#pulling the title from the -- the clash song was fitting

[sanctified-silence]

The name for the unnamed

A story of one's name is a significant detail, especially when they lost themselves in the dirty paths of the world.

Word count: 1997

Characters: Punz (centric), Dream.

It’s a song of a warrior, of a tool, of a man lost in the woods of his heart, a song of a mercenary. It sounds like clashing iron, like a battle cry, like sobbing and screaming in rage and despair, like deafening and suffocating fires, like coins in the belt bag, like a long quiet echoing in the head. A mercenary stands the victor, but he lost, the one who won was his client. He lost, gripping the handle of the sword. He lost, spilling the blood of people he knows nothing of. He lost, looking in the mirror and not remembering himself. They are a tool. That’s what they are. But the question of “who am I?” is left unanswered. “I must have a name” was just a thought, “Right?” was a whisper.

And so, the mercenary ran. He ran so fast the wind almost deafened the song he heard every day. They ran so far that they almost forgot their purpose as a tool. The Mercenary ran from the title they called him. The Mercenary ran to chase their name, because they should have one, right? 

But the road, the trees, the animals, the wind could not answer him. They did not know their name. But they didn’t know his title either. To them the fearful Mercenary is just another man. Another human, who was lost, who was running and chasing wind like the birds. The human must have a name. Right?

Their lungs were aching and burning like they swallowed a thousand suns. Their legs were giving up, making mistakes, counting stones and tree roots. But the run continues. The Runaway cannot stop halfway, the Runaway should run so far they get themselves in a spirit world. So even spirits could witness the death of man and birth of a human soul. The Runaway needed a name. All humans have names. Right?

It all came to an abrupt stop. The Runaway couldn’t even register what happened to him, until he fell and fell into the darkness, but even then he couldn’t care less what happened. They were finally free of the mercenary song. It couldn’t reach their ears. No more.

The Runaway was cradled in black of silence when as if something gentle pulled his consciousness from it. Waking up was like slowly rising from the depths of the lake, with water weight on eyes and force pulling him up. First it was a bright light of somewhere around noon and the feeling of a rough tree bark on the back, then it was the sound of the wind playing with leaves, the feeling of grass under the fingers, then it was birds, frogs and grasshoppers making a symphony of sounds and now it was a cloaked masked figure that sat on a mossy rock formation in front of the Runaway. 

The figure was humming some motif the Runaway didn’t know, but the figure's voice was like honey and the melody was as soothing as a bird song. It sounded somewhat sad, like a goodbye, like a longing for something that never meant to be. But the Runaway didn’t really know. Maybe they just imagined it.

The cloaked figure was carving a little figurine with a knife. Or maybe more of a dagger? Its razor was made out of obsidian glass and the handle was custom made to fit it, the rough woodwork was covered by leather rope tied around it in a pattern. It was just as beautiful as a figure. This person’s face was not visible, but their hair was long and curly and they shined in the sunlight. Some of it was made into a small braid with a few feathers tied into it. Their hands were big with long fingers and both the knife and the figurine looked so small in the crafty hands. The mask was also probably wooden, but it was painted mostly white with some streaks of green and red. The eye holes of the mask looked completely black though. That, combined with the figure’s ethereal presence, made that look almost eerie. But the Runaway didn’t care. Maybe it was Death itself that came to claim him. Judging by dark clothing. But the figure's cloak was too green for something suited for death. But the Runaway was open-minded.

The Runaway shifted in his place and the figure stopped singing with a long hum.

“I was wondering when you’ll wake up”, the figure’s voice was masculine, a bit on the low end too. They didn’t stop carving and not even looked at him (although it was hard to say because of the mask) and continued saying, “Don’t worry, I shunned the Wild from you while you were resting”.

The Runaway didn’t respond. He took in a stranger's voice with calmness he didn’t expect. Normally the mercenary instinct would be to reach his knife or sword, or any of his other weapons. But for some reason they were peaceful. Not even startled.

“Not the talking type, I give?”, the figure chuckled, stopping what they were doing, putting the knife away in a sheath attached to their leg, leaving only a figurine in their hands. 

“It’s okay, I don’t bite”, they joked, holding up the figurine a little above his head so the Runaway could have a look that’s it’s not dangerous, “Catch?”.

They didn’t wait for an answer though, gladly the Runaway’s reflexes kicked in the same very second and they caught a small piece of wood with one hand. The figure seemed very happy with them.

“Nice catch!” they exclaimed, laughing, “You can now take a good look at it! I spent a lot of time on it!”

The Runaway pulled his fist closer to his face. They didn’t know what to expect from it, but looking wouldn’t hurt. So he hesitantly opened his hand with a figurine. It was the head of some sort of animal, the Runaway recognized immediately. Some sort of cat if they had to guess, judging by the shape of its face. The long ears with something that looked like tufts on the end of them and large whiskers. It looked very good. If the runaway knew the animal, they knew they’d recognized it immediately. The work wasn’t polished, but it was as smooth as it gets. The Runaway couldn’t really appreciate art, wasn’t really taught how, since it was considered useless. But he himself liked fine work like jewelry and had some experience in making it, hence the necklace they were wearing — pure gold. And they couldn't hold back their awe at the crafty work done by the stranger.

“Cool”, the Runaway breathed out with a smile so small you wouldn’t catch it if you weren’t looking for it.

The stranger against him laughed again, still full of joy.

“Glad you like it, ‘cause it’s yours now! It’s a lynx, by the way. It’s not often you’ll see them around here, that’s why you probably don't recognize it”. 

“Why?” was all that the Runaway managed to push through. This act of kindness was unfamiliar to him. No, it was directly clashing with everything he knew, with everything the world taught him.

A stranger tilted his head, looking like a confused cat. Their hair falling to the side with him, like a mane. For a second emerald green sparkled in the pitch black eye holes of a mask. 

“Why not? I mean, it fits you”.

“No- this, uh, not what I meant. Why all of this? You don’t know me” the Runaway struggled to put the words together. The lingering thought of “and if you did, you definitely wouldn’t help me” left a bitter taste on the back of their throat.

“Do you know who you are?” a stranger's eyes, although not visible, stayed on the Runaway burning their face, “no offense, but your eyes betray your composure, I can see that you’re lost”.

The Runaway couldn’t hold their gaze on a stranger. Their eyes came back to looking at the lynx figurine in his hand, fiddling with it a bit. Masked stranger stayed silent with them for a while, until a sigh exited his lungs.

“Do you have a name?” stranger asked. All the Runaway could do is to shake their head without looking, “Would you like one?”.

The Runaway immediately shot their eyes up back at the stranger. Their posture was relaxed, but not in a nonchalant way. Rather to show that they are waiting and don’t pressure the Runaway. The Runaway was looking for a catch in the stillness of a mask, for a twitch of a calm hand. None of that came. So with a shaky breath, still uncertain, but determined they exhaled:

“Yeah”.

They spent a good hour talking about names. Well, the masked one was mostly talking, throwing different names to the Runaway, expanding on their meanings. It was all from the simplest “John” to something really obscure that the Runaway struggled to pronounce like “Xh’alquia”. The latter, according to the masked person, meant something like “blue steel” in his language. The Runaway never heard this language and most of the words from it sounded weird as if it was half whisper-half singing. At least that’s how the Runaway could describe it.

None of the names the masked offered really resonated with them, though. And when the Runaway started to lose hope this happened.

“Okay, hmmm. What about…” the masked was stretching the vowels, seeking any other names he didn’t talk about yet. Then as if he was stricken by the light, he enthusiastically continued, “Oh! What about “P’nzx”? Or I guess you can simplify it to “Punz”. It means “will” or “strong spirit” in my language”.

That was it. Something instantly clicked within a runaway’s heart, as if connecting to the name, lighting him on fire. That was their name now. He is Punz. That seemed so right. That is not what people know him as yet. It wasn’t a name that was given to them by their mother. But it was right in a way he didn’t know was possible. And the masked person catched onto it.

“Oh, seems like I’ve struck luck with this one, Punz”.

The name rolled off a stranger’s tongue so effortlessly. And it was so right, as if this name always belonged to them. 

All Punz could do is smile. It was the most open and happy smile he ever managed, but it was effortless this time, unlike the other. They were happy.

“Seems like you found yourself”, happily noticed a masked stranger, “Don’t lose yourself again”.

“Thank you”, true and sincere. 

“No problem”, instant reply, as the stranger started to get up, “Well, that’s my queue to leave”. 

“There is a town to the east of here”, he continued, “a nice place, really. Full of bright people. Seek a place named Angel’s Wing, owner is probably the sweetest human ever, he’ll help you”.

As the masked person turned away from Punz, he jumped on his feet immediately and demanded:

“Wait!”

The stranger turned back to him, patiently.

“Who are you?”

The stranger chuckled.

“Oh, I have many names, some of them came from a place of love, some from a place of disgust”, he hummed, “But of all of them I love Dream much more”.

“Until we meet again then, Dream”, Punz extended his hand for a handshake. Dream stared at it for a moment with surprise and amusement, until he decided to shake it back after all. 

“I count on it then”, he laughed, “You are an interesting human, Punz”.

His laughter sounds like bells on the wind. And just like that in a miniature hurricane of leaves that came out of nowhere, Dream disappeared. His goodbye echoed in Punz’s head like a new song. And it was magical. It replaced the mercenary drums, it replaced the runaway strings. Small bells melodically in the back of Punz’s head reminded them of Dream and his humming that day.

[musicblogwales]

Richard Walters - 'Anchor' (Official Video)

Richard Walters is back with new single “Anchor”, the latest track to be cut from his upcoming solo record ‘Murmurate’ (out 17 November, via Nettwerk). Enveloped by Walters’ tender falsetto, “Anchor” is a spacious piano piece adorned with longing string arrangements to stir the soul. A song dedicated to his daughters, it finds the artist opening-up about the intense and transcendent connection we feel with our closest family. As Richard explains:

‘“Anchor” is a song about and for my daughters; I've been away a fair bit the last 12 months, which felt especially hard post lockdown, and it's a song about that familial pull and instinct to protect and support them.”

Co-written with esteemed songwriter Edd Holloway (Lewis Capaldi, Tom Grennan), who had also recently become a father around the time of writing, the resultant single is another fine example of Walters’ exceptional ability for intimate storytelling, captivating vocals, and intricate musical arrangements.

“Anchor” swiftly follows recent teaser tracks “After Midnight” and “Move On”, all of which reveal different shades of Walters’ upcoming solo album ‘Murmurate’, which is released this Autumn.

Written in 2022 as the world recalibrated to the tides of change, ‘Murmurate’ homes-in on those feelings of waking up in the post-pandemic world to the realisation that many of us had changed too. An album that ruminates on our human need for real-world relationships and the importance of meaningful connections with those closest to us, these recurring themes would also play into the palpable intimacy of ‘Murmurate’ and its recording. As Richard explains:

“When it comes to music, throughout lockdown I was desperate to be in the room with other people making things again. In my opinion, Zoom just doesn’t cut it when it comes to finding common musical ground and building things up” says Walters. “That’s where the title ‘Murmurate’ comes from - I just wanted to feel that unison again, to move in time with other songwriters and musicians, to flock and gather and soar a little bit, even if the distance from my homelife made me feel torn from time to time.”

Combining unassumingly complex arrangements and openly heart-on-sleeve songs, it’s an album that graciously shifts from nocturnal piano ballads (“All Over”), to sprightly folk/pop poetry (“Long Way Down”), darkly lilting lullabies (“Open Everything”) to longing, love-lorn duets (“Locked Up Never Fade”).

With all tracks performed and written by Richard Walters, ‘Murmurate’ was recorded, produced and mixed by Eliot James, before receiving its final mastering by Dyre Gormsen. Amongst the myriad instruments performed by the pair, listeners will also be able to detect Eliot’s 11 year old son Leland James on cello, plus guest vocalist Lydia Oliver. ‘Murmurate’ is released on the Nettwerk album on 17 November 2023. 

An artist, performer and songwriter based in the UK, Richard Walters has amassed over 100 million streams across his five critically acclaimed albums and four EP's to date. Since his debut release in 2005, his music has featured on a number of TV shows including Grey’s Anatomy, CSI: Miami and Tin Star, while receiving praise from titles including The Guardian, Clash, Line Of Best Fit and other tastemaker press.  Richard’s solo releases have also gained notable support from BBC 6 Music’s Lauren Laverne and Guy Garvey, plus BBC Radio 2’s Jo Whiley and Dermot O’Leary.

Sought-out by stars including Grammy-winner Joe Henry, British icon Alison Moyet and Oscar nominated actress and singer Florence Pugh, Walters has also lent his talents to influential electronic artists including Kx5,  Solomun, Sonny Fodera, Sultan + Shepard and more.

A member of the group LYR (with poet laureate Simon Armitage and Patrick Pearson, who release their second album 'The Ultraviolet Age' on 30th June); Richard also released the album ‘Shapes In My Head’ under the name Sun Lo, a collaboration with ATTLAS, earlier this year. Catch Richard tour his latest work this November at these UK  headline dates: 

RICHARD WALTERS - LIVE DATES 2023 24 Nov - BRISTOL, The Louisiana 25 Nov - OXFORD, Jericho Tavern 29 Nov - MANCHESTER, The Castle Hotel 30 Nov - LONDON, The Grace Tickets on sale now: https://www.richardwaltersmusic.co.uk/live

[displacedprincess]

Washington Bullets / Princess Wizard  [September 11th, 2015]

@mateodeavalor

She tore through Avalor City on foot like a damned racehorse, running as if it was all she knew how to do. In a way it was. Mateo had missed three calls when she tried calling him from Manolo’s phone at the safehouse. With Manolo hot on her heels, swearing at her the entire way, Elena’d run out to go warn Mateo herself.

As if he needed warning. As if word of the coup, and the gunfire at the palace, and the handful of Avaloran military vehicles with the Avaloran flag crossed out sloppily in red making their way down Avenida de José Monreal could have possibly missed Mateo.

Except that was the thing.

If anybody in the world could be oblivious to such a thing, it would be Mateo de Alva, wouldn’t it?

As long as Mama Rafa was home when news broke about the invasion of the palace, he’d be safe. If she wasn’t...well. Shuriki, the dark sorceress and leader of the Anti-Monarchist Brigade, wouldn’t care that Mateo was really just a fledgling sorcerer who filled his late grandfather’s position by inheritance.

His title as Court Sorcerer, as the most important sorcerer in Avalor, put a target on his back matching hers. It was probably already too late.

And in any case, she couldn’t go into hiding without saying goodbye to him. She’d already said goodbye to Naomi, albeit over the phone, and the word goodbye was never said. It was a brief phone call. Again, made from Manolo’s phone. 

Naomi! I-I’m safe, for now anyway. Don’t worry. You’re going to WHAT? I-- be safe, please. I don’t know where we’re going, Gabe, Captain, and the others are...I don’t know when I’ll see you again. You’re right, I’m being dramatic. Of- of course! Right, of course we’ll have this sorted in no time. Safehouse first, then I don’t know. I imagine I’ll have to destroy Manolo’s phone after I get a hold of Mateo as well. Wait, wait, NOW!? You’re all starting that n-- yes, okay. Okay I’ll...later, ri-- I love you. I love you.

And then the three failed attempts to reach Mateo.

Manolo was too good to her, truly. He could run faster than her. In every universe but perhaps this one, his hand should have been around her wrist stopping her a while ago. As one of her longest-serving personal guards, Manolo Salas knew the Crown Princess too well.

Only Gabe knew her better. Only Manolo or Gabe would actually let her get away with this, with running from a safehouse to check on her friends with them as her human shield.

She didn’t bother knocking or with the bell when she got to Mateo’s. After all, she knew the code to get in the door. It was a relief the door was still intact, that it hadn’t been broken down by people out to kill him yet.

Though, if he’d slept through this, perhaps it would be Elena who killed him. 

“Mateo! Hey! Where are you, dummy?” She hastily wiped at the blood from her small head wound, but it only got rid of what was wet, the dried blood having made itself at home on her temple. “I’m serious, where are you!”

[marvelmusing]

On Each Other's Team

Helmut Zemo x Reader

A Thunderbolts AU

A/N: this is nearly 10K words and is easily the longest oneshot I’ve ever written, so I hope you like it - for the title, I just picked a lyric from Lorde’s song Team.

WARNINGS: canon level violence, injuries to both Zemo and the reader (though not super detailed, it just happens), reference to smut (I think?) - if there’s anything else let me know.

My Masterlist

Zemo was broken out of the Raft only three months after the flag smasher incident. He was recruited by Val to join an anti-hero team consisting of Justin Hammer, John Walker, Yelena Belova, and Ava Starr. Together they make a pretty decent team, despite not always getting along. Zemo soon became their unofficial leader, despite Val technically being the one in charge, as she gives them their missions.

You are a government agent who’s been made the leader of a team of covert agents by Secretary Ross. You clash with Ross on a regular basis, and your teammates are exceptionally hard to manage.

Ross and Valentina are usually on the same wavelength, meaning your team and Zemo’s team are often sent to secure the same data, or kidnap the same assassin, or take down the same enemy base. This leads to multiple confrontations between you and them.

°•. ✿ .•°

Some, where you win.

“Need a ride?” You hear a voice call out as the sound of the engine nears you. You turn your head, greeted with the sight of your opponents crowded into a car like a family road trip. Hammer is in the passenger seat with the window down as he flashes you a wide smile. You roll your eyes at him as your right knee buckles slightly, but you continue walking. Zemo leans over from the driver’s seat, looking down at the briefcase in your hand.

“Would you like to spare yourself the humiliation of us merely pushing you over and taking that?” You grit your teeth, as he waits for your reply. “That limp looks painful.” You stop walking and the car parks beside you. You toss the briefcase on the floor in front of you, and Zemo’s smirk widens. “See? Was that so hard?” Belova opens the back door and picks up the briefcase. She hands it to Hammer who places it in the footwell. She turns back to look at you before holding a hand out,

“You coming?” With a sigh, you accept her hand, letting her pull you into the seat beside her. Luckily there’s only Belova and Walker in the back so you easily fit.

“I assume you’ll be going to the airfield?” Zemo asks you, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror.

“Yes.” You answer tersely. He raises a brow and you roll your eyes before adding, “Please.” He gives you a small nod, before returning his attention to the road. Despite being in a car with the people you’ve just been fighting, it doesn’t feel awkward. Belova and Walker bicker quietly over who did what in the mission. Hammer chips in every now and then to include his highlights of the day. Zemo remains quiet as he eyes you. It isn’t long before the car is turning into the airfield, and you spot your team already gathered into the helicopter with the engine going.

“They seem eager to leave.” Belova remarks. You breathe out a laugh,

“They always are.” Zemo pulls up at a safe distance from the helicopter and you get out. You circle around the car, passing Zemo’s window. “Well, thanks for the ride.”

“Wait.” He calls out. You stop spinning around slowly. “Empty your pockets.” He knows.

“Afraid I’ve stolen your wallet Baron?” You tease with a smirk. His eyes run down your body, noticing your sudden lack of limp as you take slow steps backwards.

“Check the briefcase.” He orders Hammer, and when he turns to him you set off running. You hear him swear and call out for Walker to follow you. The car doors open but you don’t turn to check how close they are. You throw yourself into the helicopter with a cry of,

“I’ve got it, go!” As you take off you spot Walker still running towards you, but he won’t make it in time. Zemo has stopped running. You grin when you see him run a hand through his hair. Mission accomplished.

°•. ✿ .•°

Some, where you lose.

You hunch over, attempting to catch your breath as you use the alleyway to hide in.

“Tired?” You straighten up at the sound of his voice.

“I think your super soldier broke my ribs.” You turn to face him. “I wondered when you’d be showing up.”

“Did you miss me?”

“Missed the opportunity to fight with you when I was less battered and bruised.”

“I’m sure that opportunity will arise again.” You scoff,

“I don’t doubt it.” He shrugs off his coat, and you brace yourself to take as few punches as you can manage. He looks down at you, noticing the bullet wound on your right arm, and the cuts on your thighs. Bullets from Justin. Knives from Yelena. You joked about fighting John. You had just taken on his entire team on your own. Why? You’re never usually such a poor strategist. He tilts his head aside, “You’re the distraction aren’t you?” Your face drops,

“What?”

“You’re not afraid to face us like the rest of your team. It makes sense that you’d be the one to draw us away from the target.” He taps his ear, speaking into his comms, “Yelena, the target has been moved, most likely in the custody of Ross’s men. Where are they?” He asks you.

“Like I’d tell you.” He pauses to think,

“They most likely believe there’s strength in numbers so if you find one you’ll find them all. Have Justin run facial recognition.” Your mission is falling apart in front of your eyes. You try to push past him while he’s distracted but he’s too quick. He shoves you hard against the wall and you’re stunned momentarily. When you’ve blinked the stars from your eyes one of your wrists is handcuffed and he’s wrapping the cuffs around a drainpipe. You attempt to struggle, but he soon gets your other wrist locked in. Now you have no hands free, and are tied up in an alleyway. Great. Rather pathetically, you pull against your restraints. You’re hardly surprised when you’re not miraculously freed. You slide to the floor, your arms suspended slightly above your head.

“Zemo, please let me go.” You plead with a small pout. He pulls his coat back on, before turning to regard you.

“Is that supposed to convince me?” You smile softly, shaking your head.

“No.” You sigh. “It’s hardly like I could catch up with them now.”

“Yes. But knowing you, you’d still try, and consequently end up disrupting my mission.” You nod slightly in agreement. You close your eyes, leaning your head against the bricks behind you.

“Ross is going to kill me for this.” There’s a small pause before,

“I do hope that statement wasn’t literal.”

“Why? Concerned about my working conditions Baron?” He shakes his head at you. He looks down the alleyway before tossing the key for the handcuffs at your feet. He gives you a small nod before running off.

°•. ✿ .•°

Zemo’s team becomes very well known by your team and the other government agents you work with on the Raft. So much so that they often become the topic of conversation during your drinking nights.

“For a hypothetical mission, you have to seduce one person from Valentina’s team, who would it be?” You take a sip of your wine, before replying,

“Strategy wise? Probably Hammer.”

“Explain.”

“Well, Walker’s married for starters. Starr seems too nice, I wouldn’t want to do that to her. I don’t think Belova’s interested in any of that. So, Hammer.”

“What about Zemo?”

“Oh, he’d see right through me. He’s way too smart for that.”

°•. ✿ .•°

And throughout these missions, you and Zemo begin to get to know one another.

If you’re infiltrating an event, you’ll spot Hammer charming a small band of admirers. Walker and Belova will usually be at the bar, downing their drinks as they survey the crowd. Sometimes they’ll encourage Starr to join them when they dance. You’ll lean against a column before you sense his presence behind you.

“Having fun?” He’ll remark. You’ll breathe out a small laugh,

“You’re not going to distract me.” You tell him, your eyes remaining on the crowd as you scan for your target. He hums softly,

“And you’d know all about distractions, wearing that outfit.” He murmurs, his tone appreciating as his eyes flicker down to admire you. Before you can even begin to consider your reply he adds, “Could you even fight someone in that?”

“Come any closer and you’ll find out, Baron.”

°•. ✿ .•°

The two of you soon stop trying to fight one another during missions, as it usually doesn’t fare well for either of you. You’re too fast, and Zemo’s too smart, and neither of you can do much besides disarm the other.

On one occasion, Zemo finds out what hotel your team is staying at and decides to book the same one for his team. And to organise the same table for dinner.

You raise an eyebrow at him as you study your menu. He only offers you a small smirk as he leans back in his chair, sipping at his drink. Your eyes flicker down the table, to watch as your team eyes the people opposite them warily. His team doesn’t seem the least bothered by the change in company. Belova is helping herself to the bread basket while Hammer is attempting to explain the wine list to Walker. You’re about half way through the meal when one of your team speaks up,

“Commander?” You hum through a bite of your food. He sends a very pointed look at your dinner companions, and then gestures a stabbing motion using his fork. You frown at him,

“We’re at dinner.” You state. “Not only would it be considered rude, we’re surrounded by civilians. If there’s one thing you should know about dealing with this lot is they can be rather destructive.” You glance over at Belova and Walker. Her brow crinkles as she pouts,

“Why are you looking at me?”

“I was looking at both of you.” You admit, gesturing to her and Walker which sets them off squabbling. It takes her comparison to Walker as a human bulldozer for him to immediately start his spiel of ‘it’s because I’m a super soldier...’ and you know Zemo will step in.

“Children.” There’s teasing in his tone, but the warning is clear. When his eyes fall back to you they’re shining with amusement and you can’t hide your smile. Your team disperses the moment dinner is over, you would feel disappointed but by now you’re used to their professional disinterest in you. Which is why you feel so surprised when Belova asks you if you’d join them at the bar. You thank her, but insist that you should leave. She nods, not fully expecting you to join them. You slip away, wandering through the ground floor of the hotel before you find a large balcony. There’s a few people there, mainly couples, sitting and talking, drinking or smoking together. You find a secluded corner to lean against the railing and watch as night falls on the city. Turning back to look through the french doors, you spot Starr attempting to teach Hammer to make cocktails, whilst Belova is mixing something that includes an entire bottle of vodka and Walker watches in apprehension. Zemo’s team, with distinct lack of Zemo. Your eyes soon land on him, as he leans against the doorframe looking at you. You turn back to the view, tracing your fingers along the railing so that you don’t watch him approach you. He pulls a box of cigarettes from his pocket, he holds it out to you, and you shake your head,

“I don’t smoke.”

“Do you mind if I?” You shrug,

“Go ahead.” The two of you are quiet for a moment, as Zemo takes a drag of his cigarette. You sigh, “Why are you here, Zemo?”

“The same reason you are.”

“I’m not talking about the mission.” You keep your eyes fixed on the skyline. “I’m in this hotel because it’s the only place we could afford on Ross’s meagre budget. I think we both know you could buy this entire building.” He laughs softly at your remark,

“And renovate it.” You smile at him,

“It certainly needs it, my room is a horrific shade of mustard.” He laughs again. It’s so rare that the two of you are able to have an actual conversation where you aren’t at each other’s throats. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I heard you had some new members, I thought I’d scope out the competition.” He says, though you’re not fully convinced.

“Hm, a smart idea.”

“I have been known to have them, on occasion.”

“I believe I’ve been on the receiving end of a number of those ideas.”

“I believe you have.”

°•. ✿ .•°

Of course, your colleagues take notice of how often you run into Zemo. Whilst you’re trying to make sense of whatever it is you think of him, they all come to the same conclusion.

“There’s a betting pool on how long it’ll take for Zemo to kill you.” Michael, your friend from HR tells you one morning.

“Oh.” He looks up at you, and you quickly manage a smile. “It’s nice to know you guys are rooting for me.” He laughs, but notices something’s off,

“You okay?”

“Oh yeah, I’m fine. I should probably go finish these reports, get Ross off my back for once.” You make your way to your office, unable to shake the strange feeling that’s settled in your chest. Yes, you and Zemo are on opposite sides. And you fight one another regularly. And you’re both highly skilled, very dangerous people. But you’ve never been afraid of him. You’ve never once thought that he might kill you. Because he wouldn’t. Would he?

°•. ✿ .•°

Over time you get more and more friendly with Zemo and the rest of his team, and increasingly less fond of your own.

“Well maybe I’ll walk back then.” You remark, as a few of your ‘teammates’ make one too many comments that rub you the wrong way.

“Go ahead.” They shoot back. You stand to jump off the back of the truck, only for someone to nudge your foot, sending you slipping backwards into the mud. You hear sniggering as the truck pulls away, and you begin to regret your stubbornness. Within seconds you’re soaked to the skin, as the rain lashes down. Your tact suit provides very little warmth as you hug your arms close to your body and begin to follow the road. You hear a car pull up, and feel a sudden sense of deja vu. The passenger door swings open and Zemo gestures to you from the driver's seat. You hesitate for a brief second, before climbing in.

“We had a bit of a disagreement.”

“And they left you?” Walker asks, disapproval clear in his tone.

“Out in the rain?” Starr adds, and you nod. You rub your hands together, as your entire body shudders. Zemo leans to turn up the heating, adjusting the fans to your direction. You give him a small smile. As you’re making your way through the town, Starr makes a comment about a local drive-through, exciting the rest of the passengers to the point where Belova is bouncing slightly as they all attempt to convince Zemo to pull over.

“I’m sure the Commander has a plane to catch.” Zemo says, dismissing their pleas. He glances over at you, and you meet his gaze. You smirk,

“Well the weather’s pretty awful right now. I don’t think they’ll be able to take off until morning, so I suppose I have some time to kill.”

“You’re paying.”

“Which one of us is a Baron?”

“And that money is finite, it’s hardly like I receive a monthly payment for being a Baron.”

“But Valentina pays you, doesn’t she?” You ask with hopeful eyes, and a rather smug smile. He grumbles quietly to himself before turning into the drive-through to the delight of the rest of the passengers. Belova gives a small cheer and you grin at her, missing the soft smile Zemo gives you.

°•. ✿ .•°

Then Zemo gets hurt on a mission, badly. His team is nowhere in sight and you know that if you bring him to medical Ross will keep him at the Raft forever. So you panic and do the only thing you can think of. You cut out your tracker and go off the grid with him. You head to a safe house that you haven’t used in years, and help nurse him back to health.

“It’s mostly broken bones. But a lot of broken bones. No internal bleeding which was a relief. You’re on a lot of pain medication right now.” You tell him, and he nods in understanding. You hadn’t really considered what he’d be like in this state, but he’s his usual calm self. You stand up, ready to leave him in peace. “Is there anything you need?” His fingers curl around your wrist, he winces at the movement but tightens his hold slightly.

“Stay?” He asks in a small voice. Whether his voice is thick from emotion or lack of use, you’re not sure, but you nod. You sit down on the bed beside him, pouring him a glass of water and helping him to drink. A gentle smile flickers across his face and you notice the warmth in his gaze.

“Get some rest. I’ll be right here.”

°•. ✿ .•°

The two of you get increasingly closer as, for a while, Zemo is reliant on you to look after him.

He smoothes a hand over his face, and you can hear the scrape of his beard against his palm as you follow the motion of his hand. When he notices that he’s gained your attention he asks you,

“Would you mind helping me shave?” A small noise of protest is past your lips before you can stop it. He laughs softly, “What’s that face for?” You shrug, setting your book down and moving to sit on the bed beside his legs.

“I like it.” You admit, trailing a finger along his jawline, feeling the rough texture of his hair against your skin. “It reminds me of Paris.” You add, and he smiles.

“That was a fun one.” You hum in agreement as your thumb smooths over his cheek.

“You actually helped me on that one.” He frowns, not remembering being particularly helpful to you. “Everyone was so busy looking at you, in that goddamn suit, that they didn’t even notice me.”

“I certainly noticed you.” Your hand drops down into your lap.

“Perhaps that’s because I had a knife at your throat.” He shakes his head with a small smile.

“I noticed you much earlier than that. The morning before the gala, you went to the cafe on the corner. You were wearing that ridiculous hat, and pulling off the role of an irritating American tourist rather well.”

“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment.” He laughs softly, rubbing his hand against his face again as he thinks,

“Perhaps I’ll keep it.” You smile shyly, looking down at your lap.

“You don’t have to.” He shakes his head immediately dismissing your backtracking. “Would you like a trim?” You ask him. He nods, and you disappear into the bathroom before returning with a small basin of water, a flannel, and a hair styling kit. You hesitate as you attempt to figure out how you’re going to get close enough to him, though he soon realises your train of thought and pats his lap. “I don’t want to hurt you.” You protest.

“I’m mostly healed.”

“Which is why I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.” He states firmly, guiding you closer. You settle down in front of him, and begin to wash his face. You keep your focus on the task at hand, knowing that if you meet his eyes you’ll find them studying your face. He watches you as you devote your attention to carefully washing and drying his face, before you begin to comb the hair of his beard. His lips twitch into a smile at the creasing of your brow as you concentrate.

“No smirking.” You scold him quietly.

“Me? Smirking?” You roll your eyes as the smile creeps onto your face. You pick up the scissors and begin to trim the hairs with an unbreakable level of focus as you turn his face this way and that. Once his beard is trimmed to your liking, you retreat back into the bathroom to retrieve a mirror which you hand to him. He takes in his reflection, before lowering it to regard you with a soft smile.

“Very well done, Schatz. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

°•. ✿ .•°

Though Zemo also ensures to look after you.

You wake suddenly, hand clutching the knife under your pillow and impaling it into the wall before you’re even fully conscious. Your breathing is ragged as you stare at the hilt of your knife with the blade wedged into the wood of the door. Thudding back down against your pillows, you try to ignore the cold sheen over your skin as your heart continues to pound. You’re hardly thinking as you cast the covers away from your body, and drag yourself out of bed. You completely ignore the knife in the door as you open it and pad across the hallway into Zemo’s room. He’s awake, which is a relief, though he looks over at you almost half asleep. He gestures vaguely, encouraging you to come closer. Which you do, slipping under the covers beside him. He slides an arm around you, shifting you further into his arms. Your legs tangle between his, and his hand settles at the base of your neck, squeezing softly before trailing his fingers down your spine. You nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent, and finally allowing your body to relax.

“That’s it, Schatz, you’re safe.” He murmurs against your hair, and the two of you settle into one of the deepest sleeps either of you have had in a long time.

°•. ✿ .•°

The two of you fall into domestic life rather easily. You spend most of your days together, finding out you have a lot in common now that you can actually talk instead of conspiring against one another. You tell him about how you’ve spent the majority of the past few years in the Raft. That the only chances of freedom you get are missions, which certainly aren’t the most enjoyable. He tells you about his family, about Sokovia. About this new team that he’s a part of, and how it can be chaotic at times, but it’s the closest thing he’s had to family in a long, long time.

Your safe house is in the countryside, not far from a small village. So life with Helmut is rather quiet, not something either of you are used to. You take up gardening, planting vegetables and herbs. After living on the Raft for years, you haven’t had the chance to enjoy such greenery around you, or good home cooked food. You soon find out that Helmut is an excellent cook. He teaches you all kinds of dishes, your favourites are some of the Sokovian dishes that his mother taught him to make. Once he’s mostly healed from his injuries, he’ll help you in the garden. When you go to the market you’ll buy certain ingredients that he’s mentioned, or another blanket if he made a comment about being cold, or a new book if he’s already read through your collection twice. You know you should limit your spending, since you can’t use any credit cards while on the run, but it’s worth it to see the bright smile on his face along with the surprise that you’d actually been thinking of him.

On cold, rainy days, you’ll curl up on the couch together with blankets and mugs of tea provided by Helmut. Sometimes he’ll read aloud, his voice soft as he plays with your hair from where your head is lying in his lap. Sometimes he’ll rest his head against your thighs, and you’ll smooth your fingers through his hair as you both listen to the rain pattering against the roof.

Most nights you would end up in Helmut’s bed, whether that be because you woke up with a nightmare, or you just couldn’t sleep without him, or that you were in his bed reading and fell asleep in his arms. You can’t remember exactly when you stopped sleeping in your own room, and neither of you acknowledge the gradual change in your relationship.

You’re sitting on the front porch one warm morning, watching as Helmut tends to some of the flowers you’d planted and thinking deeply about the man before you. When you’d first heard about him, you regarded him professionally as an agent working on the Raft, thinking of him only as the man who blew up the UN. After the chaos of the blip, and then the return, you’d been so busy working. Of course you heard about the flag smashers, about what Helmut had done, before being brought to the Raft by the Dora Milaje. You hadn’t seen him then. You had met for the first time on a mission. From then on he and his team were the thorn in your side. You’d spent night and day trying to outsmart him, to ruin his plans. Somewhere along the way, you had begun to enjoy it. The little quips between you two as you fight over something. The covert dancing at galas and clubs. Now that you look back on it all, when did this start? When did you start loving him?

Whilst the two of you haven’t fully acknowledged it yet, you both know there’s something beautiful growing between you. He’ll call you Schatz and Liebling, you’ll call him love and dear. When you’re cooking he’ll wrap his arms around you. You’ll kiss his cheek when he makes you laugh. The two of you will wake up together in a tangle of limbs, your chests pressed together.

Some mornings you wake to Helmut murmuring sweet nothings against your skin in Sokovian. Not only does he think you’re still asleep, he also doesn’t know that you know Sokovian. One morning, you wake to the sun glowing from behind the curtains and Helmut’s lips brushing against your shoulder as he pulls you closer. It’s become an almost routine, you pretending to be asleep as he mumbles his sleep-addled admiration of you. Though it has been getting more and more difficult not to respond verbally or physically to his murmurings. Then he kisses along your shoulder, his murmurs continuing,

“Du bedeutest mir so viel, Schatz.” You mean so much to me, sweetheart. Your heart warms at his words. “Ich liebe dich.” I love you. He loves you. Helmut Zemo loves you. He shifts slightly, as he feels you react. “I’m sorry if I woke you.” He tells you, acting as he hasn’t just confessed his love to you, and he begins to pull away. You turn around quickly, pulling him back in closer against your body.

“I love you too.” You breathe out, nuzzling against his chest. He tenses for a moment, realising that you’ve been understanding him all along. Then he’s tightening his hold on you. He presses a soft kiss to your forehead as he breathes out a small laugh,

“You’ve known Sokovian this whole time?” You hum in confirmation. He leans back to look at your face, seeing a glowing smile filling your features. He cups your cheek with his hand, brushing his nose delicately, “May I?” He asks you. You nod,

“I’m all yours.” Then he finally kisses you.

°•. ✿ .•°

The two of you manage to live in peace together for a number of months, that is until his team shows up.

There’s a knock at the door and you’re greeted to the sight of Justin, with Yelena, John, and Ava hovering close behind him. They all look a little surprised to see you, and you’re willing to bet you look just as surprised to see them.

“What the hell are you doing here?” You ask them, but Justin and John hurry past you. You don’t do anything to stop them, knowing that they don’t pose a threat to Helmut or yourself. Yelena frowns a little at the boys, but then follows them. Ava gives you a small smile. You wave her into the house, “By all means come in, everyone else has.” You follow them into the living room where Helmut is sitting on the couch. Of course he recognises the footsteps of his team thundering down the hallway, but he only lowers his book when you’ve all gathered before him because he’s a drama queen.

“You look like shit.” Yelena remarks, but you know she’s been worrying about him. That they all have.

It’s a tight squeeze, fitting them all into your safe house. When it was just you and Helmut, the space felt just right; with an extra four people, you would think it’s verging on claustrophobic. But if anything it feels more cosy. You and Helmut share his room, Ava and Yelena share your room, John sleeps on the couch, and Justin sleeps on the pull out. There’s a bit of an adjustment to your usual routine, and you have to buy a lot more food. But within a day or so, their presence begins to feel natural. The six of you spend a lot of time out in the garden, or huddled comfortably in the living room. Which is what you’re doing when everything changes.

“Did you hear that?” John asks sharply. He stands and peers behind the curtains. The rest of you exchange confused glances. Yelena shakes her head, but she stands and goes to look in the hallway. You look over at her as she returns, once she meets your eyes she shrugs,

“Nothing.” Despite living in peace together for the last week, you’re all still on edge, not entirely sure what to do.

“I’ll go check.” Ava offers, then disappears from view, presumably materialising outside the house. You all wait in quiet suspense for her to return. Then you hear it. A muffled scream from Ava. You all turn to one another in shock.

“Run.” You order them, just as the front door is forced open, the wood splintering as armoured men crowd into the house. You leap up from the couch and run to the kitchen, hoping Helmut isn’t far behind. You hear a crash as John leaps through the window, and the thundering of Yelena rushing upstairs. You seize a knife from the countertop as the back door bursts open. With a quick glance out the kitchen window, you see a small SWOT team making their way to the door. You lunge at the first man as he attempts to grab you. You manage to take down two men, but only momentarily. There’s just too many of them. You’re shoved to the floor, your face pressing against the cold kitchen tiles as they wrestle your wrists behind your back. Once they’ve forced a pair of handcuffs on you, they pull you up and March you out of the house. You struggle and stumble, and make it as difficult as possible for them. As you reach the driveway you see John being held on the ground as they attach some large cuffs over his wrists. Another man has Justin pressed against the side of a black van. From the violent bangs and yells coming from inside one of the vans, you guess that they’ve already contained Ava somehow. Yelena and Helmut are kneeling down and cuffed, with a few guards gathered around them. You meet Helmut’s eyes for a moment as the men shove you down to kneel next to Yelena.

“How the tables have turned.” A voice crows from your side, and you groan when you recognise him. Steven. Your supposed second in command. The one who was always undermining you. The one who always wanted your position. Well he’s welcome to it. You stare up at him unblinkingly, saying nothing, and his smirk widens. “Where’s all that famous Commander fight gone?”

“Take these handcuffs off and I’ll show you.” You growl at him. He laughs, and a few of your other former teammates join in on his amusement. He turns away from you. “Or not, you always were a coward.” He wheels around quickly and backhands you. The pain spreads across your cheek, knocking you to the side, but you manage to keep your balance. You look back up at him with a smirk, and begin to laugh quietly.

“What’re you laughing at?” He spits, noticing the guards eyeing you.

“I just think it’s funny.” You say, smirking at him. “That the only time you can land a punch is when your target’s handcuffed and on their knees. Even then, is that the best you can do?” Your ears ring from the force of his next blow, and your vision blurs. You can hear Helmut’s voice distantly, but you’re already losing consciousness too fast to understand what he’s saying.

°•. ✿ .•°

You wake up with a start. Your first thought is, where’s Helmut? Then you realise you’re in your room, the one back on the Raft. Then it all comes back. You stand up hurriedly, your legs wobbling as you stumble to your feet. You catch your reflection in the mirror, the beginnings of bruises mar the side of your face as proof of your capture.

Whilst it probably isn’t the smartest idea, the first thing you do is rush into Ross’s office.

“Sir, I can explain everything.” You say, despite the fact that you can explain absolutely nothing.

“Commander, good to see you’re up and at ‘em.” He says lightly, as if his own men weren’t the reason for your unconscious state of arrival. “And there’s no need, Zemo’s done all the explaining for you.”

“He has? Where is he?”

“Back in his cell. I’m sure he’ll appreciate us leaving his things from his last stay.” Ross chuckles, and you force a smile with a distracted half-laugh.

“What exactly did Zemo tell you?”

“Oh, everything. Going off the grid with him to lure his team to you, knowing we’d be able to track you eventually. A smart move I have to say.”

“Thank you sir.” You say, hoping he doesn’t pick up on the hollowness in your tone. “Did you manage to secure the entire team?”

“We did. Hammer, Belova, Walker, Starr, and Zemo. All thanks to you.” You nod, as your mind reels.

“And they’re all staying at the Raft?” He nods,

“For the moment. We’ve decided to have the relevant scientists flown in, instead of transferring our new inmates.”

“Scientists, sir?” He nods, standing to walk around the side of his desk and perch on it in front of you.

“Of course. Belova was under the subjugation of the Red Room, with her we can implement it in our own agents. Starr is the key to quantum manipulation. Walker will allow us to finally crack the case on the super soldier serum. It won’t take us long to break Hammer, then we’ll have a new tech wiz to replace Stark.”

“And Zemo?” He shrugs,

“I have no use for him. He’s free to live the rest of his life in his cell.” He laughs, clapping his hands together, “Hell, you keep working like this, Commander, and you’ll end up with my job.”

“One can only hope sir.”

Ross dismisses you, telling you that you’ve already done enough work. He even offers to give you a week holiday, as if a week spent on the Raft could ever be considered a holiday. Your legs shake as you find an empty hallway and you lean against the wall for support, before sliding down to sit on the floor with your head in your hands. You stay like that for quite some time, trying to figure out something, anything, to do. You pull out your phone, scrolling through the contacts until you find the one Helmut gave you, in case of an emergency. You dial the number, your leg bouncing as you wait for an answer. The Contessa’s voice is cheery but you know she’s far from pleased that her entire team is in Ross’s custody. Your conversation is brief, you secure a quinjet for you and the rest of the team in exchange for a place on her team, should they want you. There’s a limited window of time before the Raft is fully submerged again. You’ll have to move fast.

You head down to the lower levels, where the laboratories are. It doesn’t take you long to find where they’re holding Yelena. She’s conscious, but restrained to a metal surgery table. Luckily there’s only one doctor in the room, and he’s distracted by whatever he’s reading, so much so that he doesn’t hear you enter. Yelena’s eyes widen when she notices you, and you motion for her to be quiet. It doesn’t take much to knock the doctor unconscious. You leave him on the floor and immediately cut the bindings around Yelena. Once she’s free she’s seizing a scalpel, you grasp a hold of her wrist, keeping the metal away from your throat as the two of you crash to the floor.

“You sold us out.” She hisses, as you both struggle against each other.

“I didn’t, Yelena please. I spoke with Valentina, there’s a quinjet on its way to get us all out of here. But we don’t have long.”

“Why should I trust you?”

“Because I want to get out of here just as much as you do.”

John’s being held on the same level, at the other end of the corridor. You and Yelena stop off at one of the nearby armouries where they’ve locked up her and John’s tact gear. You grab a few extra weapons and then the two of you go to retrieve John. There’s several scientists in his room, along with a small number of guards. You and Yelena soon fight them off, until they’re all knocked unconscious or are too injured to move. Yelena cuts John free, explaining your plan to him, as you man the doorway. He pulls on his own tact gear quickly, and soon the three of you are heading to the elevator.

“Ava will be on the floor below this one. Justin will be two floors up. Ava will have more security, so you two go get her, and I’ll get Justin. Come find me when you’re done, we’ll wait for you.” You tell them as you press the button for the elevator. They both agree, and step into the elevator. The doors close, and you wait for the elevator to come back for it to take you to Justin’s floor. You manage to convince his interrogators to take a break while you attempt to ‘crack’ him. Once they’re gone, you step into the room and uncuff Justin from the chair they’ve tied him to. He rubs at his wrists and you attempt to mop up some of the blood at the side of his head. “Are you alright?” You ask him. He shrugs off your concerns, despite him looking the most disheveled you’ve even seen him.

“Let’s get out of here.” He says, and you nod, helping to pull him to his feet. You steal his briefcase of tech from the evidence room and head towards the stairway to wait for the others. Hearing three pairs of footsteps racing up in your direction, you look down the staircase, preparing for the worst. You sigh in relief when you spot Yelena, John, and Ava.

“Everyone okay?” They all nod, “Let’s go get Helmut.”

You’re tense as you and the team make your way up the stairs towards the prisoner’s floor. You weave your way through the maze of corridors, knowing the way to his cell by heart.

“Wait here.” You tell them, knowing that a large group crowded around Helmut’s cell will attract some unwanted attention.

“Ross is onto us. My codes aren’t working. Justin?” You call out and he nods, pulling open his briefcase and beginning to fiddle with the console beside you.

“I don’t think so.” A voice from the end of the corridor speaks up. Steven. Fantastic.

“And what are you going to do about it?” You goad him, hoping that he’ll go for you and you can fight him off to buy Justin more time. His eyes narrow and you smirk, “Hit me again? Go on, I know you’ve been dying to.” He doesn’t disappoint you, lunging for you faster than you expect. You dodge his first few swings, landing a few hits of your own before you’re shoved against the wall, his hands crushing your windpipe. You land a hard kick to his kneecap and his grip on you falters, allowing you to slip away. You slam his head against the wall. He’s stunned but he still manages to grab you again. You don’t feel his hit land, but there’s a sharp pain in your abdomen which has you crying out. Then he’s gone. Tackled to the wall by a blur of prisoner uniform, relief overwhelming you at the sight of Helmut freed. It only takes a few direct hits to the face for Steven to go down, slumped in a pile of limbs on the floor. In all your time fighting against him, you’ve never seen Helmut use such brutal force. He turns to you and the two of you can only stare at each other.

“I had that covered.” You tell him with a small smile. He breathes out a laugh,

“It looked like it.”

“Thank you, though.” You say with a small nod, a brief smile curls at his lips in response.

“You’re welcome.”

“Come on lovebirds.” Justin calls out to you from the doorway. You hear a large group of people heading down the corridor towards you. Helmut follows you as the two of you rush through the doorway, and Justin locks it behind you. Helmut’s eyes haven’t left you, so he catches the wince you immediately try to cover up.

“What’s wrong?” He asks you.

“It’s nothing.” You say, motioning casually with your hand, which you realise is rather coated in blood.

“You’ve been stabbed.”

“It’s more of a slash.” You remark, looking down at the wound with another wince. He narrows his eyes at you, pulling his hoodie off to press against your wound. You hiss at the contact. “We need to keep moving.” You insist. He nods,

“Which way?” You look up at the corridor, trying to gage your bearings.

“That way.” You nod in the right direction. Helmut loops an arm around your waist, allowing his shoulder to support you, as his other hand keeps the pressure on your wound. You continue to guide the team through the labyrinth of corridors until you reach one of the maintenance exits, which should lead straight up to the upper level where Valentina has hopefully kept her promise. The rest of the team begin to make their way up the maintenance ladder quickly, the metallic clanging of their feet echoing quietly through the narrow space. John is the first to reach the top, once he gets the door open at the top a bright beam of light illuminates the exit. You look up to see a glimpse of the bright blue sky awaiting you, and you let out a shuddering breath. Helmut’s hand is still pressed against your stomach, and he sees how your nails dig into your palms as you grip the rung of the ladder. “You should go in front of me.” You tell him. He shakes his head. “You’ll be faster.” You reason.

“I’m not leaving you behind.” He guides you to the ladder, helping you up the first few rungs with a hand on your waist. “And I’ll be here if you fall.” It’s excruciating. Pulling your body up the ladder, inch by inch, with every muscle screaming at you. You can feel your blood, hot against your abdomen, mixing with the sweat coating your skin. Helmut is behind you every step of the way, offering encouragement that you slowly stop fully understanding as you become more lightheaded. Once you get close enough to the top, Yelena is helping, pulling you up, and you collapse to the floor. Breathing hard, lying flat on your back, you stare up at the open sky above you. You’re not sure if it’s the rushing of blood in your ears, or the crashing waves of the ocean, but either way, it’s the sound of freedom. The quinjet is waiting for you all, and Helmut helps you as you stagger towards it. Once you’re inside, you’re sliding into a seat, your legs giving way quickly. “Stay with me, Schatz.” Helmut says, as you grip onto his wrist.

“I’m here, I’m here.” You reassure him. Ava appears with a first aid kit, and Helmut begins to work on your wound. Your eyes skim over the group. “Someone should see to Hammer, he doesn’t look too good.”

“You look worse.” He argues, flinching as Ava presses a cold compress against his face.

“Thanks Justin.”

“Stop talking.” Helmut scolds you. It doesn’t take too long for him to fix you up, to the best of his abilities. He sits down beside you, and you rest your head against his shoulder. Your eyes flutter closed at his familiar scent.

“Can I go to sleep now?” You ask in a small voice as you continue to fight with your consciousness. Helmut looks down at your exhausted face, before pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.

“Yes, Schatz. You can sleep.”

°•. ✿ .•°

You wake to a strand of hair falling over your face, though it doesn’t stay there long as a hand brushes it behind your ear. Your eyes flutter open, and Helmut’s soft smile is the first thing you see.

“Where are we?” You ask him, your voice quiet and thick with sleep.

“My room, in Valentina’s house.” You close your eyes, a small smile on your face as you mumble against the pillow.

“You have room in Valentina’s house? Is she about to come in? I wouldn’t want to intrude.” He chuckles, shifting closer to you.

“It’s just us, Schatz.” His fingers brush over your skin to cup your cheek affectionately, his thumb trailing across your cheekbone. You hum contentedly.

“Good.” He’s quiet for a moment, before he speaks up.

“You rescued us.”

“Of course. Thank you for covering for me with Ross.” He nods,

“I thought it best to have someone on the inside.”

“You could have told me your plan.”

“I wanted you to be free to choose. I knew you’d be capable of breaking us out should you want to. I wanted you to decide whether you wanted to stay there.”

“I couldn’t stay. Not when I knew that they would be prying into Yelena’s mind, or that Justin was being beaten black and blue. Or that they’d keep taking John’s blood until they had an entire army of super soldiers, or tearing Ava’s cells to pieces. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I’d let that happen.” Helmut pulls you closer into his arms, fingers trailing down your spine soothingly.

“We’re all safe now, Schatz. You got us out.” You nod, the pain and the fear of the last 24 hours finally creeping up on you, as tears fill your eyes.

“I also couldn’t live with a wall of glass and metal bars between us.” You mumble into his neck and he grips onto your shirt when he feels your hot tears against his skin.

“I am unbelievably grateful for the chance to hold you again.” He whispers, his voice breaking for a moment. You turn your head further into his embrace, pressing your lips against his cheek, and he sees you wince as you shift back into his arms. “Careful Schatz, you were stabbed.”

“Yeah, I do remember that.” You out a soft, tearful, laugh. He strokes your cheeks tenderly, brushing your tears away before leaving soft kisses all over your face until you’re smiling again. Your heavy eyes flutter closed as you relax against him.

“Get some rest, Schatz. I’ll be right here.” You smile up at him, feeling a sudden sense of deja vu.

“I guess it’s your turn to take care of me now?” He laughs softly,

“Yes it is. And I’m going to enjoy every second of it.”

“So am I.”

°•. ✿ .•°

Valentina gives the team a few months off, mostly as a gift to you for bringing the team back in one piece. You and Helmut pack your bags and head to Europe in his jet. He introduces you to Oeznik, the old man was practically glowing when he saw how happy Helmut was again.

The two of you visit the Sokovian memorial together. You had offered to wait nearby and give him a moment alone, but he had insisted you be with him. You stand by his side as you look down at the transcription on the memorial.

“She’d be proud of you.” You say quietly, not looking at him.

“Would she?” He asks, staring down at the ground.

“Are you happy?” He seems a little thrown by your question. He stares away for a moment, lost in thought, until realisation shines in his eyes and he admits hoarsely,

“Yes, more than I have been in a long time.” You look back at him.

“Then she’d be proud. I know the way you got here wasn’t exactly conventional.” You say with a small smile as you nudge his shoulder. “But I think that’s all she would want for you.” You take his hand in your own, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

°•. ✿ .•°

You never want him to feel the need to hide anything about his wife for your sake. And you tell him so as you walk through the streets of Rome. He’s mid-way through telling you about a post honeymoon trip when he stops and apologises, mentioning how you wouldn’t be interested.

“Helmut, I know you will always love Heike, and I want to hear about her. Please?” He regards you with such a fond look that you nearly melt. He glances down the street, and something catches his attention. After a brief look at the wall behind you, he smiles. Placing his hands against your hips, he guides you gently against the wall. You frown at him, a little confused by the sudden change in tone of conversation.

“Do you see that restaurant?” He asks you, motioning his head to the building that had caught his eye earlier. Still confused, you nod. “It was the year before Carl was born,” he begins. Understanding dawns on you, and your face softens. “Heike and I were visiting some friends.” His fingers brush along your sides, as he traces your curves absentmindedly. “We started at a bar on the other side of the city at seven in the evening. By three in the morning, we had ended up here.” You pull your eyes from the doors of the restaurant and look up at him as he brushes a strand of hair from your face. “When the owners finally kicked us out, we were tired, full of good food and drink, and happy.” You smile softly at the thought of a young Helmut, blissfully happy with his wife. His smile mirrors your own, but there’s a trace of mischief in his eyes. “And then, I backed her against this wall, right here and…” His lips are on yours, as he steps forward, pushing you further into the bricks against your back. His mouth moves hungrily against yours, as his hand moves to the back of your neck to grip at the hair there. You whimper as he slides his thigh between your legs and you part them immediately to accommodate him. He pulls his lips away, and you attempt to breathe again, looking up at him with a dazed look in your eyes. He smiles at you softly, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “She had the same look on her face as you do now when I did that.”

“I don’t blame her.” You remark with a small laugh which he returns, before you pull him in again by his jacket. The kiss is long and slow as you intertwine your fingers, and he holds them against the wall as he pushes his body closer to yours. He presses a few more soft, lingering kisses to your lips before leaning his forehead against yours to give you both a chance to breathe again. “Where to next?” You ask him.

“I was thinking about Paris?” He suggests with a twinkle in his eye that makes you grin.

“Only if you wear that suit again.”

°•. ✿ .•°

After spending your summer around Europe, you and Helmut meet up with the rest of the team at one of his safe houses. The six of you soon settle in together and Valentina drops off the intel for your first mission. The team begins working on locating your target. Justin runs facial recognition and hacks into databases to retrieve files for the rest of the team to read through. You spend most of your mornings doing research, then training during the afternoon. You spar with whoever’s up for it, though you only fight Helmut for fun as you can read each other far too well. Then you’ll either eat dinner as a team, or Helmut will invite you out to a restaurant, or a picnic under the stars.

One morning you wake up in Helmut’s arms, as usual.

“Good morning, Schatz.”

“Morning, my love.” You nuzzle closer against his chest, and his fingers trace the line of your spine carefully. You hum contentedly as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead. A pair of heavy footsteps head down the stairs, and Helmut murmurs,

“That will be John.”

“Meaning that’s our cue to get up.” He nods, and you whine, “Five more minutes?” He chuckles softly,

“Two more minutes, and you can stay under the covers while I shower.”

“Deal.”

“And no going back to sleep.”

“I will try my hardest.” He makes a small noise which conveys how unconvinced he is. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.” He laughs softly, holding you close. You pout when he finally gets up, but settle back under the covers as he heads into the bathroom. You decide to sit up in bed, knowing that you will fall back asleep, especially with Helmut’s warm pillow in your arms and the soothing sound of the shower. When the bathroom door swings open, you’re blinking the sleep from your eyes and Helmut smiles at the sight of you. He leans forward over the bed to kiss you tenderly, when he pulls away he brushes your noses together and you beam at him. “I love you.” You tell him, and his smile widens.

“And I love you.” He kisses you again, before leaving to give you the space to get ready. You hear him talking to Justin in the hallway, and the two of them head downstairs. You shower and get dressed before following Helmut downstairs to the kitchen, only to find the whole team at the kitchen table. You smile and nod in response to the small chorus of good mornings before making some breakfast for yourself. You’re aware of a few conversations occurring, but don’t tune into any of them until you’re sat down at the table. The only seat left is between Justin and Ava, but you’re directly opposite Helmut so he gives you a small smile before he continues reading his newspaper. John’s scowling a little into his coffee, and you nudge Ava slightly.

“What’s up with him?”

“Yelena and I were just discussing codenames.” She explains. You frown at her,

“Codenames?”

“Yeah, like a team name, you know? Like the Avengers.” Yelena adds.

“But not the Avengers obviously,” Justin specifies, before adding, “We know how Zemo feels about them.” Most of you roll your eyes at the recurring joke.

“What did they call us on the Raft?” Ava asks you.

“There was an official codename, but that was just a load of numbers and letters. Most people called you Valentina’s team. I called you Zemo’s team, because…”

“Zemo’s your favourite?” John teases. You open your mouth to argue but then, thinking better of it, you shrug with a smirk as you catch Helmut’s eye.

“It depends on how much he’s annoyed me.” They continue to throw out names at one another, as you and Helmut exchange a knowing look. You decide to cast your mind over the issue, trying to come up with an idea before the team descends into chaos.

“I have an idea.” You offer, and they turn to you and you see Helmut raise a brow in interest. “I was just thinking of names that would really stick it to Ross.” You admit with a small smile.

“Since that’s our mission in life.” Justin remarks and you laugh softly,

“Exactly.” They all look at you expectedly, your new team, your new family, and your smile widens as you suggest, “What about the Thunderbolts?”

[captainsy-cookiemonster]

Tease

(Gif not mine; found on pinterest!)

Anon requested: Geralt and Reader are teasing each other until Geralt snaps and fucks her until she passes out.

Thank you anon for that request ❤️

Summary: You accompany your brother Jaskier and the famous White Wolf on their travels through the Continent. Over the time, you start to catch feelings for the lonesome Witcher, and you decide to act on them – your parents didn’t raise a coward after all. So you keep teasing and teasing, waiting for his strong patience to snap. And when it does, it’s far more than you bargained for.

Pairing: Geralt x 1st person reader; Jaskier x sister!reader

Warnings: +18 minors dni, SMUT (obviously); teasing (badly written, I suck at flirting); rough sex; multiple orgasms (a total of seven); dom/sub; male!dom/fem!sub; mentions of body fluids; overstimulation; begging; marking; size!kink; mature language; took a slightly darker twist towards the end of the, uhm, session; little fluff at the end; friends to lovers (?)

If you're uncomfortable with any of this, do not read!

A/N: Dear anon, I’m sorry i took so long for this. I started this weeks ago and then got stuck... I hope it turned out like you expected.💕

Word count: 6.7k (yup, I can’t keep it short)

Title: Tease

Tagging @littlefreya, @princess-of-riviaa​, @cherry-acid, @ohjules and @achaoticaugust. Figured you might like it ☺️💕

Enjoy ❤️ feedback and reblog are always welcome and appreciated 💕

“Is that the best you can do?” I pant as I raise my blade, pointing it at my opponent, who, with a deep growl, does the same. He swings his sword at me and I dodge it expertly, swinging my own sword at him in return. He delivers blow after blow, and I either block or dodge every single one of them. The dance lasts for a while. We let out teasing remarks, echoed by the clashing of our swords. All the while, my brother sits on a log by the campfire, strumming his lute, composing his next song.

Yeah, being the daughter of the Viscount of Lettenhove has its perks. Father lets us do whatever we want. He was the one who allowed Jaskier to travel the Continent before going to Oxenfurt for some education fitting his status. He was the one who trained me in swordfight and fencing when I asked. And when Jaskier showed up at home two months ago, accompanied by none other than the famous Geralt of Rivia, father allowed me to go with them.

“You fight like an angry kitten, girl!”

About half an hour passes and the sword in my hands begins to feel heavy, but if there is one thing father has taught me, it’s to never let your opponent know they have the upper hand.

“What?” I challenge, “Don’t you have more?”

“Oh, my lady, I could go on for hours,” the White Wolf grins at me tauntingly, bearing his fangs, “but I doubt you can.”

I clench my jaw, frustrated with how easily he read me. With a weak battlecry, I charge at him, but my grip isn’t as strong as it had been an hour ago, and sweaty palms made the handle slippery.

Geralt knocks the sword from my hands in a matter of seconds, spins me around and pulls me against his chest, his blade resting against my throat with just enough pressure to let me know I’ve been defeated.

“It seems, my lady,” he growls into my ear, “That you’re not as strong as you think you are.”

I blame it on the exhaustion that I let my body fall slack against his incredibly broad one, letting out a long breath in an attempt to slow my racing heartbeat. I’m lost in the moment, feeling the flex of Geralt’s strong chest against my back. My mind is racing straight to the gutter with the thoughts of his body against mine. He’s large, handsome and seems to have quite the stamina. In short, I want him. I wanted him ever since the stepped a foot onto my father’s court.

So now I stand there, pressed against him, my head barely reaching his shoulder, his sword against my neck and his growled remark still ringing through my ears. Well, until –

“Hey, listen to this!” Jaskier calls and Geralt quickly lets go of me, marching over to slump down on a log and tears the leg off the rabbit that’s been roasting over the fire. With a little blush tinting my cheeks, I saunter over to where my brother is seated, intentionally passing the Witcher. I sway my hips more than necessary. I know he’s staring.

***

“Sit still, for crying out loud!” I hiss for what feels like the tenth time in just a few minutes. My hands are bloody, the needle slippery and the Witcher’s constant flinching isn’t helping. A bruxa had almost gotten the better of him and it was on me to stitch up the long gash bitch had left along his ribs.

“And they call me a butcher,” Geralt grumbles and then supresses a hiss of pain as I make another stitch.

“It would hurt less if you would stay still,” I mutter, “Or do you want me to kiss it better?”

“As much as I would like that, my lady, I doubt that would work.”

“Then stop whining and let me do what I need to do.”

An hour later, he lies in his bed, ribcage bandaged, and high on herbs that should soothe his pain. I sit at his side watching him, while my brother is out earning some extra coin downstairs in the tavern. Absentmindedly, I run my fingers through the Witcher’s tangled and dirty mane, caress his strong jaw. Luckily, he’s out as a light, so he doesn’t notice.

He looks peaceful now, handsome features relaxed for once. He’s gorgeous, and there is no denying that he makes me feel a certain way. Lost in thought, I keep caressing his cheek and jaw, thread my fingers through his hair. There is a thin sheen of sweat lining his brow, rebuilding within a few minutes every time I wipe it away.

I quickly pull my hand back when I see him stir. Geralt groans in pain, attempting to sit up. In a flash, my hands are on his shoulders, pushing him back down gently but determined.

“No, no, Witcher. Stay down. I’m not stitching you up again,” I scold, dabbing a little sweat off his brow, – again – lingering for just a second longer than necessary.

“You wouldn’t have to in the first place, if you had just followed my orders,” he grunts, then groans again, another attempt to sit up failing.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I exclaim, throwing my hands in the air in frustration, “But I guess you can be happy someone was willing to play the bait. What would you have done if I hadn’t been there?”

Geralt remains quiet while I turn my back and march over to the table, mixing a new dose of herbs.

“Thought so,” I mutter.

***

Weeks later, Jaskier had convinced Geralt to play bodyguard at some royal banquet – not for the first time, I gathered.

“Well, don’t you clean up nicely,” I grin as I barge into the Witcher’s room, finding him with combed hair for once, while Jaskier tugs the dark blue doublet in place over the light grey shirt, “Why no armour, though?”

“Ask your brother,” Geralt just grumbles, definitely uncomfortable in those new clothes.

I simply shrug and step closer to the broad man, the heavy skirts of my gown rustling as I go.

Bold hands move to touch his medallion, turning the pendant around, so the engraved side is facing outward again. Featherlight, I run my fingertips along the outlines of the snarling wolf, before I let my fingers linger on his chest.

Peering up at him, innocently through my lashes, I catch him staring down at me, not at my face but lower, at the soft swell of my breasts, peeking out from my tightly laced bodice I’ve grown used to over the years.

Once he realizes he’s staring, he clears his throat loudly and takes a step back.

“We should get going,” he mutters, before stepping out of the room.

I’m left behind to stare at Jaskier, dumbfounded. My brother just shrugs, linking his arm with mine to lead me down to the great hall.

The large room is swarming with nobility, the fewest of them I had met before. We find Geralt leaning against the wall, a pint of ale in hand, and not long after, I stand next to him, dumped by Jaskier so he could perform. There is a tense silence between us while I search for something to talk about.

“This isn’t the first time you watch over my brother at a royal party?” I ask clumsily.

“No,” is all Geralt grumbles in return and for a moment, the silence between us continues. Then, “The first time was in Cintra. Didn’t end well.”

I turn to him, surprised that he’s taking. “What happened?” I ask, wide-eyed and curious.

“That’s none of your business, my lady.”

“Jaskier told me you claimed the Law of Surprise? Where is that child it got you?” The question slips out before I can stop it. Anxiously, I bite my tongue while waiting for his answer.

“Where should it be? It’s in Cintra, where it belongs,” comes his grunted reply after a moment.

“You didn’t claim it?”

“No.”

And the silence resumes, weighing heavier than ever. A few young nobles approach over the time, asking me for a dance, but I politely decline every single one of them. There’s only one man here tonight I’d want to dance with, and he’s not even talking to me. Still, I feel him tense up every time the words “My lady, would you honour me with a dance?” are said.

Dinner is served soon enough, and passes rather quickly. All the while, I can feel the Witcher’s glances, but I don’t pay much attention to him, catching up with a friend I haven’t seen in a long time. When he asks me for a dance, I don’t deny him, letting him lead me to the dancefloor. Geralt’s eyes don’t leave me for even one second, until, finally, I see him get up from his seat and come over, determination in his step, making the ground shake – or am I the only one who feels that way?

“Mind if I take over?” his deep, smooth voice sounds honey-sweet as he steps up to us.

“Of course, Sir,” the young knight bows and lets go of my hand and waist. He bows low as we part and I curtsy quickly, straightening back up to meet the Witcher’s amber gaze, a hint of anger dancing in his eyes like a little flame. Within a blink, his right hand is splayed out over the expanse of my lower back, his other one swallowing my own whole, making me feel small and trapped against his large form – an addicting feeling that I’ve craved since the moment I met him.

Geralt starts to sway to the slow music and I follow as he leads me across the dancefloor with surprising ease. Every single step is precise, sheer dominance radiating off him. I wouldn’t have expected a ‘savage’ Witcher, how many people called them still, to be talented in ballroom dancing.

“I didn’t know you could dance,” I smirk up at him, not letting this new discovery intimidate me – his size compared to mine, so close, does that already, but I won’t let it show.

“I get around,” is all he mutters in reply.

“So I’ve noticed.” There’s a moment of silence between us and I use it to trail my hand from his shoulder down his bulging biceps and back up to rest against his chest. I notice him staring at my cleavage again and I bite the inside of my lip not to laugh.

“You think you can do that, hm?” he growls after a while and pulls me closer, chests touching lightly.

“Do what?” I ask innocently, blinking up at him.

“Don’t play coy now; you know exactly what I mean.”

“I am afraid I do not, Witcher.”

“So you want me to spell it you for you, do you?” Geralt hisses.

On the outside, I keep my innocent mask, giving Geralt a questioning look. But inwardly, I’m squealing and grinning. I had finally gotten to him, after months of hinting and teasing, all it had taken was a little bit of jealousy.

“You think you can tease me for months and then take the first chance you get to flirt with another man?” he almost spits.

I bite my lip and peer at him through my lashes. “Well, yes?”

“Oh no, you cannot.” With these words, he pulls me flush against his body and smashes his lips on mine in an urgent kiss. I kiss back just as needy, letting him pry my lips apart without resistance, welcoming his slippery, talented tongue in my hot cavern. The dance long forgotten, we stand on the dancefloor, tightly entwined in each other, letting our tongues do the dancing now.

“Fuck,” I whisper against his lips once Geralt pulls back to let me breathe. Without another word, he takes my hand and leads me out of the hall. If I had glanced over my shoulder, I would have seen Jaskier grinning and nodding at us, but I didn’t, too caught up in the Witcher leading me away.

I stumble after him, struggling to match his fast and urgent pace. Some people give us weird looks, but neither of us cares. Once in an empty hallway, Geralt slams my back against the stone wall, cornering me with his large body. He stares down at my heaving chest.

“My eyes are up here,” I giggle breathlessly, cupping the back of his neck with both hands and pulling him in for another deep kiss. He growls against my lips, the deep rumble shooting straight to my core, slickening my waiting cove.

“How many of these nobles do you know?” he murmurs against my skin as he moves to nip on my neck.

“Too many for you to fuck me here in the hall,” I pant, before biting back a moan threatening to escape.

“Pity. I could take you right against this wall,” he growls.

“As much as I would love that, Geralt, my father would disown me if he was to ever find out,” I mumble, trying to catch my breath.

“That you fucked a Witcher?”

I shake my head, laughing a lightly, “That I fucked in public; not to mention at a royal court. My father does not hold grudges against you Witchers. If he did, he would have never allowed me to come with you,” I point out, playing with the collar of his shirt. “You look very nice, by the way.” I smile up at him, suddenly shy.

“I would have preferred my armour, bu-” I cock my eyebrow at him and he stops his grumbling, smiling down at me softly, “Thank you. You do too, my lady.”

I grin and pull him in for another short kiss, before saying, “But I believe we’d both look better without all these constricting layers. Am I not right?”

Geralt doesn’t say anything, just lets go of a deep growl that makes me shudder before pulling me along the long hallways of the castle towards his assigned chamber. Once inside, he backs me up against the locked door with a predatory look in his eyes.

“You’re really asking for this, aren’t you?” he growls as he grips my hips tightly and pins me to the door.

“Oh fuck, yes,” I breathe in response, fumbling to push the doublet over his broad shoulders. He shrugs it off, the fabric rustling quietly as it falls to the ground. With my fingers tangled in his hair, the Witcher dives forward to claim my lips again, the kiss more urgent than minutes ago.

“How important is that dress to you?” he mutters against my mouth, nipping at my bottom lip, the day-old stubble on his jaw scratching my tender skin as he speaks.

“W-what?”

“I said, how important is that dress to you, my lady. Because I am tempted to tear it off you.”

I swat his hand away playfully as he starts tugging at the bottom of my bodice. “Don’t you dare, Witcher!” Geralt pulls his hands away and allowing me to turn around, my chest pressing against the chill wood as he slowly leans in to start unlacing, lips caressing every inch of skin that’s revealed to his eyes. The bodice falls to the ground with a quiet thud, followed by the rustling of my heavy skirt.

“Too many fucking layers,” Geralt grumbles, tugging at my slip and corset until both join the heaps of fabric on the floor, “But I can still smell how wet you are for me, girl.”

I gasp at his words, turning abruptly to throw my arms around his neck. I pull him in deep, and let him kiss me even deeper. Geralt’s hands wander from my waist down to the back of my thighs, but not before giving the cheeks of my behind a firm, long squeeze. A moan slips escapes my throat, spurring him on as he hikes my legs up to wrap around his waist.

Within seconds, my back is flush against the wall, hips grinding desperately against the hard planes of the Witcher’s body, seeking for some kind of friction. A deep growl erupts from the large animal as he devours my mouth, and suddenly, the constant pressure against my beck is gone, but soon replaced by the sweet softness of the castle’s expensive bedsheets.

Geralt lays me down on the bed, kneeling up for a moment, letting his eyes hungrily rake over my trembling form.

“You’re beautiful, little kitten,” he rasps, before diving back in to claim my lips, but he doesn’t remain there for long.

Slowly, he kisses his way from my lips to my jaw and down my neck, leaving little marks as he goes. He nips and licks at my collarbone, the dark purple marks a stark contrast to my skin. Geralt pulls back a little, admiring his work with lust-blown pupils. My body shakes in anticipation under his hot stare, the gold in his eyes glowing like ember, their heat seeping right into my core.

“I’d say the same about you, but I can’t really see you,” I try to purr, but it comes out as clumsy whisper instead, my brain hazed by the large, handsome Witcher above me and what he’s done so far.

With a sound between chuckle and growl, Geralt dives back in, lips, tongue and teeth caressing and teasing down the valley of my chest, strong hands coming up to firmly knead my tender breast. A whimper slips from my lips as my nipples harden against his rough, warm palms almost instantly, so sensitive, his ministrations send sparks all over my body.

Geralt turns his head and bites into my soft flesh, where it wouldn’t be hidden by any clothes I owned. I gasp as his teeth sink into my breast, gentle, yet hard enough to bruise. He licks and kisses at the stinging skin, humming at my taste as I let out small, breathy moans. The need within my core is burning, I’m trembling and desperate to have him inside me.

“Fuck, Geralt, please,” I whimper weakly between moans and shaky breaths.

He looks at me, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he grins. “Patience, my lady.” With these words, he moves to my other breast, marking it up just like the one before.

“No, please. He’ll see,” I whine, but my words are empty. Deep inside, I love being marked up by the famous Witcher. Deep inside, I don’t care that my brother will see what we did – he knows anyway.

It doesn’t matter anyway; my words fall to deaf ears. I guess he could smell how wet it was making me, so he keeps going, ignoring my pleas. He travels further down my body, marking my stomach, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses along my ribs and down my torso. Goose bumps rise on my skin as he blows on the wet patches, making me tremble.

Again, he pulls back, admiring his work: a tiny, trembling girl, marked by his lips, teeth and spit. There is a sense of pride in his eyes, like a predator that is about to devour its prey. Oh and devour me he does.

Within seconds, my undergarments are ripped from my body and my legs thrown over the Witcher’s shoulders, before I can even comprehend what happened. Wide-eyed, I stare down at Geralt, propped up on his elbows between my legs, grinning up at me teasingly.

“Please,” I pant, not knowing what exactly I’m asking for. The Witcher ticks his tongue.

“Patience.”

I let out a whimper, the need within my core growing unbearable, but Geralt just grins and starts nipping at the inside of my thigh, up to where I need him the most, but skips my keening folds, repeating the action on my other thigh.

My mind is swimming with just one thought: I need him. With my head thrown back into the soft pillows, I am panting, pleading for him to do something. But his cruel torture continues. He peppers soft kisses all over my mound, inching closer to my heat oh so slowly.

Unable to take it anymore, my hands find themselves tangled in his long, silky mane, trying to tug him to where I need him.

Geralt chuckles against my skin. “So desperate,” he muses in a rough whisper, but he groans when I tug a little harder than before, then inhales deeply. “Fuck, you smell so sweet, kitten.”

I let out a whine at his words, way beyond the point of forming ones of my own. Another chuckle. Another tug on his hair. And then, finally, he lays a small kiss on my lower lips, making me jolt.

“No one’s ever done that to you, hm?” he observes and I shake my head, “But you’re no virgin either.” Again, I shake my head, then gasp as he licks a broad stripe through my folds, from my slit right to my clit. But he spots just before he can touch my little pearl of pleasure. I can feel it throb and let out a whine of protest, wordlessly begging him. For what I’m begging, I’m not sure, all I know it that there is a pit forming in my gut, burning with hellfire, and only one thing can put it out.

Obeying to my pleading, Geralt repeats his action, this time flicking my little bundle of nerves with just the tip of his tongue. But the sensation is enough for me to cry out and clench around nothing. He hums lowly, dragging his teeth along my lips.

“You taste so much sweeter than I first thought, kitten. Fuck, you taste amazing!”

The vibration of his rough voice registers deep in my core, giving him a new wave of wetness to feast upon. With his eyes set on mine, he licks his lips before sinking into my folds, groaning at the taste.

“Fuck!” I cry out, followed by a string of broken moans as he devours me like a starving man. His tongue laps at my insides, discovering new spots that make me buck, just to hold down my hips in his iron grip.

Everything I feel is so strong and new, that it doesn’t take long for my walls to tremble, the pit in my belly threatening to explode. Desperately, I tug on Geralt's strands, but I don’t know if I want him to go deeper or to stop. My legs shake on his shoulders and threaten to clench around his head, but he keeps them open, grunting like a beast as he fucks me with his tongue.

And then, suddenly, I see white, my whole body tenses and twitches. A faint cry of the Witcher’s name rings in my ears and it takes me a moment to realize that it’s me screaming. Wave after wave of euphoria washes through my body, and I’m panting heavily, feeling boneless and limp as my vision clears.

Heavy-lidded, my eyes settle on the man between my legs. Throughout my climax, he kept licking and sucking, and he isn’t stopping. No. Instead, he picks up the pace, tongue plunging in between my petals, drinking in the honey of my pleasure.

Without warning, a finger joins his tongue, and shortly after, I see white again. When I come down, he still isn’t stopping. Fingers crooking in my core, Geralt latches his lips to my sensitive and throbbing pearl. It’s all too much and within a minute, I cum again, convulsing, trembling, spine lifting off the bed. And still, he keeps his ministrations steady, stroking and caressing my insides with two long and thick fingers, crooking them up, fingertips touching just the right spots, while his tongue keeps tracing patterns my poor, throbbing clit.

“Please, Geralt. No more. I can’t. Please,” I beg, not tugging, but pulling on his hair, trying to get him off me. It’s too much.

My pleading is answered with a growl. Like a dog when you try to steal its bone. Low and threatening. A tiny rush of fear flows through my body. He is not going to stop. Not until he has punished me for teasing him and then flirting with other men. The fear washes a new wave of wetness through my core, which he feasts upon, grunting wildly.

“Please,” I whine, one last time. My voice is meek, hoarse from screaming for him before.

“One more, kitten,” Geralt coos then, “I know you can do it. One more time. Cum for me, kitten.”

My body follows his demand before I can even process what’s happening. I cum around his fingers with a strangled cry, my whole body twitching and trembling. Tears fall from my eyes from the intensity of my orgasm, and when I come down, I’m a shaking and sobbing mess.

This is when Geralt finally pulls his fingers from me. I jolt and whimper weakly when he accidentally makes contact with my clit, only briefly, but it’s enough to send painful sparks of overstimulation throughout my whole body.

Geralt comes crawling up to lie beside me, his face glistening with my juices in the candlelight just like my skin is shining with my sweat.

“You did so good, little kitten,” he coos, pulling me into his arms. I cling onto his shirt, balling the fabric in my fist as I bury my face into his chest. Rubbing gentle circles on my back, Geralt whispers soothingly into my ear, calming me down effectively. Once my sob cease, he pushes me back a little to look straight into my eyes. His face is serious, yet his pupils remain lust-blown. It scares me a little. I dread what’s coming, but it excites me nonetheless.

“You know I’m not done with you yet, right?” he asks, but it’s far from a question. It’s a fact. He’s not done with me. Period.

I bite my lip and nod at him, eyes wide and innocent, as if I hadn’t just let him eat me like it was his last meal on earth.

“Are you ready?” his voice is a tad more gentle, now. I shake my head.

“A few more minutes?” I ask timidly.

“Okay.” Still, Geralt gets off the bed and starts stripping of his clothes.

I can’t help but stare at the glory that is revealed to me. Broad chest is littered with scars in all shapes and sizes, and even if I had seen them before, in this setting they make my breath hitch instead of heart clench. He is beautiful, gorgeous even. Dark curls dusting his pecs and lower abdomen, the line of hair disappearing beneath the waistband of his trousers, but lead no doubt to his treasure.

He sheds of his constricting breeches, the outline of his manhood becoming clearer as he stands in front of me in his pants. My mouth water at the sight of him, more so when with one final push, he stands there, completely bared to my eyes. I can’t help but gape at the glorious sight, the famous White Wolf in all his beauty.

“You’re drooling, my lady,” Geralt chuckles as he climbs back into bed, “Ready?”

Again, I shake my head. The spot between my thighs is still pulsing, still sensitive with every move I make. Yet there is no denying that I want him to be inside me. “Just a little bit,” I whisper.

With a low hum, the Witcher wraps me up in his arms, holding me close in his tight embrace. The way we’re laying, it’s almost impossible not to feel his hardness pressing to my side. He’s throbbing already, wet with precum and just as huge as the rest of Geralt.

“Just ignore it,” he mumbles, noticing the slight shift in my breathing, “Wait until you’re ready.”

I simply nod and nuzzle in deeper to his chest, the iron rod wrapped in velvet he calls his cock now pressing into my hip. As worn out as I am, I want him.

So, I slowly start grinding against him, craning my neck to claim his lips. Willingly, Geralt kisses back, probably relieved that I’m ready. He lets me assume control, holding onto my hips as he rolls to lie on his back, our lips not parting. Geralt lets me go at my pace, patiently caressing up and down my sides. I know, by now he’s so hard it must hurt, but still he isn’t rushing me.

After a few minutes of lazy kisses, I slowly pull back, my hands on his chest for support. Geralt looks up at me questioningly, and I nod. He puts his hand on my hips and guides me to kneel up. My eyes grow wide as I see his length, all hard and heavy against his abdomen.

“You can take it,” he encourages, “We’ll take it slow.”

I nod, biting my lip, and reach for his shaft. But he beats me to it, holding his member in one hand, guiding my hips above the tip with the other. Cautiously, I sway my hips back and forth, feeling the head of his cock just between my petals. I slick him up with my juices, watching as Geralt's face twists with the first bits of pleasure he received that night. I feel a little guilty and start to sink down on him, wincing after just a few inches, my taut canal too sore to take him at once. I lift myself up again and then slowly sink back down, taking him a little deeper than before. I continue until there’s only one third to go. There, I stop myself and take a few calming breaths, bracing myself for what I’m about to do.

“Good, so good,” Geralt coos, not catching on to my plan, “You’re doing amazing, little kitte- Ohh.”

With once swift movement, I sink all the way down on him, crying loudly out when his tip meets my cervix.

“Shit,” I hiss, feeling him stretch me out, farther than any other man before, but begin rocking on him anyway, without giving myself much time to adjust, the pain welcome.

“Fuck,” Geralt mutters as I start to bounce on top of him, speeding up relatively fast. Soon, I’m riding him like a wild horse. The pit in my belly starts to grow just as fast, only making me pick up the pace once again. Bouncing up and down on him, supported by his hands on my hips, I can feel every vein and every ridge of his cock inside me, stroking against my walls just perfectly. The way his tip rams into my cervix with every time I sink down on him hurts deliciously. The room is filled with Geralt's deep groans and grunts, and my loud and high-pitched moans of pleasurable pain. Flames lick at my insides and I clench tightly around him, my pace beginning to falter.

Not long before the coil snaps within, throwing me into the abyss of white-hot euphoria. Again, my vision goes white as I twitch and tense throughout my high. Geralt keeps guiding my hips while my head is thrown back, mouth hanging open with inaudible chants of his name. He catches me when I collapse on his chest and carefully turns us around. He kisses me sweetly while riding me through my bliss, prolonging it.

With a sigh, I come back down and cradle his skull, keeping his lips pressed on mine while he rolls his hips against mine, deep and slow. I wince slightly at the overstimulation, but with him inside me, I’m still not sated, even after five orgasms.

“Can you take it?” Geralt asks, propping himself up on his elbows. I nod, hesitantly, still sensitive, but eager for more. “Good.”

With that, he starts to pick up his pace, the rolling of his hips becomes hard, deep thrusts, that gradually become faster. I cling onto his shoulders, dig my nails into his muscle. He is wild from having to hold back for so long. Animalistic grunts leave his throat, rumbling through my body straight to my core. He’s not gentle. No, he’s rough and demanding, now chasing his own high. But it feels good, somehow, to be nothing but an instrument for his pleasure. It’s only fair that he uses me now, after he had given me not one, but five orgasms. It hurts, the way he is rutting into my cervix. I’m sure it’s bruised by now, but the pain feels so good. So good that I catch myself clenching around him once again.

Tears escape from my eyes, but Geralt kisses them away, thrusts becoming faster, deeper and harder once again.

And then my world goes white for the sixth time tonight. I go limp, twitching and trembling beneath him. I cum, sobbing and crying, convulsing around him, but he keeps going.

“Please, I can’t,” I beg weakly, barely at the brink of consciousness, “N-no more. Geralt, I can’t. Please.”

“You can,” he pants, “Just… one more, kitten. You asked for this. You can do it. I know you can. One more time. For me.”

And so, I hang on as he rams into me, hard and fast. Everything is so intense, borderline painful, but the pain only feeds to the bliss. Apart from hurt and pleasure, my mind is blank. All I can do is cling on to the beast above me; how his muscles flex beneath my fingers. He’s large, and I realize that I couldn’t fight him off, even if I wanted to. I am completely and entirely at his mercy. This thought feeds to my arousal like nothing else.

Soon enough I feel him swell and twitch between my velvet walls, and both his thrusts and groans become even more animalistic. In a brief moment of clarity, I wrap my fingers around the chain around his neck and pull him in for a deep kiss, grunts and cries muffled by our lips on each other. His pace is faltering, hips stuttering, and then he spills himself into my core, hot seed splattering my battered walls. He lets go of a deep moan and keeps rutting into me, making sure I get everything he has. The sensation of his essence shooting inside me send me over the edge. I cry out, curses mingling with his name, my mind in a daze as I fall slack against the bed.

I barely feel how Geralt pulls out carefully and cleans me up, whispering gentle words while I just lie there. I don’t understand the words he’s saying, my mind too far gone, but I feel safe in his presence. My world goes black the moment he pulls me into his protective embrace.

*

Hours later, I wake up, still trembling and aching. Geralt must have not slept at all, because as soon as I begin to stir, he peppers my face with soft butterfly kisses.

“Shh, you’re safe, little kitten. I got you. Shh,” he coos as I whimper, gently rubbing my arms and back. “Are you okay?” His question is gentle, but when I turn my head to look at him, his face is as serious as it could get.

“Yeah,” I nod weakly, “It just… it hurts a little.” A lie. It hurts a lot. But I want it to hurt. This was the only night I was able to spend with him, I’m certain, so I want to remember it; I want to feel him for weeks.

“I’m sorry. I was too rough. I couldn’t stop myself,” Geralt rambles and I shake my head, cupping his jaw and kiss his stubbled chin.

“It was a lot, but it was amazing,” I giggle, “You were amazing. I don’t think I ever felt this good, and I doubt I will ever feel that way again. Witcher, you’ve ruined me.”

His low, rumbling laugh is music to my ears. “Good, because I intend on keeping you, my lady.”

“I… what. I thought-”

“Shh, sleep now, little kitten. We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

With a hum of agreement, I nuzzle up closer to him. Chuckling, Geralt turns to lie on his back and pulls me with him, sprawled out on his chest. There, he hold me close while I press small kisses to the hollow of his throat until I fall back asleep.

*

The morning comes way too soon, bright rays of sunlight breaking through the gaps in the heavy curtains, shining rudely right into our faces. I groan, nuzzling my face further into Geralt's neck, inhaling his intoxicating musk. He rubs my back, laughing quietly to himself and pulls the blanket higher. But as hard as I try, I can’t seem to fall asleep. I let out a frustrated huff as I lift my head, finding Geralt relaxed, with his eyes closed, a soft smile playing on his lips.

“Morning,” I grumble tiredly, making him chuckle as he opens his eyes, peering down at me.

“Good morning, little kitten. Slept well?” His raspy morning voice makes me melt.

“Mhmhh,” I hum, “Just too short.” I’m silent for a moment, contemplating whether I should say it or not. Fuck it. “But I’ve never slept better.”

“Hmm.”

“You said you’re planning to keep me?” I ask timidly, after another moment of silence.

“Only if you want to, my lady.” He turns to his side, holding me so we can properly look at each other. Though his face remains soft and gentle, I can see something in his eyes that makes my heart hurt. He’s afraid I might reject him, scared to be alone. Carefully, I cup his cheek and capture his lips softly.

“Of course I want to, silly,” I smile as I pull back, “I wasn’t just after you because you seemed like a good fuck, Witcher.”

Geralt dips his head down and kisses me again, full of relief. The kiss slowly but surely becomes deeper. Geralt tugs on my bottom lip with his teeth, making me open my mouth to his tongue. Carefully, he rolls on top of me, caging me with his large body. I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him in deeper as our tongues dance.

A knock on the door makes us jump. The door swings open just a second after, giving us no time to, uhm, change our position.

“Good morni- Wow!” Jaskier barges in without much care.

Quickly, I scramble to pull the blankets up to my chin, glaring at my brother, while Geralt flops down next to me.

“My sister and my best friend,” Jaskier gapes jokingly, “About time. I was getting tired of your constant pining. But next time, keep it down a little, will you. I’m sure the whole castle heard you.”

My face heats up and I quickly hide it against Geralt's chest.

“Is there more you wanted to say, Jaskier?” the Witcher grumbles, wrapping me up in his arms.

“No, just that.”

I don’t see it, but I feel the glare that Geralt sends my brother. Shortly after, the door closes with a bang and we’re left alone. Chuckling, Geralt pries my face from the crook of his neck and hold it gently between his large palms.

“Now, where were we?” he smiles before capturing my lips again, sweetly and full of hope.

Needless to say, we spend the whole day in bed, cuddling, kissing and recovering from the night before. Luckily, my brother arranged for food and drinks to be brought to our room – I’m sure I couldn’t walk, I didn’t even bother to try.

“Geralt?” I mumble as we lie in bed, watching the sunset.

“Hm?” he hums, wanting me to continue.

“I’ll follow you, wherever you go,” I whisper, “You do know that, right?”

“I know. But then we have a lot of training to do.” He grins at me, teasingly.

“Oh, so you’re calling me weak?”

“No. You’re definitely not weak. You’ve proven that last night. But there’s still room for improvement.”

“Mhh. Guess you’ll have to protect me, then.” I turn to him, smiling.

“I’ll make sure I’ll do.”

He kisses me sweetly and I sigh against his lips, pulling him close.

[dreamwraith]

@floralflowerpower mentioned wanting to read an idea I had, soooo....

Alright, this is largely inspired by the M*A*S*H episode “Who Knew?” It’s a very bittersweet episode. It begins with the news that a nurse died the previous night when she wandered into a minefield. One of the main characters, Hawkeye, was the last one to see her alive. He offers to write her eulogy when no one else steps forward, though he barely knew her himself. He’s stymied by how little anyone can tell him about her, until the priest suggests he reads her diary. He learns who she was through her own words, the person she had hidden beneath a shy exterior that others interpreted as standoffish. She had true feelings for Hawkeye and he never knew. The last entry is how she can’t get Hawkeye out of her thoughts so she’s going to go for a walk. 

As you might guess, my idea starts off with a bittersweet tale. 

Jack and Maddie got the portal working without Danny needing to die, and for two years, Amity Park has been under threat from whatever ghost chooses to try their hand at conquering them. Jack and Maddie are the town’s main defense without Danny Phantom to protect them, and they’re not as skilled or as prompt as canon Danny was at catching ghosts. Sometimes a ghost slips through. Sometimes, people get hurt. 

I don’t have the full details worked out, but in this case, a ghost attacked the school. Danny is almost killed. He’s the son of the town’s defenders, so perhaps he’s an easy, desirable target. One of his classmates saves him by sacrificing himself. He (I’ve been going with the name Alexander in my notes) later dies at the hospital, and Danny, suffering from survivor’s guilt and PTSD, blames himself. He didn’t know his classmate very well, he doesn’t even remember his name right away, he doesn’t understand why Alex saved him. 

He tries to find out more about him, feeling like he owes him that much, but he discovers only superficial information. Alex was a foster of Amity Park; he had no family. No one but Danny is currently mourning him. He’s determined to get answers, though, and that causes him to clash with Dash and teachers when they say things like “Alex was a creep” or “he was a troublemaker; I heard he ran away from his last home.” Danny’s fights get him brought to Lancer’s attention, and it’s during that meeting that Danny is given Alex’s diary. 

Eager but frightened, it takes Danny a long time to work up the courage to begin reading. 

Meanwhile, “Phantom” begins to form in the Ghost Zone. 

Alex hated himself enough that his self-image is dismissed from his spirit, and his last thoughts were of Danny, so when he forms, he takes on a ghostly impression of Danny. It’s an important detail because that’s what makes this pitch pearl, and it’s why Danny doesn’t recognize him. 

He doesn’t have a clearly defined obsession, but he definitely feels a pull toward the human world. Johnny and Kitty help Phantom cross the portal, and that’s when he meets Danny for the first time. Idk why Danny came down to the lab yet, but I know he’s up because of PTSD nightmares/insomnia. Phantom feels his whole being focus on Danny, Danny freezes in place because he had just woken up from a nightmare of a ghost attack, and Johnny and Kitty look between Danny and Phantom, putting two and two together and reaching “Phantom’s purpose”

The three ghosts make a quick escape once protective parents Jack and Maddie come storming down the stairs, but first impressions were made, and now Phantom is determined to find out more about Danny and why his soul is crying out for him. 

Unfortunately, Danny is entangled in Alex’s diary and his own grief. Every effort Phantom makes toward befriending Danny is rebuffed because 1) ghosts can’t be trusted, and 2) Phantom’s resemblance to Danny combined with his interest in him is fucking creepy. In his downward spiral, though, Danny is losing connection with his friends, his grades, his safety, and Phantom isn’t willing to let Danny fade like this. Circumstances change when Phantom saves Danny from a human threat (human crime, let’s goooo) and Danny starts to actually pay attention to him, enough to start letting down his walls at least. 

And just in time for Danny to reach the point in the diary where Alex confesses he had a crush on Danny. Danny’s grief finally breaks, and Phantom comforts him through the loss. Phantom learns about Alex and Danny’s growing feelings for a boy that’s no longer within reach, and reluctantly pushes his own growing feelings for Danny aside. Danny is going through too much to deal with Phantom’s own failings. He needs time to mourn.

A real friendship starts to build.

With his feelings for Danny on hold but satisfied by their friendship, Phantom begins to explore who he is. He begins to take on a protector role, determined to save other humans from feeling the grief Danny is under. He focuses less on fighting and more on saving. A ghost will attack, and he’ll erect a shield around humans to deflect debris or catch someone who is falling or just comfort someone who got hurt. Jack and Maddie are still the ones that ultimately defeat the ghost, but Phantom’s actions begin to catch everyone’s attention. 

He is exactly what they needed, and he begins to be hailed as a guardian.

Danny is happy for him, but something about Phantom’s focus with protection over fighting resonates with Alex’s thoughts in his diary. He begins piecing things together. He proposes his wild idea to Jazz one night, but she warns him not to try to “bring Alex back from the dead” for Danny’s own mental health. 

Danny proposes the idea to Phantom, and at first Phantom thinks it’s nonsense, but Danny insists Phantom read the diary, so Phantom reluctantly (tho he doesn’t understand why he’s so reluctant) humors him. He can only get through five entries before he shoves the diary back into Danny’s hands and refuses to read anymore.

His self-hatred caused him to lose his identity in death, remember? He doesn’t want to remember, it’s painful. He tells Danny to forget about Alex. No one cared about him when he was alive, they won’t care who he was now. But Danny cares, and it tugs at Phantom’s feelings to meet Danny halfway, but does Danny like him because of Alex or because of Phantom, the person he is now?

I don’t have the full details worked out, but I know I want Danny to reveal Phantom’s past as Alex to Amity Park so that they can see their foster son has grown into their defender, savior, protector. He wasn’t loved when he was alive, but they must honor his past because it made him the hero he is now. Amity Park goes wild for the story. They love Phantom all the more, knowing who he was, how he died, and who he became. 

A bittersweet beginning becoming an uplifting, hopeful note, maybe? 

That’s all I have planned :P

I haven’t written anything for it yet because I haven’t figured out how to start. I’m terrible at action scenes, and I feel like I have to describe at least PART of Alex’s sacrifice. But ugh, ghost attack, ugh. Choreography, description, pacing, urgh, I hate action scenes, how do you guys WRITE those, it’s witchcraft I swear

(Side note for the name, Alexander means “defender of men”)

(And because I’m classy as a unripe grape, the story is titled Right Here (Departed) in my folder, which is actually a song by Brandy oiasjdlkfej I song titled it. omg. But listen, listen...it fits)

[therenlover]

In Sickness And In Health (An 18+ James Patrick March/Reader Oneshot)

This is 18+ content! If you are a minor, this work is not for you !!!

This fic is a sequel to my oneshot Heartsick, but it can be read as a standalone oneshot!

Synopsis: Normally people don’t have their wedding and funeral on the same day, but you and James don’t quite have a normal relationship, do you? Besides, you wouldn’t wanna go any other way.

Tags: Smut with Plot, Weddings, Fluff, Ghost Smut, Cunnilingus, Sick!Reader, Obnoxious Titanic Knowledge

Rating: E, 18+

Warnings: Swearing, Major Character Death, Romanticization of Death, Murder, Unsafe Sex (it’s with a ghost, but just to be safe...), Mentions Of The Reader Having A Long Term Debilitating Illness

Word Count: 5500~

This fic has been crossposted to my AO3 under the same title

-------

“How are you feeling, my darling?”

James’s voice was soft as he entered your suite, slipping off his shoes before joining you on the bed. He smelled like antiseptic, hair and hands still damp from a recent wash. Underneath, though, was the sharp, coppery tang of blood.

You stretched as you answered, weak muscles shuddering with effort. “It’s a good day. Not great, I still feel like absolute shit, but I don’t feel like I’m actively dying anymore,”

“Well, that’s certainly an improvement,”

Your fiancé offered you a rare, genuine grin. Seeing him smile made the lie worth it.

In truth, you still felt truly terrible.

It had been almost three weeks since Mr. March had proposed, and true to his word he had been glued to your side helping you recover ever since. He helped you bathe, fed you meals, gave you medication, kept you entertained; days with him were filled with small, simple pleasures. You had never experienced anything like that attention before. Unfortunately, though, the time spent with James only seemed to help your mind, and not your body.

After close to two months of bed rest, your muscles were weak. It still took significant effort to do simple tasks like walking to the bathroom or using cutlery. Some days were better than others, but everything generally tended to end up as part of the indistinguishable haze of pain that clouded your memories lately. If nothing else, at least the fevers were less extreme.

The only light at the end of the tunnel was your wedding. It was still two weeks away, (“That’s plenty of time for you to recover fully, my dearest,” James had insisted) but once you were married that meant you could die. Oh, what a happy day that would be. There would be no more sickness, no more achy muscles, not another day of forced bed rest, just peace and quiet and plenty of sex. God, how you missed the sex…

Every day was another day closer to your peaceful end, and yet they seemed to stretch endlessly. Deep down, you worried that you might not even make it long enough to walk down the aisle alive. You shuddered at the thought. If James ended up having to carry you down the aisle you might just die of embarrassment before he had the chance to kill you.

“I can’t believe you killed someone without me,” You huffed, reaching out your shaking arms and inviting James to lay with you. He happily obliged.

“Would you have preferred me to let him live?” James pulled your torso gently onto his chest, letting you rest against him.

“No, but you could have at least let me watch. I’ve been stuck in here for weeks, James. I get bored,”

He ran a hand through your hair. “Perhaps next time darling, but hopefully, you will be well enough to join me before our next victim walks through the door,”

“Who was it this time?”

“A florist. Liz invited him to bring over a few samples before hiring him to do arrangements for the wedding, but they were atrocious. You should have seen them, my love, they were simply grotesque, not to mention that the color schemes didn’t even slightly match the carpets in the entrance hall. Who puts pink and yellow tulips in a wedding arrangement at a hall filled with reds and oranges?”

You gave a soft hum. “Were they all really that bad?”

“Well… perhaps I was a bit harsh, but can you truly blame me? I want our wedding day to be perfect. There shouldn’t be a single flower or ribbon out of place,” He emphasized his question by gently squeezing you to his chest.

“Is it really that important?”

James went still. “What do you mean by that, dearest?”

A sigh pushed through your lips, your chest aching from the effort. “I just don’t understand why we have to wait for this perfect wedding when we could just get married now. I’m not saying I wouldn’t enjoy a big ceremony, I’m sure it would be wonderful, but I’m just so tired James. Why does it matter if we say our vows in front of other people? There’s not gonna be anything legally or religiously binding between us anyway. Getting married to you, in my mind, is just promising to be by your side forever, so why does anything else matter besides you and me?”

Looking up, you noticed that Mr. March seemed to be deep in thought, lips pressed into a line as his thin eyebrows furrowed together. Your heart sank. Did a wedding ceremony really mean that much to him? In an instant guilt began to flood your stomach. You were really ruining a special moment in his life to die faster? Hell, did he even really want you to die? He had always relished in your warmth, enthralled by the thudding of your weak, living heart. Of course, he would hate you for rushing into marriage just to throw your life away. Or maybe he was stalling because it would be too much for him to kill you himself…

“James-” you placated, lifting a hand to his face, but he quickly snapped out of his thoughtful haze.

He gazed down at you with love in his eyes and a wicked grin on his lips. “You’re right! We shall be married this afternoon!”

A jolt of shock ran down your spine.

“What?”

“As you said, our wedding is a binding of souls, my darling! Our love is sacred, withstanding time and mortality, so who are we to bend to the rules of the common man? If an intimate ceremony for two is what you desire, I shall not deny you,” In one smooth motion, James rolled on top of you, arms boxing you in as he loomed above. He looked absolutely unhinged, eyes glinting wildly in the yellow lamplight.

You knew then that there would never be anyone else. No one could compare to James, your James. He would devour you whole and you would thank him all the while. With a sudden burst of energy, you reached up and pulled him into a scorching kiss.

It was sloppy, all battling tongues and clashing teeth, nothing like the soft pressing of lips that you had been sharing lately. How had you gone almost two months without this? Your heart felt like it was about to burst right out of your chest. As James bit down hard on your lower lip, you pulled fistfuls of his pinstripe suit into your hands.

After a few more seconds of desperate, breathless kissing James pulled away. You panted for air below him. “Why’d you stop?”

To your dismay, he climbed off of you. His hard-on was fully visible through his thin dress pants as he stood. “As much as I would love to ravage you now, dearest, I believe we have vows to exchange,”

“Can’t we just do them in bed? I want you now,”

He chuckled at your whining. “I may be willing to compromise on many things, but this is not one of them,”

“Please, Mr. March,” Your words were loaded, innocent doe eyes boring into his very soul, “for me?”

You could tell it was a difficult decision, but James stood strong. “I can’t say you haven’t thoroughly tempted me, but I’m afraid not darling,” he said firmly, “Forgive me?”

With a sigh, you nodded. “Of course,”

The instant you gave in, he beamed. “Splendid! Now, it’s a shame that we don’t have your dress, but I believe I have given you several gowns that would serve nicely,”

“You’re not gonna let me get married in my pajamas?”

“Would you prefer that to wearing a dress?”

The genuine concern in James’ voice was enough to make you fold. The things his voice did to you….

“Darling,” you groaned, fighting your weak muscles as you pulled yourself to the edge of the bed, “look in the closet. There should be a black zip-up garment bag in there,”

He quirked up an eyebrow.

“Just do it,”

“As my bride commands,” James rushed to the closet, thumbing through gowns. By the time he found it you were on your feet, leaning on a nearby wall for support. “This one, darling?” he asked, pulling it from the rack.

You grinned. “That’s the one. Open it up for me?”

James undid the zip quickly. Once he saw the contents, he gaped. “You know it’s bad luck for the groom to see the dress before the wedding,”

Slowly, you made your way to James and hugged him from behind. “Well, it’s a good thing the wedding is happening now... can you help me get the dress on?”

He happily obliged.

In less than 15 minutes you were laced into your wedding dress and sitting at your vanity. James was by the phonograph looking at records while you finished pinning up your hair. It was finally time.

“What would you like me to play, darling? We don’t have the wedding march, but there are some decent options. Let’s see… The Swan? You always have loved Saint-Saëns. Or perhaps Songe d’Automne?” James asked. He had been strangely lenient; bending to your will on the wedding, letting you pick the music, allowing you to tease him with no repercussions. You shrugged it off.

“You would really play the song that played as the Titanic sank at our wedding?”

“I find it strangely fitting,”

With a soft laugh, you put the last pin in place and turned to your groom. “And so it is. I’ll compromise. We have Mon Coeur S’Ouvre A Ta Voix, don’t we? You’ll get your morbidity while I get my romance,”

“That sounds delightful, my dear. Good choice,”

James found the correct record and set it on the phonograph, placing the needle and cranking the arm with a well-practiced hand. Then, as the music began to play, he stood. It was like he was devouring you with his eyes, drinking in every detail of you as he approached. He offered you his hands. “Shall we begin, my darling?”

You joined him in the center of the room without hesitation, taking his offering with a smile, “I think we shall,”

“I admit,” James said, voice sweet and low, “that I am well out of my depth here, but before we begin may I say that you, as you are now, are more beautiful than I’ve ever seen you?”

Your face flushed. “What’s gotten into you, James? Are you getting soft on me?”

“We can only hope not, I have a reputation to uphold you know! I just can’t help but think…” his sentence drifted off as his gaze fell on yours, “I am a hard man, one of custom and habit. My life has been filled with monotony for as long as I have lived. Even killing has become commonplace for me. Things do not phase me the same way they phase you, darling, in all of your softness and perfection. I wonder if this is what will truly make you happy,”

“James!” you dropped his hands in order to cup his face, “I love you. I want to be with you. What would make you think I’m unhappy here?”

He covered your small fingers with his own, voice wistful. “I love you too, Y/N. Don’t misunderstand me, this wedding brings me more joy than you know. I simply wish to say that you will only get married once and I want it to be exactly to your liking. I have been engaged thrice and married once before, all of the pomp and circumstance is old news to me. For you, though, in all your youth…”

In a rare moment of openness, James bared himself to you. It was only right for you to do the same.

“I have never been more sure of myself than in this moment,” you whispered, leaning to let your forehead rest against his, “You are enough. I don’t need guests, or flower arrangements, or a cake to know I love you and I want to spend the rest of eternity at your side. You’re right, I’m young and I’ve made a lot of dumb choices in my life, but loving you isn’t one of them. Take me, James, make me yours. This is where I belong”

As you spoke, you felt him relax against you.

“Well, you’ve certainly convinced me,” he murmured before pulling back and bringing your hands to his still, unbeating heart, “now, on with the show… my queen, the woman who has tamed my heart, you are the only one of your kind. No one else could move me the way you do. The moment I saw you walk into my hotel I knew that you would be mine, but I had no clue of the things you would do to my heart. You have changed me, mind, body, and soul. I can only hope that I’ve changed you in similar ways,”

While he was speaking, it suddenly hit you that this was it. Usually, brides had months of build-up to their weddings, filled with cake tastings and dress fittings and family and friends. You, though, had had only a few weeks to prepare, most of which were spent on strict bedrest while James took care of the planning. Even then, you had disregarded the plans. Tears of joy began to roll down your cheeks. Nothing had ever felt so right in your whole life.

“Oh darling, don’t cry,” he cooed, wiping your tears away with the pad of his thumb.

“I’m just so happy!”

“And you shall continue to be happy. As long as you remain by my side, you will want for nothing! I shall be with you in sickness and in health, through life and through death,” Suddenly, his voice lowered to almost a whisper. “You, Y/N, have captivated me. I wish to never be without you again,”

“You never will be,”

James smiled, squeezing your hands. In an instant, you realized it was your turn. You hadn’t given much thought as to what you would say, but as you gazed into his dark, hopeful, hungry eyes the words came to you as clear as day.

“James Patrick March,” you said, “I have never met anyone quite like you. When I first saw you, I had nothing. I was destitute. The Hotel Cortez was my last hope in life, but then, I spoke to you in the Blue Parrot Lounge and I suddenly knew exactly what my purpose in life was. Somehow, someway, I realized that I had been made to find you. You’ve given me so much, James. You showed me that life was worth living. I can’t think of a future for me that doesn’t include you. From this moment on, once I’m finally Mrs. March, we can finally be what we were made to be… one heart, one mind, one soul. I’ll never let you go. Marry me, James? Stay here with me until the world ceases to turn?”

“I will, darling. I do,” while he spoke, he reached into his pocket. “I had hoped that this ring would be sitting on your finger sooner. It belongs to the woman of the house, the holder of my heart… you, my dearest Mrs. March. Please say you love me, and that you’ll stay with me until nothing of this world remains?

You responded with a grin. “I love you, James… I do,”

Slowly, he slid the ring onto your finger. It was the first time you’d actually seen it up close, and it was more stunning than you remembered. A large, square-cut diamond sat on a bed of smaller rubies, and it was all held together by a delicate silver band that fit your finger perfectly. The red stones were a new addition. Had James had the ring altered just for you? You were about to ask when you caught his gaze.

“May I kiss the bride now, my darling?”

Instead of responding, you surged up and kissed him yourself. It was like none of the kisses you had ever shared before.

There was a passion to it, but it wasn’t desperate. It was more of a low, roiling thing, a time-bomb ticking down to explode. In seconds James’ cool hand had found its way into your hair, pulling you closer and messing up the pinned curls you had put in earlier. You found you didn’t quite care.

Your limbs were beginning to feel weak as you ran out of air, and you couldn’t tell if it was because of your long-forgotten illness or if it was just the power James held over you. Part of you didn’t care anymore. As you pulled back for air, your husband reached around to the lacing at the back of your dress and began to pull at it, earning a few giggles as he loosened it enough that it fell from your body, leaving you almost bare in front of him.

“How I’ve craved you, my lovely wife,” he growled, palming your breasts through your bra, “it’s been far too long,”

His touch felt electric against your thin, soft skin. “Please, Mr. March, more,” You pressed yourself against your husband, feeling how your words affected him. He was rock hard. Something about that satisfied an ache in your heart. Even with you sick and weak, he needed you as much as you needed him.

In a swift movement, he scooped you up and carried you to the bed, setting you down gently before settling himself between your legs. You whimpered as he sucked a deep bruise into your neck. He was an expert with his tongue, licking and sucking the skin like a man starved. It felt delightful, but you couldn’t help but think about how it would feel elsewhere.

As if he could read your mind, James grinned.

“All in good time, you little minx,”

Ever impatient, you fisted a hand into his hair in an attempt to get him to move lower. He stayed put.

“Does my lovely wife want something from me?”

You groaned as he wrapped his teeth around your bra strap and tugged before letting go, the elastic snapping against your already sweat-slick skin. “James, please,”

“Ah, ah, ah! Use your words, dearest. What do you want?”

His tutting made you flush from your cheeks to your chest. There was only one way to get what you wanted, and you knew exactly how to do it. With as much innocence as you could muster in your debauched state, you whispered, “Please sir, will you eat my pussy?”

James couldn’t hold back as he snapped his hips against the sheets. “That’s it darling! How could I say no to such a polite request?”

You released a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. In a blink, your husband was undoing your bra and pulling it off, working his sinful mouth down to your breasts. His teeth grazed your nipple, drawing a high-pitched whine from your throat as your back arched, pushing you up towards his touch. It was like your body was a live wire. Every nerve was alive, buzzing at the slightest touch. Still, it wasn’t enough.

Thankfully, he was quick to move once again. He left a trail of gentle, sloppy kisses down your ribs and stomach before arriving at his desired destination. His hot breath against your soaked panties fanned the flames of arousal building within you. Once again, you whined.

Your husband had always loved eating you out. He never seemed happier than when he was buried between your thighs with his tongue buried between your folds, and once again he was faced with his favorite activity. The hungry look in his eye told you that he wanted it as much as you did.

“It’s a shame I didn’t get to remove your garter in front of the hotel. I would have so enjoyed showing them all just how lucky of a man I am. Perhaps it’s a blessing in disguise though… I do hate to share” he murmured, pressing a few torturous kisses to the hot skin of your inner thighs as he skimmed your panties with his fingers, “I suppose these will have to do,” Then, in a sudden movement, he was dragging them down your legs by the lace with his teeth. Once they were removed, he tossed them aside to be collected later. The way he looked at your wetness was reverent. It only made you wetter.

“What do we have here,” he muttered, letting the tip of his nose just barely brush your core, “what could possibly be making you this wet, my darling?”

His taunting was, surprisingly, less severe than usual. On any normal day, it would have taken a good 10 minutes for him to be anywhere near your heat, but you could tell he was obliging your whims as a treat. It was a special occasion, after all.

“You,” you groaned lowly as his breath ghosted over your pussy.

“That’s right, my dear heart, me,”

In an instant James had buried himself in your lower lips, suckling your clit with vigor as your hips bucked to meet him. For once, he let you chase your pleasure with reckless abandon. It had been months since your last proper orgasm, so you were extra sensitive as he licked long stripes up your slit. Soon enough you were keening as you teetered on the edge of pleasure.

“James- James, please!” you shouted as he finally worked a finger into your tight, wet hole, his tongue lazily circling your clit as he gazed into your eyes across the planes of your body.

He pulled off momentarily, making you groan. “Please what, dearest?”

“I wanna cum! Please- OH!”

His lips were back on your clit instantly, his eyes smiling as he pumped in and out of you with his fingers and sucked with reckless abandon. Every muscle in your body felt poised for action, your hands gripping James’ hair at the roots with enough force that you were surprised it was still attached to his head. You tipped over the edge into pleasure the second he curled his fingers upwards, roughly pressing into your sweet spot as he hummed, his voice vibrating against you in the most heavenly way.

Your orgasm was like a wave of pure bliss rolling over you as James pleasured you through it, milking you for everything you had. Only once you stopped convulsing did he remove his mouth. Even then, he continued to fuck you gently with his fingers. “Did that feel good, my love?” he asked, rubbing circles into your still-shaking thigh with his free hand.

“Yes, James! Your mouth is perfect,” you whimpered.

He seemed to enjoy your answer because he slowly pulled his fingers from your sensitive pussy before climbing up your body and rewarding you with a passionate kiss. You enjoyed it thoroughly but suddenly became aware that he was still fully dressed. “James,” you whined against his lips, “you’re wearing far too many clothes,”

He tasted like tobacco and absinthe as he kissed you again, guiding your hands to the buttons on his suit jacket before tugging at his cravat. “Perhaps we should remedy that, darling?”

You were quick to undo each button before ripping the jacket from his body and tossing it on the ground. His dress shirt and cravat were quick to follow. He focused on undoing his pants while you relished in his bare chest, running your hands down the firm planes of flesh. “God, you’re gorgeous,” you whispered, biting down gently on his collarbone.

“No need to call me God, dearest,” he chuckled, shoving down his pants and boxers to free his leaking cock, “though I don’t oppose to it,”

He was a big man, long and thick enough that fitting all of him in was just slightly painful but more than enough to make you feel deliciously full. You drooled as you reached between your torsos to stroke him, but surprisingly James caught your wrist before you could touch him.

“I appreciate you taking my pleasure into consideration, my love, but I won’t last long as it is,” he crooned, holding your wrist to the bed with one hand as he lined himself up against your dripping heat with the other. He ran the head of his cock against your folds a few times, gathering up your wetness in the hopes that it would ease the stretch when he finally pushed in. To you, though, it was just torture, and how James did love to torture his victims.

“Please, fuck me, Mr. March,” you groaned, “I need you! It’s been so long,”

“Such a good little minx,” his voice rolled low as he smiled down at you, “using your words just like I taught you. Perhaps you deserve a reward,” Then, as he locked his hungry eyes with yours, he pushed fully into your heat.

You cried out in ecstasy the second he filled you up, your head lolling back against the headboard as he rocked in and out, letting you ride out the initial pain as he warmed you up for the main event. It wasn’t long before the sting was gone. It was replaced with a dull ache, but that was mostly overshadowed by a sweet, building fire spreading through your abdomen again as James pounded into you with reckless abandon.

Every muscle in your body felt weak, loose and slack as your husband found that spot inside you. Each thrust was a shock through your overstimulated body. It was like you were toeing the line between pain and pleasure, always an instant from falling fully into one or the other. When James picked up his speed once again, you started to lose yourself to the pleasure.

“Mr. March!” you wailed, body jolting as he released your wrist and instead used his hand to steady your thigh and hold you wide open, “ Mr. March! Oh god, please let me cum!”

Surprisingly, despite the fact that he was dead, James seemed almost as breathless as you while he purred into your ear. “Close your eyes, Y/N. Let the pleasure take you. Cum for me, Mrs. March,”

With one last sharp stroke from James, you wailed and let your orgasm overtake you. This time, though, it wasn’t a wave. Instead, it hit you directly like a ton of bricks. The feeling was heady, a high derived from the shockwaves of pleasure mixing with the sweet pain James always provided when he lost control. Distantly, you could feel your thighs covered in your wet essence as your husband gripped them and drove himself into you ceaselessly, quickly reaching his own climax.

Maybe it was that you hadn’t been satisfied so thoroughly since before you were sick, but you felt absolutely exhausted as the last remains of your release drained from your body. Perhaps you had gone too far with the enthusiasm after being on bed rest for so long… Something deep inside you felt whole, like a piece of you that had been missing all your life had finally slotted into place. You fell into a dreamless sleep as that satisfaction resonated through your thoroughly fucked-out body.

When you woke, you almost felt disconnected from time. It was like waking up from an unexpected nap that went on longer than you had intended it to. Your eyelids felt heavy, but the familiar ache in your lungs and muscles that had been your constant companion was gone, replaced with a cool, tingling numbness. You chuckled a bit to yourself. Had sex been the answer to your problems all along?

Slowly, you rolled onto your side, stretching out your arms and legs before curling up in the sheets. Five more minutes of sleep wouldn’t hurt anybody.

Unfortunately, your plans for rest were foiled as you felt the bed dip beside you.

“How do you feel, my darling?” James asked. His voice was soft. If you didn’t know him better you would have thought he sounded frightened.

You smiled, letting your eyes flutter open as you took in his face. “Surprisingly, I feel great. I don’t think I’ve felt this good for a long time,”

James smiled back at you, his brown eyes glimmering with some distant emotion. “That’s good. I’m glad you’re starting the road to recovery,”

There was something strange about your husband, you noticed as you sat up, looking around. You definitely weren’t in your own bedroom anymore. Instead, you were tucked nicely into a four-poster bed with soft, red sheets, surrounded by dark wood and art deco accents. Distantly, you touched your chest and registered that you were wearing one of James’ shirts.

“You brought me to your room?” You propped yourself up on his headboard as you took in your new surroundings, watching the golden evening sun filter in through the gap in the heavy velvet curtains.

“Our room, my sweetling,” James corrected.

You hummed thoughtfully. “I like it. I know I’ve technically been here, with Devil’s Night and our little trysts and all, but I’ve never slept in your bed before. It’s soft… nice,”

He offered you a tinny false smile, his hands fidgeting nervously with the edge of the bedspread. “I’m glad you think so, dearest. What’s mine is now yours,”

Distantly, you smelled the faintest traces of the antiseptic soap James used to rid himself of blood. You raised an eyebrow. “How long was I out?”

“Just a few hours. I took the liberty of calling Mrs. Evers to turn down your sheets while you rested,”

“You had time for a kill in just a few hours?”

“Y/N, I-”

As he spoke, you reached out to touch his fidgeting hand only to yank your fingers back to your chest. No… this was wrong.

“Y/N, please, stay calm-”

“Why are you warm?” You asked, breathing heavily, “James? Why are you warm?”

James steadied himself with a deep breath before reaching over to rub gentle circles into your thigh above the blanket.

“I… I may have taken the liberties of… Y/N, please understand that I only did what I must. You were wasting away! And a promise is a promise…. What I’m trying to say is-”

“You killed me?”

“Precisely,”

Your husband bit down on his lip, averting his gaze in the hopes of avoiding your wrath. To his surprise, though, you threw yourself into his arms, peppering his face with kisses as you laughed joyously. You were free! Free from pain and sorrow and th e endless trappings of mortality. And James was the one to free you.

“You brilliant man!” you shouted, excited giggles escaping from your lips as you squeezed his frozen body to your own, “I didn’t even notice! Oh my god, and on our wedding night too? That’s so romantic! How did you do it? Did I have a heart attack and die from the best orgasm I’ve ever had in my whole damn life? Well… existence. I’m not quite alive anymore, am I? What did you use? Did you send me down the body chute?”

As you babbled, James slowly began to function again. You truly were his perfect match. “I slit your femoral artery just as all your muscles began to contract,” he explained, reaching up a hand to cup your cheek, “and I came to my own climax as you showered me in your blood. You didn’t feel a thing,”

You happily settled yourself against James’ chest. “You’re right. If anything, it felt kinda good…” you paused, “What about my body?”

He grinned. “You’re dead now, darling, we can revisit killing you during your little deaths at any time you like. As for your body, I didn’t put you down the chute. I cleaned you up, retrieved your ring, and took you to your casket. It’ll be bricked up in a wall within the week,”

“Aw, James, you had a casket ready for me and everything!”

“I commissioned it the day we first met. After we slept together and I led you to your suite, I went right to Liz and had her make an order. I spared no expense. Dark wood, red velvet lining…”

“Mmm,” you hummed, “It’s a shame we’ll never get to christen it… unless…”

“Darling, you cannot truly be thinking what I presume you are thinking,”

You giggled, pushing James flat onto the bed. Slowly, you leaned down to whisper in his ear. “Wanna go fuck over my dead body?”

James Patrick March had never gotten hard quicker in all his 126 years of existence.

-------

a/n: Welp! That’s the first smut I have ever written in my entire life. I hope it wasn’t terrible! This oneshot was great practice for a future instillation of Till Forever Falls Apart, so look forward to that lol. Let me know if you liked this and what types of oneshots you’d like to see next! Also, I love comments, so feel free to comment if you feel so inclined.

Please do not upload my works to other sites, thank you!

[sunjaesol]

i’m getting old, it makes me reckless

canon compliant juke | angst | title: when we were young // adele

The band ended their last song in a clash of instruments and vocals, roaring above the audience yelling the lyrics right back. It was the biggest venue yet, the arena stretching far and wide and holding more people than Julie could imagine. Her throat was aching, but it was all worth it. Every note savoured. Every lyric tasted till it staled on her tongue.

It was the gig before she left for college, leaving a whole lot more behind than this arena with the thousands of adoring strangers.

All four were drenched in sweat. Alex, with his hands red from an insanely elaborate three minute drum solo. Luke, with his callouses aching and slick, barely holding on to the strings. Reggie, no longer wearing his leather jacket and hair come undone. Julie, glitter on her cheeks mixed with the sweat and hair like a raging lion. They looked and felt maniacal. They played the concert of the year. The absolute euphoria they experienced wouldn’t be gone for a while, though her blush would quickly fade.

Now, she could still pretend Luke and her were still together. Now, even Alex and Reggie were kept in the dark from their long dreaded decision. Now, the idea that she stood on stage with the loves of her life was enough for a satisfied smile to bloom on her lips.

“Thank you!”, she bellowed into the mic. The audience didn’t stop. Screaming, whistling, asking for more. Encore, encore, encore! They were all out of songs though, having played their anthem again when they asked for it the first time. Covers seemed like a lackluster ending to the night, the band members shooting each other doubtful looks. The finality of it all ached her.

Luke’s gaze caught hers; troubled, unable to keep the sorrow at bay. Had this been any other concert, she would’ve kissed him backstage and remind him that feeling empty after giving it his all was normal. That she felt that too. She wouldn’t do that though. And she also had an inkling his expression wasn’t about that.

Words pushed themselves out of her throat before she thought about it. “I have something. It’s a cover though. Do you guys like covers?”

Another salvo of applause and shrieks, a sea of phones getting whipped out to capture every move. Reggie approached her with a slight frown.

“What’re you thinking, Julie?”

She moved away from the mic. “Is it alright if I do a solo cover?”

His casual nod caused nerves to coil in her stomach, only now realising what she did. What she was about to do to herself. The bassist made a sign at the boys to get off stage, Luke’s fingers ghosting her back (not entirely, never entirely, she has never truly felt the atoms of his hands touch her) and following the boys into the wings.

Curiosity buzzed around the concert hall, Julie making her way to the grand piano on the left of the stage and attaching her mic in the designated stand. When she looked into void, it instantly quieted down. Her timid voice was like a sharp thread slicing the air.

“This next song, uh…” Swallowing back the feeling of loss that simmered right beneath her skin, she took a deep breath. A needle could drop, so silent everyone heard her pained intake. “I’ve taught it myself a while ago. It’s quite melancholic, but I’ve always been a bit like that, I guess.”

Her feet found the pedals, fingers the well-loved keys. The lights were hot on her skin, yet a certain person’s stare felt more fiery than anything else.

Julie took another steadier breath. “Thank you once more for a beautiful night, LA. This is ‘When We Were Young’.”          

The beginning notes caused another uproar from people recognising the song, lighters and phone flashlights flickering up one by one like stars. She sunk into the notes, let her hands find the familiar path as all she could think about was Luke. Every word would be laced with the memory of him.

He wasn’t gone, but he might as well had stolen her heart and vanished into the night with it.  

With her eyes shut, the first lyrics uttered melodically from her lips.

Everybody loves the things you do From the way you talk, to the way you move

(A fifteen year old Julie watched as the crowd ate up Luke’s guitar solo, the riff an electrifying ensemble of unique sounds that shouldn’t work but somehow did. He played it for them, but his torso was twisted her way, like his body couldn’t decide who he preferred. Back then, Julie presumed it was the crowd, obviously. Music was everything for Luke. Music and nothing more. Sure, that included her and the boys, but she had accepted quickly on she’d never claim that top spot in his heart. And she was fine with that. It hurt a little, except then she’d remind herself of her own love for music and what a gift it was playing in a band like theirs. To be the name people sought out online.

Luke shot some winks to the first row, dropping to his knees to get him even closer to the fans. Alex caught her eye when she turned around, rolling his good-naturedly. Luke being Luke, it meant.

“It doesn’t inflate your ego, does it?”, she teased hours later, slumped on opposite sides of the couch.

He scoffed, a smile edging his lips. “Are you jealous?”

“It is-” she pulled herself upright, brown peering into the curious green. “-merely an observation.”

“An observation.” He mimicked her, all of a sudden not so far away. Their legs were brushing and if she leaned in, she could kiss him. His head tilted, never one to stop teasing. “Right.”

The high of a good performance made her say it. “Do you want me to be?”

When he kissed her, she expected his lips to be cold. Ghost-cold. Instead, they were warm and soft, like in her dreams, and he smiled when she kissed him back - also like in her dreams. It had been short, the way his nose brushed hers a promise for more.)      

Everybody here is watching you 'Cause you feel like home, you're like a dream come true

(They quickly found an escape from the hysteria in Griffith Park. It was closeby Julie’s house and its sweeping nature left enough places for Julie and Luke to hide and be with each other without disturbances. It was a bit unorthodox for a teenage couple to burrow themselves in the forest, but she supposed she threw normality out the window the moment she decided she wanted to date a ghost.

Luke sighed, body dropping on the soft grass and pulling her with him. His beanie fell off, a pleased smile quirking on her lips as she raked a hand through his locks. It was always a cause for celebration whenever he got rid of the hat, the impending doom of baldness something she’d warn him about had he still been alive. Julie pushed the thought back. She couldn’t think that way. A finger curled around a soft strand of hair.  

His nose pressed in her cheek, coaxing her closer until she snugly fit in the curve of his body. Lips moved against her skin. “Can I keep you here? Screw homework.”

Julie chuckled. Her meandering hand sloped to his chest, circling the soft fabric of his sweater. “Unfortunately, calculus and I have a date tonight.”

“You’re seeing someone else?”, he gasped. “Julie!”

“I know.” His laugh reverberated, the sound melting into her skin as she pushed herself impossibly close. Adding, her voice was muffled: “Very sneaky of me.”

Luke’s arms fully wrapped around her, humming contently at their new position of having her half-sprawled on top of him. If it wasn’t for the slight flush on his cheeks, she’d think he completely cool about this. It made her smile. He may act all tough sometimes, but he was just as new to this as she was.

She tapped against the red. “The macho is gone.”

He rolled his eyes, though it held a glimmer of fondness. It was for her, she giddily remembered. The way he faltered in quiet awe, soft and timid, was for her. Reaching to kiss him, the blaring declaration that he was home rang in her head.

She didn’t tell him that. Ever.)    

But if by chance you're here alone Can I have a moment before I go? 'Cause I've been by myself all night long Hoping you're someone I used to know

(“Sixteen,” he bellowed. “Is there a song about being sixteen?!”

She laughed. “Ellie Goulding has one, I think. You wanna sing me a song about being sixteen-”

“Cause you are sixteen!” He hoisted himself on the grand piano, grinning at her from across the studio. She tried as best as she could to match it.

Birthdays have felt like taboo ever since the boys came into her life. She aged, they didn’t, and eventually they would have to disband. Eventually, everyone would notice how they were frozen in time. Eventually, she and Luke would be too far apart in ages.

Julie has dreaded her birthday since the first time her heart skipped a beat at the sight of him.

Sensing something was off, the frown replaced the grin. “You okay, Jules?”

“Yeah,” she dismissed, waving him off with an air of nonchalance. It was easy for her, something she became an expert in after her mom passed. “Just tired from school.”

He poofed in front of her, hands massaging into her shoulders. She couldn’t look at him. And then she said it anyway.

“Are you okay?”

The unsaid was clear, him stilling as his jaw locked in place. It was then that something cracked between them. Unnoticeable, like a small line in a ceramic cup. They were fine after, but never before had they stamped an expiration date on their relationship. Her simple question changed everything.

He coughed, struggling with the smile. It felt rehearsed. “Course,” he muttered. “I’m good.”)  

You look like a movie You sound like a song My God, this reminds me of when we were young

(He breathed into the kiss like she himself gave him life, hot and open-mouthed and tongues caressing to feel more. Her arms were wrapped around his neck, legs straddling his waist in the safety of her bedroom. He left no space between them. Flush together, fingers pressing into her back, breaths and grins mingling when they parted for air. How she got him breathless, she wouldn’t ask. The fact that he did, was enough for her. He never felt like a ghost to her. Not before they started dating and certainly not now.

Each kiss was like music to her ears. Each touch alighting her skin with sparks of affection and need.

“God, I love you,” he whispered.

Her dazzling smile stretched against his jaw, halting in place. She giggled. “You love me?”

Their eyes met, his hooded from passion as he slowly tracked her face. “It’s not obvious?”

“It is.” A tender kiss brushed his lips, thumbs swiping his cheekbones with that boundless devotion she never wanted to let go of. It was the most blissful feeling in the world.

Julie uttered it right back. “I love you too.”)    

Her voice exploded into an anguished belt, head rolling back as the lyrics flew into the sky. If she hit her notes, if she was making any sense, if the audience was worried - it didn’t matter. Julie needed this. This was her goodbye.

Let me photograph you in this light In case it is the last time that we might Be exactly like we were before we realised We were sad of getting old, it made us restless It was just like a movie It was just like a song

(Julie jumped on top of him in a sneak attack. Armed with her Polaroid camera, she swerved out the way from his grabby hands as she took shot after shot. Her laughing boyfriend snatched her by her side, fingers like spider tickling her until she relented with tears in her eyes. Strewn around them were the pictures, still processing.

“What’re you doing?”, he chuckled.

Julie plucked a Polaroid from her mattress and began waving it around. “You look so cute,” was her simple answer. His grin widened at that.

“Only now?”

“I wanted to capture you just like this. When-” When we’re like this, so goddamn happy and in love. “When you look all…” While Julie mimicked his face, Luke planted his hands on the mattress to pull himself up and give her a chaste kiss.

His smirk eradicated her previous thoughts. “Can’t make a silly face after I have sex with my beautiful girlfriend?”

She hummed, all mushy from his actions. “You can. That’s why I’m taking a picture.”

Luke kissed her again, letting that ‘silly face’ run free and craning his neck to watch the picture develop.

He cried when he didn’t appear. Another crack in the cup.)

I was so scared to face my fears Nobody told me that you'd be here

(An outsider looking into the Molina household would think there was funeral going on. An insider would be even more confused, as Julie Molina just got accepted into USC and rather felt like crying for three full days then celebrate with her friends.

It settled then. She’d go to college, like she always wanted, and have her life radically change once more - not like she wanted. The band was solid, she and Luke were solid. College would change everything. Alex assured her that it’d be fine, that minor adjustments wouldn’t ruin them, but Julie had her doubts.)

And I swear you’d moved overseas That's what you said, when you left me

(He hardly looked at her when she turned seventeen. She couldn’t blame him. Her doubts, fears stacking on top of one another at rapid pace, surged to the forefront. They were the same age. Tomorrow, she’d be 364 days closer to eighteen. Closer to being older, to surpassing him, to hitting their expiration date.

His troubled expression resolved a little later. Back to his bouncy, enthusiastic self, he showered her in kisses and dedicated all the songs at their gig in Raven’s Nest to her. The boys even sang her ‘Dancing Queen’ by ABBA, her appropriately dressed in sparkly flared trousers and matching top. Her fears were forgotten then. Later too, when she giggled as he pulled her into a laughing kiss, the glitter of her clothes staining his own.

Luke was so alive in that moment. Sweat brimming his forehead and buzzing with adrenaline and each kiss rougher than the next. He was real, real, real, real, real, real.

The lie brought her temporary comfort.)

Julie repeated the chorus, body trembling from all the memories hitting her at once. Soon, the numbing final strike would bring her ease. For her sake, for his, for the band. The refrain flowed through.

When we were young When we were young When we were young When we were young

(“What about ‘when we were young’?”, Julie proposed, blue pen pressed into her songbook. Luke sat next to her, slouched against the front of the couch as his eyes were fixed on the ceiling, mustering for the muses to gift them genius lyrics.

“When we were young?” He chuckled. “That’s a joke, right?”

She paused, pen clenching between her fingers as her head turned to look at him. “What?”

He caught her tone, straightening his back with a shrug. “Nothing.”

“No, why do you think that was a joke?”

They’ve been on edge ever since her dad bought her all the USC merch the online store offered. The sea of red draped across her room got him upset, once his favourite colour now his biggest enemy. It wasn’t like they were trying to hurt each other, but…

Julie didn’t know what to do anymore. Songwriting was their usual remedy and even that didn’t diffuse the tension. She wished her mom was here, for advice, except would she be able to give proper words of wisdom when a relationship with a ghost was unprecedented?

All she wanted was go back to the start, when flirtatious jabs were thrown around and they danced around each other. To kiss him for the first time again. She wanted to go back and then continue to go back every time they hit this point. To love him in a loop; to not age.  

He sighed, scribbling an annotation in the margin. “Do you really want me to answer that, Jules?”

Her lips thinned. “No.”

She taught herself the song she was singing right now that night, after he and the boys went off with Willie to some obscure concert. When she woke up the next day, he apologised for his shitty behaviour. It became harder to let love lead when cracks met them at every corner.)

It's hard to admit that everything just takes me back To when you were there, to when you were there And a part of me keeps holding on just in case it hasn't gone

A choked breath caught the fragile note, barely audible for anyone but her.

‘Cause I still care, do you still care?

(“Jules, you’re going to college in a week. You’re gonna turn eighteen and you’re gonna meet other people and you will not wanna tell them you’re dating a hologram that doesn’t fucking age!”

The raging spiel left him in one breath, face red and tears spilling with each hitting word. His shouts were heavy and tinged with devastation. The studio, once a safe haven, was now a warzone. He’s been sitting on those ugly truths for a while, Julie realised, willing herself to not cry. They had the biggest gig of their lives in a few hours and she couldn’t fuck up her face.

Luke didn’t mean to do it either. Both were hyper-focused the day of a gig. Normally, at least. It was simply a cardboard box too many in her bedroom, another proud comment from Ray, another nostalgic remark from Reggie. The fears stacked up for him as well; she should’ve known he’d explode sooner than later.

Her quivering lip gulped back the nausea edging her throat. She couldn’t breath. “You don’t think I know that? I was just- I just-” A traitorous tear slipped out. “I was hoping we’d have more time. Why did it go so fast?” Why did our expiration date race us to the finish line?

Her boyfriend she loved with all her heart stood right in front of her, yet it felt like they were oceans apart.

Trembling hands slid up her arms to her shoulders, pulling her into a tight hug. Tearless sobs wracked her body, jaw slack in agony as his action was enough confirmation. This is the end, it meant. They have reached their last chapter. He made up his mind and she wasn’t allowed to change it.

If she did, they’d burn the band with them too.

“I’m sorry,” he cried, face wet with tears pressed into her neck. “I’m so sorry, I’m so fucking sorry.”

Julie gasped for air. “Don’t. Don’t apologise.”

He shook his head, blotched and with a look she never wanted to see again. “If I could change anything, it’s this, Julie. I want to be alive for you so badly - feeling it isn’t enough anymore. You deserve better.”

Furiously blinking, she felt moisture cling to her lashes. “I deserve you,” she warbled. “I love you.”

When he didn’t say it back right away, another tear smeared across her cheek. Her mouth shaped into a please, but he shook his head, shuddering with remorse. “You deserve to be loved out in the open, Julie. Not just in the dark.”

“Please, Luke,” it barely came out, pain squeezing her lungs. “Please. You’re real to me, you’ve always- it was never in the dark.”

He let go of her. The loss of contact made her freeze. His arms hung limp by his sides. Time, for one singular moment, stood still. Her wish came true. Why did it feel like he just disappeared right then and there? Julie bit her lip, waiting for it to happen. It didn’t, but she didn’t dare touching him in case the magic was lost. Luke seemed fearful too, his shivering breaths like knives on her ears. She left before he could say anything else.

Julie wailed and redid her make-up in the backseat of her car until it was time to go.)

The rough vibrato pinched her throat once more, pushing through for the final chorus.

We were sad of getting old, it made us restless Oh, I'm so mad I'm getting old, it makes me reckless

(The year prior, Julie plucked his maroon henley from her bedroom floor as Luke was sound asleep behind her. She shrugged it on and examined herself in the mirror. If she could have it all, she’d wish to never age, to never surpass seventeen and be with Luke forever.

If she could have even more, she’d wish to grow old with him. It was a scary thought to feel so confident about at sixteen, but Julie knew. She just knew. A gut feeling should always be allowed, her mom used to say. This was it.

Julie wished she could do this every day. Stealing his shirt and seeing it fray over time. She wanted stains and holes and fabric thinning from washing it so much. She wanted messy. She wanted real.

Crawling back in his embrace and placing a soft kiss on whatever skin she found that early in the morning, she wished for him to be real until she fell back asleep.)  

It was just like a movie It was just like a song When we were young

The last note settled into arena like a heavy blanket, everyone watching with baited breath as the wrecked singer stumbled out of her seat and muttered another thank you. Her shaky smile didn’t waver while the deafening applause washed over her. It was when she reached the wings and noted the horrified looks of Reggie and Alex, that she realised Luke wasn’t with them.  

“He just…” Alex’ foot swiped across the floor where Luke once stood, aghast. “He crossed over.”

They were always selfish loving one another. To fall, to love, to be in love. The inevitable never stopped being inevitable, and yet they trucked on. Maybe they had become cocky, thinking their hearts were stronger that they actually were. It was all too apparent now. Her heart wasn’t this spiritual thing. It wasn’t made of fairy dust and magical ghost powers. It was made of flesh and blood and it was bleeding.

Luke’s never would.

The arena lights dimmed.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

@blush-and-books @willexx @bluefirewrites @ourstarscollided @sophiphi

[star-spangledstud]

MIND GAMES - ONE

Summary: You arrive at your new home. Steve is a blank canvas.  

Pairing: Steve Rogers x (Female!)reader

Warnings: none (so far)

Note: Had to reupload cause instead of editing I accidentally deleted it.

Raindrops, heavy and loud against the window beside your head, clash against and glide down the glass in messy, squiggly lines. The title of the song playing on the radio, ‘Soft like Rain’, fits the scene almost perfectly. Almost, because the rain that pitter-patters against the fogged-up window isn’t very soft in nature. In fact, the droplets come down so hard they bang against the roof of the car, its sound almost entirely overtaking the mellow tones of jazzy piano and drums in the background. The lines obscure your vision of Times Square, lights from the streets blown out and blurred to look like colorful stars and wicked shapes in the darkness.

I hope I made the right decision.

Your breath further fogs up the glass when you sigh audibly. A pair of dark eyes can be found eyeing you carefully through the rearview mirror when you sink further down into your seat. They offer you a hint of concern, of uncertainty. Nick Fury doesn’t know whether you’ll be okay or not. He can’t tell just yet, but the glimmer of hope he feels inside tugging at his heartstrings motivates him to give you a shot.

“We’re almost there,” his voice is quiet and deep when he speaks for the first time since picking you up from the airport, “just a few more miles.”

Of course I made the right decision. I always do. When have I ever fucked up?

You nod in response without checking to see if he’s looking at you through the mirror again because he undoubtedly is. After all, it’s all he’s been doing for the last hour. If you were to study the look in his eyes or his inner monologue just a little longer, you’d find out he’s scared. Nick Fury is afraid, both of you and for you, and he doesn’t like it because Nick Fury doesn’t get scared. He’s seen so much, experienced so many horrors in his time that he genuinely didn’t think anything could frighten him any more. Past tense, because the you’ve clearly made him change his mind.

This could be the best thing I ever did, or the worst. Can’t wait to find out which one it is. Cap better not fuck this one up.

There are so many questions you want to ask, but the voice in his head is loud in such a confined space, and nothing appropriate comes to mind. All you can pay attention to is the rumbling of the engine and the occasional ambulance rushing by somewhere in the distance. In the meantime, the song on the radio changes and morphs into something that sounds more melancholic.

When the two of you finally pull up to the compound, the rain has mostly stopped. It’s only drizzling now, tiny drops tickle your face while you brush strands of dampened hair from your forehead. A chill runs along your spine when a gust of wind blows through your open jacket, and you immediately zip it up for extra warmth.

You quickly scan the building, breath hitching in your throat when you notice its sheer size. It’s huge, much larger than where you used to reside, and the bright blue Avengers logo on the front causes your heart to beat a little faster. Seeing that logo makes it real, you think. You’re not so sure if this is the right place to be, but you don’t believe you have a better option. Either way, you told yourself you wouldn’t fuck this one up, and you have no intention to break this promise. This is home now, or at least it will be for a little while, and as intimidating as it is, you’ll have to make it work.

You can adapt, you’ve done it before. Hell, you’ve done it more times than you can remember. It’s extremely easy to make the people around you feel at ease in your presence when you can literally read every single thought they’ve ever had.

“I’ve assigned you to our best agent. He’s going to accompany you wherever you go to keep you safe. You cannot, under any circumstance, leave the building without him. You will listen to him and do what he tells you to do because it’s in your best interest. If you need anything, ask him, and he will provide. Do not tell anyone private information. If you need to vent, tell him,” Fury pauses, waits for you to nod, “no phones, no computers and especially no social media allowed under any circumstances. We need to figure out how much they know first. Don’t worry, we got Tony and Banner on that one.”

Did I get it all? I’m getting too old for this shit.

He watches you intently while you have to stop yourself from chuckling, “Got it?”

You nod.

“I need a verbal confirmation,” he grumbles, sounding annoyed by his own protocol.

“Yes,” you mumble against the whistling wind, “I understand.”

“Good. Let’s get moving, then.”

The opulent, open design of the ground floor greets you warmly when you walk in. Your boots, black and caked with mud, make streaks of brown along the white linoleum with each step you take and creak beneath your feet when you force yourself to move slowly forward. Fury watches your gaze flickering across the entrance and motions for you to follow him to the elevators, which you do silently.

A look of disapproval follows when he notices the trail of mud you’re leaving behind, but he doesn’t say anything. It won’t do him any good to verbalize his annoyance, because you’ve already picked up on it. Still, you drag your feet in an attempt to make him think you aren’t listening.

“Gym is in the basement,” he comments after watching you eye all the buttons inside the elevator, “roof is a terrace and pad for the Quinjets. There’s a penthouse underneath you’ll see soon enough.”

You raise a brow, and to your surprise, he chuckles, “Christmas party.”

“All the other floors include a lab, living quarters, conference rooms with workspaces, IT, a weaponry and gear storage. There’s a training room attached to the building that offers simulations. The building has a common kitchen and living room, a game room, a movie theatre and some other crap. Steve will show you when he has time.”

Your voice is dry and hoarse when you speak, “Steve?”

The elevator comes to a halt on the fifth floor, and before Fury has time to reply, the doors open to reveal a tall, blonde man in the opening. His arms, broad and encased in royal blue wool, are crossed over his chest. He has a stern expression on his face and a deep crease in his brow until he sees you and Fury, standing so far apart both of you are nearly hugging the mirrors on the walls. Fury has some of the loudest thoughts you’ve ever heard, and being stuck in a tiny box doesn’t do the volume any favors.

A glimmer of amusement is evident in his light blue eyes when you get out of the elevator. You look awkwardly at Fury, who’s making no move to follow you into the hallway, leaving you standing with one foot in the hall and one still in the elevator.

“Steve,” Fury says with a nod of his head towards the stranger, “is the agent you’re assigned to. He’s the captain of the team. I’d love to stay and chat, but you know how it is. Things to do, people to see… Keep me posted, Cap. I’ll be back soon for updates.”

He nudges you softly until you fully exit the elevator, and wastes no time pressing the button that will lead him back down to the ground floor. The heaviness of Nick Fury’s presence and the loudness of his inner monologue disappears with him when he leaves. It’s not until the doors close behind you that you feel like you can finally breathe again.

You turn to the man in front of you when you notice how quiet it’s become, and you subconsciously tilt your head to the side when instead of a constant stream of low mumbling and whispering, you hear nothing at all.

Steve raises a brow when he notices the way you’re looking at him. The soft expression on his face falters just a moment, but he recovers quickly, deciding not to allow his concern to show for now.  

“Hey,” he says “I’m Steve Rogers, captain of the team.”

It takes you a while to reply because you’re so focused on listening for his inner voice that you don’t even notice his rosy lips moving.

You swallow down a stream of curses in a variety of languages and force yourself to stand up straight when you realize he’s waiting for you to say something. What the fuck is going on, you think to yourself while you plaster a smile on your face.

“Yeah, I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m Y/N,” you reply politely, “nice to meet you.”

“I hope Fury didn’t intimidate you too much,” Steve says with a chuckle, “the first conversation I had with him scared the hell out of me. To be fair, I did think I was still in the 40s.”

You bite your lip and shake your head, grip on the straps of your backpack tightening until your knuckles turn white. You’re glad he doesn’t extend his hand for you to shake. You assume he contemplated it.  Don’t know for sure though, because it’s still quiet up there in his skull. Does this guy even think at all?

“Come on, let me show you to your room.”

Your footsteps echo against the walls when the two of you silently cross the hallway. In total, you count a number of six doors. You tip your chin up when you reach the end and take a moment to study the man’s appearance while he points to the door on the right. He’s even taller and broader than you imagined him to be when Fury pictured him in his mind for you to see. If the upward curl of his lips wasn’t so genuine and soft, you would have been terrified of how big he is.

“This is mine,” he says, “I’m right across the hall if you need anything. This is yours. Usually, the doors open with fingerprint recognition, but you have a key. Nobody else has a copy except for me, for safety reasons. I’m obligated to tell you that you aren’t allowed to make any more copies.”

“Wasn’t going to,” you reply quickly.

He pulls a short, silver key from his back pocket and places it gently in your open, shaky palm. He notices your fingers are shaky when you fumble with the lock and smiles again in an attempt to make you feel more at ease. It’s almost like he can read your mind instead of the other way around. That stupid smile pisses you off.

“You have your own private bathroom,” Steve explains while he follows you inside, “Fury told us you don’t own much, so I asked Natasha to get you some clothes. We can go out and buy you some more if you want, just let me know. Feel free to decorate the place however you want.”

“Natasha?” you ask while looking around.

“The best spy we have. You’ll get along just fine, I’m sure. Anyway, I’ll leave you to get settled for now. Don’t hesitate to knock on my door at any time, okay? I’m not supposed to leave for another mission for a few weeks until you get situated. We can explore the compound tomorrow if you’re up for it. Maybe you can meet some of the other team members while we’re at it. No pressure.”

“Thanks,” you swallow thickly, “Steve.”

“You’re safe here,” he presses, “don’t forget that.”

For a brief moment, you wonder how much he really knows. You knowFury’s told him and Tony a watered-down version of what you’ve told him, but the kindness in his voice allows you to believe he hasn’t heard much. Still, you try to enter his brain and find out yourself, but once again you come up with nothing.

You exhale loudly after Steve leaves and take a moment to look around the room you’re now supposed to call yours. It doesn’t feel like it belongs to you, not yet anyway, and you wonder how long it will take before you find yourself succumbing to a new routine.

You take a shower to warm your bones and wash your hair with the shampoo and conditioner that smell like papaya. The towel you use to dry off is too fluffy for your liking, and a look in the mirror reveals dark circles and sunken in cheeks. It’s fine, you think. You haven’t recognized yourself in years.

Your backpack finds its way onto the bed, which is big enough for at least three people to sleep in. You follow shortly after, arms spread wide across the silky, forest green sheets until you sink down so far they almost wholly envelop you. Your hair is sprawled messily across the pillows. They smell like lavender and fresh cotton, and the scent is so relaxing and calming that within just several minutes of staring up at the ceiling, you drift off into a dreamless sleep.

When you wake up in a cold sweat several hours later, your hands are curled tightly in small fists around the silk sheets that cling to your legs. It’s hot in your room even though the chills along your arms would suggest otherwise, and your eyes frantically scan the shadows that seem to momentarily engulf you. It takes a while for your eyes to adjust to the darkness, and while you lie there in the dark, for several minutes, the only thing you can see is the vague outline of the face of a man.

As images from the dream you’ve just woken up from begin to fade, your heartrate slows down enough for you to remember where you are. You push the covers away from you and get up out of bed. You consider making a trip to the kitchen to get yourself something to eat, but you have no clue where the kitchen is located. Irritation pricks at your skin when your stomach rumbles loudly in the deafening silence, and five seconds later you’re stomping through the hallway with one goal in mind; to find something to eat.

The memory of Fury pointing out which floors of the building contain which rooms replays in your mind while you speedwalk through the hallway. You try to make a mental map of the compound for future reference just as you round the first corner, and in your state of tiredness and annoyance fueled by hunger, you don’t have time to realize Steve Rogers is on the other side of that corner.

Before he slams into you chest-first, his arms stretch out in front of him out of reflex. He grabs onto your shoulders and holds you steady while the both of you inhale sharply. Your head shoots up to meet his gaze, and he quickly releases his grip. What are the odds?

“Jesus Christ,” you gasp, “I didn’t see you.”

You didn’t hear him. That’s what you really want to say, but it wouldn’t make sense.

“I can tell,” he replies, “What are you doing awake?”

He’s tired, you can tell by the raspiness of his voice and the droopiness of his eyes, but he’s trying to hide his exhaustion by showing concern.

“I’m not trying to bail,” you cross your arms, “if that’s what you think.”

“I didn’t say that,” he replies, “didn’t think it, either.”

I wouldn’t know, you think. 

You take a step back to study his face for a moment, unaware that you haven’t answered his question. When the silence between the two of you becomes nearly unbearably heavy, you finally speak up.

Your cheeks heat up, and you swallow thickly, “I was hungry.”

“Damn it,” he mutters under his breath, “of course. I’m so sorry, I should’ve given you something to eat. The kitchen’s all the way at the end of the hall, on the right. Fridge should be stocked. I think there might be some leftovers, if Sam hasn’t eaten them already. I gotta go, see you in the morning.”

As you watch him walk away in the opposite direction, you can’t help but wonder what the rush is all about. Perhaps he’s really eager to get back in bed, you muse, although you doubt that’s the real reason why he’s speedwalking away from his room in the middle of the night.

NEXT CHAPTER.

[themoonisalwayschanging]

Do you trust me? requested

REQUEST: Can you write about a female reader who meets Ashley and she just sees right through her, like the real her. It's about the first time they have sex and the reader is really self-conscious but ashley makes her feel really safe, and secure?

As I stand in the middle of the crowded room, alone, I curse Teagan under my breath for leading me here once more, she swore she wasn’t going to disappear, yet once again is nowhere to be seen. I text her repeatedly, hoping she tells me where she is so I can get my keys from her purse to leave.

Teagan is obsessed with Hollywood parties. She has been talking to some actor on instagram for a while and he invited us (her) here, while I came to make fun of all the Hollywood clichés together, she uses her time to hook up with the stars.

People all around the room are dancing, high couture and expensive alcohol. A drunk guy that was making out with Teagan earlier pushes me to make his way to the bar and I follow, resigned since Teagan won't text me back.

The bar is almost empty, there are a few guys on the side, shouting as one of them is drinking tequila shots nonstop, next to me there’s a girl playing with the straw in her drink, she is wearing a short skin tight silver dress over her body covered in tattoos and when I take a sit next to her she turns around and smile. She has deep hazel eyes, her nose is covered in freckles and her hair is long and black.

“having fun?” she asks ironically before sipping from her glass. She somehow fits here perfectly though, in this party and with this people, even when she is sitting here all alone. I realize she is someone important, probably famous, but I can’t tell who.

“You have no idea” I reply sarcastically. She offers me her glass and I doubt. She drinks again, showing me there’s nothing weird in it.

“bourbon” she says and I accept her glass, sipping slowly. “I´m Ashley” she offers me her hand playfully and I shake it. Her voice is beautiful, it sounds familiar, it's soft and raspy.

“nice to meet you Ashley, I’m y/n” she smirks and I feel my legs getting weak, she is extremely beautiful.

“Why are you here all alone?” Ashley wonders playing with her hair. The guys that were shouting seem to be over it now, and despite the whole party scenario, this corner is quite quiet, enough for us to speak without screaming.

“Ugh, my friend is nowhere to be seen and she has my keys, so I’m stuck here. Why are YOU here all alone?” she laughs, gosh her laugh is so cute.

“I hate coming to these things, but my friends are having fun” she says pointing to a group of people dancing on the side “at least I get free alcohol, right?” Ashley calls the bartender and orders two shots, she handles me one and I lift it up, she offers me a toast, laughing, “to the shitty party that led me to meet this beautiful girl” I blush and clash my glass against hers, Drinking all of the content inside of it.

After some time, Ashley leads us to the backyard and we spend all night talking.

“What do you do for a living?” she asks me eventually as we are sitting side by side with our feets inside the enormous pool that decorates the backyard of the house. She has been acting flirty since we started talking but I try not to get my hopes up since she seems to be too gorgeous to see me like that.

“Oh, I have nothing to do with all the people in here! I work in a small bookshop downtown and I’m majoring in English literature” she smiles widely “what do you do for a living? You seem to fit in here perfectly” Ashley laughs again.

“I'm a singer, I don’t go by Ashley though, Halsey is my stage name” She says this with a deep sigh, as if saying this was both relieving her from a burden and also scaring her. it took me a bit to realize what this meant, of course I knew Halsey, this confession startled me since I have plenty of her songs on my playlist, but I didn’t recognize her voice before.

“Oh my god, of course I know Halsey! You are so talented” she moves uncomfortably in her chair and when I notice I add “but I like Ashley better” she bites her lip and moves her hand on top of mine.

“so, do you like Ashley?” she asks and I realize the weight in my words. I nod, she smirks, leaning into me and I close the gap between us, kissing her eagerly, when we pull away she holds me and we spend the rest of the party talking and stealing kisses from each other in that backyard.

The night ends too fast, she asks me for my number and Teagan appears after what seems ages, she looks confused as she clearly recognizes Halsey in the first look but I introduce them anyway. When we left I was never expecting to ever hear from her again, she’s gorgeous and successful while I’m just not pretty in comparison, but a day later she asks me out again. We go to have dinner at a beautiful restaurant, and then another date and then one more. 

Since she has been the one inviting me to all of these dates, I decided to take the lead for once, inviting her over to my place for dinner and to watch some movies she has been telling me I MUST watch since the first time we met. I told her she can sleep over and she happily agreed.

 I'm good at cooking, so I take care of the food, making homemade pasta, her favorite. I finish the food by 7, she is coming over at 8. I set the table and wait for Ashley putting some comfortable clothes on, though it is true that I was still trying to look pretty for her.

I wore my hair down, a pair of Nike pink short shorts and a white tee, I couldn't help myself but wear cute underwear, just in case since all of our dates have limited to making out sessions, mostly because of me, since I have been quite insecure in this topic, especially considering the way Ashley looks and the way her exes do compared to me.

She arrives early, bringing a bottle of my favorite red wine with her. She kisses my lips briefly when I open the door for her and I invite her in. She is wearing grey leggings and a basic and tight shorts sleeve that ends mid stomach, fuck, she looks amazing. She moves around my place, my apartment Is small and its walls are mostly covered in books, she stops to read the titles and smiles with some of them.

“would you lend me one, pretty please? your choice” I nod walking up to where she is standing, she smiles.

“of course ash, what about this one?” I move in front of her grabbing one of my favorite books, she sneaks her arms around my waist and drags me closer, she is shorter than me but she manages to rest her face on the crook of my neck and I smile.

“That one seems perfect” she leaves a kiss on my neck, I close my eyes for a second, she grabs the book from my hand and takes me out of my trance. Ashley removes herself from my body and makes her way to the small kitchen. I ask her to sit down in the living room so that we can eat while we watch whatever she wants to show me.

I prepare everything on the coffee table quickly while Ashley looks for the movie she wants me to watch, “Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind”. She stands up from the sofa and pours some wine on each of the two wine cups resting on the table in front of her, I place the last plate in front of her and she compliments my cooking skills, “oh my god, baby, this looks amazing” we put our plates in our laps and rest comfortably in the sofa, Ashley press play and we start eating.

We ate in a comfortable silence, occasionally looking over to each other, the movie was actually amazing and I understand why she insisted on watching it so much. When we leave our plates on the table once we are done eating, she motions me to come closer and I wrap myself around her, watching the film ending with my head resting on her shoulder. When the credits start, we both feel tired.

“So? What did you think? It's amazing isn’t it?” Ashley asks me excitedly, interested in my opinion.

“it was great honestly, which one are you going to show me now?” Ashley yawns and I giggle “Ash, baby, wanna go to sleep and we can watch whatever tomorrow morning?” she nods, smiling shyly.

“I am getting old so I’m sure I won’t be able to stay awake throughout the three hour movie that’s left” I get up and leave the leftovers of our dinner in the kitchen, Ashley following with the cups on her hands. I wash the dishes quickly as ashley hums to some song looking at the few photos around the place. She finds herself in one.

“Oh my god, when did you print this one? You look so pretty in it.” I laugh, a bit uncomfortable because she looks like a goddess next to me. It’s a photo we took last week when she drove me home after one of our dates. I am smiling widely and I look happy but she looks even better. “What?” She says when she gets not response, “I mean it, you’re gorgeous y/n”. I roll my eyes and walk her way, sneaking my hands around her waist and I shrug her off. 

“Do you need me to prove it to you?” she asks, raising her eyebrows and grabbing my waist again half jokingly, but tighter this time. I freeze in my place under her strong gaze and she moves her hands slowly from my waist, up my back to my neck, where she moves my head so I'm looking right into her eyes. “Because I would like to do that” she adds, smirking and waiting for my reaction.

The truth is I have been over this scenario about a million times in my mind. Indeed the woman I'm dating must be the most beautiful woman on earth so it's just expected I´d fantasize about her a lot… However I can't help but get very self conscious when things escalate, I get afraid she might notice I am not as pretty as she seems to believe, because next to her, I'm definitely not. She notices I get lost in my thoughts and stares with a curious smile, I decide I might as well do as my body urges me too and surrender to the desire.

I move my face closer to hers, our lips almost touching and she closes the gap between them with a tender kiss. My hands find her face and I cup her cheeks allowing myself to let go for now, Ashley's smile grows bigger and she deepens the kiss, I oblige chucking softly at the sudden change in her mood.

“Can we move this somewhere else?” I ask, getting a little braver for a second, unconsciously biting my lip as I wait for her answer. She nods and asks me to guide her. Our lips meet again and I blindly guide Ashley into my bedroom. She takes control again when the kiss becomes rough and her hands find my ass. I let out the smallest moan and she smirks again, my body clearly reacting to her actions. 

Ashley pushes me on the bed carefully next,she is on top as her lips make their way down to my neck where she bites and kisses getting some loud moans from me, her mouth moves to the sweet spot in my ear and to my collarbone before she starts kissing on the fabric of my shirt.  She looks up to me asking for permission with her eyes “can we take this off?” I Nod and I help her take the shirt off, however, I notice my hands moving down to cover the newly exposed skin “why do you cover yourself in front of me?” Ash asks softly while leaving kisses down my collarbone to where my bra is  “you're really beautiful y/n” her hands grab mines and she uncrosses my arms from over my body, again she kisses down where my arms are not covering me “I have never seen anyone as beautiful as you, Y/N, Do you trust me?”

I don't know if I believe her, I don't know if I’m the most beautiful girl she has seen, but i do know I feel safe under her touch, in her arms, in this bed and exposed under her gaze. everything it’s okay just because she's here “I trust you Ash” I say unclasping my bra reassuring my words. 

Ashley compliments my body once again, staring at it as she takes off  the bra I unclasped for her “is this okay?” she asks moving softly over my boobs. I moan in return and even though I see a cocky smile on her lips she is waiting for my permission before doing anything. I shakily answer a simple “yes baby” and she is kissing me again. Her tongue meets mine and the kiss feels desperate already as she hovers over my body.

Her lips move down again, except this time there's no fabric when her kisses descend. her hand grabs my boob and her kisses tease my neck until loud moans leave my lips. Her hands replace her mouth as she takes my nipples between her lips and I don't longer try to hold them back. I want to press my legs together to get some relief and Ashley notices my squirming movements.  “What's wrong y/n?” she teases me “is everything okay?”

“Ash” 

“hm? what baby girl” she asks, drawing on my ribs with her finger.

“Please Ash, I need you!” Ashley chuckles, I notice she's holding back from teasing me any further when her lips meet my neck again and she leaves a wet path down her hand meets one of my boobs and her lips the other; when she bites on my nipple, my hands go to her hair and I pull, earning a little groan from her and I need to push her head further down. Her mouth keeps moving eventually until she finds the hem of my underwear where she stops one more time to ask for permission. I am close to taking off what's left on me myself as I tell her once again I need her touch. She seems satisfied with my answer as she pulls my shorts off in a quick move. 

Ashley uses her nails to scratch down my exposed thighs “Y/N, I love your body” she reassures me one again every few seconds. She is now kneeling in front of me, right in front of the place where I need her the most, and her fingers keep getting close to my sex all of her movements make me whimper in return. I attempt to close my legs once again due the impatience and she keeps them open and moves my panties to the side, touching my center.

“Oh baby, you are so wet for me” She says and I can only reply with a loud moan when her finger moves the wetness up to my clit and starts circling it slowly, I bite my lip to stop the sounds I'm making and she stops. 

I am about to complain as she pulls my panties down and ties her hair in a ponytail in a second. each of her palms rests on a thigh and she then holds them in place when she tastes my entrance with her tongue. I grab her left hand from my thigh as she pleasures me, intertwining our fingers. Her tongue persistently moves to my clit, and her free hand moves to my entrance once again, eventually introducing one finger. 

I cry out loud, pulling her hair carelessly, and she picks up a slow pace with her finger, matching it up with the movements from her tongue.  “Oh, fuck!” I mumble in between gasps. She hums, sending vibrations through my body, signaling she is proud of the reaction she is getting from me. 

She introduces another finger when I start to get used to the feeling of the first one, her movements are fast and steady now, and her tongue keeps teasing me. I notice the way my walls start to clench around her fingers and so does she. 

“Come for me, princess” she says, moving her fingers to my clit and her lips to my entrance. 

In no time I feel the orgasm hit me, hard. I scream her name as I climax, as if I was thanking her for it. When I come down from my high, I see Ashley licking on her finger that was inside of me before. Her eyes find mines and she smirks.

“Here, wanna taste yourself?” She brings her fingers to my mouth and I suck, feeling my own juices on her fingers “You are very sweet” she continues, seductively and proceeds to kiss me on the lips. I kiss her back, moving her underneath me and straddling her, the wetness in between my legs leaving a little spot on her clothes. Her hands rest on my ass when we kiss.

Her short tshirt leaves her abdomen exposed when I push her back in the bed and I move my hands underneath the fabric, slowly, my hands right under her breasts and our lips break apart again. My hands stop moving and my lips go to her neck.

“Can I?” I ask whispering in her ear. Her grip on my ass tightens and she nods.

“yes, please” she smirks.

Part two?

Please send your requests!

[hisunshiine]

—where do you want me? | sope x reader

⟢ pairing: BTS!yoongi x stylist noona!reader x BTS!hobi

⟢ word count: 2.2k

⟢ genre: nsfw 18+, BTS is BTS, smut, pwp. 

⟢ warnings: tension and teasing, the title is said 5 times LOL explicit smut: threesome, noona kink, semi-public sex, double penetration

⟢ summary: Oh, this story is quite self-explanatory—and with that being said...where do you want me?  

⟢ an: dont judge me sksksk

Being a stylist noona is perhaps one of your greatest accomplishments. You were in the rehearsal room, watching 3 of the boys prepare for their dress rehearsal before trying out the full practice on the stage. Leaned up against the mirror, you watched as Hoseok tried out the new pants he had for this stage. They were black leather, but specially made for performers so that he could still perform all of his dance moves perfectly. This was his first time performing UGH! In full costume, and you had painstakingly worked with the designers to create the perfect outfit for the moment when he would perform his monumental third verse. 

It was your favorite. 

You sighed, eyes never leaving him as he practiced the way he would deliver the lines, the buildup into a baepsae-esque pelvic thrust when he raps “욱 욱 욱 욱!” Namjoon and Yoongi both smiled, letting out loud whoops at Hobi’s moves, and you enjoyed the way he was feeling himself. You trailed your eyes from his shoes, black like his whole outfit with red laces to highlight the red accents in his shirt, up across his taught thighs, his lithe hips, and firm chest until you reached the beautiful alabaster expanse of his neck to his face. His hair was pushed up off of his forehead, and his eyes, the deepest brown, were on you. You froze when you made eye contact with him, heat moving towards your cheeks, and you almost turned away… but something made you maintain eye contact with him.

Son Sung Deuk, their long time dance director, called out to the boys to get them in position. Hobi, who still hadn’t taken his eyes off of you, called back to Song Deuk-hyung “𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘦?”

You couldn’t help but feel that he was directing it more towards you.

You knelt down to the left of Yoongi, pins clutched between your lips as you fixed a rip in his pants. He had gone a little too hard after performing UGH! on the stage for the final rehearsal, and kicked his leg up a little too high. The proximity of your face to his groin was illegal, the way you could tell just how big he was after an adrenaline filled performance was not something you just get used to. 

“Sorry about this, Noona.” Yoongi’s calming voice traveled down to where you were kneeling, sewing shut the last of the ripped seam. This would hold it together temporarily until rehearsals were over so that you could then use the machine to sew it properly before tomorrow’s show. Finally, they were starting the MOTS Tour, and everyone was anxious. 

You set the pins down from your mouth as you finished, shaking your head.

“Don’t worry about it Yoongs, you just go out there and kill it tomorrow. I’ll have these patched up in no time.”

You flinch slightly when his hand moves to curl the hair that was loose from your ponytail  behind your ear. When you realized what he was doing, you relaxed, involuntarily leaned into his hand. You hold back a gasp as his thumb grazes your cheek softly, and by the time you’ve moved to look up at him, he’s walking back over to the group discussing the stage changes. 

You grab your tiny tomato pushpin and mini sewing kit, rushing off of the stage to “use the bathroom”. 

It went on like this the rest of the evening. Hobi would set you motionless with his stare, pinning you as he drank you in. And Yoongi would get away with subtle touches here and there, setting your core on fire. You were standing off the edge of the stage watching the maknae’s run around jovially, so happy to kick off this much anticipated tour. While you were watching them, you heard a voice yelling out to you. Hoseok was standing behind you further in the wings tussling with his shirt. 

“Noona, I need you!”

As it turns out Hobi called you over for help adjusting his shirt as it wouldn’t tuck into his pant’s properly, and you could barely get your fingers to stop shaking as you pushed them lightly into the band of his pants and tugged the shirt around his waist, trying to get it to sit properly. 

“I-I’m going to n-need to undo your b-belt..” you stammer, unable to make eye contact. 

“Okay Noona, I don’t mind.” You take a deep breath to steady yourself before you reach and start undoing his belt. It seems like both of you stop breathing as your fingers fold back the cold metal to pull the strap through. Once open, you undo the top button on his pants, and you sigh in relief as you realize the shirt was bunched improperly and not the wrong size. You’re so focused on fixing the shirt now that you don't realize you’ve stepped closer to him and wrapped your arms around him to fix the back until you hear an intake of breath from above you. You look up, realizing from where his eyes are focused that your chest is pushed firmly against him, and he has a direct line of sight into your shirt.

“Oh!” 

You step away, putting space between you when you back into a solid frame. 

“Wow, Noona, I know you get close to us, but I didn’t know it was like that.” Yoongi’s voice, deep and strong in a pleasant way, washed over your shoulder. You shiver, a chill from the air he expelled snaking over your collarbones. 

“I-I uh, I didn’t, I wasn’t think- I’m sorry Hobi-” 

Yoongi’s eyes meet Hobi’s and you can see the silent communication between them.

“Follow me.” A hand grasps your wrist and tugs you gently farther away from the stage and deeper into the darkness behind the stage. 

Once you’ve made it far enough away that you can’t hear anyone else nearby, Hobi stops walking and you almost plow into him. He turns around to face you and before you can move, his lips are on yours. He tastes like he smells, a soft vanilla flavor, and you melt into the kiss, making it easy for him to swipe for entry into your mouth. His tongue explores you, tasting you, and you gasp when you feel two sets of hands roaming your body as another pair of soft lips leave hot, wet open mouthed kisses to your neck and shoulder.

You moan, arching your back so your chest to chest with one and ass to hardening cock with the other. A set of cold hands slide up under your shirt, pushing their way under your bra to cup your breasts; Yoongi’s fingers deftly pinch and pull your nipples as Hobi’s hands squeeze at your waist, pulling you flush to his body.

As Hobi pulls away from the kiss, a string of saliva still connects you, his pupils are blown and his breathing hard. 

“Fuck, Noona..”

“Hobi, Yoongi… We said it wouldn’t happen again.” Your voice is low, and not concealing the desire you have pooling in your panties.

Yoongi nips at your neck. 

“But I want you, Noona, I want you so badly, can’t you tell?” He presses his erection onto you, and you squeeze your thighs together, an action they both notice.

“You want us too, baby.”

“Fuck...” you moan out as Yoongi continues his ministrations on your aroused nipples, Hobi leaning into kiss you again, trailing kisses from your lips to your ear. You feel your willpower dissolve.

“𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘦?” you ask.

“So good baby… fu-- you fuck me so good..” you’re mewling as Hobi splits you, penetrating your core, walls tightening every stroke he takes. You’ve gushed all over his dick, and the squelching sound as he fucks into you is lewd and dirty and you fucking love it. He has you bent over the arm of one of the backroom couches, while Yoongi’s alabaster thighs are in front of you, kneeling on the couch.

“You’re too loud Noona, someone might hear.” Yoongi caresses your head, and the pulsing head of his cock is pressed gently to your lips, awaiting entrance. You open your lips gently around the bulb of his head, and suck him in slowly, enjoying the silky feel and the weight of him on your tongue. You can only fit some of him into your mouth before he’s poking at the back of your throat, and you swallow to hear him groan out in pleasure. Hobi speeds up after he hears Yoongi’s response to you deep throating him and every thrust takes Yoongi farther into your throat before you're gagging, tears prickling your eyes. Hobi reaches down around your thigh and places his middle finger onto your clit, using your slick to slip and slide around it and you feel yourself clenching hard on him. Yoongi pulls out of your mouth to avoid the reaction of biting when you climax, his hand stroking his dick while he watches Hobi chase his high. 

“𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘦?” Hobi asks you, panting, and you can barely form the words.

“I-Inside!”

You’re so fucked out that you can barely remember your own name, despite Hobi yelling it as he is cumming, spurts of white hot cum filling your tight cunt. He pulls out, and you roll onto your back on the couch trying to catch your breath. It’s pointless though. Yoongi still has to cum. 

“I’m gonna take you now Noona..” Yoongi’s gravelly voice floats above you, and you cry out as he pushes his way into your already brimming hole, Hobi’s cum leaking out around Yoongi’s dick as he begins a punishing motion. He leans down over your body, his chest stilling the bouncing of your tits as his lips sought yours; Yoongi was a sucker for a sloppy makeout while he was balls deep inside you. 

“Fuck her good hyung,” Hobi said as he sat back resting, sweat making his hair slick back away from his face. 

Yoongi pulls away from the kiss with a pop to respond with an “Always,” and you whine for him to come back. He licks from your collarbone up your neck before returning his mouth to your pout, a clashing of teeth and saliva as he rolls his hips into you. 

“P-Please Yoo-yoongi!” You beg, overstimulation causing you to tremble beneath him. 

“Cum for me, baby, just one more Noona, you came for him.” Yoongi said, and you moan out in pleasure of hearing him call you baby. You were barely older than him, but you wanted to be his good baby girl, you wanted to be both of theirs. Their good, pliant, well behaved baby girl. 

You felt it building a second time, and you clench, your body fighting with you against all this pleasure. Hobi, halfway dressed again comes and kneels next to you, caressing your face as Yoongi changes positions, standing to put your legs up on his shoulders before thrusting into you, deeper now with this angle. Hobi kisses across your chest before his tongue laves across your nipple, sucking it into his mouth as he plays with your other breast with his hand. You arch your back and he moves up your body to tangle his tongue with yours, biting your lip and sucking it into his mouth before releasing it, to do it again and again. You’re sure you have tears falling, it all feels so good, 𝙨𝙤 𝙜𝙤𝙤𝙙, and you’re sure you’re screaming now as you release your second orgasm, though this time you’re squirting all over Yoongi’s lower abdomen and as it leaks down his thighs, the sight is enough to send him spiraling, a low groan erupting from his throat as his hot cum loads you up till you’re dripping, all three of your juices mingling together inside your swollen pussy. 

By the time you get cleaned up, the boys have sprinted off back to the stage, knowing they were going to get yelled at for disappearing. You fix your hair in the mirror before you grab your tools and head back towards the stage area. You’re intercepted before you get there.

“Ah! Y/N we’ve been trying to find you, they want you.” Another staff member points you towards the door you’re next too, and you can see different sections for hair, makeup, and clothes.

“𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘦?”

Sung Deuk hyung waves Hobi and Yoongi over, yelling at them for missing the change in the choreography placements. 

“Sorry hyung!” Hobi says, “won’t happen again!”

“Just get into formation!”

“We don’t know where that is, hyung, we missed the alteration, remember?” Yoongi says calmly. 

Hobi looks over at the side of the stage where you’ve just appeared again after setting down your sewing tools, and without breaking eye contact asks the dance director “𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘦?” 

[hold-my-hand-kuroo]

tendou as my favorite naruto!! openings-

it’s midnight where i am right now, so a big hbd to one of my favorite nerds!!  here’s something quick and dumb that i did while i’m still functioning,,,this is what he would’ve wanted, i’m sure of it.

also before someone @’s me, i have more than four favorite naruto openings, but i just don’t have the time to write them all- (i am a “lovers” supremacist though).

pairing: tendou satori x reader

i. “We’ve pretended to forget the things we held dear, so we can just laugh and say it’s nothing.”

Tendou can’t say that quitting volleyball after high school was a bad idea. No longer does he have to ache throughout his legs and arms, and no longer does he have to practice inside a stuffy gym until the sun was gone. He can finally rest on the weekends or take time to work on assignments before midnight. It’s liberating and less stressful on his part. Plus, even if he slightly missed volleyball from time to time, he could just watch one of Ushijima’s games during his now-open weekends. For sure, Tendou can’t say that he regrets leaving the sport.

But he also can’t say that he doesn’t miss his paradise.

His favorite spot at university is the secluded spot in the back, hidden away from most students. It’s where you find him during long breaks in between classes or during lunch, and it’s where you sit under the shade of a tall tree, watching Tendou as he bounces the volleyball back and forth against the brick wall. The sound is soft, gentle, and steady, and it helps you concentrate on your work. Sometimes, after the long, grueling hours of an all-nighter, you find the noise to be lulling, almost hypnotic. It wasn’t hard for you to nod off.

Today is no exception. Procrastinating and leaving your final papers to the night before wasn’t your best idea, and after what seemed to be the strangest period of limbo, drifting between dozing off and waking up, you found yourself finally submitting and missing your entire night’s worth of sleep. You take your lunch break as an opportunity to finally get some rest, and when you round the corner, Tendou’s already there. He’s humming a tune, fingers pressing against the white ball. Hearing your footsteps, he turns and gives you a wide smile. Even then, he doesn’t stop tossing the ball.

“You look terrible,” he comments, stifling his laughter. You groan, settling against the wood of the tree but make no effort to respond. Tendou changes his song, picking a melody that is more calming while continuing to play. The gentle breeze sets you into a deep slumber with the redhead acting as your lullaby.

When you wake up, you find yourself leaning against his shoulder. Your eyes flutter open and then close almost immediately at the sudden intrusion of sunlight. Tendou chuckles from beside you, placing his hand over your closed lids and whistling to himself. Feeling around for his other hand, you trace your fingertips over his own, lingering touches dancing on his skin. You can tell that he’s in a good mood based on the song he’s humming. It was either that or the kiss he places on your cheek after letting you open your eyes.

“Satori?” you murmur, voice still tinged with drowsiness. He pauses his singing, signaling you to finish your thought. “Why aren’t you in the volleyball club?”

“Babe, are you getting sick of me? Or do you just hate me?” he laughs. “I’d run out of time to breathe, let alone see you on the regular.”

“You don’t miss it?”

“Are you really asking me if I miss being bruised all over and struggling to meet deadlines?” He laughs again and pokes your face with a teasing glint in his eye. “Y/N, I’m hurt!”

“You seem to like it a lot considering that you’re literally playing on your own every day.” You put extra emphasis on the last two words and give him a knowing look. Tendou just shakes his head.

“Nah. I only played in high school because joining a club was required. I don’t really care about it now.” His response is simple, less wordy than his usual elaborations, so you let the topic rest. Closing your eyes again, you take part in the humming. The melodies, completely different, clash like day and night, and it makes both of you laugh.

Tendou watches as you fall back to sleep, eyes filled with fondness. In truth, maybe Tendou misses his volleyball club a little bit. His paradise. Not the sport itself per se, but the people around him. It was hard finding classmates that didn’t find him utterly repulsive, so he wasn’t surprised that he fit well into a team that was filled with nothing but the most eccentric people he has ever met. Ushijima and his love affair with volleyball and Semi with his drive to risk it all were standouts, but he supposes that there were others too. Yeah, he misses them more than he’d like to admit, and he misses spending all his waking hours with them. Just a little.

“You stopped humming.” It’s more of a comment on your part rather a complaint, but you can tell by his jolt that you had unintentionally snapped him out of his deep thoughts. “There’s nothing wrong with missing high school, you know?”

“No, it’s okay.” He lies through his teeth, and you’re aware, but you decide to stay quiet.

ii. “I will never let go of your hand. Tell me what is on your mind.”

Tendou works hard because he knows he’s not enough. Because he feels undeserving.

When you waltzed into his life, he hardly had any time to prepare. It’s the first time someone has ever liked him back, and he’s still surprised to this day. Tendou’s not sure which qualities exactly that have caught your interest, but he’s almost 100% sure that your taste is terrible. There isn’t a day that goes by where he doesn’t think that the person holding your hand on the street could be someone so much more attractive, so much more appealing. Someone who didn’t make kids hide whenever they saw him or someone who could embrace you and say with full confidence that you deserved each other. You don’t need someone that constantly makes you worry. You definitely don’t need a guy like him.

He knows your entire schedule and pays special attention to your free periods so that he can visit you. His head is now space for him to keep notes on every little thing about you from your pet peeves to your favorite snacks. It’s counterintuitive for sure, thinking that he’s not worth your time but also desperately trying to keep a hold of you. It’s paradoxical, he knows, but he’s stuck in a limbo of wishing you the very best while also craving your touch and affection at any moment given in time. It’s selfish, and he finds himself wondering if the title of ‘Monster’ is fitting after all.

“Are you sure you’re okay like this?” he asks nervously one Saturday with you sitting by his side. You look at him curiously, setting your book down.

“What do you mean?” His eyes become shifty, looking away.

“I mean, aren’t you bored just reading manga at my house?” he asks, chuckling nervously. “We could go to that restaurant you wanted to go to instead-“

“We’re always doing the things I want though, Satori,” you whine. “That’s why today’s date is something you like. You’ve been wanting to catch up with this series for a while now, right?”

“Yeah, but-,” he tries to protest, frowning, but you just shake your head, silencing him. You don’t know much about the series, but you whenever you see Tendou’s eyes glitter at something particularly cool that his favorite characters did, your heart becomes warm. It’s incredibly endearing, and you definitely want to spend all day just watching him pursue his interests instead of fussing over you. You want to know more about his hobbies, his likes, and dislikes, but he’s oddly reserved about those topics.

“Which character is your favorite?” You ask in hopes of having Tendou open up and maybe give you a passionate rant, a sight you’ve been wanting to see for a while now. Nudging at his lanky arm, you crawl under, placing yourself in his lap. He immediately sets the volume down and pulls you into a tight embrace, balancing his chin on top of your head. You’re not upset about it, but you’re just a little disappointed. You were hoping that he’d keep reading.

“Do you know any of the characters?” he responds teasingly. You shake your head and pick up the book. “I can start from the beginning if you want-“

“No, no, no! Keep reading.” You’re urging him to continue, practically holding the pages over your head so that he can see them. Tendou laughs, shifts his chin to your shoulder, and complies, taking hold of the book once again. You’re not sure if he’s actually paying attention to the storyline since he keeps peppering you with kisses every few pages or so, but this is a good start. “What’s going on?”

“Curious, are we?” He clears his throat and points to one of the characters. “You see this guy over here? He’s the villain. My favorite, since you asked.”

“Is he…your type?”

“You’re my type,” Tendou coos, stifling another fit of laughter. He continues describing the plot, however, going through what has developed since volume one, each pivotal character, his favorite moments, and unbelievably deep analysis on symbols and events. He’s usually a chatty person, but you’ve never seen him rave over something so personal to who he is as a person. It wasn’t like when he would talk endlessly about something funny that happened or something he saw. Rather, his glow and animated gestures, his sense of comfort, and his lack of restraint keep you mesmerized, and it’s then that you realize that Tendou rarely talks about his hobbies in front of you. You wish he would.

“This is nice,” you murmur, returning a kiss onto his cheek. He immediately stiffens, and you’re a little bit startled. “What’s wrong?”

“Sorry for rambling,” he says rather on edge. He quickly closes the manga, arms returning to wrap around your body. “It was boring listening to me just talk about-“

“I thought it was cute though.” You sigh and turn around to face him. Pressing your nose to his, your lips are just barely a few millimeters apart from his. “I could listen to you talk about this all day, Satori.”

Tendou’s not sure if it’s the kiss that you press on his lips that intoxicates him or if it’s the fact that you smell like his shampoo, but for a moment, he feels himself wondering if it’d be okay to let you in onto his hobbies, his likes, his dislikes, and everything that he tries so hard to keep from you in fear of driving you away. Just for a second, he thinks that maybe, just maybe, it’d be fine for him to open up.

iii. “You cried just now like a sobbing child. Even if the future becomes invisible, I will protect you.”

An angel. That’s what Tendou thinks you are when you let him rest his head on your chest and wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him even closer into your comforting warmth. He’s calmed by the gentle rise and fall of your breathing and the soft beating of your heart. The way your fingers rake through his hair, the way your humming fills the emptiness, you’re his safe haven, his sanctuary. His new paradise. He likes how you just seem to know what’s wrong, because he hates to complain, especially to you. He would much rather prefer making you laugh with a funny joke or story, but for now, he lets you play with his hair and caress his back.

You’re humming the song that he often sings for you when you’re feeling down. While you’re not exactly the perfect vocalist, straining at some high parts, you wonder if it helps Tendou at all, even if minimally. He cries quietly, and you wonder if it’s because he’s spent years being sad alone. The thought pains your heart, so instead, you take his palm and place it against your lips, quietly whispering praise. Things about him being more than enough and things that you wonder if he’d laugh at, you pour your sincerity into it all. You know he’ll tell you when he’s ready, so you find a way to pass the time.

“Let’s take a bath, Satori,” you mumble into his hair, waiting to see if he’s willing to get off of you. His movement is slow, reluctant, but you do feel him nodding, getting off of you with his head hung low. He doesn’t mean to be so down, so annoying, and he doesn’t hold it against you if you get irritated. But you don’t, and he feels like he’s the luckiest man in the world. “I’ll wash your hair for you. Come on.”

He holds your hand all the way to the bathroom, refusing to lose contact from the warmth of your skin. Even when the two of you are getting undressed, he’s quickly back to leaning into you in the tub. It’s a little bit difficult since his limbs are so long and lanky, but with a bit of curling up on Tendou’s part, you make enough space for yourself. He practically sinks into your fingers rubbing through his scalp, and you see his shoulders begin to lose their tension. You hum, satisfied, and work the soap around his body, helping him wash up. The smile that spreads across your face when he starts humming back is wide. You feel a little bit dumb, but you’re just so relieved that Tendou’s energy is finally back. The giggles that spill from your lips as he splashes about practically pour out from your pretty lips that Tendou wants to kiss so, so badly, but he decides to wait for a more comfortable position.

He hates to admit it, but he loves the feeling of being pampered. Granted, he was always more of a giver, but he supposes that being on the receiving side of things isn’t as bad as he initially thought, especially when you take the towel to rub against his hair and sit him down on the couch with hairdryer in hand.

“My hair is gonna get all puffy if you use that,” is the first complete sentence that leaves his mouth after returning home that night. He lacks his usual energy, but you don’t blame him. Rather, his soft chuckle sends your own spirits flying. “I’ll look ridiculous.”

“Really?” you muse, plugging in the device despite his protests. “I think you’ll be cute, all fluffy and stuff.”

“Why don’t you get a pet or something instead then?”

“Wouldn’t you get jealous if I paid too much attention to a cat over you?”

He pretends to think hard, then nods his head rapidly. You giggle again, maneuvering the hairdryer around his head. The machine is a little loud, but you can hear Tendou back to his usual humming, moving his body around ever so slightly just to make your task a lot harder than it was supposed to be. You watch as he swings left and then right with a certain mischievousness about him, twiddling with his fingers and then casually flipping on the television to his favorite channel. You’re not sure if he actually likes the show that’s being broadcasted or just the BGM, as he never really watched it and would much rather prefer to listen to the audio only while doing something else.

“Babe, can this be our song,” he jokes before going back to sing the opening lyrics to the children’s show.

“Satori, I don’t even know this show,” you reply, trying to sound exasperated as possible. He knows you’re pretending though and raises a curious brow. Then, he breaks into a grin. “I don’t have a good feeling about this-“

“What do you want to watch then?” His question is abrupt, but his eyes glint impishly. You’d be nervous if you weren’t overjoyed at his newly regained energy. “You sound like you want to do something else.”

“You’ll catch a cold,” you try to scold, but he pays no head, grabbing the hairdryer out of your hand and shutting it off. He tugs at the chord gently, unplugging it all together, and reaches for your waist. He places you securely on your lap. You can only stammer short retorts that are muffled by the energetic kisses he places all over your face. He relishes in every giggle and every squeal that escapes your mouth. Even the ways your eyes crinkle when you’re smiling makes his heart go insane. Suddenly, he stops to rest his forehead against yours. Your gaze almost absorbs him completely, but he doesn’t have qualms about that part.

“What’s wrong, Satori?” you ask, barely above a whisper.

He takes a deep breath. “Do you…mind if I vent a little?”

“You know you never have to ask for permission about that, right?” You kiss him on each of his eyes, each a little bit puffy, and then on his cheek. “I’m all ears.”

iv. “So keep trying to break free to that blue, blue sky.”

It’s always a fun, albeit loud, time when Tendou invites his old Shiratorizawa friends over for his reunion parties. You don’t mind at all, of course, considering that you were the one who encouraged this gathering in the first place. To be honest, you’re a little bit curious about how he acts around his closest friends that he talks so much about. You even wonder if a man like Ushijima Wakatoshi, the one you only see on TV or in interviews, is actually as funny as Tendou makes him out to be. In other words, you expect your home to be loud, but what you didn’t expect was that it’d be loud over you.

“Guys, Y/N’s super-duper gorgeous, right?” he asks for what seemed like the thousandth time that night. He’s set on making Ushijima give in to the fact that you’re the most beautiful person in the entire universe, but you wonder how many times you have to witness the professional’s utter silence at the question before Tendou would give up. “Toshi, you should just give it up already and say it!”

“I haven’t seen every single person in this universe, so I can’t answer,” his friend answers, brushing him off. Shirabu snorts from Ushijima’s side.

“Boo,” Tendou whines, kissing your face. From the corner of your eye, you catching Goshiki gagging. “Can’t you be a little bit more excited over the love of my life?”

“We are excited.” Semi chuckles, whacking Tendou a few times on the back to which the red-head responds with feigned pain. “But we know you’ll start sulking if we go overboard with the compliments.”

“I do not sulk that easily!” Tendou huffs, chest puffed out, and slaps Semi back. He only laughs. “I can’t believe I’m being bullied by a guy with no sense of style at all!”

“I asked you about this jacket before I bought it, and you told me it was fine!”

“You shouldn’t have asked him at all.” Shirabu smirks from across the table, arms crossed. “I bet this smart ass thought it was Y/N texting him instead of you, Semi.”

“You didn’t have to do him like that,” Kawanishi mumbles from beside the former setter. Still, that doesn’t wipe away the smirks they’re both wearing, and Tendou can only chuckle sheepishly.

“Well, what am I supposed to when Y/N looks good in anything?” Tendou sighs. His exasperation and added theatrical flair make you giggle even though you’re slightly embarrassed that he’s showing off to everyone from his old team. “Semi Semi, if it was Y/N wearing that jacket, it’d look great. You? Not so much.”

“That’s the most roundabout way of insulting me.” Shirabu and Kawanishi snicker quietly, earning a glare from Semi that goes ignored. “I suddenly remember why all the underclassmen thought you were such a hassle, Tendou.”

You turn to him in fascination. It wasn’t a surprise to you that he liked to tease and poke fun of other people, but you never thought that he was a bully. You initially had imagined Tendou to be a well-respected senior based on his reputation as a middle-blocker. Never in a million years did you think that it was the exact opposite.

“Goshiki, is that true?” you turn to ask, and the younger man nods emphatically. He’s agreeing with Semi so much that his nods make his hair fly all over the place, earning a loud laugh from Tendou.

“Y/N, Tendou was the absolute worst,” Goshiki answers, setting down his drink so forcefully that it almost spills. “He’d always ignore us when we did something good, but then he’d compliment us for absolutely nothing. It messed me up so much that instead of expecting him to cheer for landing a really good serve, I waited for praise for turning off the lights or something. Tendou was awful.”

“That was probably you being dumb, but I do agree that Tendou was never quiet during practice.” Shirabu grimaces, but you’re not sure if it’s because he just remembered something particularly annoying or if it’s because he’s agreeing with Goshiki. “I never want to go back.”

“I remember one time, he thought it’d be funny to salt the water,” Kawanishi mutters and the entire table breaks into a loud groan. “Yeah, I think I have to agree with you guys. Tendou was a handful.”

From beside you, you hear Tendou tsking and catching him wagging a disapproving finger. “Guys, you can’t insult Y/N like that! I’m gonna beat you guys up if you keep going on.”

“Dude, we get it.” Semi punches him once on the arm and then another time for good measure. “You’re married. You’ve told us a million times.”

“There’s that and the fact that we were, you know, at the wedding,” Shirabu sighs.

“Congratulations.” Ushijima’s comment is a little out of place, especially since the ceremony was already a month ago, and he had been one of the first people that Tendou told, but you only smile and thank him again. “It was an honor to be the best man.”

“Toshi, you don’t have to be so formal, you know?” Tendou grins, resting his chin on his hand. From underneath the table, you feel his other hand reach for yours, running his digits over the silver band sitting on your ring finger. “But really, I’m just reminding you guys that Y/N and I are married. I wouldn’t be surprised if you forgot since you’re all always so busy.”

“Oh, what would I give to forget you?” Shirabu sighs, earning another chuckle from Kawanishi and even Semi.

You laugh at the playful banter between Tendou and his friends. You squeeze his hand gently, and even while he’s participating in a heated debate with Semi over the gray-haired man’s best album, your husband makes sure to return your squeeze. In full truth, Tendou’s still aware of every little thing that you do. It’s one of the many things that have stayed the same over the years. He still sings, and he still likes to mess up your hair, but most importantly, he makes it a point to keep remembering everything about you. Tendou’s aware that something in him has changed, so he reasons that maybe you had your little changes too. And he’d remember all of them.

“Hey, spill the tea, Y/N,” Semi jokes. “Doesn’t Tendou make for a terrible husband?”

“Yeah right,” Tendou scoffs. His grin doesn’t falter and only widens when you shake your head at Semi. “That’s absolutely correct! I’m the best husband ever."

[qobiin]

(he doesn’t exist now) survived by his son

pairings: lan wangji & lan sizhui, background wangxian

genre: angst, fluff | canon-compliant, post-wei wuxian’s death

warnings: grief/mourning, canon-typical mentions of violence, lwj’s punishment, the inherent agony of living without the other half of your soul

a/n #1: this is for eri, the one who got me to watch cql in the first place. happy birthday, i hope today is amazing! have 9k of dad!lwj as a treat <3 title is taken from steven universe’s “drift away” btw (:

words: 9398

summary: When Wei Wuxian falls, Lan Wangji does not throw himself after him.

part one of always come back to you 

When Wei Wuxian falls, Lan Wangji does not throw himself after him.

He has no idea why at the time.

His heart and will are in shambles. His grip on Bichen’s sheath is hard enough to turn his knuckles white. His ribbon burns against his forehead. He is unsure that he is even breathing, all his air having left him when he screamed the moment Wei Wuxian pulled away.

Still, he remains standing, horror engulfing him whole. Sect Leader Jiang is standing beside him, just as frozen as he is but he does not dare look at his soulmate’s brother. His soulmate’s murderer because Wei Wuxian only pulled out of Lan Wangji’s grasp after Sect Leader Jiang’s sword struck the cliff face. Sect Leader Jiang may have pulled the blow Lan Wangji knew was aimed for their arms, but it does not change the fact that Wei Wuxian let go.

Something urges him to not follow after Wei Wuxian and he is uncertain of what it could be at first. It feels familiar, like a sensation Lan Wangji should recognize but cannot remember anymore. Almost like the notes of a song Lan Wangji memorized when he was first starting on the guqin but is unable to pinpoint where he learned it from.

(Later, he will think it felt too much like a warm hand on his chest pushing him away from the edge, pushing him away from the place his heart broke for good.

All he knows for certain is that he also died the moment Wei Wuxian took his last breath.)

He drifts - for lack of a better word - after that. Lan Wangji only recalls Brother pulling him away from the cliff, from Nightless City and the many eyes of the cultivators he just clashed swords with. He returns to Cloud Recesses with Brother and secludes himself in the Jingshi. 

For the first night, Lan Wangji does not sleep. When he closes his eyes, all he sees is Wei Wuxian letting go again.

He is unsure of how much time passes but at some point Brother comes to him with the news that the Lanling Jin Sect are going to lead a siege on the Burial Mounds. Wei Wuxian’s corpse had not been recovered after the battle at Nightless City and Jin Guangshan is still vying for the Stygian Tiger Amulet so their logical next step is to invade the resentful land where Wei Wuxian had tried in vain to start a family all on his own.

Lan Wangji leaves on foot after curfew but that is the last thing on his mind as his body moves almost against his will. For a while, it feels as if he is wandering without a purpose.

Confusion, pain, and grief wrack his frame every second of the day but there is still a familiar sensation tugging him along. Pulling him in a direction that he is certain he should recognize but can’t.

It is not until the sun rises above the horizon that he realizes where exactly his body is trying to go.

Yiling.

Lan Wangji rides his sword the rest of the way there.

It is not as quiet as Lan Wangji expected it to be.

That bothers him. A graveyard should only be filled with the sounds of the living giving tribute, but there is only the dead around him. The dead are quiet. The Burial Mounds aren’t.

He walks anyway, ignoring the pain in his body. The familiar sensation is tugging him along again. Lan Wangji is too tired to wonder about where it may be leading him because he gave up control as soon as it had gripped onto him. It pulls and he follows. It would not have led him here without a purpose, he is certain of that at least.

In the cave Wei Wuxian used to call his home, there is nothing left of him except his notes, hand-made furniture that will no longer see any use, and a dirty red ribbon Lan Wangji falls to his knees at the sight of. He loses himself in grief for who knows how long but soon realizes that his gasping breaths are not the only ones echoing around him. He stands, ribbon tied around his wrist, and walks desperately in search of the source of those raspy breaths.

He stops in front of a broken, hollow tree trunk not far from the entrance of the cave. Something is lying in it, barely hidden from view. For a moment, Lan Wangji ponders whether he will be stumbling upon the corpse of someone he should know but can’t quite recall. He only visited the Burial Mounds once while his soulmate was still alive, after all, and he had never learned everyone’s names.

Lan Wangji glances inside and knows now why it is not as quiet as it should in the Burial Mounds. Lan Wangji suddenly understands why he did not follow Wei Wuxian in death.

Wen Yuan lives.

Wei Wuxian’s son lives.

Their son lives.

Lan Wangji does not wish to, but he turns his back on Wen Yuan’s prone form and returns to the cave.

Cultivators are gathering there, all of them from different sects.

There is no Jiang purple among them. Lan Wangji counts that as the blessing it is meant to be. He does not wish to hurt those his soulmate cared so much for.

It does not stop him from confronting the crowd by himself. Jin Guangyao appears, telling him his uncle has arrived but Lan Wangji is unafraid.

He knows what he stands for and it is not this. It is not this inane scramble for power the rest of the cultivation world is allowing to cloud their minds and judgment. It is standing between the power-hungry and the weak, unwilling to move aside and let this madness continue. 

Lan Wangji is late in his decision, much too late to make things up to Wei Wuxian, but Wen Yuan is alive. A piece of his soulmate’s heart lives on and Lan Wangji is not going to allow harm to befall that little boy anymore.

So he fights those from his own sect, raising his sword to block blows from disciples of all ages. The Sect Elders themselves have shown up for the occasion but Lan Wangji cuts them down as well. He fights until there is no one to fight anymore, staggering and using Bichen as a crutch while cultivators lay around him on the ground in various stages of unconsciousness.

Uncle had only stayed long enough to command their sect in subduing him and bringing him back to Cloud Recesses for punishment. Lan Wangji does not wish to be punished, not when he now knows he is being righteous, but he walks back to the tree trunk hiding Wen Yuan and decides he will take them both back.

Wen Yuan needs medical attention, needs Lan Wangji’s protection from the rest of the world. Lan Wangji needs to keep him safe.

Wen Yuan is hot to the touch but he fits easily hidden under the folds of Lan Wangji’s robes. His head lies against his chest, his hair tickling Lan Wangji’s skin even through two layers of cloth.

It isn’t uncomfortable in the way that certain fabrics tend to be for him. Lace and silk are two of the few fabrics Lan Wangji can stand to have wrapped around him in six layers of robes without feeling like he is about to crawl out of his skin. Wen Yuan’s hair is neither of those but having it against him does not do anything more than cause his veins to break into song and make his heart feel like it is going to beat right out of his chest trying to follow the melody racing in his blood.

(It feels like Wei Wuxian’s hair against his neck, Wei Wuxian’s teasing grin directed at him in the face of his newest prank. Like Wei Wuxian laid across his lap in the darkness of a cave, delirious with fever, and asking Lan Wangji to play some music. Feels like Wei Wuxian meeting his gaze under the heavy downpour of rain, telling Lan Wangji that if he believes the rest of the cultivation world as right then Wei Wuxian will do everything their way instead and Lan Wangji being unable to say anything while he watches his soulmate lead the Wen remnants away.)

Lan Wangji’s eyes itch but he ignores his tears, his pain, his grief. He focuses on holding Wen Yuan securely in his embrace as he rides his sword back to Cloud Recesses, finding the strength to dredge up more spiritual power than he thought he originally had.

He remembers the little boy with a thin, dirty face who burst into tears after he settled his weight on Lan Wangji’s foot. After Wen Yuan gripped his ankle, and then looked up at him with a confused look in his almond-shaped eyes. After those villagers mistook him as Wen Yuan’s father and criticized him loudly enough to evoke shame within him since Lan Wangji had no idea what to do with a crying child suddenly invading his space. After Wei Wuxian swept in like a long-awaited dream and cleared the area of onlookers. After Wei Wuxian picked up the child and smiled up at Lan Wangji as if his heart was not doing its utmost best to beat right out of his chest and into the hands of the man he loved most.

After the boy smiled up at him and called him Rich-gege when he bought him as many toys as he wanted. After he paid for a large meal that fed both him and Wei Wuxian because their collarbones were prominent enough to tell Lan Wangji all he needed to know about their financial situation and just looking at them caused his breath to stutter in his chest. And after Wei Wuxian up and left again, taking the child and Lan Wangji’s weak heart with him, only leaving Lan Wangji himself bereft and more confused than he had ever felt before.

(“The child.” Lan Wangji remembers asking when Wei Wuxian first pulled the boy from Lan Wangji’s leg.

“He’s mine. I birthed him,” Wei Wuxian had said half-jokingly and half not at the same time.

It was obvious that the boy was Wei Wuxian’s in everything but blood. That made him Lan Wangji’s by extension. Wei Wuxian had been the one to proclaim them soulmates, more than brave enough to speak the words Lan Wangji had been holding back for years by then. Even if they would never marry or become partners in the manner that Lan Wangji desperately wished for, Wei Wuxian still looked upon him and saw Lan Wangji for who he really was.

When the time came for Wei Wuxian to have children, Lan Wangji would treat them well and spoil them in Wei Wuxian’s steed. Something he was more than able to do when he met Wen Yuan, Wei Wuxian’s son.

After all, any child of Wei Wuxian’s was also a child of Lan Wangji as well.)

When Lan Wangji first reached into the tree trunk and pulled him out, Wen Yuan’s face was still dirty, thinner than before, and flushed bright red. His little body was swathed in what Lan Wangji could only call rags and he shivered even as he sweated. 

Wen Yuan still feels feverishly hot against Lan Wangji’s chest but he pushes down his panic and rides. He does not stop until he has reached the entrance of Cloud Recesses and walks briskly towards the closest healer he can find.

There he watches as Wen Yuan is washed up, dressed in a clean white robe, and given enough medicine to help ease him into a peaceful sleep. Lan Wangji’s arm pulses where his wound has reopened but his pain can wait, ensuring that the child is well and can be healed is more important. Only once Wen Yuan’s breathing has returned to normal does Lan Wangji seek out Uncle.

Fortunately, he finds Brother with their uncle in the Jingshi. They have been expecting him and finding them together makes this next part easier.

He sidesteps their questions of what he had been doing at the Burial Mounds and inhales deeply before he says, “I accept punishment. I brought a child. He is my son and innocent.”

Uncle looks like he is going to explode at the seams, fury and worry shadowing every plane of his face. Lan Wangji grips onto Bichen’s sheath, the familiar pattern and texture calming him. 

It would be easy to claim the boy as his ward and adoptive son at best, but Lan Wangji needs to hide Wen Yuan’s origins or the last piece of his soulmate’s heart will be destroyed as violently as the rest of Wei Wuxian was. Lan Wangji will allow no harm to come to their son. If all that is required to keep Wen Yuan safe is the last of Lan Wangji’s credibility to be thrown away, then Lan Wangji is prepared to claim him as his bastard son.

“His name is Lan Yuan and he is ill. I will return to his bedside and await word of my punishment.” Lan Wangji bows to both men present and leaves as quickly as he appeared, not waiting to listen to whatever protests they may have.

Wen Yuan is still asleep when Lan Wangji returns and asleep still when Lan Wangji receives his punishment. Brother stays with Wen Yuan while the punishment is dealt out. Lan Wangji did not wish to leave his son alone but knowing that Brother is with him eases him.

Brother cannot interfere with his punishment after his initial attempts were drowned under the maliciousness of the Sect Elders and Uncle’s unmoving gaze. Brother would lose a lot more than just face within the Gusu Lan Sect if he denied Lan Wangji punishment altogether. As Sect Leader, Brother must be fair and unbiased, even when confronted with familial matters. Lan Wangji refuses to be the reason his brother loses all credibility in the cultivation world. Whatever others want to say or do to Lan Wangji is his business alone.

The pain of the whip is welcoming to him. Uncle appears furious throughout it all, but even through the haze, Lan Wangji knows it is not just him Uncle is angry with. Both the whip and Uncle’s disappointment are excruciating to bear and yet Lan Wangji does not find himself regretting his actions. 

He knew what would happen at Nightless City when he decided he would protect Wei Wuxian despite how out of favor he was with the rest of the cultivation world. When he fought any cultivator that decided they wanted to harm Wei Wuxian. Lan Wangji thought Wei Wuxian was finally going to be safe. He believed himself capable of protecting what little remained of his soulmate’s efforts. Even after he failed in protecting Wei Wuxian, he found Wen Yuan and fought his own sect to keep this last speck of his soulmate’s presence safe. Despite the chaos, the grief, and the complete ruin of Wei Wuxian’s reputation, Lan Wangji knew whose side he would be on when push finally came to shove. He has known ever since he was first confronted with that mischievous smile at age fifteen. 

He had hoped that Wei Wuxian was aware of this as well but now he will never know for certain.

When the punishment is over, Brother is summoned and between him and Uncle, Lan Wangji finds himself being dragged first to the Cold Springs then back to the Jingshi between them, their gaits and grips unsteady alike. They dress his wounds as best as they can and stay with him the entire first night. Lan Wangji lies face down on his bed, sleep evading him for a long, long time while Brother and Uncle sleep propped against his bed frame and table respectfully. 

Lan Wangji withdraws from the eyes of the rest of the sect as he starts the slow healing process the healers are being forbidden from helping him with. His silence, which used to be something he took solace in, only grows as the days slowly tick by with Brother and Uncle by his side during the day. Only in the dark of night does he allow himself to hope in vain for a familiar, obnoxious voice to draw his attention away from the pain covering the expanse of his back and nestled deep within his heart.

Nothing comes except a heavy grief Lan Wangji is not prepared to handle.

Moments before Wen Yuan wakes four days later, Lan Xichen adds him to the clan registry and proclaims him as Lan Yuan, Lan Wangji’s son.

Lan Wangji is joyous even as his chest burns with the new Wen brand marring his skin and his mind struggles not to crumble under the guilt of what he revealed to his Brother the night before when he was intoxicated.

Lan Yuan doesn’t seem to notice either way as he begins to sob for his Xian-gege before his fever burns all his memories of a smiling man in black and red away.

Lan Yuan is a quiet child.

He is respectful, intelligent, and curious. He smiles more often than Lan Wangji does, but less often than Lan Wangji had expected. He does not remember anything from the time before he came to live at Cloud Recesses, only that he was hungry often and had met Lan Wangji once.

He studies diligently and accepts any praise or criticism his peers and teachers give to him. He becomes close friends with Lan Jingyi and develops a mischievous streak that none of the teachers could ever possibly trace back to Lan Yuan. Lan Wangji finds he isn’t concerned about this in the least. His son is still a child and children are allowed to have mindless fun now and again. 

When Lan Yuan calls him Father for the first time, it is seven months after he has been brought to Cloud Recesses. Nevertheless, Lan Wangji feels that same sensation that led him to his son stroke the dying embers in his heart until a new flame of fierce parental love begins to burn within him. He holds his son close and cries freely. Lan Wangji is not ashamed of loving his son so severely that being called Father for the first time brings him to tears.

It is an honor to be Lan Yuan’s father.

Despite that, whispered rumors begin to reach his ears in seclusion. 

At the next Discussion Conference that just so happens to be held by the Gusu Lan Sect, Lan Wangji comes out of seclusion briefly. Brother helps prop him up at various tables and leads him from event to event with the ever-present eyes of the cultivation world trailing after them. It is incredibly painful to do even this much, but Lan Wangji perseveres. He is the same stoic and cold Hanguang-Jun that he has always been but that does not seem to stop Sect Leader Jiang from glaring at him. 

He says nothing to Lan Wangji, but when a fussy Jin Rulan is handed to him as they are overseeing the archery competition, Sect Leader Jiang’s glare increases in intensity. It only becomes worse when the caretaker in charge of Lan Yuan for the day appears by Lan Wangji’s side with his teary son close behind her. She quickly explains that Lan Yuan would not stop crying for him and, not knowing what to do, brought him there in the hopes that Lan Wangji would be able to calm him down. Lan Wangji gives her his thanks and nods his head as she excuses herself, holding Lan Yuan close as the boy quiets. He falls asleep not long after that in Lan Wangji’s lap, tired now that he has finished crying himself out. 

Lan Wangji ignores all the eyes trained on him and merely brushes his son’s hair back absentmindedly as he looks to the archers once more. Sect Leader Jiang scoffs not far from him and Lan Wangji spares him a glance to see the annoyance and rage clear as day on his face before ignoring him for the rest of the Discussion Conference.

What Lan Wangji knows from that moment onwards is that no one would have the gall to openly say what they mean when he is near, yet still, he listens closely when he can.

They speak of Lan Yuan’s already apparent beauty and intelligence. They speak of his polite manners and soft-spoken words. They speak of how quickly he developed his golden core and how unsurprising this news was considering who his father is. They speak of his parentage and wonder who his mother could be and how beautiful she must have been to have such an attractive child with Hanguang-jun.

(They always wonder why Lan Wangji never married Lan Yuan’s other parent back when they were still alive.)

No one ever learns of Lan Yuan’s true origins in any case so Lan Wangji allows the rumors and speculations. He does, however, make a point of asking Brother to hand out mild punishments to those who have not learned how to keep their heads and voices low when he is home.

After all, gossiping is not permitted in Cloud Recesses.

A year after Lan Yuan’s arrival in Cloud Recesses, Brother becomes his Uncle.

“A-Yuan, if you continue to practice diligently with the guqin, perhaps we can acquire one for your own personal use?” Brother asks in a somewhat offhand manner that tells Lan Wangji enough of the plans his brother already has in mind for Lan Yuan’s future guqin.

Lan Yuan has been learning how to play using Wangji under the tutelage of Lan Qiren, Lan Xichen, and Lan Wangji. Many of the caretakers that watch over the younger children during the day praise him and mention his talent in passing with their Sect Leader seeing as Lan Yuan’s father is still in seclusion. Lan Wangji doesn’t mind hearing this from his brother. He is rather relieved to not have to think about the rest of the Gusu Lan Sect at the moment.

Teaching his son music and healing slowly is enough.

Raising his hands from the strings, the last notes still hanging in the air, Lan Yuan nods and smiles amiably up at Brother in response to his question. 

“Yes, Uncle,” he chimes, his young, bright voice giving nothing away.

Lan Wangji politely averts his gaze when Brother begins to cry but offers him a handkerchief and presses his arm against his, silently showing him support as he has always done since they were children. He wants to do more but he is still healing and does not know how to go about it properly so he decides that this will have to be enough instead.

Lan Yuan simply stares between them, his smile falling under the weight of his confusion until his lips curve upwards again and he asks if they can go visit the rabbits.

Brother takes him every day for two and a half weeks after that.

Two years after Lan Wangji brings his son home, Lan Yuan calls Uncle his Grandfather because that is what he is and always will be.

Maybe Uncle has never been Lan Wangji’s father by blood or name, but Lan Wangji has been under the impression for a very long time that no one has to say what is already known. Lan Qiren is not the parent his nephews needed as children, but he is the parent they had and he always did his best by them. Though strict and stubborn, he taught and raised them to the best of his abilities.

Uncle oversaw his punishment but Uncle was also the one to stamp out any complaints the Sect Elders had about Lan Wangji claiming a bastard son. Uncle was the one who ordered their sect to contain Lan Wangji and Uncle was the one who demanded alongside the Sect Elders that he be punished. Uncle dressed his wounds and changed his bandages afterward, held Lan Wangji up and helped him go where he needed to go as he healed. And Uncle was the first one to arrange Lan Yuan’s fingers over the strings of a guqin.

Most would consider Uncle cruel for less than half of the things he has done to Lan Wangji in particular and Lan Wangji does, in a sense, think the same. However, Lan Wangji still considers Uncle as the father he was never allowed to meet.

Parents are not perfect and Lan Qiren is no exception to this rule, no matter how hard he tried to emulate it for himself and for Lan Wangji and his brother when they were children. Lan Wangji knows this to be true after two years of fatherhood himself.

In the beginning, Uncle did not approve of Lan Wangji’s sudden fatherhood and knew without a doubt that Lan Yuan was not biologically his. He shared this knowledge with no one though, not even Lan Yuan himself. Lan Wangji does not know if he has truly forgiven Uncle but he does know he need not worry himself about Uncle’s behavior around Lan Yuan. After all, Lan Wangji can very well see how his son softens his uncle’s heart with the mere appearance of his smile and quiet laugh. 

By blood or not, Lan Yuan is Uncle’s grandson just as Lan Wangji and Brother are Uncle’s sons.

So when Lan Yuan says, “Yes, Grandfather,” Lan Wangji is not surprised.

Uncle sniffs in mock disdain, still caught up in the apparent scolding he was giving before about Lan Yuan climbing into Lan Wangji’s lap. After a moment, he realizes what Lan Yuan has said and immediately, his eyes water. Uncle cups Lan Yuan’s face gently, smiling in such a way that Lan Wangji thought was lost. 

He remembers that the last time he saw that smile, he was still the child that crawled into his older brother’s bed at night to sleep comfortably beside someone who would never leave him as their mother had left them. Now he is a man with a son and scars on his body, heart, and soul for the love he lost. 

It is good to see Uncle smile again.

“Stop worrying your Grandfather so much, A-Yuan. Be a good boy for your Father, Uncle, and I,” Uncle tells Lan Wangji’s son.

Lan Yuan hums and nods, smiling a grin that always knocks the breath out of Lan Wangji’s lungs when he catches a glimpse of it. Both Brother and Uncle see it but only Brother looks to Lan Wangji in sympathy as he reaches out to grasp his shoulder briefly before letting go again.

Despite the near-constant ache in his heart and soul, Lan Wangji is glad to know that those who matter are also able to see Lan Yuan’s other father in him as well.

And if later Lan Wangji realizes Lan Yuan pulled the Grandfather card simply to distract Uncle from continuing his lecture, he holds that knowledge close to his chest. Lan Yuan is his father’s son after all.

Both of them.

When the third anniversary of Lan Yuan’s appearance in Cloud Recesses is approaching, the Sect Elders pull Lan Wangji into a meeting where they ask for permission to raise Lan Yuan for him instead so he can become a “proper” Sect Heir.

Lan Wangji says no and storms out of the meeting he recognizes as another form of punishment from the Sect Elders without listening to whatever other nonsense they want to ply him with.

They do not take the hint.

What ensues is a month-long battle of wills that leaves Lan Wangji angrier and more smug each time the Sect Elders attempt to speak with him. They argue that Lan Wangji is still healing and need not concern himself with child-rearing on top of his injuries. Lan Wangji levels them with a flat look, pointedly not mentioning who gave Lan Wangji his injuries, to begin with. Brother claims their concerns are unnecessary and rather late considering how long Lan Yuan has been with Lan Wangji at Cloud Recesses already and how Lan Wangji’s injuries are mostly healed by now anyway. The Sect Elders step around their Sect Leader’s arguments with condescending ease, however, something that Lan Wangji detests to his very core.

They also claim that his grief is affecting Lan Yuan’s development. That his son could flourish under their care with no sadness for a mother he will never meet shadowing him at all hours of the day. Lan Wangji’s brows twitch at their implications, silently daring anyone to say what they actually mean before he refuses once again and strides away. Only Brother stays behind to offer the niceties Lan Wangji is certain none of the Sect Elders rightfully deserve anymore.

It does nothing to stop them from calling Lan Yuan nothing but a bastard child that could ruin their sect if he continues to remain under Lan Wangji’s care the next day. A child born out of wedlock that Lan Wangji was too ashamed to claim until he had no other choice. An unwanted child whose only redeemable qualities are the strength of his golden core, his already apparent cold beauty, and the sharp intelligence he must have inherited from Lan Wangji instead of his beggar of a mother.

Lan Wangji nearly draws Bichen, his fury so great that he regrets not hurting more of the Sect Elders, not standing by Wei Wuxian’s side, and following him until the bitter end so he would not have to deal with any of this when he had the chance. 

But then he thinks of Lan Yuan, of his bright smile, and his twinkling eyes. Thinks of what would have happened to his son if Lan Wangji had not found him and pushes down the incessant ache to be with his soulmate deep down under again.

By the time Lan Wangji has released the hold he has on the hilt of his sword, Brother stands defiantly in the middle of the hall with a vivid look of disgust on his face. He loudly and firmly proclaims that as Sect Leader, they have no authority to overrule his decision of allowing Lan Yuan to remain with his father. Familial matters such as these fall under his domain, even when concerning the Sect Heir as written in their principles. That they have broken many of the rules they adhere so much to in their persistence to remove Lan Yuan from his family. That they have disgraced both the Clan and the Gusu Lan Sect as a whole.

Whatever Brother says after that, Lan Wangji does not know because he leaves as soon as his brother has begun to speak and goes in search of his son. He finds Lan Yuan with the rabbits, burying Lan Jingyi under their fur in the same way that Lan Wangji often does to him when they come by themselves. Uncle is standing nearby, watching the children play and trying not to show his displeasure over the mere presence of the animals since they remain here in the back slopes of Cloud Recesses due to nothing but a technicality.

Lan Wangji’s stride does not falter as he approaches his son and picks him up in his arms, holding him carefully to his chest. He buries his face in Lan Yuan’s hair to ignore the questions Uncle throws at him and the startled yelp Lan Jingyi makes once he notices Lan Wangji’s presence. He focuses on his breathing as the cloud ornament adorning Lan Yuan's forehead ribbon presses into the curve of his neck and his son's soft, natural scent of ash and snow invades his senses slowly.

He stands there for however long, holding his son tight and breathing him in as he wills himself to calm. He reassures himself that A-Yuan will not be going anywhere he doesn’t want to go and slowly comes back to himself. Lan Yuan, for his part, clutches the front of Lan Wangji’s robes and grips onto his father just as tightly without asking any questions.

They do not part from one another for the rest of the night. If Lan Yuan is not in his father's lap, then he is sitting close enough for Lan Wangji to keep a firm hand on his son no matter what they may be doing. During dinner, Lan Wangji takes their food in the Jingshi instead of the dining hall and plops Lan Yuan firmly in his lap as they eat quickly and quietly.

Lan Yuan does not complain once that entire night, only speaking to ask for things like a hug, his favorite lullaby, and Lan Wangji's fingers running through his hair. Lan Wangji sings to his son as he bathes him, firmly instructing Lan Yuan to change into his sleeping robes while he bathes quickly himself. Lan Yuan is sitting on the edge of Lan Wangji's bed when he returns, dressed in his sleeping robes and kicking his feet as he holds out a comb then turning around silently after Lan Wangji has taken it.

By the time nine rolls around, Lan Wangji has successfully braided his son's hair and brushed through his own before he lies them down to sleep. Lan Yuan usually sleeps in the daybed but for tonight, Lan Wangji holds him close to his chest and hums his lullaby to him again even as they both slip into the comfort of their dreams.

The day after, Lan Wangji remains within arm's distance of his son, secluding them in the Jingshi for the day. The itchy desperation he felt the day before has not completely made its way through his system but Lan Wangji is certain it will release its hold on him soon enough. Lan Yuan doesn't complain, even though he does stare at his father in wordless observation while looking much too serious for his young face that Lan Wangji anxiously reassures himself he is not turning his son into a copy of himself.

His son's smile is like the sun breaking through the last of the reluctant clouds that follow after a storm, his laugh so content that Lan Wangji feels inexplicably warm whenever he happens to hear it. Lan Yuan is happy. His son is by his side, safe and sound. The Sect Elders cannot take Lan Yuan from him. Brother and Uncle would never allow it and it is Brother's decision whether Lan Yuan continues to stay with him or not.

For the most part, Lan Wangji is certain that he has won this round with the Sect Elders until almost a month later when Lan Yuan asks to move out of the Jingshi and into the junior disciple dorms instead.

Lan Wangji hides his sadness as best as he can and allows his son to join the other disciples for the beginning of his more serious training, a multitude of feelings he cannot quite sparse through circling within him. Education is important. His son loves learning, he excels in all of his studies and he is happy. Lan Yuan is not leaving him. Lan Yuan is going to continue with his studies, strengthen his golden core, and grow up with Lan Jingyi by his side. Lan Jingyi would never allow Lan Yuan to be harmed. They are very close friends and Lan Wangji is glad that his son has someone who he can share whatever troubles he will not bring to Lan Wangji himself.

This is good. This is what is healthy for his son's development. Even if it hurts him, this is necessary for Lan Yuan to continue being happy as he grows up.

So Lan Wangji helps his son pack up a few of the belongings he wants to take with him, reassuring him that anything he leaves behind will be kept safe for him. That Lan Yuan can return to the Jingshi whenever he needs to. He escorts his son personally to the dorms, stopping at the door to kneel and pull his son in close for another hug.

Physical contact is still an issue for Lan Wangji but he made an effort for his son. Lan Yuan needed physical comfort when he first came to Cloud Recesses considering the fact that he was still recovering from his fever and malnutrition. Lan Wangji pushed his boundaries so he could hold his son close and rock him through his nightmares, imaging just how much better Wei Wuxian might have been at all of this until that hurt too much to think about. Now Lan Wangji has gotten so used to holding his son close that he tends to crave the simple intimacy of Lan Yuan’s small form curled against his chest more often than not.

Lan Yuan pulls back enough to kiss his forehead ribbon before he steps out of the embrace entirely. "I love you, Father."

Despite his mixed emotions, Lan Wangji smiles back at his son as well as he can manage to and leans forward to kiss his forehead ribbon in return. "I love you, A-Yuan."

After that, Lan Wangji spends most of his free time with Lan Yuan by burying his son under the soft fur of rabbits that Lan Yuan’s first father gifted to him as a teenager.

He cannot guess whether Lan Yuan now remembers the man in black and red that he used to call Xian-gege, but oftentimes Lan Wangji will see Wei Wuxian in the curve of Lan Yuan’s smile, in the sound of his laughter, in the steady grip of his sword. In the softness of his hair, the pout he rarely ever allows to grace his face when he is concentrating, the warmth in his eyes when he meets Lan Wangji’s gaze.

His grief has never left him and neither has his love for Lan Yuan’s first father but he hopes that he is doing well enough being Lan Yuan’s second father. He hopes that if Wei Wuxian were to ever come looking for his son, he would be proud of Lan Wangji for taking such good care of him and raising him as well as he ever could.

Lan Wangji had never originally planned to have children and he became certain of its improbability when he met Wei Wuxian. But then A-Yuan came into his life and the rest was decided from that point on.

It surprises no one when Lan Yuan’s courtesy name becomes Lan Sizhui.

Lan Wangji wonders if that says more about him than he has ever wanted to publicly share. After a brief stint of contemplation, he decides he does not care. He isn’t ashamed. He knows the Sect Elders are still looking for any excuse they can reasonably use to take Lan Wangji's parental rights over his son away from him. He also knows that others speak of how he behaves and looks as if he has lost a wife, how painful it must have been to lose Lan Sizhui’s mother so soon, how only his son has the power to draw him out of his heavy grief. They are wrong, of course, but they are also not.

Lan Wangji lost his soulmate, not a wife or his son’s mother.

At some point though, he ponders over what kind of impact his grief is having on Lan Sizhui.

“Do you want a mother, A-Yuan?” Lan Wangji asks one summer afternoon when Lan Sizhui is almost nine and they have just finished their noon meal in the Jingshi.

Lan Sizhui is of the mind that he is much too big to be called A-Yuan anymore but he allows Lan Wangji to call him that when they are alone. Lan Wangji uses it any time he can get away with it because his son’s first father would have and that is enough reason for him.

Lan Sizhui blinks up at him, confused. “I have a mother?”

“Yes,” Lan Wangji says because it is technically true, but then thinks better of it. “No, but you can if you want one.”

After all, Lan Wangji would set aside his vow of never marrying if it meant his son could know a mother’s love. He has never been interested in women before, especially not after he met Wei Wuxian, but he would marry one to give Lan Sizhui a mother.

He will always do whatever he has to for his son, even when it is difficult for him - especially when it is difficult for him. There are very few things Lan Wangji will not do for his son and marrying out of obligation isn't one of them.

“No. I have Father, I do not need a mother,” Lan Sizhui finally replies.

Lan Wangji smiles and reaches out to pat his son’s head, his veins burning with the force of his love and adoration when Lan Sizhui smiles back up at him. “A-Yuan is a good boy.”

Lan Sizhui leans into his touch, his smile growing until Lan Wangji feels like he is looking at a mirror image of his son’s first father in the brightness of his grin.

Lan Sizhui is eleven when he learns Inquiry on the guqin.

Lan Wangji listens to him play, correcting him when he strikes a wrong chord and does not allow his son to imbue any of the notes with spiritual power. He has played Inquiry a handful of times himself these past few years. No one has ever answered him before when he did.

Or to be simply put, Wei Wuxian has never answered him before. 

Maybe Lan Sizhui honestly does not recall his Xian-gege anymore, but Lan Wangji isn't sure what he would do if Wei Wuxian were to ignore their son's questions as easily as he has ignored Lan Wangji's desperate and heartbroken ones.

No, simply playing the notes together like this is enough.

Some three years after that, Lan Wangji returns to the Jingshi after feeding the rabbits to find Lan Sizhui waiting for him on the steps.

Earlier that morning he had returned from another night hunt, his report already in Brother's hands by this point. He brought back a gift for Lan Sizhui, a new writing set since his current one was beginning to look worn and Lan Jingyi had told him that Lan Sizhui had mentioned wanting a new one. Lan Wangji had wanted to see his son immediately after arriving but Lan Sizhui was in the middle of his morning meditation at the time and would then have his lectures and sword training lessons to attend afterward. He was content with waiting until his son was free to give him his gift and kiss his forehead ribbon before returning to their regular schedules.

But as Lan Wangji approaches, he wishes he had gone to see his son earlier after all.

It takes him a moment to realize that Lan Sizhui is crying and has probably been crying for a while now if his swollen eyelids are anything to go by. The sight of this evidence alone is enough for anger to spark within Lan Wangji.

No one hurts his son.

"What happened." Lan Wangji demands, his voice searingly cold even as he tries in vain to keep it gentle for his son.

Lan Sizhui wipes the back of his hand under his eyes and stares down at his feet as he murmurs, "Hanguang-Jun."

Immediately, Lan Wangji freezes. Lan Sizhui calls him Father when they are alone or with family. He has never referred to Lan Wangji as Hanguang-Jun in private like this. His son has made it clear on multiple occasions that he heavily dislikes not being allowed to call him Father in public anymore. From time to time, he will slip up and then punish himself for it even though Lan Wangji would never try to enforce a punishment for Lan Sizhui calling him exactly what he is: his father.

Something must be terribly wrong.

"What happened." Lan Wangji repeats, even less gentle this time.

His son winces at his tone but continues to keep his gaze on his feet. Lan Wangji sighs under his breath and reaches down to pick up Lan Sizhui like he used to when he was much smaller. His son is substantially bigger at fourteen than he was as a toddler, but Lan Wangji barely acknowledges his weight while he stands back up. Lan Sizhui goes still in his embrace and remains stiff even when Lan Wangji walks into the Jingshi proper and sets his son down on the daybed he never got rid of after Lan Sizhui moved into the junior disciple dorms.

Lan Sizhui still has not met his gaze. Lan Wangji feels a terrible sensation grip his heart as his son stares dejectedly at the floor in a clear and complete silence that is too defined for Lan Wangji's taste.

"Tea?" Lan Wangji asks properly this time.

A tense moment passes before Lan Sizhui shakes his head.

"A-Yuan," Lan Wangji begins, pausing when Lan Sizhui winces. "Tell me what is wrong. Why are you crying?"

"I heard that you had returned this morning," Lan Sizhui says and it becomes Lan Wangji's turn to wince. His voice is hoarse, his pain undeniable. It hurts Lan Wangji something awful just listening to his son speak. "I was talking to Lan Jingyi about when I should come to see you and-"

Lan Wangji kneels in front of his son, his hands immediately finding Lan Sizhui's. "What happened, A-Yuan?"

Lan Sizhui winces again but attempts to speak anyway. "One of the Sect Elders... He said..."

Even though it feels as if a sword has run clear through him, Lan Wangji waits patiently for his son to continue. He has never been very patient, not exactly, but he learned how to be for Lan Sizhui. He learned a lot for the sake of his son.

"I think he thought we couldn't hear him, but he said... I-" Lan Sizhui tries again, cutting himself off with a hiccup.

Lan Wangji unfurls his son's clenched hands in his lap and looks directly into his face, relieved when Lan Sizhui finally meets his gaze. "A-Yuan."

Tears well up in the corners of his son's eyes, silently making their way down his face. The sight alone makes Lan Wangji lean in closer, holding his son's hands tight. Lan Sizhui's lips wobble, his expression on the verge of crumbling.

"You're not my father, are you?" Lan Sizhui asks, his voice as broken as Lan Wangji's heart feels.

Lan Wangji does not lie. He is incapable of lying directly. He can avoid and sidestep a question artfully, but he has never spoken an untruth. If people misunderstand his answers, that is through every fault of their own for not listening to the meaning behind his words.

"I am," Lan Wangji says simply.

If anything, this seems to make Lan Sizhui's tears increase in frequency. "No. You know what I mean. Please, tell me the truth."

Doesn't his son understand that Lan Wangji has already?

"I am your father," Lan Wangji repeats. "I am your father in everything but blood. You are my son. You are the boy I raised and love as my own because you are my own."

Lan Wangji is not good at speaking. Wei Wuxian was the one who rambled on and squeezed as many words as he could into a conversation. Wei Wuxian spoke as if he was running out of time and needed to say everything he had to say before his time was up. Lan Wangji still to this day does not know if Wei Wuxian somehow knew that he would die young, but regardless, Lan Wangji does his best to channel both what he means and what he says as he continues. Even if words are not one of his strengths, that won’t stop him from explaining everything to his son.

"Your birth parents had been dead for some time when I found you, but you were already mine, A-Yuan. I have never met either of them and yet I thank them both every day for bringing you into the world. You are not my son by blood, but you are my son in heart, soul, and everything else that truly matters. You are the shining light within your grandfather's eye and the warmth in your uncle's heart. And you are the single most important person in your father's life, A-Yuan," Lan Wangji confesses, feeling a weight he was previously unaware of lift from his shoulders as he speaks. "I love you, A-Yuan. I have always loved you. Your origins have never once conflicted with my love for you. You are my son and I will always be your father."

Lan Sizhui tips into his embrace as soon as he has finished speaking and sobs into his chest, no doubt rubbing tears and snot alike into Lan Wangji's robes. Lan Wangji doesn't mind. He kisses Lan Sizhui’s forehead ribbon and rocks him gently in his arms.

(Later, Brother will come into the Jingshi without knocking and will drop kisses across Lan Sizhui’s face. He will avoid Lan Sizhui’s forehead ribbon because only Lan Wangji has the right to touch it but Brother will silently and loudly reassure his son that he is the best nephew in the world and he loves him without fault as well. Lan Wangji will look upon this and smile in that way he only ever does with those he loves and kiss Lan Sizhui’s forehead again before Uncle sweeps into the Jingshi and joins their huddled forms right there on the floor. 

But this will come later.)

For now, Lan Wangji simply holds his son close for as long as is needed and then some.

Lan Sizhui is almost sixteen when Brother orders Lan Wangji to take the junior disciples with him on his night hunt.

It is not the junior disciples’ first night hunt by far but it is their first night hunt with Hanguang-Jun. It is also Lan Wangji’s first night hunt with his son.

The night hunt is very simple. Some low-level corpses have been appearing in the woods around a small farming village not very far away from Caiyi Town. The corpses have been dragging unsuspecting villagers into the woods never to be seen again. A night hunt such as this should be relatively educating and safe enough to expose the junior disciples to.

Lan Wangji can understand why Brother wanted the disciples to accompany him, but it does nothing to dissuade the vague fear he holds for Lan Sizhui somehow being harmed.

He leads the way to the village on his sword, standing tall and stiff. Lan Sizhui is behind him to his right, Lan Jingyi mirroring his position on Lan Wangji’s left. The other juniors fan out behind them, expressions varying from excitement to deep concentration. Lan Sizhui appears calm, the corners of his mouth barely lifted upwards as they ride. Lan Jingyi is all smiles and laughter, joking around with Lan Sizhui and the other disciples alike.

(In a way, Lan Jingyi reminds Lan Wangji greatly of Wei Wuxian but now is not the time to focus on that.)

They arrive in the village quickly and discuss the situation with many of the villagers teeming about in what constitutes as their marketplace. Lan Wangji watches as Lan Sizhui suggests they make camp seeing as the village has no inn and none of the disciples object. 

Cultivators from the Gusu Lan Sect are considered to be well-mannered and too overly polite to whine and complain as any other cultivator would. However, these are junior disciples and Lan Wangji knows how too often the young tend to forget themselves.

After all, Lan Wangji forgot himself and his place often enough once he met Wei Wuxian.

Still, the lack of protest surprises him but he does not allow it to show on his face. He quietly observes as Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi divide up the tasks between the disciples present and quickly have camp set up not too far into the woods where the villagers claim the corpses frequently emerge from.

By the end of the night, Lan Wangji is pleased to see his son and his son’s closest friend take charge and act as joint leaders while they successfully subdue the corpses.

It seems Lan Wangji has much to disclose in his report when they return to Cloud Recesses.

Lan Wangji fixes his son’s forehead ribbon and leans down to press a kiss on it.

“Remember to not wander,” Lan Wangji says as he pulls back.

Lan Sizhui’s face is flushed pink with mild embarrassment, less round than it was as a child but he is nineteen now and his smile is easy, remaining the same as it ever has been. “Yes, Father.”

The other juniors are watching, probably planning to poke fun at Lan Sizhui later when the revered Hanguang-jun is out of earshot. Lan Wangji isn’t worried about this, he knows that none of the juniors do this to hurt his son. If they did, Lan Jingyi would have done something about it already or come to Lan Wangji himself if he could not.

(No one would dare harm Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian’s son anyway for fear of torture, death, and then possession. Lan Wangji could not protect Lan Sizhui’s first father, but he will not fail in protecting their son.)

Everyone knows Lan Wangji loves his son more than life itself. There is no shame in showing what is already a proven fact. There is no rule against speaking truths when others are not present.

So he allows the corners of his mouth to hint at lifting upwards before his expression returns to blank calm. “I will be nearby. Use the flares only for emergencies.”

“Yes, Father,” Lan Sizhui repeats.

Lan Wangji holds his hand out and Lan Sizhui drops his qiankun pouch wordlessly into it. Another moment passes as Lan Wangji looks through the pouch and assures himself that his son will have everything he needs for the first night hunt he will lead without a senior disciple accompanying them. He nods in approval once he is done and returns the qiankun pouch to his son, patting Lan Sizhui’s head once.

“I await your report,” Lan Wangji murmurs before he steps back so his son may rejoin the other juniors behind him.

“Thank you, Father,” Lan Sizhui says with a bow, smiling as he straightens and walks until he is alongside Lan Jingyi.

When they first left Cloud Recesses that morning, Lan Wangji felt anxious for some reason. No matter what set of robes he put on or how hard he held Bichen’s sheath, he could not resolve the shaky feeling in his chest that gripped his heart painfully when he thought of Lan Sizhui. He had packed quickly once something tried to push him towards the door, relief fluttering through him when that same sensation led him straight to Cloud Recesses’ entrance where the juniors were readying to depart.

During the sword ride here, that feeling would not allow him to keep his gaze away from Lan Sizhui for too long. His son was flying calmly by his side, expression serene as the sun began to rise and they passed towns and forests alike under them. He was bright, filled with the gentle happiness of his life and quiet excitement to be in charge of a night hunt for the very first time. If Lan Wangji happened to glance at him from the corner of his eye, he could have sworn that he was seeing Lan Sizhui’s first father in his place instead.

Now they are here, on the edges of Mo Village, and Lan Wangji feels calm. Calmer than he has felt in a long time. Lan Sizhui looks back at him once, smiling and waving before the disciples round the bend in the path.

Lan Wangji watches them disappear from sight, feeling an all-too-familiar sensation caress his cheek gently before it leaves him be for the very last time.

         Deep within Mo Village, someone wakes up in a shed.

a/n #2: thanks for reading! i have more mdzs content in the works, but in the meantime, feel free to send requests or headcanons to my inbox!

[e-of-west-glendia]

The Tunnel Of Love

“You dragged me all the way out here…to get on this?”

Remus stared at Sirius incredulously.

“Yep,” Sirius nodded.

Remus groaned and took another look at the ride. It was a massive boat ride that dipped into a large tunnel. The whole thing was adorned in hearts and roses and the words Tunnel Of Love were printed on an archway at the front in swooping cursive letters. The whole thing was oddly intimidating and mildly sickening.

Remus shook his head. “No. No way. I’m not getting on that thing.”

Sirius flashed him a wide smile, his grey eyes brimming with joy. Slipping an arm around Remus’ waist he said, “The way I see it there’s no real downside to you getting on it.”

Remus raised an eyebrow and peered down at his boyfriend. “Oh? And how do you figure that one?”

Sirius shrugged. “Well we’re already here and you wouldn’t want to waste a trip.”

Remus scoffed. He could think of plenty of times when Sirius had opted out of an activity once they’d gotten to the venue.

“You can’t be serious. I can think of plenty of times when you’ve done just that.”

Sirius laughed, he knew Remus was right. Still, not one to admit defeat he said, “I’m always Sirius.”

Remus narrowed his eyes at him. That joke had gotten old the first time they’d used it.

“Ha ha. You’re not clever.”

“I think I am. Besides, Lily and James are getting on it and I refuse to let them “out-couple” us on Valentines Day.”

———————————

The ride looks even worse up close, Remus thought. The shades of pink and red that the ride was decorated in were brighter and clashed even more horribly. Remus was honestly quite surprised that Sirius had talked him into this. Normally he’d have run away from this type of ride as fast as possible. He’d been on something like this before, and well, let’s just say that singing plastic animals would haunt his subconscious forever.

Lily seemed even more surprised that he was here than Remus did himself. She had raised her eyebrows so high Remus had begun to wonder if they’d just float away. Twisting away from James to get a better look at her friends who were making their way towards them. Sirius, not even remotely bothered by the death glares they received as he elbowed and shoved people out of their way. Leaving Remus to quickly apologize before being tugged forward.

“Remus?” Lily had asked. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m not quite sure myself, actually.”

“He’s here to experience the wonders of love!” James exclaimed wrapping an arm around Remus’ shoulder. Remus frowned at him and quickly extracted himself.

Lily rolled her eyes at him. “I would’ve thought this wasn’t your cup of tea, for lack of better phrasing.”

“It isn’t,” Remus assured her. “Unfortunately this idiot over here managed to convince me.” He flicked his head towards Sirius.

“In the end, love always wins,” Sirius chirped.

Remus snorted. “Oh please. He lured me here under the promise of buying me chocolate once we got off this hell ride.”

Lily laughed at the wounded look on Sirius’ face. “Sounds about right.”

They shuffled forward a bit as the line progressed. Remus could now see the small two person boats disappear around the bend of the makeshift lake and into the tunnel. They looked rather small. He wasn’t sure how he was going to fit himself into one of those boats. He also knew that there was no backing out of this now and he’d have to make it work somehow. Remus let out a long suffering sigh.

“Cheer up, Remus!” James said. “It’s Valentine's Day! Be happy and experience the joys of young love.”

“I think you mean it’s Single People Appreciation Day,” Remus corrected, ducking to avoid a rather awkwardly placed wooden beam.

“But you’re not single,” Sirius pointed out.

“No,” Remus agreed. He cast the ride another venomous look. “But sometimes I wish I was.”

Sirius pouted. “Ouch, Remus. Just ouch.”

They’d finally reached the front of the line, watching as Lily and James drifted away in their own boat. The operator pulled on a lever and Remus watched as another boat pulled up to the side of the ride. The man motioned for someone to come forward and it took Remus a solid second to realize that he meant them.

Lucky for Remus (or unlucky depending on how you look at it) Sirius was there to pull Remus down the stairs and keep him from looking like an idiot. Sirius stepped into the boat first, water sloshing over the sides and into the bottom. He looked expectantly up at Remus who after a moment climbed into the boat.

Remus has been right, it was cramped. And with his and Sirius’ combined weight he’d been afraid the little boat might capsize. It had titled precariously to one side and dripped water into Remus’ jeans. He already hated this thing.

A boy who couldn’t have been much older than they were slumped over to their boat. He was holding a smoothie in one hand while he rested his other on the stair railing.

“Welcome to The Tunnel of Love,” he said dispassionately. He continued on in his monotonous tone, each word sounding more dead than the last.

“Where Love is born and happiness thrives. May our soothing waters relax your souls and let you fall in sync with the rhythm of love.”

Remus blinked. Rhythm of Love?? He was pretty sure he’d heard that in a song somewhere. Judging from the look on the guys face, this place looked more like where happiness came to die.

“Enjoy your ride,” the boy said boredly. He signaled to a guy in a booth, near the opposite side of the ride. Remus was jolted forward as the ride was carried away on the converybelt. His legs bent at an awkward angle. He was willing to bet that at least one of his legs would fall asleep by the end of this ride.

Sirius latched onto his arm and smiled happily at him. His eyes bubbling like champagne.

“This is going to be great!”

“Yeah,” Remus said, uncertain “Great.”

————————

The ride was most decidedly not great. As a matter of fact it had been just as awful as Remus had expected and somehow, amazingly, even worse.

Lily giggled when she saw the two of them exit the ride. Remus was soaking wet, dripping water from where he’d taken a dip in the water. The look he was giving Sirius could’ve killed. On the contrary, Sirius was exuberant. He all but skipped over to Lily and James.

“That. Was. Fantastic!!” Sirius said, drawing out each syllable.

“Agree to disagree,” Remus said bitterly.

“What on earth happened?” Lily asked, not even trying to hide her laughter.

“Remus took a dip in the river of love,” Sirius said cheerfully. “It was rather funny.”

Lily laughed while Remus scowled at his boyfriend. Remus was wearing wet jeans and a sweater that felt more like a sponge at this point. He couldn’t see any humor in this situation.

James just shrugged. “I guess he just wasn’t feeling the rhythm of love.”

“Oh I was definitely feeling the rhythm of something,” Remus said casting another evil glance at the so-called river. “But it definitely wasn’t love.”

James snorted and allowed himself to be tugged along to a gift shop by Lily.

“Come on, let's get the prints!”

“Yes,” Sirius said. “Let’s definitely do that.”

Remus groaned. He’d forgotten about the cameras. He most certainly didn’t want this moment immortalized in the form of a crappy photograph. There wasn’t much he could do, though. So he followed the others towards the shop.

He’d just finished wringing out most of the water from his sweater, when Lily, James, and Sirius finally emerged from the shop.

James and Lily started off in another direction — Lily pointing around something in the distance — while Sirius walked over to Remus.

“Y’know, I think these are some great pictures,” Sirius said, looking fondly at the pictures in his hand.

The cameras had managed to capture the exact moment Remus had fallen out of the boat and the exact moment he’d come back up from the water, looking like an extremely disgruntled and out of place fish. While Sirius, as usual, looked flawless. Dark hair curled in a halo around his face, head tilted upwards frozen in silent laughter. It had even captured the singing Cupid in the background, belting out some horrible robotic version of Stevie Wonder’s “Isn’t She Lovely.”

“I don’t know if I’d call them ‘great’, Padfoot.”

Sirius laughed, that loud, happy, sound that made fireworks go off inside Remus. Warming him to his core despite being sopping wet.

Sirius smiled down at the photos again. “Well, you definitely look lovely, and wonderful.” He looked up at Remus, his smile widening. “And night I add, very pretty too.”

Remus made an inarticulate sound of despair. “That song has been permanently ruined for me,” he grumbled.

Sirius grabbed Remus’ elbow and dragged Remus closer to him.

“Nah, I think it’s infinitely better now.”

“You would,” Remus said, allowing himself to be pulled closer to Sirius. His arms resting on his hips.

Sirius reached his arms around his neck. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Moony.”

Remus smiled softly at him. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Then Sirius pressed their lips together, wrapping his arms around his back and tugging him closer. When they broke apart Remus was slightly breathless, and Sirius was beaming.

“Now,” Remus said. “Let’s go get my chocolate.”

[tiredcowpoke]

TITLE: Wedded Woes [9 / Final] PAIRING: Arthur Morgan/Fem!Reader REQUEST: Unprompted. BLURB: Trelawny talked up a big game at a scenic boardinghouse and, playing some newly weds, you and Arthur are paying the price for it. WARNINGS: Some violence and shooting in this one, but nothing overly gore-y. NOTE: Aaand there we have it, the final chapter in this little series. I struggled with this, I had it planned and knew where I wanted it to go but I always have issues ending things so hopefully it’s good for all of those who have been following this fic! Thank you call for the positive reactions this has gotten, it’s meant a lot to me. c:

The ride back to the town outside of camp was almost an echo of the one you took out of it with the silence and tension. 

You had a poor sleep the night before, the thoughts of kissing Arthur in the hallway playing over in your head as you tried to pick it apart bit by bit. There was hatred that it happened the way it did, and after not exactly the best or bonding experience. Yet, there had been reminances of the feelings you felt. Someone solidly there, the touches to the back of your shoulders and arms around your waist. You birated yourself over the fact that it was all part of a role, you both were playing a role. You gave Arthur similar touches and leans and you doubted that he was as torn up about it as you were. At least, that’s what the bitter voice in your head had been saying. He had kissed you that first time, but he had admitted to it being out of confusion and anxiety about having more suspicion on the two of you. He had kissed you back somewhat with the second, but you knew better than to take that uncertainty you felt in it as anything but a sign that you shouldn’t have done it. 

It had complicated, too, with the thought that you had been starting to get used to sharing a bed with someone. 

Needless to say, the sleep you got wasn’t great but you got up easily enough in the morning. You figured you would have time to address it eventually, but at Arthur’s silence and his avoidance of your gaze, you started to just really want to get back to camp. However, you were anxious about that in a way, too. If you had known you would feel so complicated about the whole thing once it was done, you would have put up more of a fight with Dutch. Still, you couldn’t take back what was done and the take was a good one. They’d be happy with that. Thankfully, you were closer to a stateline, the carriage ride being a little shorter than the one you took up there, but it would still be a ride. 

One where you couldn’t even look at the man beside you without feeling some sense of frustration and embarrassment. You wanted to apologize, and you knew a time would come where Trelawny didn’t have to witness every moment of it, but as it remained it almost made it worse going back than it was leaving. 

At least back then you had some idea on what Arthur was thinking, now you just had questions. Had you overstepped? Was he angry? Was he as conflicted as you were? Would he even want to pursue anything if you admitted to feeling something? They were hard questions to bring up, and certainly not something you wanted to share around anybody but him. 

So, you kept silent for the most part, almost scared you’d say something to make the whole thing worse. 

“So, where’re you goin’ next? Gonna up and disappear on us again since this whole thing’s done?” Arthur asked Trelawny, causing you to glance at him out of the corner of your eye but you found your gaze moving back to the passing scenery again. 

“Oh, I always come back, Arthur,” Trelawny replied around a chuckle, “One can’t expect to find the leads I do while just sitting around camp.” 

“Ain’t nobody knows where you come up with them leads, so I’ll believe that…” Arthur returned with a short huff. 

“Well, I’m sure Dutch will have you back to your usual brand of fun soon enough.” 

You could only hope. 

“Yeah, then you’ll slither off to wherever it is you go until you come waltzin’ back in here with another job in a couple months.” 

“Hm. Well, I’ll be sure to suggest leaving you two out of anything that involves anything more than a simple pickpocket.” 

“Were we really that terrible?” you asked, despite yourself, as you turned your head slightly to glance toward Trelawny. He tilted his head slightly, rubbing at his mustache for a moment. 

“Well, I’m afraid I can’t say you two were the perfect fit for the job, but we have what we came for so I suppose it’s unfair to say you were completely terrible.” 

“I’ll be sure to let Dutch know you think that,” Arthur replied, his tone still light but you could sense something there. You weren’t going to look too deeply into it. 

You let the silence fall after that, turning your focus back toward the road again. Eventually, the previous night started to catch up with you, letting yourself fall asleep off and on throughout the journey if only to keep yourself from overthinking yourself into a problem. There was some lightness that came with the short conversation, much as it wasn’t as relaxed and celebratory you had thought it would have been a couple days ago. Which you knew was through your own actions, but...well, it happened. It was a kiss, or two you supposed, it could have been worse if you had pushed beyond that. If Arthur would have even let you. 

With another sigh through your nose, you shoved the thoughts aside as you tried to wake up a little more as the scenery started to become a little more familiar after a few hours of travel. 

It was early evening by the time you reached camp, gone only for a couple days but the exhaustion you felt made it seem more than that. 

You almost wanted to keep going, honestly, if only partly to avoid what waited within. Perhaps without the extra company of Arthur and Trelawny on their own horses, but you had almost missed riding in the open. You made a mental note to just go out for a bit the following day by yourself, but continued to keep pace behind the two men up ahead. Finally, you turned into some trees and down a path into a clearing with the familiar tents and wagons up ahead, Arthur calling out a greeting to the guard on duty. Sounded like John. 

Steering your horse off toward a free hitching post, you allowed yourself a minute to pat your horse on the neck as you noticed a familiar figure stepping out of the central tent. 

“Our own little wedding party! You are back…” Dutch called, jovial as he raised his arms up toward Trelawny and Arthur at the far hitching post. “All the more richer in spirit and money, I should hope.” 

“Indeed! Quite the reward, I believe,” Trelawny returned, pulling the extra saddle bag off his horse that he had tucked the money into once you had all arrived at the nearest town to camp. He passed that on to the gang leader, Dutch weighing it in his hands a moment before he took at glance at them and then towards you. 

“Well done!” he stated, “All of you! I think some celebrations are in order for your return and what you’ve brought us.” 

Great. 

You heard some cheers of agreement from camp, your hands coming up to rub at your eyes a moment but you couldn’t help the small grin that touched your face. Any excuse for a party these days, it seemed. You had only been to a few since you had joined, usually over successful scores or the camp in general just felt like it. It usually involved a lot of singing and a lot of drinking, two things you weren’t too sure you were up for in the moment but you figured you would get pulled into it one way or another. 

Though, seeing Karen making her way toward you as you got out of the saddle told you that would be sooner rather than later. 

“That was quick,” she commented once she was close enough, “I was thinkin’ y’all would be gone for a couple’a days at least.” 

“Things lined up, I supposed,” you said, offering her a small but tired smile. 

“Well come on, then!” she exclaimed, “Throwin’ a party in your honor and you’re lookin’ ‘bout as thrilled as you did when you left!” 

“It’s been a long couple days, but I could use a drink and a good song so…” 

The party had picked up shortly after you had relented to having a little fun before going to sleep and hopefully leaving this whole thing behind. Of course, a familiar unpleasant feeling grew at the thought, but you didn’t even want to address it anymore at the moment. Last thing you needed was alcohol and that at the forefront of your mind. Music and singing had closely followed behind as you sat yourself around a fire, Javier with his guitar as Dutch, Hosea, and Arthur seemed to be talking about something at a table. 

However, you didn’t dwell on that. Not really. The night went on fairly easily outside of a couple scenes pushed forth by alcohol, some amusing, some not so much. You had grown used to them in a way, you supposed, not that they didn’t catch a couple looks but living with a group of outlaws wasn’t exactly smooth sailing most days. Dutch kept them together but personalities clashing was inevitable. Karen had started to get her fill, pulled off by Sean somewhere that left you being pulled off by Mary-Beth toward one of the wagons where it was more quiet. 

It was surprisingly something you found yourself needing, and perhaps she had picked up on that but you couldn’t tell. 

“So what was the most interestin’ thing about it?” she asked after a few minutes, bright eyed and interested, making you glance toward her with a raised eyebrow. “I mean, a big fancy house, rich people, the romantic intention despite it being fake on your ends…there had to be somethin’.”

“You know, I had been thinking you would have been better suited for it,” you replied with a small chuckle, “I found the whole experience to be strange and uncomfortable.” 

Conflicting and confusing as hell, too. 

“Nothin’ happened?”

“...Between what?” you asked, a sinking feeling in your gut about her rather pointed question. It was vague enough but you knew she probably didn’t want the details to the robbery in a situation like that. 

“Well, we weren’t expectin’, but...with Dutch putting you together on that, I thought maybe it was a bit of fate that…”

“I...I can’t lie and say that those old feelings didn’t make the whole thing worse for me, but...I don’t know, it’s...it’s something I’ll talk about later when it’s not so fresh.” 

“I understand,” Mary-Beth said with a small nod, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t tryin’ to get you to gossip about it. I just thought...well, you seem a little odd tonight.” 

“It’s fine, it’s just…” 

Speak of the devil. Mary-Beth had glanced up as you glanced down, trying to collect your thoughts a bit as you debated on telling her anything. However, she knocked her hand subtly against your arm, causing you to glance up to see Arthur making his way over. He didn’t seem all that hesitant, but he wasn’t exactly overflowing with confidence. Still, you let the words die on your tongue as he indeed decided to walk toward you both. 

“Mary-Beth,” he greeted with a nod before glancing toward you, “I don’t wanna pull you away from what you was doin’ but I wanted to talk with you a minute.” 

“Sure…” you started, glancing up as Mary-Beth stood from where she was sitting on the box next to yours. 

“I should see how Karen and Tilly are holdin’ up,” she explained, giving you a quick grin before she turned and walked off. You had a feeling this would only add to her questions later. 

You glanced back toward Arthur as he came to sit down on the box Mary-Beth had left, hands resting on his knees as he tilted his head down in thought. Nervousness came back tenfold from last night, keeping back any questions you may have asked to start this conversation but Arthur had approached. You figured he should start and you could get an idea on what type of conversation this would be. 

“I ain’t all that good with words, least ones I can’t write down,” he admitted, glancing up and stared off into the fire lit darkness that had surrounded camp. “I just...want to know what the hell happened last night.” 

“I...this whole thing got me confused, and not exactly for the reasons I told you about before,” you said, rubbing a hand across your chin. Come out with it. There’s no other time than now. “I thought it wouldn’t get in the way, but…I’m fond of you, Arthur.” 

“Me?” he asked, almost sounding disbelieving, “This because we pretended to be married?”

“No, well…” you started before letting out a sigh, covering the lower half of your face with your hands. 

“I know you know the reasons for why...why I kissed you that first time, but...last night, did that mean anythin’?” 

“...Yes,” you stated after taking in a breath, heart pounding, “I just...your reaction. I have no idea if I stepped over a line or you just…” 

“...I mean, look at me,” he stated, “I thought you was just confused by everythin’, just some...old ugly--”

“I’ve liked you since I first saw you,” you blurted out, taking a small breath in, “You’re not old, you’re not ugly. Not to me. That’s been there since before this whole mess of a job. I’d just...I buried it down because...I’d just met you and there was that distance, then some of the other women picked up on it and I was lead to believe it wouldn’t happen from what they’d said. Nothing bad, just that...well, there was that distance.” 

“Christ…” he muttered, making you glance over at him as he seemed to be weighing his words. 

“I just...I need to know,” you continued, trying to keep your gaze on his as he turned to look at you, “Is there...is there even a chance that we could...well, be something?” 

There was a heavy pause after, Arthur dropping his gaze as he stared into the grass at his feet for a few moments. You could feel your stomach twisting, making it hard to sit still and not just stand up and pace around. Nervousness bloomed into anxiety that had you wanting to take all the words back the more silence situated. Yet, this was it. This was the moment to really know if it was really time to bury those thoughts and feelings.

“I was gonna ask you the same damn thing,” he stated after a few moments, shaking his head with a bitter huff, “Kissin’ you, you kissin’ me, hell I...I don’t know. I been beatin’ myself up all day ‘bout not bein’ able to say anythin’.” 

“Me, too,” you admitted with a sigh, his words filling you with a lightness you couldn’t describe while pulling you back down harshly, “If we’re asking the same question, I’m sure you already know how I’d answer, but…” 

“I ain’t an easy man to be with,” Arthur replied, “I’m a stubborn bastard, no good…” 

“You…” there was a hitch to your voice, causing you to shake your head slightly before continuing, “You really come over here to talk me out of this?” 

“...No. No, but I mean…”

“I’m not asking you to actually marry me, you know that right?” you asked, your chuckle a touch tense but it caused Arthur’s expression to soften somewhat, “If you want to try, I’d...I’d be more than willing.” 

“You wanna try?” he repeated, looking over your face. 

“Yeah, I’d like to,” you replied with a nod, “If you’re willing.” 

Arthur glanced away for a moment, almost searching before he nodded lightly, glancing back toward you. 

“Alright...I’d like that, too.” 

The relief that settled into you at that was something else, the small grin that touched your face threatening to spread into a wider one. Still, you just found yourself nodding again, bowing your head a moment before giving him an actual smile. 

“Okay, then we’ll do that.” 

Arthur rose after that, causing you to follow with him. You were preparing for him to leave to return back into the camp’s little party, and for a moment it seemed like he was about to do just that. Really, you couldn’t say you felt like you could expect much other than what he had told you and agreed to, you weren’t too sure what speed he actually wanted to take with everything. However, instead of walking off, he paused to glance back toward you with some visible debate in his expression before it seemed to fade into something softer. 

You stepped toward him when you noticed him closing the space between you both, bringing his hands up to cup your face before pressing a kiss to your lips. There was something much different about it, less sudden and uncertain, and it had you melting a bit into the feeling as you brought your hands up to grip onto the front of his jacket. You pressed back into it with the same intensity, something short and sweet but it had that hint of promise that you had been missing from the others. It had you lingering close once the kiss was eventually broke, smoothing your hands against the fabric of his jacket that you had been gripping, exhaling softly through your nose. 

“I can almost hear the mocking now once they’ve figured this out…” you commented around a chuckle, Arthur returning it himself lightly. 

“Yeah, well, ain’t their business and we ain’t gotta say anythin’ yet,” he stated, dropping his hands away from your face as you smiled softly at him. 

“That’s true…” 

The both of you had finally parted after that, you deciding to linger back for a few moments before returning to the party as you let everything settle in your mind. Really, you were surprised at how composed you had remained throughout that whole thing, though you figured you had already acted boldly enough the previous night anyway. Really, the whole thing had you pressing your hand to your mouth a moment to hide the wide grin that broke out, knowing this wasn’t the end of it and there was some uncertainty on how it would all play out in the end, but it wasn’t the end. That was enough. 

However, you didn’t get to dwell on that thought for too long as you heard some rustling of grass behind you, along with a chuckle. 

“Here I was thinkin’ I was gonna have to awkwardly step in, if only for my own sake.” 

The voice was familiar, but it put a jump to your heart as you turned around to see Hosea stepping out from around a wagon. You gaped at him a moment as he regarded you with an amused grin, tilting his head. 

“I noticed you missin’, considerin’ it’s your party, thought I’d find you out here but…” he started, “You two really fall for each other pretendin’ to love each other?” 

“That’s a...strong question, Hosea,” you said with a soft chuckle. He gave you a knowing look, but didn’t comment any further, giving you a pat on the shoulder before he started to walk ahead toward the camp again. 

“Well, come on. Dutch’ll least wanna thank you for your work before you disappear for the night. Now I’m thinkin’ he’s not the only one who’ll miss you ‘round there tonight.”

[captainkurosolaire]

Voice

🎵 Theme Music 🎵  Stationed close below decks in the cargo in time’s passage. He heard the jailer pirate in the room silence a whining smaller voice cased in innocence multiple captives often sold and blackmailed if their names held wealth. Otherwise often they were auctioned. Wasn’t pretty but customarily. Lowly off breath, “Ugh got t’ feed these brats sum scrap’s.” Heading directly to the rations that Captain was in. When he enclosed in and put hands on the sides of the barrel. The seeker pushed up with all his momentum the lid flying and clocking the jaw of the matey of The Betrayer. Who staggered back clutching his jaw but only was on a teeter. Kuro stumbled out throwing the beady fishes in pelts at the mastodon. The cage prisoners were baffled and silenced in a yelp they held their mouths. “Ahoy oaf. How ye do?” Tipping his hat playfully before prying off his coat, “Take my coat would ye? Show some hospitality.” The large coat thrown over towards the visage man stumbling forward his steps were confused every action happening in flashes, footsteps disordered like a clueless dancer. Grunting, “While ye! I’ll ring yer throat.” He’d fling the coat away but the diversion was made. Searching around his lard figure. He’d lose sight. The Feline with agility and acrobatically was using his tail swinging off the top of the ship’s railing. He’d pounce down and land on the back and buckle his new steed. His virile muscular arms ripping through the sleeves of his dressed shirt. As he put in a choke-hold, he was admitting outmatched against something more imposing and larger, but that didn’t mean the Captain didn’t know how to counter them. He’d keep the pressure in and begin lulling a tune, “Hush little hearty, don’t ye cry, Cap’n gonna tuck ye in. Steal ye a wet-dream.” The brute flailed relentlessly but was already fading his arms trying to reach back and grab a grip but the Captain’s head kept weaving. He kept holding the sleeper-hold and restricting the flow. Until the Brute dropped to a knee slowly showing signs of pacification. The alarms needed to be sounded but he was cleverly restricted from it far too late. The giant fell face-first in planting to a black-haze of unconsciousness. This Pirate wasn’t a butcher. He just needed to apply authority to the misguided and dismantle the boards that stood in his main objective’s way. Removing the possessions of the fallen he’d find the key’s chained and start whistling off in a song towards the prisoners to liberate them out. He’d pry off his torn shirt and just wear his coat-over. As the cages were slotted opened and brokered the slavers were stunned and puzzled by a clear-as-sight pirate turning against fellow. He looked no-good like the remaining. Surprisingly one of the captives was a proud Maelstrom who would stop people from all bailing out towards the roguish man. Recognizing who stood before him as he was the one implored to post the wanted bounty on this man’s head but it suddenly went cold believing they captured the legitimate thing and held the head to prove it even, the coin even collected. This Seeker he saw a ploy understandingly a trick to capture off-guard and further torture the deprived. “Stay away! This man has no solace or heart. I personally saw t’ post him on the board. He’s treacherous, dangerous. A encroached pirate. -- Mark the skies and abide the tides, we shall know victory. The Chief Admiral wouldn’t leave us or my crew. The Seas is Ours.”  He spoke against villainy with a Maelstrom salute representing his City-State and quoting half an infamous his pledged-ruler. Stunned and baffled, Captain’s brow furrowing. “No heart...? Now that hurts, oi...” He’d follow with a torrent and flooded pipe-bomb as he was singled out and instantly put into another picture. His story constantly never heard because of the gap in deemed law and order. Confronting and stepping closer to this spoken Sea-Wolf. “How much of that 'red coat' of yours is spilled from the blood of you standing down? Or you gunning down my kind. You claim to be pirates but you r’ nothing but jailers. Ironic, cages find you here. Want to whine and try contemplating why your little squadron didn't come in a wrath of flurry for your sake, simple your disposable.

You've got notion mindset that the weak is always prey and eaten and the strong, ‘blah, blah,’ always prevails.

News flash; The strong gets eaten by stronger. I've met lowly flowers who'd ye think are something ye can push over, walk over, but they're more unrelenting than th' tides each petal sharper than what’s tucked between your legs. They don't buckle and they're not to be underestimated.

Painting yourselves as pirates, don't make me laugh! -- It's the same thing, I've seen before... You aren't any better than the crew who done you in here. You're after complete control and conqueror. You wanna devour the free and you expect us to sit idly-by. You expect us to be docile. T’ hold fear over you and the gallows but we smile even on the chopping block and that pisses ya’ off preventing you from carnal release. You don't own these seas there are far more greater inhabitants than you or I, that are connected to them.

From the Civilizations buried under the Depths, Sea Witches, Sirens, every Sahagin or unexplored dweller. Essences of th’ sea, your waves will always clash against others in opposition.

Think you're superior that the coursed ways can get you out of this mess and all the innocents behind you? Here, lead like you always do with force."

He'd prime and pull the bolt to a musket from the unconscious pirate and forcing it upon the Maelstrom's arms. Pushing it into his torso hard. On instinct and duty the Redcoat showed his unwavering emotion and put the gun in aim to the tantalizer. He wasn't about to be antagonized by this prick.

Kuro walked back up seeing a delay in hesitation and putting it up to his forehead the muzzle fearlessly pressing in squeeze to his skull. He was talking with eyes of rage fill in blood soak emotion there was no love-lost for how he perceived. He believed himself in every solitary word, like a key. They ripped the hinder of shackles. To open thoughts of being open.

The Scoundrel continued, "Anyone has power behind the barrel. Anyone can be empowering by a solution that was created for out of sight, out of mind. These consciousness and floaters they don't affect those who can pull the trigger. You want to show me, you don't need me? That these fellow lads and lasses can be protected from ME by your Kind’s ideologies. -- Show me!"

The Sea Wolf who was refined let out a relenting shout at the taunter in his own forced emotion being shown his digit close to connecting with the trigger but he felt his thick leg tugged, "No!" A chiming smaller voice of his nephew interjected. "Don't Uncle!" How this even happened it was clear to the Seeker Captain. This excuse of a Maelstrom went already against code and went to attempt to save their blood alone. Most likely he wasn't granted any additional aid or back-up. Met with an order that was nothing but fit with chaos one-tracked.

It couldn't be expected any less or more. These 'Grand Companies' people took their titles they wore them. Portrayed as harbingers of good in the public that somehow their morale's were above. But they acted on impulses and greed. They had sprouting of corruption and a nest of them. It couldn't continuously be overlooked.

A gulp and stammering of the mighty Roegadyn vocal cords expended as he recoiled his hand off the trigger from the shakes. He couldn't justifiably do it. Like potent poison the Captain struck with a serum there was no cure from once it seeped into the veins.

The Captain threw up his arms to the sides a little disappointment in a pouting shrug. "Superb. Now when ye get out of here. Tell yer Chief Admiral and all the other jockeys in the Maelstrom, they concerned over the sea swallowing so much, let them know, I've got something they can swallow from me." He'd jab once more lastly in daringly mocking their slogan.

In his provoke though the Roe became dampened from the words but still let them propel himself forward in a charge, but instead he shoved the Miqo'te off to the side and whacked upside the head with every bit of force to the skull of a pirate who could've set the alarm in their patrol. Planting another pirate of The Betrayer down to the canvas.

He turned towards the downed smaller Captain who was on his arse. Extending his arm out the Maelstrom looked coldly with resentment, "When we're out of this, you're personally mine. I will serve you on a platter and be the one who personally mutes that mouth." The freedom fighter chuckled off breathe his toothed-grin flashing, "Aye. Like I tell my favored companions often, 'come'." He coated of sinister put a subtle and distasteful line in accepting the rivalry.

Reeled back to his feet by temporarily alliance and truce. "Very well, now we're passed this whole bickering like a couple. Ye fall behind, safeguard th' people. I'll handle all the rest." He relight his visage with determination towards the stairwell. Taking the step forward like always in his own code.

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