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avintagekiss24 · 3 years

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𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖔𝖚𝖗 | 𝖇. 𝖇𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖊𝖘

→ pairing: beefy shadow monster!bucky barnes x black!reader

→ word count: 5367

→ warnings: 18+ ONLY, dub con, a tinge of somnophilia, exophilia, #monster fucker, smut, sex, rough sex, masturbation, rough masturbation, sex toys, butt stuff, oral sex (female receiving), multiple orgasms, voyeurism, explicit language

→ square filled: @badthingshappenbingo

wiping the other’s tears away

→ author note: guys, i’m... this is who we are now. we are monster fuckers. this is based on @idga-buck INCREDIBLE ask that was bred from this post. i honestly don’t know if this holds a candle to that ask because, whew girl. that shit fucked me up when i first read it! anyway, hope you guys enjoy because i might be planning a little monster fucker series based off of this and another certain someone that is mentioned in the fic.

→ read hirsute

The stress in your shoulders makes it hard to lift your arm once you finally reach your apartment door. It takes everything in you to shove your key into the lock and slam your hip against the old, swollen wooden door to pop it open, but just crossing the threshold into your sanctuary helps soothe your nerves. Everything falls to the floor within an instant— purse, messenger bag, coat— hell, even your keys. Hopping on one foot to remove a light brown, velvet heel, and then the other as you make your way towards your bedroom, ignoring the lively green house plants scattered around window seals and the living room.

You don’t even bother to turn on the lights. Don’t make a pit stop in the kitchen, or even the bathroom to remove your makeup. Hunger pains be damned. There are exactly two things that will help with this mood— an orgasm, and sleep. Thank God one always leads to the other.

It was 10:12am, just two hours into your work day, when you knew what you were going to need to help forget about this day. Emails piling up, phone ringing off the hook, picking up the slack for coworkers because you’re just so well versed in this… we could really use your help. Took its toll. By 10:12am you were ready to scream, punch your perky, always in a good mood cubicle mate, and rip your hair out— so you knew, right then and there, that you were gonna fuck yourself stupid when you got home.

Perverted thoughts lingered all day as you rifled through old court filings and scoured obscure statutes. Thighs tightened as your sex started to dampen at fantasies of being bent over your boss’ desk. Caught yourself staring, more than once, through his open door as he chatted on the phone, bright blue eyes glinting underneath the natural sunlight that poured into his office, crinkling on the sides as he laughed.

Then he would furrow those brows as he read through briefings. Jaw and lips set tight, eyes squinted as he nibbled absentmindedly on his bottom lip. Big hands and thick fingers made the pen in his hand seem entirely too small. Pink tongue darted out to wet pink lips.

You’ve spent many a night with thoughts of Andrew Stephen Barber; and tonight will be no different.

Dark shadows are cast across the floor and bed, small slivers of moonlight creeping in. The sound of your shoes hitting the floor don’t even register in your ears as you wiggle out of your skirt and panties and fall onto the soft, warm, inviting Queen mattress.

Deft fingers make light work of the buttons on your silk blouse but the other hand can’t wait— slipping down your stomach and between sticky, hot flesh. A sharp inhale fills your chest as you rub slow circles against your clit, pangs of quick excitement starting to fire off. Your fingers push down to your slit, prodding and stroking gently as a new wet starts to slick your muscles.

A lazy smile curls onto your face. The stress of the day starts to evaporate as you melt into the mattress, the circles against your clit quickening, hips starting to roll and push up into your hand. The expensive silk of your blouse falls off your shoulders just a bit as you push it away from your chest, exposing two bare tits and quickly thickening nipples.

You take hold of one— tweaking it slow. Pinching and rolling the nub before palming your tit all together, cupping and pushing the mound of flesh up your chest. A swipe of your tongue— rough and torrid— against your nipple makes you grunt deep. Makes your hips jut upward as you prod that now filthy wet slit and hole.

Muscles flex as the sound of your dirty deed fills the empty space. Wet squeaks and sloshes bounce off the walls as fingers thrash back and forth and up and down against your clit. Heavy, thick thuds of your palm pounding against your body when one, two, three fingers finally slip inside— but they aren’t enough. Not wide enough or long enough to feed the hunger.

Then… there’s a shift. The atmosphere in your apartment— your room specifically— just changes on a dime. The tiny hairs on your body start to stand on end, goosebumps raising on your skin. Your eyes slide open, blinking up at the ceiling as your pumping hand slows down to just a creep before stilling completely. An already racing heart starts to beat harder, lips part, eyes and limbs completely frozen in place as fear strikes you.

You’ve felt this before, at random times since you moved in. Sometimes in the shower or in the kitchen, when you’re getting ready for work, or catching up on a show— but mainly at times like this. When you’re stretched out on your bed, naked, fingers rooted deep in your cunt, when you feel like you’re being watched. Like there’s a thousand eyes on you all at once.

There’s even a chill that takes over the room, sometimes getting so cold that for a brief moment, you can see your breath. You’ve gone to management a few times, who of course did nothing— but a few of your neighbors put your mind at ease, it happens to them sometimes too. It struck you odd that it was mainly just your female neighbors who experienced the random chills, but you brushed it off. You live on the southside of the complex, the sun gets blocked by the surrounding buildings. You also live on the first floor— heat rises, cold sinks. It happens.

You swallow hard, shutting your eyes, trying to center yourself again. A small laugh escapes your lips seconds later— you’re ridiculous. Maybe it's time to lay off the horror movies for a while.

Shrugging out of your blouse the rest of the way, you roll onto your side and pull open the drawer of your nightstand. Out comes the cute little heart shaped butt plug, complete with a pretty pink crystal gem. A small bottle of water based lube is next, and then, the pièce de résistance. Your ten inch tall, two inch wide realistic dildo.

Your stomach tightens with anticipation as you fumble with the flip cap of the small purple bottle of lube. Just a dollop is enough to coat the steel plug, the excess on your fingers used to wet your warm, puckered hole. Melting back into the mattress, you roll your shoulders, let your eyes flutter closed, and grab your bottom lip between your teeth as you massage your rim with the rounded tip, gently pushing.

A soft moan vibrates in your throat as your body opens up. Your hole twitches, clenching tight around the toy as it disappears with a quick pop as soon as the widest part is shoved in, leaving nothing to be seen but the pink heart flush against your hot rim. You draw your legs up, calves pressed against the backs of your thighs, butterflying open as you drag the fake cock through your folds— against your clit— using your slick to lubricate the soft silicone.

Fingers find your nub soon after, slapping quick, before stroking the delicate flesh as you start to tease your slit. The cock head slips in easy, but you're so tight, so worked up and eager, muscles swollen, that it takes a little more effort to swallow the rest. Tiny little wet squeaks fall from your lips, body tenses and curls inward as you push, push, push— mouth falling open, face splintering with pleasure.

It takes not even ten seconds for your body to adjust, hips wiggling and shifting to get comfortable, before you're pulling the massive toy out and shoving it back in. You start to murmur, indiscernible, clipped words filtering through full lips— a hot tongue slipping out, sweeping over teeth as your hips start to get into it.

You’re soon too far gone to notice the black shadows moving around the room. Chalk up the feeling of the little hairs standing on end, the goosebumps popping up across your body to your arousal— and not the two piercing blue eyes that illuminate at the edge of your bed.

~~~

Bucky could reach out and touch you he’s so close now. He’s careful still— almost getting caught by you earlier, his anticipation for your almost nightly show getting the best of him. Making him sloppy.

He’s haunted these walls, these rooms, these buildings for decades, if not a century or more. Seen generation after generation moving in and out, kids growing up into adults, adults growing old, the old dying off— but you— fuck, you’ve got to be his goddamn favorite of them all.

Deep brown skin. Lithe and delicate. A soft little quiet thing, engrossed in her solitude and house plants, more than happy to shut the rest of the world out more often than not. You’re gentle. Your soul, your physicality, except in these moments. When you fuck yourself like this, and it doesn’t matter when— in the mornings when the sun is soft, in the late afternoons, your body covered in the oranges and pinks of the sky, late at night in the absolute darkness with nothing but the moon and the shadows— you’re anything but gentle.

Unrestrained and wild you are when in the throes of your arousal. Writhing and loud, a thin sheen of sweat on your brow. Eyes clamped closed so tight sometimes sweet little tears squeeze out and slip down your cheeks. Two perfect tits, mounds of soft flesh, jiggle and bounce with the aggressive thrashes of your fingers against a glistening, sensitive nub.

Nights like tonight are his favorite. When you’re acutely aware that he’s here, but too scared to really give it much thought. When the fear strikes you stiff. When you pull out that monstrous fake cock and spread yourself wide— stretch that pretty, pink, wet cunt. The squelch, the squish of the foreign object being jammed into hot, distended muscles.

Your smell. So sweet and pungent— distinctly you. It’s constantly on the tip of Bucky’s tongue, filling his nostrils, swirling in his head and chest— taunting him. Intoxicating him. Begging and beseeching him to just reach out and touch. Taste. Oh, to have your scent— your flavor— on his lips to savor. He wants to bury his face between those thighs, drown between them. Slither into you and curl up, take up residence.

Bucky’s gotten bold as of late— now, not even waiting until you’re fucked out and sex drunk, falling into a peaceful, post orgasm slumber to move around. No. Now he shifts while you’re still awake, still fucking— toy sowed deep, fingers slapping, hips snapping, back arching.

You’ve snapped your head towards him once or twice over time as you’ve caught his movement in the corner of your eye. Sat straight up, mouth hanging, eyes wide, chest heaving as you stared into the darkness— waiting. Scared shitless. You even tried to cover yourself, hands over your tits, legs closing into each other.

It made him laugh.

You’re already his. That body claimed— no need to cover it up now.

Even tonight, he’s even bolder still. Right at the edge of your bed, peering on. It’s a damn near perfect view when you get like this— sloppy. Legs splayed open, heels dug into the mattress, hips arched off the bed. Your slick glistens underneath the moonlight, splashed on your thighs, strings connected between two puffy, balmy lips. It’s nothing but an invitation— an invitation that he can’t ignore for much longer.

He pushes his knee into the mattress, and then the other, his substantial weight dipping it. Piercing blue eyes snap towards your face as he stalls, waiting for any indication that you feel him there— a smile curling onto his lips when it doesn’t come. So he pushes closer, settles right at your feet. Reaches out, hovers long, black fingers over your chest— so close that his pointed, sharp nails graze your skin.

Makes you gasp.

Bucky snaps his hand back, but you don’t stop. You shiver. Goosebumps ever present on every inch of your skin— but you don’t stop. In fact, you get faster, harder. Pounding that fake cock into your cunt, pushing your hips higher as you slap and knead at that sticky, swollen nub.

You like it.

You like his touch.

Pride swells in Bucky’s chest. Maybe you’re much more receptive than he originally thought. Maybe it’s the fear itself— knowing you’re being watched by something, not someone— is what turns you on. And it makes Bucky bolder still.

He looms over you, hand pressing into the mattress right by your head. Head tilting as he leans in, brushing the tip of his nose against your cheek. You jump again, mewl loud when his nails scrape against your skin, between your jiggling, bouncing tits. He wants to fuck you so bad. Stuff you full of his monster cock— he knows you can take it. Knows you can stretch wide for his veiny, dripping prick. Suck those pretty tits into his wet mouth, those hard, perky nipples between his sharp teeth. But he won’t, not now.

You’re so close.

And this is always the best part.

So he pushes away, away from the bed. Hovers up near the ceiling, eyes shifting from their brilliant blue to pitch black so he can enjoy your finale. Then he’ll wait a while, maybe a few nights— maybe a few hours, who knows— to encourage an encore.

With a little help, of course.

~~~

You cry out, shrieking into the darkness as the coil planted deep threatens to snap. The chill in the room has your nipples hard, but the heat blooming across your skin has you damp and sticky. There’s gusts of something— splashing over your naked body— but the windows are closed. The air conditioning turned completely off.

It feels like breath. You’d swear it— and it’s so close. Like someone, or something, is right on top of you. Shudders wrack your body, adrenaline rushes as ice floods your veins. Alarm, panic, sheer horror gripping you.

But, you cum before you can rationalize it. Before you can pinpoint it.

It’s so sweet, the orgasm, so deep as the warmth of it spreads like wildfire. Toes curl hard, so hard they go numb as the waves crash, each one harder than the one before. Heart in your throat, the blood rush in your ears. Muscles spasming, clenching and clamping down around the silicone cock, clit jumping with each contraction of your cunt.

It lasts for awhile— your body knowing that this is what you needed. So you ride it out as long as you can, fingers still rubbing and thrashing against your clit until it’s too sensitive. You stuff the cock into you one last time and leave it there, fixed so deep as your body falls back against the mattress. Your asshole constricts around the plug, twitching and fluttering as the last jerks of your hips start to subside.

Chest heaves with deep, long, ragged breaths. Tits pushing up and down, jiggling, stomach flexing as you go limp. Limp and fucked out. Asshole and cunt used, hot— weeping lube and cum. You’re a mess. A beautiful, sated, sloppy mess.

A lazy smile on your face, eyes hooded, you stare up at the ceiling. Unaware that you’ve found two black eyes just perfectly— stare right into them as they peer back at you.

Sleep starts to pull, a mushy, hazy brain giving in all too easily, not giving you time to recognize that you’re being watched again. That there’s a presence looming just over you— all around you. Or maybe, it's a mechanism. Maybe you don’t want to recognize it. So you roll over onto your side, shimmy underneath the blankets to gather some warmth. Shut your eyes and give into the sleep— vow to stop watching those cheesy scary movies so late at night.

They’re making you paranoid.

The sting of cold on your extremities makes you stir. Letting out a yawn, you flex your toes, pulling the blankets up to your chin as a chill ripples through your bones. You roll onto your back, and push out a breath, not opening your eyes to see the white puff of air. Another shiver, a deep one, rolls through you again, making you shift underneath the blankets and push your face into the pillow.

Moments later is when you perceive a warmth. A soft moan trembles in your throat as you smash the back of your hand against your face, still teetering between sleep and consciousness. The ache between your legs grows harder to ignore— the warmth, starting to sear. Your hips buck soft. Another groan scratches at the back of your throat.

You’re writhing within minutes. A white hot molten pooling in the pit of your stomach and spreading out to the tips of your fingers and toes. The cold nothing but a distant memory as the familiar burn of lechery encompasses your tight body.

It feels so real— a long, forked, rough tongue lapping at your folds, swishing around your clit. You jump suddenly, gasping deep when something like teeth, so many sharp teeth, nibble and bite at the meat of your thighs. There's pressure, pressing down on your stomach and wrapped around your thigh as you draw your knees up slow, digging the balls of your feet into the mattress. The pressure, it’s warm and vast— something like a palm… there’s scratching, quick little tickles over your stomach, your tits, your ankles and calves.

Fingernails. Long, jagged fingernails.

You give in to the fantasy— the dream. Not opening your eyes, not giving into the consciousness that tugs at you, not wanting to lose this euphoria. The pressure on your stomach gets harder, heightening the sensation of the tongue against your core and almost pinning your writhing hips to the sturdy mattress.

The tongue, rough and wet, slithers through your folds, flicking quick against your clit before the mouth sucks you right up— lips, clit— right into it. Tongue flattening against your slit, teasing your pink opening. Then, oh God, and then it slithers inside, that tongue. Massages your hot, swollen muscles from the inside. Your body jolts up, away from the mattress, a breathy, drawn-out snarl bursting from your lips.

You fall back against the mattress— liquify into it really and let your hands roam, finding your taut, thick nipples. Tweaking and rolling them, pinching between deft fingers before palming your tits feeling the goosebumps that have popped up on your flesh again. Your knees fall apart, legs splaying open, putting your swollen cunt on full display for this invisible force.

It’s not long before your hips are jutting up into the dream tongue, the lips, the teeth hard and fast, a sharp sting piercing your clit just as you start to cum again. Loud, shaky moans fill the room as your hips pulse and your back arches. Cursing, whaling as the dream tongue swipes and flicks, lips wrap around your nub again, sucking hard, coaxing every last drop of your release out of you.

Thighs, stomach, arms, cunt burn as a delicious stretch, a used ache settles deep in the exploited muscles. Long, hoarse breaths fill your chest, the air rushing so fast, and yet so slow that it makes you dizzy. You couldn’t move if you wanted to, everything is just so fucking heavy.

Brain is mush again, cloudy and dense, stupid with ardor. Lazy, broken moans vibrate through your vocal chords, body twitches with quick aftershocks every now and again, making you giggle. You feel like you’ve been hit by a mack truck. It’s so nice.

Once your breathing has slowed back to normal, you roll your head towards the window, open your eyes just enough to see the moon cutting into the room. Relief floods through your veins, happy to find it’s still night time, still dark, your room still moody, giving you time to fall back asleep with the pleasant thoughts of whatever just happened— but you’re a mess again. Skin sticky and damp, panties ruined. Your eyes droop and close as you push out a soft breath, hand slipping down your body. You should really clean up.

Maybe in a few minutes. You push your knees together slowly, swaying them back and forth as your fingertips find your clit, toying with it gently. They calm your jumbled nerves quite nicely and immediately— the touch familiar. Your fingers stretch out, tips push down just a little lower as you smile stupid and lazy and blink slowly up at the ceiling.

The smile doesn’t last long.

Your eyes pop open as a simultaneous sharp gasp fills your chest with cold air. Blood runs ice cold through your veins.

“Good,” a scratchy voice sounds as your fingers push through a tuft of thick hair just between your legs, hot breath sticking to tacky flesh.

Shallow, quick breaths squeak through your teeth, eyes wide, lips and chin trembling as your limbs grow heavy— oh so heavy. Frozen. You slam your eyes shut when a hand slides slowly up your side, serrated nails skipping across your skin. A sob chokes out as you slam your eyes shut, fear gripping every inch of your body.

The wet, long, hot tongue of your dreams swipes at your core again but you’re still sensitive— jumpy— hips pushing down into the mattress to get away from it. A second hand grabs your hip, squeezes it hard, stilling your lower half as it laps at you again. The crawling hand finds your left tit, cups it— kneads it slow— rolling the thick bud between even thicker fingers.

“Look at me.” The voice sounds again, like gravel, low and rough.

Your clit is sucked into an instant warmth, a wide, flat tongue massaging— rolling— gently. A soft, tiny little noise thrums in your throat as a shudder ripples through already irritated muscles. The sound pleases whatever is between your legs, as it chuckles deep, the vibrations adding to the sensation of its tongue.

It pinches your nipple— quick, hard— and bites down into the meat of your thigh while also squeezing it with it’s other massive hand, “I want you to look at me.” you hesitate— and it doesn’t like it, “Look at me.”

The chill in its voice forces your eyes open, but you keep them on the ceiling as silent tears trickle down the side of your face and onto your pillow. An influx of air fills your lungs when a hand pushes up to your face. A thumb swipes underneath your eye gently before an index finger curls to wipe away the wet emotion.

“You’re pretty when you cry,” it says, a little softer, still rubbing your cheek slowly, “Look at me.”

Against your better judgement, fighting through the fear, you blink, shifting your eyes towards your drawn-up legs. There are two big eyes, unnaturally blue, probing and upturned, staring back at you, disappearing in the dark as it blinks before they settle back on you. In fact, they stay on you as it’s tongue flicks out at you again, sweeps through your folds, teasing your opening, your clit again. It palms your tit, squeezing before sitting up, exposing it’s true size.

Your eyes follow slowly upward as it towers over you, it’s knees pressing into the mattress, dipping it deep with its weight. You struggle to breathe, eyes flutter quick as your lips tremble, taking in the umbra. There’s a wide chest, thick biceps and forearms and hands and fingers that push your legs back— towards your chest and stomach. Stocky thighs and a—

You gulp slow, sitting up on your elbows as your eyes zero in on the throbbing, weeping cock between its legs. The moon illuminates the pulsing veins running the impressive length, the wet, red, dripping cockhead— cum already dribbling out, splashing on your skin. It’s hot and silky— dense, the cum, as it wipes the spot away with it’s thumb, a nail cutting into your skin.

It grabs itself, strokes it’s massive cock slow as it drags its eyes along your naked body. Another shudder trembles through you when it teases your cunt with it’s cockhead, pressing into your clit, dragging through your folds, prodding at your slit. You let your head drop slightly, let your eyes close to slits, let your mouth drop as it’s fingers skip up and down your thighs, it’s jagged, black nails tickling you.

Errant hips canter upward, pushing your clit against its tip again, coating it with your slick before you let it settle back against your opening.

“Now that you can see me, beautiful,” it’s raspy voice sounds, starting to push into you, “I want you to scream.”

It juts into you hard, pulling a loud scream out of you— just what it wanted. You pant as it pushes, deep, deep, deep, until its hips are flush with yours, cock completely sunk. It doesn’t move right away, lets you wiggle and twitch, hiss and grunt as you adjust to the size— the absolute fullness. Stretched so wide, clasped so tight around this pulsating cock that you aren’t sure that you’ll be able to walk tomorrow.

But you’ll risk it.

It locks one of your legs around it’s waist, throws the other over its shoulder, slipping its massive hand down the length, down your calf, over your knee, along your thigh until it’s fingers settle on your cunt— on your clit. Slow circles are drawn into your flesh, a gentle pressure applied as it pulls back, cock dragging out of your death grip. You hiss as it sinks back in, reaching something deep.

It’s blistering after that. Within seconds, hips are snapping, skin slapping against… skin? You aren’t even sure. Long fingers are everywhere, tits, stomach, legs, cunt— gripping, groping, pinching. They venture up to your chin, up to your parted, swollen lips, where they linger. You send wide, innocent eyes up to its blues, tits sliding up and down as you lunge with each thrust— and open your mouth wider, sliding your tongue along the tip of its finger.

When a husky moan rumbles through its chest, your heart soars unexpectedly. It’s pleased with your eagerness— your reception.

You’re empty suddenly. A strong hand grips your side, pulls you roughly down the bed. Flips you over before yanking your hips upward, propping you up on your knees. And then, you’re pinned— an unyielding grip around the back of your neck holding you in place. You grunt and start to whimper, another bout of fright coursing through your veins as it smashes the side of your face into the sheets and pillows.

It fucks back into you slow, a long, shuddering groan spilling out of your trembling lips, “My pet,” it speaks again, squeezing the back of your neck a little harder, “Such a sweet little thing.”

Reaching back, your fingers graze over a sinewy thigh, taking hold as you start to spring forward with each drive of its hips. You slam your eyes closed, more emotion squeezing out of them. The dull burn is back in the pit of your stomach. Your toes and fingers start to curl and flex as each stroke gets sweeter and sweeter, hitting that deep little spot within.

Goosebumps pop up again. Heat blooms across your skin, filling your face and chest and stomach. Spit dribbles from the corner of your mouth as two pouty lips form a perfect little “o” as you start to shriek, each sound coming faster and faster, louder and louder. Your fingers find your nub again, rubbing and slapping to set this release in motion. The sound of your slick is sloppy, wet— and gorgeous, to both you and it.

You’re cursing, sobbing, begging within minutes, teetering right on the edge. It starts to thumb at your asshole, rubbing the rim gently, pushing just inside— coaxing you on.

That’s all it takes. You tense hard— toes curl, fists ball, stomach clenches— and then stiffen as your orgasm hits. A white hot flushing through as you quake, cunt spasming around it’s heavy cock. Jammed full, orgasm rippling, fingers still thrashing against your constricting clit, you’re dizzy, warm all over, sweaty and freezing cold all at the same time.

Your companion— this monster of the night, lurking in the shadows— hammers on behind you, pumping, gripping, squeezing, pushing you down further into the mattress as his strokes get sharper. Stronger. More forceful.

It gets loud. Growling so deep and heavy that the sound shakes the walls— the bed. God, the poor neighbors. It grips your hip with one hand so hard you yelp in pain, hands flailing, trying to grip and grab anything they can as it fucks into you.

One, two more jabs and it stills quick— and that’s when you feel it. Another white hot, this time all concentrated in your overstimulated, tight, wet cunt. Long ribbons of cum, silk soft and warm, fill you up, up, up— to the brim. It’s cock veins pulsate, it’s girth seemingly growing wider, stretching you more as it unloads. Cock jumping in your tight grasp as cum weeps from it.

You take it all, humming loud and proud, panting as you feel it’s seed spill out, down the inside of your thigh.

It drags out slow, as if not wanting to at all. Like it likes the feeling of your messy, cum filled cunt all wrapped around him. You feel that swollen cock head through your folds again, slowly pushing up and down your clit, teasing your slit. A finger, and then another glance over your asshole— lovingly. Softly. Massaging the twitching rim before burying it’s hard cock between your cheeks, slapping you with it.

“No more,” you plead, voice small and broken and pathetic, “Please, I can’t.”

Another chuckle rumbles through its chest, “Ok sweet girl,” there’s a hand on the back of your head, stroking curly, damp, surely tangled hair, “Such a good girl.”

Hands are back on your skin again, fingers pushing and pulling, adjusting you on the mattress. You’re flat now, splayed out on your belly, legs spread, hands shoved underneath your pillows and head. Balmy skin, puffy flesh is soothed by slow gushes of breath, making you jump and whine more— whimper more. The bed sinks again as it moves, pulled again, your back up against a massive chest and hard stomach.

It wraps around you, slinging an arm and a leg over you, enveloping you in its warmth. Rids your face of the wetness, pushing the remaining tears away with its thumb. Nuzzles in close— a scratchy cheek against your own.

A heavy hand over your heart.

“I like this,” it says soft, tapping along with your heartbeat, “The rhythm.”

You hum again, happily fucked out and cock drunk, already feeling an ache settling into your muscles and bones. Hips and ass push back into its hips, pushing its dense cock against you— wanting to feel it resting against your cunt, “You got a name?”

“Brarthronoz.”

“Excuse me?” you giggle through a deep yawn as your eyes flutter.

It— he nuzzles again, pushing his face closer, “Bucky is fine, pet.”

“Bucky,” you sigh a little, “I like that.”

You fall asleep with the soft rhythm of his breath against your neck.

When you wake, he’s gone— but you kinda figured that anyway. The oranges of the sky and rising sun chases away all the shadows. You go about your routine but a little slower— inflamed, throbbing arms and legs make showering and brushing your teeth a little harder this morning.

You look for him though, in the corner of your little kitchen, in that small spot where the sun just never quite reaches.

A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth when you find a pair of bright blue eyes fixed on you, a little wink encouraging you further.

“Toast?” You ask cheekily, a wide smile on your face as you offer him a plate.

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no-droids · 4 years

Text

Mercy, Sabotage, and Dead Space

(gif credit to @redwyyne-archive)

Part One of The Bet series

Pairing: Poe Dameron/Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 12.7K

Summary:

1. No sex.

2. No touching yourself.

3. No orgasms.

Warnings/Tags: DUBCON/NONCON elements, fuckboy Poe (OOC), Enemies to Lovers, degradation/humiliation, mentions of oral sex, SMUUUTTTTTTTT also I’m not sorry for what I did but you’re not allowed to read if you’re gonna get mad at me okay byeeee

***

This.

This shit, right here.

If the question was ever, “What’s the stupidest fucking thing you’ve ever let Poe Dameron somehow talk you into doing?” then the answer is this stupid shit, right the fuck here. This is like. You remember that one game, Mercy? The one where you’d dig your nails in and twist arms and just needlessly inflict pain on each other as children until one of you cried uncle because someone somewhere once decided to turn torture into a matter of pride?

You always thought those games were fucking ridiculous. Who can hold their breath the longest, who can handle a lit deathstick against their flesh the longest, who can take the hardest punch—who cares? It’s child’s play. It’s self-inflicted agony for the sake of bragging rights and even as a youngling, you refused to fall for it.

But then you met… fucking Dameron.

You know those people that… they don’t just rub you the wrong way, but literally every single aspect about their personality is sandpaper against wet skin and your whole entire being feels chafed raw just by existing in their general vicinity for an extended period of time?

You’re… you’re not usually a competitive—much less aggressive person. You never have been. It’s just not part of your nature. If you ever excel at anything in life, it isn’t because of some secret, deep-seated desire to win or be better than anyone else. You just… do you. You do whatever you do, and if it’s good, it’s good. And if it’s bad, it’s good. Because at the end of the day at least it’s still you, and you’re okay with that.

But this?

This shit? Right here?

“This is fucking dumb,” you say, because you know it’s what you both must be thinking so you may as well just get it out in the open. “This is the dumbest fucking thing, Dameron. What are we doing? Why are we doing this?”

The grumpy, orange-jumpsuited figure sitting behind you just sighs heavily and slumps even further down in his bucket seat, as if it isn’t the first time you’ve tried asking this incredibly valid question (it totally is), bringing a palm down to thunk the top of the guidance controls between his legs in a quiet irritation you’re almost certain has everything to do with the very topic you’re trying to bring up.

“Because,” comes that infuriating drawl. You can only see his face from this angle by looking at his reflection in the transparisteel barrier directly in front of you, but even just imagining the way his mouth moves while he rounds out the words makes your jaw clench. “The coordinates we picked up were scrambled and this rendezvous could be going down at any one of thirty-six locat—?”

“No,” you interrupt him with a scowl, “not why I’ve been floating in dead space in this Maker-forsaken ship with you for eight fucking hours a day since… fuck, what’s today? Thursday? Friday? Nope, can’t be Friday, Friday’s our off-day. Thursday, then. …Thursday?” You shake your head. “Ugh, see? Time doesn’t exist when I’m not allowed to cum, life is like one never-ending nightmare.”

“Oh.” He takes a second to think about it in silence, the calloused tips of his fingers scratching the side of his face while he considers. It wouldn’t usually be as loud as it is right now. Maybe it’s the haunting quiet of space surrounding the ancient powered down hunk of metal you’re both stuck in, inadvertently isolating and amplifying the sound—or maybe it’s because your copilot’s jaw is currently covered in a thick, dark beard that you swear barely took his testosterone-overloaded ass a fucking week or two to grow, if that. Regardless, the dark bristles crunch loudly under his short fingernails and it takes you about a grand total of five whole uninterrupted seconds of the scraping sound to realize you’re grinding your teeth along with it. “Well,” he finally says, “that was your stupid idea.”

“Hmmmmmmmno,” you contest firmly, wiggling your elbow back to poke at his shin with your index finger once, twice, thrice, until he finally slaps your hand away in quiet irritation. To the misfortune of you both—and likely the other hundred or so pilots concurrently taking rotating shifts in these tandem x-wings in a glorified mass stakeout, the cockpit of this ship is just way too fucking small. Your arm is squeezed uncomfortably against machinery and electronics to get to him from this angle and a light slap isn’t going to stop you now that you’re here. “You—” (poke) “—have a superiority complex and decided to turn it into a competition, not—” (poke) “—me.”

“Oh, I have a superiority complex, okay,” he scowls and nods in vehement, fake agreement, finally giving up and letting you poke at will, but the appeal is lost as soon as you realize he’s over it and your arm eases back into your lap. You watch his reflection look out of the viewport and scan the empty void of space for the twentieth time in the past five minutes, clearly just as desperate to get back to base as you are. “So what is it you call saying—wait, no no, not even saying, loudly declaring—‘Of course I can go longer without sex than “wham bam thank you ma’am” Dameron, you brainless fucks, it’s a simple fact!’”

“Alright—I don’t sound like that, fuck you very much,” you return, in reference to his shrieking, high-pitched impression of you surrounded by your fellow pilots in the rec room when you’ve had a bit too much to drink. “Also, you don’t have to finger-quote literally every single syllable of my fucking sentence, Dameron. First and last word, that’s all it takes. And if it’s so superiority complex-ey of me to state simple facts, then what is it you call saying ‘betcha two weeks worth of pay you can’t, pretty baby’?”

“Uh, easy credits?” He immediately asks, side-eyeing your reflection through the transparisteel. “ Easy credits. Just begging for it. Two weeks of your slutty, sexy, easy fucking credits just begging to be taken and used— ”

“You need to get laid,” you cut in to tell him bluntly, scrunching your nose in what you hope looks like disgust. As per protocol, the power to the x-wing was cut at the beginning of your shift—what feels like a fucking eternity ago—as a preventative maneuver in case the target falls out of hyperspace unexpectedly. Avoiding the scanners of a fleet that may never actually show means it’s cold and dimly lit in here—just starlight in front of either you, but you’re hoping he can gauge the severity of your revulsion with your back to him. “You just turned my money into a sex object. It was vile. I feel violated on its behalf.”

“Sounds like you’re the one who needs to get laid,” he tosses carelessly back at you, and you roll your eyes with as much sass as you can physically muster, so tired of all the dodging. You know this hasn’t been easy for him either, he just has too much pride to admit it. “Besides, you’ve gotta be past the withdrawal stage by now. Is it really all that bad?”

“The fuck you mean, ‘Is it really all that bad’?” You snap at him, shuffling around grumpily in your seat, hating the way the bulky weapons controls sit right between your thighs and prevent you from closing them. Withdrawal stage, ha. “Of course it’s all that bad. It’s horrible. It’s the fucking worst. And more importantly, how are you not having any trouble with this? Oh, wait—that’s right,” you answer yourself before he has a chance to. “Because you cheated.”

“I did not cheat,” Dameron’s reflection immediately challenges with an accusatory finger pointed at you. “I did not. When the fuck did I cheat? I swapped housing assignments with your shitty roommate and slept in the bunk below yours for a month and a half—all because you don’t believe in the honor system—just so you could tell me I fucking cheated?”

You scoff, feeling your annoyance spark even more. He’s always been able to get under your skin, but the neglect you’ve been forcing your body to endure is just throwing gasoline on an already roaring fire. “Okay, first of all? Rude. I am a fucking joy to have as a roomie, alright? I put up with your snoring, your 2:00 AM dinners, you blasting your radio while I’m trying to sleep, I barely complain about your body odor—”

“My snoring is adorable, I get snacky at night, only sad people with fucked up lives hate music, I smell amazing,” Dameron casually lists off on his fingers, the self-confidence so easy and unshakeable that you swear he’s almost preening at the compliments he just gave himself by the time he’s finished rebutting everything you can think to throw at him. And, while you’d never admit it, he does smell good. He smells… unbelievably fucking good. Always. Something dark and woodsy, you can never quite put your finger on. It pisses you off, so much that you’ve made a habit of pulling a face of disgust whenever the warm, rich scent noticeably reaches you, hoping it deflates his ego just a little bit. No such luck so far.

“Whatever. The point is I’m a good fucking neighbor, alright, I’m neighborly as fuck,” you grumble, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. “And don’t make it sound like I’m putting a chastity lock on your balls every night, because you can fuck anyone you want. In fact, I strongly fucking encourage it—I just want to know about it when it happens.”

Dameron smirks and you groan, already knowing what’s coming. “You wanna hear it?”

Yep, there it is. “Second of all—”

“Feel the whole bunk rock with it?” He goes on, completely ignoring you. “Use the excuse that you’re trapped up top so you can just stay there the whole time and listen? You know you can do a lot more than just—”

“Second of all,” you project over him, “you’re seriously telling me you haven’t had any wet dreams then, hm? No snorgasms? Hmmm? No happy naps? No captain midnights? No mattress fracking? Hmmmmmm???”

His voice very quickly sounds… shocked. “How many fucking euphemisms—?”

“Wait wait, one more—” you quickly interrupt, too much momentum to stop now, “—sleepskeet.”

You watch in immense satisfaction as his expression seems to progress through all five stages of grief, before he exhales a long, unamused sigh and scratches his beard again. You want to pluck each strand of it out of his face one by one. “Anyways. Wet dreams are totally different and don’t count.”

“It’s not different!” You burst out, unable to help yourself, “it’s an orgasm, and rule number three is no orgas—”

“I know what the rules were, Gold-Ten,” he returns calmly, and it infuriates you, how he’s always able to make it seem like you’re the instigator who’s overreacting. And he knows exactly what he’s doing by calling you by your flight designation, and it pisses you off even more because calling him Black-Leader in any other situation besides active warfare just feels like an unnecessary reminder of his skills. Why he’s currently behind you manning the guidance controls and why you’re currently stuck in the front seat with the bulkier weapons systems. “The question is if you’re seriously that bad enough of a sport to automatically disqualify me because of something that happens to any human with a dick indiscriminately when we blueball ourselves.”

“But that’s the entire fucking point, Dameron!” You shrill, throwing your hands in the air in pure exasperation. “There it is! You need it more than I do, you just said it yourself! Not to mention I said I can go longer without sex than you can— sex , not orgasms, but as it turns out I win at both. Now can we please call this shit off so I can finally cum? This isn’t fun anymore.”

“Nope,” he says immediately, popping the P with a bit too much hard emphasis to be genuinely amused. He’s frustrated, too—his voice is too pleased, too fake to not be masking irritation underneath. “Sorry. But this was also your stupid idea, so.”

“You’re insufferable,” you grumble, anger flaring equal to his, just way more… verbal. And descriptive. “Wet dreams don’t count, fucking right. Tell that to the oceans of Kamino I got going on down there, huh? I move on this seat wrong and I’ll slide off it—”

A loud slam of a palm against the controls suddenly echoes throughout the small cockpit, causing you to jump slightly.

“Don’t,” Dameron snarls, “... say shit like that to me. Not right now. Not right now, fuck .”

You go quiet for a moment, not expecting that much of an outburst at something you considered to be a throwaway remark, but then… oh. Something occurs to you, something… sinister. Oh, well, now there’s an idea.

Everything inside you immediately surges up and burns at the thought—the mere whisper of a way out of all of this, quickly, without giving in and letting him hold your surrender over you for Maker knows how long. It’s so fucking simple, you don’t know why you didn’t think of it before. You don’t have to wait him out at all; instead, you just need to… entice him into giving in first.

Neither of you say anything for a while, and you don’t know what he’s thinking (nothing, probably—a dry tumbleweed bouncing across an empty desert landscape, you imagine) but you take the dip in conversation to consider a plan. You can’t go at it too outright, it’ll be too big of a turnaround and he’ll see it coming lightyears away. A halfhearted joke about your pussy tossed out without thinking is what catalyzed the most substantial reaction from him you’ve seen, so… maybe you can keep steering the conversation towards the idea.

“How many wet dreams have you had?” You suddenly ask, your heart beginning to pick up in your chest as soon as the words are out of your mouth.

“Excuse me?” Dameron grunts from behind you, and you catch his reflection raising a thick eyebrow at you.

You take a deep breath and disguise it by stretching your back out just a little bit, lifting your shoulder blades and arching the sore muscles there, before settling back down in your normal crappy posture once more. “Now many times did you cum in your sleep? Had to at least been once for you to claim they don’t count.”

“Why does it matter?” He asks, completely sidestepping the question for the second time. “It was involuntary.”

You shrug. “Just so I know how many freebies I can get tonight.”

“No,” Dameron instantly counters, his voice dead serious. “Not fucking allowed.”

“Why not?” You ask, and this time, there’s significantly less challenge than you’d typically deliver it with. Instead, your voice is soft, questioning. Not argumentative, but curious, and there’s just enough of your point left unsaid that it’ll seem like he conjured the rest of the image himself.

There’s silence while he considers his response to the perfectly executed bait. You assume you’re both picturing the same thing, because it’s what you’ve pictured almost every single night spent in this celibate hellscape. The cool darkness of your shared quarters, the standard-issue sheets that still feel crispy and rough on your skin no matter how many nights you’ve slept in them, with one of your hands pressed tight over your mouth and two of your fingers circle your clit.

“You only get to do it if I’m in the room,” he poses instead, and you swallow thickly, feeling your body tighten with an unintentional drop of pure heat through your tummy at the thought. Maker, it must be really bad if Poe fucking Dameron is getting to you like this. The bane of your existence shouldn’t make your insides twist in on themselves—at least, not in a good way.

“Not like I’d have much choice,” you eventually respond, keeping it purposefully ambiguous. “It’s your room, too. Unfortunately.”

Stars, it’s been so long since you’ve done this, since you’ve walked the fine line between flirtation and seduction, wanting to turn on the charm slowly—gradually ease it up like a hyperdrive lever under your fingertips so that you’re at maximum by the time he realizes you’re even there. You take a moment to glance at his reflection, watching Dameron look back at you curiously, a flash of interest in his eyes.

“By the way, how does that one girl feel about us doing this?” You ask out of nowhere, suddenly remembering the existence of his pretty little number. You’ve seen her under his arm around base at least a few times, which is more than you can say for the rest of them. “Red-Six. Tall brunette with the tattoos—I don’t bother learning names, they all come and go.”

“Nihla,” Dameron nods with a wistful sigh, tilting his head to rest against his shoulder. “Or, wait… Neah. No—it was… Nalal. Yeah, Nalal, I think that’s right…”

“Unbelievable,” you mutter. “One of the greatest mysteries of the universe is how many people get in line for you, I’ll never fucking understand it.”

“They just want me for my cock,” he tells you without missing a single beat, sounding like he’s not joking in the slightest. “It was starting to get obnoxious. Glad I finally have an excuse to turn them down.”

“Unbelievable,” you repeat, stunned by how truly, mind-blowingly full of himself he is. “You’re… fucking…”

You end up just staring at him and making a sound somewhere between a laugh and a scoff, at a complete loss for words, and Dameron eventually shrugs and continues on after you fail to form a coherent thought in the allotted time frame he provides.

“Now I can just tell them I’m in a long-running bet with Gold-Ten over who can sexually deprive themselves the longest and weirdly enough, they don’t seem all that interested anymore,” he remarks, tilting his chin up and rubbing at his beard again, and for some reason… the sound of it bothers you somewhat less now, the way he phrased that resonating deeper inside you than it should. Lower than it should. You blink a few times, almost shocked by your body’s unprecedented response to his admission—Poe Dameron uses you as an excuse to turn down sex with pretty girls? Happily?—and your mind goes blank for a second while he watches you through the transparisteel. “It’s alright,” he eventually goes on, tilting his head. “Sometimes a sabbatical is good. I do really miss pussy, though.”

“Well,” you finally tell him, oddly not having much else to offer at the moment. “I’m sorry? And… you’re welcome. I guess.”

Dameron shrugs once more and makes an apathetic sound without opening his mouth, and you drop your stare down to the machinery between your spread thighs after feeling like you were looking at each other for too long. The position started uncomfortable and seven hours later, it’s still fucking uncomfortable. At first the discomfort twinged at your hips and lower back, but now the sensation seems to be… centering itself a bit more, finding a spot right between your legs, especially when his words echo through your subconscious and make you naturally want to push your thighs together. I do really miss pussy, though.

You try to snap out of it a bit, try to stop hyperfixating on the way your underwear has felt sticky and wet for fucking hours now, but it’s so fucking difficult to chill yourself out when your body already went into this whole situation with a month and a half long stumbling block. He’s not really doing anything at all—he’s leant back in his chair and staring out the window into the black emptiness of space when you steal a look once more, but something about how his casual responses are affecting you makes it seem like he’s the one currently seducing you.

Maker, you have to focus. You have to control yourself. You’re starting to feel a little warm in your thick jumpsuit—a particular shade of orange that does not compliment your complexion but you normally rejoice in wearing regardless. It’s baggy and uniform and hides most of your curves and most importantly, it keeps you toasty on missions like this. Space is cold —especially this far out in the Cauper Void, and there’s no fucking reason this powered down hunk of floating metal should feel as muggy and stifling as it does in here.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you suddenly hear yourself say, spontaneously, no thought put into it whatsoever. One last try, one last attempt to avoid it, a last-ditch go at flight before he gives you no choice and you’re left with this one remaining option. “This isn’t a good idea. It’s… not healthy. I don’t want to do this anymore.”

This gets a small chuckle out of him. “I know you don’t, pretty baby.”

“Then let’s just call the whole thing off,” you propose once again, trying to lighten your tone, make it a… a friendly thing. It sounds so fake, even to your own ears—since when would you be desperate enough to let the dreaded petname slide?—but granted, you know what they say about time and measures and all that shit. “We can call it a tie, just go back to the way things were befo—”

He cuts you off and pins you with his gaze through the reflection. “You realize that you begging me to put an end to your suffering is—ridiculously hot, mostly—but also only an incentive to make me keep pushing until you finally give in?”

You groan and comb some of your hair off your forehead, not liking the way it’s getting just the slightest bit damp. “Fine, we won’t call it off, but can we at least just stop—” You immediately catch yourself, not wanting to unintentionally push this too far too quickly, but your hesitation is clear and compelling enough for him to prompt you.

“At least just stop what?” Dameron asks, and though you don’t think it’s intentional or even noticeable from his perspective, something about the way his voice sounds… husky. Low to the ground.

“Stop dragging it out,” you breathe, your heart pounding. Why is your heart pounding so fucking fast? This is a fucking sting op, a facade, so why are you getting so caught up in the lie you’ve spun for yourself? “Finish it. Sooner, rather than later. Quit being masochists about it, just fucking put it to—”

Maker, your eyes instinctively snap to his at your poor choice of wording, having almost said bed on complete accident. Genuinely, you didn’t mean to phrase it that way, but at the same time, the thought of it almost burns you alive. Fuck. Dameron, and you, in bed. It could be mean. It could be rough. A fight for dominance more than anything. He’s bigger than you and he could make it fucking hurt, especially after going without it for as long as you have, but something about how double-edged that type of relief would be isn’t really sinking in for you right now. Like a person slowly dying of thirst that’s fantasizing about drowning. Regardless, the idea of a night with him and the sudden assortment of vivid imagery it provides is enough to get you to shut up and take a deep breath, just wait with your mouth shut for whatever his response is.

Unfortunately, you don’t have to wait long at all.

“This is cute,” he suddenly tells you, and you jerk back and sputter a bunch of consonants stupidly like he smacked you.

“Fuck you?” Are the first recognizable words that can be heard. “I’m not—this isn’t fucking— cute?”

“It’s cute,” Dameron repeats, hiding a soft smile from you with a few of his fingers pressed to his lips. “You,” he says as he points at your reflection, twirling his finger around in circles, “trying to be all sneaky about it, go about your little performance. It’s like… watching a little kid just blatantly fuck up a magic trick but they’re naive enough to think it’s working. Keep going, I’m enthralled.”

You hold still for just a second as ice suddenly sinks through your tummy and clears away any trace of warmth you may have once felt from before. Of course. Stupid. Stupid, you shouldn’t have even tried something like that, you don’t know why you thought…

Horrifyingly, you go dead silent and the lack of an immediate response from you hangs awkwardly in the still air. You’re usually so quick with him, so fiery, letting the things he throws at you just glide right off you, but for some insane reason, you’re actually fucking… embarrassed? A little bit?

You should say something, but your whole body is just frustratingly blank, almost buzzing in mortification, and it gets worse and worse the longer you stay quiet. You don’t usually put yourself in a position to be compromised, and you certainly didn’t think the place he decided to jab this time had particularly thin skin.

You… you’d forgotten what it’s like to have someone laugh at you when you’re genuinely trying your best to flirt.

Well, it’s too late to say anything now, you think. Now it’s just uncomfortable in here—true discomfort, not the typical angry silences. You’re used to that, you’re used to huffing and crossing your arms and ticking your jaw through the breaks in conversation, refusing to say a word because you’re beyond pissed off. This is different. This quiet sits different in the air, this emotion hits different in your chest, somewhere vulnerable. A crack in your armor he found without even necessarily intending to, but at this point, the stupid way you can’t seem to hide the wound from him is just as much to blame.

“So, uh…” Dameron clears his throat as you shut your eyes tight against the awkwardness, but you can still feel a strange little shift in the air from behind you. There’s something about the enclosed space, the quiet darkness surrounding you both, you feel… too close to him. Sharing his air, feeling the energy when it’s cramped and you’re not able to just get up and storm away from him like normal. You don’t like it. You don’t like that you can immediately tell something has changed without being able to see him, that type of intimacy between you is pushing a boundary you can’t quite pinpoint but know exists.

You snap your eyes open and look over at Dameron’s reflection when he’s quiet for too long, and though you try to glare as fiercely as possible at him while you do it, the look on his face almost stops you dead. The pure intensity raging in his expression, the way he’s got his eyes narrowed, flicking back and forth between yours, carefully studying you, wondering if perhaps he may have gotten it all wrong. “I mean, y’know. Theoretically speaking, and all. If I broke, you’d let me fuck you?”

You… aren’t expecting that.

You don’t know why but your heart suddenly starts to race again, but it’s not the same as before. Before it was speeding up and at an angle, like a rocket trying to escape a body’s gravitational pull, to go somewhere, search for something. This time it just feels like it’s ricketing downhill, unsteady and out of control, about to break apart with every single pothole that rattles and slams through you. Shit. You didn’t expect the ultimatum would be presented to you so up front like that—you thought there’d be… some resistance, at least.

Fuck, you take way too fucking long thinking about it, and your face feels warmer and warmer the more you mentally pick apart his specific phrasing, wondering where you should even begin. You still haven’t said anything, but the damage is already done. What should've been a firm, instantaneous go fuck yourself is left suspended, unanswered, open for interpretation. You miss your window of opportunity to shut him down, you overshoot it by a longshot, and then you feel that spark of a what-if flare deep down once more.

No, fucking stop it. Stop it. Maker, your eyes do everything they can to not look at him while you concentrate and work to tap into your anger, stoking the flames of your fire to avoid feeling… temptation. How dare he? How fucking dare he do this to you, especially when there’s no chance to get out of here, to abort mission and cut your losses? You clench your jaw and isolate that fury, magnify it until it’s the only thing you can feel anymore.

“My turn now,” Dameron eventually breaks the silence to clarify, blinking at you, and by this point you’re so fucking pissed off that you don’t recognize that isn’t actually a question.

“No,” you immediately snap, strung far too thin to deal with this new, treacherous territory with him. Defaulting to normal is best, it’s easier. “No, it’s not your turn, and fuck no, you can’t fuck me, not even if it means I win this stupid bet. No to everything that has anything to fucking do with you, alright? Don’t talk to me. You’re lucky if I agree to sleep in the same fucking room as you tonight. And—and?—I think your beard looks dumb.”

Okay, so maybe the last part was just a little bit childish, but you’re in such a bad fucking mood and you want to insult something he’s clearly just trying out for right now, hasn’t yet solidified as part of his usual appearance and unshakeable confidence in it. It’s a downright lie—you think he might look more attractive with it than he ever has. Effortlessly rugged and masculine, framing his face and making his eyes all the more piercing.

You don’t think it works, but regardless, he heeds your sharp words and says nothing for a good few minutes at least. You had hoped the break in interaction would allow you the ability to reset a little bit, give yourself time to work through it, but it’s like the pressure in the air steadily increases regardless of how silent it is in here—or perhaps, because of it.

You can’t help it. You flick your eyes to the transparisteel in front of you once more and catch his reflection staring directly at you, unmoving. It jars you as much as it sparks your anger, and you glare down at your hands and give him a few seconds. A few seconds of grace, of mercy, before you try again.

Sure enough, he’s still got his dark eyes pinned to you when you go to check once more, like he’s actually fucking thinking about something right now, which is just… astounding, for obvious reasons. Mainly, the nerve of him. The fucking nerve of him to be able to look at you like that, like he’s just entitled to study your every feature, searching your eyes for things you’ve never looked deep enough to find within yourself, making incredibly loud assumptions with his mind that he has absolutely no right to be making.

“Shut up,” You snap at him defensively, feeling like you’re sweating buckets even in the freezing emptiness of dead space. You can’t figure out if it’s a cold sweat or if your body is legitimately just malfunctioning under his stare. “Shut up.”

You watch as his reflection suddenly drops his head back against the seat and rolls out the stiffness of his neck, blinking his eyes shut and raising his eyebrows like you’re completely overreacting, like he has absolutely no idea. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re not that dumb,” you challenge. “You’re… plotting. Evil plotting.”

A thick eyebrow drops so that only one is quirked up, and a grin pulls at his lips.

“You’re right,” Dameron admits casually after a moment with his eyes still closed, his voice pitched low in the cramped ship. “I was thinking about what it’s gonna take to get you to lose.”

You swallow against the dryness in your throat, starting to unintentionally bounce one of your legs up and down without even realizing it. Fuck, this ship is small, it’s too fucking small in here—you gaze wistfully out at the vast endlessness of space, wanting to grit your teeth at the irony of being surrounded by the one thing you so desperately wish you had.

“I just have to find a weakness,” he shifts forward in his seat and reveals to you, bewilderingly shameless in his honesty. Like all of a sudden you’re an accomplice to this endeavor instead of its target, as if he isn’t spoiling the secret by letting you in on it. “Something that you like, that gets you going. Something that riles you up, gets you all hot and bothered down there—”

“So you can exploit it,” you huff, slouching over a bit and trying not to sound like you’re pouting.

“—so I can exploit it,” he finishes happily, collapsing back into his seat like he’s glad you caught on so quick and he doesn’t have to explain further. “Now we can do the whole routine—the bickering, the tension, the undeniable sexual chemistry we have—or we can skip all that and you can just tell me flat out what it’s gonna take to rev that pretty little engine up, because I want it purring.”

And, it’s so fucking weird, because the specific verbiage that would normally make you cringe just hearing it spoken aloud doesn’t inspire the typical response, even though it feels like it should. It feels like you should be grossed out, it feels like a moment you should screw up your facial expression and act offended, but you’re… not. This is actually fucking working, it’s unbelievable. The undeniable fact infuriates you just as much as it stumps you.

“You do realize that everything you say is a game that two can play at, right?” You point out, not really sure where you’re going with this but feeling heated about it all the same. “What’s stopping me from exploiting something you like?”

“See now that’s a great idea,” Dameron announces, clapping his hands together happily and sending you jumping a few inches in your seat at the sudden sound, your hand automatically shooting up to rest on your thumping heart. “I can tell you what I like, and you can just listen.”

Alright, no, wait—backtrack—

“How about I tell you what I don’t like,” you snip breathlessly, tucking your hair behind your ear and feeling all the blood rush to your cheeks. Default to normal, default to normal. “Your fucking attitude. Your demeanor. The way you talk down to me. You don’t listen. You walk around like you’re such hot shit just because you’re a good pilot but none of that means anything when you don’t ever fucking listen. You’re terrible at it, doesn’t matter who’s talking—you don’t listen to me, you don’t listen to people who actually like you, you don’t listen to orders, you don’t listen to reason—”

“You think I’m a good pilot?” He suddenly asks, and you have to take a second. This cockpit isn’t designed for anything other than sitting, much less turning all the way around, but you’re sure you can find some way to throttle him from here. He chuckles as you let out the loudest sigh you’ve ever heard yourself make—which, is an incredible feat you think both of you should be congratulated for—before Dameron eventually carries on. “You could tell me that,” he admits with a shrug, a hidden smile on his face that he’s trying to bite back. “Or you could tell me the truth.”

You shouldn’t encourage him, but you just can’t fucking help it. There’s something inside you, something you can only compare to a morbid sort of curiosity. Maybe you’re just a glutton for punishment, even more so than agreeing to this bet has already confirmed. “And that would be—?”

“That you use anger as a defense mechanism because I touch a nerve you didn’t realize you had,” Dameron replies breezily. “Have since the moment we met. And that you maybe want me to touch something else, but you’re too stubborn and proud and committed to hating me to ever admit it. You can admit it, it’s okay, I can touch whatever you need me to tou—”

“How about the emergency eject button?” You hiss, finally feeling your frustration peak. “Pop the top on this bitch. Put me out of my fucking misery, right now. You’ve got such a big head that the blood flow will probably keep your tiny little brain warm enough as long as you strap yourself down beforehand, I’ll wait. And then you can go back to base, alone , and find another poor girl to emotionally torture since you probably don’t get enough of it from the ones you work your way through but can never remember the most basic things about.”

Remarkably, that actually shuts him up. You’re doubtful the jab really hurts him, but you’re not going to feel bad about it either way. He deserved that. You cross your arms over your chest and don’t even bother looking at him, huffing and flushed with the climax of your ferocity, now left feeling strangely exhausted in its wake. Eventually your breathing evens out and disappears into the silence, until nothing at all can be heard.

It’s like that for a moment—only a moment, before the loud tearing of velcro suddenly shreds through the quiet in the cockpit, completely rattling you. Automatically your eyes shoot over to his reflection, watching large hands pull the orange jumpsuit apart at his chest and then shrug it over broad shoulders. It’s not sexual. It can’t be sexual, because there’s just no fucking room to allow it—it takes him forever to pull the long sleeves down his arms, but the way he drags it out somehow just increases your anticipation for an event you should have absolutely no interest in spectating. He’s wearing a white sleeveless undershirt underneath and the jumpsuit bunches at his waist, making him look all the longer and more defined as he finally collapses back into his seat and reclines in it, the distant constellations bathing his lean torso in dim speckles of starlight.

Your gaze catches on every good part of him—it falls down the muscular lines of his neck and follows the thin gold chain wrapped around it, disappearing into the white of his scooping neckline. His toned body finds a place to rest and stretch out without looking awkward or uncomfortable, coarse hair darkening his jaw and dusting the strong lines of his forearms—but it’s his eyes that make your heart stutter. They’re endlessly deep and dark and knowing , and you can’t seem to look away from him, not even when he opens his mouth to address you.

“You’re always so fucking mean to me,” Dameron remarks, and for just a split second—just a split second, you feel a stab of regret. “I should eat you out tonight.”

Fuck, he hits the nail right on the head on his very first try, and just hearing the words come out of his mouth so effortlessly makes your pussy clench in on itself in need. Nothing about his inflection changed from one sentence to the next, nothing in his voice made it seem like he just flipped the fucking galaxy upside down with just a few words. To an onlooker who doesn’t speak Basic, they’d have absolutely no hint as to why your face is suddenly radiating heat at an industrial capacity, blazing hot enough to warm the whole cockpit. You feel like you’re literally burning up with it. You have to put a palm to your cheek to make sure it’s not actually on fucking fire. “What— what did you just say to me?”

“That’s what you need,” he drawls, unbothered by the sharpness of your tone. “What you’ve needed, ever since I can remember. Should’ve done it a long fucking time ago, now that I’m thinking about it. How long’s it been? Tell me the truth, I know it’s been awhile.”

You feel like you’re being roasted alive like one of those hairy little Kowakian monkey-lizards that you’re pretty sure have sentient designation but are the first to be skewered and cooked over the firepit regardless. Your heart is slamming against your sternum and you scramble to come up with an even slightly clever response after such an ambush.

“This is your plan?” You raise an eyebrow at him, feeling a bead of sweat drop down your temple and onto the corner of your lashes. Oh fuck, be cool, be cool. “You think this is gonna work? Ask me if I want a weak orgasm and rugburn on my thighs?”

“I can shave,” Dameron proposes quietly, lifting his chin and gently scrubbing the side of his cheek. The sound of the thick bristles against his fingers makes you swallow thickly and push back very vivid thoughts of how his face would feel between your legs. How soft and wet his mouth would feel at the center of that thick, coarse beard. “Tonight, I’ll shave it off. Make it nice and smooth for you.”

Something inside you surges up to assure him he absolutely should not shave, and you actually have to bite your tongue to keep it buried at the last second. Stars, that was a close one, what the fuck prompted that?

“I don’t give a shit what you do,” you quickly return, resisting the urge to wipe your brow. “Beard or no beard, makes no difference. Foreplay is overrated, I’m not big on wasting time.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” he immediately laments—so quick , and the worst part is that the sympathy in his voice actually sounds sincere. You’re having trouble looking him in the eyes right now, hearing the genuine pity come through in his tone. “Who… who did this to you?”

“You said you want to figure out what I like, what turns me on,” you return, tucking your hair behind your ear once more and trying not to sound self-conscious. Maker, how long until your shift is over? You need to get out of here, this shit is… way out of your league. “I’m not into it, so try again.”

“Really?” Dameron takes a moment to look at you, furrow his thick eyebrows at you in barely concealed curiosity, before his head tilts sideways and drops to his shoulder. “Normally I’d respect that, but I meant it when I said you need it.”

“We fucking hate each other, Dameron,” you hiss, a reminder to him as much as it is to yourself. Fuck, you really don’t like where this is going. “You don’t know anything about me, you don’t know what the I n—”

“I bet you think we’d fuck hard,” he murmurs, low enough that you have to take an unsteady breath and physically brace yourself for whatever is going to come from that dirty mouth next. “You think that maybe I’d throw you around a little, give it to you from behind, teach you a fucking lesson for always talking back to me. But that’s primitive shit, Gold-Ten, that’s not for you.”

Resist. Resist . You’re part of the fucking Resistance, for Maker’s sake, you’re taught to hold out until death in torture scenarios. Since when did this tin can suddenly become a new POW camp simulation you have to train for?

“I want to take you apart so slow that you can’t talk at all,” Dameron continues quietly, and you close your eyes, biting your bottom lip hard enough to sting. “We don’t even have to fuck—I mean, I want to, but mostly I just want to taste you. Go nice and slow. I want you on your back, so I can look in your eyes and see all that anger just… fade away. I want to watch you try to fight how fucking good I’ll make it. How hot it’s gonna be when you can’t glare at me anymore, when your pretty doll eyes go all soft and sweet and you finally realize that I’ve never hated you at all.”

Maker. This is a trick. It’s not a question, it shouldn’t be presented like one—this is a dirty rotten trick , and you’re not gonna fall for it. You can’t fucking fall for it. It’s a low blow, and you refuse to even acknowledge he said anything at all. He’s lying to get your guard down. He laughed at your flirting. He’s a shit person, he’s using you, this isn’t real.

Real or not, you still gulp loud enough for him to hear it.

“We could go back to our room after our shift is over,” he offers out of the blue, and you have no clue why, but when he pauses and lets it hang in the air for a second, you don’t interrupt him. You stay completely silent while he waits for you, waits for your typical snarky comeback. You have it in your head instantly, you know what you’d normally say. Your room. It’s not ‘our’ room, it’s fucking your room that you’re generous enough to let him bunk in, a privilege he’s this fucking close to losing—but you can’t find it in yourself to say it right now. Your anger is gradually losing the war to your arousal and you’re forced to watch every single small defeat inside you happen from the sidelines.

His reflection blinks at you through the transparisteel, his eyebrows raising just slightly at your prolonged silence, before he suddenly sits up a little and leans forward.

“And I could lock the door,” Dameron continues, lowering his voice, both in volume and register. “The lights in there are way too fucking bright but I don’t want to be in complete darkness, so maybe we can turn them off and open the port shade, let just enough light come through to see. I could turn on the radio, find something quiet, easy to listen to. Something you like, I’ll let you pick it out. And then… Wait, hang on, which bed?”

You clench your jaw and purposefully say nothing even as your pussy squeezes, glaring right through his reflection into the black void of space.

“Mmm. Your bed,” he eventually decides. “I want you comfortable. You shower at night. Your hair will be wet and you’ll be in those baggy pajamas that you think I can’t see your nipples through, the ones that I know you take off under your covers and then put on in the morning when you think I’m still asleep. That’s good, I want you relaxed, so that maybe… maybe you’d let me take your panties off at some point. And you could lay back and open your legs, and I could go down on you for a little while. However long you need.”

Fuck.

No, this isn’t fucking happening. Your lower muscles aren’t twisting in so hard that it actually fucking hurts, your pussy isn’t leaking through two layers of fabric under your jumpsuit, your body isn’t outright revolting against the sheer neglect you’ve put it through. Maker, it’s fucking painful. You have to clench your hands into fists and dig your fingernails into your palms before you can open your mouth.

“You want to know what I need?” You nearly wheeze, a drop of sweat sliding down the back of your neck this time. Your body feels like it’s three sizes too big for this cockpit and your skin feels like it’s three sizes too small for your body. “I need you to shut the fuck u—”

“What you need,” Dameron purrs, sliding up closer behind your seat and sighing soft against the worn material of your headrest, “is a warm mouth to cum in. Don’t be shy, pretty baby, you can tell me.”

You growl out his last name as threateningly as you possibly can before he purrs yours right back in your ear, and fuck, you’ve never heard it sound so sexual before. Last names allow pilots to maintain a respectful distance from each other. Flight designations are Resistance-wide, but last names are just… allies. Not friends, not companions, but a vast network of people brought together by a common enemy. It hurts to lose a first name. But the way yours sounds rolling off of Dameron’s tongue is just too sinful, too intimate when calling you that is meant to sever intimacy by design. He says it slow and makes it dirty, muddies it in the back of his throat as he slides up even closer to you, until his face is right next to yours as you stare at each other through the transparisteel.

“I’m really…” he pauses, before exhaling through his nose and swallowing thick enough to make his Adam’s apple drop and bounce up again, his tongue coming out to wet his plush lips as he blinks slowly at you with a heavy gaze, “… really good at it. Call me Poe and I’ll do it for you all night.”

Shit, your pussy is just a fucking mess right now. It feels like it’s melting sweet and syrupy all over your thighs, throbbing and pounding and clamping up and screaming at you to do something, at least press your hand down there to alleviate some of the aching tensi—

No— stars, no touching yourself is rule number two. You drop your hands to your thighs and squeeze them, trying to reign yourself back in.

“I think you’re—just projecting,” you try, but turns out responding in general is just an all-around bad idea. Nothing about it comes out right. The ‘just’ sounds like your tongue is stuck to the roof of your mouth and your voice cracks on the word ‘projecting,’ but you don’t even have time to be self-conscious or embarrassed at how much you’re giving yourself away—all your energy has to go towards fighting the tightness between your open legs, how you’re so fucking turned on that you’re worried you’ll cum without even touching yourself. Oh Maker, can you imagine? How fucking proud of himself he’d be? You can’t let that happen, but fuck, holding back something so appealing is so much harder than it sounds.

Tap into that anger, tap into that anger—only, you can’t suddenly find it. Where’d it go? Fuck, doesn’t matter, conjure it. Quick, before it’s too late, get mad —don’t let him lure you into a… a false…

Dameron tilts his chin down towards the line of your shoulder and then slowly turns his head towards your neck, breathing you in gently.

A false sense of…

His soft exhale makes goosebumps break out all the way down your arms.

… What?

“Maybe you’re right,” Dameron acknowledges, talking just under your ear. You watch his eyelids dip and the dark beard brushes against your skin and you catch just a hint of that woodsy, spicy scent engulfing you. Like… teakwood, maybe? Stars, you don’t know, you think you’re starting to lose your mind. What the fuck does teakwood even smell like? “Maybe it’s just what I need. You should exploit it, chances are I’ll still cum first.”

That rockets another painful spasm down low. It hurts so fucking bad—fuck, maybe you could… rub yourself up against these weapons controls? Just a little bit? That joystick, right there, just ease yourself up against it just to nurse this wound a little bit…?

No, fucking— bad. That’s bad, you have to stop—

“This isn’t real, this isn’t—y-you just…” You flutter your eyelashes shut, digging your fingernails into your thighs like it’ll help break through the fog of his lulling voice, how fucking amazing he smells right now. “You just want to win th-the b—”

“ Fuck the bet,” he tells you quietly, his head dipped low enough now that his lips brush against your neck, and you shudder so hard at the sensation that your shoulder almost knocks into his chin with it. “You really think I’m doing all this for a fucking bet?”

Don’t trust him, don’t trust him, don’t—

Your deep breath is so stuttery and uneven that it’s technically just a series of shallow inhales all anxiously strung together, too desperate for oxygen to go about it legato. It’s painfully obvious to him by now, it has to be, but you very quickly miss the shaky breathing as soon as he takes away your ability to do it all together.

“Let me taste you,” he whispers, his voice almost breaking with how gentle it is, how it sounds like it flips in and out of his register when he speaks this low. “Right now, let’s make it real, let m—I know you have to be soaking fucking wet, baby, just let me try a little bit of it, please—I’m… holy shit, I’m so hard just thinking about it.”

“You c-can’t,” you stammer, reaching up to pinch the bridge of your nose in frustration. At him, at the situation, at the painful throb of emptiness between your legs. “Fuck, it’s not allowed, it’s against the rules—”

“It won’t be,” he assures you, and you hiccup when you suddenly feel his hand brush against your side, strong fingers branching out to curve against your ribcage. “You don’t have to do anything, you can stay just like this. Just a few seconds and then I’ll stop, I promise.”

Oh, Maker, it’s on the very top of your tongue, so unbelievably close to telling him something—but you don’t know what it should be. You’re right at the tipping point, on a tightrope right between what you want and what you should want. And, knowing you’re this close to giving in, Dameron slowly eases his hand down your side and starts to trail it inwards, and just the lightest brush of his warm tongue against your neck shatters any composure you have left.

You whimper and instinctively try to close your legs, but you fucking can’t— your knees are forced wide apart by controls and your whole body freezes when his hand slides down and folds gently along the curve of your pussy through the thick fabric of your jumpsuit.

The feeling of being held like this by him is just too good , cradled so perfectly in his palm as he opens his mouth and flutters his tongue out to taste your skin again, giving you a little more of it this time and letting you feel the roughness of his beard with the way his lips move. Your breath catches, then he hooks his fingertips up just the slightest bit and pulls back, and you suddenly have to smack your whole hand over your face in a terrible attempt to stifle your loud gasp.

“Oh, Maker, I c-can’t,” you stammer against your fingers, not being able to trust him or your own body. You continue to protest even after he moves back up, resting his palm low on your abdomen, letting the heat bleed through the fabric and transfer directly to your floor muscles as he lifts his head up from your shoulder. “I can’t, we can’t, I…”

You can’t see him, but you know he’s looking at you. He’s staring right at you through the reflection, studying the way you’re hiding your face from him, how you’re still melting, still losing your composure just from the warm palm pressed tight your tummy.

His touch leaves you for a second. But then the deafening sound of velcro ripping at the crotch of your jumpsuit has you dragging your hand down your mouth and your eyelids dipping.

“Dameron,” you breathe into your fingers, just as his carefully slip into the small opening and begin to work at the button to your pants. “Dameron, this isn’t—you don’t want—”

“You don’t get to tell me what I don’t want,” he grunts at you, and you try not to bite yourself at the sound of him unzipping things and yanking fabric to the side. “What I really fucking want is the real thing, but I guess this’ll have to do for now.”

“I—” Your mind whirs desperately, trying to process when his fingers wedge under your panties and down. But he doesn’t give you a single fucking second. As soon as the tip of his middle finger reaches your slit, he’s dropping it and sliding it through your slick, hot, unbearably neglected cunt.

“Fuck,” he spits, and you feel like you might be about to break your own fucking jaw with how hard you’re clutching it, trying so desperately not to make a noise. The pad of his finger is rough and calloused as it drags against your clit in slow, tight circles, and you clamp your eyes shut and try to breathe normally, but it’s no use. Fuck , it’s been so long . You’ve been aching for it for a full fucking month and a half now and you know that even if he couldn’t feel it, he can hear how drenched you are right now. It’s making an obscene sound as he steadily masturbates you with one heavenly finger, giving your body what it’s desperately craved for so many weeks. “Fuck, baby’s pussy got fucking wet hearing me talk about how good I’d lick it, huh?”

That sends a bright flare launching through you and you gasp raggedly, both hands whipping out to snatch at his forearm where it disappears between your legs. “No, shit, wait, stopstopstopstop stop , I—”

His hand slips out immediately and yet you continue to tremble like his finger is still right there, like your clit is just imagining it so vividly that it’s successfully convincing itself of the illusion. The aching bit of flesh is burning, that good burn, the one that’s searing and bright that makes your muscles continue to chase the sensation long after the stimulation is gone. Fuck, he almost made you cum. He barely touched you for a few seconds and yet your fingers have to tighten into claws to slow your body down the fuck down, flexing against your thighs and trying your best to halt the impending climax.

By the time you’re able to wrangle yourself back from the edge and look at his reflection, his middle finger is already in his mouth and he’s blinking slowly at you, his pupils blown wide. You’re breathing hard at him, staring open-mouthed at the way his lips are closed below his second knuckle, how he takes forever dragging it back out again. You have to close your eyes. You have to clamp them shut and keep them that way, knowing you won’t be able to look at him through whatever he’s going to say next.

Except, oddly, he doesn’t say much.

“Shit,” he breathes, dropping his mouth to your neck once more. “Shhhit. I…”

Your eyes snap open in sudden, blind panic when he doesn’t continue, horrified at the possibility that he doesn’t like it. Dameron always has something to say, he doesn’t go speechless. “Oh—Maker, is it not—?”

“Mmmfuck, just—” he grits, panting hot air against your skin, “—fuck. Give me a second.”

You can only see the crown of his head with the way he’s angled, but you can see his shoulders a little further back. They start… moving slightly. Just the littlest bit, a smooth motion, like his whole body is slowly easing back and forth—

The nav controls are between his legs, you immediately realize. He’s grinding up against them with how close he is to you and your seat.

And suddenly, it’s like there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. A ray of sunshine that breaks through the raging storm. Dameron might cum in his pants like this. Which means you’ll win, and arguably more importantly, you’ll finally be able to cum. You don’t even take a moment to consider the potential consequences—how you’re going to have to withstand the stimulation until he succumbs to it, how you’ll have to outlast—but you’re not thinking straight. You’re not really thinking at all.

“You can…” you suddenly hear yourself whisper, and your heart pounds in your throat when he instantly stops moving. “One… one more. If you want. You can put your finger inside this time, it’s where I’m the… w-wettest.”

“Fuck,” Dameron croaks into the crook of your neck, his voice scraping low and rough and sending a tremor through you. “Fuck, okay, yeah—”

His hand slides across your hip and down, but you catch him just in time.

“But don’t touch my clit.” You try to sound as firm as possible through the breathlessness, still trying to put your foot down even when you’re giving in, and Dameron’s teeth come out as he stifles a soft groan into your neck in response.

“Yes, baby,” he murmurs obediently as his hand sinks down once more, and so diligently, he avoids it altogether. His fingers slide under your panties and fall straight down to your entrance, down to where you know you’re the hottest, where your pussy is flexing and pushing wetness out with a steady, wicked throb. The pad of his middle finger presses gently against the tight muscles there, rubs just the slightest bit to feel that resistance, and then the length of it eases inside you so slowly that your knees rattle against bulky metal.

“Fucking Maker , ” he hisses as he slides it in, his body making a sudden jerk against the controls.

Your eyes roll back at the feeling of something inside you after so long, after such a torturous buildup, and you grasp at his forearm again when it curls naturally up against searing pleasure. Oh, it’s so good, it’s so good, your hands shake while he very carefully moves it in and out, the raw sparks of heat threatening to incinerate you as your muscles cling to every ridge of his finger. He gets it sopping wet, bathes it so completely in your slick that you’re almost certain it’ll come out pruny and drenched.

“Shit, okay,” you pant, squeezing desperately around his finger, “o-okay, fuck, that’s enough.”

His hand pulls out… slower this time. He slips his finger out of you quick enough, but he drags the tip of it through your folds as he retreats, just barely grazing your clit and making you jolt in your seat. Shit, you don’t know if it felt intentional enough to fault him for it—mostly it just excites you, thrills you to have him edge you like this without really needing to put any effort at all into it.

Dameron lifts his head to sink his finger deep into his mouth once more, and you tremble as you watch him enjoy it, staring at the way his shoulders seem to relax as soon as your taste is on his tongue, how his face goes soft with it and he almost slumps.

Relief. Genuine, not embellished. He still doesn’t say anything after he slowly slides it out and blinks at you, no sugar sweet drawl telling you how amazing you taste, no candied words to make you give in and let him have another go. You’re both breathing hard at each other, staring, waiting to see who will break first.

Stars, you… fucking like this. You want him to keep going, but you can’t offer it again. It’s just too exposing, too revealing to let him you’re actually really fucking enjoying this, you can’t—

“Do you w—?” Your voice automatically comes out through the silence without your permission, sounding just absolutely fucking wrecked by this point, but his palm is already slithering back down as soon as you speak, and you make the softest little submissive noise in your throat at him taking immediate initiative like that. He’s not as careful about it this time—his hand finds its target with less frill, his finger slides in quicker, sinking deep into your heat with little hesitation, lighting you on fire from the inside out, and you bite the meat of your thumb to stay quiet.

“Fuck, this is so hot,” he suddenly breathes next to your ear while your legs spasm and you gasp brokenly. “This is so—fuck, pretty baby letting me do this to her, I can’t fucking believe—”

Dameron eases a second finger inside you this time, letting you feel that delicious stretch from this angle, unable to lift your legs or shuffle around to help and subsequently resigned to simply experience it the way he gives it to you. Your teeth have probably permanently indented your bottom lip from how hard you’re clamped down, a testament to how much you’re trying to hold back the loud moan you miraculously haven’t released yet. Somehow it makes it sexier, not letting him hear you, not having your own noises to drown out the spark of urgency in his voice beginning to peek through.

Shit, it’s too much. You can only let him touch you a few seconds at a time before you feel that familiar tug towards mind-numbing bliss, and the more he does it, the more appealing that feeling then becomes. It’s teasing you, floating right in front of you and calling into question what could possibly be so bad about just reaching out to meet it? You could. You could cum right now. What’s two weeks of pay? You could cum all night long if you want, that is a thing you can do—

Quickly snapping out of your hypnotic downfall, your trembling hands snatch at his forearm once more, and Dameron, the fucker, drags his fingers slowly over your clit on the way out— so not accidental, not even close to it this time, but the sensation makes your hips stutter upwards and chase it nonetheless.

“Fuck you,” you groan at his audacity, your chest arching as you drop your head back, “I said don’t touch my—” but two wet fingers slipping past your lips and onto your tongue muffle the rest of your sentence. Your heart does half a somersault before slamming down early, the taste of your pussy filling your mouth as you automatically start sucking on them.

“None of that,” Dameron tells you softly, massaging his fingers along your tongue before pressing a sweet kiss under your ear. “Be nice. I’m being nice.”

You should bite him. Instead, you just close your eyes and mphh weakly around his fingers, your body sagging as you give into it and let him explore your mouth with them, your lower muscles cramping up in painful desperation even when he’s not anywhere near that part of your body right now. Your tongue even comes up to lick between them, swirl around them so soft compared to how hard you’re puffing through your nose.

Dameron slowly inches his fingers out, letting the tips of them rest against your bottom lip for just a brief moment, before his hand is moving again. Not down, but back and around, so he can open his mouth and taste you another way this time.

Shit, you feel like you’re dying. You need air. Your hands clench into fists and you use the back of one to wipe the sweat from the bridge of your nose while he takes his time sampling you like this. If anything, he looks just as blissed out as before, continuing to rub his crotch up against the solid metal between his legs and teasing you with it as much as he’s teasing himself.

“Maker, let me do this for real tonight, okay,” Dameron pants after dropping his fingers from his mouth, sounding like he’s fighting for his breath while you can’t find yours at all. Your eyes flick down to watch the way his hand disappears behind the chair to grab the controls and push his cock up against them even harder, how he drops his forehead to your neck like he just can’t fucking handle it anymore. “Fuck, I’ll shave, I’ll do anything you want, just let me—”

“Cum,” you gasp out before you can stop yourself, and there’s a moment after it where his hips suddenly stutter against the controls, and you both freeze.

Shit. Shitshitshit, did that actually work?

No, you very quickly realize, his body isn’t spasming like it would if he finally emptied his load after a month and a half. He’s just… holding there, his head buried in your neck, completely still.

You didn’t mean it like that. Well… fuck, you did, but you didn’t realize you’d be that reckless about it, that upfront about reissuing the challenge.

Dameron pulls back to look at you from the side this time, but it’s too cramped—he keeps his head turned facing you even as his eyes flick up to the transparisteel to take in the finer details of your features, the thin sheen of sweat on your forehead, and the slightly alarmed way you’re blinking back at him, worried you just shot your blaster at him in the midst of a mutual ceasefire and you fucking missed.

You see the understanding in his eyes instantly fall into place, and it’s not fucking good. Ohhhhhh no, it’s not good. Your chest starts rising and falling rapidly, suddenly registering the position you just put yourself in. Fuck, you didn’t think—you saw your opening, so clearly, you didn’t have time to think about the consequences.

“D-Dameron…” you try your best to placate.

“Don’t touch your clit?” He asks quietly, the raspiness of his voice ripping a hole through you while his hand suddenly shoves its way back down your body once more.

“Dameron,” you whimper, your heart stuttering in panic as you grasp weakly at his arm reaching between your spread thighs, “Dameron, this is—this is against the r-rules—”

“You keep saying that,” he comments, his fingers easily finding the opening in your jumpsuit no matter how hard you flex your thighs against bulky mechanics to try and close them. “How clearly do you remember the rules? What were the rules again?

You open your mouth to respond but his hand sliding under your panties and down just obliterates any chance you were going to attempt. No words, nothing comes out but a shaky whine as his finger sinks into your soaking heat, going right for the kill.

“Come on, baby, the rules,” Dameron reminds you when you never give him an answer. “Tell me. No fucking, no jerking off, and…?”

You suddenly struggle forwards in a last-ditch attempt at preventing the inevitable, hoping you can scoot up enough in your seat to escape his reach from behind. But fuck, your thighs have been shoved wide open for nearly eight hours—none of the muscles are working the way they should be anymore. There’s just enough room in front of you to get there and you probably would’ve been able to do it at the beginning of the shift, even with his hand between your legs like this, but you’re sluggish and your thighs pull sharp and urgent with the movement. The frantic maneuver enough to veer his fingers off course just slightly, moving one of your lips to the side at an angle, and you keep pushing against the pain no matter how useless it is.

“—No cumming,” he finishes for you, and his other hand is slithering up under your arm and groping one of your breasts through the jumpsuit before shoving you back tight up against your seat once more, totally helpless against it. “Probably have another fifteen minutes or so before our shift ends. Better hold it in, pretty baby, because this one is all you.”

“This—this isn’t fair, this is—” The second the slippery pad of his finger presses hard against your clit, you’re biting your lip to cut off a breathless whimper that slips out. “This is… is sab— sabotage— ”

“Oh, I know,” he moans next to your ear, mocking your high plea of distress with a fake, overly sympathetic whine. “Feels so fucking good though, doesn’t it?”

Fuck, it does. The build feels like an orgasm in itself, just working your way to it. You’re already so unbelievably close after just a few seconds of direct stimulation, an obvious consequence of originally agreeing to such a hardcore edging workout. You’re pouring sweat, so swollen and tight between your legs as you do everything you can to revolt against your body’s needs.

“Oh fuck, stop touching my clit—” you gasp raggedly, heart thundering in panic while your lower muscles start to immediately seize up, “oh—fuckfuckfuck— Poe, take your finger off m—”

Instead of doing it, his hand just slows down until the tip of his finger comes to a halt, maybe less than an inch over top of it. You still can’t catch your breath though, not when you feel yourself throbbing against absolutely nothing, the calloused pad holding perfectly still over the bundle of nerves. The swollen bud still arcs and flares at a steady frequency, building and building, and you choke out a wordless garble, absolutely fucking furious that this is what’s gonna make you cum.

“Don’t make me cum,” you switch up your sentence but not the terrified plead in your voice, the way it’s pitching up and out of control in the dead quiet of space. He doesn’t even acknowledge it. “Don’t make me cum, don—”

“Say it again,” he prompts instead, and lightning arcs up your spine.

“Poe,” you wheeze, the words coming from you without thought, your fingernails digging into his forearm even as your hips jerk up into his touch, “fuck, don’t make me cum, Poe—please don’t make me c—”

“But it’ll be so good,” he counters lowly, and your clit throbs in desperation at the richness of his voice when he speaks like this, saying things from deep in his chest. “It’ll be so fucking good when it happens. Stars, you’ll feel so much better, won’t you? Cum right now and I’ll give you as many as I can until we have to go home.”

“N-No,” you whine, feeling his teeth scrape at the crook of your neck. “No, I can’t—”

“Cum for me,” Dameron raises his voice, sharpening it into a direct order. “Right now. Come on— fucking make yourself lose.”

“But I—I—” you sob, starting to feel your body curl inwards, nearly about to succumb to the burning, the tightening, right on its last breath, “I-I don’t want to cum—”

“And I don’t fucking care,“ he hisses while your hands start flexing unintentionally, grasping helplessly at his immovable forearm where it disappears between your legs, the dark hair sliding under your fingertips as you claw desperately at it. “You’ll fucking cum when I tell you to cum and you’ll like it, you disrespectful, cock-deprived, bratty little—”

And then everything goes dark.

No, literally. The stars disappear.

The cockpit is suddenly shrouded in pitch blackness, and you’re almost certain it’s because you pass out, except then Dameron is all but ripping his hand out of your jumpsuit and cursing repeatedly in alarm. You crumple in on yourself, eyes clamped shut and not hearing anything, right at the peak of your ecstasy and ready to soar into the light completely unassisted, your muscles doing all the work on their own—

“—shit, they’re way too close—” you hear his voice shout, “—we have to turn the engines on—Gold-Ten, baby, turn the fucking eng—”

You’re almost there, you’re almost there, you’re gonna cum, you’re gonna fucking—

Your first name, roared out in startling, blinding panic.

You don’t often hear it. Just during roll calls mostly, but only if you’re flying with a different squadron and need a new temporary flight designation for the day. First names hurt. You can’t remember a time you’ve ever willingly told anybody yours.

Your head jerks up to look at his reflection but something else beyond the transparisteel takes immediate precedence. Your brain takes about two seconds to catch up before thundering terror slams through you and halts your previously inevitable orgasm in its fucking tracks. A runaway train about to launch off its tracks suddenly slamming directly into a megaton force-field of cold, hard fight or flight instincts.

A staggering fleet of First Order ships silently plunging out of hyperspace on all sides—your powered-down x-wing stationed right in the middle of the drop location.

***

Stay tuned for part two coming soon!!

#poe x reader #poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #SMUTTTT #reader insert #star wars #fanfic #the formatting on this one is downright horrendous but im so mad that i cant even fix it right now so thatll have to come later im sorry

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mayaflowerxs · 3 years

Text

NSFW Alphabet w/ Lucas

Warning: SMUTTY

DT: jojo666804 , couldn’t find your @ but thank you for the request :) enjoy!

Aftercare:

He would be both this concerned boyfriend and goofy one. He’ll be asking you if he went too hard and if you need anything but once you ask him for something he’ll say some shit like, “I dicked you down pretty good huh?😏”

Body part:

Such an ass man. He’ll literally find any excuse to touch your ass. Not just that, he’ll find anything to think of your ass. He’ll see a peach and immediately start talking about how soft your ass is when he cups them. How red and sensitive they get when he spanks them. Then you yell at him for smacking your butt so hard that the clap was heard like from miles. Now you got this stinging sensation while he’s off running away from your wrath. That stupid smirk on his face.

Cum:

He loves cumming on your back or ass. Any of the two gets him going. He thinks you look so dirty before him it’s a reminder that no matter how much you scold him for saying such intrusive things here you are re-enacting them before him.

Dirty secret:

One time you left him with blue balls that no matter how much he touched himself he couldn’t get off. So he tried humping your pillow and the poor boy cummed so hard it was embarrassing for him that he literally humped a pillow that smelled like you to climax. When you came home he lied and said he spilled orange juice in the pillow case and his washing it. A part of him felt guilty that you later fell asleep on was once covered with his cum but he then remembers how you were once face covered in his semen so he lets it go. What haunts him is you finding out oh boy he can’t live with the idea of not getting any for the next two weeks.

Experience:

I would say he’s pretty experienced. No way a boy like him isn’t getting any. Yes he’s a gentleman and all but doesn’t mean he won’t having meaningless sex every once and a while. When he did meet you though even before you two started dating that’s when he stopped entirely so he wasn’t learning anymore tricks. He did find it surprising when you came out with a few tricks on your own when you two did sleep with each other. Only making him fall deeply in love with you more.

Favorite position:

Doggy a thousand percent. He loves everything about it. Your ass, his dick sliding in and out of you. Your hair in a mess as you dig your nails into the sheets. He has easy access to everything. Your hair, ass, pussy everything. Not only that, he loves how hypercritical you are. You tell him how he’s such a dog at times and now here he is. Fucking you from behind like he’s in heat. Something that you’re letting him do.

Goofy:

He’s in the middle. He likes to tease you and crack a few jokes but once the pleasure starts there’s no more jokes. Sometimes if he really needs a good fuck he won’t even take the time to even open his mouth. Just immediately have you tossed on the bed and begins to take off his pants. Warning you to not say a word. This side of him rarely comes out but when it does you can’t help but feel a little too turned on by it. Soft boi Lucas is no where in sight.

Hair:

He keeps it trimmed. Regularly yes but there will be times where he’s just not in the mood but you never mind.

Intimacy:

This giant teddy bear loves you so so much, every time you have sex he’ll go wild on you but the very last round is where he has you on your back. Smothering you in kisses, his weight on top of you as he goes slow and soft on you. Truly leaving the message that no matter how rough he can go on you, he’ll still remind you at the end of the day just how much you truly mean to him.

Jerk off:

He jerks off quite a lot. He’s very horny. He needs you all the time. And when you are away he’ll result to jerking himself until he’s really satisfied. But when you aren’t in the mood he’ll respect that, he won’t touch himself because he feels like he should wait until you’re in that mindset as well. But when you’re telling him no simply to tease him or to punish him then he’ll usually pout at you and begin to touch himself in front of you. Knowing that in any minute you’ll crack and begin to get on your knees before him soon.

Kink:

Daddy kink. Breeding kink. BDSM and gagging. He loves how pretty you look chocking on his huge cock. Oh god and the daddy / breeding kink. There will be times where he won’t let you out of bed and just have you screaming daddy for him over and over until he gets tired of it which is almost never. Lucas also loves the idea of one day having a baby with you. Wether that’s today or ten years from now. So his breeding kink is pretty serious. If he fills you to the absolute brim with his cum every single day and you come out pregnant with like sextuplets by the end of the week he will literally not complain at all. If anything that’ll get him even more horny and fuck you again just for getting knocked up by his seed.

Location:

He’s down for wherever. No limits. In public he’s this bean that is too busy making the world laugh because of his goofiness but as soon as he has you in his arms he’s not letting go. And if his pants start tightening he’s gonna start touching you in places that has you begging for him until he’s pounding into you. He absolutely loves fucking you by a pool or a large body of water. He loves how cute you try to keep your bikini on but it’s no use because he’ll only end up ripping it off your body.

Motivation:

Scolding. You tend to scold him because he gets a bit to rowdy at times. He’s either this soft and tamed boy who all he wants is to have his baby in his arms or he’s this little shithead that will go to great lengths to get you pissy. And when you do, you start telling him off. How immature and childish he is and needs to knock it off. And by doing so, he as you bouncing on his cock. Telling you the only he can be tamed is if you shut him off by having that pretty cunt of yours wrapped around his dick.

No:

Will not do humiliation. He never understood why anyone would be into that with their partner. He couldn’t imagine doing that to you. You’re to precious to have the world see you in such a vulnerable state. Especially in a state only he can put you in no one else.

Oral:

LOVES ORAL. Oh my god there’s time where he doesn’t even want to do the actual sex thing where his dick inside your cunt so having all night with you sucking him off and him eating your pussy will do.

Pace:

He tends to go fast and hard. But on the last round he’ll go slow and deep.

Quickies:

He’s all about quickies. If it means to have him do such dirty things to you and you doing the same he’s all for it. He also loves the rush that comes with it. He’ll usually challenge you by saying shit like, “Bet I can make you come two times in 15 minutes.” Then there you guys are in the bathroom, him jackrabbiting you like crazy.

Risk:

Loves risks. He likes how whining you get trying to get him to hurry up but you’re not the one in charge. He is, he he says, happens. So if he wants to fuck you for a good hour in the bathroom then it’s gonna happen whether someone walks in or not.

Stamina:

Dude can last for like 5 rounds that’s how high his sex drive is. He also loves overstimulating himself. He likes to push his limits to pounding into you until he’s the one seeing spots and is close to blacking out.

Toys:

He can work with toys. He’s pretty freaky in bed so if a toy would be used he’ll be a lot more excited then you would’ve imagined. But he can assure you, you’ll regret bringing one out because he’ll fuck you with it all night until your gripping his hands away pleading him, ‘no more’.

Unfair:

He likes to tease you but man he absolutely loves it when you do it to him. He won’t even try to take control back. If you continuously give him a hand job but pull away before he can cum he’ll have you doing it again and again until he can’t put up with it no more.

Volume:

He’s pretty loud. It’ll start out with groans then with dirty talking. Following with moans and when he’s really at his peak he’ll start whimpering in your ears. Begging you to cum with him.

Wildcard:

One time you guys were having sex in the pool. You two went about four rounds and when you guys finally got out. His shorts and your parties where left in there. Yeah the boys were absolutely disgusted and upset that they couldn’t come home to a refreshing pool because it was covered of your guys liquids and clothes.

X-ray:

He’s big BIG. No doubt, I don’t think I need to be explicit the man is packing for real.

Yearning:

Like I said earlier, he needs you almost all the time. If he’s lucky, you two will have sex at least 5-6 times a week. If you are also as needy as him it can even go up to 8-9 times a day. When he’s busy it’ll go down to 3-4 and even 0 if he’s flying places. Still he’ll find ways to have you two doing naughty things whether you two are face to face or not.

Zzz:

He’s out every time. He’s very creative in bed, it’s never a plain vanilla sex with him. So when he’s done for real he’ll be out like a light in 4 minutes tops.

#nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct smut #wayv imagines #wayv smut #lucas wong #lucas wong smut #wong yukhei #wong yukhei smut #yukhei x reader #wayv yukhei #yukhei smut #xuxi x reader #xuxi smut

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heyyyharry · 3 years

Text

THE 1 (inspired by "the 1" by Taylor Swift)

...in which Y/N sees her ex again in a dream.

Word count: 1.5k

Buy me a coffee on Patreon!

Y/N opened her eyes and found herself standing in a hallway. The walls on both sides were painted black, and so was the ceiling. There was only one door in front of her, and as she looked back over her shoulder, the hallway stretched far and beyond into the shadow of nothingness. She had no choice but to move forward. She reached the door, turned the handle, opened it and stepped in. Embraced by the warm orange light, she found herself in her bedroom. She wasn’t the only one there, though.

He was sitting on her bed. His eyes lit up with a smile when he saw her as if he’d been expecting her. Why is he here? she wondered, then asked aloud, “Am I dreaming?”

Harry chuckled and patted the spot beside him on the bed. Hesitantly, she came and sat down. She wanted to reach out and touch his face, feel his skin, but she wasn't sure she could. If she did that, and it wasn't a dream, she'd be embarrassed; if she did that, and it was a dream, she'd be disappointed.

"Why do you think so?" he asked. She hadn't heard his voice in years, only on videos. It was just as warm and homely as she'd remembered.

She felt tears stinging her eyes as she said, "Because you're in New York this week for a show."

He pressed his lips together, a haunting yet tender smile. "That's right," he said. "And you're in London. Warm and safe in your bed."

After a moment of nothing but silent eye contact and the rapid pounding of her nervous little heart, he asked, "You okay?" British people sometimes asked this question when they wanted to ask, "How are you?" So Y/N wasn't sure what Harry meant in this case. Did he want to know how she was, or was he just checking if she was okay after what had happened between them years ago?

"I'm okay," she answered. That should be good for both possible meanings of the question, she thought.

He nodded once, his expression neutral. "So am I," he said.

Those words stung her heart like a sharp needle. She didn't want to hear that he was okay. She wanted to know how much he'd suffered from the pain of leaving her. She wanted to hear how miserable he'd been ever since he'd cut her off without giving her closure. He wasn't allowed to be okay, not then, not now, not even after twenty years had passed.

Was this really a dream? Because shouldn't she get to hear what she'd wanted to hear instead of the bitter truth – that he was doing okay and only thinking of her as someone he pitied?

Harry sucked in a breath. “I’m so glad to see you again, honestly. When you finally see someone you haven’t seen in a while and know that they’re alright, it’s easier to breathe.”

Y/N nodded while fidgeting with the hem of her nightdress. She felt this way as well. “Did you miss me?” she asked.

“I always miss you,” he replied. “Even when we were together.”

“So why did you leave?” she trembled. “You just left without giving me closure. You cut me off. I-I didn’t know what I’d done wrong.”

“It had nothing to do with you.”

“Then why did I have to suffer?”

Harry stared at her with his wide eyes. Even if he was just a product of her imagination, that shocked reaction was almost too real. “I was just wrong for you,” he said. “But if I didn’t leave, you wouldn’t meet him. You’re happier now. I could never give you this.” Y/N felt embarrassed that she’d temporarily forgotten about her man. Maybe she hadn’t expected that the Y/N in this universe where Harry was still in her life, could be with someone else.

Smiling, Harry reached out, took her hand and squeezed; his fingers were warm. “We would never have what you now have with him, Y/N. You wanted a secure relationship with mutual trust, while ours was full of insecurities and anxiety. The highs were too high, and the lows were too low. It wasn’t good for either of us.”

“I get it,” Y/N sighed. “Still, you could’ve told me.”

“I was scared,” he admitted, regretfully. “I was a coward. And when I left I was stupid enough to think that maybe one day I could come back and we could have the kind of relationship you expected from me.”

“You wanted me to just wait around for you and welcome you back with open arms after you’d left me like that?” Y/N asked, offended.

Harry shook his head. “I knew you wouldn’t, but I was selfish enough to have hoped so.”

Y/N sat in silence for a long moment and pondered. “You know,” she started. “This is the conversation I wish we could have had in the real world. Do you...do you think the real you still remembers me?”

“Of course. You were a big part of my life.”

Y/N’s shoulders slumped with an exhale. “You’re only saying that because I want to believe that,” she said.

Harry didn’t respond, only smiling.

“You know,” she began again. “I thought I saw you at a bus stop last week.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Then I realised you would never take the bus, and it made me feel like a fool.”

Harry threw his head back and laughed. “That would’ve been a crowded bus stop for sure.”

“Definitely.” Y/N rolled her eyes, chuckling a little. “That night, I had a dream in which you were doing cool shit, then you met some woman on the internet and took her home.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t you meet your guy on the internet, though?”

“Yeah.” Y/N shrugged. “I felt awful for being jealous in my dream. Maybe I just didn’t want to think you were leading the same happy life.”

“I’ve gone through a very public breakup after us, so I doubt I was leading the same happy life.”

After he’d left her, Harry had dated a model, and their breakup had been so nasty he’d written a whole album of breakup songs for that woman. Y/N hadn’t listened to it yet; she couldn’t.

“What time is it?” Harry asked suddenly, breaking Y/N’s train of thoughts. He whipped his head around to look at the clock on the wall behind them. “Almost 2 AM?” he gasped. “Damn, I think I should leave so you can get your sleep. It’s gonna be a busy day for you, love.”

Y/N opened her mouth to ask him to stay for a little longer. She had so many questions for him that she didn’t know which one to begin with. But then she remembered that she would never know more than what she already knew. Because this wasn’t the real Harry. He would only give her answers she wanted the real Harry to say.

“Okay,” she said as they both got up from the bed. “Thank you...for coming tonight. It’s nice to finally have closure.” He had visited her many nights before over the years, but this was the first night they’d ever had a proper conversation.

“I might not come back after this,” he said.

She was sad to hear it, but it was probably for the best. She couldn’t keep dreaming about him, because she loved her new man, and she deserved peace and happiness as much as Harry did.

So she nodded, lips pressed into a polite smile. Harry opened his arms, and they embraced for the first time in years. His hug felt too real. It was scary how she could remember exactly how it’d felt to replicate it in a dream.

When he let her go, he cupped her face and stroked her cheeks with his thumbs. “It would’ve been fun,” he said, “if I could’ve been the one.”

At this point, Y/N was holding back her tears. She told him, “If my wishes came true, it would’ve been you.”

Then, she woke up as her best friend rushed into the room, yelling about how she would be late for the ceremony if she slept in. Still dazed from her sleep, Y/N reached for her phone on the nightstand to check for a message that didn’t come. There was only a message from her man saying he couldn’t wait to see her in her wedding dress and that he loved her very much. She put down the phone and rolled out of bed. She was getting married today.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles series #harry styles writing #harry styles angst #harry styles blurb #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #harry styles one shots #harry styles x reader #harry styles fic rec #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n

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even-after-a-millennia · 3 years

Text

The Freeman's and Firsts

My first fic for @nilefreemanweek2021 and the prompt Nile Freeman + First(s)! You can read it below or over on my ao3 account here. Nile-centric | Rated G | ~1.7k Enjoy!

Nile jerked awake, her eyes opening and lungs heaving. She forced her body to remain still, to not jolt upright. She instinctively started taking deeper breaths, trying to calm her racing heart. After six months of immortality and the dreams that came with being connected to Quynh, she had gotten better at moderating her body’s reactions to her nightmares.

It was her mind that would not calm.

With a sigh, she eased herself out of bed. Joe and Nicky were sleeping in the bed opposite her, Andy unconscious closer to the wall in Nile’s bed. The safehouse was small, but it had a balcony, and suddenly that was the only place that Nile wanted to be.

She snuck out of the bedroom and across the living room, doing her best to keep quiet on the creaking floorboards. The door to the balcony squeaked as she opened it and she winced, stopping it for a moment and listening.

There were no noises that indicated she had woken anyone, so she slipped out the small gap she had created and into the cold night air beyond.

The balcony wasn’t much, but it did boast a few chairs and a rickety table whose screws could probably use a tightening. Nile sank into one of the chairs and pulled her feet onto the seat with her. The sun was just an idea on the horizon, barely a faint glow of orange to be seen, and the early morning air was cold against her skin.

She needed that. Needed the cold to ground her where she was, in a safehouse with her fellow immortals. Not the heat of Afghanistan, the warmth of the floor under her as her blood soaked into the rug.

She continued to breathe, holding her breath for seven counts before she released it. Slowly, her body calmed. And all she suddenly felt was exhaustion.

The sky was slowly brightening, reds bleeding into the black and blue of night. She tried to catalog the colors, so that she could recreate the moment some time later on canvas. But her mind pulled her back to her dream no matter how many times she tried to redirect it.

The door squeaked but Nile didn’t turn to see who it was. Any of her family would be a welcome distraction at the moment, but she felt a pang of guilt at waking any of them.

A blanket settled around her shoulders and a cup of hot coffee materialized before her.

“Two sugars and a splash of milk,” Nicky’s soft voice said.

Just how she liked it.

She turned to him as she took the mug from his hand. He looked barely awake, his eyes slightly puffy with sleep still. But he had taken the time to make coffee for her, get a blanket.

She swallowed, slightly undone with affection for him. “Thank you, Nicky.”

“Prego,” he replied, sinking into the closest chair to hers.

“I hope I didn’t wake you,” she said, cuddling the warm cup close to her. Between that and the blanket, she was feeling warmer, but luckily, no memories tried to upset the moment.

He shook his head. “Many nights, I try to wake to check on the room. Usually, I can drift back off quickly. But when you were not there, I worried. We have seen our share of bad nights. They are easier when not alone.”

Nile sniffed, then reasoned that the steam from her coffee had made her nose run. She nodded, taking a sip.

“Would you like to talk about it?” he asked, staring at the burgeoning sun.

Maybe it was because he wasn’t looking at her, that she was able to speak.

“When my dad died, I missed school for a few days. Even when I got back, I wasn’t really there. My grades suffered and I ended up in my guidance counselor’s office. She said something to me that I will never forget. Well, hopefully,” she said drily, remembering the vastness of time available to her.

“She said that after something traumatic happens, like losing a family member, you go through a year of firsts. Big ones, like the first holidays without them. Small ones, like the first time you want to call them, only remember they aren’t there to pick up. A whole year of constantly remembering that your life is irrevocably changed.”

She sipped the coffee and let the warm run down her throat, savoring the feeling of its heat in her stomach.

“That first year was so hard, I wasn’t sure we would all get through it. But we did. Even after that year came big moments, though, times I thought my dad would be there for. Prom, graduation. Birthdays. And I realized that it wasn’t just firsts. It was those moments when all you want is your family surrounding you. And suddenly, there was this gaping hole where he was supposed to be. To take pictures of me and my prom date. To cheer as I walked across the graduate stage.”

Nile pulled the blanket closer around her and surreptitiously wiped her eyes with the corner of it.

The first glimpse of the sun broke over them, illuminating Nicky’s face. His eyes were more open, more awake now as he looked at her. His brow was lowered, not in anger but in concentration, as if every word that came out of her mouth had weight and importance.

Like he was trying to understand her more than anything else in that moment.

She smiled a bit at him even as he got blurry behind the tears in her eyes.

“This whole experience reminds me of that. I am suddenly the gaping hole in my mom and my brother’s lives. I should be there for birthdays and big moments and small ones. And I’m here, knowing what that feels like, knowing I’m responsible for them feeling that way, and not fixing it. I don’t even know if there is a way how. And it overwhelms me sometimes.”

Nicky nodded, looking back at the sun.

It was halfway visible now, harder to look at in its brightness.

“Were there good firsts in that year?” Nicky asked.

Nile considered. That time felt hazy and endless in her mind, a place that she only visited in her darkest moments.

“A bunch of ladies from our church would make us a hotdish every week, so that we would have guaranteed meals. I didn’t want to see tater tot hotdish again in my lifetime until I was eighteen. I finally made us spaghetti one night just to be able to have something different. It was the first night my mom laughed since my dad’s death, once I explained why I had done it,” she finally said.

Nicky snorted a laugh. She grinned faintly back at him.

“Miss Temple from down the street came with her son, who was about my age, and he and my brother Jordan played basketball on the sidewalk as she, my mom, and I sat in the grass and she did our nails. She worked at the salon my mom went to. It was just before the funeral. We both had beautiful nails for the service. I kept looking down at them while people were talking. They made me want to paint. It was the first time I had thought about art since we found out he was gone.”

Miss Temple had been adamant about not using black nail polish. She had painted Nile’s nails blue and her mother’s purple, both so dark they looked black until they hit the light. Nile remembered using the lights in the church to illuminate the color of her nails, to show herself they weren’t just black. That there was still color, even as her father was being put into the ground.

“A girl at my school had lost her mom the year before. Cancer. She ended up sitting next to me at lunch my first day back. We hadn’t talked much before, but everyone else was avoiding talking to me. I was sitting by myself and suddenly, she set down her tray next to me and started talking about what I had missed in the class we shared. I think she knew that I needed to not talk about my dad,” Nile admitted. “She made me laugh, catching me up on all the shit that had gone on while I was gone. Some stupid story, but it was funny enough to get a laugh out of me. Another first.”

“There’s more, but those stand out. Little kindnesses. Little moments.”

Nicky nodded. “A few centuries into my immortality, it surprised me how many of those little moments were still present in my memories. The first time Yusuf and I broke bread together without bickering. The first time I slept through the night without memories haunting me. The first time a child looked at me and smiled, rather than shrinking away. They add up in such a way that makes the awful moments fade slightly. Balance. I am glad of them. It would be a much more miserable existence without them.”

It was Nile’s turn to nod.

She let her mind wander back on her life since she had gained immortality. Yes, there were awful moments of death and violence and loss. But there was the first time she had disarmed Andy and the proud look in her eyes as Nile whooped in victory. The first time she and Joe had painted together, music playing in the background as they lost themselves in colors. The first time that Nicky had made her coffee just how she liked it, though he had never asked.

So many little moments that added up to so much.

The sun began to warm her as she sat there in silence with Nicky, mind finally settled into the moment filled with coffee, companionship, and, finally, contentment. There were still many firsts to come, but she knew that she wouldn’t have to face them alone.

#nile freeman #nileweek2021 #nicolò di genova #aka nicky #fanfic #my fic

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lydias--stiles · 3 years

Text

My BFB is the one for me!

juke | human!au + brother!reggie | title from BFB // victorious

If someone had to ask her who the one constant in her life was, she would have to say Luke Patterson. Which was depressing, cause the guy went through life pretending to be a 90s heartthrob and, even worse, that list didn't even include her own mother.

Julie met Luke when she was five and he was six. Her brother Reggie befriended him on the first day of school and the rest was history. "Soul-brothers" they called themselves, which would be cute if they weren't so obnoxious together. Separate, they were somewhat manageable. Put those two in the same room? Chaos would ensue.

He was there for it all. Weekly play dates, birthdays, the occasional holiday, her mom's funeral, band rehearsals. And when Luke had a month-long falling out with his parents, he stayed with them.

Realistically, that should make him seem like a brother to Julie. But neither Carlos or Reggie were as infuriating as Luke was! With the stupid band tees and the stupid smile and the stupid, relentless teasing he lovingly bestowed upon her. She lost count how many times he "poisoned" her soda with salt or woke her with a heart attack by playing his electric guitar. At least she had some grip on her brothers, being their only sister, but Luke…

Luke and her had this interesting, little relationship that she couldn't quite put her finger on and it unnerved her. Like it was an itch she couldn't scratch. (Or maybe he was just an annoying mosquito buzzing around her and should leave her the fuck alone. Probably.)

Hopping down the stairs for her midnight snack, it was no surprise to her to find the idiot gaping into the fridge like a goon. With a nudge of the hip, she pushed him aside.

'Hey!'

'Either pick something or save power,' she retorted, grabbing a bowl of grapes.

He snorted. 'I don't think my indecisiveness is gonna kill the planet.'

She shot him a look, an amused smile tugging on her lips. 'You wanna say that in the cute face of a polar bear?'

Luke stared at her for a beat, a smile crawling on his own face and shaking his head with a chuckle. The fridge fell shut with the pride of a won argument swelling in her chest.

'So why're you still up?', he asked as she flitted around him for the bread and peanut butter. Maybe she could sneak up a butterscotch cookie too - her dad won't notice one missing, right?

Unscrewing the lid, she sighed. 'Mendoza's class is murdering me. I really don't get why we need to learn calculus. We're an arts school, not like any of us are going to use formulas on the set of a movie.'

When she passed him to get the orange juice from the fridge, he took hold of the jar, sliding it between his hands thoughtfully.

'Just don't overthink it,' he shrugged.

She rolled her eyes. 'Easy for you, obviously.'

His mouth fell slack, offended, as Julie put the bottle on the island with mirth glimmering in her expression. After years of sparring with Luke, she knew how to press his buttons and took great joy in doing so.

Suddenly leaning into her personal bubble, he sputtered. 'Are you… calling me dumb?'

Her hand pushed his face back with a scoff. 'Don't breathe on me. All I'm saying is that you look like you have elevator music playing up there 24/7.'

When she went to grab the jar from his hand, he moved it away.

'Uh, I think you're mistaking me for your brother.'

'No-' Tried again, moved away. '-I don't think I do.'

'You do.'

She crossed her arms, resolute. 'He's part of the gifted program.'

It unfazed him. 'Yeah. And it means shit.'

She held her palm up, exasperated. 'Just give me the peanut butter, Luke.'

Raising it over his head with an infuriating smirk, the other tugged on a curl. 'No.'

Gah! He was so dead! Did he forget she lived with three men in this house?!

Without a second of hesitation, Julie barrelled into him and jumped to catch it. Luke snatched her wrist before she could with a laugh, a hitched puff coming right after as her elbow jabbed his ribs.

He set the jar down at lightning speed and grabbed her other wrist. Both their arms were outstretched as her foot kicked his calf, hard. When he yelped, her left hand loosened and dove for the jar. Right as her fingertips grazed the glass, a strong arm snaked around her waist and pulled her back. An "oof!" left her lips, the breath kicked out of her lungs.

Luke guffawed in her ear victoriously, whooping the house together. Curse words rolled off her tongue as she repeatedly slapped his forearm to let go. She felt embarrassingly small with her feet hovering above the floor and this power dynamic was not doing it for her confidence.

'The fuck are you doing?'

Julie smacked to the floor before the last words were uttered, a flabbergasted Reggie staring at the pair.

Luke stammered. 'Uh…'

'Your bestie held the peanut butter hostage,' Julie replied sardonically. 'Did dad wake up?'

He shook his head, a peculiar expression fixed on Luke. Her gaze shot between the two. Were they having… a silent conversation? With the way their brows quirked an lips twitched, it seemed like some "bro-talk" Julie wouldn't even like to understand.

'Don't break your head too much over Mendoza, okay?' Reggie added, smiling at her this time. 'Just relax.'

She sighed. Relax. Because the fear of failure got eradicated with the snap of a finger if she just relaxed. 'Yeah. Sure.'

The boys finally left, silence descended, and Julie made her sandwich. For some reason, the quietude made her uncomfortable.

***

Though Luke was annoying at times, the band he was in - Sunset Curve - definitely wasn't. Reggie, Alex and Luke created it when they were thirteen and overzealous. Reggie and Luke met Alex the same year and bullied him into a friendship, all bonding over cliché lyrics and overused chord progressions. They quickly got better though, earning a small following and a hopeful future in the LA scene. Julie was very proud of her brother. All those hours practicing the bass until his fingers bled was finally paying off with each new gig they rocked.

And as the Molina's were raised to appreciate good music, Julie often found herself sprawled on the leather couch as they rehearsed. Reggie used to hate it, saying she was being "sticky" and "distracting", but eventually found her useful whenever they needed someone to bounce ideas with. She has co-written many of their songs. It was then that Luke was the least annoying, when he was so entranced and passionate about music that he had no time to pester her.

(If she were honest with herself, she'd admit that song-writing with Luke was when she felt like herself the most, enjoyed life the most. But Luke was stupid and she definitely didn't feel a vibe when they wrote, so honesty was obsolete.)

'Or else you'll get,' Luke growled in the mic, music crashing together in their signature punk-rock sound. 'Crooked teeth!'

They shot into an electrifying interlude. Alex headbanging the sweat of his forehead from his fast-paced drumming, Reggie bouncing in his heels as he heightened the bassline and Luke… was being Luke. Julie looked up from her laptop as his strumming came closer, that signature grin fixed on her as his fingers expertly glided across the neck. Her typing paused, amused.

Why was he so adamant about "impressing" her with a riff? He knew she liked their music (and has caught her looking at his hands… ugh, fourteen year old Julie had bad judgement), he didn't have to prove himself or something.

She smiled. 'You're going to miss your cue, idiot!'

Ignoring her exclaim, he bobbed his head to the melody and wiggled his brows. Her eyes drifted to Alex, the blonde staring at Reggie and Reggie staring at the back of Luke's head. This has been happening a lot, Julie realised. There was this weird energy whenever they were all in the same room. For a bit, she thought it was her that was the problem, but if she was, Reggie would've told her by now.

Now Luke was really in her face, pushing her laptop shut with his knee and making those stupid expressions he pulled whenever Grace talked to him in the hallway. Never one to back down, Julie abruptly stood up and pushed him back with a challenging smirk. The boy was seventeen; he was in serious trouble if he lacked the spatial awareness and common sense.

‘Sing with us?!’, he pleaded over the crash of the cymbal. Behind him, Alex’ brows went so far up it disappeared into his snapback. A nervous tug knotted in her stomach at his request, like she was afraid to disappoint him, and shook her head. Keeping up the attitude she nodded at the laptop he so valiantly closed for her.

Pulling it against her chest, she pointed at his bandmates. ‘Go sing about some fucked up teeth more!’

‘Crooked teeth!’, they all yelled in annoyance. Proud to have executed her role an irritating, little sister, she hopped out the studio. If she felt someone’s gaze burning in her back, she must’ve imagined it.

***

There was something to be said about Grace and Luke. Though it wasn’t Julie’s business (or anyone’s, for that matter), the coupling has always intrigued her. Or lack of coupling, really. Every few months they’d find themselves at each other’s lockers flirting up a storm for everyone to see to then ghost each other again. This vicious cycle has been on loop since sophomore year. Julie felt bad for Grace, the pretty senior girl deserved far better than Luke.

Last night, Julie couldn’t sleep. “Crooked Teeth” was blaring in her mind and haunted her dreams (and Luke’s stupid face) until she woke up in a sweat. Something was off. Like solving a math question and knowing the result is wrong but unsure where it all went wrong. Around four in the morning, it hit her. The bridge! It was all jumbled and clunky and she had far better ideas on how to craft it! She sat at her keyboard until seven in the morning, only to stop when a frustrated Carlos barged in, threw a pillow at her and yelled to “zip it!” Reggie and dad, naturally, slept through all of it.

Now, a sleep-deprived, caffeinated and kind of manic Julie was bustling through the hallways trying (and failing) to find Luke. Sure, they butted heads a lot, but music has always been the glue. Temporary glue, but the fact remained that she and Luke were cut from the same cloth when it came to composition and lyrical prowess. (Not that she’d ever admit that. Ew. His ego was large enough as is.)

And then she saw him. At Grace’s locker. Her breath lodged in her throat at the sight. It shouldn’t. God, it truly shouldn’t. But it did. Because Grace was pretty and Luke had one of those faces and they looked good together and it annoyed the fuck out of her. Like, who decided who went through puberty better. Julie knew she wasn’t unattractive, but she wasn’t Grace either. Tall and lithe and glossy black hair and a perfect nose. The ugly, green monster in the back of her head snarled about how her personality was probably off-putting, though Julie knew that to be untrue. Grace was, well, graceful. Genuinely kind. Gah! Since when did Julie hate on other girls? Pushing the voice down, she mustered back the previous excitement (the! bridge!) and paraded towards the pair. Luke saw her before Grace did.

She rushed the last few steps and hastily grabbed the papers from the side pocket of her backpack. 'Luke! Hi, Grace. Okay, I know "Crooked Teeth" is finished, but I couldn't stop thinking about it and I had this amazing idea for the bridge.'

When he didn't react for a beat, stunned by her giddy attitude, her smile mellowed awkwardly. 'I mean… it's your song. You don't have to-'

'No!', he shouted, frantic. Her brows raised in surprise. 'No, uh-' His hand flew to the back of his head, raking the ends of his hair. 'Yeah. D'you wanna go to the music room? To show me?'

Julie’s eyes flitted to a confused Grace. ‘Um…’

Luke caught on and shot the girl an easy grin. ‘Talk to you later, yeah?’

She shrugged. ‘I guess?’

Before she could say anything more, Luke snatched Julie by the wrist and dragged her to the nearest, open music room. The arts school was littered with them, though most had a reserved schedule. Luckily, one was empty.

‘Okay,’ she said, tucking her hair behind her ears as she slid down in front of the piano. Luke sat next to her, expectant. ‘The bridge right now? It’s fine, but it’s not “wow”, you know? I was thinking about how the verses and chorus sound so visceral and loud, so the bridge should have something guttural. Like, primal. That’s a weird word to use, but, I don’t know, have it sound dangerous? Like - why’re you looking at me like that?’

A strange expression was plastered on Luke’s face. A half-grin and wide eyes, like he was scared he’d miss something, like he’d blink and she’d disappear. In other words: he looked insane. Then again, her exhaustion mustn’t look too appealing either.

He shook his head, that smile falling away for something more timid. All the bravado he oozed while talking to Grace just moments before, was gone for shy eyes and fingers gripping the chain around his jeans.

‘Nothing.’ He nudged her. ‘You kinda ambushed me here, Molina.’

Her words stuttered out. ‘I- I was just-’ Zeroing back on the keys with a frown, she said: ‘I’ll just play you the bridge.’

As she did, her mind was elsewhere. This wasn’t weird, right? They’ve done this before. Collaborated, gone to music rooms to bounce ideas back and forth, played until dusk. She knew it wasn’t weird. It was always just a matter of time before the next “ambush” came, as he put it. Soon, he’d barge into her room with half a melody and forced her to finish it. This was normal.

Then why did her skin ripple with anticipation from his intense gaze directed on her temple?

When she finished, she kept her eyes on the keys. Suddenly, his hand appeared in her vision and softly patted her knuckles, urging her to look at him anyway. He had that strange look again, the sight letting the most peculiar feeling rush through her veins.

Luke smiled. ‘I like it.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Wanna play it for the boys during next rehearsal?’ His brows raised with hope, head leaning her way as if he wasn’t already close enough. And he wasn’t close enough.

Julie went on autopilot at this point, too enthralled by her emotions running wild. ‘Yeah.’ It came out breathy and foolish and if she had half a brain cell right now, she’d kick herself in the face for how dumb she sounded.

His hand squeezed hers and then let go, that smile turning nervous. Oh God, did he notice how weird she abruptly got? ‘Cool. Sweet. Perfect. Your- this was perfect. I’ll see you, uh, -’

‘Yeah,’ she squeaked. ‘Whenever.’

When he left the room in a hurry, her face planted itself on the keys and erupted a harsh sound. Fitting, she believed. Her mind was a mess too.

***

Then stuff began piling on and each time it did, Julie’s heart fluttered like the traitorous bitch it was.

Like when Luke told her to tell calculus to “bite her” as a joke, but then she actually did during a test and somehow didn’t get a black out. She knew it was likely just a placebo, but the grin she earned later on when she showed him the B+ and he gave her the tightest hug was worth the pseudo-science.

Or he found her in the hallway whenever they both had a free period and casual small talk turned to slamming each other into lockers or, more recently, pulled her outside to get boba from the place right across the street. Their boba hangouts were probably the strangest development of all, but it was… nice. Pleasant. If she ever secretly thought it was a date, then it must’ve been a sun stroke hitting her.

Or she’d be doing her homework and he’d waltz into her room (because he was always at their house and that never changed) and randomly help her with a task or question. It was small and it usually slowed her down, but she hasn’t had the guts to turn him away either. She blamed his stupid smile.

Or just yesterday they were all in the kitchen and she was peering over Reggie’s shoulder as he tried and failed to properly text his crush Kayla, when she said:

‘Isn’t that weird? That you’re talking to a junior?’

Luke, who was looking over his other shoulder, scoffed. ‘Why would that be weird?’

Pointing at the emoji he should be using (the purple heart - duh!), she shrugged. ‘I don’t know. You just don’t see a lot of people date outside of their year. It’s, like, an unspoken rule.’

Reggie pouted. ‘Not helping, Jules.’

‘I am! Use the purple heart!’

Luke snorted. ‘Please, if you were asked out by some senior boy, you’d say no?’

The Molina’s looked up from the phone to shoot him a weird look. The boy shrunk under their stare, fingers nervously drumming island.

Caution tinged her voice. ‘I don’t know… should I?’

The boys stared at each other for a beat. That “bro-talk” again, Julie presumed with a roll of the eye. Typical.

‘Yes,’ Luke trailed, unsure. ‘You should say no.’

A ball of disappointment dropped to the pit of her stomach at his words - hard. Oh. So he didn’t mean himself then. Julie froze. Why would she even want that? She was not returning to her fourteen year old self that gawked at Luke like an idiot. Nope. Not happening. Just because she felt flushed and ecstatic every Wednesday afternoon when they schedules lined up, that didn’t mean her crush has resurfaced. Totally.

But then something even more maddening happened. It was Thursday afternoon, right before lunch, when Nick approached her by her locker. She’d been fervently texting a sick Flynn to get better when he started asking about dance class and how on earth he was supposed to master a calypso by Monday next week. He was clearly stressed and Julie gave him a hug. Just as she was going to offer her help (or redirect him to Kayla, as she was an actual dance goddess), a familiar arm draped around her shoulder and pulled her back.

Julie was fuming. Luke decided to start acting like some jovial prick as he intimidated Nick with all these terror stories about his own dance assignments from last year and that “a calypso was just the beginning.” The poor guy was practically passed out from anxiety by the time his spiel was over. She couldn’t even yell an apology as he sped off and spun around the corner at lightning speed.

The arm fell away, Luke stared at her ridden with guilt, muttered some half-assed “sorry” and rushed off in the opposite direction. A baffled, angry Julie was left standing there.

If Luke thought he could be some white knight, he was dead wrong.

***

She got lucky. Reggie mentioned beforehand Luke was coming over and knew that he, inevitably, would ascend the stairs. A pent-up Julie paced in her room, feeling that fever pitch come to a boiling point. Argh! Why was he so… infuriating?! (And attractive?! And charismatic?! Argh!)

Then she heard it. His tentative steps up the steps. Like he knew. The fact that she was seemingly predictable left her cold this time, slamming her door open at just the right moment to snatch his wrist and roughly yank him inside.

Before he could react, she yelled: 'What the hell, Luke?! Why did you do that?'

Luke was a stammering, embarrassed mess. Good. 'Uh- I- I-'

'You can't just act all overprotective or possessive like that! What's your problem with Nick? He's super nice and, you know, my friend. I already have two brothers, I don’t need one more!’

'I-'

'You don't get to decide who I talk with! Or save me or whatever fantasy you were living in! And-!'

'I like you, Jules,' he blurted.

Julie was blazing though. 'So? That doesn't mean that-' Until the words dried on her tongue, stunned. All else she had prepared to say flew out the window. The constant fluttering in her heart hitched. Did she… hear him correctly? 'W-what?'

A beat went by, like he couldn’t believe he actually said that, but then word vomit spewed out. 'I- I like you? Like, on and off since I was eleven and I tried to not like you - I really tried - but you're just incredible and pretty and an amazing singer and you keep doing that thing with your lips when you have a thought and it's been killing me seeing Nick shoot his shot and-'

Julie dove forward and pressed a kiss on his rambling mouth. Stretched on her tippy toes, she saw him freeze and stare at her in wonder. Slowly, her poor heart began to beat again, fast and fond and for him and oh my God, what was happening?

'Did you just-', he croaked.

Shit. Should she have asked to kiss him first? Her hands didn't leave his shoulders, alarmed. 'Uh… you just kept talking and-' She swallowed back her nerves and mustered a smile. 'If you wanted to be my boyfriend, you could've just asked.'

Luke blinked, completely in awe by her words. 'What?'

Alright. Time to take life by the balls, Molina.

'You didn't think I might like you back?'

An incredulous laugh puffed from his lips, looking from her hands on his shoulders and then grabbed onto her waist. Jitters burst in her stomach at the sudden touch. This was actually happening. Holy shit. But God, how could she deny that bright smile and his warm smile and that giddy feeling that rippled her skin each time they hung out?

'Can we try that again?', he breathed.

His grin captured hers before she could fully nod, his hands slipping to her lower back and jaw without hesitation. Her arms slung around his neck, finally getting a feel for his soft locks of hair. Heat grew from her chest to her toes, curling from bliss. She felt deliciously empty and full of glee all at once.

Her back fell against the door with a giggle. Just as he went back in, she pressed a finger on his lips.

'Still doesn't make it right what you did.'

'Yeah.' He kissed her again. 'Sorry.'

She tried saying more, but each word was muffled by another warm kiss of his intoxicating lips and all she could do was melt against him. The odd lyric that “heaven was his lips and larger than paradise” passed her by, hopefully reminding her of its existence in an hour or two.

His fingers slipped under her shirt and dug into her heated skin. They became lazier, the kisses open-mouthed and smiling and already so amazing at first try. Julie has kissed a handful of boys before, but this? Unmatched.

Two sudden knocks against wood. ‘Julie?’

They froze, Julie slapping a hand over his mouth to stifle his inevitable snicker.

‘Have you seen Luke?’, Reggie continued, confusion lacing his voice.

‘No!’, her voice squeaked, still affected by their make-out. Cringing, she tried to level it. ‘Uh, maybe he’s gone to the, uh-’ His lips grazed her neck, teasingly. She pinched his arm, but he didn’t lean back. Asshole. ‘-uh…’

‘Julie? Everything okay?’

‘Yeah! Yeah! I’m fine!’ Julie pushed Luke back again, this time the boy giving her some space. The wolfish smirk he was sporting was one she either wanted to slap or kiss away. ‘Maybe he’s in the bathroom? Annoying Carlos? The studio?’ Not my room!

They held in their breaths as they waited for a reply. Her mind was failing to catch up to what she’s just done. Here she was, with flushed lips and tingling skin from Luke’s actions as her brother was meandering on the other side of the door. How did she end up here?

He blew a raspberry. ‘Okay…’ They sighed. ‘When you’re done making out, can you force Luke to start our project? Kind of an important assignment.’

Luke’s face crashed into pure horror, mouth falling agape and skin pale as a ghost. Julie snorted despite herself, dropping her head on his shoulder in an attempt to muffle her giggles but failing horribly. Of course, Reggie knew. His dreamy nature made anyone forget how observant he actually was, yet here he instantly he had his pulse on the facts. Or he’s always known about Luke’s crush on her. Probably both.

Her smile stretched against the fabric of his shirt. Luke had a crush on her. Luke liked her.

Reggie’s footsteps faded away, his bedroom door falling shut. Their gazes met again.

Luke gulped, green eyes wide and oh so adorable. ‘He took that surprisingly well.’

Her chin raised, haughty. She hasn’t forgotten about that infuriating face of his just one minute before. ‘You kissed my neck.’

That look returned as he hummed, edging closer. ‘I did.’

‘You’re an asshole, you know that?’

His face brightened at her words, weaving a hand through her and making her sigh just like that. She was gone and she didn’t even know it. ‘And you’re-’ he murmured, softly kissing her lips, ‘-into that.’

How desperately she wanted to keep this going, she has heard what Reggie said. An important project due. She shouldn’t trouble her brother like that, even if making out with his best friend was far more appealing than anything else in the world right now.

The measly words puffed out. ‘You have-’ kiss ‘-a project-’ kiss ‘-with Reggie.’ kiss.

‘Hmm…’ Letting her stand between his legs to be even closer and consequently shutting down any rationale, Luke mumbled against her lips: ‘One more minute.’

In the end, Luke stayed for another thirty minutes before Reggie barged in, dragged the boy from Julie’s bed by the collar and wordlessly trucked back out the room. When later that night she received a text saying goodnight jules 💙 she knew she hadn’t been dreaming.

And when Luke kissed her square on the lips the next day for everyone to see, Julie had inkling this interesting, little relationship of theirs was the just the beginning.

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

#jatp fanfiction #juke #julie and the phantoms #otp: i think we make each other better

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liibrii · 3 years

Text

fem!Miya!reader x Suna Rintarou || mostly platonic || part of the Third Miya series

Synopsis: A glimpse into your friendship with Suna during your 1st year at Inarizaki High school.

Warnings: barely proofread, general stupidity, there's a serial killer joke, reader is a lil shit

wc: 1.6k

a/n: naming chapters is hard 😭 as always feedback is greatly appreciated and if you wanna be tagged in future chapters let me know!

Friendship with Suna is one of those where you can't quite remember how or when it started. One week he was just that lanky guy sitting at a desk to the right of you, the next week you walked home together and you told him your brothers' embarrassing childhood stories in exchange for chemistry homework. In a way it's an echo of all your childhood friendships forged on the beach with other kids you only knew for a week but during that week you'd take over the world for them if they asked. But the one week friendship with Suna became two weeks, three weeks, and after the fourth you stopped counting.

Suna Rintarou is a funny guy. Not funny as in telling jokes or spouting quips and smirks. He's funny in a way that even now you can't really tell who he is. He's quiet. But not shy in the slightest. He moved over from Aichi and you cringe at the memory of saying: “Oh so that's why ya talk funny. I thought yer just pretentious,“ when he told you. Your ears catch on fire by just thinking about it. So embarrassing. But he must have pretty low standards for his friends because at the time he didn't really seem bothered by your slip of the tongue. The next day he offered you a chuupet and that was enough to buy your undying loyalty.

Suna's a funny guy. You don't know how he became your friend, you don't know what he sees in you that makes him put up with you. But you're glad to have an inside man on the volleyball team.

Years of living together with the same person makes one develop the ability of sniffing out trouble before they even start to happen. In this case it's four empty pudding packages in the trash bin that make you decide to nope right out of there before Tsumu tries to blame you for their mysterious disappearance. Again.

You put on music and walk aimlessly through the streets, one of those walks where it doesn't matter if you get lost because you have no clue where you're headed anyway. Everyone needs a stroll like that from time to time. Often they lead to situations that would otherwise probably never happen. Like running into a serial killer, but luck is on your side today so the only person you run into is a familiar lanky figure stretching by the side of the road. “Sunarin! Didn't expect to meet ya here!“

He looks up and his blushed sweaty face wears the same expression as ever. In the last months you've learned Suna has two expressions, the deadpan one, and the deadpan one with furrowed brows. “O, Miya. Well, I live nearby.“ Oh right, you did pass the bus station where he exits just a song ago. “Taking a stroll, are you?“

“Samu and Tsumu are having a screamin' match right now so I decided to get myself out of there before they'd drag me into it.“

“Tragic. Where are you headed?“

Your destination is 'who cares' so you join Suna on a walk. It's good he already ran his evening route because you're not in the mood to reenact a wanna be healthy person's only free time activity.

Just a short walk between the apartment buildings by the side of the road you reach a path of cobble stones that leads further between trees.

“What? You didn't know there's a park here?“ Suna smirks and you're surprised his face muscles are even capable of stretching so far.

You shake your head, slightly embarrassed. “No, I really didn't. To be fair this neighbourhood used to be ruled by another clan so we never played around here,“ you quickly add as if children clan wars from years ago are a better excuse than simply being unfamiliar with this part of the town.

Suna doesn't comment but the corners of his mouth keep tugging up even after you walk through the park. Or maybe that's because you tripped over nothing while watching a cat cross your path.

“We have a cat back home,“ he tells you and shows you the picture of his little sister with a big fluffy orange cat on her lap.

“So cute,“ you coo, “looks just like ya.“

“Oh yeah, lots of people say she looks just like me. I think I'm more handsome though.“

“No, I meant the cat.“

This time you're the one prepared to jump away form a well aimed kick but Suna only gives you a disappointed glare. “I thought you were the nice Miya.“

You sympathetically pat his shoulder. “Sorry. My sincere condolences. Shall I send some flowers for the funeral of yer last brain cell? Samu always wanted a cat but dad wouldn't let him.“

“Really? Why not?“

“Oh he made the mistake of asking just after the mango incident.“

“The-“

“Only Miyas are allowed to know about it,“ you say, snickering at Suna's furrowed brows. You know curiosity is going to eat at him for weeks to come. Maybe you should come up with a cover story, just in case. “Do ya miss yer friends? Ones from Aichi I mean?“

Suna thinks for a moment, maybe still trying to figure out what a mango incident could possibly be. “Sometimes,“ he says after a while and a poke to his side, “but I met a lot of new people at the dorms. Inarizaki isn't that bad either. There's you and Ginjima, and your brothers sometimes, and ehm,“ he mumbles as he tries to remember whom else he could call a friend.

“If Tsumu or Samu bring this topic up just let them know ya were my friend first,“ you pout. That's the problem with having had siblings in the same class for the entire grade and middle school; all your friends were also their friends. “It can't be easy,“ you say, half trying to make him feel better, and half just changing the topic that's starting to turn his ears red, “movin' over here I mean. Ya really left all ya knew behind for volleyball. That's pretty admirable. Ya just might be as crazy as Samu and Tsumu.“

“Please don't compare me to your brothers,“ says Suna.

“That bad, eh? So what's it like? Livin' in a dorm?“

“Oh. Well. We're four in a room-“

“Yikes. And I thought havin' two other people in your room is a lot.“

Suna laughs. Oh, so he can do that. It suits him, you decide after a moment. “Now take into account that two of those keep leaving dirty socks around.“

“Oh I know what that's like,“ you nod, all too familiar with dirty socks under table, under bed and other parts of bed you'd rather not think about.

“I doubt you'd get in trouble for punching them though.“

“Oh I would.“ You look him over. “Ya don't really look like a punchin' type to me. More a very petty guy. Soy sauce in mornin' tea kind of guy.“

“You're giving me ideas.“

“Thanks, that will be one kit-kat. Or none if ya put some in Samu's water bottle.“

“All in all dorm isn't that bad,“ Suna tells you once you both stop laughing over the prospect of putting soy sauce into Osamu's drink. “Wish I could sleep a bit longer in the morning but what can you do? And I miss mom's cooking. We cook ourselves and the food is good. Usually. It's just not the same, you know? Want a chuupet?“

“Ya brought a chuupet to an evenin' run?“

You still gladly take the fruit stick. It's a rare occasion in which it isn't in danger of being snatched away by one of your co-spawns. You don't comment but the next day a neatly wrapped bento box waits on Suna's table.

Suna doesn't quite remember when you became friends. One day you were a girl from his class that looked suspiciously similar to those loud Twins on the volleyball team (the moment he realised your last name is in fact Miya too he felt incredibly stupid for not noticing sooner), the next day you're hanging with him during breaks and sending him messages along the lines of 'I'll buy you as many chuupets as ya want if ya tell me what happened at practice yesterday, I need to let Tsumu know who's the boss' that usually arrive in the middle of the night. Even if they wake him up your name popping on his screen still makes him smile.

Really it takes impossibly long for Suna to realise he doesn't enjoy being in your presence only because being friends with you is as easy as getting the ball around a block or because you're the one Miya to voluntarily share your food with him.

The moment the cogs finally fell in their place and began to spin, making the little 'there might be something more' thought appear is one he'll remember for the rest of his life, and will quite probably haunt his nightmares too.

That's the thing about emotions (truly the revelations of that day are almost too much for his volleyball focused teenage brain), they take over neurones in charge of sending information around the brain, bribing the ones running toward mouth to run faster than the ones heading towards the comprehension centre, and then you find yourself in awkward situations such as saying your name out loud in the packed locker room followed by: “She's really funny and amazing. I like her a lot.“

But the situation being awkward is the least of Suna's problems as two pairs of almost identical brown eyes stare him down.

Oh, shit.

tag list: @espressons @trashy-simp @nachotrash @megumiisee @foxxtrot-116 @e-wwis

#suna rinataro x reader #suna x reader #suna x y/n #suna rintarou #hqcorenet #hq #haikyuu fanfic #inarizaki x reader #inarizaki x y/n #third miya #libri scribbles

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exquisitley-obsessed · 3 years

Text

Fiancés, Firebirds, Foxes and Fawns: 4

Author: @exquisitley-obsessed

Summary: A few weeks after Briallyn's attempt at uniting with Koschei, Lucien opens the door of Lockhart Manor to find Elain, cold from the rain and holding a note from the High Lady of the Night Court demanding her to assist Lucien in building alliances with the human councils. Forced to work together by their exhausted High Lord and Lady, Elain is able to convince anyone to do anything, while Lucien has the acquaintances to go anywhere he likes. Together, they attempt to unite the fae and mortal lands and unravel the deal made between Koschei and Vassa, while Lucien remains haunted by his own promise to Elain's father. ELUCIEN, POST-ACOSF

Pairings: Elain x Lucien, Elucien

Warnings: None.

A/N: This is going to be a long, slow burn fic (hopefully)

MY MASTERLIST

THIS FIC’S MASTERLIST

AO3

Chapter Four: A Little Lost, A Little Found

Elain was in Lockhart Manor. Elain was currently sleeping a few doors down the hallway. Elain, his mate, was here. Elain-

“Oh, shut up,” Lucien groaned to his own mind, as he rolled over with more vigour than necessary. But there was little hope of sleep finding him tonight, not when he felt so energised and awake. Not only did Lucien feel the bond, taut and invigorated in-between his ribs, but he could still smell Elain, that Spring morning clear in his mind.

What was she doing here? What had changed?

Had she come for him?

Of course not. Right?

Lucien rolled over again, allowing a small snarl of frustration to rip from his lips. If Lucien knew Elain a little better then maybe he’d actually be able to talk to her and ask her these questions. But he didn’t know her, and he wasn’t her friend.

Maybe she’d come to break the bond. That had to be it. Given his luck his entire life it was outrageous to believe that his mate who he hadn’t spoken to for two years had travelled the country to be under the same roof as him, to work alongside him, to go to meetings by his side as his…colleague?

He just wanted to talk to her. One clear conversation where he wasn’t holding back, when he didn’t care about every word both spoken and unspoken. One conversation where he could be the silver-tongued fox he’d been before any Archeron had entered his life. But around Elain he was a fool. A hopeless, romantic fool.

Oh, how Tamlin would’ve goaded him over this. Lucien, who had taken lovers to his bed as though he was being paid, unable to even conjure more than a sentence in front of a female. Well, old Tamlin would’ve laughed at him – with him. Old Tamlin would’ve laughed, period. Now…Now he was another thing in Lucien’s life that had turned to poison.

It was only last week, after Nyx’s arrival, that Lucien received a letter from Rhysand detailing his new assignment in the Spring Court. He’d been able to delay such work thus far, but by the end of the week he was expected in Spring. Following that, the plan was to manipulate his way into alternating weeks between the Spring and Lockhart Manor.

Would he leave Elain here? Could he convince her to somehow come with him to Spring?

She’d love it there, not just the proper and neat gardens of the Spring Manor (or what was left of their civilisation) but also the rugged fields and forests. Spring Court was violent with life. It was a pandemonium of flora, every single plant one could possibly find in Prythian could be found somewhere in the battlefield of the Spring lands. The overwhelming, erratic terrain was exactly where Lucien saw Elain thriving.

If he took her maybe she’d love it. She’d most likely take clippings or, or maybe not. Maybe she would just stay for a moment, and enjoy existing in such a place, her gentle hands refusing to intervene with the beautiful, wild course of nature. Maybe she’d lie down in the fields, maybe she’d go swimming with him in the pools of starlight. One day, far, far, far into the future.

Maybe she’d smile – a real, genuine smile. Lucien believed he still had yet to experience the privilege of seeing such a phenomenon.

The voice of the bond had quietened in his mind, along with the voice which seemed to come from deeper down, the one that told Lucien exactly how much shit he was in given the size of the schoolboy crush he’d somehow developed. But still, there was little chance of Lucien finding more than a few hours of sleep.

And so, with his body alive and electric, Lucien did what he had been doing for the past two years. Lucien wrote a letter - one that was never, ever, intended to be read.

***

Breakfast was awkward. Surely it wasn’t always this awkward, not with the glint in Jurian’s smile and the steel in Vassa’s glare. Lucien seemed…bemused, he appeared to be glaring at his toast and eggs as though they contained some secret prophecy that he needed to decipher.

She was curious about the particulars of Vassa’s curse, about how she knew when the change was coming. Did it happen always at sunrise? How much time did she have to prepare? Was it the workings of the death lord’s magic, or his deal? She was especially curious given that one of her tasks being down here was to help undo Vassa’s ties to the death lord, not that she was sure the Band of Exiles were aware of that given her sister’s ruined letter.

It was Vassa’s stoic silence that kept Elain from opening her mouth. That and a million other worthless reasons.

“Is there something you wish to ask me, Ms Archeron?” Vassa eventually spoke into the unbearable silence, perhaps aware of the frequency of Elain’s not so inconspicuous side-glances. Elain fought the blush as glared at her plate.

“Elain, please…” maybe she was being paranoid, but the way everyone here kept stressing her title felt like an awful lot like a reminder of the title she was supposed to have in these lands. The life she was supposed to have, the husband, the house, now it all felt so foreign.

“Really, we should be calling her Lady,” Jurian smiled, his own breakfast consisting of a single orange and a small goblet of black coffee, a delicacy of the Night Court he’d bought in bulk.

“Perhaps…if we were in Prythian,” Vassa said non-committedly.

“Titles do not interchange between borders, even human borders,” Lucien spoke up suddenly, his voice sounded causal and polite, but his figure had gone rigid, and his eyes were burning as they rested on Vassa who seemed to shiver slightly under his gaze. Elain adverted her gaze, an ugly feeling flashing through her like lightening. She’d been avoiding looking at him for most of the meal, desperate to ignore how she’d noticed that he’d changed.

“Lady Elain…” Vassa began, her eyes still locked with Lucien’s and Elain felt a furious blush warm her cheeks. God she was so…angry. Stupid mating bond. “Last night you asked me to discuss with you how you maybe be of some use whilst working with us,” Vassa’s eyes found hers from where she was seated at the head of the table, Jurian and Lucien either side of her, Elain next to Jurian. “Well tonight we’re having dinner and talks at the Nolan’s residence-”

“Which of course you won’t be forced to attend,” Lucien ground out, glaring at the queen who just shrugged and reached for the syrup.

“We’ll be discussing all manner of important things; it would be a brilliant opportunity for Elain to familiarise herself with those who she’ll be working in close quarters with for the foreseeable future.”

“These dinners are of little consequence,” Lucien’s eyes flickered to Elain’s for a moment before his gaze returned to the queen and Elain felt something inside her crack. It was as though he couldn’t look at her for more than a second, that or he couldn’t bear to look away from the queen. “I don’t even bother with attending.” Lucien directed at the queen.

“There’s ample opportunity for Elain to make acquaintances elsewhere,” Jurian said through a yawn, leaning back with a stretch. But Elain didn’t miss how his eyes appeared to rove over his two fiery-haired companions. Mother, how she wished they would stop talking about her rather than with her. If she wanted to be discussed at the table as though she were a child she might as well have stayed in the Night Court.

“I’m grateful for the offer but today I was hoping to have a look over the current contracts and ensure they’re meeting the timeline Feyre had drawn for you. Once I can ensure the work you’ve done thus far meets the standards of my High Lady then I’ll know what to both expect and push for with the human councils.” The words flowed out of Elain in an orderly manner, in the exact way she’d practiced as she fell asleep the night prior.

Unlike the Night Court, it was clear Elain was going to have to fight and demand for her own voice and seat at the table. Here, with the Band of Exiles, no one would coddle her. So, she’d either have to stay in the shadows, or step into the light.

Besides, there wasn’t enough gold in the world that would make Elain step a single foot in the Manor that would’ve been her home, once upon a time.

Vassa opened her mouth to say something before shutting it and turning back to her plate, a firm line carved in between her brows. Jurian was glancing around the table with a shit-eating grin and Lucien, the tension in his body had seemed to ease and after a small moment, he took a large mouthful of food.

“Are there, um, any other gatherings I may be able to attend, later in the week?” Elain tried to shake the nervousness from her voice. She couldn’t let these three see her as someone able to be pushed to the side. She needed this.

“There has been weekly meetings with all the human lords,” Lucien said after swallowing, his eyes meeting hers in a way that drew the breath from her body, “Huckleberry Hall is where we’ve been hosting the crowds-”

“The house by the old creek?” Elain couldn’t stop herself from interrupting, her mother would’ve pinched her thigh under the table for such poor manners. But it was just so alarming, to hear the residencies of her childhood come out of Lucien’s mouth. He’d always felt so far and distant, and yet, he was familiar with the lands she’d grown up in. Though she wouldn’t admit it, it made her wish she knew about him. His upbringing.

“That’s the one,” Lucien’s smile was soft and warm and…genuine. “We’re having a meeting there the day after tomorrow. If you wish, you’re most welcome to attend, it’s where the most current information is, and the meeting will give you’re a formal opportunity to meet with our human colleagues. I was heading there today anyways to meet with their cartographer, if you…well, if you’d like to…accompany me?”

“Yes I, uh, I don’t know the way to Huckleberry from here,” Elain was far to aware of two sets of human eyes boring into her at that moment.

“Yes,” Lucien blinked. Not quite a statement. Not quite a question, either. “Yes…good, yes. We’ll set off at first light then...”

Elain just nodded. Not trusting her voice to speak.

***

They were walking in silence.

As Lucien at promised, at first light he’d met Elain at the Lockhart’s front door, his hands behind his back as he waited at the bottom of the stairs. Elain had taken a moment to assess his clothes before she had to look away. He was wearing a loose brown shirt, dark trousers and brown boots. It was a perfect outfit for the summer morning, with the thick air and dewy sunlight. But it was the sight of his crimson hair, tied in a loose bun at the nape of his neck, a few whisps framing the sharp angles of his face, that had Elain looking away.

Lucien seemed to still as she came into view, quickly saying goodbye to Nuala who turned and made her way back up the stairs, and Elain turned to watch her go, giving Lucien a chance to look her over. Her dress was a plain cream, and was of a simple cut that could pass in both human and fae realms – a cunning choice of clothing he thought. The neckline was perhaps a little daring for the human communities which was hilarious given that all one could see of Elain was her collarbones, but the full skirts were the same of the women he’d seen in these lands.

It was her hair he lingered on. Even when bouncing with curls it came down to her waist. Intricate braids pulled most of it away from her face and Lucien could spot pale flowers in a variety of sizes perched at the crown of her head. Real flowers, nothing like the faux pieces the humans tended to favour. She was…divine. Impossible. Beyond him, in every conceivable way.

“You ready?” He tried smiling at her, but it felt as though it came across more of a grimace.

“Hm mm,” Elain bowed her head, a faint blush colouring her cheeks as her curls bounced. Gods, he was fucked.

Silence had fallen quickly over the duo, besides the odd ‘watch out for that root’ or ‘duck’ as they made their way into the forestry of the mortal lands. The path was clear until a certain junction, and then it became little more than a dirt path, only wide enough for them to walk single file. Lucien had wanted Elain to go first so that he’d be able to keep an eye on her, to keep her safe, until he remembered that she quite literally didn’t know where she was going.

Lucien had thought Elain would’ve been disgruntled by the shrubbery pulling at her fine dress, but Elain meandered through the forest in an expert fashion. She gathered her skirts in her hands and would hop with a doe-like grace over the greenery and roots. In fact, the only time he heard her disgruntled was when she’d accidentally stepped on some plant or flower – forever a lady of the forest.

It was only when Lucien was finding himself relax in their silence that disaster struck. Lucien’s foot snagged on something under a large fern that had grown over the path, and then there was an audible snap of leather. The noise was enough to set Lucien into action, with one arm, he unsheathed his Autumn sword and with the other he turned and pulled Elain into him, all sense and thought evaporating from his mind and being replaced with the single, overwhelming urge to ‘protect, protect, protect’.

But where Lucien had been prepared for an enemy of mortal body, their attack came from above. Lucien saw a glint of something dropping down on them at a furious pace and pulled Elain tighter to his chest, bending slightly at the waist so he covered her entirely, so that not one inch of Elain was visible to the attack from above.

But the attack never came, not quite. When Lucien span, turning to tuck Elain behind him as he faced the enemy, he came face to face with…a cage…of wood. Ashwood.

The cage arched over Lucien and Elain, and the wood was interwoven in a way that was reminiscent of the dog cages Eris had used for his Dobermans. It was hilarious really. Lucien and Elain, two fae, and highly powerful fae at that, caged in like a common pup.

Lucien was just scoffing at the cage when he felt Elain shift behind him. Turning around, Lucien just caught Elain as she reached out for the cage, perhaps in an attempt to shift the weak structure out of her way.

“Elain, don’t-” But it was too late, Elain had ran her hand along the edge of the meshed cage before pulling her arm back with a pained gasp. “Shit!” Lucien was by her side in a flash, one hand on her arm, tucking her away from the cage as though it were an enemy, and he were blocking her from view. His other hand went to her crumpled hand which was now throbbing as a furious burn puckered across the surface.

Looking down, Elan watched as Lucien turned and, without touching the damaged skin, assessed her injured palm.

“Fae trap,” Lucien growled, “many councils are encouraging their use now that the wall’s gone.”

“How horrible…” Elain whispered before surprise rattled through her. Three years ago she would’ve thought these traps necessary protection against the evil fae. But now, they just seemed cruel.

“Horrible for us and other civilised fae, but there are other creatures, particularly the southern woods of Spring, who one might argue deserve every bit of this treatment.” Lucien turned back to glaring at the cage, and if looks could burn Elain didn’t doubt that the wood – perhaps the whole forest – would be furiously ablaze.

“I…I don’t know if I’d call you civilised…” Elain finally murmured, allowing herself to momentarily give into the urge to soothe him, to let him know that she was okay. Lucien’s head whipped back around to her and, after a moment of assessing her soft expression, a coy smile that showed his perfect teeth pulled at his lips. Not a laugh, but a genuine smile.

“Was that a joke, Lady?”

“An attempt,” Elain couldn’t help but shyly duck away from his warm eyes and dimpled smile. “You know,” she changed the topic, “I can’t image these kinds of things would work.” She nodded up to the cage.

“When there’s Ashwood involved, anything’s possible.”

“I’ve seen fae on a battlefield,” she shuddered involuntarily, “Something like this,” she went to touch the cage before remembering and flinching her hand back, “seems hardly daunting.”

“Ashwood doesn’t work like an Illyrian, they’re all cock and walk, Ashwood is cunning and clever,” Lucien was glaring at the cage, his metal eye clicking and whirring as it roved over the trap.

“How can wood be cunning?”

“It’s a weapon, all weapons have personality.”

“Does your sword have personality?” Elain murmured, nodding at the silver blade she’d never seen him without.

“Well…since it comes from the Autumn Court, it would be safe to assume it’s the metal equivalent of a ruthless git.” Lucien shook his head, his crimson hair shifting in a stream of sunlight. “A human trapping a fae or two in some Ashwood is easy,” Lucien continued, “But then begs the question of what one would do from there.”

“Well, they’d have to lift the cage,”

“They’d be dead in seconds,” Lucien quipped, his head cocking to the side, whisps of his fiery hair following his movement. “Go on, don’t stop, think like a fae hunter.”

“I’d rather not,” Elain shivered slightly, very aware of how close Lucien was standing. Elain also didn’t fail in missing the dark shadow that passed through Lucien’s eye at the nod towards her ex-fiancé.

“Okay, then think like a fae.” Lucien swung his arms across his chest with a catlike grace, “You’re hunting, let’s see...an Attor, clearly feeling a little dangerous today. It’s walked right into your lovey cage of Ashwood, which let me say Lady Archeron, I must compliment you on your excellent lattice work.” Elain giggled and Lucien faltered in his speech, his eyes widening as he looked as though he’d struck gold. “So…” he cleared his throat, “You’ve trapped the Attor in your wonderful cage, then what?”

“Well, it depends on what I want an…At-tor, for?”

“Hm, interesting. Let’s say you need to cut out it’s tongue for a healing tonic.” Elain made a face, “Okay, okay, no tonics.”

“No tongues please.”

“Oh really?” Lucien couldn’t stop his shit-eating grin, especially when Elain began to blush furiously and avoid his eye. Something inside Lucien was racing, entirely giddy at the fact he was bantering with Elain, Elain, Archeron.

“The Attor?” Elain stressed, turning around and perching herself on a fallen trunk.

“Interrogation – you need vital information pronto, or the High Lord will have your head.”

“Rhysand?”

“Well if in this world you, Elain Archeron, are hunting an Attor, I think it’s perfectly reasonable to believe that I might be High Lord.”

“Of which court?”

“None of them. No, all of them. No wait, my own court – the ‘Lucien is incredibly handsome’ court.” Lucien was pushing his luck, that he knew. He was towing that line as always, the one between banter and a step too far. Saying something that would cause the other to retract from him, or carve out his eye. But Elain just tilted her head, her honey hair spilling across her pale dress.

“You have many devout followers in this court?”

“Maybe, but only one of them matters.” He grinned at her knowingly, testing the waters, seeing how far he could go with her before they remembered they were bonded by destiny. Something shy flickered across Elain’s face as she took in his meaning. And then.

“Are you peacocking right now?” Elain smiled, a real smile.

“I’m always peacocking,” Lucien grinned, a real grin. Then his eye caught on the hand Elain was still cradling to her chest, and something akin to agony tore through his chest.

“Mother, I’m sorry,” He muttered, his amusement having evaporated as he hurried to sit next to Elain, taking her ruined palm into his lap with a featherlight touch. “I can’t ever shut up. I just talk and talk and forget about the important things.”

“What are you doing?” Elain was sure he voice sounded somewhat strangled as Lucien zoned in on her mutilated palm, his metal eye whirring as he ran a single finger along it’s creases.

“I have the ability to heal,” Lucien’s voice also sounded a bit strained as he hunched himself over her hand.

“Oh…” Elain murmured, as a warm sensation prickled across her skin, and she watched as the red splotches clamed back into ivory. “You know,” Elain was practically whispering as Lucien moved to her fingers, “My skin never used to be this colour.”

“Oh?” Lucien seemed to be breathing through his mouth, and with is gaze occupied, Elain allowed herself to rove over his appearance. The knot of crimson hair, the strong yet angled brows, the white webs of his scar, prominent cheekbones, sharp jaw, full and wide lips, and a strong curved nose.

“No…” Elain breathed, “I always used to be so much tanner than my sisters, I was always in the gardens as we were growing up you see. My mother would ring me out for it. She’d love the colour I’m now.” The colour she’d been since the Cauldron. She didn’t know why she was telling him all this, or why it felt so natural to talk to him about these things. But here in the human lands, a world away from the sneers of Nesta or the gossiping of Feyre, Elain found that she didn’t mind the idea of conversing with Lucien.

“I was always the darkest out of my brothers,” Lucien moved to her second finger.

“How many do you have?”

“Seven,” Lucien met her eyes momentarily with a cheeky grin.

“Seven!” Elain smiled back, and then Lucien’s eyes seemed to darken and something in him seemed to rescind as he turned back to her hand.

“Well, I used to have seven…a few of them died.”

“Oh…I’m so sorry,” Lucien seemed to go to say something, his mouth turning into a frown, before he shook his head and moved to the next finger.

“I…my mother told it was because I’d been kissed by the Sun when I was born…that’s why I was so tan. I was born on the Autumn Equinox, it’s the longest day of autumn in the Autumn Court, the sun turns crimson and blesses the lands for the upcoming year.”

“That sounds very beautiful…”

“It is. It’s believed the trees come to life in the night and talk to each other, lovers of the earth able to speak for a few hours of the year. There’s feasts and fires, and we read stories of the sacrifice of the Wyvern.”

“Wyvern?” Elain’s yes turned bright and wide, “As in the animal from adventure novels?”

“Animal is an awfully polite term to describe harbinger’s of fire and death,” a grin flickered across Lucien’s face, “It’s believed that centuries and centuries ago, when the Old Gods still ruled the Earth, the Autumn Court was a nest of Wyverns. When the world changed into what it is today the mother Wyvern, Hermenegilda, scattered her cubs throughout time so that they may survive. Every year those of the Autumn Court gather in the caves to see if a cub will appear, and to praise the mother for her sacrifice.”

“Do they? The cubs, do they appear?”

“They used to, though a cub has not been found since before I was born. Courtiers tend to believe the cubs have run out, that there are no more children of the mother Wyvern, but devout believers still hope for a cub to appear each year.” With that, Lucien finished healing her pinkie finger and turned to peer at her. Their bodies still close, Elain’s palm still resting in his hand in his lap.

“You…what do you believe?” Elain breathed, her voice just a whisper.

“I think…well I…” Lucien’s voice was breathy and low, intimate in a way Elain hadn’t heard before, “...I’d like to believe that anything’s possible.”

Before Elain could have a moment to respond, or even think about what possible double meaning could come from his words, a furious flapping of wings caused her to startle and whip her head around, ripping her hand from Lucien’s lap in the process. There, on the other side of the cage, perched on a tree branch, was a beautiful bird. It was huge, with iridescent feathers and woody eyes, and the air surrounding the bird seemed to thrum with energy and magic.

“Don’t worry, it’s only Vassa.” Lucien nodded at the firebird, “…she’ll get Jurian for us.”

Elain just nodded, aware that her cheeks were still most likely flushed. Unable to meet Lucien’s eye, Elain watched as the firebird took off into the golden, mid-morning sky, a disapproving screech tearing from its throat.

#elucien #elucien fic #elucien fluff #Elain #elain acotar #elain archeron #elain x lucien #elain/lucien #elain and lucien #lucien #lucien vanserra #lucien x elain #fffaf

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slutsofren · 3 years

Text

Danger Days Chapter 8: Save Yourself, I’ll Hold Them Back

summary: finding shelter in an abandoned home, you try to keep your wits about you and care for the still unconscious Joel until some trouble comes knocking

word count: 3,792

content warnings: mention of gore and impromptu medical care, more canon-typical violence, death, murder, arrival of.... cannibals, y'know the deal hurt/comfort

notes: i didn't mention it last time but yeah, your shit really can kill you if you get your lower intestines punctured lol it's a real thing and gnarly af

read on ao3 / masterlist

You woke up in a start. Heavy breaths taking hold in your lungs. The small, barely considerable amounts of sleep were getting to you as they had been for the last month as more and more night terrors racked your brain. Rubbing at your eyes, you pushed yourself up to begin your usual routine.

It had been a couple weeks since your little group found yet another abandoned home and it took some hell of maneuvering to get Joel into the basement but it worked. The winter snow was coming in full force and it was peritive you all kept Joel as warm as possible, there were too many odds stacked against him.

Walking over to his prone body, you checked on his wounds once more as you did practically every couple of hours. He was looking worse for wear, even changing out the gauze could only do so much. Whatever small amounts of clean water the three of you had went to cleaning it out, hoping to stave off the infection.

Joel was, by all means, not doing well.

To top it off, even with your meager amount of medic training from your days with FEDRA could never prepare you for the long-term haul you were in with Joel, he was dying. The bastard was dying and you couldn’t help but feel it was your fault.

Night after night you were haunted by the image of him falling off that balcony, the sounds of his groans of pain still lingered in your head even when you were awake. It fucking sucked.

He was asleep now, he barely woke up since everything went to shit at the university then at the mall. That in and of itself felt like a lifetime ago. You put a hand against his forehead, feeling how his fever still hadn’t broken. With the chill in the air as winter was fully settling in making your fingers cold as ice, he didn’t even flinch away. You closed your eyes and sighed, still not wanting to give up. Not for Ellie, not for Tommy, not even for the grumpy man himself.

A quick glance out the small basement window told you it was nearing dusk which startled you. Ellie had left when the sun was at its peak, sometime around noon, surely. She had been gone much much longer than she normally would have.

Usually it was you who left to go hunting for food once your supplies dwindled but Ellie wanted to help relieve the burden from your shoulders and you reluctantly agreed. Yo hated to admit you needed a break. She had argued she wanted to get better with her bow and arrow and she certainly did, often bringing back animals of various sizes. It was her way of coping with potentially losing Joel, something she confided in you that was one of her biggest fears.

Thoughts of Ellie swirled your mind and you paced back and forth, chewing at your fingernails. A nasty habit you suppressed most days. A part of you wanted to go find the girl, follow Callus’ tracks in the snow. Another part of you didn’t want to leave Joel by himself.

Fuck, you thought.

Compartmentalizing you figured if she didn’t return within an hour, you’d go looking for her. If you couldn’t locate her within a mile radius, a strict rule you enforced her limited hunting zone to, you’d hunker down with Joel and wait until morning to find her and scold her for being irresponsible.

You stopped your pacing to look at Joel’s face, seeing how his face was still warped in the painful scowl he hadn’t let go of. His features were beginning to slowly become gaunt as the small amounts of food you’d been able to get him to eat the rare times a day he’d wake were coming far and few in between. Even his usual tan skin was slowly softening to a cooler shade of bronze. He looked like death.

Joel, by all means, was a handsome cowboy. Even with his patchy beard that was littered with grey hair in a few spots. Now he just looked like a ghost of himself.

Okay, fine, you admit to yourself. With Joel down, you’ve kind of missed the fool. You missed the banter and arguing with him about stupid shit. He irritated the daylights out of you because he always wanted to jump headfirst into things without a care for his safety clearly but dammit, the lack of his presence was palpable. You hated it.

You sat beside Joel, removing one of his hands from under the blanket to hold. His hands still rough and calloused, mirrors of yours if you weren’t missing a finger. Once upon a time, you remembered hearing that coma patients could sometimes hear what people said to them, that it helped. Maybe talking to him now would help not just him but you as well, to keep your mind occupied. Maybe pass the time a little. Maybe.

“Hey, it’s me, you grumpy bastard,” you started off lightly. “I don’t know if you can tell but you’ve been puttin’ that girl and I through hell and back trying to keep your ass alive.”

A hollow laugh escapes you, feeling a little more choked up than you’d ever dare to admit. Composing yourself you tried to use playful banter. “How do you do it, cowboy? Ellie is a goddamned handful. Shit, I thought I was bad when I was a teenager,” you sniff, feeling your voice waver.

“When I first laid eyes on you two, I think it would have saved me a whole lotta trouble and pain if Maria let me shoot you,” you sigh dramatically. Even though there was a smile on your lips, it didn’t reach your eyes. What did were the tears that were slowly forming. The added stress of Ellie being missing was really wearing you thin.

Amongst other things.

“Y’know,” you sniffled, “you really hurt my feelings back at the university. When you thought I led the two of you into a trap.” You took a sharp inhale. “As much shit as you and I put each other through, that was the one thing that stung. More than anything.”

You squeezed his hand and sighed, closing your eyes. Admitting that was hard, stars know you’d never say that to Joel while he was conscious nor in front of Ellie.

“Don’t die, you asshole,” you begged softly, wiping away the light tears that coated your lashes, reluctantly letting go of Joel’s hand as you tucked the blanket around him tightly.

After you said your piece, your mind became overrun with the little turd you grew fond of. The more you began to worry about Ellie, the more your thoughts swirled rapidly into worst case scenarios.

Before you worked yourself into a much deeper frenzy, a loud metallic bang echoed from upstairs. You ran up the steps and came face to face with Ellie, looking just as frantic. She raised her hand and in it, a tied white rabbit, so white it was nearly silver in the dim lighting. “I got food,” she said breathlessly.

“And,” she shoved you aside and took off to the basement, “I got this. Can it help?”

Ellie reached into her pocket and pulled out a syringe and orange bottle, she handed it to you while kneeling next to Joel as he shifted in his sleep. You were still rather shocked to see Ellie who looked faintly bloodied and tired, before you could comment on the new rifle on her shoulder, you took the bottle and were damn near milliseconds from riding into her until you read the faded label of the glass container.

Penicillin.

“Where the fuck did you get this, Ellie?”

Without waiting for her to answer, you dug in your pack and pulled out some disinfectant alcohol and a gauze pad to clean the syringe and a spot on Joel’s arm. Ellie refused to look up from where she kept her gaze focused on Joel’s face, “‘s not important.”

“If I wasn’t so mad at you right now, I’d kiss you.”

Throwing away all the questions you had for her, you administered the antibiotic as quickly as you could, he sighed as the medicine entered his body. Although, it was likely you were giving him too much, truthfully, you didn’t think it would hurt him worse than he already was.

As he relaxed underneath your hands, you looked down at his wound one last time for the evening. The haphazard stitches were taut on his stomach where the swelling was, hopefully by morning, he’d be better.

You didn’t look up from Joel as you laid into Ellie, “I don’t want excuses about where you were, only that you promise me to be more careful in the future, please.”

“Ye- yeah, I promise.”

“Good,” you covered Joel back up, “Now go get some rest. I’ll take care of the rabbit and wake you when it’s done.”

You turned your back to Ellie, it wasn’t that you wanted her to feel bad for her little disappearing act. You just needed some space to gather your thoughts. Between being Joel’s caretaker, Ellie’s temporary guardian, and keeping yourself sane, you were a wreck. You needed a moment.

Before you took a step on the stairs you paused. “Good work on getting the medicine, kiddo. Joel would be proud of you too.”

She didn’t respond as you walked away, the implication that although you were upset with her, you were still proud lingered in the air. Mindlessly, you focused on the rabbit, doing what needs to be done to cook it for dinner, pushing away those lingering worries. Ellie was safe, you reminded yourself, she came back.

It didn’t take you long to finish with your meager dinner, still pretty damn proud of Ellie’s evolving hunting skills. Maybe you’d offer to teach her a couple snares in the morning to leave out overnight. Although they tended not to gain anything bigger than a rabbit or a squirrel, something was better than nothing and you’d figure it would help Ellie focus on something other than Joel’s condition.

You bounded down the stairs, bringing the freshly cooked meat with you. A small shake to her shoulder and she was awake, “Dinner’s ready.”

Ellie didn’t bring her gaze up to look you in the eye, likely still ashamed. The two of you still sat in silence eating, occasionally looking to Joel for any changes or whenever he shifted in his sleep.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice sounding small.

“I know, Ellie. I’m sorry too, I didn’t mean to snap at you. I was just worried.”

Once again, the silence encompassed you both like a blanket, warmer now than it was before. You broke it first, “I was thinking about teaching you a couple snares in the morning. How does that sound?”

Ellie wiped the grease from her fingers on her jeans and looked up, “I think I’d like that.”

Just like that, the two of you were on even footing. It didn’t feel right to be mad at each other, not when Joel wasn’t there to diffuse. Either way, it was much like when you were the one in between their own fight that day you’d met them, it wasn’t healthy when you all had to rely on each other for survival. At least with Ellie, she was quick to forgive and forget in the face of the larger picture. A quality you kind of admired in the young woman.

Both of you finished with your portions of the meat, saving the rest for the morning or for Joel if he wakes in the night. Simultaneously you shuffled through the remaining ammo together, doling out some spare bullets to Ellie for her shiny new rifle, still not going to ask how she acquired it. Let her have her space.

She took the bullets graciously, reloading her sidearm and long range weapons and placing them in her backpack before getting ready for sleep. You stayed fiddling with your own weapons for a few moments longer before calling it quits too.

You laid down on the opposite side of Joel, biting your lip and hoping for the best. You tossed and turned, not knowing if you could take facing Joel’s sickly frame but you also couldn’t turn your back on him and Ellie who laid on her backpack on his other side.

Please, you wished, let the medicine take.

These kinds of wishes filled your mind until you slowly drifted to a fitful night’s sleep.

By morning, you happened to find yourself shaken awake with Ellie’s face close to yours, “Wake up, I need you awake!”

You jumped up, onto your knees. “What is it,” you ask startled, afraid Joel was worse than he was when you fell asleep. Looking at Joel, he didn’t look like he deteriorated in the night, but he also didn’t look like he improved any.

“I was tracked,” she says as if that explains anything. Both of you have your hands on each other's arms in a failed attempt at communicating the other’s panic.

“What do you mean ‘tracked’, Ellie?”

“Those people I got the medicine from, David and-and James, they fucking tracked me!”

“Ellie, what the fu-.”

“Look, listen, I’m gonna draw them away. Keep an eye on Joel,” she tells you in a rush, letting go of you and bolting up the stairs, grabbing her backpack on the way out.

“Fuck,” you practically shout while getting up and looking out the window. Outside you see silhouettes of a few men, searching the nearby area. Frustrated, you kick the washing machine.

Shit, shit, shit.

You don’t know what to do, you feel tied down once again because of Joel’s condition and Ellie’s neverending saviour complex. You mumble out a few more expletives at this situation just as you see the girl bound down the street on Callus shouting for the intruder’s attention. As she rides away, you hear bullets being shot at her, getting further and further away from you.

You carelessly threw your denim coat on and opted to grab your knives instead of guns, hoping to kill anybody who came close without alerting the others. Out the basement window, you could see a few of the men still lurking about, choosing not to follow Ellie.

Just before you followed Ellie out of the house, you doubled back to Joel, kneeling forward and giving him a kiss on the forehead. “We’ll come back, I promise you Joel. Just please, don’t die on me now.” Another kiss on his warm skin and you left without stopping, barricading the basement door as if it was left unoccupied.

Everything in you wanted to panic, your muscles were screaming to fold in on yourself and heave what little food remained in your stomach but you couldn’t give in. Not when Ellie was in danger. She may have been a pain in the ass, but she was your pain in the ass.

After your conversation last night, you’d be damned if anybody hurts your girl.

Taking a deep breath, you shook your worries free and cleared your mind. Although you were a field medic by title with FEDRA back in the day, working with them turned you into a killer. It was a toxic mindset for you, even when you had joined the Fireflies, they took advantage of your ability to focus on one thing and one thing only, turning it into their own game - death.

It took years to shake off that blank emotionless part of you, even Tommy was afraid of it when he saw the horrendous things you were capable of, what the Fireflies exploited from you, but Tommy wasn’t here and the people you loved were hanging on by a thread.

It was easy to see the outlines of the few straggling men who searched the nearby homes, whatever Ellie did really pissed them off. Now, these people only pissed you off.

You stayed lurking within the shadows of the homes, even with the sun just getting ready to set, it wasn’t too difficult to stay hidden. Especially to those who weren’t familiar with the layout. It was easy to spot how the few men tended to remain within a handful of yards together, opting not to venture out into the buildings alone. Alert and yet unorganized as you could see how they would often turn their backs on each other, giving you such a delicious opportunity to sneak in and out, weaving through them and taking them down one by one.

Was it absolutely horrible this was your instinct? Maybe. But you had two people you wanted to protect, two absolutely annoying yet selfless humans who gave you hope. You did love Joel and Ellie, even if you hadn’t admitted to it yet. Besides, you had a whole lot of stress burdening your shoulders and you wanna hit something.

You watched as the small group approached one of the homes off to the left, allowing you ample room to get close without having to cross the street in the open. You took off running, not bothering to try and conceal your footprints in the snow as you got to the house besides the targets. You entered through a broken window - a common for every single house on this block. Taking lighter footsteps, you ducked by the windows and reached the second floor landing.

The homes in this area were built within close proximity to the others, making it easy for, say, somebody needing to jump between windows without being seen. Perfect.

You listened hard and close as the men shuffled and tossed things around the first floor, looking for any sign of Ellie and ‘those two people she was with’. You growled lowly, really hating the implication that these people knew about the three of you.

Taking another assessment, you noticed there were two men standing guard out the front of the house, idly walking to-and-fro, their conversation remaining on wishing they were chasing Ellie instead.

A deep breath in and you jumped with an ‘oof’, trying to make as little as noise as possible, aiming for a wide open window with a snow covered bed on the other side. Between the snow and the mattress, the noise was cushioned to only a small thud, thankfully concealed by the thuds of the men downstairs shuffling through rooms. You quickly got up and went to the doorframe and saw there was only a hallway and stairs leading down.

You took deeper breaths again, trying to center yourself for what you were about to do as you heard one person come up the stairs - alone.

Placing your body flush against the wall, you waited in stark concentration, drawing your knife from its sheath. The footsteps came close, nearing the room you were hiding in and just as an armed gunman came in, you rushed him. Putting one hand against their forehead, you pulled the other hand and dragged the knife into their throat, essentially cutting off the person from making a noise and ending their life. You pulled and lowered their body as they began to choke out, laying them on the floor gently against the wall, carelessly hiding the body.

Downstairs you could still hear shuffling of the other invader and you made your way to them, silently assessing.

From what you could tell, the other person was banging around in the basement. So you rounded a nearby corner to where the open basement door was until finally, finally, somebody came through. You took him down just the same as his buddy.

So unorganized, you thought. If they were really looking for you and Joel, they were doing a piss poor job of it.

You swiped a bottle from the kitchen as you strolled past, taking aim out a broken window. Giving it a nice little toss, it shattered against the other house and without fail, you heard the tell-tale signs of one of the other men asking ‘what was that’. You ducked behind the faded curtain until one of the targets came into view, watching how he was pensive and alert, fortunately he was by himself which made the next part just as easy.

As soon as the man walked by the window, you jumped out from your hiding spot and jabbed your hunting knife straight into the soft squishy part of his eye, surprisingly facing little to no resistance.

You pulled it back and repeated the motion again once the man made an audible noise, probably alerting his friend. In only a slight rush now, you jumped out the window and removed your blade, now stalking towards the front when you could hear the other man yell the other’s names.

Wrapping around the corner of a house in a whirlwind, you surprised the last one when you stood face-to-face with him. He looked at you, astounded, mouth agape and dropped his weapon - a handgun. Looking down at his body, he whimpered as he took in the sight of your knife now buried deep in his stomach as you yanked them up into his chest piercing his heart.

Copper scent filled the air as the hunter’s body gave out. His blood spilling down your front. Under normal circumstances you would’ve likely vomited all over yourself but considering the innate need to protect Ellie and Joel, all that shit is blown out the window.

All in all, maybe thirty minutes have passed, you wanted to check on Joel but the distant gunshots were making you worried. At the very least, the longer they went off, the longer you knew your little fighter was alive.

Okay, think, you tried to get yourself to focus. You came up with a rapid-fire plan and before you could second guess yourself, you ran. Refusing to stop. Each step in the plush snow found you closer and closer to your hideout.

Entering the home through the garage, you gave Whiskey a pat as you walked on by and headed straight for the basement. You pushed the undisturbed barricade from the door, grateful it signaled that Joel was safe. Entering the downtrodden room you grabbed your holsters, strapping them maybe a little more tightly than you should’ve and throwing your backpack over your shoulders. You double-checked your weapons, making sure they were fully loaded.

Once again, you kneeled next to Joel as he laid on the dirty mattress, huffing from the rising pain from the stitch in your side. “Joel? I’m gonna go back out and find Ellie. I’m gonna go get our girl,” you said.

You hoped you were telling the truth.

#joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #joel miller x oc #joel tlou x reader #joel tlou x you #tlou #the last of us #tlou fanfic #joel tlou reader insert #the last of us reader insert #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #danger days fic #asher's writing

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toomanyrobins · 3 years

Text

a little birdie told me pt. 11

Summary: Y/N “Birdie” Parker left New York and her family three years ago in the middle of the night. Now, a call for help to her best friend brings her back into the fold of the Three Families and their “business”

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Parker!Reader

Content warning: physical abuse, miscarriage, cursing, mentions of forced marriage, sex, mentions of alcohol and inebriation

Word Count: 2.3k

Notes: Steve is a bit of stubborn idiot in this, but so is Birdie. Next part we will learn more about Steve and his past. Enjoy! 💛

Series masterlist // next part

Y/N stood outside the door of the round table room of the Ivory. Dread coursed through her as she waited to speak to Tony. Desperation was driving her and Y/N knew that if she stopped moving even for a moment, she would break. All she had to do was sign her name on the contract and then she could breakdown. Finally, the door opened and she was surprised to see that there was a group of people waiting for her inside. George sat at the head of the table with Tony and Pepper to his left, Barney on his right and Bucky and Steve filled out the remaining chairs. Everyone turned to look at her when she walked in. Y/N took a deep breath. This lie needed to be sold or she was in trouble, “I need to apologize for my behavior yesterday. The shock of it all hit and I didn’t handle it well. I took yesterday to calm down and think about it. I’ve decided that this union is a good idea. That is, if Steve is still willing.” She turned to Tony, “Dad, as much as it pains me to admit, you were right. He is a good man. I’ve been known as an irresponsible girl whose head is in the clouds. I need to prove that I’ve matured and this could be a step in the right direction.” No one spoke as Pepper scoffed and glared at Tony as she left the room, the door slamming on her way out.

Steve stood up and grabbed Y/N by the arm, she winced as he hit exactly where Brock had grabbed her the day before, “We need to talk.” He pulled her out of the room, “You’ve been avoiding me for three days. We slept together and the next morning you ran out of that hotel room without a word. Yesterday, you announced in front of multiple people that there was no chance in hell that you would ever marry me. What the hell is going on, Birdie?”

Her nails dug into her palm, “It’s like I said. I took the day and thought it over. I’m not leaving again, Steve… I can’t. This marriage has been in the works since I was 17 and it’s a way to show that I’m not little Birdie Stark anymore. I’m not the problem child that you got saddled with as punishment. Clearly, you want it or you wouldn’t have agreed the second time and I think I could be happier with you than anyway else I’ve ever met. So, please, don’t give up on me now… Please.”

Steve looked down at Y/N. He could see the mistiness in her eyes, but he could also see that she was being genuine. He just nodded and they went back into the office. No one spoke as they both signed the contract that had been drawn up. Before the ink had dried, Tony was pulling out a celebratory drink. When Steve turned to hand one to his new fiancee, he realized she had left the room. He put the glasses down and went to look for her. He found her outside talking to Pepper and decided not to intrude.

As soon as everyone’s attention was taken, Y/N had gone after Pepper. She found her outside the building and called to her. “Mom, I’m sorry.”

Pepper held up a hand to stop her, “Don’t you dare apologize. It’s your father that is to blame for this. None of this would have happened if he hadn’t interfered. You wouldn’t have left the first time and you wouldn’t feel the need to prove yourself by marrying someone you don’t want to.”

“Oh, Mom… you can’t just blame Dad for all of that. There were so many other reasons I left.” The image of Brock leaning against the car haunted her. “Yes, he was part of it, but not all of it. I’m not just marrying Steve to prove myself. I know you imagined us finding our soulmates like you did with Dad. But, I don’t believe in the One. I believe that Steve and I can make each other happy and I’ve been stuck in a rut for a really long time. He and Jamie make me happy in a way I haven’t been in years. It’s not a great love story, but it’s a good future. One that lets me keep all of you with me and that’s all I want.”

Pepper reached up to cup Y/N’s face, “I just don’t want you to sacrifice because you think you deserve less.”

“Mom, it’s too late for regrets and all I want is to know I have your support, because I can not plan a wedding.” Pepper laughed at that and Y/N knew she managed to distract her mother from her anger. “Don’t be mad at Dad for too long. For all of his stupid mistakes, he really is doing what he thinks is best.”

The weeks following the contract being signed was exhausting. They had immediately started plans. This wedding was happening quickly, before Becca and Sam’s wedding could even happen. Planning this wedding was a nightmare for Y/N. The planner was the most odious person she’d ever had the misfortune of meeting. The woman’s hand had stayed on Steve’s arm the entire first meeting and cemented her as persona non grata in Y/N’s mind.

Pepper had invited her for a meeting at the Ivory They sat at one of the tables in the solarium. “So color scheme for the wedding?”

“Lime green and orange.”

Y/N heard Pepper sigh next to her, “Jewel tones: burgundy, emerald, navy blue.”

“Lovely,” the wedding planner simpered, “Do you have a date in mind?”

“March is the hope, but we don’t have a specific date in mind.”

“Well we can look at a few locations and see if their availability will help narrow that down. Unless, you have a place in mind?”

“No, this wedding is a blank slate.”

Y/N was zoned out, as her mother planned the wedding. Finally, she couldn’t stand it any longer and pushed her chair back, “I forgot I told Steve that I would stop into his office. Mom, you know what I like.” She escaped from the table and hurried up to his office. She threw the doors open, “Can we elope?”

Steve’s eyes didn’t even leave the document he was reading. This was not the first time they’d had a similar discussion, “Sweetheart, I’ve told you before. No.”

“Please,” Y/N slinked over and perched herself on the corner of his desk, “The wedding planner is the worst!”

He sighed and put the papers he was reading down. He looked up her, amusement shining in his eyes, “Are you sure you’re not jealous?”

She gasped in outrage, “Jealous! Why would I be jealous?”

“Because she kept touching my arm when we first met her and I thought you were going to rip her hand off.” She hated that he had caught that moment of weakness. They had kissed a few times since signing the contract, but they hadn’t slept together since the party. He gave her a quick kiss, “I kind of liked that you were jealous.”

Y/N pouted, her bottom lip sticking out, “I want a divorce.”

“Need to be a good girl and marry me first.” She whimpered and finally Steve shoved aside his work, giving her his whole attention, “You know for someone who is as bad at following rules as you are, calling you a good girl really seems to do something to you.”

Y/N hopped off his desk trying to put some distance between them, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh really? So when I said that to you, I didn’t see you get all flustered? Just like you are right now?” Steve stood up and moved behind her. He wrapped one arm around her waist and kissed along her bare neck, watching as goosebumps blossomed. He smirked and leaned close to her ear and dropped his voice, so that it was thick like honey, “You don’t want to be a good girl for me, Birdie?”

Y/N whimpered softly and a shiver ran down her spine as his voice rolled over her. She felt his lips brush along her neck and the ability to think was gone.

“I – I,” She dropped her head back, giving Steve unlimited access to her, “Oh, I can’t think when you do that.”

“Let’s make a deal, sweetheart. You give me some answers and I promise I’ll make it worth your while.

“Okay, but I can't guarantee you’ll like the answers I have to give.

He smirked at her defiance, “Were you jealous?”

“Yes.”

“Were you telling me the truth about that dinner I made two nights ago? Was it good?”

She snickered, “No, it was awful. I’ll cook from now on.”

Steve decided to try and see if he could get some answers to questions that plagued him. He switched his tune and spun her around so that she was standing between his thighs, “What happened to make you run from the hotel?”

Y/N played with the buttons on his shirt, avoiding his gaze, “Becca called me Jamie’s mom and it freaked me out. I don’t know if I can be a good parent and I don’t want to replace his mother. I know that she’s dead, but still.”

“First of all, you are an amazing mother to Jamie. Take it from someone who actually had no experience with kids, you are miles ahead of where I was. You love him and care for him and I trust you completely with him.” Y/N kissed Steve, her hand curling into his hair. They separated, but he kept on hand on her back, “One more question. Where were you for the last three years?”

She stiffened and he watched her mask fall into place, “I told you. I went to a lot of places.

“What happened to you? The full story.”

Y/N shrugged him off and stepped away from him, “Rogers, don’t do this.”

“You need to talk to someone.”

“I have, just not the people who continue to push me and piss me off.”

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, “You deserve to be happy, Birdie.

“I am happy…Look, I can’t keep spending my life sad because some shit has happened in my past. I want to enjoy the life I have. Spend my days with my family, and be there for you and Jamie. I don’t want to be sad and broken.

You’re not sad or broken,” Steve tucked her hair behind her ear, “But there's a difference between moving on and avoiding.”

“I’m not avoiding shit. I’ve always told the truth about what’s happened to me.”

Steve stared at her incredulously, “The whole truth?” Y/N stiffened and nodded at him. If her eyes could kill, he would died a hundred times over. “The whole entire truth? You’re not hiding something deep down?”

“I’ve told everyone everything they need to know about where I’ve been and about my ex.

Steve chuckled humorlessly and started walking towards Y/N, “You’re so careful, you know?”

Her stomach was is knots, “Careful?”

“Yes. You never say his name. Only ‘my boyfriend’ or ‘my ex.’ This anticipation is killing me. Why are you protecting him even after all this time?”

“I’m not protecting him. Maybe I just don’t want all the possessive guys around me to get even worse. Maybe... just maybe, it’s not your business.”

Steve groaned at her stubbornness and kissed along her neck, turning her legs to jelly. “Come on, be a good girl. You’re going to be my wife. Just give me a name, Birdie.”

Y/N knew his game and it still took all of her strength to pull away, “Oh no. You’re not using that against me.”

“Sweetheart, I am trying to get you to open up to me. Getting you to share is like Bucky and Sam trying to have an intelligent conversation. You’ve got so many walls up and every time I think I’ve broken one down, two more are put up. I'm just trying to understand you.”

She shoved his chest, “If you want to understand, just be there. Make me believe you’re worth it. Don’t seduce me into getting your way. Help me understand that you won’t leave when it gets tough.

“What, like you did?” Y/N reeled back when Steve said that.

“I’m trying to make up for that.”

“Then tell me what is going on with you.”

She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Her mind was swirling, “No, Steve! No! You don’t get to guilt me into this. This is not fair to me. Will you do this every time I don’t act how you want? Is my leaving some ploy you’ll use to get what you want? That’s not the actions of someone I want to share with. I want to tell you everything because I trust you to understand and not because I think it’ll make you forgive me faster… I—I need to go.”

“Birdie…”

“I need space from all of this. Get my head on straight. I’ll see you later.” Y/N was out the door, before he could stop her.

Her phone was vibrating like crazy and she finally looked at it. Messages from an unknown number had filled the screen:

I meant what I said when you’re all mine.

You belong to me and to HYDRA.

Maybe the Families will get some anonymous intel on where you’ve been

Can Steve Rogers really give you all I did?

Do you cry his name out like you did mine?

What will Daddy Stark say about his little whore of a daughter?

Are you so stupid that you think marrying Rogers will protect you?

What Y/N didn’t know was that George was tracking her phone and was seeing every message she got. It didn’t take long for him to get the information he needed. Brock Rumlow: the reason Y/N Parker-Stark was broken. HYDRA had gotten closer and done more damage than anyone else knew.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@founding-fuck-bois

@animegirlgeeky

@inlovewiththefictionalcharacters

@directorsnarrative

@marvelofwitch

@hollandstanevans

@samwinter09

#avengers au #avengers imagine #toomanyrobins #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x reader #avengers x reader #mafia au #mafia!avengers #mafia!steve #mob!au #mob!avengers #mob!steve #steve rogers #steve rogers au #avengers #captain america #captain america imagine #captain america x reader #mafia!steve rogers

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cyro-starfire · 3 years

Text

Cyro meeting Lemon Monster for the first time - Lemcy fic

⚠️WARNINGS FOR THIS FIC: OC X CANON, VIOLENCE, CUSSING, KISSING, CRINGE⚠️

Character colors

Blue - Boyfriend

Red - Girlfriend

Green - Pico

Pink - Cyro

Orange - Lemon Monster

The night was still young, the stars shine brightly throughout the night sky, the full moon also gave a brilliant light that made the night seem less dark. Pico, Girlfriend, Boyfriend, and Cyro were having as friend's night out, just the four of them. They generally used their time in the night to goof around and have fun, visiting parks, getting ice cream and just messing around with each other.

As the night grew they decided to sleep over at Pico's place for the night, Girlfriend told her parents about it so they wouldn't panic if Girlfriend didn't get home tonight. On their way to Pico's house Pico noticed the mansion that Girlfriend's parent's had owned, the same one where Bee and Gee met the spooky kids Skid and Pump.

"Ayo, Bee, ain't that the same house you met those kids in?" Pico asked Boyfriend. "Hrm?" Boyfriend looked over and noticed the house. "Oh yeah, it is, what about it?" "Well ain't it also the same house where you told me you like dissed a weird lemon headed monster thing?" Pico added. "Uhh...y-yeah...? Where are you going with this Pico?" Boyfriend asked slightly nervous of what Pico's intentions could've possibly been...

"Well, it's been a long ass time since I had a good scare, not even Cassandra's stupid ass could scare me, you said the guy was genuinely terrifying, I wanna be the judge of that shit!" Pico exclaimed. "DUDE! ARE YOU FUCKIN INSANE? THAT FUCKER WANTED TO EAT ME AND BAE!" Boyfriend responded with a shocked screech. "Dude come on, how bad can it be for me? Besides, Gee can't die remember?" Pico tried to remind Boyfriend. "But he was still fucking creepy, even for a dearest like me." Girlfriend admitted.

"For real?" Pico asked, astounded by Girlfriend of all people admitting that. "Yeah dude." "Well if that's the case, i think it's about time you introduced me to him!" Pico chuckled. "DUDE NO! ARE YOU FUCKING CRAZY?! PLUS WHAT IF CYRO GETS HURT?!" Girlfriend states to Pico, obviously not happy that he would want to do something this reckless and life threatening. Pico looked at Cyro and felt bad that he almost forgot that they were there..."Well...you guys know I'll shoot up anything hostile." He responds bluntly. "Come on, it'll be worth it, i wanna meet this fucker" Girlfriend and Boyfriend looked at each other and then looked at Cyro for their input.

"o-o-oh uhm..." Cyro was taken aback by the situation being suddenly focused around them. "Do you think you'll be able to handle this shit Cy?" Boyfriend asks the alien in a gentle tone, as to not put more stress on Cy. "w-w-well i-i m-m-mean uh...i-i guess it sh-shouldn't b-be too b-bad if P-Pico is the o-one protecting us..." They replied quietly but not too quiet to where Bee and Gee couldn't hear. "You sure?" "I-I'm p-positive! P-Please don't w-worry about m-me too m-much!" Cyro reassures the two. Bee and Gee look at Cyro for a while and sighed. "Alright just...stay close to us alright?" Cyro nods in response.

Girlfriend finally responded to Pico "Okay, fine we'll go in again..." Pico cheered. "HELL YEAH! LES FUCKING GO!!!" Pico screamed out in joy as he immediately darted towards the mansion and wasted no time to get in, the other three followed but not as enthusiastic as Pico, they were more reluctant if anything, especially Girlfriend...

The inside of the mansion felt as dead and haunted as the first time Girlfriend and Boyfriend went inside it together for the first time. "I still hate looking at the inside of this hellscape babe..." Boyfriend shuddered. "Me too honey bun..." "Awe come on you guys are pussies!" Pico giggled. "EASY FOR YOU TO SAY MAN, YOU FUCKING KILLED A HUGE ASS ALIEN WHEN WE WERE IN FUCKING SCHOOL!" Boyfriend screeched at Pico in anger only making Pico laugh more. Cyro was shaking like a leaf, clinging tightly onto Girlfriend's red dress. "Y-You okay Cy?" Girlfriend asked, worried about the shivering alien. "i-i-i-i-i'm g-g-g-good..." Cyro whimpered silently.

"Okay this was obviously a bad idea, I'm pretty sure this place alone is gonna make Cy have a huge panic attack.." Boyfriend sighed but was cut off by Cyro. "N-N-NO! I-i-i-i-i'm okay, i-i promise...i-i-it's j-j-j-just c-c-cold here..." "You sure Cy?" Pico asked, concerned as well. "Y-Yeah...t-trust me g-guys i-i'm fine!" The alien tried their best to reassure the three, which only resulting in Pico, Bee and Gee sighing in unison, they couldn't just back out on this so quickly...right...?

After some time of exploring the mansion, it did take some time for Pico to get genuinely spooked by the place... "Wow...y'all weren't fuckin around..." He chuckled nervously. "This place is creepy as fuck...why do your parents even own this place to begin with Gee?" Girlfriend shrugged "I don't know man, sometimes they don't even make sense to me..." She responds. "Wait, so you admit your scared then?" Boyfriend asks with a slight giggle.

"WH-WHAT?! N-NO?! I AIN'T FUCKIN SCARED BEE!!" "Ya sure Pico?" Boyfriend giggled even more. "Your sure acting like your scared!" "THERE'S A FUCKIN DIFFERENCE WITH BEING SCARED AND BEING CREEPED OUT YOU FUCK NUT, GET THAT THROUGH YOUR THICK ASS HEAD!" "Okay but your stuttering, your clearly pissing yourself dude." "NO I FUCKIN AIN'T!" "Yeah you are!" "SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!" Pico screamed. And thus, an argument began with the two boys, Girlfriend sighed. Some things never really do change, do they? Cyro looked away from the arguing boys only to be met with an odd looking shadow in the distance. "h-h-h-huh?"

"g-g-guys...?" Cyro tried to get everyone's attention but they couldn't be heard over Boyfriend and Pico so they had to try again "G-Guys?" Still not being heard over, so Cyro took a deep breath and reluctantly scream to get their attention. "GUYS!" With them finally being heard all three of them turned their heads to look at the quivering alien. "Is something wrong Cy?"

"u-uh y-yeah, WHAT TH-THE FUCK IS THAT?!" The alien screeched in terror pointing at the lemon shaped shadow that was hiding behind a door. "What's wh- oh...oh no..." "B-B-Bee...?" "What the fu..." The shadow suddenly had a visible smile and finally spoke. "Well, well, well~ what do we have here~? A three course meal~? How thoughtful of you all~!" The voice was deep, soothing, and mesmerizing. The creature slowly opened the door and stepped out.

As seen through the shadow it had a yellow, lemon shaped head, it's eyes were huge with wide pupils within them, it's teeth were uncomfortably crooked, it's neck was a velvet red and the rest of it's body was a pitch, raven black, it had two fingers on each hand, and it had only two toes on each foot. The creature was very tall in compared to the four other beings within the room, it towered over all of them.

"It has been quite a long while since i have seen you two~! And i see you've brought that little schizophrenic ginger friend of yours~! And-" the monster paused to look at Cyro behind Girlfriend, still scared out of their mind. "Well now~! Who's this little friend of yours~? They look rather...appetizing~ in more ways then one if i must be so bold to say~!" He said, attempting to slowly approach Cy but was stopped by Girlfriend. "Don't go near them...O R E L S E . . ." She warned it with a growl, which only made the lemon headed monster roll its eyes in annoyance. "And you still don't know how to not be so RUDE..." The monster growled.

"Better not try jack shit bitch, i know how to use this thing." Pico aimed the gun towards the monster which only made it boom with laughter. "You think a puny little weapon like that scares me? How adorable~!" It chuckled before lunging at Girlfriend and attacked her which made Pico start firing bullets at the creature, and Cy ran as fast as they could into an empty hallway. Boyfriend stood still, he didn't wanna engage in the violence, he didn't sign up for this shit man...

After the monster and Girlfriend fought, monster while doing a number on Girlfriend decided that enough damage was done and went after Cyro. Pico and Boyfriend, instead of knowing Girlfriend can easily heal, and going after the monster and making sure he doesn't hurt them, went to Girlfriend to see if she was okay, Cyro was sobbing and whimpering while running, wanting to be home right now and not here.

"FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK!!! I KNEW THIS WAS A BAD IDEA WHY DID I TRY TO LOOK BRAVE FOR EVERYONE HHHH!!!!" The alien screamed internally and wished that they were just honest so that none of this would be happening right now, after some running they found themself in a dead end, and what was worse is that they could hear the monster's footsteps. "NONONONONONONONONONO PLEASE PLEASE OH PLEASE I DON'T WANNA DIE, WHY ME, WHY ME. WHY ME!!!" As much as they hated themself, but they were still terrified of dying, especially like this...

The monster got closer and closer until he was visible again which only heightened Cyro's anxiety, their heart was pounding through their chest and their breathing was rapid, they could barley think straight at all. "There you are my dear~!" The monster cooed. "p-p-p-please leave m-m-me alone..." They whimpered quietly. "Oh don't worry dear~! I won't kill you~! Will i possibly hurt you? Maybe, but then again..." He got closer to them and pinned them against the wall, he slowly put his two fingered claws against their face, and caressed their face gently.

"I would feel guilty if i caused any sort of harm to an adorable and beautiful creature such as yourself~!" It whispered in their ear making Cyro blush deeply and shudder they were so confused by this behavior. "You know, i normally don't have such feelings for prey...but you...your different..." The monster explained to Cyro. "wh-what d-do you m-mean...?" "I mean what i mean my sweet cherry cake~! Your seem like such a delicate creature~!" The monster slowly moved it's claws under Cyro's chin and began to rub the bottom of their chin gently. Cyro couldn't help but purr at the sensation.

The monster chuckled at Cyro's purring, they were so adorable. "Perhaps i won't eat you~ your so sweet, I'm afraid that if I eat you, I'll get a cavity~!" The monster joked. Cyro didn't respond, they only continued to purr at the monster rubbing their chin, until he took his claw away from their chin which only made them whine. "wh-why'd y-you st-" they were interrupted by the monster giving them a soft and gentle kiss on the lips, which surprised Cyro at first, but they slowly sunk into the kiss and kissed the monster back. There was some time before they broke away from the kiss, Cyro panted softly while looking at the creature

The monster chuckled. "While i would love to keep you, i fear that i have aggravated your friends enough, so unfortunately this will be goodbye for now, but i will be back soon, my little prey, until we meet again~!" The monster whispered to them beore giving them a kiss on the cheek and disappeared into the shadows again. Which only left Cyro in confusion but at the same time, they felt like they've fallen in love again.

After some time Pico, Boyfriend and Girlfriend found Cy, fortunately for them Cyro was okay, and the four of them darted out of the house as soon as fucking possible. Cyro never really forgot about that day ever since...

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breathings-of-the-heart · 4 years

Text

Imagine Levi Confessing his Love for You

A/N: THIS IS VERY IMPORTANT PLEASE READ THE TEXT BELOW BEFORE PROCEEDING THANK YOU :))

HERE IS A TIMELINE / EXPLANATION / BACKGROUND INFORMATION BECAUSE CASE THE TIME SKIPS OF THIS STORY ARE CONFUSING: I’m sorry for that everyone, I know the dates are sloppy and as a whole this fic doesn’t make too much sense; I tried to edit this piece as best I could to make the story as easy to follow as possible, but seeing as I can’t unpublish part 1 or 2, the cleanup still leaves things bit unclear. These imagines were originally chapters of a longer Levi x Reader fic that I decided to discontinue, which is why there are so many loose ends. Here was my original intention for this story, broken down for the few who choose to read the Author’s Notes lol.

We are going to do this in the order of the 3 part fic (I also put attached all the links to the titles)

Part 1: Imagine Relating to Mikasa About Loving Someone in the Military

The scene is set during the events of SEASON 1 of Attack on Titan, BEFORE the Female Titan Arc. (Y/N) was also hand selected by Levi to be part of the original Special Operation Squad; she bit her hand at the dinner table along with Petra, Gunther, Eld, and Oluo to show their dedication and understanding towards Eren wayyy back in the beginning of the series. The Survey Corps is making preparations for their first attempt to go to Shiganshina since the Fall of Wall Maria and not only uncover the mole who killed captive titans Sonny and Bean, but also to get to Eren’s basement.

Part 2: To Love Another

The flashback and opening scene in the beginning of this writing piece (where (Y/N) and Hange are talking to each other) occurs shortly after (Y/N) wakes up in the infirmary room, before anyone breaks the news that she, aside from an injured Levi, is the last surviving member of Squad Levi after Annie killed the others in the Forest of Giant Trees in her female titan form. Hange’s intentions were to bring the (Y/N) and Levi together so they would be able to support each other during this mutual loss. But alas, (Y/N) accepts his rejection and the two suffer the aftermath of this tragic news alone. To read this arc for context/bonus content to get a better understanding of this mini series, see my posts (as a sort of prequel, if you will) Imagine Levi Finding you Injured on an Expedition and Imagine Being the Last Member of Squad Levi To Survive to fill that time gap :)

In real-time, all of Season 2 and Season 3 Part 1 have gone by with limited interaction between (Y/N) and Levi. This part of the story is occurring during Season 3 PART 2, (spoilers) after the Coup D'etat, and after Historia becomes Queen. (Y/N) is no longer an active soldier, having sustained injuries too severe to be reliable in combat. She remains useful to the Corps as a battle strategist, however, which allows her to stay. The Scouting Regiment is currently preparing to go to Eren’s basement in their second attempt, knowing Reiner and Berthold will be waiting for them there.

Part 3: Imagine Levi Confessing his Love for You (YOU ARE HERE)

This part takes place pretty much a week or so after the events of “To Love Another.” It is revealed how much (Y/N) has isolated herself in the months between Parts 1 and 2 from not only Levi, but Hange, the only one besides Mikasa who knew about her feelings for Levi prior to their falling out. (Y/N) confesses her feelings for Levi before the mission to Shiganshina in Season one, and the fic parallels itself and comes full circle once their final interaction occurs before the second and final mission to Shiganshina, for which, (Y/N) is unable to go for her death would be almost certain. She seen to be more valuable inside the walls, where she can carry on the duties of the Survey Corps should the entire regiment collapse during the mission. This is the final part :)

I HOPE THAT CLEARS THINGS UP!

requested by @a-single-uwo @dracq and @little-diva-gurl and a lovely anon who def isn’t the happiest that this took so long. Deepest apologies! Hope this was worth the wait. I also hope this post finds everyone safe and in good health during these crazy times <3

~~~~~

Dread bottled up in the bottom of your stomach, which threatened to fall down to your knees. Even Hange’s eyes brimmed with concern when she informed you that Levi requested your presence in his office; all of which was out of the blue, uncharacteristic, after months of him being accustomed to giving you your space.

Feigning annoyance, you stared at the soldier dummy two paces ahead, dented heavily with the marks of your punches. The sun was beating down on the early autumn day, and heat waves rose from the ground. It illuminated the glistening perspiration sliding down your figure, torso rising and falling in short breaths of exhaustion.

Hange watched you carefully from a distance. She noticed your tense muscles, clad in a sports bra and boxing shorts; the lack of attire made it impossible to hide the sudden tension and stiffness embedded in your lean muscles, a tell tale sign of distress. As a creature of observation and analytics, the Squad Leader could sense your discomfort as if it was written across your forehead.

The brunette watched you wipe the sweat off your forehead and yell in frustration, turning towards her direction and moving to land a kick at her head.

Unfazed and in possession of sharp reflexes, Hange took a step back, only to watch as you twisted mid-air and landed a 360 Crescent kick to the dummy-shaped bag, which broke open on impact under the force of the blow. Sand poured out of its opening and spilled onto the ground in a steady stream that grew less heavy as the seconds passed.

“I’ll have to admit, you are getting better, but (Y/N), don’t get your hopes up,” Hange cautioned. “The problem does not reside in your muscles. No matter how well you learn to fight like you used to, Annie crushed your ribs and threw you to the ground: it's your lungs that will never recover. You can’t come with us to Shiganshina tomorrow like this.”

Hunched over with hands on your knees, you regained a regular breathing pattern and began to feel the explosive pain in your chest. Airways blocked, you began coughing, willing the oxygen to enter your body.

“Let me humor myself, Hange-san. If I don’t try, I might go insane.”

It was almost tragic that such a young soldier was out of commission; you were full of promise, rivalling Mikasa in skill. Hange knew you were itching to do what you trained for your whole life: Coming to Shiganshina and putting it all on the line had always been your number one goal. You didn’t want to be left behind again, to die bitter and alone without the only people you cared about.

“Regardless, (Y/N), you’re stalling,” Hange smoothly shifted the topic of conversation back to what brought her to you in the first place. “He still has that power over you, huh?”

"It'll pass eventually," you sighed, hoping the words were true.

You bowed towards the tall female. She smiled in return, shaking her head softly.

Whilst pacing away, said person stopped you once more.

“(Y/N). For what it’s worth, I stand by what I said before. Don’t look so nervous, okay?”

Her words replayed in your head, a haunting ghost of the not-so-long ago past. Time was strange, that way. It seemed like everything happened yesterday yet in another lifetime, all at once. “He loves you, more than he’s ever loved anyone. Surely you know that.”

Stupid, you thought, how I might have believed it once.

As you made your way down the hall, numbness crept into your body once again. You were too proud to admit you were afraid, especially with the Section Commander’s radiating sympathy, but everyone knew the once friendly dynamic between you and the Captain transformed into one more distant and cold. With each step towards the door, you felt the icy chill grow and that fact alone shook you to the core.

But it didn’t matter, seeing as Levi was of superior authority. There was no way around it.

Your hand shook as it raised to knock.

~~~~~~

“Name and business,” Levi spoke, voice muffled by the closed door.

“It’s (Y/N), sir. I was hoping to speak with you.”

There was a pause, and in that time you considered the option of fleeing back to your room and retreating back to a life of emotional safety, normality. It wasn’t too late to forget.

It had been a week since you spoke to Mikasa on the rooftop, after realizing the deep shit your heart decided to put you in. You didn’t think Levi would notice the distracted nature of your behavior-- tried to make it as subtle as possible whilst you figured out what you felt for him.

But before you could explore other options, Levi muttered a stern “enter.” You knew with the first expedition back to Shiganshina tomorrow, and the prospect of death closer than it has ever been on a mission, it was now or never.

The room was dim, small, warm, and thick with building tension. Shadows danced across the Captain’s face, sharp features lit by an orange flame. Only candlelight, sourced at his desk, assisted your adjusting eyes.

Your nose was hit with the smell of tea and cleaning products upon entry. This fact made you smile despite your bundling nervous energy. It was a familiar place, filled with memories of late night conversations (granted, of mostly you speaking and him listening), witnessed only by the large piles of paperwork. It started here and resulted in a natural, growing fondness kept secret to all except you two and the moon looking in from the window.

This man was your squad leader, your commander, your trusted comrade. There was no need to be afraid-- Not unless of course, you held the potential to shatter such damn a delicate relationship.

And you did.

Was it worth it?

Your gaze gravitated towards the center of the room where the Lance Corporal sat. And in that instant, your smile evaporated instantly. He placed his pen down, gracefully resting his cheek on his fist and lazily tossing the raven locks out of his eyes-- they landed on you, piercing yet drowsy and indifferent upon first glance. He was beautiful, as always. The allure was nearly sickening; unfair to the rest of the world.

Looking closer, however, he was anything but relaxed. The observant eye could see his countenance stirred something different. He seemed sharp and focused, ready to dart out and wrap himself around your heart, squeezing tighter with every breath you took. And you felt it-- the heart palpitations, which got worse at the sight of him.

He seemed… different. Dangerous, like a storm stirring in the distance, and the inevitable downpour that comes with it. The dark circles under his eyes told tales about the insomnia; a fresh cup of caffeinated black tea even rested on his left, steam rising out of it. And whilst attraction was undeniable, your concern always came first.

Levi was never quite good at getting proper rest before a mission.

“(Y/N),” The word was breathy, yet his voice was rough.

You shuffled in your spot, your name on his tongue making your stomach churn with desire.

Levi seemed to pick up on your affliction, getting out of his chair and gliding towards you. Everything happened fast and slow all at once, starting off with a momentaneous rush of air and the collision of your back with the office wall. A small shriek filled the air, out of place against the silence; was that your voice? The pain should’ve been there, but it wasn’t.

Then the seconds dragged out. Levi was a new person, setting your skin aflame as he gripped your wrists and pinned them against the wall. His lips brushed your eartips, which turned red the instant the raven’s breath fanned over them. This normally reserved, disciplined man unleashed something you had never seen before.

“Finally ready to talk to me about why you’ve been acting so strange, brat?” he whispered.

This wasn’t supposed to be so dirty. He was angry, but the mood was established in layers: something more sinister existed beneath.

The scent of fresh pine filled your nostrils until your brain went foggy. Levi was close--so close, and with the fact that you’ve been avoiding him mixed in with the fact that you missed him for it, all bets were off: there was no stopping the words that came out of your mouth next.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” you whispered back, looking him dead in the eyes, no fear this time.

His grip on your wrist slackened.

“Hm?”

You took in a deep breath, ready to leave it all on the line, and spoke.

“I like you a lot, sir. And not in a comradery type of way. I-I just thought I’d tell you before, you know, we leave tomorrow.” Your gaze found the floor again, too timid for your own good. But the statement was said, and it was finite; there was no turning away from it.

The Captain’s eyes went wide and gleamed brightly at you. His chest felt lighter and as he looked down at you in speechless awe, staring at anything but his face in your adorable embarrassment, he realized exactly why your absent look irked him those days ago. Why your lack of enthusiasm and lighthearted-ness gave him a strange sense of frustration.

Levi never felt more awake, more hyper aware of his surroundings.

The feeling of your chest pressed against him, the heat of those rosy cheeks, the pounding within his ribcage, the moon hitting your pretty face. With your figure in his arms, after the blissful seconds passed, everything felt, for once, okay.

Until it wasn’t.

Gaining the courage to look back up at him, you all but tore apart at the scowl on his face as demons flitted through his beautiful brain and polluted the image of happiness. Levi grew more indignant by the second, all but throwing your arms he held back at your sides like they were poison to the touch.

Tears pooled in your eyes as the soft expression you didn’t get to see turned sour, disgusted-- the Captain’s lips curling into a snarl as he imagined what he could lose if he opened up his heart for this girl in front of him to take. The risk and pain of falling for someone, in the world the two of you lived in. And all the stoic man could think was how he allowed this charade to come so far.

No, he wouldn't allow it.

“Get out, (L/N)” he commanded, harsh and unforgiving.

You were trembling, body feeling detached from reality as it moved, convincing itself that it was simply a nightmare. Levi’s cruel demeanor all but shattered you as you looked wide-eyed and his anger grew, the short man pacing behind his desk and bringing a hand over his face. His free one crumpled into a fist, knuckles turning white as he slammed it on the wood, the loud bang making you jump; the fear, grief, confusion coming all at once until it choked you and your vision spotted black.

“I said GET OUT!”

The room stilled and Levi looked up to face you cowering near the door, a single tear rolling down your cheek. He stilled at the sight, the weight of his words dawning upon him.

“I-I’m sorry,” you gasped before racing out of the room.

Had you looked back, you would’ve seen Levi’s outstretched hand betraying his body, desperately reaching out for you, gray eyes filled with pain.

But you knew now you’d never be dumb enough to spare him that second glance-- and maybe that was the right call, seeing as his feet moved in the direction you left, only to shut the door left askew in your wake.

~~~

The Captain’s gaze was on you more than necessary, but it was clear the two of you had the same thought: You focused everything into this discussion, melting into the emotionally-detached soldier your duty commanded, just like Levi did. His words had no ulterior motive, no deeper meaning. They were monotonous and empty.

Or so you thought.

Levi stood up the second you came in, but your gaze fell to the ground in submission.

“Hange said you needed to see me, Captain?” your voice was small and weak; you kicked yourself for it. How pathetic.

“Damn you...”

The man said nothing more, brushing his fingers along your cheekbones and you everything hit you like whiplash, the memories. Levi ran them along your face, down to your chin to lift it gently, so that for once you’d let your eyes meet instead of looking at the ground like a coward.

When they did the man’s breath hitched in his throat, because although your (eye color) orbs were no longer as vibrant, they were still beautiful and entrancing; why hadn’t he ever appreciated them before?

"I missed you, brat," he spoke firmly.

You felt a churn in your abdomen as you watched his eyes study the details of your face and take in every feature, committing it to memory painfully slow. You were paralyzed, his face inches away from yours and forcing buried emotions to resurface as months of restraint came undone. He didn’t speak, holding you delicately after not being this close for far too long and discerning what he’s been missing.

“Um, Captain? What are you...?"

You bit your lip, feeling puzzled and confused as you remembered the hate in Levi's orbs the last time you saw him like this.

All you could see now was how quickly his emotions shifted from serenity to fury that fateful night, and as you recollected the way Levi lashed out, all chaos and fury, he retracted his hand.

And you flinched away.

The Captain froze.

“Don’t-- don’t fucking do that,” he growled, his urgency startling. “I would never hurt you, (Y/N).”

Your eyebrows furrowed, all inhibition thrown out the window the second Levi’s countenance flashed with hurt at your response to his touch. You let your fear go and emotions free at the irony of the raven’s statement. Your mind went into overdrive, recounting every instance you wanted to give up and leave, drown in yourself, give up on finding purpose in the aftermath of rejection and Squad Levi’s death and your permanent injury changing your way of life. Things you faced alone, because instead of rekindling any semblance of a relationship, Levi tossed everything away and berated you for feeling.

The man who resided here cut your heart expertisely like the countless swords he wielded then disposed. He did not have the right to look at you so kindly; did not have to right to fan the flames of false hope. But here he was, procrastinating until the very last day to take initiative regarding those actions.

“Why are you doing this?” you whispered, forgetting your composure.

“I’d advise you not to speak in riddles,” Levi spoke in a low and even voice, no real malice as he addressed you and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

You took a deep breath and fought to remain calm, grabbing Levi's wrist to keep him from touching you.

“Please don’t toy with me, or mock my feelings like this. Why did you call me here? You made it plenty clear how you feel about me, Levi. What else is there to say?" you begged, the lack of closure driving you insane.

This was the first time you used his name, an unprecedented amount of spite and pain expressed through it, because you wanted Levi to remember this moment. It was over: that time of feeling sorry and ashamed of yourself for being nothing other than human. The remorse was gone, and the heartache was fleeting.

“Tell me, dammit!”

His was overflowing.

“You want to know how I really feel about you, (Y/N)!?” the Captain shouted, voice rising because for a man who relied on impulse and action on the battlefield it was fucking frustrating, watching the woman in front of him live this way for the simple reason that he was not good with words. "The thoughts that go through my head when you can't even bear to look at me?!"

"No, that's not what I asked. I already know that you don't--"

"--Fuck this."

Relying on instinct to guide him, Levi leaned forward and kissed you.

The second his lips met yours, you melted on the spot, knees giving out beneath you. Tongue sliding into your mouth, Levi simultaneously lifted you into the air, feeling lightheaded as you moaned into him, eagerly returning the kiss. His hands were everywhere, grasping at your waist, clutching the back of your head, running down your thighs. You were in such a state of euphoria that nothing else existed.

Your own digits threaded through Levi’s raven locks and pulled needily, emitting a growl from his throat as he bit down on your lower lip. He reveled in the feeling of your legs around his waist as your soft lips worked against his own, hungry and relentless. The kiss was passionate and you’d imagined it a million times over, but this-- Levi successfully ruined you for any other man.

The need for oxygen pulled you apart, Levi’s strong arms keeping you in the air as his eyes remained shut; he pecked your lips once, then twice, savoring the moment until it mournfully passed.

He was hesitant to break the silence, but you deserved it. You waited long enough to hear the truth, and he knew his time was running out; you weren’t going to wait for him forever.

“(Y/N)...” he began to speak, forehead resting on yours as he panted softly to catch his breath. “I dreamt of you last night. I have been for days.”

“Levi--”

“--Just listen,” he interrupted, unable to stop himself from kissing you softly once more. “Neither of us are running away this time.”

You fell silent as the man let you down, pulling you into his solid chest as you buried your face in his shirt, patiently listening. His calm heartbeat thrummed soothingly in your ears like a metronome.

“Isabel, Farlan, Oluo, Petra, Gunther, Eld. They all knew that what they meant to me. And I them."

One of the only things that made it easier to say goodbye, you thought with a bittersweet pang in your chest.

"With us, it's different. I died in every dream, (Y/N). Every one. And in every single one, you lived on believing I never loved you. Call me selfish, but I...”

You pulled away from the stoic man, searching his gaze as he trailed off. Shyly, you interlaced your fingers, his larger hand enveloping yours and you prayed to whoever was listening upstairs that all of this was real.

“I just can't leave until you understand...”

He clutched you impossibly tighter, eyes squeezing shut.

"...that you, are everything."

~~~ Extended Ending ~~~

A soft hum filled the air, the tune dreamy and sweet as you repeated the melody once again. You smiled warmly as hands wound around your waist, pulling you closer to a toned and shirtless Captain Levi, silken sheets tossed haphazardly on top of the two of you. His breath sent goosebumps on your neck as he kissed your shoulder gently, warmth deliciously intoxicating.

Giggling now, you turned around to face him, the man’s onyx hair ticking you softly. You captured your lips in his with one smooth movement and snuggled closer, taking in the small slice of heaven that was home in his arms, legs tangled together. Feeling unbelievably content, like your heart might burst, you leaned forward and rubbed your nose against Levi's.

Although he wasn't smiling, the look he was giving you revealed his own sensation of happiness.

“I never thought you’d be the cuddling type,” you remarked devilishly, scrunching up your nose as you teased him.

Though your tone was lighthearted, you were painfully aware that the moment was ending. You internally cursed the sun as it started to set, orange light peeking in through the window shades to signal the coming of night. Levi said nothing, looking deeply into your eyes, and like always, it felt as if he could read the contents of your soul.

But it wasn’t vulnerability you felt: on the contrary, you knew you would never find as safe a place as here. With him. Finally.

“Levi...” you swallowed, humor all but gone. “Now you have to come home.”

To emphasize your point you sat up on the bed, legs tucked neatly underneath you as you stared imperatively at your lover.

“Mhm. We’ve wasted enough time,” he agreed, taking you by the wrist to pull you back on top of him, to bask in this personal paradise if only for another minute.

#levi ackerman x reader #lance corporal levi #LEVI ACKERMAN #snk #shingeki no kyojin #AoT #attack on titan #attack on titan imagines #attack on titan x reader #snk imagines #Captain Levi #snk season 3 #aot x reader #levi x reader #levi ackerman fanfiction #levi ackerman imagine

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gusu-emilu · 3 years

Text

seven nights to turn (2/4)

chapter two: from sixth to seventh night

Ship: Jiang Cheng / Wen Ning

Summary: Jiang Cheng counts the passage of time by nights, not days. He's spending the next seven in a cabin on the fringe of the Cloud Recesses. On the first night, he hears humming.

Rated E, Post-Canon, Hate Sex (in the previous chapter), Mentioned Canon-Typical Violence, Guilt, more jiang cheng brooding

< Ch. 1

read on AO3 or on Tumblr below

The humming stops.

Jiang Cheng waits, but there is no sound inside. He bangs on the door again. “Wen Qionglin!”

The door slides open abruptly. Wen Ning stares down at him from inside, his face covered in shadow.

For a few moments, neither of them move. Then Wen Ning steps aside, making room for Jiang Cheng to enter, his eyes never wavering in their sullen glare.

Jiang Cheng hesitates, then steps inside.

════ 白天 ════

The Lan servant carrying his breakfast finds him like that, folded on the floor like a heating talisman crumpled in the Ghost General’s fist.

“Get out!” Jiang Cheng shouts. He snatches up a set of robes and covers himself, jumps to his feet and stumbles.

The servant is trembling and wide-eyed, his gaze darting back and forth between the floor and Jiang Cheng. He fumbles with the tray of food and steps inside, trying his hardest to maintain proper posture. Because of course, the servant, rigid in the inane ways of the Lan, just has to complete the task of leaving the tray in its precise spot in his quarters and giving Jiang Cheng all the customary bows.

“Get out! Speak to no one of this!”

As soon as the boy backs out through the doorway, he breaks into a sprint, feet pounding on the path and crunching on fallen leaves as he flees.

Jiang Cheng groans and digs his knuckles into his temples. He’s had a headache coming on all week, but now it’s here in full force. His mouth is dry, his neck aches. And the rest of him…

Shameful. It’s a good thing I don’t have anywhere to be today.

He cleans himself, fixes his hair, gets dressed. He chooses the stateliest of his outfits. It doesn’t give him any of his dignity back, instead seeming to float over him, foreign and numb on his skin, as if the fabric does not want to touch him.

He looks in the mirror. His eyes are sunken.

A pendant in the window casts a sun-shaped shadow on his face; a faint circle, spoked and distorted.

He doesn’t look in the mirror again after that.

* * *

Two hours later, he’s standing outside the door of Wei Wuxian’s quarters. Birds chirp overhead, their songs sickeningly cheery. The wooden panel of the door glares back at him like an accusation, daring him to knock.

He doesn’t know why he’s here.

What does he even have to say to Wei Wuxian?

I saved your life before you ever saved mine? I just want to talk like brothers again? Your right-hand man fucked me last night?

He’s about to walk away when the door slides open.

“Jiang Cheng!” Wei Wuxian stands in the doorway, looking as startled as Jiang Cheng feels. “What are you doing here?”

Jiang Cheng’s stomach flips. He opens his mouth, then closes it, exhaling sharply as he straightens his spine, trying to look somewhat put together.

What is he doing here?

“Where are you headed?” Jiang Cheng says tersely, ignoring Wei Wuxian’s question. He’s always been more comfortable when he’s the one doing the questioning.

Wei Wuxian crosses his arms and leans against the doorpost. “I’m just making a trip to Caiyi Town to buy some orange oil for A-Yuan. It’s to clean the wood of his guqin. He ran out yesterday.”

Jiang Cheng scoffs. “Aren’t you a dutiful shushu.”

Wei Wuxian shrugs.

Jiang Cheng turns to leave. He has to get out from under Wei Wuxian’s gaze before he figures out what Jiang Cheng did last night—who did him last night. The shame is already making his skin burn.

The hell did you come here for? Stupid, stupid—

“Jiang Cheng?” Wei Wuxian calls before he’s taken two steps away.

He sucks in a breath. “What.”

“…You look dead.”

“You!—And you look like you need a bone broken!”

Wei Wuxian just smiles and nods. Teasing. Obnoxious.

Wei Wuxian opens his mouth to speak, but he’s cut off by a bustle of footsteps as three juniors hurry over from the courtyard to bow in front of him. Their usual perfect Lan posture is disrupted by nervous sways and shuffles of feet that make their white robes ruffle. They look bewildered.

Jiang Cheng never thought he’d be so relieved to see anyone from the Lan Clan. The interruption is a chance for him to leave right now. Yet he stays in place, waiting to find out what chaos has befallen the Cloud Recesses.

“W-Wei-gongzi?” one of the juniors says.

“What happened?” Wei Wuxian looks from one disciple to the other with concern.

“That haunted lantern from last week,” the shortest one says, his words hasty and anxious, “the spirit is—”

“That old thing?” Wei Wuxian puts his hands on his hips. “It’s still giving you trouble?”

“Wei-gongzi, the spirit is really—”

“Alright, alright, don’t worry. I’ll come.” He waves his hand at the juniors. They all smile with gratitude, then bow and hurry away.

He turns to Jiang Cheng. “I need a favor from you.”

“I’m not doing shit for you.”

“Well, I’m asking you anyway, because it looks like I won’t be going to Caiyi Town after all.” He pulls out a few coins from a pouch. “This should cover the price of the orange oil for A-Yuan. He needs it today.”

“You’re delusional if you think I’m going to buy it. Get one of the servants to do it if you’re so busy!”

Wei Wuxian leans forward and lowers his voice. “Look, the servants won’t buy the cleaning oil that A-Yuan likes. Someone outside the Lan needs to do it.”

Another wonderful thing about this insufferable place, that apparently there are even rules about what can be used to clean a guqin.

“Where’s your Ghost General?” Jiang Cheng tries to hide the way his stomach lurches at saying that name. “Have him do it.”

Wei Wuxian’s shameless levity fades. His voice softens. “Honestly, I don’t even see him much anymore.”

That’s…unexpected.

Before Jiang Cheng can react, Wei Wuxian takes his hand and drops the coins in them. Jiang Cheng jerks away, but the coins are already in his hand.

“If you want Wen Ning to buy it instead, he’ll do it if you ask,” Wei Wuxian says, smiling. “Well, I have to get going!” He runs off after the juniors.

“Wei Wuxian!”

He disappears around a corner with a swirl of black robes.

The nerve!

Jiang Cheng looks down at the silver coins in his palm, cold metal gently pressing into his skin. His first thought is to throw them at Wei Wuxian’s door and go back to his cabin.

But then again…

A trip to Caiyi Town might be the change he needs. There’s nothing left to do here except wait for one last word from the Lan about the trade arrangements, and Jiang Cheng has seen enough of the Lan after hours of suffocating discussion over the past few days. And the longer he stays in the central Cloud Recesses, the greater chance he has of running into Lan Wangji, with his obnoxiously oversized hairpiece and glares of silent fuck you’s.

And the longer he stays in the Cloud Recesses, the greater the chance of running into Wen Ning, too. He’s managed to avoid the Ghost General by day so far, and encountering him by night has already ended in enough of a disaster. To stand before Wen Ning in broad daylight…

He’ll go.

It stings his pride to buy the oil like some errand boy, but his dignity has already crumbled enough that chipping away one more piece won’t make much difference. He leaves the coins outside Wei Wuxian’s door—he can buy things for Lan Sizhui himself, without money that is definitely Lan Wangji’s—and starts down the path to Caiyi Town.

Soon he reaches a deep, shaded part of the mountain’s forest. He focuses on the scenery to keep his mind occupied, but the rhythm of his steps—the way the soles of his shoes grip the stone path and press into the stale winter dirt—it nearly puts him in a trance. He can’t prevent his thoughts from wandering to a dark room, to memories he does not want to relive so soon.

“You never helped us. You never helped any of us.”

Wen Ning’s words, that bite on his lip, that shove against his shoulders, repeat again and again in Jiang Cheng’s mind until they change the pace of his footsteps, and suddenly he’s speed-walking.

Figures, that for once Jiang Cheng tried to be generous, and it backfired so badly that Wen Ning unleashed years of resentment on him. How was he supposed to know that Wen Ning wouldn’t want the talismans? That Wen Ning would hate the idea of the tea so much that he would use the heat from it to humiliate him? Jiang Cheng would have preferred for Wen Ning to just spit the tea in his face than do…that.

“You think I need this remedy to make me more human.”

Isn’t that what Wen Ning wants? Isn’t that why he let Wei Wuxian return his ability to hum?

But of course, Jiang Cheng is not Wei Wuxian. The world has reminded him of that since they were children.

The path widens as he descends the mountain. His throat is dry, and there is a bitter, acrid taste in his mouth. The bracing winter air bites at his skin.

He is beginning to wonder if last night was some type of penance.

This trip to Caiyi Town is some type of penance, too, he tells himself. He has never done a single thing that helped the Dafan Wen. Buying a bottle of oil for their last living family member is the least he can do.

And if Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji marry, as seems to be on the distasteful horizon, Lan Sizhui will almost be like Jiang Cheng’s…nephew.

He hears a voice to his right.

Lan Sizhui’s.

He stops and looks over.

White robes flash between the dense rows of trees as Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi pass by. They are too far away for Jiang Cheng to make out what they’re saying, but when he is about to continue on his way, he catches one name: “Wen Ning.”

They’re talking about Wen Ning.

As if I care.

He takes two steps toward Caiyi Town.

Then he turns around to silently follow the juniors, straining to pick up their conversation across the patch of forest, peering at them through breaks in the trees and burning with self-hatred for doing it.

“He seems fine when we’re on night hunts,” Lan Jingyi says.

Lan Sizhui doesn’t sound convinced. “That’s not the Cloud Recesses, though.”

“Well, I don’t blame him! It’s probably Lan Qiren’s fault for not letting him help with our training!”

“I think it’s more than that,” Lan Sizhui says solemnly.

“What’s the problem, then?”

To save himself at least some dignity, Jiang Cheng stops following and lets the juniors go on. He is above eavesdropping.

Lan Sizhui’s voice fades as the two boys continue up the path to the Cloud Recesses. “Wei-qianbei hasn’t even figured it out. It’s just, ever since we came back from Dafan Mountain…” The rest of the words slip away as Jiang Cheng stands in place, watching the white-robed figures disappear.

What would make Lan Sizhui so concerned about Wen Ning?

And why wouldn't Wei Wuxian know what's wrong?

The sound of humming echoes in Jiang Cheng’s memory. The melody holds more sorrowfulness he had noticed before.

Or maybe he’s just imagining things.

To remind himself that he doesn’t care, he turns back the way he was supposed to be going, walking even faster than before.

It’s a long trip to Caiyi Town. After a while, a stream meets his path and flows alongside it. Cold mist brushes him when the trail curves close enough to the water.

Cold…

What kind of life does Wen Ning live in the Cloud Recesses? What does he do all day, when Lan Sizhui is busy training with the juniors, and Wei Wuxian is either running around or fawning over his precious Hanguang-Jun?

Whom does Wen Ning have to keep him company?

The chill of lonely nights wandering through the halls of Lotus Pier rise unbidden in Jiang Cheng’s mind. Walking alone down long, dark corridors faintly lit by lanterns. Passing Wei Wuxian’s room and trying not to look. Passing A-Jie’s room and lingering in front of the door. Not passing his parent’s rooms at all.

Walking out on the docks with the breeze from the lake whispering in his ear, a wine jar in one hand, the Jiang clarity bell in the other. Looking out at the dark water and seeing a boat filled with lotus pods and people who would never come back to Lotus Pier, their ghost laughter echoing across the water like a dirge.

Does Wen Ning hum every night because he likes it? Because he wants to perfect a newly-restored ability?

Or…is there another reason for his songs?

The stream beside the mountain path has disappeared, and a sign for Caiyi Town sits on the edge of the trail, indicating that the village is finally less than two li away. It occurs to Jiang Cheng that he could have just flown his sword. He thought a walk would clear his head. It’s done far from that.

In his memories, the cold breeze of Yunmeng nights sharpens, transforms into the sensation of Wen Ning’s cold hands on his throat.

He was an outlet, wasn’t he?

He was an outlet for Wen Ning’s anger.

How much of that anger was for Jiang Cheng’s mistreatment of the Wens? How much of it was grief disguised as fury?

Did he really have to take all that out on me?

Rage bubbles up inside Jiang Cheng. He wants to let it rise, let it boil over, but it’s pushed back down by…by…

By what? Pity? Sympathy? Guilt?

Jiang Cheng had sixteen sobering years for his grief to dull, and even now it still haunts him.

Wen Ning’s consciousness was just restored a few months ago.

Has he had a chance to process everything?

…Has Wei Wuxian?

The forest opens up. Hazy sunlight shines on Jiang Cheng. Several roads converge to the shape of Caiyi Town in the distance, where there is much more traffic, the roads busy with pedestrians in plain robes, travelers with donkeys, and merchants with wheelbarrows. There’s more noise there, too.

A distraction.

He has a task to complete. He’ll buy the oil for Lan Sizhui, drop it off at the boy’s door, get his mail and reply to every letter, then train with his sword. He just needs to keep himself busy. Keep himself moving. It’s how he has always pushed the pain out of his mind.

Caiyi Town is as colorful and cheery as always. It’s still as lively as it was when he visited the Cloud Recesses to study, when he walked these streets with Wei Wuxian and A-Jie. The streets are still filled with countless passerby, merchant’s carts, and oarsmen trying to sell boat rides on the canals that wind through the town. The same trees still grow right out of the cobblestone.

No, nothing ever changes in Caiyi Town. The only things here that have changed are Jiang Cheng and the spaces beside him.

“Mai shuzi!” a street merchant calls. “Mai shuzi!”

Jiang Cheng stops in his tracks.

A man pushing a wheelbarrow of wood nearly rams into him. He snaps at the man and storms off toward an alleyway, searching for a less crowded street to walk on.

But before gets off the main road, he can’t stop himself from glancing over his shoulder toward the call of Mai shuzi! still coming from a market stall. Upon the cart’s dark teal cloth is an array of polished, serrated wooden rectangles.

Of course there would be vendors selling combs here.

Of course.

This week-long trip to Gusu is beginning to feel like slow torture. He should have found someone else to go shopping for him. At this point, he’s just walking around aimlessly, stalling his visit to the store as he tries not to think about Wen Qing returning the comb to him in the Burial Mounds. The disappointment in her eyes. The regret that eats at him every time he thinks of that comb.

He could have vowed to protect Wen Ning, too.

Would she have come with him, then?

Would that have kept her and Wei Wuxian alive?

He reaches the dock where, years ago, he went out in a boat to investigate water ghouls with the Lan. Wen Qing and Wen Ning had joined the mission too.

Even from the beginning, those two had been different.

The water ghouls had been sent to Caiyi Town by the Wen Clan, another plot to subjugate others in their quest for power. And yet when one of the water ghouls slashed Jiang Cheng’s leg open, Wen Qing—Wen Ruohan’s personal doctor—jumped into his boat to treat his wound.

Wen Chao massacred the Jiang Clan, but Wen Ning rescued Jiang Cheng and recovered the bodies of his parents.

The Wen Clan left no survivors in Lotus Pier, but the last survivors of the Dafan Wen sacrificed themselves for Wei Wuxian when Jiang Cheng wouldn’t.

The hands of a Wen struck him with the disciple whip, incinerated his golden core, but the hands of a Wen healed his wounds and put a new golden core inside him.

Wen Ning killed A-Ling’s father.

Wen Ning saved A-Ling from Baxia.

And now here Jiang Cheng is, staring out at the water, back at the river where he had his first encounter with the two Wens who were different.

He never earned the help the Dafan Wen gave him. It was always Wei Wuxian they acted for.

Wei Wuxian. Always Wei Wuxian.

Zidian crackles on his fist.

Wei Wuxian won the hearts of Wen Qing and Wen Ning, gained their respect and trust, saved their family. He earned all the help he received.

Jiang Cheng received the help of the Dafan Wen and did nothing in return except to watch Jin Guangshan scatter their ashes.

He deserved everything that Wen Ning did last night, didn't he?

Everything but the sick pleasure it gave him.

Wen Ning had not meant to pleasure him.

He couldn’t have…surely…

Jiang Cheng should be angry. He should be so overcome with rage that he’s ready to strike with Zidian, to overturn a market stall or throw something into the river. Instead he feels only a quiet concern, a buzz at the back of his head and at the tips of his fingers.

Wen Ning hadn’t said anything when he left Jiang Cheng’s room. What had he been thinking, then?

The memory of the Burial Mounds returns.

We’re even now, Wen Qing had said when she held out the comb.

If Jiang Cheng had still entertained some deluded idea that Wen Qing returned his affections, it was shattered after that. The comb she returned was proof of how useless his meager gesture of kindness had been. Once the gift was back in his hands, it was a final send-off for him to go his own path, alone. A way for Wen Qing to claim that their scale was balanced when it never would be.

Was Wen Ning just completing a second turn of the cycle? Returning the tea, this useless gesture from Jiang Cheng, in the cruelest way possible? Finding his own twisted version of settling their debts so they never have to speak again?

If last night was a cruel parting gift…why does it hurt to imagine himself and Wen Ning never crossing paths again?

Over the past few months, they’ve often run into each in the shadows on the juniors’ night hunts. Jiang Cheng protecting Jin Ling, Wen Ning protecting Lan Sizhui…and Jin Ling, too. They’ve never exchanged words, only strained glances, but Jiang Cheng has grown used to Wen Ning’s presence on night hunts, begun taking relief in knowing that someone so powerful is now watching over his nephew.

Although he hates to admit it, he’s even grown used to falling asleep to the sound of Wen Ning’s humming.

He even enjoyed the feeling of…

His entire body tenses.

You need to get moving. How long have you been standing here?

He takes a deep breath. It’s warmer in the valley of Caiyi Town than in the mountains of the Cloud Recesses, but the air is still cold enough to clear his head. He leaves the port, walks back into the busy streets of the town, and finds a shop at which to buy the oil.

The shopkeeper takes her time getting the bottle of oil, doing about three times as much chatting as searching, apparently having decided that Jiang Cheng is a prime audience for her long-winded product introductions and rambling lessons about guqin maintenance. Because of course, in his Jiang Clan Leader robes, it’s only logical that Jiang Cheng would be a guqin player.

The shopkeeper is about to hand over the oil when, conveniently, she gets sidetracked and gestures toward a set of brushes. “Oh, and I must tell you, here we have—”

“Just give me the oil!”

The shopkeeper falters, her face falling a bit. Then she puts on an overly-enthusiastic smile again. “Well, if you’re needing oil to shine the wood, you surely need something to clean the strings, and these brushes are made of the finest—”

Jiang Cheng can’t take it anymore. He slams his fist on the counter, leaving behind a handful of coins. “Fine.” He nods toward the set of cleaning supplies. “The brush too, if it’ll make you stop talking.”

The shopkeeper glares at him, then grumbles to herself as she counts out more money than should be a reasonable price for a little brush.

“It costs that much?”

“It does for you,” she says without looking up.

He lets her take the entire pile of coins. She hands him a brush with a light brown handle.

"Not that one.”

She glares at him and picks up a brush with a black handle.

“Or that. No, not that one either—"

The shopkeeper huffs and puts them back. "Is there anything you do like?"

Jiang Cheng points to one in the corner of the display.

"Ah, I see. A good choice. This one will bring luck.” She holds out the brush, shaking her head. “With your temper, you'll need some."

Jiang Cheng leaves the shop feeling a little more ashamed than when he came in, but at least the pressure in his temples lifts as soon as he’s outside.

These merchants are nothing but scammers and chatterboxes.

And it’s a fine excuse for himself. That he caved and bought the brush because he’s a busy man with enough money to spend some extra coins if it gets him out of the company of incessant salespeople as soon as possible. Not because buying Lan Sizhui a bottle of oil that wasn’t his idea feels like…not enough.

He only bought it to get out of the shop.

That’s precisely why when he reaches Lan Sizhui’s quarters, relieved to find no one nearby, he leaves the oil outside the door and keeps the brush in his pocket.

════ 第六晚 ════

On the sixth night, there is no humming.

Jiang Cheng barely sleeps.

════ 未知 ════

Shadows and moonlight. Safflower, lobelia, mint.

Wen Ning waters the safflower and lobelia pots on his windowsill, loses his focus by the time he moves to the mint pot, and pours the water onto the floor. He notices the thin stream of liquid and jerks up the watering pot, nearly knocking the mint plant off the windowsill. He catches it just before it tips over.

It didn’t fall, he tells himself as he sinks down and sits next to the puddle of water he spilled. It isn’t a big deal.

But it came so close. These herbs are his comfort, his proof that he is not just a weapon, not just a tool for destruction—that he can create. That he can bring life from his dead heads.

Yet he could kill so easily when he is not paying attention.

His nerves have been close to snapping all day, and this little fumble is just enough to send him over the edge. He’s left on the floor with his face in his hands.

Of course, he cannot blame the plant for his fragile state of mind.

Only himself.

Only his sin against Jiang Wanyin.

He presses his fingers harder into his face, covering his eyes.

What have I done?

Why couldn’t death have taken away his emotions?

Death is supposed to put a man at rest. To rid him of his attachment to this life and send him to the next. But Wen Ning is still shackled by all of his anger, jealousy, guilt, grief, and now even this slumbering lust that has been awakened.

Jiang Wanyin had liked it. In some wicked way, he had even liked Wen Ning’s roughness, the roughness that was as much a product of the resentful energy holding Wen Ning’s body together as it was a product of his own anger.

But Jiang Wanyin was humiliated that he liked it. Humiliated that he could enjoy the Ghost General’s touch.

Because what else could Jiang Wanyin feel about it?

Wen Ning has finally found someone who likes his touch, and not only is it the one man Wen Ning is the most conflicted about—it is someone who will always be ashamed of this experience.

Anyone would be ashamed of it.

Yet that is not the cruelest part. The cruelest part is that this is what Wen Ning had wanted.

He's figured out Jiang Wanyin by now—the man is as starved for affection as Wen Ning is.

Wen Ning is not sure if it was his own idea, or if it came from the resentful energy that has been building in him, growing stronger the more he grieves his family and the more lost he feels—but the thought entered his mind the moment Jiang Wanyin explained what the tea was really for and he realized that nothing has changed in the way Jiang Wanyin sees him. What he sees him as.

He had been fooled into believing—twice—that Jiang Wanyin was reaching out in kindness, when in his eyes, Wen Ning is just a thing to be fixed.

His first thought had been anger.

His second thought: what painful revenge for his family—for himself—it would be to give Jiang Wanyin the affection he craves in a way that would repulse him and break him apart.

Wen Ning got his revenge alright. And what is he left with? What does he have now? A scolding from the memory of his sister that he should never seek to harm, only to heal. An incessant desire to touch, to kiss, to hold. To feel.

A glimpse of his body becoming something that isn’t only meant to destroy, that can bring pleasure—but only when that pleasure is mixed with fear. With pain. He is a tool for destruction, after all.

A tool of destruction does not deserve to feel.

The murderer of Jin Ling’s father does not deserve to feel.

His breath hitches. He drags his fingers down his cheeks, curling them into his skin.

What have I become?

Wasn’t it enough for death to leave Wen Ning with an ugly body?

Why did it have to leave him with an ugly mind, too?

════ 第七晚 ════

On the seventh night, there is still no humming, and Jiang Cheng still cannot sleep.

The air in the cabin is just warm enough to be comfortable for winter, holds just enough traces of the lotus flower sachet beside his bed for him to imagine that he is soothed by the scent. But despite the warmth and the fragrance, the night air of the Cloud Recesses is stifling when not softened by the song he’s grown used to falling asleep with.

Five nights. Is that really all it took? Five nights?

It’s ridiculous, that in five nights he’s become this attached to Wen Ning’s humming, and his sleep is still suffering on the second night without it. If he had insomnia before coming to Gusu, what he has now is simply hell.

How can he have become so dependent on Wen Ning’s song?

How can he crave a lullaby from someone who slammed him against a wall and humiliated him?

Those lips that hummed so sweetly have bitten his lips, have sucked on—

He groans. Flips onto his stomach.

Tomorrow morning he leaves the Cloud Recesses. He would tell himself that he’ll sleep better in his own bed in Lotus Pier, that the nights after this one will give him peace, but he wouldn’t believe it. He’s never slept well when he has unfinished businesses. Perhaps Wen Ning thinks they’re even, but Jiang Cheng is at the bottom end of their scale and is only sinking lower.

There are things he must take care of if he wants to sleep soundly.

He buries his face in the pillow and groans louder.

Fuck.

* * *

Five minutes later, he’s wandering through the forest searching for Wen Ning’s cabin.

The night is foggy, but the moon is bright through the haze. The forest floor is streaked with shadows stretching from tree branches like fingers spread across the blue grass. There is no cabin in sight.

Jiang Cheng has overhead enough conversations to piece together that the Ghost General lives somewhere on the outskirts of the Cloud Recesses, but he has no idea in which direction, and it’s a big mountain. It could take a while to find him.

What he’ll do once he does find Wen Ning…he has time to think about that.

By the time he holds his hand up to Wen Ning’s door, he has not thought of much. He pauses there, deciding whether to knock or walk away and give himself more time, when something makes him shiver.

Hmm, mm, hmmm, mm.

He lowers his hand.

The melody encircles him.

Suddenly he’s hit with how tired he is. Half of him wants to sink down right here, to rest on the ground with his ear pressed to the door, drifting asleep to Wen Ning’s lullaby, the sound soft like bedsheets wrapping around him, elegant even with its cracks and imperfections.

The other half of him wants to strangle Wen Ning for turning him into a sappy, desperate weakling, and that half wins. He bangs on the door.

The humming stops.

Jiang Cheng waits, but there is no sound of footsteps or tidying inside. He bangs again.

“Wen Qionglin!” he calls when there’s no reply.

The door slides open abruptly. Wen Ning stares down at him from inside, his face covered in shadow.

Jiang Cheng tries to speak as loudly as he did when the door was still closed, but his voice is thin. “I have business with you.”

For a few moments, neither of them move. Then Wen Ning steps aside, making room for Jiang Cheng to enter. His eyes never waver in their sullen glare.

Jiang Cheng hesitates, then steps inside.

The one-room cabin smells faintly of herbs. The space is small and tidy, and although there is a jumble of strange plants and spiritual items in the windowsill, even those seem to have some type of order. He expected to see some sign of recent activity—a book open on the table, a craft to work on or something to fix—but Wen Ning’s motley assortment of belongings are all tucked away in their proper places.

There are no lamps or candles lit inside. Wen Ning makes no move to light one, leaving only dim moonlight to see by.

Was he just sitting here in the dark and humming?

Something about that image is so pitiful, yet almost…almost—

“Please sit,” Wen Ning says quietly as he gestures to the tea table in the center of the room. He turns his back to Jiang Cheng, walks over to a table next to his collection of plants, and begins preparing something, cutting up herbs and roots and fumbling a bit with the knife.

Reluctantly, Jiang Cheng sits and tries to clear the uncomfortable thoughts from his mind. Soon he hears steam hissing from a kettle.

After a while, the hissing starts to grate at his ears. Surely Wen Ning is stalling, using the tea as an excuse to ignore him, because it doesn’t take this long to boil water and cut up a few leaves.

“What made you stop humming?” he blurts out.

Wen Ning pauses. His shoulders hunch up a bit.

He goes back preparing the tea.

“Didn’t have the face to come hum on my doorstep anymore?” Jiang Cheng says. He shouldn’t be snapping at Wen Ning like this, but he knows if he prods enough, he’ll get a reaction. Something to work with, because he can only stumble around blindly in this cold silence. “I see you’ve become a coward.”

Wen Ning turns around, his expression unreadable. He walks over and sets a pot and a tea cup in front of Jiang Cheng, then backs away. “I didn’t think Jiang-zongzhu would appreciate it.”

“So now you decide where to draw the line?”

Something flickers across Wen Ning’s stiff face, something almost…sad. “I’m sorry.” He puts his hands together and bows, hiding his eyes. “I w-won’t disturb Jiang-zongzhu anymore.”

This timidity is not what Jiang Cheng expected. It should’ve been easy to predict given Wen Ning’s personality, but it still catches him off guard, rattles him.

He really has to be sorry? Does he think I’m so fragile that he has to feel bad for me?

“Cut it with the ‘zongzhu’ bullshit,” Jiang Cheng says. “You still have the nerve to call me that?”

“I will keep my distance from now. So I will not call you much of anything.”

“You!—” Zidian rouses, sending faint electricity up Jiang Cheng’s arm. The undue apology felt much better than this dismissal, but at least now Jiang Cheng knows how to respond. “You��you feel guilty.” He draws out the word, feeding his spite into it.

Wen Ning’s lower lip twitches.

“Good,” Jiang Cheng says, reaching for the pot of tea. “Now sit.”

Wen Ning sits and watches Jiang Cheng pour himself a cup. “I’m s-sorry,” he says again. “If you want me to make up for it somehow, please just tell me what it is.”

It’s offensive, that Wen Ning is still trying to do things for him. He gave enough over the years with nothing in return, yet his confused form of payback was to service Jiang Cheng, and now he’s asking to undo that payback with yet another act of service.

“I don’t want anything else from you.”

Wen Ning visibly winces. Then he tilts his head slightly, as if to ask, Then why are you here?

Jiang Cheng should be the one apologizing, the one offering, but Wen Ning has already rejected his small gesture and dug Jiang Cheng deeper into this trench of the Wen Clan. He can’t apologize outright for his neglect back then, nor can he follow Wen Ning’s example and ask so bluntly what he wants, so all he gets out is, “I’m here to make us even.”

Wen Ning shakes his head. “We can’t be.”

“You think you get to decide? Once I say we’re even, we’re even.” A lie, of course. Jiang Cheng can’t bring Wen Ning's family back.

Wen Ning shakes his head again, turning away slightly. His words come out rushed and quiet. “I—I—at—Q-Qiongqi Path…please just tell me what you want me to do, Jiang-zongzhu.”

Great. Just perfect.

Wen Ning thinks he meant that he’s supposed to make them even. That Jiang Cheng came to take more from him.

What nerve, to put on this guilty act about Jin Zixuan’s death, when he was being controlled by a fucking flute? Jiang Cheng’s wrongdoings were at least of his own free will!

That thought grabs him like a hand clawing at his ribcage.

Wen Ning is a puppet.

A puppet enslaved to the will of anyone who knows how to control him.

Jiang Cheng has always had a sense of this, but somehow he has not realized it until now.

“How much of that was your fault?” he asks. His voice isn’t barbed enough to hide that it isn’t really a question.

Wen Ning meets his eyes, bewildered.

It’s terrifying, to pry his fingers off this grudge he’s held onto like a ship's anchor to stabilize himself for so long. The thought of pulling up the anchor and letting the wind carry him out to sea…

Suddenly he doesn’t want Wen Ning to answer.

But Wen Ning does answer. “It was my resentful energy. Even now, I…I…” He looks down at his hands with loathing. “I still don’t know how to control it.”

Jiang Cheng scoffs. “Wei Wuxian hasn’t fixed that for you?”

Wen Ning’s fingers slowly curl into his palms, and Jiang Cheng knows he struck a nerve. Maybe if he gets Wen Ning angry enough, he will finally take something.

Wen Ning’s voice is thick with emotion. “Please just tell me what you want.”

Jiang Cheng wants to flip the table over. He settles for slamming a hand on it instead. “I don’t want anything from you!” He leans forward. “Don’t you get it? You should be telling me what you want!”

Wen Ning stares at him for a long time, unbelievably motionless in the face of Jiang Cheng’s outburst, and Jiang Cheng feels himself shrink up with shame.

Then Wen Ning's shoulders sag, and he finally seems to understand.

“There is nothing you can do.”

That should not hurt as much as it does.

It’s the only thing Wen Ning could say that would make sense, but Jiang Cheng can already feel the sleepless nights piling up if this is what he’s left with to replay in his mind from his visit to the Cloud Recesses.

“What other choice did I have?” Jiang Cheng asks, sounding more desperate than he’d like. “What did you expect me to do? Favor your clan over mine?”

And he hadn’t had a choice. If the Jiang had sheltered and protected the Wen, they would’ve turned the entire cultivation world against them. What authority did Jiang Cheng have back then? What power did his clan have in the face of that worm Jin Guangshan and his bottomless pockets and his sycophantic bastard son, who danced circles around Jiang Cheng until his death in Guanyin Temple?

But the feeling that he should have done more has never stopped haunting him.

“Tell me,” Jiang Cheng says, leaning forward, “what could I have done?”

Instead of telling Jiang Cheng that he could have saved their family, or spoken against the Jin, or at least saved his sister, Wen Ning looks away and says, “You could have just…cared about us.”

Jiang Cheng’s entire body goes numb. “Wh…what?”

“You could have cared about us. Like…l-like…” Wen Ning turns away, panicked, and presses his lips together tightly like he’ll die a second time if he opens his mouth.

“Like what?”

Wen Ning struggles, his mouth just barely opening and closing.

“Spit it out! You think I can’t take it?”

“Like others did,” Wen Ning settles for, sealing away whatever name was on his tongue.

Jiang Cheng can guess whom he means. He grimaces, lets out a sour snort of laughter. “I see. You’re right. No one can compare to Wei Wuxian.”

But by the look that Wen Ning gives him and then quickly hides, his guess seems…wrong. Like Wei Wuxian was not whom he meant.

But who else in the cultivation world showed any care for Wen Ning?

Suddenly Jiang Cheng’s breath feels like it’s been punched out of him.

A-Jie?

“You—you meant—” His fingers curl into the table, as though he could rip out a chunk of the wood. Zidian sparks violet. “Don’t tell me you dare to have meant my sister!”

Wen Ning nods, looking as broken as Jiang Cheng feels. His face shows everything he doesn’t say: that because of him, her son is an orphan, and he’ll likely forgive Jiang Cheng sooner than he forgives himself.

Jiang Cheng jumps to his feet, jostling the table and spilling the tea. “You dare speak of her?”

Wen Ning just sits, slumped over slightly, staring at the amber liquid running across the table.

Misery claws at Jiang Cheng every time he thinks of A-Jie, but the pit forming in his stomach is twice as deep as usual.

What if he’s right?

When he and A-Jie visited Yiling to let Wei Wuxian see her wedding gown, Wen Ning was there too.

Jiang Cheng locked him out of the courtyard.

But A-Jie found a way to bring him inside, however symbolic, bringing him soup when he did not need to eat.

And in Yiling, after Lotus Pier had been burned down, during the murky nights that drowned Jiang Cheng in the lingering sting of whip lashes and the agonizing emptiness of having no golden core—

How much time had A-Jie spent with Wen Ning and Wen Qing while they hid there? Had they become friends?

Even if they hadn’t…

A-Jie could not do anything to protect them, but it’s possible that she spoke to Jin Zixuan about the Burial Mounds, urged him to do something to help. Jiang Cheng can clearly imagine how the conversation might have gone, A-Jie’s soft but stern voice, her unyielding drive to sow peace, to stand up for those she loved, and…Jin Zixuan had shown signs of coming around, just before his death. Signs of accepting the Yiling Patriarch and his ragtag settlement.

Jin Zixuan had sought to embrace them sooner than Jiang Cheng had.

What does it matter? You’ve always been selfish, always—

It would have been suicide for the Jiang to support the Wen scraps in the Burial Mounds, but they could have quietly passed them resources, put up a few more protective enchantments around the mountain, been more skillful in their diplomacy with the rest of the clans…

If Jin Zixuan could have reached out, if only because A-Jie had wanted him to…why hadn’t Jiang Cheng?

He’s right, Jiang Cheng realizes, and his heart sinks. He’s right.

But that doesn’t mean it’s fair for Wen Ning to say this.

It isn’t fair to use Jiang Yanli’s name and prove how much of a disappointment Jiang Cheng is to her memory. He already knew that.

“I didn’t care about your people,” Jiang Cheng growls. He thinks of Wen Qing with a pang, thinks of Wei Wuxian with a force that grips his entire body, and he feels like a fool.

Because he has never been good at loving. It is easier to say he never loved than to admit the number of times he failed at it.

Wen Ning finally looks up from the puddle of tea now dripping onto the floor. “Then you can leave.”

Jiang Cheng snarls. “You think you can just dismiss me after—”

“Please.” Wen Ning’s lip quivers. “Please.”

Jiang Cheng is still taking from him. He’s taking just by standing in Wen Ning’s quarters. “I’ll come and go as I see fit. Who are you to tell me what to do?” he snaps, hoping to provoke Wen Ning enough to awaken the anger he knows lies dormant within him. To make him erupt.

To get him to take.

He lowers his voice, filling it with venom.

“Why would I listen to the words of a Wen-dog?”

Large, cold hands grab him by the shoulders and throw him at the door. Something small and light flies out of Jiang Cheng’s robes and lands in the space between them.

A small brush with a crimson handle.

Jiang Cheng’s heart misses a beat.

The fury disappears from Wen Ning’s face. “What…what is that?” he asks, slow and careful. His eyes are fixed on the brush.

Why didn’t I take it out before I came here? Idiot, fucking idiot—

Jiang Cheng snatches the brush and hurries to hide it in his robes, but it’s too late. Wen Ning saw.

Saw the guqin brush, with its red handle, its black rim and golden tassel.

The exact colors of the Wen insignia.

* * *

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this chapter, you can be a supportive sibling like Jiang Yanli by visiting me on AO3!

Ch. 3 >

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