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whirlybirbs · 3 years

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( this chapter’s gif by @ransomflanagan from this beautiful set ! )

✪ — VACANT MIRRORS ; B.B. | 5/?

summary: your plan goes to asbolute shit.

pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader

tags: set before & during tfatws, friends to lovers, therapy positive, trauma healing techniques, ptsd mentions, the normalization of anxiety disorders, and a good ol’ slow burn

word count: 9k, please pray for my fingers

a/n: there’s action, there’s gunshot wounds, there’s canon appropriate violence! this one has a lot of plot, a lot of action, and i truly want to sleep for seven days after writing this. you should listen to the glass cannon’s club playlist while you read, though, for vibez.

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You do have a plan.

Maybe it’s a little vague, a little messy, and a little up-in-the-air, but it’s a plan.

Get in, find Kiwi, avoid a handful of unsavory characters, and access the Alexandria Library.

Getting the hell out The Glass Cannon once you and Bucky were in was going to be a whole different plan entirely — one that was more improv than anything else. Hopefully, running a quick facial recognition program wouldn’t take long. With any luck, it would get a hit on any more recent aliases Innessa Sidrova was using after parsing the motherload of information Kiwi held onto with her life.

Kiwi wasn’t always known as Kiwi. She worked at SHIELD, like you, and back then she was known as Suji Awal. She stuck around longer — and she’d stayed on board during the active collapse to do heaven-sent work. It was an absolute Hail Mary, but while HYDRA had tried to purge all of SHIELD’s cloud data to protect their active agents and decades of progress, Suji had beat the hare in the race. Two steps ahead, she’d managed to pull nearly 97% of all confidential data including mission reports, agent profiles, and even electronic correspondence. While the metaphorical fire burned the documents behind her, she’d managed to salvage one of the only surviving, comprehensive looks at SHIELD before the curtain was pulled back to reveal HYDRA’s infection.

It had been used to try multiple HYDRA agents in the wake of it all in the federal courts. It was significant evidence, but after nearly all was reaped from the crop, Suji had taken the aptly named Alexandria Library and gone underground. Now, Kiwi was just another hacker in the thick of it and the Alexandria files were all but whispers.

It’s all about knowing the right people in the end.

Kiwi was a regular at The Glass Cannon. There was a nine out of ten chance you’d find her there. And if you didn’t find Kiwi, you’d probably find Climber and… Well, going to him wasn’t the most ideal situation, but out of the menagerie of acquaintances you’d gathered up throughout the years, you could trust Climber. He’d send you Kiwi’s way if you finally called in that favor he owed you. Either way, you’d find her and you’d get the files.

You just needed to avoid Alexei Gardzov.

Easy. Ish.

In truth, you barely get anything done Thursday — you’re too preoccupied in your head, running over the so-called plan even now as you fold laundry in the basement of your apartment complex.

You’d dug around in your closet, trying to find some semblance of an outfit. It was difficult. It wasn’t like the barely-there dresses and platform shoes were your thing anymore. Back then, your diet was mostly energy drinks and alcohol — in a way, it’s a relief to find that a good number of your staple outfits no longer fit. It made you feel like you really had put all this behind you.

You have.

Sure, it was the Rabbit you were going to have to be for tonight, but you’re not the Rabbit you were eight years ago. Good thing, too. You’re not too sure you and Bucky would have gotten along otherwise. Right now, your relationship with him was the biggest thing keeping you afloat — for the first time in a long time, you feel like you have some sort of purpose, even if it was a vague one at best.

You knew Innessa Sidrova was a threat — and you knew Bucky had to remedy that threat. You knew he felt responsible for creating her, for planting her in a position of power where she could manipulate and control. In truth, there was still a lot of vagueness surrounding his past. He’d made it clear he hasn’t been himself for a long time, but you couldn’t bring yourself to wade through the muck of his trauma to pluck out your answers. It just felt wrong.

If you were to say you hadn’t been tempted to go out on your own and dig, that’d be a lie.

Even now, as you pull out the ink-black top from the dryer and fold it neatly on top of the other pieces of laundry needed for tonight, you can feel it sparking like a lighter in the back of your head.

He was keeping something from you.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

You nearly jump six feet in the air.

It’s Miss Bonnie — and she’s laughing when her feet touch the cold concrete of the unfinished floor. Her basket of laundry is balanced neatly on her hip, and she walks with a smirk on her face. Her hair is piled neatly on top of her head, and as she bends to plop the basket down, she offers a wink.

“I could hear you thinking from upstairs,” she ruminates, paisley and dyed skirts kissing the ground, “Like a little steam engine.”

You laugh quietly into your task. You duck your head and heft a black bra and jeans from the dryer. “I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

She looks up, eyes moving carefully from the laundry pile to your face. Her eyes glimmer with quiet curiosity. “And a big night planned, huh?”

You snort. “What was the giveaway?”

“It’s always the lacey bras,” she chirps and slides a smirk your way as she waggles a finger at your pile, “And the strappy little bodysuit was a good hint, too.”

You exhale with a laugh, bracing a hand against the dryer. She’s not wrong — you’d really forgone comfort with this outfit lineup. It was temporary, though, and well worth the efforts if it meant helping Bucky tick off a name from his list of amends. You knew how much those meant to him.

“So,” she continues, voice muddled as she continues to load the washer, “I take it this friend of yours is really helping you out of your shell?”

“I guess so. Yeah. It’s — It’s sort of a mutual shell-cracking, I guess.”

“Mm,” a hum, “You sound troubled, though.”

Your mouth opens as your fingers trace the line of the bodysuit. You pause, and you rock back on your heels. Miss Bonnie notices.

She waits patiently, bent at the knees.

“You ever just…” you wave your hand, “Feel like — I don’t know. He’s my friend. My best friend, honestly, and that’s… Really saying a lot. But, there’s stuff under the surface and I know it’s not my business but…”

Out comes a strangled groan.

“What? Like a crazy ex-girlfriend?”

“No, no — I don’t think so,” you mutter, “Wouldn’t surprise me, though.”

“Handsome?” she asks, smiling.

You close your eyes and ignore the smile on your face as you reply. “Yea, handsome.”

“Well, have you tried asking?” she shrugs as she stands, “Not about the crazy ex, but about the stuff you’re worried about? It never hurts.”

“Problem is, I don’t really think it’s too much of my business.”

Miss Bonnie hums at that and presses the start on her washer. She’s quiet for a bit, swaying slightly as she weighs the conversation and you watch — enamored with the older woman’s calm wisdom. She gestures openly with ringed hands.

“I think it’s normal for us to want to know everything about those we care about,” she says, “We want to know how we can protect them, how we can comfort them. But… it comes in due time. All of it does. You’ll find a time when he does open up about the ex, or whatever it is on his mind. You’re friends, after all.”

You’re nodding, chest tight with thanks.

Miss Bonnie’s face is soft.

“You got a picture?” she chirps like a bird looking for a worm, “I wanna see who this little friend is. And if he really is as handsome as you’re suggesting...”

You scoff and lean to dig out your phone.

“Cut it out,” you mumble as she moves closer, “No playing matchmaker.”

“Sure, sure,” she waves, leaning to watch as you scroll through your camera roll.

The only photo you have of Bucky is there from Tuesday night — after he’d housed nearly an entire container of noodles and promptly passed out during the third Lord of the Rings movie. You’d woken up around one in the morning to find that Poke had unceremoniously curled up on top of the supersoldier’s chest. Bucky’s hand was still in the calico’s fur as he dozed, the colors of the TV painting his face all sorts of peaceful. You’d taken the photo, shoving it in his face after gently nudging him awake.

He’s laughed.

You gesture to show Miss Bonnie.

Like ice, she freezes.

You notice a microexpression dart across her face, but it’s gone in an instant. You can’t pin it, but the way she bends to pull the phone closer and zoom in on her face comes off as interest. You blink, label it as shock, and move on.

Her voice sounds different.

“Handsome,” she mumbles plainly, preoccupied with the sight, “I get it now. What’s his name?”

“Bucky,” you say as she hands the phone back, “He’s… He’s a good person.”

Miss Bonnie just nods.

You tuck your phone away and plop your laundry into your basket. Ignoring the sudden quiet that had crept between you both, you haul up the stack and offer her a gentle smile. She’s fiddling with the washer’s timer.

“Thank you, Miss Bonnie.”

“Of course,” she rushes out, smiling gently, “And be safe tonight.”

“I will.”

With your promise, you ascend the stairs.

In that basement, Bonnie McLayne is no more, and instead, Innessa Sidrova remembers that night in Moscow, back in 1975.

She remembers the Winter Soldier.

◦ ◦ ◦ ◦

Bucky calls you three times with no answer.

Normally, he’d just give up — but it was Thursday, and you weren’t answering the buzzer to your apartment either. He tries his best to ignore the strike of panic that sparks in his chest. It could stoke a wildfire, really, but he pushes it down and remembers to breathe. He doesn’t let himself think about what he’d do if something happened to you.

After all, you’re probably fine. Sleeping, maybe. The both of you had a long night ahead.

(Longer than either of you realize, really.)

It’s nearly seven o’clock, and after trying your cell one more time from his perch on your apartment’s stoop, Bucky decides to say fuck it.

A well-adjusted person might frown upon what he was about to do, but Bucky wasn’t exactly well-adjusted, now was he?

He rounds the back alley with long strides and easily finds that, with a little maneuvering, he can hoist himself upwards on top of the nearest dumpster. With a well-timed hop, he can also snag the bottom of the fire escape’s ladder and haul it downwards. The rest is easy, and he’s scaling the fire escape to the third floor with ease before he even knows it.

There’s even a smug little smirk on his face the whole time he does.

Finding your window is a little harder, but Bucky eventually spots Poke’s round little body smushed against the glass — it’s a dead giveaway, and after some prowling, he finds the window to your living room and unceremoniously throws it open.

It’s unlocked, for whatever reason, and he makes a mental note to have a conversation with you about safety and security in the city. After all, you never knew when an ex-assassin supersoldier was going to break in and pet your cat.

Upon opening the window, he pieces together pretty quickly why you’re not answering. Could be the music coming from your bedroom, or even the singing that’s coupled alongside it. From the bathroom across the hall from your room, steam has settled above on the ceiling. The whole apartment smells like fruit and soap and perfume and Bucky’s not really sure how to parse through all the sensory experiences that greet him with he shimmies in through the window, legs first.

All in all, they make him smile.

Bucky shuts the window behind him as he’s quickly greeted by Poke — the calico offers a gratuitous little chirp when Bucky bends to scoop up the cat. Easily, he melts. Poke is purring loudly in his ear as Bucky takes a moment to survey your apartment a little bit closer. Mr. Poke Bowl rubs his face against Bucky’s stubble as the man weaves through the kitchen.

It’s very you.

He isn’t really sure what that means at the end of the day, but all he knows is that he feels at home here. He feels safe. He feels comfortable. He feels like he can be himself. Not James, not Sergeant Barnes, not The Winter Soldier. Not even Steve’s Bucky, but just… his Bucky. Himself. Sarcastic and exhausted and a little cynical.

Bucky lets Poke down on the counter and moves to the fridge.

There’s still beer from the other night in there, tucked in the back, so he makes easy work on popping open a bottle and busying himself with petting a very adamant Poke.

As he sips the Leinenkugel, it’s no small coincidence that his phone buzzes again — for what feels like the hundredth time today — with a message from Janelle.

She was nice — pretty, too. Once upon a time, she would have been his type.

That was before he met you, though.

There’s a little pinprick of mortification at that quiet confession that’s been slipping into his heart more and more in the last few days. You are, after all, his best friend. He’s your best friend. Guilt swims with the feelings that have begun to pluck his heartstrings and he has to admit he’s not too comfortable with the song they play.

His biggest fear is fucking this up.

Fucking you up.

Honestly, his track record isn’t great. The whole defrosted-international-threat bit made it a little difficult to date. Janelle seemed to think the date had gone well enough, though, hence the handful of texts he’d been getting every few hours asking if he’s free.

Like usual, he ignores them.

Exercising his own free will is hard sometimes. Especially when it comes to saying no.

Taking another swig of the beer, Bucky shoves his phone back into his pocket and tucks his fingers back into Poke’s fur. The calico’s tail swings patiently as he sits and watches — and it’s a little weird how human his eyes are for a second there. He mmrrps and lunges for Bucky’s hand when he comes close, bonking his head eagerly against the cool vibranium.

It’s a different sensation.

That’s another big adjustment — learning how things really feel with this new arm. It’s not just handling recoil or gripping knives or throwing punches. It’s the soft tickle of fur, the gentle pressure of a warm rag to clean the joints. Meticulous upkeep wasn’t something HYDRA did often. He doesn’t miss the twinge of pain and molasses-like stickiness that came with a dirty arm. Blood was the worst. Always sat deep in the cracks.

He flexes his fingers. Poke meows again.

He moves to plop down on the couch. Poke follows.

You’re singing, still, to some song that Bucky’s never heard, when you push open your bedroom door and move towards the living room.

You jump six feet in the air and scream when you see him just sitting there, clutching a beer and petting Poke like he fucking lives here rent-free.

Bucky’s reaction is muted, mostly because he’s a little too preoccupied with your outfit and your jewelry and the pink eye shadow that creeps up your brow-bone. There’s glitter on your eyelids and lip gloss on your mouth and he can smell some sort of candy-sweet perfume coming off you. The plunging neckline of the jet-black top is enough to leave him shifting his gaze back up to your startled expression with a tight jaw.

His face is blank.

Then he offers that stupid fucking smile he does. Y’know, the tight-lipped one where he somehow maintains a dead-eyed look the whole time. If you weren’t trying to calm your racing heartbeat, you might have laughed. You hate the white-hot flare it sparks in your chest.

“How the fuck did you get in here?” you hiss, waving your hands.

“We need to have a serious conversation about locking our windows,” he says as he kicks his feet up on the coffee table and wags a finger at you, “Also, what are you wearing?”

“You — You fucking broke in through my window?”

“Yea, well, you were too busy pretending to be Britney Spears to hear me try and buzz up, and my phone calls.”

Sheepishly, you cross your arms. “Nice reference—”

A shrug from Bucky. “Thank you.”

“—Also, what are you wearing?”

He looks down at his usual t-shirt, leather jacket combo. He squints back up at you.

“I’m sorry,” he chirps, “You’re talking to me? Did the department store run out of fabric, Rabbit?”

You self-consciously adjust the plunging neckline of the bodysuit as you frown deeply. “I think I’m gonna skip on the fashion advice from the man who lived in a time where ankles were seen as scandalous.”

“I was born in 1917,” he mumbles as he stands, actively avoiding another pass over your outfit because as much as he hates to admit it, it’s not a bad look on you, “Not 1817.”

“Point being, we’re going to a club. And you look like you’re going to the local Home Depot,” you move to snag a set of dangly earrings that are sitting on the coffee table, “We’ve gotta look like we’re there to party, nothing more.”

Bucky sighs. He finishes the beer, places the bottle down and sheds his jacket. “So, what?”

You pry your eyes away from the flash of skin — his arm, flesh and blood, speaks to how strong he is. And, undoubtedly how easy it was for him to fucking scale three stories of the fire escape to bust in.

“So,” you mumble as you thread the earring in, “I have some of Jaimie’s old shirts. There’s probably something you can use… If they fit.”

Bucky exhales softly. “You kept them?”

“Didn’t have the heart to throw them out,” you reply as you gesture for him to follow you into your bedroom.

The back of your top is arguably more crisis-inducing than the front — it’s an open back, and Bucky settles on admiring the decor rather than the curve of your spine. He has to. For his own fucking self-composure.

Your bedroom is nice — and like the rest of your space, it makes him feel comfortable. It’s all warm colors and posters and plants in the corners. Across from your queen-sized bed, there’s a large desk with a triple monitor setup. That’s where the music is coming from. The little knick-knacks on your shelves and desk make him chuckle.

Then, he stops, halfway to the closet, and stares.

You blink over your shoulder as you bend, digging to the back of your closet to pull out the clear bin you’d piled most of Jaimie’s stuff into after the funeral. After you’d cleaned out his apartment on your own.

He’s looking at the poster — the one from Cap’s USO tour. It’s framed nicely, set up on the wall beside your desk. It’s got a gold frame, and Bucky can’t help but wander closer to look at the signature.

It’s Steve’s alright.

“How much did you pay for this?”

You scoff. Your necklaces tinker together. “Don’t even go there.”

“The jerk signed thousands of these,” he mumbles, crossing his arms as he leans closer, “And still, the fame didn’t go to his head.”

You smile softly, leaning back.

“Jealous?” you chirp, raising your brows as you pretend to swoon, “Oh, Sergeant Barnes, I’d just love to meet your dear friend—”

Bucky’s laughing as you swat at his knee, leaning back on the carpet like a damsel in distress.

“Shut up,” he snorts, “It’s a sore subject for me.”

“Oh my god.”

“I’m serious — do you know how many dates I had to set up for the chump? And then, boom. I’m invisible.”

“Yeah, well,” you mutter with a smile, unclicking the lid, “Some people just like blondes, Buck. I’m sure there were plenty of eyes on you. Stop being so dramatic.”

“Yea, the best friend, sure,” he mumbles at the poster, “Hell, he was taller than me. You know you don’t need to lie to me—”

“Listen, if I was some Lauren Bacall-looking nurse back then,” you wave your hands, “I’d have gone for you. Alright? Stop lamenting and get over here.”

He goes quiet and ignores the warmth in his cheeks. He squats by your side. “Shut up.”

“We seriously need to work on taking compliments,” you groan, throwing your head back, “I’m being serious, y’know, for once. And I’m not just saying it as your friend. You’re handsome and everyone knows it except you, apparently. My neighbor agrees that’s for sure.”

He squints.

You wave it off and gesture to your outfit. “She saw me doing laundry.”

“That explains nothing,” Bucky deadpans, “Literally nothing.”

“I showed her a picture,” you cry indignantly, moving to shuffle through some of the old t-shirts sitting on top of the bin, “Relax.”

He moves to plop down, crossing his legs beneath him. He decides to let the topic die — again, for his own self-composure more than anything. The compliment, though vehemently denied by the worst part of him, is tucked neatly in the homes of his heart. The idea of meeting you, before now, is a little intoxicating. What would it have been like?

Would you have even spared him a dance?

Bucky rubs his cheek. Poke meows and buts the door open with his head.

You’re wrist-deep in the bin when you speak. “He’s obsessed with you, y’know.”

Poke has already taken up a post in Bucky’s lap. Bucky smiles, petting Poke gently with his vibranium hand. The cat seems to like the cool metal. Bucky mumbles softly down to the calico, scritching his cheeks. “I like him, too.”

You pause long enough to try and remember the sight.

Bucky’s eyes find yours, and you’re quick to turn back to the bin.

“Here we go,” you exhale as you pull out the shirt you’d been looking for.

It’s a long-sleeve button-down, one that you can distinctly remember Jaimie wearing to his engagement party’s after-party — a real typical night of Jaimie being Jaimie. It’s black with a barely-there red floral pattern. It’s flashy enough that Bucky won’t look horribly out of place.

The only problem is Jaimie was a little smaller than Bucky.

“Try this on,” you mumble as you dig around trying to find something else in case it doesn’t do the trick.

Bucky catches the silk shirt and gives it a once over. He raises an eyebrow, and deciding against debating this, he simply nudges Poke off his lap and stands.

He moves to your bed, laying the shirt out. On your closet door is a full-length mirror. You want to snap it in half when you accidentally catch a glimpse of Bucky hauling off his black, cotton t-shirt and anxiously fumbling with the buttons on Jaimie’s old shirt. You have to breathe — and remind yourself that that’s Bucky.

Your Bucky. Your best friend Bucky.

When he calls your name, it sounds far away. You’re busy angrily sorting through old clothes.

“I look ridiculous.”

When you turn around, the first thing you notice is that it’s a little tight. Not in a bad way, but the buttons are gapping along his chest, and it’s tight around his arms.

Your eyes widen a little and you swallow. You tilt your head.

Bucky’s frowning.

“Let me see,” you offer gently, standing and moving close, “It’s not that bad.”

“You don’t sound too sure right now,” he mumbles as you enter his personal space.

You’re nimble with undoing the top three buttons — it gives him enough room to move his shoulders, though, and the dip of the shirt along his sternum brings dog tags into view. You reach, momentarily entranced, and read them to yourself.

You smell like vanilla and sugar.

Bucky shifts in his boots.

“Y’know,” you say, moving to the sleeves, “I think this works.”

You roll the sleeves, stopping at his forearm.

When you step aside, Bucky can see himself in the full-length mirror. He looks less than enthused.

It’s not an entirely bad look — he’ll admit that much — but he doesn’t look like himself. No, there’s too much chest and skin and… Christ, this shirt is tight. He does, though, look like some of those trendy folks he sees at Izzy’s bar every now and again. Hipsters.

“I look like a douchebag.”

“That’s the point,” you chirp as you close the box and shove it back into your closet, “Now the outfit matches the personality.”

He swats at your head on the way by. You laugh.

You’ve got boots in your hand, and you land on the bed with a bounce. Bucky is busy fixing his hair in the mirror while you zip up the thigh-high boots. When he turns around, you’re about three inches taller. He blinks, yet again entranced by the outfit.

Then, you’re muscling on the jacket.

It’s neon pink — and shaggy and cropped. It falls just above your waist and swallows you whole. But, Bucky’s attention is mostly on the back.

There’s a large, white embroidered Playboy bunny there, with RABBIT written across the shoulders in a chunky, blackletter typeface.

His brows are high on his face when you turn around.

You freeze.

“...What?” you ask, “Something on my face?”

“Playboy bunny, huh?”

You could smack him. “Weren’t you busy being a frozen dinner when Playboy came out?”

“I’ll have you know,” he says tightly as he follows you out of your bedroom and to the living room, “The Russians enjoyed their fair share of editions.”

“The Russians? Sure, what’s that saying? There’s no sex in the USSR?” you chide, “You can just say Bucky Barnesenjoyed his fair share—”

The tips of his ears are red. You notice. It makes you split into a grin that worsens the pink shade that’s crawling up his neck.

He coughs. “Have you ever considered never opening your mouth again, Rabbit?”

You nudge his arm. “Nah. Bothering you is more fun.”

He shrugs on his jacket, sighs, and decides that keeping quiet is just easier.

However, that’s not entirely your plan — and you speak quickly as you pull your purse over your shoulder. You’re rummaging quietly, stacking your wallet and phone inside. You glance up at him.

“You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” he mumbles, bending to pat Poke one last time as you move to the door of your bedroom. He watches you flick all the lights off, and before you leave, you double check the calico’s food and water. He’s got enough for a few days. Bucky leans against the door frame, “Care to run me through the plan?”

Nodding, you move to open your front door.

“It’ll be easy,” you explain as you make room for him, “If we play our cards right—”

Bucky’s stopped, though, and is digging in his back pocket as his cell phone rings. You watch him exhale tightly, eyes on the screen the entire time he squeezes by you and starts down the hall. You make careful note of the delicate scowl on his face, only before you catch Miss Bonnie out of the corner of her eye.

Her door is half-cracked across the hall, and she’s watching.

She offers you a smile.

Bucky keeps walking.

You wave, lock your door, and jog to catch up to Bucky.

“Hey,” you call, “Earth to Mr. Claw Machine?”

His head snaps up. “Sorry.”

“Who was that?” you ask carefully, nudging his arm with yours, “Falcon?”

“I wish,” he mutters as he muscles the cellphone back into his pocket, “I wouldn’t feel so bad sending him to voicemail.”

“Yeesh,” you wince, “Lemme guess, was it the owner of the coral lipstick that was all over your face on Tuesday night?”

Again, that temptation to feel jealousy flares up in your heart. But, he’s here, isn’t he? With you. Ignoring her calls. And probably texts judging by the guilty look that’s on his face. You feel a little bad — but at the same time, Bucky’s a grown man. Maybe a grown man who needs to create some more transparent lines of communication with the poor woman, but still.

“Bingo. I mean — it’s not that she wasn’t great an’ all but…”

You raise both hands. “I’m not judging.”

He sighs raggedly as he bounces down the apartment’s stairs. “I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

“What?” you ask with a laugh, “Dating? Yea, it’s pretty fucking terrifying, Buck.”

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”

You hold the door open for him and slide him a pitying look.

“Because I am.”

The walk to The Glass Cannon is spent walking Bucky through the plan — and for the most part, he makes a point of nodding along and listening. His only real anxiety pops up at the mention of Alexei, which is relatable to say the least.

It’s dark, the streets are relatively quiet, and the spring chill has pricked your skin. Your heels click against the pavement, and you stalk along. Shoving your hands in your pockets of the pink, shag jacket, you huff.

You’re starting to feel the anxiety.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re both approaching the blue glow of the storefront.

Computers & Stuff was a family-owned and operated computer shop from the 90s that was taken over by a lesser-known hand of the Russian crime family in New York, the Gardzovs. Alexei’s father is the formal owner of the shop, and his son runs the lucrative activities of the underground club that lay beneath the graphics cards and motherboards.

Bucky, as you both near the entrance, speaks quickly. “Anything else I need to know?”

“Just follow my lead, okay?” you whisper.

The bell above the door dings when you pull open the glass door.

The lighting is sterile and if you’re real quiet, you can hear the dull hum of the fluorescents. The store is empty, save for one man behind the register.

You almost duck out the entrance at the sight of him.

Igor has been a bouncer at The Glass Cannon for as long as you’ve been a patron — and he’s also one of Alexei’s dogs. This part of the plan was something you’d considered only briefly, and for a second, you’re thankful you worried over the million and ten ways this would play out for days.

“Well, if it isn’t the little bunny.”

It’s said with malice. Igor’s tattooed hands land on the counter as he leans.

You, however, hold your head high. Bucky watches as something changes in your posture.

“Good to see you, Igor.”

“Is it?” he growls, stalking around the counter and quickly encroaching on your personal space, “Because I’m pretty sure you’re not welcome here, bunny.”

Bucky gets a good look at the man now — clearly an enforcer. He’s got prison tattoos, a shaved head. The long beard is a weak spot. Doesn’t seem to be armed. Blue eyes flick to you and the way you don’t even flinch when the man leans to breathe right in your face.

You just smile.

“I thought you’d say that,” you mumble, moving to swing your bag to the front and dig your wallet out, “But, I’m not here to cause any trouble.”

Suddenly, there’s a hundred-dollar bill slipping from your well-manicured nails into the vest pocket of the bouncer. There’s a tense pause, then, while the two of you size one another up.

“Fucking your way through college paid off, huh?” he hisses.

You stay quiet.

Bucky, though, moves between you both with a quick shove. Immediately, Igor’s attention goes to Bucky as he sizes him up — he laughs. His nose is nearly touching Bucky’s.

“What’s wrong, pretty boy?”

“You should watch your mouth,” Bucky says evenly, “Or I’ll cut your fucking tongue out.”

You’re careful to hide your expression; the feeling the words stir isn’t one that you’re happy about. This sudden protectiveness, though, makes you feel some sort of invincible.

Igor settles back on his heels.

He steps back.

He gestures to the back room with his head.

You keep walking when he calls out: “Careful, bunny, the dogs are going to be looking for you.”

You grit your teeth tightly and push through the fabric curtain.

He barks, taunting you.

Bucky is by your side in an instant, gaze still rooted over his shoulder at the hulking bouncer. He waits until you’ve settled down until you’ve said his name. His eyes fall to you, then to the stairwell before them.

Above it, in curled neon tubing, reads The Glass Cannon.

The windows are blacked out, but from his spot at the top of the stairs, Bucky can feel the rattle of a deep bass vibrate his ribs.

“Come on. We’re on a time crunch now.”

“Alexei?”

You nod as you lead the way down the stairs. “Word travels fast. We need to be quicker. Stick to the crowds. Remember, we just need to find Kiwi — then we bail.”

Bucky nods tensely.

Then, you open the doors.

Immediately, his eyes adjust to the darkness — neon and strobes and the pulse of purple and pink LEDs make his vision swim. It’s warmer down here, and the stairs leading down into the sub-basement is lined with people sipping drinks and chattering over the loud music. It smells like piss and beer and tobacco.

Again, Bucky watches as the person he knows melts away.

The Rabbit in front of him is different.

You reach, as if on reflex, for his hand.

When you turn around and flash him a smile, he has to swallow down a sudden rise of sheepishness.

The sea of people part around you, and Bucky realizes quickly that people recognize you. He can see their painted lips moving, muttering things into curious ears about the pink-clad woman in front of him; there are smiles there and frowns, and shock. You’re slow in your descent, making a show of the arrival — all while Bucky begins to piece together that The Glass Cannon is larger than he originally suspected.

As they near the bottom of the landing, he can see out across the floor.

There’s a square-shaped catwalk around the dance floor, laden with dancers on their designated poles. Tables line the outside of the cavernous room, and the bars along each wall are crowded — even still, these glimpses of his surroundings come in temporary flashes of light. The music coming from the center of the dancefloor is loud. The entirety of the scene is raucous.

He can’t imagine you finding solace here.

He tightens his grip on your hand. You squeeze back.

When both of you reach the bottom of the stairwell, the sea of people swallow you in a current of dancing and drinking and laughing, and you crawl into Bucky’s personal space to shout in his ear.

You’re still holding his hand tightly, pressed to his chest, as you lean upwards to brush your cheek with his.

“Follow me, okay?”

He nods.

You begin the methodical crawl through the dancefloor, working your way to the bar — there, you pause long enough to be served a drink that’s as pink as the glitter on your eyelids. The flecks dance in the lights, and Bucky graciously accepts a shot from the bartender who smiles sweetly like honey at you.

You bat your lashes, thank her, and stand gracefully from the barstool.

You take a pointed swig and scan the floor.

Kiwi would be in one of the private booths, you suspect — she was enough of a high roller here. But, with the crowded club bursting at the seams, it was nearly impossible to get to the other side. You sway a bit on your feet, still tightly gripping Bucky’s hand in your own. You refuse to let go.

For your sake and his.

Bucky is a silent shadow, eyes roaming the club — he watches a dancer dip down low and snag a green bill from a patron. Someone beside him laughs loud, another bumping into his backside as you continue to weave to the outer rim of the room. The music is so loud his heartbeat could be mistaken for an 808, and he feels the thrum in his bones.

If he wasn’t so overwhelmed, if he was drunk, maybe it could be fun.

Finally, out of the haze of bodies, Bucky can breathe.

You’re leaning over again, speaking quickly.

“I don’t see her.”

“I can’t see shit in here,” he calls back, eyes moving along the ridge of the room. He scans the booths set into the walls, set up on platforms, and roped off with velveteen, “Where would she be?”

“Hard to tell,” you mumble, “But I think I might need to go to Plan B.”

Bucky follows your solid stare.

In the booth directly across the floor from you, there’s a man in black — black everything, save from his hair. That’s the brightest blue Bucky has ever seen. He’s swallowed by a harem of men and women who are laughing and drinking and dancing, and he’s entertaining. Ringed fingers wave in the air, face split into a laugh so wide he swears it’s a mile long. He’s got glasses on and they’re tinted blue.

Bucky watches carefully as you move to his booth.

It’s like a prey surveying a trap — you’re careful.

Finally, when you stand before it, you let go of his hand.

“Hi there, Climber.”

The whole booth falls silent. The man stiffens, back turned to you totally. Bucky watches as his hands fall and slowly, the man you’d called Climber turns around.

His expression is stone cold.

His voice, however, is as warm as a hot poker.

“Oh my goodness, is that Rabbit?”

He ascends from the booth, platform boots leaving him to tower over you — he’s no small man, either. Bucky watches as he bends to kiss both of your cheeks and hug you tightly. He, however, doesn’t pull away entirely.

“What the fuck are you doing here,” he hisses, “You want to be roadkill?”

“I need to find Kiwi,” you whisper quickly, expression almost begging, “Please.”

He pauses, dimpled chin wavering a bit. Bucky watches him sniff, push his glasses back, and readjust his posture. Climber licks his lips and his eyes dart to Bucky. He’s thinking, Bucky realizes, and after a quick moment of deliberation, he seems to cave.

“Only because I owe you.”

“I know,” you say, raising your hands, “I know.”

In a dash, his demeanor changes once more. He’s flying over to his harem, waving his hands and blowing kisses and promising he’ll be back in a flash. They whine, they moan, but Climber appeases them with another round of jello shots from strobing syringes that a waitress is carrying by.

“Come on then,” he says, “And stop looking like such a prude.”

He begins to weave.

You follow hand returning to its spot in Bucky’s like a lifeline.

You’re sipping your drink, moving through the crowd easily. There’s a slight sway in your step now, and at one point you and Climber even get noticed by a pod of people who recognize your faces. It’s met with laughing and squealing and in the fray, the both of you slip back into the crowd. Bucky is taking it all in, desperately ignoring the tingle of a panic flaring in the back of his head.

Too many people.

Soon, though, Climber is moving towards a side entrance.

It’s a back room.

Suddenly, the dim lights and neon dissolve, and instead, Bucky is flashed in the face with the abrasive sting of fluorescent lights. It no longer reeks of spilled beer, and his boots don’t stick to the ground. No, there’s quiet chatter back here — Climber continues to lead the two of you through a maze of supply crates full of booze and soda.

Then, a right turn. And a left turn.

Someone is taking inventory.

“Kiwi, I know you’re going to hate me for this—”

The woman who turns around is beautiful. She’s in the midst of eyeing an open crate that looks just like the others but fitted with a hollowed center, marking off what looks like an inventory of burner cell phones. Her brown skin is decorated with glitter, her eyes streaked with the same green shade of her tightly shaved head. The green is bright and it reminds Bucky of summer.

Suddenly, her expression sours.

“What the fuck.”

“I know—”

“No,” she snaps, raising her hand and waving to the assistant beside her to take her tablet and make themselves scarce, “You need to get out of here.”

“I need your help,” you say finally, tone heavy.

It’s enough to make Climber sigh. Kiwi watches you, scratches her neck, and swallows.

She meets Climber’s eyes.

Then she breaks.

“Where the fuck have you been, Rabbit?” she asks, worries seeping into her eyes as she pulls you into a rough hug, “We thought you were dead.”

“No,” you shake your head, “But you know I couldn’t be around here anymore.”

“Yea,” Climber snorts, “Not good for your health, huh, love?”

“Alexei still wants your head,” Kiwi chimes in, crossing her arms, “Does he know you’re here?”

“Igor was on the door, so I’m sure he’s heard by now.”

Both of them curse.

Guilt flashes across your face as you screw your eyes shut and nod. “I know. I know, I just… I seriously need your help, Kiwi. It was worth the risk. It’s — HYDRA. I need to tap into the Alexandria Library.”

Immediately, the woman stiffens.

Her eyes flash to Bucky in the corner. He stares back.

“He waits outside.”

“You can trust him—”

“No,” she snaps, “I can’t. And I don’t. And I won’t.”

You give Bucky a pleading look. Between the two of you, a negotiation happens between your eyes. It’s a compromise, and finally, Bucky relents.

“Fine,” Bucky barks, tilting his head and giving you a tight-lipped smile, “Fine. I’ll wait out here.”

“He’s cute,” mumbles Climber as Bucky rounds the corner, long legs carrying him out of the supply room, “Boyfriend?”

“Shut up, Climber,” you mumble, waving your hand, “Just listen—”

“Who is he?” Kiwi asks, eyes still watching the doorway, “And why did you bring him along?”

You sigh, rubbing your brow. “He’s the one who’s trying to find this HYDRA agent. He knew her before.”

“So he’s HYDRA.”

“No,” you snap cooly, “He’s not.”

“So, just handsome, then?” Climber asks, hands waving, “Right. Great. Really making a case for yourself, Rabbit.”

“He’s trying to find a woman named Innessa Sidrova. She was one of the original agents who helped form the American HYDRA cell,” you explain quickly, “I’ve got the GRC breathing down my neck, and… And he’s a good person. He’s my friend. I’m trying to help him, but I can’t do it without you. Both of you.”

Kiwi hums. She sighs. “That explains why you went MIA.”

“Aside from putting Alexei behind bars?” you scoff, “Yea, the GRC played a part in it.”

The three of you are quiet for a moment.

“Fine.”

You look up at Kiwi. Her hands are on her waist.

There’s an immense wash of relief that floods over you at that moment — and from the looks of it, Kiwi can tell. You move to grab her hand, and she grabs back. Both of you smile, and the hug that follows is warm. You’ve missed her. A lot.

“Thank you, Suji.”

Then, footsteps.

That relief is traded in for an anxious backfire of fear in an instant.

It’s slow. Dress shoes on polished cement.

Then:

“Oh, bunny, bunny, bunny. Tsk, tsk.”

Climber and Kiwi’s faces upturn to the doorway and they tell you everything you need to know.

So, you decide at that moment that you won’t be the prey tonight.

You turn around and come face-to-face with a man playing devil.

Alexei Gardzov is a handsome man — a beard and piercing grey eyes. His hair is tightly cropped, and intricate tattoos decorate every inch of his skin. Some of them are new, you realize, and there’s temporary pride that bubbles up at them. They’re from prison.

You almost smile.

Behind him, three goons loom.

“I’ve been wondering when you’d come hopping back,” he croons as he enters the room with the swagger of a man who trapped his dinner, “Well worth the wait, I think.”

His cologne hangs like smog in the air. He strolls up to you, and in a flash, he’s got your hair in a vice grip.

He yanks it back, you grit your teeth.

The barrel of a gun digs into your cheek.

“Climber, Kiwi, and Rabbit,” he sing-songs, “All in one room again like it’s NYU’s 2014 hack-a-thon. Isn’t that cute?”

Kiwi speaks. “Alexei—”

“Shut up,” he snaps, gun moving to flash towards Kiwi, “And stay out of my business, Sujina.”

The gun’s muzzle is cold. He’s rough, and you try to ignore the twinge of pain that comes with his unceremonious yank of your hair. Once more, he tsks. His breath is hot on your face. He smells like cigarettes and whiskey.

“I spent seven years behind bars,” he bites, “All because a’ you.”

“Me? I wasn’t the one trafficking girls—”

“SHUT UP!”

The pistol cracks across your cheek and the cement floor hurtles towards you. The gasp that falls from your lips is from shock; your fingers dig into the cold ground as you try to blink away the blurriness. Your ears ring. Blood drips from your cheek between your fingers.

Again, there’s a hand in your hair.

Now, the fight begins.

Climber and Kiwi are stuck, frozen in fear.

You don’t blame them, because Igor and the others have guns already drawn. One of them, one that’s young and you don’t recognize immediately, has a baseball bat in his hands.

Alexei drags you by your hair as you grimace, refusing to scream. Your heels scrape against the ground as you try to get purchase, but he’s quick to throw you back against the far wall.

“Don’t worry, Bunny,” he smiles, “I won’t kill you. Not right now.”

Then, a kick.

Right to the ribs.

You can’t breathe — you gasp earnestly at the white, hot shot of pain.

“Get up.”

You’re not listening, you’re too busy trying to catch your breath.

“I said,” comes a growl as he reaches, hand in your hair again as he drags you up the wall. Your legs buckle, and you try to hold your chin high as you stumble upwards, “Get up.”

Then, there’s a hand around your throat.

Tight. Too tight. Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe. Can’t get his hand off your neck, can’t breathe, can’t breathe, can’t fucking think, can’t stand, can’t see, can’t breathe —

“Boss!”

A new voice.

The pressure is relieved for a second.

A new face has run into the room — he looks frazzled, hair askew and gun out. He’s eyeing the scene before him in a moment’s pause.

“Can’t you see I’m a little bit busy?” Alexei snags as you gasp, clawing at his hand. He swings his head to the figure in the doorway with an annoyed bark, “What is it?”

“The cops, boss,” he stammers, “They’re here.”

“What?”

“They’re here for her, boss.”

A slow turn to where his finger is pointing. His gaze lands on you. Alexei laughs.

“Well,” he says as the goon disappears, “Isn’t that just peachy, bunny?”

The choking starts again.

Then, a metal hand.

Vibranium.

You watch it swing, you watch it grab Alexei’s throat.

Suddenly, you can breathe.

Suddenly, Bucky Barnes enters the fight.

You make friends with the ground again as you duck, just as Alexei is rammed into the wall above your head by his throat. As you cough while Kiwi calls your name — you can hear a fight. But everything’s moving slow, and it’s not until the first gunshot that you’re kicked into action. It’s loud. Your skin pricks alive.

Someone screams.

You stumble to your feet, eyes finding Bucky’s form moving quickly between the three goons — the gunshot had come from the pistol that had somehow found its way into Bucky's flesh and blood hand. One of the men is on the floor, suit pants stained with a bullet wound through the thigh. He’s wailing. Bucky doesn’t notice. Or he doesn’t care. Maybe both.

His face is cold.

Another gunshot is fired off, this time richoting between you and Kiwi and Climber and embedding itself into the cement wall overhead. The three of you scream, ducking reflexively.

That’s when Bucky snaps.

“Now would be a good time to go!”

Kiwi’s hands are on your arm as you quickly break through the doorway through the storage room. Climber is following, checking over his shoulder at the carnage that Bucky begins to reap in the room.

He’s hysterical, trying to jog in his white platform boots. “What the fuck, Rabbit!”

Your voice is hoarse. You’re clutching your ribs. “Not now, Climber!”

“I’m parked in the back,” Kiwi says, ducking through plastic flaps as she helps you through the back of the club, “Come on, we’ll go through the trucking entrance.”

You hear Bucky call your name — he’s jogging to catch up, gun drawn in his hand. Seems like he made good work of the others, sporting nothing more than a split lip. You turn, pausing for a moment to take inventory of his well-being.

And that’s all it takes.

Alexei Gardzov, limping, steps in front of you and Kiwi and Climber at an intersection in the hallway.

There’s a gun in his hand.

The first thing you feel is the impact.

Like a truck slamming into you at full speed. For the fourth time tonight, you have the air robbed from your lungs. It’s instant confusion.

Then comes the pain. Hot. Hotter than the sun. Hot like white flames. It tears through your shoulder and all you can do is gasp; you’re sent into a stutter step — and while the world around you continues to move, you’re busy reconciling with the fact you’ve just been shot.

A bullet flies by your head.

Alexei Gardzov drops.

You’re grasping at your chest, staggering, when Bucky breaks into a sprint — but you’re okay. You’re okay, it’s just your shoulder, it’s just your arm, you’re okay, you can feel your fingers and you can breathe and the pain is nearly unbearable but you’re okay.

Then, a baseball bat.

It clocks Bucky directly in the skull. He’s clotheslined.

It’s Igor.

The gun from Bucky’s hands clatters across the ground to your feet, and you’re too busy trying to get to Bucky to realize — but, you’ve got tunnel vision and adrenaline and at that moment, you think a good sidekick doesn’t need anything else in this life.

Igor goes to swing at you, but you duck. Your stiletto crushes through the top of his shoe. He screams and in a flurry of pain and panic, you manage to snag the bat quick enough to turn and clock him under the chin with a roll of the wrist.

His teeth clack together and he falls backward, unconscious.

“God, I really wish you could have seen that, Buck.”

You spit. Blood paints the ground.

The bat clatters to the cement as you fight through the pain. Kiwi and Climber are by your side in an instant.

“No, no!” she screams, “We do not have time for this—”

“I am not leaving him,” you snap, nearly screaming at the woman, “Come on and help me with him. Now.”

After a sigh of resignation, Kiwi shoves the gun she’d snagged from the ground into the back of her jeans. You’ve got your hands around Bucky’s ankles as Kiwi and Climber take his torso — and the four of you make a break for the back entrance. You can hear the cops outside now, and there’s the chatter of Russian following you into the back parking lot.

“Hurry up!”

“He’s not exactly light as a feather, you know!”

“Shut up, Climber!”

You’ve got Bucky halfway into the back seat of Kiwi’s white Cadillac when another bullet whizzes by your head.

“Fuck.”

Kiwi hops into the driver’s seat as Climber scatters to hop the hood and throws himself into the passenger's seat. You lean, clinging to the door of the backseat as Kiwi peels out of the parking lot. It swings wide open and you curse loudly. You can see Alexei’s men watching from the back entrance, shouting in Russian — so you muster all your strength to pull back and throw the door closed as Kiwi’s car bounces over a speed bump and rams through the parking meter’s gate.

In the rear window, the front of the club is surrounded.

Red and blue lights illuminate the street — but Kiwi is quick.

No one follows.

And when she finally makes it to the Manhattan Bridge, you exhale.

Bucky’s head is in your lap. He still hasn’t come to — there’s blood coming from his nose and you’re worrying. You lace your fingers into his thick, brown hair and chew your lip.

Kiwi’s voice pulls you from him.

“When were you going to mention the vibranium arm, huh?”

You laugh. It’s more of a breath of air than anything. Your head rests back against the seat. Your shoulder is still on fire. You’re hot, but cold. You’re bleeding still. Your ribs aren’t right. You know that.

“I can’t believe he shot you,” Climber mumbles, “He fucking shot you.”

“And your boy toy shot him,” Kiwi says, sparing you a look in the rearview, “So you better pray he’s dead.”

You ignore the commentary.

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere safe,” she says, accelerating into Manhattan, “Where I can get you those files and you can keep your head down.”

Sounds like a plan.

Better than the one you had, anyways.

#vacant mirrors #bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier imagine #tfatws imagine #bucky x you #BOY OH BOY THE FORMATTING I WANNA SCREAM

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queenxxxsupreme · 3 years

Text

Play For Me (Arthur Morgan x f!reader)

A/N: This could be read as a part 2 to Goodbye Kisses but it can definitley be read as a stand alone. This takes place after the events of Blessed Are The Peacemakers mission. Here is my RDR2 masterlist and here is the link to go to if you’d like to be on any of my taglists.

Word Count: 2.0k

Warnings: slight spoilers for chapter 3, pure fluff

Summary: Rarely does Arthur get a chance to play his guitar. So when he’s stuck at camp healing from a bullet to the shoulder, he takes the opportunity to play.

***

Your eyes flickered around the small group gathered at the fire nearest to Pearson’s wagon. You chewed on your bottom lip when you didn’t spot him among the faces there.

“Come have a seat with us, Y/N!” Sean patted the empty chair next to him. His words drew everyone’s attention to you.

“No thank you, Mr. MacGuire.” You looked over to one of the tables where poker was sometimes played or where Tilly or Mrs. Grimshaw played dominos. The table was empty.

“You look lost.” John commented.

“Just lookin’ for Arthur.” You sighed. “He’s been gettin’ more and more restless with havin’ to stay at camp, especially since he’s been gettin’ better.”

“How is his shoulder doin’?”

“Still hurts him, but he can move it. I’m sure he’ll have trouble with it the rest of his life.”

“Yeah. Well, I haven’t seen him.”

“He probably slipped out while you were busy lookin’ the other way.” Bill snorted. “That’s what I woulda done with all you’re nagging.”

“And that is precisely why you haven’t found yourself a nice girl like Y/N.” Karen gestured to you.

“Thank you, Karen.” You smiled at her.

You excused yourself, turning to make sure none of the horses were missing. Arthur’s horse was still hitched right next to yours, but you knew very well that he wouldn’t take his horse. If he truly had left camp, his horse would be the first thing you’d look for.

As you were approaching one of the two areas the horses were kept, you spotted Hosea brushing down Silver Dollar.

“Good evening, Hosea.”

“Ah, Y/N!” He glanced up only momentarily before returning to brushing the horse. “Good evening to you.”

“Have you seen Arthur? I’ve been lookin’ all over for that man and I swear….” You trailed off, shaking your head.

“Oh, don’t you worry about him leaving camp.” Hosea chuckled, shaking his head. “He wouldn’t dare leave camp before getting the okay from you and Mrs. Grimshaw. I spotted him earlier taking that guitar of his down towards the water.”

You turned your head to look in the direction of the lake.

“I didn’t even think to look down there.” You thought out loud.

“How’s he been with having to be on bedrest?” Hosea tucked the brush into a pocket on a saddlebag and buckled it up before moving around to the front of Silver Dollar and rubbing his nose.

“He did fine at first…. For maybe the first four days. But then he wanted to get up and at least do somethin’ around camp.” You absentmindedly picked at your nails. “He hates not doin’ nothin’. He’d rather be out there gettin’ shot at and startin’ fights at saloons than be here and have me gettin’ after him for not listenin’ to me.”

“Oh, I know. Always made such a fuss when he was younger and he had to act with manners.” Hosea smiled fondly. “But he cares about you. That’s why he listens to you.”

Your eyes met him for a few moments, something inside your chest swelling at his words. Had Arthur told Hosea this? Or was it that easy for Hosea to see?

You looked away from him, tucking a few stray pieces of hair behind your ear.

“I better go see if he’s down by the lake.” You took a few steps away from him. “Thank you, Hosea.”

“Anytime, my dear.”

***

You found Arthur sitting at the base of the tree that grew near the edge of the water. He sat with his knees bent slightly and his guitar resting in his lap. He wore a pair of jeans over top of his gray union suit. The sleeves of the union suit were pushed up to his elbows.

As you drew closer to him, you could hear the quiet music coming from the instrument.

Sensing someone was watching him, Arthur turned his head to look back in the direction of camp. He caught sight of you and the look of panic and concern that someone had caught him disappeared. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

“You’ve been hidin’ from me.” You pulled up your skirts just a little so you could sit on your knees. You sat next to him, facing him so you could see him.

“Just wanted some peace and quiet. Uncle was gettin’ rambunctious. Talkin’ ‘bout how we were like one in the same and best friends now and all that nonsense.” Arthur muttered, shaking his head.

“Oh, he’s just teasin’ you. He knows how easy it is to get you worked up, especially right now when you’re stuck at camp.” You reached up to brush your fingers through his dark blond hair. “Should’ve told me you were playin’. I would’ve come down here with you to listen. You know I love it when you play.”

He looked down to watch his fingers as he strummed the strings. The movements were slow and steady.

“How does your shoulder feel?” You asked softly.

“Hurts, but I don’t think that’ll go away. Just gotta get used to it.”

“What kind of hurt?”

Arthur thought about the answer for a moment while his fingers worked over the strings of the guitar.

“Like someone’s takin’ their thumb and pressin’ as hard as they can right on to the nerves in that one area. It doesn’t hurt that bad. I can ignore it. Annoyin’ more than anything.”

“Can I take a look?”

He nodded and quit strumming the guitar. You reached out to start working the buttons on his gray union suit, but before you could even get to the very first one, Arthur was taking one of your hands and bringing it to his lips. He kissed the back of your hand softly, tenderly, his thumb tracing a circle over the space he didn’t kiss.

No words were exchanged as he released your hand and let you go about unbuttoning his union suit. You only had to undo the first three buttons. You pushed the shoulder of the suit down enough so you could see the healing wound on his shoulder. There was a bandage over it, but you pulled it aside.

“How does it look?” Arthur asked, cornflower blue eyes glued to your face.

“Looks a lot better than it did four weeks ago.” You replaced the bandage and pulled the material of his union suit back into place.

“Good. Maybe now you can sleep through the night without wakin’ me up to check on me.”

“Oh, I doubt that.” You began to put the buttons through each eyelet in the suit.

“You worry too much.”

“I’ll always worry too much. You have a nasty habit of drawin’ bad things to yourself, Arthur Morgan. Especially since Dutch has started lettin’ Micah take the lead on things.”

He said nothing.

Your eyes drifted up from his union suit to his face.

“How are you likin’ this beard?” You asked, your gaze flickering over the dark beard he was sporting. He hadn’t shaved since before he was hurt, so it had grown out to be much longer than either of you were used to.

Arthur grunted and brought his hand up to rub his jaw.

“Need to shave it off. It’s too long.”

“I kinda like it.” You smiled. “Think it makes you fit in with everyone else here. Bill and Uncle and John.”

Arthur rolled his eyes.

You giggled.

“Will you play for me for a little bit?” You asked him, moving to sit against the tree beside him. “At least until the sun goes down?”

Arthur shifted his hold on the guitar, turning his head to watch you get comfortable next to him. Though you had asked him if he’d play, you had already made up your mind that you were going to sit there and he was going to play whether his answer was yes or no.

“Only for you.” He leaned over to kiss your forehead.

He kept his eyes down, focusing on how he was moving his fingers across the strings. But he could feel your gaze on him, feel your eyes studying the side of his face.

It was so strange how if it had been anyone else staring at him, his stomach would twist up and he’d get too nervous and mess up. He’d want to immediately retreat to the comfort and safety of his caravan. He didn’t like people watching him too much, and especially not too close.

But you weren’t staring at him. You were observing him. Your eyes were soft and kind, taking in every little microexpression he made. You were mapping out his face- as if you hadn’t done it a thousand times before. You were admiring him like he was some breathtaking beauty. And it confused the ever living hell out of him. He couldn’t understand how you were so captivated by him. There was nothing special about him.

You leaned over and kissed the corner of his eye, then when he turned his head to look at you with furrowed brows, you stole a kiss from his lips.

“You’re bein’ soft on me.” He commented, his voice low and quiet. It matched the beautiful sound coming from the guitar.

“I’m always soft on you, Mr. Morgan.” You smiled. Your eyes flickered down to the guitar, unable to hold his intense gaze any longer. “I’m…. Arthur, I know you’ve heard it from me a dozen times in the past few weeks…. But I really am glad you’re okay.”

He pulled one hand away from the guitar, making the music stop, and reached over to cup your cheek. He tilted your head up so you had no choice but to look at him once more.

“Wouldn’t’ve been able to do it without ya.” His breath was warm as it fanned over your face. His lips ghosted over yours and then he kissed the space in front of your ear. “I know it hasn’t been easy for you.”

You pulled away enough to be able to look into his eyes. Your lips parted as if you wanted to say something, but they got caught in a lump in your throat.

With his brows gently crinkled, he leaned forward to kiss your head.

“Thank you for bein’ strong for me. I know it wasn’t easy for you to see me like that. All…. All busted up and beat to hell. But thank you for takin’ care of me. Thank you for-for stayin’.”

“I love you, Arthur.” You leaned forward against his lips, shivering under his touch. “Even when I’m scared as hell, I-I won’t leave your side. I couldn’t do it.”

He held his breath for a moment, his hand coming up to the back of your head. Then he chuckled. He moved his head so he could kiss your cheek.

“Anybody ever tell you that you might be crazy? I mean, fallin’ in love with an outlaw?”

You giggled softly as his breath tickled your ear, turning your head instinctively. This put your nose into the crook of his neck. You took the opportunity to kiss him on the side of his neck, knowing very well he was ticklish there, and smiled when he brought his shoulder up to his ear.

“Hey now! That ain’t fair!”

“It was too good a chance to pass up.”

Arthur’s eyes found you, but they didn’t stay on you for long. There was something moving behind you that caught his attention. It was Karen and Sean walking along the shore of the lake. They hadn’t noticed you yet but they were heading in your direction.

You could sense Arthur tense up and see the look on his face shift from the carefree, tender one only you got to see, to the more hardened Arthur that the rest of camp knew.

You looked over your shoulder, frowning as you saw the couple idly walking along the shore.

“Come on.” You patted Arthur’s knee. “Let’s go back to camp and change those bandages.”

“Didn’t you just change them?”

“Yeah, this mornin’. It’s past noon. You need to change them again. We don’t need you gettin’ an infection.”

He sighed and muttered something incoherent under his breath as he got to his feet.

“You drive me crazy, woman.”

“That is what I’m here for, sweetheart.”

Taglist: @winterwolf @doggone-cowgirl @lauramb7 @caraqas @bluscryn @krenee1drful @zodiacaldust

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x reader fluff #arthur morgan fluff #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 fic #rdr2 fic #arthur morgan fic #oneshot #queenxxxsupreme

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live-laugh-larceny · 4 years

Text

i decided to write logan angst :D

I have not been able to stop thinking about @ameliessanderssidesblog‘s Zoom Angst post and I decided to write a smol fic based off it because I want pain. (someone else is writing one too but I figured more Logan angst is good?? I won’t check for their fic until I finish this because I want any similarities to be unintentional)

ok i have finished and reread it. this fic is a mess and horribly self-indulgent but i hope you like it anyway

characters: Logan-centric, some C!Thomas, Janus, Virgil, and Patton. The twins have one line apiece. Orange makes an appearance.

length: 1.6k

warnings: crying, Remus says something nsfw (it’s in the original post), the Orange boy being vaguely threatening, no happy ending

“Are you sure you don’t want to show the viewers those sparkling glasses you have, Logan?” Patton’s cheerful voice pipes from the speakers beside Logan’s desktop, tinny and hollow. Logan huffs out a derisive laugh, digging his fingers more forcefully into his hair in a fruitless (“good one!”) attempt to ease the pain of his pounding headache. Patton, of course, has no idea that Logan’s glasses are lying haphazardly on his desk where he flung them twenty minutes ago, looking for all intent like an insect scrabbling helplessly on its back. Logan observes that that comparison is not an inaccurate depiction of his current situation.

“You’re pathetic,” Logan mutters, furious for letting himself wallow in self-pity when there is a dilemma to be resolved. He shouldn’t be reacting so strongly to these... incidents. Tears gather in the corners of his eyes and Logan turns the brightness down on his laptop, as reducing eye strain is an effective method of countering the excessive moisture currently being produced by his tear glands. Ignoring the mounting pressure behind his eyes, Logan clicks the smudge in the corner of his display that he knows will make his voice heard.

---

Thomas and Virgil exchange a fleeting glance as they both pick up on the strain behind Patton’s false laughter and the worry lurking in his eyes like a small child peeking bashfully between their parent’s legs. Thomas tilts his head slightly, hesitant to voice his question lest Logan was still listening. He and the other Sides had learned the hard way that asking about Logan’s well-being when he was upset rarely ended well. Thomas has barely started typing a message to Patton when he notices one from Janus. Curious, he opens the chatbox. It’s a private message, and Thomas has to shake a residual feeling of dread (he trusts Janus now, it’s fine) before opening it.

Totally Elle Woods: Patton’s last few encounters with Logan have gone wonderfully, and he’s absolutely not concerned.

Thomas furrows his eyebrows he scrutinizes Janus’s screen. The snake-faced Side displays no outward signs of concern, languidly swirling his wine glass and looking remarkably bored behind his mint skincare mask. Despite his blunders and over-the-top theatrics, Janus was a fantastically good actor when he wanted to be. Thomas always seemed to forget that, somehow.

Thomas Sanders: How did you know?

Totally Elle Woods: Please, be more obvious next time.

Thomas Sanders: Janus...

Totally Elle Woods: ...sorry. Do you think I didn’t notice that little look between you and Virgil? You’re definitely as subtle as you think you are.

Thomas sighs, resisting the urge to put his head in his hands. He feels a small headache coming on- hopefully Janus will remind him to take some Advil later. He looks up again as Patton gasps, a huge, genuine grin spreading across the moral Side’s face.

“Hi Logan!” Patton chirps. “What do you have to say about this mask-ive issue we’re having here?”

Thomas glances down at Logan’s blank screen and confirms that Logan really did unmute, feeling his stomach churn as he accidentally glimpses the last participant in their call. (Maybe Thomas had been purposefully not looking.) “07334 :)” is silent and invisible, but Thomas can’t help but feel anxious at the thought of an unknown Side possibly listening in on their conversation. It just doesn’t feel right.

---

Logan sighs at Patton’s ridiculousness. His continued insistence on wordplay over productivity did nothing but halt their discussions and delay finding a solution. Logan cleared his throat and spoke, enunciating as clearly as possible.

“It would probably be beneficial for Thomas to arrive early so he can be sure to claim a six-foot radius appropriate for proper social distancing. Preferably -”

“But what if some asshat just plops right in Thomas’s space? And we risk getting the virus? And then we can’t film videos because we need to get tested and then that takes forever and then we’re losing income and the fans get mad and we go broke and-”

Logan knows that Virgil didn’t have malicious intent when he cut him off. He knows that. Virgil is his friend, and he is prone strong bouts of anxiety that manifest in rapid speech which mimics his spiraling thoughts. Nevertheless, Logan experiences an irrational urge to crumple up another notecard and throw it as hard as he can at Virgil’s pixelated face. Couldn’t he have waited for another thirty seconds and allowed Logan to finish explaining himself? Logan had actually planned for this scenario and many others besides that, because he’s Logic and that’s his damn job. The urge grows stronger as Logan makes out that Patton and Thomas are nodding in agreement with Virgil like his outburst somehow invalidated Logan’s proposal. Dully, Logan notices that his lungs are having difficulty performing gas exchange at their usual efficiency. His head pounds. They must think he’s a joke. They must think he’s stupid.

“GOOD GOD, VIRGIL!”

The ensuing silence stretches on for approximately 8.65 seconds before Thomas finally speaks.

“Logan...”

Even through a speaker, the disappointment in Thomas’s voice is unmistakable. Logan is suddenly extremely grateful that his eyesight only allows him to vaguely identify the others without his glasses. He doesn’t want to see their faces.

07334 :): :(

Virgil inhales slowly, holds, and exhales in the 4-7-8 pattern he taught them in his room. He’s doing that because of Logan. Virgil is anxious and distressed, and it’s his fault. Logan’s stomach figuratively flips over, and guilt “claws” its way up his throat. Such sensations were not literally experienced, of course, but Logan currently lacks the vocabulary to describe them more objectively. Clearly, participating in group discussions when he so easily lost his temper and upset the other Sides was unacceptable for theirs and Thomas’s mental health.

“I... I apologize, Virgil. I did not mean to speak so harshly.” Logan struggles to speak. His tongue refuses to follow his command. “I- It seems that I was, uh, correct... a few months ago when I suggested to Patton that I leave the discussion after... after hurting Roman. I...” Logan trails off.

Virgil takes another deep breath, and something compels Logan to reach for his glasses. He cleans them on his shirt before sliding them on, blinking owlishly at his computer as it snaps back into focus. His breath stutters as he forces himself to look at Virgil, who is wearing the same indecipherable expression as when he said that Logan was “lost”. (Logan perceives every microexpression that makes its way across the others’ faces. He notices the minute differences in twitches of the lips and the positioning of the eyebrows. He doesn’t always know what those infinitesimal changes mean, but he’s trying to learn.) Logan still doesn’t understand what Virgil meant back then, but he knows that it was hardly positive.

“I... we’re going to leave you alone until tomorrow, L.” Virgil’s eyes are boring into him. It’s not possible, Virgil can’t see him through a computer screen. Virgil’s eyes are boring into him, unearthing every regret and insecurity and laying them bare. “There’s something going on with you. We can all see it. Please don’t try to hide it.” Virgil’s words are stimulating a release of epinephrine, which is causing his heart rate to increase. Logan can no longer focus on anything but the fact that his headache and his heartbeat are throbbing in perfect unison.

“We love you, Logan.” Patton’s voice trembles. Logan clicks mute, sprints to his bed, and screams into his pillow.

07334 :): :’(

---

pattonsandersenter: I think we should go talk to Logan...

Totally Elle Woods: I understand your concern, but denial is a tricky thing. If we push Logan now, it could be disastrous.

xX21ChemicalPanic!Xx: so we’re just going to let logan delude himself forever?

Totally Elle Woods: Unless I was mistaken, it was you who suggested we leave him alone, dear Virgil.

xX21ChemicalPanic!Xx: fuck you. you know what i fucking meant, snake

Thomas Sanders: Guys don’t fight

pattonsandersenter: Virgil!!! Language!!!

Totally Elle Woods: We’ll talk to him tomorrow. For now, we finish this video as planned.

---

The rest of the call passes in a daze. Logan eventually makes his way back to his desk and listens with his head in his hands, trying to distract himself by identifying the others by the tone of their voices. Janus’s melodic lilt, Remus’s grating screech, Roman’s booming tenor, Virgil’s soft mutter, Patton’s friendly warmth, and Thomas, somewhere between it all. Eventually, they all sign out in perfect unison, having reached a solution almost identical to one Logan had already planned out. So much for efficiency, he thinks, but there’s no bitterness or bite, just exhaustion.

“Take it easy, guys, gals, and non-binary pals!”

“byeishouldn’thavejoinedthis”

“Toodle-oo, plebs!”

“Don’t take care. See you...”

“Ok!! I’ll see you kiddos later!!”

“SUCK COCK MOTHERFUCKERS!!! BYEEEE!”

---

Logan opens his eyes blearily. The world dissolves into smudges again- his glasses are still perched on top of his head from when he moved them to sulk earlier. Pathetic.

It’s just him and “07334 :)” now. Resigned, Logan unmutes and shows himself for the first time. He refuses to look at his face in the computer screen, puffy and red with a single tear carving a hot, salty river down his cheek. Pathetic.

When Orange speaks, Logan’s speaker hisses and pops with static as if it was trying to resist broadcasting Orange’s voice.

“I’ll be seeing you, Blue.” Logan knows that it is impossible to discern Orange’s expression, but in that moment, he could have sworn he heard the grin slicing across Orange’s face. Lethal. Deadly. Logan shudders. Pathetic.

Logan manages to gather himself and look up for real, staring down the smiley face on Orange’s blank screen.

“Yeah, I know.”

Orange and Logan click out at the same time, and the call goes silent.

---

If anyone made it through that, thanks for reading! This is maybe my second fic ever so sorry if it’s messy and hard to follow. It was very stream of consciousness if you couldn’t tell. I wanted to include some Roman angst too but I honestly couldn’t think of a good way to do it and this thing was already taking a long time. Sorry Roman stans :( Also sorry Remus stans :(

#ameliessanderssidesblog #sanders sides #logan sanders #janus sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #character!thomas #not tagging the twins bc theyre barely in it #logan angst #i fail to shut my ever flapping gobtalker #larceny's loquatiousness #i have the most Extra writing tag ever considering i never use it #cw cursing

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vespertineflora · 4 years

Link

the obligatory one in which two husbands have some fun with their CANON bondage kink. see AO3 for full tags

Rating: Explicit Summary: After a year together, Wei Wuxian has been tied up with his husband's forehead ribbon enough times to get an idea of what he likes, and decides to get him a present to make things a little more fun for both of them. But as usual, when Wei Wuxian asks for trouble, he always gets a little more of it back than he's expecting. (11k, what happened to my ability to write smut under 4k? who knows, but i think it died, no regrets YOLO)

~~~

“Lan Zhaaan,” Wei Wuxian called as he walked through the door into the Jingshi, though it wasn’t as if he needed to call for Lan Wangji, considering he was sitting at his table directly in view of the door, reviewing the last of his pile of hunting notes from the junior disciples. As soon as Wei Wuxian saw him, his eyes lit up mischievously, and he crossed the room, quickly dropping himself directly in Lan Wangji’s lap, letting the box in his hands land in his own legs as his arms quickly circled Lan Wangji’s neck.

For all that it disturbed what Lan Wangji was doing, Wei Wuxian might as well have not even been there. His hand holding the calligraphy brush didn’t even stutter in the middle of his note-making, but after being married to his dear husband for over a year now, perhaps this much was to be expected.

“Hanguang-Jun!” Wei Wuxian tried again, giving Lan Wangji a dramatic pout, before he leaned in to nose at Lan Wangji’s neck. “Er-gege,” he continued, immediately grinning again, though this particular pet name had slowly been losing the effect it had once had to truly fluster Lan Wangji, and Wei Wuxian quickly switched to his new favorite, “A-Zhan~”

At that, he noticed the color taking on Lan Wangji’s earlobes, and though the man still didn’t react to him quite yet, Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but smile brightly, leaning in to press a kiss to the ear.

“A-Zhan,” he hummed softly, mouth hovering close to Lan Wangji’s ear. “I brought you a present, A-Zhan, don’t you want to see it?”

Lan Wangji set aside the paper in front of him and reached for the last one of the stack. He’d long since learned that if he let Wei Wuxian successfully distract him every time Wei Wuxian wanted his attention, Lan Wangji would never get any of his work done, so for as little as he wanted to ignore the pouting ball of energy in his lap, he had just one paper left to mark for now, and a class to return these papers to in just a short while, so Wei Wuxian could wait for him for a few minutes longer.

He thought he was being more than fair, considering he’d meant to review these notes the night before, and he’d instead spent those hours lavishing Wei Wuxian with his every desire.

Wei Wuxian nosed and kissed at his neck, and when Lan Wangji had finished with the final paper, he finally turned his attention back to Wei Wuxian, nudging his face towards his own for a proper kiss.

Once their lips parted, Wei Wuxian’s arms untangled from around Lan Wangji’s neck, and moved to pick up the box in his lap, holding it up for Lan Wangji to see, the grin on his face halfway between impish and proud. He set it back on his lap and encouraged, “Open it!”

The box itself was pretty, but unremarkable. It was made of a dark, varnished wood, with a simple, but pretty design carved on the top and sides. The front of the box had a delicate gold latch to keep it shut.

Having no idea what to expect, Lan Wangji decided to end the suspense that Wei Wuxian had been trying to build, flipped the latch, and opened the box.

The inside of the box was lined with white silk, and sitting inside was a neatly tied length of red silk rope. Or, actually, upon second glance, it was three lengths of it, each tied into their own neat bundle and stacked together inside the box.

Wei Wuxian grinned wider as he watched Lan Wangji’s eyebrow twitch up slightly and the pink on his earlobes inched up the outer shell of his ear, watched the slight dilation of his pupils that was more telling than anything. There was a time when he’d found Lan Wangji’s microexpressions almost impossible to read, but he was getting much better at it now, after getting to spend so much time around him and having the chance to actually study him. He was still nowhere near as skilled as Lan Xichen at it, but he was slowly getting there.

He didn’t have to be an expert on Lan Wangji’s reactions to know that he liked it.

Wei Wuxian’s arms slipped back around Lan Wangji’s neck as he leaned in to nuzzle as Lan Wangji’s jawline. “I figured,” he said teasingly, kissing the corner of Lan Wangji’s jaw, “it was about time you had something more than your ribbon to tie me up with.”

Not that Wei Wuxian disliked being tied up with the ribbon, of course. It had happened, oh, perhaps a dozen or so times in the last year, and it was frankly a delight to have Lan Wangji tie him up in something that had been rather forbidden for him to touch in a past life. Especially ever since he’d learned just how important the ribbon was, and even more so since they’d been married, getting to touch or play with Lan Wangji’s ribbon, take it off at nights, tie it on him on some rare mornings when Wei Wuxian woke up early enough to do so... it meant a lot to him.

But the ribbon was only one strip of fabric, and because it was so thin, it had a tendency to twist and dig into his wrists quite deeply. More than once it had left smarting marks that had hurt for a number of days--and while Wei Wuxian had gotten used to, and even thoroughly enjoyed having his neck and shoulders and chest (and even thighs) littered with Lan Wangji’s lasting love bites, the ribbon hurt his wrists a bit too much to use with any regular frequency.

And frankly... Wei Wuxian liked having Lan Wangji tie him up. He couldn’t say it was a kink he’d anticipated having, and honestly he wasn’t sure whether he’d been more surprised to like it, or to learn that Lan Wangji liked it, but if it was going to be something they were both into, Wei Wuxian figured they might as well take advantage of it and explore the possibilities a bit more thoroughly.

Wei Wuxian watched eagerly as Lan Wangji reached into the box and pulled one of the bundles of rope from it, his heart fluttering about his chest in anticipation.

“Where did you get these?” Lan Wangji asked, his tone even, though Wei Wuxian could see a touch of heat in his eyes that betrayed the underlying lust.

“Talked one of the shop owners in the marketplace into letting me check out the back room,” Wei Wuxian replied. Of all the things he’d seen there... the silk robe had probably been one of the tamer things, but it had been the thing Wei Wuxian had been most hoping to find. Silk wasn’t exactly the most common material for rope, and Wei Wuxian figured that an injury from ordinary rope would be worse than that of the ribbon.

And if this turned out well... Wei Wuxian knew where to go to maybe buy something more adventurous next time.

“So, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian teased, grinning, letting go of Lan Wangji to hold his hand out in front of him, wrists together to give Lan Wangji an easy advantage. “Are we going to try them out?”

Instead of play along, though, Lan Wangji placed the length of rope back down in the box, closing it and leaning forward to set it on the table, and replied simply, “Tonight.”

Wei Wuxian quickly pouted again, wiggling his hips teasingly and purposefully in Lan Wangji’s lap. “Would you really make me wait the rest of the day? I was hoping we could try them out now.”

Lan Wangji’s arms wrapped around him to restrict his ability to wiggle and leaned in to press a chaste kiss to his forehead. “Brother asked me to help with a training exercise with the disciples this afternoon. It’ll have to wait.”

“When?” Wei Wuxian asked, still adamantly nosing at Lan Wangji’s jaw. It was his own fault, but all the way back up the mountain path to the Cloud Recesses he’d been thinking about all the new ways in which Lan Wangji could use this new present on him, and he’d... worked himself up quite a bit, on top of the fact that he was just generally pretty impatient, so it was impossible for to him resist the urge to at least try to seduce his husband.

“Less than a hour from now,” Lan Wangji replied, as he quietly nuzzled Wei Wuxian’s cheeks, his actions decidedly more affectionate than arousing.

Wei Wuxian considered that for a moment. A normal couple might find that to be more than enough time for a quick romp in the sheets, and it wasn’t like the two of them had never squeezed in a quick fuck here or there... but based on their standard track record, they typically had to set aside an hour or two for their love making. Lan Wangji’s stamina was... frankly incredible, and Wei Wuxian had very much learned to appreciate and take full advantage of that.

But he was already a little hard, and thought it might be worth it to at least try to get Lan Wangji to indulge him... When he rolled his hips down, he thought he could feel Lan Wangji’s arousal through his robes as well.

He grinned at that and shifted to kiss Lan Wangji’s mouth, moaning faintly and preemptively against his lips in the hopes of antagonizing him enough to take action--and much to his delight, Lan Wangji kissed him back, wrapped his arms a little more firmly around him. His tongue flicked out teasingly at Lan Wangji’s lips, and it didn’t take much provocation before Lan Wangji’s tongue was dipping into his mouth, before his teeth were grazing at Wei Wuxian’s bottom lip, his hand gripping a little tighter on Wei Wuxian’s thigh in a telltale sort of way. Wei Wuxian might have still been working on his reading of Lan Wangji’s subtle facial expressions, but one thing he had learned very quickly was how to tell when his husband was getting worked up.

Wei Wuxian moaned again, the sound a higher pitch and rising in inflection, not because of any specific thing Lan Wangji had done, but because Wei Wuxian knew how the needy sound affected Lan Wangji; just as he’d perfected the skill of playing Chenqing to control the dead, he’d been slowly perfecting his ability to make exactly the right noises to tempt Lan Wangji in exactly the right way, and he’d only gotten better at it with each passing day.

Lan Wangji’s breath hitched, ever so softly, and Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but grin into the kiss. He wiggled his hips again, feeling the length of Lan Wangji’s cock more certainly beneath him, and as Lan Wangji bit a little more insistently at his lip, We couldn’t help but feel that he was winning him over.

His hand slipped from around Lan Wangji’s neck to move to the front of his own robe, tugging them open a bit, and sliding them down towards one shoulder to expose his neck and collarbone, where all but the most recent hickey had faded from the skin, something that almost always incited Lan Wangji to gift him with a few more.

Wei Wuxian chose then to pull away from the kiss, flicking his tongue out teasingly against Lan Wangji’s lips before leaning back enough, making sure his exposed skin was obvious, as he aimed a heated, pouty look at Lan Wangji. “You sure you can’t skip out?” he asked playfully, “Just this once?”

The look in Lan Wangji’s eyes was definitely one in Wei Wuxian’s favor, one that sent a shiver of arousal down Wei Wuxian’s spine. He noticed Lan Wangji’s eyes trailing down to his skin and...

Without answering him, Lan Wangji’s arms tugged him close, his mouth quickly descending on Wei Wuxian’s neck. Wei Wuxian gasped as he felt Lan Wangji’s teeth immediately, biting down, scraping over the skin before his hot tongue dragged across it none-too-gently. He sucked hard and Wei Wuxian let out a genuine moan this time, one that spiked in volume as he got Lan Wangji’s teeth again. It hardly took much more than that for the arousal to build, for his cock to press up against the layers of his robes, his hands moving back to clutch at Lan Wangji’s robes.

He’d hardly given them more than a slight tug, though, when Lan Wangji’s hands were on Wei Wuxian’s robes, tugging at the sash keeping them closed and removing it expertly, hands shoving the top down and effectively removing Wei Wuxian’s hands from Lan Wangji’s chest as he needed to move his arms to get them out of the sleeves.

The robes were tossed aside and with another hard nip, Lan Wangji’s mouth moved from his neck just long enough to turn Wei Wuxian in his lap, turning his body away as he twisted Wei Wuxian’s arms behind him easily in his strong grip. Wei Wuxian gasped softly, arousal spiking as both his wrists were pinned to the small of his back in just one of Lan Wangji’s hands. He saw Lan Wangji’s other hand reach in front of him, opening the box up and grabbing one length of rope, shaking it loose. It was Wei Wuxian’s turn for his breath to hitch this time, and just a second later, Lan Wangji’s mouth attached to a new spot on his neck, just as rough as before, as his hands worked to wrap the rope around his wrists, fastening them securely together behind his back.

“Not too tight~” he teased lightly, but quickly cut himself off with a whine as Lan Wangji’s teeth sunk down harder near his shoulder; it was shocking even to him how quick his cock had gone from half-hard to almost aching, a feeling that only intensified when Lan Wangji’s hands finished their tying, and his hands moved to Wei Wuxian’s hips, tugging them sharply back into his lap and grinding them into Lan Wangji’s now very apparent arousal.

When Wei Wuxian tugged at the soft silk ropes around his wrists and found them securely locked together, the rush of adrenaline at being restrained forced another shuddering moan out of him.

Just a second later, Lan Wangji had scooped Wei Wuxian up easily in his arms, risen to his feet, and carried Wei Wuxian past the partition to dump him casually onto their bed. Wei Wuxian sucked in a little breath as he landed on his back, on his tied together wrists beneath him, but it wasn’t like being tossed around roughly wasn’t exactly what he’d been asking for when he’d purchased the ropes. No sooner had he landed than Lan Wangji’s hands were on his pants, tugging them down roughly over his hips, pulling them and his boots off with a practiced ease.

Very suddenly naked, Wei Wuxian was already panting softly as he watched Lan Wangji standing above him beside the bed, regarding him carefully, as if thinking about what to do with him next. Just the look gave Wei Wuxian goosebumps of anticipation, his skin flushing softly under his husband’s hungry eyes.

Wei Wuxian didn’t know what to think when Lan Wangji walked away to the other side of the partition. His first guess was that maybe he was grabbing another portion of rope, but that wouldn’t have taken more than a second, and before long, Wei Wuxian heard the soft sound of a drawer opening--and he honestly had no idea what to make of that.

When Lan Wangji came back into view, there was something in each of his hands. Wei Wuxian quickly recognized the bottle of oil in one hand, as that was something they used not every time, but quite often, but his eyes stuck on the other thing for a long moment, not recognizing it at all.

Seeming to realize where Wei Wuxian’s gaze was, the hint of a smile flickered at the corner of Lan Wangji’s mouth, and he held the item up in clear view for Wei Wuxian to see.

Wei Wuxian’s heart gave a little thud of excitement when he realized what it was.

It had been... probably over six months ago now, long enough for it to completely fall from the forefront of Wei Wuxian’s relatively short memory. He couldn’t even remember where they’d been or what they’d been doing except that Lan Wangji had been busy doing something or meeting with someone, and it had consequently given Wei Wuxian time to explore a few shops in town--and he’d managed to find a little place, off the main roadway, selling, among other things, a selection of wooden and bronze dildos.

Wei Wuxian had decided to buy one nearly immediately, though his reasoning for it had been purely just to mess with Lan Wangji--and it had worked like a charm back then. As soon as Wei Wuxian had presented it, Lan Wangji’s earlobes had immediately gone bright pink, the color even creeping down his neck a bit, and Wei Wuxian had spent a good little while squirming in Lan Wangji’s lap, teasingly purring, “Er-gege~” before eventually Lan Wangji had thrown him down on the bed and ravished him quite thoroughly, the toy tossed aside and all but forgotten about.

Or at least Wei Wuxian had forgotten about it. Clearly, Lan Wangji hadn’t. He’d gone so far as to retrieve the dildo from wherever Wei Wuxian had tossed it and had kept it tucked safely away in his room somewhere for later.

“I didn’t know you even kept that,” Wei Wuxian said, a faint laugh in his voice--though it was hard to laugh when he was facing the toy down now, when it was obvious Lan Wangji had intentions for it. His hand subconsciously tugged at the rope tying them in place, but they didn’t budge.

Wei Wuxian had specifically picked the largest dildo the shop was selling because that made it all the better to flaunt in front of Lan Wangji at the time. The full length of the toy was over twenty-five centimeters from one end to the other, and the wood was vibrant mahogany, dense, the dark veins of the wood creating a pretty design across the surface. It was carefully and thickly lacquered, the shiny surface catching even the tiniest bit of light in the room. The shape of it was all softly curved angles, and either end of it was smoothly carved to a soft, easily insertable taper, though there was a drastic difference between the two sides, and they were separated by a very tapered down middle portion--the smaller part of it was perhaps eight centimeters around, maybe five centimeters long... and though the user could choose to insert that end, it was meant to act as a handle. The true business end of the dildo was nearly twenty centimeters long and sixteen centimeters around at its thickest point, even thicker around than Lan Wangji’s cock was.

Wei Wuxian always had had a knack for asking for trouble and getting more of it back than he'd been prepared for.

“It was a present from my beloved husband. Of course I kept it,” Lan Wangji replied simply, the hint of a smirk lingering in his eyes as he carefully set the toy down on Wei Wuxian’s stomach.

Wei Wuxian would be touched if he wasn’t if he wasn’t suddenly so full of anticipation he could burst. Though the toy probably wasn’t actually all that heavy, the solid weight of it as it rested on his stomach made him shiver.

His eyes were back on Lan Wangji soon enough, who was pouring a bit of the oil out onto his fingers, rubbing them together in a way that Wei Wuxian found decidedly seductive, before Lan Wangji was adjusting on the bed. His fingers moved easily to Wei Wuxian’s entrance, two of them pressing inside without a care. Though it wasn’t as if two fingers was nothing to him (Lan Wangji had gotten him off dozens of times with just two fingers), Wei Wuxian’s body was so used to opening up for Lan Wangji’s cock at this point that he could offer no resistance to such a minor intrusion, even if he’d wanted to.

At nearly the same time, Lan Wangji’s mouth dropped to his chest, his lips locking around Wei Wuxian’s nipple--his hot tongue dragged across the bud of flesh before his teeth were just as eagerly wrapped around it and Wei Wuxian cried out softly as Lan Wangji bit down, his chest arching up into the contact that was quickly succeeded by Lan Wangji��s finger curling upward inside of him, rubbing against the spot that always drove him crazy. His wrists couldn’t help but struggle against their bonds, overcome with the urge to try to latch onto Lan Wangji somehow, though the rope held them tightly in place.

“Lan Zhan,” he moaned, panting heavily, before whining sharply again as Lan Wangji’s teeth tugged, before his tongue swirled around, smoothed over it. In the past, Wei Wuxian ha nearly come just from having Lan Wangji’s mouth on his nipples, so having Lan Wangji’s fingers thrust quickly in and out of him at the same time would be enough to finish him in almost no time.

But just as his breaths were getting quicker, his moans getting more desperate, just as he felt the beginnings of the orgasm curling in his gut--

“Not yet,” Lan Wangji released his mouth to say as he slid his fingers out, and immediately moved his hand to the head of Wei Wuxian’s cock to give it a quick, firm squeeze in his palm.

Wei Wuxian sucked in hasty breath, eyes snapping open as his body was suddenly pushed back from the edge of the orgasm that had been so close. Lan Wangji had never done that before and the strange sensation of having the looming orgasm abruptly ripped out from under him left his body shuddering and eager.

He had to work quickly to put his thoughts in order after the shock, so that he could whine, “So mean.” He pouted, his hips rolled, seeking stimulation that wasn’t there, stimulation he was somehow even hungrier for now. “Who could have guessed I had such a cruel husband?”

Lan Wangji’s teeth tugged lightly at his nipple again, ignoring Wei Wuxian completely as he turned all of his attention to that, sucking and twisting and tugging it in his lips, eventually letting his fingers twist at the other one until Wei Wuxian’s head was spinning so much that he forgot to keep complaining.

He was completely out of breath by the time Lan Wangji released him, letting him pant desperately against the bed as Lan Wangji moved himself down between Wei Wuxian’s open thighs. His stomach was sticky with his own precum, which had gathered in the slight depression of where the toy was still resting.

At which point Lan Wangji must have realized there were no possessive marks left, because soon Lan Wangji’s mouth had dropped to his inner thigh, pinning the leg down against the bed as his teeth and tongue worked over the flesh, until the spot ached with sensitivity--Wei Wuxian’s thighs were almost too sensitive honestly, the jolts of Lan Wangji’s teeth making his body twitch, the line between pleasure and pain being truly tested, though it was true that he loved the feeling of Lan Wangji holding him down and doing whatever he wanted to him more than enough to overcome almost anything that felt like too much, with very rare exceptions.

As if to ease the sharpness of his twitching, Lan Wangji slid his fingers back inside of him, three this time for a firmer fit, and started to thrust them as a slow distraction to the gradually sharper ministrations of his mouth against the too delicate skin.

Lan Wangji didn’t press his fingers at that certain angle again, but it wasn’t like Wei Wuxian needed that to get off. He’d grown to love everything about having Lan Wangji inside of him, every angle, every twitch of his fingers, every little slide and push. When they’d first started this, Wei Wuxian had worried he might get less sensitive over time, less affected by the touches the more he got used to them, but it absolutely seemed that the exact opposite had happened, every erogenous zone lighting up bigger and brighter the longer Lan Wangji had had to fuck him over the months.

Satisfied with the first spot, Lan Wangji’s mouth moved up another few centimeters, hovering closer to where his fingers were thrusting, mouth latching on again and irritating the even more sensitive skin.

In the back of Wei Wuxian’s dazed mind, he wondered if Lan Wangji really was going to skip out on going to help his brother. For someone that had claimed he had somewhere to be, he certainly didn’t seem to be in a rush at all. Wei Wuxian hadn’t really thought Lan Wangji would do it just because he’d suggested it, but Wei Wuxian wasn’t going to complain if Lan Wangji decided to devote the time to him--and it wasn’t as if Lan Wangji would get in trouble with Lan Xichen the way he would had it been his uncle he was supposed to help.

Even without Lan Wangji trying, Wei Wuxian was getting worked up again, his breaths getting quicker, his body rocking gently and eagerly down onto the fingers inside of him--when he worked his hips at the right angle, he could get Lan Wangji’s fingertips to rub across the spot that made him shiver, which felt especially good when he managed to time it up with the pressure of Lan Wangji’s teeth against his skin.

His head was just starting to go hazy again, the orgasm just close enough to feel approaching, when Lan Wangji pushed himself upright and slid his fingers out again, leaving Wei Wuxian almost crestfallen as he fell back from the orgasm once more.

Wei Wuxian pulled himself together enough to pout vividly at his husband. “Terrible,” he griped, with no actual sentiment behind it. “I go out of my way to get my husband such wonderful gifts and he won’t even let me come. Just awful!”

There was a twinkle of what Wei Wuxian would have sworn was laughter in Lan Wangji’s eyes, a smile dancing at the very corner of his mouth. But otherwise, he simply reached to pick up the wooden toy from where he’d left it, before grabbing the oil to apply a slick coating of it to the already glossy surface.

“You’ll come. Don’t worry,” Lan Wangji finally said, in a way that was almost fucking ominous.

Wei Wuxian’s eyes were affixed to the dildo as Lan Wangji touched it. Lan Wangji’s cock had been inside of him, in his hands, in his mouth too often for him to not know it intimately, and to not be able to see from a glance just how thick the thickest part of the toy was. Lan Wangji’s cock already filled him up so perfectly that a part of him wondered how this would even fit, though he knew Lan Wangji was going to find a way to manage it.

Lan Wangji's free hand found his thigh again, pinning it back down to the bed as he lowered the toy to his entrance.

Wei Wuxian sucked in a soft breath as he felt the nudge of it against the rim. Not counting the magical space of a dream realm, Wei Wuxian’s real body had only ever had fingers (his own and Lan Wangji’s) and Lan Wangji’s cock inside of it--and even counting the experiences of the dream realm, the wooden toy didn’t feel like anything else as it started to push inside of him. He was so used to the heat of Lan Wangji’s cock, and the wood was... almost neutral in temperature by comparison, and it had a certain weight, a certain sturdiness to its shape that made it immediately distinguishable from Lan Wangji’s cock.

Lan Wangji rocked the first several centimeters in and out of him, not even attempting to push the widest part inside yet, and also not giving him anywhere near the stimulation he needed, the penetration that Lan Wangji was making him feel desperate for after two near-orgasms.

“Lan Zhan!” he cried woefully, trying to rock his hips down, but finding that Lan Wangji was keeping him from really getting the toy inside any deeper.

“What's wrong?” Lan Wangji asked, his voice almost innocent, which Wei Wuxian would have found hilarious if he wasn’t absolutely dying.

Too frustrated for words, which was a shock in and of itself, Wei Wuxian merely whined pitifully--which seemed to work, as Lan Wangji finally showed him a little mercy and started to press the toy in, just a little more, until the widest part was pressed against the rim, stretching, stretching, and Wei Wuxian was holding his breath at the girth of it--

Then Lan Wangji slid it back a bit, rocking the toy a few more times, let Wei Wuxian take a few unsteady breaths, before he was pushing again, Wei Wuxian’s body trembling as his hole felt so full that he couldn’t have clenched even if he’d wanted to, and his stomach was glistening with precum... then out once more, a few more little rocking motions that pressed a little more each time, Lan Wangji slowly getting him used to the size of it, the muscles of his thigh quaking beneath Lan Wangji’s heavy hand.

Then Lan Wangji started pushing one last time, and Wei Wuxian’s entire body shuddered, taut to the point of falling apart as he felt every minuscule movement as Lan Wangji pushed, pushed, before...

The widest part of it was inside, his hole fluttering lightly, strangely around the side of the toy that was tapering back down, which was its own strange sensation, to feel the thickness of the dildo inside of him against the thinner part at the rim. Fuck, he felt full, the hard knot of the toy inside of him was so obvious as Lan Wangji pushed it in deeper, but his body was greedy for it, and now that it was inside it somehow managed to be the perfect balance of just enough and too much.

Lan Wangji held the toy steady for a few desperate seconds, Wei Wuxian’s breathing ragged and his skin covered in a light sheen of perspiration despite the cool air in the room. His hand massaged into his thigh, and he waited a long minute, until Wei Wuxian’s breathing was semi-normal.

When he twisted his wrist, swirling the toy inside of him in an obscene way, Wei Wuxian made a sound that was almost a chirp, sharp and surprised as he pushed up into the right angle, seemed to be able to move too much inside for all the space it filled up. Wei Wuxian’s hands twitched against his bonds again, shifting them beneath his back to keep them comfortable, and finding them just as tightly secured as before.

Lan Wangji started to move the toy languidly, the slowest of thrusts, and Wei Wuxian could feel the bulk of the dildo moving back and forth--he came to the opposite sensation as Lan Wangji drew the toy back towards his rim again, body shaking with the anticipation of the stretch, before Lan Wangji pressed it back inside.

It wasn’t often that Wei Wuxian was left speechless, but for as many words as he could sting together right now, he may as well have bought the gag that shop had been selling too.

As strung out as he was, there was no need for Lan Wangji to keep teasing. Wei Wuxian’s body felt like he was buzzing from head to toe, his hands bonded tightly beneath him, his legs spread as wide as was possible, with Lan Wangji holding the one down against the bed. The dildo was so thick that Lan Wangji didn’t need to angle it for every motion of it to set Wei Wuxian’s senses on fire as it pressed inside of him. A few more times, as Lan Wangji pulled it out, his gave it a playful tug, pulling the girth of it back towards his rim without applying anywhere near enough pressure to remove it.

Wei Wuxian was reduced to a string of breathless whimpers before Lan Wangji finally conceded.

He picked up the pace of the toy, just a bit, closer to a normal thrust at least, he angled the toy upward, and Wei Wuxian moaned sharply, his hips jerked--and though Lan Wangji didn’t move nearly fast enough, the pace was enough, Wei Wuxian was completely strung out, his body already twice denied relief, and as it grew closer, he could only beg that Lan Wangji wouldn’t deny him again.

“Lan Zhan,” he gasped softly, hearing the desperation in his own voice. Lan Wangji was usually merciful when he begged, when he came to the point of asking nicely instead of his usual tactic of self-amusing complaints. “Please,” he huffed, “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhaaan.”

Giving in, Lan Wangji moved the toy a bit quicker, quick little bursts of thrusts upward inside of him, and Wei Wuxian’s moans climbed quickly, his head rolling back and pressing hard against the bed beneath it, throat open and exposed in an exquisite display, chest arching, his body still quaking, until the sharp burst of his cries pierced the bubble of his orgasm with a abrupt, “Ah!” as the orgasm shot out of him, across his chest and stomach.

But as he should have expected, even as his body clenched down, Lan Wangji kept thrusting the toy, a few deeper, lengthy strokes, that felt ludicrous inside of him, felt like they shouldn’t be possible with how tight he felt, and no sooner had he released any tension than Lan Wangji was back to the pointed thrusts, taking advantage of Wei Wuxian’s over sensitivity and forcing an aching whine out of him.

If Lan Wangji hadn’t done it to him hundreds of times already, the swiftly approaching second orgasm would have felt impossible, but Wei Wuxian knew too well it could happen as Lan Wangji rocked the toy inside of him, felt it building and building all over again, his breaths climbing higher in his chest, his skin almost burning from the heat of it all and just as his hands were clenching, his wrists tugging uselessly at the rope that bound them again, just as he felt the second orgasm approaching--

Lan Wangji pressed the toy deep inside of him, and stood up from the bed.

Dazed and spinning out from how close the second release had been, Wei Wuxian almost couldn’t believe what he was seeing as Lan Wangji wiped his hand clean on Wei Wuxian’s discarded pants.

“Lan Zhan!” he groused impatiently.

Lan Wangji gave him a flat look as he straightened the collar of his own robes, only slightly disturbed in all the shuffling, and he said, simply, “I told you. My brother asked for my help.”

“And what? You’re going to leave me like this?” Wei Wuxian asked, sounding as pathetic as he could, though he somehow doubted he was going to garner any sympathy from Lan Wangji. He had, after all, decided to try to seduce Lan Wangji in spite of the fact that Lan Wangji had laid out a clear time limit from the get go and had very reasonably suggested they do this tonight. This was completely and painfully in character for his dutiful husband, and also painfully in character for himself.

Wei Wuxian almost regretted knowing Lan Wangji’s expressions as well as he did now, because when Lan Wangji turned to give him a look, he could see the traces of amusement on his face. Lan Wangji was utterly delighted by the predicament Wei Wuxian had gotten himself into. He replied, “I’ll be back shortly.”

And with a last little glimmer of mirth aimed towards Wei Wuxian, he turned on his heel and headed, unperturbed, out of the Jingshi.

“Come back right now or I’m divorcing you! Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian shouted after him, torn between despair and laughter at the situation he’d gotten himself into. It was a completely empty threat, of course, and they both knew it as Lan Wangji slid the door quietly shut behind him.

I don’t deserve this, Wei Wuxian lamented to himself, despite knowing he absolutely deserved it.

With a huff of a breath, Wei Wuxian let his body collapse completely against the bed, and decided to focus his efforts for just a few moments on catching his breath and considering his current predicament.

Lan Wangji had turned this into a sort of game, and Wei Wuxian had to decide if it would be more fun to play along, or if it would be more fun to try to turn the tables--though after a year of such things, Wei Wuxian did finally acknowledge that his attempts to turn the tables rarely worked in his favor, but it didn’t mean it was less fun to try. Lan Wangji hadn’t tied him down or attached him to the bed in any way, so if he wanted to get up, he could technically move around freely.

Though as soon as he moved as little as to close his legs, a sharp shiver ran through him. The movement disturbed the toy, which was so thick that Wei Wuxian barely had to move at all to make it press into any number of delicious spots inside of him. And even trying to close his legs too much made him feel indescribably fuller, his cock twitching eagerly just from the sensation of it, his hole fluttering around the thinner part of the toy.

Fuck, Wei Wuxian cursed softly to himself. His body was still desperate for another orgasm--Lan Wangji leaving him with the toy in him would have been dizzying enough, but letting him come once just to work him up again... it was downright evil. His insides were hypersensitive, even more susceptible to the contact than they would have been if Lan Wangji had simply denied him an orgasm at all. Which, knowing Lan Wangji, had probably been his intention, honestly.

Due to the shape of the toy, the size of it, Wei Wuxian knew it wouldn’t just slide out on its own, and he was pretty sure he couldn’t push it out either... taking a breath, he shifted his hips downward and tried to maneuver his bound hands to to reach it... and he did manage to get one hand turned around to grab onto it, he started to tug lightly at it, feeling the girth of it moving towards the rim, stretching it tightly as his body trembled again... but perhaps due to the awkward angle of his hands, or perhaps it had to do with having the strength or nerve, he couldn’t seem to pull the toy out any further, and after a minute of wiggling and trembling, shuddering breaths, he let go of it, after which it almost naturally seemed to sink back into his body a bit, until the bit of toy inside his rim was no longer uncomfortably stretched.

In a daze, he wondered how the fuck Lan Wangji had even managed to push it inside without tearing him in two.

Though the bit of good news was that he could maneuver the toy enough to get off again, so he wouldn’t be left here unsatisfied, and with how eager his body was to get off again, maybe it was best to focus on that first.

Gripping the toy in one hand, it was simple enough to rock his hips, to time short little thrusts of his hand against the motion. He didn’t have much range, but he didn’t really need it either, because he could thrust it at a exquisite angle, so that each time his hips rocked down it sent a sharp jolt of arousal through him, and it didn’t take long at all to get into the state Lan Wangji had had him, his breath huffing out in short soft moans, quieter than he would have been if Lan Wangji were here with him, but moans nonetheless that climbed in pitch, little by little until--

“Nnn,” Wei Wuxian whined softly to himself as he came again, shuddering at the feeling of clenching down around the dildo and the hard knot of it inside of him once more, before letting himself go lax again, panting softly--though he nearly regretted coming again as soon as an aftershock of the orgasm rippled through him, and the second his hole clenched, another moan was punched out of him as the hard toy pressed eagerly around inside of him again.

All he’d done was make himself more sensitive. Lan Wangji had this damn body so trained to enjoy the overstimulation that coming and not being able to remove the source of stimulation just made him want to come again.

And when Lan Wangji came back, Wei Wuxian was sure he was going to fuck him senseless. If he was going to survive that, maybe it would be best to just... try to relax and save his strength.

It was quite a task though, the relaxing. Every time he thought he’d caught his breath, or had calmed his rushing heart, anything more than a twitch made the toy move in him, immediately setting off another flurry of arousal--and it certainly didn’t help that he’d done this with Lan Wangji’s cock at times, just... sitting in his lap, cock nestled inside of him while Lan Wangji managed to get some sort of work done at his desk, Wei Wuxian mostly relaxed and enjoying the soft waves of arousal he got just to have Lan Wangji inside of him, until Lan Wangji finished with his work and could make love to him properly. Even without the overstimulation, having the toy inside of him was enough to keep him aroused and semi-hard for quite a long while.

At one point, he nearly came again just because he rolled over onto his stomach, looking to give his arms a little space to stretch and shift, and the dramatic motion of the toy inside combined with a new sudden pressure of against his cock gave him quite a head rush. He did manage to take a breath and settle back down after a moment though.

He mused to himself that Lan Wangji must have tied him this way knowing he’d be leaving him like this for a while, because although Wei Wuxian really couldn’t get his hands out of the rope, he did have a decent amount of range so that his shoulders and elbows and wrists wouldn’t get too stiff.

Wei Wuxian was overcome with relief when an hour or so later, he finally heard the door of the Jingshi open and then slide shut again. The partition was blocking his view, but he could tell from the sound of the footsteps alone that it was Lan Wangji. Wei Wuxian sucked in a steadying breath and shimmied on the mattress, turning his head so that he’d be able to see Lan Wangji's approach, getting up onto his knees so that his ass with the toy still inside was up in the air, his face and chest left pressed to the mattress, his bound arms on prominent display at the small of his back.

He hadn’t come up with any way to get back at Lan Wangji that couldn’t just be used in greater retaliation against himself, but he figured the least he could do was present Lan Wangji with a nice little picture to return to.

From his current pose, he couldn’t see all of Lan Wangji as he rounded the screen, but he could see the bottom half of him, and when Lan Wangji’s eyes seemed to land on him, Wei Wuxian saw the way Lan Wangji stopped in his tracks, heard the soft hitch of breath that gave away just how much Lan Wangji liked what he saw.

“A-Zhan,” Wei Wuxian mewled, wiggling his hips enticingly (shifting the dildo around inside of him and making himself shiver). “I missed you,” he pouted, stuck his ass out as much as he could, “I was so lonely without my husband.”

Lan Wangji didn’t move for a few seconds, and Wei Wuxian felt his face heating up to know Lan Wangji was appreciating the view. In his limited field of vision, it was just a moment before he saw a flash of red being tossed onto the foot of the bed, then saw Lan Wangji’s robes opening, saw them being hung over the tall partition, and before he knew it, Lan Wangji was shedding the rest of his clothes as he climbed onto the bed behind him, Wei Wuxian’s heart starting to flutter.

Lan Wangji’s hands, strong as ever, grabbed his hips, gave them a squeeze before trailing them back to his ass, using his thumbs to spread his cheeks and get an even better view of his rim opened around the toy while Wei Wuxian moaned lightly as the heavy weight of Lan Wangji’s pale gaze.

Finally, Lan Wangji’s hand moved to the toy, sliding it in and out just a bit as he asked, “Did you come after I left?”

Wei Wuxian was caught in the middle of a long moan from the stimulation of the toy and the deep purr of Lan Wangji’s voice, but once he could, he admitted, “Just once. You’ve made me so sensitive, Lan Zhan, I couldn’t help myself.”

Lan Wangji moved the toy in a few quicker deeper thrusts, sending Wei Wuxian careening into another long whimper, his fingers twitching and his toes curling, before Lan Wangji let go of it again. There was a long pause, during which Wei Wuxian caught his breath again, and heard the wet sound of Lan Wangji stroking himself with an extra bit of oil--despite already having something inside of him, Wei Wuxian could already feel himself getting more excited. He liked any and all of the ways of Lan Wangji having something inside of him, but his cock was certainly the best.

And Wei Wuxian had certainly waited long enough for it today.

First things first though, was the process of getting the dildo out of him, which Lan Wangji shortly turned his attention back to. Wei Wuxian felt Lan Wangji’s hand on him again as Lan Wangji shifted a bit closer to him on the bed--and much like he’d inserted the toy, he started to rock it gently in and out, tugging it just a bit to stretch the rim, before pushing it back in, swirling it, tugging out again. Wei Wuxian found himself trembling all over again, breathing high in his chest, still finding the widest part of the stretch too overwhelming, and mentally expressing gratitude that Lan Wangji’s cock was exactly the size that it was.

Finally, with one more gentle retreat stretching Wei Wuxian to an uncomfortable amount, Lan Wangji gave it one last tug, and the dildo slid out in one swift motion--though Wei Wuxian barely had time to let out a sigh or even feel empty, before Lan Wangji’s cock pressed against his entrance and slid inside in one quick motion.

Wei Wuxian let out a quick cry, the heat of Lan Wangji’s cock compared to the wooden toy a shocking contrast, the sensation of the full shaft different from the curves of the toy, on top of the heat of Lan Wangji’s skin pressed to his ass--it was so sudden, though Wei Wuxian couldn’t be surprised Lan Wangji didn’t hold back, as he’d probably had this return lingering in the back of his mind for the last hour, and Wei Wuxian could only imagine trying to focus on a class while you were thinking about your husband, bound and horny and waiting for you back in your room. At the feelings of gratitude for his husband’s thankfully quite stoic expression, Wei Wuxian managed one little huff of a laugh--

But the laugh was fucked out of him as Lan Wangji quickly pulled out and slammed back in and Wei Wuxian let out a sharp moan instead. Just as quickly Lan Wangji’s hands were on his hips and he’d launched into a brutal pace, their skin smacking together, Lan Wangji’s hands pulling him back sharply onto his cock at the end of each thrust, his cock pressing in deep, filling him so perfectly that Wei Wuxian’s thoughts turned to mush in a matter of seconds, and all he could do was moan sharply with the timing of Lan Wangji’s thrusts, helpless but to do anything but as the pleasure rose quickly, Lan Wangji’s hips bucking faster and faster.

“Nn-aah!” Wei Wuxian cried out as the orgasm slammed into him, body going tight as Lan Wangji fucked him through it, his pace only slowing once Wei Wuxian’s hole had stopped clenching around it.

Wei Wuxian whimpered softly, shuddering with each of Lan Wangji’s thrusts, his cock feeling so good inside that Wei Wuxian’s thoughts were hazy and soft, his body feeling loose and open to his husband’s intrusion. As always, he rode some treacherous edge of wanting it to end and wanting it to never end, ultimately knowing that if Lan Wangji pulled out right now Wei Wuxian would be dismally disappointed. It was too much but it felt too good and he couldn’t bear the thought of Lan Wangji stopping.

It was too easy to lose track of time like this, Wei Wuxian’s sense of anything other than the steady in and out of Lan Wangji’s cock gradually fading. Eventually, however many minutes or tens of minutes later, their hips still rocking absently together, he felt Lan Wangji’s hands moving to the rope, and felt the ties loosening--which was almost a sense of disappointment for Wei Wuxian, until he realized Lan Wangji was just re-positioning his arms to a more drastic arrangement, laying them across the middle of his back and tying his forearms together, the rope tighter than it had been before. Wei Wuxian tugged against the new bonds, and the increased tension of the position sent a deep wave of arousal through him.

When Lan Wangji grabbed his arms by the rope, and tugged him upright, Wei Wuxian had no choice but to be tugged, until he was pulled back against Lan Wangji’s chest, his arms trapped tight between his back and Lan Wangji’s stomach as Lan Wangji’s arms circled around his hips and chest to press their bodies close. The new angle immediately pressed Lan Wangji’s cock into the most sensitive part of the inner wall, and Wei Wuxian’s erection, which had flagged slightly after the last orgasm, immediately stiffened again.

Lan Wangji’s mouth, as it was wont to do, soon found his neck and latched onto a new spot, clearly planning to redecorate since the skin was almost markless again and that was decidedly unacceptable in Lan Wangji’s book. Wei Wuxian gladly tilted his head for him, shaking the messy, tied back hair out of Lan Wangji’s way and moaning achingly as Lan Wangji’s teeth dug in to redden and bruise the skin.

Wei Wuxian let his mind go blank, letting the points of contact fog up his head as Lan Wangji’s hips moved in a deep rolling motion against his own, his cock rubbing into him so deliciously that Wei Wuxian’s chest was quickly heaving, and his hips arched back into Lan Wangji’s as much as they could with Lan Wangji pinning their bodies so tightly together.

Lan Wangji irritated the spot on his neck until he was satisfied, then moved to find another one a bit lower, quickly working it more roughly than before as his hand drifted back to Wei Wuxian’s nipple and tugged at it in time with his thrusts, which soon picked up--the pleasure ramped up quickly as Lan Wangji’s hips jerked at him, all points of contact turning rough and hurried until Wei Wuxian was moaning in sharp bursts again and he came with another sharp whine.

As Lan Wangji’s hips kept rolling, Wei Wuxian shuddered with overstimulation--though when Lan Wangji suddenly pulled out, Wei Wuxian was anything but relieved, the emptiness terribly unpleasant after being so happily full of something for so long.

Weak from so many orgasms, Lan Wangji didn’t have to push him hard at all to send Wei Wuxian toppling onto the bed--though once he was there, Lan Wangji lovingly adjusting him onto his back, getting his head situated on the pillow and making sure he was comfortable with the way his bound arms were positioned beneath him. Only after he’d helped Wei Wuxian adjust did he turn back to grab the second length of rope he’d brought over with him.

Wei Wuxian watched limply, his heart beating rapidly with excitement, his eyes eager to follow Lan Wangji’s movements. He made no motions to struggle against him (though it wasn’t like he had any desire to), his body limp and pliable at this point for Lan Wangji to do with him whatever he pleased.

He watched, panting, as Lan Wangji tied one end of the rope around his ankle, making sure it was a firm knot, before he led the end of the rope up, leaning over Wei Wuxian and... looping the rope over the wooden bed frame. When Lan Wangji settled back, sitting between Wei Wuxian��s legs, he slowly pulled the end of the rope back towards him, the rope slowly pulling Wei Wuxian’s ankle back towards the top of the bed--Wei Wuxian kept his knee bent, for comfort’s sake, and Lan Wangji pulled the robe until the angle of it had slightly raised the end of his ass off the bed... at which point Lan Wangji pushed Wei Wuxian’s other leg back into a mirror position, before tying the other end of the rope around that ankle as well.

When Lan Wangji removed his hands, Wei Wuxian was left shivering with arousal, his body curled up, his legs now firmly stuck in a very open position, his hole exposed and ready for Lan Wangji to do with it as he desired. Though for a long second, it seemed like Lan Wangji just wanted to admire his handiwork, and Wei Wuxian felt breathless and weak as Lan Wangji’s eyes devoured him, feeling his hole fluttering and eager for Lan Wangji’s next intrusion.

Thankfully, Lan Wangji didn’t make him wait long. After just a moment, he leaned back over Wei Wuxian, one arm bracing against the bed frame while the other quickly lined up his cock with Wei Wuxian’s hole and smoothly sunk back inside.

Wei Wuxian gasped softly to be penetrated so quickly again, somehow always delighted by the shock of it, the heat, the size, the slight curve of the shaft; he hoped he never completely got used to Lan Wangji taking him so perfectly.

Leaving him no time to adjust, and honestly Lan Wangji must be aching to come himself by this point so Wei Wuxian wouldn’t have wanted him to hesitate, Lan Wangji’s hips quickly began to rock into his own, with long, plunging thrusts, pulling almost entirely out before pitching back inside and making quick contact between their skin before repeating. Lan Wangji’s free hand moved to Wei Wuxian’s quite immobilized thigh and gripped it hard, probably hard enough to leave a few red marks as he moved.

Wei Wuxian somehow managed to leave his eyes open for a bit, captivated by Lan Wangji’s movements. Lan Wangji hovered above him far enough that he could see the flowing ripple of muscle beneath Lan Wangji’s skin, and watching the quick thrust of hips inside with the feeling of being fucked so deeply was its own strange degree of intoxication. Wei Wuxian strained lightly against the ropes securing his arms beneath him, against the ones securing his legs so wide open just because the reminder of the rope being there made his whole body shake with excitement.

Lan Wangji’s cock felt impossibly hard as it plunged into him over and over, and Lan Wangji was quickly losing any ability he had to hold back as his eyes remained fixated on Wei Wuxian, his hips bucking faster, the sharp smack of skin on skin tempered only by Wei Wuxian’s gradually sharper moans filling the space between them. Fuck, maybe it was obscene, but the more Wei Wuxian thought about Lan Wangji just fucking him senselessly, just using him for his own pleasure, fucking him harder and harder just to get himself off, just to come inside of him, the higher Wei Wuxian’s moans climbed, the more desperate he got. His body was already aching, half-numb and half-on fire as Lan Wangji fucked him harder and quicker, his hole red and softly swollen after so much play, the muscles of his stomach and thighs trembling as the pleasure pushed the edge of pain.

Wei Wuxian only realized how loud he’d gotten when Lan Wangji’s hand released his thigh to firmly cover his mouth instead, far too loud especially with daylight in the sky, though that just added another element of excitement as far as Wei Wuxian was concerned.

He swore he almost thought he heard a growl rumble from Lan Wangji’s throat as he reached the finishing stretch, slamming their bodies together so hard that Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but wonder if it would bruise, though he couldn’t care if he did because he wanted it, wanted Lan Wangji to lose control, give him everything he possibly could.

Though he’d been trying to hold back, wanting Lan Wangji to come before he did, as his ankles tugged uselessly one last time at their restraints, he came with a sound that might have been a scream if it weren’t for Lan Wangji’s hand to muffle it, hole clenching down tight around Lan Wangji’s cock one last time before Lan Wangji groaned over him and Wei Wuxian felt the incredible heat of his orgasm as Lan Wangji slammed his cock forward to release deep inside, Wei Wuxian letting out a soft follow up moan at the sensation.

Wei Wuxian cracked his eyes open to look up at Lan Wangji, watching the heaving of Lan Wangji’s chest with each breath as Wei Wuxian sought to catch his own, eyeing the flushed color on Lan Wangji’s ears and neck that Wei Wuxian was always so fond of. Wei Wuxian wanted to reach up and touch Lan Wangji, grab him, but he was still very much restrained.

After a few minutes, Lan Wangji slowly pulled out, at which Wei Wuxian shivered a bit, before he reached down and released one of Wei Wuxian’s ankles from the robe, allowing Wei Wuxian to let his limp and probably useless legs flop back on the mattress, tugging the rope free from the bed frame in the process.

Soon after, Lan Wangji leaned down and kissed him sweetly, Wei Wuxian sighing contentedly against his lips for a moment. He felt Lan Wangji shifting, easily sliding a hand behind Wei Wuxian’s back to lift him off the bed, just enough to get his other hand behind him to loosen the other rope and free Wei Wuxian’s arms.

Wei Wuxian quickly let them flop to the side, stretching them lightly after the tight position, as Lan Wangji laid him back down and finally settled his weight over him. Wei Wuxian felt grounded with Lan Wangji on top of him, the sturdy pressure of him shooing away the lingering haze and compressing his shattered thoughts back into one piece. Lan Wangji’s hands, so forceful before, would become completely gentle in these moments, fingers gently rubbing Wei Wuxian’s hips and thighs, or holding his face, stroking his cheek. Even after Lan Wangji broke the kiss and settled his face against Wei Wuxian’s neck, his hands continued their gentle movements.

Laying with Lan Wangji like this, Wei Wuxian felt relaxed and sated and oh so loved. Thoughts of Lan Wangji tying him up, taking him roughly, and having his way with him were indeed a turn on... but they wouldn’t be, if it weren’t for moments like this, truly feeling the depths of Lan Wangji’s devotion to him. His own arms eventually regained enough strength to wrap themselves around Lan Wangji’s back, fingers tracing light circles across the firm skin, and he quietly let them both savor the moment for a while as the adrenaline faded and Wei Wuxian felt the now familiar dull pulse of ache from the places that had been handled too roughly, though at this point he almost welcomed the feeling, like faint reminders of the intimate fun he’d just had with his husband.

The light in the room had taken on a faint orange glow as the sun outside sunk towards the horizon.

Being who he was as a person, Wei Wuxian was only going to be quiet and calm so long before he inevitably had to spout nonsense again, and today was no different. When his senses had all but returned to normal, he put on a pout and complained with nowhere near enough sincerity to make anyone believe it, much less his true love, “Lan Zhan... how is it that you’re always so rough with me?”

He felt Lan Wangji let out a puff of air against his neck, the faintest indication of amusement, before following it up with a kiss and letting Wei Wuxian gripe.

“This is all your fault. You’ve fucked me too well and now my legs aren’t going to work,” he continued, hugging Lan Wangji a little bit tighter as the fake pout turned gradually into a suppressed grin. “You’re going to have to wait on me hand and foot, otherwise I’ll just lay here and starve to death. And you’ll have to carry me anywhere we need to go.”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji agreed quietly, his lips pressing to Wei Wuxian’s neck softly again, “For how long?”

Wei Wuxian felt a laugh shaking in his chest, but he tried to hold it back as he persisted, “Days. Maybe even weeks. You’ve really done it this time, you definitely broke something.”

“Weeks?” Lan Wangji replied, the doubt in his voice obvious to Wei Wuxian--this time, instead of a kiss, Wei Wuxian felt teeth latching onto a bit of skin and starting to press down.

“Okay, just days!” Wei Wuxian conceded, but Lan Wangji’s teeth didn’t let up, tugging a little more, bit by bit, until, “Okay, okay, you win! Just today. Give me today at least, won’t you?”

Lan Wangji’s teeth let go of him and he pressed a warm kiss down firmly over the spot, then agreed softly, “Today.”

Wei Wuxian let out a relieved breath to be free of Lan Wangji’s bite. Any more of that and he was going to want Lan Wangji fuck him again, and he wasn’t sure this poor body could handle another round quite yet. None of their exploits had led to anything breaking (well, nothing on their bodies breaking anyway; they had quite a tally going on bathtubs, bed frames, tables, and even a bookcase once), but Wei Wuxian didn’t think it completely out of the realm of possibility and he didn’t want to push his luck.

Besides, he really did feel exhausted. He’d walked all the way down and back up the mountain today; if he wasn’t so used to and eager for Lan Wangji to handle him the way he did, he probably would have already passed out.

After a few more minutes of quiet snuggling and scattered kisses, Lan Wangji finally pushed himself up, lingering just long enough to press a long kiss to Wei Wuxian’s lip, giving his bottom lip a soft graze with his teeth before sitting up completely. He pushed a bit of Wei Wuxian’s bangs away from his face and asked, “Are you hungry?”

“Your poor bed-bound husband is famished,” he replied pathetically. ‘Famished’ was far too strong a word to use, as Wei Wuxian had eaten just a few hours before while he was in town, but he was hungry, and it was in his nature to exaggerate. He reached for the hand that had brushed against his face and pressed it to his cheek, before pulling out the biggest pout he could and asking in his sweetest possible voice, “Hanguang-Jun, will you cook for me?”

Lan Wangji seemed to quietly regard Wei Wuxian’s pitiful expression for a moment, before his eyes softened, and the corner of his mouth ticked upward, the faintest hint of a smile--an expression that even a year later made Wei Wuxian’s heart go all runny in his chest, still completely swept away by his husband’s incredible beauty.

“I will,” he replied, brushing his thumb across Wei Wuxian’s nose before pulling his hand away, and moving down the bed to release the rope from Wei Wuxian’s other ankle and fold it up neatly.

Both the gesture and the agreement making a smile burst over Wei Wuxian’s face as his heart fluttered around his chest. Never quite knowing where to draw the line, he continued, “What if I’m too weak to sit up and hold the spoon, will you feed me?”

The slight smile hovered on his face as he grabbed the blankets and pulled them up over Wei Wuxian’s naked body, replying offhandedly, “Don’t press your luck.”

Wei Wuxian’s chest shook with quiet laughter as he accepted the answer, and Lan Wangji turned to get dressed. In just a matter of moments, he managed to look as prim and proper as he always did, so genteel that only someone who had been in earshot of the Jingshi would have any idea of the indecent things he’d been doing to his husband just moments before.

He lit a lantern near the bed, as the daylight would be gone by the time he got back, before he leaned in to kiss Wei Wuxian’s forehead and tell him gently. “Rest. I’ll be back soon.”

But Wei Wuxian reached his hand up behind Lan Wangji’s neck impatiently to pull Lan Wangji down for a proper kiss before he could go, never quite able to get enough of it, only interrupting himself a moment later to mumble softly against Lan Wangji’s mouth, “A-Zhan, you liked my present for you, didn’t you?”

The answer was obvious, but when Lan Wangji replied softly against his mouth, “very much,” Wei Wuxian couldn’t help himself as his grin stretched from ear to ear.

With one final peck, Lan Wangji finally managed to untangle himself from Wei Wuxian’s grip and stand-up properly, giving Wei Wuxian one last semi-exasperated semi-smile before turning and heading towards the kitchens. It left Wei Wuxian to snuggle under the covers and quietly smile to himself over how incredibly well that had gone.

Next time, he thought, smiling brighter as he pressed his face to the pillow, maybe they’d find a use for that third length of rope as well.

#wangxian #mdzs #mdzs fanfic #mo dao zu shi #mo dao zu shi fanfic #the untamed #the untamed fanfic #wangxian fanfic #wei wuxian #lan wangji #vesper posts #wrote a thing

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kainosite · 5 years

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Les Misérables 2018, Episode 3

Les Mis fandom: Andrew Davies is a scoundrel. What is he?

Me: ... Scoundwel.

The Good:

• I can’t believe the BBC actually filmed the “Now the people of this town can see you for what you really are” scene of a thousand Valvert fanfics. They know what the people want.

• The Thénardiers are still fantastic. Somehow the BBC has achieved the impossible feat of portraying them as loathsome abusers whom you hate with every fiber of your being, while simultaneously making them the fun comic relief you’re sort of rooting for in their capacity as the wacky crime duo. On Christmas Eve I wanted the Seargeant of Waterloo to burn to the ground with everyone inside it, except for Cosette who was out getting water, Éponine and Azelma who were playing on the swings and Gavroche who was out back playing with Chou Chou or something. I still grinned when Madame Thénardier cheerily reminded her husband to bring the pistol the next morning. Striking this balance is a truly impressive achievement that I’ve only seen equalled by the Dallas production of the musical.

Their family dynamics are also coming across very well, sometimes through very subtle touches. The differential treatment of Éponine and Azelma vs. Cosette and the way the Thénardier girls have been trained by all the adults around them to see Cosette’s abuse as a hilarious game, Gavroche being conscripted to fill Cosette’s role as household drudge once Valjean takes her, Mme. T slipping a bill out of Thénardier’s stash once he goes after Valjean – it’s all really good.

Their reactions to Valjean were good too. Mme. Thénardier was thoroughly unimpressed with this roughly dressed man she’d decided was a hobo and only reacted with hostility when he was kind to her little whipping girl, but Thénardier as the criminal mastermind of the outfit decided the moment he noticed Valjean paying inordinate attention to Cosette that he must be a pedophile and they’d stumbled upon a lucrative financial opportunity. I know some people don’t like this change, but honestly it makes a ton of sense. Valjean’s interest in Cosette is strange, and considering the usual clientele of the inn cheer whenever Mme. T hits the kid with the strap, the Thénardiers aren’t used to seeing other people regard her plight with compassion. Unlike in the Brick, this Cosette is a very pretty child, something discernible even beneath the dirt. And it’s Thénardier, so of course he thinks the worst. Valjean doesn’t volunteer that he’s representing Fantine (perhaps in this universe where he knows Javert is so fixated on him, he’s worried that would make him too easy to trace?), so really, what else is Thénardier meant to think?

• There are some priceless interactions between the protagonists and Thénardier: when he’s trying to haggle and Valjean keeps ignoring him and just repeating “How much?”; Javert’s baffled “Nothing!” when he asks Javert what Javert is planning to do for him.

• Javert and Gavroche’s preliminary encounter over the coffee cup was a nice, subtle touch.

• A+ hair analogy between Fantine last week and Valjean this week. A+ removal of the godawful ponytail. That prison barber in Toulon deserves the Légion d'Honneur.

• I’m enjoying Javert’s meteoric rise at the Prefecture and I love Rivette. “But Kainosite, you love every long-suffering lieutenant.” Yes, what’s your point? Javert deserves a long-suffering lieutenant and so do I. Although it’s hilarious how much Oyelowovert is Fanfic Javert, in his relationship with his subordinates as much as in everything else.

I also enjoyed Javert’s phrenology skull, which I hope he sometimes monologues at Hamlet-style. A black Javert might hesitate a little before going all-in on phrenology, but I do appreciate his commitment to cutting-edge criminology research.

• LMAO at Javert’s fanart commission.

• Valjean and little Cosette are adorable together, and I really appreciate how much time Davies devoted to just depicting them interacting and letting the relationship breathe. The strength of their bond is going to be very important later on, especially to Valjean, so it’s worthwhile to establish it now. And they were suuuuper cute. This adaptation tends to cut out Hugo’s humor sections, so it was nice to get a bit of relief from the grimness with endearing family time.

• I rather like Cosette calling people “nosy bitches”. I mean, who socialized this kid? The Thénardiers, that’s who. It makes her seem more like a real child and less like a perfect little doll designed to reward first Valjean and then Marius for fulfilling their roles as protagonists.

It’s also an early hint at Valjean and Cosette’s unhealthy isolation and codependency. The principal tenant is actually fulfilling her duty of care here in a society without any proper system for child safeguarding. Cosette never seems to leave the apartment, certainly not to attend school or to learn a trade. There’s no family resemblance between herself and her guardian. (Incidentally, I’m impressed by how much Mailow Defoy really does look like the child of Lily Collins and Johnny Flynn. All the matching between the kids and their “parents” has been superb.) They give inconsistent stories about their relationship. And Cosette is, as previously mentioned, an exceptionally pretty child. The principal tenant should be worried - she doesn’t want Hector Hulot taking up residence in her building, and this pair are deeply suspicious. But they can’t perceive her attention as legitimate concern, just as an unwarranted and unwanted intrusion into their little idyl.

• Similarly, Valjean’s early worries that he’s isolating Cosette too much by denying her all contact with the outside world or other children her own age are a nice piece of foreshadowing, as is her blithe answer that the only friends she needs are Valjean and Catherine. Of course she’s content: she has food and warmth and security and the undivided attention of a loving adult. To a child whose previous experience of the world has been so traumatic, their isolation must seem like paradise. But this isn’t healthy and it isn’t sustainable, and the show is flagging that up early. In many adaptations Valjean’s Cosette Issues seem to come out of nowhere, so it’s great that they’re laying the groundwork here.

• The whole “For a dark hunt, a silent pack” sequence is very well done. There’s a nice piece of foreshadowing with the lamplighter hoisting up a candle as Valjean and Cosette are coming into Paris. (Most of the Parisian lamps are nice flickery ones, although you do occasionally see those peculiar white ones we saw in Montreuil.)

I also appreciate Davies cutting Valjean’s canonical “Be quiet or Mme. Thénardier will catch you and take you back” line to Cosette from the Brick, which was an awful thing to say to a traumatized child.

• Things continue to look right. The courtroom setup was really quite good.

The Meh:

• After watching the episode twice I think I finally understand what was going on with Javert at the trial.

His plan to entrap Valjean is no less incredibly stupid and risky than it was last week, but at least Javert has finally realized this. He looks increasingly worried as each convict gives his testimony and identifies Champmathieu because they’re getting closer and closer to the end of the trial and Valjean still hasn’t acted. Unlike Étienne in the 1952 movie, Oyelowovert has already testified and perjured himself, so he has no failsafe – if Valjean refuses to take the bait then Champmathieu is condemned in his place, the real Valjean is protected from legal pursuit forever, Javert’s perjury has real, long-term, perverse consequences, and Javert needs to find a new career. The shock we see on his face when Valjean finally confesses is relief and the shock of seeing a scenario he must have played out a hundred times in his dreams becoming a reality before his eyes, or possibly a consequence of him coming in his pants, not shock at the revelation that Madeleine is Valjean.

But there are few members of the audience who are keener observers of Javert’s face than I am. Most of those people are probably in the Valvert Discord chat, and none of them could figure out this scene on their first viewing either. We should not have to analyze Javert’s microexpressions to determine the answer to a question as fundamental as “Did Javert sincerely believe Champmathieu was Valjean?”

• On the whole the trial was bad but I did appreciate Brevet just yanking out his suspender to show the court. Although @prudencepaccard is gonna be mad it wasn’t checkered.

• The amount of time it takes Valjean to escape from Toulon is really of no great importance to anything. Maybe this Javert gave them specific instructions to search him with care so his files kept getting confiscated and it took him longer to file through his chains. We know the Orion incident never happened in this universe, so maybe it took two years for Valjean to spot a good escape opportunity. Who knows? Who cares? It has zero impact on the plot.

People concerned about the extra time Cosette was left languishing with the Thénardiers should direct their complaints to Brick Valjean, who faffed around in Montreuil for a month while her mother lay on her deathbed constantly asking for her, and only decided to go pick her up once he was under arrest and it would obviously be impossible. Davies’ sins pale in comparison to Hugo’s in this regard. At least Westjean tried to send someone to retrieve her.

• ‘Rosalie’? Okay, fine, but I’m not sure why this adaptation feels compelled to give everyone first and last names. Thénardier could just call her ‘Darling’.

• I know they also abandon Catherine in the Brick, but in the Brick Valjean doesn’t pause in their flight to pack the candlesticks, the objects that are precious to him, and Cosette doesn’t specifically ask about bringing her. Put the pillow under the blankets to fake out Javert like a normal person and let your child keep the one toy she’s ever had, what the fuck is wrong with you, Valjean?

On the other hand, the doll is made of dead people and it may be possessed, so perhaps this was just responsible parenting. I’m calling it a draw.

• It’s not that I have any great objections to giving Simplice more screen time or letting the Mother Superior of the Petit-Picpus convent decide to shelter a convict, but there was no particular reason not to use Fauchelevent for the Fauchelevent plotline. It’s a small instance of a good deed being paid forward that underlines the main theme of the book, as does Simplice’s act of self-sacrifice in lying to Javert to protect Valjean. All of that has been lost and nothing has been gained in its place. (Also is Cosette just... “Cosette Valjean” in this adaptation? “Cosette Thibault”?)

The Bad:

• If Javert perjures himself to trap Valjean that is an incredibly big deal and we should see it. I accept that this Javert might do it: Oyelowovert cares about his career and about ruining the lives of criminals, not about the rules. If he can trap Valjean, superb. If Champmathieu ends up in the galleys because of it, well, he’s a filthy apple thief and he deserves it. Javert is subverting the course of justice in the service of a greater social justice. But this monumental deviation from his Brick characterization, this enormously consequential lie, should not occur off-camera, for fuck’s sake!

Also it’s not clear what reason a Javert who is happy to lie under oath would ever have to throw himself into the Seine.

• Why the hell was Valjean so hostile to the other convicts? He assumes they’ve been paid off, but... by whom, and to what purpose? By Javert, to entrap him? We the viewers at least know that can’t be true – Javert only found out about Champmathieu from the Prefecture, after Champmathieu had already been identified as Valjean. By the public prosecutor at Arras, who is desperate to close the case of a minor highway robbery that happened almost a decade ago on the other side of the country completely outside his jurisdiction? By the many enemies of Champmathieu the random hobo, who really want to see him go down for a felony? It makes absolutely no sense.

Possibilities that make more sense: a) the convicts are sincerely mistaken about the appearance of a guy they’ve not seen in eight years, b) they just wanted to get out of Toulon for a month and they’re willing to say anything to do it because Toulon is a hellhole, as the first episode made exceedingly clear, c) they know perfectly well Champmathieu is not Valjean and they’re lying to protect the liberty of their old comrade by condemning a stranger in his place. The whole dynamic of this scene – Madeleine, the respected mayor and factory owner, who’s been clean and well-fed and safe for years, yelling at these filthy men in their convict uniforms, Chenildieu with some kind of open wound across his forehead, quite possibly a lash mark – is deeply unpleasant. It makes Valjean look like a complete asshole and sets a sour tone for the whole episode.

• The entire trial is just off. Valjean’s off-putting and inexplicable hostility to his fellow convicts, Javert’s mystifying facial expressions, the audience who keep laughing at unfunny lines – the scene just doesn’t work, it doesn’t come together. It was at something of a disadvantage because I came into it having just watched the 1952 trial scene for the previous episode’s review post, which is the best ever adaptation of the Champmathieu trial, and any other version was likely to pale by comparison. But this one was particularly poor.

• I said last week we’d have to see what the series made of Valjean’s externalization of his emotions. Well, what it has made is an awful lot of shouting at everyone, starting with the poor convicts and continuing from there, and also an excess of violence. Valjean charges into the soldiers in Montreuil-sur-Mer and bowls them over, he threatens to knock Thénardier down and then to blow his head off, he gets Thénardier into a headlock and grapples with him. Even when Westjean is coming into the convent he has to practically break down the doors. Everything is violent action with him. It’s OOC to the point where it’s becoming a problem rather than merely a different interpretation of the character.

All this aggression isn’t even effective at making him seem dangerous! The thing he does in 1978 where he gently removes Javert’s hand from his collar is vastly more intimidating because it showcases his superhuman strength. He should have just plucked the gun out of Thénardier’s hand like he was taking it away from a child instead of all this undignified scuffling.

• Tumblr, a humble reviewer has failed in accuracy, and I have come to bring this matter to your attention, as is my duty.

I argued last week that Westjean is not a misogynist: he yells at everyone in his vicinity regardless of gender. Well, you were right and I was wrong. That menacing lunge he takes towards Victurnien while screaming at her, calling Mme. Thénardier “woman” and shouting at her to bring his supper, the way he bursts in on the nuns at the end – it all adds up to something pretty unpleasant.

• I have never in my life seen an adaptation that makes Fantine’s death so much about Jean Valjean’s manpain.

If you look a 1978, an adaptation that gives if possible negative fucks about Fantine, it still manages to make the confrontation over her deathbed a conversation between three people, in which she has agency and reacts to what people are saying and is present in some capacity other than that of an object to make Valjean sad. Someone compared Collinstine to a substitute Coin of Shame, and I think that’s really apt: Valjean is distressed and guilty because he’s failed to rescue Cosette, so he goes to Fantine’s bedside to sear the image of her despairing face onto his retinas in the same way he seared the imprint of Petit Gervais’s forty sous onto his palm. He’s punishing himself by deliberately upsetting her. For both Valjean and the camera, this scene is all about Valjean’s feelings and not about Fantine’s.

The person in this room with the biggest problems is not Jean Valjean, for pity’s sake. I like to see the man cry as much as the next fangirl, but this was vile.

• Valjean’s visit to Fantine on her deathbed is a stupid, irresponsible thing to do and a direct cause of her unhappy death in the Brick and in every adaptation where she survives long enough for Javert to turn up. Valjean knows he has no good news to give her, he knows that the criminal justice system will be after him sooner or later, he knows that having Fantine and Javert together in the same room is a phenomenally bad idea, and he has urgent business in Montfermeil, or if he’s resolved to stay in Montreuil-sur-Mer to await arrest then he urgently needs to designate some representative to go and pick up Cosette in his place. Instead he loiters by a sick woman’s bedside until Javert shows up and predictably traumatizes her to death. As a result, Fantine dies in misery and Cosette suffers under the Thénardiers for another year.

But in the Brick it was at least not an insane thing to do. When he left Arras he was not being pursued, and he reached Montreuil well ahead of the news about the trial. The magistrates in Arras were in two minds about how to handle the situation. Given Madeleine’s status, the widespread affection and admiration for him in the region, and the fact that he turned himself in, it’s not inconceivable that had it not been for his little Bonapartist slip in the courtroom, they wouldn’t have issued a warrant for his arrest at all and would simply have sent him a summons to appear at the Var Assizes to stand trial, or directed him to surrender himself at the prison in Montreuil rather than sending Javert after him. I’m not sure it’s likely, given that he’s a known flight risk and parole violator illegally occupying a public office and they seem keen to get their hands on his fortune, but it’s not inconceivable.

In this adaptation Valjean breaks away from the police in the street and leads them straight to Fantine’s deathbed. There is no fucking excuse for this. NONE. Brick Valjean was a fool to come at all and a bigger fool to stage a massive confrontation with Javert while he was still in the infirmary, but his mistakes were those of a man under immense stress who never bothered to think about Javert long enough to construct a working psychological profile of him. Westjean’s mistakes were the mistakes of a selfish asshole too caught up in his own feelings of guilt and shame to have any regard for the people he allegedly cares about and wants to help. Valjean is an extreme deontologist and his actions are always self-absorbed to a certain degree, because they’re fundamentally more about whether he can feel he’s done the right thing than about the actual effects of his actions on other people. (He and Brickvert have that in common.) But it should never get to the point where he’s actively harming people to this extent.

• Brickvert doesn’t seem to care for firearms much, and Oyelowovert looks like a jackass waving his two giant pistols around, but he’s a different character and if he’s decided they make him look cool then fine, I guess. But in that case he should not be intimidated by Valjean’s strength in the infirmary. You have guns, idiot! If he threatens you just shoot him in the leg!

Guns completely change the dynamics of this scene, as the Dallas staging of the musical conveys very well. The BBC handed Javert some pistols and then forgot he had them.

• In 1862 people would probably have found the implication that Catherine has Fantine’s hair to be sweet and charming, because the Victorians loved toting bits of their dead relatives around and hair mementos were so common that no one would have considered it weird. In 2019 it is CREEPY AND GROSS. I know there’s no ethical consumption under capitalism but we did not need to know that Cosette’s doll was made from the body parts of desperately impoverished and now dead women, really.

• Oh, so we’re flipping over beds when we fail to catch our favorite fugitive convict now, are we? Great, now everyone is yelling. FFS, Javert, I thought you were supposed to be the emotionally continent one.

• Where was Marius this week??? If Davies was happy to cut that leg of the stool out of whole episodes then why the fuck not just let Georges die when he’s supposed to and let Marius have a coherent character arc? It makes no sense whatsoever.

I’ve got to be honest, I was not a fan of this episode. But it did get Valjean and Cosette’s relationship right, and that is the most important relationship in the story.

#Sick of hearing people complain about this week's episode?#Come watch me complain about... last week's episode!#Because I write reviews in a timely manner #Les Misérables 2018 #Les Mis Adaptations #Les Misérables

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