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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

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Prompt: WWX is one of JGS's bastard sons, raised by his mother and her husband - until they die when he's young. Then he gets taken into the Jin sect instead of the Jiang.

Right Hand Man - ao3

It was a bad day.

All the days were a little bad, but this one was especially bad.

“He’s Cangse Sanren’s child,” Jin Zixuan’s father said, tapping his fan against his palm so that he would look more like a scholar. Secretly, shamefully, Jin Zixuan thought that it didn’t really work – he just looked like one of those scoundrels that tried to pay for their meals with calligraphy instead of pennies. “Taking him in will show our strength.”

“You dare bring one of your bastard children here,” Jin Zixuan’s mother said, “and I will drown A-Xuan myself rather than let him suffer through the shame of it.”

Jin Zixuan shivered. No matter how many times he heard his mother say that in her cold and vicious voice, he never got used to it. She’d explained to him that it was the only thing that might work on his father – the fear of losing face like that, of shaming his ancestors, of cutting off his legitimate line – and she was his mother so of course Jin Zixuan believed her, but sometimes when she said it like that he thought she might really go ahead and do it.

“It’s the immortal mountain,” his father argued, ignoring the threat. “The perceived connection is only to our benefit…and anyway, he wouldn’t be legitimized or anything. Legally, his father is that Wei Changze – I could even bring the boy in as a servant if that pleased you more!”

“Nothing you say or do will ever please me,” she said, and that’s when she started throwing things and he started shouting and Jin Zixuan waited until they weren’t paying any attention to him before slipping out.

They’d make a decision one way or another.

It didn’t have anything to do with him.

Wei Wuxian was nominally brought in as a guest disciple, but everyone knew he was really a servant.

Jin Zixuan’s mother made sure everyone knew.

Despite this, Wei Wuxian smiled at everyone, seeming as carefree as a butterfly. It didn’t seem to bother him when he wasn’t allowed to wear sparks amidst snow, or even the usual gold of the guest disciples – Jin Zixuan’s mother said that it was better that he wear plain colors, like white or black, to represent his father and mother and show the world that he hadn’t forgotten his filial piety. It didn’t seem to bother him that he had to room with the other servants, or that he wasn’t invited to dinner at the same time as the rest of them, or that he got less training time –

Whatever it was, it didn’t bother him.

It bothered Jin Zixuan, though.

He started having the old nightmares again – the ones where his mother belatedly found out that he’d been swapped in the cradle for another bastard child of Jin Guangshan, and started treating him just the way she treated all the rest of them while praising some other boy up to the heavens – and his temperament, never considered especially good, got worse due to lack of sleep.

“Go talk to him,” Mianmian suggested. “Maybe if you see he’s reallynot bothered by it…”

“It doesn’t matter if he’s not bothered,” Jin Zixuan muttered. “It’s that I would be bothered if I were him.”

She didn’t understand, of course. Most people didn’t.

They couldn’t understand why Jin Zixuan was so bothered by the knowledge that his parents’ love was conditional on his bloodline and legitimacy – after all, he was the beneficiary of that bias, wasn’t he? What did it matter to him if they were cold to others?

Jin Zixuan didn’t know how to explain that the problem was in knowing that their love was conditional.

It didn’t help that Wei Wuxian was excelling despite all his disadvantages – all their teachers praised him in private, or else when they thought that no one surnamed Jin was listening. All of his mother’s dark speculations about what his father would do if ever there was a bastard child brought back that turned out to be even more talented than he was rang in Jin Zixuan’s ears, and he couldn’t help but look at Wei Wuxian, and wonder if this was it, this was the moment, if he was finally going to be replaced…but no, that would never happen. He was the one with the right blood.

It didn’t matter if he wasn’t actually the best.

Nothing he did in life mattered, really. Nothing had ever mattered since the day he’d been born from the right womb.

“He’s actually really nice,” Mianmian said, and Jin Zixuan looked up, wondering what she was talking about, only to blanch when he realized that she was talking to Wei Wuxian. “Just shy, that’s all –”

“Mianmian!” Jin Zixuan hissed, rushing over, horrified. “He can’t be here! If my mother finds out –”

“Is that what you’re afraid of?” Wei Wuxian asked, his face brightening. “I thought you just didn’t like me!”

“I don’t know you,” Jin Zixuan said. “How could I dislike you? But really, my mother –”

“We can be friends!” Wei Wuxian declared, and Jin Zixuan was rendered immediately mute. What exactly could he say to that?

He wanted to be friends, too.

His mother found out, because she always found out, and when she did, she threatened to feed Wei Wuxian to the dogs.

It turned out that Wei Wuxian was scared of dogs, something Jin Zixuan’s mother had figured out pretty quickly. That wasn’t a surprise – she knew best how to find people’s weaknesses, and also how to use them. Looking at Wei Wuxian’s sickly pale face, it was clear to Jin Zixuan that this wasn’t the first time dogs had appeared in one of his mother’s punishment, although this was clearly more severe than in the past.

“It was my idea,” he lied, acting on impulse. “Mother, I want him to be my personal servant.”

“Ridiculous,” she scoffed.

“Why is it ridiculous?” he asked. “Wouldn’t the contrast between us only be magnified that way?”

She pursed her lips, but that wasn’t a ‘no’.

Seeing a possible waver, Jin Zixuan decided to trade away one of the very few point on which he and his mother had long disagree.

“He’s charming,” he said. “He can help me woo the Jiang sect girl.”

His mother knew him well enough to know that he was trying to manipulate her, but he also knew that she liked it when he did that. Men were supposed to be upright, straightforward, and virtuous, and yet she liked to see him being subtle and sly – it reminded her of herself. It made her feel like he was more her blood than his father’s, even though in actuality those traits could very well be his father’s, too.

Unfortunately, sneakiness wasn’t really in Jin Zixuan’s nature. Comparing his straightforward and even a little stupid self to his clever and cunning parents, he didn’t know who he took after – it was part of the reason he had so many nightmares about being some cuckoo’s child left in the Jin sect’s nest.

“Fine,” his mother said at last. “He gets one shot.”

Later, when she’d swept off, an empress with her retinue, Mianmian looked at Jin Zixuan with wide eyes. “But Jin-gongzi,” she said. “You don’t wantto marry the Jiang sect girl.”

“I’ve never met her,” Jin Zixuan hedged, which was also true but a little vaguer. He didn’t want to marry a girl he’d never met, one who was several years his elder and who had been described to him only as ‘nice’ and ‘average at best’, just because her mother was his mother’s old friend. He didn’t want his marriage to be yet another thing he had to do because he was someone’s child, rather than his own man.

He wasn’t going to get a choice, though, no matter what he did, just as always. Might as well use it for something good.

Wei Wuxian crashed into him a moment later, clutching him so tightly that it hurt.

“I’ll pay you back,” he promised, his voice tight. “I’ll make it up to you. I’ll be your best friend ever!”

“That’s good enough,” Jin Zixuan said, his face suddenly hot. “There doesn’t need to be anything more.”

Wei Wuxian really was very charming when they went to visit the Lotus Pier, far more charming than Jin Zixuan ever was or would be, and his future bride seemed positively enchanted by him, which was probably a bad thing.

Jin Zixuan felt he should probably do something about it, but he didn’t know what, so he just snuck off and went to go dip his feet into the river, something he almost never got the chance to go while at home.

“I’m sorry,” the Jiang sect heir, Jiang Cheng, said, sitting gingerly next to him.

Jin Zixuan looked at him sidelong, a little surprised. He’d thought that Jiang Cheng hated him. “What for?”

“My sister. Your half-brother.” Jiang Cheng looked uncomfortable. “I can’t even imagine growing up with someone who’d flirt with the person I was engaged to.”

Jin Zixuan thought it over, then shook his head. “I don’t think he likes her like that. Or her him, either,” he said, since it seemed like Jiang Cheng had misunderstood both Wei Wuxian and his own sister. “Wei Wuxian’s just – like that,” he added. “Always. Everyone loves him unless they’re specifically told not to.”

“That’s worse.” Jiang Cheng wrinkled his nose. “He’s the ‘other person’s child’ here, you know. My father really liked his parents – he’s always talking about him. My mother says he wishes he were his son, instead of your father’s.”

“Now that sounds awful.” Probably better for Wei Wuxian, though. Jiang Fengmian would probably treat him like a real son, not the way Jin Guangshan did, like a pawn or a liability or a bastard brought in just for his possible connections – but it would probably be much worse for Jiang Cheng, who’d have to live with that happening right in front of him. It seemed mean to wish for such a thing. “He’s actually pretty nice? We’re friends. I asked him to help me make friends with your sister…I’m not really good at making friends, when it’s just me.”

He hadn’t expected them to hit it off that well, though. At least to Jin Zixuan’s eyes, they’d clearly all but adopted each other as brother and sister the moment they laid eyes on each other…which in his opinion was actually a little bit worse, since he felt like he himself was still painfully trying to figure out what being a sibling was like, and maybe failing at it.

And in all honesty, he felt a little resentful at Wei Wuxian for being picked, too – or was it a little bereft? No one ever picked him just because they wanted to; it was all because of who he was.

Who his parents were.

“I can be your friend, too, if you like,” Jiang Cheng said. He was scowling into the distance. “A better one.”

“Uh,” Jin Zixuan said, startled. “Don’t you – not like me?”

“We’re friends now,” Jiang Cheng scowled at him. “Deal with it!”

Jin Zixuan liked Wei Wuxian a lot, and he liked Jiang Cheng, too, and Nie Huaisang, who he’d just met, fit in with the two of them as if they were three peas in a pod, so he guessed he must like him, too – but if those three endlessly chattering idiots didn’t shut up and let him study he was going to throw himself off some cliff in Gusu and be done with it.

“You really don’t mind me sitting here?” he asked Lan Wangji, who nodded.

Nodded and did not respond verbally – blissful silence!

Still, Jin Zixuan lingered a bit by the door to the peaceful little pavilion he’d found and thought to claim for himself as a secret study place – necessary on account of the fact that Wei Wuxian, Jiang Cheng, and Nie Huaisang spent all their free time together making trouble instead of studying, because Wei Wuxian just did that to people, winning them over despite themselves and then leading them into mischief – only to learn that it belonged to Lan Wangji. It was filled with gentians, which were more Jiang Cheng’s color than Jin Zixuan’s, but Jin Zixuan had seen enough peonies for a lifetime and needed the concealment besides.

It was very kind of Lan Wangji to let him stay, but he still felt he ought to apologize.

And not just for the intrusion.

Wei Wuxian’s ignominious departure from Lan Qiren’s classroom had made it much more peaceful, but that had come at a cost to Lan Wangji’s own education and opportunity to make friends with others – and while Jin Zixuan liked Wei Wuxian a great deal, he wasn’t sure how Lan Wangji felt about being stuck having to monitor him all day.

And now Lan Wangji was being nice to Jin Zixuan, letting him disturb his privacy like this without complaint, and even agreeing to let him stay so that he’d have somewhere quiet to study…he really ought to say something. Maybe apologize for Wei Wuxian, if that was appropriate. It probably was: he was responsible for him, in his own way. The only problem was that he wasn’t sure how to start the conversation –

“Do you like Wei Wuxian?” he blurted out, then felt his face go bright red. He hadn’t meant to ask it that way! After all, who didn’t know how much Lan Wangji disliked Wei Wuxian? He was always glaring at him and saying he was speaking nonsense and telling him to get lost and –

Lan Wangji nodded.

Jin Zixuan blinked. He did? But then why –

“Oh,” he said, suddenly realizing. “You’re socially awkward, too!”

Lan Wangji frowned at him, and Jin Zixuan waved his hands.

“No, no, I don’t mean that as an insult,” he said hastily, trying to cover for his blunder. “It’s like me! I always say the wrong thing, so most of the time I try not to say anything – of course people always get the wrong idea anyway, thinking I’m being quiet because I’m looking down at them…Wei Wuxian’s getting better at understanding people, but he’s still not very good at it, either. I bet he has no idea! If you like him, you should say as much.”

Lan Wangji shook his head.

“…I could say it for you, if you want?”

Even more urgent head-shaking.

Honestly, if Lan Wangji were a woman, Jin Zixuan would’ve thought that he had a crush.

As it was, he was probably just like Jin Zixuan: naturally awkward, and shy about it, too.

“It’s all right,” he said encouragingly. “Next time they throw a party, you can come and sit with me; we can have tea and pretend not to know them. It’s what I always do.”

Lan Wangji stared at him for a long moment, and then finally nodded very slowly.

“I appreciate the offer,” he said, voice neutral. “Thank you.”

When the time came and the Wen sect pushed things too far, naturally Jin Zixuan stood up for Mianmian.

Wei Wuxian, Jiang Cheng, and Lan Wangji all did, too.

Naturally, this made Jin Zixuan feel like complete crap on their account – Mianmian was his friend, his sect, and naturally he had a responsibility towards her; the rest of them were just helping because they were good people, and good friends. But at this point they’d done it, and Wen Chao was angry at them all over it, and there was nothing to be done about it.

And then there was the Xuanwu of Slaughter, and they were all trapped inside with it.

Sometimes, he really hated the Wen sect. Often, even.

“Jiang Cheng, you and Jin Zixuan lead the way out,” Wei Wuxian instructed. “No, don’t protest! You’re heirs of Great Sects; everyone will follow you and listen to you, and that’s critical – you’ll need to evade the Wen sect’s efforts to recapture you. That means cohesion, and cohesion means hierarchy. I’ll stay behind to distract the Xuanwu…”

“That’s a terrible idea,” Jiang Cheng exclaimed.

Jin Zixuan nudged him. “Wei Wuxian’s usually right about this sort of thing,” he reminded him. It was a good thing they’d gotten over that period in their lives when Jiang Cheng thought Wei Wuxian was an evil thief who wanted to take away his older sister and Jin Zixuan’s rightful spouse, when they’d fought all the time while Jin Zixuan desperately tried to get between them. He still had no idea what magic alchemy had happened that had suddenly made them best friends – he suspected Mianmian, or maybe Jiang Yanli – but he was deeply grateful for it. “And we can’t risk the majority. Preserve human life above all else, remember? Teacher Lan’s lessons were very clear.”

“I will remain with Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said, to no one’s surprise. They’d been more or less inseparable after Jin Zixuan had recruited Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang to help them get along better after Wei Wuxian’s temporary exile to the Library Pavilion had ended. It helped that Lan Qiren had pulled Wei Wuxian aside for personal lessons to help him catch up with the rest of them, and that those had somehow metamorphosed into afternoon sessions about inventing new types of musical cultivation techniques in which Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian were the most enthusiastic, and only, students.

Best of all, it had given the rest of them a chance to finally actually do their work.

Well, not Nie Huaisang, but that was only to be expected.

“But your leg –” Wei Wuxian started, and Jin Zixuan nudged him.

“He’ll only be more worried if you don’t let him stay back and join you,” he said reasonably. “Anyway, it’s good for you to have an incentive not to detour into some big flashy heroic bullshit.”

“Awww, but Jin Zixuan, I like big flashy heroic bullshit!”

Jin Zixuan was, by this point, almost entirely convinced that Wei Wuxian actually was the biological child of Wei Changze, and that his father had lied, both about the man’s supposed infertility and possibly about having slept with Cangse Sanren at all. From Jiang Cheng’s stories, inherited from his father, it seemed that Wei Changze was also the sort of person who went in for big flashy heroic bullshit and reckless humor, the sort that would win him a disciple of an immortal mountain as a bride; it certainly seemed more likely than him sharing blood with Jin Zixuan or his father or even Jin Zixun, all of whom tended towards arrogance, but whose flash was all in their clothing.

Not that it mattered at this late date, of course. They were brothers now – as Nie Huaisang would put it, there were no takebacks allowed.

“No bullshit, you hear me?” Jin Zixuan repeated, looking pointedly at Wei Wuxian. “Not allowed. Take care of yourself, okay? Don’t make me have to tell Mistress Jiang that I lost her favorite idiot friend.”

“You tell her?” Jiang Cheng grumbled. “I’ll have to tell her. All right, let’s go.”

Jiang Yanli was not impressed with the fact that they’d left Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji alone in a cave with a giant murderous turtle.

She still made them soup and gave them bandages to wrap up their bloody feet, though.

(Jin Zixuan was never going to make a good impression on her, no matter what Jiang Cheng said.)

“Wen Chao has demanded recompense for the mess at the Nightless City,” Jin Zixuan’s mother said, reading a letter. Her lips curled up in a strange little smile. “He said Wei Wuxian’s right hand would do.”

“Mother,” Jin Zixuan exclaimed, leaping to his feet with his eyes wide. He’d only been home a week from the indoctrination camp, and Wei Wuxian was still lying in bed most of the time, pretending he wasn’t exhausted; Wen Chao must have sent the letter almost immediately after he’d realized they’d escaped. “You can’t be serious!”

“Why not?” she asked. “It’s just what the little bastard deserves, always trying to outshine you.”

Jin Zixuan shook his head, frantically trying to think of a way out of this, because he knew his mother wouldn’t so much as hesitate to order such an atrocity. She’d never forgiven Wei Wuxian for the possibility of being a threat to Jin Zixuan’s position, however remote the chance, and she’d tried very hard to convince Jin Zixuan of it, too – it was the only thing they didn’t agree on, the only thing Jin Zixuan didn’t yield to her on, and he hated every moment of it.

But not as much as his mother hated it.

It was the only thing she couldn’t control in his life, and she hatedit, and hated Wei Wuxian for it, too.

(She couldn’t hate Jin Zixuan. She couldn’t, because he had the right blood, because he was her son, because he was the heir of Lanling Jin and the source of all her power. But sometimes, when the light was dim and she glanced over too quickly and thought she saw his father when she looked at him, he thought that she wanted to.)

“You can’t be serious,” Jin Zixuan said a second time, keeping calm by sheer willpower. No one but him would dare to object if his mother made a move, especially in his father’s absence…and even if his father was there, Jin Zixuan wasn’t sure his father cared enough about Wei Wuxian to endure another fight with his fearsome wife. “Mother, he’s my servant – my responsibility. Whatever he does is my responsibility, whether to my credit or to my deficit. That’s how that works. They may be asking for Wei Wuxian’s hand, but who’s to say, when they come to claim it, that they won’t seek mine instead?”

“They wouldn’t dare.”

“It’s the Wen sect,” Jin Zixuan reminded her. “What don’t they dare?”

She pursed her lips, thinking it over, and for a moment he thought he’d won. “Perhaps,” she allowed, and before he could even breath a sight of relief continued, “But no matter. They’ve set the price, and we can pay it, so why not? We can cut off his hand and send it to them as a peace offering in advance. After all, they’re important allies of ours, and he’s just a bastard.”

“But –”

“No, A-Xuan. No more arguing; I’ve decided.” Her smile broadened. “We’ll do it now.”

Jin Zixuan couldn’t fight with his mother. He’d never had the courage – he was as spineless as his father.

Almost as spineless.

“Yes, Mother,” he said, and drew his sword.

“A-Xuan..?”

“My servant, my responsibility,” he reminded her, and he knew that she’d misunderstood, that she thought that he was going to go take care of the grim task himself. He knew, because for a brief moment in time she looked happy – not true joy, but the only way she ever looked happy for as long as he could remember, like she’d won one over on someone and gotten her way despite everyone’s efforts. He hated to disappoint her. “I have my honor to think of, too.”

Jin Zixuan sent Wei Wuxian to the Lotus Pier, bearing words of warning. His father’s spies had reported that the Wen sect would probably target them first, using Jiang Cheng’s interference in the Xuanwu cave as an excuse – there wasn’t any point going after the Lan sect a second time, and the Jin sect were longstanding allies of Wen Ruohan, with Jin Guangshan being a coward at heart; if Wen Ruohan could keep him out of the inevitable war for a little longer by playing nice, he would.

Word came back not long after that they’d been right: the Lotus Pier had been destroyed.

It also said that Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli were missing – missing, but not dead. It didn’t say anything about their parents, and that was suspicious, too.

Maybe sending Wei Wuxian had helped after all.

“We should reach out to the Nie sect,” Jin Zixuan told his father. “With our money and their strength, we can resist the Wen sect long enough for the smaller sects to catch up.”

“The Wen sect is all-powerful,” his father objected. “What’s even the point of resisting? We’d be better off reaching out to them to see if we can reach a peaceful agreement.”

“We’ve already seen what agreement they want to reach,” Jin Zixuan said, and his father’s gaze dropped guiltily to his waist. Jin Zixuan didn’t bother looking down himself. He didn’t do that much, these days. “Am I your heir or am I not? You promised me that I’d inherit a sect, not slavery. Reach out to the Nie sect.”

Jin Zixuan should not talk that way to his father. He had always been a filial son, and a spineless one; his father’s son, and nothing else. The only thing he had going for him was the right blood – and even that wasn't that sure a bet, these days. He knew his father was already thinking about Jin Zixun in a way that suggested that all those rumors about his ‘cousin’ having a different father than the one everyone said he had might have some merit.

It seemed, though, that when pushed to it, he was also his mother’s son.

He hoped she choked on the knowledge.

“Reach out to the Nie sect,” he said again. “With all the cultivation world uniting, the Wen sect’s fall is inevitable. If we don’t act now, we’ll be seen as cowards, hanging back and waiting to see how things fall out to eke out the best advantage – if we act, we’ll be seen as heroes.”

“But what if you’re wrong, and the Wen sect does win?”

“Then we’ll tell Sect Leader Wen that we’re perfectly positioned to negotiate the other sects’ terms of surrender, and use that to win anyway,” Jin Zixuan said, less because he thought that was an acceptable course of action and more because he knew it would be what his father would do anyway. “Call the Nie sect.”

“I’m going to kill you,” Jiang Cheng hissed, wild-eyed, and Jin Zixuan blinked at him, taken aback.

“Is it because I wasn’t able to do more to help with the Lotus Pier?” he asked, feeling helpless. “I really did try to convince my father to send more people, but I barely even got him not to block my sending Wei Wuxian –”

“Not because of that!”

Jin Zixuan took a step back. “Uh, then –”

“You cut off your own hand you maniac!”

“The situation –” Jin Zixuan started backing up. “It was necessary – Wei Wuxian, help!”

“No, he’s right,” Wei Wuxian said, arms crossed. His eyes were teary, but they’d been that way since he’d left Jinlin Tower – ever since the Wen sect’s letter. “You’re a maniac, and Jiang Cheng’s going to kill you, and you’re going to deserve it.”

Lan Wangji, standing beside him, nodded.

“It’s not that bad, really.” Jin Zixuan tried to explain. “My mother and father would never have accepted anything else – threats to me are the only thing that work on them, and even that’s stopped working after all these years. Only a real injury would have an impact. If they hadn’t been so shocked, they would’ve just continued to ignore what the Wen sect was doing, or offered them an olive branch, and then then the Wen sect would’ve used that as an opportunity to come and divide up everyone else. We’d lose precious time to regroup, and the Wen sect would only get stronger and stronger –”

“You. Cut. Off. Your. Hand!”

“The Wen sect demanded the hand of the person who started the rebellion in the Xuanwu cave,” Jin Zixuan said quietly. “That was me, not Wei Wuxian. Why should he pay my debts?”

Everyone still seemed very upset, but maybe a little less murderous. Definitely a lot more teary-eyed.

“Couldn’t you have at least picked your other hand?” Wei Wuxian mumbled. “Your right hand – that’s your sword arm.”

Jin Zixuan shrugged. “They demanded the right hand,” he said. “Anyway, it’s fine, I’ve been using my left, and it’s been going smoothly enough…you know, I think I might actually be left-handed? I never knew; everyone always made me use my right.”

“Does it hurt?” Lan Wangji asked suddenly, and Jin Zixuan hesitated, not sure how to respond to that.

Unfortunately, everyone else took that in the worst way possible, and insisted on taking care of him, no matter how much he tried to explain that it didn’t hurt, not really, not anymore; it was just the strangest feeling of absence. Like something that had always been there wasn’t there anymore.

A bit like his mother. She wasn’t talking to him anymore.

He was a terrible son, and would probably end up spending eternity in some afterlife hell being tortured for failing to properly honor his parents.

He’d already resigned himself.

“How are your parts of the war going?” he asked, trying to change the subject. “Chifeng-zun says it’s going well, but you know how he is; it’s all business with him, you never hear any stories. Did Wei Wuxian really knock out old Sect Leader Jiang when he refused to leave the Lotus Pier? Tell me he didn’t.”

“He did,” Jiang Cheng said, and he looked amused about it – maybe he’d be in the next boiling pot over in the afterlife of unfilial descendants. “He was a little frantic, you see, on account of not wanting to fail you by letting them die. After all, you had just cut off your own hand for him…”

“Are you ever going to let that drop?”

“Sure. As soon as you have two hands again.”

“…so, never.”

“Yes,” Jiang Cheng said patiently. “Never. Never ever, if that makes it clearer for you.”

Jin Zixuan’s new hand was made of steel and wire, under the gilding, and functioned using some of the innovative new talismans that Wei Wuxian had invented. He couldn’t help but hope that they weren’t part of the subset that constituted demonic cultivation because people were being really weird about that.

“It’s like people wanted for me to just die in the Burial Mounds,” Wei Wuxian complained. He was dressed in black and grey and red, which he’d apparently adopted as his new sect colors – Jin Zixuan had only managed to send him out of Lanling the first time by officially ejecting him from the Jin sect, a decision his father had initially endorsed but now, he suspected, was regretting.

It was a lot easier to throw out a servant than it was to invite back the founder of demonic cultivation, especially now that he was a war hero and a sect leader.

“You didn’t have to be in the Burial Mounds to begin with,” Jin Zixuan reminded him, to no avail. “I know I said I needed an army because my father wasn’t supplying us properly, but I didn’t mean ‘invent an entirely new cultivation technique and raise an army of the dead’. You know that, right?”

Wei Wuxian shrugged it off, because of course he did.

“You know, they’re calling me the Yiling Patriarch?” he said, and grinned. “It’s because the Burial Mounds are in Yiling, and because I’m founding my own sect. Or whatever. Like I wouldn’t be supporting you, anyway.”

“It has to be your own sect because otherwise you might be forced to share your secret techniques,” Jin Zixuan explained, not for the first time. “Rogue cultivators don’t have the same protections that sects do, even small sects. It doesn’t matter if you’re the only person in it. Or, well, you and Lan Wangji, I guess.”

“I still can’t believe he’s willing to leave the Lan sect to join me,” Wei Wuxian sighed happily. “He’s such a good friend.”

Jin Zixuan wasn’t sure about the strength of his new hand, which was the only reason he didn’t try to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration. “You’re a bad influence, you know,” he said instead of trying to explain to Wei Wuxian that people didn’t generally leave their natal sects for the sake of a ‘good friend’. “I nearly hit a girl the other day.”

“You did? You? What’d she do?”

“She gave me soup and implied that she’d made it,” Jin Zixuan said. “Except it tasted exactly the same as the soup Mistress Jiang is always making for you – I’ve had it recently enough to know. Sure enough, I push the issue a bit and it turns out it was Mistress Jiang’s. The girl was just trying to claim credit as an excuse to get close to me.”

He sighed. He’d been so angry about it. They were at war! People were dying, losing their homes, losing everything, and this stupid girl could only think about how to plot and scheme to try to get to a prized position as the future Madame Jin. Had his mother done the same, when it’d been his father…?

“You’ve had shijie’s soup recently?” Wei Wuxian asked. His expression looked slightly odd. “Shijie made you soup?”

“Yeah, I think she’s been dropping off whatever’s left over at my tent when she’s done,” Jin Zixuan said, shaking his head. Jiang Yanli was so nice, really truly genuinely nice. He’d never met anyone like her. “Could you thank her for me? I appreciate the thoughtfulness – it’s filling enough that I don’t need to go to the mess, which means there’s more left over for everyone else.”

“…sure,” Wei Wuxian said. “I’ll tell her. Or, and here’s a thought – why don’t you tell her yourself?”

“Why would I? You’re the one she likes,” Jin Zixuan said, puzzled. “I mean, you’re her adopted little brother, aren’t you? She’s practically your second soulmate, after Lan Wangji.”

“I’m really busy,” Wei Wuxian announced, despite having been lazing around complaining that they didn’t have any encounters with the Wen sect lined up for a whole week only a few moments before. “I couldn’t possibly take the time out of my schedule to go talk to her – you see, I’ve had an idea, which is going to keep me very busy…in fact, I’m not even going to be here at all! I need to go to the Lan sect encampment to consult with Teacher Lan.”

Discovering that Lan Qiren had a mad scientist streak when it came to musical cultivation had been extremely disquieting, Jin Zixuan reflected. The world might’ve been better off if Lan Qiren had never had a chance to actually get friendly with Wei Wuxian – Wei Wuxian provided the terrible ideas, Lan Qiren scolded him about them and then helped him smooth the kinks out of them anyway.

Teacher for a day, father for a lifetime…

“All right,” Jin Zixuan said, though he still didn’t exactly understand what had just happened. “I’ll go talk to her, I guess.”

“I just wanted to make sure you know you’re not obligated to make me soup or anything,” Jin Zixuan said, not sure where this conversation had gone off the rails.

Probably around the time that Jiang Yanli had started smiling at him, because he always turned into an idiot whenever that happened. She was so very nice, not just average at all no matter what anyone said, and blissfully down-to-earth – she wouldn’t be wasting her time and everyone else’s thinking about how to politically advance herself despite there being a war on. She spent all her time learning field medicine and helping cook meals for the mess and –

And he’d better stop thinking because he was turning red again.

“I enjoy making soup for you,” Jiang Yanli said peaceably. “Especially since I know you enjoy it, too.”

“I do! It’s just, I don’t know, you already do so much, with the medics and organizing and everything…It’s – uh – I – listen, I know our parents – you don’t have to pay attention to that. I only have one hand, I’m not – don’t feel obligated, not because of that. And don’t let Wei Wuxian make you think making soup is the only thing you’re good for, no matter how much he likes it, okay? You do so much more than just that!”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, covering her smile with her hand. “You’re very sweet, you know.”

Jin Zixuan made an incoherent sound.

He would need to do something in return, he thought, a little frantic; he really didn’t know how to deal with a sincere compliment from someone he actually liked. Maybe poetry? Girls were said to like poetry. He couldn’t write poetry worth a damn, but he could pay someone –

She kissed him on the cheek.

All thought abruptly departed.

“Don’t worry, it’s not inappropriate – after all, we’re already engaged,” Jiang Yanli said cheerfully. “Which I’m very good with, so don’t worry about that. Good luck in your next battle, Jin-gongzi.”

At some point she must have left, because she wasn’t there anymore, and Jin Zixuan was still opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water.

Mianmian peeked in, then snickered. “Oh no,” she said. “She broke him. Everyone! Come look! She totally broke him!”

“Did you actually cut off your hand to save a servant?” Jin Guangyao asked.

“It was a bit more complicated than that,” Jin Zixuan said, uncomfortable, then added, “Welcome to the family.”

Jin Guangyao smiled.

For some reason, Jin Zixuan felt a shiver run up his spine. He didn’t think he liked this new brother of his, and he felt bad about it – he’d welcomed Wei Wuxian whole-heartedly, hadn’t he? Was it really that different when it actually was someone of his own blood?

He didn’t like that thought.

“I hope we can be friends,” he said, willing it to be true, and Jin Guangyao murmured something agreeable in return.

Jin Zixuan wished he liked him.

“My mother is going to hate you,” he said, because he knew that she would. “If she does, let me know, and I’ll try to stop her…not just her. If anyone treats you wrong, just tell me. I’ll stand up for you.”

Jin Guangyao smiled again.

“You’re so kind,” he said, and for some reason Jin Zixuan had the feeling that he didn’t mean it at all.

Jin Zixuan had been engaged since before he was born, and it still somehow came as a surprise to find himself married. Not just the event, either – these days he woke up with his wife in his arms and was forced to just stare at her lying there in the soft morning light and wonder how he got so lucky.

He was married.

To a very nice girl, who actually seemed to like him a great deal – she’d made that clear enough when she’d had a chance. Very clear, in fact, which was why there was also a very slight curve in her belly that meant that soon enough he wouldn’t just be married, but a father.

“You’d tell me if I was dreaming, right?” he asked Wei Wuxian, who was visiting again. He did that a lot, but in fairness he didn’t really have a settled place to live – everyone knew the supposed ‘sect’ he’d founded was little more than a sham. He’d been technically kicked out of the Jin sect and refused all offers to rejoin, and it seemed he wasn’t quite ready to scandalize the entire cultivation world by marrying into the Lan sect no matter what Lan Xichen had been hinting. Sometimes he and Lan Wangji spent time at the Lotus Pier with Jiang Cheng, or the Unclean Realm with Nie Huaisang under Nie Mingjue’s long-suffering gaze…everyone called Wei Wuxian the Yiling Patriarch, on account of him ‘founding’ his sect there – or rather, summoning up extra resentful energy from the Burial Mounds for the purposes of obtaining an army while minimizing the number of disturbed graves – but he wasn’t, not really. He didn’t live there or anything.

Who would want to live there?

“I would,” Wei Wuxian agreed, but he didn’t follow it up with teasing or anything the way he usually did.

He just looked very uncharacteristically perturbed.

“What is it?” Jin Zixuan asked. “Can I help?”

“No heroic bullshit,” Wei Wuxian said at once, which meant that there was a possibility of heroic bullshit. Given Wei Wuxian’s personality, that also meant that it was heroic bullshit that would be bad for the Jin sect, which he still felt bad about on account of them raising him and all…in all honesty, it might be a good thing in the long run that Jin Zixuan’s father and mother had been so awful to Wei Wuxian as a kid, and that he’d known it. If they’d been good to him, he never would have been willing to leave. “But, uh, remember Wen Ning?”

Jin Zixuan blinked. Wei Wuxian had told him some stories: a junior disciple of the Wen sect, from a branch family – Dafan Wen – who’d helped Wei Wuxian out a few times when he’d been smuggling the Jiang clan to freedom.

More than a few times: he’d been Wei Wuxian’s first disciple in matters of resentful energy, which Wei Wuxian had apparently been thinking of since forever and started playing around with more or less the moment he was no longer officially tied to a sect, and had been a valuable contact during the early period of the war before events had changed and he’d been lost.

“Yes,” he said. “What about him?”

He hadn’t thought of Wen Ning in ages, beyond abstractly hoping he was doing well. It might be hard, with a surname as he had, but surely there was somewhere in the cultivation world for those surnamed Wen – Wei Wuxian had argued fiercely in favor of leniency for the remaining Wen cultivators, and the Lan sect had backed him, thanks to Lan Wangji. The rest of them had been exhausted, Nie Mingjue, Lan Xichen, Jiang Cheng and his parents, even Jin Zixuan…his father had ended up volunteering their sect to help with resettlement of the refugees, which had been a pleasant surprise.

Sure, Jin Zixuan knew his father well enough to know that he was only doing it for the clout and possible advantage it would give him, but he was pretty sure the Wen civilians didn’t especially care why they were going to get a reprieve from death and a new place to live, only that they did.

“I’ll get there,” Wei Wuxian said. “It’s a bit complicated…you know how Jin Zixun’s in charge of resettlement?”

Jin Zixuan nodded, puzzled. “What about it?”

“You can’t do that!” one of the guards shouted at Wei Wuxian. “We’re disciples of the Jin sect –”

“Is that so,” Jin Zixuan said, and they all turned to look at him, each one of them blanching in utter horror. “And why didn’t I know that my Jin sect had such people as you?”

“Where’s Wen Ning?” Wen Qing asked Wei Wuxian, looking desperate. “I don’t see him…Where is he?!”

“That monster?” one of the guards blurted out.

“My brother is not a monster!”

“He’s been hiding in the woods,” one of the Wen civilians volunteered. “He’s been raiding the camp, rescuing people who are being abused –”

“Our response was reasonable in light of his aggression,” the guard argued. “He used demonic cultivation – he’s a monster! We had no choice –”

“We’re going to need to question them,” Jin Zixuan said to Lan Wangji, who was looking faintly murderous in his usual righteous sort of way. “To find out who’s their backing – Jin Zixun wouldn’t have dared something like this, not on his own. Can you bind them for me?”

It was his father.

Of course.

“A-Yao, what do you want?” Jin Zixuan asked, and Jin Guangyao stopped in his tracks, staring at him in confusion – as well he should, since he’d only come into Jin Zixuan’s study in order to say good morning on his way to breakfast. “No, sorry, that’s not what I meant. I meant, you know, in life.”

Jin Guangayo blinked at him.

Probably not the best question to spring on someone before breakfast, Jin Zixuan reflected.

“It’s about the trouble that my – that our father got into,” Jin Zixuan explained. “The other cultivation sects are furious to no end that he took advantage of their trust in order to do such a disgraceful thing…I’ve ordered Zixun to be confined for now, and I suspect he’ll have to be banished to some country house for a few years. And as you know, my father will be retiring soon and handing over the position of sect leader to me…”

Neither of them especially wanted that to happen, his father as loathe to give up power as Jin Zixuan was to take it. But what other solution was there after such a scandal?

The Lan sect, ever concerned with morality, had been horrified when they’d found out what had happened; the Jiang sect, despite their close relationship to the Jin sect, had immediately denounced it, and Jiang Yanli, who was Wei Wuxian’s friend, was the very first to speak. The Nie sect, never a firm ally for the Jin sect, was growling about righteousness, and if Nie Mingjue was sincere about that being his only concern – and having worked with the man, Jin Zixuan believed he was – then there were plenty of others in the Nie sect that had their eyes on the greater influence and power that would accrue to their sect if Jin Zixuan’s father were allowed to bring his sect down with him.

Handing over power was the only way to make sure their Jin sect remained strong.

“He won’t be alone, at least,” Jin Zixuan sighed. “I won him that much.”

Jiang Fengmian had agreed to step down from his position as sect leader as well, making it seem as though Jin Guangshan’s retirement were voluntary, part of a joint agreement of the older generation handing over power to the newer. Everyone would know in their hearts that that wasn’t the case, but it would be far less shameful than the alternative – saving a little bit of his father’s face.

“You did well,” Jin Guangyao said, listening with a neutral expression. “In uncovering everything, and revealing it.”

“I would’ve brought you in to help, but I couldn’t,” Jin Zixuan explained. “I know he asked you to help in finding demonic cultivators to join the Jin sect, and…”

He hesitated.

“He implicated me?” Jin Guangyao asked.

He had. Their father was shameless: he’d even sought to move all blame to Jin Guangyao’s back, whether as the actual mastermind or, when that was rejected, as the inciter of the scheme. Nonsense, of course.

Anyway, it didn’t matter. Even if Jin Guangyao had suggested it, it would have been his father’s responsibility to refuse.

“No one believes it,” Jin Zixuan said, which was only partially a lie. “Even Chifeng-zun laughed in his face and said you wouldn’t be nearly that stupid.”

Jin Guangyao looked – oddly pleased by that, if Jin Zixuan had to guess.

“Still, it’s awkward,” he said, rubbing his head. “People talk, and our subsidiary sects have never been as quiet as some others…you don’t have to tell me right now what you’re planning, or what you want in the long term. But maybe – uh – you have two sworn brothers. Is there any chance…”

“I could go visit them for a while?”

Jin Zixuan smiled helplessly. “I wish it weren’t necessary. And if you did know what you wanted, I could take it into account when planning the future…”

“No, no,” Jin Guangyao said. “Visiting my sworn brothers will be – fine.” He looked thoughtful. “You said Chifeng-zun didn’t think I was involved?”

“Zewu-jun was also vociferous in your defense,” Jin Zixuan said, trying to elide the fact that it wasn’t so much that Nie Mingjue didn’t think Jin Guangyao was capable of such atrocities, but rather that he declared, and loudly, that if Jin Guangyao had intended to do something horrific like that, he’d have handled it better. Judging by Jin Guangyao’s amused expression, he might have guessed anyway. “I appreciate your understanding.”

Jin Guangyao smiled.

Jin Zixuan thought he might even mean it, this time.

“I’m an uncle!” Wei Wuxian crowed, holding Jin Ling in his arms. “I’m an uncle, I’m an uncle!”

“Big deal,” Jiang Cheng grumbled, which would be more convincing if he wasn’t beaming foolishly. “So am I. Hand him over...hey, A-Ling! It's me, your jiujiu!”

“Can I be an honorary uncle?” Nie Huaisang asked – Jin Zixuan had no idea when he’d even arrived, or why he was here, or anything, really, but that was probably because he hadn’t really slept on account of over-excitement. “I mean, my brother’s sworn brothers with Jin-xiong’s brother, so it works, right?”

“That’s ridiculous –” Jiang Cheng started.

“No, I love it!” Wei Wuxian immediately declared. “That means Lan Zhan’s his uncle, too!”

“Wei Wuxian…!”

“Don’t worry,” Jin Zixuan said, hugging Jiang Cheng out of sheer excitement. “You’re his only jiujiu, right? Everyone else is related through me, so they have to share.”

Jiang Cheng seemed pleased by that, and Wei Wuxian laughed.

Nie Huaisang was calculating on his fingers. “You know,” he said thoughtfully. “This might be the most well-connected baby in the entire cultivation world? The only thing we’re missing is the Wen sect…Jiang-xiong, how about you marry Wen Qing? Then we’d have them all!”

“That is not how I’m determining my marriage!” Jiang Cheng yelped, but notably didn’t reject the idea.

Jin Zixuan looked at Jiang Yanli, who looked back at him, and they both started laughing.

There was more noise after that, and eventually Jin Ling woke up and started crying, making everyone start fussing like a bunch of old hens surrounding a long-suffering Jiang Yanli who’d already grown accustomed to it in a way the rest of them hadn’t.

It suddenly occurred to Jin Zixuan that everyone who was here was here because they wanted to be. Not because of his name or his wealth, not because he was Sect Leader Jin, not because of the circumstances of his birth, but just because they liked him – because they wanted to celebrate with him, and to cherish his child, to share his joy.

It was a good day.

All the days were a little good, but this one was especially good.

#mdzs #jin zixuan #wei wuxian #mianmian #jiang cheng #lan wangji #jin guangyao #jiang yanli #my fic #my fics #right hand man

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nightingaelic · 3 years

Note

Fallout New Vegas companions react to taking the Courier's place in Dead Money.

Arcade Gannon: Following the obligatory panic attack and subsequent state of dejection, Arcade would suck it up and start trying to get the heist done with as quickly as possible. He’d roll his eyes at Dean Domino, set aside Dog and God’s identity crisis for later and check Christine over for basic first aid purposes before trudging along toward the various goals set by Elijah. I think he’d opt for stealth over combat when encountering the ghost people out of a sense of self-preservation, but he would probably pocket some clothing and blood samples from any that Dog took down along the way to the casino. The story of the Sierra Madre would fascinate him, particularly the bits and pieces left behind by jaded treasure hunters and Elijah’s previous teams of victims. Arcade would see it as a microcosm of what’s happening in the wider world, a stellar example of partners turning on each other in pursuit of some perceived bright future attached to the hidden treasures of the old world. Vera’s desperate graffiti in her hotel room would speak to him most powerfully: LET GO. He would probably try to argue with Elijah about the viability of the former Brotherhood Elder’s plans, throwing some Latin phrasing in for good measure. No matter his level of success in this, Arcade would stow away as many gold bars as he could to lug home and use to sparingly and anonymously fund the efforts of the Followers of the Apocalypse.

Craig Boone: During his first encounter with one of the ghost people popping up again after being downed by his sniper rifle, Boone would grunt in annoyance, swap his ammo for hollow points and switch from aiming at chests to aiming at heads. Ghost people bob and weave admirably, but Boone has a gift, and up until he actually got inside the casino, his main obstacle would be avoiding the noxious cloud. The holograms, on the other hand, would probably strike some fear into his heart. After all, how do you destroy something that bullets can’t touch? I don’t think he would put two and two together about the emitters until Christine or Dean pointed them out: From there, it just becomes a scavenger hunt to find the next piece of wall-mounted tech to shoot. Dean, Dog and God would annoy him, but he’d find a kindred spirit in Christine, and would appreciate her ability to convey meaning without words. Hell, he’s pretty good at that himself. Upon finding Elijah, Boone would immediately put a bullet in his head, look at the pile of gold for a few seconds, then walk away and out of the Sierra Madre without looking back. He’d never breathe a word of the place to anyone, but he’d track down all of the Sierra Madre broadcast systems one by one and destroy them, letting the desert swallow the place and its dangers for good.

Lily Bowen: Grandma Lily wouldn’t understand why the angry man was so desperate to get inside the casino, but she’s more than familiar with being a forced follower of doomed causes. As such, she would be kind to her fellow captives, assuring Christine that she would be able to talk “when she’s ready,” admonishing Dean for his rude behavior and telling Elijah that he would catch more cazadores with honey mesquite than with vinegar. A trail of wrecked ghost people would follow her to the casino itself, but dealing with the holograms would be beyond her expertise: That part would have to be left to Christine or Dean. Elijah would receive a lecture once she made it into the vault, but she would probably let him live unless he attacked first. Dog and God, however, would earn the most care and compassion and even cause some introspection. Ultimately, I think she would help the two become one through intense conversation and shared understanding about what it means to be nightkin with no master, and once freed, she would take him to find a home in Jacobstown.

Raul Alfonso Tejada: Upon waking up from being kidnapped by Dog on Elijah's behalf, Raul's immediate reaction would be something like "Again?" followed by "Carajo." Elijah’s insistence on pulling off the heist would annoy him, but Raul is constantly looking for something to occupy his unnaturally-long time on earth, and what is the Sierra Madre if not the Mojave’s most deadly time-waster? He would be sarcastic and exasperated for his entire time wearing the bomb collar, but would find ways to be tender and understanding with Christine, and patient and supportive with Dog and God - after all, he knows what it’s like to struggle with two sides of yourself. Dean, on the other hand, would vex him. Here’s another pre-war ghoul hung up on the promises and mistakes of the past, driven to the point of obsession where he can’t break himself out of the cycle. He can’t let go, and I think that doomed state of being would speak to Raul personally. I don’t think he and Dean would get along, but I don’t think they would have a final showdown in the Tampico either. Instead, I think Dean would watch Raul exit the vault’s elevator, flip one souvenir gold bar in his hand with a wry smile, then pocket it before walking out into the wastes, and the pre-war lounge singer would feel a twinge of kindred sadness before going back to rummaging through the casino’s secrets.

Rose of Sharon Cassidy: Following a tense standoff with Elijah while refusing to do as he says, Cass would eventually relent and start dragging her feet around the villa to assemble the ragtag heist crew. She’d hold each of them at a distance, intent on getting herself out alive and refusing to be responsible for anyone else. Nods of sympathy for Christine, dry comebacks for Dean and a quizzical comment or two for Dog and God would be her limit, at least until they all encountered their turning points inside the casino. Each of them would grow her disdain for Elijah and his methods, but, like Raul, I think she would be most personally affected by Dean’s story. She might find herself arguing with him like the courier did with her, about moving on from failed pasts and striking out into something new. I don’t think she’d take the time to argue with Elijah, though, and would take the first chance she got to lock him in the vault forever. She’d make off with as much gold as she could, of course.

Veronica Santangelo: The Sierra Madre would make Veronica's head explode, though whether or not Elijah could stand her mouth going a million miles a minute once she wakes up would determine whether that would happen literally or figuratively. Tons and tons of pre-war tech lying around! But it's all under a haze of collapsed support beams, toxic gas and ghost people that can jump around like grasshoppers. Father Elijah is alive! But he's trying to break into a casino to build an army of holograms, and he imprisoned Christine. Christine is here! But she's been maimed and abused horribly, and is trying to kill Elijah. I think Elijah would try reasoning with Veronica before threatening her into obeying him - though she would probably figure out how to get the collar off or render it useless within the first 24 hours in the Sierra Madre - but I don’t think he would be able to convince her that his plan to get inside the casino’s vault would benefit the Brotherhood of Steel. The revelations that Christine would bring - the Circle of Steel’s orders, Elijah’s crimes against travelers and treasure hunters, his orchestration of their breakup in order to bring Veronica to the Mojave with him - would probably leave her feeling confused and empty about the man she considers a grandfather figure. She would probably do her best to free Elijah from the casino, but would offer him a choice if she succeeded: Leave the treasures of the Sierra Madre behind and walk away from his accursed quest for power, or remain trapped with what he’d sought. Whatever path he’d choose, Veronica would part ways with him once the vault’s elevator ascended. She’d bundle up Vera’s dress, sigh heavily, then take Christine’s hand and walk away from the Sierra Madre forever.

ED-E: Ironically, I think ED-E would be a good pick for Elijah to use as a pawn in his heist game, though it would be kind of hard for Dog to hook a collar onto the little robot. If Ulysses can speak to the courier through an eyebot’s speakers, then Elijah can probably do the same to his already-assembled team. ED-E doesn’t have a whole lot of personal motivation, so I think the bot would just beep and go along with whatever it was ordered to do. Christine or Dean would probably take the lead, and ED-E would zoom around the villa, dodging throwing knife spears and trumpeting his location without a care. Once inside the casino, ED-E would again defer to his leader’s orders, with the added benefit of being a robot keeping him from the holograms’ notice. If allowed into the vault, ED-E would diligently pick up exactly six of the gold bars and carry them home to the Mojave, where he would deposit them at the bewildered courier’s feet with a triumphant beep.

Rex: While much easier to slap a collar on than ED-E, I don't think Rex would fare better than the little robot in terms of leadership abilities. As an ally to whoever gets put in charge, though, he would also be invaluable at sneaking around the Sierra Madre’s various threats, particularly the ghost people. He would take a special shine to Christine and God, who would recognize the canine as a fellow being exploited by powers out of his control. Rex would absolutely hate the holograms, who smell of nothing, and Elijah, who smells of desperation and indifference. He would completely ignore the gold bars. Once freed, he would whine and beg and nudge Christine until she relented and left the city of the dead, leading her home to the New Vegas strip and another woman whose scent told him of metal bunkers and longing.

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nishigo · 3 years

Text

an anomaly. // bennett x reader.

a page from the book of memories.

[ p a g e 3 2 9 ｡ ]

authors note: hello! this is my first ever attempt at something for genshin impact. this is longer than i expected, and there may be errors here and there, so i am sorry about that in advance. i do hope you will enjoy it though. i got bennett yesterday after rolling and although many say he’s annoying...he’s very much like me in real life. coincidence? i think not. Σ('◉⌓◉’) i also rolled a girl named keqing. she seems nice, and is a five star, but i don’t know if she’s rare. i truly don’t know how this system works, apologies. T^T anyways, traveler, happy reading. (*'▽'*)

word count : 2191

tw : none that i can think of. very much fluff. and perhaps a touch of a flirty!reader. :)

request status at time of posting : open.

in which he had finally someone who could balance out his unluckiness.

would you like to read?

＞　行｡ ( y e s )

＞　不行。( n o )

———

Bennett was, to put it simply, confused.

He had just finished a mission with you, being your support the whole entire way through. There had been an offering that had been posted on the tavern’s walls in dark, smudged text that caught his eye at an earlier time. It read that whoever could get rid of the new pop-up hilichurl camp that blocked the path to Liyue would receive a grand sum of Mora. Course, running low on money, Bennett had decided to take up the offer. They would be easy enough to take down, just a simple slash of his sword and a few burns here and there could get the job done in no time. However, there was a problem.

No one would come with him.

Bennett knew that he was very...loud. And he was energetic. And annoying. And, though he hated to admit it...he was unlucky.

Everything seemed stacked up against him. Everyone he turned to in the tavern took a simple glance at him and rejected the offer with no further questions asked. He would try to convince them, but they would simply get more annoyed at his stubbornness and shoo him away with a flick of a hand or some splash of beer to the face. It’s not like he could take the older adventurers out either, they could barely walk on their own two feet. They were so old that they certainly would have shriveled up in the sun if he brought them along. So there that option went, leaving him with practically nothing else to turn to.

But then, if he had no one to go with him, what would happen? Would he continue to be stuck in that tavern? No, he wouldn’t allow himself to waste away like that. He was meant to be out there, in a world that could supply him with the thrill and rush that his heart yearned for. The boy desired to be just as great of an adventurer as the ones who came before him, or perhaps, dare he dream, even greater than them. Bennett desired to be a legend. But being a legend could not be done alone, even if that was what Bennett determined he would forever be, deep in the back of his brain.

Which is why you were such an anomaly.

You were the last person he spoke to that night. He was a complete mess. His shirt was damp with beer and some white wine, his white locks were a birds nest with the goggles sliding off slowly, and his eyes looked devoid of life as he took a deep inhale and they brightened up again. This was his last chance. You were the one who was either going to make or break this plan.

“Hello stranger! I am the great Bennett, and I was wondering if you would be able to help assist me with a mission that was posted on the tavern walls. It’s about the hilichurl camp by Liyue! Although I am rather strong, I need some help so it’s done more efficiently and faster. I’m even willing to split the Mora with you that we make out of it! What do you say?” Bennett recited his lines again, as if he was in an interview of sorts. His leafy green eyes watched as you scrunched up your eyebrows, as if thinking and examining him. Your face was blank other than that, lips in a straight line and hand cupping your cheek. Bennett found it to be quite terrifying. It was such an intimidating look, in fact, that he was about to ask you to forget about it before you spoke first.

“Sure.” You stated simply, a smile forming on your face as you crossed your arms.

“Ahhh, understood, I’ll get goi- WAIT!” The pyro boy turned to look right at you as he gasped. His face was one of shock morphed with a cute, ecstatic look. One could compare it to a puppy of sorts. You were not meant to say yes. You were meant to be like everyone else and reject him. He was dumbfounded as he grabbed a hold of your shoulders and tilted his head.

“You’re not joking?!”

“Course not! Why would I do such a thing?” You rebuked before he giddily jumped up and down while pulling you up to a sweet hug. It was a gentle and firm one, though, he pulled away quickly after realizing he still wreaked of alcohol. You told him you didn’t mind it though, making him rub the back of his head sheepishly and laugh. You two would converse for the night, agreeing to meet up at the gate the next morning so he could lead the way to the camp and also split the mora gained evenly. After the small chat, you would leave the tavern to stay at the local inn for the night and get some rest. Bennett’s eyes were trained on you as the door then closed, realization hitting him like a truck: he found someone. He found a real person to take on a mission. Better yet, they were as gorgeous as they were strong. This was better than any dream he could have made up. Bennett decided he had to turn in for the night soon after you left, taking a spot in his cozy bed under the sheets. His eyes closed as the curtains rustled at the soft wind that blew through the window. The pyro’s last thought before going to bed was that he truly hoped that you would fulfill your end of the deal and show up.

And you kept your promise. You were there as the morning sun rose to reflect your beautiful skin, hair flowing gently in the light breeze as he ran up to you and froze. You looked powerful now that you were out of the tavern and he could see you properly. You had on your adventure gear, dressed appropriately for a mission that required taking out many enemies. What caught his attention, though, was your white cape with golden accents that flowed from behind. Flicking your hood down and off your head, your face was now fully visible as you watched him stare. He was adorable, like a little baby who was just discovering the world for the first time.

“You’re really gonna do this with me?” Bennett asked in wonder. His face was blank as a smirk landed itself on your features. You positioned yourself to stand upright, away from the wall you were leaning on as you held your weapon of choice in your dominant hand. As for the other, you outstretched it towards him with a grin.

“Lead the way.”

Bennett didn’t even have to think twice about it as he eagerly took your hand into his own gloved one and began to lead you out of the city and into the wilderness. He seemed to be very hyper from what you could tell, as he couldn’t seem to stop commenting on how he was destined for greatness, or how thankful he was that you were going to come along with him. He also bombarded you with questions about yourself as well, like if this was your first time in Mondstadt or what kind of element you had control over. He was easily excited, but especially when you told him that you were a traveler that had been moving around place to place to see the sights of the world. It was why you were so strong, you had defeated a wide range of enemies, great and small, on your journeys. Bennett was fascinated by that, drawing him to be more and more curious about you. Alas, the questions and storytelling had to wait. You two had arrived at the camp, and it was time to take some enemies down.

You two ended up making a fantastic duo of sorts. With his sword and experience, he was able to cut down enemies with ease. You did the same, your speed and agility outmatched as you two basically made a massacre out of the camp. His fire would spread through the long grass, and with the natural wind, spread quickly to begin burning it all down. You were quick to come to his aid when he would sometimes get backed against the rocks or a tree, helping him heal with some quick magic you had learned. It wasn’t anything special, but it was enough to keep him up and moving. With such precision and perseverance, your duo was able to defeat the camp with relative ease. However, both you and Bennett were still tired from fighting for so long. You two were out of breath as the fire died out, heaving for air as you gave him a head pat and grinned.

“You did amazing out there. You’re a talented pyro user as well, I’m impressed.” There you went again, making him all confused as he sat there. You just complimented him. A powerful traveler, that has practically defeated every sort of monster there is out there, was impressed by him. Bennett, the unlucky, was impressive? For the first time, he was rendered speechless as he looked at you. It was now night, the moon high in the sky as it illuminated your face. Oh goodness, you looked ethereal. The way the stars were reflected in your eyes, the way the gold of your cape sparkled and flowed behind you, the way you smiled at him, like he was the most handsome boy you had ever seen. The only thing that stopped the comfortable silence between you two was the fact that he shivered when a breeze brushed against his pale, scar littered skin. You snapped out of it and looked him up and down, noticing how a lot of his skin was exposed to the chilly night.

“Here, take this.” You told him as you unbuttoned your cape, taking it off your shoulders. With one swoop, you draped it over his own figure, being as gentle as possible as you buttoned it up again. Bennett was reduced to continuing to stay silent as you clothed him. You placed the hood up on top of his head, a hand on your hip as you grinned at him. It was a bit big on him but nonetheless, it was rather cute. You used your other hand to take his chin gently, making him look you in the eyes. He was rather happy that the hood cast a bit of a shadow, because his cheeks were flushed a hot pink as he was forced to look at you.

“Huh. Looks better on you than it does me.” You commented before he seemed to regain his ability to speak.

“You need this more than me! I-i’m literally a pyro user, I c-can heat myself-” You hushed him, letting go of his chin as you put a finger to his peach pink lips.

“Doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t waste your energy to heat up, especially since we have to walk back to town. I’ll be fine, I’ve been through worse weather situations.” He glanced down at your finger, and then back to you as you dropped your hand and began walking down the path again, back towards the city. Why did you have to be so, so...enchanting? And you were so smooth as well! He had never been so flustered when talking to someone, heck, he was the one who was meant to be doing most of the talking! Though, he supposed that him being talkative didn’t equate to being able to flirt. But something about the thought of you leaving made him pout. It was as if the butterflies were leaving his stomach, but they left him emptier than before.

Bennett refused to be lonely anymore. Not when he had you.

“Hey, darling!~ Would you stop standing there and staring off into space? I know I look wonderful tonight, but we gotta get a move on! We won’t be able to get to town and rest our weary bones if you keep this up!~” You called out to him, making him shake his head and refocus. Right, a bed. Sleep did sound rather good right now, along with a shower and something to quench his thirst. He ran and caught up to you, walking by your side as he grinned. He began to already ask about other missions that the two of you could do together, like gathering supplies for the alchemist or helping around the town for some spare Mora here and there. Bennett then stopped for a moment again, looking at you.

“Would you like to work together again?” There was a moment of silence before you nodded.

“I think I would. We make a great team.” Bennett then continued walking with you, as if time didn’t just stop for a second as he went back to his usual, bubbly nature. The more he thought about it, the happier it made him. More adventures to be made. More memories to be created. All with you at his side the entire time.

And you would make all the difference.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin #genshin oneshot #genshin bennett #bennett #bennett x reader #bennett x reader genshin impact #genshin impact bennett #genshin x reader #aaaAAAAA ITS OUT-#flirty reader? i think yes.#i hope you all like this #maybe kaeya next?#anyways i hope bennett isn’t too ooc #sorry if he is ;3;#hao’s library #the book of memories

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agentrouka-blog · 3 years

Note

what do you think about obara?

Hi there!

Obara would be my third favorite Sand Snake after Sarella and Elia.

Obara Sand always walked too fast. She is chasing after something she can never catch, the prince had told his daughter once, in the captain's hearing. (AFFC, The Captain of Guards)

My goodness, what could it be?

Oh, right. Her mother. Her identity. Her sense of self.

She is the reason I can never ever truly like Oberyn.

“I am the whore's whelp, or had you forgotten?" (AFFC, The Captain of Guards)

No matter how heartbreaking Oberyn’s determination to get justice for Elia’s murder, I can never forgive him for this.

"The day my father came to claim me, my mother did not wish for me to go. 'She is a girl,' she said, 'and I do not think that she is yours. I had a thousand other men.' He tossed his spear at my feet and gave my mother the back of his hand across the face, so she began to weep. 'Girl or boy, we fight our battles,' he said, 'but the gods let us choose our weapons.' He pointed to the spear, then to my mother's tears, and I picked up the spear. 'I told you she was mine,' my father said, and took me. My mother drank herself to death within the year. They say that she was weeping as she died." Obara edged closer to the prince in his chair. "Let me use the spear; I ask no more."

(AFFC, The Captain of Guards)

Oberyn not only suddenly came to take her away from her mother. He did not come to offer her a “better life”, or do his duty to her as her father.

He made her choose.

He demonstrated an absolutely despicable abuse of power. He shows up out of the blue after presumably no contact and no support, assaults and humiliates her mother, a woman already on the very edge of society, and then makes Obara choose between this distorted image of victimized weakness, and his own power. Female tears vs. his phallic symbol. It’s a false dichotomy, the birth place of “not like other girls”, of internalized misogyny, of self-hatred.

She cannot have both. She cannot love both. She must disdain one to reap any benefit from the other. It is a horrifying violation. He erases half of her identity by dragging it through the dirt and creating a clear distinction between himself and his offer, and the woman who has been Obara’s caretaker all her life up to then. Her own mother. Her own sex.

We know that the young red-haired prostitute died trying to save her daughter, little Barra, while Robert had not lifted a finger to support them, and only had scorn for the girl’s choice of name. Was she weak?

Even her mother’s grief and desperate end is turned into a weapon against Obara, instead of proof of her mother’s love, it is proof of her mother’s supposed worthlessness. She must hate her mother because to stop would be to recognize that her father, her sole source of security in the world, was a monster to do this. She must cling to this phallic symbol of a weapon because Oberyn tainted all alternatives. The whore’s whelp she calls herself, spitting on her mother every time.

When she arrives at Sunspear to confront Doran about Oberyn’s death, she asks for troops and permission to sack Oldtown. Her hometown. For the wealth of the Hightowers, supposedly, but somehow her first instinct upon the news of her father’s demise is to attack the place she herself came from, her mother’s city. Begging to use the spear.

Perhaps it is the only way she knows how to express her pain, as Oberyn stole her tears. Self-destruction.

Even Nymeria understands there is a personal motive outside of Oberyn’s death.

“Obara would have me go to war.”

Nym laughed. “Yes, she wants to set the torch to Oldtown. She hates that city as much as our little sister loves it.” (AFFC, The Captain of Guards)

Obara is the only one of the elder Sand Snakes for whom GRRM constructs this kind of look back at her "acquisition" into the royal family, and I sincerely doubt that it is accidental. It is the one that matters, the one that is the most illustrative.

Nymeria has her noble Volantene mother’s beauty and bearing.

Tyene is said to carry her mother’s innocent appearance, and received a religious education at least thorough enough to enable her to “ingratiate herself” with the new high septon. It is, of course, a cynical facade.

Sarella proudly practices the marksmanship of the Summer Islanders of her mother’s heritage.

But Elia and Obara both show the real cracks that counter this hazy facade of the fierce Eight Sand Snakes, liberal Oberyn‘s loyal and independent daughters. They are all an extravagant self-indulgence on Oberyn’s part, created wherever he went and then picked up like a shiny tourist trinket. They all must revolve around him, the reflections of Oberyn in the looking glass of their mothers.

No," Elia broke in. "You're the one they'll want to ransom. You're the heir to Dorne, I'm just a bastard girl. Your father would give a chest of gold for you. My father's dead." (TWOW, Arianne II)

Elia, bless her, has her mother to lean on and still she keenly feels the legal reality of her position. Obara does not even have that.

Sarella out of all the elder Sand Snakes, seems to be the most emotionally independent. She is the only one NOT around all the others in Dorne, and while she follows her father’s footsteps in Oldtown, she practices her mother‘s traditional archery and emphasizes her.

Alleras smiled back at him. "I only buy for friends. And I am no lord's son, I've told you that. My mother was a trader." (AFFC, Prologue)

This healthier balance, this valuing regard for her mother’s heritage (unlike Tyene's pretense) is what makes Sarella truly remarkable to me. She is not hot-headed nor does she seem to be boiling with a thinly veiled fury. She does not seem to advocate for murder, but we see her muse about feeding the people. She is serene, like the black swans on the Godseye, like the swanships, with a steady hand and a sure intention. Whatever exactly that intention may be. Ironically, sexism forces Sarella into a masculine role, as well. But it is a deliberate mask, elegantly worn. Freely worn. Unlike Obara's struggle.

The character in whom I see most parallels with Obara Sand is Jon Snow in his current iteration.

Ned, well-meaning though he may have been, robbed Jon of half of his identity and left him with an image that is considered tainted by the world around him. His mother is as inaccassible as Obara’s mother, emotionally, though for different reasons. Their father’s choices left both of them emotionally crippled to a degree. One mother was erased by silence, rendered invisible. The other, worse, was erased by violent and verbal degradation.

Consequently, it is Obara we see the most seemingly “unhinged”, when she is introduced, the most overtly violent, the most “unfeminine”. This is not an expression of personal taste, nor a handy mask. It is a grim adherence to the choice she was offered.

She is almost thirty, and came to Dorne almost two decades earlier, well before Elia’s murder.

"It has been twenty years, or near enough to make no matter.” (AFFC, The Captain of Guards)

She was somewhere between Sansa’s and Arya’s current age when Elia was killed. Does she perceive the contradiction in Oberyn living for vengeance for Elia, when he treated her own mother not so very very differently? He did not kill her truly, but he erased her just the same, with a violent contempt. A "weak woman", with only tears for weapons, her child ripped from her.

If Obara sees it, she is not letting on. She craves violence. She craves an expression of power to put something where tears might have their place. The way she was taught.

Of course, it would be boring if that is where it was truly headed. Much like Aegon and Jon, much also like Asha Greyjoy who adapted to an extremely male-dominated society, Obara would probably benefit from turning away from her father's looming shadow to a certain degree. I have some hope that GRRM will make room to explore it.

Obara is given a quest of justice and distraction: Darkstar. "Beard him in his den", as Arianne travels to "beard the dragon".

Your Speculation here (by @sayruq) is extremely interesting, placing Obara in the line of defense of peaceful children at the watergardens. The same children she had dismissed earlier, like the child she was not allowed to be. Wielding that spear not for vengeance or self-glorification but in the way it should be wielded: to defend those soft weak things that are precious.

I really hope this is where it's headed, and I really hope she will find her peace in that role.

#obara sand #anti oberyn martell #sexism #violence #sand snakes

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hualianff · 3 years

Text

Thinking of a modern AU where HC is an upcoming track star (middle and long distance runner) who carries the country’s high expectations on his shoulders. It’s his first Olympics and his races are a few of the most anticipated performances in the competition.

XL competes as a javelin and hammer throw athlete. He’s a veteran Olympian with extensive injuries that rendered him unable to properly train for two years after the previous Olympics. Thanks to his competitive experience and performance in the trials, XL qualified for this Olympics.

HC’s room ends up on the same floor as XL’s, just a couple doors down at the end of the hall. They meet at the vending machine at 1 a.m. when most people are asleep.

XL was going to see if there was a lemonade he could have for the night—his blood sugars sometimes get low. He finds a tall guy standing at the vending machine, shoving his money into the slot as it’s repetitively spit out.

“Stupid piece of shit,” the tall guy mutters in Mandarin, trying to press the button before his money is returned. He remains unsuccessful. The stranger finally turns to acknowledge XL’s presence. He gestures to the vending machine, stepping back to allow XL to try.

“Hello,” XL greets in their native language, pulling out his money. He only receives a grunt in response.

XL feeds the slot 150 yen. The machine accepts it. XL presses the sprite button.

Thunk!

The bottle hits the bottom and rolls out of the open lip. XL picks up the sprite bottle and promptly offers it to the other guy.

“This is what you wanted, right?” XL asks, cocking his head slightly. The other guy looks down at XL’s outstretched hand, lowered lids covering most of his eyes.

He gives the smallest of nods.

“Then here you go! My treat,” XL says with a smile. The other guy makes no move to take the sprite, so XL reaches over to grab his hand and physically place the bottle in his palm.

“I- you don’t have to-“ he begins to object.

“I want to! I know how picky machines can be. If your note is wrinkled more than once, the chances of the machine taking it is very low,” XL informs. The other guy loosens the grip on his crumpled piece of money. “If you want, you can pay me back later with a lemonade. But it’s by no means necessary.”

The other guy still doesn’t look up. XL notices just how long his lashes are fanning over his cheeks.

“Thank you,” the stranger quietly says.

“Of course...” XL trails off. “What’s your name?”

“It’s... San Lang.”

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, San Lang. I’m Xie Lian.”

***

The next morning, practice for the running half of the track and field events began bright and early at 6:30 a.m. HC simply did a few stretches and a watered-down run-through of his races. By the time the sun was clearly visible, radiating a soft sunshine, HC and the rest of his teammates had finished.

Beside him, SQX lifts their foot with a hand and stretches their quad, asking, “So, how are you feeling about the 500 meter? Thoughts? Concerns?”

HC grunts, merely running his hand through his damp hair.

“Well, all I’m hoping for is to not cramp in the middle of the sprint like I did in the qualifiers,” SQX barrels on, now stretching their arms behind their head. “That would be a disaster.”

HC listens intently to SQX rambling since they are one of the only other track runner athletes who talks comfortably with HC. As they walk towards their bags, the other half of the track and field event athletes enter the arena.

Among them, HC instantly spots XL in his white uniform, red attire visible behind the half-zipped jacket. He’s speaking with someone to his right, laughing at something the other guy says.

HC politely holds up a hand to signal SQX to pause their story. He digs through the small cooler underneath their bench, then runs over to XL—despite having run a lot already this morning.

“Oh, hi San Lang!” XL exclaims with a wave. He smiles widely, pearly teeth on display that makes HC speechless for a brief moment.

“San Lang?” The guy besides XL questions. HC ignores him, focusing on XL instead.

“Gege, here’s your lemonade,” HC says, holding out a bottle that’s cold to the touch.

XL doesn’t accept it right away, looking at HC’s eyes for the first time, surprise written on his face. XL probably couldn’t see in the darkness of last night, but now in the light of day, he can make out HC’s brown eye and red eye.

HC, the rising track star who has already beaten two records on his qualifying times, is known to have heterochromia.

“San Lang?” XL repeats, confusion evident in his voice.

This was it. XL had figured he hid his name, perhaps thinks HC is an asshole for lying or addressing him as Gege without permission.

The runner silently holds out the drink, eyes shifting towards the ground.

HC didn’t tell XL his name because he wanted to be treated normally for once. His name has been circulating in the new for awhile now, predicting his results left and right. He often receives comments like, “Oh, you’re the track prodigy? You’re very talented, crossing our fingers for gold, yes?”

They put HC on a pedestal while collaring him with their projections.

It’s not only an immense amount of pressure burdening HC, but it’s also thrust him into a spotlight he never desired. He despises being recognized, despises the paparazzi, and hates how the media always intrudes on his business.

Since pursuing track as a professional career, people’s attitudes towards HC rapidly switched. From the lonely orphan nobody wanted, to the quiet peer his peers picked on, to the tsundere student that got on teacher’s nerves, and now an Olympic competitor.

It would be nice for HC to have someone else to connect with when things got overwhelming. Even though they just met, HC hopes to develop an amicable friendship with XL. XL seems like the person to genuinely appreciate people for being themselves.

Fortunately, instead of disgust or disapproval, XL’s face morphs into one of fondness. He accepts the lemonade and looks at the label.

“Ah, it’s my favorite brand!” he happily says, shaking it a bit. “Thank you so much, San Lang.”

HC hums to convey “you’re welcome.” Worried it might appear rude, HC finds the courage to meet XL’s kind eyes. They stare at each other for a long moment, XL with a small smile and HC with a seemingly blank look.

The guy beside XL finally taps XL’s shoulder, saying they should start warming up.

“It looks like I should get going now. I hope you had a wonderful practice!” XL says. He tilts his head to the side, readjusting the strap of his duffel bag.

“I did,” HC says shortly. “I hope Gege’s will be the same.”

XL nods enthusiastically. “See you later, San Lang.” He throws up a peace sign as he walks away.

HC stays rooted in place, heart thudding loudly against his rib cage.

“Who was that?” SQX asks, coming up from behind with HC’s backpack in tow.

“Xie Lian.”

“Oh?” SQX raises an interested eyebrow, nudging HC’s bicep.

“Not a word.”

SQX laughs in response. Seeing the way HC’s eyes linger on the athlete he recognizes as an Olympic veteran is enough to keep his mouth shut. HC deserves to have more close friends.

#tgcf #heaven official's blessing #hualian #hualian au #xie lian #hua cheng #shi qingxuan #cerdrabbles #tian guan ci fu #modern au #handing off drinks to each other becomes their thing

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phthalology · 3 years

Text

Control fic: brave, my love, but false the king

[Jesse/Former, 2k, T] Happy Halloween?

Jesse Faden fell.

Cold air rushed past her. The power to defy gravity still sparked in the back of her mind, but there was no up or down here to orient by. Finally, gold flecks in black stone sparkled below her. She caught herself, the wind still tossing her hair. Gasping, she landed on her feet in the Astral Plane.

Not where I expected to be this morning.

Cold air prickled against her cheeks.

I’m almost used to sleeping in the office. Even almost used to House Shifts, to watching to see where exactly my office opens out into each morning. But the House never pulled me out the door like it wanted to eat me before.

Gray clouds hazed over the black pyramid in the distance. Jesse straightened the lapels of her suit.

At least it isn’t red. I saved the Board, and instead of being grateful they showed their hands; they aren’t giving me everything. Aren’t telling me everything. Ash and Trench fought against them in ways, too, but ways I’ll never fully know … or at least, they don’t seem keen to tell me.

So why this summons?

“This meeting could have been an email,” Jesse muttered at the black pyramid.

< Turn around >

Jesse did.

Former lay on its side like a crumbled wall or a slaughtered whale. Splayed arms made a crown behind its dark head. The eye flickered as Jesse watched, making a spotlight at her feet before sliding back behind the lidless socket.

“Hey — hey, what happened? Are you — are you okay?”

Approaching it, she had to walk into Former’s shadow. The air temperature dropped, maybe five degrees, as she crossed the dim line. Something about touching Former seemed impossible. It had always kept a barrier up before, a gap in the air or a barrage. Here, nothing stopped her.

Former’s deep static, a voice muffled inside a blown-out signal, almost pushed against her.

< Punishment @%$# Close $#%& Warning >

Jesse swore.

The Board’s voice was almost easy to understand in comparison, even though she only heard its words inside her head.

Disappointing. Despite everything, Jesse hadn’t hated the Board — it had been the stakes in the invasion of the Hiss, after all. She had been too curious about it to fully hate it. But now the Board had outright attacked someone Jesse liked, someone who, despite her not entirely knowing what it was, had been in her thoughts more since the Foundation. It had stolen power for her, there and it had said it was alone. Those words sounded like highways in middle America, a passenger seat where her brother should have been. They sounded like Jesse taking Trench’s role for the first time, starting to turn the big, strange ship toward a kinder shore. Former had also traveled a long way to find a House in chaos, also faced that with dignity and grim humor.

Still, she didn't feel she ought to touch it.

She shouted over Former’s body at what she could see of the Board, the base of the triangle hanging in nothing. “You did this? You hurt it?”

< Stop questioning/bothering us >

< Do not verify/authenticate the exile >

“I’m still the director. Maybe the human side of the Bureau is small, but part of it is human. I don’t think you can kill me. It would leave a hole in the Bureau, and there’s no prime candidate program any more to fill it.”

< You are observant/annoying >

“You’re annoying.” Immature. Dylan would have said it, though, and that means it’s right.

We need to get out of here. Where do we go? Was Former in a different part of the Astral Plane when I saw it last? It lives somewhere where the Board can’t go. Astral Shades can appear in the real world, so different planar entities can travel to each other’s different home dimensions. Or something. I just don’t know how to get there.

If she got too close to Former’s head its size rendered her effort meaningless; there was no purpose in trying to look into its eye when it was down like a whale fall. For a moment she was thankful there was no blood, since there would have been a lake.

“Hey.” Again she held her hand out but did not feel she could comprehend touching it. “How can I take you back to where you live?”

An object thudded on the ground behind her. Jesse spun.

< Take ^%#$ Bond @!&% Escape >

Former can control Objects, somehow. Do I trust this one not to be dangerous?

More than I trust the Board.

< Stop >

That noise from the Board was a blast of sound. Jesse flattened her hands over her ears, wincing.

“Or what? You can’t hurt me! Former didn’t do anything wrong. It just wants to talk to me.” To be with me, instead of being lonely.

She ran for the Object. It was so easy to pick it up — a chunky tape deck, like one she’d had when she was a child. The plastic handle was smooth against her palms. In fluorescent orange, it reminded her of a cone or a reflective jacket, something used for emergencies. The teeth rotated slightly as she jostled the case.

As soon as she touched it, the scene changed.

Jesse gasped, clutched the tape, and recovered her composure fast. She had learned to fly this way, surprised every time but becoming more adept at getting where she wanted to go every time. Where once the floor beneath her had been gold-veined black marble, it was now rubble-strewn obsidian. Holes dotted the floor. The air against her face still prickled with the weird cold of the Astral Plane, sharp without being recognizable as chill. She had once fought Former here the first time — behind the refrigerator in the Panopticon in the way Narnia was behind the wardrobe. Clouds covered the smoky gray sky, letting no image of the upside down triangle in.

Former still lay before her, its body coiling off the edge of the platform. Now, though, the eye was open, like a lighthouse beacon into the clouds.

< Thanks %$^@ Rabbit $%^& Welcome >

“Rabbit?” Jesse laughed. “And here I thought I was starting to understand you.”

< Thanks > Electric blue rings rippled down Former’s body like the patterns on a snake, then disappeared.

“Oh, that was new. But you’re welcome too, you know. The Board has been nothing but weird to me.” Jesse scanned the foggy sky for the pyramid, found nothing. “To all of us in the House. And you’re … I guess I feel like I understand you a little. Understanding being the different thing among all the normal people.”

< Same #$%@ Ways #@&% Touch >

Her hand felt clammy against the tape deck. “I couldn’t. Not that I wouldn’t, just, it was like there was no way … ”

< Listen >

The blue rings flared down its body again. Some poisonous animal looked like that, although Jesse couldn’t remember which one. Poison, or the kind of mating dance a bird did, all shimmering obsidian blacks and bright blues.

Except she was thinking about birds to avoid thinking about touching the thing in front of her. Former didn’t, as far as she could tell, breathe.

Why don't I want to?

Because I want to too much ...

She leaned against its cold side, resting her shoulder and her forehead against its skin. Instead of scales like she expected, soft, porous skin covered it like the rubbery body of a caterpillar. A hesitant leg patted against the leather jacket across her back, then pushed gently down. The pressure of it outlined each of her shoulder blades. It reminded her to relax, even while her mind chanted — this thing is weird and predatory, and — and, well, she’d fought back against it before. She’d taken its help before, made a truce at worst and an alliance at best.

The blue rings approached closer and closer and flared in her eyes.

A momentary scent of something she couldn’t name — something comfortable, a memory of a home she’d never had, yet alien and trying, trying so hard and unable to be more human for her.

“No, no, I don’t need you to be more human.” She was squeezing her eyes shut; forced herself to open them to see into the dark of the strange embrace. Her other problems were still in her mind — Dylan in a coma, the Hiss still numerous — but muted, not as immediate. All she needed to do now was sigh into the circle created by her body and Former’s.

Like the troubles, the comfort didn’t last. The platform shook enough that Jesse pinwheeled her arms, falling backwards. We need to get out of here, again.

She had time to curse and fumble the tape deck open before the ground started to shake over her. Former’s sounds were so distorted she couldn’t make out any words. It began to slide backward, arms out. The slam of its legs against the rock was the same as when it had fought her, when it had killed Phillip.

And she hadn’t forgotten that, no ma'am. She had cared about Phillip, just as she cared about any of the people who did the day-to-day mapping of the House. (Any work here was, in some sense, mapping.) Phillip had deserved better, and she’d make it up to the people who knew him.

She got her nail into the teeth of the tape and spun it, against light resistance. Where could it take her? Did how far she spun it matter? The other Objects had been more of a matter of mind — and then just thinking it she knew how to get back to the House, keying to the tape deck like she had to the other Objects.

When the teeth of the tape spun the world spun with it. She could see how dimensions layered on each other.

She pulled both herself and Former out of that dimension. Afterward, her head reeled. The neat stack of dimensions fell away from her understanding like a fallen tower of cards.

She opened her eyes just long enough to see the red carpet of the director’s office. Closing them again against a wave of disorientation, she reached out and steadied herself against a shelf.

The wall shook. Two leather-bound books, untouched and dusty, clattered to the floor. Jesse knew with sudden certainty that this wasn’t really her office, or not, at least, the one she had come from. Whether the Board had doubled or mirrored the office was irrelevant. Either way, this room was a shell, a prison —

Jesse turned around. The desk had been overturned under Former's weight. Still she couldn’t see where its body ended, only that it was lost in coils in the fog that had replaced the back wall. Past the splintered desk, the open air of the Astral Plane loomed stark white.

The walls shook ineffectively, as loud as a rainstorm but seemingly unable to break into the sanctity of the director’s office. Former’s eye was obscured, its body still. Pieces of the desk and the items fallen from it shifted as Former moved with directionless pulses, like a person stretching out in sleep. It sleeps? Cute.

“Hey … you don’t have to get up yet, you know. We might be safe here for a little bit. You’re welcome for that, by the way.”

She wouldn’t have said that to someone awake.

“And how about you? You’ve been quiet.”

Polaris scintillated uncertainty. Surprise, maybe.

“Yeah, I didn’t exactly expect any of this either.”

Former’s eye turned. The white circle of its attention fell on the door, then flickered around as if agitated. At this angle, its body jammed into the room, it couldn’t turn to see Jesse.

“Hey, hey. Wait. I’m right here. We’re not in the House. Or in a different part of the House.”

Former rested its arm against her, this time more heavily. It made an awkward embrace, stiff and cold, yet it also felt like plaid blankets and the sidewalk in front of the elementary school and the shadows of the brush next to the fences — like a home she thought she would never get back. The Former was proven and unknown at the same time. Why not this, after everything else?

She kissed featureless caterpillar skin.

Its bioluminescence brightened. The rings flickered in place. Now, after all, it had something of a heartbeat.

< Solace $@#% Exile @#%& Return @%@# >

She searched for the traces of detail in the static, the texture of whale song and the fuzz between radio stations, chasing the ache in her stomach. “Don’t you ever feel like you have to go back to them.” Ridiculous, for me to comfort a monster. Yet it feels so right the other way around. It’s comforting me, too. “We’ll work something out.” Against the Board, and together.

Former coiled, making a tunnel out of itself. Arms held back closing walls like rebar.

< Run #@$% Know @%@# Care >

Jesse ran through the tunnel the spiraling body created. At the other end stood identical doors to the office. The walls of the House creaked above her as she ran. Between the snake-coils of the Former’s body, windowsills and steps fought to squeeze out.

She grasped the door handle, felt it open. Took a last look at what she could see of Former, mostly formless now — the arms and the eye obscured by the horizonless body. She reached out to touch it again, but the House pressed in further. Plaster cracked as it fell.

What side was it on? Did the question even make sense? Did the Board control the House shifts, using them as a defense against the Former? Or was the House protecting itself from something worse the Board might send, and giving the Former an escape in turn?

The passage narrowed. Former’s body-as-hallway surged closer, so that Jesse felt its cold skin brush her hand before she wrenched open the door and ran into the next room — her office, untouched, her office as if none of it had ever happened. The House puzzle-pieced into nonsense shapes in front of her, and the Former wriggled into a hidey-hole or another plane of existence. The crown of legs disappeared like a cat into a box, unhurt but gone.

The pieces of House interlocked into a solid wall, grinding, staircases meeting like teeth. Jesse closed the office doors with a slam that vibrated up into the walls.

Stillness and quiet came as abruptly as a beat drop. Jesse pressed her forehead against her crossed forearms, took a deep breath and straightened up.

It’s gone. It’s gone again, and I miss it already.

Office inventory: desk, phone, couch. Check.

She backed up, assessed the door as if it had been an enemy. Tentatively, she pressed it open again.

The smell of cleaner and new ink filled the marble atrium she had seen in front of the director’s office the day she arrived at the House. Voices from down the hall: Emily and someone else talking about lockdown logistics, as normal as it ever was here. The circle of offices, the plated layers of Astral dimensions, were off stage.

Jesse took a deep breath.

To walk back to the desk was a challenge. Tired and exultant at once, she surveyed everything still where it had been.

“Is this it? This is real again?”

Polaris flared wide with confidence.

One thing on the desk was new. Jesse raised an eyebrow. Picked up the abalone shell which she had used to heal Former the last time it had fought directly with the board. Now, that time felt more like a warning, like a symbol or a raised hand. They were really in the war now.

She brought a fist down on the wood, not hard enough to hurt. If the Board wanted a war, at least she knew she stood back-to-back with someone now.

#control game #control 2019 #writings #Jesse/former #Jesse faden #the former

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katsukisbimbo · 4 years

Text

Not A Kid

part 10 - redemption arc

previous ⮕ next

masterlist

✯ pairing: hawks x reader

✯ genre: enemies-to-lovers au. expect crack

✯ summary: celeste, also known as y/l/n y/n, is the youngest pro hero to be in the top 10, at the young age of 19 she is occupying the #5 spot. she is also known for having a strong dislike for the #2 hero, who responds by irritating her even further, but what even caused her to hate him in the first place?

✯ a/n: phew okay so this is pretty short but it shows just what went down and now it’s hawks’ redemption arc!! also the taglist is full!!!

- you honestly didn’t think this through

- i mean, this was keigo we’re talking about

- why did you let him come over to talk when you knew you weren’t ready to see him

- he was basically dating miruko now, you didn’t understand how you factored into that equation

- was he coming here to tell you how happy he was with her?

- or brag about how much better she was than you?

- because if that was what he was going to do then you weren’t going to HESITATE to kick him where it really hurts

- hopefully he was here to apologize so that you could just get it over with and tell him you forgive him so that he could just l e a v e

- he doesn’t understand boundaries and doesn’t understand that you didn’t want anything to do with him

- sigh

- you didn’t want a repeat of the time where you went on a patrol with him

- “so how are you y/n” he mused as you too watched the city streets bustle underneath your feet

- “i’m fine hawks.” you grumbled as you brought your knees against your chest and rested your arms and head on them

- “what’s wrong dove? you seem,, down”

- “i just didn’t think that they’d make me patrol with you. after what happened between us. i just don’t feel comfortable working with you anymore” you sighed

- “listen y/n,, i’m so-Y/N” hawks gasped as you jumped down the current building you two were on

- you needed to get out of there

- he was coming too close again and you knew that you weren’t going to be able to handle that

- luckily there was a poor young man who seemed to be cornered by 3 buff looking guys who looked like they were up to no good

- “back away from him if you know what’s good for you :)” you declared as you landed right behind them

- before you could even move, all of them with ere already suspended in the air with familiar looking feathers

- you sighed

- who did he think he was getting involved when he KNEW you would be able to handle 3 thugs

- “y/n why’d you jump like that-“ he stammered as he reached to grab your arm but you pulled away from his touch as if you’d been burned

- keigo slowly retracted his arm with a look of hurt etched onto his face

- before you could reach out to him, he already turned his back and started walking towards the direction of the closest police station with the 3 thugs close behind him, still suspended in air

- “i’ll take care of these guys,, uhm,, you can just take that guy home” he murmured, barely looking over his shoulder

- you just nodded and made your way towards the quivering civilian who gladly let you escort him home

- by the time you got to their house, your patrol was already over, and hawks had texted you that the next people on duty had already taken over and that you were free to go home

- and now,, he was on his way to your home

- ready to talk about feelings

- and all that

- yuck

- you were about to go make yourself a cup of green tea to ease your nerves until

- “hey dove,,”

- y/n: hey keigo :)

- also y/n: STUPID FUCKING DINOSAUR!! GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE!!!!

- “hey,, you ready to talk?” you cocked your head to the side as you looked at hawks

- man this wasn’t fair at all

- he was here to talk to you about his feelings and here you were, in all your beautiful glory rendering him speechless

- “u-uh yeah i am” he awkwardly chuckled while scratching the back of his head

- “oh, okay then. feel free to sit” you mused as you sat on the white catch situated in the middle of your living room

- “i know i’ve said this a million times, and it’ll never be enough to make up for what i’ve done to you. but i just wanted to say i’m sorry. i wanted to tell you that i apologize for everything” he took a deep breath then continued

- “i’m sorry for ridiculing you online, and telling people that you were less, when you aren’t at all. you’re so much more,, you’re perfect y/n. i’m also sorry for trying to make light of the situation when we both knew that you were hurt”

- he paused to look at your expression but you kept your eyes trained to the spot on the couch behind his head

- “i did all of that because,,—“

- fuck he was so nervous

- he didn’t know how to tell her how much he loved her

- there was no words to explain how he felt

- “i’m in love with you. i’m fucking in love with you kid. i wanna wake up in the morning and see your pretty face snuggling into my chest. i wanna eat breakfast with you, lunch and dinner included. i wanna be there for you, reassure you and take care of you. i ridiculed you because you were too close kid”

- you slowly nodded and looked into his shining gold eyes

- “i know it’s stupid. and that it doesn’t make any sense. but i didn’t wanna bring you any pain, but i ended up doing that anyways. i’m so fucking sorry. dove,,, y/n,, please forgive me. i know that even if you do, it won’t replace the hurt you went through—dove,,” keigo softly exhaled as you threw yourself against his chest and started sobbing

- he cooed at your shaking figure and hugged you even closer to him

- your mind and your body were tired. they were tired of pretending and so were you. you couldn’t hold back anymore

- but that didn’t mean that keigo was going to get it easy

- “we’re okay now. but this doesn’t mean i forgive you. it just means i’m done loathing you. you have to try and earn my trust back.” you mumbled into his chest

- you felt his grip on you tighten even more as his shook while he chuckled

- you peeked up to look at his expression, only to see him peering down at you with a soft gaze in his eyes

- “i won’t let you down y/n. i love you too much to hurt you. and i hope one day you’ll reciprocate my feelings too.” he smiled

- “s-shut up! you’re still not forgiven! but are you hungry?” you questioned as you tried to slip out of his hold

- he laughed and just sat you completely on his lap

- “what do you have in mind baby?”

- god. he was going to be the death of you

- “do you,, want to order fried chicken?” you said as you shyly looked up at him

- “of course dove. you remembered?” “of course i did bird brain, it was all you ever wanted to eat whenever we went on dates-“ you slapped a hand against your mouth

- “you thought of them as dates too huh?” he smirked

-“sHUT UP” you screeched as you whacked a pillow into his stupid handsome face and ran away to order the chicken

-keigo was left on the couch, laying on his back, filled with giddy as you had finally let him back in. to be honest, keigo thought that you’d just kick him out and never talk to him again

-but here he was, laying on your couch while you ordered food in the other room. it was so.. domestic.

-and keigo loved it that way

TAGLIST

@nerdynstoned @myheroheacanons @kpopfan-cpop @breaking-ur-kneecaps @kukiisan @thechloethings @food8me @kittyddandnyla @imuziawi @hawksexual @iwaizumi-chan @procrastinationinawriter @x-a-delama-x @thenerdyrebel l @wisteriaa-js @princessmidas @roxybefab @d-2seoks @wasting-away-on-the-internet @mylovelyreblogs @monviemoo @udontneedtokno @thedamjokes @joeigiarts @kageyamauwu1 @importantknightalienneck @last-three-braincells @chrisrue15 @simixchan @yourlocalkpopandanimenerd @coconutabs @kuroosleftfoot @fern-writes-ig @icy-hot @adriloen @kissmeimnotirish @too-many-fandoms666 @damnirina @mirakeul @neglectedleo @makeyours @fxded-drxms @wthyuta @jooleuuh @peppermintkiddo @babskuroo @chidori-mint @vanillaicebaby @kabispit @blossom-chan

#hawks pro hero #hawks headcanons #hawks angst #hawks fluff #i love hawks #boku no hero academia #anime #my hero acadamia #mha #hawks x reader #hawks x you #takami keigo x reader #takami keigo x you #takami keigo #my hero academia keigo takami #hawks smau #bnha smau #mha smau #takami keigo smau

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iguessilovebakugou · 3 years

Text

In Search of Silver Linings, We Discovered Gold || Bakugou x Fem!Reader (x Shinsou) || Happier pt 3 || Series

I really feel like Sleeping At Last’s “Two” resonates with Shinsou in this one. But also for the Reader towards Bakugou just like...in general. Also, I would suggest Gang of Youth’s “Achilles, Come Down” as well. And Lauren Aquilina’s “Fools”.

One day I’m going to make a playlist for this fucking series - and then you bitches will be sorry.

I’m sorry it took so long to get this part out. I feel like nothing I would write would live up to what I did 2 years ago now. So I really hope that people like this one just as much as the others.

Part One! Part Two!

Word Count: 7.7K TW: Smooching, Death Mention

“Hey, you okay?”

It should be so easy to explain to them what you were feeling. They where there with you. They went through the same thing you had, right? You were right there with Ochaco, sat right by her side and watched her tell Mr. Aizawa...you should be able to just...

“Yeah,” You offered Asui a bright smile. “Just...tired. These make up classes are just...they’re really killer, you know?”

The dorm had been quiet by the time the raid team had made their way home from their extra classes. Everyone had already gone to bed, the common area devoid of life by the time you had settled on the couches. And you were happy for it. Ever since...well, it had been a bit harder to be around everyone. It was hard to come to terms with the fact that after everything that had happened, happened. And you were supposed to just...move on from it. Keep going forward. No time to process.

You pulled out your phone to check your messages. You had hoped Shinsou would have at least texted you - but you had been left on read. You tried not to be upset about it and instead, pretended to go to another app and check your messages there. You even got comfortable and put an arm behind your head - yep, perfectly relaxed and not at all wanting to break down on the inside.

Tsu’s big bright eyes stared down at you. You wondered if she felt the same - if Kirishima, Izuku or Ochaco felt the same. You wondered if sometimes, during class, they just lifted their heads, looked around at your classmates and felt...so out of place. The only way you could describe it was like stumbling in the middle of a skit being performed in the middle of a park, and no one seemed to quite realize you weren’t actually an extra.

But you didn’t want to run the risk of looking at her. If she looked at you, she might realize that you hadn’t come to terms with what happened - with Nighteye, Lemillion, with that poor girl, Eri. And that wouldn’t do. That might lead into her asking what was wrong. And what were you supposed to do then? Answer her honestly? Come to terms with your feelings like a rational, level headed adult?

You? Nah. Never.

“Yeah, you’re right.” Once you were certain her back was towards you, you risked a glance in her direction.

Your body ached, your eyes were sore, and your mind felt blank but busy at the same time. You weren’t sure where to begin with everything, where to start with trying to catch up. But this had become your norm, and as sad as it was, it felt like your body was accommodating to the drama that had become commonplace in your life. You watched as she met Ochaco at the base of the steps leading up to the rooms. She seemed surprised when you didn’t move to join them, turning to give you a concerned glance and a lip pout - for extra measure.

You smiled, lifting up your phone and giving it a little wave. “I think I’m just going to hang out down here before heading to bed.”

“Oh,” She muttered softly. “Okay, if you’re sure?”

You knew she wasn’t buying the act - whatever it was - in the slightest. You knew Nighteye’s death hit her hard. A lot harder than you. As it should have - you had tried to use your quirk to defend her and Nighteye, only to be overpowered and rendered unconscious when it mattered most so you weren’t technically cognizant when she had made her getaway. But it must have been terrible, holding a man in your arms as he died. And yet here you are moping about it. What gives you the right?

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Another smile, this time a little wider. “Got some videos to watch, don’t want to run the risk of waking anyone up.”

You turned, ending the conversation there. You stared at your phone, sitting on the home screen and not bothering to look back once you heard them make the ascent up the stairs to their respective rooms. It had been getting harder and harder to sleep these past few days and you couldn’t spend another restless night staring at the same four walls anymore. Watching the same videos, rereading the same texts, you would go insane. With an exasperated sigh, you tossed your phone to the side. Hands found your face, fingers rubbing your eyes while reclining back, letting out a slow, low groan.

The lights in the common room were dim, just enough to find your way in case you stumbled down here in the middle of the night. It was a small comfort, you figured to yourself, to have this moment alone. To sit in the quiet and listen to the sounds of your friends around you, of the dorm settling snuggly down for another night’s rest. And there you were, sitting by yourself in the common room. Trying to decide if you were still mourning for a man you spoke to maybe a handful of times before you watched him get impaled on a spike or if you were ready to move on from it all. Your head fell back limply against the edge of the couch, staring up at the ceiling as you tried to push any semblance of thought from your mind. You just needed this one minute, one second for your entire world to just...stop running away from you.

If I could just get to him in time, maybe I could, I could help. I could save him and be a hero and...

God, how dramatic could you get. At least you hadn’t held the man in your arms as he lay dying.

With a sigh, you sat yourself back up and went back to your messages, pulling up the chat with Shinsou. You hoped he was free. Maybe even free enough to talk. The empty feeling finding home in your chest was becoming too much. You could use him, right now. Maybe you could convince him to leave and come over. You could watch a movie and just talk until you passed out.

Like friends did.

And if he was there, maybe it would so much easier to stay asleep.

Hey. We just got home. Hope you’re...

Nope, delete. Didn’t sound right.

Hey! You free right now? I can’t sleep so

Nope, too eager.

Shinsou, you loser get your ass over here

Nothing was coming out the way you wanted it to. Nothing had ever sounded right. You had so many things you wanted to say and yet never seemed to have the energy for it anymore. Is this depression? Do you have depression? Do people who have depression know they have depression without being diagnosed with depression?

You bit your lip, chewed on it until it grew sore and red and angry. You needed your friend. Your best friend. Your only friend. You missed hanging out with him, missed being able to text him weird shit and get a selfie of him looking bored at the camera just cause he knew it would make you laugh. Cause you knew the weird shit you sent him made him laugh. You wanted to see his face, to hear his voice. You wanted it to go back before the dorms, back before whatever extra curricular thing he was doing. But it wasn’t like he was doing this on purpose! He was busy and you were just being fucking dramatic and needlessly stupid you didn’t even see Nighteye die but Deku did and he is holding himself together so much better and you would be okay if...if...

Why were you fucking crying now???????

Shinsou - I really miss you and I don’t want to be alone right now but I don’t know what to do I just wish you were here

“Hey.”

Given the recent events in your life, his gruff voice shattering the quiet of your isolation should have been expected. Nevertheless, it still sent your heart skyrocketing into your throat. You thought everyone had gone to bed and you could be a miserable wretch on your own time. You jumped, sending your phone clattering to the ground and sliding under the coffee table. The giant...granite...coffee table. “Ah, shit, shit...” You fell to your knees, trying to make a grab for it. “Damn it, damn it, damn it.”

“I thought I would find you down here.”

Shinsou had hardly heard from you since the night you got back from the raid. He had seen the news that something had happened. When you didn’t answer his morning text, he just hoped you were just being your normal self. When you didn’t show up at lunch, he feared the worst. He paced his room, hardly ate, did nothing but refresh his news feed to see if your name flashed by as a causality. He figured no news was good news but waiting to hear from you was the hardest thing he ever had to do. And the fact you hadn’t told him you were going in the first place and had to find out about it by overhearing one of your classmates mention it?

Ample payback it seemed. Secrets had become your duo’s new norm - and he hated it.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“We were told not to say anything to anyone. I’m sorry, Shinsou.”

Your voice had sounded so off, so different in what little words you spoke. Silence had never been so poignant until he experienced it from you. As he laid in bed and stared at the phone on his pillow, his heart broke with each toss and turn he could hear from you. He sat quietly, for that whole 2 hours as you tried to make sense of what you had just been through that day. But you never said more than a few words and, even so, those were just a mask to hide the rest of the truth you wanted to keep hidden. He listened, patiently, as you tried to place it all in order so you could begin to move past it.

He hoped he had helped - in what little way he could. In what minute way you had allowed him. You were closing off and he so desperately wanted to cry out for you. But he stayed quiet.

And he felt entirely useless.

He didn’t know exactly what happened; only what little information he had heard from Mr. Aizawa and even that had been bits and pieces. Confidential, he said. Bullshit, Shinsou thought. If he was going to try to begin to figure out a solution to...whatever it was that plagued you, to lift your spirits, he needed to know exactly what happened. But, when Shinsou had asked if you had been involved, if you were alright...?

“You’re friends with her, right? She didn’t really seem to want to talk about it when I asked her after the fact. But I figure that’s just because I’m her teacher. Maybe you should be the one to check in on her instead. She might actually open up to you.”

Open up to him.

And that was the problem wasn’t it? Something that always seemed to stand right between the two of you, pushing you in separate directions - opening up to each other. It was a thought that occurred to him as he watched you spin your spoon around in your soup, but refused to eat. The two of you had no problems talking, especially you. You talked a lot, and he...didn’t. You suited him fine. More than fine.

But what is talking if you’re not saying anything? What was the point of being friends if you couldn’t even rely on each other to keep a secret, to lean on each other when everything seemed so fucking terrible. Had he done you a disservice, hiding things from you? Had he given you the impression that you couldn’t come to him for something so small as a crush on...ah, for something really small? Had you transitioned from “don’t want to bother him with something silly” to “I can’t talk to him anymore period”?

Shinsou had always been the more straightforward one. Where you seemed to be an endless supply of needless conversation and seemed to always dance around subjects, Shinsou was the one who could give it to you as plainly as possible. And you knew that. You knew him better than anyone, could understand him better than anyone.

So when he didn’t give it to you as honestly, as plainly as he could have, it would stand to reason that you would be sent tumbling.

Shinsou - I really miss you and I don’t want to be alone right now but I don’t know what to do I just wish you were here

The text had come as a surprise. Shinsou had been trying to sleep, but it was a rare commodity those days. His mind swirled with thoughts of you. Of how much he missed just you. Your laugh, your stupid jokes. Everything was starting to feel so hollow when he heard that soft ding from across the room. To say he scrambled towards his desk where the phone lay charging was an understatement.

I really miss you.

You were screaming for him and he hadn’t heard it. You were sinking further and further and yet here he was, wondering and waiting for some sort of sign on what to do. How he could fix it - but later. He’s not strong enough now. He’s not ready. After he’s done with Aizawa. After he’s a hero. After after after. Always cautious, always testing the waters.

I just wish you were here.

You never waited, never paused, never hesitated. When Bakugou was kidnapped, you rushed home and came up with a plan of action. When you wanted to talk to him, you marched from your dorms, almost got into a fist fight, just to talk. You were reckless in all the best ways. In all the ways that made him want to scream, to touch you, to praise you, to love...to love you.

“I would be able to sleep if you answered your phone once in a while.”

He gripped his phone and hated that he had to draw one hand up to wipe his eyes. Hated that his chest ached and hated that you even had to ask him.

“I wish you would have answered me.”

No more. You would never have to ask him again.

He couldn’t pull his shoes on fast enough. Before Shinsou could stop, rethink if this was a good idea, he was outside and making his way towards your dorm. If he couldn’t help you now, when you needed it the most, when you were asking for him to pull you out from the waters...

His heart didn’t have the right to ache for you as much as it did.

The two of you had done this so many times, Bakugou was surprised that you weren’t in the kitchen when he finally got down stairs. The moment he got to the ground floor and saw you hunched over on the couch, his body froze.

He had been hoping to have a bit more time to think of what he wanted to say.

“Is it just me, or has she not been the same since coming back from the raid?”

“No, I noticed it too.”

“Should we ask her about it?”

The frog grew quiet for a moment. Bakugou had to strain to hear her response from down the hall. “I think she’ll open up when she’s ready.” She said softly. “If we try to push the issue before then, it might just make matters worse.”

“Yeah,” Uraraka responded, “I guess you’re right. Still...I’m just worried.”

Worried. For you.

He didn’t want to think about why he was down in the commons, so late at night. He didn’t want to acknowledge the fact that seeing your shaking shoulders, hearing the fast gasps you were making, ripped his very state of being apart. He watched you, eyes narrowed.

He didn’t like it. He didn’t like that you were in this state at all.

“Hey.”

He expected you to jump - it was a good thing that you did. He would drag you out of whatever rut you were in, kicking and screaming if he had to.

You got to your knees, cursing under your breath and scrambling for whatever you had been holding. Probably your phone. Bakugou stepped around the couch, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Figured I would find you down here.”

You didn’t pay him any attention. In fact, as you tried to reach under the coffee table, you kept your head turned - enough to where he couldn’t see your face. You kept cursing, kept trying to reach desperately. He watched you for a moment, feeling the frustration rise up inside of him. You were ignoring him. Like he wasn’t even there. Like he wasn’t standing in front of you.

“Hey!”

“SHHH!” You snapped to attention, pressing a finger to your lips. He tried not to stare for too long. “Do you want to wake the whole dorm!?”

“You should be in bed.”

Your stare lingered on him, for just a moment. He refused to break eye contact first, refused to back down from the daggers you were sending his way. You let out a huff, going back to searching for whatever it was that you had dropped. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Bullshit. He could tell. It was a fact that he didn’t like to pay much attention to: tiny mannerisms that caught onto his attention like a hook. You generally were so bright, hardly ever short. Low energy, but not tired? Sure.

He waited another minute. “The others just got home.”

The slight pause. Heh - you were like a book. So easy to read. “Oh.” You said so matter-of-factly. In another beat, you were back to searching, still focusing your gaze on the far side of the wall. “Yeah, I guess.”

“So unless you got sent back early, I doubt you’ve even had a chance to try and sleep.”

Your fingers clenched, your fist shaking against the granite top. Your body pulled up and away, resting in a rigid position. But you were still refusing to look at him; in fact, to ensure that he wouldn’t be able to see anything, you put your face in your hand. Still, you didn’t say a word, didn’t argue with him. So he continued: “I’m just saying, if you’re going to lie, at least keep track who you tell what.”

You didn’t respond. And he wished it didn’t make him as angry as it did. He wished that he had been able to stop the rage that bubbled in his stomach. But he couldn’t. He didn’t want you to hide anything from him. He wanted you to feel comfortable telling him when something was hurting you. After he laid it all bare for you a few weeks ago, you couldn’t be bothered to at least confide in him what the hell was going on in your tiny little world?

“...tch.” Bakugou fingers slid under the edge of the coffee table. “Grab the other side.”

You paused, turning to stare at him. His eyes met yours and he saw so clearly how blood shot they were, your cheeks blotchy and burning. You sniffled once, pushing a strand of hair back into place. “Uh...wha?”

“Do you want your crap or not!?”

“Oh, yeah, uh...” You pushed yourself up. His eyes followed you as you stationed yourself on the other side like instructed. “On three. One-”

He didn’t bother waiting. Up he lifted and you scrambled to meet him half way.

Just a little to the side - and the bright screen of your phone illuminated the living room. It was closest to him, causing him to flinch just slightly when the glow blinded him. He moved to grab it for you -

Before Bakugou could realize what was happening, your fingers brushed against his. You both paused, your digits flinching away from him every so slightly. He didn’t know if he should continue making the grab for it or if he should pull away. He didn’t want to. Your skin was so soft and warm and...

He could feel your eyes on him and almost was able keep his gaze away. Almost able to hold off temptation. But you were like that, weren’t you? The light had dimmed, casting a soft glow over your features. He wanted to look anywhere else - anywhere but at you. But your eyes held his, demanded that he hold your attention. He hated the soft sound that escaped him. Hated the way his heart hammered in his chest as you stared at each other, fingers still touching ever so slightly.

He shouldn’t feel this way about you. But he did.

Bakugou pulled back with a grunt. He could feel your eyes follow him as he stood back up and stepped away, away from you. Why did you do this to him? Why did you manage to make him the worst of himself? Lord Explosion Murder - reduced to a sniveling little puppy, eager to please because a girl he kind of thinks is pretty sometimes makes him feel like he’s going to throw up.

His fingers shook. He shoved them back in his pockets to hide the evidence.

You plucked the phone off the ground and immediately hit the lock screen to turn the light off. You were once against standing alone in the dark, though he could see you plainly. Neither of you said a word. He wished he could say something, not scream it but just say it. His mind strained to find something meaningful to say to you, something catching or just enough to keep you distracted from your thoughts. But you had the knack for words - he didn’t. All he could do was leer at you, waiting for you to start conversation. You always had something to say.

You silently slipped your phone in the pocket of your skirt.

There was something different about you. A wall that was keeping you from him. Maybe the girls’ concern for you had weight behind it. You still didn’t look at him, eyes downcast.

He had hoped, that night in the kitchen, that things might have been different. That maybe...someday...

“You got your damn phone. Now go to bed.” He turned on his heels and made his way back towards the stairs. He was done. He helped you out enough.

Sometimes you were too much. Messed with his head and pulled his mind in so many different directions, he forgot which way was up because right there with you was where he wanted to be.

“Why do you want to be a hero?”

Your voice cut through the silence of the dorm like a knife. He hadn’t expected you to speak up now, though it fit you. Question, make him stay; just when he decided to leave. And of course, because you asked him to stay - he would.

“What kind of stupid question is that?”

“Humor me.”

He regretted coming down here to talk to you. He should have just stayed in the comfort of his room. “Why?”

“Humor. Me.”

His eyes narrowed. Even if you wrapped yourself around him, brought him to his knees and groveling in your steps, no one spoke to him like that. He spun around, snarl behind gritted teeth. Who the fuck did you think you were talking to?

Then he paused.

You were watching him and the hollow expression on your face shoved the rage back down into his stomach. With just a glance, you quelled that fury. Another noise, another shock. Then your eyes softened and your shoulders slumped. You remembered where you were, who you were talking to...no...no, you had never been afraid to talk to him like that. Never afraid to meet his attitude head to head. So what was different now? “Please,” You added on, quietly.

What the hell happened to you?

Why did he want to be a hero?

“To be number one.”

“Is that it?”

I don’t know anymore. He didn’t like this line of questioning. Bakugou was a smart kid - he could tell this conversation wasn’t going to be like the last one the two of you had. No tea, no gentle touches. The wounds were infected now and he felt shame burrow deep. You had something you wanted to say, but something else was keeping it trapped, holding you back from being honest with him. “What are you getting at?”

You fell quiet, letting his eyes take you in. With a sigh, you turned and sat back down on the couch. Your body folded in on itself, your hands grasping your arms, shaking fingertips digging into the fabric of the white dress shirt you were wearing. “Nothing.” You said finally. “Just...thinking. About things.”

You thought a lot about a lot of things. Perhaps a little too much for too long. You were receding back into your thoughts, pulling away from him again. While he didn’t enjoy the feelings that being around you brought, losing you to your own headspace wasn’t something he would do tonight. Or...any night. His feet carried him back to the couch. With a groan he sat down beside you. “Well, then say it out loud.”

You let out a laugh that sounded too much like a sneer. “Yeah. Okay.”

It took everything in him to not reach out and grab you. “I’m being serious.”

“I know.”

He just wanted to fucking help you. “So tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

Like you had helped him. “Whatever the hell that’s going on.”

A moment passed before you pulled your eyes back to his. Finally, you were back in the present - back in that room with him. Suddenly, you were aware that he had stationed himself beside you, so close your arms were a breath away from each other. And there was a moment of panic in your eyes.

You smirked, “Oh, are you playing therapist now?”

“Shut up!” He bellowed. “And tell me what the hell is going on before I change my mind!”

Your laugh was bitter, but it was something. You used your hands to push your hair back out of your eyes, “...okay.” You started...then fell quiet again. He could hear you swallow the regret, the shame, the fear. He watched as you struggled to put to words everything spinning around you. “I don’t think I belong here. At all.”

There were a million things Bakugou would have thought you could have said. That...wasn’t one of them. He had never thought of you not here. What would that look like?

“I look at everyone here: Kirishima and Uraraka and Tsu and Deku...and I just can’t seem to find a place to put myself. Among the rest of our class.” His brows furrowed as you spoke. He watched as your expression shifted with each word - angry and bitter and lost and upset. “Like, you all are able to keep your heads held high, keep looking forward and never seem to let things drag you down. I...I just don’t think I can do that. So...” You shrugged, swallowing harshly. “Maybe I don’t deserve to be here if I can’t handle it...not like everyone else can.”

This wasn’t about the raid - that was just a catalyst. It obviously struck a chord with you.

“That’s stupid.”

Another laugh. This one tear filled but honest; and so, so bittersweet. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re absolutely right. It’s pretty pathetic, huh?”

“No, you idiot. It’s stupid because you’re wrong.”

You stared at him, mouth agape. Then, in a second, your eyes narrowed, your lips thinned and your expression darkened. He couldn’t help but feel the pride bubble in his chest: You had realized you weren’t going to avoid this. Not with him. Not when he could help you. He closed his eyes, figured it best to keep you out of his sight until he finished.

“Look, you moron. If you want to be angry or sad about whatever the hell happened back there, fine. Do it. But what good is wallowing in your own self pity if you’re not going to do anything about it?!”

Your voice shook as you spoke. “Okay fine - then what should I do, Bakugou?”

His eyes snapped open, lips parted in surprise at the question. There was an edge to your expression, daring him to answer. Daring him to suggest something. Blow it up? Yell at it? Fight it until it gives up? But where would you start? It wasn’t a real person - you couldn’t threaten it to back down. Eyes scoured the floor for a response, searched desperately to find something - a strand of advice - to give you. But he had nothing.

“Yeah,” You moved, pushing yourself off the couch. You snatched your bag with such force it almost swung around and hit him in the face. “That’s what I thought. You don’t have an answer either.”

Shit. Shit. He watched you as you skirted past his legs, intent on burying everything again. If he let this go - let you go - you might actually do it. You might actually leave UA - leave everyone in Class 1-A, leave your dream, leave...him.

“It’s fine.” You added, making your way towards the stairs. “I’ll be fine.”

But he knew that was a lie. Everything about this situation was a lie. You wouldn’t be fine if he let you go upstairs, left you along with those thoughts of inadequacy, and if you kept falling lower and lower...?

“Hey.”

You paused in front of the elevator...then pressed the button, it’s soft white glow sending panic down Bakugou’s spine. The only thing he could see of you in the dark was the back of your head, the way your chin dipped just so lightly to your chest. You weren’t going to respond if he didn’t do something. He didn’t want this conversation to end - not like this. What would All Might say? What would Kirishima say? What would Deku say?

What would you say?

“You never told me: Why did you agree to go on that raid?”

There was a moment of pause before you turned and glanced over your shoulder at him. There was a confused expression on your face, your eyes scanning him to try and figure out just what he was playing at. “I told you why I wanted to be a hero.” It was a challenge. Stay and face this. “Now tell me why you went on that stupid raid.”

“Don’t get too worked up about this.” Mr. Aizawa - no, Eraserhead - had said. “The Big Three are one thing: They’re strong enough to hold their own out there with the Pros.” He called you all out by name. Asui, Uraraka, Kirishima and you. “You didn’t volunteer for this and you’re not obligated to participate. It’s your call.”

It had been your call. Your decision. The Pros wouldn’t have shoved you into a situation you weren’t ready for. The four of you had known that it was not necessary for you to go above and beyond what you had already done. It was going to be dangerous, and you needed to not only be physically capable, but mentally as well.

You should have waited, weighed the odds, thought about it for a moment longer.

Your call. Your choice: Save a little girl who was in danger or back down. Be a Hero or refuse to answer the call.

Well...the choice was simple than wasn’t it?

You hadn’t been capable. You screwed up. Once again jumping deeper into a situation than you should have. You weren’t like your friends.

You weren’t like them at all.

“Mr. Ai- I mean, Eraserhead! After everything we just heard, I can’t imagine not helping out, sir!”

Someone who could raise their head and keep it held high. Who could look danger in the eye and refuse to back down.

“Yeah, if you’re going to let us be apart of this, I’d like to pitch in however I can!”

Who saw someone and danger and threw themselves into the line of fire. Who reached out a hand and kept holding on, long past the last scrap of energy was gone.

"If I can use my power to help that girl even a little bit, then count me in Eraserhead!”

They were heroes. You weren’t like them.

You stood up, nodding earnestly. Your look was stern, your eyes hard as you looked at Eraserhead. You were equals - at least in this moment. “Yeah, heroes save people - so I’ll do my best to make sure that girl is safe!”

You could feel Bakugou’s eyes pick you apart and put you back together. Looking at him made you sick, made you want to crawl into yourself and rot. But...with a soft sigh, your eyes casted up, trying to keep the tears from falling again. You had thought you had done all your crying. God, his face in the dark was a slight comfort. His eyes practically glowed in the low light of the common room. His dark t-shirt hung around his shoulders, his hair was a wild mess, sticking up in every direction. And he just watched you. No malice, no rage, just...waiting.

Waiting for your answer.

Why did you agree to join the raid?

To save that little girl. Because that’s what heroes do.

But...

“After my fight with Deku, you sat with me. You didn’t have to do that either. So why?”

Arms gripping your hoodie, squeezing you for dear life. His whole body trembled under your touch. Tears as he begged for forgiveness that you couldn’t give him. But you wanted to - because it would mean his pain would be put at ease. If you couldn’t give him what he needed, what he longed for, you would at least be there for a moment longer than the tears would fall. You just needed him to know he wasn’t alone. You needed Katsuki Bakugou to know you were there for him, no matter what.

“And with the League attack? You weren’t with Kirishima and them. You went off on your own, to try and save me. Why?”

They wouldn’t see how hard he worked. How much he wanted to be a hero. And if they hurt him, if he refused and the villains hurt him? If they took that away from him…? All of his hopes and dreams?

No. No, you weren’t going to let that happen.

You had to bite you lip to keep it from shaking. Bakugou was listing off all your fuck ups as if they mattered. As if they were helping his case. As if they were something you should be proud of. You considered telling him, making him aware that even in those moments, you still failed: you got knocked out during the raid, during the fight with the villains, and that you hadn’t done much besides give him a hug in the kitchen. You weren’t doing much.

Deep breath, look away. His face was too much. It was too honest, trying to grab at you and hold you still. He could almost convince you that you did something besides hinder those who had a better chance of being a Hero.

“You do half the shit you do because you’re a good person. You want to help people.” Movement caused you to glance his way. He turned to sit back down on the couch. “As stupid as it is, I guess it’s pretty admirable.”

‘Pretty admirable’? He - Katsuki Bakugou - thought it was admirable. You opened your mouth, but after a long moment of silence found you had nothing to say, so you closed it again. You hated that even without speaking, you were losing this fight. “So does everyone else.” You replied weakly. It didn’t make you special. It didn’t make you any different.

“That so?”

“Yeah.”

“Than wouldn’t that mean you belong here with all the other losers looking to be a Hero to protect people?”

Ding!

Behind you, the elevator opened.

A soft gasp escaped your chest. So...that’s what he was doing. Leave it up to him to talk you around into a circle before shoving your argument back into your face...no, he hadn’t been nearly as harsh as you had expected. He was speaking so softly to you, being as gentle as he knew how - which granted, wasn’t much, but appreciated none the less. One shouldn’t look a gift explosion in the mouth.

You looked at the elevator over your shoulder, stared at it’s open doors.

You let them shut.

For the first time since that raid, you smiled. Really, honestly smiled. You set your bag down against the wall. The walk back to the couch was the lightest you had felt in a long while. You sat down next to him, resting your hands on your knees and one by one, you tapped your fingers against your skin. With a deep breath, you felt your shoulders relaxed. You weren’t surprised he was able to help. “I guess...technically...using that logic...you’re not wrong.”

Bakugou scoffed, closing his eyes and tossing his head back. “Of course I’m not wrong.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “How could I have ever thought to argue with you? Truly a futile effort to begin with.”

His smirk was quick, a slight twitch in the corner of his mouth before he grunted and looked away. The prickly exterior he generally used to conceal himself was growing back into place and you couldn’t help but laugh. You had been so wrapped up in your own bullshit that you almost forgot how much he made your heart skip. As you looked over his profile, you realized that you were entirely thankful for Bakugou and not just in that moment. You had been so stuck in your pit, sinking lower and lower that you didn’t think you’d ever get out of it.

But like everything, he broke the glass ceiling and shot through. Only this time, he snatched you up and pulled your head to the surface. Even if for a moment, you could breathe because he was holding your head above the water.

You leaned over and bumped his shoulder with yours, nudging him warmly. He ruined expectations again by waiting a moment before doing it back to you.

He was so warm, his skin amazingly soft. It lit your chest aflame and your cheeks grew pink - but you didn’t move. The two of you leaned against each other but said nothing about it. How did you find yourself here? You had been close to him before but this was different in a way that didn’t seem to make any sort of sense. And...you kind of like that it didn’t. Because it didn’t have to. You realized that sometimes, when it was just the two of you, as few as those “sometimes” may have been, you simply wanted it to just...be.

You shouldn’t want to be so close to him, not now. Would it be in poor taste? Would he think less of you if he knew? Did he know? Did he feel the same way? You were certain that if he looked over at you, looked into your eyes he would...at least see something. You weren’t sure exactly what it was, but it was enough to cause your knees to knock and your chest to ache. And you wondered if he would see how much your fingers longed to reach out and touch his body, draw him close and...

But that didn’t matter. Not now.

You looked down at your hands. If you...wanted to try...wanted to see if...this was something you could have, you would have to take the first leap. Bakugou wasn’t going to do it. He wasn’t going to be the one who dove head first. But was now the perfect time? Would there ever be a perfect time? After having him strip your defenses, tear you down, build you back up - should you wait?

You spared another look, hoping that you might find confidence in his being.

Your eyes met. He was looking at you too.

No. No, you weren’t waiting. Katsuki Bakugou wasn’t someone you waited for. If you were going to do this, see if he felt the same way you felt - all the crazy heart skips and lingering glances when the other wasn’t looking - you had to do this now.

Gathering all your courage, you moved your hand and offered it to him. His eyes tore away from your face then down at your open palm. The universe held it’s breath, watched eagerly...as he slid his fingers between yours. His calloused digits scratched at your skin lightly, his palms were a little clammy and...

Bakugou held you firm, grasping you tightly. Desperate and scared and you remembered everything that lead you to this moment.

“That Bakugou kid likes you.”

Wild hair haloed in the setting sun peeking above the tops of overgrown trees. Everyone around you disappears when his arms wrap around you. He holds your hands, guiding the knife as he helps you chop.

“Out of all those losers, I was glad you were there.”

It felt like something was dragging you to him, tugging your body towards his. He wasn’t stopping you, he wasn’t yelling or screaming or pushing you away. He just watched, eyes narrowed and darkened under his hair. Was he waiting to see what you would do? Was he too scared to move on his own? You reached out, gliding your fingers over his sandy blonde locks and brushing them out of the way so you could see his face. Fingertips drifted down and over his cheek, trying to offer the same warmth he filled you with.

Defiantly, a daring look in his eye, he pressed his cheek into your hand. If you’re going to do this, then mean it. Everything about him made you want to scream, drove you mad. He always fought - and you saw now, that this whole time...he was fighting for you. Fighting to let you know. Had you been so entirely blind all this time?

You wanted to say something, to let him know that you saw. But words were wrong, thin, pointless and empty. Nothing you could say would ever be enough to let him know how you felt. So you would give all of you and hope that it was enough for him.

Without waiting another moment, you pressed your lips to his. It was a deep and heavy action, one that he met with passion only he could muster. You closed your eyes and lost yourself into his taste, the heat of his lips, his very presence. It was a rush, one that sent you spinning - derailed all train of thought. All that mattered was him. All that lived in this universe was you and him.

His arm snaked around your waist, pulling you up and over him and you were happy to follow. You didn’t dare break away, to lose the contact that you obviously both had been longing for. Your fingers found their way into his hair, twisting and tangling. Never once did he pull away - quite the opposite. He met you, every press of your lips, every motion of want and desire, laid bare in front of both of you. And as you felt his finger graze over the skin on your back, dipping under your dress shirt to set the nerves there on fire, you realized both of you were utter fools.

It’s an awful thing: knowing you’re not enough. Wanting something so badly, but no matter how much you long for it, it still slips through your grasp. Of knowing that nothing you could have done would have changed the outcome.

He should have stayed in his dorm. He should have never looked at his phone. He should have never told you about Bakugou.

He should have never let you get so close.

It was by chance he glanced at the window looking into the common room, hand poised in front of the door. At first, he wasn’t exactly sure what he was looking at - two shadowed masses, one on top of the other. But then, he saw your face. His heart wrenched when you pulled away from Bakugou. A scream locked in his throat the way you smiled at him, soft and loving. He hated the look in your eyes as you ran your thumb over his lips, as he slid his fingers into your hair to pull you back for more.

Something Shinsou couldn’t have. Someone he wasn’t enough for.

He didn’t linger on the steps for too long. He feared you would see him and then - then you would have to talk. He wasn’t sure he would be able to handle that, not with Bakugou behind you.

The walk back to the dorm was a long one and he was surprised he made it into his room without incident. It was late enough though, most of his classmates were asleep and the rest had retired to their rooms. No one knew he was gone. His mind was utterly blank until the locked clicked shut.

He didn’t realize he had punched the wall until his hand pulled back, sliced open. Blood pooled and ran down his arm. But it wasn’t enough. It didn’t stop him from replaying that scene in his head over and over again. The way you two were looking at each other, the soft touches, gentle smiles...

He slumped to the floor and let out one pitiful sob.

What was he supposed to do now?

Author’s Note: I honestly watched Cats the 2019 musical and then wrote Shinsou’s part because I’ve been having a pretty good week honestly so I wasn’t in the headspace for honest disappointment.

I just needed something to remind me that happiness is fleeting and something terrible and awful will usually come and destroy what you know and love most in this world. Drag your joy through the mud until the only thing left is a shell of what once was.

...who let’s Hooper direct shit?

Anyway. I do think I’m going to lead into a part 4 for this one. I don’t know. I’ll let you guys decide if you want something more lol since I’m interested in continuing it. Especially given the newer chapters.

Also eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeey, kissing scene. First real one on this blog anyway and not a kiss mentioned in passing. And look, it only took me a year or so to do it. :) I’m a fantastic mod of this blog who gives people what they want and doesn’t focus on stupid shit in the slightest why are you guys here you should have left me on the street corner where I was standing

Tag List! If you want to be added, let me know!

@snaspants | @purplebellybell | @sxlenced-xf-lxvers |

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mrsgiovanna · 3 years

Text

Bruno Bucciarati x Fem! Reader

A bit of a drawn out scenario with Bucciarati and the reader in an AU where everyone lives 💭❤️💙

No warnings, just fluff 😅💭

Word Count: 2117

“So Bucciarati, what do you think? I believe she’s the best person for a job like this. She has the ability to judge when to use force and her stand ability is well honed… you have reservations… what’s wrong?”

Bruno wasn’t known to wear his disdain so evidently on his face, but when it came to you, managing his emotions was slightly more difficult than usual. It also didn’t help that Giorno knew him so well. He was Giorno’s closest ally, his most trusted confidant, so he was able to be frank with him and voice concerns that would have otherwise gone unspoken.

“Well, she is strong, but I know she can be reckless when it comes to her own safety, much like someone else, might I add- but that’s a discussion for another day… perhaps, someone should accompany her just as back up in case the situation deteriorates,” suggested Bruno as he walked over to the balcony overlooking the sea. He always felt a sense of calm when looking at the ocean.

“You could always go with her…”

“Is that an order, Giorno?”

“Of course not. Look, I could send a small convoy of bodyguards with her and you’d still worry, Narancia could be tracking every living creature within meters of her and you’d still be uneasy, so rather just go yourself,” explained Giorno, watching him for even a hint of a reaction, which he did detect, but the young Don decided not to comment on that. “That’s settled then, I’ve already texted her asking for her to come over, she should be here soon,”

With Giorno’s words hanging in the air, Bruno turned his gaze back to the ocean, trying to calm the stormy feeling in his chest. Bruno always looked out for you, just as he looked out for everyone in his team. You shared a lot of history with the handsome raven-haired man, both having to join Passione as a necessity at a young age. You joined his team after working with a few other groups under Polpo’s control, finding a place that you truly felt you belonged. You both complemented each other well, compensating for what the other lacked. His maturity manifested in his quick thinking and his naturally kind nature and yours in your ability to put anyone at ease and talk to people at their own level. None of those traits could be mistaken for weakness however, as you were both capable of doing the unthinkable when your group or ideals were threatened.

You hurried along the spotless marble flooring that lead up to Giorno’s study, delicately knocking on the door before entering after hearing a soft invitation to do so.

“Buongiorno, Giogio, Bruno… ” you greet with a sunny smile. Bruno turned around to greet you with a smile while Giorno spoke.

“Buongiorno (y/n), thanks for coming over so quickly, this early in the morning, there’s just something very important that we need to discuss and we could really use your help later on,”

“Of course, sounds serious, I’ll assist in any way possible, you know that, Gio,” you reply, a hint of concern in your voice. The rest of the morning was spent discussing how to go about the mission without attracting any unnecessary attention. Once the strategy was ironed out, you and Bruno left Giorno’s villa and spent the rest of the day making sure you both had everything you would need, giving yourself a couple of hours to get ready before Bruno would come by to pick you up. You would have thought having 2 hours to get ready would be enough but you were mistaken. You just weren’t used to fancy evening gowns and stilettos, even less so to that much makeup, but you needed to channel your inner femme fatal and blend in with the rest of the guests at the flashy event.

Staring at your reflection with a critical eye, you had been tinkering with various accessories and rearranging your hair, this way and that before deciding that it was enough, the longer you took to do all of this, the more your nerves frayed. This would be the first time in years that you and Bruno would be on a mission by yourselves, and it’s definitely the first time ever that he’d be seeing you that dressed up. A wave of self consciousness washed over you, diluting the confidence that you’d been trying to build. Before you had time to further chip away at your confidence, your housekeeper came in to inform you that Bruno had arrived and was waiting for you downstairs.

On the drive over, Bruno thought about you and how much you had grown. When you had met each other, you were both just a pair of kids, who were forced to grow up too quickly. You’d taken everything in your stride though, and had seamlessly integrated into his team. Everyone loved your gentle yet protective nature. You were the one person he could be himself with, the one person who he could express his fears to, that he could fall apart on without any fear of judgment. He was the one who took care of everyone, but you were the only one he’d allow to take care of him.

He was let into your home and waited for you for a short time, barely having a chance to sit when he saw you gracefully descending the spiral staircase. You looked so beautiful, he was rendered speechless for a moment, quickly catching himself before you could notice how he was staring at you.

“(y/n)... you look beautiful, are you ready to leave?”

“Bruno, wow, you clean up well, and thank you… umm, I think I have everything I need, we can go. Thanks for coming with me, Gio told me it was your idea, I’m sure you have a million other things to do,”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” he said through a strained smile, making a mental note to talk to Giorno about that. On the drive to the event, you couldn’t help but steal glances at Bruno… he looked so handsome, swopping out his white spotted suit for a black one, making the gold accents stand out even more. Everything about him was just perfect, from his perfectly cut, jet black hair, to his sparkling blue eyes and his well defined physique, it felt intimidating to have to be next to him for the night.

When you arrived at your destination, it was not difficult to zero in on your target. He was a spoiled, entitled looking brat. Both him and his father were not impressed with Giorno’s new rules for Passione, but stayed regardless, however, when his father died, his bad behavior was left unchecked. He always gave off the impression that he was waiting for an opportunity to betray Giorno. So you wanted to see what he would do when presented with an opportunity to do so.

Everything was going well, you and Bruno were satisfied that he wouldn’t betray the organization after he had passed every test you had set for him. Feeling relieved, Bruno excused himself for a moment to get you both a drink. Unfortunately for you though, you had caught the attention of the very man you were investigating. As he slowly walked toward you with a weird glint in his eyes, you became very aware of how much you needed Bruno there.

“You know, I’ve been waiting all night for that boyfriend of yours to leave so I could talk to you… the name's Elio… ” he says, twirling a lock of your hair in his fingers.

“Approaching a woman you believe is involved? And you should know who Bucciarati is… should you really be referring to him so casually? You’re not making a good case for yourself here, Elio. Now if you’d excuse me,” you made a move to put some distance between yourself and Elio, but in his persistence, he softly grasps your forearm and steps in front of you preventing you from going.

“Awww, don’t be in such a rush to leave signorina, we’re just talking… I was hoping to get to know you a little better, we run in the same circles but haven’t been formally introduced, it’s a crime, really”

You were getting annoyed, both with his persistence and the fact that Bruno was taking forever to come back. You decided to ignore him in the hopes that he’d go away without you having to use your stand or cause a scene.

“Is there a problem here? I’m sorry for taking this long tesoro, I was held up by an associate… in any case, come on, bella, we have to get going now,” You were thankful for Bruno’s intervention, but you were unnerved by how angry his eyes looked and the strong grip he held your hand with. You were confused. Was he angry at you? If not you, then who or what put him in this mood? Those questions swirled around in your mind as Bruno drove you home.

As much as your mind was clouded with unanswered questions, so was Bruno’s mind overtaken by anger. He hated the fact that some creep touched you, and he was even more upset that he couldn’t say or do anything about it… yet. He looked over at you, but your head was turned towards the window so he couldn’t see your face. Were you upset by how he dragged you off? You looked uncomfortable though, what if he read the situation incorrectly…

“Bruno, are you angry at me?”

“What? Of course not,”

“Really? You should let your face know,”

“Well, I guess this is just my face,” explained Bruno. You just nodded in acknowledgment, not really believing it, you knew his resting face well enough, and it wasn’t this. Feeling defeated, you continued to look out of the window until he drove up to your door. You remained quiet, rather choosing to look at your hands to avoid that sharp gaze. A few painfully awkward moments passed like that, before you summoned up your courage to speak. Evidently, Bruno had the same idea as you both turned towards each other and spoke at the same time.

“It’s clear that we both have things we want to say, so let’s talk inside rather?” you suggest, to which Bruno agrees with a small nod.

“I’m the one who interrupted you, so please, go first Bruno,” you say in an encouraging tone, while you both sat down, facing each other.

“Alright, thank you… here goes… I’m not angry at you, not even a little bit… I just lost it when I saw that cretin touching you so casually. You’re the most precious person in the world to me…I… ”

You stayed silent, encouraging Bruno to continue, trying to fight off the fluttery feelings coursing through you from what he just said.

“(y/n)… I love you, I’ve loved you for years now. I’ve been waiting for the right time to tell you… I guess that’s now… look, you don’t have to say anything, I’m sure it’s a lot for you to take in, and all I really want is for you to be happy,” the tenderness in his eyes and voice as he spoke was almost too much to bear, as you gently took his hands in yours.

“I… I love you too… for the longest time. I’ve only ever wanted the best for you, to help you realize your dreams in whatever small way I can. So you must know how happy I am to hear you say those words,”

Being deeply moved, Bruno leaned forward and hooked his finger under your chin to bring your gaze up to meet his own and captured your lips in a sweet but passionate kiss. You smiled into the kiss, tangling your fingers into the blunt ends of his hair, resting your forehead against his when you both had broken away from the kiss.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this for,” he says in between a barrage of smaller kisses, suddenly breaking away to look at you.

“Tesoro, are you sure about this? You know first hand how this life can get, there’s always dangers to avoid, storms to weather…”

“Bruno, I don’t think anyone has endured more than us, and I’m certain that whatever else life throws at us, we can tackle together. I would choose to weather your storms with you, than bask in someone else’s sunshine any day.”

That was all the invitation Bruno needed to pull you into another passionate kiss, giving himself permission to indulge his own desires for once.

#bruno bucciarati x reader #bruno x reader #bruno bucciarati #bucciarati x reader #jjba fanfic #my writing

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jamespotterthefirst · 4 years

Text

Hit the Town (Ethan x f!MC)

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende) Word count: 1.5K Warning: N/A Premise: After enjoying drinks with their friends, they escape to a quick dinner date.

A/N: Just self indulgent crack, don’t mind me.

They stood in comfortable silence as the elevator ascended to their destination, the scent of her perfume embracing his every sense in the confined space. Not surprisingly, Ethan had found himself easily persuaded to abandon the tower of paperwork that awaited him in favor of spending the rest of the evening with her.

As the elevator announced the 20th floor, she moved closer to him, her body fitting so perfectly to his side. “Are you still thinking about work?” she correctly guessed.

Ethan’s arm automatically draped over her shoulders, as though it was second nature.

“I’ve been thinking of nothing but work these past few months,” he confessed in the silence.

Lilac simply nodded. The same could be said for her-- for everyone at Edenbrook-- as the date of its final day loomed closer. That thought alone was enough to send his mind spiraling into a cesspool of melancholy. He forcefully pushed them away, deciding to focus instead on the rather pretty smile she gifted him.

“Let’s not think about work tonight,” she proposed, straightening her posture with a new sense of purpose. Her fingers toyed with the gold pocket square that matched her dress perfectly. “Tonight is about you, me, and how good we look for this date.”

The latter point of her argument was undeniable, at least when concerning Lilac. His girlfriend in the gold dress that clung to her like a second skin had to be the most alluring sight he had ever seen. His eyes traveled down the plunging neckline, tracing the sparkling band of her necklace.

Lilac caught him staring, her smile turning devilish as she pressed herself closer to him.

“Besides, there's so much more you could be doing with your time than paperwork,” she argued in a low whisper, lips pressed against the column of his throat.

Ethan wholeheartedly agreed with that compelling argument, particularly with the one her delicate hands made at the buttons of his shirt. A chill traveled down the length of his body, not from the air conditioner of the elevator but from the captivating, expectant way her green eyes studied him when she pulled back.

“Like what?” he asked anyway.

“Like me,” she returned without a beat in the sexiest murmur he had ever heard.

Ethan grinned down at her, surprised he had enough self control to do even that. “That was terrible, Allende.”

Yet it worked, his body thrummed with an overpowering need to push her against the elevator railing, the unbridled longing buzzing wildly through his veins like an exposed wire. The loud ding of the elevator announcing their arrival, however, interrupted what promised to be a charged and heady kiss.

Lilac took in the lavish décor of the restaurant, rendered even more intimate by the twinkling lights of the city sparkling through the floor to ceiling windows. As the maître d' approached, she hurriedly leaned up to whisper in his ear.

“Ethan, this looks like the kind of place that needs a reservation.”

Her eyes fell on the crystal chandelier adorning the high ceiling and added, “A reservation months in advance.”

Ethan only grinned crookedly at her.

“And given that I just seduced you into this date one hour ago, I really doubt we have one.”

“Seduced me? Is that how you'll get me to do your bidding from now on?”

He would welcome that new development. To his slight disappointment, however, she ignored this question, wide eyes fixed on the maître d' before them.

“Good evening. What is the name for the reservation?”

“Ethan Ramsey.”

The man nodded once. “Of course. Welcome, Dr. Ramsey. If you follow me.”

He turned to lead them into the luxurious dining room. By the time they sat at their private table with an unobstructed view of the bay, Lilac blinked out of her surprise.

“How did you—?”

“I'm friends with the head chef.”

“Of course you are.”

Ethan flashed her another crooked smile, this one taking effect immediately in the adorable blush of her cheeks. His own stomach swooped in response, part of him incredulous that he was really there, on a date with the woman of his dreams.

The waiter arrived and Ethan wasted no time in ordering an expensive bottle of champagne, earning him a curious glance from Lilac.

“What are we celebrating?”

The bravado seemed to fizzle out and Ethan, suddenly self conscious, shrugged. “The fact that we can finally do this openly, without having to hide.”

Her eyes met his, the rosy patches on her cheeks burning brighter. Looking positively touched, she gave him a fond smile.

Lilac did not have an opportunity to say anything else because their champagne arrived, along with a beautiful display of appetizers. At the sight of food, her expression brightened, eliciting a laugh from Ethan.

“I hate seafood but I'm going to try the Ahi Tuna Poke,” she informed him confidently.

Ethan raised his brows. “Why? You know you'll hate it.”

“I want to see if I'll like it now that I'm older and more mature.”

“Mature?” he asked with faux sarcasm.

Lilac stuck out her tongue at him. “You know what I mean. You start enjoying things you once hated as you grow older.”

Ethan considered this in the quiet ambiance of the restaurant. Finally, he nodded his agreement. “I definitely know what you mean. When I was younger, I hated pistachio ice cream. My dad always insisted on buying it and just the sight of it made me gag.”

It was Lilac's turn to laugh, endeared by the story. “Poor little Ethan,” she commented, leaning in to bop his nose with her finger. He would never admit it out loud but it made his chest swell pleasantly. “I always wondered what you were like when you were younger.”

“I was a devil. Remember that story about me blowing up my neighbor's shed?”

She laughed again but shook her head. “No, I mean I've never seen any pictures of young Ethan Ramsey.”

“That's been on purpose, Rookie. They're locked away in Providence, safe from prying eyes.”

Her shoulders deflated at that, the light of the chandelier catching the sequin of her dress. The crestfallen expression, however, did not last long.

“And how do I get access to these adorable pictures?”

“When I die.”

“Or,” she added without missing a beat, her expression brightening in a way Ethan didn't exactly appreciate. “I could just text Alan right now. I bet he'll send them if I asked.”

Ethan glared at her, finding it difficult to remain unsmiling when her playful grin lit up the entire room.

They stared each other down for a long minute before they both sprang into action at the same time, each reaching for their phone.

“Too late,” she proclaimed, her voice giddy. It attracted the attention of a nearby couple but she didn't seem to care. “I'm texting him now and—Oh my God, he's replying.”

Ethan wasn't even sure what he meant to do with his own phone. There was no chance he could ever compete with Lilac's lightning-speed texting.

Finally, a message came in on her phone and Lilac clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh my God,” she squealed, the sound muffled. “Ethan!”

He knew his father had sent her the pictures he requested because her eyes darted from her screen to Ethan and then back again.

“You were so—”

“Don't say—”

“Adorable!”

Lilac showed him her screen and he groaned.

As she dissolved into giggles, Ethan brandished his own phone at her. “You'll pay for that, Allende.”

“Go ahead,” she challenged. “Nothing you do is going to top—”

“I'm texting your sister,” he interrupted calmly. “For pictures of young you.”

Her laughter halted completely, all traces of humor vanishing entirely. With as much dignity as possible, she shrugged, though the intended effect was ruined by the way she had almost leapt across the table with every intention of snatching his phone away.

Before she could do just that, Ethan began to text.

“I'm going to murder her,” Lilac said passionately just as the server stopped at their table to refill their glasses. He didn't even bat an eye at Lilac's declaration.

“No need,” Ethan said with a chuckle, glancing at the pictures once more. “My plan of embarrassing you backfired since there's not a single bad picture of you in here.”

She rolled her eyes but he could tell she was fighting back a smile. Unable to resist, he gently took her hand in his and brought it to his lips. The private moment between them lingered, their eyes locked on each other’s as though magnetized.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

Her lips were parted, her voice slightly breathless. “For what?”

“For making this night infinitely better.”

Her responding smile was brighter and far more breathtaking than the view of the city behind her.

“It's only just starting.”

_________________

A/N: Told you that was crazy and pointless. I really wanted them to go out somewhere, anywhere in those hot outfits. Thank you if you made it this far!

Dedicated to @takeharryandgo who said “Ethan is the town and MC is going to hit it” in regards to the dress being changed from “Date Night” to “Hit the Town”

thank you @aestheticartsx for pre-reading!

Love you all,

Bree

Also, the Pictagram series: Chapter 10 is taking longer because work is crazy for me atm. I also want to make sure this particular chapter is the best it can possibly be!

_____________________

(Sorry if I forgot anyone)

tags: @openheart12 , @takeharryandgo , @trappedinfanfiction, @aestheticartsx, @aworldoffandoms, @paulfwesley, @myusualnerdyself, @rookie-ramsey, @ohchoices, @colossalpainintheass, @enmchoices, @i-bloody-love-drake-walker, @choicesfanaf, @openheartthot, @octobereighth, @nazarihoe, @utterlyinevitable, @kites-in-our-skies, @maurine07, @schnitzelbutterfingers, @doilooklikeiknow, @snesdudes, @kingliam2019, @perriewinklenerdie, @cinnamonspongecake, @choicesstan1, @queencarb, @ethxnrxmsey, @missmiimiie, @jens-diamondchoices, @adamsdumortain, @mrsramseyy, @apphia12, @kalogh, @lucy-268, @binny1985, @queenbirbs, @honeyandsunfl0wers, @newcolonies, @lilyvalentine, @rigatonireid, @interobanginyourmom, @parkerattano, @custaroonie, @nikki-2406, @lilypills, @chasingrobbie, @nooruleman, @angela8756, @lonely-mxxnlight, @ruinedbypixels, @shadynaturehilariouscookie, @tsrookie, @mvalentine, @professorkingslay, @drakewalkerfantasy, @casey-v, @helloblueeyedcat, @mysticaurathings, @blossomanarchy, @thegreentwin, @togetherwearerapture, @rookieoh, @ramseysno1rookie, @rookiemarsswiftie, @natashajaniphil, @mysticalgalaxysstuff, @hatescapsicum, @choices-lurker, @kiara-36, @junehiratas, @danijimenezv, @macy-ray85, @adrex04, @canigetanawwjunk, @sanchita012, @overwhelminglyaquarius , @scorpiochick8, @skylarklyon, @starrystarrytrouble, @mercury84choices, @drariellevalentine, @ethanrcmsey, @lion-ess24, @aarisa-frost, @kaavyaethanramsey , @udishaman

#open heart #ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #playchoices #my writing #ethan ramsey fanfiction #ethan ramsey x mc #open heart fanfiction #choices fanfiction

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moonstruckbucky · 4 years

Text

Say Love [one shot]

Summary: You and Bucky are at a stand-still in your relationship, all because neither of you can say three little words.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: Idiots in love, a smidge of angst, the rest is fluff.

Notes: So this is a fun fic, but it’s also a very real fic. I know I’ve had that should-I-shouldn’t-I when it comes to saying the L word in a relationship, so this is for anyone that’s had that struggle. Enjoy & let me know what you think! x

P.S. - it’s also a birthday present to @captain-kelli aka MY WIFE 💕

It’s palpable, the tension. A smothering, suffocating heavy cloud stretching between the two of you, and you almost wonder how you got here, to this hurdle in your relationship.

It builds like an avalanche - a tiny, harmless snowball that’s picked up speed as it rolls, rolls, rolls, until it’s so big you can’t be in the same room as him without feeling like you’re walking on eggshells.

Even now, on a night meant for the two of you, you feel distanced from him - despite sitting beside each other on the couch. You’re pressed up against his side, It’s a Wonderful Life playing on the screen - a favorite of Bucky’s. It’s supposed to be a bonding time for you, but you’ve never felt so far away from him.

His arm is around you, but it’s stiff, and where his fingers would normally dance across your skin, raise goosebumps in their wake, now they’re still, limp. Careless.

And despite the movie being a favorite, he looks utterly bored when you peek up at him from under your lashes. Eyes vacant, fingers of his vibranium hand holding up his head, teeth chewing on his bottom lip.

You wonder if he feels it too, this mountain that’s suddenly erected between you.

You’ve been dating eight months - is he bored with you already? Disinterested? “Just not feeling it anymore”? Is he too afraid of hurting you, and it’s why he hasn’t said anything yet? Is he waiting for you to get fed up and leave?

Because you won’t, you can’t. Despite this emotional gap between you, you feel a connection to him you haven’t felt before. He’s level-headed where you can be chaotic - being an Avenger is probably to thank for that - and he’s soft spoken despite his large, often gruff exterior.

He’s a perfect counterbalance to who you are - how could you not fall in love with him almost as soon as you met him?

Part of you believes that if Bucky didn’t want to be with you, he wouldn’t. He’s sure of himself, thanks to the hard work he’s done for himself since being officially recruited as an Avenger. He’d told you a little of how difficult it had been - in the 30s and 40s, people didn’t openly talk about their struggles, least of all with a psychologist; they just lived with them.

It only made you fall for him even harder, for the sheer strength he has and the determination to come to grips with what’s happened to him.

But it seems those feelings are one-sided, and the revelation sits like lead in your stomach. With pressure building behind your eyes, you fake a yawn.

“I think I should go,” you mutter, thankful that your voice doesn’t crack. Bucky turns his eyes to you, wide and - is that disappointment?

“Oh, yeah, okay. I’ll call you a cab?”

You stand up with a shake of your head. “Not necessary, I’ll get an Uber on my way down.”

He walks you to the elevator, hands in his pockets and feeling awkward. The kiss you share is quick, chaste, and stiff, much like the rest of your evening tonight. When you turn your back to him to enter the elevator, your chin wobbles.

Bucky stands in the hallway for a while after you’ve gone, his thoughts running away from him. He can’t be the only one between you who felt that distance, could he?

Have you changed your mind about him? Realized the former Winter Soldier isn’t who you want to give your heart to? Perhaps all the atrocities he’s committed are truly too much for you to handle.

He couldn’t blame you if they were and yet... You own his entire being, body and soul. If you were to leave him, a large part of him would go with you, a piece he isn’t sure he’d be able to get back.

He knows you noticed his demeanor tonight, the way he hid behind himself in an effort of self-preservation. He nearly made himself bleed from biting his tongue so hard to keep three words he didn’t think he’d ever say from slipping out. He didn’t want to scare you, to make you run off,

but it seems he managed to do that anyways.

Bucky leans forward, bonks his head on the elevator once, twice, three times before a door opening behind him makes him pause.

“Are you done brooding yet?”

Bucky’s shoulders drop, in no mood for Sam’s ribbing. The man teases out of love and respect - it’s just how their relationship is - but tonight, he can’t bring himself to return the dig. He turns away from the elevator, shoulders up to his ears and hands still in his pockets.

Sam’s face changes when he takes in Bucky’s posture, and he sighs, leaning up against the frame of his door.

“What’s up, Tin Man?” he prods gently.

Bucky’s eyes find a place just over Sam’s shoulder, torn between opening up to Sam about the turn his relationship has taken and remaining silent, attempt to sort through it himself.

A helpless look at Sam, and the dark-skinned man opens the door wider, turning to the side to allow Bucky entrance.

“Talk to me, man. You look like someone kicked your dog.”

Sam offers Bucky a seat on his couch, an expensive, black leather that feels as cushy as a cloud. The man leans back, crosses his arms over his chest. The black metal of his arm catches the low lighting in Sam’s room, turns the gold bronze.

“I think she’s going to break up with me,” he starts, and before he knows it he’s spilling all of his insecurities to Sam. The other man listens patiently, cocking his head curiously at some parts and pursing his lips for others.

Bucky half-expects the man to jab at him - joke about how she finally realized what a mess he is - but to his surprise (and relief; he has enough self-hatred for both of them), Sam nods sagely and looks almost empathetic. It would throw Bucky for a loop, if he and Sam haven’t come to some middle ground.

Steve would be so proud of them.

“Then she’s not worth it, Buck,” comes Sam’s response almost immediately after Bucky’s finished. The brunet’s eyes go wide. “If she can’t handle you as you are, if that’s too much for her, then it isn’t worth it. I like her, man, but I like you a lot better, and you deserve somebody who’s going to take your baggage, embrace it, accept it, and help make you better for it. And you shouldn’t have to settle for anything less.”

Bucky wants to argue, say that you are absolutely worth it, but the words get stuck in his throat. He knows Sam is right, acknowledges that yes, he has more baggage than most, but also that he does deserve someone who’ll accept him regardless of it.

But haven’t you? Eight months in and Bucky had been sure you’d accepted him for who he had been, not just who he is now. But perhaps you’d changed your mind. Perhaps you’d thought long and hard over it and realized a broken soldier wasn’t who you wanted at all.

He couldn’t blame you, but it still hurts to think about.

“I think you need to talk to her,” Sam continues, watching the emotions play out over Bucky’s face - shock, sadness, realization, and finally, utter heartbreak. Sam feels no pleasure whatsoever in telling Bucky this, but he’s never one to beat around the bush. His years as a VA counselor wouldn’t let him.

“Talk to her, and find out where her head’s at. It’s the only way you’re going to know.”

You don’t talk to Bucky for two weeks. After leaving the Avengers compound, you thought it best to distance yourself, prepare your heart for the eventuality that Bucky would break it off. But it’s even worse that he doesn’t contact you at all, and you begin to resent it.

Bitterness ekes into everything you say and do, your very being so clouded by resentment you’re not even sure who you are anymore. You don’t recognize yourself or the cynicism your attitude seems to have adopted.

You hate it.

In a whirlwind of anger, resentment, and self-loathing, you drive to the compound. Flash the card Bucky had given you for access whenever he didn’t come pick you up himself. The gate rolls open, and your heart pounds with the notion that this might be the last time you'll ever see it.

You take the elevator up to Bucky’s floor, hands twisting together as you sort through every thought you’ve had in the past two weeks. Doing so reignites your anger, puts a scowl on your face that could curdle milk.

Bucky’s surprised to see you - even more so to see that look on your face - when he opens his door after you’ve slammed your fist against it.

“What the fuck is going on, Bucky?” you demand, and he winces, steps aside and waves you in so that the two of you don’t draw attention.

His shoulders hunch, hands sliding into his pockets - a clear sign that he’s feeling out of his element and is trying to make himself very, very small. In the space of his bedroom, your anger cools a little, fond memories of time spent in the space taking you over.

“Are we over?” you ask, outright, and Bucky’s head snaps up in alarm. “I mean, did I miss any hints you might’ve been dropping? Am I just making a fool of myself by being here, trying to fix this?”

Bucky’s mouth opens and closes like a fish, rendered speechless and dumb by your questioning. It isn’t what he’d been expecting, and it’s caught him off guard.

“I- what?” He shakes his head as your eyes turn sad and manages to connect his brain to his mouth. “Where the hell did you get that idea?”

Eyes going steely, you straighten your shoulders. “Well, considering you acted like you’d rather have been anywhere else but with me the last time we saw each other, paired with the fact I haven’t heard from you in two weeks? What am I supposed to think?”

He laughs shortly, incredulous, until your eyes flare up in anger again, and he reins it in, but only just. He just can’t believe what he’s hearing from you, how all this time he thought you were bored of him - or scared. Either way, the relief warming his chest keeps the smile on his face.

Your posture is rigid and you move to take a step back as he closes the distance, but his arms wrap around you and tug you into his chest. The kiss he lays on you is firm but warm, an outpouring of emotion that slowly destroys the wall you’ve erected just to face him.

His hands are warm, even the metal appendage, where he grasps your face to keep you close to him. He sighs when your arms wrap around his waist, hands gliding up to his shoulders to grasp his shirt, and he swallows the little whimper you let loose.

Until he tastes the salt on your lips and he pulls away.

Your eyes are glassy, tears leaking from the corners to slide glistening tracks down your cheeks. His thumbs brush them away as he smiles softly.

“Sweetheart, don’t cry,” he coos. He kisses you again before looking you in the eye. He wants to make sure you know he means every word. “I’m sorry I was a little emotionally constipated. I- I felt it, too, that weird air the last time you were here, and I thought you - I thought you had changed your mind about me, about us, and that you were just too shy to say anything. So I gave you your space even though it nearly killed me to do it. I thought it was what you wanted, but clearly I was wrong.”

Bottom lip trembling, you sniffle and wipe your nose on your sleeve. “No, I... I could have called. I know you felt a little off that night, too. I was just. I didn’t know how much I could push, if you even wanted that conversation at all. I guess I just thought it was your way of saying you were done with me.”

He chuckles, deep and reverberating, and he shakes his head. “Never gonna happen. I love you too much.”

He enjoys the change on your face - the surprise and then the utter elation - and he grins like the cat that ate the canary.

“You what?”

Bucky isn’t sure why he’d been so scared to say it before, not when you’re looking at him like he’s the center of your universe.

“I love you,” he repeats, punctuating it with a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “And I should’ve said it sooner, especially if you were having doubts.”

He’s entranced by the way you chew your lip thoughtfully, shrug a shoulder shyly. “I could’ve said it, too. I love you, Bucky.”

The smile that breaks upon his face is blinding, radiant. This man was born to smile like this all the time. And he’s mine, you think. He’s all mine.

You giggle, tuck your face into his neck as you shake your head. Still grinning, he holds you tight, chuckles in kind when you say, “We’re idiots.”

“Mm,” he hums in agreement. “But idiots in love.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes angst

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maybedefinitely404 · 4 years

Text

Day 11: Intruloceit (pt 2)

@tsshipmonth2020

The sequel y’all were waiting for! (@hoppe-ideas)

Day 11: ‘Choose your own adventure’ day! I chose to continue from Day 9, since I couldn’t very well leave it there.

Content warning: allusions to abuse, Remus being Remus (need I elaborate?), implied past panic attack, mention of bipolar disorder, and of course, Janus’ crippling insecurities. Angst with a happy ending.

Word count: 4k

*READ DAY 9 FIRST*

Blue: What time are you available?

Green: What is this, a doctor’s office? I’m free after lunch

Blue: I was merely tr

Green: I know, I know. I’m just teasing you. It’s endearing, my little mocking-nerd. Bring your textbook, I’ll meet you in the cafeteria. It’s octopus learning time!

Blue: I will never understand you.

Green: Good

He drew a crude rendering of the devil emoji, then a heart, and the conversation ended as quickly as it began.

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Green: What would happen if you injected coca cola into your bloodstream

Blue: No.

Green: It’s just a question!

Blue: I’m assuming you would die.

Green: Damn. Can we try anyways?

Blue: No!

Green: C’mon, for science?

Blue: NO! Why did this question even arise?!

Janus hid a small chuckle, before immediately slapping a hand over his mouth. Even if the writing was as much on his arm as it was theirs, it still felt wrong to read it. Felt wrong to admit that he was starting to enjoy their shenanigans.

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

Green: Hey

Blue: Hello, my dear. What is so important that you couldn’t text me?

Green: my mom broke my phone and I’m having an attack

Janus sat straight up, his calligraphy pen clattering to the floor, effectively ruining the large swooping letters he was working on with a splattered gold streak. This was the first message the two had shared that wasn’t either Blue’s notes about homework or Green’s odd creative ideas, or cheesy conversations between the two that Janus tended not to read. It felt like intruding on someone’s life. He hadn’t learned their names yet, and while they always stuck to the same color scheme, he knew at this point he’d be able to distinguish their handwriting with no hesitation. It was his version of hearing their voices, and he’d started growing attached to them. He turned his full attention to the conversation on the back of his arm, feeling a surge of worry.

Blue: I’m on my way, be at the curb in ten minutes?

Green: thanks

Blue: Remember those breathing exercises. Try to stay calm.

Green: please hurry

Blue: I’m driving as fast as I can, love.

The messages ended there, and Janus didn’t sleep that night.

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

Blue: Happy birthday, Remus. I hope you have an amazing day.

Remus: Are we still good to go for tonight?

Blue: Of course. I had Roman and Patton help plan most of the date, so I hope you enjoy it.

Remus: Logan, if it’s with you, I will~

Logan: You’re a sap.

Remus: And you love it

Logan: Guilty.

Never had Janus felt so alone. It was one thing to have anonymous messages scribbled on your arm, little doodles and good luck wishes, but to know their names? That brought on a whole new round of tears that he hated himself for. Remus and Logan. The names of his so-called soulmates, the labels he could finally put to the personalities. As much as he hated to admit it, waking up had become a whole lot easier since they’d started appearing on his skin. It was something little to look forward to.

It also hurt, just a little bit more. Before he was eighteen, he’d been able to imagine his situation like his parent’s, with a soulmate who would end up hating and hurting him, and it was easy to decide to never communicate when the time arrived. And even if they seemed like genuinely good people, every time he lifted a pen to respond, to announce his presence, he stopped himself, as his father’s words rang through his head.

Why would anyone want you, Janus?

You’re a mistake, and they’ll see that instantly.

Honestly, what good do you even have to offer a soulmate?

He didn’t want them to be true, but it wasn’t like anyone had ever told him differently. His mother avoided his eyes and was silent, his peers treated him like a disease, so those words were the ones he started to believe. So he capped the pen, pulled his sleeve down, and ignored the small feather light tickles as they spread across his arms.

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

Of course, it wasn’t avoidable forever.

It was writing on skin, did he think that was something he would never do accidentally? Was he really that stupid? They were going to be so pissed when they found out how long he’d been snooping on their conversations. They’d hate him. They’d never be open to the idea that he was somehow meant to be in their lives. He was done. He was such an idiot.

These were the thoughts raging through his mind as he looked down over himself in shock, spilled amber ink shimmering on his skin. It was an accident; an opening of an ink pod combined with over enthusiastic dancing to the Chicago soundtrack, leading to a faltering concentration and skin covered in staining gold. He’d been sitting cross legged on his chair when the cartridge exploded, and he’d bounded to his bathroom to try and wash it off, but it had only been partially successful. There was no doubt in his mind that they would see it. It had covered a good majority of today’s messages on his arms, smeared across his shins from hurriedly trying to wipe it away, and speckled across his face like the world’s most unfortunate freckles.

He dropped back into his chair, his music now turned off, and laid his head on the cool wood of his desk. The ticking on his clock was the only sound in the room and he counted each one, mentally marking the minutes as they passed by. Waiting. Five minutes of silent fear had passed before a new anxiety began to rise in him. What if they were his soulmates, but he wasn’t theirs? He’d heard of it happening, ever so rarely, that soulmarks weren’t reciprocated. If that was true for him, and he was starting to become sure it was, they wouldn’t see the ink. They never would. He would be forced to live the rest of his life on the outside, reading their life on his skin but never able to take part. Somehow that seemed a lot worse now that it wasn’t his choice.

Just as he was starting to spiral, a familiar tickle on his arm snapped him back to the present. His head jerked up, hair falling into his heterochromatic eyes as he followed the dark blue script, starting just under the largest golden spill.

Hello?

And how should he respond to that? He couldn’t think of a fun one liner, a sassy quip, to introduce himself. For the first time in his life, lying wasn’t an option, and he hated that. He grabbed the first pen he could grab, a black ballpoint, with shaking fingers.

Hi. Well, that was lame.

You’re our soulmate. It was less of a question, more of a statement. Janus took a deep breath, bringing the pen down again.

Yes.

I’m sorry. What he was apologizing for, he couldn’t quite put a finger on. But it felt right. Apologizing was simply second nature to him.

Whatever for?

He didn’t know how to answer that time, so he did what he always did best, and watched. Waited again, hoping that Blue (Logan, he remembered vaguely), would just drop the subject. This was the most conversation he’d had with someone in a while.

My name’s Remus. The other dork is Logan.

The green ink appeared under the blue, and Janus’ heart dropped painfully in his chest. As if he didn’t already know their names. It’s not as if he could say that, though.

You seem kinda shy. It’s cute

Let them speak, Remus.

Both of them went silent, offering time to allow Janus to write. But he didn’t know what to say, how to explain…

So he didn’t. He yanked down the sleeves of his pajama top, pulling the edges over his hands to hide the now dried golden ink, and collapsed onto his bed, dooming himself to another night of restless sleep.

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

If Janus had the choice, he wouldn’t have gone to school the next day. He would have laid curled up under his blanket, struggling to tune out the sound of his parents arguing, letting the world pass him by like an old camera reel. Janus didn’t have the choice though, not when he remembered it was nearing the end of the year and exam season was drawing closer, and then the bickering downstairs became motivation. Good grades would equal an out-of-state college, which would mean getting away from thrown dishes and slamming doors.

Even so, that didn’t mean that Janus didn’t regret the entire day of school. It seemed like a breath of fresh air when the lunch bell rang and the students shuffled out of the class in a lump, leaving just him and Mr. Sanders behind, as per usual. Just as he reached down to pull his lunch out of his bag (just a handful of cold scrambled eggs he had set aside from his already meager breakfast), the teacher spoke.

“I actually have a meeting today, Jay. You’re gonna have to find a different place to have lunch.”

“What?” Janus recoiled as he spoke, his own voice sounding foreign to him. He hadn’t meant to talk back, half expecting a lecture, and was surprised when the teacher’s expression morphed into one of sympathy.

“Sorry, bud. It’s a staff meeting, and I couldn’t find a TA to watch the room over the break. It’s only for today. Cafeteria is open though, I’m sure you can find an empty table there. Or better yet,” He smiled softly, lifting his laptop bag onto his shoulder, “Sit with someone. I’m sure it’ll be okay.”

Janus picked up his bag as well, rushing from the room without a second glance. He didn’t feel like explaining that the reason he sat alone wasn’t his choice, and he couldn’t help it. He was just tired of being pushed away, so why not make the first move himself.

The path to the cafeteria was hardly trodden by him, and he tried to take in the pictures of past grad classes on the wall for as long as possible before his time was up. The security guard marching the halls gave him a pointed look, reminding him that he couldn’t stay in the hallways during lunch, so he hunched his shoulders and walked into the lunch room. He cursed the weather under his breath for being so damn hot today; he would melt in his hoodie and gloves to cover the ink. Luckily the splatters on his face blended in enough with the skin tone to be unnoticeable.

The first thing he noticed is that it was loud. People shouted, trays clattered, and Janus wanted nothing more than to curl up in his hoodie. Social interaction. Gross. The second was that Mr. Sanders had been right, there was a line of empty tables at the back that people seemed to avoid in favor of grouping together in the center. The third and final thing was the overwhelming sense of loneliness that flooded Janus as soon as he walked in. Sitting alone in an empty room was one thing, choosing to sit alone in a crowded room was another.

For a split second, the teacher’s words ran through his mind, and he wondered briefly if he should join a group, only for his anxiety to immediately shut the idea down with a shriek of are you crazy?!

He chose the closest table to the door that was untouched and sat hesitantly, appetite lost. All he had to do was get through an hour of this, he thought painfully. If he paid close enough attention, he could tune into other people’s conversations, and if he closed his eyes and drifted far enough, he might actually imagine that he was a part of them.

“Hi!”

Janus’ eyes shot open and he shrunk back as if he’d been slapped. Standing in front of him was a guy he recognized from his math class, bouncing on his heels enough to make his blonde curls fall into his eyes. He was grinning from ear to ear, gleaming teeth matching the white collar that stood out from under his blue sweater.

“Do you want to sit with us?”

His critical glare didn’t deter the overly joyful guy as he gestured over Janus’ shoulder, encouraging him to look. He did, albeit reluctantly. Four people were sitting at the table behind him, three caught up in a spirited conversation. The last one was staring back at him owlishly through thick square glasses, and surprisingly, Janus wasn’t unsettled by the look.

“Come sit with us!” The happy guy said again, looking like he was refraining himself from just grabbing Janus and pulling him over. His round glasses had started edging down his nose as he hopped from foot to foot.

“Are you sure?”

“Yep! Please?” He drew out the word for several seconds. Janus couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips, nodding mutely and gathering his backpack. His anxiety started again, pelting him with ‘they’re going to hate you’s and ‘this changes nothing’s, but he pushed them down resolutely. It was just the one meal. Tomorrow would be back to normal, eating lunch by himself in Mr. Sanders’ room. And he really couldn’t say no to that hopeful face.

“Yay! Okay,” He led Janus to the table, dropping into one of the two empty seats and pointing to the one next to him. He took a deep breath before gushing on, “Sit! Okay, okay, okay, so I’m Patton, purple-hair is Virgil but they hate the name so you can just call them V. We all call them V. That’s Logan, and the twins are Roman and Remus. Remus has the white streak, but it’s actually really easy to tell them apart once you get to know them.”

Janus’ blood froze in the middle of Patton’s gleeful rant. Those names… those were all the names that kept popping up over the five months of secret soulmate snooping. That wasn’t a coincidence, right? Most of those names weren’t exactly common.

His eyes shifted to the two Patton had introduced as Remus and Logan, sitting shoulder to shoulder across from him. Remus had halted whatever he was talking so animatedly about in favor of greeting the newcomer, but Janus couldn’t get himself to wave back. Instead he dropped his gaze to their loosely intertwined hands on the table, feeling somewhat lightheaded at the identical golden stains covering both of them.

So... he ran. He wasn’t proud of it, and he was somewhat certain that he’d made a scene, but he couldn’t do it. His own self doubt was crippling, all his fears rushing him full forced and reminding him just how little he mattered, how messed up his life had made him, how he would only ruin any possible relationship. This was all too real now. They fit so well to the picture he had unintentionally made of them in his mind; navy blue button up tops and slicked back hair, green bomber jackets and mussed up shoulder length curls. Eyes that glinted with barely concealed mirth, a dimpled grin revealing almost razor sharp canines. Two polar opposites, so perfectly built for each other, soulmates. He would just come along and ruin it.

Screw the sun, he thought, as he sat on the scalding hot bleachers by the football field. To his extreme annoyance, tears had started drifting down his cheeks, and he hurriedly wiped them away from sheer habit. His dad didn’t like tears almost as much as he didn’t like Janus. It wasn’t like they would know it was him, right? All they knew was a stranger had been invited to their table and had booked it before they even got his name. So he could stay a mystery, a fly on the wall, for the rest of his days.

The all too familiar feeling on his arm was more of a curse now than it ever had been. Resigned to his fate, he rolled the sleeve up to read whatever the two were no doubt talking about.

Hi.

He looked around frantically despite his better judgment, his eyes landing on a figure standing at the end of the bench, uncapped pen in one hand and one blue sleeve rolled up. Logan regarded him with a careful look, locked in a staring contest that neither wanted to look away from. The other broke first, turning his focus to his steps across the rickety surface as he approached Janus. He took a seat, mumbling something about how hot it was, before scribbling something else onto his arm and capping the pen. Janus tried to fight the urge to look down at his own still-bare arm, but he couldn’t resist a quick peak.

I found him. Bleachers in the north field.

“Why don’t you take off the gloves, at least. It’s almost ninety degrees out.”

Welp. Apparently this was happening. “How did you know?” He whispered, not touching his gloves.

“Remus and I both felt naturally drawn to you as soon as you walked into the cafeteria. We could not and still can not explain it. When Patton followed our gaze, he was more than eager to invite you over. Not that he needed the prompting, I am certain he would have invited you over regardless of Remus’ and my feelings the moment you sat alone,” Logan stopped briefly, taking note of the new green smiley face under his last message, “Your reaction to our names and hands in rapid succession was enough to solidify our previous suspicions. That-” He pointed to the shared messages on their skin, “-was the final proof I needed.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, Janus at a complete loss for words, until a loud clang to their right grabbed both of their attentions. Remus was clinging to the railing like a vine, having climbed all the way from the bottom, he realized with a start. The older man crawled over the top and landed solidly, rattling the seats, before bouncing over to them.

“Hi hi hi hi hi hi hi hi hi!” He plopped onto the bench in front of Janus, sitting backwards to face them. Consequently, he was slightly lower than the other two, and could see Janus’ usually ducked face for the first time. “Oooh, I like your birthmark! Is it a birthmark? Or a burn? Either way, I don’t care. I like it.”

“Gee, thanks,” Janus snarked before he could stop himself, his self protective tendency rising to the surface. Remus only giggled in response, manspreading a tad more and leaning forward on his elbows.

“I like him, Logan. He’s feisty.”

“I’m so glad I have your approval.” He was on guard now, he couldn’t help it.

“Remus, stop pestering him. He just met us.”

Remus grumbled under his breath but held his tongue. Logan could silence him, he’d have to remember that for the future. If they had a future. He couldn’t help the sliver of hope since they had actually come to find him… but maybe it was to let him down easy. No clue.

“When did you turn eighteen?” The question shouldn’t have shocked him the way it did; it was a valid thought.

“Five months ago.”

And he waited, expecting the worst at the sharp intakes of breath from both of them. Expected them to stand up and leave. Expected them to call him a creep. Expected them to… anything, really.

Well, anything except take his hands. Which they both did.

It was like they could speak telepathically, the way they seemed to be so in sync. Maybe that was a soulmate thing. Remus reached forward and weaved their fingers together at the same time that Logan placed his hand over Janus’ left one, squeezing it gently. They were both calming gestures in their own ways, and admittedly the most contact Janus had felt in maybe years. If that wasn’t enough to bring back his tears, Logan’s next words certainly were.

“Why didn’t you write right away?”

“That’s so much missed time we could have spent together,” Remus chipped in, eyes surprisingly soft.

“I…” Oh, for fuck’s sake. Better let them see how messed up he is now so they can walk away before he gets attached. More attached. “My parents are soulmates and they ended up hating each other. He’s a jerk, he hurts her and me and I didn’t want that to happen to me and my soulmate. Soulmates, I guess. Then the first thing I saw was you guys talking, and I realized, there’s two of you,” He laughed humorlessly, shrugging nonchalantly, “You wouldn’t be missing out if I never made myself known, and what kind of asshole would I be if I intruded on your relationship anyways? It’s not like I can add anything worthwhile. I’m not… that great of a person. I never have been. I have too much baggage and I’m pretty boring and I only scare people away so if I were you I’d get out while I had the chance.” His cracking voice gave away how he actually felt, and he despised himself for it. In all honesty, there was nothing he wanted more than to be held and loved and wanted. He’d never had that before in his life, was it a crime to not want to be pushed aside forever?

To his utter confusion, neither of them pulled away. He’d just vented to two strangers, and they were still as attentive as before.

“Now, we don’t have time to unpack all of that,” Remus hummed in a decent impression of John Mulaney, letting his thumb glide over Janus’.

“So if I’m correct,” Logan stated in a tone that implied he usually was correct, “You didn’t contact us because you didn’t want to burden us, or get yourself hurt.”

“I mean… yeah.”

“I’m going to kill your dad,” Remus chirped all too brightly, “For hurting you. And for ever making you think that we would hurt you.”

“Remus!”

“It’s true!”

Logan sighed heavily, “Remus is a little extreme, sometimes, but he is harmless. Look, I can assure you that your presumptions are entirely false. We would never harm you, and anything you’ve gone through in your past, what you call baggage, is not a deterrent to us in the slightest.”

“I have bipolar disorder, and a whole wacky past that we’ll get into another time,” Remus added, waving away Logan’s ‘shut up’ face, “And in the fifteen years I’ve known this nerd, he’s always stood by me.”

Janus knew it was supposed to feel better, but learning that the two have known each other since long before they knew they were soulmates suddenly made Janus feel that much more like he was intruding. Remus must have noticed his expression, because he quickly kept going.

“All I mean is that we have our fair share of baggage, my multicolored friend-”

“Remus!”

“Both of us do. So you won’t be hurting us in any way, shape, or form. And we won’t hurt you either.”

Janus’ own doubts were still raging inside him, but each word they said was adding splashes of water, slowly dousing the flames, much to his dismay. Even Remus’ attempts at humor were delighting him in ways he wasn’t used to.

“For some reason, the universe wants us together somehow. We’re meant to be in each other’s lives. Aw gross, that sounds like something Roman would-”

“Trusting us will be a slow process, and we understand that,” Logan interrupted smoothly, “You don’t need to believe our words, because we’ll prove it to you. Alright?”

It took a second until Janus nodded, but he did. He could hardly understand it himself.

“Can you start by telling us your name?”

“Janus.” It was a near whisper, a confession of the name he’d disliked since he was old enough to get bullied by his peers.

“The two faced Roman god of decisions, doorways, and new beginnings,” Logan spouted as if on instinct.

“Janus,” Remus repeated slowly, before a huge grin stretched across his face, “I love it.”

#lywrites #tsshipmonth2020 #intruloceit #janus sanders #logan sanders #remus sanders #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #ts soulmate au

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sweetestlamb · 4 years

Text

Rain On Me

A Motel Smut Fic

Summary: The rumbling of the engine vibrates through her exhausted body, the fatigue from her aimless walk now catching up with her as she clings to the wide span of his torso. The rain leaves his thin cotton shirt plastered to the coiled muscle of his abdomen, those enticing abs she had only seen a glimpse off are tight and compact beneath her weather worn digits.

Author's note: Sorry that this took a while, life has been a bit busy in the best way. I’m very excited to see so many others joining the fandom and writing fanfiction though, glad to be able to read stories from talented writers! I hope you guys enjoy this one, I had a harder time than usual with this smut, and the pov switches a few times because MY and GT had a lot to say and I just followed their lead. I can never write smut without a tinge of emotions so please excuse the excessive inner thoughts and inner monologues, I initially planned on just starting with the sex but I just love a build up. * Plays Ashanti’s “Rain On Me”

Thank you for the beautiful header @essantial you’re the absolute best!

The rumbling of the engine vibrates through her exhausted body, the fatigue from her aimless walk now catching up with her as she clings to the wide span of his torso. The rain leaves his thin cotton shirt plastered to the coiled muscle of his abdomen, those enticing abs she had only seen a glimpse off are tight and compact beneath her weather worn digits.

She hasn't the vaguest idea where he intends to bring them but she knows she'll follow him wherever he leads. Her heart had spattered to a stop just like the motorcycle's rumbling engine when she saw him approaching, his face chiseled and undeniably beautiful under the hard cascade of precipitation pouring from the skies. She'd never had a knight in shining armor, never had anyone try to protect her. She was hard, jagged and sharp, lashing out and wounding others before they could get close enough to harm her.

Yet.

There he'd been. Coming to save her even after snapping at her like a viper, acid dripping from the tip of his tongue as he crushed her under his foot like the empty can he'd compared her to. She had been too shocked to respond, to retaliate, to defend herself.

There was also that little voice that had awakened in her mind, advising her to think before she acted, a voice that frustratedly sounded like the very person who she itched to lash out at. The irony of her situation was not lost on her. He was both the one who tormented her and soothed her.

Ergo, she'd let his words slash her skin, hot tears boiling in her eyes as he rejected her once again. She hated herself for how devastated his words had left her, what he declared was no different from the thoughts that plagued her mind already. Was she just an empty can with no feelings? Loud and clattering, merely a hindrance to others who needed to be avoided at all cost? Was her father justified for squeezing the air from her lungs? If she had succumbed to death's inevitable call would she be doing the world a favor?

But, he had come to rescue her, and by extension of his act did that mean she was worth saving? Worth living?

"Get off. We're here." His curt words abruptly drag her back from her rumination, as he begins to slide off the bike, trying to pry her cold fingers from his immense warmth. "Let go." She tightens her hold fearing that if she releases he will abandon her, leaving her cold and alone. With a strong swipe he breaks her tight grip on his soaked shirt and stands up, long legs unfurling from their bent position on the bike.

"Come on."

He walks away before she obeys his direct command, and that's when she realizes where "here" is, a brightly lit motel, fluorescent light blinding in the dark fog left by the rain. After a slight pause, she hops off the bike following him through the glass door into the motel, the heat surrounds her almost immediately, her soaked body shivering underneath his sweater- the knight's armor.

The motel clerk perks up at their entrance, pushing the magazine he'd been reading to the side before welcoming them, "Hello, how can I help you?" His voice is inviting, much like a vendor selling goods on the streets.

Gang-tae flounders at the innocuous question, as she rolls her eyes, he routinely claims she's impulsive and needs to take time to think things through, yet he is the one that sped out on a motorcycle during a storm and now brought them to a motel only to act like a deer in headlights when asked a simple question.

She doesn't save him, watching him raptly along with the motel clerk. Curious about what he'll say next. Seconds pass as they both watch him awaiting an answer before finally, he solemnly turns to her, "Get a room here and wait out the rain. I'll ride home."

His words cut her like the blade of a sharpened knife, his presence was merely temporary, he'd had no plans of remaining with her, she was simply something to save and capriciously toss away before forming any attachment, insignificant. Anger and shame simmer in the pit of her churning stomach.

Poison curls around each syllable in her words, "I didn't ask you to bring me here, I was fine walking in the rain!" She spins around, with the full intention of marching right back into the rain and walking until her body is numb, longing to feel nothing and become the empty can he believes her to be.

His hand on her wrist halts her motion, "Stop being stubborn! You can't go back out there, it's too dangerous! Are you that fearless to travel outside in this weather by yourself? What if something happened to you and I wasn't there to--"

Her eyes widen at his shouted concerns, his grip on her wrist is hard as steel as his eyes pierce into her soul. Who is he to look at her like that and say those words to her? As if he cares about her.

She explodes.

Snatching her wrist from his hand she bulldozes into his space, eyeing with satisfaction as he retreats as she looms closer, one step forward, one step back.

"Why do you care if I'm out in this rain? Who cares if I put on a strip show outside like a crazy woman?" His eyes minutely twitch at the suggestion, something almost possessive flashing for only a second.

She misses it as her rant continues, "Are you angry? Does it bother you? Do you like me? Do you think you can handle it!" She barks each question into his face, until they collide with the machine, lights blaring in their sight, the crash from her hand slamming on its surface deafening in the otherwise silent hall.

It is dead quiet, only the sound of their breaths filling the air.

"Well? Why aren't you answering? I want to know how you're feeling, I can't tell. Maybe it's because I'm a empty can." She states spitefully, watching regret swirl in the dark pools of his eyes, his wet rain curled fringe only distracting her for a split second.

She shows no mercy, mockingly pressing on, "Why are you being so quiet? Are you an empty can too?"

Despite the clear difference in their height, he shrinks under her wrath, cowering under the weight of the carefully placed venomous words.

"I...I..." He stutters out, incomplete sentences dangling in the air, she watches as his eye dart across her face before he looks over her shoulder and suddenly turns a fiery scarlet hue. His cheeks lighting up like a wildfire. He pushes past her arm cornering him in and she spins around to continue her tirade.

Before her eyes land on the motel clerk, shiny foiled contraception hanging from the tips of his fingers, mischievous smirk on his face.

"She'll take a room." He reaches into his pocket, pulling out his wallet and slamming down an indiscernible amount of money on the table.

The clerk begins to rattle off information about the quality of his "steamy hot" rooms and all the features available, mirrored rooms, costumes, handcuffs, and even a hot tub. She hears almost none of it, still stuck on his statement, she'll take a room.

The motel clerk passes the room key, glimpsing at them both, eyes pointedly lingering on Gang-tae as if trying to converse with him with just the shifting of his pupils, before mouthing, stay with her.

She doesn't give him a chance to answer, reject her again, he has hurt her enough today to last a lifetime.

The rolling sound of the zipping descending is loud as she pulls it down the length of her body, tugging the jacket swiftly from her body, ignoring the immediate chill that stabs her skin, shivers rushing through her body. Vehemently she throws the sweater at him, watching as he jumps back from the soaked material before his eyes land on her throat. He gasps at the sight.

She knows what he's seeing, can feel her father's hands still curled around her throat bruising the tender skin and marking her a monster. Something to be passionately murdered, snuffed out of existence.

If that was his sole purpose for coming she didn't need his fucking pity.

Snatching the key she storms off, absently listening as the clerk directs her to the location of her room. She strides down the winding maze of the hall, following the signs as they guide her until she sees her room door, 1J. Finally, she approaches the door, key already in hand.

Only to be stilled by a hand on her shoulder, twisting around in shock she's rendered speechless by the face that greets her.

She's never seen this man in her life but his smarmy smile instantly puts her on edge. A gold tooth glints back at her when his mouth curls up in a salacious grin, "What's a pretty little thing like you doing here all on your lonesome? You look like you could use some company." He boldly moves into her space, openly perusing her like goods, her skin crawls under his appraisal, her black undergarments peeking through the soaked white of her dress.

The desire to cover herself is colossal.

"Don't touch me." She shoves him away, snarling at his audacity, homicidal thoughts surging in her mind as she contemplates removing her shoe and bludgeoning him until he's an unrecognizable pulp on the dingy carpeted floor.

He chuckles at her refusal, "Don't be like that. You should know that girls that look like you only come here for one reason. Don't play hard to get. I have money." He proudly pulls a few crumpled bills from the dark crevice of his pants, his hands encroach closer, intending to slip the money into the top of her dress.

She recoils from his grubby hands, voice raising with indignation and horror, "You think I'm a whore?! And you think you can pay for me with this measly amount of money? Get away from me you loser, use your hand like you have been all your life!" Her voice echoes off the walls and she watches the smirk melt off his face, giving way to pure distinguishable rage.

"You bitch! I'll show you your place!" His hand draws back, open palm flying toward her face. She stands still expecting the fire that will ignite on her cheek.

Only it never comes.

Her eyes which screwed shut in anticipation of the impact, flutter open only to see his broad back covering her completely. His hands are wrapped tightly around the wrist of the man, twitching in his grip as the man sputters out, "Who are you? Let go of me! This is none of your busine--aahh!!" He screams dropping to his knees as the pressure on his wrist increases, pain etched in every wrinkle of his putrid face.

"Okay! Okay! I'm sorry, please let go. You're breaking my wrist, please!" The man pleads on the floor, pulling at Gang-Tae's hold, unable to pry even a finger loose, she watches as he squeezes even tighter, his own white knuckles standing out starkly against the burnt red of the man's wrist.

Then finally he releases him. Tosses his hand away with a short cry, when he speaks his voice is crushed glass, "Get out of here." The man clutches his tender flesh to his chest before scrambling away, too terrified to even look back at them as he runs away.

He turns to her with a penetrating glare, "Why are you standing in the hallway looking like that? Come let's go inside." He motions at her body at his first inquiry, eyes struggling to avoid her tempting figure that can be seen through the almost transparent dress.

She remains still, baffled by his sudden appearance before turning to open the door and watching dazedly as he enters the room, dragging her alongside.

She'd unaware of the internal battle that had raged his brain after her departure, his eyes had followed her longingly as she moved further and further away before disappearing out of his sight. He couldn't deny the fear that raked through his bones, yearning to protect her, he'd tried to leave only to stomp back in to the annoyingly cheerful smile of the motel clerk. Defeated, he'd asked for a second key and followed her down the hallway, only to see red and then black. His reaction had been visceral, immediate and uncontrollable. He'd yearned to beat that bastard to a unrecognizable pulp for daring to touch her.

Thinking of what would have happened had he not been there makes his skin crawl. He can't leave her alone in a place like this with suspicious characters like that lurking around every corner.

Despite his best efforts he couldn't stop the pull that she had on him, his body dragged into her powerful orbit. He watches her beautiful face, expressionless as she gazes at him, none of that fire that's usually directed his way. His eyes soften at the red markings that decorate her otherwise blemish free silken skin. His anger flares again.

"What are you doing here? I thought you left." Never one to stray away from a confrontation, she immediately begins her interrogation. Eyes narrowing into dangerous slits, tracking his every movement for signs of deceit.

At a lost at how to answer, he simply stands there, their eyes locked in a battle that has been fought many times since they crashed into each other's lives.

"I don't need your pity." She bites out, snarling at him.

Her fury ignites his own, "Good. You won't get any from me. I brought you here so I should stay. That's all."

Her eyes scream liar, liar, liar as they pierce into him but she doesn't question him any further. Stomping off to the what must be the bathroom before slamming the door shut. He sighs a short breath of relief before collapsing into the bed.

Without her there to distract him he openly glances around the room, cheeks burning when he notices what exactly he has willingly walked into. The entire ceiling is smooth clear glass, streak free and crystalline shiny. His own embarrassed face stares back at him, his lips opened in a small oh.

Something fuzzy and pink catches his attention in the reflection at the head of the bed, he turns to see what it is before flinching away in surprise. He falls off the bed during his jolt, butt plummeting into the floor.

His brains tumbles before resettling.

Hand cuffs. A pair of hand cuffs are attached to the metal bar of the bed post, one half closed as the other lays open in a fluffy pillow. He's only asked for a basic room, nothing special, his exact words. Yet there is nothing ordinary about this room. He mentally curses the motel clerk, that presumptuous instigator, he'd give him a piece of his mind when they left.

All the blood rushing to his head distracts him from hearing Mun-yeong's return. Steam wafts from the bathroom, completing her dramatic entrance, his heart thumps into his chest violently as he watches her step through the steamy fog.

God damn it.

Her long raven hair spills over a naked shoulder, wavy and damp, clinging to her skin as she approaches the bed. The only thing protecting her dignity is a comically small towel, barely reaching the middle of her thigh, putting miles of bare skin on display, her legs smooth and long, skin gleaming in the dim light.

His tongue is heavy and dry in his mouth as he gapes at her.

He juts his head up at the ceiling only to groan in frustration when her equally enticing reflection greets him. Stammering out, "Yah! Put--put some clothes on. You can't.... can't just leave the bathroom with a towel on!"

She smirks, "Why are you getting so worked up? You saw my clothes they're soaking wet, I couldn't put that back on. This towel was my only option, unless you preferred I came out naked." Her perfectly plucked eyebrow lifts at the provocative suggestion, he adamantly tries to obliterate all images of that very vision that rush to his mind. Other regions of his body similarly taking an interest with this conversation.

He doesn't respond to her obvious teasing remark. Primarily because he is overwhelmed, not used to being this turned on. He can't even deny that reality, not as the heat between his legs begins to perk up in interest, ignored for far too long.

Terrified he glances back at her, finding her enraptured in the ceiling , winking and smiling at her reflection, oblivious to his plight. Gratitude and relief both dance in harmony across his skin, he uses the diversion to quietly scamper to the bathroom. The door closing signaling a much needed reprieve. He lets out a sigh as he presses his head to the door, the wood cool against his hot face. In and out, in and out. He centers himself, tugging the strings of control back into there rightful place. Feeling the desire that bloomed in his loins fissure away until only smoke remains in its destruction.

Seeing her undergarments carelessly strewn across the floor almost undoes all the carefully constructed walls he built but he closes his eyes and hops into the shower, willing himself to think of nothing.

He did the best he could to wring the excess water from his clothes before dejectedly dragging the wet cold material back onto his now shower warm skin.

It's not the best solution but it is unthinkable to exit the bathroom in only a towel, knowing that she would be donning as little as well. If they were both in towels, it would be bad. Catastrophic, even.

He gives himself a pep talk sitting on the towel, praying for control and Mun-yeong's deep slumber that will last the remainder of the night.

His second wish is not granted as he opens the bathroom door, stopping in his tracks at the inexplicable scene.

Her lips are sealed around something plastic held between her fingers, she blows into the object and it expands in her hands, he notices the phallic shape before realizing that she's blowing the condoms like balloons.

Where did she get condoms?

Why does she have condoms?

Why was she blowing them up like erotic balloon animals??

He sputters out, flailing his arms, "Wha--What are you doing?"

With a final puff of moist air, she pulls her lips away from the condom, tying it off and looking at him nonchalantly, "You were gone for a long while, I got bored." She shrugs, "Plus we won't be needing any condoms tonight."

Disappointment drops like lead his his stomach at her statement, he should be happy, should nod in agreement and be thankful that they are on the same page, she will not be seducing him or tempting him to lose control.

Good.

Great.

Fantastic.

His heart shouts liar liar liar as he tries to convince himself.

"I'm on birth control so we don't need these getting in the way. I want to feel every inch of you, I don't want anything in between us." She calmly detonates a bomb on him, all while undressing him with her eyes and leaving every little to his imagination in her attire. Tossing the condom to the side to land with all the others she has blown up.

"I told you to stop. Stop saying things like that to me."

"Hypocrite. You're the one who brought me to a motel, you're the one that got jealous in the hallway, you're the one who came out in a storm to rescue me. Your actions scream as loud as my words. You want this too. You want me. Just admit it."'

Admit it.

His head is spinning from her accusation, his behavior has been nothing but confusing to him as well since the moment he raced out on the motorcycle, but hearing her lament everything so concisely forces him to face the truth. He had been the one to seek her out. Impetuously, searching for her as soon as he heard what happened, unable to stop himself from reacting. Why did she have this affect on him? What was it about her that called out to him so strongly? Why couldn't he control himself when she was involved?

All questions he wasn't ready to hear the answers to.

She wasn't wrong, he was a coward.

Wordlessly he sways to the bed, needing something solid to keep him afloat in the ocean of his thoughts.

The red circling her neck grabs his attention again and he whispers, "Are you okay? Does it hurt?"

Different emotions swirl in the haunting eyes and he fears she'll lash out at his question, coldly banishing it as the pity she shouted she didn't want from him.

She never does what he expects.

A humorless grin spreads across her face, "I'm alive. I'm fine. This wasn't the first time and it probably won't be the last. That man hates me and the feeling is mutual. You know what's funny, you're the first person to ask me if I'm okay. All of your little nurse friends just watched as he tried to kill me. Isn't that funny?"

It isn't funny. His hands clench in ire thinking about her gasping for life on the ground as no one came to her aide. Unable to fathom how her own father could be so cruel.

"That shouldn't have happened to you."

She looks at him dispassionately, fight leaving her eyes and her shoulders sagging.

"All monsters must die. Didn't you say that people like me should be avoided? Don't you think he was trying to do the world a favor by killi--"

"Shut up." He slams his hand over her mouth, rolling cross the expanse of the bed until they are a mere inches apart.

"You said you didn't want pity. So stop pitying yourself. What happened was wrong and you didn't deserve that."

Her eyes desperately search his face again, as she looks up at him, finding what they're looking for before he sees the sadness bleed from her eyes leaving room for something better, brighter.

It's only when her eyes shift to his lips that he realized how close they are.

Too close.

Moving his hand off her lips, he starts to lean back, scurrying back to safety. But she moves with him, towel shifting down with her upward movement, precariously close to falling and his eyes grow larger in fear.

Suddenly their positions are swapped and he's gazing up at her hovering over him, dark curtain of her hair tumbling over her shoulder and cocooning him. He aches to run his fingers through the locks.

"I don't want pity. But I do want your desire. You're looking at me like you want to eat me alive. Do it. Give me that."

His body constricts at the demanding request, shaking his head in arbitrary refusal, disregarding the heat and want that swells like a wave at her words.

"No. No... We shouldn't. I can't. Just go to sleep."

She brushes a hand through the wet fringe that frames his forehead, sliding through the wet locks, "You look delectable with your hair like this. I have to admit though, seeing you racing to come save me. I was quite smitten."

Pride unfurls in his chest.

Then she steals his breath.

The kiss isn't sudden or spontaneous, she smiles at him, a gorgeous smile that transforms her face from pretty to breathtaking, before she becomes to lean down, her eyes locked on his lips leaving no need for speculation. Her intentions couldn’t be clearer.

He has ample time to move, reject her once again and only allow himself to have her in small manageable doses. Being around her is far more addicting than any drug.

He is too weak to follow through.

The kiss is soft, softer than he expected from someone as unrestrained as her. Her hands are gentle on his face, caressing his cheeks as she presses her insistent lips into his. The kiss is nothing like he expected and thus it is perfect.

Just a kiss. He'll allow only one kiss. That should be enough to sate his hunger for her.

She starts to deepen the kiss, tongue poking at the tight seal of his mouth impatiently, then her fingers trail under his now slightly damp shirt, nails raking at the muscle that lays hidden, his mouth falls open at the new sensation. Wasting no time she licks into his mouth, moaning when she finally gets a taste of him. He suppresses an answering groan, light-headed as she overwhelms his sense, her scent and her taste coiling around him in an impenetrable wall.

He losses himself in the kiss, riding the high of finally tasting that mouth that has tormented him for too long. Letting her tongue swirl in his mouth, sinuously dancing with his own, until his lungs are burning .

When she begins to push his shirt further up his torso, baring his stomach, he jumps away from her touch and ultimately breaking their wet connection. Grabbing her wrists in his own shaking hands, he halts her movement, taking a deep measured breath.

"That's enough. I.... can't."

His control shudders at the sight of her above him, her eyes begin to slide open slowly as she falls back to earth, the passion that pours out from those eyes is enough to knock him off his high horse, her lips are kiss swollen and rosy wet, teasing him, tempting him. Her face is flushed as she pants, minty breath landing on his face with every exhale.

"Aren't you tired?" The tone of her voice is exasperated, at his bewildered expression she continues, "Of lying to yourself? Doesn't it get tiring never getting what you want?"

You're just a kid who wants to be loved.

I know you want to have fun.

She's the only one able to see right through him, reading him like he's an open book with pictures and startling him with her apt analysis, another reason he knows he should stay away from her, she will be his undoing, untimely demise.

"You want this. Tell me otherwise." She demands.

He wills his mouth to open and do what she says, deny his desires and sever this moment, the glint in her eyes informs him that this will be her final request, answer wisely.

He lays frozen, words lost in the jumble of his mind. Moving too fast for him to pluck them out and form a coherent sentence. Then she begins to move away, taking her delicious heat with her and his hand flies out instinctively, grabbing her towel covered waist his brain screaming no.

She stills, narrowed slits glaring down at him. Reading him again. Searching his face before she nods, "Okay. I'll take that control."

Slithering up his body, she catches his lips in another toe curling kiss, harder than before, all tongue and teeth, biting at his lip and demanding entry, he rushes to give it to her, weak at her passionate onslaught. This time he kisses back, wraps his tongue around hers and sucks, drunk on her flavor and ignoring the voice in his head that demands that he stop.

He feels her hands traveling up his chest, brushing on his nipples, before running up his arm and settling on his wrists, she lowers all her weight on him, knocking a shuddering breath from his overexerted lungs. The soft press of clothed breasts on his chest throwing his thoughts off kilter. In a flurry of movement, he feels her tug his wrist with both of her hands, something fuzzy curls around immobilizing him as his eyes snap open.

He pulls and meets resistance.

She draws away from him to watch his reaction, both of their eyes fixated on his wrist. He peers into the ceiling unable to look fully above his head and his pupils dilate as he sees what he already knew, felt on his skin.

Handcuffed.

Just as she promised she'd taken away his control.

A moan escapes his lips. She squirms in response to the sultry sound.

"I found something else when you were gone." She leans to the side of the bed, bending at the waist to retrieve something, rocking into his erection with the motion and he bites his tongue to contain his moan.

With an all knowing grin, she sits up grinding down into his hard length, throwing her head back, long hair whipping over her shoulder, wild and free.

He almost spills from that image, alone.

"Look." She offers what resembles a tiny remote with a cord connected to the bed, light vibrations start to buzz through the surface of the bed as she twists the dial.

The bed trembles and shakes beneath them rocking them along with the waves of vibrations.

"What are you going to do to me?" He whispers, fear and anticipation fighting for domination.

With a shark like grin she replies, "Take you apart and put you back together."

Immediately she sets off on her mission, openly appreciating his body, tongue dragging across her lips as she takes in the alluring vision of him at her mercy. He watches utterly captivated as she runs her hands up her own body, briefly pausing to mold her hands around her breasts, squeezing them and moaning deeply.

His mouth is arid dry, tongue turning to sandpaper at the seductive picture.

Then she tugs at the seal of the towel, loosening its hold, one strong pull is all that is necessary to have it tumbling off her body and cascading to the bed, baring every inch of her body to his ravenous eyes that dart from the soft swell of breasts down to the smooth mound of her naked sex.

Again, she takes herself in hand, pinching at her dark pebbled nipples, groaning at the pain before comforting herself with a gentle swipe of her thumb. His free hand cries out to join her in this endeavor.

"Touch me." Before the words have even settled in the air, she's capturing his free hand and bringing it to her chest, soft, hot, fuck, the only words left in his vocabulary as his hand becomes full of her. After a moment's hesitation, he squeezes the soft flesh in his hands, eyes locked on the tight furl of her nipple. His touch his soft, revered.

In absolute disbelief at the precious gift is he being given.

"Harder." His hand responds to her cry, tightening his hold and viciously tweaking her peak, eyes darkening at the way she rolls along his body, smearing her wetness across the plane of his stomach. He can feel her heady warmth sizzling on his skin, fingers longing to run through the drenched folds and tease her hidden jewel.

"Watch me." He falters at her words, grabbing her waist when she starts to slide off his body, wordlessly begging her to stay. She pushes his hand away smiling at his worry and dismay, laying flat on her back next to him, "Look at me." When he twists his head, wincing at the twinge from the pull of the hard metal on his wrist, he finds her eyes averted to the ceiling, he meets her eyes there.

Entranced as she slowly brings a finger to her mouth, lips wrapping around the digit, she opens her mouth showing him the way her tongue laps and soaks it, before pulling it out with a filthy wet pop. The finger trails down her body, pinching her nipples but their journey continues until they reach her center. He watches her reflection dazed as she uses two fingers to spread her lips open, bringing her feet flat on the bed to give him an optimal view. His heart beat skyrockets pounding in his chest as all the blood rushes to his cock.

With a deep seated moan, she takes two fingers and plunges into her wet center, her puffy lips giving away to the press, widening at the invasion. She shoves in until her fingers disappear into the depth, before dragging them out and fucking back deeply, her voice slices through the white noise sloshing in his brain.

"Gang-tae, I need you."

She fingers herself, in, out, in, out, eyes screwed shut from her pleasure.

He smacks her hand out of the way, control all but decimated, mashed to smithereens,before rubbing across her wet folds her moan setting him on fire before he mimics her movement, showing two fingers into the tight grip of her pussy. His rigid erection jumps at the thought of taking its place, her wet heat wrapping around him.

The vibration of the bed bounces her on his fingers, knocking her back on to his digits every time he withdraws. She bodily rides his hand, "More, more, more." He presses a third finger in, forcing her walls open sighing as the flesh gives under the pressure.

Ramming into her he watches her face twists in pleasure in the mirror, his own lust blown eyes greeting him as he watches her. She grabs her breasts, squeezing them as his fingers plunge into her steadily and powerfully.

Grabbing the reins of his desire he presses a fourth finger into her, his thumb accidentally rubbing across her clit and the most beautiful sight plays out in the mirror. Mun-yeong twists violently on the bed, bucking away from his fingers but he chases her, shoving the fingers back in and purposely massaging at her observing as she falls over the edge, orgasmic screams drawn from her mouth.

Her juices drown his fingers as she quakes apart on the bed, his eyes drink in the sensual sight of her fluttering lips around his soaked fingers.

He slowly drills into her lax hole, lost in her heat before she grabs his wrist. She takes three deep breaths, naked chest rising and laying before she turns towards him, eyes dancing.

"You're a fast learner." He reddens under her open praise. "Your turn."

His turn? She answers his wordless question by crawling into his space, and he's momentarily blinded by her beauty. Her face and body a work of art, all clean lines and soft curves, petite and tight. Her hand tugging at his pants drag him away from his musings.

"What are you doing?"

"Shhhh no more talking unless you're saying my name, asking for more or moaning. I already told you what I'm doing tonight."

Taking you apart and putting you back together.

He shudders at her words and then at her daring fingers, tugging his now unbuttoned and unzipped pants off his hip. The cold air slams into his overheated erection, doing nothing to change its stiffness or ardor.

"Beautiful." Dismissing his blush, she grabs him through the soft stretch of his boxers, stroking teasingly from root to tip. Watching a dark stain form at the tip as she massages the head.

She strokes him through the cloth a few more times, avidly tracking his face, "So handsome." She whispers it under her breath, clearly not intended for his ears and he heats up at the open awe in her voice.

Nothing could prepare him for the pleasure that overwhelms him when she extracts his length from its clothed prison. It stands at attention, thick and veiny in her hand, clear fluid pooling at the red tip and spilling down the sides.

The beds vibrations pushes his erection into her grip and he groans twisting his hips up, desperate for her touch. "I got you." The promise laced in her words cause his eyes to water, he's usually the protector no one has ever supported him, he rapidly blinks the tears away shame faced.

She misses his emotional riposte, her eyes locked on his erection jutting out and almost too thick for her hand to circumvent fully.

Using both hands she strokes him, using the leaking fluid from gathering on his cock to ease her journey, he pants in response, "Please." His pleads fall from his lips, desperation annihilating any reservations that lingered, he's completely on board now watching her burst apart from his fingers ripping the last tendrils of control from his grasp.

She doesn't leave him wanting, eagerly bending her head to pop the tip of his erection into her mouth, lips curling around the tip and swallowing the liquid pooled there.

His toes curl as she hums at the first taste of him on her tongue, vibrations hitting him from both ends now, the bed and her mouth. His head spins from the new sensations, he has never felt anything like this, scarcely even finding comfort in his own hands. Hard to find moments alone while sharing a space with his brother.

She sucks him in ever deeper, his hand slams on the bed, handcuff forcing his body to pull taut as he tries to prevent himself from thrusting into her mouth. It's a fruitless battle, she slurps and bobs on his cock, dismantling him down to a molecular level. Every atom of his body is screaming her name, he doesn't notice when it falls from his tongue, "Ughhh Mun-yeong!"

His cries emboldens her, she loosens her mouth sinking the rest of the length down his erection until her lips are flush against the root. His eyes slam shut, spots bursting behind his closed eyelids, he thrusts up powerfully his cock slipping down her throat and euphoria batters at his brain.

He's powerless as he bursts apart, release shooting into her waiting mouth, expecting her to pull off he's further deconstructed as she happily hums, swallowing each drop as it explodes in her mouth.

The tight suction of her mouth is too much following his release and he weakly tries to pull free, his cock slides out of her mouth, with a final suck of his tip she lets him fall from her mouth.

"Delicious."

Her voice is raspy and rough, the tone causes his dick to twitch feebly.

He feels fatigue begin to form after his earth shaking orgasm, his first with someone else. His eyes drift close as he falls into a deep slumber. He's vaguely cognizant of a wet material wiping across his skin and a blanket being tugged over his now chilled body.

"Rest for now."

He obeys, sleeping finding him easily.

********************************************

She watches him sleep, peaceful for once, all the worries missing from his handsome face. Her body tingles in memory of what they've done. His fingers in her most intimate places, his cum thick and hot on her tongue, his salty flavor still lingering on her tongue. His orgasm had surprised her but it was a pleasant surprise, she had greedily taken everything he had to offer, hungry for more.

His flaccid cock lays innocently on his thigh now, taunting her, it had been anything but innocent plundering her mouth earlier. She's been watching him sleep for a few minutes, a boom of thunder waking her from her slumber and she'd been unable to fall back into the sandman's clutches.

Instead she watched him sleep, taking in every delicious inch of his body, that gorgeous face with a chiseled jaw and wide inviting lips, his hair curled beautifully from the rain, the wide berth of his shoulders and the solid stretch of his chest which tampers into his narrow waist that is all set atop long thick thighs and legs.

His dick twitches and she glances up to see if he's awake, his eyes are moving rapidly beneath his closed lids, in the throes of a dream it appears.

"Must be a good dream." She ponders as his erection swells under her watchful gaze.

He thrusts up, handcuffs clanging at his sudden movement, as he starts to pump into the air. His lips falling open as he moans incoherently before she hears something that causes her to moisten, "Mun-yeong..."

He's dreaming of her. From the movement of his hips, it's apparent what fantasy he is living out, she shifts next to him, prepared to make it a reality.

Glancing up at the mirror, she ponders her next move before looking at him fucking the air and reaching a decision. She crawls over him, legs straddling his thighs her back to his front, her breasts jiggling in her reflection.

She grinds down onto his upward thrust, his tip catching on her moist folds, hands on his chest she presses back harder, letting his cock run through her wetness, moaning as the head rubs against her hidden bead.

She hears the moment he snaps back into reality, his hand immediately grabbing at her waist, she looks up into the mirror smiling at his glossy eyes that burn a hole in her face.

Before he can ask her asinine questions as he's wont to do, she reaches behind herself, firmly gripping his cock and leans her back onto his shoulder, he watches the stretch of her body as she puts herself on display for his pleasure.

With steady hands, she guides him to her opening, he can see everything in the reflection, her folds glistening as she presses the head in, his eyes slam shut at the feeling.

"Open your eyes. I want you to watch."

Her voice leaves no room for argument. He has no desire to.

He watches as his cock slowly disappears into her wet hole inch by inch, all of the air in his body suspended, she widens her stance as the fattest part of his length pulls at her walls before he feels her loosen and sink onto him, fully. He is drowning in the vision of his cock spearing into her tight heat, he might never breathe again.

The tightest vice around his length, borderline painful.

The continuous vibrations from the bed mildly rocks him into her, but after a pause she draws off, only the tip remaining before slamming back down onto him, the dual sensation of simultaneously watching her sink onto him and feeling her overloads his sense.

She rides him languidly, hips gyrating in dizzying circles as she undulates on his length, his arm shoots out to wrap across her flat stomach, pressing her incredibly closer to him, his abs rubbing against her back. Her back curves into his hold as she plants her feet harder into the bed, her hole spread wide as he pistons into her. Vivid obscene images reflected by the mirror, he can't look away.

He blindly finds her breasts, squeezing and groping at them in turns, pulling and pinching at the taut nipples.

"Gang-tae, harder, deeper." She demands, he rams up into her, length drilling into her spread hole, sinking deeper and deeper, slamming into her so hard that the echoes of his hips meeting her ass cheeks bounce off the walls.

"I'm too close.." He warns her, visages of his dream still plaguing his thoughts, he'd been lost in a fantasy, one of many wet dreams featuring the temptress wild in his arms. They'd been brutally fucking in the rain, cold raindrops sizzling off their skin as he pushed her over the handle of the bike and slammed into her over and over again. Her cries lost under the booming thunder that roared in the skies.

Pleasure beyond his knowledge had dragged him from that scintillating dream, only to be met by an equally enticing reality.

He woke up already on the edge, unprepared for her attack.

She begins to grind faster, reaching one hand down into the hidden depths of her center, rubbing at her clit in perfect synchronization with the motion of their fucking.

Grabbing her impossibly tighter he shoves up, pushing his cock as deep as it can go, her cries music to his ears, as he slams in out in out in out. Her walls clench around him, her fingers a flurry of rapid movement on her bead, he never slows down, driving deeper and faster, until wetness gushes out of her and coats him, her body bows tight into his hold.

For the second time tonight, his brain oozes out of his dick. Hot load exploding into her depth as his eyes finally leave the mirror and screw close as he rides the wave of his second orgasm. Unable to fight it with her walls squeezing him and demanding that he fill them, fill her up with his cum.

She collapses onto his body, milking the last drops of his release.

With a deep shuddering breath, she pulls off his softening length, rolling to her side of the bed, pushing her hair out of her eyes, resembling a siren luring men to their doom.

"Wow."

He agrees, holy fuck wow.

Their eyes meet again in the mirror.

"You like watching." It's not a question so he doesn't deign it with a reply. They'd both seen first hand just how much he enjoyed watching.

"Aren't you full of surprises." She preens, slipping from the bed, comfortable in her nudity. His eyes follow her every movement, he could look at her forever.

She disappears for a moment after the flush of a toilet, reappearing with another wet towel, carefully cleaning him once more. It feels oddly intimate despite all they've done tonight, the lines between lust and affection blurring.

He attempts to turn onto his side before remembering the constraint on his wrist, he pulls at it before glancing at her.

"Take these off."

She blinks at him, "Oh. I didn't see a key."

He blinks owlishly in return, "What? You put this on before finding a key!" Voice raising an octave at the tail end of his question, disbelief furrowing his brows and dragging his lips into a hard line.

"I had to. You wouldn't have given in otherwise. It's your fault, you're too stubborn." She scoffs folding her arms defiantly, he tries his damnest not to ogle her naked breasts that are pushed up with the motion.

He fails spectacularly.

"I guess I could go to the front desk and ask for a spare key."

He thinks of her white dress, now transparent from the rain and then her standing in that little towel. Those are the only things she could wear to the front desk and the thought of her walking around in either of those options makes his blood boil. Especially remembering that piece of scum who had tried to assault her.

"No."

"Why not?" She stares at him in confusion.

"I said no." He doesn't elaborate, avoiding eye contact.

With a shrug she cuddles into his side, naked body warm against him.

"Okay I'll keep you locked up like my love slave. " He tries to glare at her but he can't muster up the energy, exhausted, shuffling until he finds a comfortable position with his arm locked over his head, it's not an easy feat but eventually he finds a spot.

Their eyes drift close, exertion catching up with them.

Rain pattering away on the window, thunder rumbling in the distance.

He feels movement next to his head and then a soft press against his lip, fleeting and gone as quickly as it came.

His heart stutters at the implications. He tries not to think, fearing the storm that is brewing between them.

Sleeps finds him unarmed, taking him to a land where they can be together. He dreads the morning knowing he'll have to push her away, erect the fortress that surrounds his heart once more.

He doesn't have the time or luxury to have what he wants.

Moonlight streams in through the window, illuminating the key that lies innocuously on the floor, hidden under their discarded clothes.

#its okay to not be okay #its okay to not be okay fic #psycho but it's okay #moon gang tae #ko mun yeong #motel smut #mirror sex #handcuffs #a dash of feelings too #hopefully it was worth the wait

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