm only to have it pulled away. "Still thinking, aren't you?"

He couldn't see your expression, but the slight tension in your back likely gave him his answer. 

"I told you to shut that off." The disappointment in his voice made you whimper as he lined his cock up with your soaked entrance. "So stubborn."

"Pot meet fucking kettle!" you cried the last word as he gripped your hips and pushed deep inside you, the thick length making your walls burn. “Fuck.”

“Stop thinking,” he grunted, pulling you back hard as you whined. Your eyes bulged as he gripped the back of your neck and shoved your face against the mattress, making sure you turned your head to breathe as he set a rough pace. "Just fucking feel."

"Fuck, Steve, fuck," you chanted, the fabric of his jeans brushing the back of your thighs as he thrust. He didn't allow you to push your hips back, your breasts pressing into the bed, as he made you take him. He made you feel everything. 

"There you go. Take me. Good girl," he praised, covering your mouth as he stretched across your back. Though he was careful not to crush you, the hard snap of his hips was not faltering. "Shh. Keep being a good girl and listen."

Your eyes rolled back from how deep his cock hit, moaning “yes, sir” against his skin.

Steve groaned against your neck as he buried his face there, nipping teasingly along your skin. “I know you didn’t get your writing done because you were trying to be perfect. Stop. Trying. You already are."

Your cunt fluttered even as you tried to protest, the sound muffled by his hand. You reached up to try to yank him away by the wrist, but he wasn’t having any of that. It was as if he was trying to fuck away the doubt in your mind. 

And he was going to make you listen, like he promised.

"Your mind, your body, your heart? Perfect. Your words? Perfect. They’re all there inside you. I know they are.”

You wanted to scream in denial, but he was right about the words. They were there, locked away in your mind. You just had to turn the key to the right door and open it.

“And you know what?" he finally moved his hand away, only to slide it between the mattress and your body. His fingers found your clit, circling it quickly. "I'm sending you back to your desk after I fill you up. Might make you sit on my cock while you type. Get the words out of your head as I keep your pussy full."

"Please," you moaned, your body tingling as he thrust faster. You weren’t sure how much longer you’d last. Not when he was fucking you like a whore and speaking to you like a queen.

"Feel so good around me. Want you aching as you write.” He kissed over your racing pulse as he kept rubbing the bundle of nerves. He played you expertly, bending you to his will like always. “The more you get done, the more I’ll make you come. Think you can drown my cock with how wet you'll be?”

The breath was nearly stolen from your lungs as he pinched your clit. "I-I need it. Come in me."

"I'll come in you when you come for me," he promised, pressing a gentle kiss behind your ear. "Let me feel how badly you want it. Soak my cock. Drench me. My good, beautiful, perfect girl."

Spots danced before your eyes as you cried out, the coil snapping within you as you wave after wave of pleasure took over your body. The release went on, your legs shaking as you kept falling. It didn't take long for Steve to follow, groaning against your neck as he filled you to the brim.

You shivered when you no longer felt Steve against your back, letting him guide you so you were no longer laying on your front. He stayed inside you as he leaned down and softly kissed your lips, holding you close. You were glad for that because you weren't ready for him to let you go.

A few minutes passed as his mouth moved along yours now and then. You slowly caught your breath and came back to yourself. 

"Hey, sweetheart," he whispered when you blinked.

"Hey," you whispered back, touching his cheek. Your thumb brushed over his beard as you focused on his face. "How did you know I was stuck?"

And how do you always know what I need?

"Your laptop was shut and you didn't let me see what you worked on," he answered, turning his head to kiss your palm. 

Of course.

“So, I'm predictable?" 

"Only a little," he smiled, pressing another tender kiss to your palm. The tingles spread to your fingertips, like he was trying to spread inspiration with his love. 

It's working. 

"I almost told you to 'use your words', but I figured you would have smacked me."

"I might have," you half teased, making him chuckle. "Did you mean it? You think I’m perfect as I am, even my mind?”

“Especially your mind. No one can tell the stories you do. They're beautiful," he promised and your eyes closed briefly as he placed soft kisses all over your face. "Remember what you told me? You said some stories take longer than others to create and that writing isn't easy. Give yourself a break. If you don't, I'll remind you."

You burrowed further into his muscular arms. Being naked in his embrace was vulnerable with him being clothed, but you smiled when you realized that was part of the point. Creativity is a process of surrender, not control. By temporarily giving that control to Steve, you could let go completely.

And reminding you of the very words you told him was the icing on a much needed cake. 

“Thank you,” you smiled, brushing your lips against his.

“Don’t thank me yet,” he said, nipping your bottom lip as you gasped. “I promised I’d send you back to your desk filled with me, but I think you need one more here.”

“You also said you might make me sit on your cock while I write,” you reminded him, tightening involuntarily at the thought of keeping his cock warm. 

“We both know you write some of your best work after you’ve had a few orgasms,” he said, bringing one of your legs up to wrap around his hip. “Besides, I said you’d take my cock until I said you were done.”

“Who am I to argue with that logic?” you teased, tightening your leg as he kissed you.

Passion flowed through your veins as Steve deepened the kiss and the door in your mind slowly opened. You knew blocks wouldn’t always be easy to work through and maybe the perfect words wouldn’t come to you later, but you had a feeling the right words would. And you had your wonderful lumberjack to thank for that.

*****

What do we think? Should we explore more with this couple? I still need nicknames, but I adore their relationship. Love and thanks! ❤️

[lostmyremembrall]

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓐𝓹𝓸𝓵𝓸𝓰𝔂 𝓖𝓲𝓯𝓽

𝑆𝑒𝑏𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑎𝑛 𝑥 𝑂𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑖𝑠 𝑥 𝑀𝐶 𝐺𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: 𝑆𝑚𝑢𝑡, 𝐷𝑜𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑖𝑠; 𝐷𝑜𝑚-𝑆𝑒𝑏𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑎𝑛

You get the promised knickers, but you're flabbergasted by the fabric that hides nothing. They say every gift comes with a price. Are you willing to pay the price if Ominis and Sebastian ask you to put it on in front of them?

CW: NSFW. Stripping. Objectification of MC. MC put on pedestal.

-> Pt. 1 𝓣𝔀𝓸 𝓢𝔀𝓲𝓷𝓮𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓚𝓷𝓲𝓬𝓴𝓮𝓻𝓼 -> Pt. 3 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓜𝓸𝓻𝓪𝓵 𝓗𝓲𝓰𝓱 𝓖𝓻𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓭

Photos aren't mine. Please lmk if you know the owners!

“Thank you!” you gleamed, the shimmering eyes turning to your boyfriends. “What is it?” you looked down at a box, mysteriously wrapped in an elegant silver ribbon that you assumed to be the choice of Ominis.

“Just open it,” Sebastian’s challenging voice came from your right. His brows arched, the mischievous smirk playing at his lips. He stood not too far from you, his arms crossed in front of him.

Ominis, on the other hand, lay standing against the wooden pillar of the bed, his two hands tucked into his trouser pocket as he crossed his feet. A soft smile graced his lips at the sound of your elation, his long lashes elegantly shading his mercury eyes as he raised his chin.

With one last appreciative glance at your boyfriends, you opened the box.

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks at the sight that greeted you.

“This is–,” you swallowed hard. You nodded at the black lingerie neatly folded in front of you. It was very lacey. In fact, it may have been nothing but see-through lace. You fingered the fragile fabric, noting the luxurious fabric.

“Look at that, Ominis,” Sebastian grinned. “They’re speechless.”

“You like it?”

You raised your head to find Sebastian, his brows quirked in genuine curiosity.

“It’s, um…” you cleared your throat. “It’s thoughtful of you two.”

Sebastian was beyond exultant to hear your words. “I picked it, you know,” he chinned at the garment proudly. “Of course, Ominis had a say in it, since he was paying. His say was more… tactile,” Sebastian rubbed his chin.

You inwardly rolled your eyes. Surely, then, it was Ominis’ desire to feel you all over covered in expensive, fragile lace. And Sebastian’s to see you basically nude – and perhaps another garment to rip off of you.

You wondered, how long this garment was going to last.

“You know, I actually liked your undergarments that way,” Sebastian’s teasing eyes landed on Ominis with a smug grin. “All torn.”

“All useless,” you countered.

“Well, you’re welcome, since now you have something to wear to class!” poor clueless Sebastian couldn’t read the disapproval in your eyes at his bizarre suggestion. This was certainly NSFW. “Other ones are coming your way.”

You smiled, deciding amicable diplomacy was the way to go. “Thank you, you two. This is exactly what I needed,” you beamed at each of them.

It has been an urgent matter. The lack of undergarments to wear. For what it’s worth, you were thankful that they took the urgency and your scolding to heart, and were quick to fulfil their promise.

You smiled, folding the fabric neatly to put it back into the box.

“Put it on.”

Your hands paused. Your eyes darted to the blond that had been standing quietly in the corner, simply observing the ordeal.

You furrowed, your bewildered gaze briefly landing on the brunet before returning to Ominis. “Now?”

Ominis took a slow step towards you, biding his time. “Well… I do want to see my love satisfied with our gift.” Ominis paused, his sleazy eyes tracing down your figure with eerie accuracy, eliciting a shiver out of you.

Ominis’ lips held the same soft smile, but as he looked up at you through his lashes, there was something about his steely eyes that refused to take ‘no’ as an answer.

Your eyes flickered to Sebastian, who had so far made no move to stop or encourage his friend. His signature smirk remained in place as he watched the conversation unfold. But, noticing your gaze, he slowly made his way to the bed. Never leaving you out of his gaze, he sat at the edge of his bed. He’d made his stance.

The room fell into a tense silence. The bargaining, the waiting to see who yields first. You bit your lips, gauging the two. Sebastian’s expectant eyes continued to look up at you, his ravenous eyes holding you in place. Ominis’ eyes remained composed and indifferent as always, however, his lips curled at a victory he knew was in his grasp.

The silence between them was stifling. You desperately needed Sebastian’s banter, or Ominis’ surly comment on his abrasive jokes. But, neither of them came.

“Fine,” you hissed, snatching the fabric to bring them behind the divider in the corner of the room.

“In front of us,” a cool, commanding voice of Ominis chased after you.

There was something about his voice that gripped you at your stomach, unrelenting and unwilling to let you go. As much as he liked to pretend and look the part of a gentleman, Ominis was truly a depraved beast if he chose to be.

“Ten more,” you raised a brow. “And next time, I choose the designs.”

Ominis let out a huff of amusement. “Of course, darling. Anything for you,” he murmured, his shimmering eyes revealing his enjoyment at your little bites and barks.

You merely hummed, before abruptly beginning to undo your dress. Your chemise pooled at your feet as you stepped into the lacey bodice. The black lace snaked over you like fingers, wrapping around you snugly. You felt the constant domineering gaze of Ominis on your body, hidden behind his soft, gentle lashes, most likely imagining unwrapping and dressing you himself. His expression remained indifferent save for the single finger that tenderly grazed the bottom lip of his soft smile, his elbow resting on his other hand, tilting his head in content contemplation.

As you expected, it covered next to nothing. Sebastian, as expected, loved it. He let out a long sigh, relinquishing his breath to the goddess that stood before him. From the looks of it, he would have given you his every breath he was going to take for the rest of his life, if it meant admiring you for a second longer before his unavoidable death. His smug smirk had faded to that of awe. His eyes looked up at you in reverence, drinking you up as if you in this bodice were the only thing he needed to live.

“So.”

His cheerful voice brought your attention back to Ominis. He had kicked himself off of the pillar, stepping out of the shadow towards you. You felt cold. Under his nonchalant gaze, you never felt more naked.

His unseeing eyes traced your every curve, carving you up to serve a plate for himself. His hand rose to your abdomen, grazing the back of his index finger up your side, adeptly getting close to the side of your breast, but not quite close enough to touch it. You drew in a sharp breath at the shivering touch, your gaze following the finger.

The finger abruptly jumped to your chin, forcing you to look into his murky, all-knowing eyes.

“Happy?” he smiled, his brows arching in a question.

You hummed, determined this was never a gift meant for you.

“Sebastian certainly seems to be,” you mused.

Ominis hummed as well, his eyes flickering to the general direction above Sebastian. “A gift for him as well, then.” 

Ominis smirked contently.

A/N: Will be ending this series next time with a spicy prequel!

[middlingmay]

This fic is for @johncleven who requested a fic based in Stalag Luft III with music, dancing, and a confession from Bucky about Gale's name.

If anyone's interested, the song that appears in this fic is 'I'm Making Believe' by Ella Fitzgerald and The Ink Spots. I have not stopped listening to it.

Note: if you're here looking for technical accuracy on the mechanics and operation of illicit crystal radios, my friend you are in the wrong place. Suspend your disbelief and just go with it.

Enjoy under the cut!

The boys thought him the steady calm to Bucky’s frenetic energy. Probably even more so now, stuck in this camp. Whilst Buck had doubled down on his reserve and control, not letting a thing slip by the veneer, Bucky was losing himself to the need to be doing something but being rendered completely and utterly unable to do so. Like a dog on a chain.

But. What the boys didn’t notice, had never noticed, was that Bucky wasn’t the only one that needed to be doing. Buck had always felt the same, it just looked different. It could be reading a textbook or a manual, learning something useful, or playing chess to hone is strategic thinking. In Stalag Luft III, it was organising the boys, gathering and analysing reconnaissance, and most recently building a crystal radio.

He was fiddling with it now. The boys were asleep, and rather than lay in his bunk doing nothing, Buck sat at the rickety table, holding the earpiece in place, touching the clip to the coil.

Static.

Static.

Static.

Bucky shuffled in his bunk.

Buck hoped he wouldn’t wake. Like everything else about him lately, Bucky’s sleep had become erratic. He’d slept like the dead, before, but now even that relief had been stripped from him.

And Buck so desperately wanted to provide him with whatever reprieve he could. John Egan - their beloved Bucky - had been the rock of the 100th. He’d given all of them a willing ear, a supportive hand, a laugh when all they wanted to do was cry. And now, when Bucky desperately needed them to step up and do for him, they had nothing to give, nothing to provide that critical, momentary, grounding humanity he’d given to them so easily. Given away so much in fact, that he didn’t have any left for himself.

And losing Bucky, even to himself, was unfathomable. They were inexorable.

-aking believe… in m- … so far away.

Gale’s hand stilled.

It couldn’t be.

-wish you…could hear w…say.

He dropped the earpiece. Quiet and quick as he could, Buck dove to where Bucky slept.

This. This was worth waking him for. A fragment of humanity - and one of Bucky’s favourite fragments - dropped right into their laps.

Music.

“Bucky,” he whispered urgent in his ear, well aware even in his excitement that grabbing him would be a bad idea.

Bucky’s eyes snapped open. They flickered with fear for a split second before he clocked Buck’s apple cheeks and the delight in the eyes staring back at him.

“What? What is it?” He asked groggy but awake. “You hear something on the radio?”

Buck nodded. “Yeah. C’mere.”

Bucky untangled himself from the ratty blanket and trotted after Buck. Gale quickly plucked up the earpiece, worked the clip, and was relieved to hear the faint sounds still crackling.

He offered it to Bucky.

Oh and Gale didn’t think he’d ever forget the look that came over Bucky’s face.

It was like watching a man come back to life. Light flooded back into his eyes. A pleased flush gave health to his cheeks, and a smile Buck hadn’t seen since he called out to John at that barbed wire fence crept across his lips.

God, Bucky had laugh lines again.

In the quiet hush of their hut, Bucky whispered into the dark:

“And here, in the gloom of my lonely room, we’re dancing like we used to.”

Like the word was all he needed to be reminded that something like dancing still existed in the world, Bucky slowly, so slowly released the clip to stand and hold his hand out to Buck. Though he stooped so he could still hold the earpiece to his ear, as if he could hear the echo of the music he'd just let go of to ask Gale for a dance.

“They’re playing our song, Buck.” Bucky waggled his fingers and his eyebrows and in that moment he looked so much like the Bucky Gale had become part of, who had become part of him, that he could have wept. He was utterly powerless to refuse Bucky anything. It didn’t even occur.

Placing his hand into Bucky’s, and feeling a little smug at the pleased shock on his face, Gale let Bucky pull him close, though he didn’t miss the regretful look on his face when he had to put the earpiece down to do so.

Buck could do this. For Bucky. The boys were asleep and the night was as peaceful as it was going to get.

So, when Bucky tucked Gale’s hand safe between their chests; when he wrapped his other arm in a solid weight around Gale’s waist and Gale pressed his other hand in the space between Bucky’s shoulder blades, behind his heart; when Bucky began to lead them in his first dance in months -

Well, then Gale began to sing.

“I'm making believe that you're in my arms,

though I know you're so far away.

Making believe I'm talking to you,

wish you could hear what I say.

And here in the gloom of my lonely room,

we're dancing like we used to do.

Making believe is just another way of dreaming,

so till my dreams come true…”

Bucky watched him with wonder. Gale couldn’t watch him back, couldn’t bear the raw tenderness of it, and tucked his cheek against Bucky’s. Bucky pressed into it, and breathed Gale in.

“I'll whisper good night,

turn out the light and kiss my pillow,

making believe it's you.”

Buck’s voice vanished into the night and Bucky turned his head just enough to look Buck in the eye, forehead to forehead.

“Gale,” he breathed, reverent.

A prickle of nervous pleasure had Buck huffing a breath through a tiny smile. “Gale? What happened to Buck? He in trouble?”

Bucky shook his head and his skin rubbed softly against Gale’s. “Thought you hated ‘Buck’?”

Gale hummed. “There’s no Buck without Bucky, and I don’t hate that.”

Bucky pulled back a little. “No?”

And Gale closed the gap again. “No. I thought you hated ‘Gale’?”

John laughed gently through his nose. “As if I could.”

Gale made a little noise in his throat and lifted his eyes to Bucky’s. The space between Gale's brows was a little creased, confused, and Bucky knocked his head gently against it.

“How could I? Hmm? Gale. Know what it makes me think of?”

“What?” Gale near whispered.

“The wind. The skies. Flyin'. They’re beautiful, vast. Make me feel powerful, and freer than I ever felt in Wisconsin, before all this. How could I hate a name like that?”

Bucky brought their dance to its end and Gale just stared, raw and open.

He watched as the clinging vestige of John’s charm lifted Gale’s hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss there, with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Thanks for the dance. Gale.”

With a final squeeze of his hand, Bucky headed back to his bunk and burrowed back under his blanket, and Buck didn’t want to deceive himself, but he thought the other Major might have stood straighter and settled more peacefully than he had since he got here.

Buck felt a rush of pride at that.

[familyvideostevie]

Omggggggg I’m the anon who called you emmy im emma-barrassed (bye)

I have an apology request if you will consider!! For roosty - what about the first time you call him bradley? Like you’ve known him as rooster for whatever reason and then in all the flirty banter that comes pre-relationship, bradley slips out and for him it ✨feels fuzzy✨ idk I think you have such a talent for writing in the non reader pov in complete sincerity bye ily emmA

please don't be embarrassed!! :) this request was so fun and i think i went way overboard with it. but here you go! | fem!reader, fluff, pre-relationship, 1.6k

It's Natasha who brings you around. Phoenix has a much healthier social life than the rest of them and more non-Navy friends than Rooster, Hangman, and Bob combined. 

Actually, Bradley isn't totally sure about Bob. The man manages to be a mystery, even still. 

Not the point. Phoenix brings you to a night out and Bradley almost chokes on his beer. You trail behind her as you walks over to the group, looking like the prettiest thing he's ever seen. He's flown over mountain ranges and seen the Northern Lights twice and felt the cool kiss of sea air after he thought he'd die in the sky but even still, you seem to rewire his entire brain. He wonders if this is what his dad felt like when he saw his mom.

His heart races in his chest and he wills himself to keep it cool. You're meeting a bunch of navy guys for the first time and he'll be damed if he pulls a Hangman and tries to pick you up right away. 

He just wants to know your name. And your phone number. But that can wait.

"Alright, assholes, listen up," Phoenix calls. "Fall in." There are eye rolls and snickers but everyone shifts so that you have a clear view of the group. "Coyote, Payback, Fanboy, Bob, who you've met before, Hangman, and Rooster." Your gaze goes down the line as she introduces everyone -- Bob gets a smile from you and damn, Bradley wants to be on the receiving end of one of those -- and when Phoenix tells you his callsign, he salutes. You huff a laugh. "They all have real names, but you have to talk to them for those."

"Welcome to beer night, civilian," Hangman says. Bradley fights the urge to roll his eyes. "Gonna tell us who you are?"

He has to hand it to you -- you don't look nervous to be with a new group of people at all. You speak for the first time, telling everyone your name and Bradley swallows at the sound of it. Pretty name for a pretty girl. 

"Now the real question," says Bob, "is what you're having to drink."

You come around to most of the group gatherings after that, becoming close with some of the girlfriends and making sure to chat with the guys, too. Bradley doesn't want to get his hopes up, but he thinks you talk to him the most. About music, his car, your job, flying. Anything at all, you can turn it into an hours-long conversation with him. 

Not only that, but he knows you're flirting with him. Well, he's pretty sure. And obviously, he's flirting with you. Your hand is always on his arm, his shoulder, his elbow. He's almost positive you look at his lips a fair amount when you're talking. But, most importantly, you seem to feel comfortable around him, moving in and out of his space without hesitation, handing him your drink when you got the bathroom. At the very least you like him enough to trust him. 

There's just one hangup. You only ever call him Rooster.

That is probably mostly his fault. He's never actually told you his name is Bradley, though he knows you know it, since you've heard the others use it. Maybe you think he doesn't want you to call him that. 

But then. Oh, but then. 

Tonight is another regular beer night. Bradley is holding your drink because Phoenix beckoned you off to the bathroom for what looked like some urgent business he does not need to know about. His eyes scan the room out of habit and he wonders if anyone would be down to get some food at the drive-thru down the road. He's DD tonight and man, he's hungry.

"Bradley," someone says. He blinks once, twice, because he's swears that's your voice, and then your hand is on his elbow and it really is you. His stomach feels like he's flying upside down. His name sounds totally new from your mouth. He loves it.

"Yeah?" he says, looking at you. Phoenix is nowhere to be found and you look...nervous? He's not seen this expression of yours before. It makes the swooping in his stomach turn sour. "Hey, are you okay?"

You soften at his concern. God, you're pretty. "I'm fine," you say. "It's just --" You look over your shoulder and he sees Phoenix leaving the bar with someone she's clearly taking home. "You're DD, right?"

"For anyone who needs a ride, yeah," he says. "And it looks like your ride just left. Damn, good for her." You laugh and Bradley relishes the sound. 

"Do you mind driving me home? When you want to leave, I mean?" He realizes he's still holding your drink and he holds it out for you to take. Your fingers brush his and he fights the urge to run his thumb over the back of your hand. 

"'Course I don't mind," he says. "Y'know, I'm kind of hungry. Maybe you finish that and we go get something to eat?"

"I'll do you one better." You hold up a finger, telling him to wait, and turn to look for someone in the crowd. "Hey, Hangman!" you call. Seresin appears moments later, smirk firmly in place. 

"How can I help you, my dear?" Bradley doesn't hide his eye roll this time. You hold out your beer.

"Bradley and I are leaving," you tell him. Hangman's eyebrows disappear into his hairline, but he takes your beer. His eyes bounce between the two of you, but you don't back down from the implication that you're leaving...together. Bradley tries to squash the unnecessary and unwarranted male pride he feels. 

"Are you now," Hangman drawls. "Well, alright then. You kids have fun." He takes a sip of your beer and inclines his head at Bradley just a bit. 

"Does everyone else have a ride?" Bradley calls. The rest of the crew nod, and he guides you out of the bar with a light hand on your back. 

"Thank you," you tell him once you're outside. "Natasha said you'd say yes, but I didn't want to assume." He wants to tell you he'd drive to the other side of the damn country if you asked him to.

"You're a good wingwoman," he says instead. But he can't help himself. "I'll always give you a ride home." You flash him a shy smile and he returns it. You called him Bradley. "You want to get some food?"

You hop into the Bronco. "Hell yeah I do, Bradshaw." It's actually embarrassing how his heart skips a beat this time. He waits for you to click your seatbelt before he backs out of the parking lot.

"So, give me the details on this guy Phoenix left with. If that's allowed." You turn your entire body to face him before launching into the story of how she met him a few weeks ago and actually he's been texting her and Bradley doesn't reallyhear all of the details because he just likes to listen to your voice. God, he wishes he could look at you properly. You talk with your hands and chew on your lip as you try to recall specifics. He thinks he might be obsessed with you.

"This is nice," you say suddenly, and he realizes the story is over. He turns to look at you for half a second and finds you staring out the window. "Hanging out, just us. We should do it more often." You sound soft, maybe even a little unsure. 

"You think so?" he says lightly. You turn back to look at him and he eyes you as he drives. Your eyes on him feel like a trail of fire. He almost pulls over so he can hold your gaze.

"I do," you say softly. He hums, unable to stop his mouth from curling up at the edges. He taps his thumbs on the steering wheel again.

"Me too," he says. "Anytime you want." He means it.

"I'll hold you to it, Bradley," you say. He pulls to a stop at the red light just before the drive-thru and turns to look at you. You've got mischief in your eyes. Oh, now he's sure you've been using his name on purpose. 

"Wanna explain that?" he says, dipping his chin and raising his eyebrows. You turn away from him and tilt your nose up in the air. 

"Explain what?" you say primly. You're going to make him work for it, make him admit that he likes it. He finds that he doesn't mind. 

"You've always called me Rooster." The light changes but there's no one behind him so he doesn't move for a few seconds so you'll look at him again. You do. He feels his breath catch and he has to swallow.. "Why the change?"

"Bradley, the light," you say. He turns back to the road and drives. The air in the cab of the Bronco shifts suddenly and from the corner of his eye he sees you steel yourself and reach out slowly, ever so slowly, to brush back some of the fringe that's fallen on his forehead before pulling back.

He inhales sharply. "I wanted to try it out," you say. He turns into the drive-thru lane and pulls behind the few cars in line. "Is it ok?"

Now that the car is fully stopped, he shifts in his seat to turn to you. He loves the dance, he loves the chase, he loves this push and pull, but more than anything he wants what's next. So he decides to lay all of his cards on the table. "Sweetheart," he says. Your eyes widen. "I think you could call me anything you wanted and I'd like it."

"I'll keep that in mind," you say. And then the tension snaps and you burst in to laughter, reaching out to rest a hand on his bicep as you do so. He catches your giggles, feeling lighter than he has in ages. Yeah, he thinks. This is just the beginning. 

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, masterlist here!

[robininthelabyrinth]

The Other Mountain - ao3 - Chapter 31

Pairing: Lan Qiren/Wen Ruohan

Warning Tags on Ao3

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

Perhaps sending an urgent message to summon Lan Qiren back to his side at once was a little excessive, given that there was no genuine need for such urgency, but Wen Ruohan did not especially care. Would it be thoroughly undignified to admit that he was sulking?

Because he might be sulking.

“Oh no, you are definitely sulking. Unbelievable amounts of sulking,” Lao Nie said, quite cheerfully.

“I’m not sulking,” Wen Ruohan informed him firmly, only to have Lao Nie nod at him with an air of deep wisdom and exactly zero belief, an expression which he somehow managed to make simultaneously both condescending and scornful. “I am not!”

“Of course not. What a ridiculous thought. Why would you ever sulk? What possible cause could there be for your sulking?”

Truly, Lan Qiren had been indisputably correct when he had described Lao Nie as the most obnoxious man in the cultivation world.

“Are you going to help or not?” Wen Ruohan scowled at him. He hated having to need Lao Nie for anything – as he unfortunately now did.

Qingheng-jun had surrendered, and so, out of lack of better options and cursing himself for a fool the entire time, Wen Ruohan had taken him prisoner. But with Qingheng-jun’s strength and cleverness, Wen Ruohan didn’t dare entrust him to anyone he wasn’t certain could defeat him in battle, and never mind that he was disarmed and technically had surrendered voluntarily.

Tragically, that left only himself and Lao Nie.

And between the two of them, it couldn’t be him, because if Qingheng-jun didn’t stop smirking, Wen Ruohan was going to give up on all of his good intentions and just haul off to murder the man.

It would feel so good, too.

“Yes, yes, I’ll take custody of him,” Lao Nie said, rolling his eyes at him and even sticking out his tongue at him like a child. “I’m always willing to help, Hanhan, you know me. Now go off and pine for your sweetheart like some adolescent with a crush.”

“I do not pine.”

“Mm, right, right. And you don’t sulk, either.”

“I am not sulking,” Wen Ruohan sulked. “It would be immature.”

“Hanhan,” Lao Nie said, with great affection. “You are immature. It’s part of your charm.”

Wen Ruohan had been so offended by that suggestion that he’d nearly managed to forget about Qingheng-jun for a whole shichen thereafter, which in retrospect was probably at least part of what Lao Nie had intended. Wen Ruohan would reluctantly admit that he did have something of a bad tendency to dwell overmuch on things that had gone wrong, or which did not please him – which was not the same as sulking – and at present there wasn’t time for that. He had more than enough to do, between managing the increasingly worried residents of Lanling City, managing the increasingly irritable Madame Jin, and managing his own army, which had finished collecting the cursed coins…not to mention figuring out what to do with the coins now that he’d started to amass quite a collection of them.

Currently he was thinking of just throwing them in the smelter and calling it a day.

Yes, he could probably figure out a way to remove the curse if he put some time and effort into it.

No, he did not care enough to do that.

There was really no point in studying the coins themselves – if he wanted to learn more about the curse, he could just ask Lan Qiren to dig up whatever weird Lan sect book he’d found it in, or for that matter interrogate Qingheng-jun himself. On the other hand, melting down the coins would help break down the curse, making it easier to banish it using standard arrays and talismans against resentful energy. The only reason to go to the effort of preserving the actual coins themselves in their present form was if someone wanted to keep them as they were.

Which, being as they were cheap gaudy trash no one actually wanted, no one did.

Wen Ruohan supposed that there was some argument to be made that the coins represented the last thing Jin Guangshan had created in his life, give or take some bastard children yet to be born, and therefore ought to be maintained as some demonstration of respect.

Which settled it. They were going into the smelter for sure.

There was also the matter of arranging for both Jin Guangshi and his family and little Jin Zixuan to go to the Nightless City. Wen Ruohan had thoughtfully managed that matter on Lan Qiren’s behalf, mostly through a combination of loudly blaming Madam Jin for the various issues they’d encountered since arriving in Lanling City (assassinations, deliberate obstruction, and so forth) and making a number of pointedly implied threats related to exposing the depth of her husband’s involvement in the matter of the cursed coins.

It wasn’t that difficult an accusation to make. There were already all sorts of rumors going around Lanling City (and indeed the entire cultivation world) about Jin Guangshan’s so-unfortunate death, the nature of the Wen sect’s quite justified retaliation for what had happened at the Lotus Pier, and even some clever people who’d made an effort to connect it all to what had happened so recently in Xixiang. Madam Jin and Wen Ruohan both knew quite well that it wouldn’t have been hard at all for Wen Ruohan to push the rumors in a direction that would have been utterly disastrous to Madam Jin’s attempts to retain legitimacy and maintain Lanling Jin’s face and power in the cultivation world. Even for someone who was as cunning as she, there was no choice but to yield in the face of evidence that her husband had tried to murder not merely a rival sect leader, but the entire cultivation world, though Madam Jin certainly made a decent effort.

She particularly hadn’t wanted to give up her son.

Such a pity for her, then, that the person extorting her was not Lan Qiren, who would probably have tried to appeal to her better nature (likely non-existent) or the health and happiness of her son (probably irrelevant to her beyond him being healthy and alive) or maybe even to the greater good (even less relevant), but rather Wen Ruohan, who had no problem skipping the solicitude and going straight to outright blackmail.

Wen Ruohan might have had more sympathy for Madam Jin’s position if she hadn’t shifted so smoothly over from genuine concerns about Jin Zixuan’s well-being – which had faded rather quickly as soon as she’d realized that Wen Ruohan intended to put Lan Qiren in charge of him, right alongside his own children, thereby guaranteeing him both the most prestigious education in the cultivation world and a chance to make valuable future political connections both – to political calculations designed to shore up her own power as regent. It wasn’t as though Wen Ruohan couldn’t respect someone using wits and ruthlessness to get ahead, but for personal reasons he felt a particular level of distaste for Madam Jin’s obvious attempts to use the taking of her son as hostage to as leverage to get all sorts of assurances that Wen Ruohan would replace the benefits of her son’s presence with his own promise of support.

As it was, Wen Ruohan simply ignored her requests, whether implicit or stated outright, and instead followed Lan Qiren’s idea of referring her to his army any time she had an objection to his proposed plan. It was objectively hilarious how many colors her face turned every time he reminded her of it.

Coins handled, army settled (and military discipline strictly maintained, as promised), Lanling City’s domestic leadership reassured – really, Wen Ruohan had been very productive. Far too busy, certainly, to be said to have been sulking.

Not that he would be. Because he wasn’t. Just like he wasn’t pining, because that would be absurd.

Why would he pine?

Lan Qiren was his. They were married, together for a lifetime. They had all the many years of the future to be together, and if Wen Ruohan had anything to say about it, there would be very many years indeed. Lan Qiren had given him his heart, had fallen in love with him, and the Lan of Gusu Lan took such things incredibly seriously – and Lan Qiren more seriously than most.

It wasn’t as though he were suddenly going to change his mind just because he’d gone home for a visit.

Lan Qiren didn’t change his mind easily about anything. He didn’t like change at all, and he’d already gotten accustomed to the Nightless City. There was really no need to worry that he would be swept by a wave of nostalgia and homesickness upon visiting the Cloud Recesses and refuse to return. Nor was he so lacking in spine that his Lan sect elders would be able to bully him into staying by demanding that he return to his duty, or succeed in any effort to try to split them up, to force him to request a divorce…not that Wen Ruohan would ever grant one.

There was no need to worry, so Wen Ruohan didn’t worry.

He certainly didn’t pine.

He’d called Lan Qiren back because he needed help in managing all the things he had to do, and that was all.

Yes, fine, technically, none of the things Wen Ruohan was doing at the moment actually required Lan Qiren’s presence, much less urgently. Lan Qiren’s particular talents aside, Wen Ruohan was far better suited to diplomatic political maneuvering of the sort he was currently engaged in with Lanling Jin. His army was largely self-sufficient, he was accustomed to managing all sect matters on his own, and there wasn’t much he could do to help encourage the coin collection in the other Great Sects, since they would only grow less cooperative if he got involved. Even dealing with Qingheng-jun wasn’t that urgent, though naturally it’d be better to resolve that matter sooner rather than later.

There was no actual need to summon Lan Qiren back.

Wen Ruohan just wanted him back.

Which had nothing to do with pining, no matter what Lao Nie might imply. Life was simply more interesting when Lan Qiren was around. Life was simply better when he was around.

Really, Wen Ruohan had to hand it to himself: with each passing day, he grew increasingly assured of his own brilliance, both in general and specifically for his genius move of having sought and obtained Lan Qiren in marriage when he had. He would never again encounter such a heaven-sent opportunity to steal such a precious treasure from another Great Sect, not even if he destroyed them all and raided their treasuries to claim them for his own. Lan Qiren was the finest treasure he would ever be able to find, a pearl beyond pearls, priceless and unique, and he was his.

Wen Ruohan wasn’t giving him up, not for anything. Even if the Lan sect now regretted giving him up, as surely they must, it was surely too late…

“Sect Leader, report! Senior Lan has arrived.”

“Good,” Wen Ruohan said, brightening and setting aside the paperwork he’d been dawdling over. “Send him over to me at once.”

He was admittedly curious to know how Lan Qiren’s efforts to scold his sect into virtue had gone. Wen Ruohan was, on account of his personal age, one of the only sect leaders not to have to deal with the baggage of sect elders, and he greatly appreciated having that freedom. Still, he certainly remembered what sect elders were generally like – and not especially fondly.

They were always a bunch of old farts that thought they were due deference if not outright groveling by the younger generations just because they’d managed to not die, each one of them puttering around and opining on things that didn’t concern them as if unable to resist the urge. His Wen sect was well rid of them, in Wen Ruohan’s view! Still, during the period that his own sect elders had been alive, that seemingly endless collection of uncles, aunts, older cousins, grand-uncles and the like, even he hadn’t dared go forth and lecture the whole lot of them for their unethical behavior, as it seemed Lan Qiren had been planning to do. Whatever happened, it would make for an interesting story, even if Lan Qiren was almost certain to tell it in the dullest way possible; he was the sort of person to treat miracles as commonplace.

Anyway, Wen Ruohan had his own news to share. The matter with Qingheng-jun…

No, he wasn’t going to think about that at the moment. Nothing was going to spoil his reunion with Lan Qiren, not even his own sulking.

His own bad mood, he meant. Not sulking. Because he wasn’t sulking.

And then Lan Qiren walked in, healthy and here, and Wen Ruohan really wasn’t sulking any longer.

“You’re back,” he said, unable to hide his pleasure.

“And you are well,” Lan Qiren said, looking visibly relieved – and notably more powerful than the last time Wen Ruohan had seen him.

Not literally glowing, the way he had immediately after their dual cultivation, so filled with spiritual energy that his skin had seemed almost luminescent, but nevertheless genuinely more powerful, in a solid and stable sort of fashion. He’d somehow managed to assimilate all the power they had generated into his golden core, rather than using it up or needing to break it down over time.

Very impressive.

Not that he would ever be anything less.

“Of course I’m well,” Wen Ruohan said, arrogant as always, and enjoyed how his self-aggrandizement only made Lan Qiren look amused. “Are you implying that you doubt my skills…?”

Lan Qiren snorted, the tension flowing out of his shoulders: it seemed he really had been worried, which might have been genuinely annoying if the battle hadn’t actually been quite difficult. “Merely your communication skills,” he said, his amusement settling into simple contentment. “You sent an urgent summons, so I thought something might have happened. You could have clarified in your missive.”

If Wen Ruohan had clarified, Lan Qiren might not have arrived so quickly. Though perhaps Wen Ruohan could see to it that next time, in his benevolence, he would include a small note confirming his well-being, if only because it would spare Lan Qiren some unnecessary panic.

Provided that Lan Qiren properly appreciated him for doing so, of course. He had ideas on how.

“I am nevertheless quite pleased to see you alive and well, even if it is no more than I had expected. Obviously I would never have left you to manage alone if I had had any actual concern,” Lan Qiren said, which was a very nice balm for Wen Ruohan’s ego. “What ended up happening in the end? Is my brother…?”

Wen Ruohan grimaced, his poor mood immediately rushing back to him at the reminder.

“He’s alive, unfortunately,” he said, lips twisting in disgust. “He surrendered, right at the very end before I could finish him off. He even had the gall to mock me for my restraint, knowing that I would not execute a prisoner on your behalf without a fair trial. I had to entrust him to Lao Nie just to keep from employing further violence…!”

He trailed off. Lan Qiren was smiling warmly at him, approval written in every line of him.

It was worth every single one of Qingheng-jun’s smirks.

“I assume that that approach meets with your approval,” he added haughtily, fishing for compliments. “Naturally I would have had no such restraint if it were up to me, especially since we both know that it will be easier to keep his misconduct secret if he is already dead. But I know you have scruples, and will undoubtedly insist on having all the relevant accoutrements…”

“A trial is not an accoutrement,” Lan Qiren said, but he was still smiling. “It may make things more difficult, I admit, but what will be will be; we will find a way through. You did very well.”

Wen Ruohan preened. Of course he had.

“I will be expecting an appropriate reward, of course,” he said, which made Lan Qiren laugh.

“Of course, that is only natural,” Lan Qiren agreed. “Positive reinforcement is a critical part of pedagogy. It is only reasonable that good behavior deserves a commensurate reward, and I intend to reward you thoroughly.”

Wen Ruohan smirked. “I should hope that you’re not using this particular type of positive reinforcement with any of your other students.”

Lan Qiren gave him an admonishing look, though the fondness he couldn’t conceal undercut the severity of it. “Do not be vulgar. Do I need to turn you over my knee again?”

Wen Ruohan wouldn’t mind.

In fact, he itched to take Lan Qiren to bed right away, forgetting everything else. Lan Qiren had come straight to him, not even having washed the (metaphorical, given Lan sect robes) dust of the road off his boots. He had not eaten, had not rested, had not deviated in the slightest, as if he was just as desperate to see Wen Ruohan as Wen Ruohan had been to see him.

It was immensely gratifying.

He wanted…but there would be time enough for that later, when Lan Qiren had had some time to recover and would be able to perform at his best.

“Tell me first about your visit to the Cloud Recesses,” he said, and Lan Qiren’s expression somehow managed to get even more approving. “I can already see that you had the opportunity to consolidate all that spiritual energy. I take it everything went well?”

“Very well. Better than expected, even.”

He then relayed the story, which turned out to involve a formal ethics debate – only in Gusu Lan, really, what unbelievable weirdos – and some really rather fascinating bits of information about what had happened in the past with Qingheng-jun and his unfortunate wife, as well as the ultimate result and disposition of events.

“Do you think Lan Zhengquan will be executed?” Wen Ruohan asked, mildly curious. “Or merely confined involuntarily?”

“Involuntary confinement is not ‘merely’ anything. But, in answer to your question – yes, in this instance, I believe it is likely that he will be executed following a proper, if confidential, trial. I may disagree with everything Lan Zhengquan has done, up to and including the justifications he put together for his behavior and that of his brother ten years ago, but I will not deny that he has the courage of his convictions. If he remains unwilling to abandon those justifications even in light of the evidence and final judgment against him, he is within his rights to demand an execution, which will be carried out at an appropriate location outside of the Cloud Recesses.”

“A pity.”

Lan Qiren arched his eyebrows. “I agree with the sentiment, but for whatever strange reason I suspect our regret comes from different sources. I regret the loss of life, and the loss of the wisdom, experience, and advice that Lan Zhengquan would have provided the sect, should he instead have been able to accept correction, sincerely repent, and live on. Whereas you…?”

Such sentimental tripe was most certainly not Wen Ruohan’s concern.

“It would have been more narratively satisfying if he suffered the same fate as your sister-in-law,” he explained, and Lan Qiren snorted. “What? It would have been. From what you say, he was the one who led the charge in favor of executing her back then, which is what caused your brother to save her life by marrying her, converting the sentence from execution to imprisonment. For him now to suffer imprisonment in the same manner would be an especially meet application of justice. You could have even put him in the same house!”

“Luckily, Gusu Lan does not determine its punishments by what would be narratively satisfying,” Lan Qiren said sternly. “And now I am clearly going to have to conduct a review to ensure that the Nightless City does not do so, either.”

Wen Ruohan would have complained, but in all truth the Nightless City’s justice system could probably stand to be reviewed, and he couldn’t think of anyone better to do it.

He shrugged in implicit consent, and changed the subject: “What about your sect elders? Was it entirely wise to leave them to debate the matter of their own punishment themselves? He who suffers the penalty ought not impose it, after all.”

“I have confidence that they will choose to do the right thing. And if they do not, I will go back and have further words with them.”

Wen Ruohan sniffed disdainfully. “It seems to me that you have already committed to going back already in order to evaluate their proposed solution anyway. Already planning trips without even consulting me…! How rude of you, Qiren. Whatever happened to ‘be attentive to your wife’s needs’…?”

“Would you be satisfied if I promised that by the time I was done with you, you would not want to lay eyes on me for the duration of my absence?”

That sounded amazing.

“At any rate, even if I return, I do not plan to be gone for very long,” Lan Qiren said, and that satisfied Wen Ruohan even more. “Even in this instance, I will admit that your summons came at a timely moment to excuse me from the debate, which was likely to be interminable.”

“And here I thought that interminable debates were what your Gusu Lan sect did best.” Wen Ruohan chuckled at Lan Qiren’s long-suffering expression. “Very well, I will be benevolent and lend you to them – briefly – to ensure that they do the right thing.”

“You do not need to pretend in front of me,” Lan Qiren said, now even more long-suffering. “You are tremendously excited by the possibility that they will carry through on their suggestion that they all resign and leave me to manage or at minimum advise on the management of the sect from the Nightless City, thereby putting it into your control.”

Wen Ruohan grinned. He wasn’t going to lie: they were definitely going to fuck about this later. “What can I say?” he drawled. “My husband gets me the best gifts.”

“On that subject,” Lan Qiren said, eyes narrowing, “an incident arose while I was at the Cloud Recesses…”

“Did they encourage you to divorce me?”

“Not seriously – ” Which meant that they had? “– and that is not the issue in question. Have you at any point instructed your disciples to refer to me as Madam Wen?”

Wen Ruohan was not an idiot.

“Certainly not,” he lied. “I can’t imagine why they would ever do such a thing.”

Lan Qiren sighed, clearly spotting the lie and just as clearly having no idea what to do with it. “It is inappropriate,” he said. “I am your husband, not your wife, and that means I am not Madam Wen.”

“You can be my husband and Madam Wen,” Wen Ruohan argued. “It would be funnier that way.”

“It would be confusing that way. Enough people assume that I am the wife already simply because you are more powerful both personally and politically, and that it is without further linguistic snarls.”

That seemed less important than the potential for humor, at least for Wen Ruohan.

“How do you see the roles of husband and wife anyway?” he asked, belatedly curious. “You don’t seem to associate them with household tasks, with sexual positions, or with power dynamics, or for that matter, as far as I can determine, with anything else. What exactly do you see as constituting your role as the husband, as opposed to the wife?”

Lan Qiren looked surprised to be asked such a question. “There are any number of applicable rules,” he started, and Wen Ruohan rolled his eyes: of course there were. “However, to sum up the relevant duties, as the husband, it is my duty to make you happy: to love you as I love myself, to honor you more than myself, to seek to do everything in my power to see that your needs and wishes are fulfilled. In return, as my wife, you are bound to love and honor me, to be faithful to me, and to trust me, abiding by my wishes even when they may contradict your own.”

The Gusu Lan sect was insane, Wen Ruohan decided, not for the first time. What sort of ridiculous definitions of husband and wife were those? No one else put it like that! No one else even thought about it like that! What sort of monastery had Lan An come from, anyway…?

Though Wen Ruohan supposed, if one put it in those terms, then in fact that it really was more appropriate for him to be the wife. He wasn’t exactly very good at living up to ‘honor another more than yourself’ and never had been, and he was too self-absorbed to really care to spend all his time worrying about someone else’s needs, but he was certainly capable of love, respect, faith, and trust. Certainly he was the one who kept compromising his actions in order to accommodate Lan Qiren’s ridiculous notions of morality…not that doing so had impeded any of his ambitions to date.

On the contrary, with the Jin sect in his pocket, the Jiang sect heirs secure in the Nightless City, and the potential for Lan Qiren to keep his nephews there as well – an idea that had very obviously not yet arisen in Lan Qiren’s mind, but which Wen Ruohan fully intended to use to convince him that the Wen sect temporarily taking over Gusu Lan until said nephews were of age wasn’t that bad an idea – it seemed that listening to Lan Qiren was suiting him quite well indeed. How convenient that one of Wen Ruohan’s ‘needs and wishes’ that Lan Qiren was obligated to try to deliver happened to include taking over the cultivation world.

In fact, if Wen Ruohan could somehow find a way to maintain the status quo, he would have in a single season effectively conquered, in practice if not in fact, not one but three of the other Great Sects. The only one left outside his grasp was therefore just Qinghe Nie…

Ah. Right.

He’d almost forgotten.

If one thought about it in a certain light, he also stood a good chance of making an inroad into taking over Qinghe Nie, because the current sect leader of Qinghe Nie, Lao Nie, was – imminently going to die.

He could take advantage of that, if he wanted.

He could, Wen Ruohan insisted to himself, even as he was swept by a wave of revulsion towards himself at the mere thought; it was just a matter of politics, and things like that happened in politics. It wasn’t as though this were anything like what had happened with Wen Ruoyu, the betrayal of someone who trusted him. Lao Nie didn’t trust anyone, even when he loved them sincerely – and he did love him in his own way, Wen Ruohan did not doubt, only that it happened to be the wrong sort of love for what Wen Ruohan really wanted.

Betraying Lao Nie…would be more like what he’d done to his first wife.

That had been a mutual tragedy. Their needs and wants had been incompatible from the very start, but they’d made a go of it anyway, and when it had started falling apart, they had not managed their reactions well, each of them blaming each other, each of them justifying their own actions against each other, hurting each other, betraying each other, and in the end –

In the end they’d destroyed everything.

Wen Ruohan instinctively grimaced.

No, he couldn’t do that again. He would have to find another way. Perhaps Lan Qiren would be able to think of something –

Wait.

Lan Qiren.

Lan Qiren, who had no way to know that Wen Ruohan’s expression of disgust and revulsion had nothing to do with their current conversation!

“I was thinking of Lao Nie,” he blurted out, trying to explain, and then realized how badly that statement could be taken. They were right in the middle of discussion about their married life, and he’d started thinking about his former lover..!

“Yes, it was very fortunate that he was here to assist you,” Lan Qiren said, nodding with approval, apparently missing the more unfortunate set of implications entirely. “And convenient, since we wanted to speak with him anyway. Have you had an opportunity to discuss his condition? Or were you planning to wait until I was present?”

“I avoided it entirely,” Wen Ruohan said. He’d never been so relieved at Lan Qiren’s lack of understanding of innuendo. Do not give your wife reason to doubt your fidelity… “Do you think now is a good time? There is still the matter of your brother to deal with. They were friends, once, too.”

He wouldn’t mind putting off the conversation a little longer, personally.

“It will never be a good time,” Lan Qiren pointed out. “It may as well be now. Anyway, it is not as though we are going to him to offer our condolences, we are going to offer our help. Didn’t his sect doctors predict that he had ten years left? He is hardly at risk of immediate decline.”

You don’t know that! Wen Ruohan wanted to protest. Each qi deviation could be the one that takes him away, and the only way to stop it will be to solve a problem that generations upon generations of Qinghe Nie have failed to unravel. Lao Nie will never stop cultivating with his saber, will never give up his clan’s traditions, and ten years is not as long as you might think –

Though, on the other hand, I am a genius among geniuses. Lao Nie’s ancestors might have looked before, but they never had me on their side. Maybe it’s not so hopeless after all.

“We should go see him,” Lan Qiren said, either not noticing or perhaps politely ignoring whatever was happening on Wen Ruohan’s face. Knowing him, it was probably the former. “Particularly if he’s been forced to safeguard my brother, which must be emotionally taxing given the state of their relationship. Tell me, where is he now?”

Wen Ruohan was about to answer, only to realize he had no idea, having not particularly wanted to pay any attention to Qingheng-jun for any longer than it had taken to hand him over to Lao Nie in the first place. Qingheng-jun had spent the first part of the journey back to Jinlin Tower in a dignified silence, but as they’d drawn nearer, something had changed, and he had started talking about Lan Qiren again, clearly trying to goad Wen Ruohan into a response. Wen Ruohan hadn’t let him succeed, of course, but the temptation to find a tall window and shove him out of it without a sword had been very strong.

(Sometimes Wen Ruohan missed his Fire Palace. He hadn’t even dismantled it yet, though he intended to, and he already missed it. Not that he’d be dismantling all of it. There were always people that needed to be properly interrogated, and his machines would still serve quite well for that, even if they’d now go unused the majority of the time. It was only a pity that Qingheng-jun had nothing to say that anyone needed to hear. Certainly not Lan Qiren, that was for certain.)

“Easily found,” he said with an idle shrug, and went to the door of the room he’d been using as an office, waving over one of the disciples waiting outside. “Where is Lao Nie?”

The disciple saluted. “Sect Leader, he is just outside, in your courtyard.”

“In my courtyard?” Wen Ruohan asked, surprised that Lao Nie was so close by – and in such an unguarded location, too. Lao Nie was confident in his own abilities, and rightfully so, but for all of his rage, he was typically a surprisingly cautious fighter. Normally speaking, he would not take unnecessary risks. Keeping Qingheng-jun in an open courtyard seemed a dubious choice, and yet abandoning his duty to watch over him when he had promised to do so seemed – out of character.

Not yet, surely…!

Lan Qiren frowned. “That seems unlike him,” he observed, confirming Wen Ruohan’s sudden apprehension. “Let us go at once.”

When they went out to find him, Lao Nie was indeed there, sitting on a bench and cleaning his saber with all apparent ease, seeming as though he did not have a care in the world.

Qingheng-jun…was nowhere in sight.

Wen Ruohan felt his eye twitch. “Lao Nie!” he bellowed. “What are you doing?”

Lao Nie paused in what he was doing.

Then, he very exaggeratedly looked down at his saber and the cleaning cloth in his hand, then up at the two of them. “Come on, Hanhan,” he said, opening his eyes excessively wide. “I know for a fact that it hasn’t been that long since you handled a weapon. Aren’t you married now?”

Wen Ruohan had been gearing up to shout at him, but, as so often happened, Lao Nie’s humor cut his anger off at the knees. It was impossible to remain properly angry when you were fighting off laughter, which made Lao Nie’s approach to dealing with Wen Ruohan’s anger simultaneously devastatingly effective and also incredibly irritating.

Also, Lao Nie was perfectly aware that Wen Ruohan had actually used his sword to fight against Qingheng-jun. More recently than he’d had the chance to take advantage of Lan Qiren’s ‘sword,’ too, tragic and in need of quick remedying as that was…

“That was not the purpose behind his question and you know it,” Lan Qiren said mildly. “Hello, Lao Nie. What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you two,” Lao Nie said, immediately actually answering the virtually identical question in what seemed like a thoroughly unfair display of blatant favoritism. “One of the Wen sect disciples said they saw you arrive, Qiren, and go to talk to Hanhan. So I came here to wait until you were done.”

That answer was all well and good, quite reasonable, everything in order, except for one critical point.

“Shouldn’t you be watching Qingheng-jun?” Wen Ruohan asked.

Lao Nie shrugged. “No need.”

“No need?” Wen Ruohan scowled at him, annoyed all over again. “Lao Nie, did you not hear me earlier? I wanted you to watch him, because I didn’t trust that he wouldn’t find a way out if the only ones guarding him were my disciples. Or yours, for that matter! He’s tricky and resourceful, even if he’s been disarmed. Who knows what trouble he’s gotten into already – ”

“He won’t be getting into any trouble,” Lao Nie said. “He’s dead.”

Wen Ruohan was about to retort with something devastatingly clever and cutting, likely about the importance of living up to responsibilities and one’s given word, but then whatever he had been about to say entirely dropped out of his mind as Lao Nie’s words entered it.

“I’m sorry,” he said blankly. “He’s what?!”

“Lao Nie, did you just say that he was dead?” Lan Qiren asked, frowning. “My brother? Dead?”

“My condolences, Qiren,” Lao Nie said, sounding completely genuine and sincere and also immensely missing the point. “Really. I know you two weren’t close, and that by the end you probably pretty much hated each other, but he was still your brother. You have my sympathies for the loss of what you could have had, if not for what you did.”

“Thank you,” Lan Qiren said. He sounded extremely polite, and extremely confused, the latter being a feeling which Wen Ruohan shared in its entirety. “I appreciate your consideration. Putting that aside, could you perhaps explain what happened, exactly? My brother is dead? How did he suddenly die?”

Wen Ruohan rather wanted to know that himself, especially since Qingheng-jun had been in perfectly reasonable condition when he’d delivered him into Lao Nie’s custody.

But then, how…?

“He killed himself,” Lao Nie said. His face was as casual and composed as if he were relaying the weather, rather than telling a bald-faced lie.

It was absolutely impossible that Qingheng-jun had decided to commit suicide.

As far as Wen Ruohan knew, the man had refused that particular route twice already, first in refusing to actively kill himself in the immediate aftermath of realizing he had murdered his wife, and second in refusing to passively permit Wen Ruohan to kill him. Even his last-moment surrender had been a deliberate ploy designed to extend his life, giving up even his dignity to do so. His dignity, his revenge, his pride…no, Qingheng-jun had been defiant and bitter to the last, blaming others and Lan Qiren in particular for all of his misfortunes.

For him to suddenly turn around and die by his own hand now, after everything – no, it was impossible. Absolutely impossible!

“Oh, suicide, really,” Wen Ruohan said, snide and incredulous. “Really, you don’t say. Tell me, if he killed himself, how exactly did he manage it? I disarmed him myself, so I know for a fact that he didn’t have access to his sword…”

“He used my saber,” Lao Nie said.

Wen Ruohan stared at him.

Lan Qiren stared at him.

Lao Nie…

Lao Nie’s lips twitched.

“Your saber,” Lan Qiren said slowly. “Your saber. Your spiritual weapon, which you entrust to no one, and which obeys only you. The saber that can, if it wishes, quite literally bite its wielder if it dislikes who is holding it. We are speaking of – that saber?”

Wen Ruohan hadn’t known about the biting thing. Was that really a thing? That seemed quite useful… Wait. When exactly did Lan Qiren have the chance to hold Lao Nie’s saber long enough to find that out?! Lao Nie hadn’t even given it to Wen Ruohan to hold!

Well, that was probably good thinking on his part. But that wasn’t the point.

“That’s the one,” Lao Nie said, sounding almost cheerful, or at least as though he were having a fair amount of fun watching their expressions, which he almost certainly was. “Good old Jiwei.”

Wen Ruohan thought, not for the first time, of how good it would feel to punch Lao Nie in the face. Just once. Once, but very hard.

Based on Lan Qiren’s expression at the moment, he might be amenable.

“Let me make sure I understand what you are saying,” Lan Qiren said, looking as though he were summoning all of his many years of emotional regulation to try to keep himself calm. “You are saying that my brother somehow managed to get hold of your saber and used it to end his own life. Is that what you are saying?”

“Not quite,” Lao Nie said, holding up his hands. “I’m saying that he killed himself, and also that if you have a doctor examine his body, you’ll find that the cause of his death was my saber.”

“Lao Nie,” Wen Ruohan hissed, finding himself appalled despite everything, up to and including his own deep and sincere desire to see Qingheng-jun dead. “What is wrong with you? Are you suggesting that he killed himself by walking into your saber?!”

Lao Nie snickered.

He actually snickered.

“Lao Nie!” Wen Ruohan shouted. “You said you were going to help!”

Lao Nie’s smile abruptly faded away. “I did help.”

“Lao Nie – ”

“Hanhan, you sometimes forget this – in fact, you often forget this – but I am not actually one of your subordinates,” Lao Nie interrupted, his expression unusually solemn. “I don’t follow your orders, and I apply my own principles to the situations I find myself in, not yours. I appreciate that you and Lan Qiren have decided that you don’t want to kill unarmed prisoners that have surrendered, particularly not without a trial, which is quite correct of you. I understand your reasoning in applying that principle even to Qingheng-jun, even when his sole reason to stay alive is to cause further harm, and if it were under any other circumstances, I’d respect it.”

Wen Ruohan was left speechless.

Lan Qiren merely pressed his lips together. “What circumstances do you mean?”

“Only this,” Lao Nie said. “That there is no greater good than showing kindness to a madman, once he has passed the point of no return.”

Ah.

That was –

That made more sense.

Given the Nie sect’s history – their traditions, their qi deviations, their ancestral madness – given what Lao Nie himself had so recently discovered about himself, about his own fate, his own imminent fate –

For a sudden moment, Wen Ruohan found himself unable to breathe.

“Oh,” Lao Nie said, watching whatever was happening on his face. “You know. I see. How?”

“Your son told us,” Lan Qiren said. “Nie Mingjue. He’s a good boy.”

Lao Nie laughed and shook his head. “Yes, he is,” he said fondly. “A very good boy – though where he got those ridiculous morals, I don’t know. He’s as inflexible as you, Qiren, in his own way. Anyway, you both don’t need to look so upset. It’s fine.”

“It is most certainly not fine,” Wen Ruohan said at once.

“Well, no, it’s not,” Lao Nie conceded. “But there’s nothing to be done about it. It’s as inevitable, as sure as the dawn.”

Wen Ruohan had heard that before, though under circumstances that had meant much less to him personally. Cangse Sanren had said something similar, equally resigned, talking about that big scary beast that was coming to tear her limb from limb, and she’d been just as certain of her immovable fate as Lao Nie was about his.

“It’s inevitable, so there’s no point in worrying about it now, is that it?” he asked with a sneer. “That’s ridiculous.”

“I didn’t say that,” Lao Nie protested.

“You meant it,” Lan Qiren pointed out, and Lao Nie, caught out, smiled ruefully. “Lao Nie, we are only saying that we wish to help – ”

“And I’m saying that it’s pointless. Don’t you think we’ve tried? My family, going back generations, we’ve all tried our best to stop it. We can’t. Once it starts, there’s nothing you can do about it – ”

If there was one thing Wen Ruohan hated in this life, perhaps even above betrayal, it was being told that there was something he couldn’t do.

He was Wen Ruohan. He had spent his whole life laughing in the face of those that underestimated him, those that challenged or disdained him, and now all those people were long dead and forgotten. These days, there was no one alive who underestimated him, no one who thought that they could tell him what he couldn’t do. He had defied even the heavens themselves, perfecting his cultivation and breaking the limits of the human lifespan, living beyond the usual expectations even for a cultivator, and he was still as hale as he had ever been. Soon enough, with Lan Qiren’s help, he would undoubtedly even break through the barrier that separated god from man, and become divine.

And Lao Nie had the gall to say that there was nothing he could do about it?

Wen Ruohan was not going to take that lying down. It was the most disrespectful thing he had had someone say to him in – well, admittedly, since Cangse Sanren, which wasn’t that long ago, and Lan Qiren wasn’t exactly all that respectful either, though in a way Wen Ruohan enjoyed rather a great deal.

No: ancestral Nie sect mystery or not, he was going to find a way to fix it. At a minimum, he was going to find a way to buy some time, to prevent any further decline and forestall death, and he wasn’t going to let anyone, not even Lao Nie, get in his way.

Lao Nie was just going to have to live with that.

Admittedly, at this precise moment, he looked particularly unwilling to accept that conclusion, that stubborn mule-headed Qinghe Nie look fixed firmly on his face even as he argued, rather unwisely, with Lan Qiren. As if Lan Qiren, just fresh off winning a battle of words with his entire sect, was going to let him win this one, particularly when Lao Nie’s arguments seemed to mostly revolve around the same basic point.

“It’s inevitable,” he said, dragging out the sound. “In-ev-it-a-ble. Why are you and Hanhan having such trouble with that concept? There are things in this life that we can change, Qiren, and there are things we can’t, and this is one of the latter. It’s as inevitable as the dawn, as sure as sunrise – ”

There was that phrase again, the one Cangse Sanren had used to describe her own doom. It was irritating to be surrounded by stubborn people convinced they were about to die, Lao Nie to rage and a qi deviation, Cangse Sanren to that future beast. A pity it wasn’t the other way around! There was no one better for defeating a beast than one of Qinghe Nie, descendants of butchers that they were, and Cangse Sanren seemed almost immune to the ravages of rage, forgetting each moment what happened in the previous one. Possibly that was even literal for her, given her idiosyncratic understanding of time, a remnant perhaps of living on a celestial mountain with an immortal…

Hm.

Now that was an idea.

“I am not giving up,” Lao Nie said impatiently, while Lan Qiren frowned and shook his head at him. “Don’t put it that way, it sounds bad. It’s not the same thing at all! I am just trying to be realistic. It would foolish to ignore facts and fail to adequately prepare myself, my sons, and my sect for what is going to happen – ”

“As foolish as refusing to accept help in the event that the preparations you make need not apply?”

“Damnit, Qiren, stop talking circles around me.”

“Stop being wrong first.”

Lao Nie gaped at him, then cackled. “I like this version of you,” he said. “Hanhan’s a surprisingly good influence on you, which I admit I wouldn’t have predicted.”

“We are Dao companions,” Lan Qiren said impatiently. “Naturally we mutually improve each other. Do not change the subject.”

“Qiren…”

“Lao Nie, there are things that a man may choose to face on his own. I have never denied that. If you truly deny us, we will desist – ”

Maybe Lan Qiren would.

“– but just as you are our friend, we are your friends, and we wish to help you. Would you deny us that chance?”

Oh, that was a good argument, particularly for someone like Lao Nie, and Wen Ruohan could see the exact moment Lao Nie’s resistance cracked under the weight of Lan Qiren’s earnest sincerity.

“Oh, all right,” Lao Nie grumbled, scrubbing his face and letting out a lengthy sigh. “I suppose I wouldn’t. Fine. Whatever. You can go ahead and bash your brains against the problem for a bit, if that’s what you really want…but Qiren, please understand and prepare yourself, this is something my sect has been trying to solve for a very long time. It is entirely possible, even likely, that in the end, the only help you will be able to give me is the sort of help I provided your brother.”

Lan Qiren’s stern expression softened. “I understand. But thank you for letting us try.”

“In fact, I’ve got an idea,” Wen Ruohan announced, and grinned when they both looked at him. “Well, the beginning of one, anyway. Qiren’s right, there are many benefits to taking a problem and making it someone else’s.”

“I don’t know if I like the sound of that,” Lao Nie remarked, his eyes narrowing a little in suspicion. “Hanhan…”

“You need not be concerned,” Lan Qiren told him firmly. “Any idea he has, I will first approve. Or are you saying you do not trust in my good faith?”

“…fair point. All right, I retract my doubts.”

Wen Ruohan scowled. “Lao Nie – ”

Lao Nie pointed at him. “You have a torture palace.”

“What does that have to do with anything?!”

Now they were both looking at him with indulgent expressions that suggested he already knew the answer to that.

Possibly he did.

“I’ve already planned to repurpose the majority of it,” Wen Ruohan said defensively. “I do not require it as much, any longer.”

“I’m glad to hear that, Hanhan,” Lao Nie said warmly, and in the face of his own straightforward sincerity Wen Ruohan found that he had trouble maintaining his anger. “Really, you have no idea how happy it makes me that you’ve finally found your way out…but also, I’ll believe it when I see it.”

That was fair.

“You know, we never did get the chance to talk at the Lotus Pier discussion conference that wasn’t,” Lao Nie mused. “I wanted to hear all about how the two of you managed to fall in love – and I still do, for that matter.”

“We got married,” Lan Qiren said, as if that answered the question.

“…I’m going to redirect the question to Hanhan,” Lao Nie said dryly, clearly agreeing with Wen Ruohan on the blatant insufficiency of Lan Qiren’s answer. “Actually, while we’re at it, how did you end up proposing marriage to Qiren anyway? I didn’t even think you liked him.”

“Mm, I didn’t. It takes a truly great man to see what he has overlooked and correct his own errors, but luckily – ”

“He wanted to use me to take over the cultivation world,” Lan Qiren said with a sigh, pointedly ignoring Wen Ruohan’s bragging. “Through my students, of all things. I still think the whole notion is utterly ridiculous.”

Lao Nie’s expression went abruptly thoughtful in a way that suggested that he certainly didn’t think the idea was all that ridiculous. A moment later he grinned.

“Well, Qiren, you have to admit that putting aside the students, it didn’t work out that badly for him.”

“He has not taken over the cultivation world.”

“If you pay a little attention, actually, you’ll find that I have,” Wen Ruohan said smugly. “Or at least considerable portions of it.”

“Don’t look so pleased with yourself, Hanhan,” Lao Nie said, even as Lan Qiren looked as if he were hunting for some way to refute the irrefutable. “Don’t forget: whether you rule the world or not, you still have to clear everything you do with Qiren first!”

“That is not the situation,” Lan Qiren insisted. “He has not taken over the world – Lao Nie – stop smirking at me, you intolerable annoyance – ”

Wen Ruohan tuned them both out as he considered what Lao Nie had said. Whatever Lan Qiren’s denials, it had to be admitted that Wen Ruohan’s influence now extended well into the other Great Sects, which had previously been inviolable, with a few omissions, but equally it had to be admitted that this wasn’t exactly the tyrannical dictatorship he’d always envisioned for himself when thinking about the day that his Wen sect eventually took over.

He hadn’t counted on Lan Qiren being there, for one. And even if he had, he would never have assumed that he would voluntarily bind himself to following Lan Qiren’s ridiculously strict morality, even when the man himself was not present to object – except he had, hadn’t he? The way he had dealt with Qingheng-jun…that wasn’t a mere aberration, an outlier, a favor he’d been doing for Lan Qiren. He’d done the right thing because he knew Lan Qiren would want him to.

If he wanted to keep Lan Qiren, Wen Ruohan was going to have to do that about everything.

It was going to be a gigantic pain.

But on the other hand, he did rule the world now.

Ah, whatever. If that’s the trade – I’ll take it!

Wen Ruohan reached out and, ignoring Lao Nie’s presence, pulled Lan Qiren into a kiss.

Lan Qiren –

Well, Lan Qiren kicked him.

“Inappropriate!” he spluttered. “We’re in front of company! Keep your hands to yourself!”

“Don’t hold back on my account,” Lao Nie murmured appreciatively. “On the contrary…”

“Absolutely not,” Lan Qiren said. Firmly.

“But –”

“No.”

“Hanhan –”

“Also no,” Wen Ruohan said, and watched with interest as Lao Nie blinked, absorbing that, and then, after a moment, shrugged it off, just as he did anything else. It probably ought to have hurt to see him simply shrug off a relationship that had lasted over a decade just like that, but…well, that was Lao Nie, heartless and careless. That was the real Lao Nie, the way he ought to be.

And Wen Ruohan…well, Wen Ruohan had Lan Qiren, and he was far better off for it.

“Fine, then,” Lao Nie said. “That means I can go back and find that dragon –”

“Lao Nie!” Lan Qiren howled. “You are not, and I mean absolutely not, going to go find and – ”

Wen Ruohan started laughing.

This was going to be good.

----

A/N: and that's it! next chapter is the epilogue :) thanks to everyone for reading!