#(for anyone who's not familiar with his fabulous work it was a joke)

[got-no-skill]

Also shout-out to appliances that no longer work because the server was shut down.

what smart appliances could have been: here is the exact part that is not functioning, here are 5 vendors selling that part for between $30-$70, here are 3 repair specialists in your area

what smart appliances actually are: you can’t operate this appliance because uhhhh *checks notes* your water filter is pirated :( 

[laughing-with-god]

The Unsaid Vow (Prologue)

Synopsis- You always knew when you weren't wanted. And the way things are going in your marriage with Jungkook, a divorce is looking more and more likely. While he's getting closer to a woman at work that you're certain he's having an affair with, you're planning your escape with your four-year-old son. However, five years of marriage did not expose you to a certain side of your husband. A side of Jungkook that only gets triggered when you try to leave and break apart your perfect 'family'.

Warnings- Yandere behavior, graphic language, violence/murder, women bashing on other women, heavily implied infidelity, bad parenting, absent father, broken family vibes, very slow buildup bc Jungkook doesn't really snap until you leave him so just give him a min lol, inexperienced author writing for a four-year-old (I never wrote for a kid before pls gimme a break), also I chose my future son's name for this fic but pls feel free to name him whatever you want :)

Slow burn Yandere Husband Jungkook

Word Count; 5.4k

Unlike the vast majority of married couples, neither you nor Jungkook donned wedding rings.

Never in your five years of marriage did you regret this decision, given it was brought upon by you and your husband’s lack of funds for fancy wedding bands at the time of your rushed marriage.

Well, you were never annoyed....until tonight, that is.

The scene before you was exceptionally intimate, so much so that you felt the instinctual need to look away in respect of the two before you.

The woman was gorgeous, effortlessly attracting all the attention the small conference room had to offer. In addition to this natural charisma spurred on by her borderline enchanting looks, her short and skin-tight red dress showed off her pleasantly curvy body. Her long, silky, and jet-black hair was pulled back into an elegant ponytail that provided a simple background for her darling features. Utterly doll-like was her face; petite, creamy in complexion with bright doe eyes and berry-pink lips.

Such a beautiful woman was currently in the arms of an equally, if not more so, attractive man.

He was tall and slender, yet not at all lanky given his sturdy build that was a testament to his strict workout regime. His olive skin was complimented with occasional tattoos, a mix of faded and fresh ink that you knew like the back of your hand despite only the tats on his hand currently showing in his crisp Valentino suit. His mid-length inky black hair was down to frame his sharp face, and indeed it was a very handsome one consisting of full eyebrows, bow-like lips, a fleshy yet impish nose, and two large, yet seemingly bottomless, raven orbs.

This man had his arms encircling the middle of the mysterious woman, her expression lifting into a light-hearted giggle as she leaned forward to whisper something in his ear.

Whatever she said must’ve been amusing to the man, given his usual stoic facade briefly melted away as he allowed a small smile at her words, his pearly round teeth peeking out for a split-second appearance.

If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought that these two were lovers.

But there was only one problem with this scene.

That was your husband, Jungkook.

And that woman in his arms was not you.

As if sensing your distress and wanting to soothe your well-founded suspicion, Jungkook pulled away from the woman and ran his gaze across the room- only stopping when he spotted you. Your spouse then gestured at you, the girl following his line of sight and landing on you and your pitiful spot by the snack table. Her joyful expression briefly dropped for a blink-and-you'll-miss-it second, but she quickly plastered on another grin and nodded. The two then strode their way over to you, barely giving you enough time to steel your nerves and muster a polite purse of the lips.

Before you knew it, the woman was right in front of you with your partner at her side instead of yours. Much to your dismay, she was only more attractive up close, and you narrowly held back a grimace as she held out a hand in introduction. You took it and shook it lifelessly.

“Hello, you must be Mrs. Jeon. I’m Sana, Jungkook’s colleague.” Even her voice was pretty, musical and light to the ears.

“H-Hi, nice to meet you but please call me Y/n.” A brief and awkward pause as Sana briefly sized you up and down. “Um, Jungkook has never mentioned you….” you trailed off, side-eyeing your husband in hopes he would intervene and add context to this random goddess he’s thrust upon you.

Jungkook gracefully took his cue and explained, “Sana transferred from another branch out of the city and has only been with us for five months. I’m her case supervisor and have been taking care of her, showing her the ropes and whatnot.”

Sana didn’t even spare you a glance as she fondly looked up at your husband, coyly biting her lip and saying in a much softer tone that could've been just for his ears only, “And he’s been really good at taking care of me.”

You didn’t consider yourself a jealous stay-at-home wife who obsessed over the tiniest details between her husband and other women, but the double meaning behind her badly-whispered comment was enough to make you splutter in disbelief. However before you could even gather up the courage to ask just what the hell ‘taking care of me’ consisted of, two new faces waltzed up and joined the conversation.

“Are you all enjoying this fabulous Christmas party?” A tall, broad-shouldered but nice-looking man asked in a tone of familiar amicability.

You thankfully smiled up at him, having met him many times before.

His name was Jin, and he was the one who got Jungkook this job.

It occurred about five years ago when you first told Jungkook that you were pregnant. Being the romantic but overall good guy that Jungkook was, he insisted that you two get married so that your child could have parents who were at least husband and wife. In addition it would also lessen the judgment in your two families, which at the time was extremely appealing to you. You had agreed to marry on one condition: after running to the courthouse you two would need to move in together in a decent apartment with a room for the nursery. But getting an apartment would mean month-to-month rent, and Jungkook’s tattooing gigs weren’t stable enough to ensure that.

Jin was originally a friend of Jungkook’s older brother, but when he heard through the grapevine about the issue, he bought Jungkook a couple of suits and offered him a job at the corporation he worked at.

Now Jungkook made more than enough money to support your little family, and it was all because Jin took a chance on a college drop-out and his knocked-up girlfriend.

You opened your mouth to respond but were cut off by the unknown lady beside Jin.

“I’d say a little too much fun if anything. Sana and Jungkook, we get that you're the infamous office couple but maybe tone it down a bit, huh?” She joked while raising her brows at the close proximity between the two.

A long and tortuous silence swept the scene.

Jin glanced at you, pity swimming in his usually carefree eyes.

Not trusting your voice to say anything and desperately wanting to hide your face from the piercing eyes, you distracted yourself by taking calculated sips of watered-down eggnog.

“Daehyun...this is actually Y/n, Jungkook’s wife,” Jin told the lady in an uncomfortable voice.

You didn’t know what stung more, the fact that this stranger thought that there was more chemistry between Sana and your husband than with you, or that it was Jin who corrected this mistake and not Jungkook himself.

“O-Oh, well it’s nice to meet you.” Daehyun awkwardly said to you while avoiding direct eye contact.

You offered a tight smile, “Pleasure.”

Whatever gratitude you could’ve had for Daehyun’s clear embarrassment quickly vanished when the woman went on to continue, “I’m sorry. Jungkook never mentioned being married and he doesn’t wear a ring so I didn’t even know. I bet it must be interesting for his housewife to meet his office wife though, right?”

She laughed, not realizing that she only succeeded in putting a foot in her mouth right before stomping it all over your pesky little heart. The group didn’t seem to share your uneasiness, all three of them politely chuckling along to the lukewarm joke at your expense. Once again, you focused on your dwindling beverage to avoid the burden of speaking or even facing them directly, too scared that your miserable expression would be unanimously inspected.

“Well, we just came over to recruit you all for some karaoke!” Jin cheerfully announced, clearly trying to change the subject, “There’s a machine in the break-out room and it’s more fun to sing with a group.”

“More like you want an audience.” Jungkook wittingly teased, a handsome smirk on his face as Sana playfully scolded him with a push to the chest.

“I’ll take your jabs now Kookie because I know they stem from your insecurity that I can actually upstage you in the vocals department.” Jin rebutted in good nature, even letting your husband’s old nickname slip.

Daehyun and Sana both guffawed at this declaration, exaggerated disbelief present on their faces.

“Jungkook is the best singer in the office. He’ll upstage you without even trying.” Daehyun said in a tenor of utter confidence.

“Only one way to find out!” Jin brushed the comment off, pointing to the direction of the assumed breakout room, “Karaoke anyone?”

The so-called office wife nodded enthusiastically, taking your husband’s arm and looking up at him to plead, “Can we do a duet of that one song we like?”

Jungkook, for the first time in seemingly hours, shot you with a questioning gaze.

Be married to someone for a while and you’ll learn how to decipher what they’re trying to say with just mere looks. Your husband was wordlessly inquiring if you were going to join, if he should go along with the group or if you two should break away and do something else.

The ball was finally in your court.

Not wanting to be rude but needing to get away from these people before you lost your cool, you decided on a subtle excuse.

“I need a refill, but maybe we can meet you all later?” You said, shaking your empty paper cup as if to prove your case.

“Oh, well the drinks are right behind you.” Sana condescendingly pointed out, tightening her hold on your husband and began steering him towards the exit, “We’ll save a seat for you.”

Bewildered, you watched as Jungkook obediently followed her lead with the Daehyun girl trailing behind.

He didn’t even spare you a glance.

You wanted to be angry.

You wanted to storm up to your husband, yank him out of the clutches of his colleagues and practically drag him back home under the premise that he would never speak to Sana ever again.

But instead of a righteous rage fueled by the marital vows you two took, utter exhaustion bestowed upon you and prevented any instigation on your part.

Maybe earlier in your marriage you would’ve fought for his attention, but now you simply just wanted to go home and lick your wounds with the help of a Ben and Jerry’s ice cream while self-obsessing over Sana’s outrageous attractiveness. After all, who could blame any hot-blooded man for choosing that goddess over you? What could you possibly do but lean back and accept that she was the obvious choice?

Other than her being a knockout beauty while you were merely average on your best day, she had other qualities that made her a more appealing catch. She was most likely younger than you, obviously fit, more ambitious and professionally driven than you, and presumably has no kids.

Meanwhile, you were just an old stay-at-home mom who lived off of her husband’s paychecks while he fucked his coworkers behind her oblivious back.

Before you could draw more detailed comparisons between Sana and yourself, you felt a large hand place itself on the middle of your back, successfully guiding your attention to the only person who bothered staying by your side.

Jin smiled sadly at you, sympathy shadowing his expression as he gestured with his other hand to the empty cup still in your hold. “Let’s get you some more eggnog.”

You nodded wordlessly, still speechless from the interaction, and allowed the taller man to guide you towards the snack table. Jin then took your cup and refilled it himself, providing you the opportunity to pick at the catered food in some cheap attempt at stress eating. By the time Jin came back with a full cup, you were halfway done with a sugar cookie and eyeing the meatballs next.

“Here ya go,” Jin said as he handed over the drink to you. You took it and nodded in thanks but kept your eyes glued to the food, not wanting him to see just how defeated and tired your face probably was. But, Jin wasn’t going to let the whole thing go. “Y/n….I know what you saw and heard looks really bad but trust me….nothing is going on between Sana and Jungkook.”

You snorted. “It doesn’t just look bad, Jin. It was like they were practically rubbing it in my face. Him having an affair isn’t the problem, it’s the way they’re not even bothering to keep it down. The least they could do is be discreet.”

Jin’s jaw slightly dropped, “‘Him having an affair isn’t the problem’? Y/n, do you even hear yourself? Of course that would be a problem! Do you not care about your own marriage anymore?”

And there it was.

The big question.

Did you truly even care about this marriage?

Well, let’s look at the facts.

One: The disrespect of his alleged mistress was more offensive to you than the fact that she was a mistress.

Two: Jungkook dragging you along to this office Christmas party was the first time in over a year that he bothered to take you out.

Three: You two had humble beginnings and could barely afford food, much less wedding bands when you first got married, but now he was a very wealthy man and had no excuse for not buying you or himself a ring. Unless, of course, he enjoyed acting single around other women.

Four: And on top of all this, it had to be factored in how distant he has been with overwhelming work hours that prevented any alone time with your husband. Sex with Jungkook has been off the table for almost a year now.

But did any of this really bother you until tonight? The answer was a resounding no. You were willing to take all those burdens in stride but tonight it wasn’t just about the fact that you were the unwanted wife Jungkook got sacked with, it was the fact that you were humiliated and forced to face the type of girl Jungkook should’ve been married to all along. That was all you were truly upset about.

The conclusion that you indeed didn’t care about your marriage and haven’t in some time now hit you in a sudden wave, but in no way were you shocked.

Voice shaky and brittle, you allowed yourself to be vulnerable with Jin and say the one thing you always secretly thought but never dared utter out loud. “I-I guess I always expected it to end like this. When we were younger, he was always the popular one and all the girls wanted him. We were only dating for three months when I got pregnant, and if it weren’t for our son he probably would’ve dumped me eventually and left for another girl. But, he stuck around for his kid because he’s a good father. And I’ve been nothing but a burden to him for a while now.”

Tears began to blur your vision, forcing you to quickly duck down and quietly sip at your drink so as to not embarrass yourself even more.

You heard a shuffle and suddenly Jin was holding you, using both of his lengthy arms to cage you in and rest you against his broad chest. It had been a long time since a man had held you like that, and you practically went boneless at the contact. You closed your eyes and tried to will away the incoming tears, even going so far as to solely focus on the scent of Jin’s cologne as he soothingly said, “Y/n, listen closely to what I’m about to say. You and Hugo were never a burden to Jungkook, and you two never will be. Your marriage was sudden, but it doesn’t make it less valid than any other marriage out there. Jungkook has been with you for so long, he just doesn’t realize when other women are interested in him because he’s been off the market forever. But I promise you, if I knew for even a second that he cheated, I would tell you right away.”

You didn’t say anything.

Although Jin’s words were comforting, they weren’t necessarily true. A marriage that started from a healthy courtship and true love instead of inconvenient circumstances was of course more valid than yours. And even though you were sure of Jin’s honesty and loyalty to you, Jungkook could’ve easily kept his affair secret from Jin as well.

However, you didn’t wish to concern Jin anymore. You already put him through too much awkwardness tonight and didn’t want to keep him by your side as some sort of emotional sponsor any longer than you already have. Jin always loved parties and was the life of any one he was invited to, even if it was just a lame annual office gathering. You then felt guilty for putting Jin in a situation where he would even have to console you when he should be out enjoying karaoke with the rest of his coworkers.

You promptly pulled away from Jin and wiped at your face. He released you and also took a step back, carefully studying you for any signs of further turmoil. Once sure that your face was acceptably dry, you gazed back up at him and offered a thankful smile. “Thanks Jin, I’m sorry I just dumped all of that on you. I really have to use the ladies' room though, can you point me to it?”

“It’s right by the conference room,” Jin informed, pointing out the general direction for you. You nodded and took a few steps toward it before he grasped your wrist to stop you and ask, “Do you want me to wait for you?”

“No, it’s okay. I’ll just find you and Jungkook when I’m out. Go and join the others for karaoke.”

Jin nodded but seemed unsure.

You didn’t look back to see if he actually went to follow the others, instead just advancing to the restrooms, secretly looking forward to some alone time even if it had to come from a public bathroom.

Once you entered the restroom you were relieved to find it completely empty, you weren’t sure if you could handle another run-in with Jungkook’s female colleagues. They all seemed to have a personal vendetta against you.

Instantly, you dashed to the mirror to inspect your makeup, assuming at least the mascara was ruined from your little cry. Thankfully, the damage was minimal and you were able to clean the smudges up with a damp napkin. You focused all your attention on the dreadfully small task, trying not to study your reflection too much given it would just conjure up more mental comparisons to all the other prettier women you encountered that night.

Yet the small task couldn’t last a lifetime, and you had to resort to looking at your phone in search of things to do. You weren’t emotionally ready to go out and search for your husband, so you wanted to prolong your time in the bathroom. Although it hasn’t been that long since you left the house, you decided to text the babysitter for any updates about your son.

To Emily: Hey, is everything okay with Hugo?

It only took about 40 seconds for the teenage neighbor girl to text back an answer, clearly on top of things and overly eager to provide any updates.

Emily: Yes! He ate his dinner, took his bath and we’re about to get ready for bed.

Your motherly instincts were satisfied with that response, but it didn’t do anything to subdue your desire to return back home. Your thumbs briefly hovered over the keypad, somewhat hesitant with the next text you were about to send.

To Emily: Great, thanks again for doing this. Listen, I think we might head back home sooner than we thought. Don’t worry tho, I’ll still give you the pay for the full four hours.

Before you could wait for a response from her, the sound of multiple incoming footsteps interrupted the steady silence in the restroom. Muffled female conversation could also be heard, the slight laughter and bickering amongst a group of women approaching the bathroom. Your fight or flight instinct was triggered, and to avoid any more awkward encounters you rushed to the nearest stall and shut the door- fully prepared to wait out the faceless group of female colleagues.

You heard the restroom door swish open before the women burst in, chatting and giggling with their heels clicking against the tile floor. One of the unknown females made way to the stall beside you, the others presumably hovering by the mirror if the sudden comments about their appearances were anything to go by. You quietly sighed and pulled out your phone again, ready to drown out their office politics talk.

Only for the conversation to somehow steer towards you.

“Did you see her?”

“Of course, I was very confused, to be honest.” One of them replied. “I mean….look at Jungkook and you just assume that whoever he’s with is drop-dead gorgeous, and she was just eh.”

“Yeah, she was pretty plain. What was her name again?”

“Y/n.” A third voice cut in, this one eerily familiar to you.

You glued a hand over your mouth to silence your gasp.

It was Sana.

“Did he ever mention her around you? You are the closest to him in the office Sana, and we didn’t even know he had a wife until tonight.”

“No, I didn’t know until tonight either.”

“What?! That’s insane. Literally all the time he spends with you: getting coffee, buying you lunch, driving you home after late nights, and he conveniently never mentions that he has a wife at home?”

“That’s suspicious. But I guess if I had a dog like that at home, I’d never mention her either.”

Cruel laughter from all of them.

The toilet from the stall next to you flushed, then opened as a new voice entered the discussion while she approached the sinks.

“It’s more than suspicious. He doesn’t even wear a wedding ring. And he’s so close to Sana but never mentioned that he’s married?” A pause as she washed her hands. “It’s obvious what he’s trying to do. Jungkook is trying to have an affair with Sana.”

Although this exchange was extremely hurtful to you, you felt somewhat relieved that you weren’t the only one to see what your husband was doing.

A pause hung in the air as none of the women spoke for a minute, they were willing to gossip but apparently outright declaring the obvious was a step too far for them.

Eventually, one of them chimed in with their own observation.

“Can you blame him? Sana you’re the most beautiful person in the office and you look so good next to him anyway. Much better than that cow Y/n.”

Another round of obnoxious laughter that broke your heart.

“C’mon guys. We gotta head back. Jungkook is gonna get anxious if Sana is away for too long.” Someone teased.

They all murmured in agreement, heading towards the exit as a group before one stopped them with a final question.

“Wait, Sana. If Jungkook does want to have an affair with you, what are you going to do?”

Although you couldn’t physically see Sana, you practically heard the smirk on her face as she said, “Who says we already aren’t having one?”

--

Needless to say, you ditched the Christmas party almost immediately after the bathroom incident.

You texted Jungkook a white lie about Emily struggling with Hugo, although a good father would’ve known something was up because your son had never given babysitters any trouble before. But luckily, your husband also wasn’t doing so hot in the dad department either.

You would’ve felt bad for not telling the truth if the truth wasn’t so fucking embarrassing.

“Hey, I’m gonna go home to cry like a little girl because I caught your coworkers talking shit about me. Oh, and also your little girlfriend accidentally let it slip that you’ve been fucking her this whole time. K talk to ya later!”

You grimaced at the thought of actually sending that text.

Sure it’s what that cheating bastard deserves, but you just weren’t emotionally ready for that fight yet. Especially after the night you endured, you needed some time to pick yourself up and figure out what to do next.

Divorce was the next logical step, but you were financially dependent on Jungkook. If you moved out and took Hugo with you, where would you two stay? How could you afford to be a single parent? And if Jungkook were to try to fight you for custody or the divorce in general, you would need a damn good lawyer. Unfortunately, lawyers weren’t cheap, especially one that stood a chance against Jungkook and all his wealth.

Your shoulders sagged with the imaginary weight of all these burdens.

When you entered the high-rise penthouse that you called home, you were surprised to see Emily anxiously pacing the foyer in waiting for your arrival.

“Hey, how was Hugo?” You greeted politely, already opening your clutch to pull out the agreed-upon salary.

“M-Mrs. Jeon, I swear I tried to have him in bed by eight like you said but he’s being stubborn and said he won’t go to sleep until you come back and read to him-” The teenager rushed out all at once, clearly nervous that you would scold her.

You held a hand out to stop her rambles, using your other hand to give her the money, and offered her what you hoped was a comforting smile, “It’s okay, Em. Thanks for doing this on such short notice. Why don’t you run home now and try to enjoy your Christmas Eve?”

Emily looked relieved that you weren’t mad, gratefully taking the cash before grabbing her jacket and shoes to make her exit. “Thanks so much for this Mrs. Jeon. Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas.” You farewelled while walking the young girl out, locking the door behind her.

You turned around and proceeded down a long hallway that led to the bedrooms, stopping at the door beside the master room which belonged to your four-year-old son. You opened it to peer inside, the familiar deep blue walls with painted-on sea creatures greeting you back, swiftly reminding you once more of Hugo’s obsession with the ocean.

Your son was bundled up in a twin bed so big that it practically drowned him, his small frame barely being recognizable in the large fish-printed duvet wrapped around his tiny frame, only his small and adorable face peeking out to stare right back at you.

Hugo was essentially a carbon copy of Jungkook. At first you were somewhat resentful about this, how was it possible that you carried a baby for nine months and he came out with absolutely none of your features? But after a while of watching Hugo grow up and come into his own slowly but surely, you were pacified by the conclusion that while he may look exactly like his father, his personality and heart took after you.

“Dumpling, why did Emily say you were giving her a hard time and wouldn’t go to bed?” You asked gently, sitting by his side and petting his black hair.

‘Dumpling’ was a nickname you chose for Hugo since you first found out you were pregnant with him. It stemmed from your sudden pregnancy craving to eat dumplings and nothing else, you once even going two straight weeks surviving off the food. There were many times where Jungkook had to bribe you into eating other things, playing on your guilt for not providing your baby all the nutrition he needed. But even now ‘Dumpling’ still stuck, if Hugo’s chubby cheeks were anything to go by.

“Mommy, I-I’m sorry but-” His big doe eyes looked up at you in teary guilt, “I really needed you here. It was a nece-necess-”

“Necessity, bub.” You finished for him, grinning at his attempt at a big word.

Part of you wanted to scold the boy for being difficult, but you didn’t have the heart to. Lately, Hugo has been more clingy to you than ever before. Yet it was practically impossible to punish him because Hugo has always been a good kid and you knew deep down that he didn’t act out unless there was something else going on. You suspected that it had something to do with the lack of his father’s presence that forced him to hold onto you like his life depended on it.

“Well try not to do it again, okay? Emily is a nice girl and she’s just following my orders when she tells you to go to bed.” You said, ducking down to peck the crown of his head and continue running your fingers through his hair.

Hugo nodded in understanding but ultimately stayed silent, basking in your cuddles.

All was silent for a passing moment, and while Hugo enjoyed his mother’s touch, your mind gradually returned to the turmoil that was your marriage.

A sudden epiphany struck you and bit your lip as you debated an idea.

Should you expose your son to your future plan?

The victim of any divorce has always been the children who were left behind. And the last thing you wanted to do was blindside Hugo. Perhaps you should play the hypothetical game just to see where your son’s head was at? It went without saying that Hugo was closer to you than Jungkook and you were more of a parent than your husband. But still, every kid deserved to have a say in their parents’ divorce.

“Bub, how would you feel if….it was just me and you?” You hesitantly inquired.

“What do you mean mommy?” Hugo titled his head in bewilderment and craned his neck to look back up at you.

“What if me and you went away to live together?” You clarified.

“Like a va-vayca-”

“Vacation? And no. But forever. Just me, you and no one else.” You whispered, as if Jungkook himself would storm in and catch you planning your escape with the toddler.

“Oh.” A pause as you could practically hear the mechanisms in his four-year-old brain trying to work out the logistics of what you just proposed. “Okay.”

The nonchalance in his youthful voice had you taken aback.

“It’s a really big decision, Hugo. You wouldn’t mind...not living with daddy anymore, right? You would hardly ever see him, dumpling.”

The boy shifted to lean more of his body against you, essentially resting against you with his head on your chest as he said, “But it’s like that already, mommy.”

Your heart broke.

You wrapped your arms around him and pulled him closer to you, feeling a maternal instinct to comfort and protect.

“Okay Dumpling. I need you to promise me not to tell daddy what we talked about.”

“”Kay.” Hugo yawned and closed his eyes, inhaling deep breaths of your scent and beginning the process of falling asleep. “When do we leave?”

“It’ll take some time, bub. You start school in a few months, so mommy will try to find a job while you’re there.” You told him, not bothering to try to explain the concept of a lawyer or apartment deposits on top of that. “But we can do this. It has to be a secret but you're my partner in crime.”

“Like spies?”

You chuckled, “Yeah, like spies. Promise to work with mommy in utter secrecy?”

You held up a pinky, one that Hugo grasped with his own.

“Promise.”

Author’s Note:  So....A while ago before I took my long ass hiatus, I did a poll for which yandere story I should write next.  The Unsaid Vow won but that was around the same time that shit hit the fan in my life.  Recently was scrolling through my notes on my phone and found some of the plot points for this story and I needed a lil break from QQ.  Plus I know so many ppl were hyped for this concept so....Here ya go lol.  This is kinda short but it’s just a set up, Chapter one’s plot line will start a few months after this when Hugo will start kindergarten and Y/n will actually start looking in to jobs, lawyers and apartments.  Also I’m sorry but I’m really bad at writing for kids lol, and I absolutely refuse to write that gross ass baby talk so just pretend your son is a lil genius okay? Also srry Once but I needed really pretty girls to be villians in my story so yeah, Twice girls in here aren’t likable but aren’t reflective of how i actually feel about them lol.

Big thanks to @sushireads​ once again for creating the cover art for this fic.  They literally are becoming my go-to for fic art.

And my beta readers @bigbuffjoonie and @mustardpop​! They beta’d for QQ and I came to them really early about this fic.  They were with me since the beginning and have given me advice with creative choices to just simple grammar.  They easily could’ve leaked the first draft of this too but they didn’t and kept it secret for a while.  I was really insecure about getting out of my comfort zone with this plot but they really guided me.  

[drunkonsmut]

I’ve been thinking (oh dear) about how Ed and Izzy’s relationship usually is, how they usually work with Blackbeard, because we mostly see them interact in the extraordinary circumstance of Stede’s pirate adventure. We get some glimpses at the beginning, with Izzy coming back to update Edward and the early scenes in the Revenge. For the most part their interactions are easy and comfortable, Izzy speaks to him softly and calls him Ed and Edward in private. There’s familiarity in their back and forth. Even when Izzy considers that Ed is acting or thinking weirdly, like the orders to follow the Revenge and the frankfurter clouds scene, he goes along with the orders with a bit of a grumble and/or and humors Ed. When we do see him explode on Edward (and generally) it’s when he seems to be at the end of his rope. The resignation speech, when he is about to row away after the duel, and of course the provocation at the end of the season. When he disobeys Ed it’s always in regard to the threat that Stede represents, the duel and later selling him out to the British.

We know Ed is tired, but so is Izzy. He constantly has this exhausted air about him, and in the resignation speech it’s clear that he is letting out steam that has being accumulating for a long time and the swapping clothes joke when they should be thinking about what do about the Spanish was the last ridiculous straw for Izzy’s patience then.  Ed has some leeway as captain to act as he pleases, but Izzy as first mate must respond when Ed doesn’t (decide on a plan and such), must act as a buffer between Ed and the crew if the captain messed up or is reckless, etc. Ed listens to Izzy but often acts rather dismissive, he knows Izzy will do whatever he asks and doesn’t really step up to assure much beyond the scene where he promises to kill Stede. He knows he needs Izzy around to keep running things and to worry for the practical stuff while they are on the Revenge. By the time the duel happens, Izzy is probably desperate to get back to the Queen Anne. It’s been like two weeks on Stede’s ship, Ed has essentially taken an impromptu vacation and gives no sign of wanting to end it. Ed doesn’t do much to stop or reassure Izzy when he rows away, all jilted and upset. Izzy disobeyed him and he’ll just deal with him later.

Their relationship is as much in a rut as Ed feels as Blackbeard. Their positions in the crew have them working together all the time, day in and day out, and they likely made a fabulous team for a long time. Now Blackbeard and his crew/fleet are a well-oiled machine that still needs a lot of maintenance and work, and in recent time it’s probably Izzy who deals with a lot of the tedious, day to day stuff. They are exhausted, yet as pirates they don’t have much choice but to keep going.

It makes me wonder how much the Blackbeard persona can be considered a shared enterprise of sorts, something that has allowed them (and their crew) to survive as a team of outlaws for so long.  Ed is Blackbeard, his creation built on his actions and exploits. His fearsome and terrifying reputation grew in collaboration with other people as we are told that Ed himself hasn’t killed anyone with his own hands since his father (that he knows of). He is violent but has been delegating that last big dirty job to other people like Izzy and crew (which allows him to add some distance between himself and those deaths). It’s a character maintained by himself, his team, and other people’s rumors.

We can perceive Izzy’s fixation with the concept a of Blackbeard as his personal idea of Ed as an individual, but I think if they’ve been captain and first mate for so long, they’ve seen each other at many highs and lows. As the very human, messy people they are. Ed doesn’t really put a front for Izzy all the time. He is not oblivious to Ed’s moods as can be appreciated in the early episodes and he is privy to Ed’s heartbreak at the end, and initially tried to cover things for the crew until Ed felt better (like he has probably done in the past).  So yeah, it all makes me wonder if the preoccupation with Blackbeard and what it represents stems also from worry/fear/uncertainty not only for Ed but for what they’ve built and worked for to survive as they have until now. They haven’t gotten to that point in the high seas wrapped in silk gowns. Maybe Ed is not the only one trapped by Blackbeard.

[strawwritesfic]

Tony Stark x Female!Childhood Friend!Reader: Brightest [Ch. 14]

Summary: [F Name] [L Name]: Tony’s Stark’s “invisible friend.” She’s invisible in all the wrong ways–at least until Tony spots her years after telling her to get out of his life. With Yinsen’s words in mind, Tony decides to pursue their lost relationship, only to find that [Name] might not be as willing as before. What Tony doesn’t know, however, is that the confusion of her life might end up the best of his.

Ratings/Warnings/Tags: M (love triangles; friends with benefits; sexual situations; non-consensual sex with a significant other (note: I will mark this specific chapter accordingly); cheating on significant other portrayed in a positive light; verbal abuse from parents and significant others; toxic relationships of several kinds; rumors of an inappropriate relationship between an older man and his son’s teenage friend; set in between Iron Man 2 and Avengers (2012); references to characters not yet established in the MCU as of time of writing)

Pairings: Tony Stark/Reader; Justin Hammer/Reader; Tony Stark/Reader/Justin Hammer; Pepper Potts/Happy Hogan; past!Pepper Potts/Tony Stark

Tag List: @imaginesfire​; @ironmansuucks​; @sleep-i-ness​

Master List

Chapter 14: Life Lessons

You sat in the passenger seat of Tony’s car, watching the shops and the people pass by the windows while your heartbeat drummed in the palms of your sweaty hands. The usual parade of worries passed through your buzzing mind: What were you doing? Anyone might spot you riding along in a flashy vehicle like that one, tinted windows be damned. Anyone might see the car registered to Donald [L Name] loitering on a city block where you were nowhere to be found. Anyone might find you missing from home, and you had left a perfectly functional breadcrumb trail to follow right to your illicit deeds. It didn’t have to be your father that worked things out, or your mother, or even Justin. One nosy member of the entertainment media was all that was needed to blow down your erratically constructed house of cards.

“Would you relax?” Tony’s voice cracked into your anxious thoughts. “You’re sitting so stiff I’m getting constipated just looking at you. What?” he added in the face of your blank stare. “It was a joke.”

“I continue to wonder how you’ve attracted so many girls with that sense of humor,” you said.

“It’s the facial hair. The fabulously wealthy bit doesn’t hurt either. Or the costumed superhero gig.”

The chuckle you let out wasn’t intended to sound as halfhearted as it wound up coming out of your mouth. Tony’s familiar smirk faded as he glanced away from the road and right at you.

“Come on, princess. What’s got those lace panties of yours in a twist? I’m not a mind reader.”

You shook your head. “You’ll think it’s stupid.”

“No, I won’t.”

“Yes, you will.”

“Okay, maybe I will. But how can I say either way if you won’t tell me what you’re thinking about?”

The reason you didn’t want to tell him was obvious: Tony already knew you were stupid—and then you’d gone and admitted to faking what credentials he had ever believed you had. But you were already skating on thin ice as it was. You had asked him for this favor. If you refused him anything, including something as simple as an answer to a question, he could put a stop to more than just this ride. That was a lesson you had learned a long, long time ago.

“Just thinking about the possibility of my parents finding out where I am,” you admitted.

“You mean who you’re with.”

“That, too.”

“For someone who’s been breaking the rules so often lately, you have an awfully loud conscience.” He looked at you again as he made another turn. “No matter. Just something we’ll have to work on quieting.”

The tingle up your spine told you just how much you liked that suggestion. From anyone else, it didn’t mean much, but from Tony, the idea of working on quieting your conscience was rife with possibilities. To no longer feel the weight of guilt over being an imperfect daughter, to be able to feel free to act with impunity would be a—

“Wait a minute. Where are we going?” you asked.

It had only just then dawned on you, preoccupied fool that you were, that this was not the route to Tony’s Malibu mansion. After all the times you had accompanied your parents there as a child—not to mention all the sneaking over there you’d done in your teen years—you had the pathway memorized. His first turn should have been your first clue.

Tony parked the car, turned it off, and offered you an unhelpful, “here,” before he hopped outside.

You stayed put. He made it all the way up to one of the several connected buildings, then seemed to realize you hadn’t accompanied him. His eyes met yours in a wordless stare off.

In your flustered state, it took you an embarrassing amount of time to fumble your seat belt off, after which you finally popped out into the heat of the day. Moving from the cool, dark of the car made the sunlight feel as though it were blistering your eyeballs. You moved blindly forward until Tony stopped you by grasping your arms.

“I thought you said we were going to your place,” you said.

“This is a place of mine. In a manner of speaking.” He pushed open the nearest door, looking at you expectantly. You eyed him with suspicion until he said, “Look, you’ve already made the mistake of coming with me to a secondary location. Might as well see what I’ve got up my sleeves, right?”

That was true. You also weren’t so attached to your life that you found yourself aghast at the thought of being murdered. Your father would probably enjoy the media storm that followed, and you could just imagine your mother carefully planning the way she would cry in each and every interview. So without further pushing, you stepped through the door into a cool, professional interior. An empty secretarial desk sat a few feet away, but before you could register any more than that, Tony followed you in and took your shoulders to guide you deeper inside the building.

“I think this space will do. It’s not too fancy, which will set the right tone.” A woman’s voice drifted down the hallway; you felt Tony’s finger’s tense through the fabric of your top, though he did not stop moving in the same direction. “Do you think security will be a problem?”

“Not at all. Obtrusive, maybe, with a place this size,” a man replied.

“Would putting security in plainclothes make it better?”

“Honestly, I’d prefer to be obtrusive. There are too many wackos out there that won’t double check that Tony was invited before they try to take their revenge. That guy’s made a lot of enemies in a few short years.”

At that time, you and the subject of the conversation rounded a corner that led into a much larger room, all wide, blank walls with pivoting lights hung in lines from the ceiling. Arriving revealed the owners of the two voices: Pepper Potts and a stout man with short, dark hair. They were deeply involved in whatever they were discussing, or were, until the man stopped Pepper mid-step to kiss her.

Tony cleared his throat. The two sprang apart in surprise, but the space between them was not enough to avoid a follow-up quip: “Please, no hanky-panky in my gallery. I like to watch the security camera footage when I can’t sleep and I don’t want to see this next time I do.”

Pepper quickly recovered. “It’s not your gallery,” she said.

“My name’s on the lease.”

“Your company’s name is on the lease, and your company is now my company. Or have you forgotten that you refused to accept my resignation?”

Tony came around you, and shoved his hands into his pants pockets. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Miss Potts. Or of you and your head of security snogging so long as you agree to keep it off film. ”

“Good. What are you doing here anyway? Last I checked, this place hasn’t been used since we purchased it.”.

“Exactly. Thought now would be the perfect time to change that. Unless you two are planning to use it for something more than a private love nest?”

“Love nest?” Pepper echoed incredulously.

Mr. Head of Security looped an arm through hers, causing her to break off before she could build up a proper head of steam. “Maybe we shouldn’t have this discussion in front of strangers,” he said in a low voice.

Pepper blinked, looked around, and then spotted you standing next to and a little behind Tony. She did not flush or behave at all as though you’d seen anything she’d rather you not have. In fact, she simply smiled and moved forward to hold her hand out to you.

“[Name]. Good to see you again. How are you?”

“Fine, Miss Potts,” you said, just as mechanically as you shook her hand.

“Pepper, please. Oh! Let me introduce you. This is my boyfriend and head of security for Stark Industries, Happy Hogan.”

“It’s a pleasure,” said Happy, as he, too, shook your hand.

“Happy, this is [F Name] [L Name], Tony’s girlfriend.”

Your hand seized up inside of Happy’s. “I am not Tony’s girlfriend,” you managed to choke out.

“Is it really that bad a gig?” Tony demanded. “Try to sound more offended next time.”

Pepper moved smoothly on. “My mistake. Happy, this is [Name], Tony’s…”

She left a space for you to fill in. Unfortunately, your mind went just as blank in that moment. What could you say? You couldn’t tell this woman you were sleeping around with her ex in exchange for favors! Word would get out! Pepper seemed nice, but her feelings about Justin weren’t any more favorable than Tony’s, and once he took over your family’s business—well, she was a professional if you’d ever seen one. It would be downright dumb of her not to leak information of your chicanery, and Pepper Potts was not dumb. Up and down you pumped Happy’s arm, up and down and up and down, until Tony came once again to your rescue:

“Friend. A childhood friend.”

“…Tony’s friend,” Pepper finished.

“Good to meet you,” you said in a rush, but it was far too late for you to make a good impression. Happy extracted his hand from yours with a smile you suspected was forced.

“Yes, I remember him talking about you on our way to the airport the other night,” he said. He slipped both of his hands into his jacket pockets, as though worried you might snatch one up again. Or maybe just to dry them off. The stress of the situation had not quelled the sweating of your palms.

“So, are you two really planning to use this for something?” Tony interjected, before you could ask Happy what he meant.

Pepper and Happy exchanged a look.

“What do you want it for?” Happy asked.

“Top secret. Need to know basis only. Ex-girlfriend’s new boyfriend doesn’t need to know.”

Happy looked ready to argue, but Pepper silenced him with a soft hand on one of his broad shoulders. “I supposed we could hold this at one of the more upscale venues. But Tony, if this is about Iron Man—”

“It’s not,” Tony said quickly. “You’re going to love this, Pep. Totally on the up and up. I swear.”

Her eyes moved to linger on you. You did your best not to shy away from her sharp gaze. Why did you feel like she was trying to work out whether or not you could rein Tony in if need be? No way in hell could that happen. After all, you had no more idea of what he wanted from this building than she did. It felt like an entire minute passed before Pepper finally let out a sharp breath, turning her attention back to him.

“Fine. But you owe me a favor,” she said.

“Anything.”

“Meeting in my office, ten o’ clock tomorrow.”

“Not that anything.”

She smiled as she motioned for Happy to follow her toward the rear entrance. “You already said anything. All I want is the finished blueprints for your tower and the generator. If you actually show up with what we need, you won’t have to listen to me nag you about it anymore. Happy, do you think we can make to the alternate location before my three o’ clock?”

Happy’s answer was lost behind the shut door. You stared after them with the nerves already rising in your veins. Oh, God. That had gone terribly. Pepper had no reason to believe you weren’t an idiot before. Even your father would be able to find a reason for you to not look stupid in front Stark Industries’ current CEO!

“Hey. You ready to get started?”

You snapped back to the present with a start to find Tony staring expectantly at you for the second time in under an hour. Warmth crept into your face. The way he was looking at you was not the way he looked at Pepper. There was a softness then that vanished the minute she did. Now he was back to business, back to work, back to dealing with you.

“Ready to start what?” you asked uncertainly.

He gestured around the room with a flourish. “This, princess, is about to be turned into your photo gallery.”

“My-my-”

“Gallery, yeah,” he said when your shock overrode your ability to form complete sentences. “I know you weren’t all gung ho about it when I brought it up before, but now…Figure it’s the perfect thing. You like to take pictures, right?”

“Yes.”

“You want to do something you’re good at for a living, right?”

“Yes.”

“There you go. You supply the art. I supply the venue. No one has to know anything we don’t want them to.”

All of sudden, you found it a beautiful idea. All of those pictures sitting on your computer, ready to be found and used against you at a moment’s notice, instead out for display. You wouldn’t have to hide them anymore. People could see them. Real people. People who might not dismiss them, like Justin had, when you’d first picked up a camera.

The shining bubble of hope burst as quickly as it had come to life.

“That still doesn’t help me convince my dad I’m not worthless,” you said.

“No, but,” Tony placed a hand on your shoulder, “it’ll prove to you you’re not worthless. I’ve seen some of your work. It’s good. Other people will think so, too.”

The bubble returned. You glanced around at all the bare walls once more. Maybe this wasn’t the out you’d wanted from Tony, but it was an out. That was enough for now. Still something bothered you: His offer was good. His offer was kind. And in exchange for what? Some lame rebound sex with a girl he used to know?

“Are you sure you want to do this?” you asked him. “There’s still time to back out. Maybe you can still get Pepper back.”

Tony rolled his eyes as he stuck his hand out toward you. “First of all, you approached me with this idea. Secondly, you keep bringing up Pepper, and I’m liable to think you’re jealous. We’re over. I don’t love Pepper anymore. Now, it’s up to you: Deal or no deal?”

The way you eyed his hand momentarily was entirely for show. You had no dignity left to concern yourself with, and he knew that just as well as you did. This was a chance you would have jumped at even if there had been a few shreds left to you.

“Deal,” you said, shaking his hand.

His escape from your grip was much swifter than Happy’s. “Great. Come on. Let me show you around. Tell you what I’ve got in mind.”

You trotted after him, though your steps were a little less eager than perhaps they should have been. The guilt of disobeying your parents had evaporated as it always did in the light of Tony’s presence. Now it was replaced by a different kind of guilt entirely. Tony said he didn’t love Pepper anymore. Maybe he believed it. But you had seen the way he looked at her, the way his fingers felt against your shoulders when he heard her talking to another man.

Many years ago, you had learned the hard way just what it meant to get in between Tony and something that he wanted. It meant heartbreak. As you listened to Tony talk about the building’s situation, you thought back to your breakfast with Rhodey. You had told him then you were fine being the rebound girl. Though that had been only hours ago, you wondered now if you had meant it as badly as you wanted to.

[imagineyourworld]

The Plan

Echo x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your boyfriend just broke up with you, but you have the perfect plan to get him back (Set before Citadel)

Warnings: Alcohol/drinking, slight allusion to sex, teeny tiny bit smutty towards the end

Check out more of my work here and what’s coming soon

——-

Sure, maybe you were being petty. Maybe you should have spent the evening on your couch with a romantic holo and a bowl full of ice cream. Maybe this plan would backfire and you’d regret it for the rest of your days. But you had to try, not just for yourself, but also for Echo. Echo, who less than twenty four standard hours ago had broken up with you and who you knew would be spending his last night on Coruscant before being deployed again at 79s. And even if he wouldn’t realise that he’d made a mistake by breaking up with you, you could at least spend an evening out with your best friend and her girlfriend while wearing your new fabulous dress. Though you were sure of your plan just a few moments ago, and it had sounded even better coming from your friends mouth, you were no longer certain. As soon as you entered the bar a couple of eyes fell on you and your companions, and though you knew both your friend and her girlfriend looked fabulous, you couldn’t help but feel like they followed you on your way to the bar. “You need to relax”, your friend whispered to you after ordering your drinks. All you managed to do was a shaky nod, and luckily you were saved from having to answer her by someone you weren’t sure you really wanted to see. “You clean up nicely, mesh’la”, someone behind you said and made you turn around. “Thanks, Fives.” Your voice was not as smooth as you wanted it to be. If Fives was here, talking to you, that could only mean that Echo was not far. “I suppose you’re not just here for a drink, are you?” At first you wanted to lie and tell him that that’s exactly why you were at 79s, then you considered telling him that you wanted to forget about Echo by looking for someone else, but you knew that Fives would be able to see through any lie, he could read you almost as well as Echo could. “I suspect Echo told you everything?” Fives didn’t even need to confirm your suspicion, his expression told you everything. “Listen, mesh’la”, he started. This time there was a sad ring to the familiar nickname, that had almost become an inside joke between the two of you. “I understand why Echo did it. I don’t think it was the right choice, but I understand and I know you do too.” You took a moment to answer. First you reached for your drink first, using the movement to glance at your friend, who was in deep conversation with her girlfriend and wouldn’t be any help. “Whose side are you on anyways?”, you asked Fives. He just shrugged, his eyes fixated on something, or someone, behind you, but your pride told you not to turn around. Instead you tried to focus on the familiar warmth of Fives’ hand as he held onto yours and the words you knew would be coming out of his mouth. “You’re one of my best friends, but Echo’s my brother, my vod. But I suppose if everything goes according to your plan there won’t be sides to choose from after tonight.” He didn’t give you time to reply before he placed a gentle kiss on the top of your head and disappeared in the crowd. But for a few more moments you could feel a familiar pair of eyes on you, a pair of eyes that had been watching your entire interaction. “I think Echo saw all of that”, your friend whispered in your ear, confirming your suspicion.

——-

It took you about half an hour to realize that your plan had to change. You knew your dress would catch Echo’s attention, his eyes would be drawn to you and every now and then you caught him staring from the other end of the bar. The blue and white dress mirrored the 501st’s amour, both in colour and in style, was tight at the top and came loose around your knees, which, combined with a sparkling necklace that rested where your breasts began, drew attention to what you knew was Echo’s favourite body part of yours, your boobs. And your eyes, he would always insists. And though you believed him from the countless times he had gotten lost in your eyes, you knew that deep down he was a boobs man through and through, so of course the dress for the night had been strategically chosen. The downside, however, was the second part of your plan. You had been hoping to catch Echo’s attention with your dress and then make him realize what he was missing by flirting with as many of his brothers as possible, because even though he wasn’t possessive, he wasn’t the biggest fan of his brothers getting more of your attention that him. But to really get to him it had to be one of the brothers he was close to, preferably someone from the 501st. Though it seemed as if Echo had warned all of them not to approach you, because every time you caught someone’s eye you saw them looking at Echo before nodding at you and disappearing in the crowd. Only Fives had actually talked to you, but since Echo knew that he was almost like a brother to you that was no use. The next step in your plan would have been to find someone else to flirt with, maybe someone from the 212th or 104th, only this time it wasn’t Echo, but your dress, that ruined your plan. The dress that seemed to be made for you, that made you feel beautiful and confident, also told every clone that you belonged with the 501st, or rather someone in the 501st. So here you were, sipping on your third drink of the night while your friend and her girlfriend were having the time of their lives on the dancefloor. That is until a voice pulled you out of your depressing thoughts. “Since when do you drink alone?” You jumped up from your chair to hug the blond clone. “Rex! It’s good to see you.” You felt rather than heard his low chuckle from how tight you were hugging him. “What are you doing all alone at the bar? The others have a booth in the back and I was just about to join them, why don’t you come with?” You knew that if he set his mind to it, Rex could be quite a good actor, which is why you weren’t sure whether he even knew that Echo had broken up with you. “Rex-”, you began, but before you could protest he slung an arm around your shoulder and pulled you along with him. By the time you reached the booth you still hadn’t come up with a good excuse, which is why you found yourself sitting next to Kix at a table with a few members of the 501st, but no Echo. It was quite awkward at first, but after a few minutes of idle conversation with the boys it was as if you had been there with them all evening, as if nothing had happened. “I really like your dress, by the way. The colours are really-”, Jesse said with a smirk, but he was interrupted by a familiar voice behind you. Yes, most people said that the clones all sounded the same, but you could have told Echo apart by just his breathing, there was no way anyone else would ever say your name like that. “(Y/N), you’re in my seat.” You could tell that Echo was really trying to be casual, to pretend you were acquaintances, maybe even friends, and had never been anything else, just from the way he said your name. But you had heard him say and scream and whisper and moan your name often enough to tell every single emotion he must be feeling right now. And despite the anger, that was practically radiating off of him, it was the love that made you turn around. “Echo.” That’s all you said. Other than him you didn’t even try to hide your emotions, the quiver in your voice or the love in your eyes. There was no point in trying, you knew he could read you just as well as you could read him. “You should leave.” Echo’s tone was harder now that he’d had a moment to conceal his feelings. But there was no way you’d leave now. You finally had his attention, his full attention, and he was actually talking to you. You didn’t say anything, just looked at Echo, who was staring back at you. You knew it would only take a few more seconds, maybe a bit more sadness in your expression, and he’d relent. But then Hardcase, sweet, clueless Hardcase, just had to break the spell. “Don’t be like that, Echo. You can sit next to me, there’s no need to make (Y/N) get up.” What choice did Echo have but to agree? So there he was, almost across from you at the same table, with Kix on your right talking to Fives and Rex and your left putting a reassuring hand on the small of your back. But no matter how much you stared, how much you tried to force Echo to look at you with pure willpower, he ignored you. As time went on he talked to his brothers, laughed with them and pretended you weren’t even there. Even ‘accidentally’ kicking him underneath the table or ‘fixing’ the top of your dress didn’t make him as much as glance in your direction. You were almost ready to give up, to ask Fives or Rex to walk you home, since your friend had found you at the table and asked if it was alright if she and her girlfriend left a while ago, when a clone you didn’t know walked up to you. His amour was a light, almost pastel, green, his hair styled almost exactly the same as Echo’s and a tattoo of some sort of flower ran up the side of his neck. “Sorry to bother you”, he started. Though his words didn’t catch everyone’s attention, they caught yours, and apparently also that of Echo, Fives and Rex. “I was just wondering… Are you with anyone or would you care to dance with me?” He was looking at you with a hopeful expression in his eyes. And even though you had been ready to admit defeat for tonight and just go home, you couldn’t deny his puppy dog eyes and the sweet smile. But it wasn’t just that, the moment the other clone spoke up Echo’s eyes had finally drifted over to you and all of the sudden it seemed as if your plan might work after all. You gently nudged Rex so he’d stand up and let you out of the booth. It wasn’t until you were standing in front of the clone that you answered. “I’d love to dance with you. And no, I’m not with anyone.” You could hear Echo’s sharp intake of breath, which only caused your smile to widen. “Great! That’s great. I just thought that maybe, because your dress is the same colour as their amour that you were in a relationship and I wouldn’t want to come between that. My name is Primrose, by the way.” As you linked your arm with his and looked up at him you noticed that the flowers on his neck were in fact primroses.

——-

“You know, it’s your fault.” “Shut up, Fives”, Echo growled at his brother. “Not only were you the one who broke up with her, you’re also the one who’s been ignoring her all night long.” “Shut up, Fives”, Echo repeated, this time accompanied by a slight kick against his brother’s leg. Echo felt his brothers’ eyes on him as he finished his drink while watching you dance with Primrose. The two of you were closer than you needed to be, your smile was wider than it needed to be and his hands were on your body more than they needed to be. “He’s right”, Jesse said with a nod in your direction. This finally made Echo tear his eyes away from you. “Not you too”, he sighed, wishing he’d either have another drink nearby or that the song would end and you’d return without Primrose. “But Fives is right”, Kix insisted. For just a brief second Echo considered murdering his brothers. The moment passed as soon as it had come, but the desire to make them shut up remained. “Why did you even break up with her? You’re clearly still in love with her”, Rex asked. By the time even his Captain opened his mouth, probably even earlier when Rex had dragged you along with him, Echo knew the entire universe had to be against him. “She deserves better.” That’s all he said. All he had said when he had broken up with you, all he’d tell his brothers. “That’s banthashit and you know i-”, Fives was interrupted by your return to the table. The moment your arse hit the worn out cushion you downed the drink in front of you, not caring that it wasn’t yours, but Rex’s, who stared at you in dismay. “Wow there, mesh’la, was he that bad of a dancer?”, Fives laughed. You shook your head with a smirk. “Quite the opposite, actually. But I’m thirsty and he had to leave because his company is being send on a mission early tomorrow. Speaking of leaving, I think I’d better get home, it’s getting late. Would one of you boys walk me home?” Before anyone could say or do anything Echo shot up from his seat, almost upsetting the table with the rapid movement. “I’ll do it.”

——-

Though you had been happy when Echo first announced he’d walk you home, the happiness didn’t last long. The entire way he didn’t say a word, even to your questions he only nodded or shook his head instead of an actual answer. “You didn’t have to walk me home, you know. One of the others could have done it, or I could have walked alone.” You hadn’t expected Echo to your annoyed statement since he hadn’t said anything to things you had hoped would force him to talk to you. “You know I’d never let you walk home alone in the dark, cyar’ika.” You could tell from the way he tensed up next to you that he hadn’t meant to say that, hadn’t meant to call you by the nickname he knew you loved so much. It was more of a force of habit than anything else. “It speaks”, was your sarcastic reply. You refused to look at Echo, but you had a feeling he was biting his lips to keep himself from saying anything else. Lucky for him you stopped in front of your building just then and there was no need for him to say anything other than goodbye. You walked over to the door, shifting your small purse before looking at Echo over your shoulder. “I guess I’ll see you around.” Quickly you turned back around so he wouldn’t see the tears welling up in your eyes. The evening, the plan, had been a disaster. You were now a hundred percent certain that Echo didn’t want you back, didn’t have feelings for you anymore, and had only walked you home due to… what? A sense of obligation? To not be an even bigger dick? It wasn’t until you had already punched in half of your access code into the keypad next to the door that Echo spoke up. “Can I walk you to your apartment?” You finished typing in your code before you turned around, hoping Echo wouldn’t be able to see how much his words affected you. But all worries, all reasons not to let him into your flat, into your life, again, vanished the second you looked at him. There was no way you could ever say no to him, no way you could deny him anything when he was looking at you with so much hope and fear and… love… in his eyes. “Okay”, you whispered. A weak answer, but the only one you managed without your voice breaking. “Okay”, he repeated, a smile brightening his handsome face. In the blink of an eye he was next to you, holding the door open for you, then guiding you towards the lift. He was standing closer than before, you could feel his body heat through your dress and his amour on the ride to your flat. Once you arrived on your floor you hurried to your door, typing in the code before Echo could see it, but you should have known the ARC trooper would catch the numbers you pressed. “You still have my CT number as your code?” You let him into your flat before following and closing the door behind you. “I didn’t have time to change it yet.” The small smile on his lips vanished at your words. For once it seemed that he had bought your lie. “So you wanted to change it?”, he asked. His voice was quieter than before, his eyes went from you to his shoes and back to you. “Did you come up here to talk about my acess code?” You couldn’t hide the annoyance in your voice. All night Echo had been either ignoring you or glaring at you, then all of the sudden he was being nice and calling you “cyar’ika” again and then all he wanted to talk about was the stupid code for your stupid door? “I… No, that’s not why I wanted to come up. I… Can we sit down?” You nodded and lead Echo over to your small couch, where the two of you sat down, but this time a bit farther apart. Though still close enough that you could touch him if you reached out. “Cya- (Y/N), you need to stop whatever it is you’re doing. Wearing that dress you know I adore, flirting and dancing with my brothers and drawing my eyes to you every waking moment.” He took a deep breath, not meeting your eyes but instead focusing on your nose, your lips, your breasts, your hands. Though he didn’t look into your eyes, his never left your body. “We’re not together anymore.” If it wasn’t for the way his voice shook as he said the last words, the way a single tear threatened to slip out of his left eye, the way he looked at you as if wanting to commit every detail to memory, you would have believed him. But you couldn’t. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but you couldn’t believe he actually meant what he said. “But why? You never gave me a reason for breaking up with me. Maybe, if you told me why, I could accept it, maybe even understand it.” His fingers twitched. Your hands were laying so close together on the couch, it would only take a few millimeters for the to touch. “Echo, why did you break up with me? Why did you break my heart?” Finally he looked at you. Really looked at you and saw you. More tears were welling up in his eyes, though none of them escaped. “I never meant to break your heart, I wanted to save it.” His words were a soft whisper, so soft you could have sworn you had imagined them, but before you could ask him to repeat himself, Echo continued. “I had to break up with you, don’t you understand? I had to make sure you wouldn’t get attached, because if we’re not together, if you don’t love me, your heart won’t get broken when I eventually die in this war.” You opened and closed your mouth a few times, but no words came out. Finally, after what felt like hours of silence, hours of Echo just looking at you, you managed to answer. “Is that the only reason?” It seemed as if he was at a similar loss for words, because Echo simply nodded. You shook your head. You couldn’t believe it. Of course you knew there had to be some sort of reason for Echo to break up with you, the two of you had been happy after all, but you wouldn’t have thought that that could be the reason, though it did explain his hot and cold behaviour. It wasn’t that Echo didn’t want to be with you, didn’t love you, he simply wanted to protect you. Slowly and gently you reached out until your hand cupped Echo’s cheek. You shifted closer to him and held his hand in your other hand. “I’m not even gonna discuss the fact that you think it’s inevitable that you’ll die in this war, that’s a conversation for another day. But Echo, my love, how could you think I wouldn’t be heartbroken if anything were to happen to you just because we’re not together? I love you. I have loved you before we started dating and I didn’t stop when you broke up with me, I don’t think I’ll ever stop. I’ve never felt this way before and of course I don’t want to imagine the heartbreak of losing you, but my heart breaks a little every time you leave, with every single scratch you get and everything you’re forced to endure in this war. And whether or not we’re together doesn’t change that, doesn’t change my love for you.” It wasn’t until you felt Echo’s thumb gently brushing across your cheek that you realized you had started crying. And so did he. Softly you placed your lips on his cheeks and kissed a few tears away, the salty taste speaking of love and hope and heartbreak. “I guess I’m pretty stupid, aren’t I?”, Echo tried to joke. But you shook your head. “No, never. You tried to protect me, even if it was the worst plan in the history of planning, that’s not stupid, that’s brave and selfless and I love you even more for it.” Echo nodded. He nodded and he cried and you cried until you started laughing and couldn’t stop. And when Echo joined in on your laughter you could have sworn your heart was soaring right out of your chest. “So, we’re together again?”, you asked. Instead of answering Echo leaned in until his lips were only inches away from yours and with a small sigh you closed the gap. Kissing him was familiar, but that didn’t make it any less loving and exciting. The kiss started out slow and careful, but soon you gently bit down on Echo’s bottom lip before soothing it with your tongue. Only when both of you needed to catch your breath did you part. “Do you love me again?”, you whispered against Echo’s lips just a second later. You felt, rather than saw, his grin. “I never stopped.” A chuckle made his way past your kiss swollen lips. “Me neither. And I never will.” He hummed in something you interpreted as both agreement and content before he touched your lips with his again. “One more thing, though”, he said between pressing pecks to your lips, his hands winding into your hair. “I hope you’ll wear that dress again soon.” You laughed. That you could do. It was a pretty dress and solely based on the looks he had shot you all night it had quickly become your favourite garment. “Sure. But how about I take it off for now?” Echo didn’t answer. Instead he started kissing, biting and sucking on your neck. You supposed that was a yes.

——-

Honestly, I don’t know what this fic even is! The original idea was smutty with a but of fluff, now it ended up being a fluffy and slightly angsty mess with just a sprinkle of suggested smut. But maybe it was enjoyable nonetheless, let me know! <3

[k0ra-kumori]

Killer Frost, Caitlin Snow (DC Super Hero Girls 2019)

#PolarDemons

It was an ordinary day at the Metropolis school, I was getting ready to go to class, and maybe my mind was still a little tormented by what happened to Casey Krinsky, I was thinking about it too much in the last few days, and I don't know why , maybe it was because every time I met her at school I felt a sense of guilt and wanted to apologize to her? No ... I already tried that, and it didn't work.

- Zee! Are you okay? You're already standing there for about 5 minutes! Let's be late, and mr.Chapin promise that if we were late again he would kick us out! (Babs)

- Sorry Babs, I'm coming after you.

I was startled when Barbara called me, but I needed to get out of that trance, maybe the class distracted me a little about Casey.

(Time Skip)

It was time to go, and studying only made my mind worse, I needed a break, Mr. Chapin was unbearable today.

"Where are my friends?" I thought, we usually all leave the class together, I went looking for them and while I was walking down the main hall I saw a crowd, and my friends were there too! I went to them as soon as possible.

- Girls! What are you doing? I looked for you everywhere.

- Hey, duh! We told you in the class that we were going to come here, but it looks like you were too distracted to pay attention to us. (Kara)

- i-I'm sorry is that I ... What are you looking at?

- The new girl, her name is Caitlin Snow, she makes magnificent ice sculptures, it looks like she was transferred

from the old school because her parents moved to metropolis.(Karen)

- I heard she was the most popular girl in the school she came from, it looks like you're going to have competition Zee haha. (Kara)

Kara slaps my arm as part of the joke and I have a very weak laugh, I was happy to have another student at school, and it looks like I wouldn't be the only popular girl here now, you might think it's envy or something, but something about this girl tells me that she’s not welcome here, there’s something wrong with her ...

- Aren't you Zee zatara? I heard a lot about you. (Caitlin)

I didn't notice Caitlin approaching, I was distracted again.

- A-ah hi, yes it is me, very pleased.

I reach out to her for a friendly handshake, but she doesn't fight back ...

- My name is Caitlin Snow, you don't feel threatened by me or anything, do you (Caitlin)

- T-threatened ?! excuse me?

- It's just that I was the most popular girl in my school before I left, and you are the most popular girl here, so ... (Caitlin)

- Oh, of course, I’m very calm about it.

- If that's what you say ... (Caitlin)

Caitlin walks towards the exit of the school door, but in the middle of the way she stops in front of the photographs of all the proms that the Metropolis school has had, and by chance, I was the queen of all these proms, she looks calmly all the pictures one by one, when Caitlin then takes one of my prom queen pictures in her hand and suddenly ... she throws it in the trash.

- I was the most popular girl in my school, and believe me Zee zatara, I don't like to share anything with anyone, especially titles, and in fact, you should feel threatened by me. This school is already mine, bye bye. (Caitlin)

I couldn't believe it, she threatened me?! I didn't feel threatened by her in any way, but now ... I felt very threatened, and it wasn't because of my title.

- You saw that-- GIRLS!

- Ah it was bad zee, we were seeing the ice statue, it moves can you believe it ?! This is very cool! (Kara)

- Were you going to say something, Zee? (Jess)

- No, I don't think so. Let's go home?

(Time skip)

After a long and tiring trip home I had time to relax a little, I was thinking more clearly now.

- Caitlin Snow is not it? Let's see what you do for a living.

I search for Caitlin's name on instagram, and luckily I found her profile, she was in first place in searches.

- but what is so impressive about you ...

I keep looking for something suspicious in Caitlin's profile, I know you think I'm jealous, but believe me, it's not jealous, I'm suspicious of this girl. Well, I look around for a while and I can't find anything, all I found out was that Caitlin makes a video of make-up, ice sculptures, and that her family has their own business, she and her mother give presentations on magical ice sculptures. and skating in a theater ... familiar isn't it? Maybe I would even be jealous of her? After all, she was beautiful, intelligent and had her own business. I was already accepting that I was getting jealous of the girl with white hair, when I decide to click on any video on her Instagram just to end it all, the video was starting, Caitlin talked about makeup, how to make a perfect contour and these things, I watched the video for about 2 minutes, until something caught my attention... I realized that every time the mirror appeared, the image would lock up, looking like those films from the 1950s, you know? I thought it was strange, but I didn't want to watch the rest of the video with the image of a film from my father's time! so I used my magic to make the video stop locking... it was a mistake, because as soon as I cast the spell on the video, I looked in the mirror, and believe me, it was the scariest thing I've ever seen in my life, there was something with ... horns in the mirror! This confirmed my suspicions, there was something wrong with that girl and I intended to find out what.

- Zee, it's time to sleep.

- Okay daddy, good night.

I turn off the light and fall asleep, but I still thinking about it for a bit before falling asleep.

(Time skip)

I was already at school, and last night I decided that in addition to discovering what is strange about this girl, I was going to keep everyone away from her, if there was something more sinister behind it, it was better to let everyone away so that no one would get hurt, so I decided to give a magic show at school today, so no one would be around Caitlin.

- Ladies and gentlemen, witness the unique, incredible and fabulous, Zee zatara!

I was waiting for people's cheers, but nobody said anything, maybe everyone was on a different side of the school? Well, I take my bench and my special effects and look for a place with a lot of people at school, and walking through the halls I saw her... it was too late, everyone was surrounding Caitlin and watching her ice skating show, there was always an ice rink here? How come I never noticed ?!

- Sister! You arrived at the right time, we watching the new girl skating on the ice, join us! (Diana)

Diana pulls my arm to take me to Caitlin's show, but I release my arm from Diana's grip.

- Everything is fine? Don't you want to see the show? (Diana)

- I-i want, but ...

I sigh.

- Diana, there is something wrong with this girl, I don't know what it is but, there is something wrong with her.

- Something wrong? What you mean? (Diana)

- Yesterday I was watching a video about her on instagram, and in the reflection of the mirror something with horns appeared, look!

I had taken a screenshot of the video if it was useful, so I showed it to Diana.

- something with horns? where? (Diana)

- Right there in the mirror!

- Zee, has nothing there. (Diana)

- b-but, you don't see it?

- ... Look zee, you must be feeling threatened by Caitlin's presence I know, but remember what I said to Barbara Minerva when she said she was the cheetah? I said "One person’s success doesn’t exclude another person’s success" you don’t have to be jealous of her, Zee.(Diana)

- No, no, no, Diana please believe me I’m not jealous of her, don’t you see the horned creature in the mirror ?!

- Sorry zee, you will need more than a blank mirror to prove that Caitlin is a monster. (Diana)

Diana is gone, she went to see the show like everyone else...

- Diana... the monster... I don't believe it, am I going crazy?

I was questioning my sanity now, she is not here at school for 3 days and is already driving me crazy, is it me who is to blame? Was my magic playing with my mind? I didn't know anything else at this point, if the diana who was born in a home full of magic and monsters didn't believe me, who else would believe it? Maybe Casey Krinsky was messing with my mind right now, I better go wash my face to ease the tension.

(In the bathroom)

- control yourself Zee, you're going crazy, keep calm! My god what is happening to me...

My makeup was totally messy now, maybe redoing it would help me, so as soon as I look in the mirror I see the horned demon's reflection, from the chest down he was just bones, his outside ribs gave him a touch ghastly.

- Do you talk to yourself? (Caitlin)

- C-ca...Caitlin ?!

I look in the mirror again, and the reflection was normal now, it was just Caitlin's reflection.

- Weren't you at your skating show?

- I was, but I had to come here to touch up my makeup, by the way, today is crazy day and nobody told me? Hahahaha (Caitlin)

She snorts out of the bathroom. In just 2 days she dropped my food, made me stumble, and ruined my school work, I was sick of her being mean to me.

- Why you hate me?

- I do not hate you Zatara, you are cool, the only problem I have with you is that you are in this school with me, I remember saying that I do not like to share, and that the title of popular girl was mine, 80% of this title already belongs to me, but if you don’t leave the game I’ll never have the rest. (Caitlin)

- I'm not leaving this school, especially since I know you're hiding something scary from the rest of the people.

- Girl, you're crazy. (Caitlin)

- I'm not crazy, what is it then?!

I show the mirror photo to Caitlin, and she smiles arrogantly.

- it's good to know that you have magic.

- W-what are you talking about?

- Find out for yourself, Zatanna.

Caitlin comes out of the bathroom, leaving me with doubts and alone there.

(Time skip)

It's been 5 days, and Caitlin is officially the most popular girl in school, my friends just talked about her and about the ice skating shows, that didn't help at all, so I decided to stay a few days alone.

- Should we go over there and talk to Zee? I'm already getting worried. (Jess)

- I tried to talk to her a couple of days ago, but she insists that Caitlin is a villain, I think we better let her have some time. (Diana)

I watched my friends from afar, I was missing them so much, but I couldn't go back without discovering the horrible thing that Caitlin was, I couldn't solve this case on an empty stomach, so I went to get a snack in the cafeteria, I got one a little bit of spaghetti and I went towards my table, but suddenly Caitlin puts her foot in front of me and I fall to the floo ... face to face with the spaghetti, the whole school laughed at me.

- I do not believe that! (Kara)

- G-guys, calm down, it could have been an accident. (Karen)

- Accident will be my fist landing on the face of that pale white girl! (Kara)

I get up, I had noodles all over my hair and face, I was already irritated by all that and I wanted to hit Caitlin, but I couldn't, Jess taught me that anger is not always the way. I was annoyed, but I tried to stay calm.

- Caitlin, can I talk to you outside for a minute?

- Of course my dear, I'll be back girls.

(Out of school)

- about what you want to talk?

- "About what you want to talk?" Really?! What was that?!

- It was an accident.

- Accident ... ACCIDENT ?! ARGH.

I got annoyed, Jess would be disappointed in me, but I couldn't take any more teasing, I ended up not even caring if she was going to know that I have magic, so I hit her with a spell of magic, and of course, I regret doing that.

- Oh my god, I'm so sorry Caitlin, I'm really sorry!

Caitlin didn't move, I was worried, and as soon as I was going to call the ambulance she started to move... But it wasn't just that, I don't know if I hit my head too hard on the food tray a few minutes ago or something like that, but, I was watching Caitlin increase in size, that's right, she was growing and her shape and clothes were changing, the sky was getting cloudy and for some reason it started to snow ... it was summer! Why was it snowing?!

- I'm already tired of you Zee zatara ... (Killer Frost)

- C-Caitlin?

I was getting farther and farther away, it was getting really weird, as Caitlin moved her shape seemed bigger, she leaned on some bricks of the destroyed wall in order to get up, and as soon as she stands, I get scared, Caitlin was super tall! She had to bend down to go through the door, she are so big.

- I will kill you, Zee zatara! (Killer Frost)

I had no more doubts, Caitlin had super powers and was ready to transform into one of her ice sculptures, I wasted no time and soon changed too, and as soon as I was going to run away, she took me by the cape.

- You're in so much trouble. (Killer Frost)

- I don't want to fight with you, please let's talk!

- I have nothing to talk to you about! (Killer Frost)

Caitlin threw me so far and so high, that I ended up on the 7th floor wall of a building. My body was hurting a lot, but I had to defeat it, but as soon as I got up, Caitlin landed on my body and tried to hang me.

- By the way, you can call me Killer Frost instead of Caitlin in the next life, Zee Zatara! (Killer Frost)

- I'm not afraid of snow!

I teleport to the opposite side of Killer Frost, I needed to defeat it somehow, so I create a loop to be able to hold it, I throw the loop at Frost, but it freezes it and turns the shards into sharp pieces of ice, then throw them at me, I teleport again and try to hit her with my magic, but she creates an ice shield to protect herself from my attacks.

- Frost, let's talk! I do not want to hurt you!

- BUT I WANT TO HURT YOU! I JUST WANTED ATTENTION, YOU ALREADY HAVE TOO MUCH ATTENTION! (Killer Frost)

The earth begins to tremble, and in the midst of so much snow a giant snake made of ice chases me, I run, but the snake captures me.

- You always had everything you wanted Zatanna, attention, love, friends, and now it's my turn to have it all!

I wanted to say something, but then I start to feel my body getting cold, I look at my legs and see that I'm starting to freeze, would this be the end of me? No ... I couldn't die like that, I needed help, and luckily, I see a shiny golden lasso looping the tail of the giant snake that held me, the snake melted, and behind it revealed five super heroines, Wonder Woman, Batgirl, Supergirl, Green Lantern and Bumblebee.

- Are you okay? (Wonder Woman)

Wonder woman said, she took my hand and saw that I had a low body temperature.

- stay out of this fight, you could end up hurting yourself even more. (Wonder Woman)

[snackhobi]

pairing: min yoonji x reader / word count: 9.7k / genre: f x f smut, assassin!au

summary: a fic inspired by this post and that’s pretty much it-

warnings: sexually explicit content (NSFW), talk about death/assassination (nothing graphic dw! but they are assassins, so), mild violence, unnecessarily sexually charged lipstick application, face riding, fingering, multiple orgasms, oral (f giving/receiving), use of restraints, overstimulation, squirting, kind of dom!yoonji?

a/n: this is an entirely self-indulgent fic I wrote as a gift to myself for my bday, it’s a lil rushed bc I wanted it done for today! women are so very beautiful and I am so very weak, thank you ladies for all being so amazing ily. this was meant to be a short pwp and now it’s almost 10k but I have no regrets bye

--

la petite mort French literal meaning: ‘the little death’; also an expression used to refer to the brief loss or weakening of consciousness, specifically the sensation of orgasm as likened to death; an orgasm.

--

“It’s just unacceptable.”

The woman in front of you is clearly wealthy. Her dark hair is perfectly styled and her pale nails are perfectly shaped and her subtle makeup is perfectly flattering; she’s starting to get older but rather than shy away from it, she’s leaning into it, and she looks almost imperious in her beauty, eyes sharp and set of her lips severe. Park Dahye was born into wealth and has clearly thrived in the life that she’s been afforded.

“Mmhm.” You try not to yawn. 

“He’s flitting around with some young, silly thing on his arm, with no consideration for the family’s reputation— my reputation,” she continues. Her posture is perfect, from the set of her spine to her crossed legs to her folded hands that rest on her knee, somehow demure and yet highlighting all of her beauty and riches; the jewellery on her wrists and fingers, the expensive heels on her feet, the slit of her haute-couture dress, no doubt tailored for her and her alone. “I’ve already spoken to him about his behaviour, but he’s just ignored my warnings. We may have agreed on the divorce but we’re currently still husband and wife— has he no shame?”

“Awful.” You don’t even try to hide how bored you are, but Dahye is so quietly incensed that she doesn’t even notice as she launches into the next part of her queenly diatribe, and you muffle a sigh.

That’s the problem with rich clients. Sure, they’re willing to fork over stupid amounts of money to you, but they also think that their issues are of paramount significance— like they’re the centre of the universe and their problems are the only important ones in the world. Like you’re interested in what they have to say. Like this is the only job you’ll ever do that holds real weight or meaning.

For them, it’s a life-changing (life-ending) decision. 

For you? It’s another Tuesday.

“Yes, yes, that’s just so terrible, gosh, I don’t know how you manage it,” you say once she pauses to take a breath, using the opportunity to cut her off before she launches into another part of her articulate rant. “Anyway. Would you prefer if his death was embarrassing or quiet?”

For the first time since you’ve met, she seems unsettled. “Pardon?”

Namjoon is much better with people than you, smooth and charming with his boyish dimples. Normally any discussions would go through your handler, but this woman had demanded to meet you personally and had been willing to pay for the privilege: so here you are, with your relative bluntness instead of Joon’s winsome smile.

“You know,” you say, gesturing with your hands. “When they find the body. Do you want him to be caught with his trousers around his ankles—literally or figuratively, that’s up to you— or would you rather it seemed like something natural and unpredictable? Like a sudden heart attack in his sleep, for example.”

When it comes to rich clients, a lot of it is about reputation. When someone’s shuffled off this mortal coil, it’s not just that they’re removed from the equation, it’s also about the ripples that their death leaves in the high society that they’ve lived in. Does she want her (soon-to-be) ex-husband made a mockery of, or does she just want him out of the picture?

She can’t see your face, behind your mask as it is, but you can see hers in perfect clarity. For all that Dahye seems put together and almost impassive, you see the tiny flicker in her eyes. Ah. She’s not just mad because he’s ruining their reputation. She’s hurt.

Man, that sucks. Honestly you bet it’s easier being an assassin than a rich housewife. At least when it comes to backstabbing you can literally involve a knife to sort your problems out. (Well, knives are messy, but you get the picture.)

“I’d prefer something quiet,” she decides. “I’d worry that it could lead back to me, otherwise.”

You’d be offended at the idea that you’d leave any trace that could implicate anyone or that this man’s sudden death was in any way suspicious, but she’s paying you enough that you find that you don’t care. You take pride in your work, but for the amount of zeroes involved in the fee you’re being paid, you think you can take an unintentional insult or two. Or three. Or ten.

You like money, what can you say.

“Sure thing,” you say, giving her a lazy, two fingered salute. You’ve been reclining against the desk of the hotel suite, flicking the complimentary, heavy metal pen between your fingers, twirling it like the world’s most underwhelming baton. You straighten up and let the pen drop back into the pen pot—wait, no, of course it’s a handmade porcelain jar, an alarmingly well-made Joseon porcelain replica. Everything in here stinks of money. “RM will confirm where the money is to be deposited. Half of it now as collateral, and half upon completion of the job,” you say. “If you change your mind between now and then, we’ll be keeping the original 50%, but if for some reason something goes awry, you’ll receive that money back. Sound good?”

She seems surprised at your directness. “I—”

“Fabulous!” You clap your hands together, although the sound is muffled by your gloves. You’re not about to leave your fingerprints everywhere, geez. “Alright, time for me to skidaddle I suppose! I’ve got work to be doing, people to be watching, men to be killing!”

Dahye flinches imperceptibly, but by this point you’ve already slipped out onto the balcony and into the night.

--

Being an assassin is hard work.

Technically, everyone has the capacity to kill another human being. But killing as a job involves a lot more than just caving someone’s head in with a rock—that’s why Cain isn’t referred to as an assassin, what with how he’d just bashed his brother Abel with a convenient stone that happened to be lying nearby. He was just a straight up dick.

No, when you kill professionally you need to be familiar with an array of different techniques, each one far more sophisticated than the last. You need to know how to be stealthy, how to blend in as you watch your target, how to set up the scenes of their death in a way that doesn't arouse suspicion. Or, instead, how to set the scene up in a way that lets any onlookers know that this person had been offed by someone who knew what they were doing, and knew it well. There's a difference between being a killer and being an assassin and you are firmly in the latter category.

So, if your client wants her husband to be shuffled off quietly, then that’s what she’ll get.

They really have pulled out all the stops for this charity gala. Everything is shining, glittering and bright: the surroundings, the food, the people. Especially the people. The rich elite have come together for an extravagant and exquisite night of ostentation and luxury, all in the name of raising money for some needy cause. (You try not to think of the irony and/or hypocrisy behind that.)

It’s almost laughable how easy it is to blend in here. Namjoon had secured (forged) invitations for you both, and so you hang off his arm as you make a slow sweep of the room, trailing unnoticed after your target. You’re not planning to make a move right now but you want to feel out exactly what he’s like: the more information you have about the person you’ve been contracted to assassinate, the better. 

Plus it’s an excuse to dress up nice and eat free food— though that last part is mainly Namjoon.

“God, these canapés are so good,” Namjoon moans quietly to you, hoovering up the flaky pastry crumbs from his fingers with single-minded intent. You dig your fingers subtly into his arm.

“I thought we agreed on not eating tonight, Joon,” you mutter to him, although you say it with a beatific smile in case anyone is watching; the place is heaving with people but you’re always on guard. (Even if Namjoon is right. The hors d’oeuvres that are on offer do look incredibly tempting.)

“You have a glass of champagne,” he points out.

“And you may have noticed that I haven’t drunk any of it.” You titter, as if he’s just told a funny joke, and lightly slap his arm. Again, you’re fairly certain no one is watching, but you can never be too careful. “It’s all about creating a facade, Joonie. It’s what we in the business call a ruse.”

Even throughout your back and forth, you’ve kept your eyes on your man of the night: Park Minjae, a middle-aged businessman who’s been greeting people and getting swept up in conversation, all while a slip of a blonde clings to his arm, stuck to his side like a pretty limpet. She’s cute, sure, but she lacks the poise that Dahye has, so you frankly don’t get it. Then again, not everyone finds strong women as attractive as you do. Weirdos.

You’ve been focused on Minjae but your eyes have also been flitting around the room, drinking in your surroundings, drawing up a detailed map of your environment (of course you’d scoped out the building before tonight, but with all the banquet tables and chairs around the layout is a little different). The people, too, have been subject to your scrutiny, although so far they all seem summarily unimportant and uninteresting, just as you’d suspected. You lift your glass to your lips and pretend to take a tiny, demure sip, glancing up through your eyelashes to scan the room again, and you freeze.

Holy shit.

You take back what you just said about everyone being unimportant and uninteresting. 

The woman who’s just walked in is fucking stunning. Her sleek dark bob is unstyled, but perfectly frames her beautiful face: sharp eyes, soft nose, flushed lips. Her cocktail dress lets you see almost every inch of those perfect legs, the line of her thighs to her calves and— oh, you swear you could shed a tear of joy. She’s already tall and she’s made even taller by the heels she wears, towering above most of the men here, a fucking Amazonian goddess who looks powerful and undeniably elegant at the same time. 

(Thank you for your service, tall women.)

You don’t know who she is, but goddamn, do you want to. She’s scanning the room, and for a brief moment, your eyes touch. A tiny thrill shudders up your spine at the darkness of her keen eyes, that quick and astute gaze. 

It’s only the tiniest of moments that’s over as soon as it’s started. The dark-haired beauty looks away and is already disappearing into the crowd before you realise, and it’s only then you notice that you’re staring, utterly drawn in by her cool poise and presence. You’ve been frozen in place with the rim of your champagne  glass resting against your mouth, and your eyelashes flutter as you blink and glance down.

The imprint of your lower lip has been left on the glass, stark red visible against its edge, and you squeeze Namjoon’s bicep.

“How does my lipstick look?”

He takes one look at you as he swallows down another tiny vol-au-vent. “Like half of it is missing,” he says, and you frown.

“Ugh. I’ll go touch it up in the bathroom. Keep an eye on our guy, I’ll be right back.”

It’s not until you’ve made it to the toilets that you realise that you do not, in fact, have any lipstick in your ridiculously small clutch bag. When it comes to your actual work, you’re meticulous and thorough and well-planned, but for some bizarre reason, a tube of lipstick is never the top of the list when it comes to equipment. Unbelievable. (You knew you should have worn the 24/7 stuff, but it was always such a nightmare to get off.)

You’ve been so busy rummaging through your bag that you’re completely caught off-guard at the sound of a quiet voice from behind you.

“Lost something?”

Oh, fuck. It’s her, your dark haired and dark eyed beauty, meeting your gaze through the mirror when you glance up from where you’re resting your bag against the marble counter  (marble, marble, marble, it’s all marble: the floors, the counters, the sinks; why do rich people always love marble?). She looks altogether too amused at your plight and at how your eyes have widened perceptibly upon seeing her again. But can she blame you? Her presence is so graceful and commanding and she’s so dizzyingly attractive it’s insane. Surely she must get this all the time.

You stare for a little longer than is probably polite, and even behind her fringe you can see how one of her eyebrows rises.

“Sorry for staring,” you say once you notice. “You’re just so beautiful.”

She pauses as she takes in the compliment. You see how her eyes flicker over your face and settle on your mouth; your upper lip, tinted burgundy red, while the lower is faint and smudged.

“Lipstick problems?” She cocks her head at you, still staring at your lips in the mirror. God, she’s so hot.

“Can you tell?” You sound rueful as you glance down at the reflection of your mouth, touching your bottom lip lightly with a fingertip. “I forgot to bring any with me so now I’m stuck.”

She finally looks away from you. You hear a small, metallic click as she unclasps her evening bag— marginally larger than your own— and lifts out a small tube of liquid lipstick. “Would you like to use mine?”

Fuck yes you would. 

“Oh, would that be alright?” You finally turn around, and you have to tilt your head back to look at her, taller than you in her heels. Jesus Christ. She’s going to be the death of you. Why are women so gorgeous? Who gave them the right? “I’m not sure the shade will match, though?”

You watch her beautiful mouth curve up into a small smirk as she pulls out a tiny pack of makeup remover wipes from her bag, and you swear could propose to her there and then. Beautiful and tall and organised? Holy shit. What a woman.

She’s got her bag in one hand, while the lipstick and wipes are clasped in the other; her hand is held up in such a way that you think she means for you to take them from her, but when you reach out she shakes her head.

“I’ll do it for you,” she says. The quiet note of authority in her tone makes you go weak at the knees.

Thank god the toilets you chose aren’t the main ones, because it means there’s no one around to see how she tilts her head at the marble counter in the universal gesture of get on there. It’s entirely unnecessary, but you, of course, immediately comply. You brace your hands against the cold stone before hitching yourself up, careful with the draping folds of your dress; the cold touch of the stone is noticeable through the material of your dress, but it’s instantly forgotten when your enchantress steps closer. 

You spread your knees so she can stand between them. Holy shit, she’s even better up close. Her lashes are wispy but they’re the perfect frame for her gorgeous eyes, which are dark and intent. You suppress a shiver. You hold yourself still as she leans forward and around you so she can put her clutch and lipstick down, trying to ignore how close she is, but there’s no way she can’t realise what she’s doing. Your heart is pounding. You wish you didn’t have a job to do tonight because you would so much rather be getting, ah, acquainted with this woman rather than following some old businessman around.

The only noise in the bathroom is the sound of peeling plastic as she opens the tiny packet of wet wipes before she curls one around her finger, glancing at you through her lashes.

“Open,” she instructs.

Your mouth drops open immediately. She sweeps the wipe over your lips, bottom, then top, touch firm but careful, drawing away the red from your skin; you stare at her as she works, how her eyes are cast down as she stares at your mouth. She’s using her free hand to grip your chin and you feel deliciously powerless in her grasp. 

You purse your lips a little to try and help her, watching the way her eyes flicker as she pulls the wipe back over them— somewhat firmer, this time, with more intent. Lingering. The only barrier between her finger and your mouth is soft and flimsy, the texture of the wipe against your lips like cotton as it drags across them, and it would be so easy to pull it out of her hands.

She flicks the dirtied wipe aside, heedless of how it lands on the unsullied marble, before reaching for her lipstick. She twists the tube in her fingers, motions of her hands precise and deft, and you’ve never been so attracted to how someone’s uncapped something before. 

You watch her hands. (She watches you.)

Your eyes trail over the wand as she pulls it out, dragging the doe foot against the rim to catch the excess before turning it towards you, putting the tube by your thigh, near where your hand is bracing against the marble. She takes hold of your chin once again. You stay quiet as she starts to sweep the lipstick over your lips, painting them the same flushed pink as her own. Once again she’s staring at her work so you’re free to drink her in, almost drunk from her beauty, eyes catching on the tiny moles on her pale skin, the smallest freckles that are only noticeable because you’re this close.

The squelch of the applicator sliding into the tube is almost lewd in the silence of the bathroom, and this time you can’t suppress a shiver when she pulls your chin down to open your mouth so she can go back in again on your lips, drawing a sharp, crisp line. Tracing the edges of your lips, the flushed swell of them, the peak of your cupid’s bow.

She glances up. For a moment you’re both still, staring at each other, tension in the air palpable, but then she smacks her lips and you copy the motion, evening the application of the makeup on your mouth. 

“Perfect,” she murmurs. “One more step.”

A small, confused frown flits over your face. She’s put the lipstick aside but then she lifts a finger and points towards your still parted lips. You take in a small, shuddering breath when she speaks again and you realise what she means.

“You don’t want to get lipstick on your teeth, do you?”

Both of her eyebrows have risen and she’s looking at you like you’re being silly if you disagree with her.

“No,” you say. You’re not about to deny her. “No, I don’t.”

Your eyes remain locked. You lean forwards, taking that perfect, long finger into your mouth, dragging your lips upwards so that any excess lipstick is caught against her pale skin, a ring of deep rose circling her bottom knuckle; you curl your tongue around her, hot and wet, feeling the crease of her knuckles and pad of her fingertip against your taste buds as you slowly, slowly pull away. 

It’s undoubtedly indecent and risqué and you can feel the flush of arousal settling in your lower belly, an almost embarrassing flush of wetness leaking out of you at the taste of her skin. She, however, remains unmoved, although she lets her finger linger just for a moment on your bottom lip, almost rough against their softness— but before you can swallow those fingers back down and ruin her meticulous work, she pulls away, lifting the discarded wipe to sweep it around her finger, catching the lipstick you’d left on her skin.

“Done.”

She steps back and you feel like you can finally breathe, a breath so deep you can feel how your lungs fill, oxygen rushing to your brain so fast you feel lightheaded. You watch as she sweeps everything back into her bag, clicking it shut with a note of finality; the sullied wipe is cast carelessly into a tiny, chrome bin with a flick of a wrist, her every motion regal.

You slide off the counter. You still can’t take your eyes off her and you don’t want to. It feels like whatever heaviness was in the air has dissipated, gone in an instant with a turn of her head— normally you’d let it slide, even if you feel disappointed, but she’s just so magnetic. 

“Thank you,” you say. You can see yourself in the mirror now and to your complete lack of surprise, your lipstick is perfect. The shade is lighter than one you’d have chosen for yourself but it’s beautiful on her, of course.

“You’re welcome.” She’s in the middle of washing her hands, but she glances over her shoulder at you, and the firm set to her face lightens a little as she smiles. It’s a small, sly thing, and you realise with a start that she knows exactly what effect she has on you.

I’m coming back for you, you think to yourself. You have work to do tonight, but—

“What’s your name?”

She pauses. She shuts off the tap with a quick motion, reaching forward for a rolled hand-towel, a neat stack on a metal tray nearby. You wonder if she’s not going to answer but then she speaks, looking at you instead of the soft cotton she’s rubbing over her skin. “Yoonji,” she says. “I’m Min Yoonji.”

Min Yoonji is the most gorgeous fucking woman you’ve ever seen.

“I love your dress, Yoonji,” you say, and it’s true, you really do— but you’d prefer it if it was off. Not that you’re about to say that, of course.

She lets out a breath of laughter. “I know.” Oh, god, you love confident women. “What’s your name, darling?”

You have that same split second of hesitation, similar to Yoonji’s only moments prior. You use a codename when you work, of course, and you have a plethora of fake identities that you use and are intimately familiar with— but the idea of your real name falling off Yoonji’s flushed, petal lips? Woof.

“Y/n L/n,” you say. 

Oh, Joon would be so unimpressed right now, giving some mysterious woman your full, real name just because you think she’s the sexiest thing since sex, but whatever. What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.

“Well, Y/n,” Yoonji says. You were right, your name sounds so good falling from her mouth, the mouth that’s turned into a small, almost smug smile. “I certainly hope to see you at the charity ball in a few weeks?”

“Of course.” Your schedule has been magically cleared and you’ll definitely be in attendance for whatever ball Yoonji is referring to, even if you have no idea what it is. You only come to these things if you have to for work but for Yoonji you’ll make an exception. You’ll make a hundred thousand exceptions. A hundred thousand quinquagintaquadringentillion exceptions. “I’ll make sure to remember my lipstick next time.”

And there it is, the thing that seals the deal, the final nail in the coffin: Yoonji glancing at you out of the corner of her eyes, a sharp, dark touch that shoots through you as her smile edges into hunger.

“Don’t worry,” she says. “I’m sure it won’t stay on your lips long enough to matter.”

--

The thing you’ve discovered about Minjae is that, with his divorce due to be finalised soon, he’s apparently lost any sense of routine and is revelling in his new found freedom, which is kind of irritating when you’re trying to tail the guy. Sure, you’re still going to take him out, but you prefer it when targets have some sort of schedule that they adhere to— makes it easier to set up a kill.

“You’re certain that he’s going to be here tonight?” You’d been sceptical considering how the guy’s apparently thrown his schedule out of the window, but Namjoon had been certain.

“Positive.” He’d said. “He’s there every Tuesday night. You’ll have plenty of time.”

The house appears to be deserted. The driveway is empty and all the windows and doors are locked tight. It’s just one of the properties that the Parks own in the city, and for all its size and lushness it appears as though this one is rarely frequented; you imagine that the cleaners and gardeners spend more time here than the owners themselves.

It doesn’t take you long to evade the watchful eyes of security cameras to pick a lock and slip inside. You're grateful for the dying evening light that helps cover your tracks from any onlookers from the street, although you imagine the high walls do good work at preventing people from seeing into the grounds anyway.

There’s still enough light to navigate through the house, the golden tinged sunset casting warm shadows across the spotless furniture and fixtures; you take a moment to let your eyes slide across a huge canvas hanging on a wall that spans two storeys, some impressionist piece that’s surprisingly ugly for all the talent that’s obvious in its brushstrokes. Maybe that’s why the Parks are never here? You’d certainly try to avoid seeing this thing if you could. Eurgh.

Even though the building is empty, you’re careful as you start to make your way forwards. You always place your toes down first whenever you take a step, soundless as you start to map the house out in your mind; there are so many rooms you can hide in, but you’d prefer to be close to wherever Minjae ends up. Saves faffing around later. 

You’ll overpower him, inject the toxin into his blood and wait for him to die before setting him up on the toilet— it’s surprisingly common for people to die while on the shitter, the strain leading to an untimely heart attack, especially in older people. The poison you’re using tonight will mimic the symptoms of a heart attack in the case the coroner decides a post-mortem needs to be undertaken.

(Being found on the bog might not be a particularly graceful way to die but when you’re dead it’s kind of hard to be embarrassed.)

You’ve eased the door open into a large bedroom, and you’re just inspecting if it looks like this room sees more use than the others when you pause. It’s deathly silent in this building, the air still minus where you glide through it as you move, but there’s a feeling in your gut, some instinct that makes all the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You freeze, ears straining to catch any noise to let you know if there’s someone else here, when—

There. In the reflection of a burnished pot, the tiniest shifting movement.

You react almost faster than the eye can see. You spin to parry a hit that was aimed for your head, and the strength behind it shudders through your arms. You only have a second to take in the details of your assailant— dressed in dark clothing, masquerade style mask in place, a professional just like you— before you’re deflecting another flurry of blows, flipping backwards out of reach before spinning into a kick, hooking that burnished pot with your foot and sending it flying towards the other assassin.

They dodge it. You both ignore the sound of clattering metal as you lunge forwards, trying to catch them off guard after their sidestep— your fist makes contact with their palm instead of their face, your hand engulfed in theirs, and you startle at their speed. You might not be the strongest but you’re damn fast. 

There’s a pause, and you can only see a slither of their eyes through the sockets of their mask, but you can tell that they’re impressed. And honestly? So are you. 

The moment shatters when they use the hand they're holding to twist you, locking an arm around your neck and putting you into a chokehold; they’re strong, stronger than you, cutting off your airflow. You need to get out of this before you fall unconscious, but if they’re trained as well as you then they’ll know how to combat the usual ways you’d use to get out of this.

So, in a demonstration of your flexibility you kick a leg up, using the strength of your thighs and calves to slam it into the arm that’s around your neck. Your assailant lets out a noise of surprise and pain as you slip out of their hold and cartwheel across the room before spinning to face them.

There’s a beat. The air is tense. You get another chance to take in the details of whoever’s just tried to choke you out; you stare at her as she stares at you, the two of you poised and ready to strike, watching and waiting. 

Knives might be messy but of course you’re not unarmed. You have multiple sheathed weapons in your clothes, though you don’t make a move to draw any of them. Yet. “I suppose you wouldn’t tell me who your employer is, would you?”

Your opponent tilts her head. “You don’t know?” She sounds amused, even through her mask. “Minjae took out a contract on the assassin who has a contract on him.”

Your lip curls back from your teeth. The only way Minjae would have heard about your contract is if Dahye had told him. Presumably to try and shock him out of his behaviour, or something, who knows. “This is the last time I’m accepting a job from these rich old farts,” you mutter. 

“That’s for certain,” she says. 

She starts to move and you catch her arm just as she goes to unsheathe a wicked looking blade, knocking it aside before she overpowers you and you start to wrestle. It’s messy and graceless but sometimes you just have to fight dirty. 

Whoever this woman is, she still has the upper hand because she was expecting you and you weren’t expecting her; she knocks you onto the bed and pins you down, swooping the knife up from where it had been thrown onto the mattress. You go utterly still as she holds it against your throat, towering over your from where she’s straddling your waist and kneeling on your arms. Any sudden movement from you now could lead to your untimely demise— and, unsurprisingly, you absolutely want to avoid that at all costs.

Namjoon would never let you live it down if you were killed on the job.

You hum. “It seems like we’ve reached an impasse.”

She doesn’t respond. The knife doesn’t dip any lower, though; you’re undoubtedly at her mercy but you notice she’s careful to keep the knife still, hovering above the skin of your neck, but not making contact.

“Well,” you continue. “At least I’m going out the way I’d always hoped to.”

Even in the dying light and with how her face is covered, you notice her face shifting behind her mask— a silent, questioning raise of an eyebrow. You give her a cheeky smile that crinkles your eyes.

“In bed with a beautiful woman, of course.”

At this she huffs out a laugh. “Do you flirt with every person who tries to kill you?”

You’re trying to look as non-threatening as possible to keep that knife away from your jugular. The longer you talk, the longer you live, even if you can’t see a way to get out of this situation right now. “Only the pretty ones.”

The small laugh she lets out this time seems more like a scoff. “You don’t even know what I look like.”

“Please.” You roll your eyes. “Any woman who can fight like you and knows how to handle a knife? Automatically hot. I don’t need to see your face to know that.”

The knife still hasn’t moved. She continues to stare you down and you go tense when her free hand moves. She tugs the cloth of your mask down to reveal your face, the air of the room almost cold against the suddenly bared skin, your breaths free to curl out unhindered.

“Usually I like to be taken out to dinner at least once before we get this intimate, but for you I suppose I’ll make an exception.” You’re still grinning cheekily at her, but your mind continues to race as you try to think of a way to get out of this, especially now that she’s seen what you look like—but you suddenly notice that she’s gone very, very still.

“Y/n?”

The grin freezes on your face. Oh, you’re so boned. You’re so very boned. Like, yeah, you’ve been seconds away from death for the past, hmm, five minutes, but this is somehow worse. How the fuck does she know your name?

You’re given the answer almost immediately. She withdraws the hand from your chin and reaches for her own mask. Your eyes widen and your breath stutters in your throat once you see who it is.

“Holy shit,” you breathe.

Yoonji is staring down at you. She’s every inch as imperious and stunning as the last time you’d seen her— hell, even moreso now that you’ve seen what she’s capable of. No wonder you hadn’t been able to find out anything about her after you’d met at that garish charity gala. Because she’s untraceable, just like you.

“Well.” You stare back at her, not even attempting to keep the surprise off your face. “If anyone has to kill me at least I can die satisfied in the knowledge that it was you. Can I make a request? I’d be eternally grateful if you smothered me to death with your thighs. Just a suggestion, feel free to ignore it if you want.”

Yoonji cocks her head. Her bob is tied back, but there’s a loose lock of hair curled by the side of her face that shifts at the motion. Your fingers twitch. If she wasn’t kneeling on your arms you know you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from tucking it behind her ear. Any excuse to touch her. “Do you always talk so much?”

“Hey, if it means I get to feel your legs around my face before I die, I’ll give a full fledged TED talk,” you say. “I have to admit, though. When I pictured us in bed together I didn’t think it would be like this.”

The knife still hasn’t moved from your throat. She continues to stare, as if considering what to do next, though her face remains impassive. “What did you think it would be like?”

“Well, you know. Less knives and clothes involved and a lot more making out,” you answer. “You, telling me what to do. Me, entirely at your command. Anything the lady wants, she gets.”

The human body is a fickle and strange beast. Ever since you discovered who’s straddling you, you’ve been growing wetter and wetter, even if you’re trying not to let on that you’re steadily growing more aroused— you’re still distinctly aware of the knife that’s only centimetres away from your skin, but somehow your body is more focused of the fact that the woman you’ve been daydreaming about is finally in front of you again. 

(Well, less in front of you and more on top of you, which is an admittedly preferable option, sans the knife involvement.)

You see how Yoonji’s eyes are darting over your face. No doubt taking in how your pupils are dilated, how your breaths are a little shallower, quicker— signs of fear and signs of arousal are surprisingly similar. You wonder if she can identify which it is. Probably. You’re not exactly very subtle in your attraction to her.

“I forgot my lipstick again,” you add, and Yoonji’s passive mask finally breaks when she rolls her eyes.

“Didn’t I say you wouldn’t need it?”

Even the way she throws the knife aside is gorgeous. The sharp undulation of her wrist as she sends the blade skittering across the polished wood floor is careless and fluid. Her hands cup your face as she bends down, and you send up a mental thanks to any god or higher being who might be listening before Yoonji presses her lips to your and your brain goes blank.

Apparently Yoonji likes it messy. One of her hands is grasping your chin in a mockery of the last time you’d met and she’d painted your lips— your mouth is open and she licks past your lips as you shudder beneath her. She’s still got her knees pressed into your arms, pinning you down, but you desperately crane your head towards her, chasing that kiss; you tilt your head to deepen it, and the whine that leaves you when she pulls away is almost embarrassing.

The sun has finally dipped below the horizon and the room is dark, painted in shades of grey and deep blue. You wish you could see Yoonji properly and you can’t help but wriggle a little underneath her, but then you watch her raise her hands and clap three times in rapid succession before the room floods with dim light. Sound activated lights? Damn.

Yoonji’s mouth shines, covered in a sheen of your mixed saliva, her pretty lips flushed rose pink; even without makeup they’re beautiful and their colour is deep, the blooming petals of a flower. Your eyes trail over her face, down her neck, over the fall of her chest and stomach— you’re both far too covered up in these stupid ensembles of yours and you want to strip the clothes off her. You want to see every inch of her beautiful, majestic body, bared for your lips and hands.

Fuck, she’s so gorgeous.

“Not to, um, ruin the moment, but my hands are going numb.” The weight of Yoonji’s body being pressed into your arms has pretty much cut off the blood flow to your fingers and you can feel the telltale sensation of pins and needles spreading through your skin. “Can I have those back, please?”

Yoonji lifts her knees just enough for you to slide your arms out from underneath them. You immediately shed your gloves and go to grab her ass but she gives you a sharp look and you freeze, slowly settling them on her thighs instead, which she allows with only the slightest raise of her eyebrows.

“Watch,” she commands, and who are you to disobey?

She reaches for the tie in her hair, tugging it out and letting her dark locks fall to frame her lovely, beautiful face. You hungrily swallow down each sight that she feeds to you, the skin that’s revealed as she shrugs off her layers of clothing. She unbuckles the weapons hidden underneath her clothes as she sheds them; she’s a veritable arsenal of firearms and knives, all cast carelessly aside until her upper body is finally, blessedly naked. You’ve been staring at her the whole time, the graceful column of her throat, the delicate lines of her collarbones, and your gaze falls to her breasts, small and perfect, nipples dusty pink and hard. You want to put your mouth on them.

“Holy shit, you’re perfect,” you say.

She smirks. You watch as she rolls her body, lifting up from her knees and standing up, towering above you on the bed—your hands fall to the mattress as she pulls her trousers down, tight material dragging against her skin as she slides it over the curve of her hips and down her long legs. There’s a dagger strapped to her thigh, which she unbuckles and lets fall to one side, but god, if she used it to kill you right now, you would die a happy woman. The image of Min Yoonji towering above you in nothing more than some flimsy underwear is one you want to take to the grave.

You can see how the material around her entrance is darkened with her arousal, and you feel your own body react to the sight, pussy throbbing, your own lower lips slick underneath all your layers of clothing. Yoonji hooks her thumbs into her panties and pushes them down, and you’re enraptured as you watch how the wetness clings to them, before that last bit of clothing is cast aside too. 

You moan, unable to stop the sound bubbling up in your throat. From how she’s standing above you, legs spread from how her feet are either side of your hips, you can see everything—how her cunt is flushed, how wet she is, her folds shining. You bet she tastes so fucking good.

You let your mouth fall open, tongue lolling out in a way that’s obscene. You see Yoonji’s eyes flicker as she traces the motion, the way she takes in your expression: wide, hungry eyes, parted lips, wet tongue. Your hands skim up the back of her calves as she shifts forwards and returns to her knees, her naked core so, so close to your mouth, and you dig your fingers into her skin.

“Bon appé-fucking-tit,” you murmur, and then you pull her onto your face.

Yoonji gasps. 

(You were right. She tastes so, so fucking good.)

You’re utterly shameless as you slurp up her juices, the wetness that continues to leak out of her as you bury your face into her cunt, tongue lapping over her entrance as your nose brushes her clit. Your hands have moved to the flesh of her ass and you encourage her to grind against you, rolling her hips towards your greedy mouth; you’re staring up at her, drinking down her reactions, the way her face twists with pleasure and the shuddering breaths she takes in, perfect little breasts jumping at the motion. There’s a flush spreading down her neck and chest, pale skin blushing pink, and it’s the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen.

You purse your lips against her clit, circling it with your tongue before dipping back down between her folds. Each time you breathe in all you can smell is her scent, heavy and dark, all your senses filled with Yoonji, Yoonji, Yoonji. When you hum against her, Yoonji arches her spine and throws her head back, so when you press your tongue into her you hum again, letting the vibrations shiver through her.

“Yes,” she gasps, rutting against your face. “Yes, yes—”

Her thighs tighten around your head. You redouble your efforts, watching her face as you continue to swipe your tongue up her slit and through her folds; you wish you could swallow each of the noises that are falling from her lips as she reaches the crest of her pleasure, the little gasps and moans each time you move your tongue in a particularly wicked way.

“There,” she says. “There, there, just like that—”

Your jaw aches but you don’t even register it, too intent on keeping your mouth open and hot and wet against her. It only takes a few more swipes and flicks of your tongue before she shudders violently, canting her hips towards your mouth as her legs go tense and she cums. She continues to straddle your face as she rides out the waves of pleasure, and you swallow down the wetness that flushes out of her rippling cunt, ignoring the throbbing between your own legs.

You can’t talk, muffled by her as you are, but your mind is singing. Look at you, you think. Look at how gorgeous you are. God, I could eat you out all day. (What a blessed life that would be.)

You can tell when Yoonji’s edged into oversensitivity, jolting when your tongue sweeps over her swollen clit; she settles back, knees spread as she rests against your heaving chest, legs tensing each time an aftershock shivers through her. Your mouth is open as you pant in air, but she watches as you swipe your tongue over your lips, catching the lingering taste of her on you, your chin opalescent with her arousal.

“Okay,” you say, breathless. “I’ve done everything that’s worth doing. I’ve peaked. Everything is downhill from here. You can kill me now.”

You’re only half joking, but your thighs instinctively go tight to rub against each other when you see how Yoonji’s eyes darken.

“I’m not done with you yet,” she purrs.

Yoonji might be naked while you’re still clothed, and so still armed, but she’s undoubtedly the one who’s in control right now. You are so, so okay with that. You watch with wide eyes as she shifts back, her hands grabbing the material of your jacket to tug you upwards, but before she can strip off your clothes you capture her lips with your own.

The taste of her is still heady and deep in your mouth and you nip at her bottom lip before pressing your tongue forwards. The kiss is already slick from Yoonji’s wetness and when you pull away, there’s a thin string of saliva that connects you for a moment before it breaks, which Yoonji wipes away from your chin with the pad of her thumb.

“Dirty girl,” she says, and you bite back a moan at the unabashed lust in her voice. Her grip on your chin is firm. “Did I say you could kiss me?”

“No,” you answer. “I couldn’t help myself.”

She tuts, as if disappointed, and every one of your nerve endings feels electrified, ready and anticipating whatever Yoonji is going to do next. “Such a shame,” she says. “You just can’t keep your hands or mouth to yourself, can you?”

“Can you blame me?”

Yoonji huffs out a laugh through her nose. She strips your jacket off in one sharp motion and then your shirt is similarly pulled off with single-minded intent, along with every other piece of equipment cinched to your arms and body. When you reach for her, though, she captures your wrists, her face stern.

“If you keep moving without permission, I’m going to take that privilege away from you.”

You don’t have to see your own eyes to know how your pupils will have dilated from that statement, blood thrumming through your veins, and you can tell Yoonji has noticed when her expression shifts.

“Oh.” A small, triumphant smirk appears on her face. “I see.”

You lift your arms up so she can pull your sports bra off (of course if you had known you’d been running into Yoonji again you would have worn something nicer). Rather than touch your heaving chest, however, she pushes you down onto the mattress, a hand around your wrists so they’re held above your head.

“Keep still,” she says.

She reaches for the holster that you’d had around your upper arm, lazily casting the knife aside before looping it around your wrists and pulling it secure.

Yoonji’s fingers ease under the nylon as she checks the fit. It’s tight, but not so much so that it’s painful or dangerous, and there’s a hushed moment when the realisation hits you— Yoonji and yourself are both skilled enough to know that you could easily free yourself if you wanted to. It would only take a little motion of your wrists and hands and you could slip them out of the makeshift cuffs in an instant.

You melt into the mattress. Yoonji’s eyes shift away from your wrists as she takes in the way you’ve gone utterly relaxed and limp below her, staring back at her. You see an expression flit across her face faster than you can see, before she slides down your body so she can push your legs apart.

You lift your hips to help her strip your trousers off. Her hand lingers on the concealed holster around your thigh, eyeing the small pistol nestled inside it, before that too is stripped off and cast aside. Her hands trail over the soft skin of your hips and stomach, eyes skimming over the bared length of your body before settling between your legs, the slickness of your inner thighs.

“You got this wet just from eating me out?” Her pretty mouth is curled into an expression that’s almost mocking, and your legs jolt as she runs her fingers lightly over your lower lips before rubbing her fingertips together to feel the wetness she’s gathered. “I haven’t even touched you yet.”

Your nails dig into your palms as your hands twist against each other and you shift your legs further apart. “Please, Yoonji,” you plead, shameless from desperation and arousal.

She laughs at your obvious hunger. “I suppose I should return the favour, shouldn’t I?”

You watch breathlessly as she lifts her fingers to her lips, swallowing them into her mouth to get them slick and wet. The motions of her tongue are languid as she licks across her fingers. You’re like a livewire, thrumming with electricity, and the sensation of her finally sinking one of those fingers into you sends sparks throughout your body.

Yoonji’s maddeningly slow. Your body takes her readily, her long finger gliding easily in and out of you, but she makes no move to speed up; you let out a small noise and she moves upwards to kiss you, as if indulging you, and you’ve just relaxed against her mouth when she plunges a second finger in.

She swallows your gasp as her fingers speed up, before she starts to kiss across your jaw, your neck, between the valley of your breasts and then closing her mouth over one of your nipples— she times the flick of her tongue with the thrust of her fingers, and then you feel how she takes her thumb to press your clit at the same time and you’re gone, falling over the edge faster than you’d expected. Your orgasm is fast but deep, your walls clenching tight around the fingers that continue to curl in and out of you, but she doesn’t stop.

“Yoonji,” you gasp. “It’s too— oh—”

Those two fingers continue to rub your sweet spot as you edge into oversensitivity but Yoonji doesn’t let up. She continues to lick and bite at the skin of your chest, putting her mouth to your other breast and circling the hardened bud of your nipple with her tongue before kissing down your stomach, your pubic bone, and then pressing her lips to your swollen clit.

You whimper. Her pace of her fingers has quickened, and she curls them each time she almost pulls them out, the squelch of their motions obscene as they slide through the cum of your first orgasm. She stares up at you, lapping at your clit with her tongue, and you can feel the saliva that’s dripping from her mouth and over your flushed core, every inch of you oversensitive but screaming with pleasure.

It’s almost painful, but you can feel an orgasm creeping through that ache; you wring your hands together and sob as Yoonji continues to finger fuck you without mercy, her pace almost bruising, the thrust of her knuckles against you each time she bottoms out just one more layer on top of that overwhelming pleasure.

“Yoonji,” you gasp. “I’m g-gonna cum again.”

She hums against you, and you make an incoherent noise at the feeling of that sound against your clit, almost too much— and then she presses one more finger into you, and that’s it, that slight burn and stretch sending you hurtling over that edge again. When you cum, your hips buck and you gasp, air rushing into your lungs before it escapes you in a moan of ecstasy; the only sensations registering in your mind right now are the ripples of pleasure spreading through your cunt as Yoonji pulls her fingers out of you, pressing down on your clit in a way that’s almost cruel, and you sob as your legs instinctively try to tighten but are prevented from doing so by Yoonji’s unyielding presence.

She’s staring down at you as you start to go lax, and you think she’s finished with you, but you watch with widening eyes as she takes her ring and middle finger to run them through your sodden folds. You sob again when those fingers plunge back into you, palm pressing against your clit each time she curls her fingers, and you squirm underneath her.

“Yoonji, it’s too much,” you cry.

“One more.” Yoonji’s leaning back and staring at you, taking in the sweat that’s beading across your skin, the tears that are gathering in your eyes and threatening to spill down your face and into your hair. “You’re doing so well, darling, you can give me one more, can’t you?”

Your reply is incoherent, a small noise that shudders out of the back of your throat. You’ve never been thrown so thoroughly into pleasure like this, overstimulated and aching, but there’s that flicker of pleasure still between your legs, growing each time Yoonji beckons with her fingers, curling over your abused sweet spot again and again and again.

“Just say the word and I’ll stop,” Yoonji says, the wet plunge of her fingers into your abused pussy so messy and loud but not enough to drown her out. “One word and I’ll stop.”

You don’t say anything. You just let your eyes roll back into your head as you cant your hips towards her, trying to latch onto that thread of pleasure that’s thrumming through you below all your screaming nerves, and the noise Yoonji makes is pleased.

“There we go,” she praises. “Look at you, so good for me. Pretty darling.”

You can feel how your pussy clenches around Yoonji’s fingers, how the coil in you is squeezing tighter and tighter, how another orgasm is somehow creeping up on you— you tilt your hips towards that feeling, towards Yoonji’s hand, and then she’s pulling her fingers out of you in an almost rough motion and you’re cumming harder than you ever have before.

“Oh, fuck!” You sob. 

It’s indescribable. The sensation rips through you as your back arches off the bed and you’re cumming and squirting and gasping and you can feel the wetness that slicks out of you, your toes curling as your brain goes blank from the staggering pleasure and static consumes every one of your senses. Your entire body feels like nothing more than a vessel for the ecstasy that’s shooting through your veins, spreading out from your core and to every corner of your insides and limbs.

It takes you a while to come back around, aftershocks wracking through your body. You feel sluggish and slow as your mind slowly clears, focusing on the sensation of warm hands stroking over the skin of your stomach and hips and thighs; your eyes flutter open and when you glance down you can see the shine to Yoonji’s skin, evidence of your pleasure painting her in a thin sheen of liquid.

“Oh my god,” you moan. “Holy shit.”

She smiles. “You were so, so good for me,” she says. She leans down to press a light kiss to collarbones and you shiver. “So beautiful. How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve died and gone to heaven before coming back again,” you reply. “Oh, that was so good, Yoonji. I’ve never squirted before. I didn’t realise I could. God.”

Yoonji laughs lightly. You can’t help but watch the way it transforms her face, the way her chest jumps at the motion, every inch of her gorgeous and majestic and cute and pretty. “You did so, so well,” she praises, before she kisses you, her mouth so soft; you barely notice the sudden easing of pressure around your wrists as she releases you, more intent on the sensation of her soft petal lips against your own.

You stare up at her as she pulls away. Powerful, amazing Min Yoonji, kneeling between your legs, naked but not helpless. Definitely less vulnerable than you right now. And yet she’s still making no moves to grab one of the many weapons littered around the bed so she can finally finish her contract by completing the kill. It would be so easy for her.

The silence of the room is suddenly broken by a tiny buzzing noise. You both glance over at the sound, one that Yoonji doesn’t recognise but you do— the communicator in one of your wristbands, the one you use to keep in contact with Namjoon.

You watch the twisting of Yoonji’s body as she leans over the bed to hook the band with a finger before proffering it to you. You pause, but then grasp her wrist and lightly pull so she ends up pressed against you, softness of her breasts against your own, and you hold the communicator between your faces as you accept the call.

“Thank god you answered.” Namjoon’s voice is obviously frantic even through the tinniness of the small speaker. “Dahye cancelled the contract because Minjae wants to reconcile with her, but apparently he’s already put a hit out on you— tonight was a ruse, Minjae isn’t going to be there, you have to get out of there—”

“Bit too late for that,” you interrupt. Yoonji’s hair is tickling your cheek. “Don’t worry. I have it in hand. Send some flowers to Minjae for me, will you?”

“Flowers?” Namjoon sounds understandably confused. “Why?”

“As a thank you for taking out a contract on me,” you say. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m a little busy.”

“With what?”

“With me,” Yoonji says, and you hear Namjoon’s surprised intake of breath before you cut the line.

You end up laughing to yourself. “Oh, he’s going to hate me for that,” you giggle. Yoonji’s hand trails up your stomach and you continue to giggle at the ticklish sensation. Her skin is still slick against yours, and you suddenly realise how cold it is in the room, the air touching the cooling liquid that’s rubbed off against your skin, and you shiver. “Mm. I think it’s time to clean up. Want me to scrub your back in the shower? I give very good massages.”

Yoonji’s eyes are dark and warm before she presses her nose to your neck, lips soft as they touch the delicate skin of your throat. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

[wanderinginksplot]

Nobody Listens to Kix

Previous | Next | Masterlist

Case 00627: Scorch

Kix glanced up at the familiar sound of the medbay doors opening, frowning as he saw two commando troopers walking in. Their distinctively styled helmets gave an air of uniformity, but the designs painted on them spoke of very different personalities.

The commando wearing the helmet marked with red, jagged lines - almost suggesting a handprint - was half-supporting, half-dragging another commando with a simple, gray-green helmet painted with white and yellow details. Kix studied both new arrivals, but couldn't find any visible injuries on either.

"What happened here?" Kix asked, already starting toward the men.

"Scorch here blew himself up," the red-painted commando answered, with a motion of his helmet that clearly said he was rolling his eyes. "Di'kut."

"I did not!" the injured Scorch said defensively, turning to address Kix. "I had a minor disagreement with a wall."

"Yeah?" the red-painted commando asked, "What were the arguments?"

"Whether or not the blast from a thermal detonator plus my own fabulous aim would make the wall go 'boom'," Scorch replied, clearly grinning under his helmet.

"Congratulations on winning your argument, sir," Kix said dryly, already promising himself to blow up the Resolute and everyone inside before he would let Scorch and Hardcase meet. "Let's shed the armor and see how much damage that wall's rebuttal caused."

The two commandos completed their half-walk, half-drag journey to the first bunk in the medbay and Scorch leaned up against the mattress, stifling a pained groan. The red-painted one, obviously fed up with his brother's antics, unceremoniously lifted and deposited Scorch on the bed.

"Come on, Sev!" the commando complained loudly. "You know I'm injured and delicate."

"It doesn't count as an injury if you've always been stupid," Sev told him. "I'm going to report back to Boss."

"You're going to leave me here, alone and hurt?" Scorch asked dramatically. His only reply was the medbay door closing behind Sev. He shook his head and told the door, "Well, that was rude."

The door seemed unsympathetic.

Kix cleared his throat, wondering if he should crank the scanner high enough to scan for brain injuries, when Scorch turned back to him. He pulled off his gray and white commando helmet, grinned, and stuck out a hand. "Scorch."

"I gathered," Kix replied. "I'm Kix."

"Good, I'm in the right place," Scorch said, heaving an exaggerated sigh of relief as he began stripping off the rest of his armor. "But what is the best medic in the GAR doing attached to the 501st?"

"The best medic," Kix repeated skeptically, scanning the now de-armored commando.

"Oh, yeah. I've heard the stories," Scorch told him, eyes wide and sincere, though they sparkled with an edge of barely there mischief. "Granted, mostly from the pilot on the way here, but still."

"Troopers like to talk. And as for why the 501st…" Kix let some of his constant fond exasperation come through, "no one gets in more trouble or hurts themselves in stranger ways than them."

"And you like to treat them," Scorch summed up, the look on his face more intense than the situation called for. Kix was on-edge before the commando spoke again. "Makes you feel powerful, doesn't it? Makes you feel like you're better than them, more than just a regular trooper."

"Makes me feel like I've got one more living brother," Kix corrected sharply.

Scorch raised his hands in a gesture speaking of an innocence that his sparkling eyes belied. "Hey, I had to make sure you weren't one of those power-trip troopers."

Kix shook his head and silently went to gather the supplies he would need to treat his patient, unwilling to continue an insulting conversation. However, since the commando had started it… He turned to meet Scorch's eyes. "If we're asking uncomfortable questions, let me ask one."

Scorch made a beckoning gesture with his less-injured hand, as if he were inviting Kix to continue.

"Why do you sound different from every other trooper, but look exactly like the rest of us?" It was something he had been wondering since Scorch took off his helmet, but he had been too polite to ask. At least, until the commando had accused him of treating men for the ego boost. As if it did wonders for his ego to be vomited on, covered in blood, to need to help his brothers to the 'fresher, to hold their hands as they took their last breath-

"I'm an excellent mimic," Scorch answered, using Kix's own inflection. Kix stared at him steadily until he continued in his normal offbeat voice. "Sometimes, a situation calls for a voice to be different so we don't sound like normal clone troopers, no matter how much we look like them. Delta Squad is full of differences. Boss has a thicker accent than most native Mandalorians, Fixer has worked to speak the most pure Basic, and Sev's vocal cords are damaged. Me, I just talk this way because I want to."

"Yeah, you can never meet Hardcase," Kix muttered to himself, fighting a shudder at the ridiculous accent the 501st trooper would be sure to put on as a result.

"What was that?" Scorch asked.

"I said, oh excellent mimic, that you've bruised your ribs, pulled a hamstring, and most of the left side of your body will be covered in bruises for the next few weeks, maybe less if you can take a couple of days to rest up." Kix frowned down at the datapad showing the scanner's results. "You managed not to break anything, which is - frankly - a miracle."

"Commando armor," Scorch told him with a sharp rap on his chestplate, wincing as the movement strained his injuries.

"Bruised. Ribs." Kix repeated, biting the end off each word so that the commando would be sure to understand him. "I'll issue you some pain meds, but the most you can do to improve your recovery time is to sleep as much as possible and stay hydrated. Most importantly-"

Kix cut himself short as the medbay door opened and Scorch instinctively turned to see the new arrivals, hissing in pain at the twisting motion. "-don't twist or move your body in unusual ways," Kix finished, giving a perfunctory salute to the commando sergeant who stepped up to the bed.

"How is the patient?" the sergeant asked. Despite Scorch's overly casual manner, Kix had to admit that the commando had given an accurate description of his squadmates and their voices. This one with the thick Mando'a accent must be Boss.

With a shrug to answer the sergeant's question, Kix told him, "Not much I can do, actually."

"Told you those thermal dets would kill you some day," the rough-voiced Sev said to Scorch with no small amount of satisfaction.

"What? No," Kix told him, nettled by the idea that a patient of his could die from such minor injuries. "Scorch is covered in bruises and he pulled a few muscles. Nothing life-threatening, but they aren't injuries I can do much for. I'm issuing pain meds, but he could stand a few days of bed rest, sir."

Boss nodded while Scorch looked horrified. "I can't stay on bed rest!"

The last commando, the non-accented Fixer, sounded irritated by his squadmate. "Six-Two, you can't just choose which orders to follow. If Three-Eight says you're on bed rest, that's where you'll be unless you want a court-martial."

Scorch looked pleadingly at Kix. "I could die from my injuries, right, Kix? Even Fixer wouldn't try to boss around a dying brother."

"Er... " Kix trailed off, glancing around at the group of commandos. "Bruises have a notoriously low fatality rate, Scorch."

"I think his vocal cords may have been damaged," Sev observed. "Could you order a total lack of speaking for the foreseeable future? For medical reasons?"

"We'd make it worth your while," Fixer wheedled.

"Is it too late to say I don't want any visitors?" Scorch asked, though even that sounded like a joke.

"We probably should leave," Boss agreed, cutting through Sev and Fixer's gloating with a simple reminder of, "Lots of reports to write."

"Ugh. Really, sir? For a self-inflicted injury?"

"I was having a good day, Boss."

Before he left, Boss patted Scorch gently on the shoulder. "I'm glad you're okay, Scorch. Rest up or we'll leave you behind on our next mission."

"Kix?" Kix glanced over at the commando sergeant, one brow lifting in silent question. "Make sure he rests. Sedate him or strap him down if you need to."

With one last threatening look in Scorch's direction, Boss left the medbay. Kix silently held out the pain meds for Scorch, passing him a cup of water at the proper time.

"You're good to sleep now," Kix told the commando. "If the pain gets bad again, let me know and I'll increase your dosage."

Scorch nodded and had just settled back against the pillow when the medbay door opened and Kix's heart nearly stopped. He walked briskly to the front of the medbay, making small pushing motions at the new arrival. "Hardcase, get out of here. You're fine."

"You don't even know what's wrong yet," Hardcase pouted.

"Hardcase?" Scorch asked, sitting up with a manic interest gleaming in his eyes.

"Yeah?" Hardcase asked, leaning to peer around Kix's shoulder. "Whoa, a commando! I heard you guys get to deal with more explosives than anyone!"

"You ever juggled thermal detonators?" Scorch asked, giving Kix an innocent shrug when the medic glared.

"No!" Hardcase said, pushing past Kix to perch by Scorch's bedside, wearing a look of utter fascination.

In only moments, the two were swapping stories, each trying to outdo the other while both seemed impressed by the other's exploits. Kix groaned. Force willing, he wouldn't have much to do with Scorch after this, but he already expected a wild number of injuries in Hardcase's near future.

---

A/N - First off, I want to apologize to... well, just everyone. For those who are not familiar with Republic Commando, you're probably a bit confused about who these guys are and why they're here. I read a fic featuring the characters in a minor role and proceeded to inhale everything I could find with them in it. For those who are familiar with Republic Commando, I would like to apologize for any errors in characterization, background, etc. Sidebar: if you know of a good fic featuring Delta Squad, please share the name of it with me!

Please reblog this work! It helps me grow my readership!

[soulmate-game]

Part 1 … Part 2

“So, How was your first day of school in America?” Lois asked as her small family all sat around the table eating dinner. It was almost painfully ordinary, traditional. A married couple and two kids eating a normal dinner and talking about their day.

All of them appreciated that one piece of normalcy in their worlds of superheroes and villains and PTSD.

Marinette snorted, almost choking on her forkful of food. After managing to somehow swallow without causing herself discomfort, she smiled at her mother figure.

“Honestly? I know Jon could fly and I could teleport to school in practically no time at all, but somehow Damian still manages to seem more impressive.”

“Right?!” Jon agreed emphatically, leaning over the table towards her and almost getting his whole plate of food smashed against his chest. “Probably because helicopters are huge and look awesome, but we’re still just us when we use our powers.”

Marinette nodded sagely at that reasoning as if it was something actually serious. Tikki, who was sitting next to her plate with a half-eaten cookie, giggled.

“That makes sense. But be careful Kaalki doesn’t hear you referring to them as ‘not impressive—‘“ Marinette was cut off before she could even finish her sentence.

“Too late, I already heard that blasphemy,” the other Kwami’s voice carried down from upstairs, making Lois and Clark’s lips twitch up in amusement. “I’m a god, dear, I have even better hearing than Kal-El,” for some reason the little horse god always referred to the boys by their kryptonian names, but they didn’t seem to mind much. “Not as impressive as a helicopter, hah! See if I let you use my fabulous powers anytime soon, Guardian or no Guardian.”

Marinette just rolled her eyes. Technically she could just command Kaalki, but that was against her morals and the horse god would never keep her from responding to an Akuma attack anyway. This was just harmless teasing.

And it was really nice in contrast to everything they were used to dealing with.

“Okay, but besides the helicopter,” Clark pressed gently after everyone’s chuckles quieted down. His face was open with genuine curiosity, and a little bit of worry that Marinette caught onto instantly. “I know Damian isn’t always the easiest person to get along with or understand. Did the rest of the day go by alright?”

Marinette actually set her fork down on her plate, her smile turning a little gentle. “Actually? Yeah. When we first spoke I thought he was a stuck-up jerk like some of my ex-friends and a bully of mine from Paris. But he’s just not good with people,” Marinette’s smile turned even softer as she gazed down at the table, at some memory nobody else could see. “It reminds me of my friend Kagami, from Paris. She acts pretty similar. Really impersonal and prickly on the outside, but once you get to know her she’s the most loyal friend you’ll have. Her mom is really strict though, and Kagami never got to interact with a lot of kids her own age, so she still has issues figuring out how to behave around others sometimes,” Marinette actually ended up laughing a little, rubbing the back of her neck. “We uh, we actually had a crush on the same person back when we first met and it sparked a pretty rough rivalry for a while. Once we got past that though, we ended up being best friends.”

Jon snickered, trading knowing glances with their parents. They had already agreed that, unless Damian or Bruce told her themselves, Marinette would have to figure out the Bat’s identities on her own.

“That sounds very familiar,” Jon stated with a little nod. “Me and Damian fought when we first met, too. Legend has it that Dad and Bruce, Damian’s dad, didn’t get along right away either.”

It was Clark’s turn to snort. “I think it’s just a Wayne thing,” the man agreed, amused. “They don’t like getting close to anyone right off the bat,” Lois kicked his leg under the table for that pun, but Clark cheerfully ignored it. “It is pretty funny that you have a similar experience with someone completely unrelated, though. Maybe we should invite her over sometime? Do you know when her school’s next break is?”

Marinette sat up straight in her chair, her smirk wide and almost blinding at the prospect of seeing one of her closest friends in person again. They video chatted and called often enough, but it wasn’t the same. “Actually! Kagami told me that she’s going to Gotham next month for a fencing competition. She’s an Olympic hopeful, you know. She has to make a good enough impression in different national and international competitions to be selected,” Marinette was almost bouncing in her seat, looking like a female version of Jon for a moment with her vibrant blue eyes shining with rare unhindered excitement and her body unable to stay still from the energy.

“I heard that Gotham was holding the World fencing finals this year,” Lois remarked, but kept eye contact with Clark for a moment as the two communicated silently in a way even telepaths couldn’t copy. Marinette recognized the hesitance in their faces, and her bouncing stopped immediately. She knew why they would be reluctant to let her go.

“I know Gotham is dangerous and I still have attacks pretty often,” Marinette’s voice was suddenly soft, but firm in a way that the rest of their little family hadn’t heard from her much at all. It made Clark and Lois look at her, waiting for her to finish making her point patiently. “But self defense isn’t really an issue. Even without any powers, without transforming, I…” Marinette took a breath to steel herself before continuing. “I learned martial arts from Maman. And I’ve used the Miraculous so long that all the combat experience of the previous Ladybugs is mostly muscle memory by now. And Kagami is more than just a fencer, her mom’s trained her in all sorts of sword fighting her whole life. Trust me, nobody messes with Kagami and gets away with it easily,” Marinette actually looked down at her hands, watching as she essentially had a thumb war with herself to avoid meeting anyone’s eyes.

“I don’t think physical attacks are what we’re worried about,” Lois admitted slowly, frowning. “I mean, yes, it’s a concern. But if I remember the dates for the competition correctly, I’ll be out of town for my first long distance job since you came to live with us. Clark will be at work during the day on the weekend, though maybe he can get a day or two off,” Lois gently worried her bottom lip with her teeth for a second. “I suppose, if Jon wants to go with you, it wouldn’t be as much of a problem if something happens…”

Oh. They weren’t worried about people attacking her. They were worried about her own mind. Which, after the last few months? Was perfectly fair.

“I don’t mind if—“

But, as life usually ended up, they were interrupted from their peace. Everyone jolted in their seats as the door was unceremoniously kicked down, and a man in his early twenties walked in carrying a mountain of boxes in his arms. Marinette blinked, no longer on guard since the rest of her new family immediately relaxed. But still, she was confused. Nobody said anything about having a visitor today.

“I know, I know. I haven’t been in touch for way too long, give us a little forewarning, blah blah blah. I brought presents this time though,” the man said, cheerful and casual and blasé. With the boxes on the center of the dining table, Marinette could finally get a good look at him.

He was probably about twenty four or twenty five, if Marinette’s ever-sharp eyes were correct (they hardly ever weren’t), and his hair was spiked up with a bit of gel, but not too much. Just enough to give it kind of a tousled-rebel look, and it was cropped close to his head on the sides. He had on a black leather jacket with spikes on the shoulders and slightly down the arms, with slightly baggy black jeans and a plain, worn red shirt. Dark black sunglasses rested on the top of his head, even though the sun had been down for a while.

He did not meet the usual Kent aesthetic of a charming, traditional nuclear family. He was more of an… oddly joyful punk. It actually gave her slight Luka and Jagged vibes, and made her relax a bit into her chair. Contrary to what most might think, Marinette had a bit of a soft spot for the punk rocker look. Most people, that she had met at least, who wore it on a regular basis were amazing people with great senses of humor and large personalities.

“Old man, I got you socks,” he called out with a lazy smirk, chucking the first small box over at Clark. The man caught it with a fond eye roll.

“You always get me socks.”

“Maybe if you stopped being boring, I’d get you something better,” the stranger mocked with good humor. “Lois, jewelry that you’ll never wear,” he handed the box over to the woman with significantly more care, before sliding over one of the bigger boxes to her as well. “And a new camera that you will actually use.”

“Hey, Wait a second, you know you don’t have to—“

“And for the squirt,” the man interrupted without letting Lois finish saying that there was no need to spend so much money. He tossed the last big boxes over to Jon one at a time carelessly, smirking the whole time that Jon playfully scrambled for them. “Video games, geeky shirts, and inside jokes,” he stated happily.

With the table now clear of boxes, he finally noticed the extra body. He blinked, making silent eye contact with Marinette for a tense moment.

“Okay, she’s too old to be a secret child. Did someone make another clone? Did Jon get a girlfriend that looks freakishly like a long lost Asian family member? What did I miss?” He asked, never taking his eyes off Marinette. Clark grimaced.

“If you didn’t break your phone so often, maybe we would have been able to tell you sooner,” the man said slowly, cautiously, with his eyes never straying from the stranger. “This is Marinette. Marinette, this is Connor. He’s… Jon’s brother,” the pause there was a bit odd, and Marinette frowned at the look on Clark’s face. It was like he didn’t know what to say at all, or how to say it. “Marinette is living with us for the foreseeable future. If we get the chance we might officially adopt her, so she isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.”

“Woah woah woah, what?” Marinette’s voice came out a lot squeakier than intended, the girl thoroughly whiplashed by this situation. It was hard to think straight. “I— we never talked about adoption.” Clark’s eyebrows furrowed.

���Well, not in as many words,” he conceded slowly. “It would be incredibly hard, and we wanted to give you time to settle in before asking. But… well, you’re officially an American citizen and we all feel like you’re family already. So…”

“You wouldn’t have to change your name,” Lois was quick to interject, watching Marinette’s face worriedly. “And you can say no. You’re already a Kent. We would just like to make it official legally, if and when you’re ready.”

“Okay, stop making the poor girl freak out,” Connor interrupted, eyes also on Marinette and gentle in their concern. He gave her a lopsided smile. “Ignore them. Clark never had great timing that wasn’t related to legitimate danger. So, sorry I didn’t get you anything,” he leaned back casually, thumbs hooked on his jacket pockets lazily. “Didn’t expect I’d have a new sister when I came back to visit.”

Marinette calmed down a little, but emotions still overflowed in her head, her chest still tight and the air feeling too thin. She offered Connor a shaky smile before standing up, looking over to Clark and Lois. “Um, I— can I— I’m tired.”

Clark sighed, nodding even as his face fell at Marinette’s state. “Yeah. We’ll talk about the competition some more in the morning, get some rest.”

The girl only nodded before making a hasty retreat up to her room, even forgetting to take care of her only half-empty plate. Tikki did her best to calm her bolder down from her place hidden in the girl’s hair, but it wasn’t doing much good. She just needed space, and time to try and process everything.

—*—*—*—*—*

“Aren’t you cold?” Connor’s voice made Marinette jolt, looking over at him with wide eyes. Nobody had ever followed her on her post-nightmare trips before. She wasn’t even transformed. She just sat, in her pajamas, on the empty terrace of her old home. It hadn’t been sold yet so she wasn’t worried about scaring anybody.

“I… should have expected you to be the other Superboy, honestly,” Marinette deflected with a weak smile before turning to look over the city again. She licked her lips, trying to calm herself down. “And yeah, I’m a little cold, but it’s no big deal. I’ll just go back home before it gets too bad.”

“You’re trembling,” he pointed out casually. And she was, her whole body was practically vibrating against the terrace railing. Marinette only gave out a pitiful laugh.

“That’s not from the cold.”

Connor only sighed, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall behind them. Gave the girl a little space.

“What did… What did Clark and Lois tell you? About me?” Marinette decided to ask tentatively. Connor raised one brow, honestly a little surprised that she didn’t also have super hearing to go with her powers. It was slowly becoming more and more obvious that Marinette was not exactly like the other Kents, and Connor only liked the jumpy little girl more for it.

“As much as they could without feeling like they were crossing a line,” Connor admitted. “That they took you in after an accident during a metropolis attack a few months ago, when you had nobody else reliable enough to take care of you. That you’re not Kryptonian, but still special and knew about all of our identities already. But strangely enough they didn’t mention teleportation or the fact that you were a Parisian superhero, not that I’m really all that surprised.”

Marinette smiled, snickering a bit at that last part before sobering again. “Is it… weird?”

Connor silently examined the girl for a moment, she probably expected him to ask what she meant. And maybe if he was anybody else, he would have.

“To suddenly come home to a new person that I’m suddenly supposed to accept as a part of the family? Not really. In fact, you’re probably the most normal surprise I’ve dealt with in years.”

“But,” Marinette looked back at him, eyebrows furrowed and blue eyes swimming with uncertainty. “But I just show up out of nowhere, and you really just accept me? Just like that? I mean, you’ve known me less than a day and you just saw me teleport to Paris in the middle of the night— you aren’t worried at all? Or suspicious, or— you really just accept me just like that?”

Connor couldn’t help but chuckle, pushing himself off the wall to lean over the terrace railing with her. “You know, technically I’m only eight years old.”

Marinette flinched with surprise at the subject change, eyes wide. “Huh?”

Connor laughed at her confusion, rustling her hair a bit. “I’m a clone. I was made with Superman’s DNA, and that of another asshole we won’t mention. Don’t tell Lois I swore. Anyway, I was ‘born’ as a teenager,” he used finger quotations to show that he wasn’t exactly born normally. “With all the mental development and knowledge of a sixteen year old. Pretty much, anyway, but I was still a newborn,” he shrugged. “Clark wasn’t exactly thrilled. Jon was eight at the time, which is why Clark can never decide if I’m the older or younger brother, and he wasn’t exactly planning on another kid back then. Not to mention the whole ‘created in order to kill Superman if he ever went bad,’ and ‘might be a spy because I was made by his arch nemesis’ thing,” Connor waved his hand as if this blasé info dump didn’t actually matter. Marinette just gaped at him, which made it hard for the guy not to smirk. “Point is, Clark was suspicious. Didn’t exactly want anything to do with me. Can’t say I completely forgive him, but it’s mostly water under the bridge nowadays. Especially when we found out that I did have trigger words, and I was unknowingly dangerous. Don’t worry, those trigger words were erased ages ago. Anyway, Clark eventually got his act together. Gave me the Kryptonian name Kon-el, had me live with him for a little bit. We worked it all out,” Connor turned back to Marinette, taking his sunglasses off so he could look her in the eye properly. “I really don’t think a Ladybug is exactly threatening in comparison.”

Marinette was silent for a moment.

“You know I could throw you off this balcony, right?”

“Eh, I can fly.”

Another moment passed before Marinette couldn’t help it, and started giggling. Those giggles turned to laughs, which quickly turned into joyful bellows. Connor joined in, smiling as he laughed alongside her.

“But… you like it with them, right?” Connor suddenly asked, looking over at her. “I know Jon can be a bit overexcitable, and Clark is an annoying boy scout.”

Marinette just shrugged. “Well, it’s not too bad,” she said softly. “I mean, at least neither of them can die by getting crushed by falling debris. So that’s an improvement at least.” Marinette instantly went pale at her own words, slapping a hand over her mouth. Connor snorted, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

“Yeah, that’s the exhaustion talking. C’mon, let’s get you back in bed before Clark accuses me of corrupting you.”

Marinette just nodded, doing the world’s quietest transformation before opening a portal back to her room. She was already detransformed, Connor having one hand on her doorknob, when she spoke up again.

“Uh, Kon?” She fidgeted, not able to look up at him. “Thanks.”

The man just smirked, shrugging his leather-clad shoulders. “That’s what family’s for, right?”

Marinette smiled, huffing out a tired laugh. “By the way? I’m glad at least one of you Supers has a sense of fashion.”

“We heard that!”

Connor and Marinette broke back out into guffaws, and the girl couldn’t help but think that she was really grateful for her new family. Maybe she wouldn’t call Clark dad or Lois mom anytime soon, those wounds were still too raw, but maybe eventually. And she’d never had brothers before.

Yeah. This was nice.

—*—*—*—*—*

Part 4

I don’t think this ended up as good as the others..? But this is the best way I could write this part. Why is this story turning out longer than expected? Geez I need to learn self control. At least this one was actually kinda fluffy.

@fantasiame @thestressmademedoit @amayakans @resignedcatservant @too0bsessedformyowngood @chocolatecatstheron @mooshoon @jeminiikrystal @bigpicklebananatree @thezestywalru @bugaboosandbees @ironspiderstark @mikantsume @marinettepotterandplagg

[songbirdsingingthings]

Chapter Four - To Death With Yellow

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of these characters, they belong to Kohei Horikoshi

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Word Count: 2.6K

The words uttered from the Duke’s mouth had been playing nonstop in your mind. He’s marrying someone. He’s already engaged, you thought as you raced back to your home. The rain was still pouring down but you didn’t register it. All you could think of was why were those words affecting you in such a way? There was no romantic intention towards yours and Shouto’s outing - just your brother’s friend humoring the naïve little sister. When you finally arrived at the front of your home, you shoved open the doors and marched right inside, water trailing behind your steps. Laughter could be heard from the parlor along with joyous cheers.

“Oh! That must be Y/N, I’ll bring her in here to enjoy the festivities!” You heard your father’s boisterous voice ring. The door from the parlor opened and as soon as your father laid eyes on you, the smile that once graced his face immediately dropped and his eyes filled with concern. “Y/N, dear, what happened?” He fretted, stepping forwards and wrapping one of his arms around your shoulder. You could tell that his sleeves were getting wet from the moisture that remained on your sleeves and skin, but he made no move to step away.

“Nothing eventful,” you chirp, smacking a fake smile on your face.

“Darling, you’re crying.” Your faux sunny disposition dropped as you brought one of your hands up to your eyes. Due to the rain, you must not have recognized the tears rolling down your cheeks.

“O-oh,” you croaked, letting your hand drop to your side and your eyes finding your father’s. As soon as he gave you his signature soft smile, you let your waterworks flow. He enveloped you in a huge hug, letting you rest your head on his chest. Your hands grasped his shirt as you cried, clinging onto his support.

“I don’t kn-know why I’m like this.” You confess, your eyes still swimming with tears.

“You’re just confused, Y/N. This is a very burdensome time for you, demanding your full attention and just waiting for you to trip. You just need to step back for a moment and clear your head.” Your father whispered, petting your head gently. You nod against him and pull back, taking a deep breath before you meet his eyes again. “Now get dried up and come to the parlor as soon as you wish - Lady Uraraka has been wanting to see you and reintroduce herself as your future sister-in-law.” His final words caused a small smile to fall across your lips.

“Alright, I’ll be back down shortly.” You say, grabbing your wet skirts and lifting them so that you could ascend the stairs with ease. Already waiting in your room was Mei, busying herself with some sewing. As soon as you stepped into the room, her eyebrows raised.

“You look like you’ve been to hell and back,” She states bluntly, standing up to lead you towards your mirror.

“In a way, I sort of have,” you joke, letting her hands work their way through your hair, taking out the pins. You saw your reflection and the mirror and almost gasped, forgetting what you were wearing. The light yellow dress, although drenched, was still just as stunning as you saw it before, but you found yourself having a sort of distaste when you saw it. You pulled the note out of the pocket and reread the words. Lord Todoroki’s favorite color, you reread that part about three times before your eyebrows started to narrow. “Mei, what would a situation be called if an already-engaged man had invited you out?” You asked as she began to undress you. Mei scoffed at your question and shook her head.

“That would mean that the man in question is a scoundrel for leading a woman on in such a way. To do that to a young lady’s heart is unforgivable.” Her words resonated within you, lighting a newfound flame in your mind.

“Just so,” You confirm as your arms are stripped from the lemon sleeves.

“Do you want a dress in a similar color? I have a rather nice one stored in the back-”

“No.” You interrupt strongly, earning a look from Mei. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean so brash, but I do not want to be wearing much yellow anymore.” You decide, confidence surging through you.

“But you look so lovely in yellow,” Mei lamented, tossing the wet dress that was in her hands in a laundry bin. “Well, if you are so against it, then why don’t we go the opposite of yellow? Maybe that lavender number I’ve been working on?” She suggests, holding up the light purple dress next to you. You flash her a smile and nod.

“Perfect.”

“I’m sorry I’m so late, I don’t mean to put a damper on anything!” You apologize, stepping into the parlor. Inside you found an eager Izuku and an evenly eager Lady Uraraka stood next to him, your father and her parents conversing. Shaking her head, Lady Uraraka rushes up to you and clasps her hands in yours.

“Oh it’s nothing to worry about! I’m just so glad that you’re here now!” She says sweetly, a bright smile on her face. You laugh and nod your head.

“I am too - I am so glad to finally call you sister, Lady Uraraka.” You respond, squeezing her hands.

“Please, since we are finally family, call me Ochaco!” She asks of you. Izuku comes to join your conversation and easily slips his hand around his fiancée.

“Of course, and call me Y/N.” You say, earning an eager nod from her.

“We are holding a party at our club tonight, I hope you are well enough to attend?” Izuku asks you, hope clearly shining in his eyes.

“Of course! Should I plan an outfit accordingly?” You ask. You see the couple shake their heads and smile.

“It’s going to be a casual event, we’re all just going in what we’re wearing as of right now - your lavender dress will do splendidly,” Ochaco says, complimenting your look.

“Lovely! I’ll be looking forward to it!” You exclaim. Finally, something is looking even more upwards today, you think.

“Oh, and Y/N!” Ochaco says, grabbing your attention. “A certain Lord Iida has been speaking very highly of you, and he actually asked me to see if you would be interested in going to tonight’s event as his acquaintance!” She gushes, a sparkle in her eyes. You have heard of Lord Iida before - everyone has heard of Lord Iida. As the second son of a fabulously wealthy family, he was certainly high up in the social standings and was said to be quite the gentleman. You ponder the thought for a moment, but before you could say anything, your brother does.

“Actually, I think that Lord Todoroki would like to-”

“I would love to attend with Lord Iida.” You interrupt. Izuku turns to you with an incredulous look in his eyes.

“Did you hear what I said, sister? I was saying that Lord Todoroki-”

“I would much rather like to go with Lord Iida, brother, thank you.” You repeat. “I believe Lord Todoroki has other obligations.” You say, holding back the snark in your tone as much as you could.

“Great! I’ll send a letter immediately to let him know, if you’ll excuse me.” Ochaco says, stepping away from you and your brother. Izuku had a very confused gaze, causing you to roll your eyes.

“It’s just as I said, Izuku. I have no interest in attending an event with someone, for example the son of a duke, who is already spoken for. I have to make the best impression I can so that I may have proposals in the very near future. You have no idea what it is like to be a young lady Izuku, so just drop it.” You hiss, glaring at him.

“Shouto is spoken for?” Izuku echoes, his eyes going wide. You give him a nod and look away from him. “I’m so sorry Y/N, I thought both of you shared the same feelings.” He says sadly, giving you a pitied glance,

“We do - it is nothing more than a little kinship.” You say simply, taking a tiny cookie from a plate and munching on it.

“Y/N, you love him, and he certainly has his eyes on you.” Your brother says, exasperation in his voice.

“You’re wrong,” you mutter, shoving any adoring thoughts of Shouto straight to the back of your mind.

“I am not and you know it. What you’re doing right now is foolish.” Izuku sighs, shaking his eyes.

“You have no right to call me foolish, Izuku.” You seeth, pointing a finger into his chest. “Are you not currently engaged to the young lady that captured your heart from the moment you introduced yourself to her? It was both of your first balls and you immediately knew that she was it for you. I’m glad for you, I really am, but God Izuku it is not like that for anyone. He is engaged.” You say harshly. If Izuku wasn’t already shocked, he certainly was now.

“To who?” he says, gaping.

“Lady Yaoyorozu, the daughter of the Count and Countess Yaoyorozu.” You say quietly. A beat of silence passes before Izuku sighs again.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, I really thought he was interested.” He said softly.

“Nevermind that - have you met Lord Iida in person?” You ask, earning a brighter look from your brother.

“Yeah, actually. He’s very proper but he’s surely a nice fellow.” He says, easing your conscious.

“And do you know if he is engaged or in that process with someone?” You ask him, holding in a breath.

“No, he is not.” Izuku says, giving you a tentative smile.

“Then tonight should go swimmingly.”

Swimmingly might have been an eager term to use. Lord Iida was certainly what he was described to be - a proper gentleman, always having his arm out for you to link yours with, clearing out people in front of you to have an easier path to get through, and engaging in conversation with you. However, you could feel that something was lacking from him, but you couldn’t place it. He was everything a man ought to be, yet there was a feeling holding you back. However, when the violins started to string out the beginning notes to a familiar dance, you let everything erase from your mind and let Lord Iida take over as he twirled you around the floor. You had to give him props, he was a fantastic dancer. You felt yourself get lost in the steps and in the smile Lord Iida was giving you. The final notes of the song filtered out and Lord Iida twirled you one last time.

“Why that was just wonderful, Lord Iida, I did not know you were such an accomplished dancer,” You gush, giving him your perfected smile.

“That is all thanks to having the right partner, Lady Yagi,” He compliments, earning a small blush. “Could I interest you in another?” He asks politely, stretching his hand out towards yours. He surely has captured my interest, you think to yourself. If you had to end up marrying him, it surely wouldn’t be the worst case scenario. He had enough money to keep you comfortable and happy, was polite and nice… but would you be able to enjoy his company all the time?

“You may-”

“May I have your next dance?” You freeze at the voice. His voice. You plaster on that faux smile once again and turn your face to Shouto. You could feel one of your eyebrows twitch in anger but hold your cheerful demeanor.

“Oh, I couldn’t hold you from a dance with Lord Todoroki,” Lord Iida says kindly, a nice smile on his face as he gestures to the red-and-white haired man next to you. You were sure that Shouto could see the ferocity in your gaze, seeing that he visibly gulped.

“You may,” you reply tersely, nodding nicely to Lord Iida before quickly saying a sweet “do find me afterwards!” Shouto leads you to the middle of the floor and looks intently at you. You say nothing but wait until the music starts, but your breath hitches as his hand touches your waist. Immediately, you are whisked away into the dance - unfortunately, it was a slower one, which provided more opportunities for small talk. You could see Shouto eyeing your lavender dress and decide to comment.

“As soon as the launders in my home have finished drying it, I’ll have them send that yellow dress back to your estate,” you say bluntly, avoiding his eye contact. 

“Please keep it,” he urges, his eyes soft.

“I do not want it,” you snap, your eyes flashing back to him. He sighs and looks down before meeting your gaze apologetically.

“What you heard isn’t true,” Shouto whispers, his grip on your waist as tender as ever. You take a breath and think over your thoughts, not trusting yourself to answer immediately.

“It isn’t, is it Lord Todoroki?” You wonder, malice still laced in your irises.

“What happened to Shouto… I thought we were friends,” he muttered.

“Answer the damned question.”

“I do not want to be engaged to her.” He says earnestly.

“But you are, aren’t you.” You press on. It felt like navigating a sailboat through the ocean’s most horrible storm, Shouto was trying to dodge the truth as much as possible. He knew, though, he had to answer honestly.

“I am,” he mumbles, his expression downcast. You take a deep breath before laying out exactly what you were feeling before him.

“So what was everything to you then? All of those little glances my way, the compliments, that little outing you had planned? You figured you just have to entertain me. ‘Oh that poor little girl who is so desperate to find love, it truly is fun to lead her on. Toying with her is just one of the few joys I find in my life’”. You spit, earning an even more guilty look from the man you were dancing with. “And that dress, what exactly did you have in mind when you gave it to me?” You ask, craving an answer. A few moments pass before he caves.

“It’s my favorite color… I wanted to see it on you because I thought you would look divine in it, and you did. Spending time with you, not toying with you, is one of my few joys in life.” Shouto confesses. You almost crumble and sink into his arms right then and there. You were so ready to make your feelings known to him - that you wanted it to be him that you got a proposal from. However, that one person and the secret he kept from you pushed through those feelings and fueled the ever growing fire of your fury. As the dying notes of the music escaped from the instruments you immediately stopped and flashed one more glare towards his way.

“For evermore, you shall never see me in yellow again. Not if it brings you joy because the happiness you gave me has already been snatched away by your piteous actions.” You snarl, bowing to him. “Now excuse me, I must meet back up with Lord Iida. I have heard that he has no fianceé and he is quite the young man. Perfect for me.” You strut away from him before he can get another word in and find Lord Iida. The rest of the evening goes quickly, since you can’t focus on your escort, but on the sorrowful glances the duke’s son keeps giving you.

A/N: SURPRISE SURPRISE! A chapter dropped on a very early Thursday morning! I am updating this now since I have some obligations this weekend (nothing bad, no need to worry) so I figured I would post the fourth now! Finally, we get a look at Y/N’s confident side (yeah u tell them boys girly) since she is pissed tf off at our duke-in-training Shouto. I know that some of you may be mad at the way she talks to him, but you need to understand - a woman in the regency era’s whole goal was to find a love-match that would fulfill her and her family’s needs, and they could hope that they would love them. Obviously Y/N loves him, but the fact that he was engaged and essentially wasted her time was absolutely not okay of him to do. We’ll see all of these things develop as the chapters go on, but I just wanted to explain myself here before things continue! As always, thank you for reading, commenting, and liking this story <3

xx, Songbird

[gumnut-logic]

Snake Bite (Part 1)

I wrote fic! For the first time this year. New fic! yeah, I know I have WIPs, but the muse was misbehaving and rebelling all over the place, so as you saw in a previous post (amongst all the amazing fanart, wow), I wrangled it and this is what I came up with. It’s not much and isn’t finished, but fic! I hope you enjoy anyway.

Many thanks to @scribbles97​ and @tsarinatorment​ for the read throughs and support. you guys rock ::hugs you both::

-o-o-o-

It was a beautiful evening. The day had been hot, but the sun was waning and a breeze had picked up enough to disturb the cloying heat prologuing the cool desert night.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have stepped off the decking in a suit with a champagne glass in his hand, perhaps he should have left his explorations for another night when he could have been dressed appropriately, but Virgil was used to grabbing the moment and the inspiration when he could. Tomorrow was never guaranteed.

Tonight was a rare case. Lady Penelope had invited the Tracy family out to her station in the outback for an evening of entertainment. There were a number of notables there and Scott had been heard to mutter something about working holiday, but Dad had shushed him and promised to take some of the networking load.

It was times like these Virgil felt a little guilty. While he didn’t mind a party and it was certainly fun to socialise, he felt he didn’t have that suave business sense like Scott, his father and even to a certain extent, John, who hated parties at the best of times. Though if you gave John a long distance communication method and he could have anyone eating out of his hand. A skill Scott deployed on many a business occasion.

No, Virgil was more of the practical sense. Something broken, he could fix it, someone hurt, he could tend to them. Juggle the fallacies of business and the underhand agendas? He had no patience or tolerance. Besides, he had reliable feedback that he couldn’t lie to save his own life.

But whatever, he was good at what he was good at.

So, sometimes the quiet desert evening was more attractive than the bustling social scene inside.

He eyed a bird of prey circling far above and wondered vaguely what type it was. Thoughts of different birds on a different farm came to mind.

A sigh and he swallowed a sip of champagne.

The bubbles popped on his tongue.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have stepped out, dressed in a suit, carrying a glass of champagne, but the evening was picture perfect and the quiet so alluring.

He didn’t go far. While Australia had become more familiar since they had moved to Tracy Island, it was still vast, still had a reputation of being deadly to the unwary, and this was no Kansas farm.

The red sand under his feet glowed in the evening sun.

Sharp grass - learnt the hard way - grew in tufted spikes along the path, tiny flowers dotted between the rocks. Penelope had said that spring was on the region and that they might see some lovely flower displays.

Virgil fully intended on investigating as soon as possible.

The path rose a little as he climbed a hillock and he couldn’t help but look back over the ranch buildings to the glowing presence of Thunderbird Two parked on the far side.

He had brought her with him for two reasons, the first being in case of a callout. The second was more related to that business manoeuvring thing. The overt presence of an International Rescue vehicle, while never explicitly used in dealings, was useful as a reminder to those who may forget exactly who the Tracy family were.

Virgil’s lips thinned as he stared at his ‘bird. It was a Dad thing. One of the many new things his father’s return had introduced. Scott had never used IR as a business tool and Dad technically wasn’t, but there was a contrast between how Scott worked and how their father worked and there were lots of little things like this that made that obvious.

The fact the Thunderbird was high up on her struts and towered over the landscape was functional and strategic at the same time.

A sigh and Virgil took another sip of champagne before turning to once again follow the path up the hill.

He didn’t see what he stepped on, but he felt it.

Soft, moving, he had that split second of realisation that his foot had encountered something alive, a stumble to try and avoid hurting whatever that was, and he overbalanced, only managing to not faceplant in the dust due to many years on the training mats with Kayo.

He still landed in an uncoordinated mess in the middle of one of those spiky grass tufts.

It stabbed him through expensive fabric.

Ow.

And rocks. There were rocks.

Damnit.

Red dust coated his pants and suit jacket and there was a definite scuff on one shoe.

Whatever it was he had nearly squished, slithered off into the grass on the other side of the path.

It only took him a moment to connect the dots.

He’d stepped on a snake, apparently, a little one, but a snake.

In Australia.

The continent renowned for such deadly reptiles.

Aw, hell.

But Virgil was an experienced responder. There was no need to panic. He rolled himself off the grass, his eyes pinned to where the snake had disappeared.

The grass complained and stabbed him a few more times through his clothes, but he got onto his hands and knees.

Nothing obvious was hurting, other than all the needle pricks, so that was a good sign.

His dress shoes were more red than black, along with the nice charcoal suit pants. The sooner he got off the ground, the better, but the medic in his head was yelling at him.

He yanked up both pant legs and poked around his socks, examining his skin for breaks. Even then, he almost missed it.

Two tiny little pin pricks on the inside of his right ankle.

Shit.

The current locations of his family members flitted through his head.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

It was going to be absolutely fabulously newsworthy to have one of the Tracy brothers carted off in his own ‘bird simply because he didn’t look where he stepped.

The setting sun was still calmly gazing over the landscape, lighting everything up in gold. But it felt far more sinister now.

The breeze ruffled his hair.

Sitting in the dirt, knowing he shouldn’t move, Virgil sighed and thumbed his comms. Maybe he could minimise the damage.

“Gords, you got a minute?”

-o-o-o-

Gordon was having a great time.

If there was something he missed living on an island in the middle of nowhere, it was this.

Penelope had one soft hand on his arm and was smiling at him as several of her friends laughed at one of his jokes. The fact the stuck-up toff, Duke Butterfingers, looked less than pleased was just icing on the cake. He was definitely on Gordon’s scorn list after his snide remark regarding Sherbet versus his ‘real dog’ wolfhound blah-blah.

It appeared the dog was smarter than the owner.

But Pen’s girlfriends were great conversationalists and it was nice to talk to someone other than family or those with their lives at risk for a change.

Yes, it was proof that he needed to get out more.

The subtle twitch of his collar comms against his skin wasn’t to be ignored, however.

A hand on Pen’s hand. “Please excuse me a moment. Duty calls.” He did not bow. Well, not really, but the amused smile and the sparkle in Penny’s eyes made it worth it anyway.

Her hand squeezed his arm and let go gently. Her eyes didn’t leave him immediately. “Felicity, do tell me about your new parlour. I hear it is being featured in Great Homes of Britain?”

If her blue eyes hadn’t turned away at that moment, it would have been questionable as to whether he would have been able to leave. But leave he did, wondering which family member he had to torture in the future in revenge.

Finding himself a polite corner, he opened his comms and frowned at his brother’s worried voice. “Virgil? What is it?”

It took a moment, enough to grab Gordon’s attention a little more. “Virg?”

“I’ve been bitten by a snake.”

“What?!”

“I’m up the hill at the back of the ranch. I stepped on a snake.” I need your help. It wasn’t said, but it was obvious. “Don’t tell Scott or Dad. Yet.” That last was said a little tentatively.

But Gordon was already moving, running the list of dangerous snakes that could likely be found out here through his head. If anyone noticed him dash from the room, he didn’t really care.

Compression bandage. Immobilisation. “You stay absolutely still, you hear me?”

“I’m aware of the procedure, Gordon.”

The location of first aid kits in Penelope’s house was quickly overridden by the vast store of equipment out in the carpark in Two.

Gordon was in a full out run before he realised it.

The evening was cooler but still warm from the day as the sun still hadn’t gone down. Two loomed over everything as Gordon dashed between cars and dodged guard rails. Two parking attendants stared at him as he tore past, but he ignored them.

Reaching Two, he swiped a dance of finger code over his left jacket sleeve and a control hologram leapt up from the fabric. The keys to his brother’s ‘bird were a necessity he was ever grateful for in this moment.

The great green Thunderbird hummed to life and lowered on her struts, smooth as ever, down enough for her forward hatch to reach him. He jumped on board and was in the first aid lockers without a second thought.

The countdown in his head was predictably short as his comms went off only a few seconds later. That would be John.

Gordon ignored it and switched back to Virgil.

“Any idea what type of snake?”

“Small and brown. It’s all I got. Didn’t see it. Stepped on the poor thing.” A pause. “I’m sorry, Gords.”

“It happens.” He slammed the locker shut, grabbed a hover stretcher and linked it to his comms. He cursed the lack of his uniform and all its inbuilt necessities with it. The essentials woven into his suit jacket and collar comms were barely minimal.

A brief thought of moving Two to his brother faded quickly as he poked the pilot’s dash and Virgil’s location lit up. He wasn’t very far away at all and there was no room to park Two anyway.

No room in the Australian Outback? An oxymoron, but it would be faster to just grab his brother and throw him on Two.

It was going to be bad enough lifting off once.

He jumped back onto the hatch and lowered himself. Securing Two he broke into another run. “You know you’re not going to be able to hide this from Scott, Dad or anyone here? You’re going to hospital, bro, and Two’s the fastest way. No one is going to miss her launching.” He leapt over a fence, the hover stretcher darting to follow.

“I know.” It was a quiet and sad answer.

“Medical status, Virg. How are you feeling?” He peeled around the corner of the main building and fixed his eyes on a figure part way up a hill in the distance.

Virgil waved.

“Gordon, report! John says it was you who accessed Two. What are you doing?” Scott, as commander as ever.

A harsh breath as his feet hit the bottom of the hill. “Thunderbird Four responding to a medical emergency. One of Penelope’s guests has been bitten by a snake. Evac imminent.” Another breath as he finally made it to Virgil’s side. The expression on his brother’s face could only be considered despair. “Scott, we will need media management. Victim is high profile. We need to keep this on the downlow.”

A pause as Gordon set down the first aid kit. Virgil’s lips were tight as he pointed to the red and swollen twin pin pricks on the inside of his right ankle.

Gordon shoved open the kit and, without another word, grabbed bandaging.

Scott’s voice was sharp. “FAB. John is accessing Five. Victim identity?”

Virgil sighed and his shoulders dropped before he thumbed his comms. “Scott?”

“Virgil?”

“It’s me.”

-o-o-o-

TBC

[serifsans]

Jean-Paul: June 20, 2003

"David?"

It's been so long since anyone's called him by that name that Jean-Paul almost walks on but he catches a whiff of a once-familiar perfume and realizes that he knows that voice.

"Raquel? Raquel, darling, look at you, you're a sight for sore eyes."

She does look good: older now, yes, but still just as elegant as an Italian model stepping out of a Vogue cover. The Brigitte Bardot hair's sleek and straight now and she's traded miniskirts and sequins for high-necked lace but it's still her.

"Look at you," she says. "You must close to fifty now. Who's your plastic surgeon?"

Jean-Paul's been running from the past ever since he landed on Earth but even still, they go out for lunch together at a little cafe he knows with the best wine selection in the city. He's glad he wore one of his better suits today, glad he's polished and pristine because most of the time he isn't.

"Are you still in the business or did you leave that behind? Feel free not to answer, I'll hardly be offended," he says after the waiter drops off their salads: berry and fig, goat cheese, candied almonds so tasty that it almost makes him cry.

"I own a martini bar in Chicago. The Rising Sun. Please drop in if you ever find yourself in the city. Marlon works there but he's the last of the old crew I keep in touch with. Do you remember Marlon?"

"With the Velvet Underground records? Trust me, I remember Marlon. Give him my regards, won't you? I'm terribly sorry we parted on such bad terms but I was a little monster back then. Although I really would like my scarf back. I'm still cross about that."

She laughs but he's not 100% joking. It was a damn good scarf and Marlon shouldn't have taken it in the breakup.

"Really, after all this time?"

"It was the finest scarf in all of Maroa, darling," he replies.

"And what of you? Are you doing well? I suppose Mauro's not still alive after all this time, is he?"

He spears a fig on his fork and it tastes good, really compliments the cheese nicely.

"Oh no, he passed about two years after you left, I think. His heart just couldn't keep up with his lifestyle. I was such a darling pet that he set me up quite nicely in his will, so now I do a bit of this and that as it pleases me. I have a little bath store now in Phoenix: Desert Sunset Soaps. It keeps me busy."

Jean-Paul leaves out the fact that he burned through most of his inheritance in less than five years and cheated and scammed his way through life for a long time after. It's in the past now. She offers her condolences because that's what one does but both of them know he never really had any emotional attachment to the man. He was fun sometimes though, even if he had the worst traits of volphs and vampires alike mixed up in a human body.

"You know, I see a ring," he continues. "Are you married? I really hope you had a fabulous wedding, darling."

"I've had three fabulous weddings," Raquel replies. "Terry's lasted a couple decades, so I think I'll keep this one. And what of you, hm?"

God, how to answer this question? He loves Volchenkov terribly but he's never sure if they're on or off.

"A bachelor through and through. I suppose I might've liked to raise a family but it is what it is."

"Then Bonnie...?"

"No, I still don't know what happened. I suppose I won't unless someone digs into cold cases and we all know how well disappearances get investigated in Maroa."

There's a hand on his.

"I'm so sorry, David. I don't mean to pry into old wounds."

"No, you're quite alright, darling, don't worry! I've made my peace with everything. My life's really charmed nowadays, trust me"

Later that night, Jean-Paul calls Vladimir. They might technically be broken up now but he just wants to hear his voice.

[spine-buster]

The President Wears Prada (William Nylander) | Chapter 9

November 14th, 2019

Aberdeen Bloom was looking at herself in the mirror.  

She wore a beautiful, shimmery navy blue dress she thought completely colour-appropriate for the occasion and used the same pair of heels she wore to prom to complete the outfit.  She’d taken an Uber though the walk would have only been seven minutes (she didn’t want to do that in heels) to the Ritz-Carlton Hotel on Wellington Street, where the dinner was taking place in the Wellington Room.  Many of the official guests were already there: Kyle and his wife Shannon; Peter, his assistant; Brandon and Laurence and their wives; Cliff Fletcher; Brad Lynn; Leanne Hederson; Hayley Wickenheiser; Mike Babcock and his wife; all of the Leafs community representatives who just happened to be Leafs alumni.  Then, all the big wigs from MLSE there: the entire Board of Directors, Larry Tanenbaum included; and the entire “Leaders” team anybody could see on the official website.  The people that she didn’t recognize she could only assume were the major donors – the reason they were all there.

John and his wife Aryne thankfully saw her almost immediately and hugged her, keeping her company until Brendan arrived.  He had texted her that he was two minutes away, and when he did, she went to meet him at the door.  He exited the town car with his wife Catherine, looking absolutely glamourous.  Lou waved at her from the front seat.

“Hello Aberdeen,” Brendan smiled as he approached her, his wife’s arm tucked into his.  

“Good evening Mr. Shanahan.”

“Brendan,” he quipped.  “Aberdeen, I’d like you to meet my wife, Catherine.  Catherine this is Aberdeen, my executive assistant.”

“Hi Aberdeen,” she smiled widely, extending her hand to shake.  “It’s so nice to finally meet you.  Brendan has told me so much about you.”

“Only the good things, I hope,” she joked.

“Brendan can only say good things about Etobicoke girls,” she winked.  “You look fabulous, by the way.”

“Oh, thank you!”

The three of them walked through the foyer and up the stairs together, with Catherine almost immediately seeing someone she knew, letting go of Brendan’s arm and going over to say hi.  “Do you want me to get you anything?  A drink maybe?” Aberdeen asked.

“Not right now.  I just need to know where my wife and I are sitting.”

“We’re at table one, just to the right of the stage,” she informed him.  “We’re with Kyle and Shannon, Peter, Masai and Ramatu, and Larry and Judy Tanenbaum.”

“Perfect.  Thank you.  And the prizes are all here?”

“Yes sir.  If you go into the Wellington Room they’re all along the wall like you requested.”

“And my speech?”

Aberdeen tapped at her clutch – a borrow from Kasha.  “Right here.”

“Good thing I always keep an extra one,” he said, tapping his chest to where his inside pocket was.  He let out a breath.  “Everybody here?”

“Seems like it, but I know we’re still waiting for a few more people.  I haven’t seen some familiar faces.”

“Okay,” he nodded.  “Well, feel free to mingle, Aberdeen.  This is a good opportunity for you to meet people.  When we’re all seated for dinner, I’ll let you know if you need to do anything – if that.  Just enjoy your time.”

She was a bit taken aback by that statement.  “W…what?  But I’m on the clock.  You said so yourself.”

Brendan laughed.  “I want you to mingle and have fun.  Network a bit.  I know all of these people.  I don’t need to be reminded of who they are,” he explained.  “There’s only a hundred or so of them anyway.  The Night With the Blue and White in January – that’s much bigger.  This is child’s play.  So have fun,” he smiled at her.  “Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to go find my wife.”

“Okay sir.”

“Brendan,” he looked over his shoulder slightly as he walked away from her, approaching his wife who was chatting with an equally glamourous looking woman.

Aberdeen didn’t know what to do with herself.  He wanted her to network?  Not work?  Really?  She tried to find a familiar face in the crowd, but John and Aryne were speaking to another couple, and even Peter, Kyle’s assistant, was engrossed in a conversation with Leanne Hederson.  She felt awkward approaching them even though she knew Leanne and spoke with her on multiple occasions.  Being in an office was one thing, but in such a formal setting like this, the vibe was much different.  

“Girl Friday?” a voice asked from behind her.  

She closed her eyes and immediately cringed.  Turning around, she saw Ethan Baker standing behind her.  She tried not to vomit in her mouth.  “You really need to stop calling me that.”

“You got an invite?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” she asked.

“I thought this was only for important people,” he said.

She rolled her eyes.  A waitress approached them with some flutes of drinks, and Aberdeen took one, knowing she’d need alcohol to get through whatever conversation she was about to have with Ethan.  Ethan took one too, taking a quick sip.  “Thanks, Ethan.  I can always count on you to bring me back down to earth when my head is getting too big,” she quipped.

“You look good though,” he said.  

She furrowed her brows; she didn’t know a compliment was capable of coming out of his mouth.  “Uh, thanks?”

He gave her a very obvious up-down, taking her all in.  This was getting more awkward by the second.  Was he already drunk?  He focused in on her arms.  “You have tattoos?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Why haven’t I seen them?”

“I guess you weren’t looking.”

Ethan furrowed his brows.  “Has Brendan seen them?”

“Of course he has.  It’s not like they’re offensive.  They’re lines from poems,” she said, almost immediately regretting it.  She knew she was going to have to explain them at one point or another, but she wanted to prolong that as much as possible.

“What are they?” he asked, turning his head to the side as if that would give him a better look.

She sighed.  “The one below the right elbow is the last line from the poem Ulysses by Alfred, Lord Tennyson – ‘to strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield’,” she said, flashing the delicate ink quickly.  “And the one below the left elbow is from the Roman philosopher Seneca – ‘we are waves of the same sea’.”

He squinted at them, taking in the information that she was telling him.  “They’re a bit dumb, Brendan Girl.”

Aberdeen’s breath hitched in her throat.  She didn’t need stupid idiot Ethan Baker to approve of her tattoos by any means, but even unacknowledging them or changing the subject immediately afterwards would have been nicer.  He had no idea what they meant to her; no idea about their significance.  And now, he even gave her another stupid nickname.  Even stupider than the last.  “Wow, you really know how to charm a girl, huh?”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

“And all this time I thought you just watched video playback all day.”

“More important than getting coffee, wouldn’t you say?”

“Hey, Aberdeen!” a voice suddenly called out from across the foyer.  Both Ethan and Aberdeen looked to see Jason and Jennifer Spezza approaching them.  Aberdeen had never been so happy to see his goofy smile in her life.  From behind him, she saw William wearing a perfectly tailored three-piece blue suit.  God, they fucking matched.  Of all colours he had to wear tonight…

“Hey Jason,” Ethan said, trying to take over, even going so far as extending his hand so Jason could shake it.  

Jason completely ignored him as he leaned in to give Aberdeen a quick kiss on the cheek.  Aberdeen eyed William standing behind him as he did so, who was looking down at Ethan’s hand.  “Aberdeen, you’ve met Jen at the SBA,” he said, motioning between her and his wife.  

“It’s so nice to see you again, Aberdeen,” Jen smiled as she gave her a kiss on the cheek.  “I love your dress.”

“Oh, thanks Jen!” Aberdeen smiled, patting it down slightly, suddenly a bit self-conscious.  Much like Aryne Tavares and Catherine Shanahan, Jen looked absolutely glamourous and flawless.  Aberdeen, on the other hand, felt like she stuck out like a sore thumb.  She was appropriately dressed, but these women just exuded a confidence and elegance she was sure she didn’t have.  At least yet.  She eyed William patiently waiting for a greeting and decided to indulge him.  “Hi William.”

“Hey Aberdeen,” he said, leaning in and giving her a kiss on the cheek.  “Do I look good?”

“You look like you should be in an Abba tribute band.”

Jason, Jen, and William laughed at her comment; Ethan did not.  He had never been in on the joke.  “Well, we match,” William commented, eyeing her body in the dress.

“You know what they say…great minds,” Jason quipped.  

***

The dinner was going off without a hitch.  She sat in between Brendan and Peter at the table, looking out onto all the guests seated at theirs.  Brendan made a nice speech before dinner, as did Larry Tanenbaum.  They had a champagne toast and were served a delicious appetizer.  Aberdeen was looking forward to the incoming filet.  She excused herself from the table to go to the bar, wanting to grab a ginger ale before the main course.  She wouldn’t drink in front of Brendan, despite his insistence that it was okay.  

As she waited, she saw Ethan approach the bar too, but she tried to ignore him.  He ended up standing right next to her, so interaction was inevitable.  She truly wondered why he wanted to interact with her so much if all he did was put her down.  It was clear he had a sick ego, and that putting people down fed that ego.  But why did he pick on her?  And did he pick on anyone else?  Maybe people in his own department?

She decided not to say hi to him – not to start an interaction at all.  Maybe he’d ignore her and be on his merry way.  But as with every interaction with Ethan, that would not be the case.  “You having a good time at the table with the big boys, Brendan girl?” he asked, leaning one arm against the bar.

“It’s fun,” she nodded her head, trying to say as little as possible.

“I still can’t believe you’re in that position.  That he hired you over some of the more qualified people that applied,” he shook his head.

How the hell did he know?  How the hell did video analyst Ethan Baker know any of the other candidates who applied to the posi—oh my God.  ‘Oh my God’ Aberdeen thought to herself.  He applied to the position.  He knew who the other candidates were because he applied to the position and didn’t get it.  Brendan hired her instead.  That’s why he was the way he was with her.  “Why is it so unbelievable?” she asked, now having to mask the fact that she knew why he was always being a dick to her.

“Do you even know, or did you even hear of who Larry Tanenbaum was before you worked here?”

“I’m sorry, but did we all not watch him lift the Larry O’Brien in June?” she asked.  “Do you honestly think I’m that dumb?”

“I don’t think you’re dumb.  I just think you’re unqualified,” he clarified, because that made it so much better.  “It’s a great job.  I just hope you know how lucky you are.”

“I do,” she said.  That was all she heard since she started this job.

“And besides – it’s a good thing that your friends with the guys now, you know,” he said, the jealousy coming back in his voice.

“Why’s that?”

He shrugged his shoulders.  “It makes the job easier.  Maybe one of them will take pity on you.  You’ll never survive Brendan,” he said matter-of-factly.  

Her mouth dropped.  She’d been surviving so far, albeit with some hiccups along the way…what made him think she would never survive Brendan?  “E…Excuse me?”

“You seem nice…smart,” he said.  “You can’t do that job.”

The bartender finally placed her ginger ale in front of her – and thank God he did, because she’d had enough.  Fuck him.  Fuck Ethan Baker.  “Gotta go,” she mumbled, turning on her heels to leave.

“Bye Brendan Girl.”

***

“It was so nice to see you, Aberdeen,” Jennifer Spezza hugged her one last time as Jason waved at her from the curb.  She was still inside, keeping warm; he was out on the sidewalk, hailing a taxi.  “You’re getting an Uber, right?” she asked.

“Yes ma’am,” Aberdeen nodded her head, flashing her phone.

Jen looked towards William.  “And you’re staying with her until it comes?”

“Yes ma’am,” he nodded his head.

“Good,” she said definitively.  She pushed the door open with William’s help.  “I’ll see you soon, Aberdeen.  Stay safe!” she called out as she ran as quickly as her heels could let her towards the taxi.  Jen sent one final wave as the taxi drove away, leaving Aberdeen and William alone.

Will was, of course, the first to look at her.  “How far away is the Uber?” he asked.

“Two minutes according to the app,” Aberdeen said as she glanced at her phone.  

“And you don’t…I mean, you don’t want to walk home?” he asked, a glimmer of hope in his voice.  

“Not in these heels,” Aberdeen giggled.  “My feet are already killing me.”

“I could carry you.”

Aberdeen gave Will a look.  “We’re not going to do that to your back.”

“Come on,” he smiled mischievously.  “I bet I could do it.”

“Too bad we’re not going to try,” she said, glancing down at her phone again.  “We should go outside to wave the car down.”

William opened the door for her, and they walked out together.  Aberdeen looked to her left to try to see if the car was coming.  William was only looking at her – how she looked between the street and her phone to see if the car was getting any closer.  How her hair blew in the wind of the night.  “Tomorrow’s going to be the last time I see you for two weeks,” he said, his voice low.  He tried to imprint how she looked right now into his mind so he could remember it on the road trip.  

“I know.”

“Did Brendan tell you why he wasn’t coming with us?” he asked.  

“No.  But it’s probably because it’s too long to be away from his family,” Aberdeen said.  “His kids are his life.  He wouldn’t miss a school function or any of that.”

William watched as she waved down the Uber, who pulled up to the curb.  He wanted to get into the car with her.  He wanted to go back with her to her building, no matter how short the ride was.  Just to be able to stare at her a little bit longer.  Just to spend more time with her, since he wasn’t able to spend all the time he wanted to spend with her tonight.  “I’m going to miss you,” he said.

He could see her bite her lip.  She looked up at him, her hand already on the handle.  “Will…”

“Aberdeen?  Aberdeen is that you?” a voice rang out suddenly, interrupting the moment.

Aberdeen and William looked to their left.  A man was standing in a stylish peacoat, his group of friends continuing to walk ahead of him at a slower pace.  He had a bewildered look on his face, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.  William looked down at Aberdeen.  She looked like she’d just seen a ghost.  “Zane.  Hi.”

“Oh my God.  Didn’t think I’d ever catch you outside the Ritz Carlton,” Zane smiled, approaching closer to them.  “How’ve you been?”

“I’ve been good,” she gulped, trying to clear her mind of all the memories that were popping up.  She felt William’s hand on her back and it brought her back down to earth.  “William, this is Zane.  Zane, this is William N—”

“Zane Kennedy,” he interrupted her, shaking William’s hand almost too enthusiastically.  “Aberdeen and I dated in university, but we’re friends now.”

Aberdeen wanted to protest.  They weren’t friends.  They were the furthest thing from being friends.  They’d barely spoken since the breakup, since he was such a jackass about it and broke her heart.  She hadn’t been with anyone since – well, besides William.  That’s how much it affected her.  And she was sure William was the only person capable of helping her get over him.

“You don’t say,” Will said, his tone slightly sarcastic.  He looked down at Aberdeen and didn’t see any friendliness in her eyes.  He only saw contempt for the statement Zane just made, which made William know he was lying.  

Zane focused his attention back to Aberdeen.  “What are you doing out here?”

“I…I just came from an event,” she said.  She felt William’s arm snake around her waist even more, making her shiver.

“An event?  With the bank?  Or did you finally figure out what you wanted to do?”

Now she was getting angry.  She always knew what she wanted to do; he just didn’t think being a writer was a serious career choice.  She mustered up all the confidence within her.  “No, not with the bank.  I work for the Toronto Maple Leafs.”

Zane was taken aback at the news.  “The…Toronto Maple Leafs?” he asked.  “Like the hockey team?”

“That’s why she was going to introduce you to William Nylander before you interrupted her,” William piped up, smiling slightly.  

Zane was smart enough to get the hint William was making.  He smiled.  “You know, I thought you looked familiar,” he told William.

“You’ve probably seen me on TV once or twice,” Will quipped.

Zane could tell where this was going.  There was a lot he could have said to Aberdeen, but with William there, he decided against it.  He did have to admit one thing, though.  “Well, you look good Aberdeen,” he said, licking his lips quickly.  

William could feel a rush of irritation and impatience coursing through his veins at Zane’s comment.  “She does, doesn’t she?” he asked rhetorically.  “She looked even better inside without her coat on, but only us lucky ones got to see that,” he said, staring directly into Zane’s eyes.  “Now if you don’t mind, I have to make sure she gets home safe, or else I’ll have to answer to Brendan Shanahan and to Jennifer Spezza, and, well – between you and I – I’m more scared of Jennifer Spezza.”

“That’s cool,” Zane said, backing up.  “Have a good night, Aberdeen.”

William opened the car door behind her as she watched Zane rejoin his friends who had been looking on at the interaction.  She shuffled into the backseat, watching as William waved dramatically at Zane before getting into the backseat beside her.  “It’s a very quick drive, I know.  But I promise I’ll tip you a lot,” she said as the driver signalled to merge onto the road again.

She looked over at William who was still seething slightly at the comments Zane made.  She was realizing a lot of things lately, and here was yet another one: no matter how hard she tried to suppress what was happening between them, she would still have feelings for William, and he would still have feeling for her.  It was inevitable.  Nothing could stop it.  She could say anything, do anything – it didn’t matter.  William was competitive.  William was persistent.  William was determined.   William was…William.  It would be hard, she’d give him that – because absolutely nothing could happen while she was working for Brendan and the Leafs – but she could finally admit to herself, at least, that there was something there.  Something that William absolutely refused to hide.  And in him refusing to hide it, it just made her own feelings bubble slowly towards the surface, like lava oozing out of a volcano.  

But nothing could happen.  Not now, if not ever.  Regardless of how William felt.  Regardless of how she felt.

“You dated that guy?” William asked, his voice breaking her thoughts.

“Yeah.  For most of third year university,” she admitted.

“He’s a bit of a dick.”

She laughed.  If William could ascertain that after a minute long conversation, she could only imagine what opinion he’d have of Zane after an entire conversation.  “You’re telling me.”

“Why’d you guys break up?” William asked.

She gave him a look.  He just had to know.  He just really had to know.  “We outgrew each other.  He also didn’t think writing was a serious career path.  He told me I should consider a Master’s, or go to law school like him,” she explained.  “He was the one who initiated the breakup, saying that he wanted to take the last year of university to, like, be one with himself and figure out if law school was really for him.  But a month after we broke up, he was hooking up and dating this girl we knew, Alessia – a total smokeshow but dumb as a rock.  Anyways, judging by his pretentious jacket, he got into law school.”  She paused, considering the timeline of the events.  “I think it was just three weeks, actually.”

“You deserve better than that,” William said after a moment of silence, digesting her words.  He wanted to stop the Uber so he could run back to Zane and punch him in the face.  He couldn’t believe someone would have the gall to treat her like that.  And then to see her in the street and approach her like an old friend?  How dare he.

“I know I do,” she said as she looked out the window.

William took a few deep breaths as he looked at her, wanting to say so many things but unable to decide exactly what to say.  She still looked so beautiful and he didn’t know how to use his words.  He was so desperate; so desperate to touch her even though he knew she’d flinch away; so desperate to kiss her even though he knew it was wrong.  He didn’t know how he was going to last two whole weeks without seeing her when she’d become such a staple in his life.  He had to physically restrain himself from placing his hand on her arm.  “Can we FaceTime when I’m gone?”

Aberdeen whipped her head to look at him.  From the look on her face it was as if he just proposed they elope in Las Vegas.  “Will, no.”

“Aberdeen, please—please—”

“No way William.  No way.”

“It’s not like you’re going to be at the office when we do—”

“Will, that’s…that’s really inappropriate.”

“Aberdeen—”

“William—”

“Can’t you tell by now I don’t care that it’s inappropriate?” he asked.  His hand had inched towards hers and was merely centimetres away before he had the wherewithal to pull it back dramatically.  Not being able to hold her hand was absolute fucking torture for him and he didn’t know how he was going to survive it.

“Well can’t you tell by now I do care?” she retorted.  “It can’t happen Will.  There’s no way.”

He admitted defeat.  There was no way he would win this, no matter how much he begged.  No matter how much he tried to explain himself.  “I’m just gonna miss you, Aberdeen.  And I’m gonna want to see you.”

“I know you will,” she said.  “But it can’t happen Will.  I’m sorry.”

The Uber driver pulled up to the curb outside Aberdeen’s building, where William had dropped her off at almost the same time last night.  Aberdeen thanked him, getting out of the car.  William slid towards where she had just been and rolled down the window.  “I’ll see you tomorrow, right?” he asked.  They were facing the Bruins tomorrow.  She needed to be there.  

“I’ll be there,” she said, unable to hold her smile.  “Get some sleep, Will.  You’ve gotta score tomorrow.”

“Only for you, minskatt.”

[carolyncaves]

Oh, it’s happening - WWX goes to Gusu: Part 4. 10171 words, continued underlying vague mental illness from WWX, angry wedding planner JC, elder sibling appreciation hours now including JYL as well as LXC, shotgun-wedding-related drama, wedding resolution, Yunmeng sibling feelings and fluff, gratuitous Wangxian

part one | part two | part three | also on ao3

When Wei Wuxian woke, full bright light filled the jingshi and his body ached with too much sleep. It was late. Lan Zhan’s five-in-the-morning wasn’t even in the picture. For all he knew, it could be after noon.

It was, he discovered slowly and hazily, just after lunchtime. Lan Zhan had ordered him something and was going to wake him if he didn’t wake on his own soon.

He would have thought he might feel better, finally getting a powerful dose of the rest he’d lately been deprived of. Instead he just felt a different sort of unwell. But it faded to the background as he ate his lunch and worked some life back into his limbs.

It came to him distantly, nearly halfway through the meal, that he was married. Not quite, but at the same time more than he’d need a lifetime to process and believe. He should be doting on Lan Zhan. Being happy with him, and letting Lan Zhan – always so grim, so restrained – be happy in return. A husband had a number of duties, really, and Wei Wuxian had fulfilled none of them. He’d laid in bed for twelve hours and was now being dully led through the necessary task of eating as if he were a child.

Some portion of this train of thought must have shown on his face, because Lan Zhan said, “No talking during meals.” This prompted Wei Wuxian to actually look at him, and he looked frowny. “Unless …” Lan Zhan bit himself off mid-thought, as if realizing he himself was breaking the rule, and then after a brief vacillation was apparently unable to restrain himself. “Unless you have regrets.”

Did Lan Zhan think it was possible Wei Wuxian was sorry they were married? Was that the most likely explanation he could conjure for whatever dissatisfaction had touched Wei Wuxian’s face? The snort escaped before Wei Wuxian could contain it. “Lan Zhan. The only regret I could possibly have is that I am so unworthy of you.” He waved his hand, trying to banish Lan Zhan’s deepening dismay. “But for whatever reason, you want this with me regardless, and for that I will be grateful and as worthily unworthy as possible all my life. It’s too late for you now, Lan Zhan, you’re stuck with me!”

Relief. The softening of Lan Zhan’s face at that statement was relief. Wei Wuxian wanted to give him all the water in Yunmeng. He settled for asking if Lan Zhan had eaten his fill, and serving him a little more when he didn’t say yes, as if this wasn’t Lan Zhan’s house and every morsel of this meal wasn’t his to begin with.

It was all right, though. This next part would be where Wei Wuxian got to give something to Lan Zhan, hopefully over and over again for the rest of their lives.

The relief fell away too fast, and Lan Zhan parted his lips once more. But he didn’t actually speak – he simply closed them and turned back to his meal. It was as if he’d decided whatever was still bothering him wasn’t worth breaking the rule of silence for. Only Wei Wuxian’s worries measured that high.

“Lan Zhan, what about you, though? Do you have regrets?”

Lan Zhan’s bowl hit the table hard. “Never.”

Wei Wuxian allowed himself to drink in the powerful balm of his certainty for one moment before smiling and pushing back. “Lan Zhan, I’m think at some point in your life you’re going to have a regret, however small.”

Lan Zhan looked unhappy at Wei Wuxian. “Never this.” He looked unhappier at the table. “But.”

Wei Wuxian wasn’t even bothered by the dull ache of that drop. “But what? You have to tell me, since I’m your husband.”

Lan Zhan shook his head, and of course Wei Wuxian was joking anyway, but he did answer. “You were promised two weeks. I forgot myself, in my eagerness.” He hung his head, all beautiful and ashamed. “You should still have them, if you want them.”

Wei Wuxian had in fact been carefully ignoring that he was going to have to go back to Lotus Pier today. Their marriage was actually a fabulous excuse, a very distracting conceit, to keep him from having to think about having to conduct himself like a person again in front of Jiang Cheng and Shijie and Lotus Pier and the cultivation world, to leave this delicate bubble of quiet and rest.

A heavy dread stirred low in his belly, and he smothered it down – a dance so familiar he couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed it had been absent for several days. It would be better this time, though. He would be better at talking, better at being, better at ignoring the dark pit at his center and getting on with the things he had to do – and as well, Lan Zhan would be there. Lan Zhan had done this thing so he would always be there. Wei Wuxian’s heart bloomed, or rather felt some feeling that was wonderful even though it hurt, and he said, “Lan Zhan, do you not think the rest of my life is a great deal more than two weeks?”

Lan Zhan looked up at him.

“I don’t have any idea why you want to do this. I still think you must be mad – are you sure you haven’t been tying your headband too tight? Maybe your fifteen layers of robes are too constricting and you haven’t been getting enough air. Nevertheless, you have to understand that it’s everything. Do you think I wouldn’t do anything to make it happen? For you to have what you want, and for me to have you?”

Lan Zhan was staring at him, leaning forward, as if the small tea table between them was an intolerable barrier – and then apparently it was, because he moved, gathered his robes and shuffled around it until he was right beside him and he could pull Wei Wuxian into a slow, firm embrace.

“You should still have them, if you want them,” Lan Zhan repeated – not like he actually thought he could convince Wei Wuxian, more like he wanted to make sure he knew he really did have the option.

“Please, Lan Zhan, I have to get you all tied up before you come to your senses. I’d be willing to leave for Lotus Pier this instant, except we’re in the middle of a meal and I’m sure there’s a Lan principle about that.”

“Mm,” Lan Zhan said. He released him but sat very close next to him, the same way he had for Wei Wuxian’s first meal after he arrived here those few days ago.

Wei Wuxian reach across for his bowl and set it in front of him. It occurred to him this was going to be Lan Zhan’s last meal in his jingshi – at least like this, with him living here and not visiting as a guest.

“Of course, if you’d rather linger, we can,” Wei Wuxian said. “This is your home, Lan Zhan. I’m not trying to drag you away from it.”

Lan Zhan was quiet for a moment, like he was building up to a confession, and Wei Wuxian was ready for him to ask for a few days. But then he said, “I’ve already prepared,” and moved the edge of his sleeve aside to reveal a qiankun pouch. “There are disciples waiting to pack the remainder of my belongings and send them after us. Once we’ve departed.”

The gentle, happy flush on Lan Zhan’s cheeks and ears made Wei Wuxian feel like the insane one.

They finished their meal together, and Wei Wuxian laughed at him, and perhaps also got teary-eyed and clung to his husband (he was going to say it counted). When Lan Zhan escorted him from the jingshi and along the walkways of Cloud Recesses, it was in mutual triumph.

Lan Xichen was actually standing around in front of the hanshi as if he were waiting for them.

For a moment, Wei Wuxian felt ashamed himself – for being the reason all this upheaval was necessary in the first place, and for sleeping so long and making Zewu Jun wait. But he looked so pleasant, and not irritated at all – he was certainly well-suited to his position as sect leader. Wei Wuxian forced himself to smile as well as he said, “How are you doing on this beautiful day, Zewu Jun?”

“I am content.” He looked vaguely puzzled at Wei Wuxian – who wasn’t even sure himself why he’d chosen the title instead familial address. Maybe it was that now, in the light of day and without their red robes and dizzy urgency, it seemed ridiculous to presume Lan Xichen would recognize him as his family. But Lan Xichen replied, “And yourself, Dixu?”

Wei Wuxian was sure some measure of his thrill at being invited to address Lan Xichen in that way seeped through in his grin. “I’m plenty more than content, Da-baizi.” And what a miracle it was, for both him and Lan Zhan, that the good and lofty Lan Xichen was against all reason in favor of him.

“Xiongzhang,” Lan Zhan said, with a slight bow. “I will miss you, Shufu, and Cloud Recesses, and I know I am meant to cry, but I am not very sad.”

Lan Xichen’s responding smile overflowed like the most silver moon. “I’m glad, Wangji. I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

These two exchanges, right on each other’s heels, connected a sticky and muddy pathway in Wei Wuxian’s mind – the possibility that Lan Xichen’s approval was somehow related to Lan Zhan’s quiet desperate joy. That inexplicably he, Wei Wuxian, might somehow truly add happiness to Lan Zhan’s life.

He would have to try very hard. He would have to be diligent, and careful, and true. There was something precious in his hands, and he’d dropped everything he’d ever been asked to hold, but … not this. Please, let him not drop this.

“Let’s go, then,” he said suddenly, before he could second-guess himself. “If you’re both ready, of course, esteemed Twin Jades – take out your swords and let’s depart.”

Lan Zhan immediately abandoned his fond gaze at Lan Xichen to squint at Wei Wuxian. “We will walk to Caiyi town and go by boat.”

“Lan Zhan, a boat would take forever! Of course we’ll fly.” The fear – the exposed horror of being high in the air on someone else’s sword, the memory of the plunge – was already stirring in his belly, but he disregarded it.

Lan Zhan assembled his response for a long time. “You would suffer,” he said finally. “That is counter to the purpose of this.”

“Lan Zhan, it’s one little sword flight. It could hardly be called suffering – believe me. How could we not go as quickly as possible to Lotus Pier? We’re, you’re …” Lan Zhan was married out of his own family and was not yet married into Wei Wuxian’s. That couldn’t stand.

“I am fine,” Lan Zhan said obstinately.

“So am I, Lan Zhan! Believe me, it would be very nice if we had been betrothed for years and now finally I had sent a luxurious palanquin for you on Yunmeng Jiang’s grandest boat and you could be borne to Lotus Pier in luxury, but we’re far beyond that. You can’t rush us through your half and expect me to let us amble around aimlessly for mine. Come on – you can hold me close on Bichen, and we’ll be there before you know it.”

Lan Zhan looked like he wanted to argue further – but luckily he also wanted to be married to Wei Wuxian.

Lan Zhan wore his regular Lan headband on his forehead – they still had to negotiate the betrothal with Jiang Cheng, so he could hardly show up in conspicuous wedding adornments – but Wei Wuxian took the red one and tied it around Lan Zhan’s wrist, where it would be hidden by his sleeve. It wasn’t a fine silk veil, but it would have to do. Then Lan Zhan drew Bichen and took Wei Wuxian onto its blade.

As they climbed into the sky, the terror began to shriek in Wei Wuxian’s chest – but he’d meant what he said. A single flight was nothing for Lan Zhan. The Burial Mounds was not waiting at the end of it.

Lan Zhan would not drop him. Lan Zhan would return him safely to the ground.

///

Wei Ying did not speak a word after they left the ground, and within a quarter of an hour he was curled stiff and catatonic into Lan Wangji’s chest. Lan Wangji felt himself going wild with concern and fury – at Wei Ying, paradoxically, for advocating for something that would so clearly harm him, and more rationally at himself for giving in. This had been his first test at caring for Wei Ying in his new capacity as his spouse, and he had failed it. He would have to learn from this. He would do better. Perhaps he should land the sword now and insist they complete the journey on foot.

But they were already well beyond Caiyi town, which would have been the most reasonable place to get a boat. It seemed unthinkable to turn back, to force Wei Ying to retread any of the terrain he’d covered at such high cost.

Lan Wangji looked at Xichen. He flew with Wei Ying to Cloud Recesses, and would have witnessed the extent of this fear. Could he not have warned him?

Xichen inclined his head in apology. When he spoke aloud, it was to Wei Ying directly. “Dixu, I feel I must express my gratitude to you. You and I both know Wangji has extended himself greatly on this matter out of a true and unselfish devotion, and as the one who allowed him to do so, I will be quite anxious until he is safely ensconced on the other side of it. I hope neither of you will find anguish in your care for one another, in small things or in large ones, so I regret you are doing so now; nevertheless, it does comfort me to know his commitment is returned in full measure.”

Wei Ying made a quiet noise in the back of his throat, and his hand gripped more tightly at the front of Lan Wangji’s robes – but they were passing over a mountain that dropped off precipitously, so it might have been a coincidence.

Lan Wangji held him and tried to feel loved. He did, he supposed, after some thought. Wei Ying was miserable, so there was no joy in it.

///

Wei Wuxian would have vowed he would never ride on a sword again, but that was likely to be impossible. He was a cultivator, whatever his method, and associated with cultivators who used them. He would probably have to ride on swords regularly. Perhaps even recreationally, because how could he deny Lan Zhan the easiest way to visit his family and his childhood home?

Wei Wuxian instead vowed to invent a talisman that would blank his mind and senses. He could stand unthinking and unfeeling in Lan Zhan’s arms and make whatever journey he had to. It would be substantially the same as this, except perhaps without the sickening, drenching fear that by the end of the journey consumed every inch of his limbs.

Wei Wuxian supposed they landed before the gates of Lotus Pier and Lan Zhan guided him to step off Bichen, but only because he eventually realized he was standing on the wood of the boardwalk and Lan Xichen was conferring with a servant at the door.

Lan Zhan still had his arm around him, and his low voice vibrated soothingly in his ear. Wei Wuxian leaned into him. After a moment, Lan Zhan shrouded him in a more intimate embrace.

“Jiang-zongzhu and Jiang-guniang do not know we are wed,” he murmured in Wei Wuxian’s ear – likely an argument for them separating and holding more space between them – but he didn’t eject Wei Wuxian from the shelter of his arms. His too-many robes were comfortable padding. He, Lan Zhan, was the safest place to be.

“There is really no need for Jiang-zongzhu to receive us formally,” Lan Xichen was saying. “I believe Wei-gongzi” – it was interesting hearing the distant title fall from Lan Xichen’s lips, after earlier, hearing the familial one – “was going to speak with him about a personal matter.”

“Jiang-zongzhu was very clear,” the disciple said nervously. “He will receive you all in Sword Hall immediately.” His anxiousness was uncharacteristic, from all Wei Wuxian knew of him. He would only expect it if something were wrong.

He had only been gone for a few days. How could anything be wrong?

Wei Wuxian extracted himself from Lan Zhan’s hold, and they crossed the courtyard of Lotus Pier as if they were their own instead of each other’s.

Jiang Cheng had the flint-cut face that meant he was mad.

Wei Wuxian had not even been here. How could Jiang Cheng still have found a reason to be angry at him? Was he still upset that he’d left at all? That seemed unfair – it had already happened, and they’d discussed it at the time. Wei Wuxian did not know if the accumulated weight of all his past sins and mistakes was something he could bear.

Shijie stood at Jiang Cheng’s side looking a little wilted, and Wei Wuxian hoped that was only the summer heat. She wouldn’t meet his eyes. Jiang Cheng’s eyes raked over each of them in turn – Lan Xichen, Lan Zhan, Wei Wuxian himself.

It would be better for Shijie to be upset with him than for her to be unwell. If that was what was happening, Wei Wuxian would gladly accept those terms.

Jiang Cheng gestured at the tables that lined the room – they had been set, ominous in a way Wei Wuxian had not expected. Wei Wuxian took his place beside Shijie’s at the front of the hall, though Shijie did not come join him. Lan Zhan sat on his other side instead of across the aisle with his brother. Hopefully that wouldn’t be too conspicuous, since Wei Wuxian could hardly call attention to it by shoeing him away. They were known to be close. Wei Wuxian had gone to Cloud Recesses to be with him.

“I thought I told you to be carrying your sword when you returned,” Jiang Cheng opened, and his voice was acid and ice. “Though you’re back so quickly, I can’t help but wonder why you even left.”

Suibian was all the way back in Gusu, in the sword rack in Lan Zhan’s jingshi. It belonged there, after all, in Lan possession. Wei Wuxian had given it over to Lan Xichen, an elder member of Lan Zhan’s family. Lan Zhan had accepted it and offered his open hand in return. A more treasured return gift Wei Wuxian couldn’t imagine.

“I suppose we should feel blessed that Lan-er-gongzi has been relieved of his pressing duties to his sect. Mere days ago, he was so bound by them he could not have dreamed of visiting Yunmeng.”

His vitriol was bizarre. It meant something, certainly, but Wei Wuxian could not even begin to imagine what.

“How kind of you to return Wei Wuxian to my keeping early, Lan-zongzhu, after I let you take him from me temporarily as a favor. How fortunate he’ll be able to resume his post, and my A-jie won’t have to keep handling all his duties.”

Lan Zhan bristled and tensed to rise. Wei Wuxian clenched his fingers around his arm. They were not yet married by Yunmeng Jiang’s reckoning.

“Jiang-zongzhu,” Lan Xichen tried.

“A-Xian,” Shijie said, the first thing she’d spoken, and it was very much a warning.

“Jiang Cheng, let’s talk privately for a second,” Wei Wuxian finally got out. “I have something I really need to discuss with you.”

But Jiang Cheng was staring claws and daggers at Lan Zhan – at Lan Zhan’s wrist. “Is that red I see under your sleeve, Lan-er-gongzi? I thought you only wore mourning colors.”

Lan Xichen opened his mouth, but didn’t speak. He seemed to be warring between defensiveness of Lan Zhan and nervousness of Jiang Cheng’s mood.

Wei Wuxian tried to step in. “What do you mean, Jiang Cheng? Lan Zhan can wear what he likes, can’t he? I mean it, let’s go outside for a moment while the Lans get served some tea.”

“Lan-er-gongzi, raise your sleeve,” Jiang Cheng seethed, and that was when Wei Wuxian understood beyond any doubt that Jiang Cheng knew somehow and it was not good.

Searching for any information, he looked to Shijie again, and this time he finally was met with her eyes. They looked back at him with such sadness someone might as well have plunged a sword into his chest.

He had done something terrible. He couldn’t quite understand how – the thing he’d done was something that had made him feel more free and hopeful that he had in almost longer than he could remember – but he’d set out from Lotus Pier to try to drag the tattered scraps of himself more together so he could help Shijie and Jiang Cheng better again, and instead he had managed to cause them further grief.

Lan Zhan slid back his sleeve, revealing the red-and-gold ribbon.

“So it’s true,” Jiang Cheng choked out, eyes going wider with fury. “It’s true. You and Wei Wuxian are married.”

“Did you send disciples after him?” Lan Zhan asked frigidly. “Spy on the Lan sect?”

“We didn’t need spies! Zewu Jun sent a small army of disciples to Caiyi town yesterday, scouring the streets to find red fabric and auspicious decorations and any wedding clothes that might fit two young masters on immediate notice. They were shouting it up and down the canals. My sister heard it from her handmaidens, who heard it on Yunmeng’s docks in the evening. The very last people between Yunmeng and Gusu to know there was a wedding being held in Cloud Recesses yesterday were the two of us!” The spots of color on Jiang Cheng’s cheekbones had blossomed from faint impressions to full angry blooms. “Then, of course, we turned to the spies – what choice did we have? You had spirited Wei Wuxian away from us mere days before, apparently on false pretenses. For all I knew, you were forcing him into vows with a minor Lan disciple or bartering him over to some worthless Jin subordinate in a bid to remove him from Yunmeng Jiang. But no – from the spies we learn that gossip among the junior Lans indicates Lan-er-gongzi and Wei Wuxian were seen weeping in one another’s tender embrace the night he arrived at Cloud Recesses! Which makes it seem as though he and you were conspiring against me right to my face that day, so you could take him away from here and carry out some secret wedding neither I nor my A-jie knew anything about. We tried to tell ourselves there had been some mistake, some other conclusion to draw that we were missing, but we received word this morning confirming their tea ceremony last night!”

“Jiang-zongzhu, there has been a grave misunderstanding,” Lan Xichen said.

“Then Wei Wuxian is not married to Lan Wangji, and all that I have heard otherwise is in error?”

“He is not,” Lan Wangji intoned, before Wei Wuxian or even Lan Xichen could respond. “Wei Ying is not married to me. Yet. But I am indeed married to him. Xiongzhang means there was no deceit.”

“No deceit? How could he have left here three days ago to pass a short visit with Lan Wangji and come back married to him, without any premeditation?”

“Wei-gongzi and I truly had no ulterior motives when we left Lotus Pier that afternoon. Wei-gongzi and Wangji spontaneously decided they wanted to wed.”

“And they also spontaneously decided to do it immediately and in secret, and without my permission? And you along with them? Why, Lan-zongzhu, so you could carry his amulet off to Gusu for yourself? What do you take me for?”

“Wei Ying will not come to Cloud Recesses,” Lan Wangji corrected. “I will join the Wei Ying in the Jiang sect at Lotus Pier.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be a secret,” Wei Wuxian said to Jiang Cheng, to Shijie’s stunned gaze, begging them to believe him. “It was only to save time. So we didn’t have to travel back if you agreed.”

“That’s why we’re here now, Jiang-zongzhu, with minimal delay – to negotiate the betrothal with the Jiang sect.”

“To save time?” There was a pause. Jiang Cheng was visibly rocked when he finally decided they were telling the truth. It didn’t seem to calm him. “To save time? Wei Wuxian! And what if I don’t agree? What position do you put me in now?”

“It’s my fault, Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian said, because whatever else it was, it was surely that. “Shijie.” Did she believe him? “It all happened suddenly, and I thought …” Wei Wuxian looked for the rest of that sentence, but it wasn’t there. What had he thought? The inside of his mind was the same thick grey as the air in the Burial Mounds. Maybe he hadn’t thought at all.

Lan Zhan’s arm appeared around his shoulders. “Jiang-zongzhu, the responsibility is mine,” Lan Zhan said, close by his ear. “I pressured Wei Ying to perform the ceremony before we came here.” Wei Wuxian tried to shake his head.

“In that case, how dare you, Lan-er-gongzi – but do you really claim Wei Wuxian should have allowed himself to be swayed? Since when would he not stick up for his own family?”

“Wei Ying is … tired,” Lan Zhan said. Wei Wuxian’s own mouth was still stuffed with cloth.

“Tired? In what way does ‘tired’ justify this?”

“Jiang-zongzhu,” Lan Xichen interjected, “the fault in this case truly lies with me, and I owe you, Jiang-guniang, and the Jiang sect my deepest apologies. Their only crime was to be eager in their affections, which I believe are deep and true. I, as sect leader, should never have allowed them to rush into this without negotiating your approval.”

“That’s right – you shouldn’t have! And you, Lan Wangji, you, you … But Wei Wuxian. Lan-er-gongzi says he will join you in the Jiang sect – not that he has my leave to do so – but it really seems as if you decided to go off and make decisions with him and the Lan sect, and never mind us one bit!”

“That’s not true,” Wei Wuxian intoned, prayed. “Jiang Cheng, it’s not true, I …”

“It is true!” Jiang Cheng snapped. “He wears red for you, and neither I or A-jie are involved.” He launched himself from the carved lotus throne. Shijie startled, but didn’t move or stop him. “If the Jiang sect means so little to you, don’t pretend to seek my permission. If you really feel so little respect for it and for my family, there was no need for you to return!” Jiang Cheng had to struggle with his cape for a moment, but he subdued it and stormed out of the hall.

Wei Wuxian stared after him. Every word he knew he’d never say sat on his tongue, heavier than lead or gold. It rendered him dumb.

///

Lan Xichen had not even considered the gossip.

He had indeed broadcast what was happening at Cloud Recesses; he had not even instructed the disciples to be circumspect. He had known they would travel to Lotus Pier immediately afterward, to close the circle with the Jiang sect. It had never occurred to him that news travelled on winds faster than any sail.

Wei Wuxian looked dazed, like he’d been struck. Or like he’d just been passed down a terrible sentence.

Wangji rose swiftly to his feet.

“Wangji,” Lan Xichen said, but he ignored him completely. Wangji strode with rigid purpose after Jiang Cheng.

Jiang Yanli had looked pained when they arrived, which turned tentatively relieved when it appeared the Jiangs’ worst fears were unfounded, then increasingly dismayed at Jiang Cheng’s escalating fury. Now she watched Wangji’s egress with true panic. “A-Xian.” She darted from her position on the dais to Wei Wuxian’s side, shaking his shoulder. “A-Xian, you have to go after them. You can’t let them argue.” He wasn’t rousing himself fast enough, and she dragged him to his feet.

Lan Xichen made to rise also, but she said, “No! Ahem, Lan-zongzhu. Please allow us to handle this within the Jiang sect.”

Her request was flawlessly polite and reasonable and she was halfway out the door with her shidi when she said it, so Lan Xichen reluctantly sank back into his seat, alone in the Jiang’s Sword Hall. He had, perhaps, done all he could do for now.

If Jiang Cheng could not be mollified, if this marriage had been ruined by their impulsive preemption, Lan Xichen will have done far too much.

///

Jiang Yanli dragged A-Xian along the walkways of Lotus Pier. He was too limp, sluggish and slow, and they could not afford that now. A-Cheng had not had too great a head-start, but he would be quick from his ire, and Lan Wangji was certain to find him before they would.

He did. When she and A-Xian rounded the pavilion, they stood facing each other on the uncovered platform before the ancestral temple. A-Cheng had obviously been heading there, to seek privacy, feel his anger and move through it, but Lan Wangji had stopped him on the boardwalk, and A-Cheng was bristling the way Zidian might.

“Lan-er-gongzi,” Jiang Yanli called out. It was vital that a wedge not be driven between them. For the time being A-Cheng was just momentarily upset. The thing he was most upset about, A-Xian’s apparent betrayal, was not true. But if he and Lan Wangji said things that could not be unsaid … A-Cheng could be as stubborn as their father and as venomous about it as their mother. The thought made her want to cry. A real fight now could sour the chances of A-Cheng relenting forever. “Please, Lan-er-gongzi, if you would go back to the hall. Let us discuss this matter as a family.”

“Yes, Lan-er-gongzi,” A-Cheng sneered. “Despite your unsanctioned tea ceremony, Wei Wuxian’s family matters do not concern you.”

Lan Wangji did not back away. He stood rigid and unyielding, his hand iron-tight around his cold white Bichen.

“Lan-er-gongzi,” Jiang Yanli repeated, almost desperately. She shook her didi. “A-Xian, say something.”

Lan Wangji fell to his knees.

Jiang Yanli felt her feet lurch to a stop, a few paces away from them. This tugged A-Xian still as well, and he swayed back beside her. A-Cheng gaped – there was no other word for it. “Lan Wangji … You …”

“Jiang-zongzhu. This cultivator begs you to allow him to marry Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji set the luminous Bichen down on the weathered wood of the boardwalk. He circled his arms, straightened them, and bowed all the way to the ground at A-Cheng’s feet.

“Lan Zhan,” A-Xian croaked, which made A-Cheng’s gaze snap up at him. He stared back and forth between them in bewilderment – at Lan Wangji, in supplication at his feet, and over his head at A-Xian, who stood limp and hollow in the crook of Jiang Yanli’s arm.

“Wei Wuxian?” A-Cheng asked, in a very small voice.

“This cultivator understands the disrespect shown to the Jiang sect by our premature ceremony,” Lan Wangji continued. “This cultivator knows how and why it transpired. This cultivator begs Jiang-zongzhu to lay it at his feet alone.”

“Wei Wuxian?” A-Cheng asked again.

“This cultivator will accept any punishment Jiang-zongzhu would administer. This cultivator will do anything if Jiang-zongzhu will allow him to marry Wei Ying.”

“Lan Zhan ...”

“Stop!” A-Cheng’s voice was high and thin, like only his anger was keeping him from bursting into tears. “What is the meaning of this? Why is Wei Wuxian tired? Why is Lan-er-gongzi on his knees in front of me? Why did you want to save time? What’s happening?”

“Wei Ying was injured during his time in the Burial Mounds,” Lan Wangji said, and Jiang Yanli felt A-Xian jerk in her arms at the mention – the two combined sending a shiver of horror down her spine.

She’d known in some ways that A-Xian was different when he reemerged from his disappearance. She had … only suspected about the Burial Mounds. She had been afraid to think about it precisely, the what or how or why. She had been afraid to ask too often or look too closely. She had not wanted to make things harder for A-Xian. She had been giving him time and space, and waiting for him to go back to the way he belonged.

Now Lan Wangji was kneeling at A-Cheng’s feet over it, and she forced herself to consider – shamefully, for the first time – whether that might not ever happen.

“He is my counterpart, and I would give him my support. Please, Jiang-zongzhu, permit this marriage. I wish to stand always at his side with the Jiang sect.

“He was injured? He came back months ago. Wei Wuxian, what’s he talking about?”

“Jiang Cheng, he’s making too much of nothing, I’m fine, just fine, I …” But A-Xian had rarely been less fine in his life. That had been clear all along.

“A-Xian,” she murmured, stroking his arm gently. She was careful to avoid the touch of his Chenqing, the powerful and dark thing he now carried with him always, but she tried to lend him comfort regardless.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” A-Cheng asked him. “Why did you run off to Gusu to get Lan-er-gongzi to marry you instead of telling me you were hurt?”

“I didn’t go there to marry him,” A-Xian said. “It was just to visit. And then he asked, and I knew, and I …”

“Jiang-zongzhu, I care for Wei Ying. Please allow me to marry him.”

“Well, does he care for you? Wei Wuxian, you don’t have to do this for some desperate reason. You could just ask me for help. You could always have just asked me for help!”

Jiang Yanli thought of the thing A-Cheng had told her last night – they had been pacing the floor sleepless while, as it turned out, a great distance away A-Xian was getting married. He’d told her of how he’d made the choice to leave her to A-Xian’s care after the fall of Lotus Pier, how he’d given himself up to the Wen soldiers so they could get away. How A-Xian had let him down by going back for him instead of taking care of her, just like he was letting them down now by abandoning them in favor of Gusu Lan. She’d heard the underneath-story – the story of how he would do anything for his lifelong brother, and he couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t do the same in return – at least the way A-Cheng saw it. She looked at A-Cheng now. His face was flushed, and his eyes were bright. He was fighting back tears because A-Xian had kept all these things to himself. Because A-Xian had gotten married without them.

She also thought of A-Xian, and how his whole life the thing he’d been told was to always, always help them. He was her didi, not her shidi, and she had tried to live it so thoroughly he would believe it even if she had never really able to speak the words – not as able as she should’ve been, not as able as was right. But she glimpsed, at moments like this, how impossible it was for him to see himself as their equal. She knew he used his dark new power, the one that put a worrying terror in Lan-er-gongzi’s eyes, to protect them – and she felt uneasily responsible. She believed he would carve off pieces of himself, just like A-Cheng would, if he were asked to, only he would never feel entitled to anything in return.

Had it even occurred to him A-Cheng would be upset? Not because it flaunted his authority as A-Xian’s sect leader, but because he would want to be involved?

A-Xian stepped out of her grip – his hand trailing down her arm and squeezing her fingers, a silent ‘thank you’ – and went over to stand next to Lan Wangji. “Jiang Cheng.” He sank to his knees, head high and tilted back, tiredly. “Jiang-zongzhu. I will always return to the Jiang sect. I would never abandon my duty to protect and serve it. I … you … it means very much to me.”

Jiang Yanli pressed her hand to her chest, to both capture and restrain the feeling of those words. A-Cheng’s mouth had opened slightly, a silent plea for help. He was so silly, so dear, unable to bear hearing the thing he most wanted to know.

“I do care for Hanguang Jun, very much. Somehow, miraculously, he is willing to join our family and be with me always, and there are few things in the world I could ever want more. So please, forgive my disrespect, and I beg you to allow me to marry him.” Then he also began the gesture to bow at A-Cheng’s feet.

A-Cheng grabbed him by the arm before he could get that far, physically preventing him. “What do you think you’re doing?” he seethed wetly. “Both of you, get up off the ground and stop embarrassing yourselves. Two of the greatest heroes of the Sunshot Campaign, acting like maidens who’ve read too many love poems.” He practically hauled A-Xian to his feet. “I can’t believe I wish you were drunk,” he muttered, and gave him a shove. It was surely meant to be affectionate, but A-Cheng’s emotions were high and A-Xian staggered back.

Jiang Yanli reached one of A-Xian’s elbows and Lan Wangji surged up and caught the other, and together they prevented him from falling. She sensed Lan Wangji move in unison with her to stare pointedly at A-Cheng.

For his part, A-Cheng looked a little startled. He stared closely at A-Xian. “You’ll let him take care of you, then, won’t you? You’ll let all of us take care of you?” He scowled in desperate worry. “Is it that flute?”

A-Xian was paying no heed as he continued, stuck in growing elation at the first of A-Cheng’s statements. “You mean …”

“Of course! You can get married to the most stuck-up Lan alive if you want to. Bring as many illustrious spouses and concubines into the Jiang sect as you please. If you regret it and come whining to me later, see if I care.”

A-Xian sagged against Lan Wangji. “Just the one will do.” His eyes tracked over to Jiang Yanli, and he grinned. “Shijie, I’m getting married! Though maybe I should apologize. You really should have been first.”

That wasn’t why he might have needed to apologize, but Jiang Yanli would not hold ill will over that. She felt her own gaze draw up to Lan-er-gongzi’s face. He returned it steadfastly. His arm was circled protectively around A-Xian, strong and sure, and he would not easily let him go.

“There’s no need to apologize,” Jiang Yanli said, letting her relief spread a smile across her face. “I’m so happy for you, A-Xian – and you as well, Lan-er-gongzi.”

He nodded at her respectfully. He was quiet and perhaps odd, but for all A-Cheng’s scorn, she’d never found him objectionable. He was good, polite. He would be a fine person to have as a brother-in-law.

He already was, in some ways. “Shall we call for tea now, then, if you two are in such a terrible hurry?”

“Yes,” A-Xian said, his somewhat-husband nodding in agreement.

“No!” A-Cheng exclaimed. “You think is the Lan sect, and you can just drape some red bunting around your shoulders and call it a wedding? This is Yunmeng Jiang. We have some self-respect.”

///

Jiang Cheng made them wait three entire weeks to finish get married.

Lan Zhan was outraged – but where Lan Zhan had been able to sway Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren, since when it came down to it they loved him and wanted their dour young Lan Wangji to be happy, Jiang Cheng did not care one bit about Lan Zhan, so he dug his heels in and would not budge one single inch.

He did ostensibly care about Wei Wuxian, but that didn't seem to matter either.

“We need time to have robes made, time to decorate, time to plan the banquet.” He spoke as if Wei Wuxian was a five-year-old shidi who didn’t know his sword forms. “You’re lucky I don’t make you wait three months, so it would be after the Group Hunt and we could invite the other sects. As it is, we can’t upstage the Jin sect by holding a surprise event beforehand, not without insulting them, and I’m not about to jeopardize A-jie’s invitation from the peacock’s mother on your impulsive behalf.”

Wei Wuxian would never want that either, his low opinion of the peacock notwithstanding, but he also certainly wasn’t going to wait or make Lan Zhan wait three entire months. He tried to take the three weeks as the gift they were.

In fact, Wei Wuxian suspected they were more in deference to Lan Xichen’s uneasy heart than either his or Lan Zhan’s. Once everyone’s tempers had calmed, the two sect leaders had a very long, very sect-leadery conversation in which Lan Xichen once again expressed his apologies for any disrespect, and Jiang Cheng circuitously admitted he had probably gotten angrier than necessary considering everything that had happened had been done in good faith, and the Lan sect was a valued ally of the Jiang sect, and if for some reason Lan Xichen was willing to marry his younger brother to Wei Wuxian – which he clearly was – he himself was honored to welcome the Second Jade of Lan into the Jiang sect. In other words, he of course approved of the match, and he hoped he had not offended his new and powerful in-laws too terribly much with his outburst or the overt acknowledgement of the spies all the major sects had but pretended not to, please and thank you.

Lan Xichen was of course endlessly gracious about it. Perhaps this was simply due to relief that everything had worked out all right. Perhaps it was because he was Lan Xichen.

Once it was all settled, Jiang Cheng was deliriously happy for Wei Wuxian, in his own way that involved a lot of punching and shoving and rude words.

“How dare you, Wei Wuxian – we spent our whole childhoods planning the most extravagant wedding of the age for A-jie. How could you think I would ever let you do something slipshod for your own? Between you and Hanguang Jun, this should be an event the cultivation world talks about for generations, but you decide you can get married in front of me and the lotus stalks and that’s a grand enough wedding for Yunmeng Jiang?”

“We did that because Shijie is our beloved, beautiful, perfect sister!”

“Yes, and you’re a disaster – who even thought you’d get married at all? You’d need twice the pomp and grandeur for it to seem grand enough to be my head disciple’s wedding.”

Wei Wuxian had an emotional feeling when Jiang Cheng said that. He began to understand, possibly, where he had gotten things wrong.

Jiang Cheng kept haranguing him, but Shijie said something about it just once – “A-Xian, I wasn’t there to fix your hair, or help you decide to get married and prepare.”

“Shijie, you’ll be here this time, you’ll fix my hair when the day comes. That was mostly just Lan Zhan’s part, and he had his family there to help him.”

“You poured tea too, didn’t you? You made a promise to them. Weren’t you nervous?”

Wei Wuxian had been terrified. He remembered sitting in the jingshi, writing messy notes on Lan Zhan’s nice paper, trying to get his thoughts in order. When Lan Zhan had walked in, when he’d seen him, he’d decided everything was actually clear … but it would have helped, surely, to have Shijie there with him. Jiang Cheng too, even if he would’ve been intolerable about it.

“What I’m most nervous about is that Lan Qiren will decide he really can’t take it and come kidnap Lan Zhan back before I can secure him properly.”

Shijie smiled and laughed and consoled him over his agonizing wait, and made extra lotus and pork rib soup for Lan Zhan and Zewu Jun, and even helped Wei Wuxian evade Jiang Cheng’s extremely unnecessary sentries and sneak into Lan Zhan’s room at night.

That was an important balm, because being back at Lotus Pier was harder than Wei Wuxian would have thought, even with the blessed distraction of the wedding. Jiang Cheng wanted his help with everything – planning and preparing for the ceremony, Sect business, even picking what tea to serve the Lans at dinner in the evenings. This was probably an effort to make amends, for missing that Wei Wuxian was unwell, for needing Lan Xichen to come and whisk him away to compel him to acknowledge it. It was Jiang Cheng’s way of spending as much time with him as possible – but it was exhausting. Wei Wuxian tried to lean into and match his enthusiasm, but he was a tired person. His betrothal to Lan Zhan had not made a new golden core spring to being inside him, or made the seething darkness he’d replaced it with any less demanding.

So he poured all his energy into Jiang Cheng, and at the end of the day Shijie ferried him to his almost-husband’s side and he collapsed on the floor beside the tea table so Lan Zhan could pour him a drink, or lay with his head on Lan Zhan’s lap, or sat on the bed and meditated while Lan Zhan played him music – and even though beside that last thing this was objectively no different from relaxing or lying still in his own room, it was a thousand times better, because Lan Zhan knew he was tired and it was all right. He didn’t even seem to mind.

When one evening Wei Wuxian rubbed at his shoulder and called Jiang Cheng a barbarian, Lan Zhan looked very serious and told him he would come up with a way to stop it from happening. That doing so was, in fact, why he was here.

“Lan Zhan, you’re here because you enjoy my thrilling company, and also to kill low-level ghosts and monsters with your sword so I don’t have to use my cultivation all the time, not to defend me from my family. What can we say? ‘Jiang Cheng, please stop using your spiritual power to hit your shixiong and running him ragged with robe fittings, he’s a fragile man and can no longer take it’?”

“Yes,” Lan Zhan said. “We told them you were injured at the Burial Mounds. We can imply that is the reason. We cannot spread this story to other sects, because strategically you must not be made to appear weak, but among your family, it is a version of events that will let us do whatever we need to do.”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said, impressed. “You’re an esteemed Lan, and your brilliant solution is for us to simply lie?”

“Is it entirely a lie?” Lan Zhan asked severely, and Wei Wuxian was forced to admit it wasn’t.

They slept together, usually. Wei Wuxian lay with his head on Lan Zhan’s chest, listening to his heart beat. He curled around Lan Zhan possessively, running his fingers through his hair. He collapsed boneless on the bed while Lan Zhan got undressed, and was unconscious before he joined him.

Sometimes he made himself go back, sleep alone in his bachelor’s quarters. He felt like he should, for some reason – like he didn’t have the right to lie next to Lan Zhan at ease yet. Not without reservation, anyway.

He was unhappier that way. He thought Lan Zhan was, too. He didn’t like it, itched against it. Soon, soon.

Lan Xichen and Jiang Yanli took tea together nearly every afternoon. Sometimes they would invite one or all of the rest of them to join them, but more often they wouldn’t. A small part of Wei Wuxian hoped these intimate meetings would spark some romantic connection – he would much rather marry Shijie to the First Jade of Lan instead of some tasteless Jin. But probably that was a hopeless prospect. When he pretended to needle her about it (a clever ruse for actually needling her about it), she told him they were simply becoming fast friends over their shared experience being elder siblings to completely hopeless young men.

“That’s not a very nice way to talk about Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian joked back.

Shijie laughed at him. His heart was full.

“If that peacock isn’t as nice to you as Lan Zhan is to me, you can’t marry him,” Wei Wuxian told her.

“A-Xian, very few people could claim to be as devoted as your Lan-er-gongzi is to you,” she said, amused. “But I do take the two of you as an example – that rarely pure things can exist, and as a worthy ideal against which to measure my companionships.” She smiled. “It will only be ten more days now.”

“Jiang Cheng is torturing me! He’s abusing his power. Perhaps you should be Jiang-zongzhu.”

“So it’s mutiny, now,” Jiang Cheng said from the door. “The disrespect grows without cease.” He rolled his eyes so far back in his head Wei Wuxian wondered if he was looking for a nonexistent speck of kindness or mercy in his brain.

/

Wei Wuxian got properly finally married on a beautiful day. The air was muggy and thunderclouds rumbled over Yunmeng, but it was beautiful because Wei Wuxian put on fine, crisp red garments and went to the gates of Lotus Pier, and Lan Zhan – in ethereal robes and a red weimao – was there waiting for him. They stepped across the threshold of his home together and walked across the courtyard to the joyful din of firecrackers, and bowed in front of Jiang Cheng and Shijie, and bowed to heaven and earth and his ancestors at the Jiang ancestral shrine, and returned to Sword Hall to pour more tea, and then bowed – finally – to each other.

Then they had the greatest banquet of Wei Wuxian’s life. It wasn’t substantially different from other banquets he’d attended in terms of the refreshments or the guests – though Jiang Cheng had done an exceptional job on both, considering he only had twenty days and couldn’t invite anyone from the other sects. It was the greatest banquet of his life because Lan Zhan was sitting next to him in the most elegant crimson clothes, and the thing they were celebrating was that they could keep sitting next to each other forever.

Wei Wuxian was not required by tradition to cry, which Lan Zhan kept quietly reminding him, but he had to periodically wipe a tear off his cheek all the same.

/

When it grew late and it was time for them to leave their guests and retire, there were no petty guards between him and Lan Zhan. They could walk before every eye in the world to the same quarters, and no one alive could make an argument they should instead be apart. The bed and the room had been dressed in red and hung with symbols of happiness, and there were dates, oranges, lotus seeds, and wine laid out on the table.

Shijie had taken him aside and given him a gentle, private talk about wedding nights. When she’d brought it up, he’d asked her what she might possibly know about his and Lan Zhan’s wedding night, in a reflexive, panicked effort to either turn the situation toward the ridiculous or prevent the conversation entirely, and she’d replied very matter-of-factly that she’d asked Lan Xichen all about the considerations of other anatomies so she would be able to adequately advise him. This had been the most horrific revelation of Wei Wuxian’s life, on a list that included a number of quite horrific things, because it meant he now had to picture Zewu Jun and his Shijie – two luminous and pristine people – sitting at their tea table pragmatically discussing the explicit particulars of things that would be shredded into confetti if they were printed in a lewd book and presented to a younger Lan Wangji in the Lan Library Pavilion.

It was all for nothing, too, because nothing like that happened on Wei Wuxian’s and Lan Zhan’s wedding night. It wasn’t that Wei Wuxian had no interest in such things, either in general or with Lan Zhan (beautiful, lofty, his) in particular. It was just that they were both so relieved to be married they weren’t really worried about anything else. They sat very close together in their half-undone wedding clothes, and shared fruit, and drank wine (well, Wei Wuxian drank wine). Lan Zhan kept looking at him like he was shocked he hadn’t disappeared yet, and Wei Wuxian kept touching Lan Zhan’s hand, and arm, and knee, and hair, because he was right there and he could. Lan Zhan kissed him once, fast enough Wei Wuxian wasn’t entirely sure he hadn’t imagined it, and then they fell asleep in each other’s arms.

Wei Wuxian woke up the next morning, long after five, in that soft tangle of red sheets and red-and-gold robes and half-combed-out hair and a discarded weimao, and found himself gazing into Lan Zhan’s luminous eyes. He couldn’t imagine a more auspicious start.

/

Wei Wuxian spent the next few days showing Lan Zhan around his home. Jiang Cheng whined that he’d gotten used to Wei Wuxian’s assistance with things, and Shijie shushed him – which meant Wei Wuxian didn’t have to. He took Lan Zhan out on the lakes, they frolicked in the lagoons and pools (well, Wei Wuxian frolicked – Lan Zhan ‘enjoyed the natural beauty of Yunmeng’), and they visited the nearby townships and perused the towns.

Lan Zhan kept almost meeting him halfway and then drawing back. When their hands were close, their fingers would bump and then Lan Zhan would pull his own away. When they sat side by side in a small boat, Lan Zhan would put his arm around Wei Wuxian, shift even closer so they were almost very intimately embracing, then shift away so only his hand was on the small of Wei Wuxian’s back. It was a little maddening and very hard to read. Was Lan Zhan feeling out his own boundaries, or Wei Wuxian’s? Wei Wuxian didn’t know, and he was giving the situation a little time to run its course in case maybe he wouldn’t have to summon the energy or courage to confront it. They had all the time possible, after all. If Lan Zhan needed some, Wei Wuxian would not rush him.

On the fourth day, he had run through most of the things he thought Lan Zhan would particularly enjoy, so he took the excuse to show Lan Zhan his favorite wine house – halfway between the docks and Lotus Pier, near enough to easily walk even when pleasantly drunk but far enough Jiang Cheng might not bother walking that far to fetch him back to do real work. It was well into the afternoon, and he had no responsibilities except being with Lan Zhan, so it was a perfectly fine time to get into his cups – and Lan Zhan kept pouring for him with the most delightfully soft almost-smile, so he kept drinking with little reservation. By the time they left, he was warm all over and feeling very light, and when they reached Lotus Pier proper, he was swaying a little bit. Not because he couldn’t have righted himself if he absolutely had to – but because it was nice and he was having fun. Lan Zhan took his hand, then took his elbow, then released him entirely, then took his elbow again. And some combination of Wei Wuxian’s heart only being able to take so much of this treatment and the more uncertain pieces of his mind being anesthetized with baijiu made him say, “What’s the matter, Lan Zhan?”

This brought Lan Zhan to a halt. He hesitated. He let go of Wei Wuxian again and moved a terribly distant half-pace away.

“Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian peered at him.

He looked very worried. “Wei Ying. I am not sure what you want for us.”

“What do you mean? I want us for us.” If the problem was he was worried about Wei Wuxian’s feelings, well … “You can do whatever you want with me, Lan Zhan. I think you own me, soul and body.”

Lan Zhan stiffened, aggrieved. “Wei Ying. No.”

“I don’t mean it like that, not like I’m obligated! I just mean, you don’t have to hold back with me, Lan Zhan. You’re mine, and I’m yours. Anything you want, I’m going to want as well.”

“Not anything.”

“Sure anything. I can’t think of any things I wouldn’t want.”

“It’s only you who can’t think of them.” Lan Zhan was giving Wei Wuxian a very harrowed look. “There surely are things.”

“No one’s ever accused me a lack of imagination before, Lan Zhan. Why don’t you try me, if there’s something you’re worried about?”

Lan Zhan was at first very still, but after a moment, he drifted toward him like a moth to a flame – a destruction he couldn’t resist. He cupped one hand at the base of Wei Wuxian’s skull. He looked long at him, searching. He kissed his lips to Wei Wuxian’s – lightly, like he was afraid Wei Wuxian would bruise like old fruit. Lingering, like he didn’t think he was going to get another chance. Then he pulled back.

He looked at Wei Wuxian mournfully, as if to say, see? I told you.

Wei Wuxian felt a smile tug at his lips, even if it was rude to laugh at him for being honest and vulnerable. He curled his hands around Lan Zhan’s shoulders, reeling him back in so they were chest to chest. “We’ve done that before, Lan Zhan, of course I could think of it. Try again.”

Lan Zhan held Wei Wuxian. “Wei Ying,” he said, pained, imploring. Don’t toy with me. Don’t tease. I can’t take it. Then he kissed Wei Wuxian again, and it was not light.

Wei Wuxian unsealed his lips and tried to follow along. He’d done this once or twice, with random people he hadn’t really cared about, and he didn’t know what he was doing – but Lan Zhan probably didn’t either, and they only had to get good at kissing one person (each other) so anything other than what Lan Zhan was doing was irrelevant.

Right now Lan Zhan seemed to be trying to devour him, mouth and teeth and grasping fingers, and Wei Wuxian … Wei Wuxian would gladly be consumed. He slumped a little, hanging on to Lan Zhan’s steady shoulders. Lan Zhan held him up.

It broke off suddenly. Lan Zhan stared at him, eyes terrified, chest heaving. Was I right? Was I too much? Do you despise it?

Wei Wuxian held that precious face in his hands. Why was this person so foolish? “Now I’m supposed to ask you to try a third thing, to complete the pattern, but we’re in the middle of Lotus Pier and I’m almost positive whatever’s next would be indecent. More indecent, anyway.” If a servant had seen them kissing passionately like that, it would get around like wildfire, and Jiang Cheng would probably whip him with Zidian. “I expect we’ll be happier to have a bed for it anyway. Am I right?”

Lan Zhan shook his head, and Wei Wuxian felt the brief drop of disappointment, but then Lan Zhan leaned in again and kissed him a third time. This one was slow, like the first, but deep – even deeper than the second. It moved, and moved, and moved, and Lan Zhan’s hands were in his hair. Then he drew back just far enough to kiss his cheekbone. Once, twice, three times. Each one purposeful, worshipful, sure, and he held and maneuvered Wei Wuxian all the while. He kissed his hairline. Kissed his jaw. Down the side of his neck. Across his shoulder.

“Mm,” Lan Zhan hummed in satisfaction into the top of his sleeve, while Wei Wuxian tried to put his heart back into a box that now seemed too small for it. Then, “There are some things I think of that would require the bed.”

“Me, too,” Wei Wuxian breathed, and Lan Zhan nodded serenely.

part five

[let-it-raines]

CS JJ Day 13: The Spectacular Ms. Swan (1/1)

1959. New York City.

Women aren’t supposed to have their own voices and opinions, and they certainly aren’t supposed to be funny. Emma Swan, however, has a lot of opinions and is damn funny. She also doesn’t care what anyone thinks. 

Except maybe Killian Jones, a comic who has been her supporter since the day she bailed him out of jail after one of his comedy routines. 

Rating: Teen (language mostly)

a/n: I wrote this one-shot last month after watching the Marvelous Mrs. Maisel and told @shireness-says that I was determined to get it finished before my baby showed up, and she said that baby girl would probably show up early out of spite. She didn’t and @shireness-says doesn’t get bragging powers about being prophetic or something. ❤️

Thanks to the admin at @csjanuaryjoy for keeping this GREAT event running!

Found on AO3 | Here |

-/-

It started on accident.

Really, most things in her life do.

There was the getting pregnant at seventeen and then having to get married because it was 1952 and all sins could be forgiven if she was married to the man she slept with.

“He’s a good man,” her mother had said. “A wealthy man. You’ll never have to work a day in your life. Think about the child. Think about your reputation.”

Then there was being a mother and learning that she actually liked it even if she did have things she wanted to do with her life beside spend her days cooking and cleaning and reading every book in existence to Henry until she had to begin making up her own stories to fuel her son’s seemingly never-ending creativity and imagination.

There’s nothing and no one in the world who Emma loves more than Henry, and that will never change.

But he certainly wasn’t in her plan.

Neither was actually falling in love with Neal or enjoying their life together, at least for the first few years. Because, well, he wanted her to be a housewife who always wore heels and measured her waist and her thighs every day to ensure she didn’t gain weight, and Emma much preferred wearing flat shoes and eating a hot dog at a Yankees game instead of a salad at home or some overpriced restaurant. So, of course, like any man who had a wife who didn’t fit into his carefully drawn out lines, Neal wandered away with woman after woman and always came back…to his secretary.

Emma saw them in her bed in the middle of the day, and as much as she had turned a blind eye in the past, she couldn’t do that anymore. She didn’t say anything that day. What she did, instead, was drop Henry off at her parents’ apartment, go to the Rabbit Hole downtown, get drunk off her ass, and then get on stage and tell a room full of strangers the very intimate details of her life.

They laughed.

And laughed and laughed, and a woman sitting in the back of the room came up to Emma with a business card in hand and said to call her tomorrow when she was the slightest bit more sober because she thought Emma had a career in comedy.

So Emma called.

And now, three years later her son is seven, she’s divorced (thank goodness, she thinks, even if her mother is still disappointed in her), and Emma is traveling around the United States as the opening comedic act for the singer Sky Manhattan, which might be the most ridiculous stage name Emma has ever heard.

But she doesn’t care. Not at all. She doesn’t care about stage names or what kind of airplane or train she’s traveling on. She doesn’t care if she’s wearing the newest brand of shoes (she is) or the most on trend dresses (she’s got those too) with a fabulous collection of hats. All she cares about is that she has this thing that’s hers and hers alone. No one can take it from her or threaten to take her to court over it (well, actually they can, but not if she watches her language while on stage) and it’s hers. It’s not because of her parents or her shitty ex-husband who dumped his secretary for a woman who works at the Revlon counter or anyone else.

It’s because she’s damn funny, and she’s accidentally made a career of it.

She’s not making much money and still can’t afford her own place, but it’s a start. Who cares what anyone else thinks?

Oh, she cares about Henry. That’s the one thing she cares about most of all, and if he asked her to give it all up, she would. He’s the only one she’d do that for, and he’s also the only one who wouldn’t ask. Her mother thinks this is worse than getting pregnant out of wedlock, her father happened to walk into a show where she made a joke about her parents’ sex life, and the both of them have repeatedly asked her why she’s doing this and to stop doing this.

Now, they support her, but they also don’t understand. They both come from wealthy families, her mother the heiress to an oil fortune and her father a lawyer, and they’ve never understood why she’d want to go up on stage and tell crude jokes for a living.

(They’re not all crude, but it does happen sometimes. Okay, most of the time. It depends on the venue. But she’s gotten smart about that because jail is not something that appeals to her.)

But this is what she does, and when she’s finished touring, she’s going to fly back to New York, settle into her parent’s five-bedroom apartment in Manhattan, and spend all of the time that she can with her son. Neal never wants to watch him anyway despite his custody threats, so Henry’s always with her parents when she’s gone.

(“It’s not the man’s job to watch his child,” Neal says. “I’ll take him for a beer when he’s old enough.”)

The only bad thing about her job is leaving Henry, but they talk on the phone every night. She’s doing this so she can be happy, like she wants him to be happy when he gets older and is chasing his own dreams, and so maybe one day she can have a little something for herself that she didn’t have handed to her.

“Emma,” Ruby yells out, “be ready in five minutes. And remember today is a clean show, and what’s our number one rule for clean shows?”

“Don’t say ‘fuck.’”

“And our second rule?”

“Don’t say ‘fuck.’”

“You’re a genius, darling,” Ruby sighs, blowing Emma a kiss before walking out of the room with her heels clacking behind her. “And I’m the best manager on the planet.”

That quip was for Sky’s manager to hear, and Emma has to bite her lip to keep from laughing. Whale will kill her if she laughs at that. Or cut her set time in half. Emma would prefer neither, but she guesses dying won’t really be that bad.

-/-

She only says fuck once during her set, it’s a complete accident, and only two people walked out of the restaurant.

Emma would call that a success.

-/-

“With olives please,” Emma tells the bartender, holding up two fingers.

“You know, you can simply order a bowl of olives, and they’ll bring it to you.”

A smile creeps up on Emma’s face, and she swivels in her chair at the sound of a familiar and far too cheeky British accent. “Killian Jones, as I live and breathe.”

“Emma Swan, as I breathe to live.”

“Oof, not one of your best jokes.”

“Wasn’t meant to be.” He leans in to press his lips against her cheek, one side and then the other. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“At a bar in a hotel in Miami? The better question is what are you doing here?”

Killian scoffs and settles down on the barstool next to her, shrugging his suit jacket off and handing it to her. When she raises her brow, he nods down at her lack of sleeves on her dress and all of her pebbled goosebumps. “You’re chilled, and I don’t think your boy will take it well if you freeze to death on my watch.”

“It’s Florida in May. I’m not going to freeze to death. But aren’t you a gentleman?”

“I’m always a gentleman.” He turns away from her quickly and holds up a finger to get the bartender’s attention. “Can you get me a glass of whatever your best rum is and a bowl of olives? And put her drinks on my tab.”

“You are not paying, Jones.”

“I am paying. It’s not often that I see my favorite comedian.”

“You’re full of shit if you say I’m your favorite comedian.”

“Well, if we’re being technical, I’m my own favorite comedian, but I felt that was a little too much to say. I’m trying to be less of an asshole.”

Emma leans her head back and laughs before tugging Killian’s suit jacket around her shoulders. This bar is cold, probably to combat the sweltering heat outside, but she’d never admit that to him.

“I don’t think you can be less of an asshole. Being an asshole is who you are.” The bartender puts their drinks and a bowl of olives in front of them, and Emma immediately pulls the olives off the toothpick in her martini. “I’m the opening act for Sky Manhattan. That’s why I’m here. We’re on tour.”

“What kind of name is Sky Manhattan?”

“It’s his stage name.”

“Fucking dumb stage name.”

“You’re so eloquent with words.”

Killian winks. “That’s why they pay me to talk on television.”

“They pay you to talk on television because you’re funny and you look like a man in every catalog on the shelf at Bergdorf.”

“You flatter me.”

“I try. I want your ego to become so big that your head explodes and you can no longer pop up in random places.” She takes another sip of her drink and leans over to gently push his shoulder. “Seriously. What are you doing in Florida? You live in Manhattan in a fancy apartment.”

“Says the trust fund baby who lives with her parents in their fancy apartment.”

“Hey.”

Killian holds his hands up in mock apology all the while his grin reaches from ear to ear so that his eyes crinkle and the blue of his eyes shines under the dim light of the bar. “I’m working on a show here. It’s only temporary. My contract is up at the end of June, and I’ve had this lovely place to call home for a month already.”

“You’re staying here?”

“Aye.”

“In the land of pastels and peppy waitstaff? Where the bathrooms are pink?”

“It’s a nice change of pace, and since I’m not paying for it, I don’t give a damn.”

“That’s more like you,” Emma laughs, twisting a little further on her stool and leaning into his space. “I’m going to be here for two weeks. Why don’t you come to a show? I think you’ll really like my routine and the guy singing after me is pretty good too.”

“Is that all you have to convince me?”

Her heart picks up its pace as Killian’s hand brushes over her thigh, a light and fleeting touch. “I can get you a free drink and all of the shrimp cocktails you want.”

“I was going to say no, but the shrimp cocktails really do it for me.” He leans in, closer now, and Emma very nearly closes her eyes in anticipation. Of what? She knows, but she won’t even let her mind go there. “I have to run to work. Why don’t you meet me here Saturday night? I’ll take you to dinner and show.”

“I’m working Saturday night.”

“We’ll go after.”

And with that, Killian Jones is throwing cash onto the bar top for a tip and then walking away, leaving his jacket with her.

Damn, she missed him.

-/-

“How was your last day of school, kid?”

“We had cupcakes, and I had two.”

“Two?”

“I wanted three, but Mrs. Horowitz wouldn’t let me have another one.”

“I bet she didn’t want you to spoil your dinner.”

“Cupcakes could have been dinner.”

Emma laughs and stands from her bed, pulling the cord on her phone with her. “Cupcakes are not dinner. Has Grandpa been feeding you cupcakes for dinner?”

“Nope. But he does give me chocolate.”

“Ah, of course he does. I’m going to be home to see you next week before we go to the Catskills for a few days and then I go to Vegas. Are you excited?” There’s no answer on the other end of the line, just a bit of static. “Henry? Kid? Kid?”

“His friend Avery is here, Mrs. Cassidy,” Ashely says over the phone. “He went to play.”

“It’s Swan, Ashley,” Emma huffs. She doesn’t want to snap at Ashely because she’s a sweet girl and helps with Henry far more than she should as her parents’ housekeeper. “Neal and I are divorced, and I changed my last name to my middle name.”

“I have to go, Mrs. Cassidy,” Ashely mumbles. “The boys are climbing on your father’s bookshelves.”

At that, there’s no one on the other end of the line, and Emma doesn’t get the chance to speak to her parents or tell Henry she loves him.

This is her life.

-/-

“Ruby Lucas, I am not going on a date with someone you met today.”

“Why not? He’s from New York, is here on a trip, and he’s cute. I think it could be a good match, and it’s been so long since you dated, which is different than sex, mind you.” “I’ve been divorced for two years and on the road for most of that. I don’t think many men want to date a divorced mother who is a stand-up comedian. Half of them think I’m a witch.”

“That’s because men are idiots.” “And yet you want me to date one?”

“One date,” Ruby sighs, slipping on her heels and smoothing out her skirt. “He’s got money, and he knows people who can sponsor you. Think of it as a business dinner and not a date.” “Well, I can do business dinners, but I can’t tonight. I’ve got plans after the show.”

“The dinner is before the show. What the hell do you have going on after the show? I don’t have anything booked for you.”

Emma turns from Ruby and fixes her blouse, tucking it in before raising her finger and brushing away the red lipstick that’s strayed to her skin. “Killian Jones is in town. He’s taking me to dinner.”

“Ah.”

“What?”

“Well, if you’d told me the man you were sleeping with was in town, I would have changed the date of your dinner with Walsh despite me thinking you need to go on more actual dates and not just sexual rendezvous.”

“I am not sleeping with Killian.” “Please. You can lie to me about a lot of things, but I know when you’re fucking someone.”

“I have never slept with him.” She turns around so Ruby can see her eyeroll. “He’s a friend. He helps me with my routines when we’re in the same city, and he sends Henry an absolutely useless gift at least three times a year. So we’re going to dinner to catch up, and maybe I’ll get some new material for you.”

“I wouldn’t care about new material if you’d fuck Jones.”

“I’m going to fire you as my manager.”

“Never, darling. Now, tits up. You’re meeting Walsh Osbourne in the bar at six. Sweet talk him until you get a meeting for some commercial auditions.”

“I’m doing this for commercial auditions?” “We’re doing this to get our foot in the door for television. You can’t hop straight to one of the variety shows your lover Jones is on.”

“I will stab you with my heel.”

-/-

“Yeah, my son is really into baseball. I got him some tickets to the batting cage and a new bat for Christmas. He – ”

“You’re not funny,” Walsh mumbles after interrupting her in the middle of her answer to his question about what her son is interested in. “I thought you were supposed to be funny. What’s the point of dating you if you’re not funny? I knew women couldn’t be comedians and that you were just a nice piece of ass and a good pair of tits.”

It takes two seconds for Emma to pick up her glass of wine and slosh it across the table at Walsh. She’s been sitting at this table for fifteen minutes, and she doesn’t plan on sitting here any longer.

“Fuck you.”

“You’re also apparently a bitch,” Walsh spits out as she stands. “I have connections, and you can say goodbye to all of them.”

“I don’t need the connections of a sexist pig who doesn’t think women are capable of being funny. I can guarantee you, Mr. Osbourne, that we are, and if you take offense to women not laughing at your jokes or not telling their own jokes all the time, maybe you should look in the mirror and figure out that you’re the one who couldn’t tell a joke to save his life.” “Fuck you. I hope your performance is a failure tonight.” “It’ll certainly be better than yours.”

-/-

She kills it in her set. She’s fucking spectacular and funny, and everyone who thinks otherwise can screw themselves.

Everyone who thinks she has to spend her days only being funny and coming up with jokes can screw themselves as well.

-/-

She sees Killian slip out right before she closes and introduces Sky.

-/-

“Was I funny?” Emma asks, tugging Killian’s suit jacket around her shoulders. She was going to give it back to him tonight, but it’s chilly again. Plus, he’s wearing a different fitted black suit tonight, and he doesn’t need it back right now.

“Pardon?” “How’d you like my set? I know you were watching.” “Was I?” he ponders, tapping his finger against his lips. “I wouldn’t know.”

“You’re being an ass, and you said you were trying to stop that.”

His brows move across his forehead, that same cheeky smile still on his lips. “I may have been there.”

“And what’d you think?”

“Buy me dinner first, and then I’ll tell you.”

They go to a restaurant that doesn’t seem to believe in white-colored light bulbs or volume limits, and Emma loves it. A band is constantly playing, dancers moving around the floor, and the steak she has is quite possibly the best steak she’s ever had.

Killian Jones has always known how to plan an evening and pick out a restaurant.

“Shall we dance?” he questions as Emma leans back into her chair, absolutely full even if she feels lighter than she has in quite some time.

“What?”

“Dance with me, Swan.”

“I don’t dance.”

Killian stands and holds his hand out for her, blue eyes sparkling even under all of the colored lights. “All you need is a partner who knows what he’s doing.” “And you do?”

“Of course, love. I’m an expert in…movements.”

Emma rolls her eyes, but she takes his hand anyway and melts into the warmth of him as his fingers curl around her palm. “That wasn’t your best work. You’re slacking lately.”

If he responds, she has no idea. The music is too loud already, and it gets louder when they move closer to the band. The songs have been fast and upbeat all night, and yet the moment they start to dance, it changes into something soft, slow. It’s probably for the best. Emma really doesn’t know how to dance (or sing) despite everything asking her why she isn’t a dancer when she tells them she’s a comedian, and she’s pretty much got two left feet out here. So she places one hand more firmly in Killian’s, another around his neck, and they sway back and forth.

It’s not proper how close they are, body pressed tightly against body, but she’s never cared for proper.

She’s never cared for rules and expectations, and while that stung when Neal told her that was one of the reasons he strayed from their marriage, she knows that nothing he says is anything she should listen to.

It’s okay if he strays from the conventional path sleeping with her without them being married and going off and fucking his secretary, but the moment she doesn’t want to cook a ham every night, she’s the one who’s too wild.

He never thought she was funny either. That should have been the first sign.

“I’ve been thinking, love.” “I never like when you do that.”

“Yes, yes you do.”

Killian hums and turns them in a circle, his hand sliding lower on her back. “What were you thinking, Jones?”

“You’ve made comments about my jokes being off, and I don’t know…I suppose I don’t feel the need to be funny around you, and it’s nice. There’s not all that – ”

“Pressure? Expectation? The need to always be thinking two steps ahead?”

“Exactly. As much as I like bantering with you and coming up with new material, I like that I can talk about whatever the hell I want without worrying that I’m being too boring.”

Emma looks up at him and sees his soft smile and blue eyes she finds more charming by the minute. “I like that I don’t have to be funny with you, too.”

“Good.”

-/-

“So, quite the nice night.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s five in the morning.”

“Ah, well,” Killian sighs, waving his hand out to the ocean and the few boats moving over it. The sun isn’t rising, not quite yet, and she can still see the stars twinkling in the sky. “We haven’t gone to bed yet, so I still consider it night.” “Well, if you consider it to be night, how can I deny that?”

“You can’t. Where’s your room?”

“Fifth floor. Where’s yours?”

“Seventh.”

They walk in companionable silence until they find the outdoor staircase that leads to their rooms. Emma’s heels are in her hand, have been for the past few hours, but her feet still ache. She should have changed into her flats after the show, but she didn’t stop to think before heading to meet Killian at the bar. Suddenly, they’re standing on the fifth floor, two doors down from her room, and then they’re there standing on either side of her hotel door.

Killian blinks, and Emma blinks back, not sure whether to speak or to search for her keys. She might be too tired to think coherent thoughts. She also might not want this night to end. It’s the first time in a long time where she hasn’t spent hours trying to impress someone, and if she goes to bed, that’ll be over.

(She doesn’t want it to be over.)

(She wants just this one thing, this one night.)

“You’re staring.” “So are you.”

“Well, I do have a particularly pretty face, love.”

She scoffs and rolls her eyes, leaning against the wall and closer to Killian. “Are you going to tell me what you thought of my act now?”

Leaning closer, Killian brushes his hand over her forearm and up her shoulder until he’s tucking her hair behind her ear. A shiver runs down her spine, working its way into her bones, and her skin pebbles. “You were fucking spectacular, Ms. Swan.”

Emma’s cheek blush, and since she can’t look into the ridiculous blue of Killian’s eyes, she digs for her keys in her clutch and pulls it out, sticking it into the lock. The door swings open, the bed immediately in sight, and Emma feels Killian’s intake of breath. She also feels him stepping away.

It’d be so easy to ask him to come inside and ask him to unzip her dress and untie his tie until they’re both undressed and panting against each other, but it’s also just as easy to step inside without him, right?

Right.

(Maybe not just this one thing on this one night.)

“Goodnight, love,” Killian tells her. “I’ll ring you when I’m back in New York.”

“Henry and I will both be waiting.”

-/-

Neal calls her when she’s in Las Vegas two weeks later to tell her that she’s a horrible mother.

He’s seen his son once (for an hour) in the past month, and he lives ten minutes from him.

Emma has seen Henry three times, one of which was for four days in the Catskills, and she’s traveling the country on tour.

She is not a horrible mother, and she will not let Neal’s voice get in her head. Not anymore.

One more month of this, and then she’s home for two months before they go to Europe for the rest of the tour. She can do two weeks in Las Vegas and two more in Palm Springs.

She can.

-/-

Killian sends her a postcard from New York in the beginning of July.

I’m back in New York. Your boy has already convinced me to take him to a Yankees game. I’m sure we’ll be on our fourth visit by the time you get this.

I promise I’ll try not to corrupt him while you’re gone.

Killian’s an asshole.

But a good asshole.

(And maybe he’s not really an asshole at all.)

-/-

“Ah, that sweet smell of urine and concrete,” Ruby sighs as their taxi pulls in front of Emma’s apartment building. “I’ve missed you.”

“There’s been urine and concrete in all of the places we’ve been.”

“It’s not the same, and you know it.”

“I know, I know.” Emma leans over and kisses Ruby’s cheeks. “It’s been fun, my friend, but I don’t want to see your face for at least a week, okay?”

“I don’t want to see your face for two weeks.”

“Then we have an agreement.”

Emma laughs as she exists the car and motions for the doormen to come and get her bags. She definitely has far too many of them for as much as she doesn’t care about clothes, hers seem to keep expanding. She takes one suitcase and a hatbox and quickly walks into the building and to the elevator, and the operator hits the button for her floor. She’s bouncing with excitement, her feet nearly coming out of her shoes, and she’s so close to Henry she might buzz right out of her skin.

“Mom,” he yells when she opens the apartment door. Emma drops her bag and her box and bends down until Henry is running into her arms. “You’re home.”

“Yeah, kid,” she whispers, cupping the back of his head. “I’m home.”

-/-

“My mother wants me to meet a man.”

“Excuse me?”

Emma brushes past Killian into his apartment, and she lets out the low whistle she always lets out every time she’s here. Whereas her apartment is filled with antiques and furniture that can’t be sat on (thanks Mom and Dad), Killian’s apartment is sleek and modern. It’s all clean lines and black and white decorations with little pops of blue. It’s a man’s apartment, and she’s always loved it.

Plus, the view of the Hudson is spectacular.

“I never wanted to be a woman whose entire life revolved around cooking, cleaning, and waiting for their husband to get home to not acknowledge any of that,” Emma rants, kicking off her shoes and immediately walking to his liquor cabinet. She can’t reach the shelf with all of his good stuff, but there’s a cheap bottle of rum just within her reach. “My mom seems to think that I need a husband to rein me in from my ‘rebellious’ phase.”

“You had a husband. You hated being married.”

“I didn’t hate being married. I hated being married to him.” “Ah.” “What?”

“Well, there’s a difference?”

“Yes, there’s a difference! I imagine being married doesn’t suck if you like the person you’re married to and if he doesn’t sleep with every woman he meets.” She pours both she and Killian a tumbler of rum and hands him his glass. He eyes her but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he tilts the glass to his lips and takes a large gulp. “I just…I don’t know why my mom thinks it’s imperative for me to get married again.”

She walks over the couch and curls her legs underneath her while Killian sits in on the other side, propping his feet up on the coffee table. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-five.”

Killian clicks his tongue again, and she’s never noticed how much ginger is in his beard before now. “Well, you’re basically an old maid.”

Emma kicks her foot out at him. “You’re the worst.”

His lips curl into a smirk. “I am undeniably the greatest. And look, your mum is old-fashioned. She doesn’t get why you wouldn’t want to marry just anyone or why you want to spend your days traveling around the world making dick jokes. The one about his dick being so big it was a Richard was inspired, by the way, even if I did know that it was inspired by me.”

“I will stain your white rug with my drink.”

“I’ve got a very nice woman named Greta who knows just how to get that out.”

“Who knew being crude on late night television paid so well as to have a Greta?”

“You did, Swan,” he laughs, taking another sip of his drink before placing it on a coaster. “But back to your mother.” Emma rolls her eyes, but Killian pays her no attention. “She thinks the way to happiness is being married to a nice man and having him provide for you. You have to let her know that you don’t want another Neal or someone you’re only with because it’s proper. You want someone who you love and who lights that fire in your soul that you don’t want to be put out.”

“Someone who I don’t feel the need to be funny around.”

“Yeah,” Killian says slowly, a red blush dusting his cheeks, “someone who you don’t feel the need to be funny with, someone you don’t have to put on an act around.”

There’s always been something about Killian Jones that has unsettled her and yet made her feel comfortable. The night they met she had to bail him out of jail because one of his performances was deemed too crude by the police presence in the bar, and they’ve been circling around each other ever since. He’s wormed his way into her life, and she never really noticed. It’s been in short conversations and trading jokes at a bar, but then it was getting together for dinner and him taking Henry to Yankees games. It was dancing in clubs and almost, almost, almost asking him to come into her hotel room.

It was having him know her better than anyone else knows her.

Slowly, Emma rises from her spot on the couch and walks over to Killian, pressing down and placing her knees on either side of his thighs before she raises her hand and thumbs at the scar on his cheek while her other hand brushes his hair back. Killian blinks up at her, his mouth no longer smirking. Instead, he’s softly smiling at her, and Emma feels a long-forgotten flurry in her stomach.

“Emma – ” She leans forward until her forehead presses against his and until her nose is nudging against his. Killian’s hands are warm against her waist, and she feels it all the way down to her bones, seeping deep within her. “What do you think you’re doing, sweetheart?”

“Being with someone I want to be with, someone who I don’t have to put on an act with.”

His lips are soft and gentle, a fluttering of a movement against her own, and it’s the exact opposite of what she thought kissing Killian would be like. She thought, if anything, they’d be drunk and stumbling across the room, clothes falling to the ground and lips not marking their intended target. She thought her mind would be too fuzzy to think.

That’s not at all what’s happening.

All she can think about is how much she’s wanted this, even if she didn’t realize it but in fleeting moments after nights of alcohol, and how natural it feels to have his scruff burn her chin and to have his lips caress hers.

This is good.

This is a fire she would never want to put out.

“You’re not going to regret that and talk about it in your act, are you?” Killian chuckles while kissing the corner of her cheek and then her jaw, his lips like magic.

“Regret it? No. Put it in my act? Absolutely. I’m not sure how I’m going to make it funny, though,” she sighs, pressing herself further into him, “because there’s nothing funny about this.”

“No, love, I don’t think there is.”

-/-

She wakes up the next morning to Killian kissing her bare skin and whispering words to her that have chills running down her spine.

They go to a Yankees game with Henry, and Killian buys far too much ice cream, not that Henry would complain. Not the Emma would either. She’s too damn happy for any of that.

And he doesn’t judge her for eating a hot dog.

-/-

All Killian wants for Emma is to be happy and live life how she’s always dreamed of living her life, not by whatever standards are expected for her.

Oh, and to keep on being the spectacular Ms. Swan.

(It’s Mrs. Jones now, but the stage name of Ms. Swan has a nice ring to it.)

(She keeps on being damn funny.)

-/-

-/-

Tag list: @csjanuaryjoy​ @stahlop @shardminds @carpedzem @captainsjedi  @galaxyzxstark @thejollyroger-writer @kmomof4 @tiganasummertree @xellewoods @idristardis @karenfrommisthaven @shireness-says @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @a-faekindagirl @ultimiflos @jamif @dreameronarooftop15 @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke  @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @teamhook @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @superchocovian @ultraluckycatnd @cs-forlife @andiirivera @qualitycoffeethings @jonirobinson64 @mariakov81 @spartanguard @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious (because we talked about it yesterday...let Lenny live 😉)

[the-wintershade]

— things ain’t what they used to be

pairing: sam wilson x f!reader x bucky barnes summary: bucky’s words get into your head and your dancing skills falter, threatening the partnership you and sam have built, but he is always there to listen and to encourage. In the process, you get closer than you thought. wc: 4.9k+  genre: angsty, flirting, deeper talks, secrets coming out

Blue Shade: series — masterlist | 03

You couldn’t let yourself be as carefree as you once were. No matter how you tried to force out Bucky’s words, they were in there, ingrained in a part of your brain that you couldn’t access or change.

It became noticeable when you showed up for class the next week.

You were stiffer, heavier on your feet, and avoided Sam’s glancing eyes more intentionally. 

You felt awful, horrible that words that should have fallen on shut ears wormed their way into your head. Like you were a pawn, a slave to his bidding. You didn’t want the words there, you wanted nothing to do with his fowl corrupting phrases of false assurance. It was like a gambit, a lure of something genuine with the price of your soul attached to it.

You didn’t want to trade anything. You didn’t want the deal, but your mind already decided for you.

And Sam was suffering for it.

The instructor seems to notice as well as she stops and frowns more than once in your direction. Steve and Peggy are dancing fabulously, but have a diminished energy, as if your change has affected them too. Natasha mouths are you okay? over her shoulder as she twists around Clint.

You try to nod and put on your best smile, but it feels plastic, robotic. It’s more done out of habit than a truthful response. 

It was always like this being with Bucky, but if that’s what it took, you would pay the price. You could go back. It could be like it used to be.

You trip over Sam’s foot for the fourth time since the class began fifteen minutes ago and a heavy sigh spreads through you, your grip loosening on Sam’s hand. He holds your hand firmer when you falter, but doesn’t move any closer. 

“You alright?” His face twists with worry and you kick yourself mentally for letting Bucky throw you off this much. “Do you need to take a break?”

Irritation bubbles in your chest at the suggestion. It’s not his fault that you’re so off your game, but you didn’t want to quit. That meant that Bucky won. That somehow he’d made you a toy to play with that remained completely obedient to his beck and call. 

“No.” You breathe, knowing that your frustration was on display despite that you’d tried to shove it down. “No, I just….” You pulled your hand off his shoulder and ran it through your hair, collecting your thoughts. Glancing down, you practiced moving in a box like you’d done before, perfectly. 

“Okay.” He nodded and moved with you. “Try taking the lead. I’ll follow you.” His gaze was gentle and patient as he waited for you to get your stance in order before moving. You took your first few steps and he mirrored you completely, easily. 

He had no problems keeping up with you and your hesitating movements. He made it look simple, like he was just breathing, and it was your turn to be in awe of him.

“What, Coffee Girl?” He smirked, the first time he’d joked around with you since class started. “Surprised that I can follow as well as I can lead?”

You closed your mouth as you looked up to him. It was that same hint of playfulness and warmth that he always showed you. It felt unfair that he was taking the brunt of your internal war and your heart squooze at your behavior. Shame flared across your features, making your skin molten. 

By the time you were ready to form an answer, you were too devastated to form words. You just kind of gave a weak chuckle and kept trying not to step on his feet.

“Alright.” He dropped your hand and created distance between you two. You struggled to adjust to the drop in temperature, feeling strangely empty and devoid of energy. Sadness threatened to envelop you at the pain you were causing. Your eyes started watering uncontrollably. 

He cleared his throat excessively loud and everyone paused. “Excuse the interruption, but I think that we all deserve a break right?” He gestured at Steve and Peggy who stopped swaying mid swing. Steve looked from Sam to you and nodded his head. He turned to the dance instructor. 

“I think a five minute break wouldn’t harm anyone.” She agreed with a slight sly undercurrent underneath that felt directed towards you in a way.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I vote for a dance break. Perhaps with a selection of more danceable music.” Sam struts over to the speaker in a way that almost broke your tight lipped frown into a smile. Almost. The jazzy funk of Marvin Gaye began spinning around the hall, changing the quiet, cautious sounds of a piano and serenading trumpet into groovy percussion and a calming guitar. 

Sam nodded his head enthusiastically while Steve laughed at his antics. His eyes glimmered with a hidden inside joke that you wouldn’t get. 

He boogies his way to Steve and Peggy who fumble around in a mess of unsynchronized tempo and jerky movements but they began to fall into this 50s inspired groove that seems to work in sync with the music. You’re surprised at their knowledge of such an older style but it’s nice to see them break out of the formality that the waltz demands.

A man who’s name you learned was Vis, short for some extensive name you weren’t really paying that much attention to, got booty bumped by a funky Sam and looked like a deer in headlights. You almost giggled then and watched as Wanda began to shake and jump around. Vis’s face turned beet red, which happened every time he was even a bit embarrassed.

After some whoops and hollers from Wanda, Vis tried to move on the beat with her, holding her hands like he needed her for balance instead of guidance. They stumble through the steps together, but at least they are having fun. Wanda’s beautiful smile warms Vis to the core; it’s easy to see.

Sam attempts to drag Natasha and Clint into the action but both hold up hands, clearly conveying that’s never gonna happen. He shoots finger guns at them and spins around to make a b-line for you. 

You shake  your head furiously in denial and begin to back up, but Sam is insistent and presses in closer until he’s toe to toe with you. He draws your hands into his as you take a deep breath involuntarily and shakes his hips a little, teasing you with his eyes as he pours it on thick. “Oh, mercy mercy me,” He hums showing you that he won’t back down until you join him.

You begin to giggle and he alights with color, the whites of his teeth show. He tries to tamper it though and twirls his hand around to spin you in a circle. You follow his subtle direction and pivot around his hand as the orchestral part of the song begins to take over.

He pulls you in, wiggling his shoulders and guiding you through a modified waltz that’s much less challenging and more relaxing. It’s more about moving to the beat and adding pizzazz to what’s already there. It’s fun and you're smiling in no time, Bucky’s words drifting out of your mind.

He booty bumps you. You both fall into a bundle of awkwardly spasming bodies and outburst of mirth.

Sam watches you with laughter, his brown cheeks becoming little balls of happiness on his face. His eyes drip in amusement and enjoyment. He’s the party and the entertainment all in one.

You hold on to his light even as the song fades, even as the class resumes and you’re back in his warm, safe arms again, flowing through the moves in perfect harmony. He feels warmer now, renewed at the quick break that’s brought back your smile. You feel like Bucky’s words were nothing but a terrible, horrible dream that’ll dissolve by standing next to your sun, next to your Sam.

…

Sam digs into his burger as you take a reasonable bit of your own, watching him just as he watches you. It’s not creepy or intimidating, but more of a familiar thing to do. You’ve been observing each other for some time now, soon after introductions were established, so this was nothing unusual. 

But Sam’s gaze held something deeper, a twinge of confusion and dissatisfaction wafted through his deeply colored eyes. You wanted to ask, but waited. It might not be something that you were quite ready to answer yet. You resolved to finish chewing your part of the burger and look outside at the rushing traffic, at the way the light bounces off buildings and makes the sidewalk brighter.

Sure enough, when you’re ready to reach for your drink, Sam’s question beats you to it. “What happened yesterday?”

It’s a question that he has a right to an answer, especially with how it conflicted with your dancing abilities, but you don’t want to lay too much on him. After all, these were your issues to deal with, dumping your problems on him were unfair. 

“Nothing,” You compromise, hoping that the words would be just enough to convince him that some was definitely wrong but you weren’t ready to really get into it. “Just a little tired and irritated, that’s all.”

He doesn’t like the way you sigh. His shoulders hunch a little and his eyebrows furrow closer together when he hears something that upsets him. The fact that you knew that, surprises you, but you brush it off as getting to know each other over these past few days.

“(Name), be honest with me,” He pauses, his voice softening with an edge of seriousness. “I deserve that much.”

You almost cringe. He’s right, but you still don’t really want to say what really happened. You don’t want to upset him or make him angry for your sake. That, he doesn’t deserve. You also don’t want him to take on anything. You’ll solve this.

“If I tell you,” You fiddle with your straw, leaning back in your chair like you have the winning hand in a game of blackjack. “You have to promise me, that you won’t get upset.”

He leans forward, his concern rising in his eyebrows and darkening expression. “I can do that.” He tries to smooth out the creases that formed in the last few seconds, but a few still strain against him, telling you that he’s already upset.

You sigh and mess with your fingers in your lap, refusing to look him in the eye, to watch him become disgruntled with what you’re about to say. You explain what happened when you got home, how Bucky’s arms held you restrainedly tight against him and how he tried to convince you that Sam was just trying to use you, to play you in some way.

By the time you looked up, Sam wasn’t all the way upset, his shoulders were hunched still but his eyes were wide and hurt. That damaged you the most.

He leaned back when you made eye contact and looked away, his fingers running across his chin absentmindedly. When he was ready, which took some time, he dared to gaze back at you before sitting forward. “Do you not trust me?”

What? That’s the farthest thing from the truth. Of course you trusted him, this wasn’t about that. “I trust you.” You answered with more determination than you thought you were capable of and stared him directly in the eyes as you said so, assuring him that there were falsities in your statement. You know he accepts your answer as his shoulders drop in relief. 

He looks down and takes a breath before continuing. “Then why were you all over the place today?”

You close your eyes in frustration. “Because he doesn’t know you. Because I know you wouldn’t do something like that.” You sigh and stare at the table. “I was angry that his words got to me like that. I didn’t believe for a second that the words were true, but the fact that he knows just how to get a rise out of me made me unbelievably frustrated.”

When you don’t look at him, he reaches across the table and brushes his fingers against your deathly tight grip on your cup. Your hand loosens on contact as you take a sharp breath, a flush moving to your cheeks, a shiver riverbrating down your spine. “Thank you for telling me.” He murmurs, his gaze warm and more sultry than you remember.

Your hand inches out to that lightning strike that buzzes between your hands, but you restrain yourself and let it fall open onto the table. “Thank you,” You minutely smile. “For believing me.”

“Am I stepping on anything, by inviting you to dance with me?” He looks genuinely concerned and it breaks your heart all over again. His warmth and light that you don’t deserve.

“No. It was my choice to agree to dance with you and Bucky just has jealousy problems that he needs to sort out himself.” Your jaw locks when you say the words, but you’re much calmer now. The heat that runs through your veins isn’t from anger.

Sam nods and returns to eating. You do the same. 

A question bubbles up through your chest, an idea you previously ignored but now brought to your attention through its neglect. “That day I met you at the party, why were you there?” Your eyes are guarded, but not closed. You’re concerned that it took you so long to ask.

Sam smirks and finishes swallowing before responding. “Ah, so now you ask.” 

You bite your cheek to keep a smirk of your own from capturing your face. “I didn’t realize you were actively trying to keep it a secret.”

“No, not a secret. I was just wondering when your curiosity would finally get through.” 

You only hum in response, leaning away from the table, gesturing for him to continue.

He chuckles. “I know Willow.” 

The words hit you like a train and the smile fell straight off your face. The girl that Bucky disappeared with, while you were still there. The girl that knew you and Bucky had something going on but refused to keep her hands off him. Not like he was any better.

He watched your face harden and sobered up a bit. “I also met her in college. She invited me to a few art shoes she was doing as an amature artist. I knew there was something else behind her innocence.” He leans forward and sighs. “But when I explained my obvious disinterest in her, she backed off and turned out to be a surprisingly good friend.”

Your blood sizzled, a twisting knot of hot anger coiling and moulding in your stomach. It wasn’t about Bucky, but Sam and just as the realization caught in your mind, your inklings of rage dissipated in a second. Why is it all about Sam this whole time?

You closed your eyes and unfurled your fist, the half-moons the only remnants of your restrained vexation. 

Sam’s eyes drilled into your head. “Are you okay?” His voice was soft and deep, full of worry and anxiety.

“Yep.” You grit the words out between your closed teeth, allowing the flames to sputter and fizzle out before opening your eyes again. “Just...fine.” You peel your eyes open slowly and see Sam’s frown. Your face smoothes itself at his concern. You don’t like making him fret over you.

He doesn’t take your answer as satisfactory. “I’m sorry. I forgot Willow was a sensitive subject.”

“It’s not about Willow.”

Sam’s eyes lock with yours, the fire flashes behind your eyes for a second before you look away, waiting for it all to subside. Sam gently reaches across the table to you, brushing your blazing hot hand with his cooler one, trying to get your focus somewhere else. Where physical violence didn’t sound like a bad option.

“(name), look at me.” You strain against his voice, tears of frustration building in your eyes. He grasps onto your fingers tighter and tugs gently. You look at him then. “I’m not going to press you about what’s going on between the two of you, that’s your business, but I don’t like seeing you upset.” A soft warmth unfurls in your chest, smothering the wall of pain threatening to rise.”I’m sorry for whatever happened, but I am here to support you, even if we haven’t known each other that long.”

You laugh, it’s sad and bitter, but it’s better than crying in front of him. You’ve cried enough tears already over this, you don’t need more to the bunch.

But it’s nice to know that he cares about your well being and that he withstood Willow. It makes you happier to know that Willow can’t draw in everyone.

It just makes you peeved that it all comes back to the art gallery for her, that she feels she needs to get men this way. It should be about her work. It should be about something she’s passionate about, not just for an excuse.

You sigh and smile at him. Squeezing his hand, you manage to get out a sentence quietly. “Thank you, Sam. It means a lot.”

“Always.” His are dark and warm, filled with pools of light and sincerity. It gives the confidence to return back to the way you were. You give his hand one last squeeze before you let go and return to eating. Sam hesitates a moment, making sure you’re actually okay before continuing with his meal.

After finishing your food in a comfortable silence, the gentle movement of paper and liquid traveling through straws creating a white noise, Sam asks you one more question. “I want to show you a place next time. Do you feel comfortable coming with me?”

You smirk. “Trying to kidnap me?”

“Only if you’re okay with that.”

He smiles when you answer. “I’m down. Lead the way, Captain.”

…

Dance class provides a higher charge than originally seen between the two of you. His smirk lingers in your mind, making you tingle and blush rise. These aren’t things that you can really remember feeling with Bucky, but it’s been so long, how would you remember?

It’s probably a bad thing that you can’t echo thoughts of good times with Bucky, but maybe it’s just that you’ve never felt this way about anyone else before. Maybe these feelings are new.

Sam seems to feel the same way as you do. He’s not nearly as flirty or as talkative as usual, he doesn’t crack any one liners with you nor does he twirl you into any crazy moves. He’s all poise and following the rules, but his hands wrap around yours a little tighter, you dance a little closer, and the air hums with the electricity between you.

He stares more openly when all you can do is look away and smile. 

Your steps are steadier and accurate. You don’t stumble around like you did the day before, and you and Sam move as one unit, gracefully weaving around each other, your feet like feathers spinning through the air.

The teacher smiles appreciatively at you and every other person in the class, every couple moves in sync. The whole class appears harmonious and balanced, more comfortable and less worried for your performance. It’s preferable to the rough nature of Bucky and the challenging environment of your job.  It’s comfortable and nice, a place of relaxation and peace for you. 

It’s a place to come and dance with Sam and forget everything, forget the world exists.

…

Sam’s jacket falls around your shoulders, a soft barrier against the cooling breeze of the sea. You walk side-by-side down the boardwalk, the planks clunk beneath your shoes and the breaking of small waves provides a murmur of background noise. It’s enough to create a pleasant space to take in the beauty of it all.

There’s nothing more delicate and beautiful than a beach at sunset. It’s no wonder you’re here with him; it’s oddly fitting.

“I used to come here a lot.” Sam quietly murmurs underneath his breath, just loud enough for you to hear but careful not to pull you out of your admiration too fast. “When I was in my head too much.”

You nod politely and keep watching the waves lap against the shore. You want him to continue on his own terms, you’d never force his story from him. 

He clears his throat after a beat and drifts a little closer to you. Your heat grows for a half-second. “I used to be in the army and when you come back...life just isn’t the same for you anymore.” He sighs and your heart squeezes hearing the pain and the hurt in his words. “It’s hard to adjust and when life is too absurdly mundane, I’d come here. The roar of the waves could dull some of the noise up here.” He taps against his temple and smiles to himself.

You force yourself not to touch him, but it takes immense effort and your hand itches, pulls, wrestles against your mind's commands to keep still. You sink your teeth into the side of your cheek and hum in response to him, trying to keep your eyes from locking with his.

“Is it bad now?” The words slip out as your concern for him reaches a crux and not knowing is eating up every bit of self-control you’ve built into place. Your question lingers between you two, fragile and shaky, and you wonder if you’ve crossed some horrible line that you weren’t supposed to. 

A feeling of dread wells up in your chest as he takes a while to answer, your face begins to drop and your steps falter, but then he shakes his head in disagreement. “No.” He chuckles to himself. “It’s been getting better these last few weeks.”

His smile holds a secret that is intended for you to understand, but you try not to pay it too much attention. 

“You know, if you need anything, I’m here.” You fiddle with the sleeves of his jacket as you respond. “If you can be here for me through this Bucky mess, then I can be here for your bad dreams too.”

Sam watches you unabashedly and then smiles gently. “Thank you.”

You walk together to the end of the pier and sit on the edge, your feet reaching towards the waves. The wind here is colder, more cutting and you wrap his jacket further around your shoulders. 

Neither of you speak for a few minutes, just letting the wind and the sea make a music of its own. It was this comfortability in the silence that you wish you could share with Bucky. You wish you could be beside him and feel the way you do now, safe and comfortable. You don’t have to fight against him or his antics, his cheating behavior and aggressive personality. 

You could just be. 

You could just exist in the same time and space and that would be enough for you.

And the conversation wouldn’t always drift to your mistakes and failures. It wouldn’t be made into a spectacle of hate about you living your life and trying new things.

But Sam doesn’t make you feel stupid or dumb. He doesn’t make you feel like you’re doing anything wrong.

Sam must have seen your scrunched eyebrows and critical eyes. “What are you thinking about?” 

You sigh and fiddle with the palms sprawled in your lap. “My ‘boyfriend’ as you so affectionately call him.”

“Oh.” He looks back to the waves, steadily crashing but growing in intensity. The tide must be coming in. “And how are things?”

The mood changes. He grows more reserved, analytical and objective, like he usually does whenever Bucky’s name is mentioned. Your stomach twists. You don’t want him to close off or make him feel like he’s stepped on something delicate. You don’t want to hurt him with stories about him.

But you know that if you try to shield the truth, he’ll be just as hurt. He said he’d be there. You trust him.

“Tense at best.” You conceded, face sinking in despite the gorgeous scenery.

“Hmm.” He takes a breath and looks at your hands, balled together. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

He nods.

“I just feel guilty around him, like I’m doing something wrong.” It wasn’t because of Sam; it was because you knew your feelings were changing and they weren’t in favor of Bucky.

“Does the dancing thing...make you feel uncomfortable?” He spares a fleeting glance at your face and you watch his calm but worried eyes move over yours gently, just testing your reaction before he reveals the depth of his.

A similar alarm echoes off in your mind that this will have to come to an end soon, that this beautiful dream will dissolve from your mind. You don’t want this to end. You don’t like the thought of not seeing him again. 

“No! That isn’t the issue. I’ve been more myself dancing with you than I have been around him.” You fiddle with your hands, a spike of anxiety rising at your confession, but you spare a glance in your direction to see him staring at you directly. A jolt flares in your core.

“That’s...reassuring.” You bump his shoulder, reminding you of how close you are. If you placed your hands on either side of your body, you’d nearly be touching. He smiles at your teasing. “But,” His tone dips to a lower pitch, a lingering sigh hinting at the transition from euphoria to reality. “As nice as that sounds, it doesn’t sound like you’re in a good spot.”

“We’re not.” Your face droops in frustration. “And I’m not sure what to do.”

He watches you for a second before he responds. “Sounds like you need to talk to him.”

When you turn to look at him again, the sun is splayed so beautifully on his features that he looks like an angel, swathed in gold and sunlight. You can’t stop staring. And even if he was embarrassed by your pointed gaze, he doesn’t seem concerned. He’s too busy gazing back at you.

You’re surprised when you start to lean in, but the thought only registers in some part of your mind that’s far away from the decision making part of your brain. What brings a present shock is the fact that he begins to lean in too.

Your temperature increases and you can feel your breath quickening, but you keep going anyway, ignoring the nagging feeling of guilt that’s increasing by the moment. Sam’s nose brushes against your own and your eyes begin to fall, but it’s as if your vision clears when your eyes shut.

You stop and he immediately follows suit.

But you take a moment to savor the feeling, being so close to him, being close enough to touch and hold. These are treasonous thoughts that carry a weight that you don’t fully understand, but it feels good. You haven’t felt this good being around someone in years, despite being with someone else all this time.

It’s horrible that you’re just starting to figure all of this out now. “Sorry.” Your whisper is jagged and breathy, but it’s all you can manage. You don’t think you have full control of your mental functions to do or explain more than that. 

Sam seems equally as lost because all he can do is hum in response. You know his eyes are open, watching you, waiting for you to look at him, but you can’t. Because if you do, you’ll lose all over again.

“We should get back.” He stands and only when he isn’t in your sights that you open your eyes. You notice how the ocean quieted down, the roaring in your ears in your ears isn’t as loud, how the wind has died. 

When you turn, his hand drifts in front of your face and you hesitantly reach out to take it, knowing the jolt that’s going to spike through your arm at the contact of your skin with his. It’s stronger than it’s been before, but he supports you as you stand like he didn’t feel it. 

You straighten on slightly wobbling legs, still buzzed from a second ago. Only when he’s sure that you’ll be able to walk on your own does he let go, holding on for much longer than necessary. You miss his heat right when you let go.

He treds next to you faithfully until you reach your car. You unwrap his jacket from your shoulders and gently give it back to him, thanking him for lending it to you. You prod over to him and press a feather-soft kiss to his cheek, making sure to keep it to the appropriate amount of time, but wishing you’d just let it linger a bit longer. When you look back at him, a low warm heat spreads through your stomach at the way his eyes look like pools of fresh, heated chocolate, moving in elegant swirls.

You force yourself to turn away and get into your car. You give him a small wave as you pull away and then immediately crank the AC despite it’s only 50 degrees outside. 

You can’t stop smiling, even when you make it back to your apartment.