#anyway. my friends will just have to accept my terrible gift choices

[puddingcatbeans]

before she set me loose in a stationery store, my ma stopped me and politely (read: desperately) asked me to only buy things i needed, as we had already bought another suitcase for all the souvenirs we are bringing back

unfortunately i am extremely bad at gifts and have mostly been buying things for myself lmao

[helloalycia]

teenage dirtbag [three] // wanda maximoff

summary: Wanda's boyfriend continues to be an aggravation in your life, causing some distance between you and Wanda

warning/s: none

author's note: i really appreciate the feedback you guys gave in the last part – it’s always motivating to read your reactions/comments 🥰

part one | part two | part four | part five | masterlist | wattpad

Sorting things out with Wanda made everything return to normal in no time. So much in fact that she decided I was worth inviting to her and her brother's birthday party.

Never in a million years did I expect the most popular girl in our grade to know who I was, let alone invite me to her birthday party, so to say I was surprised was an understatement.

"It's not a big deal if you can't make it," she said when she handed me the invitation in class. "I mean, I'd love it if you could, but yeah, no pressure."

I was in awe, accepting the invite and reading it quickly. It must have been a pretty expensive party if she was giving out special invites, that's for sure.

"You want me to come?" I asked, still unsure whether this was a joke or not.

"Only if you want to," she said quickly, eyes darting around the room and anywhere but at me. "Like I said, you don't have to. It's not a big deal and– I– yeah." She pressed her lips together and stopped rambling, offering me a small smile.

"Thanks," I said quietly, slotting the invite in my notebook. "I'll, er, I'll think about it."

She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and faced forward, nodding. "Yeah, sure, no rush."

After that awkward conversation, I discovered she'd also invited Y/BF/N, the two of them developing a little friendship the more she'd hung out with me. He didn't mind going, but only wanted to do so if I went.

"I feel like I kinda don't wanna go," I admitted to him after school as we were studying in the library.

"Oh?" He rose an eyebrow. "And why's that?"

I played with the pencil in my hand. "I don't know, it's just– it's gonna be full of all of her other friends. And they don't really like me. Plus, her dick of a boyfriend is gonna be there. I just think she might have invited me to be nice. Like she might have felt like she had to because we sit together, y'know?"

"I think you know that isn't true," he said knowingly. "Maybe, just maybe, she actually wants us there, wants you there, to celebrate her birthday."

I chewed the inside of my mouth, giving it some thought. But the idea of going to Wanda's house party and seeing a bunch of people I didn't care about getting pissed wasn't comforting. Besides, even if I went, I'd probably see Wanda once before she'd get scooped away by Nate. What was the point?

"Nah, I don't think I'm going," I decided. "She won't notice. I'll just get her a present instead."

Y/BF/N sighed, clearly not impressed with my answer. Nonetheless, he said, "Okay, suit yourself."

"You can go if you want," I added, knowing his presence wasn't linked with mine.

"No Y/N, no party," he said with a dismissive shrug, and I couldn't help but smile.

"Such a good friend," I said teasingly, but there was truth to my words. And I knew he knew that. 

When I saw photos and videos of Wanda and Pietro's party all over my social media the day after, I knew I'd made the right choice in not going. It was the same visuals of everyone getting drunk, doing stupid shit and making a mess. Call me a loser, but that wasn't really my scene. Pietro and Wanda both seemed to enjoy it though, judging from the pictures.

Instead, I bought her a birthday present, knowing I didn't have to but I kind of wanted to, and planned to give it to her when she turned up to class. It was her birthday today, despite throwing the party over the weekend, so I hoped it would make up for my absence (thought I doubted she noticed).

She showed up and settled beside me as I was writing the date in my notebook, making me look up to see she'd made an extra effort to dress up for her birthday, looking fancier than usual. I couldn't help but smile at the giant '18' birthday badge pinned to her jacket.

"Happy birthday, Wanda," was the first thing I said when I saw her. "You look amazing."

A bashful smile appeared on her lips. "Thank you, Y/N."

"I hope your party went well," I said, giving her my full attention whilst trying not to drool over how beautiful she looked.

Surprisingly, her smile faded and her eyebrows knitted together. "Yeah, it did... could you not make it? I tried looking for you and– yeah..."

I opened my mouth to speak, admittedly a little embarrassed that she'd caught me out. I was sure she wouldn't notice – the pictures made it seem like there were loads of guests, I'd definitely have blended in if I were there – but clearly I was mistaken.

"I just thought–" she began, before shaking her head. "Never mind."

"Sorry, I thought–" I started, but like her, didn't know what to say. "Parties aren't my thing," I admitted truthfully. "But it looked fun. You enjoyed it, right?"

She nodded, a small forced smile on her lips. "Yeah, right. It's cool. No biggie."

I swallowed awkwardly. It seemed like a biggie and now I felt bad.

"I, er, got you a gift," I blurted, hoping to change the subject. Reaching into my backpack, I pulled out the terribly wrapped present and held it out nervously. "I hope you, er, like it."

Her eyebrows raised as her eyes flickered between the present and I. "Oh? You didn't have to. I wasn't expecting anything."

Was it hot in here or was it just me?

I pulled my collar away from my neck, hoping to circulate some air. "I wanted to. It's not a big deal."

She accepted the gift, fingers brushing mine and making me even more nervous, before opening it up. Her eyes sparkled with delight as she revealed a brand new leather paintbrush carry case.

"The one you always carry around is tattered and falling apart, so I thought I'd get you a new one," I explained, feeling like I had to. "I mean, unless the other one has some sort of sentimental value, then in that case, I can just return this."

"Are you kidding? I love it!" she exclaimed, looking to me with a grin. "It's beautiful, Y/N. I don't even know what else to say."

My shoulders relaxed, a relieved smile tugging at my lips. "Good. Th-that's good. I'm glad you like it."

Without warning, she moved forward off her stool and wrapped her arms around my shoulders, pulling me in for a hug. I was startled, unable to think straight with her body pressed so close to mine and her floral perfume wafting into my nose. Why did she have to smell so good?

"Thank you," she muttered, pulling away but not quite letting go. Her eyes were glowing as they watched me carefully, accompanying her weak-in-the-knees smile. I was sure I'd melt. "It means a lot."

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak for fear I'd say something stupid. I resisted the urge to look down at her lips, which were pulled into a small, appreciative smile. She let go of me, looking to the case again and unravelling it. I caught my breath meanwhile, my senses still on override as her perfume lingered.

She was just so damn beautiful.

—

"Okay, how about this – robotic or organic aliens. Which would you rather invade our planet?" Y/BF/N asked.

I chuckled at his question. "Definitely haven't thought about that one, but let's see..."

We were hanging in the bleachers out near the football field as we waited for football practice to end. Y/BF/N had a Film project to do and needed to film the field, so I offered to help like the good friend I was.

"Probably organic," I answered as I balanced on the bleachers, standing up and tiptoeing down them like steps. "At least we could reason with them if they tried to kill us because they'd have a conscience. Robotic aliens would just be programmed to take over and that's it."

Y/BF/N seemed against the idea as he played with his camera. "Yeah, but if they were robotic, all we'd have to do is launch a missile at them and they'd explode. You can break metal. It's harder to break organic matter."

I stifled a laugh. "You've given this much thought, I see."

He gave me a knowing look. "You telling me you don't think aliens exist?"

I stopped tiptoeing and stood still as I looked down at him with humoured eyes. "You know I know aliens exist."

He waved his hand like that was enough reasoning. "There you go then!"

I laughed, wondering how he thought of this stuff, then continued to balance as I walked down the bleachers. Probably the wrong choice as when I heard a voice call me, I looked up, saw it was Wanda, then proceeded to miss a step and fall onto my arse.

"Oh God, Y/N, are you okay?" she asked, moving forward to help me.

My face heated up as Y/BF/N laughed his arse off beside me. I accepted Wanda's hand and let her pull me up, before letting go immediately when I could handle it myself. Her presence always made me nervous, but this was just terrible.

"Yeah, I'm good," I said, glancing at her and freezing at her piercing gaze and suppressed smile.

"You sure?" she asked, glancing at Y/BF/N, before trying to hide her own laughter.

Fuck me, why was I such a mess whenever she was around?

"Very sure," I said, though my back began to ache from where I hit it. "What's up, anyway?"

Y/BF/N finally shut up, to my relief, and Wanda minimised her laughter before scratching her head.

"I'm waiting for practice to end so I can take Pietro home," she said, nodding to the field. "I saw you both sat here and thought I'd say hi. Are you guys watching practice?"

"Not really," I answered, before tilting my head to Y/BF/N. "We're just waiting for it to end so Y/BF/N can film for his project."

"Ooh, that sounds interesting," she said, intrigued and looking to him now. "What's that about?"

As he caught her up on it, I found myself checking Wanda out without realising. She was animated as she listened to Y/BF/N talk about his assignment, eyes giving him all of her attention, and a permanent smile was fixed on her lips as she listened to him. Though it wasn't directed at me, I felt butterflies swirling a storm in my stomach and clutched it, hoping they'd go away. I loved and hated the feeling all at once.

Breaking me from my reverie, a football flew past all three of us and hit the bleachers, startling us all. We looked in the direction it came from and saw the football team looking back at us, some laughing and some disgruntled. Two players ran towards us and when they got close enough, I made them out as Pietro and Nate.

Nate was laughing as he looked between us all, before his gaze fell on me. "It's Y/N, right? I feel like I'm always throwing that thing at you. Sorry about that."

But his constant laughing and lack of guilt refuted his words. I merely clenched my jaw and narrowed my eyes his way, not that he seemed to care nor notice. I was a mere fly in a world that revolved around him. He'd never notice.

"Babe, I'm sorry, I didn't even know you were over here," he added, looking to Wanda. "You okay?"

Wanda crossed her arms and seemed frustrated. "I'm fine, Nate. Just get your ball."

He shrugged and grabbed his ball. Before leaving, he pressed a kiss to Wanda's cheek which made me wince, but she made no attempt in enjoying it. He didn't seem to care as he took off running back to his team. Pietro smiled apologetically at the three of us.

"I'm sorry," he said genuinely. "He can be such a dick sometimes."

That was the understatement of the century.

With that, he turned and ran back to his team to finish up. Wanda sighed, running a hand through her hair, as Y/BF/N and I exchanged glances.

"I should get the car running," she said awkwardly, pointing a thumb over her shoulder and towards the car park. "Good luck with your assignment, Y/BF/N. And I'll see you tomorrow, Y/N."

Waving goodbye with an awkward smile, I watched her leave and wondered the same thing I always did whenever Nate decided to make an appearance in my life.

How could she be dating such a dick?

—

Apart from the birthday party I didn't go to, I'd never been invited (or had a reason to go) to Wanda's house. I'd seen it, rode my bike past it, but never actually been in it. So, when she invited me to her place to work on a project we'd been assigned in class, I was unsure how to feel. She was adamant though and I had no reason to say no, so the only thing left to do was say yes. Even when she offered to drive me there after school.

"This is your car?" I asked with disbelief.

I knew absolutely nothing about cars, but I wasn't blind. Hers was a gorgeous deep red colour with a convertible roof that was currently lowered so anyone in it would feel the sun on their back and wind in their hair.

"Yeah, you like it?" she asked as she got into the driver's seat.

I gulped and sat in the passenger's seat, throwing my backpack at my feet. "It's so nice. You sure you don't mind me drinking in this?"

I had a Pepsi bottle in my hand and was deathly afraid of opening it now in case I spilt it and the cleaning bill would be more than I made in a year at the pizza parlour.

She laughed, already pulling out of the car park. "Of course. Don't be silly."

I glanced in her direction, trying not to get distracted by how good she looked in the driver's seat. She was wearing a red leather jacket, funnily enough, matching the exterior of her car, and she had dark eyeliner around her eyes, accentuating the shape and colour of them and leaving me speechless whenever she looked my way.

"There's CDs in the glove compartment," she was saying as she focused on the road. "Or you can mess around with the radio. It's up to you."

"CDs?" I asked, it piquing my interest. I reached into the glove compartment, adding, "What is this, the 2000s?"

She rolled her eyes playfully, accepting my teasing, as I flicked through the small stack of albums.

"I don't know, I guess I just like having the physical version," she said with a shrug. "It's kind of like a collection."

I chuckled at her need to explain herself, watching the way she rubbed her neck nervously, smiling with embarrassment. Looking back to the albums, a particular one grabbed my attention and I plucked it out with raised brows.

"Oh my God, you like Paramore?" I asked, looking to her with surprise. "Now it's definitely the 2000s."

Her cheeks flushed as she grew flustered. I nudged her in the side gently, getting her attention briefly.

"I'm kidding," I reassured, tilting my head her way playfully. "I actually love Paramore. They're my favourite band."

"Really?" she asked with surprise as I put the CD in her car. I hummed in response, to which she continued, "Have you ever seen them live?"

As For a Pessimist, I'm Pretty Optimistic played quietly in the background, I nodded my head. "Yeah, once. It was a few years ago, but the tickets were shitty and I could just about make them out on stage in the distance."

Wanda laughed, the sound making my heart skip a beat. "No, that's so sad!"

I chuckled in agreement. "Yeah. It was, but oh well. They have a tour coming up this summer, right? Maybe I can get better tickets this time 'round... what about you? Have you ever seen them live?"

She hummed, making a turn at some traffic lights and chewing her lower lip as she focused on doing so. It was definitely the wrong time, but I found myself admiring how attractive it was, especially when her jaw tensed and her defined jawline was on display.

"Yeah, I saw them a few times," she finally responded, pulling me from my stupor. "Some really good seats, some really shitty ones." She giggled at the end, making me smile. "Maybe we could go to that concert in the summer. If you're up for it?"

This seemed like one of those times where you made plans with a friend that you knew would never happen, so to not cause an awkwardness in the conversation, I nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, maybe."

She glanced at me and I mirrored her smile, the flash of excitement in her eyes knocking me breathless.

When we reached her house, I was awestruck at how big it was from the inside. I mean, it looked huge from the outside, but the inside was even better. Her family were rich, I knew that, but this was some other level of rich.

"Here, c'mon, I'll get you a drink, then we can go into the dining room to start," Wanda said, failing to recognise my amazement and instead leading me to the kitchen. "We have tropical juice, apple juice, water, Sprite, Cola... which d'you want?"

I settled at the island, taking a seat and subtly admiring her kitchen. "Er, apple juice is fine with me."

She smiled brightly before pouring me a glass, whilst pouring herself some Sprite. Standing opposite me, we both took a moment to have a drink, but didn't get chance to exchange words as her mum entered the room and noticed me instantly.

"Y/N, it's so lovely to see you again!" she said kindly, patting me on the shoulder before heading to the fridge. "You girls hanging out? Studying?"

"We have a project," Wanda filled in as I nodded in agreement. "We alright to claim the dining room?"

After grabbing some water from the fridge, Wanda's mum pressed a kiss to her daughter's cheek. "Sure thing, sweetie. If you need anything, just let me know." Smiling once more at me, she said, "It's good to see you, Y/N."

"You too," I said with a friendly smile before she left.

"Come on," Wanda said, motioning for me to follow. "We have tons to do."

The next hour and a half was spent with Wanda and I planning out our project, our work sprawled along the dining table messily. We were making progress, until she got a call suddenly. It seemed serious as she gave me an apologetic glance and excused herself. I let her go and leaned back in my seat, wondering what I could do as I waited for her to return. That thought was resolved quite quickly when Pietro popped his head in the doorway and spotted me.

"Y/N! What an honour to welcome you to our humble abode," he exclaimed, entering the room fully. "What brings you here?"

Pietro's presence always brought an amused smile to my lips. "Wanda and I are working on a Chemistry project. She's just nipped out for a phone call."

He tutted dramatically, crossing his arms. "Well, well, well. We can't have that! Wanda needs to learn to entertain her guests. C'mon. I was about to head to the gaming room and could use the company."

I was visibly surprised. "You have a gaming room? Dude, that's awesome!"

He laughed. "C'mon."

Joining Pietro, the two of us headed to this so-called gaming room and I was not disappointed. There was a huge TV with a PlayStation and Nintendo Switch connected to it, a snooker table, a foosball table, a dart board, some old arcade games – it was amazing, any gamer's biggest dream.

"What you feeling, princess?" he said with that flirtatious smile of his.

I rolled my eyes playfully. He was being overtly flirty, more so than his sister was – was it a Maximoff personality trait or something? – and I wasn't sure whether he meant it or was just being his usual self.

"Are you flirting?" I deadpanned, tilting my head curiously. "I can't tell."

He pocketed his hands, swinging back on the heels of his feet. "That depends. Is it working?"

Despite my lack of interest in him like that, I felt my face heat up at the attention. "Pietro, I must tell you that any moves you attempt to make kind of won't work."

"And why's that?" he asked, sitting on the edge of the snooker table with a cheeky smile on his lips. "Am I not your type?"

"Unless you change into a girl, then no," I played along, making him flush with embarrassment. "Hate to break it to you, but I'm gay."

"Okay, I guess that makes sense," he mumbled to himself, before sighing and meeting my eyes. "We can still be friends, right? Or is that forbidden since you're already friends with my sister?"

I laughed and approached him. "Friends works. I don't think Wanda will care. I certainly don't."

He grinned. "Awesome! Well, d'you wanna play a round of foosball?"

"Sure," I said with an amused expression. "Bet I can kick your arse."

He pushed himself off the table and feigned surprise. "Oh? Game on, Y/L/N."

I didn't realise how long Wanda had been on the phone until I managed to get through three rounds of foosball and was in the middle of a snooker game with Pietro.

"You may have beat me at foosball, but you're terrible at this," he pointed out with stifled laughter.

I'd missed my third shot and it was more funny than it was embarrassing.

"Your talking distracts me," I said dismissively, before lining up the next shot with my cue.

He watched as I tried to take my shot before sighing loudly. I glanced at him with a quirked brow.

"You have a thought you'd like to share?" I asked playfully.

He hesitated, moving forward to correct my posture. "Look, if you just aim it like this–"

"Don't even think about it, Romeo," I said jokingly, standing up straight and pushing him away gently. "I know what you're thinking."

He laughed. "What? I was just going to help you aim!"

I gave him a knowing look. "So holding me close is just a bonus?"

"Fine, take your shot without my help and see what happens," he said dismissively, waving his hand.

"I'll do just that," I said with confidence, before bending down and taking my shot. The ball hit the other and neither were pocketed, which was an achievement as I'd got the cue ball in several times before, but still pretty shit as I didn't score any points.

Pietro smiled with satisfaction, leaning on his cue. "You happy with that?"

I held in a laugh as I looked to him. "Shut up."

He chuckled before bumping me out the way. "Now for the professional."

Bending down to take his shot, he pulled back his cue before hitting the balls. They rolled around on the table and one ball was about to go in, but I quickly grabbed it before he could get the point.

"Y/N!" he shouted between laughter. "That's cheating!"

"Technically we didn't establish rules," I pointed out, before moving backwards as he tried to grab it from my hand. "What do you say to calling it a draw and playing something else?"

"I say that's a childish way to admit you've lost," he responded, before moving forward quickly. I dodged his attempt and he pursed his lips. "Y/N."

"Pietro."

He smirked. "Seriously?"

I grinned.

He tried to grab it again and ended up chasing me around the room as I avoided giving in. Taking the piss out of Y/BF/N enough times had prepared me for moments like this, so I was able to avoid Pietro long enough to run into whoever walked through the door.

"Shit, Wanda, I'm sorry," I said between laughter, steadying both me and her.

She smiled with confusion, about to speak, but Pietro caught up to me and lifted me up, throwing me onto the couch before I could protest.

"No more cheating," he said sternly, as I lifted my head from the pile of cushions on the couch to look up at him.

"You're an arse," I said, pushing myself up off the couch.

"And you're a sore loser!"

We had a mini staring competition before the two of erupted into laughter.

"You're not half bad, Pietro," I complimented as he helped me up.

"Thank you, princess," he said, the flirtatious smile on his lips again.

I shoved him in the shoulder playfully before looking to Wanda, who was chewing on her lip as she looked between Pietro and I with an unreadable expression.

"So, what prompted you to leave Y/N alone for an hour?" Pietro asked, wrapping an arm around my shoulder, making me shove him away. He grinned at me before looking to Wanda.

"Nate called," Wanda responded carefully, arms crossed as she continued to look between us. God, I hoped she didn't think Pietro and I liked each other. That would be embarrassing.

Pietro scoffed from beside me, making Wanda sigh with annoyance.

"Don't start, Piet," she said and gave him a look which he seemed to understand.

By the sounds of it, Pietro didn't seem to like Wanda's dick of a boyfriend either. That was strange since wasn't impressing the brother the first part of being in a relationship with someone? And they were on the same football team, so I figured he'd at least tolerate him.

"Are we alright to get back to studying?" Wanda asked, directing her stare to me. The annoyance she held for Pietro was still present in her eyes and I suddenly felt nervous when she looked my way.

"Yeah, of course," I said, before giving Pietro a half-smile. "Rematch at snooker next time. Sound good?"

"Try to keep the balls on the table and we'll see," he teased, before nodding to Wanda. "You should get back to your project before Wanda kills us both with her deadly glare."

I smiled awkwardly, looking back to Wanda as she was indeed glaring at her brother. Clearly there was some sibling rivalry going on here, and I definitely didn't want to get in the middle of it, so I headed to Wanda, signalling I was ready to leave.

The two of us headed back to the dining room in an uncomfortable silence. I felt like I'd done something wrong and she was giving me the silent treatment which was strange. Then I figured it was probably something with Nate that made her annoyed, so didn't question it too much.

We sat back down and I looked at what we'd done so far to try and pick up where we left off, but then she spoke out of the blue, taking me by surprise.

"Do you like my brother?"

It was so abrupt that I took a moment to acknowledge it, blinking. "What?"

"Pietro," she clarified, saying it with such dismissiveness like it wasn't a big deal. Her attention was on the books before us as she continued, "Do you like him?"

I tried not to laugh as I shook my head. "No, Wanda. I mean, don't get me wrong, he's a great guy. But yeah, no, I don't like him like that."

She chewed her lip, nodding, but I swear I saw a hint of a smile on her lips. I hoped it wasn't the thought of Pietro and I that made her annoyed. I wasn't that bad, was I? I know she cared about her brother and was probably overprotective, but me being his girlfriend couldn't have been that bad, right?

We got back to work in no time, getting a lot done. I didn't realise how late it was getting until Wanda's mum poked her head in, asking if I wanted to stay for dinner.

"Dinner?" I asked, eyebrows raising with surprise. I checked my watch and realised how long I'd been here. "Damn, maybe I should head back."

"Nonsense, you must stay," her mum insisted. "Y/M/N won't mind. A daughter of hers is a daughter of mine."

"You can even sleepover if you want," Wanda offered, and I almost choked on my own spit. "It's getting pretty late."

I shook my head, forcing a small smile so they wouldn't get offended. "Honestly, it's fine. I can head back."

"Please?" Wanda asked with a hopeful expression. "It's the least I can do. I kinda wasted your time for an hour earlier..."

"I should ask my mum," I said, chewing on the inside of my mouth.

"Oh, I'll ring and let her know," Wanda's mum said breezily, before looking to Wanda. "D'you think you can clear your things up? Your brother is gonna set the table."

"Sure, mum." Wanda smiled her way as she left, before looking to me. "I've got clothes and a spare toothbrush you can use tonight."

I smiled awkwardly, nodding. Sleeping over at my crush's house wasn't how I thought I'd be spending my Wednesday evening, yet here we were.

[intangibly-here]

i miss you (more than anything)

zhongli x gn!reader

- scenario; 2.4k words - modern!au - fluff - jealousy

————————————————————

zhongli isn’t one for jealousy— usually.

title from mitski - francis forever.

requested by anon.

————————————————————

“an excellent choice, sir.”

again with the nicknames... 

slender fingers pick up a considerably stylized box, the smooth white a stark contrast to dark, glove-adorned palms. zhongli turns the box over in his hands, inspecting the various fine print explanations splayed along the edges of the plastic. now this is...

BANG!

clink. 

zhongli barely stifles a flinch at the sound of the door slamming, hinges squeaking and metal lock clicking into place with a whirlwind of motion. amber eyes flick up to the doorway, then back down to the polished counter.

five minutes late.

he sets the ice cube he’s handling into a wine glass after a brief pause, beginning to fashion up a flute of apple cider vinegar. the pattering of lively footsteps against tiled flooring rapidly grows nearer, clattering to a halt directly across the bar from where he stands. 

“hey there, mister zhongli! looking just about as boring as ever!”

hu tao plops into the cushioned chair, swiveling back and forth on the seat and leaning forward to watch him pour the concoction.

(it’s designated for customers of course— though that’s only usually. she happens to claim, to his exasperation, that she has “owner privileges”; whatever that could possibly mean when the place itself is meant to serve the needs of customers: that would include the spacing and chairs they may potentially desire when they enter the premises. unfortunately, he’s given up on understanding on her whims.)

from his position across the counter, zhongli absentmindedly spies the edge of a bright-red butterfly wing from underneath her outfit’s loose, flowing sleeves, the simple pendant string looped twice around her wrist. 

swallowtail. 

it’s the name (”like the butterfly, zhongli! the butterfly!”) of the establishment he’s currently employed at and is “run” by the granddaughter of a distant relative (though the bar is legally owned by said relative’s family). due to his— well, rather particular (per say) spending habits and a lack of mindfulness regarding the matter of what they liked to call savings (why would there be a need for these “savings”? he’d like to protest he’s traversed life well enough without them), he’d been pushed into putting the multitude of experience from past jobs into this one. 

and well, here he is now. 

chop. chop. 

two evenly-sliced apple slices tip over from against the blade of the knife and onto the wooden cutting board. fetching a sprig of mint from the small potted plant just below the rack of knives (growing lights and shelving did wonders in the spontaneous lighting of the nightclub), zhongli finished decorating the non-alcoholic drink of choice for the pseudo-proprietress. who knew what havoc she’d cheerfully throw herself into, archons forbid, if it were liquor. she’s already enough of a handful as it is. 

he sighs in resignation and slides the beverage over. the ice tinkles in the glass confines. he does have a favor to ask today after all. hu tao gives the drink a sniff, then puffs her cheeks in mock anger. 

“no alcohol? booooo, you’re such a rock.”

she takes a generous sip anyway. 

“so, what did you call me here for? not very zhongli-like for you to ask something of lil’ ol’ me. archons, have you been replaced?” 

she squints at him judgingly, then raises an eyebrow when he hesitates to answer.

“doesn’t look that way, old man.”

zhongli can feel the beginnings of a headache forming between his brows. he waves his hand dismissingly as if flicking away her babbling nonsense. 

“i have a favor to ask of you.”

“oh-ho?”

hu tao smirks playfully and pushes the half-finished drink aside, craning her neck forward. 

“what can i do for our esteemed mister zhongli, hm? hehe.”

zhongli clenches his fist under the edge of the woodwork in an effort to calm his raging annoyance. 

(it doesn’t help.)

he should just ask, shouldn’t he..?

“..i’ve been pondering this for a number of days now, but nothing quite appropriate for the occasion has happened to come to mind... do you happen to have any gift ideas for...”

he looks to the side to avoid eye contact and trails off, but hu tao immediately gets the memo. 

“ohhh..” her smile only grows wider, “this is for your daaaate—”

zhongli’s face flushes the slightest tinge of rosy pink and he hisses a sharp “shush!” through gritted teeth. and here he had thought she couldn’t get on his nerves beyond how she’d already acted thus far... 

the cheshire grin on her face still continues to climb. 

“well, you’ve definitely asked the right person! how about...”

some new polaroid film? is what she had proposed.

“it’s not some fancy-schmancy anniversary gift, no? just a date! a date! don’t worry yourself so much over it— no, don’t look at me like that. if you called me over to ask about it, you’re deeeefinitely losing hair over this— okay, okay, i got it! don’t kick me out! old man... sheesh. why don’t you get some more polaroid film and wrap it up all nice? useful and an excuse to take more pictures together! i know, i know, i’m a genius— mmph!”

he can still hear her voice bouncing around in his head (”can’t believe you’re getting rid of your boss, mister zhongli! didn’t take you for the rebellious type—”). zhongli brings his hand up to his temple and breathes out another sigh. it’s not like her idea was a terrible one; if anything, it were a wonderfully exquisite proposal— not that he would tell her. 

“i’d like to purchase this, if you would.”

he hands the box over to the shopkeep, who scans the package and rings up the bill. indiscreetly, he feels up the pocket of his jacket. thank the archons he remembered his wallet today. it would certainly be embarrassing to put this particular item on your tab. 

“sure thing, mister zhongli. i’m assuming this is a gift,” they eye him knowingly, “so would you like it wrapped up?” 

deja vu, his brain mutters, this is very much deja vu. he shuts it up promptly. 

“not this time, but you have my sincerest thanks for the offer. i’d like to wrap it myself.” he can feel his (generally..) expressionless face flaring up the faintest hint of pink and berates his mind once more. only when it comes to you...

acquiring the purchased item, zhongli dips his head in acknowledgement as he heads out. the plants hanging from baskets strung along the ceiling sway their leaves to and fro, nearly catching a wayward lock of his hair. he smooths the stray strand back.

“thank you once again, aether. let lumine know they can drop by for some tea again whenever they’d like for me, please.”

the bell hanging over the doorway tinkles when he pushes it open, and the bustle of the busy harbor seeps into the tranquility of the shop. aether nods and waves a hand at him in return, resting an arm on the cash register. 

“come again.”

-

while he’d imagined many ways your planned outing could play out, this was certainly not one of them. 

he’s approaching the meeting spot you two had decided on (right in front of the flowering quince tree near the park; its blooms resemble those of simpler, smaller silk flowers, and it happens to be quite the scenic location to wait) when he spies not only your stature, but another figure residing right besides you. 

who...?

as he steps closer, he can hear your laughter, the kind that he knows bubbles out of your chest and escapes your lips unconsciously. your amusement isn’t lost on your companion apparently, because they smirk teasingly, letting out a full-blown laugh of their own. 

“oh, zhongli, over here!”

your voice snaps him out of his meandering thoughts, and he stops fiddling with his earring (when did he start doing that?), continuing forward from where he’d paused in his observations of this newcomer. something starts to bloom in his chest, small and bittersweet. he’s not sure what to make of it. 

following your beckoning, zhongli finally makes his way to your side, mentally taking note of your.. friend? he doesn’t remember you mentioning anyone like this before though. surely he would remember your friends, no? 

his earring sways in the wind, white tassel fluttering cheerfully. 

“zhongli, this is my friend kaeya. i met him when i made that trip to mondstadt awhile back, remember that? oh, and kaeya, this is my boyfriend zhongli.”

(the little dragon curled up in his heart preens at your introduction of him, small and sweet.) 

ice blue meets molten gold when zhongli’s eyes dart up to make eye contact with this stranger. they squint at him, assessing, then dip into the makings of a playful twinkle. a hand reaches out for a handshake, which he returns in equal measure. interesting...

“he got a little lost touring liyue and i happened to see him here in the park. small world, huh? i know it was our day love, but do you mind if we take him around for today?”

zhongli smiles appeasingly, gentle and assuring as always. he can recognize the slightly nervous look on your face, one that’s a stark contrast to how energetic you’d looked just a few minutes ago. if kaeya’s company makes you happy and you’d like to take him around, then who is he to refuse your request? you two will have more time to spend with just the two of you later, he reasons with himself. accompanying your friend, and in turn his acquaintance, is nothing big.

(and no, it’s certainly not you calling him love that makes him cave.)

“of course we can.”

tugging at the string of his eyepatch, kaeya swiftly ties his hair back and adjusts the collar of his shirt. “so, where to first?”

zhongli takes your hand in his, squeezing softly. you squeeze back.

getting along together should come just fine.

-

he takes it back. 

he takes it all back. 

he’d accepted it at first because, well, this was your friend. he shouldn’t be controlling who you interact with nor who befriended you - that’s not up to him. it shouldn’t ever be. however—  with every passing moment that kaeya inched closer to you, taking up the entirety of your attention and bringing that bright, bright grin to your face—

(this was supposed to be your date. just the two of you. he hasn’t seen you in a month; surely he can feel a bit selfish, right?)

the three of you turn the corner to an intricately-themed restaurant and pause, where even zhongli looks appreciatively at the beautifully grown bamboo stalks lining the edges of its front walls. 

“wanmin restaurant,” kaeya reads, craning his neck up to gaze at the signboard. bold red calligraphy is sprawled across the rough-cut wood. “awfully simple name for such a stunning place, isn’t it?”

if he weren’t stewing in a pot of conflicted emotions, zhongli would surely inform him of how carefully selected this title was, how it represented more than just a name, how it hid at least several decades worth of effort and teachings— but as it is, he (really, of all people) has no patience for that at the moment. 

first tugging on the hem of your outfit, zhongli then takes you by the elbow and hastily leads you forward to the glass doors of the establishment. he grasps your hand in his as usual, but something must be off, because you twitch a little and look at him curiously. 

he turns his head away, lips pursed just the slightest.

“let us dine here for the time being. it is an appropriate time and place, after all.”

the sun shines brightly in the clear sky as if illuminating his words.

kaeya raises an eyebrow, singular eye looking on inquisitively and arms crossed, then moves further ahead of you both once more. the corner of his mouth dips in a clear show of mirth. bowing with one arm held at the waist, one not unalike a formality from a server, he looks straight into zhongli’s eyes and holds the door open for entrance. 

“that sounds like an excellent idea. well, if you would.”

-

“thanks for the tour around you two.”

kaeya hums his thanks with a cheerful lilt to his voice as you all stand under the porchlight of zhongli’s house. 

(it’s not the largest abode, but it’s cozy and sweet, and it’s definitely enough for the both of you whenever you decide to stay over. tonight is one of those nights, and they may as well become more frequent after the trip you took abroad.) 

his car keys reflect the glow of the bulb, swinging around his finger in loops. they clink noisily, metal against metal, and he grabs them all at once, halfway through another turn. in his car sits a box of treasure-themed artifacts, likely old and had found its way into your hands somehow. zhongli knows you’d been meaning to give them to someone, but he hadn’t known it were kaeya— either way, the artifacts that’d been laying on his shelves for weeks were now handed off. 

ruffling your hair, kaeya pulls you in for a brief hug; although zhongli can feel the bitter pang in his chest, he stays where he stands, keeps it still and small. he can wait. 

that said, the moment kaeya drives off, he’s hauling you into the house and curling up on the couch, pulling you onto his lap and tugging you into his arms. the long thought over gift sits patiently on the counter. it’s waited the entirety of today; it can wait another. 

right now, he needs you. 

your body sinks against his, relaxing from the lively, though exhausting, day. slumped against his chest, he burrows his head in the crook of your shoulder and cuddles you, nuzzling into your neck. finally, you’re home. home with him. 

it’s warm...

“..it was our day...”

you shift your head at his mumbling, lifting his chin to presumably look at his expression. your attention is his now. not kaeya’s. not anyone else’s. just his. 

(his eyes are soft and droopy, smudged red making them look especially mellow in the dim lighting, and lips pushed into the slightest pout. he knows what you’re seeing when you gaze at him fondly, and you can almost see the puppy eyes he sports. how unusual of him.)  

“someone’s a little jealous here, hmmm?” 

you drag out the syllables teasingly, and from lips that are pressing kisses against your skin, he responds a little muffled—

“perhaps.”

[onecanonlife]

Wilbur has never had wings. He has long since resigned himself to that fact. However much of his father's blood runs through his veins, it is not enough to grant him that gift.

Wilbur comes back to life, and his back begins to ache.

(word count: 6,141)

---------------------

It’s stupid, but when his back first begins to ache, he assumes it’s old age.

The thing is that he doesn’t have any real frame of reference for what constitutes as old and what does not. His father is old, but his father has lived for literally thousands of years. Technoblade is not quite so old as that, but Technoblade never dies is more than just a catchphrase. Tommy is young, he’s sure of that much, but Tommy has days where he wakes up and his head and ribs won’t stop aching, remnants of that third death that have never quite left him, so Tommy is perhaps not the best gauge of what pains are and are not normal for a young person.

Wilbur doesn’t think that he’s particularly old. He’s still not yet thirty, unless he counts the void years. Then, he’s older than thirty. Then, he’s older than his own bones. He tries not to dwell on the void years, because dwelling on the void years gives him urges that he’s still learning how to ignore. Urges like informing everyone gaily and at length when the inevitable heat death of the universe will be, or giving everyone a graphic description of what happens at a microscopic level in the human body when it picks up a stomach bug.

The point is, he’s not very old. But he feels it, a lot of the time, so when he wakes up one morning and his back is killing him, he shrugs it off and goes about his day. It hurts, sure. It hurts kind of a lot. But he’s had worse. The void took him apart molecule by molecule and put him back together again so many times that he learned to love it, and compared to that, this is nothing at all.

Life in the Arctic has been—nice. It’s been nice, reconnecting with Phil, cautiously rebuilding his relationship with Technoblade. Tommy comes to visit a lot, and it’s odd, trying to juggle the kid he thinks of as a brother with his father and his father’s best friend, especially when there’s so much bad blood between the lot of them, but they make it work. And Ranboo is around a lot, and he’s a nice kid, and Niki stops by every so often, and it’s good to see her. No one else is very interested in coming to visit him, which is understandable, but she always smiles at him, and he knows that they’re still friends. Which is good.

He’s fairly sure that the four of them, Phil and Techno and Niki and Ranboo, have some sort of secret club thing going on. They always give him different answers when he asks about it; Niki blinks and tells him it’s a book club, and Ranboo does not blink because he does not have eyelids, but Ranboo claims that it’s a pet grooming society. So they’re lying to him for sure, and he thinks he could know the truth if he wanted to, if he tapped in just a bit more to those bits of void that have nestled in his heart. The temptation is strong, sometimes, but he resists.

He doesn’t want to mess with a good thing, is all. He’s found a peace here in the snow that he didn’t think he would be able to find outside of the grave. He is hesitant to call himself healing, but most days, when his head cries out for blood and fire and burning the world and himself along with it, he can push the idea away and carry on without trying to act on it. That is healing, perhaps.

Captain Puffy tells him it is, anyway, and he’s found that Captain Puffy tends to know what she’s talking about.

But so. His back hurts. And he expects it to stop after a while, because even old person aches surely can’t last forever. Except, it doesn’t, and in fact seems to only get worse over the next few days, to the point that he starts to worry that it’s going to begin interfering with his functionality. Which he doesn’t want. He needs freedom, freedom to go where he wants, even if where he wants to go usually isn’t very far. It’s the principle of the thing. He does not do well with confinement, with spaces that are too enclosed, and if this pain ends up laying him out in his room, he’s going to go insane.

Poor choice of words, that. But the point still stands, so he makes a decision. The decision is this: he’s simply not going to allow that to happen.

So he slaps a smile on his face and carries on with his business, and does his best to ignore the way his spine starts to feel like it’s cracking open and stabbing into the surrounding muscle. And he is a very good actor, if he does say so himself, so for the most part, no one seems to notice that anything is wrong. Phil asks him if he’s feeling alright, but he’s able to deflect by claiming fatigue, and Phil accepts the explanation easily. And the pain only increases, does not let up at all, but it’s a gradual sort of increase, so before too long, he figures out how to adjust to it. It’s fine. He’ll be fine.

And then Tommy stops by for a visit, and they’re chatting outside for a moment, and Tommy says something stupid and ridiculous, so he smacks him gently upside the head, which Tommy takes objection to. And then they’re wrestling, which makes the pain flare a bit, but it’s manageable, especially since he gets Tommy pinned in about four seconds flat, which. Is concerning, a bit, because he is not particularly strong, physically, so if he can pin Tommy, there are a lot of other people who could also definitely pin Tommy.

But he’s probably not thinking about it the right way. This was a play fight, not a real one, and it’s difficult, sometimes, to remember that the server is currently at peace.

He pins Tommy, both of them panting and grinning in the snow, and he doesn’t let up until Tommy admits defeat. And then he gets to his feet, and here is where he makes the error: he turns his back.

The snowball impacts him right between his shoulder blades. He stumbles forward with the force of it, and his knees hit the snow.

Tommy is already cackling, is calling him a bitch. Wilbur barely has time to think oh, shit before something spasms, and it’s like something has taken a knife to him from the inside out. He hears a strangled little scream, choked and agonized, and barely recognizes the fact that it’s coming from him, because black spots are dancing across his vision and his lungs aren’t inflating properly and he can hardly think.

“Oh, come on,” Tommy says, a wide smile still in his voice. “Don’t be such a pussy. I didn’t even pack any ice in.”

He can’t reply. The agony is centered where the snowball hit, but it’s radiating outward, and the whole of his back feels like it’s burning and freezing all at once, and he shudders violently, breaths coming in short, quick gasps. He clenches his fists, braces them against his thighs, pressing down hard enough to leave bruises.

“Wilbur?” Tommy asks, more uncertain. And then, Tommy is there, kneeling down in front of him, and his face goes all wide and panicky. “Wilbur? Holy shit, are you dying? Are you having a heart attack? A stroke? Are you freezing to death? Have I just killed you with a snowball? You’ve got three lives again, right? Where are you hurt, Wil, come one, you’ve got to tell me, you’ve gotta tell me so I can fix it, are you—”

“My back,” he manages, “my back’s been—my back’s been hurting, it wasn’t your fault, it’s just—” He cuts off with another gasp as all the muscles in his back convulse, tensing and untensing and tensing again and sending a wave of stabbing pain through his nerves.

“Oh, Prime,” Tommy says, “oh, Prime, alright, you’re gonna be fine, big man, let’s just get you inside, alright? Can you walk? Nevermind, just—” Tommy hooks his hands underneath his arms and hauls him to his feet, slinging one of his arms across his shoulders as soon as he can get them in the right position. He lets out a little whimper, and hates himself for doing so, just a little bit, but fuck, that hurts.

The stairs are a trial. His feet drag, and he would trip and fall flat on his face if it weren’t for Tommy. But then, they’re inside Phil’s house, and Tommy sits him down on Phil’s ratty little couch, and he immediately curls in on himself, hands gripping his forearms as if the pain will go away if he hugs himself hard enough.

“Okay, shirt off, Wil, let me see,” Tommy says, and he blinks dumbly for a moment.

“What?” he asks, his tongue thick and heavy in his mouth.

“No, just—you’ve got to let me see what’s wrong, yeah?”

“‘S old man aches,” he mumbles, but doesn’t try to fight it when Tommy begins manhandling his arms, pushing at his coat sleeves.

“What the fuck are you on about?” Tommy demands. “You’re not that old. Who do you think you are, Philza fucking Minecraft? Come on, just let me see—” He finally manages to get the coat off, and then the shirt, and his skin erupts in gooseflesh as it’s exposed to the air. Tommy freezes.

“What?” he asks. “What is it, what’s—”

“I don’t,” Tommy says, running a hand through his hair, “I don’t, Wilbur, I don’t know what this is, I don’t—holy shit, that’s actually kind of scary. Um! No, nevermind, don’t pay attention to me, just keep um, breathing! Breathing is good! Breathing exercises!” He breathes in and out, loud and exaggerated. “See, just like that. I’m just gonna—”

And he puts a hand out, and before Wilbur can stop him, he rests it on his back. Light and cautious, but still too much, and Wilbur stuffs a fist into his mouth to stop himself from screaming. In the same motion, he flinches away, violently, but the damage has already been done. Because the contact hurts, a lot, but what’s worse is the horror, because in the split second that Tommy’s hand touched his skin, he could feel the way that it is wrong, that his back is wrong, that there is something terribly wrong. Because there are ridges protruding from his back, long and thick and raised, and it’s wrong and it hurts and Tommy’s right, actually, this is scary, he’s fucking scared.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Tommy is saying, “I’m so sorry, I’m so fucking sorry, I won’t do that again, I’m so sorry, Wilbur, are you okay? Please be okay, please—”

He nods, though it’s more like he lets his head fall and then painstakingly brings it back up a little.

“Okay, I think we need—” Tommy says. “I think that I don’t know what to do, so I think we need—” He takes a deep breath. “Phil! Phil!” Loud, panicked, earsplitting. Wilbur winces. “Phil! He is home, isn’t he? Phil!”

A second passes, and then, drifting up from the basement, a distant, “Tommy? Everything good?”

“Phil, get up here right fucking now!”

There is a beat of silence, and then there are footsteps, quiet at first but growing closer, and they are quick, hurried. Phil must have detected the genuine fear in Tommy’s voice, because Tommy and Phil generally stand on very shaky ground with each other, so while Phil will typically indulge Tommy in his whims, it depends on the day as to how far he’ll go, how quick he’ll respond. But it’s only a moment or two before Phil’s head pokes out of the floor, his hands clinging to the ladder, his face twisted in confusion.

“What on earth is the matter?” he asks, and then breaks off as his eyes land on Wilbur, who—he must be a sight. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t care. But terror flashes across Phil’s face, and he is crossing the floor in an instant, hands hovering over him, fluttering helplessly, though thankfully, he doesn’t touch.

“What’s wrong, where are you hurt, what—” The words come out in a jumbled flurry, but he stops just as abruptly, and Wilbur knows that he is looking at the horror show that is his back.

“It hurts, Phil,” he whispers.

“Okay,” Phil says, sounding—still concerned, but perhaps marginally calmer? “Okay, you’re going to be alright. I think I know what this is.” He settles himself on the couch right next to him and opens his arms, and Wilbur doesn’t hesitate before leaning forward, slumping against him. Phil seems to know better than to put any kind of pressure on his back, and instead places one hand on his arm and the other on the back of his head, threading his fingers through his hair.

“Then what the fuck is it?” Tommy demands.

“Tommy, I need you to run over to Techno’s and ask him for something for pain, and something for sleep. Can you do that for me?” Phil asks instead of answering, and perhaps Wilbur should be terrified by the implication that he’s going to need either of those things, but the promise of some kind of relief overrides any kind of trepidation.

“Like fuck I will,” Tommy says, “Not before you tell me what the fuck is wrong with him!”

Another convulsion wracks him. He bites his lip to keep from crying out, and tastes blood. His breath is hitching, and he can’t stop it.

“Tommy.” Phil’s voice is sharp, but then, Wilbur feels rather than hears him sigh. “It’s wings, I think. I don’t understand why now, but I went through this a long time ago, when I was very young. I recognize the signs. So Tommy, please.”

Tommy makes a surprised little sound. Wilbur isn’t looking, has his face buried in Phil’s shoulder, but he can imagine the look on his face: the slack jaw, the wide open eyes. And then, there are rushed footsteps retreating, and the door slamming, and Tommy’s muffled voice calling out for Technoblade.

And then, Wilbur processes what Phil just said.

He twists his head around so he can see his face, regretting it a moment later. Any kind of movement seems to make the pain worse, and he has to take a moment to tremble through it.

“Wings?” he whispers. “How?”

He’s never had wings.

If he were going to have wings, he would have gotten them a long time ago. He remembers nights spent as a child, staying up and hoping for feathered appendages to somehow miraculously appear on his back, just so he could be more like his dad. He remembers the crushing disappointment when he finally accepted that no matter how much divine blood runs in his veins, it is apparently not enough.

But he did accept it. He accepted it years ago. There is absolutely no reason for him to be developing wings now, as a fully-grown adult, but Phil sounds so very sure, and his back hurts so very much, and perhaps that’s consistent with actual appendages trying to sprout out of him.

“I don’t know,” Phil says. “I’ve never heard of it happening so late, even in avians. Which, I’m not exactly, but I got mine when I was a kid like they do, and I don’t—I don’t know, Wil, I really don’t, but I remember what it was like, yeah? I know what to do. It’s gonna suck for a little while, but you’re going to be fine, I promise.”

“Okay,” he croaks, “okay—” and then he has to stop talking, because the pain flares again, bright and intense and holy shit, but it’s worse this time, because now that he knows what’s going on, he can feel them. He can feel things inside of him, pushing against his muscles and his skin in ways that absolutely should not be possible, and there is too much of him to be contained in his body, and there are things inside of him trying to escape—

It’s almost like the way he gets when he thinks about the void too hard. Except not, because when he does that, he feels the urge to dissolve away, gently and peacefully, to let himself back into the quiet that is not quiet and the darkness that is not dark, where all the knowledge of the world is at his fingertips, too much for a mortal brain to contain and remain sane. That is not this. This is his own body trying to explode. There is no peace, no dissolution; it’s messy and physical and Prime he just wants it to stop.

He shifts in Phil’s grasp, fruitlessly trying to find a position that takes the pressure off, a little bit. It’s no use, of course, because he can still feel something moving under the skin of his back, and his vision whites out, and when he comes back to himself, he’s shivering, shivering and shaking and sobbing in Phil’s hold, and he doesn’t remember when he started crying but he can’t seem to make himself stop. Phil is keeping up a steady stream of soothing nonsense, and he latches onto the sound of his voice like it’s the only lifeline he has.

And then the door bursts open, and Wilbur doesn’t bother trying to look, but there are two sets of footsteps, not just one.

“Here,” Tommy says, panting, and there are several thumps, and several clinks, glass on glass.

“Oh god, don’t—and he’s doing it, he’s just dumping all of that on the floor. Don’t break those, Tommy, those aren’t splash pots. Have you never handled a potion before.” Technoblade pauses for a moment. “So, what exactly’s wrong with him? The child was making no sense at all.”

Wilbur thinks he detects a note of concern. But he’s not thinking clearly, and it’s always hard to tell anyway, with Technoblade.

“He’s got wings growing in,” Phil responds, voice clipped. Wilbur feels his hand leave his arm, and he whines at the loss of touch. And then another spasm, and he whines again, pressing his face harder into Phil’s shirt.

“Oh. Huh. Yes, that makes perfect sense, of course.”

Phil’s arm dips a bit, and Wilbur finds himself being moved, his head gently tilted back. Phil’s face comes into view, pale and blurry.

“You want to drink this for me, Wil?” he says, and then there is glass at his lips, and he parts them immediately. He doesn’t like being knocked out, doesn’t like the loss of control that comes with it, but if he has to be aware for another five minutes, he’s not going to be able to keep himself from screaming aloud.

He swallows, grimacing at the taste. The effects start hitting right away. His mind detaches from himself, and the pain drains from him. Every muscle goes lax.

He exhales.

“There we go,” Phil murmurs, “there we go. It’s gonna be alright, Wil. I’ll be here the whole time. You’re gonna be okay.”

The world falls away. He lets it. He trusts his father to catch him.

----------

He wakes up a few times, and each time, it hurts. Phil is always there, and usually, Tommy too, and sometimes Techno, and he can barely move but they always see that he’s awake, and they give him a potion and he’s under again, and he’s glad for it, because those moments of consciousness are a spiral of pain and confusion and his thoughts flying apart because he barely understands what’s going on or why he’s hurting and he just wants it to go away.

And then there is the time he wakes up and he thinks somebody is cutting his back open, and he can feel his own blood on his skin, sticky and hot, and he thrashes, trying to get away, and that makes the pain so much worse, and the sound that comes out of his mouth is inhuman, and he fights until a potion is poured down his throat and it’s back to sleep again.

And then there is the time he wakes up, and people are talking in low, hushed tones. He can’t make out what they’re saying. He cracks his eyes open, and it’s Phil and Technoblade, deep in some discussion, both looking terribly concerned. He decides he’ll ask what’s wrong later, and then closes his eyes and goes back to sleep again.

And then there is the time he wakes up, and some part of him is moving, and he doesn’t understand what it is because it’s not any of his limbs, not his arms and not his legs, and it feels alien and foreign and his back feels like it’s been shoved under a woodchipper and then tossed through a paper shredder for good measure, and he’s not aware enough to know why, so he panics. There is a bit of the void that still dwells in his heart, and he calls on it, cries out to it, and it answers, comes rushing in around him, and his mind expands to peer into galaxies.

Philza is at his side a moment later, and he is able to look at him and see all the weight of years that lie behind his eyes, and all the years that lie ahead of him, and the moment of his death, all spiraling out like a tapestry and like a mass, and the music is atonal, confused, but a closer glance reveals it to be twelve-tone, order in the chaotic lines. Wilbur is with the void again, and his heart still beats, but it’s a near thing, and he could stop it if he chose.

“Do you want to know, Philza?” he asks, words spilling from his lips like rain, like the river, like the flood. “Do you want to know when it will happen? I can see it. I can see how some part of you wants it. All our histories are like tangled up threads, but they all come to an end, and I can see those endings, Philza, I can tell you about them if you like.”

Pain constricts Philza’s face, and Wilbur doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know who wouldn’t love the void and its peace and its everything.

“I know, Wilbur,” Philza says, “I know, but how about you come back to me now, okay? Come back to me?”

“We’re all little bits of code, Philza,” he informs him. “None of us are real. We’re little bits of code and words on a page and lines in a script written by our better selves. Nothing in this world really matters. We might as well have all the fun we can before the lights go out. Do you want to know when that will be, Philza? Not too long after you, Philza. Not too long at all. I told Tommy, he knows, he didn’t want to know but that’s alright, he’s better off for it, if he hasn’t forgotten.”

“Come back, Wil, come on,” Philza says, “you can do it. You’ve got a heartbeat, do you feel it?”

Philza takes his hand and places it over his heart, and—that’s right. He’s alive. He’d forgotten. The void spins, and then it tucks itself away again, waiting for the next moment he needs it, and he is left with only vague impressions of what he’s just said and a vague idea that everything hurts and something is wrong with his back and he’d like to go to sleep now, please.

“Alright, yeah,” Phil says, “here, you can have this, you can sleep. You’re doing so well, Wil, I promise it’s almost done.”

He takes the potion. Or tries to; Phil has to hold it for him.

“Okay,” he says faintly. “I’m sorry.”

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for,” he hears Phil say, very far away. “So long as you come back, everything’s okay.”

He goes back to sleep again. He thinks he wakes up a few more times, but he doesn’t really remember. He doesn’t really want to.

----------

And then: awareness.

The first thing he processes is that everything aches, deeply and acutely, but none of it feels nearly as bad as it did before, and not even as bad as it’s been over the past couple of weeks. It’s irritating, painful, but more than manageable, really, practically a relief. The second thing he processes is that he’s lying on his stomach, and that there is something weighing him down.

His mind puzzles over this for a moment. He tries to roll over, to see what’s going on, but something stops him, and then he remembers: wings.

He’s got wings. There are wings on his back. Growing out of him. A part of his body. Wings.

As soon as he realizes that, he becomes aware of them. And it is so very strange, to suddenly have access to two extra limbs, to suddenly have additional body parts to move about and control. It’s a feeling impossible to describe, and he has to take several minutes to process it, to try to become accustomed to it. It doesn’t really work, but he tries moving them anyway, just a bit of a flex, and—

Ouch.

He groans, shoving his face into the pillow. A mistake. That was a mistake. He’d rather like to go back to sleep now and pretend that none of this is happening.

But his vocalization draws attention, and then there is a hand on his shoulder, gently brushing him just enough to feel, not enough to pain him. He turns his head to the side, reluctantly, and Phil is kneeling beside him, his face open and soft and clearly relieved, his lips curling into a slight smile.

“Hey,” he says. “How you feeling, Wil?”

He considers this, and decides on honesty. “Bit like I’ve been caught between a piston and a wall for the past couple of days,” he admits. “Better than before, though.”

“Good to hear,” Phil says, and then his face goes a bit more serious. “How much of that do you remember?”

“Not much?” he says. “I don’t think? Impressions, I guess. I know I wasn’t having a good time. I’m glad I don’t remember it too clearly. I was out for most of it, yeah?”

“Most of it,” Phil agrees, and Wilbur thinks that perhaps there is something he’s not saying, but he doesn’t feel like pressing the matter. He can guess what it is, anyway; there is a chill in his chest, and his thoughts feel just slightly more fractured than usual, so it’s not hard to assume what might have happened. Not hard to assume where he might have gone. He’s sure he’ll feel terrible about it when everything stops feeling so surreal.

He has wings.

“It’s over now?” he asks, and winces at the way his voice cracks. “It’s done?”

Phil’s eyes do the thing where they go immeasurably soft and crinkly at the edges, and it’s love and relief and sadness all at once. “It’s done,” he agrees, and then hesitates. “You’re not gonna be able to fly on them for a while, but would you like to see?”

He doesn’t understand why Phil is being so cautious about it. Of course he wants to see. If he’s going to be put through hell, he wants to see what came of it. He wants it to be worth it.

“Usually, when wings grow in, they’re all downy and shit. Like a baby bird,” Phil says, probably in response to whatever face he’s sure he’s making. “Flight feathers come in over the next few weeks.” He pauses again, and Wilbur thinks he understands his reticence, now, understands the still-present concern.

“But that’s not what happened with mine,” he states, and Phil shakes his head.

“Yours are fully fledged,” he says. “Probably part of why it hurt so much. I don’t know why, Wil. But do you wanna have a look?”

Wordless, he nods, and Phil takes that as his cue to reach out and help him sit upright. It’s far more effort than it should be, compounded by the fact that his sense of balance feels all wrong, and that’s going to take some getting used to, he can already tell. And he’s sore, like he’s run a marathon or fought another half dozen wars all in one go, and his head spins a little bit when he finally situates himself. He closes his eyes against it, breathing in sharply.

He feels Phil guiding his wings forward, into his field of vision. He opens his eyes.

They are very big, is the first thing he notices. They would have to be, of course, to hold his weight up. Magic and suspension of disbelief only stretches so far. They are very large, and the feathers are very large, and they are very angular and neat as well, so neat that someone has to have arranged them while he was unconscious, because there’s no way that they came out looking like that.

The color, though. The color. He swallows, hard.

They are black, perhaps. They look black. But he knows on an instinctive level that they are black in the same way that the void is black, and that if someone were to stare at them for too long, they would realize as much, would realize that actually, they are not black at all, but rather some color or some lack of color that is beyond human comprehension. The void translates as black to the human mind because it is as close as the human mind can get to true perception, and most of the time, Wilbur remembers it as black, but it was not, and his wings are not, and he is never going to be free of it, is he?

On some level, he knew that. Knew that the void is in him and about him, and no matter what he does, it will never leave him completely, not after all the years he spent with it, intertwined with the infinite nothing. But now he has wings on his back, and they should be a connection between him and Phil, should be something to celebrate, but he stares at the plumage and feels sick to his stomach.

“Wil?” Phil asks. He sounds confused, sounds worried by his reaction. “You okay, mate?”

He’s not sure how to phrase this in a way that Phil will understand. Not sure that he wants to.

“Void,” he manages, voice a broken whisper. “They look like void, Phil.”

He looks up just in time to see Phil’s face crumple.

“Wil—”

“They look just like it, Phil,” he continues. “Just like it. And I know I’m not always good about, about being here, about keeping myself stable, but I’m trying. I try to ignore it when it calls, I try not to reach out to it, and when I fail, I, I try to come back, I do, I swear. I can’t—I can’t have these, Phil, they’re from it, that’s why I’m getting them now, maybe it triggered something, I don’t know, but I can’t, Phil, I can’t—”

He reaches out toward them, intending to do—something, maybe, and Phil must have a better idea than he does, because his hand darts out and snags his, stopping him in his tracks.

“No, Wil, don’t do that, okay? We can work on it, we’ll figure it out, but please don’t—”

“You’re up!”

He and Phil both freeze, and as one, look to the door. Tommy is standing there, grinning like nobody’s business, and Technoblade is lurking behind him, his face contorted into an expression that looks like he wants to murder someone but really just means he’s feeling very awkward.

Tommy glances back and forth between the two of him, and his face slowly falls.

“Is everything okay?” he asks. “Nothing—I mean, it all went right, didn’t it?”

He blinks. Tilts his head slightly. Gently removes his hand from Phil’s grasp, and then spreads out his wings behind him, putting them on full display, as far out as he can make them go, and it aches and he’s not going to be able to hold them there for long, but it’s worth it. He wants Tommy to see. Because Tommy will know. Tommy remembers. And unlike him, Tommy hates to remember. Tommy hates the void. So perhaps this is an act of self-sabotage. That’s what Captain Puffy would say. But he does it anyway, because he wants someone else to see and understand, understand in a way he knows Phil won’t be able to.

“I’ve got void wings, Tommy,” he says, and a smile splits his face. “See them?”

Tommy’s eyes widen, and he flinches.

Gratification is not nearly as sweet as he thought it would be. Actually, he just sort of feels like crying.

But then, Tommy’s brows draw together. And he steps further into the room, coming closer and closer until he’s standing right up against the bed, staring at the feathers. Wilbur holds himself very still.

“I see,” Tommy says slowly, “but Wilbur, I’m not sure you do.”

“What are you talking about?” he asks, and cranes his neck to try to see whatever Tommy’s looking at. For a moment, he doesn’t; there’s just the feathers, void feathers, death feathers, a reminder that—

But arctic sunlight slants through the window, and if he shifts his angle just a little bit—

The noise that escapes him is small and involuntary. He hopes no one calls him on it, but that’s the least of his concerns right now. Because the colors do not change, not exactly, but if he holds them to the light, the sun illuminates the feathers, haloing their edges in gold, and there is a sheen of color running across them, a sheen that ripples and moves as he shifts them in the sunbeam, and it is a beautiful, rich blue.

And they’re lovely.

“Oh,” he says, and Tommy laughs at him, the fucking gremlin.

“Yeah, fucking oh,” he says. “You’re such a moron. They’re so fucking ace, Wilbur.”

“I think that maybe you need to work on rememberin’,” Technoblade says from the doorway, “that you’re the sum of all your experiences, and not just one.”

Wilbur stares at him.

“Oh my god,” he finally says. “That’s so cheesy. Who the hell are you and what have you done with Technoblade?”

“Alright,” Techno grumbles, “see if I do anythin’ nice for you ever again. I didn’t come up here to receive this kind of treatment. This is an outrage.”

He laughs. He laughs, from the sheer relief of it, and his trepidation is melting away like snow in the sunshine, and he can allow himself to revel in it, to revel in the wings on his back, and he is sore and tired but this is what glory feels like, maybe, and perhaps he can fly into the air and there will be no wax to drip away.

Perhaps these wings are of the void, but they are of him, too.

And he looks to Phil again, and Phil is smiling at him, warm and happy. His own wings are flared out behind him, tattered at the edges, so many feathers torn or still missing entirely, and the more time that passes, the more and more likely it is that those feathers are never going to grow back, that Phil truly will never fly again. Phil has already resigned himself to it, he knows, but Wilbur has never given up hope, will never be able to bring himself to give up hope.

“It’s not fair that I can fly when you can’t,” he says quietly, and the room goes still and quiet. Especially when it’s my fault, he doesn’t say, though he knows everyone hears it.

“Wil,” Phil says, “nothing could bring me more joy than this.”

And Wilbur hears what he means: you, here.

So he flexes his wings and revels in the ache and revels in the sunshine and revels at his family, here, his father sitting by him and his friend-protege-brother poking at curiously at his feathers and Technoblade still in the doorway, not leaving even for all his grumbling. He revels in this, revels in this life, and for a time, the void recedes entirely.

And in its wake is the sunlight.

[infernalrevenge]

Lady D confronting Y/N who is going to College and has a lot of anxiety and fear(Weird request,lol)

This isn't weird at all! I think everyone who went to college, especially those who had to move far away, would have liked a bit of comfort from someone about going into a new environment. I don't know if this was what you felt, anon, but I hope the comfort of Tall Pseudo-Vampire Lady would suffice.

Side note: I wrote part of this while drinking wine soooooo yeah. Maybe I made some parts to be a little too emotional.

Placed under read more for length (yes I definitely got carried away with this one, again.)

------------

Alcina had been keeping a close eye on you the past few weeks, especially since she was aware of your eventual departure.

You were frazzled and a bundle of nerves, to put it lightly. You constantly went over your flight details, checked the school website whenever you had internet access with a mix of wistfulness and dread on your face, you visited the Duke often for supplies you "might need, just in case" -- plenty of things that might have set off the alarm that you weren't doing so hot mentally.

The Lady was feeling similarly, though she wasn't sure if it was because your energy had rubbed off on her or that these thoughts had always been there but they were coming to light now that the inevitable was going to happen.

She was as excited as you were when you got your letter of acceptance, and even threw a little celebration for you with her daughters. She knew how hard you had been working toward this goal, and to see things finally unfold after months of anticipation and anxiety made it all worth it.

She was already aware that you had to move away from them for a while, she had accepted this. Or at least, she thought she had. Because as much as she trusted that you would do well for yourself there, wherever you may end up, she was still worried.

Mostly for your safety and well-being, but also (rather selfishly) for herself. She couldn't be with you while you went through with this new chapter in your life, and for some reason that didn't sit right with her.

At first, she did try to talk to you and convince you to go somewhere a little closer to home. She wanted to be able to visit you and check up on you instantly. She was going to miss you, and she didn't want to miss out too much on this part of your life.

She had the comnections anyway, she could pull strings to get you anywhere you wanted within the area. But you were put off by it -- you worked hard to get to where you wanted to go, not only would it feel like a waste to put it off but also disingenious to take up her offer of networking to get somewhere where others had to work for too.

Surely Alcina, a woman of her own making, could understand that, right?

If you're adamant and insist on going to your choice of college, then she might relent. She'll be petty about it for a few weeks but she will eventually accept that this was your wish.

But seeing you now, barely able to sleep weeks before your trip to the new area and campus, it didn't help quell her fears.

Part of her thinks this will pass; after all, if you were stubborn enough to stick to your guns about going to your college of choice, then she should trust your judgement... right?

She watches you in silence for a few days, seeing how you deal with this new stressor. She listens when you start to rant lightheartedly about how many classes you're going to have to take, which electives you want to take up, how big the school is and how you hope you won't get lost.

She also offers a comforting gesture every now and then when you start to ramble, perhaps a hand to cup your cheek or one placed on your knee, just to ground you. And it helps. Sometimes.

Three nights before you were going to leave, you found yourself staring at your acceptance letter and registration details, when you were already supposed to be asleep. It was nearly three in the morning, but your mind was more awake than ever.

It brought forth all your insecurities and fears about going to some place new -- what if you don't make friends? What if you flunk out on your first year? What if this letter wasn't even meant for you and it was all a mistake and your planning would have been all for nothing once you got there? Why did you even bother?

All of them came crashing down on you and finally... you sob. You crumple the letter in your hands and cry into it, soaking the paper with snot and tears. The voice in your head telling you you shouldn't go was ringing louder than ever before. This was a mistake, this was a mista--

Alcina placed a gentle hand on your back, crouching next to you on the chair you sat on. You feebly rubbed at your tear-stained cheeks and inhaled loudly, your vision slightly blurred as you tried to stop the corners of your lips from pulling down any further.

"Darling, come to bed. Let's talk." Her tone didn't leave much room for argument, but you were also too tired to anyway. Feeling like a child, you let her take your hand to make the short trip to your shared chambers.

Once you got in, you barely had to be prompted before you started voicing out what had been tormenting you the past days -- or at least ypu tried to. Apparently, all Alcina understood in between your sobs and sniffles was "shouldn't go", "mistake", and "lost". It was enough to confirm her suspicions of your second thoughts.

If this had happened weeks ago, she would have taken the chance to convince you again of going somewhere nearby instead. But she hated seeing you like this, not after you spent so long fighting for what you wanted.

She knew you still wanted to go, it wasn't like you to back out so last minute when it was already within your reach. She made sure to tell you this once you had calmed down enough so you would understand her. The stress was getting to you and it was doing a terrible number on your mental health.

All the while, she kept physical contact with you. Suddenly being so small wasn't so bad with your hand completely enveloped by hers.

You took deep breaths, eyes puffy and red, drowsy and barely able to think anymore. You think you got what Alcina was trying to say, but you didn't have it in you to process it all yet.

She quietly settled beside you and wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close as you drifted off.

The morning after, you two talked about it again over breakfast in her private study. Her daughters were a bit confused as to why you two didn't join them but Alcina only explained it was a private matter.

She reiterated what she said last night, about your hard work and the mental toll of the new burdens you may have to face. You talk, she listens, and vice versa. It feels very... productive somehow, despite the fatigue from last night still being fresh in your mind.

She mentioned that she was always there for you. You knew that. Sometimes it was hard for you to believe (through no fault of her own) bit hearing it from her helped alleviate that, even for just a moment.

You spent the rest of the day not doing anything related to your departure at Alcina's behest. She saw you were extremely meticulous in the week leading up to it so she was sure you were more than prepared. You needed to relax and let your mind think of something else, lest you implode. Wouldn't want our future college student burning out before the semester even starts, right?

The day you were going to leave, Alcina and the girls unfortunately couldn't leave the village. However, they still bade you goodbye and gave some parting gifts. Daniela was sure to remind you of your promise to return during the holidays, especially since they may not be able to reach you.

You turned to your lover, a small smile on your face as you thanked her for everything. The talk from a few days ago helped. It didn't completely ease your worries, but it was enough to calm you and help you think clearly again. You thanked her for reminding you of your ambitions and dreams.

"You built those dreams all on your own, who would I be if I didn't support the person I love on their pursuits? Even in times you don't believe in yourself, just know that I do. I believe in you always, my love."

Alcina was quite teary-eyed herself, giving you one more tight hug and a kiss to remember her by. It was only going to be a few months, but still a few months too long.

But it was comforting to know you had a family back home waiting for you.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Would you write NHS deciding that his friend Wei Wuxian deserves to be at his sister's wedding, and, well, he just happens to be invited and allowed to bring a + 1?

“Just because I have to suffer doesn’t mean you do,” Nie Mingjue pointed out.

Nie Huaisang rolled his eyes at his older brother, who looked miserable as always at the thought of a political obligation – especially now that he didn’t even have revenge as a driving motive. “It’s not going to be suffering, da-ge. It’s a wedding!”

“A Jin sect wedding.”

Nie Huaisang allowed the point. 

“Still, it’s also a Jiang sect wedding,” he argued, then winced and added, a bit more practically, “Anyway, it’ll be a good chance to see my friends: Jiang Cheng, Wei Wuxian –”

“Wei Wuxian? I don’t think they’re inviting him.”

Nie Huaisang blinked. “What? You’re joking. He’s the head disciple.”

“He was expelled, remember?”

“Technically expelled – and mostly because of the Jin sect egging everyone on, you know that.”

“And this wedding is at Lanling,” Nie Mingjue pointed out. “It wouldn’t exactly be politically apt to invite him even if they wanted to.”

“That’s bullshit.”

Nie Mingjue shrugged, which meant he agreed. “The Jiang sect doesn’t have enough political capital at the moment,” he said. “And they want Jiang Yanli to be treated well, which means they don’t dare start anything…protecting family is important.”

“Wei Wuxian is their family,” Nie Huaisang said mutinously. “They should be protecting him, too. I thought that was what they were doing by expelling him!”

“I’m sure that’s what they thought they were doing, too,” Nie Mingjue said dryly, then frowned.

Nie Huaisang was familiar with his brother’s expressions. That was a thoughtful frown.

“What?” he asked. “Have you figured out a way to right this travesty of justice?”

“Stop trying to use my principles to manipulate me,” Nie Mingjue admonished him lightly. “And – not me, per se. But if I recall correctly, they sent you a personalized invitation, rather than just including you on the Nie sect one.”

“So?”

“That means you’re allowed to bring your wife.”

“I don’t have a wife,” Nie Huaisang said. “And anyway, even if I did, what would that have to do with getting Wei Wuxian to – ooooooh. Oh, that’s awful. That’s evil. I love it.”

“I’m just righting a travesty of justice,” Nie Mingjue said, and almost managed to look virtuous rather than vicious.

“You’re making sure Jin Guangshan is too angry to talk to you is what you’re doing,” Nie Huaisang said gleefully. His brother might not exercise the sneaky bastard part of his heritage all that often, but Nie Huaisang enjoyed it every time he did – even if he was sometimes the victim of it. “I’ll go ask him to marry me, shall I?”

“Make sure not to let Sect Leader Nie know,” his brother advised. “He’ll be furious and have no choice but to break you two up – after the wedding, of course; we wouldn’t want to lose face.”

“Alas! The heartbreak. Whatever shall I do, especially with such a hardass for a sect leader?”

“Don’t push your luck, brat.”

The journey to Yiling wasn’t short, even with a flying sword – Nie Huaisang was never going to be good at it, but he’d at least figured out the basis during the Sunshot Campaign by virtue of his terrified brother hammering into his head the importance of having as many available escape routes as possible – but it wasn’t too long, and he made it there with his attendants with just enough time to spare for the travel to Lanling.

Not much time, though.

“Wei-xiong, let me in!” Nie Huaisang called. “We’re going to be late! Well, we were always going to be late, but we don’t want to be late enough to miss it!”

“Nie-xiong?” Wei Wuxian said, ambling down the mountain at what was not nearly an acceptable speed to Nie Huaisang’s mind. “What are you doing here?”

“Your shijie is getting married –”

“I know that,” Wei Wuxian said, and he looked for just a brief second as hurt and pained as Nie Huaisang had expected, right before he covered it up with an artificial smile. “What does that have to do with you being here?”

“I got a personalized invitation that allows me to bring my spouse, or in certain circumstances my intended,” Nie Huaisang said briskly. “Now come on, exchange gifts with me so that we can call ourselves engaged, we’ll go to the wedding, and then have a terribly moving break-up immediately afterwards.”

“…what?”

“You’re normally quicker on the uptake than this,” Nie Huaisang said, frowning at him. “Do you have some objection to pretending to be married to me? I’ll have you know I’m quite a catch, good-for-nothing or not.”

“No, no,” Wei Wuxian said, waving his hands, but he was grinning for real now. “Just stunned at how awful an idea that is. Aren’t you worried your brother’s going to break your legs? Actually break them?”

“Sect Leader Nie might,” Nie Huaisang said. “My brother agrees with me that it was bullshit that you got uninvited to your own shijie’s wedding because the Jin sect are being stupid and the Jiang sect are being political, when everyone knows how close the two of you are. Listen, can you ride with me on my sword instead of us riding on yours? You can help steer, but the only way this is going to work is if I’m perceived as being the husband –”

“That sounds great,” Wei Wuxian said, and then blanched. “I don’t have a gift.”

“I have several,” Nie Huaisang assured him. “Plus nice new robes for you that are devoid of sect insignia, don’t worry. I figured there was a chance you didn’t do laundry.”

Wei Wuxian, whose robes currently had a patch at the knee, shrugged. “Well, you know how it is. I’m too busy raising an army of fierce corpses to do my dark bidding, and the corpses all think it’s beneath their dignity.”

“If you ever actually use fierce corpses to do your laundry, my brother really will break your legs,” Nie Huaisang said. “Now move!”

The reaction to their arrival – the rage and disbelief on the faces of most of the Jin sect, the barely-hidden amusement on Jin Zixuan’s face, the delight on Jiang Yanli’s face, the long-suffering (but secretly equally delighted) expression on Jiang Cheng’s face, the “rage” on his brother’s face that was actually just his neutral resting face – was everything Nie Huaisang might have hoped for.

“I know it’s poor etiquette to announce one marriage at another,” he said cheerfully. “But hey, guess what! I’ve decided to get engaged, and bring my intended with me. Hope nobody minds!”

“Huaisang,” Nie Mingjue said in a deep voice before anyone else could say anything. “We will be discussing this later.”

“Of course, da-ge,” Nie Huaisang said obediently. “Whatever you say.”

[pod95]

Pairing: Finn Balor X reader

Word Count: 2152

Warnings: Smutt (implied)

Description: A/n you and your best friend Becky Lynch are sharing a hotel room together, but when her boyfriend Seth Rollins sneaks in, you are left with no choice but to sleep in his room with the guy you hate, Finn Balor.

A/N This is part of a series of one shots I am doing. You can read this and the others on my Wattpad, AO3 and FanFiction pages.

Room Swap

"Name please," the receptionist asked as you searched through your purse for your ID.

"Y/l/n. It should be a twin room."

"Ah yes, here you are," she turned to the board behind and picked out a key card. You're in room 412."

"Thanks!" you take the key card off of her and return to Becky, who was waiting with your luggage in the lobby.

"Everything all sorted, roomie?" Becky asked, thumbing through a magazine.

"Yeah I can't wait. Ever since you got with Seth we never get to bunk together. It's gonna be like old times!"

"I just hope you're ready for a wild night of stuffing our faces with room service and bingeing bad horror movies," she winked and giggled.

"Ooft sounds like a hot date," you teased her.

"Speaking of hot..." Becky gestured to the lobby entrance where her boyfriend Seth Rollins was bringing in his luggage. He made his way over to you and beamed when he saw Becky.

"Damn, you're beautiful. Can I get your number?" he teased.

"Sorry, I have a boyfriend. He's super buff and macho and could probably kick your ass," she retorted, planting a loving kiss on his cheek. Seth wrapped his arms around her waist as you smiled at how happy you were that your friend found someone who truly loved her.

"Are you sure you wanna spend the night with y/n? I mean I love Finn but we could have a LOT of fun in a room together..." Seth cooed, kissing Beckys neck.

"Hey, Rollins! Stop making moves on my woman. You get every other night with her. Go near her, and I'll chop that dick off!" you threatened playfully.

"Fine, Jeez!" he laughed, "We really need to get you a boyfriend."

You shuddered at the words. You had been secretly seeing someone, but broke it off a couple of weeks ago and you were starting to lose hope of ever finding a decent guy.

"You know, Finn is still single..." Becky prompted.

"Ugh no way!" you retched, "not even if he was the last man on Earth."

"Finn's a great guy! I really don't get why you hate him so much..." Seth shook his head.

"Where do I start? He's cocky and narcissistic, he thinks he's God's gift to women, he's always bragging about how many girls he's been with. Yeah sure, he's hot, but he knows it. Besides, he's a jerk to me whenever we're together."

"Y/n, you haven't even given him a chance. I reckon if you spent some time alone with him, you'd see all the good parts of him!" Seth enthused.

"He wears very tight trunks in the ring, I've already seen WAY more parts of him than I'm comfortable with."

"Aww, y/n, I'm flattered you spend your free time thinking about me in tight trunks!" came an Irish accent from behind you. You groaned internally.

"I wouldn't be... You missed the part where I called you cocky and narcissistic." you jeered, smirking at Finn.

"It's not cocky if you can back it up love," he winked, and you hated yourself for finding him so attractive.

"Right, sure. Guys like you are all talk."

"Oh one night alone with me, and you'd never want to leave," he went to brush a hair from your face, giggling mischievously as you swatted it away. "I could prove it to you tonight if you want."

"Oh my god, why are all the men in my life trying to ruin our night together? Go find some other woman to disappoint, Balor! She's mine tonight," Becky scolded him. "Y/n, we should go to our room before these Jackasses get in the way."

Becky stood up, kissed Seth affectionately and grabbed her luggage. You followed her leave, grabbing your things and saying goodbye to Seth.

"What no goodbye kiss for me?" Finn hollered is you set off towards the elevator, cackling at the middle finger you were now responding with.

When you got to the room, Becky kicked her shoes off and dove onto a bed. You changed into a tank top and some leggings as she looked through the room service menu.

"I'm gonna get some lobster. What do you want?"

"Ooh very fancy. I'll have the same."

You spent the evening pigging out on fancy room service and making fun of terrible movies before eventually feeling too tired to stay awake and nodding off halfway through the second movie.

Just as you'd fallen asleep, you were awoken by a noise. You weren't sure what it was at first, it sounded kind of wet. Then you heard a soft moan coming from the bed next to you and you looked over to see a huge lump under the covers of Beckys bed. Groaning, you turned your bedside lamp on.

"Really guys? I'm trying to sleep here..." you protested.

"Oh shit, sorry y/n. I'll just go." a naked Seth peeked out from under the covers, his hair messy and his voice breathless.

"No, it's fine just... Give me your key card. I'll sleep in your room."

"Really? Sure, it's in my pants. Thanks y/n, you're the best." Seth said, before retreating back under the covers, much to the delight of a giggling Becky.

You hastily retrieved the key card (room 426) from his discarded pants and made your escape.

As you stormed down the hall to where Seth and Finn were staying, you muttered under your breath. You knew that Becky and Seth were a couple, but do they have no boundaries? You arrived at room 426 and knocked on the door. Despite having the key, you didn't want to just barge into the room unannounced.

A shirtless Finn opened the door. He blinked in surprise upon seeing you, before smiling cockily.

"I see you decided to take me up on my offer earlier," he purred, leaning coolly against the doorframe.

"No chance in hell. Seth and Becky are 'getting busy', and as close as we are, I REALLY don't wanna see her O face so... Seth said I could crash here. Sorry to disappoint you," you shoved past, struggling to keep your eyes off of his impressive torso.

"Alright but I should warn you... I sleep naked," Finn beamed at you, amused by the look of horror that crossed your face.

"Whatever just... You stay in your bed, I'll stay in mine and we should get through the night without me beating you to death!" you smiled sweetly back at him.

"Oh come on. I'm just messing with you," he chuckled, grabbing a towel from the wardrobe. "I'm gonna take a shower, TV remote is there. Make yourself at home."

Finn disappeared into the bathroom and shortly after, you heard the gushing of the shower. For a moment, you imagined the water cascading down Finn's abs and trickling down his body. Disgusted with yourself for imagining such things, you shook the thought from your mind and turned on the TV.

Eventually, Finn emerged from the shower, and you were surprised to see him wearing a pair of shorts and a vest. You stared at him for a moment, still confused.

"Is there a problem?" he asks, snapping you out of your stupor.

"No! Not at all... You're just such a playboy, I'm surprised you're wearing actual clothes and not a towel that's far too small for you," you challenged him, secretly disappointed by the reality.

"Contrary to what you might think about me, I'm not a sex pest. I may be cocky and full of myself, but I'm not gonna go out of my way to make you uncomfortable." annoyed, Finn collapsed into his bed, refusing to make eye contact with you.

"Finn... I'm sorry. I'm being a jerk. Honestly, thanks for letting me stay here. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?"

"Well... You can buy me pizza. I like pepperoni and stuffed crust please!" He grinned cheekily and you couldn't help but smile back at him.

"Pizza, for Mr Abs? What about all those carbs?" you teased him, picking up the menu from the desk.

"Well, you really upset me and now I'm eating my feelings," Finn pouted adorably at you, giggling when you threw a pillow at him.

You and Finn went back and forth teasing each other until the pizza arrived, when Finn jumped up excitedly and rushed to the door to collect it.

"Wanna watch a movie?" Finn asked, sitting at the end of his bed and tucking into his Pizza.

"Sure," you started flicking through the movie channels. "Oooh, Toy Story!"

You lay back, occasionally eyeing up Finns pizza. Your stomach gave you away and let out a thunderous growl, as you held a pillow over it, trying to muffle the sound.

"Do you want some?" Finn tempted you, patting an empty space on the bed next to him. Nodding enthusiastically, you accepted the invitation and grabbed a slice.

The room fell quiet apart from the sound of you and Finn happily tucking in to the pizza.

"So are you feeling any better?" Finn asked, grabbing another slice.

"Better? What do you mean?"

"Well you seemed angry earlier. It must be frustrating never getting to see Becky," Finn prompted, giving you a look of genuine sympathy. You were surprised that he had picked up on it. You usually had a bad attitude around him anyway, so it was impressive that he could tell you were more upset than usual.

"I was at first, but I get it. They're a couple, they wanna spend time together. If I had a boyfriend, I'd be the same, " you confessed.

"So what happened with that guy you were seeing?" Finn asked, the hint of a smile on his lips.

"Oh that didn't go anywhere. Wait, how did you know about that?"

"Oh... I guess... Becky might have mentioned it..." Finn stammered, unusually flustered.

"Becky didn't know..." you eyed him suspiciously. Finn paused, thinking for a moment before sighing.

"OK fine..." he shuffled nervously. "A couple of weeks ago, I was outside your locker room and I heard you on the phone to him."

"And why exactly were you lurking outside my locker room, Mr Balor?" you teased him, amused by this vulnerable version of Finn.

"Well, I was planning on asking you to dinner," he quickly reverted back to his usual, charismatic self.

Speechless and somewhat embarrassed, you grabbed another slice of pizza and continued watching the movie. You're cheeks felt hot, and you could still feel Finns eyes on you. But even so, you couldn't help but feel surprised by how comfortable you were around Finn.

After several minutes, you dared to glance back at him. The glance escalated, and soon you found yourself examining his features in great detail. He really was incredibly attractive. Your attention moved from his dark hair towards his mesmerising blue eyes, twinkling with delight as he watched the movie, down his strong cheekbones to where an adorable, boyish smile perfectly complimented the rest of his face. As he turned towards you and caught you staring, every instinct told you to avert your eyes, but you just couldn't.

His eyes locked onto yours, holding your gaze as you felt your heart rate increasing. He smirked, pleased with himself for having caught you staring at him. Unblinking, he looked you up and down, licking his lips seductively. Bashful, you turned away, not wanting him to see you blush. Finn reached out a hand to stroke your reddening cheek.

Your skin tingled, as you nuzzled against his hand. Finn let out a low, victorious chuckle and cupped your other cheek in his hand, turning it to face him. You stared at his lips for just a moment before closing the distance between your face and his, stopping just before his lips. You closed your eyes, smiled to yourself, and pressed your lips to his. It was gentle and nervous at first, but as your hunger for him grew, the kiss became more passionate. You let out a small moan when he gently nibbled your lower lip. He pulled away, breathless, eyeing you intensely.

"If this goes much further... I won't be able to stop myself. Are you OK with that?" Finn asked, stroking your cheek. You nodded, never breaking eye contact. Finn smiled roguishly.

"Perfect." Finn grinned, tangling his fingers in your hair and devouring your lips, as you made a silent reminder to thank Seth and Becky

Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think, and if you want a part 2 at some point in the future 😊

[jamiemackenziefraser]

All That Was Fair

Chapter 37: Sweet First

Read on AO3

Read chapter 37 on tumblr below the cut

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Chapter 37: Sweet First 

*** Murtagh knew a guy. Of course he did— Jamie reasoned to himself— it wasn’t that crazy that Murtagh had connections to some black market guy who could get them a falsified birth certificate and passport… right? It left a sour feeling in Jamie’s stomach, but as long as it meant they could get Claire to be— well— a person who existed, he had firmly decided not to look the gift horse in the mouth. 

He was sitting at the kitchen table, pieces of paper in front of him where he was writing down the information to give to Murtagh, who would then pass it along to his connection. Claire, in typical Claire fashion, was behaving like a melted candle. For some reason that was beyond Jamie, his wife was sitting on the floor beside his chair with her upper body spread over him so her head was in his lap. Jamie was stroking her hair with his free hand, his touch almost absent as he came up with details for her past. She was so content to simply be with him and quietly accepted his touch without any hint of impatience. 

“When’s yer birthday?” Jamie asked as he reached that line. 

“Hmm?” Claire raised her head from his lap to regard him with a puzzled look, her curls sticking up around her from Jamie’s ministrations. 

He chuckled and smoothed them back for her, taking a detour to caress her cheek. She was so endearing it nearly hurt. 

“When were ye born? What day?” 

Claire closed her eyes and leaned into his hand. “Oh, I haven’t the faintest idea.” 

Jamie started, withdrawing his hand abruptly and causing Claire’s eyes to pop open, her bubble of peace popping as he looked up at Jamie, equally startled. 

“Ye dinna ken yer birthday?” he asked, feeling a tug in the pit of his stomach. 

“No…” Claire was regarding him with a wary expression, “I mean, my parents may have told me about the day I was born when I was young, but I certainly don’t remember now. Why does it matter?” 

Jamie couldn’t help the clenching in his lungs. “It matters because it was the day ye came into this world…” he began, bringing his hand back to stroke her hair again as she looked up at him with those impossibly big eyes, “and I am verra grateful for that day.”

His mind wandered back to all the birthdays spent with his family and friends, all the times he’d felt special and loved. His family had always made a big deal out of birthdays, and to this day, they held such weight for him. 

“Besides,” he added, “humans use them for legal purposes quite often. They are a part of one’s identity.” 

All Claire had to say was, “Oh. But I don’t have one…” 

An idea began to form in Jamie’s head, so he reached down for Claire’s hands. She took them, and Jamie pulled her up from the floor so they were standing face to face. 

“Well then,” he said, beginning to smile broadly, “I guess today is as good as any. Happy Birthday, lass.” 

He leaned in to kiss her, tender and sweet. Claire, always happy to kiss him, eagerly returned it, but Jamie was certain that she still didn’t quite get the whole concept of birthdays nor the sentiment that Jamie was pouring into his touch. 

When they pulled back, Jamie tucked a curl behind her ear, smiling fondly at her. 

“October 20th it is then.” 

***

A few hours later, Claire sat on the couch petting Adso, waiting for her husband to get back from dropping the papers off at Murtagh’s. She was ready for a nice quiet evening, hoping that they could turn on the television and she could snuggle up at Jamie’s side until she fell asleep and he carried her up to bed. She could already imagine the alluring warmth of his body and her eyelids began to droop. 

At that moment, the door swung open, the bulk of her husband pushing through the door. 

“Jamie!” she greeted warmly, starting to rise from the couch. 

“Stay there, a nighean,” he called. 

His back was to her as he seemed to be struggling to bring things in. 

“You don’t need help?” she asked, not-so-discreetly eying the muscles under his shirt as his back flexed. 

“No, it’s alright.” 

He had disappeared into the kitchen before Claire even had a chance to reply. She was still sleepy enough that she wouldn’t protest his refusal of her help. With a contented sigh, she leaned back against the couch again. 

She must have dozed a bit because the next thing she knew, Jamie was singing— singing!— in his terribly endearing off-pitch voice, and when she opened her eyes, he was approaching her with something…

“Jamie!” she squealed, scrambling up to her knees, ready to bolt, “you’re on fire!” 

Jamie himself wasn’t on fire, to be fair, but he was holding something round and soft looking in his hands, and up from the object sprung licks of flame. 

Claire wasn’t sure whether to run toward him and throw herself on him in an attempt to save him or just bolt and let him follow after her. Either way, her fear made her feet feel cold and she found herself frozen in place and staring at her husband in horror. 

“It’s alright,” Jamie was laughing. Laughing! 

Why was he laughing when there was fire inside his house? 

He had stopped in his tracks, his bizarre singing gone quiet, and was looking at her with the softest expression. She was still trembling, and his eerily calm attitude was doing nothing to help ease her. Had he lost his mind? 

“Why are you laughing?” she demanded, letting go of the side of the couch where she’d been clutching it so she could spring to her feet. 

“Sorry, lass. I wanted to surprise ye but I likely shouldha explained the tradition first,” Jamie said, still ignoring the fire in his hands as if it wasn’t a big deal. 

Claire furrowed her brows but stayed quiet in an attempt to get him to continue his explanation. 

“Since it’s yer birthday today,” Jamie said with a tone that left no room for argument, “I’m showing you the human traditions for birthdays. This here is a birthday cake, a type of food. We put candles— these wee things—” Jamie gestured to the sticks of fire, his hand getting dangerously close in a way that made Claire’s breath catch, “on top and light them on fire. The birthday lass, or laddie, uses their breath tae blow them out. And when they do, they make a wish for the coming year. After that, everyone gets tae eat the cake!”

Seeing her dubious expression, he quickly added, “it’s perfectly safe, dinna fash.”

Claire felt rather overwhelmed by the information and had to stop herself from commenting at how awfully strange it was. How did humans come up with such a thing? And why?

But she bravely gave a nod, and Jamie drew closer so that he could grab her hand and give it a squeeze. 

“Now,” Jamie said, assuming his air of playful authority, “let’s try this again. And this time, ye’ll listen to the birthday song. And when it’s over, ye’ll blow out the candles, aye?” 

Claire had no choice but to acquiesce and indulge his whims. She sat back down on the couch to wait patiently. 

Her husband turned around and disappeared into the kitchen again, only to come out a second later, singing joyfully off-key in the same way he had earlier. He came toward her with measured steps, carefully balancing the “cake,” with his eyes fixed on hers as he sang. She found herself blushing at his attention, almost embarrassed as he sang to her. 

He set it down on the coffee table in front of her as the song drew to the end. 

“Blow out the candles, a nighean,” he urged quietly. 

Claire leaned forward and blew all the breath in her lungs out in a whoosh. The little fires blew out, and when she straightened up again, Jamie looked delighted. 

Before she knew what was happening, Jamie had leaned over the cake and taken her lips with his, and she found herself kissing a very enthusiastic human. His hands tangled in the small curls at the nape of her neck as he pulled her closer. Her own hands wandered down his chest as she kissed him back, every hint of sleepiness gone. She started to lean closer to him when she felt her side bump something. Jamie drew back with a gasp and she opened her eyes just in time to see the cake teetering on the edge of the coffee table. Quick as a flash, Jamie had grabbed it and righted it again. He looked up at her with a sheepish smile as he straightened it on the table. 

“Sorry, lass, I may have gotten a wee bit carried away. I jes’ love tae celebrate you.” 

“Well, I can’t eat this anyway, perhaps we skip that part of the tradition and…” she trailed off, reaching for his hand to lace their fingers together. 

“What?” Jamie asked cheekily, “what are you suggesting?” 

The look on his face showed he very much knew what she was suggesting, the bastard. 

“As much as I enjoy your little human traditions, I think I’ve had enough learning for today…” She refused to give him the satisfaction of begging. 

“Whatever the birthday girl wishes,” Jamie’s smile was growing impossibly wider. 

“That’s part of the celebration, isn’t it?” Claire gestured to the cake in front of them, “making a wish?” 

“Och, aye,” Jamie confirmed with an enthusiastic nod. 

“Want to know what I wished for?” 

Claire stood and made her way around so that she could slide back down against Jamie’s side, pressing her lips to his ear. 

“I’ll tell you what I wished for…” she whispered into his ear so that her breath tickled the sensitive skin. 

A shiver went down his spine, and she giggled at the resulting vibration. 

“Nae, lass, humans believe if ye share yer wish with another that it willna come true,” Jamie forced out the words through what sounded like a very dry throat, “and it seems to me that I would verra much like for this wish tae come true.” 

“Well if I can’t tell you…” she let her tongue flick out to taste his neck, brief and teasing, “how about I show you?” 

“Aye. As ye say, my birthday, lass.” 

***

A short while later, Claire laid beside Jamie in bed, wearing nothing but her opal. Jamie looked blissed out, his eyes soft and glazed as he stared at her, his curls mussed where they lay on the pillow. 

“Did we make yer wish come true, lass?” he asked fondly. 

“Very much so,” Claire laughed, reaching out to run her hands through his soft hair. She let her fingers scrape against his scalp, and he let out a sigh. 

“I’m supposed to be the one spoilin’ you,” he protested weakly, but he had melted impossibly further at her touch. 

“If you haven’t noticed, I like touching you,” she breathed. 

They were both still laying flat, heads inches apart on the pillow and gazing at each other. It took all of Claire’s strength just to get her arm raised enough to continue petting Jamie’s hair. Her thumb wandered lower to graze his eyebrow before brushing back his curls again, and Jamie let out another contented exhale. 

He inched closer so he could press his lips against hers again, savoring the kiss for a long moment. She stilled her hand and instead clutched his head to keep him close. 

“I have somethin’ for you,” he whispered against her lips. 

“Oh?” 

She rolled her head back on the pillow and gave him a smile with brows raised in expectancy. Jamie withdrew, getting out of bed (and giving her quite the view), to grab something from the dresser. 

Sitting up, Claire felt excitement return the strength to her limbs. Jamie perched himself on the bed next to her, his hand wrapped around whatever it was he wanted to give her. 

“Turn around,” he rumbled in a soft, low voice. 

She did, facing away from him, and a second later, she felt something light lay across her chest and his fingers tickle over the back of her neck. 

Before even looking down, she faced Jamie again, and then finally tilted her head down to look at the gift. 

Resting right above the opal on her chest was another necklace made of two gold hearts with a tiny pearl set in the middle of each. 

Her mouth fell open and she looked up at her husband with shining eyes. 

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered. 

Jamie reached out to tenderly cup her cheek as he spoke. “The opal is a symbol of all ye lost and had tae give up. I wanted ye to have a symbol of what was gained. You hold my whole heart, Claire. Both of ours. Safe in yer hands. It’s yours forever, mo ghraidh.” 

The tears she had been trying to hold back must have been glistening in her eyes, because Jamie thumb gently swiped at the corners. 

“Thank you, Jamie,” she raised her hand to place it over the necklace, pressing the metal into her bare skin and thinking of the weight that it held. She caressed her thumb back and forth over the precious gift. “I love it. I love you.” 

“Happy first birthday, mo chridhe,” he breathed.

***

Next

[adventuresinwonderlust]

Title: Serious Inquiries Only: PART 1

Pairing: dom! yoongi x reader ft. Hobi

Warnings: Implied Masturbation, crack, humor, flirting

Rating: 18 and over

Y/N:

“Fuck, fuck, god yes!” You shake your head at the sounds of your roommate, jacking off for the fifth time in an hour. You press the volume up on the television trying to drown him out when suddenly he emerges from his room. He is completely out of breath, sweaty, and half naked. His sweats hang shamelessly off his hips. “Did you forget you don’t live alone Hobi? My god!” You sneer. “Sorry Y/N. That last one was for a customer that likes yelling. I’m done for the day. 500 dollars richer! We should grab dinner, on me!” He beams at you, yanking a Gatorade from the fridge and chugging it. “I still can’t believe you have one of those stupid pages.” You roll your eyes. He swallows hard, walking over and plopping down on the couch. “You know Y/N, you’re gorgeous. You’d make a killing on the site.” You cackle at his suggestion. “I would never.” “Never say never. Some of the most elite people at this school are on that site whether watching or streaming content.

Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.” Hobi leans back, closing his eyes. “I’ll get my porn for free thanks.” “Ah, but it's so much more than that. It's an experience and sometimes it's not even about sex. I have a customer who loves when I read to her. I mean when’s the last time you even, well you know.” He makes a lewd jerking move with his hand and you laugh out loud. He waves you off, continuing to speak. “True story Y/N. Bedtime stories, it’s the sweetest thing.” “And tell me Hobi, how much do bedtime stories run a person?” “That’s not how this works you know. If you would just look at the site. Anyway, It’s a monthly subscription. If you want specific things, that’s where extra funds come into play and it's all at the discretion of the content creator. I could say no to the sex stuff, but I like it and it makes the most money but it's not a requirement. I mean honestly, have you ever even been on the site?” “No. I haven't, and I have no interest. What would your parents say?” You ask with a raised brow. “Ah! You’re too stuffy. You should subscribe! I have the perfect person for you if you’re ever interested.” “You're out of your mind if you think I would ever pay for something like that.” Hobi laughs, getting up from the couch and heading over to his room. “When you’re ready to lighten up, let me know. Serious Inquiries Only Y/N. Until then I’m going to take a nap.” “Whatever.” You whisper, mulling over the idea in your head. Hobi wasn’t completely wrong. It had been forever since you’d been with someone. You were hyper focused on school and now in your final semester of college maybe it was time to lighten up. “Serious Inquires Only.” You whisper to yourself, grabbing your cell phone and typing that name into your browser. A little glance couldn’t hurt could it? The site pops up immediately but you can’t browse any particular pages without a subscription. The subscription offers pop up and you scoff at the prices:

*$24.99 for one month

*$49.99 for three months

*$149.99 for one year

All subscriptions come with a 14-day money back guarantee cancellation policy.

You roll your eyes and close the window. “Fuck that.” You say to yourself. “You know what I changed my mind about the nap. Let’s just go eat. I’m starved!” Hobi emerges again to grab another Gatorade and then heads back to his room to get ready.

You step out of your room and roll your eyes at Hobi who gives you a wolf’s whistle. “Ready?” You ask, pulling on a black leather jacket over your white crop top sweater, admiring how your black skinny jeans hugging your hips nicely in the mirror of your lobby. “I think we should get steaks tonight. I’m feeling fancy.” Hobi states as you exit the building. “Sounds good. I’ll eat whatever you’re buying.” You say with a laugh. “Ah, ok,” Hobi says to his phone, “Yoongi will join us.” He smirks suggestively, throwing his hand out to hail a cab. “What? Why?” You whine. “He is hungry and I invited him.” “Hoseok! You know how nervous he makes me.” “Still have a crush on him huh?” Hobi smiles, a cab arriving. “No! He’s just brooding, quiet, judging!” “Oh wow! You’re a terrible liar. You know, we are in our last year of University, you should just tell him about this freshman crush and move on already.” “I don’t know why I bother speaking to you. I swear if you’ve told him I have a crush on him, I’ll strangle you.” Hobi laughs, slapping your thigh, as he shakes his head. “You are too wound up. He’s a great guy and friend. You’re the judgmental one Y/N. He actually thinks you’re really nice and cute.” “He said that?” Hobi nods assuredly. You hum to yourself, wondering what other things the two boys have discussed.

Yoongi:

“You’re late.” Yoongi grumbles, not moving his eyes away from his phone. Another Serious Inquiries Only subscriber has come in for his hand kink section. He smirks to himself. Easy money. This one wants him to open a gift box containing lingerie. “I am only 10 minutes late. There was traffic. How long were you actually waiting?” Hobi asks. Yoongi shrugs, looking over Y/N’s exposed tummy and tight jeans. Was she always this curvy? He licks his lips, shoving his phone in his pocket. “Y/N, you look really nice. How are you? I feel like I haven’t seen you in a while.” Yoongi remarks. Her eyes widen and she tucks her hair behind her ear, fumbling over her words. “It hasn’t been that long. I’m good, you know. I mean, we’ve seen each other around or maybe you just don’t notice. I’m good anyway. How about you?” He smirks, enjoying her flushed face and nervous demeanor. He has always thought she was a gorgeous girl but tonight she looked different, tonight she looked like sin. What he wouldn’t give to grip her hips. “Uh, ok you two, pine over each other inside please. I’m starving.” Hobi cuts in, grabbing the door to the restaurant and entering. Yoongi catches the door to hold it open for Y/N.

At the table, Yoongi finds himself peaking over his menu at Y/N. She looks amazing, fresh faced, glowing even. “What are you getting?” Hobi nudges her with his elbow. “I’m thinking lamb.” “Good choice.” Yoongi states calmly. She looks over at him and gives a small smile. “What are you getting?” She asks Yoongi. “Surf and turf.” He drops his menu, feeling his phone vibrate. He maintains eye contact with Y/N, reveling in the flush of her cheeks. He swears she’s in heat, he can almost smell her. He winks to test this theory, releasing a small laugh as she clears her throat and rubs her thighs together under the table.

Looking over his phone, he smiles as he sees another subscriber join his Serious Inquiries Only page. This one joins his ASMR section, requesting he whisper sweet nothings to her. He chuckles, looking up at Y/N’s furrowed brows. He licks his lips, shoving his phone in his pocket again. “So, Hobi, what are we celebrating?” Yoongi leans back, looking at his best friend. “He made extra cash on that ridiculous website.” Y/N interjects. “She's a prude.” Hobi scoffs. “I'm not, I just feel like you can get porn for free.” “What's your favorite type of porn?” Yoongi can't help but ask. “Excuse me?” Her brows furrow. “Well, it seems like you’re yucking someone else's yum. So, I'm intrigued as to what you find acceptable.” “I'm not yucking anything, all I'm saying is it's not for me.” Hobi cuts in, “OK, ok, let's not get into a debate at the table.” “Not everyone seeks or sells sex on that site anyhow. You should educate yourself before you shoot it down.” “Wow, asshole much? I guess you're on that site seeing as how defensive you are. Sorry if I don't want to pay 150 dollars to watch some guy shoot his load on his chest.” “So, you have looked at the site?” Hobi gives a curt smile. Yoongi laughs as Y/N squirms. “And it seems as if she was in search of some guy shooting his load on his chest.” Yoongi adds, causing Hobi to laugh loudly. “Fuck you both.” “I'm sure as you know, that cost extra.” Yoongi says with ample sarcasm. Y/N sucks her teeth, huffing off to the bathroom.

Hobi laughs and laughs, releasing a sigh as he comes down. “Leave her alone Yoongi. She's just not getting any.” “Fuck Hoseok, why haven't you planned a dinner like this sooner? I'll give that girl anything she wants. She's a fucking Goddess.” Yoongi looks over towards the bathroom as he speaks. “Is that on the record or off?” Hobi asks, waving over a waiter. “Off, besides, she doesn't like me like that.” Hobi just smiles at Yoongi. “What?” Yoongi grumbles. “What can I get you gentlemen?” The waiter asks. “I will have the filet mignon, medium rare. My friend who is in the restroom will have the lamb chops, also medium rare, and surf and turf for the gentlemen to my left.” “Medium rare as well?” Yoongi nods at the waiter, handing over his menu. “Spill it Hobi.” “No can do.”

Y/N:

You take a few deep breaths at the sink, trying to calm yourself. You’re not a prude, granted it's been a while since you’ve been with someone and sure you were a bit of a homebody but that didn’t make you a prude…. did it? You splash cold water on your face, looking at yourself in the mirror. You should’ve put on some makeup. Yoongi was looking hot tonight and here you were looking drab and fresh faced. Why did he make you so nervous? He was always so confident and the way he kept looking at you had you hot to say the least. You needed to just get your head right. It was one dinner and you were home free, back to ignoring each other.

You emerge from the restroom and head back to the table. “I ordered your lamb chops.” Hobi informs you. “Thanks.” You say, resting your chin on your hand, trying desperately to avoid Yoongi’s demanding eye contact. “So, Hobi tells me that you and I will be taking a couple of courses together this semester.” Yoongi states. “Oh, I hadn’t realized.” You say, still avoiding eye contact. “I look forward to seeing you every day.” You laugh out loud at his confession. “Is that so?” “Yeah definitely. I love a woman in uniform.” He mumbles. Your head snaps almost on its own and you nearly melt away watching Yoongi lick his lips. Is he flirting or just messing with me? You weren’t sure but lord you felt it right in your pussy. “Ah, yes, food is here!” Hobi proclaims, the waiter placing plates in front of each of you.

You all begin to dig in, savoring your meals. “Mm, so good, Y/N, let me try the lamb.” Hobi says between chews. You nod, cutting him a slice of lamb. He grabs it with his fork and pops it in his mouth. He hums in delight. “Yoongi! You have to try it. Phenomenal.” Yoongi chuckles softly, chewing his food. “You want to.” You point at your lamb with your fork. He gives you a sly smile that causes you to swallow hard. He nods and you cut him a piece. You look up to find him leaning in with his mouth open. Your mouth falls open and you feel your face flush. “Ah.” Is all he says. You grab your fork, catching the cut piece of lamb and bring it to his mouth. He slowly brings his tongue out, touching the tip of the lamb with it, before wrapping his lips around your fork. You moan just a bit at the sight, feeling your slick move past your slit. “Amazing.” He whispers, never breaking eye contact with you. You nod. “Told you! So good. What a great idea to come here tonight. Go me!” Hobi praises himself while you and Yoongi maintain your locked eyes.

Hobi pays for dinner, refusing Yoongi and your advances to even leave the tip. “It's my treat you two besides, Yoongi’s got next.” He winks. You raise a brow but just shake your head. You all leave the place together. “Yoongi, you should come to our place for a night cap.” Hobi offers. “Ah, I would but I have a bunch of shit to do tonight. Maybe next time. Y/N, so good to see you. We’ll catch up in class yeah?” “Yeah.” You smile. He nods, giving Hobi a handshake and walking off. “Holy fuck! Was he flirting with me all night or was I going crazy?” You turn to Hobi, who sticks his hand out for a cab. Hobi shrugs. “I didn’t notice anything strange.” “Well did he say anything about me while I was in the bathroom?” Hobi smiles wide now. “So, is this an admission that you have a crush?” You suck your teeth. “Forget it Hobi.” “Forgotten Y/N.”

Yoongi:

Yoongi stretches his body wide at his computer, leaning in to review his newest member’s request. He had never wanted to get into the Serious Inquiries Only game but when he saw the extra money it made Hobi on the side he signed up with no complaints. He was very organized though and set very specific rules. First, he never offered sexual favors in exchange for money. It wasn’t that he was against it, he just didn’t have the time to delve into that line of work. He always saw how exhausted Hobi was after just one night of requests and with school and his part time job, he couldn’t commit. Second, he never used his real name nor showed his face. He wanted to keep his anonymity intact. Hobi was cool being recognized around campus, Yoongi wasn’t. He loved being an enigma or flat out ignored because people thought he was cold. He didn’t want that to change. Lastly, he was strict about what he provided. He only offered hand kink and ASMR on his page. At first, he was unsure of how people would respond to it, but it was an instant hit, his subscribers grew by the day. His videos ranged from gripping his bed sheets, to unwrapping silk ribbons, to whispering or scratching in his microphone. For Christmas this past year, he blessed his followers with an ASMR of him moaning. The video was such a hit, he gained 40 followers in an hour from word of mouth alone. After his first year with ‘SIO’, he began offering his yearly subscribers an exclusive gift, a personal video of their choice from either of his categories. He was a success to say the least, earning a sweet living off this side hustle. The only reason he didn’t leave his part time job was because he didn’t know how to explain the extra money to his mother when she visited him. Not to mention, he rather enjoyed teaching kids the piano.

So, here he was at his computer desk, after having gone out and buying black laced lingerie and making sure they wrapped it pretty. He began to set up his camera to shoot his new subscriber her personal hand kink video. He smirked to himself as he slowly undid the black ribbon from around the package, making sure to twirl the soft material around his long slender fingers. He let the ribbon fall to the sides of the package, running his now stretched fingers along the front of the package, smiling again at how his veins bulged out of his hands. He soon tucked his index finger under the lid of the box, sliding his hand down and lifting the lid up to reveal the red tissue paper inside. He gently rubbed the pads of his fingers atop the dressing before gripping it hard into his fist, curling the delicate paper into a ball, and discarding it to the side. He again rubs his fingertips over the contents in the box, this time it’s the Italian lace lingerie he purchased. He licked his lips, even though the camera couldn’t see him do it. He purchased it with Y/N in mind. Imagining how the gorgeous lace would hug her hips perfectly. He pulled out first the thong, allowing it to hang from his middle fingers, then stretching the fabric out to show the detail. He then grabs the bralette, twirling the straps around his index fingers and sliding his thumbs under the back straps to showcase its detailed hand stitching. He next pulls out the garter belt, resting it atop the bralette and thong, he holds it down with one hand, yanking at the clasp and releasing so it snaps back. He places the items back in the box, running both hands down the fabric again, before bringing his hand up and shutting the camera off. He releases a sigh, setting up his microphone now for his next subscribers request, when he decides to make a phone call. “Hey Hobi, what’s your address?” He chuckles at Hobi questioning him. “Just send it in a text. I want to send something to Y/N, anonymously of course.” He smirks at Hobi’s protest. “Just send the address Hoseok, I’ll address it from a secret admirer.” He hangs up without another word, clearing his throat before he begins to record, he always liked to deepen his voice when he records, always sure to keep things anonymous.

Y/N:

First day of classes consisted of nothing more than getting acquainted with classroom locations and professors. This semester you had opted to do more classes online only taking three courses in person. Psych, Critical Writing, and Literature because you felt like you needed a professor to really drill these lessons into your head. “Hobi, I’m leaving, I’ll see you later!” You shout before heading out. You didn’t wait for a reply, running out to catch a cab to campus, too lazy to walk. The school was strict about wearing their uniforms which you hated because they were still stuck in their old ways and you were stuck in a plaid skirt and knee highs. You got to campus with enough time to grab a coffee. “May I have an iced americano please?” You tell the cute barista behind the counter, digging for cash. “Make that two.” Yoongi appears from behind you, handing money to the barista before you can and looking you over. “Nice knee highs.” He smirks. You roll your eyes at him. “Thanks for the coffee.” “Sure. Where are you headed?” “Class.” “Obviously. Where?” “Main building. I’m only taking three on campus. You?” “Two in person. The rest online. I think I’m going to pick up some more shifts at my part time gig. I need to lighten the load you know?” You nod at him. “Wanna grab dinner with me sometime?” He asks next. Your eyes pop open. “Me?” “Uh, yeah, definitely not talking to the plant behind you.” “Um, I don’t know. What would we talk about?” Yoongi shrugs. “Life, school, kinks. Whatever you’re into.” He licks his lips. You feel your cheeks flush under his gaze. “Yeah, I um, don’t know about that. I mean what’s with the sudden interest in me?” “Who said it was sudden?” “ICED AMERICANOS UP.” The barista calls out. You move past Yoongi and grab your drink. “I have to go. Thanks for the coffee again. I’ll see you around.” “You sure will, maybe even sooner than you think.” You scoff, walking out of the café.

You hurry towards the main building and into your first class taking a seat quickly. “You’re really quick you know that.” You hear from behind you, turning to find Yoongi taking a seat next to you. “Why are you here?” Yoongi pulls out his phone, flashing you his schedule. “Psych and Critical Writing are my two in person classes.” He tucks his phone away, chuckling at your shocked expression. “I’m going to kill Hobi.” You say finally. “Aw, come on. Don’t blame Hobi. I’m hard to resist. You’ll find out soon enough.” You laugh out loud. “You must not hear this a lot but I am not interested in you.” Yoongi smiles, turning towards you and leaning in. He whispers closely, his breath causing your hair to tickle at your ear. “Oh, my sweet Goddess, it turns me on when you lie. I am just dying inside to find out all the secrets you keep locked away. Just know, you don’t have to hide anything from me. I’ll never judge you; I just want to make all your filthy dreams come true.” You shudder slightly, swallowing hard. “I, you.” “Shh, don’t say anything. I’m ok pretending we don’t like each other a little longer. I’m incredibly patient.” “Good morning class.” You professor walks in but you can’t break away from Yoongi’s stare. “I am putting out the itinerary for the class and on it is listed all of your due dates for assignments. You can email me any questions you have but we will meet here in person on due dates only. Welcome to big kid Psych. Enjoy your day.” Everyone, including the professor, begin to leave. You and Yoongi however are still seated, staring at each other. “I have to go.” You mutter. Yoongi smirks. “Want company? I mean we are headed the same way after all.” You shake your head at first but eventually start nodding. Yoongi nods, putting his hand out for you to take. You place your hand in his and practically melt as he runs his thumb over your knuckles.

Yoongi:

Yoongi watches as her hips sway side to side, biting his lip. He just can’t help himself; she really is a Goddess in his eyes. He had always had a crush on her but she was always so consumed by school work and the one time she was out and about she dated some piece of shit tattoo artist that dropped out in year 2. Y/N looks back at him suddenly and he quickly lifts his gaze to meet hers. “Why critical writing?” Y/N asks. “It’s a requirement for graduation.” “Not because Hobi gave you my schedule.” Yoongi smiles wide at her. “No. I mean it’s a plus but I really needed to fulfill the requirement to graduate, same as you.” Y/N nods at Yoongi. You both enter the classroom and take your seats. “Where do you work? You mentioned a part time gig.” “At the rec center. I teach kids piano.” “Really? That’s awesome. Not what I was expecting at all.” She laughs, causing Yoongi to smile also, basking in her beauty. “Sorry I’m not some jerk of a tattoo artist.” Yoongi scoffs, looking over at her, realizing he’s fucked up by the expression on her face. “Well, he may have been a jerk in the end but he wasn’t always that way and his work was great.” She huffs. “I didn’t mean to imply his job was…” “Forget it. What do you know anyhow Mr. Serious Inquiries Only?” She snaps. Yoongi sucks his teeth. “I deserve that but I don’t get the reference seeing as how I never said I was on that site. So, I don’t know why you give me shit about it.” She cackles. “Give me a break. Your fancy bracelet and earrings. How about your designer clothes? You mean to tell me that you get that on some shit part time piano gig? But hey what do I know right? Maybe mommy and daddy pay for it like everyone else at this school.” “You mean like you? What do you do for work again?” Yoongi snaps, tired of the uppity bullshit.

“None of your fucking business.” She huffs, standing and moving her seat to a row ahead of Yoongi. He rolls his eyes at her ridiculous behavior. “You’re lucky I don’t take you over my knee.” He whispers to himself with a deep sigh. “Good morning class. Please come up and grab your guide for your end of the semester assignment. You will need a partner so please choose wisely. In addition, I will be giving weekly prompts for you to complete and submit to me via email. Any questions? No? Great! Have a great day.” Yoongi moves forward to grab the assignment. “Wanna team up?” He asks Y/N. “I’d rather drink acid.” She turns and walks away. “Come on. You want an A or not?” Yoongi says. She growls a bit. “Fine.” “I need your number.” “Uh, no.” “How are we going to do this then?” “Call Hobi.” She shouts, leaving the classroom. “Fuck.” Yoongi whispers, fearing he’s ruined his shot with her.

Y/N:

You burst through your apartment, throwing your bag onto the couch. Hobi jumps up and looks at you in fear. “Bad day? How? It’s just day one Y/N.” “Yoongi is a complete asshole. First, he tries to flirt with me, then he insults my relationship with Trevor, then he forces me to be his partner in our Critical Writing class. I hate him Hobi. I fucking hate him! Not to mention all my in-person classes are basically online because the professors are all assholes as well!” You shout, popping open a beer from the fridge and chugging it. Looking down at the counter, you notice a package with your name on it. “What’s this?” You look at Hobi angrily. “Uh, a gift but you know maybe you shouldn’t open it now.” He stutters. You yank the card off of it and open it. ‘These were handpicked for the most gorgeous prude I ever laid eyes on. Xo Your Secret Admirer.’ “This is a joke, right? You’re not fucking funny Hobi.” You rip the box open and your mouth drops at the Italian Laced lingerie inside. “No, Y/N, I didn’t…. this wasn’t me.” “Oh, so who was it then?” He looks at you with sheer panic strewn across his face. “You and your friend are both on my shit list.” You point at him, snatching the box and walking over to your room. “Wait, Y/N, I really didn’t buy that. Please let me explain.” You slam the door in his face, not feeling in the mood to entertain this further.

You look over the items in the box one by one, thinking back to the last time you wore lingerie. You shrug and decide to try it on. You look at yourself in the mirror snapping at the strap of the garter belt, and sucking in a breath as it stings your skin. You glide your hands up your thighs, belly, and cup your full breast, admiring how your nipple rings glint in the light through the fabric. You think back on your relationship with Trevor, he was the one who pierced your nipples. You smile at all the crazy antics the two of you found yourselves in. He enjoyed your wild side but took advantage of it at the same time. It was something that you regretted allowing him the chance to do. After you found out he was sleeping with girls from the tattoo shop he worked in, you broke up with him immediately, throwing all your time and energy into school, forever packing away that side of yourself. It wasn’t until your feelings for Yoongi sprouted that those feelings began to stir again and your wild side came scratching to the surface for freedom. You were just too afraid to free that side of yourself, afraid of being hurt again, taken advantage of. In allowing that fear to take over you though, had you truly become a prude? Perhaps it was time to unleash that side of yourself once more, find a balance. You stood tall, proud, turning and walking into the living room. “Hoseok,” You say with confidence, watching his eyes scan your body wildly, “You said when I was interested in your little website that you had the perfect person for me. Well, I’m interested.” Hobi couldn’t speak, he just nodded slowly. “Great. Whenever you get the chance.” You nod, and turn back to your room, making sure to wiggle your exposed ass with enthusiasm for good measure.

[alirhi]

okay. let's do this shit.

Guess what, bitches? Mama bear's back and angry all over again. Remember when I said I might dive into a ragepost about how Bucky's treated after completing the one about Loki? This is it. This is the post. Welcome to fucking Thunderdome.

I will actually try to keep it civil. No promises, but I'll try. and I will not be accepting "constructive criticism" about my rage. Just so we're clear.

Got it? Good. Let's dive in.

In case you don't want to read the whole thing (I know I get wordy) here's what this whole post will boil down to: BUCKY NEVER HAD A FUCKING CHOICE. NEVER. NOT ONCE IN HIS ENTIRE ADULT LIFE.

Now, quick reminder: I don't read comics. I know nothing about Bucky's comic canon, except what Sebastian liked to bring up as often as possible during TWS/CW promotions: at some point, Bucky boned Nat. XD Since Bucky only exists as a Marvel property, I won't be bitching about other source material being disrespected like I did with Loki. This is all MCU, my dudes. And honestly? That's enough, because though we don't see nearly enough of Bucky for my liking, we do manage to get a rich, deep backstory to him in the material we're given, partly thanks to better writing in the early days of the MCU, and partly thanks to Sebastian Stan's phenomenal acting. Unlike the writers of the Loki series, Seb knows how to show, not tell. And gods, what stories those eyes show...

Let's start with the army. In an old post illustrating what an absolute BAMF Bucky Barnes truly is, I mistakenly said he enlisted, and a kind soul educated me on the incredible attention to detail Marvel used to pay - in this case, Bucky's ID number. 32557038. As this kind, eagle-eyed soul pointed out to me, the first two digits of that number - 32 - signify that Bucky was drafted, specifically from the NY, NJ, DE area (that last part is rather obvious, as Bucky and Steve are from Brooklyn lol). Bucky didn't choose to go to war. He was drafted. He was forced to fight, or go to prison.

Bucky was born in 1917, which means - again, as someone pointed out to me a while back - he came of age during the Great Depression. As a child, he would likely have seen his parents living comfortably and able to shower each other and him and his sister with gifts and fun memories, and then POOF. Stock market crashes when he's only 12-years-old, and life becomes brutal and painful. He manages to have some fun with his best friend Steve, and spends his teens/early 20s chasing girls and keeping his stupid, stubborn, tiny friend from getting beaten to death.

Steve constantly has something to prove. He's absolutely got what my mom always called "little man's disease", and Bucky's just doing his best not to roll his eyes too much at this asthmatic chihuahua constantly trying to beat up Tibetan mastiffs. While Steve keeps lying on his enlistment forms (an actual crime) trying again and again to get into the army and prove what a badass he is (definitely not), Bucky's had enough trauma and upheaval in his life and he just wants his stupid friend to calm tf down and live. Enjoy the fact that he doesn't have to go to war and get his limbs blown off.

And then he gets fucking drafted. This sweet, resigned realist who knows exactly how dangerous the war really is, is forced to put on a uniform and go fight strangers alongside other strangers thousands of miles from everything he knows. And on his last night of freedom, when he just wants to hang out with his friend, see some cool gadgets, and dance with a pretty girl, his stupid angry chihuahua friend feels the need to lie and try to enlist again.

Okay. Gotta get back on track. Ragepost about mistreatment of Bucky, not how much Steve annoys me. Sorry. Anyway...

Bucky's drafted, accepts his shitty lot with a brave smile, and is shipped off to Europe, where he is captured by HYDRA and presumed by the Allies to be KIA. Instead, he's strapped down, tortured, and given the HYDRA version of the super serum against his will. Steve rescues him, and Bucky knows he can't leave his idiot friend to his own devices to get his head blown off, so he dives right back into the fray. And then he falls off a cliff, loses most of his left arm, and is declared dead...again. This one's pretty damn valid, though lol. Without the serum no one knew he'd been shot up with, there is no way he would have survived that fall.

Here is where Bucky's story gets truly heartbreaking: His autonomy, his ability to consent is stripped from him through electroshock torture/brainwashing. The trigger words are conditioned into him during this process, and boom. Ten words in Russian, and Bucky Barnes is gone. Even the confused, hurting shadow of him is gone, leaving only a perfectly obedient killing machine, with Bucky's pretty face. He's strong as all hell, though, so they can't keep him fully under their control for long, not without more torture, when the disorientation of being fucking frozen wears off on longer missions.

I cannot stress this point enough, guys: Bucky. Had. No. Choice. Not like the draft, where his choices (go and get shot at, refuse and go to jail, or dodge and run to Canada) just suck. No, he literally didn't have a choice. He had his ability to choose stripped from him. If that's too complex a concept to really sink in, try this: His brain was fucking raped. Repeatedly. For decades. Nothing the Winter Soldier ever did was Bucky's fault. Nothing. Ever. Not remotely, no matter how you fucking slice it. Bucky is not an assassin. I almost said "not a killer", but he was a soldier, and a sharpshooter. He definitely killed when he was himself, but that was in a war, not a series of assassinations.

So far, imo, so good. This is just a rundown of Bucky's pre-show backstory. I don't love what he had to suffer, but I do love how it was treated in the movies. People were afraid of him, but when they knew the whole situation, Steve, Nat, and Sam rallied behind him. Natasha had plenty of reason to want the Winter Soldier dead; he'd tried to kill her multiple times and almost succeeded. Sam had no reason to help Bucky at all; he didn't know him, didn't trust him, and again, TWS had tried to kill him. But he stood by Steve, and when Bucky showed the clear difference between himself and TWS, Sam stood by him, too, and fought alongside him.

And it's very realistic, imo, that Tony didn't give a single fuck that Bucky had no choice. He watched this man murder both of his parents on tape. If TWS had killed my dad and I saw proof of it, I'd try to kill Bucky, too. Grief wins out over logic. Most emotions usually do. And that's a very important point we're going to come back to in a few minutes.

Bucky was really only in like ten minutes at most of IW and Endgame, and for multiple reasons I hate those movies, so I'm just gonna skip them, kay? Kay. On to the main event!

Here's where I get pissed off. Even if I didn't have an unhealthy attachment to this character, or the depth of appreciation for his tragic backstory that I do, the lack of continuity between the movies and the show alone would still piss me off. It always does. Don't even get me started on Joss "Continuity? What continuity?" Whedon and his (iconic, but flawed) shows. Ahem. Back on track...

Let me just get one little thing out of the way real quick: I fucking LOVE The Falcon and the Winter Soldier. I love it. This show amazed me when I first watched it, and I still love it after many more viewings lol. I have only ever watched it all the way through without skipping over as much John Walker shit as possible the one time lol but I love how Sam and Bucky interact, and I fucking adore how Sam's arc was treated. I just wish they'd show the same care and attention to Bucky.

Because what they did to Bucky in this show is a fucking travesty. There was a tiny ray of hope in the pilot, when he called out Dr. Bitchface for being a terrible shrink. I thought that would be the start of him realizing he needed to find someone else and ignore the damaging shit that woman was telling him. But...nope. No such luck.

The show really had a strong start, I'll give it that. We see Bucky having nightmares of his time as TWS and struggling to hide how his traumatic memories are affecting him as he tries to live in the world again. He befriends the father of one of HYDRA's victims, which can't be good for Bucky (and we're shown it's definitely not when he sees the shrine in Yori's home to his late son) but it's sweet, how he's trying to connect and reach out to someone who's hurting and lonely.

They drop the ball a little with the whole... Bucky can hack a fucking car, but can't figure out Tinder thing. Had they just run with the fandom interpretation of the tiger photos line, that it shows that Bucky is bi and left it at that, I'd have been okay with it (and no, that is not because I ship Sam/Bucky. it's because Bucky is and always has been a certified nerd who loves technology and has consistently shown very little issue learning to use new gadgets). The outdated flip phone he handed his terrible court-mandated shrink was a burner; I liked that theory when I read it, especially since it's the only time we see him even holding a phone that old lol. This all could have fit the "Bucky is a sassy bisexual nerd" narrative and it'd be okay. Instead, the director was like "NOOOOOO that line was just to show how old he is and how he can't figure out all this newfangled technology!" Woman, you had him remotely driving someone else's vehicle with a tablet. That is NOT a man who can't figure out a damn smart phone!

But that's just a minor annoyance. What fills me with absolute rage is how everyone - not just the shitty therapist who lashes out at and purposely triggers her traumatized patients, but EVERYONE - Sam, Zemo, people who should fucking know better ALL treat him like he's a psychopath and a ticking time bomb. Like he chose to take the serum and he chose to kill for HYDRA, and he's just seen the error of his ways. *barf*

Bucky in the movies is established to be a victim, through and through. His guilt over what he was forced to do is natural, and that he sees himself as a monster makes sense... but that doesn't mean it's correct. The one and only thing I ever liked about Steve Rogers is at least he got it. He pointed out that none of it was Bucky's fault, he tried to show him that he was worth saving. That's the other reason I refuse to talk about Endgame. This post will get a WHOLE LOT LONGER and a lot fucking angrier if I open that door.

Zemo supposedly knows everything about HYDRA and super soldiers... So why does he treat Bucky like he's a corrupt serial killer? (this, for the record, is why I don't like Zemo) Why does he never point out that Bucky was given the serum against his will, or that his actions, when he had control of them, proved that he was never corrupted? Bucky never wanted to become superhuman. Bucky didn't even want to fucking fight!

Sam, despite constantly resisting the label, is shown very clearly to be Bucky's friend. By episode 3, he cares. He worries about how Bucky is getting lumped in with the other super soldiers in Zemo's speech... But he never really defends him. He says "what about Bucky?" but he doesn't point out that Bucky's a good man, he's fought so hard to help people, he does everything he can to avoid killing... And that fucking speech in episode 5. I was with him on "you gotta stop looking to other people to tell you who you are." I was like "YEAH! Tell him, Sam! Bucky, you're WORTH SAVING, boo! Your value does not hinge on someone else's opinion of you!" And then... Sam dropped the ball.

He not only continued the disturbing pattern of victim-blaming in this show, and in Marvel/Disney properties in general, but he gave really dangerously bad advice! No one in their right mind, mental health professional or no, would EVER tell a traumatized former assassin (whether he was responsible for his actions or not) to go confront his victims' families out of the blue with no warning and no one to mediate and keep things from going to shit. Yori already knew his son had been murdered because he was in the "wrong place, wrong time." How is it being "of service" to tell him you're the one who killed him?! Remember how I said Tony's reaction to learning the full truth about his parents' deaths was valid and would be an important point later? Hi! Welcome to later. THAT is the natural reaction to facing the man who murdered your loved one(s). And even if Yori didn't get angry and lash out, HOW IS IT "HELPING" HIM OR BRINGING HIM "CLOSURE" TO KNOW THAT HIS FRIEND KILLED HIS FUCKING SON?!?!?! This man befriended him, bonded with him, watched him grieve... And now he's learning this is the man who caused all his pain and heartache to begin with? That is so toxic and psycho I just... I can't even... UGH.

And then there's the equally toxic and damaging "deeply traumatized person just needed a stern talking to and a hug to be ALL BETTER AGAIN" ending. I loved seeing Bucky happy and socializing, but it was too soon, and it was unearned. And it sends a fucking awful message to people actually struggling with PTSD, and to their loved ones who don't know how to help them. Heaping more blame on them and then hugging it out is NOT helpful!

This show could have been damn near perfect with just two changes. That's all. Just two. 1) Someone, anyone, bringing up the reasons why Bucky was never a villain in his presence. Someone being in his corner and reminding him, like Steve did, that it wasn't his fault and he's not going to "snap". 2) More time devoted to Bucky's healing. Actual fucking healing, not the shit they tried to pass off as a magic fix-all. He can have his happy barbecue moment, just don't frame it as "everything's great now!" Healing isn't linear, and there will be both good days and bad. Some of the most fragile people in the world have the brightest smiles.

If we get a season 2, which this amazing show absolutely deserves, and they address this stuff, all will be forgiven in my book. Expanding on his story and his journey toward healing will help to reframe that "happily ever after" garbage as something more realistic. But as it stands now... Fuck Marvel.

[jiejie-eonni-onee-sama]

Mystery Girl

For the cute @multifandomfix 💝🌹​

Hope you will like this gift!

"No, Gil! Don't tell me you agreed to this!"

"Sorry, Malcolm, but those are the orders of the hierarchy. Besides, having backup can't hurt you!"

The profiler shook his head, annoyed: he didn't need this!

Bright repeated to anyone who would listen that he preferred to profile criminals alone. Why pair him up with a stranger?

Grumbling, the young man nervously ran a hand through his hair. The police didn't want to let him work properly.

JT, one of his friends, patted him on the shoulder and said jokingly:

"Congratulations, Malcolm. You're about to discover an unknown concept: teamwork!

"Very funny, JT."

Dani, his colleague and best friend, tried to make him smile.

"Don't worry: I'm sure you'll be fine. You might even get along with your new partner!"

Malcolm rolled his eyes.

"I think you're very optimistic, Dani. They're going to send me some pimply, snooty kid from the best police academy who's more likely to get in my way than help me!  So, sorry, but I'm not enthusiastic!"

"What do you know? You've never met them!"

At the same time, Gil joined them.

"Bright, your new partner is waiting for you in the office! Try to hide your bad mood!"

Letting out a long sigh of annoyance, Malcolm headed for the room, ranting in anticipation of this unwelcome partner.

"I hope Malcolm doesn't get upset!" muttered JT.

"The way he's in a bad mood, it's not looking good!" whispered Dani.

"Don't worry, both of you. When Malcolm meets our new profiler, I bet he will be different!"

Meanwhile, Bright walked into the room, expecting to run into an arrogant young graduate who would have already criticized his work to no avail without knowing a single detail about the case. Instead, he came across a lovely young woman who was reading the report of the initial investigations.

Forgetting his sour mood, Bright tried to make a good impression on the newcomer. 

Quickly combing his hair and checking his breath, he cleared his throat, attracting the attention of the lady who looked up from her reading.

"Hello," she replied.

Malcolm noticed that she had a lovely voice. Charming must have been her middle name.

Smiling kindly, he introduced himself:

"Hello, you must be the new profiler. I'm..."

The young woman interrupted him with an amused smile.

"I know who you are, Malcolm Bright. I've heard a lot about you."

"Yes, I suppose you've heard that I'm crazy, insufferable, dangerous, and the spawn of a terrible serial killer. Don't bother with that: I hear it all day long!"

Placing the file back on the table, the young woman continued:

"Yes, I've heard that, but those aren't the only things I've heard. I understand that you are intelligent, perceptive, cultured, observant, and stubborn! All in all, an interesting person to work with!"

Bright was surprised!

"Wait, does that mean you asked your superiors to come and work with me?"

"Yes, I did. And from what I can see, you fit the description well: your clothing shows a comfortable lifestyle. I would say that you are very well off financially. 

On the other hand, the paleness of your complexion and the dark circles appearing under your beautiful brown eyes indicate a poor sleep pattern, which can lead to one of two things. 

Either you are an incorrigible party animal, or you are a man whose mind is always racing and troubled by traumatic memories. In your case, I'd go for the second hypothesis. You are a more complex person than most people want to believe."

Crossing her arms, she asked defiantly, a smile on her face:

"Now, Mr Bright, your turn: what can you deduce about me? Apart from the fact that I'm not a pimply little pretentious graduate!"

Malcolm winced: she had heard him!

"I assure you I had no idea who you were. Otherwise, I would never have allowed myself to say such things!"

"Judging without even knowing the people? Big mistake for a brilliant profiler like you, Malcolm!" laughed the young woman.

"Even the best make mistakes."

"If you can give me as much correct information as possible, I'll give you my name. If not, I'll let you search all day. Are you up to the challenge?"

"Challenge accepted. Well, let's see: who are you, mysterious miss?"

He circled the young woman, looking for the slightest detail that might give him information.

After a few minutes of observation, he gave his conclusions:

"From the look of your clothing, you are in a decent financial position. You are not a multi-millionaire, but you make a good living. You like simple, comfortable styles, probably because you like to look elegant and efficient at the same time.

Your posture and stature tell me that you are an athlete. I'd say you've done quite a bit of dancing, but your muscularity shows that you're a martial artist. Am I right?"

"I have a black belt in karate and judo, and I practice taekwondo, as well as ju-jitsu and Muay Thai. And I did a lot of dancing when I was younger."

"Haha! I was right. Well, as for the rest, I'd say you have an excellent photographic memory: you put that file down exactly where you took it. You are also a brilliant observer because you have deduced details of my life just by looking at me. 

I suppose you are an artist in your spare time. I saw in your bag a sketchbook and a box of pencils. Both are well placed, which betrays your meticulous side. 

Finally, I would say that you are a hard-working, kind and mischievous person. Your superiors must appreciate you enough to accept your request to come here. So, what do you say?"

Amused, the young woman clapped slowly.

"Well done, Malcolm Bright. You've lived up to your reputation. Everything you have deduced is correct."

"You will find me delighted. And now, to finish the introductions properly, may I know your name?"

"Of course: my name is (Y/N) (L/N), a certified FBI profiler."

"Pleased to meet you, Miss (Y/N) (L/N). Something tells me we'll work well together."

"That's what I hope."

Hiding behind the door, Gil, JT and Dani were relieved to see that Malcolm and (Y/N) seemed to be getting along well. Now, let's hope that this duo can be effective against the criminals that have New Yorkers on edge.

A few months later.

Sitting on a bench, Malcolm and (Y/N) enjoyed a hot chocolate while enjoying a beautiful autumn day. The two profilers wanted to have a quiet moment, away from the eyes of their colleagues and Malcolm's family! 

"Are you going to tell them the truth about us, or are you going to let them stew for a while longer?" the young woman asked.

The profiler smiled mischievously.

"I think I'll let them work their brains out for a few days before I tell them everything. Just for the fun of seeing their faces when they learn the truth!"

"I didn't know you were such a tease!" joked (Y/N).

For all answers, Malcolm took the young woman's hand in his and placed a kiss on it.

"I'm a man full of surprises, my dear. Just like you!"

"You sure didn't expect me to kiss you first!"

Malcolm pretended to be offended.

"But I thought of it first!"

"Oh, did you?"

"Certainly. Let me prove it!"

The profiler leaned over and kissed his girlfriend on the lips. 

Unfortunately, this sweet moment was interrupted by a ringing mobile phone.

"I think you should pick up the phone!" the young woman pointed out.

Grumbling, Malcolm picked up his mobile phone and picked it up:

"Hello?"

**"Hello, big brother!"**

"Good afternoon, Ainsley. To what do I owe this call?" the profiler asked.

**"I just wanted to let you know that Mum's inviting us to dinner at the house tonight. She's counting on your presence. Is that so?"** asked the reporter.

"I'll be there. It's not like I have a choice!" quipped Malcolm.

**"I'll take that as a yes... Oh, by the way, she'd like you to invite your mystery girlfriend!"**

At these words, the two lovers looked at each other in amazement: would Jessica know?

Controlling his stress, Malcolm replied:

"I don't know what she means, but I don't have a girlfriend!"

**"Oh yeah? Well then, you can tell me who the pretty lady you just kissed lovingly is!"**

Looking around him, the profiler spotted his little sister standing at the other end of the park and waving at him, a smirk on her face.

A little annoyed, Malcolm asked:

"Is your favourite pastime spying on me?"

"I admit it's very distracting. But I promise I won't tell Mum. I'll leave the great honour of making the introductions to you."

"I'm sure you'll be glad to, dear little sister."

"See you tonight, big brother. And give my regards to your lady of heart!" 

When the conversation was over, (Y/N) smiled:

"It seems that someone has found out..."

"And unfortunately, it is my sister."

(Y/N) kissed her boyfriend on the cheek.

"Honey, I can't be your mystery girl forever anyway. They're going to have to know that!"

Malcolm smiled.

"I have to admit, you're right. In any case, my love for you will never be a mystery again."

Now that their secret love affair gets revealed, Malcolm and (Y/N) will have more time to unsolve differents mysteries...

Thanks for reading! 

I hope you enjoyed the story!

Please don’t hesitate to request me a story and see you soon!

Take care! 😍🥰😘

[sesamestreep]

if dreams were thunder, and lightning was desire

(read on AO3)

(read the whole series here)

SUMMARY: It's one thing to agree to get married for symbolic reasons in the name of political unity. It's another thing entirely to actually be married. [AKA - further adventures in that arranged marriage medieval fantasy AU of Rogue One]

A/N: Here I am, arriving three years late with proverbial Starbucks, to post my now once-yearly attempt at fic! I'm actually posting this as a birthday gift to my forever girl @firstelevens​ who is also responsible for helping me flesh out this idea in the first place.... [checks notes] uh, four years ago. Happy happy birthday and thank you for being the most supportive and wonderful friend in the multiverse, even though I’ve recently become terrible at replying to texts. Further notes are there if you want them if you follow the AO3 link above!

Cassian Andor wakes up to an empty bed, which is not, in and of itself, a startling thing. In fact, there was a time, only a few months ago, when it would have been a much greater surprise to find the other side of his bed occupied. Even now that he is married, waking to find his wife already up and gone is not an uncommon occurrence. The first few times he woke to find her gone, he had been confused, certainly, but he has adjusted to her habits and the sight of her side of the bed empty no longer inspires panic or concern as it had in the beginning.

However, this morning is different. Cassian’s wife is an early riser almost without exception, but she is not normally so far ahead of him that her side of the bed is as cold as it is now when Cassian runs his palm over the linens. Even more startling is the darkness that still lingers outside the window. It’s not yet dawn, then, and she is already awake and about the castle. That is highly unusual.

Perhaps, if Cassian had slept well, he might let these confusing details go. But he never sleeps well the night before he travels and tomorrow—or today, actually, given the hour—he leaves on a scouting mission to the southern provinces. He has slept fitfully most of the night and apparently only got enough actual sleep to let his wife slip out of their chambers unnoticed. He sighs and throws off the bedding, knowing he won’t get any more rest until he knows where Jyn has gone.

In little more than three months of marriage, Cassian cannot say he’s gotten to know his wife well. She is secretive and aloof, as a rule, and he has done all he can to give her the space she seems to yearn for, because he knows that, while she has accepted him as a husband, she did not choose him. Their union is a symbolic one, designed to mollify two disparate factions of the Rebellion as they struggle to rule together. He and Jyn are not royalty or even particularly important people, aside from that. No one is waiting on them for heirs or anything of that sort, and they can spend the rest of their lives as indifferent to each other as they please. 

 Still, Cassian cannot help that he has learned things about his wife, in spite of the careful distance that exists between them. He is a spy, after all. His job is to discover new information, even—or perhaps, especially—when the other party does not wish to give it to him. Jyn is adept at hiding things from others, but even she is not a complete mystery to him. No one is, for one thing, but she has the distinct disadvantage of sharing a bed with him.

 What he knows does not amount to much, truly. Except that he had heard his wife complain more than once, in an undertone to her brother, of how restless and bored she feels cooped up in the stone walls of the castle. That, and the early hour where almost everyone else will still be in bed, suggests to Cassian that he would do well to get dressed and try to find his wife outside.

 His instincts are correct in this case, as he finds her on the southern lawn outside the castle, standing alone and, he imagines, waiting for the sunrise that is beginning to tinge the sky with an orange glow just above the horizon. He takes the opportunity, before she hears him approach, to pause and take in the image of her, alone in the pretty half-light of the early morning.

 She wears no overcoat, which irks him for reasons he does not fully understand. By midday, there is a good chance it will be a balmy spring day, but now, it is still chilly and damp without the sun to warm them. Jyn could catch a cold in this weather and Cassian has never known someone who can be so cautious and so careless at the same time.

 On the other hand, she did go through the trouble of getting fully dressed before heading out, so perhaps Cassian should be thankful. He apparently also got more sleep than he realized, because he hadn’t heard any sound at all while she got her clothes on in the dark of their bedchamber. He half-expected her to still be in her dressing gown, given her lack of concern with convention.

 He wishes he could say she looked tranquil as she surveys the forested land that borders the castle, but, for all he can only just make out her features in the minimal lighting, he can tell she is frowning. He thinks, absently, that she is beautiful nonetheless and then regrets it. He should not be distracted by her looks when he knows she is unhappy.

 The distant call of a bird draws her attention in his direction and he sees the way her eyes widen in alarm when they land upon him before she thinks to hide her reaction. His opportunity to observe her unnoticed is gone, and he has no choice but to cross the distance between them, though he does try to appear unhurried.

 “Good morning, Captain,” she greets him as he comes nearer and he almost stops short.

 It always trips him up when she refers to him by his rank. It’s fine when others do so—that is protocol—but hearing it from his wife always strikes him as odd. He has told her as much, but there are moments when she defers to it still. He believes, though he has no proof of this, that she does it on purpose, that she only uses it when she is in a certain mood. Cassian has yet to ascertain what that mood is—if she is being sarcastic, if she is angry, if it might be her way of showing affection, even—but he knows there is some motive behind it that he does not understand. If he knew, he might be able to respond in some clever way, but as it is, he is at a loss for words.

 “Good morning, my lady,” he says, and perhaps he is cleverer than he gives himself credit for, because Jyn’s frown deepens momentarily before she can stop herself. “You are up early today.”

 “As are you,” she says, her tone suggesting that she heard the question hidden in his statement and she won’t be responding to it.

 Cassian laughs, without meaning to. “I couldn’t find my wife this morning. It was an alarming way to wake up.”

 He expects a terse response from her, saying that she is always awake before him. Instead, Jyn’s eyebrows raise in surprise and her frown eases, just a bit. “You were worried?” She asks, disbelieving.

 “I—of course I was,” he replies. He is always worried, he doesn’t know how she hasn’t noticed yet.

 “About me?”

 “Yes,” he says, puzzled by her need for clarification. “We’re married. It is my duty to worry about you.”

 Jyn  tsks  at that, whether in understanding or disappointment, he’s not sure. “And you are always dutiful,” she says, her tone unreadable still.

 “I try to be,” Cassian says, feeling like he is stuck in a game of wits for which he is unprepared. He is capable and coherent around others, but his wife always has the upper hand on him. It never feels like he has the right answer for her. Even now, she nods before looking away, back at the horizon as it becomes rosier by the moment. 

 “Are you well?” He asks, when the silence starts to stretch out too long. 

 She blinks in confusion when she looks back at him, as if she had forgotten he was there. “I—yes, of course,” she says, and he realizes it was the question that confused her. “Do I not look well?”

 Another question to which there is no right answer, he thinks. “It’s very early to be out of bed,” he says, instead of answering her question.

 “I am always up early.”

 “Not this early.”

 “Have I done something wrong, Captain?”

 “Jyn, I’m not chastising you,” he says, laughing. He’s not amused, not precisely, but if he doesn’t laugh, he’ll probably shout from frustration. This feels safer. “I’m asking if something is troubling you. I want to know that you are alright.”

 His obvious frustration must outweigh her annoyance, because everything about her—her expression, her posture—immediately softens, the fight going out of her instantly. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be defensive. I just couldn’t sleep and I didn’t want to wake you, not when you’re leaving this morning, but I see that I did anyway.”

 “You didn’t. I...never sleep well before a journey.”

 “Oh?”

 He hesitates to say more, lest he seem like he sought her out just to drop his problems at her feet, but she is watching him with interest and, if he’s not mistaken, concern, so perhaps she would not mind. “All of the details, the logistics of the trip, I go over them, in my head, all night long. I’m practically frantic by morning, most of the time.”

 “I—” Jyn cuts herself off, shaking her head, like she had something to say and thought the better of it. “I have a hard time imagining you in a frantic state,” she says, instead.

 “Well, then,” he says, feeling some strange twinge of pride, “I suppose I am doing my job well.”

 “As a spy, perhaps,” she replies, her tone unreadable.

 “What other job do I have?” He asks, ignoring the fact that he’s not, officially speaking, a spy anymore. His actual title has something to do with “intelligence,” a distinction he’s meant to care about a lot more than he actually does. He’s not spying in the same way that he was during the war, but he’s not delusional enough to tell himself that those aren’t the skills the Republic has kept him around for.

 Jyn gives him a long, searching look. “It hardly matters,” she says, finally, waving a hand and looking off at the horizon again. She’s quiet for a moment before she speaks again. “I’m a miserable excuse for a wife, though, not noticing that you couldn’t sleep.”

 “I wouldn’t say that.”

 “Of course not,” she says, smiling, though the light of it doesn’t reach her eyes. “You are far too polite.”

 “‘Polite’ is not the first word most people would use to describe me, my lady.”

 “‘Careful,’ then,” she says, pointedly.

 Cassian nods, feeling as if he has lost this round. “That is far more likely.” He pauses before he says anything more, weighing the risk of it, but ultimately decides it might be worth saying. “I did not want to trouble you. I didn’t realize you were awake.”

 “I often am, at odd hours,” she says, and there’s something light and teasing about it now. “And you could stand to trouble me more, Captain. I’ve never heard of such an undemanding husband before.”

 Unable to parse what she means when she suggests he “trouble” her when he cannot sleep—and unwilling to use his imagination, knowing where it will lead him—he decides to address a less mystifying part of her comment. “I’ve told you that you needn’t call me that,” he says.

 “‘Husband?’” She asks, innocently, though he sees a bit of performance in it.

 “No. ‘Captain.’”

 “Well, you still call me ‘my lady.’ Only one of those honorifics is still worth anything, and it surely isn’t mine.”

 “I only call you ‘my lady’ when…”

 “Yes?” Jyn’s features take on the expression of an animal that has backed its prey into a corner, leaving it no options of retreat. 

 Cassian thinks it unwise to point this out, though. He also thinks it unwise to finish what he was about to say, which is that he only calls her ‘my lady’ when he wants to call her ‘my dear’ or something equally sentimental that he’s sure she would not approve of. It feels disingenuous to him, as well. He simply finds his vocabulary for expressing the intimacy of living so closely with another person without encroaching upon the territory of affection rather wanting. He cares for her, of course—why else would he be out of bed and out of doors on a freezing morning if he didn’t?—but there is hardly a chance of love or even affection in a marriage as young and unfamiliar as theirs.

 “When I do not know what else to call you,” he says, instead of the truth. It’s barely even a lie, but it nags at him like one regardless. He has been trying to lie less around his wife, but it’s a difficult habit to break.

 “My name would work well enough,” Jyn replies, her tone caught somewhere between amused and suspicious.

 “So would mine.”

 She hesitates before responding, looking shy, although it is a rare thing from her. “I thought you might like it, being called by your rank.”

 “Not from you,” he says, immediately. “I am called that by enough people. When I’m home, when I’m with you, I am just your husband.”

 He doesn’t realize the way this sounds—sentimental, the very thing he was avoiding—until the words are out of his mouth and Jyn’s face goes blank with astonishment. She recovers quickly, though, looking down at her feet.

 “As you wish, husband,” she says, quietly.

 “Well, you know now why I could not sleep. What has kept you awake?”

 “Bad dreams,” she says, matter-of-factly. “As always.”

 “Always?” Cassian repeats, concerned. He didn’t know she had nightmares. She shifts in her sleep often, he has noticed, always twisting herself into shapes that cannot possibly be comfortable, but he’s never known her to cry or panic enough to wake herself, the way he associates with nightmares.

 “Most nights,” she confirms, looking away to avoid his gaze. 

 She crosses her arms over her chest, although he cannot tell if it’s a defensive gesture or simply because she is cold. He decides to proceed as though it is the latter and begins to slip his arms out of his coat’s sleeves. The rustling of the fabric draws her gaze back to him and her eyes widen with alarm when she realizes what he means to do.

 “Oh, no,” she says, waving a hand to ward him off. “Don’t bother. You will freeze without it.”

 “Is that so?” Cassian asks, ignoring her protests and pulling his jacket off completely.

 “I know how cold you get,” she says, archly. There are things she has learned from sharing a bed with him, too, it appears.

 He doesn’t take the bait to argue with her and instead steps forward until he’s only a single pace away from her and sweeps the jacket over her shoulders. She stands stiffly as he does so, as if she cannot figure out her part in this scene. Or perhaps she worries the slightest gesture will upset the moment they are sharing, though this idea might be romantic nonsense on Cassian’s part. 

 He draws the coat tighter around her body by the lapels and he fidgets with the collar so it will stand up and block the cold wind, since she has no scarf. He wants nothing more in the world than to take her hair that has gotten trapped in the collar and draw it out for her, if only for the excuse it would give him to run his hands through it without the risk of giving himself away. All the while, Jyn watches him with her chin tipped up, her eyes narrowed in obvious but neutral interest. Perhaps he has already given himself away.

 “Do not worry on my account,” he says, trying to sound nonchalant. He has finished arranging the coat around her shoulders, but his hands still linger on the lapels, holding it together, not wanting to let go and give up his excuse to be close to her. “If I am any good at my job, I will convince you to come inside before I even feel the cold.”

 “Your job?” Jyn asks, warily. “As a spy?”

 “Yes, and as a husband.”

 “It is your duty as my husband to ensure I do not freeze to death?”

 “Amongst other things.” He means it plainly enough, but in this close proximity, he sees the way Jyn bites her lip and look away at the implication of his words and he feels himself flush with embarrassment. He tries to steer the conversation elsewhere, no matter how artlessly. “I have nightmares too.”

 Jyn’s head snaps up. “You do?”

 “Yes.”

 “About the war?”

 Cassian swallows and words feel more difficult than he anticipated, so he simply nods. It’s probably important that his wife knows these things about him, especially if he wants her to tell him things too. 

 She watches him carefully, as if she’s waiting for a trap but Cassian just gazes steadily back at her, to see if she’ll trust him. After a moment, she sighs and says, more to his chest than to his face, “most of mine are from when I was young.”

 “I have a few of those too.”

 Jyn nods, closing her eyes. Cassian transfers the lapels of the coat into one hand, so that his other one is free to rub her shoulder. He wants her to say more, but he doesn’t want to pressure her. Without warning, she steps further into his embrace, close enough that she’s able to perch her chin on his shoulder. Though her face is turned away from him, the sweetness of the gesture nearly overwhelms him. He places his hand on her back, between her shoulder blades, just so she doesn’t think to pull away.

 “I think the trouble is not having much to occupy my time here,” she says, after a moment, and Cassian could collapse with relief at hearing her speak. “I’m not accustomed to idleness. And when I try to sleep, my mind is still awake and it gives me these vivid dreams.”

 He can’t help himself any longer. He smooths a hand over the back of her head, brushing back some strands of hair that have come loose from where she’s tried to tie it at the nape of her neck. He thinks he feels her pull closer. “And what do you dream of?”

 “My brother and I, when we were young, we were always out of doors. We’d have breakfast with my mother and then she’d send us away and we’d spend all day together, collecting rocks and shells from the beaches or scrambling over rocks. We never came home until dinner.”

 “That doesn’t sound like a nightmare to me.”

 “It was lovely,” she says, sounding pained, and he tightens his hold on her. “I had a very idyllic childhood, in most regards. Mostly because my parents didn’t tell me anything that was going on.”

 Cassian laughs, lightly, at that. “That’s what parents are supposed to do.”

 Jyn buries her face in his shoulder, hiding from his gaze. “A lot of good it did me,” she says, and even her tone sounds closed-off.

 “What happens in your dreams?” He asks, quietly. He knows she probably wants to end this conversation and pretend it never happened, but he needs her to know that he’s here, that he’s willing to listen. 

 She takes a deep, shuddering breath, as if to prepare herself. “It’s just me and Bodhi as children, running around wild like always. At first, it feels like a memory, but then it starts to feel…sinister. I don’t really know how to describe it, it’s just this inexplicable dread that washes over me. Sometimes, we can hear people coming, a great mass of them, and we get scared. Other times, there’s some terrible storm moving in, faster than we can run. But we try to get home, anyway. We’re always running to find my mother, to warn her. It always feels so important that we get to her. And the ground falls away beneath our feet. Sometimes, I lose Bodhi; he falls or gets hurt and he’s crying out for my help but I can’t stop, or sometimes, he just disappears and I can’t remember how to get home. And I’m completely alone.”

 After a moment’s silence, Jyn pulls back in his embrace. He doesn’t let her go, but he does give her some space. “Foolish, isn’t it?” She asks, with a false smile. He can hear the unshed tears in her voice and knows she’s trying to make light of it so he doesn’t think her weak.

 “No,” he says, firmly, reaching a hand up to cup her cheek. “Not at all. But you and your brother survived the war, Jyn. And you’re together. It must be some comfort to you.”

 “Yes, it is. Of course it is. But our parents didn’t survive. And that version of us, the children who used to play on the beach together, they didn’t survive the war, either. Our lives are so different now. I think that’s what the dream is about.”

 “You wish to go home?”

 “I wish to go back,” she says, bearing his personal question with grace. She thinks on it a moment, before sighing in frustration and shaking her head. “If only it was as simple as returning to Lah’mu. But I know that the place will not be the same now as it was then. And I am different too.”

 “Perhaps that’s why something is always wrong in your dream,” Cassian muses. “You long to go back to that time in your life, but you know you don’t belong there anymore. Maybe that’s the source of the tension you feel in the dream.”

 Jyn looks at him, appraisingly, and he worries that he overstepped somehow. However, when she finally speaks, she doesn’t seem offended. “What do you dream of, Captain?”

 “Me?”

 “Yes. You said you have nightmares too.”

 “Oh, yes,” he replies, with considerable effort. He’d forgotten about that admission. “It’s difficult to explain.”

 “Of course,” Jyn says, and her expression shutters immediately. “You’re under no obligation to tell me.”

 Cassian reaches for a stray piece of hair that’s brushing against her collarbone, twisting the errant strand around his finger loosely. “Don’t misunderstand me,” he says, quietly and more plaintively than he meant to. He doesn’t know why he’s so worried about offending her by accident. “I’m not equivocating. I really do not know how to describe them.”

 “Do you even wish to?” She asks, with a sharpness he deserves but is still unprepared for.

 “No,” he answers honestly, which makes her blink in surprise. “I do not wish to tell you anything that will make you think less of me.”

 “You should not worry about that.”

 “Is your opinion of me already so low?” He asks, with every intention of making light of it but the question comes out unfortunately earnest.

 Jyn, for her part, looks bewildered. “No,” she says, immediately. “Quite the opposite. I have a hard time imagining anything you could say that would make me think less of you.”

 He takes a deep breath, looking away from her face and focusing instead on the strand of hair he’s still toying with. “I always dream of people I’ve…lost. People I’ve hurt or abandoned,” he says, choosing his words carefully. “It’s much like what you’ve described, I think. They feel like memories but I know they’re not quite right. And I know there’s nothing I can do to change what happens. So I just have to live through it again. And again. Until I wake up.”

 As he’s speaking, Jyn reaches for him, closing her hand around his wrist where it’s resting against her shoulder. When he feels the weight of her thumb pressing into the space between the bones of his forearm, he releases the lock of her hair, letting it unspool from around his finger. He’d pull his hand back completely, but her grip on him tightens like she’s read his mind. She brings his hand close enough that she can press her lips to the spot where his pulse is now racing wildly. 

 “You ought to have told me sooner,” she says, and she must be able to feel his heartbeat against her lips. The thought makes him warm with both embarrassment and anticipation.

 He swallows with considerable effort. “To what end?” 

 “There are things,” she says, against the soft skin of his inner wrist, “that a wife can do. To help her husband sleep. To take his mind off his worries. I could do those things for you, if you wanted. You need only ask.”

 She makes it sound so simple, as if they had the sort of marriage where they stated their desires plainly to each other, where they asked for what they wanted and then got it. But the asking is the most difficult part, in Cassian’s experience, or maybe the wanting is. They’ve been intimate together in the way Jyn is implying only once, on their wedding night, and, while enjoyable, it hardly left him with a strong sense of what his wife wants or expects from him.

 Now, though, Jyn is offering that to him again. There was no mistaking it. His own need startles him, thrumming in his veins so loudly that he can hardly think. He has weeks of travel ahead of him, weeks of sleeping on the hard ground with only young, raucous soldiers for company. It will be cold and lonely and it will not even occur to him to complain, to dislike it, since it’s all he knows. Or, rather, it was all he knew before he was married. Before Jyn. He would be wise to avail himself of his wife’s offer while he can, enjoy the softness of her before he leaves and knows no softness of any kind for weeks.

 He takes too long considering it, though, for Jyn’s face falls and she pulls back from him, only a little but it feels like a great distance, when they are this close. “Of course, you should feel no obligation to—”

 “I don’t,” he replies, hastily. “I don’t feel any obligation.”

 “I merely thought I should offer,” she says, and her eyes lower to avoid his gaze.

 “No, that’s not what I meant,” Cassian says, closing his eyes in embarrassment. “What I meant to say is…what I feel for you is not obligation.”

 He can feel her looking at him now, the scrutiny in her gaze obvious even with his eyes still closed. “And what do you feel for me, Captain?” She asks, carefully.

  An overwhelming and terrible want , he thinks. A desire so deep he has yet to discover the bottom of it. A dangerous kind of possessiveness, like they belong to one another, even though they’re not the sort of people who belong to anyone, or the sort to hold onto anything they’re given too tightly, because they know the pain of having it taken away.

 He doesn’t say any of that, though. Instead, he makes the mistake of opening his eyes and looking at her and the only logical conclusion to that action is to step forward and kiss her. His hand, the one she’s not still holding captive, curves around her cheek as his mouth covers hers. Her lips part for him without hesitation and their kiss deepens. It’s as good as their wedding night, but this time he’s sharp and clear headed, not hazy and tired from long hours of drinking and celebrating, and he intends to memorize every single detail. The way she wraps her arm around him and her fingers dig into his shoulder blade, desperate for purchase. The sound of surprise she made when their lips first met and how it mellows into a quiet hum of satisfaction, as if she’s been waiting for this.

 When she pulls away from him after a few moments, it takes everything in his power not to whine in complaint. But they’re both breathing heavily and Jyn’s hair is even more disheveled than before, which might be his fault but could also be from the wind that’s doing its best to push them back to their warm bed. He’s beginning to think they should listen, and he’s about to say as much, when Jyn speaks first.

 “You’re cold,” she says, and he’s about to take it the wrong way when she pulls his hand from her face and wraps it up in both of her own to warm it.

 He laughs, more overwhelmed than anything else. “I don’t feel it,” he says, because he was too busy feeling everything else. 

 She levels an arch look at him, either because she’s not impressed with his effort to flatter her or because she’s actually worried he’s going to catch his death like this, kissing her on a hillside in the early morning. He’s going to die somehow, it might as well be like this, he thinks, but he doesn’t try to kiss her again. He has the sense that she has more to say.

 “You can kiss me in our bedroom, you know,” she says, making it worth the wait. 

 His heartbeat races, caught somewhere in the vicinity of his throat. “I can?” He asks, stupidly.

 Jyn searches his face, looking for something. Reassurance, perhaps, or sincerity. Whatever she’s looking for, she must find it, because she nods, slowly, and a smile overtakes her face. “You can kiss me anywhere you like,” she says, and it does his heart rate no favors.

 Cassian steps back, grabbing her hand so he can pull her with him in the direction of the castle. She follows him and, as they walk, he pulls her into his side, burying his face in her neck and planting a kiss there. When she squirms slightly and elbows him in the ribs, he laughs against her skin.

 “You said  anywhere ,” he says, and she laughs too.

 ***

 The next morning, the castle bustles with activity as Cassian leaves his briefing with Draven. Using the former seat of the emperor’s power as the headquarters of the government of the New Republic has always struck him as a smart choice on the part of the rebels, from a symbolic standpoint and in a practical sense of needing the actual work of governing the country to happen somewhere. By its very nature, a castle is almost comically oversized for one person’s needs, even a ruler’s, and so the former rebels had made a much better use of the space than the emperor ever had.

 However, on this particular morning, with his mind already running through logistics of the mission ahead and planning what to say to the soldiers he’s bringing along, Cassian finds the crowded halls and corridors more grating than he normally does. It hadn’t seemed possible to feel this way during the war, when the emperor’s excesses had seemed so absurd and villainous, but Cassian is beginning to wonder if maybe the castle is too small for their purposes. The new government will loathe the idea of expanding, will object to spending money on something so frivolous, but it may be necessary, he thinks, as he bumps into yet another person in the crush of people moving about as he makes his way to the courtyard. The small party of soldiers accompanying him on this mission are gathering there now and they’re meant to depart in less than an hour. It will not set a good tone for the next few weeks if their captain keeps them waiting.

 Much like in the old days—and it is staggering to think of the rebellion as something of the past, he realizes with a lurch—these missions are to gather information on activity across the Republic. However, unlike in the old days, he’s not trying to find the one piece of intelligence he’s certain will win the war for the rebels, which is a welcome change. He’s also, generally speaking, not in constant mortal danger anymore, though there are some areas of the country that the war ravaged worse than others, leaving desperation and crime in its wake. That’s why Draven still sends Cassian on these scouting missions, to see what corners of the nation still need aid or resources. Peacetime has been far from perfect for everyone, but even with the things he’s seen, Cassian can’t deny most people, himself included, are better off.

 He’s so lost in his thoughts of the mission as he makes his way to the rendezvous point he arranged with the party that Bodhi must have had to call his name a half a dozen times before Cassian finally heard him. By the time he turns around, Bodhi is practically at his elbow, which is both impressive and guilt-inducing, from the way Cassian can see him leaning heavily on his cane. He does his best not to wince, because Bodhi doesn’t enjoy being fretted over, and slows down so his brother-in-law can more easily keep pace with him instead.

 “Captain,” Bodhi exclaims, managing to only sound slightly out of breath, “I’m glad I caught you!”

 “Coming to see me off, Captain Rook?” Cassian asks, pointedly.

 Bodhi looks properly chastened. “Sorry, Cassian. I’m still not used to it.”

 “Calling me by my first name or being a captain yourself?”

 “Either,” he says, and Cassian understands. Bodhi was only promoted to Captain after his heroics in the Battle of Eadu and it was only a few months later that the treaty was signed. He’s only ever been a captain in peacetime. “I just don’t fully think of you as my sister’s husband yet.”

 That does make Cassian wince and he isn’t quick enough to hide it from Bodhi, whose eyes immediately widen in alarm. “Not like that!” he practically shouts. “I mean, it’s nothing to do with you! I just can’t believe Jyn has a husband at all. In my head, she’s still six years old and telling me what to do all the time.”

 “To be fair, she does still tell you what to do,” Cassian replies. “No change in your rank will ever change that.”

 Bodhi laughs. “You’re certainly right about that.” After a brief pause, he adds, “Where is my sister, anyway? Isn’t she coming to see you off?”

 “Oh, well, she’s—no.” He clears his throat. “We’ve already said our goodbyes.”

 Bodhi nods absently, seemingly satisfied with this answer and mercifully doesn’t ask for any further details. Cassian is not sure his nonchalant facade would hold up under questioning and the exact nature of the goodbye he and his wife shared this morning would soon be extremely obvious to her brother. It’s better for everyone if they somehow avoid that outcome altogether.

 His relief is short-lived, however, when Bodhi suddenly asks, “And did she…uh…did she get a chance to, well…?”

 They arrive at the training yard before Bodhi arrives at his actual question. Cassian pauses in the archway that leads into the yard and turns to face him. “What is it?” He asks, dreading the answer.

 “Well, I was just wondering if my sister got a chance to speak with you?”

 “Bodhi, your sister and I are married. We speak with one another quite often as a result. You will need to be more specific.”

 Bodhi makes a face that suggests he would much rather do anything else. “I thought she might have mentioned the incident with Senator Jebel?” he says, voice stuck between a statement and a question.

 Cassian blinks, searching his memory for anything relevant. “Incident?” He finally asks, when nothing comes to mind. He doesn’t like the sound of that.

 “‘Incident’ might be too strong a word,” Bodhi admits apologetically. 

 “Here’s an idea: why don’t you tell me what happened and I’ll decide what the correct word for it is?” 

 “It’s just—if Jyn didn’t tell you about it, then it clearly didn’t bother her very much. I certainly don’t want to insert myself into the middle of your marriage!”

 Cassian doesn’t point out that it’s a little late for that sentiment and instead asks, as calmly as he can manage, “What happened, Bodhi?”

 “Well, it was just—” He pauses as a few people pass between them to exit into the yard, shifting his weight uncomfortably while trying to maintain his grip on his cane. When they’re gone, he continues, “Jyn and I were walking together the other day when we came across Lieutenant Tuesso walking with Senator Jebel. And, well, Kay was saying something to her about passing along some information for your upcoming scouting mission and—actually, Jyn told him to tell it to you himself because she’s not your secretary—”

 Cassian smiles at that, able to picture it so clearly. Kay is perhaps his oldest friend and the person he trusts most in the field, but he and Jyn get along like oil and water. Still, if Kay had truly objected to Cassian’s marriage, he would have done everything in his power to stop it, but he’d only asked if Cassian was sure before giving his blessing. Well, it was more like his resignation, but coming from Kay, they’re basically the same thing. Cassian likes to imagine that Jyn’s fiery temper and sharp wit secretly amuse Kay but he’s simply too stubborn to admit it.

 “But that’s not the point,” Bodhi says, shaking his head as if to clear his thoughts. “The point is: Kay was talking about your trip and Senator Jebel asked why you were being sent off on a mission so close to your wedding, to which Jyn replied that it had been three months and that it wasn't  terribly close. And then the Senator said she must have been very confident in…well, winning you over, if she was comfortable sending you off on your own so soon.”

 “‘Winning me over’? What does that even mean?”

 Bodhi looks uncomfortable. “You know, as a wife?” He says, sounding pained. When Cassian just stares at him blankly, he sighs and adds, begrudgingly, “Senator Jebel may have implied that a man of your rank might use a mission like this to…avail themselves of the sexual talents of women other than their wives, you know, during their travels. Unless, of course, the wife in question had already proved herself irreplaceable in that regard.”

 Cassian knows that Bodhi has expressed himself clearly and put all of his words in the right order, and yet he still cannot comprehend a single thing he’s just heard. They stare at each other in silence—his baffled, Bodhi’s embarrassed—for a long time before anything clicks into place in Cassian’s mind.

 “He said this  to Jyn?” He asks, finally. It’s hard to speak around all of the dread pooling at the base of this throat.

 Bodhi cringes. “Well, he really said it to me and Kay. He was talking over Jyn’s head, which sounds better but, as you can imagine, made it much worse.”

 “And what did she have to say to all this?”

 “I made sure to drag her away as quickly as possible and Kay distracted the Senator with just as much haste!” 

 “Bodhi,” Cassian says on an exhale. He’s pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers, feeling the early signs of a headache coming on. “What did Jyn say?”

 His shoulders sag in defeat. “She only said that she had no concerns on that front,” Bodhi says, plainly unsure if he’s helping or hurting at this point. “And then I made our excuses and got her away from him as soon as I could, I promise!”

 “I believe you,” Cassian replies, holding up a hand in acknowledgement. “And I appreciate your efforts to take care of your sister.”

 “I thought perhaps her feelings had been hurt by Senator Jebel’s comments, but since she has not mentioned the incident to you, perhaps she dismissed them as quickly as they deserved.”

 “Perhaps,” Cassian says, for Bodhi’s benefit, but his mind is on his wife’s behavior this morning; all of her talk of the ways a wife could comfort her husband, how solicitous of his troubles she’d been, how vulnerable she’d seemed herself, even the kisses they’d shared and the way she’d allowed him to take her to bed. How different it all looked in this new light. Of course she wouldn’t mention the conversation with the Senator to him—to do so would be, in Jyn’s mind, to admit to a weakness, that she cared at all what others thought of their marriage or, worse, that she cared what Cassian thought of her as a wife—but it wouldn’t stop her from taking it as advice. 

 So she’d seduced him, and quite adeptly at that. He hadn’t even realized it was happening. He might have known better, under other circumstances, but he’d naively thought that being married to someone meant that you didn’t have to concern yourself with seduction. If his wife wanted to sleep with him, it seemed to him that all she had to do was show interest in such a thing or, heaven forbid, simply say so, and she could have her way. To play such games about it seems counterproductive to him, but given how easily he was manipulated on this occasion, Cassian might not be the person to ask.

 “I hope I haven’t spoken out of turn,” Bodhi says, anxiously, at which point Cassian realizes he has been staring off into space for a long moment.

 “Of course not,” he says immediately. “I appreciate your telling me.”

 “You won’t tell Jyn I mentioned it, will you?”

 “No. Like you said, if it had bothered her, she would have told me herself.” It isn’t true, not in the slightest, but Cassian can see that Bodhi needs to hear it. “Besides, now I can use my spare time on this trip to plan my revenge on Senator Jebel.”

 “Revenge?” Bodhi asks, wide-eyed with concern. It’s sometimes hard to believe someone as tenderhearted as he is fought in the war, let alone survived it. 

 Cassian waves a hand dismissively. “I’m not thinking of challenging him to a duel, Bodhi. Relax. But there are a great many ways a man of my position can make his life…uncomfortable and I shall enjoy thinking of as many of them as possible.”

 “I am once again reminded how glad I am to be on your good side, Cassian,” Bodhi says, faintly. “And that you’re looking out for my sister.”

 Cassian has never felt less capable of doing any such thing, not when Jyn is still keeping secrets from him and treating him as an opponent, but he nods anyway. His wife would likely roll her eyes at the sentiment, but he cannot stand by knowing that someone made her feel small even for a moment. He gets a savage sort of thrill out of the idea that she shall have his protection, whether she wants it or not. 

 “I am glad to be of service,” he says, vaguely. “But I’m afraid I must give the soldiers their orders now if we’re to be off on time.”

 “Of course. Safe travels.” Bodhi offers his hand for Cassian to shake and then claps him on the shoulder as he takes his leave.

 Cassian is certain that he relays Draven’s orders to the soldiers assembled in the yard as soon as he’s done speaking with Bodhi but he can’t actually remember a single thing he said by the time he’s securing the saddle on his own horse. His only excuse is that his mind is obviously elsewhere. Even though he knows he should focus on the mission ahead, he can’t stop thinking about Jyn. 

 As though he’s conjured her, she suddenly appears in the courtyard, with Kay and Senator Mothma in tow. The latter two are deep in conversation about something, while his wife doesn’t seem to be participating at all if the mild, far-off look on her face is any indication. It’s not surprising to see them all together; he’s sure that the Senator is the one who approved their scouting mission for General Draven and that he asked Kay to appraise her of the mission’s status because he’d rather not do it himself. And Jyn and Senator Mothma are often in each other’s company. Jyn often jokes that the Senator has claimed her as an unofficial assistant but Cassian suspects it’s just because she doesn’t want to admit that they are friends. 

 Before he can think better of it, Cassian calls out to Jyn, despite the fact that she’s on the other side of the courtyard still. It doesn’t occur to him until afterwards that shouting to get someone’s attention in a crowded area is probably bad manners, especially if that person is a lady. She looks startled to hear her name and the soldiers scattered throughout the area look up in shock at hearing him raise his voice at all. When her eyes meet his across the yard, Jyn’s neutral, distant expression shutters, turning into something more wary and focused. Cassian tilts his chin very slightly to beckon her over, not risking a bigger gesture lest the assembled soldiers think they’re about to witness something salacious. He’s determined they won’t, and Jyn catches his meaning anyway, even from a distance, and begins to make her way over.

 He means to use the long moment it will take her to reach him to plan what he will say, how he will broach this delicate subject with her without implicating her brother in divulging the information to him, but he’s too distracted by the sight of her. She’s dressed plainly enough, not being one for embellishment, but her dress is a deep burgundy that suits and fits her well and she’s gingerly holding the skirt to keep the hem from dragging along the dirty ground. He only has to think on her clothing for a moment before his mind supplies the image of her this morning, as he was preparing to leave, just in her nightshirt, only deigning to get out of their bed to give him one last kiss goodbye. It was the only time he can remember being tempted to stay in bed rather than get on with his work. By the time she arrives, his face is warm with the sort of embarrassment he thought he’d grow out of once he was married.

 “Yes, my lord?” She asks, and he’d tell her again to do away with such pointless formality if he couldn’t see the bright glimmer of amusement in her eyes. She’s trying to be funny.

 He still has no idea what to say to her. His mind remains a complete blank, while his pulse is running wild. There is no way to tell her she should have trusted him enough to tell him about the incident with Senator Jebel, or that he knows the intimate moment they shared this morning was more inspired by that than by any genuine passion on her part, without giving away that he’s been listening to gossip. To admit that would only succeed in raising her defenses and causing an argument.

 She didn’t trust him. That’s the heart of the matter and what is bothering him the most. Or perhaps it is that, for once in his life, he acted without suspicion or subterfuge and now he looks like a fool. Without realizing it, he’d begun to trust her but apparently the feeling is not mutual. It is only once this thought articulates itself in his mind that he catches himself; he’s embarrassed. She’s injured nothing but his sense of pride—that he always knows when someone is lying to him, that he’s always the man in the room with the most information. 

 But what, really, is the cost? So what if she outsmarted him? It’s not life or death, this. He wishes she had felt safe enough to be honest with him, but he can hardly blame her that she didn’t. In the grand scheme of things, they hardly know each other and three months is not long enough to change a lifetime of mistrust in others, especially if one is accustomed to it as a means of survival. He still doesn’t know much about her past before they met, but if it was anything like his, he understands why opening up to him might prove difficult. 

 And maybe some of it was real—the dream she told him about, the reasons she has difficulty sleeping. Maybe she needed the ulterior motive of seducing him to make sure he doesn’t stray as an excuse to tell him the truth. And what does it tell her if he gets angry? How does it look if he holds it against her for being as secretive and wary as he always is himself? How can he ever expect her to trust him with anything if he lets his ego get in the way now? And perhaps more importantly, what does it really cost him to let her be right? 

 If she did what he thinks she did, it was an act of desperation, to ensure that she had some control over the life she was unceremoniously shoved into three months ago. She was afraid of the idea of him leaving on this trip and forgetting the vows he’d made as soon as she was out of sight. He can see now all the ways that her own ego is tied up in this—not wanting to be seen as an inadequate wife, wanting to prove Jebel wrong after he’d been so crass and unkind to her, and perhaps even worrying that Cassian felt the same way, that he had any complaints of their marriage—but he can also see further, to the core of the matter, where it’s just Jyn being afraid and alone. How can he punish her for that, when all he wants is for her to feel safe with him? 

 It costs him nothing to let her be right, then; to let her believe that he’s blissfully unaware of any hidden reason for her behavior or any conflict and just play the role of the devoted, smitten husband. It’s not as if he planned to be unfaithful to her while he was away, and giving her some assurance on that matter without revealing what he knows should be easy enough. Let her believe that her machinations paid off and she’s won her husband over with her feminine wiles. There’s no harm in that. When he thinks of it that way, it’s barely even a lie.

 “Cassian,” she says now, eyes full of concern at his silently staring at her. “Is everything alright?”

 He comes back to the present moment when her hand comes to rest on his arm. “Yes, everything is fine,” he says, weakly. “I apologize. There were probably less dramatic ways to get your attention.”

 “No matter. I appreciate the efficiency of your method, I must say.”

 “Still, I do not wish to embarrass you.” When he sees she means to shrug at that, he adds, “under any circumstances.”

 She blinks at him, surprised, so some of his implied meaning must come through. “You do not embarrass me,” she replies, warily.

 “I am glad to hear it.”

 “Is that why you called me over?” She asks.

 “No, I was—well, I realized I had forgotten to ask you if…well, if there was anything you needed.”

 “Me?”

 He nods, probably a touch too emphatically. He’s normally better at this, but Jyn has always caught him off guard. “Yes, I’m going to be traveling for the next few weeks and you can get almost anything from the markets in the southern provinces, so if there was anything you needed, I could bring it back for you.”

 She stares at him as though he’s spoken in a language she’s never heard before. “I don’t believe I need anything at the present,” she says, finally, after considering her words for a long time.

 “It doesn’t have to be something you need,” he says. “Something you want would suffice. Didn’t you lose your gloves recently?”

 “No, I found them. I had left them in Senator Mothma’s chambers after she and I returned from a walk.”

 “Still, I could get you nicer gloves.”

 “It wouldn’t make much difference. I’d still forget them everywhere.”

 “I could get you several pairs of gloves.”

 “Cassian, what is this about?”

 He covers her hand, still lingering on his arm, with his own, chafing her knuckles with his thumb. “Keeping your hands warm,” he says innocently.

 She laughs incredulously. “You are not going away for the sole purpose of buying me presents. You will be busy with work. I imagine you will hardly have time to even think of me.”

 “No, I’m afraid the real difficulty will be thinking of anything else,” Cassian says, his own pulse thundering behind his ears. It’s not the nerves of telling a lie and fearing getting caught, he realizes, but the panic of finally telling someone the long-guarded truth.

 Jyn looks down at her feet, scuffing the toe of her shoe back and forth in the gravel. “You don’t need to say such things. I do not require flattery to sustain me.”

 “Well, whether you’re flattered or not is incidental. What matters is that it’s true.”

 “Is that why you said it?”

 “Yes. I know the truth and I have a complicated relationship, sometimes by necessity, but I try to be honest with you, as much as I can be. And I can only hope that I get a little better at it with each try. It’s not much, I know, but—”

 “It’s worth more than you think,” she says carefully. 

 “I’m glad you feel that way.” He doesn’t say the rest of what he’s thinking— you can be honest with me too  or  I wish we could know each other better —because it feels like asking too much or risking betraying Bodhi’s confidence, so he leaves it at that. 

 Behind him, one of the lieutenants whistles for everyone’s attention. “Everyone is here and accounted for, Captain,” he adds, to Cassian. “We’re ready when you are.”

 Cassian nods to him before looking back at Jyn just at the moment the wind picks up and loosens several strands of her hair from where it’s pulled back. He attempts to brush them back into place, while she watches him with amusement.

 “It seems I must be going,” he says.

 “So it does,” she replies. She appears to struggle with something, turning it over in her mind for a moment before she leans in and kisses him. His hand is still buried in her hair, trying to keep it from blowing about in the breeze again, and it helps him to keep her close. He’d normally be reticent to have such a display in front of his fellow soldiers—he doesn’t want to give them inspiration for gossip or a reason to tease him mercilessly if he has to spend the next several weeks in their company—but he’ll have to make an exception this time. It feels like a coded message from Jyn, that she trusts him, that he’s done well as her husband, at least in this moment. She’s not one to say so directly, and that’s fine. He’s willing to learn to speak her language, especially if it means kissing her like this more often.

 However, common sense prevails eventually and he’s forced to pull back from her before they embarrass themselves in front of all the gathered soldiers. He runs his thumb over her cheek just once, feeling the chill of the morning there more than in his own body. “Goodbye, Jyn,” he says, quietly so only she can hear, and kisses her knuckles lightly for good measure.

 “Take care of yourself,” she says, in a rush. Like she’s tried to keep it to herself but couldn’t manage it. “I expect you home in one piece or there will be hell to pay.”

 “Of course, my dear,” he says as he steps up into the saddle. 

 “Don’t worry, ma’am,” the lieutenant beside Cassian chimes in, looking amused. “We will make sure nothing happens to your husband. You have my word.”

 Cassian shakes his head at the young man, who looks even more shamelessly delighted, but Jyn is pleased by this, he can tell. 

 “Good,” she replies, nodding at him. “You don’t know me very well, sir, but I will tell you this: you would not like to be on my bad side.”

 The lieutenant laughs. “No, ma’am, I would not. I’ll lead the party out, if you’d like, sir,” he adds to Cassian.

 “Thank you,” Cassian replies. When the group has started to move out from the courtyard, he turns his attention back to Jyn and reaches his hand out to her.

 She takes it, and plants a kiss on his knuckles. “My thoughts go with you,” she says.

 “And mine stay here with you.”

 The answering smile he receives stays with him as he follows the rest of the party out of the courtyard, as he lies on the cold ground of their camp that night, even as the mission turns long and tedious. It lasts until he can replace it in his memory with the smile he gets when he returns home again and sweeps her into his arms once more.

[projectjasper]

my thoughts and opinions on "lovely writer": criticizing the critic

tw for discussions of age gaps, rape, and sex

before i turn into the mean and constantly dissatisfied archer that we all know and hate, i just want to say that i liked this show. i think it's great, actually! gene and sib are appropriately cute, the premise is nice, and the attempt at criticizing the industry is... well, an attempt, which is better than nothing. moreover, "lovely writer" came with gifts because it gave me my new favorite character, so you can't go telling me i'm trying to completely obliterate it or something.

besides, this specific post isn't going to get into analyzing the show as a whole anyway. i won't be talking about any irrelevant plot points, cinematography, sound design, or anything like that, though i could probably write a post just as long as this one about that side of things as well. however, i am here to specifically look at the problematic things that were both criticized by the show and included in the show without any criticism. i'm going to talk about the more serious side of things here, which means i'm going to get serious. and i'm going to be harsh. very harsh.

gene and nubsib: yes's and no's

overall, the relationship between gene and sib was a fair attempt at showing something complex, yet ultimately quite healthy, which i appreciate. there were some things i was especially glad about. the fact that sib dated other people before settling on getting together with gene, for example, makes the whole situation a little less codependent. however, as much as this show prides itself on not wanting to romanticize problematic relationships, there are at least two major problems with genesib.

the age gap (and why it was not needed)

i've tried my very best to give this entire concept the benefit of the doubt. at first, i was convincing myself that they were simply close childhood friends, then i was trying my best to believe that even though sib did have a sort of crush on gene (which sometimes happens to little children), gene only saw him as his younger brother, but eventually, the show gave me no choice, but to deem the entire storyline problematic, because they did their best to romanticize that relationship - from gene's dad seeing the "early signs" to the counting and kissing the cheek turning to counting and full-on lip-locking in the last episode.

i could go into how this could all easily be mended if little sib was shown as kind of obsessed with his older friend, but gene was shown as not being anywhere near interested in the kid. but the real question is - why was the age gap needed at all?

i've researched the age of the boys during the flashbacks to the best of my ability and it seems that gene is 11 and sib is 6 or 7. if sib was the same age as gene (or maybe just one year younger, but not any more than that), not only would none of it feel weird, it would also be quite appropriate to explore that first glimpse of romantic feelings some of us experience exactly around that age. i don't think it's necessary for sib to be much younger than gene (children can be just as impressionable at 11 as they are at 7, and as for gene being surprisingly nice and helpful and the other kids not wanting to play with sib, he could have easily been - for example - bullied by his peers instead, which would have the same effect).

moving forward to the present, i don't think the lack of an age gap would affect the storyline that much either. even if they desperately needed sib to be a university student, they could have that one-year difference i've talked about before, which is not as significant. sib could be in his last year of uni, while gene could have easily written his very first novel during his university years, which would actually make more sense (since that guaranteed him employment and freedom to write after he finished uni; and i would rather believe that he had time to write his first novel in-between classes than in-between shifts at work, which he would surely need to have if he started writing after finishing university).

so that brings me back to my initial question - why was it needed? and much like the show often does, i will leave this one up for your interpretation because i do not have any sensible answers myself.

the issue with sex and consent

"but archer!" - i hear you exclaim - "lovely writer is known for explicitly denouncing rape romanticization in bls, how could there possibly be any problems with consent here?" and i hear you, my dear reader. and you aren't incorrect, "lovely writer" is indeed very explicit at calling out bls for having rape scenes (and i do appreciate that). however, as i'm sure you know, there are different ways in which consent can be taken from a person, and there are different non-consensual acts that someone might perform. for example, there are many different forms of coercion, such as the person being persuaded until they feel like they have no other choice, but to say yes. touching someone or kissing someone without asking for permission are also non-consensual acts. i can go on and on, there are many examples outside of what so many people consider rape.

now, what if i tell you that though there (thank the gods) has been no rape present in "lovely writer", not all scenes with gene and sib are consensual? well, that's what i'm telling you because it's the truth. both the first kissing scene and the scene where gene and sib "try out different poses" have clear coercion in them. the entire "joke" of the scene before gene and sib's first time is literally built upon the concept of "a person is trying to run away from someone, who wants to have sex with them" and it is NOT funny. the later reveal of gene actually looking up how to have sex seems to be there on purpose, to show that everything that's happened is "ok" because gene was thinking about it. as a sensible person, i will only accept actual enthusiastic consent and not someone possibly maybe probably considering it. not to mention that right before having sex, sib asks gene one last time if he is sure, which is great, except it is immediately followed by "i'm not going to let you change your mind anymore", which - daily reminder - you are allowed to stop having sex at any point during the act if you start feeling uncomfortable with it. that's absolutely normal.

now the problem that we seem to run into here is that "lovely writer" appears to think that it's ok to push someone to the limit until they either finally agree or confidently and loudly disagree. the drama has repeatedly shown us that actually forcing someone to have sex is not ok; however, persuading and otherwise coercing someone, as well as taking an approximate guess of them wanting to have sex based on some marginally related factors, is ok. i would like to once again remind everyone that all of that is not ok.

one more issue i want to bring up in connection with sex is something i wish was common knowledge: it is NOT supposed to hurt during your first time. whether you are planning to have vaginal or anal sex for the first time, it should not hurt. and if it does, something has definitely gone wrong and you need to stop. you are not supposed to experience any pain or discomfort during sex, including your first time (outside of desired and therefore intentionally inflicted pain, but that's not what i'm talking about here). i have seen this misconception brought up many times in bls along with the other person "thanking the person who got hurt for bearing the pain to bring them pleasure" and absolutely none of that is normal. stop. please, just... stop.

criticism of the BL industry

there are certainly quite a few things i liked about the way "lovely writer" criticized the many problems that surround bls. i think they dealt especially well with the fan aspect. the breaches of privacy that are considered normal, the toxicity of social media that encourages people to comment on other people's personal life, harass and stalk them - all of that was shown in its full glory (or rather horror) and clearly condemned. it was also interesting to see how easily everyone around sib fell into the routine of having to hide genesib's relationship, just because "that's what's supposed to be done in these situations" - even tum did that without thinking twice.

however, i have not spent the past three years hating gmm for a show trying to criticize the industry not to focus on criticizing the production company and everyone professionally involved with the making of bls. don't get me wrong - they didn't completely overlook that side of things, but i found the way they approached it dissatisfying.

like yes, tum fights with his sister (aka sib's manager) and calls her out for her terrible actions, and the publisher (bua) eventually apologizes for what she did, but all of that feels a bit too... personal. i do not care about these individual stories. i care about you saying that the whole system is broken because it very much is. i wanted manner of death but with the bl industry, and instead, i got an "uwu the fans are demanding we do this, and our hands our tied" (which is a lie) and "uwu i'm just trying to make money" (which i mean... if you feel ok milking even more money than you already have by doing something unethical and immoral, then be my guest, but also go fuck yourself). besides that, i didn't see any criticism of tabloids or exploitative celebrities either (both of which we had examples of in the show), and that was kind of disappointing.

coming back to the fans for a moment, i also think that the criticism of real people shipping was entirely unsuccessful. we basically mostly got an "oh, what if this person's partner thinks they are actually dating", which... if a bunch of people on the internet who do not know your boyfriend personally and make all their judgments from screenshots and their imagination can convince you that your boyfriend is cheating, i've got some bad news for you and also a number for a therapist. partly i know why it was so complicated for them to get into it properly - the issue with real people shipping is an issue of privacy, boundaries, the perception of celebrities, acceptable interests, and many other complex topics. however, it's better to not criticize something than to criticize it badly and inaccurately (because the latter usually leads to even more encouragement of whatever you were attempting to criticize).

aey: the flamboyant villain

aey certainly starts as a promisingly complex character, but the farther we go from his backstory and his family, the less complex and the more evil he gets. eventually, the trauma he goes through is no longer enough to give him a get-out-of-jail-free card, and he loses all remaining sympathy after sexually harassing gene and pretending to drug sib. and i did start this post by saying that i am not to analyze any plot points or characters from the show here; however, i'm saying all this to prove a point that aey is a clear villain in the show. this is further cemented by the fact that by the end of the show he loses the only two people who cared about him, and the very last moment with him in the show is literally just him crying for about 3 minutes. there was no redemption arc, no pity, no revenge - he was left alone and broken, clearly punished by the narrative. and i've got a bone to pick here as well.

one of the first things that we find out about aey is that he is gay, and quite openly so. he is repeatedly described as very feminine by many characters, he flirts with men, he talks about being good in bed, and his entire character is built upon being gay (half of it directly, and the other half due to the fact that his entire backstory and therefore personality is also built upon the fact that he is gay). he is - for the lack of a better term - the gayest character in the show and the only one who is loud about being gay not because he is in love but simply because it is a part of him and he doesn't want to hide it. and he is the villain. not the disgusting publisher or the terrible manager - no, this guy was specifically chosen to ruin everyone's lives. and i can't say i'm particularly happy about that. *british voice* seems a bit homophobic love

not quite queer enough

as i said, aey is openly gay. gene and sib also eventually say that they are gay, gene's father teep is queer, so are tiffy and mhok. but it just doesn't seem to come up as much as it would in real life. the only time anyone has a problem with any of the characters being queer is when we deal with the parents. but knowing actual queer thai actors in real life, we are all aware how hard it can be for them, but it has not come up even once for aey, gene or sib (with genesib only being a problem because they are a "non-shippable couple"). being queer is far from being a non-issue in the industry, and i found it incredibly weird that it was never brought up (and i would also prefer if they brought that up instead of showing the unaccepting parents plot for the millionth time).

same goes for the lack of conversation around queer people on set. i think we all have a wonderful example of how much better a bl can get simply when it involves a queer director and/or screenwriter (gods bless p'aof), gay actors, etc. i also thought it was a missed opportunity that gene being a gay man writing a bl novel was never highlighted. if anything, everyone made a big deal out of him being a man writing a bl - never mind that he is a gay man that is far more qualified to write bls than a straight woman.

in conclusion, there are simply not enough queer issues talked about here for a show that is about queer people facing difficulties while making a queer drama.

tiffy and tum: the good, the bad, and the ugly

overall, tiffy and tum are quite cool. outside of my own personal feelings, i really liked the clear reversal of gender roles they have going on: he knows lots about make-up, she knows nothing about it, he knows how to sew, she knows how to repair a car, etc.

tiffy is also a nice addition to the precious few queer girls we have in bls. however, the way her being bi is executed... it isn't great. when she first talks about dating girls to tum, she says things like "even though i look like this" (implying queer girls have a certain look?) and "maybe it seemed normal because i was at an all-girls school" (which wtf does that even mean?). i think the worst thing, though, was when she assumed tum was gay. my best guess is she thought so because she initially thought that tum and gene were a couple; however, she should be the first person to know that just because he likes men, it doesn't mean that he doesn't like women or any other gender. even though there was nothing explicitly leading me to make this conclusion, this whole thing did kind of feel like the old "flipping the switch" stereotype (meaning, she used to like women, but now she likes men, and both of them can't happen simultaneously).

make it make sense

i think i've never been more confused in my entire life than when i found out that the director of "lovely writer" also happens to be the director of "th*arnt*pe". and if at first, i was asking a lot of questions about this peculiar individual, who went from working on the worst rape-romanticizing show we have ever had to a show that explicitly states that rape is not normal. but the more i thought about it, the less i was interested in him, and the more i was interested in whoever made the decision to hire him. there are dozens of different directors that have worked specifically on bls, and even more that haven't. yet out of all those, you decided to choose this one. the dude, who before your show has only directed the show with the biggest rape-y vibes. that casts a particular kind of shade on the entire show that i simply do not like.

conclusion

at the end of the day, i think what "lovely writer" tried to do was very interesting. it succeeded in some ways and failed in others. frankly, i think this show could have easily been made better if someone queer was involved in making it. that's always true, but especially so, when we try to talk about the issues of making a queer drama. either way, it's certainly a good start to this conversation; however - as i said - i'm still waiting for my manner of death but with the bl industry. this was unfortunately not it.

[murdershegoat]

(inspired by this // on ao3 // ko-fi)

she’s had the voice in her head for as long as she can remember

well, it’s not exactly a voice, more just like a really strong, disembodied feelings that echoes loudly in her head and body. like, it’s not her gut feelings, it’s an outside force and it’s loud and sometimes scary.

so whatever she calls it a voice when she’s explaining it to others.

this voice, it guides her decision making. it’s not an exact science (yet) but if she thinks in her head ‘i’m gonna go get ice-cream’ the voice will either say WARMER or it’ll say COLDER

well, it won’t say it because it’s not a voice. it’s more like this disembodied feeling feels like it’s saying WARMER or COLDER and she’ll physically feel it as well.

if she’s supposed to get ice cream, she’ll feel a sudden warmth

if she’s not supposed to get ice cream, she’ll feel a sudden chill

she doesn’t know why the voice makes the decisions it does, but she has to assume that it’s leading her towards something, towards success or whatever

at the very least, she has to believe that it’s trying to keep her alive. it’s a survival thing. whatever it is, it’s kept her alive for 26 years and counting.

and though it keeps her alive, it doesn’t always save her from pain. the voice tells her kissing veronica sinclair in the horse stables is a warm idea and veronica ended up breaking her heart and humiliated her in front of the whole school.

when she was four, the voice told her to trust lillian. and that’s led to a whole life of pain.

anyway. the voice. 

andrea is the first person she tells about it.

they’re hiking in the amazon during spring break. and, as happens sometimes in life, they come to a diverging path and have to choose. left or right. andrea looks at the compass. ‘it’s not working,’ she says. ‘how fucking convenient,’ lena replies. she sighs and steps to the left path.

‘we’re going left,’ she says emphatically as she feels a familiar warmth roll through her. ‘why?’ andrea asks. ‘i just have a feeling.’

only andrea isn’t swayed by ‘just a feeling.’ she demands more and she refuses to go left until lena finally breaks down and explains the voice

(not a voice.)

‘well what happens if we don’t listen to it??’ andrea asks after a barrage of questions, her analytical mind whirring a mile a minute. lena shrugs, ‘i dunno. i’ve never taken the risk of not listening.’

they go left.

they survive the amazon. the voice is always right.

‘you know,’ andrea says, her head resting against the plane window. ‘my nanny used to tell me stories.’ ‘isn’t that what all nannies do?’ ‘she would tell me stories about people having unexplainable powers or whatever, i don’t remember the details… but i remember her saying that the powers always lead people to the thing they need the most. and it could take months or it could take years but it’s a part of your soul, like, intrinsically in you.’

andrea’s xanax kicks in soon after that and she sleeps for the rest of the plane ride home

lena stays awake the whole flight, wondering what these choices are and what this voice is leading her towards.

the voice leads her through the end of high school and it leads her to MIT (fun fact: she’s never felt a firmer COLDER than she had when she held harvard’s acceptance letter in her hand.)

it really helps her in college. sure, she still makes a lot of what she deems voice-sanctioned mistakes (sleeping with veronica sinclair is at the top of that list) but her grades are stellar and she’s on track for getting her second masters and she has a load of friends.

and then her brother goes insane and tries to kill superman. the sky is red and lena stands in lex’s office overlooking downtown metropolis. ‘join me lena,’ he says. ‘help me and we’ll be unstoppable. we’ve always been a strong family  but believe me, we’ll run this country together one day, i promise you that. all i need you to do is trust me.’ he holds out his hand

for a second, she considers doing it. she doesn’t want to lose her family. i am going to trust my brother. 

the voice says COLDER.

lena listens to the voice. she always listens to the voice.

it’s the first time the voice has made her lose something - someone - as important as lex. it’s the first time she thinks that maybe this voice thing doesn’t know what it’s doing because it’s never hurt her like this before. 

the fallout from lex’s breakdown feels cataclysmic. her friends stop speaking to her, her professors stop calling on her in class. she can’t even work at the library without being harassed.

and to top it all off, she becomes the youngest female ceo of a fortune 500 company. which means board meetings and strategy sessions all while writing a thesis. 

but meeting jack spheer feels like finding a life raft in the middle of a ferocious ocean, keeping her afloat, letting her catch her breath. he’s cute and he’s funny and well-to-do, and he’s the type of person lena knows she should date and possibly marry.

jack is the second person lena tells about the voice. she’s scared because she isn’t sure he’ll believe her, that he’ll drop her like the rest of her friends have.

but jack, bless his heart, just asks a hundred questions. ‘so even things like which sodas to drink?’ ‘the voice doesn’t let me drink soda.’ ‘whoa.’

jack is the first person who’s not veronica sinclair lena tells her other big secret to. they’ve been out drinking and eventually they stumble back to jack’s place and she feels brazen enough to blurt it out while he makes her a grilled cheese sandwich. she doesn’t even have time to wait for the voice’s opinion; the truth just falls out of her, unable to stay contained any longer.

‘i’m gay,’ lena says. ‘and i understand if you don’t agree with that lifestyle, but i’m still the same person i’ve always been and i would like to remain friends with you.’

‘a person with terrible gaydar apparently,’ jack replies. ‘as the kids say, it takes one to know one. i would’ve told you sooner but… i’m sorry i didn’t tell you sooner.’ she surges forward and throws her arms around him, hugging him tightly. neither of them lets go.

the grilled cheese burns.

‘should we just get chinese instead?’

the voice says WARMER.

she’s scared of starting over in national city, but the voice in her head seems to think it’s a WARMER sort of idea.

so she packs her bags and jack says goodbye to her at the airport and before she knows it, she’s looking down at NC from her pristine white office. the CVs of two assistants she’s interviewed. ‘i’m going to hire jess chin-salva as my PA,’ she murmurs to herself. ‘WARMER,’ says the voice.

when jess tells her two reporters are at the door, the strapping frame of clark kent isn’t whom she is expecting. she also isn’t expecting kara danvers to follow close behind, kara danvers whose smile is much too bright and friendly to work for a hardened journalist, whose blue eyes twinkle with a kindness lena has seldom been gifted by others, whose biceps are clearly visible through the cardigan she wears.

lena doesn’t have a choice to make, and yet for some reason it screams at her. WARMER. WARMER. 

and then it says something new.

WARMEST

the feeling won’t leave lena’s body, and she struggles to focus on the interaction with the journalists, but she thinks she’s managed to tell them the truth. she’s just trying to rebuild her family’s business. she just wants to do good things and make the world a better place. but it’s hard to focus on any of that when her mind and her body feel like they’re on fire.

it only dies down when kara leaves the room, and lena’s pretty sure that there’s something special about that woman.

except maybe there’s just something about the blue eyed women of national city. because later that day lena’s helicopter is shot down and she finds herself being carried to safety by supergirl and the voice goes batshit crazy again.

‘focus on the fact you’re about to die,’ lena tries to tell it, but it doesn’t listen to her. so instead, she doesn’t look away from supergirl’s steady, reassuring gaze until she flies away. and she wonders why supergirl is a ‘WARMEST’.

‘i heard you almost died,’ jack says when he calls her that night. ‘who cares about that?’ she responds, ‘the weirdest thing happened with the voice.’ she tells him of feeling ‘warmest’, of feeling it twice in one day with two different people, of how it refused to go away and occurred without any decisions to make.

‘ok i’m about to share a document with you,’ he says, and lena can hear him typing on his laptop. ‘there, open it.’

it’s a spreadsheet. holy shit.

‘this is every big decision you’ve ever made,’ jack says. ‘there are also some medium sized decisions thrown in, but mostly just the big ones.’ ‘how the hell do you know all this?’ she asks, shocked. ‘why else do you think i’ve been asking you about all this for so long?’ he replies. ‘every time you tell me something the voice says, it’s gone into this spreadsheet. now, i only have limited knowledge of decisions you made before you met me, but i’ve been able to put in a lot of them based on your stories alone. i thought, what better way for you to try and understand this than to put it into words you understand best?’

‘you’re phenomenal,’ lena tells him. ‘i just… i never thought of this. i just assumed it was all some unknowable hippy dippy nonsense.’

‘i mean, it could definitely still be hippy dippy nonsense. but still take a look at it, see if there are any patterns or anything.’

‘i love you, jack.’ ‘too bad i’m gay, huh’

lena sees a lot more of kara and supergirl, though never at the same time. kombucha dates with kara and supergirl swooping in to save her life every now and again. the voice isn’t as overwhelming in their follow up visits, though a pleasant hum of warmth resides low in her being whenever either of them are around. 

maybe, lena thinks, it’s not the voice at all. maybe, she thinks, it’s about time she starts dating again. 

but none of the women she sees bring the same warmth that kara and supergirl do.

the decision data that jack put together doesn’t seem to make much sense either. but she continues to add to it, bit by bit.

and then something weird happens. 

‘you’re getting more potstickers?’ lena laughs. ‘don’t you have any self control?’

‘i’m only human, lena.’

‘i suppose i should believe you.’

COLDER.

COLDER? she’d never gotten a COLDER near kara before. and why? she shouldn’t believe that kara’s human? of course kara’s human! she’s just an awkward, sweet, kind girl from midvale. it’s not like she’s supergirl, for crying out loud!

holy shit

what the fuck

kara’s supergirl?????

kara’s supergirl. it totally makes sense. why hadn’t she seen it before??????? had she been willfully blind to it?

she made a fool out of me, lena thinks. i should hate her. but the voice says COLDER. huh. so hating kara is off the table.

 maybe, she thinks, maybe i knew and i didn’t want to admit it to myself. because clearly kara doesn’t want me to know. and i don’t want to push her into telling me because i don’t want to lose her. i can’t lose her. because i lo---

‘i’m so fucked,’ she tells jack over the phone later that night. ‘kara is supergirl and she doesn’t know that i know and i--’ ‘what is it?’ ‘i think i’m in love with her.’ ‘oh my god FINALLY,’ he yells into the phone. ‘i havent even met kara and i knew you were in love with her. you know she’s all you talk about right? like, you run one of the biggest companies in america and you have a disembodied voice that lives in your head and a million other things going on in your life, and the only thing i’ve heard you talk about for months now is kara danvers.’

‘you did not know’

‘i really did. but im glad you know as well because i can finally present you with my biggest theory on The Voice.’

‘not a voice’

‘remind me what it was that andrea’s aunt or nanny or whoever thought it could be?’

‘that was a million years ago,’ lena says; she hasn’t thought about andrea in ages. she should give her a call. ‘i think it was something about… these types of abilities lead a person to thing they need most in the world.’

‘right. i’ve been doing a lot of new age reading and it hasn’t been pleasant at all and i sort of hated every moment of it, but i think i have some idea of what this could be. it’d explain everything.’

‘well then, what is it?’

‘i don’t think it’s the thing you need most in the world,’ jack says. ‘i think it’s the person you need most in this world.’

‘you mean like-’

‘a soulmate. think about it. somehow every decision that voice has gotten you to make has led you to standing in your office in national city where you met kara for the first time. and what did the voice say when you met kara, completely unprompted?’

‘warmest,’ lena whispers. 

‘exactly. warmest. as in, as warm as can be. because the whole time, the thing this voice has been leading you towards is kara danvers.’

lena’s plan for handling all of these revelations is drinking herself into a stupor. and it’s truly wonderful for the most part.

that is, until she wakes up with a headache and someone pounding their fist on her front door.

‘wHAT,’ she yells as she throws open the door.

‘do you want to explain the voicemails you left me last night?’

oh shit. lena’s hungover brain processes that it’s in fact kara standing at the door. she ushers kara in and shuts the door behind them.

‘to be honest with you,’ lena says as she puts on a pot of coffee, ‘i think i’m still a bit drunk and i definitely dont remember what those messages said.’

you said you know i’m supergirl. you said you’re not angry at me for lying to you--’

‘oh that’s not so bad’

‘-- and you said you have proof we’re soulmates.’

fuck.

‘do you want to explain yourself?’

‘can i drink my coffee first?’

… kara watches her drink her coffee.

‘okay,’ lena says. i’ll explain but you can’t ask any questions til the end. deal?’ kara nods.

the third person lena tells about the voice is kara danvers.

‘my whole life i’ve had this… this sort of voice in my head. and when i have a decision to make in front of me, it says WARMER or it says COLDER. it’s how i’ve made every choice since i was four years old, from the clothes i picked to the type of coffee i drink to the college i went to.’

‘like intuition.’

‘not intuition. fuck. i shouldnt tell you any of this.’

COLDER.

‘well. guess i should tell you about this.’

WARMER

‘it’s not intuition. it’s not a gut feeling. it’s not a part of me. it’s something bigger and otherworldly and it’s been leading me my whole life to something… i can only assume something much bigger and more important than i am. except i also think that the thing it’s been leading me to is you. and you don’t have to believe me at all, and god, you don’t have to believe in soulmates but… but far out, kara. i’m in love with you. i’m so in love with you it’s insane. and if you don’t feel the same way, i understand, but please don’t shut me out. i can live without you being in love with me, but i don’t think i can live without you in my life anymore.’

they stand in silence, lena’s plea still hanging in the air between them.

‘on krypton,’ kara says softly. ‘there’s only one way to know if somebody’s your soulmate or not.’

‘how do they do it?’ lena asks, imagining a blood test or a swab or something.

instead kara takes a step closer to her and she puts her hands on lena’s hips and she presses their foreheads together and she says ‘do you feel it?’

‘what--’

but she feels it. a sort of calm washing over them both. the air stills and lena swears she can hear kara’s heart beating and she feels serenity like she’s never felt it before.

‘wow,’ kara says, and before she can stop herself, lena kisses her softly, barely. but it’s still a kiss.

and she can’t really describe it, but she feels the voice leave her. 

‘i want to kiss you again,’ lena says. but there’s no voice that says warmer or colder. all there is is kara danvers, nodding her head and saying ‘then kiss me.’

lena has many thoughts about soulmates. she thinks if the universe gives you some sort of magical powers, it should also give you an instruction manual for them. she thinks her soulmate is the most perfect soulmate that’s ever been created ever. but this is the real kicker: lena knows that the voice may have led her to kara, but she’s the one who has to make sure she stays there. they have to put in the work together. love isn’t just a magical feeling, it’s building trust and learning to be selfless and letting someone into your life in a multitude of intimate ways. and now that kara’s in her life, in all of her wonderful glory, there’s no way lena will ever let her go.

[cosmokyrin]

Metamorphosis

Summary: A “supplemental” / “missing scene” fic for V8C12. This takes place inside the Manta ship as they were heading for the Vault.

Ship: Ruby Rose / Penny Polendina

Rating: Teen

Length: 1,132 words

Notes: I'm posting this for the informal event within the N&D community to commemorate the anniversary of the RWBY Chibi Fireflies episode! I hadn't had time to make anything longer than this, so I latched onto the more recent ideas I had. I wrote this a sort of "supplemental" scene that I felt was lacking for the recent episode, in light of Penny's transformation.

Link to AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30103029

(Full story also here)

***

It was always the darkest before the dawn.

Faint rays of sunlight that lined the dusted crimson sky sat on Penny's face as Blake and Yang assisted her inside the Manta. Despite the help of her friends, walking was an effort. All inside her ached. Jaune was right behind her, the strength of his hand and Semblance keeping her steady. Then as they reached inside the ship, she felt his hand leave her shoulder; in the deep recesses of her mechanical shell, she once again felt the grips of the virus rumbling from within.

"I gave her a large boost. The Aura amp should last until you guys get to the Vault," Jaune said.

"Thanks, Jaune," Ruby said, hugging her fellow leader before she hopped to the ship. The two exchanged nods as the aircraft started to lift off the air.

The ride wasn't going to be long. Not that they had much time in their hands anyway. They knew the virus could emerge again sooner, and what they didn't know was how much more Penny could fight the temptation to succumb. There were only the four of them to hold her back. Klein was busy piloting the ship, Willow was rusty in battle, and Whitley barely had combat experience. Just less than an hour ago, the nine of them almost weren't enough, if not for Penny's own self fighting it.

Penny closed her hands together. She tried not to think about the virus, but her awareness wouldn't dare linger to anything else than scanning her systems. The offender was still wreaking havoc in her code, and it took a great amount of her will to correct it. Thankfully, Blake and Yang's presence at each of her sides brought much comfort.

But Penny thought it didn't have to be like this. If only she didn't take the Maiden powers. If only she let Winter have this. Then maybe they wouldn't have been so divided. Then maybe she didn't need to heavily burden the group in trying to save her. Maybe their plans would have gone better. Maybe she would be with Pietro right now, telling him she's alive and alright. Maybe the Kingdom would have been safe now. If only...

If only she wasn't built that way.

The unpleasant words yelled at the back of her mind even louder than the virus that told her to open the vault and self-terminate. Every time the virus screamed, forcing her soul into chains, she desperately waded through the ropes of control within her consciousness. But more effective than it in washing her away was the voice that told her, it's because you're like that.

Penny was ready to believe that.

But the person who now knelt before her was not.

Two hands placed itself above hers. Even for a moment, for a little more, the terrible voice quieted as silver eyes looked at her, graced with a smile that encapsulated her in a feeling of safety. Penny relaxed and smiled back. Blake and Yang gave both Penny and Ruby a knowing look, standing up and huddling to another corner in the ship. Ruby sat beside Penny, hands still over hers.

“Hey,” Ruby softly said. Penny recalled the same tone from when they were in the Snowshoe warehouse. Despite the violations on her bodily control, she nonetheless felt a tug inside her. She didn’t want to get close to anyone just yet, but the urge was enough to have her lean slightly towards Ruby. The shorter girl wasted no time and wrapped one arm around her back, the other refusing to leave her folded hands.

“I’m… I’m scared, Ruby,” Penny admitted, her voice small and withdrawn.

“We’ll be there for you, Penny. I promise.”

Penny looked at Ruby, the worries drawn within her expression. “I...I always thought my... body was alright the way it is.”

"It is, Penny."

"But they-" Penny clenched her fists tight. "They're using my own body against me. Against my friends. Against my will." She gazed at her hands. "I wish I was enough."

Ruby pulled her closer. "You already are.”

Penny shut her eyes, trying to calm the voice that was resurging. She felt Ruby’s hand grip her waist tighter. As she opened her eyes, her gaze remained fixed on her hands. “But didn’t this all happen because… of this part of me? This part of me that I’ve already learned to... love?”

Ruby brushed her fingers up and down on Penny’s waist. “Sometimes… we all wish there were things about us that we could… replace. Or leave behind.” Penny just slightly missed the brief moment of hurt within Ruby’s eyes.“ Often that’s impossible. And we just accept that. Learn to live with it. Learn to see the bright side of it,” Ruby stared distantly to the side. “But there are also things... we can’t carry forever. Sometimes, these things we choose to carry... they slowly destroy us,” Ruby looked at Penny. “Then we have to make a choice. The choice to let go.” 

Penny’s shoulders dropped. Ever since she reawakened in her new body, assigned to watch over Mantle day and night, the thought never left. As time passed, the exploitability of her nature perpetually knocked from the back of her mind, lying within the grim memories when she learned about the Fall of Beacon. She always knew her body was a liability. She knew that, maybe in the end -- the multiple swords of Floating Array, the multifunctionality of her hands, the speed at which she can adjust to threats, the X-ray vision, the special functions of her eyes, the flight ability her father had gifted her, the things she loved about herself, the things that were part of herself -- will be something she would have to let go. She knew that one day, perhaps, she will be forced to fight her friends against her will. And that everything she feared would happen. 

She just didn’t expect it so soon.

“I do not want any more of this, Ruby. If… if this body will no longer reflect who I am, then...” Penny searched for silver eyes, for her comfort. “What will be left of me?”

“Everything you truly are.” Ruby wrapped her in a warm, full embrace. Penny didn’t understand what warmth was except for what she had associated them with. But nevertheless she felt it. She felt it in her soul.

And with that, Penny hoped her soul was enough.

The wrecked underside of the Vault was coming into view. The crimson sky had already turned into a dusty orange, and the sun seemed brighter than ever. Blake and Yang were at her side once more, helping her to her feet.

With one last look at her torn gloves, she bid farewell to the things she loved.

[darter-blue]

okay so I reached 300 followers today - and in appreciation for putting up with me and my silly blog you all get a little gift!

Here is 2k words of Stucky fluff just for you, dear followers. Thanks for all your love.

Worth it

Bucky is pretty sure that this was a terrible idea. Every single date he’s ever been on in his life has been a disaster. How he could have possibly been persuaded to believe that not one date but twenty dates, in succession, in increments of ten minutes a pop - speed dating, his best friend had called it with a smile intended to deceive, but torture, might be a better descriptive - would be in any way a good idea is beyond him. It felt like extreme dating in the same way that ironing over a cliff face was extreme ironing, dangerous and nauseating. And Bucky had always preferred to just live with the wrinkles thanks. Anything that required more care than, ‘stick it in the dryer on high and wear it immediately’, was not a piece of clothing that ever made it past the first wash. 

He felt kind of the same about dating.

Anyway. However he looked at it, this was not the ‘opportunity to meet someone great’ he had been promised. This was just a faster, more efficient way for Bucky to get stepped on. To meet people who saw his looks and smiled and then spent the remainder of the date growing increasingly disappointed with the reality of his personality.

Well. At the very least, Nat was going to owe him that fifty bucks. Because not one of the guys he had met so far would ever put Bucky down as a potential match. 

But finally it feels like, after too many beers and way too many sweaty, lingering hand shakes, Bucky has finally been through all twenty dates. And thank god. So far, over the course of the night, he’s been told he should speak up more, to smile more, to put his hair up, to sit straighter, to talk less about math, and to seriously reconsider his fashion choices. He is so fucking ready to go home he has his keys already in his hand. But while he drains the last of his bottle and prepares to get up from his chair and run (before the speed dating organiser can grab him for his card and his ‘insights’), someone new sits down gracefully into the seat opposite him.

Somebody he doesn’t remember from the introductions.

And he’s looking up from where tight blue jeans around thick thighs have slid into the seat, up to a broad chest in a t-shirt that has to be two sizes too small, up to shoulders so wide they could carry a bus, and up, up, up to the most beautiful face Bucky has ever seen in real life. Or at all, in anything maybe.

It’s ridiculously unfair how attractive this man is.

His dark blond hair is long and swept back. His skin is golden against a dark, full beard that frames his high cheekbones and pink lips. His eyes are the kind of blue that only exists in magazines. And he’s smiling. A real, enthusiastic smile. 

At Bucky.

Bucky looks down to make sure he’s been drinking light beer - and not something heavy enough to have him hallucinating. The label is just the cheap crappy stuff that the dating company provided. Doesn’t mean it hasn’t been spiked, though, he doesn’t feel dizzy.

He looks back up at the guy and he seems to have deflated a little at Bucky’s less than stellar response. Which… well, that’s basically the story of his life.

Bucky raises an eyebrow but chooses not to say anything (what would he even say, besides hello. Okay hello would be a good start. But he’d just mumble it anyway. And fuck it up like he always does)

But the guy is not deterred.

‘Hey,’ he says, dialling the smile back up, ‘How’s it going?’

Bucky looks at the guy, this perfect, gorgeous guy, looks around for the moderator, at the other daters, at the general public inhabiting the rest of the bar, and tries to figure out whether he’s being punked or something.

‘Umm…’ Bucky looks back to the guy and tries to find a word, any word, to help him figure out what is happening. ‘Hi?’ His brain is apparently not cooperating.

‘Hi,’ the guy replies, his smile, somehow, getting brighter as he does. He holds a hand out across the table to Bucky, long, strong fingers, and a wide palm. Perfectly manicured fingernails. And how are even his hands beautiful. ‘I’m Steve.’

Bucky reaches out his own hand, nails bitten down and blue ink stained into the cracks, shaking the outstretched palm and feeling himself want to linger in the warmth and softness of the guy’s shake. ‘Bucky.’

‘Bucky?’

‘Nickname,’ Bucky says automatically. But the guy doesn’t seem put off by the tone. If anything, his smile seems to widen at the answer.

‘It’s cute,’ the guy, Steve, says with a low, husky laugh, ‘Bucky.’

‘Umm… thanks?’ Bucky says, raising his eyebrow even further. ‘You don’t... ‘ he starts, and then clears his throat, the nerves getting to him, making his throat itchy, ‘I don’t remember you from the introductions.’

‘Oh yeah, no. I’m not part of the group,’ Steve says with a wave of his hand, dismissing the notion, ‘I’m here with some friends.’ He gestures to a bunch of guys at the bar, looking like some kind of movie star football team, pretending not to be watching their buddy do… whatever it is Steve is doing here.

‘Are you… Did you need something, or…’ Bucky is rambling now, nervous as to what Steve might be doing if he’s not here for a torturous ten minute date.

‘Your number?’ Steve says, raising one perfectly arched eyebrow of his own.

‘My what?’ Bucky says without thinking.

‘Your phone number?’ Steve repeats, looking a little less cocky now, ‘You know, so I could call you sometime.’

And Bucky is frozen for a moment, his mouth open, his eyebrows raised. Probably not a good look at all. He snaps his mouth shut and tucks a strand of his dark wavy shoulder length hair behind an ear. Buying himself some time. ‘You aren’t part of the speed dating group?’

‘Uh-uh,’ Steve says, shaking his head.

‘You’re here with your friends?’ Bucky asks, trying to pin this all down. 

Steve nods.

‘And you just came over here to get my number?’

‘I did.’

‘My number?’ Bucky asks incredulously. 

‘Absolutely.’ Steve says. And that tone leaves no room for argument. 

It sends a little shiver down Bucky’s spine to be honest. The first time all night he’s felt any flash of heat.

‘Why?’ Bucky asks. He knows you're not supposed to ask that. But, well, Bucky certainly wouldn’t be here if he was any good at meeting people, flirting, or being on a date in the first place.

‘Hmm…’ Steve says, placing one lovely finger against his bottom lip in mock contemplation. ‘Let me see. I’ve been sitting over there,’ he points back to his recently abandoned spot at the bar, ‘Watching losers come and go from this table all night,’ Steve drops his hand and leans forward, ‘Asking you the stupidest fucking questions I’ve ever heard asked, talking over you,’ he’s picking up speed now and Bucky is helplessly fascinated by the way Steve’s blue eyes are almost glowing with fervour, ‘Not appreciating one goddamn thing you’ve had to say. Not laughing at that hilarious crack about obtuse angles, and not treating you with the kind of reverence that you deserve.’

Bucky is watching Steve rant about how awful his dates have been, hears him unabashedly complimenting his math humour, feels his genuine affability crash over him, and it starts to hit Bucky that maybe this guy is actually serious.

Maybe this glorious man is actually interested in asking Bucky on a real fucking date.

‘Also,’ Steve says, Bucky suddenly and sharply focused back to his words as Steve’s voice drops to a sinfully deep register, ‘You are definitely the most beautiful guy I’ve ever seen in my life.’

And whoa.

Bucky blinks. And tilts his head in confusion. He can’t be serious… can he?

‘You came to a speed dating night in a sweater vest. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more adorable.’

‘You’re joking,’ Bucky says. Because every single person who sat down at his table tonight, once they got past the long hair and the pretty face, had bemoaned his choice of outfit for the evening. (Even Nat had told him to lose the vest).

‘I am deadly serious,’ Steve says. And the heat in his eyes as he looks at Bucky is evidence of his sincerity.

‘You know I’m a total nerd.’

‘I can tell that you’re brilliant,’ Steve counters, ‘You’re like a mathematical genius.’

‘I talk to my pot plants,’ Bucky says, leaning forward in his seat.

‘I love that,’ Steve says without hesitation, smile growing wider by the second, ‘You can’t scare me away Bucky.’

‘I’m not trying to scare you,’ Bucky says, and it’s true, ‘I’m just trying to preempt your eventual disappointment.’

But Steve is shaking his head. He laughs that low husky laugh and looks up at Bucky through beautifully dark, long eyelashes. ‘A, I could not be disappointed by you if you tried, and B, can I get your number? Cause I’d really like to call you.’

Bucky can feel himself smiling, by some minor miracle. He can feel a flush spread through his cheeks. He can see the other daters getting up to hand over their cards. None of them have spared a glance back at Bucky, though plenty of them have given Steve a second look. 

He looks back to Steve, who’s now pouting his pink lips at Bucky, just enough to make Bucky actually laugh out loud. ‘Yeah, okay, sure. You can have my number,’ Bucky says, accepting Steve’s phone as he hands it over and adding himself in the contacts as ‘Math nerd - Bucky’ really wanting to make sure Steve remembers what he’s getting himself into if he ever actually tries to call him. 

Steve takes his phone back and immediately calls the number, Bucky can feel his phone vibrating in his pocket. He pulls it out to show Steve that it's ringing, and Steve shrugs his giant shoulders and laughs again. ‘Just checking.’

‘Well-’ Bucky says.

‘So-’ Steve says at the same time.

They both laugh, but Bucky gestures for Steve to go first.

‘I was just ah, wondering if you might be free right now?’

And oh, Bucky’s heart skips a little at the question. And the hopeful, nervous look that Steve is giving him right now. He looks down at his watch. It’s ten, but it’s Saturday tomorrow. He has no classes. Nowhere to be. 

‘Yes,’ Bucky says, and Steve breathes out with a smile, ‘I’m free now.’

‘Great let me just…’ Steve gestures back to his friends and Bucky nods. 

He’s expecting Steve to just drag him over to the group and maybe buy him another beer. But Steve is waving to his friends, slapping a few shoulders, laughing and ducking his head. He’s grabbing his jacket and jogging back to Bucky.

‘You like ice cream?’ He asks Bucky as he reaches him.

‘Yeah, I like ice cream,’ Bucky replies, tilting his head, still a little confused but mostly charmed by this gorgeous, strangely sweet man he’s just met.

‘Cool. I know this great ice cream place.’ And he takes Bucky’s hand to lead him through and out of the bar. Past the daters and the organisers who are looking at him with surprise. Smiling back at Bucky as he checks to make sure he’s got everything.

And something in Bucky is melting.

But also he’s a little pissed.

Cause it looks like he’s going to have to fork out that fifty bucks to Nat after all.

Only one more look at the guy who’s got his hand in his soft warm grip and Bucky can’t even be mad. It’s totally worth it.

Steve is totally worth all of it.