#how dare you make your son practice piano

[amimons]

Bugnoire dropping a piano on Monarch’s head felt extra personal

[ask-the-becile-boys]

Fic: Piano Lessons (Crosspost)

Word Count: 3501

Summary:

It’s 1918, and a young Hare has been sent to teach piano to Ignatius Becile, his maker’s oldest estranged son. But Ignatius is thirteen, full of that age’s anger and desperation, and in Hare he sees an opportunity to impress the father he’s never met.

With thanks to BlueSpine for the prompt and some ideas, and to Dionysus for helping break my writer's block!

　　1918.

　　“So, you and Pops was pen pals?” Hare asked.

　　The Widow Becile’s lips twitched up in a faint smile. “He’d never call it such. But yes, we initially traded correspondence while he was incarcerated. His letters were dictated, of course, due to his injuries.”

　　The Widow Becile was not, in truth, a widow. Thadeus Becile was still very much alive; Hare had seen him just that morning. But notoriety made waves, and the Widow was a quiet woman.

　　Hare didn’t know anything about Delilah Morreo beside her name, and he couldn’t have started to guess why Pops had liked her so much. But he could see why Pops liked this woman enough to marry her on the sly: she was smart, distant, and her eyes were cunning as knives, just like him.

　　Why they’d had two kids together, and what strings they had pulled to make the first one happen while Pops was still behind bars, Hare didn’t dare ask.

　　They sat in the Widow’s garden at a little tea table with a glass top. The two-story townhouse it surrounded was painted pale yellow, with little patches of decorative ivy crawling up the sides. The flowers were bountiful and the bushes long in the tooth, and Hare watched white butterflies dance above the leaves. It was small compared to the Becile Estate where Hare lived, but it was just as silent, like a painting no one could touch.

　　Hare, the Widow, and the baby Norman had been sitting there for half an hour, he judged by the church bells. Hare tried to be polite as he could be for the lady as she patiently grilled him with question after question, Norman sleeping silently in her arms. How old was Hare? Just over a year, ma’am. (That made him about a year younger than Norman.) How long had he played piano? Most of his life. Did he enjoy playing? Oh, yeah, loved it. Loved performing, too. She should come see, sometime. Was he good? Well, he liked to think so.

　　Good. The house was too quiet for a boy Ignatius’ age, a hale thirteen. He needed something to do with his hands beside tinkering.

　　The wooden gate clattered close behind a row of bushes nearby. Hare turned in his seat, already watching the space when Ignatius came around the corner. The boy was halfway into his growth spurt, a little lanky but not yet tall, features starting to sharpen under his short curls and large glasses. His school uniform was clean, if slightly wrinkled, but the bulging backpack over his shoulder was well-loved. Ignatius pulled up short, seeing Hare, and his face flashed darkly for a second before dissolving into a carefully practiced blank.

　　If the Widow had caught the piercing look, she didn’t react. “Ignatius, welcome home. You remember I asked your father to send one of his robots to teach you the piano. This one is named Hare.”

　　“Pleasure’s all mine, kid,” Hare said affably, standing.

　　Ignatius nodded slowly. There was a second-too-long pause before he said, “Nice to meet you.”

　　Oh boy, Hare thought. Hare might have been young, but he had a knack for reading people, and this boy was simmering.

　　“Go drop off your school books and change your clothes,” The Widow Becile said to Ignatius calmly. “You may have a moment to breathe while I show Hare the piano.”

　　The new stand-up had been placed in the parlor next to a large window, angled perpendicular to the wall. Hare had stuffed his vents with filters to minimize his dark smoke, not wanting to pollute what he’d correctly assumed to be a lovely residence, but he was relieved to see the window all the same. He swung the frames outward and sat down on the piano bench, lifting the fallboard and casting his green eyes over the keys. The ivory was as white as clouds and shone in a way Hare had never seen on another instrument. He tentatively pressed middle C and smiled at the bright tone. Giddy at the opportunity, Hare set his hands on the keys and began to play ragtime, improvising a riff. He almost didn’t hear the floorboards behind him creak.

　　“Mother won’t be happy if you teach me that music,” Ignatius drawled. Hare turned to see him standing in the doorway, arms folded, head slightly cocked to the side as he regarded Hare through his glasses. “She says ragtime and jazz are for scoundrels.”

　　Hare paused, then lifted a brow. “Yeah? And what do you think?”

　　“I think it’s a glaring over-generalization, and I don’t see how music could predicate moral fiber,” Ignatius said. “After all, Mother says my father prefers classical music, and he’s a bastard.”

　　Hare whistled an impressed, sliding note. “You kiss your mother with that mouth?” Hare said, readying himself to spar.

　　“Of course I do. If she doesn’t know I swear, she can’t know the difference,” Ignatius said, walking into the room. “All the same, I’m not interested in offending her over something so trivial, so you’d best stick to teaching me the classics.”

　　“Is that what you’re interested in?” Hare asked. “’Cause I was gonna teach you theory, first, unless all you want is to play by rote.”

　　That gave Ignatius a moment of pause. “Theory? Like science?”

　　“You could spin it that way,” Hare said.

　　“I’m surprised you know that much,” Ignatius said frankly. “Were you programmed to know it?”

　　“Nope. But I got better recall than most humans. Makes learning patterns real easy.” Hare scooted over on the bench and nodded toward the empty space next to him. Ignatius grimaced slightly, hesitating, before he sat down.

　　-

　　Ignatius was a quick study when it came to principles, and Hare could see the growing wear and tear on the study books he lent the boy, but he got frustrated when his muscle memory couldn’t keep up. Hare came back twice a week, and he tried to be friendly, tried to be encouraging. But Ignatius kept him at arms length, his gaze always calculating when he looked Hare in the eye. Occasionally Norman would toddle into the room and watch them, ever silent, often chewing on his thumb or a part of his shirt. Ignatius would pointedly ignore him.

　　“This one’s a Hare Becile original,” Hare said, placing a few sheaves of sheet music on the stand. The notes were written in sharp, inky scratches. “I made the arrangement easier than the way I play it, but the melody line’s the same.”

　　Ignatius looked the papers over, his lips slightly moving as he worked through the solfège and rhythm. He narrowed his eyes. “You don’t have to dumb your music down for me,” he said bluntly.

　　“Ain’t ‘dumbing down,’ Ig’, it’s adapting,” Hare said.

　　“How do you play it?” Ignatius challenged.

　　Hare rolled his head to the side in a feigned stretch, smirked, and started playing. It was a dark sound, minor and slick, with high trills and a low, continuous rumble. His hands flashed across the keys, jumping between octaves, and when it was over, Ignatius was wide-eyed and silent.

　　“How am I supposed to catch up to you?” Ignatius eventually blurted out. “I’ll never be able to play like that!”

　　“What, giving up before you’ve tried?” Hare asked. “That ain’t the Becile way.”

　　Ignatius shot him a pointed look. “You’d know better than me,” he grumbled. “But what’s the point if you’re always going to be second best?”

　　Hare thought for a moment. “You enjoy being alive?”

　　“Of course,” Ignatius said moodily.

　　“You ever feel more alive than usual? Even in a bad way?” Hare laid a hand gently on the piano keys. “That’s the point. Your ‘best’ isn’t about being better than someone else, it’s about the ride.”

　　“You say that,” Ignatius said slowly. “What about Walter’s band of robots?”

　　Hare stiffened up. “What about them?”

　　“My father made you to compete with them, didn’t he? I saw them at the World’s Fair. It doesn’t take a genius to see the connection.”

　　Hare felt the fire in his chest burning hotter. He hadn’t seen Rabbit for most of a year-- not since her conscription into the war overseas. For all he knew, she’d never return. Maybe if she didn’t, their rivalry would stop haunting him-- but then he kicked himself. Wishing for Rabbit’s destruction was a step too far. “Look, that’s… complicated. More complicated than I wanna talk about. You don’t got that problem.”

　　“Don’t I?” Ignatius muttered.

　　“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hare asked.

　　“Forget it. Let me hear the simplified arrangement so I can get started practicing.”

　　-

　　“Piano’s getting out of tune,” Hare said a few weeks later.

　　Ignatius quirked an eyebrow and stopped playing. “It sounds fine to me.”

　　“It ain’t by much, but it’s there, in the low notes.” Hare looked out the window that was directly to the piano’s left. “It’s probably from the weather.”

　　“Well, we have to keep it open for you during lessons,” Ignatius said. “I don’t want to choke.”

　　“This may be a shock, Ig’, but the temperature around windows is always a bit more like the other side,” Hare said. “Even when the pane’s closed.”

　　“Can you even feel temperature?” Ignatius asked.

　　Hare blinked. “No. I just… know that.”

　　Ignatius rolled his eyes. “Fine. Do you want me to stop playing?” he asked, lifting his hands from the keys.

　　Hare hummed thoughtfully. “Well, now I gotta think. I don’t want you getting used to an off tune. But if you can’t hear the difference yet, it shouldn’t matter. It’s gonna drive me batty, though.” Hare performatively stuck his pinky finger in his ear, as if trying to shake out a bout of tinnitus. “Course, it really comes down to your mother paying for a tune up.”

　　Ignatius was quiet as Hare talked. His eyes followed Hare’s hand as he lowered it from his head.

　　“Hey,” Ignatius said. “Could you take off your gloves? I want to see how your hands work.”

　　Hare startled at the request. “Uh, sure, I guess,” he said. He peeled his gloves off gingerly. He never touched a piano without them on; his fingertips were too thin to hit the keys correctly and so sharp as to leave scratches. “Mind the blades.”

　　Ignatius seized his right hand first, turning it this way and that. “You don’t have a lot of plating here,” he observed. “The mechanics are exposed in places, like you’ve been flayed. Fascinating.”

　　“Flayed? Gross,” Hare said. “They’re just like that so’s they’re easier to fix.”

　　“And the gloves act as sheathes,” Ignatius mumbled. He ran an index finger along the length of one of the blade edges, then pulled back with a hiss, blood blossoming on his fingertip.

　　Hare jerked his hand away, head starting to swim in an unfamiliar way at the sight of the blood. “I told ya’!” he said, standing. “Criminy, you know where the bandages are? Kitchen? Bathroom?”

　　“Kitchen. But it’s barely a papercut,” Ignatius grumbled.

　　“Don’t care, we’re patching it up anyway.” Hare stuffed his hands back into his gloves and headed for the kitchen. “I ain’t going back to Pops to tell him you got lockjaw ‘cause of me.”

　　Hare didn’t reply when, as he stepped out of the room, he heard Ignatius quietly say, “Like he’d care.”

　　-

　　Things continued in their passable way for a few months. Ignatius’ playing improved steadily, if not quickly. He even guardedly asked for pointers on composing his own music, scrawling out fragments on scrap paper and collecting them in a folder. Hare thought they were making progress, and he didn’t think much of the occasional times Ignatius asked to look at his hands.

　　Then the Widow was invited to see Pops.

　　Ignatius’ face was dark as storm clouds as Hare helped the Widow into her coat. He sat at the piano, chewing his lower lip, glowering at the sheet music in front of him.

　　“Watch your brother, Ignatius,” the Widow said over her shoulder to his back. “If there’s any problems, the neighbors are home.” Only Hare caught the slow turn of Ignatius’ head, how he stared at her with one eye.

　　Hare offered the Widow his arm as they left the house, and she took it. He tried to keep her talking as they walked to the streetcar, hoping it would be enough to distract her from Ignatius following them. All things considered, the kid was stealthier than Hare expected, but he chose amateur hiding spots. Hare guided the Widow to a seat on the streetcar so that she faced away from the way they’d come, and he thought they lost Ignatius there.

　　They met The Skull at the gates of the Becile Estate. He doffed his hat for the Widow, muttering a quiet, “Ma’am.” He then led them up the remnants of the gravel trail to the house, pausing to take the Widow’s coat and hat at the door, and through the halls to Pops’ study.

　　After the door to the study clicked close behind the Widow, Hare grabbed The Skull’s arm and started pulling him down the hallway. “Listen, Skulls, we gotta do a sweep. Their oldest kid, the one I’ve been teaching piano, he was following us part of the way.” Hare said quickly. “I don’t know if he caught the next trolley after us, but Pops’ll have our hides if the kid shows up uninvited.”

　　The Skull nodded, and they split ways at the parlor. Hare searched one wing of the house, while The Skull searched the other. Hare could hear The Jack practicing his violin in the basement as he passed by the stairs, and he decided not to get him involved.

　　A muffled shout caught Hare’s attention. He ran to the noise to find The Skull holding a struggling Ignatius by the open kitchen window, some of the clutter from the counter knocked onto the floor around their feet. Ignatius, seeing Hare, slowed his flailing and sullenly glared at him from under his brows. He wore his ragged backpack, the straps barely hanging onto his shoulders after his fight against capture.

　　“What’s a’ matter with you? You hate your old man,” Hare said in a hushed tone. “Your mom’s gonna rake you over the coals for leaving Norman alone.”

　　“I locked him in his crib,” Ignatius said. “He won’t get out before I get back.”

　　Hare shook his head. “Cripes, kid. You gotta know Pops won’t see you.”

　　“Exactly,” Ignatius said vehemently. “I want to know why.”

　　“Ig’, we live with the guy, and we don’t know why he does half the things he does,” Hare said. “He don’t take kindly to questions and takes even less to surprises. You gotta scram.”

　　“Like hell,” Ignatius snarled. “You don’t get it. You’re just a machine. Why did he even make you? Why did he give mother Norman when he refuses to speak to me? What am I here for?!”

　　Hare stared at Ignatius for a moment, then traded looks with The Skull, before sighing, allowing a cloud of dark smoke to pass his vents. “Pops might not want you around, but your mother does. Sometimes, that’s gotta be enough.”

　　“Well, it’s not! Let go of me!” Ignatius demanded, eyes wet. “I’m going to get answers!”

　　Hare shook his head. “You got two choices-- you go home with dignity, or we carry you back like a sack of screaming potatoes. Look, I’m sorry. I know it ain’t fair.”

　　Ignatius inhaled, meaning to shriek, only for The Skull to clamp a hand over his mouth. The Skull gave Hare a confused look, obviously uncomfortable using force on a child, but held him tight regardless.

　　“What do we do?” The Skull asked Hare.

　　Hare ground his teeth as he thought. “We gotta get him outta the house. I don’t wanna gag him, but if we’re gonna carry him--”

　　“That will be unnecessary.”

　　The three froze as Pops walked into the room. The Widow hovered in the doorway behind him, looking at Ignatius with disappointment.

　　“The Skull, release him,” Pops said flatly.

　　The Skull obeyed, and Ignatius took a teetering step forward, regaining his balance, eyes locked on Pops.

　　Hare winced and said, “We tried to take care of things. Figured you wouldn’t want your visit interrupted. We can take him home--”

　　“You will.” Pops regarded Ignatius with all the passivity of a wall. “But first, I intend to reduce his reasons to invade my home a second time.”

　　Ignatius, his mouth a thin line, unslung his backpack and darted a hand into it. Without a word, he pulled a contraption out of the bag, its parts clicking against each other as he held it out for Pops to see. “I made this,” Ignatius said flatly.

　　Hare stared at the thing, not immediately comprehending what he was looking at. Then the bottom dropped out of his furnace, and he felt impossibly sick

　　Ignatius was holding a replica of Hare’s hand.

　　Pops’ brow lifted a fraction, and he held out his own metal-encased palm to take the replica. Ignatius shuffled forward a few steps and passed it over, watching Pops closely as he examined the construction.

　　“Where did you get the parts for this?” Pops asked Ignatius, testing the range of motion of a finger.

　　Ignatius hesitated for a second, avoiding his mother’s gaze, before saying, “Junkyards. Scrap metal and broken toys. A few pocket knives.”

　　“And you made this to impress me?”

　　“No.” Ignatius straightened up proudly. “I made it to prove that I could.”

　　Hare wished he could melt into the floor tiles. The Skull was avoiding looking at him, his hands nervously clenching.

　　“I see,” Pops said. He gave the replica back to Ignatius. “I’m loathe to reward you for breaking in. But I suppose if you’re going to pursue mechanical engineering under the Becile name, I would rather oversee your development. You’re old enough now to not be a nuisance.” Pops looked down at Ignatius through his glasses. “I’ll discuss a schedule with your mother. Bare in mind that you’re starting on thin ice. You will not enter this house again without my permission. Understood?”

　　“Yes,” Ignatius breathed. He glanced at Hare and grinned. Hare did not grin back.

　　The Widow cleared her throat. “I’m not exactly opposed,” she said. “But if it’s all the same, I’d like him to continue his piano lessons as well.”

　　Hare frowned and folded his arms, tucking his hands out of view. Before he could protest, Pops spoke again.

　　“There may not be time. But we shall see.” Pops looked at The Skull, who snapped to attention. “The Skull, get my guest’s coat for her. You’ll escort her and Ignatius to the streetcar.”

　　“Yes, sir,” The Skull said. He barely glanced at Hare as he swiftly left the room.

　　The Widow held out her hand to Ignatius, who slowly passed Pops to go to her. They followed The Skull, leaving Pops and Hare alone.

　　“You disapprove,” Pops said.

　　“Am I weird for feeling weird about it?” Hare asked, a note of pleading in his voice. “He didn’t tell me he was doing it. He didn’t ask. He just copied me like, like a thing, like a piece of homework.”

　　“Hare, you are a thing,” Pops said.

　　“Yeah,” Hare’s voice faded to a whisper as he looked at the ground. “But he don’t gotta treat me like one.”

　　Pops shrugged. “In any case, I expect you to continue to be respectful. Keep your reservations to yourself, and if time allows for your piano training, challenge him.”

　　Hare narrowed his eyes. “… You got it, Pops.”

　　-

　　Over the next four years, Hare and Ignatius’s lessons became more ever more sporadic. Hare never shook the feeling of violation, and while he was not a cruel teacher, he wasn’t proud of the spitefulness that churned in his chest when he was cool in the face of Ignatius’ improvement. It was only when Ignatius formally ended their lessons and Hare felt a wave of relief that he realized just how long he’d held the grudge.

　　Ignatius seemed to thrive under pressure-- at first. He devoured the books on engineering Pops assigned him, kept his grades up in school, learned to dance his skilled fingers across the ivories. He was hard-working, prodigious. As far as talent went, he was everything a man could hope for in an heir.

　　At seventeen, he broke.

　　Hare could hear Ignatius screaming from the other side of the manor, though the words weren’t clear. When The Jack and The Skull started to stand up from their game of cards, he shook his head.

　　“You guys really wanna get between those two?” he said quietly.

　　The Jack and The Skull traded looks, and they awkwardly sat back down.

　　“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Hare muttered. He looked at his hand for a moment, balled it into a fist. “Let him burn his bridges.

　　“I never liked how he looked at me, anyway.”

[latte-fairytaekwoon]

𝐷𝑖𝑙𝑓!𝐴𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑧: 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑇𝑟𝑦 𝑇𝑜 𝑆𝑒𝑑𝑢𝑐𝑒 𝐴𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝐷𝑖𝑙𝑓!𝐴𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑧 𝑀𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑒𝑟 (𝑅𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑑)

Warnings: NSFW content including but not limited to exhibitionism, voyeurism, semi-public sex (don't try it irl), lactating kink, tittyfucking, etc. Aged up/Older Ateez but age differences are still within legal boundaries. Allusions to infidelity (which I do not condone or encourage)

❥𝓚𝓲𝓶 𝓗𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓳𝓸𝓸𝓷𝓰

Hongjoong couldn't keep the proud look off his face as he showed off a video of your son playing around on the piano while seated on his lap.

"I'm telling you, he's going to be a musical genius." He boasted to his closest friend, Seonghwa who watched in amazement.

"Mine so far just know how to make messes and keep their mommy and me awake at all hours of the night." Seonghwa chuckled as he gave a lighthearted pat on the bum to the woman right next to him.

"They? You already have two?" You couldn't believe it.

"What can I say? Maybe I'm just really...gifted." Seonghwa winked which had his significant other blushing intensely when he looked her way, the poor thing fanning her face before going to the kitchen to grab more water.

Seonghwa's words left you feeling curious about him and it was a night out for both of you to have fun. So why not have a little fun?

"You must really be packing a lot in there to be able to knock up a girl with 2 kids." You observed as you shamelessly looked at his crotch.

"Well if you ever get too curious I'd be happy to let you experience it firsthand." He looked at you smugly as his thumb cupped your chin.

It was rather dangerous to flirt like this with Hongjoong's best friend right in front of him, but part of you wanted to know what he'd do seeing you act like this, like how'd you'd flirt back in university. You always loved making Hongjoong jealous after all. Taking Seonghwa's hand, you brought his fingers to your lips.

"I'm curious. Very curious actually." You maintained eye contact as you took his fingers in your mouth and mimicked the tongue movements you'd often do on Hongjoong's cock.

Speaking of him, you were surprised as to why he hadn't said or done anything. Looking behind you, you realized he wasn't even there which confused you. Finally you spotted him on the couch and you dropped Seonghwa's fingers out of your mouth when you saw none other than his s/o on Hongjoong's lap.

"Hongjoong!" You angrily exclaimed yet he still had a grin on his face.

"What? I was merely trying to get closer to my friend's soon to be wife." He replied as the hands on her hips went to her ass.

Walking over to them, Seonghwa lifted his partner off the couch and promptly excused himself as he pulled her out of your apartment, no doubt to remind her of a few things. Meanwhile you stood there glaring at Hongjoong who looked unbothered.

"What? It's only ok for you to try and seduce other men?"

You huffed and were about to walk to your room but Hongjoong sat up and hugged you from behind.

"Calm down my little slut, I was only giving you a taste of your own medicine. And besides, you don't need another cock besides mine." He chuckled as he started to play with your pant's zipper.

❥𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓴 𝓢𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓱𝔀𝓪

Coming back from the kitchen, you widened your eyes as you saw that Hongjoong's a significant other was still flaunting herself to him and he was going along with it.

"This little bitch." You muttered to yourself thinking that no one heard you but someone did.

"It's frustrating isn't it?" You heard Hongjoong say right next to your ear, lips ghosting over the lobe.

"I take it a cat fight is out of the question?" You asked him.

"Actually.... I have a better idea, if you're comfort enough to help me."

Seeing his smirk and wiggling eyebrows, you knew what he was referring to and you decided fuck it. You allowed him to walk you over to the couch but it was you who pushed him onto it before straddling his lap, the dress you were wearing rising up and nearly exposing your lace panties.

"Well you're certainly not a shy one are you?" Hongjoong mused, eyes unable to look away at your chest that was right in front of his face.

"Hey, sometimes a girl's gotta get dirty to get what she wants." You bit your lip as you took his hands and guided them to your hips. Leaning down, you pressed your forehead against his and swiped your tongue across his upper lip.

"Like stealing another woman's husband." You chuckled slyly.

Hongjoong wasn't planning on feeling this hot by your behavior, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't find you attractive. Obviously you were extremely attractive if you managed to steal Seonghwa away from his wife and Hongjoong could now see why.

"Hongjoong!" You both heard his girl shout.

"Took her long enough." You whispered in his ear, trying to contain your laughter after he not only said he was trying to get close to you but also when he squeezed your ass.

The next thing you felt was a pair of arms getting you off Hongjoong before a voice said:

"I'm sorry but we must be going now."

Seonghwa was fuming as he dragged you over into the car, his hand slamming the door loudly.

"Maybe now you'll think twice before letting someone else try to seduce you." You snorted.

"I wasn't actually gonna let her do anything." He told you, a hand rubbing his temples as he tried to calm down both his anger and embarrassment.

"Oh I know you weren't going to let anything happen baby."

Seonghwa's breath hitched when he saw your face stoop down and start to take him out of his pants. He groaned when you spat on his cock so you could begin pumping him.

"Whatever she had you fantasizing about while your fingers were in her mouth, I can fulfill it and even more."

❥𝓙𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓨𝓾𝓷𝓱𝓸

When Yunho said he wanted you to meet a few of his close friends, you began worrying that an event like what happened with his family would took place. But to your surprise it was nothing like that. And in fact you two weren't the only couple who had a large age difference between them, as his recently remarried friend Yeosang had a wife that was closer to your age so that comforted you.

No doubt Yunho intended for you to become friends with the lovely lady, but surprisingly you were bonding a lot more with Yeosang than anyone, and after a while it escalated to a little flirting.

"So is it true that Yunho bought your virginty?"

You nearly spat your drink out when he asked that, but you composed yourself and smiled as if nothing happened.

"Yeah and I honestly don't regret it." You responded.

"I don't think he regrets it either." He gestured over to Yunho who was happily chatting with some of the other guests.

"Did you also buy your now wife's virginity?" You figured it wouldn't be bad to ask him an embarrassing question now.

"No actually I didn't. I didn't have to. From the first moment, she wanted me like I wanted her and in the end, well...... she ended letting me corrupt her after a long game of cat and mouse." He had a fond look on his face as he began to recall all those memories.

"Well with that face I'd let you corrupt me for free." You wanted to slap your hand over your mouth when you accidentally said aloud what you thought in your head.

Yeosang quirked an eyebrow an amusement at your words.

"Oh really? You little innocent thing would let me corrupt you? Tell me, what if it had been me instead of Yunho that paid to have his way with you?" Yeosang was bold enough to tuck some of your hair behind your ear, his large veiny hands making you get wet as you imagined them undressing you.

"I'd let you fuck my pussy for free." You admitted as you began to lean into him.

Unbeknownst to you, Yunho had listened to the entire conversation and now he stepped in to pull you away from Yeosang. He looked beyond mad and you thought you fucked up for real. He dragged you into some lonely part of the park you were all gathered in and pressed you up against one of the trees. Before you could speak, his large frame trapped you as he started to pull your dress up.

"A long time ago, I paid for this little pussy of yours, isn't that right?" He harshly asked.

You nodded immediately before gasping when Yunho practically tore your panties off you, leaving your bottom half exposed for anyone walking by to see. You tried to pull your dress down, but were stopped by him.

"Don't even try it. Like I said, I paid for your pussy which means it's mine to show whenever I want....." You shuddered when he plunged two fingers in you.

"And fuck whenever I want. Just me, no one else. "

❥𝓚𝓪𝓷𝓰 𝓨𝓮𝓸𝓼𝓪𝓷𝓰

You weren't going to lie that you felt uneasy about Yunho's wife talking a little too friendly with Yeosang. Even though you tried to listen to what Yunho was saying, your eyes kept trailing back over to them, and you couldn't stop squinting your eyes at her.

"You can stop being on edge about my wife, she's not going to steal Yeosang away from you." Yunho assured you.

You looked back at him with a face that let him know he was stupid.

"Oh honey, you have no idea what a woman can be like. Don't be fooled by our innocent appearances." You warned him before looking back at Yeosang.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Judging by his tone, you knew Yunho felt offended that you meant anything remotely offensive towards his wife.

Wanting to lighten up the mood while simultaneously letting him understand your point of view, you fully turned your attention to him and smirked as you 'innocently' began adjusting his tie.

"Wha-what are you doing?" Yunho couldn't help the stammer in his voice when you came close to him.

"I'm just fixing this up for you." You answered, your voice sounding as smooth as honey.

"That's not necessary-" Yunho gulped when he tried to pull away only for you to suddenly pull him back in, your body now pressed to his, your breasts peeping out of your cleavage daring him not to stare.

"A woman may help a man tie his tie, fix his belt or..... adjust their collars simply to be nice."

Yunho stiffened and blushed red when you leaned in and whispered with a honey like voice in his ear:

"Or it's because we're trying to get you guys to fuck us."

You knew your plan worked when Yunho's eyes shot wide open and he excused himself to go stomp over to where his wife and Yeosang were. You patted yourself on the back especially when you made emphasis on the adjusting collars part, knowing that Yunho saw just as you did how his wife had adjusted Yeosang's collar before and he was not subtle about checking out her cleavage.

Your proud smile did not leave your face even when you saw Yeosang slowly approaching you. You knew he definitely saw how you were with Yunho and you were curious to see what'd he say. Humming softly, he went behind you so he could wrap his arms around your waist while his face buried itself on your neck.

"Mind telling me why you were so close with Yunho?"

Reaching a hand up to pat his hair, you answered:

"Simply teaching him a few lessons on how women seduce men."

Yeosang couldn't help but let out a soft laugh at your words. You giggled when you felt his lips press open mouth kisses along your neck.

"Yeah you're an expert in that category, aren't you?"

❥𝓒𝓱𝓸𝓲 𝓢𝓪𝓷

"Umm...uh Y/N?" Mingi, San's friend spoke up.

"Yeah?" You wondered what was bothering him.

He seemed unsure whether to tell you or not, whatever it was that he was trying to say. Clearing his throat, he finally decided to spit it out.

"I think you spilled something on your shirt when you went to the kitchen and didn't notice."

You were confused as you didn't remember spilling anything on yourself. Looking down at your shirt, you laughed as you realized what it actually was.

"Oh! I didn't spill anything, that's just my boobs." You blurted out.

Mingi flushed pink as it clicked on his head what you meant.

"Oh...right. San had mentioned before that you lactated a lot but I didn't think-" He stopped himself before he went further.

"Didn't think?" You pressed him to continue.

"Didn't think it'd be that much." He confessed, eyes curiously eyeing the wet stains on your shirt.

Getting turned on by another man staring at your breasts, you reached for the bottom of your shirt and pulled it off of you. Slowly, you began to pull your bra up as well, your breasts popping out with a bounce that had Mingi biting his lip. San came in to find you topless and with his friend admiring your tits and although he'd usually be very jealous, something about it made him get aroused.

"My wife's tits are so pretty aren't they Mingi?" He startled you both when he made his presence known.

"God yes." Mingi couldn't lie.

"Maybe you should taste them." San suggested as he reached for one of them and squeezed it so a bit of milk would come out of it.

Mingi hesitated but after San reassured him it was fine, the giant male latched his mouth onto one of your breasts, sucking on it fervently. If you thought it couldn't get any better, soon San joined in, taking a hold of your other breast and taking it into his mouth. You threw your head back and moaned loudly as both men sucked on your breasts, your hands cupping the back of their heads to push them further into your chest.

"Just watch Mingi, she can literally cum untouched by just having us breastfeed from her." San chuckled in between his suckling.

❥𝓢𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓲

"I should cut off your balls." You threatened Mingi as he confessed to you what had transpired the day before at San's house.

"Honey please don't do that. At least you heard it from me, doesn't that count for something?" He pouted at you as he tried to hug you.

"Yeah it counts for getting it sliced off in one whole strike instead of piece by piece." You grunted as you evaded his embrace.

"Ok, what's it going to take for you to forgive me? Ask for anything. If you even wanna withhold kinky times from me, I won't even blame you."

You actually thought long and hard about how to get back at Mingi. Just what could possibly make you get even with him after he confessed to sucking on his friend's wife's tits? The light bulb went off in your head at once.

"Can you ask your friend San to come over?"

Although he was confused by your request, he nonetheless did as you asked and called him over. San was just as confused, but he figured he was probably there to help his friend out and apologize for what happened and take responsibility. But what he was not expecting was for you to throw yourself on him and start seducing him right in front of Mingi, who was equally shocked.

"You got to have your fun with his wife yesterday right? I think it's only fair he gets to have fun with your wife, don't you think Mingi?" You smirked over at him.

San was hissing and grunting as he layed on your bed, watching intently as his cock was buried deep in between your boobs. Every time his head popped out, you made sure to stick your tongue out to further stimulate him.

"You seem to have a thing for breasts Sannie." You teased as you began to fuck him between your boobs even faster.

"Oh fuck!" San cried out as he tried to keep himself from cumming.

"Mingi also likes a good tittyfuck every now and then, but he's more of an ass man above all."

You looked over at Mingi, who sat quietly on a chair in front of you both, watching it all go down with a tent in his pants.

"Mingi come fuck my ass." You suddenly told him.

"Are you serious?" Mingi widened his eyes.

"I just got done saying how you're an ass man and I'm feeling empty. Now are you going to stay sitting down or are you going to join in?"

In minutes, Mingi had gotten up and had stripped himself off his clothes, and now he was positioning himself right behind you, cock twitching at fucking your ass while your breasts fucked his friend.

"You really are a kinky little lady."

❥𝓙𝓾𝓷𝓰 𝓦𝓸𝓸𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓰

"Wait, you met Y/N where?"

Wooyoung wasn't surprised to hear the disbelief in Jongho's voice as they shared stories about how they met their current significant others.

"In the strip club I frequented. She was one of the dancers there." He repeated himself.

"What? Did she drop her panties onstage and you immediately bought a ring?" Jongho teased him.

"One, we're not married...yet. And two, I actually had to get her alone to be able to see her with no clothes on. And fuck when I did, I decided to snatch her away before anyone else got a chance to." He admitted.

"Was she that enticing to you?" Jongho questioned him.

"Trust me, she's the type of woman who can dance her way into a man's heart. Or pants." Wooyoung boldly stated.

"I doubt she could dance into mine." Jongho firmly said.

"Oh really? You think so? Wanna bet on it?"

Wooyoung didn't hesitate to pick up his phone and call you right away. Hearing his mischievous tone, you knew he was up to something. When he asked you to come over to his office in one of your old costumes from your exotic dancer days, you got a hint as to what it could be and it excited you to think about it.

You came into his office, thinking he wanted a private show but you stopped dead in your tracks when you saw that he wasn't alone. You looked at Wooyoung, asking for an explanation.

"Baby I hope you don't mind but.... I wanted you to put on a little show for my dear old friend here." Wooyoung shifted in his seat.

You were about to scold Wooyoung for even thinking of such an idea, but Jongho spoke up first.

"She can try all she wants, but I doubt she'll be effective in seducing me."

You scoffed at the man's words and at that moment you wanted nothing than to wipe that smug look off his face. Setting your phone on the desk and pressing play, you walked right in front of Jongho and let the long trench coat fall of your body, revealing the glittery lingerie you were hiding. Although Jongho tried to remain stoic, you could see that the corners of his lip twitched slightly when you began to dance.

You felt proud of yourself when it seemed you were finally getting him to break as you rolled your body on top of him, your hips mere inches from actually grinding down on his crotch.

"Can I touch her?" Jongho finally blurted out, nails clawing the couch underneath him.

Wooyoung and you both exchanged a triumphant look when he asked that.

"Only if you admit I won the bet, then I'll even let you fuck her."

❥𝓒𝓱𝓸𝓲 𝓙𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓱𝓸

"Are we really doing this right here?" You giggled as Jongho continued to mark kisses across your neck as he pushed you onto the desk behind you.

"Can't help it. I just really wanted you now." He winked when he came back up to cup your face and hungrily kiss your lips.

You found it odd that Jongho was suddenly getting frisky with you while at work. He'd never ever approve of you two risking getting caught doing something inappropriate during work hours. But you figured it was because back then you two were a secret and now almost everyone knew you two were married. So you just didn't think too much of it and instead enjoyed as his strong hands gripped your thighs and spread them apart so he could fit himself in between your legs.

Just as you two were getting lost in each other, the door opened and someone came in.

"Oh I'm sorry, am I interrupting something?" A man whom you had never met before asked as he seemed embarrassed about walking in on you two.

"Oh, not at all Wooyoung. In fact I was expecting you right at this time, after all, I did call you here."

Jongho looked so unfazed about having his friend walk in, in fact, he looked almost too happy about getting caught like that, it was so unlike him. Just as you slid off the desk and began adjusting yourself, Jongho stopped you.

"Wooyoung? Remember the other night? When you let your little exotic dancer give me a lap dance?"

You widened your eyes when he said that, hearing that for the first time.

"Among other things." Wooyoung nodded.

Taking your hand, Jongho slowly walked you over to where Wooyoung was seated.

"Well.... I think it's time you let me return the favor."

Before you could even guess what was happening, Jongho sat you on Wooyoung's lap, your back pressed against his chest.

"I left her wet and bothered so I think she'd really appreciate it if you helped her out." Jongho winked at you before stepping back to his desk to get a better view.

You whimpered when you felt Wooyoung's hands slide up your shirt to cup your breasts.

"Are you ok with this babygirl?" He asked you.

Having Jongho watching you intently and being left needy by him, you didn't hesitate to let his friend know that you were more than ok with him touching you, which delighted him and Jongho as well.

"Don't hold back on her, she likes it rough."

Gifs not mine. Credit goes to their respective owners

[thenovelartist]

Burned Beginnings, chapter 1

Novel decided to do Adrienette April on a whim. Each post until the end of April (or such is the plan) will have 3 prompts in it.

She also discovered she’s very rusty. Bear with me here. XD

Next>>

1. AU

Marinette had thought she’d grown used to Chloe’s bullying, having to had endure it since they were little. However, with high school came a new name that became a regular part of Chloe’s vocabulary, alongside “hot” and “sexy” and “dreamboat”.

“And Marinette would never catch the eye of someone so perfect.”

Honestly, Marinette had thought she was over it, but on a particularly bad day, she’d snapped back at Chloe.

“Well, clearly he isn’t that perfect if he fawns over someone whose only redeeming quality is pretending to be pretty.”

That had led to a fire alarm getting pulled and Marinette left to blame for it. Anyone who tried to come to her defense was shut down, and Marinette had been suspended.

Which had started an all-out war.

After being stuck at home, wrongfully, for three solid days, Marinette had snapped. She’d decided that if Chloe was going to build a bonfire and poor on the gasoline that she would be there with a match. By senior year, Marinette’s record had taken a hit for it but Chloe’s reputation was in the toilet.

Marinette would take what she could get.

However, she supposed she hadn’t fully thought out the consequences. As much as she played with fire, she should have realized she’d get burned sooner or later.

And she did. Third degree.

We regret to inform you your application has been denied.

Those were words she grew tired of seeing yet came back from every school she applied to. With that in mind, she’d called up her girl friends to tell them what had happened.

“Hey, Marinette,” Alya had said upon seeing the letters. “Don’t get me wrong, I feel really bad for you. But… I did warn you—”

“I get it,” Marinette had surrendered, knowing that Alya was completely right. “You tried to warm me of the consequences, and now I’m paying for them.”

The girls had slipped into a moment of silence before Alix spoke up. “Hey, I can ask Max if he can do a little digging so you at least know why, yeah?”

Marinette had raised a brow but agreed. “Only if he’s not busy with his own college stuff.”

“Oh please, he’s too smart for college. He started up some robotics company in his free time and is already making bank on it.”

It took a week for Max to come back with a full report. Marinette had to give him props for working fast as he did.

“Hacking into the system was the first thing I could think of,” he’d explained. “In the side notes, there was mention of your attendance record and suspensions.”

“They were all wrongful suspensions,” Alix had countered.

“Doesn’t matter to the school,” Max had said with a shrug. “But even then, I thought there had to be more to this than just attendance. There were other students who had the same notes yet were accepted. So I shifted focus to digging up background on all the directors of the school. After hacking a few emails, I discovered Audrey Bourgeois happens to know a lot of directors or administration members in all the fashion schools of France. Considering the contents of most of those emails, it has become clear that Marinette was wrongfully barred from every school she’d applied to. And that there’s nothing that can be done about it because we only discovered such scandal through highly illegal means.”

“So…” Alya had begun, turning her attention to Marinette. “Where does that leave you, M?”

Marinette’s lips had pursed in thought. It was funny how things turned out, because despite her anger, she somehow had been peace with what she was faced with. “I think that the last place I want to be is in an industry full of liars and people who use their words to manipulate anyone they damn well please.”

That was how she ended up working full-time in her parents’ bakery. They never said a word about it, but she knew they were disappointed. Of course they weren’t mad about her still being here and working in the bakery with them, and she knew her parents still loved her more than anything.

But she knew that with as many dreams as she had and had shared with them, they were disappointed on her surrendering it all.

“Sorry, Maman, Papa,” she whispered into the empty kitchen as she plopped the baguettes she formed onto a baking tray. “Just give me a little time to figure things out. Seems like lofty dreams are a lot easier to crush than I realized.”

 2. Rebellion

A son can only bear the world of their parent’s expectations for so long. He wasn’t Atlas, but after a few years of acting like him, Adrien decided to dump the globe. To hell if it broke. He’d smirk in satisfaction at his father’s disappointment.

At the very least, the fact he no longer had the weight of the world of his shoulders made the far-too-common disappointment lecture easier to bear.

His strategic rebellion had started harmless enough. At sixteen with a rapidly growing forced modeling career, he’d given his father an ultimatum: he gets to grow out his hair, or it all goes. It had been shocking the amount of power the razor in his hand had given him. It was the perfect harmless threat. His father had been furious, throwing a fit about Adrien acting like a child, but after being gaslit for so long, Adrien had finally come to realize the abusive techniques for what they were. And he wasn’t going to roll over and take it any longer.

That day had ended with Adrien being grounded but ultimately the victor of their stand-off.

After that, he’d begun ditching certain events. He’d always liked fencing, so he never ditched those lessons, but attendance for his home-school lessons, mandarin lessons, and piano lessons had all been decided on a whim. His father had hardly been pleased by this, but to Adrien, that was the point. The lectures soon washed into one another so much that Adrien could practically recite the words that roll off his father’s tongue verbatim. He’d come to realize they were strategically meant to hurt. To humiliate. And as such, he’d stopped taking them personally.

Then came the fun part.

He got earrings. Honestly, Adrien hadn’t really cared for the piercings one way or another. In one way, there were a hassle, and caring for new piercings was a pain in the butt. However, they had been worth it to see his dad so royally pissed off.

Then came the ditching of certain photoshoots. There was a reason Adrien had held off on this one for so long: he cared about the people running the shoot. There was no reason they needed to be collateral in this battle between him and his father. After all, they were just employees doing their job; Adrien didn’t want them to suffer for his rebellion. With that in mind, Adrien had planned out his absences of these photoshoots. Again, he didn’t want to drag anyone else into his mess, so he had always organized a replacement model. Shoot would always go on, just not as planned.

And that was enough to drive his father mad.

It always put a smile on Adrien’s face.

The last touch was an unexpected one. He hadn’t even thought about going this far. Yet, a friend of his not only put the idea in his head, but gave him the art to go with it.

“Is that a tattoo?”

Oh, how he wished he would have taken a picture of his father’s face. The large black cat surrounded in a green, wispy smoke that wrapped around his forearm was truly a work of art. He’d had to think carefully about this decision, but in the end, he quite liked it.

“Yeah. I’m eighteen; I can ink myself if I want to. Why? Is that a problem?”

Adrien might be wearing a cat on his arm, but the grin on his lips was downright wolfish.

Eventually, it all had come to a head and blew up in his face. Adrien couldn’t say he’d been surprised. In fact, he had been fully expecting it. He’d already found an apartment to rent and had begun sneaking most of his important things over there before his father could kick him out. So when Adrien found himself kicked to the curb as soon as he was handed his general education certificate, Adrien had been prepared.

But mostly, he was free.

What a joyous day it was.

However, now that he was free, he knew he needed a job. Not because he needed the money, per se, but because it was time he started acting like the average adult. He never got to go to school, so now, it was time to pick up a mundane, first job that everyone hated but would “serve him well later in life”. Mostly, it would just be something normal.

The easy places to apply were food shops and retail stores. He’d work one for a while before deciding what his next life step would be. Chloe had been quick to offer him a job at her father’s hotel, but Adrien was vehemently against the idea. Over the span of his rebellion, Chloe’s behavior and attitude towards him had grown notably worse, and he had a feeling cutting ties with her would be his next step in life.

In the end, he’d scored a job he definitely was underqualified for. He’d applied partly out of spite and partly because ‘why not?’ He’d heard about this bakery enough times from Chloe to know the “cruel bitch who did nothing but mercilessly harass her” lived here, and that was enough to pique Adrien’s curiosity. At a bakery as popular as that, though, he hadn’t been sure he’d get a call. And when he did, he knew he would do everything he could to present himself as a reliable and respectable man eager to work, but he never thought he’d end up hitting it off with the owner.

Which somehow ended up with him agreeing to work at Tom and Sabine’s Patisserie.

Going into that job, he swore to himself he would do what he could to prove himself worthy. He knew there had to have been better applicants, so Adrien didn’t want to disappoint the very kind owners who dared give him a chance. Soon, his days were spent working hard while covered in flour and surrounded by bread all day. Well, bread and all the sharp and hot objects in your average kitchen.

He just didn’t think that would include a wicked sharp and smoking hot young lady that happened to be his bosses’ daughter.

 3. Game Night

“Mama, Papa, please go. You two hardly ever get out of the house.”

Marinette watched her maman put a hand over the mouthpiece of her phone while her papa turned to her. “But I’ll be busy that night. We have a massive order scheduled for the next day.”

“I can handle that,” Marinette quickly countered with a grin. “You know I’m a night owl, anyway. I’ll get it done, and you two can go enjoy game night with your friends.”

Her parents spared each other a glance. “Are you sure about that, Marinette?” Maman asked.

“Positive. Papa already talks to the bread too much, so he really should talk to people for a change. And while you have to deal with people all day, I know you want more than to just have short conversations filled with small talk. So please, go out and have a social life for once.”

With one last look, her parents relented. With a smile, her mother took her hand off the phone. “We’ll be there.”

Papa turned to her with a grin. “I was going to spend that time teaching Adrien how to handle those orders. I can leave teaching him in your hands, right?”

Her grin fell. Adrien Agreste. What the hell a washed-out model was doing working at her parents’ bakery was beyond her. Admittedly, over the last month she’d been working with him, the most she’d say is that maybe he wasn’t too bad a guy. Papa certainly sung his praises. But that still didn’t answer the question of why he was working here of all places. After all, he was Chloe’s friend and suspected lover.

“Don’t think I don’t see that look on your face, Marinette,” her maman chastised. She’d hung up and set her phone down already, fully giving her attention to her daughter. “No matter your personal feelings, you really should give him a chance.”

“He’s a good kid,” Papa said. “Maybe a little rough around the edges, but I can tell he really does want to learn and do his best.”

Marinette sighed. This wasn’t the first time this talk had happened. She remembered having a talk with her parents after his first interview. There were a few other people who were far more qualified for the job, but Papa said he liked Adrien’s personality and spirit the best. So in the end, all Marinette’s objections had fallen upon deaf ears.

She sighed. “Fine. I’ll give him a chance.”

With a smile that made Marinette loath to disappoint him, her papa patted her head affectionately. “Thank you, Marinette. I think you’d like him if you got to know him.”

Not likely. “I’ll do my best, Papa.”

“Really, Marinette,” her maman warned. “Unless you have a valid reason, you need to put aside your feelings for the sake of the bakery running smoothly. Can you manage that?”

Appropriately chastised, Marinette bowed her head in embarrassment. Maman brought up a good point: Marinette shouldn’t let her anger towards Adrien affect the bakery. Her parents didn’t deserve that. “Yes, Maman. I’m sorry.”

With a smile, her maman came up and wrapped her in a hug. “Thank you, Marinette.”

Marinette hugged her back. “No, thank you, Maman and Papa, for everything. I won’t let you down.”

Papa wrapped his arms around both her and Maman. “Thank you, sweetheart. We love you.”

“I love you, too.”

[bookstantrash]

A/N: Huge shoutout to the lovely @perseusannabeth​ who obsess over Pride & Prejudice as much as me. After very politely threatening asking  me to write more of Nessian as P&P (I’m so glad Sarah made it canon that Nessian’s relationship is Darcy and Lizzie’s) she told me about THE lake scene in the BBC version. I watched all six episodes and fell in love, so I highly suggest you all watch it too.

Also, huge shoutout to @firebirdofscythia​ (I stole your Azriel line lmao) and the rest of the gc for being so supportive!! Enjoy

Pemberley’s Lake

Cassian was so tired it was a wonder he had not fallen from his horse, which made him realise that Azriel may have been partially right in telling him to take a break and go back to his state to rest.

Although he suspected that Azriel kicking him out of his office and practically throwing him in a carriage to Pemberley had more to do with the fact that Azriel had gotten sick of his mopey mood more than anything else.

“I shall never show my face in society again” Cassian had told a bored looking Azriel one afternoon, laying on his office’s floor as if it was the end of the world “I shall work until my eyes grow tired and my beard and hair are so long they reach the ground.”

“Stop with the theatrics brother. It is not becoming of you.” Azriel had answered as he shuffled a deck of cards.

“Theatrics!! Azriel for Cauldron’ sake I have no idea how I can keep on living after that refusal” he sighed from his place on the carpeted floor “There is not another woman alive who could hold my heart. It's lost forever. And now I shall live in regret and shame of not being enough for her.”

Azriel rolled his eyes so hard at his brother’s words it was a wonder they did not stay permanently like that.

“I shall grow old and drown my sorrows in the finest beers and wines, turning fat and bald. And after I have passed, my cursed ghost shall roam our country crying in despair over my terrible life”

That had been enough to make Azriel pack Cassian’s belongings and get his brother the fastest horse available.

“If it were not for the laws of this land” Azriel had mumbled after he had bid his brother farewell, wishing a good trip and forbidding him to appear in his office again until he had fixed that mood of his.

Breathing in the clear and fresh air of his home, Cassian was able to momentarily forget his troubled heart. But one look at the blue sky and he was reminded of the gray-blue eyes belonging to the lady who had made him, General Commander of the British Army, who had enough condecorations to fill his whole coat and who had made enemies tremble in fear when faced against him, wallow in self pity and misery.

Lady Nesta Archeron.

Her name alone was enough to make his chest tighten in longing.

Feyre’s oldest and most notorious sister, if not by her breathtaking beauty and intellect but by her ruthless and dismissive regard to the oposite sex. Whereas Feyre had surprised society by marrying before her older sisters  — and securing herself the best of matches of the season at that with his brother Rhysand, which was nothing but a Duke  — and Elain had enough suitors to fill a ballroom, the oldest Archeron did not seem inclined to marry at all. Oh she did catch the eyes of more than one gentleman  —  Cassian could vaguely reckon that she had had a long courting with Sir Thomas Mandray, although it had ended rather abruptly — but no one had been able to snare her heart.

That had been what had initially peaked his interest. He had briefly seen her at Rhysand’s wedding, attempting some small talk that was easily and diplomatically dismissed by her. He had then relentlessly engaged in conversation with her in any opportunity he could find, being it from the few occasions in which she frequented Feyre’ small reunions over tea or when he coincidentally met her during her daily walks around town to visit Lady Emerie, a modice whose popularity was raising tremendously after Feyre’s bridal trousseau and wedding dress were all designed by her.

It was not until Feyre’s first official gathering as Duchess that Cassian realised the depths of his feelings for the sharp eyed lady.

He had been watching the ballroom from the sidelines, trying to escape the mob of scary mamas who wanted to throw their daughters at him, a glass of champagne in his hand.

Rhysand and Feyre had already danced the opening song, so the floor was now free to hold more partners. Both Cassian and Azriel had danced once with Morrigan — Rhysand’s cousin and a dear friend of theirs — and Elain had enough names on her card that they’d have to wait a fortnight to dance with her. Nesta on the other hand…. she had refused all invitations, although one could not help but wonder why by the way she seemed to glow whenever a new song was played.

“Lady Archeron” Cassian had greeted, bowing deeply and throwing at her his best smile, one that usually had young ladies fainting and old ones blushing.

But not Nesta Archeron. No, she had only deigned to make a polite bow and look ahead.

“I could not help but take notice of how entranced by the music you appear to be, my Lady” he had offered her his hand “Would you do me the honour of allowing one dance?”

That had caught Nesta’s attention, and she turned towards him, her gray-blue eyes finally meeting his hazel ones.

“I do not think why I should. I am perfectly satisfied to watch from the sidelines” she raised a perfect manicured eyebrow, glancing in the corner where the mamas and their daughters were “I am sure many other young ladies would rather have my place”

Cassian knew she was lying. Knew she desperately wanted to dance, but something was holding her back.

“It is said that dancing is the best way to encourage affection. Even if one’s partner is barely tolerable” he had nonchalantly said

“I beg your pardon” Nesta had exclaimed

“The lady has nothing to fear. I will not let you suffer ridicule because of your poor dancing” he had said in a patronizing tone, if only to see that fire in her eyes ignite.

And to see her accepting his offer with a murderous intent.

They had moved to the center of the ballroom, shocked faces all around them, both from the fact that Nesta was joining the dance floor and her partner being him of all gentlemen.

Cassian had never been proved more wrong once the first string from the violin was drawn and Nesta moved. He had been sure she knew how to dance, had only said those words to get a rise from her. But to see Nesta Archeron actually dancing… it was something straight out of a dream.

Cassian knew the waltz. His mother had insisted that all three sons have the same education, even though only Rhysand was set to inherit the duchy.

However, when paired with Nesta Archeron one could not be called nothing but a simple object to display her talents. Even the most notorious dancer would pale in comparison to her.

And Cauldron, she knew that. Nesta knew she was Terpsikhore, greek Muse of music, song and dance.

What a fool he had been, what a complete and utter fool he had made of himself. His only consolation was that some good had come out of his childish behaviour.

Nesta Archeron was dancing, and when she danced she threatened to bring empires to their knees, for her beauty got inhumanly enhanced, her delighted smile sending an arrow straight to his chest.

Cassian realised he had fallen hopelessly in love with Nesta Archeron. If he was to be true with himself, he had been for quite some time, since their first exchange of words when she had all but dismissed him as a pesky bug.

And as the last note was drawn, as the whole ballroom breathlessly took in Nesta, in complete awe of her, Cassian decided he was going to marry her.

Was going to propose to Nesta Archeron right at that moment.

Using the excuse of getting some fresh air after the tiring dance, he walked them to Rhysand’s extensive and well lit garden, quiet enough that they would not be interrupted but not so isolated as to risk her reputation.

They had walked only a few minutes in the garden when Cassian declared his feelings. He all but tripped with his words, hoping Nesta could see past his fool’s act.

She had not.

She had refused his hand in the most brutal way, her words so articulately poisoned that Cassian felt himself a young boy again, desperately trying to achieve perfection so his father would dare to spare him more than a passing glance. Would not regret having adopted him into his household and given him a home.

He had uttered an apology, saying how sorry he was that his feelings had caused her such pain and disgust, reigning his temper enough to walk her back to the ballroom.

Cassian left town the same night, and had stayed in his office and headquarters training the new milicia since then, burying himself with work until Azriel grew tired of his awful mood.

Sighing, Cassian brushed his horse’s neck, eyeing the lake.

Maybe a dive in the cold waters of Pemperley would help clear his mind.

~•~

Pemberley was, in Nesta’s opinion, the most beautiful state she had ever seen. Even more than her newly married sister’s dukedom.

“However this house’s lady is, she sure is happy” Emerie commented as the head maid showed them to the music room.

“As if someone could be unhappy with this much money” Gwyn whispered back, eyeing the grand piano.

Nesta was inclined to agree, even more after having seen the library. She could not help but envy the lady. Her husband must be a very cultured gentleman.

“May I show you the external grounds? I am sure the gentleman will find it quite delightful” the head maid said, looking at Balthazar, the only men among their group of four.

“I am most grateful for your hospitality” he answered, and they promptly moved outdoors.

Their party of four had been travelling through the countryside for almost two weeks. It was as much as a vacation for Emerie and Balthazar — with Emerie’s shop the season’s current sensation and Balthazar being her current business partner  — as a time out from the ton, which Gwyn — the most required opera singer of the season — had announced to be in desperately need of a vacation from.

As for Nesta, she had always wanted to travel, but as a single woman of marriageable age without a male relative to escort her, it would have been a nearly impossible feat to accomplish.

When Balthazar had offered to escort both her and her friends Nesta had wanted to shout in delight.

Secretly, she also wished to avoid a certain gentleman, one whose heart she had mercilessly and regretfully broken.

Nesta shook her head as she walked through the garden, distancing herself from her party to think and remember.

Remember how she had enjoyed dancing with Lord Cassian.

How her body had sung and heated where his skin touched hers.

How she had found herself smiling and agreeing to take a stroll with him, using the excuse of feeling overwhelmed in the crowded ballroom.

How his smile had faded once she tore at him, throwing every hateful word his way to refuse his proposal.

Nesta had not seen Cassian since her sister’s ball, but she did not want to risk an encounter.

That trip could not have been more well timed.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she did not notice her hair getting caught in a low tree branch, ruining her intricate updo.

“No one is around” she muttered to herself as she took off the pins holding it in place “A few minutes with my hair down will not hurt”

So Nesta took each pin off, massaging her scalp as she walked in the direction of the state’s lake, the sun shining over its  clear waters.

And that is when she spotted him.

Cassian.

Cassian was at the lake.

Cassian was shirtless, dripping wet by the lake’ shore.

Nesta knew she should turn around and forget what she was currently seeing.

But she could not take her eyes off of him.

Seeing a shirtless man in person was indeed a far cry from what her imagination conjured when reading romance novels.

Especially the way the water was running down Cassian’s tanned and hard torso, all the way down his pecs and stomach — was that a six pack or were her eyes playing tricks on her? — until it collided with his pants, which were hanging so low on his hips that Nesta could not help but feel a weird sensation low in her stomach.

Her legs stopped obeying her, and she swore her knees got weak when Cassian noticed he had company.

“Lady Archeron?” he exclaimed, as if he could not believe his eyes.

“Sir!” was all she could say, feeling her cheeks warming.

Cauldron what was wrong with her? It was just a body. A very nice, very wet muscled body and—

“What may you be doing here?” Nesta quickly inquired, cutting her errand thoughts.

“I am the owner” he simply answered

“Of the lake?”

She wanted to smack herself. How could have she blurted such a stupid and rude question?

“Yes, of the lake. And of Pemberley” he answered, amusement lacing his words.

“I didn’t know. The head maid said all the family was not home— we should not have presumed—”

“I returned without prior notice”

“Excuse me, are you and your sisters in good health?” Cassian added, and Nesta dared to think that he sounded a bit nervous.

“Yes. Yes they are. Thank you, sir” she managed to answer, her eyes firmly placed upon his face and not anywhere else.

“I am glad to hear that” he licked his lips and Nesta could not help but wonder if they would be cold due to the lake’s water or if Cassian’s unbothered face meant he was not cold at all.

Was she really inquiring of how his lips would feel against hers? Against her skin? If kissing Cassian would feel as dreamily as her novel's kiss appeared to be?

Nesta hated him.

Did she not?

“I had never seen you with your hair down”

Cassian’s words took her out of her reverie, and Nesta suddenly felt self conscious.

“Do excuse me for showing myself in front of you with such an unsightly appearance” she felt mortified. To have Cassian of all people seeing her like that, hair in complete disarray….

Nesta quickly turned around, fumbling with the hair pins in a vain and desperately attempt of redoing her hair.

“It’s beautiful” she heard Cassian saying in a breathless voice, and thanked the Cauldron her back was turned so he would not see how her face warmed considerably, a small smile gracing her lips.

“Let me help you” he quietly added, and she gasped at the proximity of wet, shirtless Cassian, who touched her hair softly.

“How come a gentleman such as you knows how to hairstyle a lady’s hair?” Nesta asked, feeling his warmth on her back, a tingly sensation between her legs when his fingers brushed her neck.

“I frequently helped my younger sister, Georgiana, fix her own hair in the occasions she played a little too far from what would be deemed proper for a young lady” she felt his hot breath against her neck as Cassian laughed “She favours outdoors activities such as horseback riding, although she’s quite accomplished in arts and music.”

“Your sister sounds lovely” Nesta said, turning to face him once she felt he was done fixing her hair.

“She is my brothers’ and mine whole world. There’s nothing we would not do for Georgiana”

Nesta felt her heart warming at his words, at his devotion and love towards his family. She wondered if he would do the same with his wife.

If he would have acted the same way towards her had she accepted his proposal.

Unbeknown to her, Cassian was imagining the same thing.

He was picturing how he could have helped her every morning with her hair if she had agreed to marry him. Instead, he would have to live with this one memory forever.

He was lost in her eyes, their bodies so close they were sharing breaths and Cassian was holding back by a sliver thread of self control to not hold her against him.

If it were not for the appearance of three people — Cassian supposed them to be Nesta’s companions — he very well could have done that.

“Excuse me” Cassian abruptly said, bowing deeply and leaving Nesta alone.

Although soon her friends joined her, Gywn and Emerie bombarding her with questions seeing her ruffled state.

Their party was getting ready to depart when Cassian appeared again, having ran inside to get changed and appropriate.

“Lady Nesta!” he called before she could get inside the carriage “Please allow me to apologise for not receiving you properly just now. You are not leaving?”

“We were, sir. We have already imposed too much” she said, spine straight and looking every bit the regal queen she was.

What he did not know was that was her way of maintaining a cool exterior and not blush remembering his naked figure.

“You are not displeased with Pemberley, are you?” Cassian asked, anxiously brushing his hair back.

“No. Not at all”

“And you approve of it?”

“Very much” Nesta said softly, a dreamy smile on her face as she remembered the library “A few would not approve”

“But your good opinion is rarely bestowed and therefore more worth earning” he said, and his smile was enough to make Nesta’s heart skip a beat.

Why was she feeling in such a way, she wondered. Why did her body feel hot and strange all over whenever Cassian was involved?

“Thank you. That is very kind of you”

“I shall not hold you back any longer” he said, helping her in the carriage, his calloused hand a stark contrast against her soft one “I will call on you and I hope you can introduce me to your companions. Perhaps we may go fishing tomorrow? My property is blessed with an abundance of them”

“We would be delighted to. Thank you, sir’

After the farewells were bid and Nesta’s carriage was only a distant dot in the horizon, Cassian got inside, smiling broadly at his head maid and butler.

“You are very chipper, sir'' the old woman said with a knowing smile, the butler agreeing with her. Their lord had been mopey for quite some time now, so it brought joy to their hearts to see his mood so high.

“I had a very good evening Mrs.Pots” he declared, thinking about how he should swim more frequently in the lake.

A few miles from Pemberley, Nesta stared at the scenery lost in thought, Cassian’s touch lingering in her hand all the way back to the inn.

•

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[captainjimothycarter]

What are Steve's wedding vows to Peggy?

Hey i wrote something since like Saturday. kinda proud of myself despite BAD anxiety over this.

--

“Are you ready, Steve?”

The question came from Edwin Jarvis, the man sticking his head in through the curtains to smile at the nervous Captain. Steve just held up the bowtie in despair, trying to hide the shake in his fingers.

“I can mull down hundreds of Nazis. I can fight Hydra to the bone and-and nearly be killed by a frozen tundra, but what defeats me is a god dang bow tie!”

Jarvis laughed as he stepped into the small side room, giving him a comforting smile. “You know,” he mused as he started to do the tie. “When I was marrying my Ana, I was so nervous I fainted right as we got to I do.”

Steve felt himself gap, looking the man up and down. He could picture that, not that he would say it. He felt like he might faint before he even got out to where Bucky and Colonel Phillips were waiting for him.

“When I came to, my head was in Ana’s lap and I insisted she was an angel. She practically is - not that I’ll ever insist anything different. She’s never let me live that down, that rascal. The point is, Captain Rogers,” the man smirked as he finished the tie and smoothed it out along Steve’s neck. “It’s okay to be nervous.”

“I’m...Captain America, I shouldn’t be nervous, I wasn’t nervous when-”

“Let me ask you something,” Jarvis spoke over him, patting the guy’s shoulders to get him to sit down. He pulled a comb out of nowhere and started to fix Steve’s mousy hair from his constant fingers combing through it. All Steve could do was look on in the mirror. “When you bulldozed through of Hydra agents or lead your Howling Commandos through countless missions or did whatever you did in what the reports do not say, were you nervous?”

“Of course not, those guys depended on me. I couldn’t afford to be nervous or second think my actions, someone might’ve died.” Plenty of people did, in ways Steve could’ve never stopped or predicted unless he’d been there, but he was one person.

Not that Jarvis was asking about this.

“Exactly. They depended on you. You needed to be ready for anything, to overcome anything Hydra would’ve thrown at you. Yet with Miss Carter, you’re nervous about your wedding? It’s practically a tradition to be nervous. Do you know what that means?”

“That I’ll fumble my vows or drop the rings and it’ll roll into a gutter, never to be seen again?”

Jarvis snorted and lightly squeezed Steve’s shoulder. “No, Captain Rogers, it does not. It means that you love her. You love Miss Carter with every fiber of your being. It means you, my friend, will have an amazing wedding and marriage. Even if you do fumble, you can do no worse than me and fainting.”

Steve covered his face, trying to stabilize his breathing. He did love Peggy - Jarvis was right. There was no doubt about that. He loved her. Loved her so damn much he might explode. He just...was nervous.

“Being nervous,” Jarvis continued as he put the comb away and tilted Steve’s head up to inspect himself in the black and white suit. “Being nervous is a tradition. It means you love her. I’m sure Miss Carter is nervous too.”

Steve’s mouth opened to counter, Peggy couldn’t be nervous - he’s seen her stare enemies dead in the eye and not miss a beat. He’s seen her let herself get shot if it meant saving the hostage. He’s seen her survive countless trails and still stand on top at the end of the day. There’s no way Peggy was nervous. Yet, the second he opened his mouth to say something, Bucky stuck his head through the curtain.

His hair was perfectly parted thanks to his mother’s intervention. He was sure the second his ma wasn’t looking, he would mess it up. The suit he wore was a little on the older side, insisting he got to wear his dad’s suit to this wedding.

“You ready, Stevie? That green isn’t a good shade, bud.”

Steve gently swatted at Bucky’s chest as he adjusted the suit once more, trying to take in a deep breath to calm down.

“Shut up. I’m just...nervous. How’s everything looking? We ready?”

“Ready as we’ll ever be. Ole Phillips is grumbling as ever. Dugan is waiting up there, Angie is ready. We’ve already had to stop the niece and nephew from throwing the flowers everywhere.”

“Oliver and Penny really like those roses, huh?” Steve’s lips twitched into a small laugh at the idea of the kids going haywire with those roses. “And Peggy? Is she…?”

“Ana and Rose and even Howard are in there, it’s alright.” Seeing his friend’s panic look, he smoothed down his suit again, the metallic hand glimmering in the dull light of the chapel. “Let’s get this party started and get you two crazy kids married.”

--

“Always knew you two would end up together,” Phillips grunted as Steve stood nervously, shifting from foot to foot. “From the second she laid eyes on that scrawny form of yours.”

Steve laughed, a more forceful laugh given the nervous state he was in. He watched Jarvis politely sit down after checking in on the girls, Rose already coming up to stand by them. Bucky clapped Steve on the shoulder, squeezing him too hard.

“Told you,” he chuckled. “You two were meant to be…”

“‘cept you shouldn’t have shown up in the bar when we were having your public funeral,” Dugan interjected. “Not the best idea, Cap.”

“You’re lucky Carter didn’t shoot you on the spot, coming up with a soiled uniform, and half that glass in your chest,” Phillips grunted.

“Wouldn’t have hurt as bad, if-”

Steve stopped the second he heard Ana playing the piano, turning on his heels and towards the door.

He watched Oliver and Penny run through with the flowers, throwing them everywhere but the floor. His little giggle and the laugh through the chapel made him relax a little, but the second he saw Peggy, everything was back in full force.

She was...beautiful, spectacular. A thousand words he couldn’t think to say. His mind nothing but a fine-tuned sound of buzzing as he watched her slowly walk through that door. Ana had worked perfectly on that dress, the trim, the lace, every down to the last details of the pearls knitted into the collar.

Steve could feel the tears burning in his eyes as she slowly stood in front of him, hearing in the corner of his mind, Phillips muttering about sap.

He loved her.

“You look…” Steve struggled with the word as he held onto her glove-laced hands, looking down at them and slowly back to those beautiful hazel eyes that he’d fallen in love with before he even knew what color they were.

“I know,” Peggy finished, squeezing his hands. “You look pretty dashing yourself. We-”

“How about we get this show on the road, huh?” Phillips asked, breaking the silence, and the music slowly melted into the background. “We all knew we’d end up here today. It was just a matter of time and if it was legal or not. I expected you two to just waltz into my tent one day and demand to be married, the laws and logic be damned.”

“Almost,” Steve mused, shrugging his shoulders. Phillips’ grey eyes were trained on him, brow rose as if to ask what. “I proposed to Peggy after she’d been shot during the hostage situation of ‘44.”

“Son.” The tone said all and the Howling Commandos laughed the loudest. Steve glanced over to see Peggy’s side of the family, most with pursed lips. They still weren’t pleased that their daughter was marrying a Yankee.

“We told him to do it,” Dugan interjected.

“Dared him, actually,” Jones added.

“Double-dog dared him,” Bucky said.

“Actually, we told him to do it or we would on his behalf,” Pinky reminded them.

“We-”

Phillips’ look silenced Falsworth on the spot, the man clearing his throat and stepping back in line. “We’re no longer at war, boys, you don’t have to keep defending your Captain under insane circumstances. I’ll never forget about the damn goat incident.”

--

It was only a few minutes later before Phillips cleared his throat again and nodded towards the couple. “The couple has written their own vows. Ca-Steve, would you like to go first?”

Steve blinked as he felt Peggy’s eyes on him, trying to calm his racing heart down. “Okay, yeah. Yeah,” he breathed, taking the paper Dugan had passed him. “I stayed up till 4 in the morning working on this. Mr. Jarvis had to eventually take the pen from me so I’d sleep.”

“And he didn’t accept my help,” Howard muttered just loud enough for Steve to hear, making the Captain flush.

“Okay, here it goes,” Steve breathed, unfolding the paper and trying not to let how nervous he was shown. His hands were already starting to shake and he was afraid sweat would ruin the ink.

Peggy’s hand gently closed around his wrist and offered him a comforting smile. “It’s okay, darling. Just us. Not a whole platoon of guys to play Star-Spangled Man With A Plan.”

If he wasn’t blushing then, he was now.

“Peggy, I…” Steve looked down at the paper and back up at her. He could hear Jarvis’s voice in the back of his head telling him that when he got up there, he’d know what to say. Fumbling or not.

“Peggy, I love you. I’ve loved you ever since I first laid eyes on you and I didn’t know it. I didn’t know what the color of your lips was or the color of your eyes or your hair or even your uniform. I didn’t know the true sound of your voice or the smell of the roses on your skin. I didn’t know much then - hell I don’t know much now -”

A few people laughed and Steve lowered the paper, looking dead into his wife-to-be eyes.

“I didn’t know much then. I just knew you were hell on high heels and damn anyone who got in your path. When you first knocked out Hodge, I felt my breath taken away. When you ran for the grenade too, I wanted my last sight to be of you, swore I was goin’ blow myself up to a million pieces. Our first conversation in that car might’ve been one of our lasts and I was glad it was with you, someone who understood me. Understood what it was like to be discriminated against because we’re us… Because I was sickly and small and you were a woman, a girl, a-”

“You still don’t know how to talk to women, do you?” Peggy asked, blinking the tears from her eyes and making Steve give a wet laugh.

“I”m afraid not, how I managed to get you to fall in love with me is a wonder. The point is, Pegs, I love you, from the bottom of my heart. All through the war, we talked about what we wanted after. I insisted on a white-picket fence, a house in some neighborhood, that we’d build the perfect life together and well...you saw where that lead us. Me to a watery grave and you punching me out when I showed up at that bar. Even if I was late for our dance.

I just...I love you. Life has taken us on insane turns from clearing our friend’s name to-to living in LA for a few months. To...to here. To me finally getting the guts to purpose to you. Or more like catching my breath. I need you in my life and I’m lucky to have you. I’m more than happy to sit on the sidelines and let you work, to raise our kids or tend to a home, to do anything you ask. I’m more than happy to just be yours. I just...I need to be yours like I need to breathe. You are my life, Peggy Carter, and I’ll have no other but you. I’m lucky to be your husband, to be by your side through it all.”

Peggy didn’t bother to hide the few tears running down her face, thankful Angie had fixed her makeup just right to prevent the tear streaks from showing. She cleared her face off with the handkerchief Rose had given her and sniffled.

“Sap,” she laughed, shaking her head. “I stayed up late last night but not writing these vows. I...told myself I knew what I was going to say when I got up here, but I’m mistaken. I can only say I love you, Steve Rogers. You are my life. My soul. When I was young, I insisted I wouldn’t marry. I insisted my life was to slay dragons, rescue knights, be a pirate. To be anything but the lady my mother wanted me to be.

I insisted I knew what I wanted for myself. That I-I wanted to be a codebreaker and I was good at it. I-”

“And saved our lives with it,” Howard said, causing them to laugh.

“Yes, Howard, thank you. I am good at it. I’m great at it. I insisted that’s all I could do to help the war effort, to maybe consider becoming a nurse but my mother and Fred forbidden it. I insisted I loved Fred because my mother did. I insisted that I could do some good by staying home, being the good wife, and keeping my head down. I insisted on a lot of things but for myself…

It took Micheal’s death for me to see there was more for me out there. The SSR was life-changing for me. Getting to serve under Colonel Phillips’ here, getting to meet you, even if you were...different.”

“It’s okay, call him a shrimp like I did,” Phillips interjected, making Peggy give a wet chuckle. “Kid got that sandwich after all.”

He swore the man smiled at him - even if Steve wouldn’t admit it.

“You were different. You stood out from the rest and it was because of your good heart. Yes the grenade incident, but you helped the nurses around the base. You helped collect herbs for them when we ran out of pain killers, you remembered decades-old healing practices that your mother taught you. You gave some of the guys, even if they were bastards to you, advice on how to fix their broken shoelaces or how to even hide the knives better in their clothes. You were kind and sweet-hearted and I wanted you from the start.

Even after your serum, you didn’t change. You saved that kid. You saved me, even if I was quite upset about it.”

“You did yell at me a lot for pushing you out of the way,” Steve interrupted, remembering that chaotic day.

“You were running with no shoes on and shoved me out of the way of an oncoming car. I had to yell about something.” She smoothed down his suit and sighed, shaking the veil. “Even after that, Steve, I...I love you. I loved you from the start. During the war, that love only grew. I thought we hid it well.”

“No,” Bucky snorted. “No, you two did not. Everyone knew.”

“Yes, thank you, James,” Peggy huffed, giving her friend a roll of her eyes. “That love for you grew and I’m only sorry we didn’t act sooner, that we didn’t kiss more or-or risk it to just touch each other in blatant public when we needed the comfort because it was a war. I am sorry that it took this long to get here - but we’re here. Look at us. We’re here, sweetheart. We’re getting married after all in a setting of our choice, with our friends and family. It’s worth the wait.”

“You’re always worth the wait,” Steve whispered, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“I love you,” Peggy whispered, squeezing his hands. “I loved you then, to now, and forevermore. I’ll never stop loving you, no part of my soul will be complete without you. You are my light, Steven Grant Rogers, as I am your compass, your true star north. You are my light and I want nothing more from you than a life that we paved together.”

There was no dry eye around them, even the grisled Colonel was sniffing slightly and wiping at his eyes. He squeezed the book in his hand and gave the couple a warm smile. “Aren’t you two kids sweet? Why don’t we wrap this up so you two can kiss like how you did in the supply closets?”

Steve felt his ears burn, turning back to Peggy and holding her hands. He wasn’t sure how he survived the rest of the ceremony. Of Bucky bringing the rings to them, his ma’s old ring that Howard had cleaned up and engraved with their wedding date on it. Peggy’s father’s wedding band.

He wasn’t sure how he barely got the words I do our before Peggy was jumping on him to kiss him and Steve’s arms found a way around her frame to pick her up and kiss the life out of her.

The wedding they dreamed of and feared that they never had.

A life yet to come with many memories down the road.

[what-is-your-plan-today]

Real Life Tasks With Ransom Drysdale

An Advent Calendar of 24 Normal Human Tasks As Performed By A Huge Man Baby.  Day 13: Ironing Out The Kinks

Warnings: Bad Language words, some minor smut (18+, NSFW)

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N:  Instalment 13 of mine, @sweater-daddiesdumbdork​ and @jennmurawski13​ ‘s telling of Ransom’s quest to become a normal human being. This time Ransom has a hot iron in his hands. What could possibly go wrong?

Series Masterlist. 

“Are you Ironing?” You stopped dead in the doorway of the laundry room, not quite sure you believed your eyes. In front of you stood Hugh Ransom Drysdale at the other side of an ironing board. A basket of clothes sat behind him on the side and a selection of freshly pressed ones were hanging up over the door frame.

“No, I’m playing Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony.” He drawled, not looking up as he lifted the iron off the blue polo shirt, grabbing a clothes hangar.

“Doesn’t look like a piano.” You looked at him and he took a deep breath, shooting you a glare. You chuckled “Sorry, I…what brought this on?”

“Well…” he paused, turning to hang the item up next to a few others “…you fell asleep, and I know this pile was bugging you so thought I’d make a start. I’m not as fast as you, though.” He mused, gesturing to the items hanging up. “It’s taken me an hour so far and I’ve not done much. How the fuck do you do it so quickly?”

“You just need more practice.” You smiled.

“Huh, maybe it is like playing the piano.” He looked at you and you laughed as you crossed the room towards him whilst he reached for the next item out of the basket which was one of his shirts.

“Be careful.” You smiled, your arms wrapping around him from behind as you pressed your cheek to his back, his t-shirt soft against your skin. “I’m fond of that one.”

And you were. You’d actually worn to work a few times given your ever expanding bump. It was comfy and baggy enough to simply shrug on over a camisole top and a pair of simple black trousers and make you feel like you could still wear professional looking clothes without them feeling like they were going to burst at the seams.

Maternity office wear just wasn’t doing it for you.

“Well stop distracting me and we won’t have a problem.” Ransom moved and you simply hugged him tighter, feeling the muscles of his back ripple as he arranged the item on the board. You stayed still, pressed against him, simply enjoying the feel of his back pressed to your chest and you let out a deep breath.

“Y/N.” his voice took on a warning tone.

“What?” you asked innocently, as your hands began to toy with the hem of his t-shirt.

“Stop it.”

“Stop what?” you protested again, your nails gently scraping over his abdomen. He gave a grunt and jolted a little.

“This iron is hot. I could do some damage to myself.” He grit out after a moment, his voice a little strained and you could tell he was fighting to keep control.

“Well we haven’t been to the ER in a few weeks.” You mumbled, your fingers skating across the waist band of his jeans.

Ransom took a deep breath and you grinned to yourself, those damned pregnancy hormones were wreaking havoc on your libido but you were fucked if you cared. You had your own, ready-made outlet right in front of you. And true to form, the minute your fingers reached for the buckle of his belt he gave a growl, set the iron down and spun to face you.

“You’re a pain in my ass.” He looked down at you, and you looked up at him coyly, biting your lip.

“Wanna be a pain in mine?” you shot back and his eyes narrowed, that familiar predatory look crossing his face as he shook his head.

“Oh, Princess, you’re gonna regret that.”

“I doubt it.” You muttered as his lips crashed to yours, hands on your hips to pull you as flush to him as he could with the basketball that was your belly in between you both. His tongue invaded your mouth as one large hand slid up your spine and gripped the back of your head, fingers gently tangling in your hair. He backed you up to the unit at the side of the room, as roughly as he dared given your ‘condition’, the base of your back pressing into the edge. You let out a soft moan, your fingers reaching down to undo his belt and with an easy movement he reached down, gripping your thighs. With a half jump from you and half a lift from him he had you perched on the sideboard, your legs wrapped round his waist, his lips still eagerly pressed to yours.

“Such a needy little bitch.” He growled as you finally popped the button on the top of his jeans and slid the zip down.

“Only for you.” You smirked against his mouth as your hand slid into his trousers, wrapping around his hardening cock. “And you love it, Ransom.”

“Fuck, yeah I do.” He groaned, his hips pushing forward as he thrust into your palm, releasing his hold on you as he shoved his jeans and boxers down. As he continued to rut into your hand, he reached for the hem of your soft woollen jersey dress, guiding it over your head before his lips traipsed a path down your neck to your collar bone, nipping and sucking at exactly the right places which he could find with his eyes closed. He placed hot, open mouthed kisses down your sternum, over the swell of each engorged breast, taking his time knowing that you were particularly sensitive. With soft, gentle fingers he pulled one of the cups of your bra down and began lavishing his affections on your pert nipple teasing a strangled moan from the back of your throat, your head falling backwards as the heat between your legs intensified, your panties now nothing but a sodden mess.

And then a smell broke through your lust addled senses making you still, and you grabbed his shoulder.

“What’s that smell?”

“Dior Sauvage.” his voice was muffled as his mouth still worked at your breast.

“No that’s not…fuck!” Your eyes rolled as he slipped his fingers into your leggings. “Stop a moment, I’m being…Oh, God…” you swallowed, head tilting backwards as he shifted your panties to the side, fingers gathering your slick as he began to tease at your clit.

“No, just me.” You felt his mouth curl into a smile against your skin and you shifted a little, allowing his hand more access, desperate for relief.

And then you caught another whiff, and it suddenly registered through the haze in your mind exactly what it was.

“Ransom!” your eyes flew open and over his shoulder you spotted the smoke rising from behind his broad back “Get the iron!”

“I’m open to most things, sweetheart, but I draw the line at…”

“No, you asshole, you left it on the fucking shirt!” you pushed him away and he spun round as you jumped down from the side. He gave a yell and started towards it, but in his haste he forgot his pants were round his ankles and he crashed to the floor in a heap of limbs uttering a string of expletives as he went.

“Son of a mother fucking bitch!” his elbow collided with the tiled floor with a loud thud. “Ow, fuck!”

You pulled the iron up, yanking the shirt off the board and dropping it into the metal sink where it continued to smoulder and you turned to look at the iron shaped burn mark in the board cover. Ransom pushed himself to his feet, taking a deep breath as he raked his hair back off his forehead, before he rubbed his elbow. Neither of you spoke for a second, before you looked at one another.

“That one is NOT on me.” Ransom pointed at you. “I told you to quit distracting me.”

“You have all the willpower of a toddler at Christmas.” You scoffed and he arched an eyebrow.

“Sweetheart, you practically raped me.” He drawled and you let out a huge snort, shaking your head.

“God you talk some crap.”

“Eat shit”

“That’s the best you can do? Eat shit?” you laughed, hands falling to your hips as you stood there clad in your bra and leggings, his eyes scanning you up and down before they locked onto yours. “Your insults are wearing a little thin, Tiger.”

At the use of the ridiculous nickname you had for him, one that was normally reserved for the bedroom he gave a little growl and in a flash he was back on you, his hands cupping your ass and you gave a squeak of surprise as he lifted you off your feet despite the extra eighteen pound of baby bump and pregnancy fat you were sporting.

“Now,” he spoke, before giving you a deep kiss, pulling back to look you in the eye and the familiar lustful twinkle in those deep baby blues made you groan wantonly. He cocked an eyebrow up, as he smirked arrogantly at you. “I believe we were in the middle of something Mrs Drysdale.”

“You know…” you muttered, as he perched you back in your previous position on the sideboard, his mouth soon back on that spot on your neck. “Of all your recent domestic disasters, I think this one is my favourite.”

“Careful, Doll…” he growled, nipping at your skin, coaxing a squeak from your lips as your hand tangled in his hair “You’re in a very precarious position. I’d think twice about making fun of me.”

“Is that a threat or a promise?” you gave a yank, tugging on the longer strands at the top of his head, causing him to hiss slightly as his head tilted back, his face inches from yours.

“Both.” he quipped, before his mouth claimed yours once more.

[matthewtkachuk]

feel something pt 1 - jj

On the outside, you’re a kook princess with a seemingly perfect life and a perfect family. The expectations are suffocating you, to the point where the only thing you feel is numb. You’re chasing different coping mechanisms in order to feel something. Until a chance encounter with a certain blond pogue you know you’re supposed to hate gives rise to a different kind of feeling.

Warnings: angst, toxic behaviour, poor coping mechanisms, drug usage, mentions of sex, mentions of suicidal ideations (brief), Rafe being a grade a asshole, shitty parents

Pairings: JJ x reader (eventually), Rafe x reader (slight), Topper x reader (slight)

Words: 3.1k

A/N: I accidentally deleted this, ugh sorry if you see this again!! I started off wanting to write a supremely angsty one shot, turned into a supremely angsty multi-chapter fic. This is a slow burn, babyy. Here’s the set up, let me know what you think! :)

series masterlist

You stand teetering on the edge of the balcony railing, barefoot and facing the waves as they crash onto the beach. You’re not thinking about jumping. At least you’re pretty sure you won’t actually jump. Really you’re just looking for even a flicker of an emotion to stir up in your chest. Lately you haven’t felt anything more than mild annoyance at your parent’s constant bickering and pestering. You know you’re too young, but all you feel anymore is numb. You lift your left leg, balancing precariously on the right for a minute before lowering it and returning to the balcony and slipping your heels back on.

You don’t want to die, you just don’t want to live like this. Kook princess, paraded and practically pimped around by your parents, looking for you to find an advantageous marriage, have 2.5 kids and further accumulate your hoarded wealth. “Why don’t you date the Cameron boy? He’s quite good looking and your father would love it if you married his business partner’s son” and “The Thornton boy would be a good match, the family mansion is the largest” and “Jacob Kane’s father is a name partner at a successful law firm on the mainland”. Your mother’s incessant nagging about finding the perfect husband only further cements your lack of value as a human being, your usefulness tapped out at your ability to be someone’s wife.

You don’t understand the wealth accumulation thing, your trust fund probably equals the national budget of a small country already, and there’s no way anyone could blow through the entire family fortune in a single generation. At this point, it just feels like generating wealth for the sake of generating it. What good is money if it just sits in a bank account or investment portfolio, earning passive income and not being used for anything.

You recognize you’re very privileged, you’ve never once had to worry about where your next meal would come from, you have a closet full of designer handbags and red bottom shoes the value of which could feed several families on the Cut. But what’s the cost? You feel suffocated by the pressure bestowed upon you by your parents. You’re the eldest sibling, primary heiress to the Y/L/N family fortune and expected future successor of the family business. Truthfully, you couldn’t give less of a fuck about retail development or whatever it is that keeps your father so busy that he missed every single one of your piano and ballet recitals growing up. You like the idea of studying Shakespeare’s sonnets and soliloquies over learning about mergers and acquisitions and tax avoidance laws at college, but you know your father would sooner cut you off than let you pursue your own passions.

Sometimes you let yourself fantasize about leaving it all behind, running off to some college like Columbia, moving to New York and living in the city that never sleeps. With your 4.0 GPA and stellar extracurricular activities, you could probably get a pretty good scholarship. Or maybe Paris, where you would sit in a cute little café flirting with French boys and writing poetry by the Seine River. But it would be hard, and you’re too much of a coward to see if you could make it on your own without daddy’s money. Not to mention the little voice in the back of your head that sounds suspiciously like your mothers telling you that you’ll never amount to anything without their help.

Later, you’re wandering the party, both hands curled tightly around the cup you hold to your lips, eyes staring out at the crowd over the rim. Unfortunately, you catch Rafe Cameron’s eye as he’s sat around the coffee table with a freshly cut white line ready on the surface. He’s surrounded by the idiots he calls friends and more than one pretty little rich girl making eyes at him. The left corner of his mouth turns up in a smirk as he realizes you’ve sized up the company around him.

“Hey Y/L/N, want a line? First one’s on me, babe.” He calls out at you, but you just roll your eyes and keep moving forward. As desperate as you are to feel something, you’re not sure you can cross that line just yet. Partaking in the occasional joint or bong rip is one thing, but hard drugs is another. You don’t think trading in the empty feeling in your chest for an addiction is worth it. Seeing the blown out pupils of some of your peers, and the way they not-so-discreetly sniff and wipe at their noses you realize you’re likely alone in that assessment. “Your loss!” he calls out at your retreating form, and you don’t even bother to look over your shoulder. You know he’s not really interested in you beyond making you a customer and maybe a quick fuck.

You snort to yourself, wondering what your mother would think about the boy she wanted you to pursue offering you a line of coke at a party. Knowing her, she would focus on the fact that you had gained his attention and ignore the illicit substance.

Making your way through the cluster of bodies is harder than you had initially thought, everyone was on everyone. Every kook party ends up this way, a certain subset of the group coked out and the rest so drunk they can’t function, and you begin to wonder why you even bothered coming.

You’re not totally sure what you’re looking for, your best friend and Rafe’s younger sister Sarah doesn’t really associate with this crowd anymore ever since she started spending all her time with the less fortunate side of the island. Rafe had called it ‘slumming with those dirty fucking pogues’ the last time Sarah had partied with you. Maybe it isn’t right to call her your best friend anymore because not only does she not associate with this crowd, she doesn’t really associate with you either.

You know she’s hanging with Kie again, there are a lot of watchful eyes on the island and even more flapping lips. It’s kind of ironic, Sarah was the one who convinced you to drop Kie, and you had let her. Now the two of them were spending all their time together on some dilapidated boat named after the inhabitants of the Cut and you were alone at some lame party with a heavy weight on your chest and under your eyes.

Sighing deeply, you down the rest of the contents of your cup and grab a refill before turning your attention back to the crowd of people in the middle of the living room. As your brain starts to fog further with the familiar feeling four vodka crans give you, you let Topper put his hands on your hips and pull your bodies close together, your back to his front. A voice in the back of your mind wonders if you’re supposed to feel guilt over Sarah’s ex’s hands all over your body, but you don’t feel anything and Sarah clearly doesn’t give a fuck about you either.

The next morning you wake up with Topper’s hands around your bare waist. There’s a pain radiating against your skull and you have cotton mouth, but you quietly gather your clothes and sneak out of the room before the sleeping blonde can wake up and give you that regretful look he gets in his eyes every time you hook up. You know he still loves Sarah, in his own fucked up way and though you don’t regret where you woke up, you know you’ll just be annoyed if you have to deal with his issues this early in the morning with this bad of a hangover.

You’ve almost successfully left the large mansion, quietly walking through the living room to the front door when a voice remarks dryly, “Really, y/n? I thought you were better than my sister’s leftovers.”

Inhaling through your nose and out your mouth sharply, you spin on your heel to face Rafe with a blank expression on your face. He sits at the kitchen island, bare-chested with his hat on backwards, casually eating a bowl of cereal. The thought of why exactly Rafe is sitting half naked in Topper’s kitchen, eating Topper’s cereal briefly flashes through your mind but you decide you don’t care. “What do you care Rafe?” you ask, only half interested in his response. There’s a moment of silence, and you pick at your fingernails rather than meet his gaze.

“I’m just saying, I thought you were better than that,” he shrugs, bringing another spoonful to his mouth.

You roll your eyes, already tired of the conversation, “And who, pray tell, is better for me?”

“Me of course,” he smirks at you, and you huff out an annoyed laugh and raise an eyebrow silently asking him to explain. “Come on princess, I know your parents want you to marry up. ‘m your best option on this island”.

Mildly annoyed, you roll your eyes and turn back towards the front door, eager to leave this conversation behind. “C’mon baby, we both know how this thing ends, with you on my arm as the perfect trophy wife.”

There was a time those words might have brought butterflies in your stomach. Growing up best friends with Sarah meant you also grew up with Rafe, and you used to have the biggest crush on him. Forbidden by Sarah after a late night game of truth or dare, you didn’t use to mind when your mother would spout off about Rafe being the perfect boy for you. He used to look out for you like he did for Sarah. But that was a long time ago, and he no longer cared about either of you anymore and you had to admit you couldn’t remember why you had ever thought him anything but repulsive. That was before the drugs and the untethered rage that always rests just under the surface of his skin, ready to be unleashed at the smallest slight. You might have married the little boy with the gap toothed smile who once punched Jacob Kane when you were in the second grade and he wouldn’t stop bothering you, but this Rafe wasn’t good for anything beyond a quick meeting in the dark.

If you had been able to feel anything, you might have snapped back at him, but you had no energy and honestly all you wanted was to shower in your own shower and collapse in your own bed, so you ignored his comment and slipped out the door.

It was a quick walk back to your house, and you snuck in quietly through the front door hoping no one was home and your dreams of slumbering until the early afternoon could be realized. Unfortunately, your mother sat on the cream colored chaise in the sitting room, clearly anticipating your arrival. Her eyes quickly scanned your appearance, your manolos held by the straps in your right hand, your sex hair and décolletage you were sure was covered in bites and bruises caused by overeager lips, before sighing.

“Y/n, darling, you have to stop this silly behaviour and settle down. Boys aren’t going to want to lock you down if they’ve already had you.” She criticizes, effectively slut-shaming you. You roll your eyes at that, briefly wondering if the old wives tale was true and you’d end up with your eyes stuck like that. You decide you don’t mind, it would save you some time as your base reaction to most interactions is to roll them.

“I had a rough night mom, I’d like to go back to bed,” you tell her as you try to slip past her. A cold hand circles your wrist, stiletto tipped manicure digging slightly into the skin stopping you from moving any further.

“I’m serious, y/n, you’re better than this.” She throws the same words Rafe had at you. Exasperated and exhausted you rip your wrist from her grasp and head to the stairs. “We’re not done talking about this!” she shouts but you ignore her and continue towards your nice shower and bed.

Rolling over to an empty bed several hours later, you grumble as you try to identify the source of your wakeup call. Cursing as you smack your arm against your side table, you finally manage to grab your ringing cell phone. Seeing RC flash as the contact calling, you groan loudly, before hitting the decline button and rolling back over. A minute later your phone chimes again, indicating a voice mail.

You figure there’s no point in drawing out the inevitable, so you unlock the phone and listen the voicemail Rafe left. He’s invited you to hang out with him and his friends on his dad’s yacht. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you’ve sent him a text to say you’d be there in an hour. Despite there being no love lost between you and Rafe, you really don’t have any better options and maybe if you tell your mom who you’re hanging out with she’ll get off your back and not subject you to The Lecture. You and Sarah used to laugh and joke about The Lecture, about how being a Y/L/N means being perfect and obtaining a perfect husband. The two of you would mock your mother, exaggerating her southern drawl that slipped out as she lectured you on the importance of propriety and ‘leaving something to the imagination’.

As you slip on a navy sundress with a deep neckline, you laugh, thinking to yourself that there’s not much left to leave to the imagination. You take the time to curl the ends of your hair to create a bouncy wave and apply a few coats of waterproof mascara and lip gloss. The humid heat of the OBX keeps your makeup routine light in the summer.

“And just where do you think you’re going?” Shit. Your dad’s home, he knows you stayed out all night, and he’s pissed. You don’t think your mom told him the full story, because he’s not frothing at the mouth mad, just his typical disappointed mad.

“Rafe invited a couple of friends to hang out on his dad’s yacht, daddy,” you reply back, not meeting his eyes.

You can tell your dad disapproves, because the lines between his eyebrows are more pronounced with his narrowed eyes. As he starts to give you what you’re sure is an impassioned lecture, your mother pops up out of nowhere, gushing, “Rafe? Well of course you can go sweetie, isn’t that right hon?” she turns to your dad, a single eyebrow raised daring him to defy her. Your parents are the ultimate power couple, wielding power and guilt over each other almost as easily as they try to do to you.

He sighs, realizing the fight with his vengeful wife isn’t worth the lesson you’re not going to learn anyway and nods, “Alright, just be back for supper, we’re going to sit down as a family tonight. And tell Sarah we said hi.”

If either parent noticed your stiffened back, they don’t comment on it. You hadn’t told them that Sarah dumped you like yesterday’s news just yet. Why blow a perfect cover story? Again, the lack of guilt should probably concern you, but you’re more focused on the very expensive, very good quality wine that you know is waiting for you on the Cameron’s yacht.

An hour later, you’re sitting between a very uncomfortable Topper and a disinterested Kelce with a full wineglass in your left hand. Your right hand slides your sunglasses back onto your eyes to shield them from the harsh sunlight that beats down directly on your face.

You can’t find the energy to strike up a conversation with either of them, and they don’t seem very inclined to start one either, so you turn your head to the side and look out at the water until you see a familiar beat up boat approaching. You visibly tense as your eyes lock on your blonde former best friend laughing with her arm around John B as their stupid friends talk and laugh around them. “You okay, y/n?” Kelce finally speaks, noticing your change in posture.

“Never better,” you drily reply moving to turn your head back to the other side of the yacht, as if the other boat on the water didn’t exist at all. Your eyes briefly flicker to the other blond on the boat, taut muscles on display beyond the ratty cut-off tank top as the pogue known as JJ attempts to wrestle with his friend Pope. You feel a drop in your stomach that perplexes you as your eyes scan his sunkissed skin. Startled, you turn your head quickly and take a huge sip of your wine.

You anticipated some sort of confrontation, maybe a thrown insult, but their boat simply eclipsed the yacht and they continued on their way. You were annoyed by the concerned look that Kelce threw your way after they had left, so you downed your glass and grabbed Rafe’s hand and all but dragged him inside the cabin.

The second the door shuts behind you, you’re on him, mouths mashing in a hungry kiss. He smirks against your mouth and leads you into the bathroom and proceeds to rid you of your clothes.

As you’re letting Rafe Cameron fuck you in the bathroom of his yacht, your mind can’t help but think you’re fucking over Sarah, too.

“Fuck baby, you feel so good,” he praises in your ear as he thrusts into you from behind. You don’t even have the energy to fake a moan, you just lean your head back against his shoulder.

When he’s finished, you simply slip your dress back on, refill your glass and sit back between Topper and Kelce as if they didn’t just hear you hook up with their best friend.

You go to bed early that night after a “nice family dinner” that consists of back-handed compliments and your mother fishing for details about your time on the yacht. You don’t think she’d be too pleased about letting Rafe ‘have you’ before ‘locking you down’, so you keep it to a minimum. Both parents drill it into your head that as a Y/L/N, you’re held to a higher standard than your peers. Perfect grades, perfect life, perfect daughter. You don’t know how to tell them you don’t even feel human anymore, so you smile and nod as they pester and nag. Your little sister sits quietly the whole time, looking at you with an emotion you can’t quite decipher.

[wiypt-writes]

Real Life Tasks With Ransom Drysdale

An Advent Calendar of 24 Normal Human Tasks As Performed By A Huge Man Baby.  Day 13: Ironing Out The Kinks

Warnings: Bad Language words, some minor smut (18+, NSFW)

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N:  Instalment 13 of mine, @sweater-daddiesdumbdork​ and @ohthankevans13​ ‘s telling of Ransom’s quest to become a normal human being. This time Ransom has a hot iron in his hands. What could possibly go wrong?

Series Masterlist

“Are you Ironing?” You stopped dead in the doorway of the laundry room, not quite sure you believed your eyes. In front of you stood Hugh Ransom Drysdale at the other side of an ironing board. A basket of clothes sat behind him on the side and a selection of freshly pressed ones were hanging up over the door frame.

“No, I’m playing Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony.” He drawled, not looking up as he lifted the iron off the blue polo shirt, grabbing a clothes hangar.

“Doesn’t look like a piano.” You looked at him and he took a deep breath, shooting you a glare. You chuckled “Sorry, I…what brought this on?”

“Well…” he paused, turning to hang the item up next to a few others “…you fell asleep, and I know this pile was bugging you so thought I’d make a start. I’m not as fast as you, though.” He mused, gesturing to the items hanging up. “It’s taken me an hour so far and I’ve not done much. How the fuck do you do it so quickly?”

“You just need more practice.” You smiled.

“Huh, maybe it is like playing the piano.” He looked at you and you laughed as you crossed the room towards him whilst he reached for the next item out of the basket which was one of his shirts.

“Be careful.” You smiled, your arms wrapping around him from behind as you pressed your cheek to his back, his t-shirt soft against your skin. “I’m fond of that one.”

And you were. You’d actually worn to work a few times given your ever expanding bump. It was comfy and baggy enough to simply shrug on over a camisole top and a pair of simple black trousers and make you feel like you could still wear professional looking clothes without them feeling like they were going to burst at the seams.

Maternity office wear just wasn’t doing it for you.

“Well stop distracting me and we won’t have a problem.” Ransom moved and you simply hugged him tighter, feeling the muscles of his back ripple as he arranged the item on the board. You stayed still, pressed against him, simply enjoying the feel of his back pressed to your chest and you let out a deep breath.

“Y/N.” his voice took on a warning tone.

“What?” you asked innocently, as your hands began to toy with the hem of his t-shirt.

“Stop it.”

“Stop what?” you protested again, your nails gently scraping over his abdomen. He gave a grunt and jolted a little.

“This iron is hot. I could do some damage to myself.” He grit out after a moment, his voice a little strained and you could tell he was fighting to keep control.

“Well we haven’t been to the ER in a few weeks.” You mumbled, your fingers skating across the waist band of his jeans.

Ransom took a deep breath and you grinned to yourself, those damned pregnancy hormones were wreaking havoc on your libido but you were fucked if you cared. You had your own, ready-made outlet right in front of you. And true to form, the minute your fingers reached for the buckle of his belt he gave a growl, set the iron down and spun to face you.

“You’re a pain in my ass.” He looked down at you, and you looked up at him coyly, biting your lip.

“Wanna be a pain in mine?” you shot back and his eyes narrowed, that familiar predatory look crossing his face as he shook his head.

“Oh, Princess, you’re gonna regret that.”

“I doubt it.” You muttered as his lips crashed to yours, hands on your hips to pull you as flush to him as he could with the basketball that was your belly in between you both. His tongue invaded your mouth as one large hand slid up your spine and gripped the back of your head, fingers gently tangling in your hair. He backed you up to the unit at the side of the room, as roughly as he dared given your ‘condition’, the base of your back pressing into the edge. You let out a soft moan, your fingers reaching down to undo his belt and with an easy movement he reached down, gripping your thighs. With a half jump from you and half a lift from him he had you perched on the sideboard, your legs wrapped round his waist, his lips still eagerly pressed to yours.

“Such a needy little bitch.” He growled as you finally popped the button on the top of his jeans and slid the zip down.

“Only for you.” You smirked against his mouth as your hand slid into his trousers, wrapping around his hardening cock. “And you love it, Ransom.”

“Fuck, yeah I do.” He groaned, his hips pushing forward as he thrust into your palm, releasing his hold on you as he shoved his jeans and boxers down. As he continued to rut into your hand, he reached for the hem of your soft woollen jersey dress, guiding it over your head before his lips traipsed a path down your neck to your collar bone, nipping and sucking at exactly the right places which he could find with his eyes closed. He placed hot, open mouthed kisses down your sternum, over the swell of each engorged breast, taking his time knowing that you were particularly sensitive. With soft, gentle fingers he pulled one of the cups of your bra down and began lavishing his affections on your pert nipple teasing a strangled moan from the back of your throat, your head falling backwards as the heat between your legs intensified, your panties now nothing but a sodden mess.

And then a smell broke through your lust addled senses making you still, and you grabbed his shoulder.

“What’s that smell?”

“Dior Sauvage.” his voice was muffled as his mouth still worked at your breast.

“No that’s not…fuck!” Your eyes rolled as he slipped his fingers into your leggings. “Stop a moment, I’m being…Oh, God…” you swallowed, head tilting backwards as he shifted your panties to the side, fingers gathering your slick as he began to tease at your clit.

“No, just me.” You felt his mouth curl into a smile against your skin and you shifted a little, allowing his hand more access, desperate for relief.

And then you caught another whiff, and it suddenly registered through the haze in your mind exactly what it was.

“Ransom!” your eyes flew open and over his shoulder you spotted the smoke rising from behind his broad back “Get the iron!”

“I’m open to most things, sweetheart, but I draw the line at…”

“No, you asshole, you left it on the fucking shirt!” you pushed him away and he spun round as you jumped down from the side. He gave a yell and started towards it, but in his haste he forgot his pants were round his ankles and he crashed to the floor in a heap of limbs uttering a string of expletives as he went.

“Son of a mother fucking bitch!” his elbow collided with the tiled floor with a loud thud. “Ow, fuck!”

You pulled the iron up, yanking the shirt off the board and dropping it into the metal sink where it continued to smoulder and you turned to look at the iron shaped burn mark in the board cover. Ransom pushed himself to his feet, taking a deep breath as he raked his hair back off his forehead, before he rubbed his elbow. Neither of you spoke for a second, before you looked at one another.

“That one is NOT on me.” Ransom pointed at you. “I told you to quit distracting me.”

“You have all the willpower of a toddler at Christmas.” You scoffed and he arched an eyebrow.

“Sweetheart, you practically raped me.” He drawled and you let out a huge snort, shaking your head.

“God you talk some crap.”

“Eat shit”

“That’s the best you can do? Eat shit?” you laughed, hands falling to your hips as you stood there clad in your bra and leggings, his eyes scanning you up and down before they locked onto yours. “Your insults are wearing a little thin, Tiger.”

At the use of the ridiculous nickname you had for him, one that was normally reserved for the bedroom he gave a little growl and in a flash he was back on you, his hands cupping your ass and you gave a squeak of surprise as he lifted you off your feet despite the extra eighteen pound of baby bump and pregnancy fat you were sporting.

“Now,” he spoke, before giving you a deep kiss, pulling back to look you in the eye and the familiar lustful twinkle in those deep baby blues made you groan wantonly. He cocked an eyebrow up, as he smirked arrogantly at you. “I believe we were in the middle of something Mrs Drysdale.”

“You know…” you muttered, as he perched you back in your previous position on the sideboard, his mouth soon back on that spot on your neck. “Of all your recent domestic disasters, I think this one is my favourite.”

“Careful, Doll…” he growled, nipping at your skin, coaxing a squeak from your lips as your hand tangled in his hair “You’re in a very precarious position. I’d think twice about making fun of me.”

“Is that a threat or a promise?” you gave a yank, tugging on the longer strands at the top of his head, causing him to hiss slightly as his head tilted back, his face inches from yours.

“Both.” he quipped, before his mouth claimed yours once more.

[cultofbeatles]

beginners guide to the beatles

 made one of these a long time ago but i'm surprised by how short it was. so here we go again. doing it right this time lol. 

pov: you told a bad joke and now the beatles are judging you. 

john winston lennon. later in his life known as john winston ono lennon. 

born on october 9, 1940 

i believe in astrology bc how does john just happen to be a libra 

when john was four he started living with his aunt mimi who acted more as his mother figure 

his mother, julia, remarried and would visit him quite a bit.

it was julia who taught john how to play banjo and piano. and she bought his first guitar.

they both had a deep love for music and rock n roll 

he never really thought of her as his mother but more as a cool friend i suppose 

aunt mimi was more rough on him and did the disciplining 

his father was never really present growing up and his uncle passed away when he was young 

he thought he was a curse for the men in his family 

he had five half siblings. two of them, julia and jacqueline, he was pretty close to. the other three he barely knew. 

fashion icon.

hated school but loved art 

very early on he was insecure with himself 

teachers always shit on him and said he would go nowhere in life 

he met paul at a church fete on july 6, 1957 

paul taught him how to play guitar properly.

once told paul that he didnt know how paul carried on after his mother died bc he just didn't think he could do it 

john’s mother died from being hit by an off duty policemen. john was seventeen at the time. 

 he took her death really hard and became a bit of a recluse. 

first serious relationship was with cynthia (we stan her) 

once cynthia cut her hair short and he didn't talk to her for two days. 

hate men. kill all men. 

when he asked her to dance at a party she turned him down saying that she was engaged, and so he said “well i didn't ask you to fucking marry me, did i?” 

slapped her once bc he was drunk and another boy was talking to her.

only time her hit her.

read cynthia’s books about john pls. i beg. 

once a psychic told him that he would be shot in the states.

founder of the beatles and also came up with the name.

instruments he could play: guitar, harmonica, rhythm guitar, banjo, keyboard, piano, saxophone, bass guitar, and a little drums. 

main songwriter in the beatles along with paul.

was more open minded to change in the beatles music. 

was insecure in his relationship with paul after a while bc he thought he only needed him for songwriting. 

would bitch about paul all day long but the second anyone else said something about him he’d be on their ass. 

had a lot of issues and needed a good hug. 

suffered from eating disorders, drug addictions, depression, insecurities, and questioned his sexuality bc of the time. 

was super open minded and ahead of his time in many instances. 

once he was called “the fat beatle” and after that he stopped eating as much.

truly loved his first son, julian lennon, and would buy him presents all the time bc he was excited to see him play with them.

“your famous ex husband”

he enjoyed playing monopoly. 

he once claimed that he saw a ufo.

he had written three books but he always wanted to write a children's book.

 the last song he ever performed in front of a live audience was “i saw her standing there.” with elton john.

he was afraid of the dark. 

found out later in his life that he was dyslexic. 

was also legally blind without glasses.

never could catch a break huh.

said that his best lyric ever was “all you need is love” i agree.

the first time yoko and john met was not at her art exhibit but actually when she approached him about giving away songs for free.

wanted to write a musical with paul. 

once a friend dared him to masturbate ten times in one day and he managed to do it nine times.

would hold circle jerks with paul and a few other friends. 

just dudes being dudes. 

went on a holiday with brian epstein, who was gay, and told some people afterward that they did certain sexual things. but we will never know for sure.

yoko says that john was bisexual.

once in an interview he said that he would of married a rich man or woman if he wasn't in the beatles. 

hated his voice on records. would always ask for effects on his voice for final recordings. 

made a film with yoko where it was just his penis going from flaccid to erect for fifteen minutes in slow motion. 

only beatle not to of become a vegetarian while he was alive. 

murdered on december 8, 1980.

gave his autograph earlier in the day to the man who would murder him.

died at the age of 40.

“all my loving” was played while he was at the hospital.

and its spooky bc a lot of times in interviews he would say “when i'm 40..” 

and it’s sad bc he was finally becoming who he truly wanted to be. 

honorable john moments that i love:

“thanks for the purpler hearts” he says while receiving the silver heart 

“you are the first person from liverpool that i've ever seen” “great”

eric lennon on my mind today 

this come together performance where he messed up the lyrics lol

that interview where paul was sick and john keep checking on him 

john lennon speaking nothing but facts 

when he said that he could see the beatles going separate ways but that they'd always come back together.

SHUT UP 

“shut up while he’s talking..”

this interview breaks my heart sometimes 

and this interview is great as well 

sir james paul mccartney 

born on june 18, 1942

if you ever have spare time just check out this man’s natal chart. 

idk how he’s still alive with his chart tbh. 

he has a younger brother named mike and a step sister named ruth. 

his dad thought he was the ugliest baby he’d ever seen when he was born. 

when he was young paul would kill frogs in a way to prepare himself for the war if he ever was drafted. 

the first instrument he ever learned to play was the trumpet.

I don't even want to list every instrument this man can play but trust me when I say it’s a lot.

but for the beatles he mainly did bass, vocals, and piano. sometimes playing the guitar and the drums.

the beatles was just paul moving really, really fast. 

he lost his mother when he was 14 due to surgery for breast cancer.

never really learned how to cope well with loss of a loved one tbh. 

had the cutest chubby cheeks as a kid tbh 

met john and was accepted into his band 

sometimes they'd ditch school together and either work on music or would visit art galleries.

went to paris with john and john bought him all the banana milkshakes that he wanted.

connected over their love and admiration for music, and bc they had both lost their mothers. 

had a girlfriend’s mom who he would make comb his leg hairs. 

was an ass to his first girlfriend.

kill all men again. 

almost had to marry his girlfriend dot bc she was pregnant, but she ended up losing the baby.

was the one who introduced george harrison to john.

practically despised pete best and stuart stutcliffe bc they were bringing the group down. 

got arrested along with pete best bc they lit a condom on fire in hamburg.

still felt awful and a little guilty when stuart died suddenly. 

main force behind the beatles imo. 

without him we’d have not as much beatles music as we do. 

was dating jane asher throughout majority of the sixties. 

when they first met they talked about syrup and paul fell in love.

they broke things off after she walked in on him sleeping with another woman though.

directed magical mystery tour and it was amazing and I don't care what anyone says ok?

when john divorced cynthia he was the only one not scared of john and went against his wishes of not speaking to cynthia.

was a little controlling at times. 

has a good heart though. 

mal evans had to drive him home once after a beatles sessions bc he was crying so hard. 

was talking about getting the band back to touring when john said he was leaving the group. 

everyone kind of turned against him when the beatles were breaking up and i hate it.

he just wanted what was best for the band.

married linda and had a nice little farm. 

we love that story.

linda i'm free thursday if you want to hang out pls.

started up the whole “no meat monday” thing where you don't eat monday on mondays

food meat. not the other kind of meat.

children: james mccartney, stella mccartney, heather mccartney, mary mccartney, and beatrice mccartney. 

rip martha. 

WINGS!! 

he lost linda in 1998 due to cancer.

 cried for a whole year bc of it.

still has dreams about john and says they're nice.

wrote a sad song about john called “here today.”

really loved john. like..he truly, genuinely did. 

want someone to love me like paul does john. 

“think of me every now and then old friend.”

honorable paul moments:

his story about george’s dad 

“john? he was beautiful. very beautiful.”

humpty dumpty rap 

another story about him and george.

his google search video that I watch every week 

this 

george harrison 

born: February 24, 1943 

or at least we think 

bc he use to say that his birthday was february 25, but later started saying it february 24. 

why can't we change our birthdays its not like we picked it 

he was the youngest child.

baby of the family and of the beatles awwww

two older brothers named harry and peter. one older sister named louise.

when george’s mom was pregnant with him she’d play sitar music.

his mom was super supportive of his career choice 

when he was 16 he worked as an electricians apprentice.

his dad kind of hoped he would start a family business out of it.

george said nah

would ride the bus opposite way of his house just to spend time with paul 

headbutted a kid bc he didn't think they were worthy of paul’s friendship 

was brought into the band bc of paul insisting to john 

would follow john around like a lost puppy when he first met him 

once had an eight hour erection. don't ask me how idk he said it.

was 17 when he lost his virginity and the other band members were in the room watching and cheered him when he finished 

most sex craved beatle tbh 

once walked into a girls dressing room and asked if they could stand there so he could masturbate 

he was the first beatle to go to america 

got a black eye for defending ringo once 

would make john and paul take turns sharing rooms with ringo when he first joined the band so that he felt more welcomed 

when ringo left during the white album and then came back george decorated the studio with flowers for him 

during the beatles first recording session he told george martin that he didn't like his tie

became a vegetarian at 22 

favorite candy was jelly beans and purple was his favorite color 

used the phrase “grotty” in the hard days night movie, hated it, but everyone else picked up on the slang 

met his first wife, pattie boyd, on the set of a hard days night 

was turned down by her at first 

they married in 1966

wouldn't let her do modeling stuff and was kind of an ass 

a stylish couple but not the best image for a healthy relationship 

got into eastern religion around 1965 

during the Hamburg days he would eat chicken on stage 

had an affair with ringo’s first wife maureen 

got a divorce from pattie in 1977

in 1978 he married olivia who he stayed with until his death and had one son with. dhani.

was the first beatle to hit a number one single and album. 

was buddies with led zeppelin

inspired their “rain song” 

smashed a piece of cake on john bonham’s head and then was thrown into the pool by him 

he financed and produced films. had a production company.

tom petty said that george never shut up once you started talking to him 

but he was often referred to as “the quiet beatle”

formed another band called the traveling wilburys

he’d answer questions online in the 2000′s and it’s the cutest thing ever and his answers break my heart too.

“what do you miss most about john lennon?” “john lennon.”

in 1999 a schizophrenic person broke into his house and stabbed him 40 times 

thank god olivia was there bc she was the only braincell in the room 

had to get a part of his lung taken out 

died november 29, 2001 from lung cancer 

ashes were scattered into the ganges river 

honorable george moments:

this interview he did with ringo 

“i'm sad bc i can't play guitars with john anymore. but i did that...i know we’ll meet again some day.”

when he invented reaction videos 

“the wind was blowing.” “..blowing my girl?”

“what kind of girl do you like?” “john’s wife.”

sir richard starkey aka ringo starr 

born on july 7, 1940 

oldest member in the group 

has no siblings 

naturally was left handed but his grandma thought it was bad luck so he writes right handed, and plays drums with a right handed kit 

but does everything else left handed

when he was 6 he fell into a two month coma 

was a very sick child 

when he was 13 he was in the hosiptal for tuberculosis and formed a hospital band 

grew up poor 

loves and looked up to his stepfather a lot 

his step father bought him his first drum kit in 1957

wasn't that great in school bc he missed so much of it from being so sick 

he worked for a britain railway for a while 

also served drinks on a day boat for a job 

loves dancing 

Rory storm and the hurricanes 

got his nickname from all the rings he would wear

replaced pete best as the beatles drummer 

dealt with people hating him for a bit bc they liked pete more 

had to style his hair in a bowl cut to be in the band and i'm still mad at them for making him do that shit 

ringo i'm so sorry 

george martin didn't really like his drumming and had a session drummer come in for the first album 

in 1964 he had tonsillitis, pharyngitis, and high fever all at once and had to be in the hospital for a bit.

was worried the beatles would replace him for good 

he’s a cancer don't worry

was the first beatle to try weed 

drummers always go first huh 

married his first wife, maureen, in 1965 

she kissed paul, ringo, and george.

what a champ

honeymoon was ruined by reporters 

was really insecure in his relationship and needed a lot of reassurance 

had a great relationship with pretty much all the beatles 

but a great one with john 

john felt his most relaxed when he was with ringo

was once in a movie with roger daltrey 

divorced maureen in 1975 

his wife now is barbara bach who he married in 1981 

had alcohol problems 

once gotten so drunk that he beat barbara so badly that he thought he killed her 

put himself into rehab after that 

barbara lowkey looks like jan from the office 

children: zak, lee, and jason

zak is the drummer for the band the who 

peace and love 

but don't send me fan mail anymore 

peace and love 

ringo starr and the allstar band (starting 1981)

was the narrator for thomas the tank engine 

will play at paul’s concerts sometimes now for fun 

mad bc he came on stage during paul’s last concert show and it was on my birthday and I couldn't go to it 

honorable ringo moments:

“do you want me to come with you?”

stupid barbara walters 

talking about paul 

giving us a little dance 

[pl-panda]

Damienette arranged marriage: part 24

Credits: Miraculous Ladybug team for the elements I take from MLB show. DC for their characters, @ozmav for the AU, @maribat-archive for giving me access to so many different stories to have take inspirations from, @thyladyanput for idea for Chat Damian and me for the plot.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 part 14 part 15

part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21

Part 22

Part 23

Damienette arranged marriage: part 24

NEXT

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

“Papa will help us on this one. And maybe we should call the cavalry from Gotham?”

“Relax Angel. We have two to one number advantage. We can deal with them.” Damian reassured her. 

‘Fine. We two weeks until we leave. It is decided then. In one week, we storm the Agreste Manor.”

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

The week passed by faster than anyone wanted. Marinette especially felt like it was all in such rush. It was overwhelming. After over two years of fighting hawkmoth they were finally about to put an end to his reign. That is if Tim’s assumptions were correct. It was still just a theory. Really solid one, but theory nonetheless. They did know Adrien was Chat Noir. This was without doubt. Nobody else could be him if what Tim gathered was correct. It’s amazing what you can figure in two months with good logic skills and enough hacking skill to have White House Coffee machine prepare a frappuccino with your face on it for a week. ‘Batboys’ had weirdest truth or dare in the whole world, Marinette decided. 

The raid was supposed to happen on saturday. This way they were sure that Adrien would be home and there would be little interruptions. Precisely on 10:20 A.M., the time when Adrien should be practicing his piano, Ladybug, Pink Tigress, Ryuko and Viperion walked to the front gate of the Agreste Manor. Marinette did ask her father to use Ox miraculous and help them, but he politely declined. Tom felt like the hero gig was not really for him. It was okay. Not everyone need to be on the front line. 

A camera eye popped out of the wall as soon as Ladybug pressed the bell. 

“Hi. I have an urgent matter with Mousier Agreste. It’s about his son.” She spoke. It was risky, but if he didn’t allow them to enter, he would only raise suspicion. It was a perfect trap. Small crowd already gathered in here and got curious. Rejecting Paris’ beloved heroes would be bad for image and much too suspicious. 

There was no answer, but the gate opened, letting the group in. As they walked, Ladybug and the others indeed noticed several automated defence turrets, now half-burried underground while disabled. They were probably loaded with rubber bullets, but how did this not violate gun regulations anyway was a surprise. 

Doors to the manor were opened by Gorilla, who then stepped aside and let them in. Nobody noticed three shadows jumping over the front yard. Gabriel was already waiting for them with Natalie by his side.

“Ladybug. What a surprising visit. Is something wrong?” He asked in a worried tone. 

“Yes. But I would prefer if we talked in somewhere more private.” Ladybug said, nudging her head toward atelier. 

“Of course. Nathalie. Go check on Adrien in the meantime.” The man motioned to his secretary and let group of colorful heroes to his private study. As the doors closed he turned to the heroes. “Now. What is this urgent matter you need to discuss.”

“Like I mentioned, it’s about your son Mousier.”

“Adrien?” Gabriel grasped. “Did something happen to him? Is he in trouble?!” If Ladybug didn’t know the man as Marinette and didn’t suspect him of being hawkmoth she would actually think he cared about his son. 

“Yes. He is in big big trouble.” Pink Tigress practically growled. Marinette wondered if it was the mask or was her mother always like that but she didn’t show it. 

“Tigress. Control your emotions.” Ryuko scolded the newest heroine, but it was obvious she was having hard time herself.

“Ladybug. What is this all about?!” Gabriel shouted. “I demand an explanation.” He recomposed himself and fixed his tie.

“Well… Your son… He… You see…” Suddenly, the confidence Ladybug usually showed disappeared.

“What our Bug is trying to say is that we believe your son is Chat Noir.” Viperion offered some help to the distressed heroine.

“And how is that bad? If what you say is true I am proud of my son and his accomplishments in defending Paris. His mother would surely be proud.” The designer defended his son while acting confused. Except Ladybug saw right through the scene. It was too much out of character for Gabriel Agreste to be real. This confirmed it. He was Hawkmoth. 

“Except Chat Noir switched sides. He is a traitor. That is why Tigress reacted like that. For some time, he is working with Hawkmoth.” Ladybug straightened up and looked in the eyes of man before her. 

“What?! Perpeterous! My son would never do such thing. He was always loyal to those he considered family.” 

“If you could please call him in here, I would be happy to discuss some things with him in your presence if that’s okay.” The girl in red gave a weak smile and nodded toward the intercom.

Gabriel reluctantly walked to it and pressed a button. “Nathalie. Could you please bring Adrien in here?”

It wasn’t long before the secretary and prodigal son entered the room.

“You wished to see me father?” Adrien started, but then he noticed several heroes standing in there. “Oh! Ladybug? I am honored to meet you again.” In the back, Ryuko was stopping Pink Tigress from attacking by holding hand in front of her. Viperion was doing the same for Dragon-themed hero.

“Adrien Agreste.” Ladybug started in stern tone. “As the Great Guardian of Miraculous I hereby renounce your right to the Ring of Black Cat. You are no longer a hero of Paris or part of the team.” She grabbed his hand and was about to pull the ring when he chuckled. 

“So that’s it my lady? After all this time together you would end it just like that?” There was something dark in his face. “Plagg! Darkclaws out!”

Suddenly a black Kwami was sucked out of his pocket and entered the ring. In a flash of green light he was now Chat Noir, except instead his bell was now silver and his face was twisted. His features were more catlike and when he smiled he had fangs. Hearing the commotion, Gorilla barged into the room through other doors. He looked confused at the situation. He didn’t even mother with the fact that the entrance was locked and he kept holding the doorknob 

“Guess there is no more hiding it Father.” Adrien said. It could very well refer to him being Chat Noir, but Gabriel understood the suggestion.

“Indeed son. Nooroo! Darkwings rise!” There was another flash of light and Hawkmoth joined the fray.

“Duusu! Spread my feathers!” Nathalie was transformed into Mayura with the help of her booch. Only no longer it was damaged so she was now able to fight in full strength. 

Hawkmoth hit the floor with his cane, opening a small hole from which flew a white butterfly. “You’ve made a mistake Ladybug. Engaging me in my own home was a stupid strategy.” He then charged new Akuma and sent it at the Gorilla, who was still holding the doorknob. It entered the damaged object and transformed him into smaller version of gorizilla. “Now the chances are more fair, don’t you think?” He grinned maliciously at her.

“No. I think they will be equal about… now!” She shouted and tossed her Yo-Yo. It zoomed right past surprised Hawkmoth and Shattered the window. Through it jumped Spoiler, Red Robin and Robin, all already in battle stance.

“Ah. I see you called different help from the states. I guess I should be worried now?” The mocking tone from the villain was never that good. Suddenly, the floor on the right side lowered slightly making a ramp. From there, walked a lines of robots. “You like it? I got it from my own friend in America.” He gloated. This was not good. They needed new plan.

“Spoiler, Robin, Red Robin! I need you to take care of the robots. Tigress! Get Mayura. Ryuko. You will go after hawkmoth. Viperion! Take the Akuma out and then help Ryuko!” Ladybug started shouting new battle plans.

“What about you?” 

“I will take care of Chat Noir.” She stated and lunged at the irritating cat, who just stood there the whole time with a grin on his face. 

Ladybug used her Yo-Yo to attach to the roof before smashing into Chat Noir leg-first. The cat was pushed back and she proceeded with continous assault, switching between Tossing her weapon at him and using some of the moves she learned from maman over the years. 

This was like a spark. Immediately after Ladybug’s charge, other heroes also attacked. The battle has begun. At least until there was an ear-piercing cry of pain that got everyone’s attention.

——————————————————————————————————–

Taglist (sorry if I missed you)@pheonixashtree @sassakitty @unabashedbookworm @vixen-uchiha @maggiecc12 @actualdisasterwoman @tired-butterfly @shizukiryuu @floralfi @imanerddealwith @northernbluetongue @krispydefendorpolice @toodaloo-kangaroo @dast218 @bluesoulblueheart @theatreandcomicfreak @disneyfoxuniverse @mindfulmagics @alwaysnumberonetruth @nyaabinch @jardimazul @lenamau @rosep16 @dramatic-squirrel @sonif50 @daminett4life @lulutheawkwardess @weird-pale-blonde-person @mooshoon @jeminiikrystal @mochegato @moonlightstar64 @dragonflyswing @silverwhiteraven @shamefullove @magic-miraculous @valeks-princess @heaven428 @mlbchaosqueen @winter-gardenflower @spicybelladonna @emo-elaine13 @vetilora @karukofox21 @my-name-is-michell  @sturchling @lokiifriggasonn @redscarlet95 @melicmusicmagic @interobanginyourmom @the-fusionist @razzledazzle247 @miss-mysterys-blog @darkthunder1589 @i-is-mysterious @catthhay @the-one-woman-army @zestyzealot @dahjokester @write-for-your-life2 @mermaidreject @peachedpocky @sassakitty @dahjokester @crazylittlemunchkin @novicevoice @justafanwarrior @eliza-bitch @schrodingers25 @tired-butterfly @toodaloo-kangaroo @redscarlet95 @miukiiu @sassakitty @corabeth11 @vixen-uchiha

[nightwingshero]

Hello! How about 44. “How do we fix this?” + dealer's choice, please?

Thank you, darling!!! I’m sorry this took so long! Have some New Dawn canon! This takes place right after Ethan kills John. 

I had always wanted to be a mother. The memories I had of my own before she passed…I wanted to be what my mother was to me, to be a good mother and to break a cycle that I didn’t realize I was apart of. The days I would sit with her as she played the piano, singing me to sleep at night, and the light reassuring touch she would give to show affection. She smelled of lilies and vanilla some days, others were filled with apple and cinnamon. If I concentrated hard enough, I could still smell her even after the world had fallen to pieces. She was still a part of me.

What I hadn’t expected was how hard it would be. It wasn’t as if I ever suspected it to be a cakewalk, to come easy without hurdles. No, I wasn’t naïve. I just wasn’t prepared for the sins of my father—the sins of my own past—to come back the way they had. To see my own wrath in the blue eyes of my daughter, burning bright as she lashed out. Part of it was how she clung so tightly to Jane’s death, how she vibrated with the need to right it. To justify or bring retribution, anything to balance it out. Harper called for the blood of those who had hurt her, who had taken from her, and I could only stand and think that it was far too familiar.

What have I done?

Learning of the past, of what had truly occurred during the Holy War had only made it worse. The truth of our actions and what John and I had done for Joseph…I was no longer allowed to speak against her feelings, her actions, because there was no place for me to. Not when I had done exactly what she planned on doing now. The hypocrisy of it made my own stomach churn because how dare I hold my own daughter to different expectations when she was practically born to it.

The look she had given me, the horror and hurt…Quinn and Grayson stood silent, statues to watch on the sidelines as everything I tried to hide came to light. How she cried, screamed, and demanded to know every detail, for me to tell her why. It was a mess of things. A mess of emotions and uncertainty of what would come of it, and for the first time in years, I felt like him. I felt that I had finally brought this to full circle, becoming just like my father as my own daughter broke in front of me. Grayson offered nothing but an empathetic glance, his icy blues still cold. Quinn gave a comforting squeeze to my shoulder, as comforting as one could be when it felt that you had lost your child.

That had been a few days ago, but it had felt like months with all that had occurred. Whitney was silent as we tried to regroup, tried to process what we had just witnessed. My children scattered, my husband and her sister fallen…nothing but ash and blood remained. Seventeen years…we had lasted seventeen years without heartache, without war and tragedy. It was a held breath; I knew that now as I sat and leaned against the jagged edges of the rock behind me, almost as if I was back to those dark days once more.

I had no more tears to shed, my throat raw from my screams of rage and loss, Grayson had to pull me from his body. What we had wasn’t the love I had once believed, but he was still my husband…the father of my children. And he had chosen us…chosen me. John had renounced Joseph in his final acts, saving Braxton and Ana from being slaughtered by Ethan. In the end, we were enough for him, we were more important than Joseph. We were his family.

Sniffling brings me out of my thoughts, and I watch as Harper stumbles out of the makeshift sanctuary—a lodge that was somewhat salvageable. Her petite body is almost collapsing into itself as she held herself tightly, her narrow shoulders shaking from the sobs she was fighting. It broke my heart, seeing her try to be strong even when she had every right to fall apart. Harper was strong, and I was more than proud of her, but it was a bittersweet thing…she shouldn’t have to be this strong. These were difficulties my child should have never faced.

They deserved better than the world we had created for them.

Right when I think of standing to join her, she turns to me. Her tears shine silver from the moonlight, light streaks against her skin. There’s a beat of silence, and there’s nothing I want more than for her to sit with me, but I fear she’ll turn and leave. I’m surprised when she does decide to come closer and joins me, her arms crossed, and her knees pulled up to her chest.

It’s silent between us as the sounds of the night continued as if we were nothing, and perhaps we were. I felt insignificant in the grand scheme of things, I have since the bombs dropped. Harper had been spending most of her time in Prosperity and with Carmina with everything going on, running around with Grayson and Quinn from time to time to help against the Highwaymen and against my wishes. To the point where I myself had to get involved to keep her from the violence and danger of it all. It was like leading the resistance again, but with support. It was the same but so different, and I couldn’t help but think of how different it would’ve turned out if maybe that had happened seventeen years before.

She sniffles again and rubs her face with her sleeve, and I’m reminded of her when she was five years old. Her eyes bright and excited, a true terror as she drew on the walls of the bunker. Harper always had a free spirit. I loved that in her. “Mom…I don’t…how do we…how do we move on from this?” she croaked. “What…what do we do? How do we fix this?”

“Harper…sometimes…sometimes there’s nothing you can do.” I whispered as my heart shattered at the hopeless look in her eyes. “Some things you can’t fix.”

“He…he killed them. Are we going to continue to do nothing?” she demanded. I could sense her desperation, how she was clawing for some sort of control, some way to make this intangible for her to work with. “We let them get away with what they’ve done? Just like that? Jane’s death, and now dad and Aunt Mel too? We just let them do these things without standing up to them? Without making them pay?”

I shifted, turning to her as I placed a hand on her shoulder. “I understand what you’re feeling, darling. I know that pain, I know the sting of injustice, Harper. I know it well.” My face twisted a bit as I squeezed harder. “I need you to understand that allowing that to power your actions, you going out there to get revenge…you will be making the same mistakes that I did. And…I don’t want that for you.”

“It’s not fair.” She sobbed, her tears coming faster with her eyes squeezed tightly shut. “What he did wasn’t right and it’s not fair that he took dad away, that’s not fair.” Harper leaned forward slightly, and I immediately wrapped my arms around her, her hands gripping my jacket tightly as she buried her face in my shoulder.

“I know…I know, sweetheart. It’s not fair. Your father loved you, Harper. He loved you, and your brother and sister deeply.”

“I…I told him he was incapable of it. I told him he couldn’t love us. That was the last thing I said to him, mom.”

Tears welled as I felt the sting in my chest, and I held her tighter. “He knew you didn’t mean it, baby. Your father chose us in the end. He chose our family because he loved us and wanted us safe. Because of him, Brax and Ana are safe.” Pulling back, her tear-filled eyes met mine, that fierceness burning bright in her ocean eyes.

“Don’t…don’t him get away with this. Please. Ethan…he needs to be taken down, mom. He’s just as bad as they are, you know this. That wrath…our family’s wrath can be used for good.” She choked on a sob, her hands clutching onto me desperately. “Quinn and Gray can help us. Aunt Whit…we can make this right somehow. Please…don’t let them be like Jane…don’t let their deaths be for nothing.”

“Harper…” I breathed out as my mind raced. It was hard telling her no, telling her that it wasn’t how we did things anymore. Peace was more important. Or maybe that was just my excuse, my fear getting the better of me. Jane’s death was hard as is, but John and Mel had only made that cut so much worse. Not only was the Highwaymen an issue, but we had become refuges of our own home, New Eden being ran by a tyrant. I couldn’t say I was so shocked considering he was Joseph’s own son. And how much has he done to me already over the years? My jaw clenched at the reminder, that old burning in my veins returning like an old friend. “I…I don’t want you anywhere near this, Harper.” I replied sharply as I took her hands in mine and leaned close. “I want you to be safe. But I promise you,” Squeezing her hands, I held her gaze firmly. “Their deaths will not be in vain. I will make this right, darling.”

Her hug was the first hug I’ve gotten from her in so long, I almost forgot what it felt like. So I held her tight, letting her cry on my shoulder until she had no more tears to shed. Standing, I pulled her up with me. It was getting late, and we had to get rest, from the long day and from what I knew was ahead of us. Two enemies with barely any allies…this was going to be hard, but it wasn’t like I hadn’t done something like this before.

As we stepped on the porch, I caught his dark blue eyes, and let Harper walk in without me. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his bomber jacket as he looked out at the trees surrounding us, a lake glimmering under the night sky, and everything looked purple instead of pink. And there was so much pink.

“I’m sorry.” He spoke finally and I threw him a side glance, his blonde hair still parted almost perfectly. “For…I guess everything. Your husband and I didn’t get along,” Quinn shrugged as a slight Russian accent slipped and rolled off his tongue. “But…he did not deserve that.”

“Thank you…” I murmured as I crossed my arms. The Security Captain glanced down at me for a moment, only to turn away when I looked back. We didn’t even get along at first, let alone him and John. It only got worse when he started helping my daughter fight the Highwaymen: him and Grayson both. But I knew, deep down, that this was going to happen. There was no other option, not with the blood that’s been spilt, not with who we’ve lost.

“So…what next?”

I scoffed and shook my head. “I thought that would be obvious, Quinn.” Turning to him, I looked up to meet his gaze. “We kill them. All of them.”

[shushmal]

Written for the MDZS Big Bang!! Shout out to @frankensteinsaway-blog​ for their awesome artwork, and to @majesticanna​ for cheering me on!!

Lan Zhan is probably the most fascinating person Wei Ying has ever met. He makes the best faces when Wei Ying teases him, wrinkles his nose at Wei Ying’s handwriting, blushes to his ears when Wei Ying reaches out to tug on his hair.

He's is their top scorer on the soccer team, gets perfect grades, first place in the essay contest, has a solo piano performance at the school concert. But he also sucks at public speaking, hates talking to people he doesn’t know, and refuses to cut his hair even when he gets written up for breaking the dress code. And he smiles at Wei Ying when he starts to grows his hair out into a long ponytail, just so he can get written up for the same reason. It’s the smallest, barest of smiles, but Wei Ying is so stunned by it that he walks into the goal post on the soccer field.

-

Growing up is a painful thing, but there are those who make it worth it.

Read it here on Ao3!

the brunt of the storm 

Wei Ying doesn’t remember the orphanage. Not in a way that’s concrete, like holding an old frame in his hands, with brittle glass and fading edges and the faces of people he’s long forgotten. And what he does remember, he tries best to shove down far into his heart, where it can’t visit him in the night. 

He doesn’t want to remember the feeling of slow hunger of too little food and too many mouths, little bodies sitting elbow to elbow on the back steps of the dirt yard, eating bland porridge with his fingers. He doesn’t want to remember the overworked, harried aunties or the bigger kids that liked to chase them around with sticks. He doesn’t want to remember the faces of all the adults that he had to sit with, to pretend with, that may be his new mother or father. He didn’t really remember the old ones.

He doesn’t want to remember the dogs in the streets behind the yard. Doesn’t want to remember their teeth. Doesn’t want to remember the festering, untreated bite marks.

When the orphanage shuts down and all the kids are scattered about to foster houses, Wei Ying is barely six and all his things don’t even fill a trash bag. The first family he lives with throws it all away and Wei Ying has to sneak into the garbage in the middle of the night to save what he can. The only picture he has of his parents — two faded faces with their arms around each other — is covered in old coffee grounds and rotten vegetables, but he wipes it off best he can, folds it in half, and hides it in his pocket.

In a lot of ways, foster care is worse, but Wei Ying remembers the lessons he learns there better: stay quiet, stay out of the way, and stay out of reach. 

Wei Ying doesn’t start school until he’s eight, when his fourth foster family takes him in. He can’t read, can’t count, can’t understand anything written on the board, but he fakes it well enough, memorizing all the new things his teachers say until it all starts to make sense and his grades start to improve. And the kids with good grades get to do things outside of school, and that’s what changes Wei Ying’s life.

He meets Jiang Fengmian on a Tuesday during the only school trip he can remember. The museum is vast and air conditioned, and Wei Ying looks around with wide eyes, trailing the rowdy group of elementary and middle school students. 

“There’s real bodies here,” one of the older kids is saying. He’s got an ugly look on his face, but Wei Ying still steps closer as he whispers to his friends. “Like dead people split open so you can see inside of them.”

“Gross,” says the girl he’s talking to. “Let’s go see.”

And Wei Ying falls into step with them when a group of ten-year-olds break away from the tour. They’re caught almost immediately, but Wei Ying is small and smart, and hides behind a display case before anyone even notices him.

Left alone in the collection, Wei Ying wanders, looking at the preserved cadavers with a little awe and a little fear. He wrinkles his nose and stares with wide-eyed fascination at the opened up muscles and peeled back skin.

“Excuse me,” comes a soft voice, and Wei Ying spins around from where he’d had his hands and face pressed to a glass case that held a dissected arm.

“Sorry!” he’s already saying. “I got lost from the—"

But the man, with his graying hair and crisp suit, just gapes at him, brows inching closer and closer to his hairline until he finally says, breathless, “Wei Ying?”

Wei Ying straightens, gaping back. “Yeah! How did you know?”

“You look… exactly like your mother.”

“Oh, cool!” 

Thirty minutes later, Wei Ying has been fed a soggy tuna sandwich, sitting at a giant, fancy desk. He’s listening to Jiang Fengmian, who happens to be the museum director and curator, talk quickly and softly into a phone.

“I’ve decided,” he says, and his tone is both final and apologetic before he hangs up on whoever is on the other end. “Wei Ying,” Jiang Fengmian asks, this time gentle, coaxing. “Would you like to come live with me and my family?”

And Wei Ying shrugs, because why not.

-

Yu Ziyuan is nothing like her husband. By the end of the week, Wei Ying is on her doorstep with his familiar trash bag of clothes. She looks down her nose at him, sneering, and her eyes are practically sparking with electricity. Wei Ying shrinks away. Sometimes, if you look pathetic enough, adults won’t even touch you. 

Yu Ziyuan is not that kind of adult though.

She takes one look at Wei Ying before grabbing his arm and dragging him to the bathroom, berating him the entire way. Wei Ying’s greasy, matted hair is shaved off that day, and all his clothes are tossed in the trash. But she does let Wei Ying keep the stuffed rabbit, his bookbag, and school supplies.

“Absolutely sickening,” she’s hissing, digging through his things. “Where in the hell did he even find you, I can’t believe he would dare—"

When Yu Ziyuan pulls out the tiny, wrinkled photograph, she stills, frozen like she’d touched a live wire.

Wei Ying’s eyes bounce from her to the photo. “Please don’t throw it away,” he says in a small voice. Even if she does, he’ll dig it right back out.

“I won’t,” she snaps at him. “It’s disgusting though. I’ll clean it and give it back to you.”

“Okay,” Wei Ying says meekly. He’s not desperate for this woman to love him, but it would be nice if she didn’t hate him either. “Thank you,” he adds for good measure. 

Yu Ziyuan eyes him critically for a moment, her face twisted up like she’s smelt something disgusting. “You’re welcome,” she says anyways.

The next day, it’s returned to him in a frame, the old photo smoothed out and protected behind glass. 

-

The Jiang house is fine. There’s a girl and another boy, but apparently they’re with their grandmother when Wei Ying is moved in. Jiang Fengmian had shown him pictures of them from his wallet: an older girl with crooked teeth in a tutu and a little boy smiling awkwardly at the camera with a violin that’s almost too big for his tiny hands.

He’s supposed to sleep in Jiang Cheng’s room. Jiang Fengmian had already ordered a bunk bed for them, and Jiang Cheng’s pillows are all on the bottom bunk. 

“He’s too little for the top bunk,” Jiang Fengmian says encouragingly, with a barely there smile. “So you can have it. Isn’t that good?”

Wei Ying has slept on both top and bottom bunk beds all through his life, and really doesn’t care one way or another. “Sure!” he says anyways, with just the right amount of enthusiasm to make Jiang Fengmian’s ghost of a smile turn real. “Thank you so much!”

Jiang Fengmian beams down at him. “You’re very welcome, Wei Ying.”

So the house is fine. There’s his room with Jiang Cheng, and Jiang Yanli is just across the hall. Down from that is a bathroom and an office, and at the end is Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan’s bedroom. The other way, a big kitchen, an even bigger dining room, and a HUGE living room. There’s even a sun room that leads to a deck that leads to a massive, green backyard. It’s the nicest house Wei Ying has ever been in. 

But then there’s the dog.

“What are you doing? She won’t bite you,” Yu Ziyuan snaps the first time Wei Ying sees the dogs and screams. “Shut up, you stupid boy! What—"

Wei Ying attaches himself to her leg, wailing, “Please don’t let them bite me, please!”

They grapple for a moment, the both of them shouting and the dogs barking over his begging, until Yu Ziyuan banishes all three of the puppies to the yard. 

“There, they’re gone,” she hisses. “What in the world is wrong with you?!”

“I’m sorry!” Wei Ying makes himself yell through the choking sobs and snot. He’s shaking, because this isn’t pretending to be pathetic, and Wei Ying knows that sometimes if you’re really, actually scared, adults don’t like it. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

“Alright, alright!” Yu Ziyuan finally sighs, and very reluctantly pats his head. “It’s done with now, shush already.”

It’s later that night, when she’s forcing him to take a bath, that she notices the bite marks on his arms and legs. She sees the other things as well — the little round burns and jagged edges of scars — and she makes a face that Wei Ying instantly hates. He doesn’t take off his shirt around others after that, for years and years until all those marks have faded away, a distant memory that Wei Ying is glad to forget about.

-

The first thing Jiang Cheng asks when he walks in the door that Sunday night is, “Where are the puppies?”

Wei Ying hears him from where Yu Ziyuan has parked him on the couch, pulling at his new clothes and scratching at the too short shave of his head. He listens closely when Yu Ziyuan snaps at him and Jiang Fengmian tells his son that the dogs are in the yard. 

“They’ll be scared outside,” Jiang Cheng says and there’s a wobble in his voice. Wei Ying hunches his shoulders around his ears, and leans over just enough to catch a glimpse of the other two kids in the hallway, a boy with straight cut, black hair and a girl with braided pigtails and lavender ribbons. “I want them to come back inside!”

“Jiang Cheng, we’ve already discussed this on the phone,” Jiang Fengmian chides. “Wei Ying is scared of them, so they have to live outside, okay?”

“No! Why is he scared anyways! I don’t like him, make him go home!”

Wei Ying chews his bottom lip as Jiang Cheng dissolves into sobs, as Jiang Fengmian sighs and says, “This is his home now. Don’t you want to go meet your new brother?”

“No!” Jiang Cheng sobs. “They’re scared outside, I want them back in!”

“Well, they can’t,” Yu Ziyuan snaps finally, huffing. She’s crouched down next her son, a comforting hand on his back despite the harshness of her words. “They’re outside from now on, so deal with it. A-Li, put those bags down you silly girl, let your brother carry them himself.”

The first thing he hears Jiang Yanli say is a very quiet, “Yes, mother,” her voice soft and demure, gentle. “Come on, A-Cheng, don’t you want to go meet A-Ying?” Wei Ying feels his breath hitch in his throat, and realizes all at once that he’s been crying too, a heavy dread filling his stomach to the brim. 

But no one has ever called him A-Ying before.

“Nooo!” Jiang Cheng is sobbing. 

Jiang Yanli had looked up at the noise Wei Ying had made and smiled, crooked teeth and braces. “But you were so excited this morning!” she says encouragingly, nudging her little brother a little. “You’re happy to have a brother to play with, right?”

“NOOO!”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Yu Ziyuan says, and scoops up Jiang Cheng. Her son immediately presses his face against her shoulder and wails, and she gives Wei Ying a dirty look as she breezes by. Jiang Fengmian pats his head and follows, before turning off and disappearing into his study. 

Leaving Wei Ying alone with Jiang Yanli, who just smiles gently. “Don’t worry, he’s just tired right now. He’ll get used to it. Are you okay?”

Wei Ying quickly wipes his face and swallows back the fear bubbling in his throat. “M’fine.”

Jiang Yanli looks at him skeptically and then reaches down to take Wei Ying’s hands in her own. “It’s okay to cry,” she whispers. “You’re my little brother now, okay? I’ll take care of you.”

Wei Ying nods, because he doesn’t know what else to do with her gentle smile and kindness.

-

And that’s how he starts his new life with the people that would become his family. Jiang Cheng cries about the dogs for the next week before he finally lets it go. But then he complains about Wei Ying not playing with him outside, or Wei Ying being bad at video games, or worst of all, that Wei Ying still sometimes cries at night.

“He wakes me up,” Jiang Cheng complains at the breakfast table, where all five of them are sitting. Jiang Fengmian awkwardly looks away and Yu Ziyuan just sniffs, glaring. 

“Do you have nightmares, A-Ying?” Jiang Yanli asks. She’s piling more food on Wei Ying’s plate.

“If you have nightmares, Jiejie makes them go away,” Jiang Cheng says around a mouth full of waffles. He perks up and kicks Wei Ying’s chair. “I can too! I’ll beat them up!”

Jiang Yanli laughs encouragingly, but Wei Ying just hunches over his food. 

“You can come to me if you get scared,” she says, all sweet smiles and gentle words. Wei Ying ignores her, eyes on the plate in front of him. The older kids at the foster homes or the orphanage were not like Jiang Yanli — Wei Ying is used to being chased off or pushed down. He’s not used to the way Jiang Yanli pats his head or smiles or sneaks him candy. He doesn’t know how to act around her.

He doesn’t go to her despite his own whimpering and tears each night, but he’s gotten better at muffling them. Jiang Cheng stops complaining, and that’s good enough for Wei Ying. They won’t kick him out as long as he’s not bothering anyone.

But she still offers like she knows that Wei Ying spends his nights running from biting teeth and grabbing hands. He ignores her until the night he finds himself in front of her door before he’s fully awake, shaking and sweaty. “Jie,” he whimpers and then Jiang Yanli is there, holding him tightly.

“Shh, it’s okay,” she murmurs, hugging him. Wei Ying doesn’t know what to do, wrapped up in someone else’s arms, so he just bows his head awkwardly against her shoulder and bites back his tears.

-

They enroll him into a nearby school, but it’s not the same one that Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli go to. So every morning when the two of them are being packed up into Yu Ziyuan’s car, Wei Ying goes to sit in the front seat of Jiang Fengmian’s.

On his first day, Jiang Fengmian pulls up to the curb and smiles. “Go to the front office, okay? They’ll get you sorted.” And then he drives away.

This school is miles better than his last, the textbooks clean and shiny, the library bigger with new computers. Wei Ying soaks it all in like a sponge, interested in everything. Despite starting in the middle of the year, his teachers all dote on him, and his reports go home to Yu Ziyuan. She sniffs disdainfully, but she never fusses. When the summer break rolls around, she concedes.

“He can go,” she tells Jiang Fengmian at the table, Wei Ying’s report cards and recommendation letters from the school board between them. “But if he loses the scholarship, we aren’t paying for it.”

Crouched just outside the door, Wei Ying feels something bubbling up in his chest and he grins, even when Jiang Cheng grabs his shoulder and pulls him away.

“Maybe you’ll be in my class,” Jiang Cheng is whispering excitedly. “Then we can play all the time.”

Wei Ying, still grinning, ruffles Jiang Cheng’s hair on a whim, making him squawk. “I’m older than you Chengcheng,” he sings. “They won’t put me in the baby class.”

“I am NOT a baby,” Jiang Cheng snaps. But he has his hands on his head where Wei Ying’s fingers had just been, and he’s looking at Wei Ying with a different light in his eyes.

Pinching Jiang Cheng’s cheeks, Wei Ying laughs giddily. “You’re a baby to me!”

Jiang Cheng hollers a war cry, so Wei Ying takes off running, their footsteps thundering down the hallway, catching Yu Ziyuan’s attention. 

“No running!” she yells.

“Sorry!” Jiang Cheng yells back, and slams the door to their room where they both collapse, giggling on the floor.

-

That first day, Yu Ziyuan walks all three of them into the school like the other parents, Jiang Cheng’s hand tucked safely in hers, and Wei Ying clutching to the back of Jiang Yanli’s shirt. Wei Ying is nearly ten, but he still sticks close to her, despite the excitement he feels bubbling in his stomach. Not even Yu Ziyuan’s disdain can dampen his spirits.

“You know where to go?” she asks Jiang Yanli, physically pulling Wei Ying off her. 

“Yes, mother,” Jiang Yanli says. And when she turns to Wei Ying, her smile is big and bright, showing all of her teeth. She doesn’t usually smile like this in front of her mother, but today she does for Wei Ying. “Have a good day, A-Ying. You too, A-Cheng.” 

“Bye Jiejie,” Jiang Cheng calls. 

Yu Ziyuan leads them away then, Wei Ying trailing behind. He turns his head left and right, looking at the rows of lockers and the cases of trophies and the display of awards. The halls are crowded, kids and their parents making their way to find a classroom and greet their teachers. Wei Ying is so distracted by it all that he doesn’t even notice when Yu Ziyuan and Jiang Cheng disappear, his wandering feet carrying him until the hallways are empty and all the classroom doors are shut.

It’s a low melody that draws Wei Ying to the side, peeking through a cracked doorway to a room full of single chairs and small black music stands. But his eyes fall immediately on the boy sitting in the front row, a guitar nearly as big as he is in his lap, focused on strings beneath his fingers.

He’s short, with a round face, his dark hair falling into his eyes. As Wei Ying watches, the boy plucks at the guitar, his hand walking down the strings with ease, playing something complicated but bright. Wei Ying watches for a long moment. He’s listened to Jiang Yanli and Jiang Cheng practice their instruments enough for a lifetime, but they never sounded this good.

And when the boy finishes, pressing a hand to the strings to silence them, Wei Ying says enthusiastically, “Wow, that was really good!”

The boy’s head pops up startled, and he glares. “You’re not supposed to be in here.”

“Well, neither are you,” Wei Ying shoots back with a pout, and then pauses. “Probably.”

“The music teacher gave me permission,” he says. “He said I could be in here until the bell rang.”

“Oh, it rang a long time ago.”

The kid straightens, and quickly puts the guitar away in its case, grabbing his bag, and goes to hurry past. He pauses, and glares again at Wei Ying. “Are you coming?”

“I don’t know where I’m going,” Wei Ying says, grinning.

Huffing, the boy jerks his head for Wei Ying to follow, and Wei Ying does, matching his long strides at a jog. “What’s your name? Mine’s Wei Ying!” When he doesn’t get an answer, he pouts. “It’s rude not to introduce yourself!”

The boy huffs again. “Lan Zhan.” 

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying sings, because he’s sure it will annoy him. Judging by the glare, it does.

When they make it to Lan Zhan’s classroom, it’s to find Yu Ziyuan glaring at him. Wei Ying knows he’s going to be scolded within an inch of his life tonight at home, but in front of everyone, she’s silent except for a few sharp words. Wei Ying might have felt worse about it, but he’s given the seat right next to Lan Zhan. 

-

Wei Ying likes school the same way he always has: an escape from the house he’s living in and full of interesting things to know. Most of the other kids here have rich parents, and find him only interesting enough that he’s not as prim and proper as the rest. But this time, Wei Ying has friends.

There’s a girl in his class that turns her nose up at him but at the same time treats him the same way she treats everyone. When they get paired up for a science fair project and he suggests making a full skeleton to size, she actually has a hard time hiding her enthusiasm. Wen Qing spends a lot of time at their house that month making bones out of foam and paper mache, with Jiang Cheng hovering over Wei Ying’s shoulder for absolutely no reason until Wen Qing goes home. Her younger brother comes with her every time, and suddenly Wei Ying finds himself with two very good friends. Wen Ning is in the grade below them, but that doesn’t stop them from eating lunch together every day.

Being friends with Wen Qing means being friends with Luo Qingyang, even though she’d rather beat him up than say they’re friends after Wei Ying calls her Mianmian the first time and then the entire school starts to do the same. But they’re friends regardless, and she makes him join the soccer team with her when she realizes how fast he is.

With Luo Qingyang, unfortunately, comes her cousin Jin Zixuan. Wei Ying is not friends with him, but they do play on the soccer team together, and that, unfortunately, is where Jin Zixuan meets Jiang Yanli. And suddenly Wei Ying is invited to pool parties and birthdays, and “Both your brother and… sister are invited too.” Worse yet, Jiang Yanli happily goes everytime.

Better than all of them, though, is Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan who is in Wei Ying’s music and literature classes, who also plays on the soccer team, who very, VERY begrudgingly agrees to tutor him in language when a teacher assigns him. That first year, Wei Ying spends his free period in the library with Lan Zhan and finds out that his classmate is meaner than any of the teachers. 

But Lan Zhan is probably the most fascinating person Wei Ying has ever met. He makes the best faces when Wei Ying teases him, wrinkles his nose at Wei Ying’s handwriting, blushes to his ears when Wei Ying reaches out to tug on his hair.

Lan Zhan is their top scorer on the team. Lan Zhan gets perfect grades. Lan Zhan gets first place in the essay contest. Lan Zhan has a solo piano performance at the school concert. Lan Zhan also sucks at public speaking, hates touching or talking to people he doesn’t know, and refuses to cut his hair even when he gets written up for breaking the dress code — that first day that Lan Zhan joins Wei Ying in detention is something Wei Ying remembers fondly for years later.

Lan Zhan doodles bunnies in the margins of his notes and only eats vegetarian food and coughs for ten minutes when he tries Wei Ying’s spicy noodles one time. Lan Zhan teaches him scales on the piano, and then how to sight read sheet music, even though Wei Ying is only in the music classes to hear Lan Zhan play. Lan Zhan lets him press stickers on his guitar while he’s playing, even though he scowls each time.

Lan Zhan smiles at him when Wei Ying starts to grow his hair out into a long ponytail just so he can get written up for the same reason. It’s the smallest, barest of smiles, but Wei Ying is so stunned by it that he walks into the goal post on the soccer field.

So Lan Zhan may hate Wei Ying, but that doesn’t mean he’s not Wei Ying’s best friend.

-

As the years go by, Wei Ying grows like a particularly annoying weed. By the time he’s sixteen, he’s one of the tallest boys in their grade, a fact that he lords over Lan Zhan for a few months until he gets a growth spurt of his own and manges two centimeters over him. Lan Zhan doesn’t show it on the surface, but Wei Ying can see how smug he is about it.

For his birthday, Jiang Fengmian converts his office into a bedroom for him — mostly to stop Jiang Cheng and Wei Ying from fighting so much. There’s still a screaming match between Yu Ziyuan and Jiang Fengmian about it though, so Wei Ying isn’t quite as thankful as he should be.

As teenagers, they stop having pool parties and start having actual parties — the kind held in someone’s basement while their parents are gone so no one catches them with the copious amounts of alcohol. Wei Ying is a frequenter to these as well, though usually only with Luo Qingyang, and rarely with Wen Qing. 

Wen Qing won’t let Wen Ning anywhere near alcohol, and she always hesitates to leave him alone at home where they live with their uncle. Wei Ying has met Wen Ruohan exactly once, and he reminds him a little too much of his least favorite foster home memories. But their uncle is often away on business trips, so sometimes she’ll still come out with them.

Jiang Yanli is about to graduate and doesn’t have the time for it. Jiang Cheng wrinkles his nose at loud music and the smell of beer, and not even the promise of Wen Qing’s company can get him to tag along. 

“But you looove her!” Wei Ying teases him on his way out the door, laughing when Jiang Cheng’s face turns red and he splutters.

Wei Ying never bothers asking Lan Zhan, but never hesitates to tell him every detail of his weekends, even the ones that aren’t true. 

“She was so cute Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying says, describing something that absolutely didn’t happen. “We made out all night!” Wei Ying had actually passed out around midnight on someone’s couch.

Lan Zhan hums noncommittally, but he has this tiny wrinkle between his brows and his mouth is puckered like he ate something sour. He’s always extra mean on those days, and it makes Wei Ying giddy. Lan Zhan’s hair is down past his shoulders now, laying in straight black lines on the elegant curve of his neck. He’s somewhere between child and adult now, growing into someone beautiful even though his cheeks are still round and boyish. Wei Ying likes to tug on his hair still, just to make Lan Zhan glare at him.

Wei Ying asks Lan Zhan to a party once, and only once, in their last year of high school. 

Jiang Yanli has graduated, gone to school with a culinary track only after months of begging her mother. Wen Qing can’t be bothered, studying hard to get into a pre-med program, and Luo Qingyang has a sports scholarship she’s unwilling to blow for an end of high school party. So Wei Ying is alone, unless he asks Lan Zhan.

And Lan Zhan surprises him by saying yes.

Which is how Wei Ying finds himself incredibly drunk in someone’s house, plastered to Lan Zhan’s side and talking his ear off about… something. But Lan Zhan seems to be listening intently enough, looking at Wei Ying’s lips as he chatters, his arm held captive against Wei Ying’s chest, and his ears pink. Wei Ying isn’t really paying much attention to what he’s saying, staring at Lan Zhan’s ears as they redden the closer Wei Ying leans in, until he’s murmuring right into the shell of Lan Zhan’s ear.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan chokes when his lips brush against his lobe.

Backing up, Wei Ying blinks hazily at Lan Zhan, looking at his widened eyes, the line of his jaw, the small part of his lips. He’s already tilting back in, intent on the pink curve of Lan Zhan’s mouth when someone knocks into him, pushing him the rest of the way.

Their lips crash together in a teeth aching kiss, and Lan Zhan immediately jumps away, hand over his mouth, a trickle of blood already dripping down his chin.

“Oh, fuck,” Wei Ying says, immediately sober. “Lan Zhan, I’m so sorry, are you okay?!”

Lan Zhan nods, eyes still wide and fingers bloody, but he lets Wei Ying drag him to the bathroom, shutting them away from the loud music and drunk kids.

“I’m so so sorry, it was an accident, I don’t know what I was doing,” Wei Ying says, wetting a wad of toilet paper and pressing it to Lan Zhan’s split lip. He says it again when Lan Zhan flinches, but he’s perfectly still as Wei Ying wipes away the blood on his chin. “Fuck, it’s on your shirt too. Ugh, Lan Zhan this is the worst.”

But Lan Zhan still doesn’t say anything at all, wide-eyed and silent, even when Wei Ying drives him home, still rambling apologies, not even to hiss at him for drinking and driving. The truth is, Wei Ying has never felt more sober, familiar dread pooling in his gut as Lan Zhan opens the passenger door and closes it without a word.

-

Tugging at the cuffs of his suit under his gown, Wei Ying squints at where the headmaster is giving his speech at the front of the long line of graduating students and pretending like he’s not sweating underneath the hot spring sun. Lan Zhan is three rows ahead of him, his hair falling perfectly down his back, and no matter how hard Wei Ying stares at him, he doesn’t turn around to look.

Wei Ying tries not to feel the sting of the avoidance, tries not to hurt that Lan Zhan hasn’t spoken to him since the party three days ago. He tells himself he isn’t bothered by the unanswered texts.

But after the ceremony is through, Wei Ying rushes towards Lan Zhan to grab him for a photo, only to see Lan Zhan’s retreating back leaving the building.

So he tells himself he’s not hurt, smiling for all the photos Jiang Yanli demands to take, flanked on either side by Jiang Cheng and Jiang Fengmian. He throws his arms around Wen Qing and Luo Mingyang, grinning, and even hooks his arm with Jin Zixuan when the soccer team gathers for a shot. Lan Zhan is absent in all of them.

Wei Ying keeps smiling through all the dinners, through Jiang Cheng’s sour mood, through Yu Ziyuan’s snide comments. Afterwards, Jiang Fengmian takes him to the side and has a whole speech about how proud he is of him, proud that he’s going off to great school on scholarship. Wei Ying smiles through it, his cheeks hurting from the effort.

And when he’s finally back in his room later that night, his face aching and his throat squeezing, Wei Ying sits on his bed and bows his head over his knees, and struggles to breathe. 

“A-Ying?”

Gasping, Wei Ying sits up and quickly wipes at his face. “Shijie! I didn’t hear you come in.”

“What’s wrong?” Jiang Yanli asks, sitting beside him and putting an arm around his back. She’s still so tiny, with thin arms and delicate hands, but Wei Ying has watched her lift full stock pots across the kitchen without breaking a sweat. And his sister’s hugs will always be one of the few things that can comfort him. “I didn’t think you’d be this sad to graduate.”

“I’m not, I’m not,” Wei Ying hastens to say. “I’m really excited about school!”

Jiang Yanli smiles, her gaze gentle. “You’re going so far away, too. Are you nervous?”

“Not at all,” Wei Ying says with a grin. His face aches with the effort of it, and it falls away when Jiang Yanli tilts her head and looks at him. “It’s just… I may have messed up.”

“Is this about Lan Zhan?”

Wei Ying hunches his shoulders, and nods, quiet as he tries to find the words. And when he does speak, he really isn’t ready for what comes out of his mouth.

“I think I’m in love with him.”

“Oh, A-Ying,” Jiang Yanli breathes, and everything falls out of Wei Ying at once.

“I tried to kiss him and I was drunk, and some asshole bumped into me so totally broke Lan Zhan’s face, there was blood everywhere and he didn’t talk to me at all on the drive home—"

There’s an unflattering snort and then Jiang Yanli bursts into laughter beside him. Wei Ying gapes at her, and then all the dread in his chest melts enough until he’s laughing along.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but oh, A-Ying,” she says, still giggling. “Your first kiss was worse than mine!”

“That wasn’t my first kiss!” Jiang Yanli quirks her brow at him, smirking. “Okay it was, but— Wait, who was your first kiss?!”

“Not telling!”

“Ugh, it was that Jin Zixuan wasn’t it. Gross.”

“Hey!” She smacks his arm, but she’s still smiling. “But yes. He kissed me, started crying, and then ran away. I thought for months I’d had really bad breath.”

“Hah, what a loser,” Wei Ying says, cackling. “Oh, that’s why you started having breath mints with you all the time.”

“Shush you, and don’t tease him please.” She leans into him again, resting her head on his shoulder. “It took him forever to approach me again and apologize. Don’t tell mom or dad, but sometimes he takes the train over to see me on the weekends. It’s sweet.”

“Ew,” Wei Ying says, wrinkling his nose. He rests his head on top of her’s, sighing. “As long as he’s being respectful.”

“He could stand to be less respectful.”

“Please change the conversation immediately.”

Jiang Yanli laughs, the sound of it echoing in Wei Ying’s head, her shoulders shaking against his. They’re quiet for a long moment, before she speaks again. “I don’t know Lan Zhan like you do, but he’s a quiet boy. Give him some time, okay?”

Wei Ying shrugs his unoccupied shoulder. “It doesn’t matter, anyways,” he tells her. Because it doesn’t. People leave Wei Ying, so he doesn’t hold on to them. He’s glad that Jiang Yanli and Jiang Cheng hold on to him instead. They could let him go at any time, but it won’t hurt as bad when they do as long as he’s not holding them back.

Not like the way Wei Ying had started to hold tight to Lan Zhan.

But people leave. And Wei Ying has gotten his reminder not to hold on ever again.

“Besides,” Wei Ying says, chipper again. “I’m going halfway across the country! Who needs him anyways?”

Jiang Yanli sighs, like she can hear him lying through his teeth. “Just give it some time,” she says again. She kisses his cheek as she stands, brushing the hair out of his eyes. “And don’t ever forget how much I love you, okay?”

Wei Ying grins at her, and this time it feels more real. “How could I forget? As long as Shijie loves me, everything is great.”

Snorting, Jiang Yanli rolls her eyes at him. “Good night, A-Ying.”

“Good night, Shijie.”

And that night, under his blankets, Wei Ying pushes Lan Zhan to the back of his mind and looks forward to something better.

-

the flowers that we've grown

Jiang Fengmian dies that summer, on some random Tuesday in July. It’s sudden, a wet tire on a washed out road, but it’s not sudden enough. The three of them sit two nights in a hospital waiting room while Yu Ziyuan smokes herself through pack after pack of cigarettes just outside the doors. They don’t sleep. They don’t eat. 

Wei Ying stays right between his brother and sister, and he lets himself go numb, just so that he can sit up straight enough that he won’t be crushed under their weight as they sleep on his shoulders. He doesn’t even falter under Yu Ziyuan’s withering stare each time she checks on them

They spend three days and two nights just like that, until a nurse comes back and tells them that Jiang Fengmian is dead.

-

The funeral is a quiet, small ceremony. Wei Ying doesn’t really remember most of it. Jiang Yanli had cried in his arms the entire time, but Jiang Cheng was a silent ghost at his mother’s side, as if he could hold her up if she started to fall. They were statues beside each other, meeting everyone’s eyes, but had no smiles for the well wishes and sympathy. Wei Ying had watched them both through the services and after, watched the brittle way they held themselves, so untouchable that they might fall apart. 

Yu Ziyuan did not cry at her husband’s funeral. 

But that night, when Wei Ying had pulled the covers over Jiang Yanli’s exhausted shoulders and made his way back to his room, he could hear her muffled sobbing from behind her bedroom door.

-

Barely a month later, Wei Ying is packing his things.

“You could stay here,” Jiang Chen is saying, looming over him as Wei Ying stuffs a few books into a box. He’s scowling, but he always is these days, annoyed with everything Wei Ying does, like he’s doing it in his mother’s stead because Yu Ziyuan can’t even look at him. “You don’t have to live in the dorm, you can keep living with us.”

“I am still living with you,” Wei Ying sighs, snatching his duffle bag out of Jiang Cheng’s hands before he can dump it out for the third time. “I’m just also living in the dorms.”

Jiang Cheng acts like he hasn’t heard Wei Ying even say anything. “I can’t believe you’re leaving,” Jiang Cheng hisses. “You’re so fucking selfish. It’s a waste of money.”

Wei Ying’s shoulder hunch up to his ears. “I have a scholarship.”

“Yeah but that doesn’t pay for everything! Mom still has to feed you, and buy you clothes—"

“Then I’ll get a job, no big deal,” Wei Ying says as nonchalantly as he can manage. 

“Absolutely not,” Jiang Yanli interrupts as she comes through the door with anohter empty box, shooting Jiang Cheng a stern look. “You should focus on your grades, A-Ying, you don’t have to worry about money. Right, A-Cheng?”

“You sound just like dad,” Jiang Cheng sneers under his breath.

“Jiang Cheng!” Wei Ying snaps, gaping.

Jiang Yanli’s face drains of color and her eyes brim with tears, but she smiles regardless, even as Jiang Cheng goes just as white, arms dropping to his side. “Dad would be so proud of you, A-Ying,” she says, her voice forced as a few tears slip down her face. She quickly wipes them away. “And anyways, I think it would be good for you at the dorms! You’ll meet so many people and make so many friends.”

“Yeah,” Wei Ying says weakly, eyes bouncing from one sibling to the other. “Yeah, hopefully.”

Jiang Cheng scoffs and stomps away, slamming the door to his room behind him. Jiang Yanli just gives Wei Ying a wobbly smile, smoothing his hair back, before she leaves him the keys to her car. 

“I’m sorry,” she says on her way out, unable to look at him, like she’s apologizing for his decision to ditch the fancy school ten hours away, for his decision to stay closeby, for his decision to change his life completely around.

Wei Ying swallows, takes a deep breath, and finishes packing. He loads it all up in the tiny little sedan, before heading off toward his campus across the city, where he carries it all up to his dorm room by himself. His roommate is already all moved in and unpacked, though he’s nowhere to be seen, so Wei Ying just dumps his stuff and drives home to drop Jiang Yanli’s car off. 

By the time he makes it back, Jiang Yanli’s face has regained its color, though her eyes are a little red. Still, she presents him with a large thermos and a large bag of her homemade goodies.

“I know you’ll probably want to get back to hang out with your roommate and get to know them, so I made you dinner with some to share!” she says cheerfully. “It’s your favorite.”

“Thank you, shijie,” Wei Ying says, taking all of it from her. He hugs her tightly, dropping a kiss on her forehead as he does.

No one else sees him off as he leaves, and Wei Ying tries not to think too hard about it as he catches the bus. It’s a long ride, and it’s dark by the time he gets to his dorm. His roommate still isn’t there, so Wei Ying eats his dinner alone, eating of Jiang Yanli’s soup and telling himself that he’s not homesick. 

-

Wei Ying sees him first thing on the first day of classes, climbing elegantly out of a powder blue electric car, taller than Wei Ying remembers and even handsomer, even though it’s been only a few months since Wei Ying last saw him. Startled, he freezes, watching the way Lan Zhan leans down to grab his bag, speaking a few parting words to whoever is driving. When he stands and turns, his eyes land immediately on Wei Ying, standing in the middle of the sidewalk like an idiot.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, eyes wide, perfect lips parting just slightly. 

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying says automatically with forced cheer.

“And I’m the queen,” says some grumpy guy behind Wei Ying. “Great, we’ve all met, now can you get the fuck out of the way?”

“Right, yes, of course,” Wei Ying babbles, grabs Lan Zhan’s hand, and dashes away. Lan Zhan follows, jogging to keep up until they’re tucked behind one of the dorm buildings, and Wei Ying whirls on him. “What are you doing here?!”

Lan Zhan regards him for a long moment, before he quirks his brow. “Going to class.”

“Here though?!” Wei Ying shouts, waving his hands. “At a community college?”

“Yes,” he says, and then awkwardly tacks on, “The music department here is… good.”

All the air leaves Wei Ying at once. “Oh, yeah, I remember seeing that.” He swallows. “I thought you were, you know, going overseas to that private institute.”

“Yes. But plans change,” Lan Zhan says, not unkindly, but looking at Wei Ying closely, his eyes understanding. It feels like the first time someone has looked directly at Wei Ying since the hospital.

“O-Oh,” Wei Ying manages. “Yeah, that’s… true.”

The bloody kiss that Wei Ying managed to land on Lan Zhan, that Wei Ying can’t remember whose party it even was, feels like it happened twenty years ago. It doesn’t sting like it once did, but it’s awkward standing in front of a guy he might still be in love with who might still hate him. But then, Wei Ying has never known Lan Zhan to hate anyone really, and part of him isn’t surprised when Lan Zhan offers him one of his rare, gentle smiles and asks,

“Can I walk you to class?”

-

Wei Ying finds himself waiting at the edge of campus every morning, sometimes as the sun dawns over the city for Lan Zhan’s brother to drop him off. He’s met Lan Huan briefly at soccer games and recitals, but only from a distance or just before Wei Ying would tug Lan Zhan away for one reason or another. Now he sees him every morning, and Lan Huan makes a point to roll down his window if there’s time to chat, conversations that begin with distance that warm up over the passing weeks.

“It’s good to see you, have a good day!”

“Good luck today, hurry or you’ll both be late.”

“Are you eating enough? I’ll make extra tomorrow for you and A-Zhan to share!”

“How’s your classes? A-Zhan says you have exams coming up already, those engineering classes must be tough! Take care of yourself.”

Sometimes they will chat for several minutes, Wei Ying crouched on the sidewalk with his arms resting on the car door as they talk, until Lan Zhan sighs and tugs at Wei Ying’s sleeve. 

Lan Huan isn’t like his brother, who will meet Wei Ying’s chatter with his own measured, but no less enthusiastic replies, but Wei Ying will probably always prefer Lan Zhan’s silence and the occasional thoughtful hum as he speaks. And he’ll always cherish Lan Zhan’s observations when Wei Ying has run out of steam, just a few words that sometimes makes Wei Ying contemplatively quiet or that sometimes sets him off on a completely different tangent.

Wei Ying likes that, so much.

-

Lan Zhan is a bit of a dictator about studying, and he never lets Wei Ying off the hook for whatever block party or late-night dorm mischief Wei Ying gets up to when he’s not on campus. So sometimes he shows up to Wei Ying’s dorm room purposefully at the crack of dawn when he knows Wei Ying is hungover, just to drag him to the library, or, if he’s feeling generous, the little coffee shop down the street. 

Wei Ying likes those mornings despite himself though, because Lan Zhan always has a little thermos of coffee that he insists is to share with Wei Ying. Lan Zhan doesn’t drink coffee.

He makes friends with people in his classes, with college kids smoking on ratty couches, the guys on his hall that like to mattress surf down the stairs at midnight, and maybe with his roommate who Wei Ying sees maybe twice a month. Xue Yang is weird like that, and Wei Ying is more worried about the guy pulling a knife on him than how often he’s in their shared dorm room.

But Lan Zhan, like always, is Wei Ying’s favorite. The table they share habitually at the library is his favorite, the latte that Lan Zhan buys him are his favorites, the way Lan Zhan sometimes lets him lean against his shoulder as he talks is his favorite, the way Lan Zhan doesn’t comment when Wei Ying starts sticking stickers on his guitar again is his favorite.

The way Lan Zhan wrapped his arm around his shoulders once, when everything was so overwhelming,  is his favorite. The way Lan Zhan shyly reached out, fingers hesitant, to hold his hand on the way to class is his favorite. The way Lan Zhan smiles more and more, each one of them is Wei Ying’s favorite.

-

It’s a Friday in the middle of the semester when he asks.

“Can I kiss you?”

Wei Ying immediately wants to put his foot in his mouth, and Lan Zhan freezes. He watches, fascinated, as Lan Zhan’s ears burn pink then red, bright enough to match Wei Ying’s own blush. A lot of people think Wei Ying is shameless in all ways, but sometimes it’s really just that he doesn’t know when to shut up.

“Please?” he asks because he really, really doesn’t know when to quit, and waits. Lan Zhan likes to think things through, or maybe his big, beautiful brain has finally decided to blue screen. Wei Ying will miss him.

He thinks that maybe he should get up and go find a hole to fall in, when Lan Zhan hesitantly looks up and meets Wei Ying’s eyes. He nods.

And Wei Ying thinks it would be too excruciating to ask again, so he leans forward, quick as thunder, and presses a kiss to the corner of Lan Zhan’s mouth. And then he immediately stands.

“Okay!” he says, far too loud for the library. “Awesome! Bye!”

Lan Zhan ducks his head behind his book as Wei Ying beats a hasty retreat.

-

Their second (third) kiss is much better. They’re squished together on Wei Ying’s tiny bed in his dorm room, and his chronically absent roommate is away for the weekend, and Wei Ying has somehow managed to lay his arm across Lan Zhan’s shoulders as they watch a movie on Wei Ying’s laptop. It has long since migrated over to Lan Zhan’s lap because Wei Ying couldn’t stop fidgeting.  

And that’s mostly because Wei Ying is fully distracted by the loose braid at Lan Zhan’s neck, falling neatly over his shoulder. Wei Ying finds himself playing with the end of it, fiddling with it between his fingers. Lan Zhan pays it no mind, eyes so focused on the screen that he doesn’t even notice that Wei Ying’s been staring at him since he pressed play.

Wei Ying doesn’t think he can take it much more.

“Can I kiss you?” he blurts.

Lan Zhan stiffens, shoulders ridged under Wei Ying’s arm, and Wei Ying is immediately drawing away, ready to stammer an apology when Lan Zhan grabs his sleeve and pulls him forward.

This kiss is bumping teeth and awkward touches, and it takes Wei Ying a moment to relax into it, tilting his head just a bit. His breath hitches when their lips slot together, just right, and that kiss turns into something slow burning and sweet.

Wei Ying’s hand tangles into Lan Zhan’s hair, sliding up his neck into the loose twist of his braid, and he urges Lan Zhan even closer. Lan Zhan’s arm comes around Wei Ying’s waist, tugging him nearly into his lap and sending the laptop tumbling to the floor. That’s fine though. All of Wei Ying’s things are made for abuse ever since he dropped Jin Zixuan’s tablet in the pool when they were ten. 

Wei Ying barely even registers the thump, too caught up in the way Lan Zhan is clinging to him, mouth open against his, the heat of his breath against Wei Ying’s face. He doesn’t want to stop, licking into Lan Zhan’s mouth and feeling Lan Zhan’s fist clutch the back of his shirt.

He doesn’t notice that they’ve laid out across the bed, legs tangled, until Wei Ying is suddenly too aware of the hardness between his legs, and the matching one against his thigh.

“S-Sorry,” he gasps, sitting up, but Lan Zhan pulls him right back down, his arm like a vice around Wei Ying’s waist. He groans into Lan Zhan’s mouth, shaking, his fingers still tangled in Lan Zhan’s hair. And then he whines, pitched high, when Lan Zhan’s hip grinds up against him.

“Okay?” Lan Zhan asks, his voice pitched so low and raspy. The sound of it travels all the way down his spine and up again.

“Perfect, so good,” Wei Ying babbles when Lan Zhan does it again, pulling Wei Ying down to meet him. “Oh my god, I can’t believe this is happening, I have no idea what I’m doing so sorry in advance, holy shit.”

And Lan Zhan tragically pauses, looking up at Wei Ying with his brows furrowed. “I thought…” he says and trails off.

It takes a moment for Wei Ying’s brain, devoid of all thought and blood, to catch on. “OH!” Wei Ying says and sits up completely, straddling Lan Zhan’s lap. He covers his face, and says muffled, “Lan Zhan, I haven’t — you know — ever.”

Lan Zhan’s brows drop even lower. “But you said.”

“Lan Zhaaan! I say a lot of things!”

“So you lied.”

Hands dropping from his face, Wei Ying scowls at him. “So what!”

“So, I thought—" Lan Zhan’s eyes drop to the side, glaring at the wall, like he’s visibly struggling with the words.. “I thought that you wouldn’t—  With me, that it wasn’t—"

He gets it then, and he feels all the embarrassment leave him in a sudden rush. “Oh, oh, Lan Zhan, no,” he breathes, and lays himself across Lan Zhan’s chest to press as kiss to Lan Zhan’s frowning mouth. Lan Zhan gasps, his hands coming up to Wei Ying’s hips, and he kisses him back, hesitantly, almost like he wants to turn away.

Wei Ying can’t help but smile, shifting back just enough that he can look into Lan Zhan’s eyes, dragging his fingers through the loose strands of hair on Lan Zhan’s forehead. All that hurt he once felt when Lan Zhan wouldn’t talk to him melts away instantly.

“Do you want to know a secret?” he murmurs, tracing his fingertips lightly across Lan Zhan’s cheek. “You’re my first kiss. Well, my only kiss, actually.”

Lan Zhan’s lips part, eyes widened, and the look of shock on a face that is usually so passive has Wei Ying laughing, pressing his giggling into Lan Zhan’s chest until Lan Zhan flips them over and kisses him again even though Wei Ying can’t stop smiling.

-

Wei Ying calls Jiang Yanli the next day. They see each other every weekend when Wei Ying takes the bus to meet them for Sunday dinners at Yu Ziyuan’s insistence. He spends most of those days being grilled on his grades, and then grilled again by Jiang Cheng about everything else. 

The empty spaces in the house are so loud, that Wei Ying doesn’t know how Jiang Cheng can stand it there by himself with just his mother, and occasionally his sister who drives four hours each day to and from class. But Wei Ying’s texts and calls have gone unanswered for so long that he doesn’t bother anymore, even if it hurts. But Jiang Cheng monopolizes him every Sunday, like he’s wringing Wei Ying out of all his time in just one day so he doesn’t have to think about him for the rest of the week.

So Wei Ying and Jiang Yanli talk as often as they can otherwise.

“Ooh, A-Ying!” she coos, laughing because Wei Ying is a little breathless after his rushed babbling that descended upon her as soon as she picked up the phone. “I’m so happy for you!”

Twisting in his chair, Wei Ying can’t keep the smile of his face, cheeks aching. “Yeah, it’s pretty awesome,” he tells her, elated. “But, whatever, enough about that, how are you? How’s class?”

He can hear Jiang Yanli’s smile in the way she huffs, telling him about her classes with more cheer in her voice that Wei Ying has heard since before the funeral. Graciously he doesn’t interrupt her when she gushes about Jin Zixuan, but his ‘hmm’s and ‘uh-huh’s are more begrudging than hers had been. 

They go back and forth, laughing and teasing, and talking around their brother and Jiang Yanli’s mom, and the ghost of a dead man that never had much to say anyways, standing tall over the both of them. Jiang Yanli is getting better at ignoring him enough to be happy again. 

And Wei Ying can only do what he always does best: he moves on.

-

He’s not as interested in the block parties and the kids he had started to smoke with behind the dorms each Friday night, when Lan Zhan is right there instead. He still meets with the other environmental engineering students each week, and sometimes a few of them will sneak into a bar, but Wei Ying much prefers the company of his Lan Zhan instead.

Because dating Lan Zhan — really, actually dating him — makes Wei Ying so excited and so nervous at the same time, and he’s a little addicted to the feeling.

Addicted to the feeling of Lan Zhan’s hand in his, Wei Ying’s arm around his waist, Lan Zhan pressed against his side, their shoulders bumping, Lan Zhan kissing him, Lan Zhan smiling at him.

And then there’s Lan Zhan in his tiny dorm bed, leaning over him and kissing the breath out of him, hands and mouths wandering.

The night Lan Zhan has his hand against the bare expanse of Wei Ying’s belly, Wei Ying looks up at him and asks, “Can we?”

Lan Zhan leans back from where he had been sucking bruises along Wei Ying’s neck, his long hair, falling over his shoulder and brushing against Wei Ying’s face. Wei Ying’s fingers automatically reach out, tangling through the softness at Lan Zhan’s scalp. Lan Zhan stares at him, eyes half lidded and sparkling, before he’s pressed against Wei Ying’s front, and he gasps against his lips, “Yes.”

Wei Ying moans, tugging at Lan Zhan’s hair and biting at his mouth until Lan Zhan gives, rolling to the side until Wei Ying is on top of him, the both of them stripping out of their clothes quickly.

“How — ?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Lan Zhan breathes, sitting up with Wei Ying in his lap and helping him pull his shirt over his head. “Either way. Any way,” he says against Wei Ying’s lips, and Wei Ying moans.

“Okay,” Wei Ying says, dazed, because Lan Zhan’s shoulders are broad and elegant, and Wei Ying shouldn’t be so turned on by that. “Okay,” he says in a groan when Lan Zhan’s hands fall to the fly of his jeans and start working them off his hips. 

Lan Zhan tugs until Wei Ying rises up on his knees, pulls Wei Ying’s underwear off his dick, and then swoops down to take it in his mouth. Wei Ying makes a dying whale noise, and buries his fingers in Lan Zhan’s hair, tugging.

“Oh my god, stop, stop, I’m gonna—" he chokes, his body tingling all the way to his toes. Lan Zhan pulls back just enough to glare at him. “Please, I want to—"

He pushes Lan Zhan until he falls on his back, shirtless and long legs stretched out over Wei Ying’s bed. His lips are wet, shiny, and a little red where they had been wrapped around Wei Ying cock.

“Oh my god,” Wei Ying says again, and thinks he might come all over Lan Zhan’s stomach just from that. Quickly, before Lan Zhan can distract him again, he reaches over to the bedside draw and pulls out the bottle of lube. “I want to—"

“Yes,” Lan Zhan says, and Wei Ying startles into a laugh.

“You don’t even know what I was going to say!”

“Whatever you want,” Lan Zhan says, his voice soft, reverent in a way that makes Wei Ying both giddy and uncomfortable. He leans down, his bare cock trapped between them, to whisper in Lan Zhan’s ear.

“I want you in me.”

Lan Zhan groans, hands coming up to cup Wei Ying’s face as he kisses him, hot and demanding, growling when Wei Ying starts to laugh again as he struggles to kick his pants off. Wei Ying sits on his hips, naked, and uncaps the bottle.

“Do you want to watch?” he says, coy, excitement bubbling in his belly, because Lan Zhan is looking at him with so much heat and want. 

He turns, bending over, his cock dragging across Lan Zhan’s thigh, and reaches between his legs. And Lan Zhan watches him finger himself open, face red and mouth parted as Wei Ying slides in a digit and then another, all the way to the first knuckle. Lan Zhan hands come up to cup his ass, parting his cheeks for him so that he can watch closer as Wei Ying stretches himself on his fingers.

“You know I do this,” Wei Ying says, panting and balanced on his knees with only Lan Zhan’s hands supporting him. “All the time, ah, thinking about you.”

“Fuck,” Lan Zhan says and Wei Ying gasps on a bark of laughter.

Lan Zhan’s thumb slides down, across the heavy weight of Wei Ying balls and his dripping cock, and back up over his perineum until his finger meets Wei Ying’s, sliding in slowly alongside and into Wei Ying’s ass. Wei Ying groans, arching his back.

“If you do that, I’ll come,” he pants, twitching when Lan Zhan’s fingers dig into the flesh of his backside.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan chokes.

And Wei Ying doesn’t really care if he’s ready or not, his fingers slick with lube as he begins to fumble Lan Zhan’s pants open. Lan Zhan doesn’t hesitate to replace him, finger sinking all the way into Wei Ying in a smooth slide. His touch is cold, but when Wei Ying gets his hands on it, his cock is heavy and red. Wei Ying has had Lan Zhan’s cock in his mouth before this, but looking it now, long and curved, he feels weak.

“Off, off,” he says, swatting at Lan Zhan’s thigh until the finger in him slides out, and Wei Ying turns around, crouching over Lan Zhan’s hips. Lan Zhan’s hands fall back to Wei Ying’s waist as he lines himself up, and sinks down over the head.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan gasps, shaking with the effort to hold still as Wei Ying sinks down inch by inch, fingers biting into Wei Ying’s hips. “Oh, fuck, Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying can barely hear him against the rush of sound inside his head, the stretch as he takes Lan Zhan slowly in, the burn sparking up his spine until Wei Ying’s head lolls back on his neck and he moans, low and long. 

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” he breathes, finally seated in Lan Zhan’s lap, filled to the brim and more. It’s too much. It’s perfect. “Ah, feels so good.”

Beneath him, Lan Zhan trembles, his fingernails biting into Wei Ying’s skin. He chokes on another moan when Wei Ying lifts himself back up, bouncing experimentally, relishing the sparks that turn into a fire as he finds his rhythm on Lan Zhan’s lap. Sweat is dripping down the center of Wei Ying’s back as he moves faster, his cock bobbing in front of him, the sound of Wei Ying fucking himself onf Lan Zhan’s cock filling the room. It’s hot, it’s so hot, and it feels like a fire has lit in Wei Ying’s belly.

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, aaah,” Wei Ying rambles, mouth hanging open as he fucks down on Lan Zhan’s lap. His head falls forward as his thighs work, trembling with the effort, and finds Lan Zhan watching him intently, eyes sliding from Wei Ying’s face to where his dick disappears again and again into him. “I can’t,” he breathes. “Baby, I—"

Sitting up, Lan Zhan puts an arm around him and flips them over until Wei Ying is pressed into the thin mattress, and then he moves, hips awkward, but chasing the feeling until his thrusts are even and powerful. Wei Ying arches into it, wrapping his legs around him and digging his heels into Lan Zhan’s ass to urge him faster.

“C’mon, I’m just, I’m right there,” Wei Ying gasps, reaching down for his cock, jerking himself quickly.

Lan Zhan leans over him as he comes, biting at Wei Ying’s gaping mouth and shuddering as Wei Ying tightens around him, before pulling out to come over Wei Ying’s stomach.

It should probably be embarrassing, how fast it was all over, but Wei Ying’s thighs ache and he’s sweaty and dirty, and it’s probably the best thing ever.

He’s still gasping when Lan Zhan collapses on top of him despite the mess between them, mouthing hotly down Wei Ying’s throat as he catches his breath. Wei Ying wraps himself around him, arms and legs, and Lan Zhan grunts when he squeezes, huffing a soft laugh against Wei Ying’s ear.

“You’re the best,” Wei Ying sighs, and Lan Zhan kisses him, long and sweet, and stays the night.

-

Wei Ying has been in the music building several times over the semester, sitting on the floor outside Lan Zhan’s classes and occupying corners of the practice room, doing math homework while Lan Zhan plays on pianos and guitars, and even a few times on a long wooden guqin, loaned to the department specifically for Lan Zhan to play in an upcoming concert. 

But today, Lan Zhan takes Wei Ying’s hand and leads him to an out of the way practice room, motioning him to sit in one of the two chairs available. 

Lan Zhan is quiet in the way that tells Wei Ying he’s hesitant. Not nervous, or anxious, but cautious, and Wei Ying is quiet in response, meeting Lan Zhan at his pace. By the way Lan Zhan smiles at him, pulling his worn, sticker covered guitar out of its case, Wei Ying knows that he appreciates it. 

“It’s for you,” Lan Zhan says, strumming his fingers along the guitar strings. “For your birthday.”

Jaw dropping, Wei Ying sits up a little straighter. 

Wei Ying doesn’t celebrate his birthday much, even when he was younger and Jiang Fengmian still wanted to throw him parties. Wei Ying much preferred trick or treating with Jiang Cheng than think anything about a nine-year-old birthday and presents. By the time Wei Ying had turned thirteen, everyone had well and truly given up on it.

So, Wei Ying had barely had a passing thought beyond the birthday texts from his siblings, until Lan Zhan had begun to play. It’s a gentle chord that turns into a sweet melody, something melancholy, something yearning.

Then Lan Zhan begins to sing. 

Watching him, eyes downcast, his lashes as a dark fan across his smooth cheeks, Wei Ying can barely breathe. Lan Zhan’s voice is clear and smooth, a low tenor that’s so soft, Wei Ying sways forward in his seat, hanging on each word.

It lasts for eternity. It lasts for a second.

And when Lan Zhan is done, fingers holding the strings still, Wei Ying realizes that there’s tears on his face. Lan Zhan reaches out, cupping his cheeks, his touch so delicate, like the first snowfall of the season.

“Did you like it?” Lan Zhan asks, a quiet question in a frozen room. 

Wei Ying nods, choking on a quiet sob, his hand reaching up to grasp at Lan Zhan’s wrist, fingers trembling. He’s trying not to cry harder when Lan Zhan gets out of his chair and kneels in front of him, both hands on Wei Ying’s face, thumbs swiping away tears as they fall.

“I…” Wei Ying tries, and fails. “I…”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Lan Zhan says. He smiles up at Wei Ying, that little crescent of his mouth, pink lips stretched thin. He looks at Wei Ying like he understands everything in Wei Ying’s head, even when Wei Ying himself doesn’t know where to begin. “It’s okay.”

“I… I love you, too,” Wei Ying finally chokes, his words cracking on a sob, and he throws himself against Lan Zhan, burying himself in his waiting arms. “I love you, too,” he says again, and again for good measure.

Lan Zhan holds him, arms wrapped tight, and presses his smile into Wei Ying’s neck.

“I love you.” 

-

It’s almost a dream. Wei Ying can’t remember a time when he was happier and even Yu Ziyuan’s increasingly scathing comments about him at weekend dinners can’t phase him. Jiang Yanli just giggles over his mooning, and Jiang Cheng scowls but doesn’t say much. 

So Wei Ying’s days are filled with classes and studying and Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan. 

Lan Zhan across the table from him in the library, their text books spread out between them, their feet tapping against each other beneath. Lan Zhan waiting outside his dorm building before their morning classes, a thermos of coffee in his hand for Wei Ying. Lan Zhan squeezed into a booth beside him, Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli chattering loudly.

Lan Zhan making out with him on Wei Ying’s tiny dorm bed. Lan Zhan fucking him on Wei Ying’s tiny dorm bed. Lan Zhan getting fucked on Wei Ying’s tiny dorm bed.

Wei Ying is ridiculously, incandescently happy. 

“C’mon,” Wei Ying says, their chairs shuffled close together, Wei Ying’s ankle hooked with Lan Zhan’s. “Stay a little longer with me? I don’t want to go back just yet.”

The coffee shop is busy and the other two chairs at their table have long been claimed by others, students packed into the warm coffee shop to escape the cooling autumn air. It’s nearly winter, and nearly time for final exams, and everyone is out to leech as much time as they can from each other before the break.

Wei Ying is no different, monopolizing Lan Zhan’s time as long as he can before he’ll take the bus back home when classes are over. He has no intention of suffering Yu Ziyuan on his boyfriend, and Lan Zhan hasn’t ever invited him home. So Wei Ying is bracing himself for weeks without him.

And Lan Zhan smiles at him, the sweet curve of his mouth, and leans even closer where they’re pressed together, shoulder to hip. He kisses Wei Ying’s cheek, and listens to him chatter for another hour before he goes home.

-

There’s a knock on Wei Ying’s door at nearly one in the morning. He’s still awake watching a horror movie while he’s doodling in his literature textbook, when he should be writing his essay. Xue Yang has only been gone for a few days since he last saw him, so Wei Ying thinks it must be the guys down the hall looking for someone to join a card game when he opens the door. 

“Lan Zhan!” he gasps.

Shifting, Lan Zhan stands at his doorway, his shoulders a tight line and his back straight. He’s not looking right at Wei Ying, his eyes focused somewhere around his left ear. He sounds… wrong, when he says, “Wei Ying,” in reply.

Wei Ying has about a hundred questions that begin with ‘How did you get into the building?’ and end with ‘What’s wrong?’ But he asks none of them except, “Do you want to come in?”

Lan Zhan shakes his head.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” Wei Ying asks, and he takes Lan Zhan’s hand in his when he nods. 

They slip out the dorms and onto the darkened campus, the trees casting trailing shadows from the golden glow of the lapposts that line the quad. Lan Zhan says nothing as they meander through the dorms towards the administrative buildings and nearly all the way to the soccer fields, but Wei Ying does what he does best, and fills the silence.

He’s rambling about some language project when Lan Zhan pauses in the middle of the rec fields, tugging Wei Ying to a stop. His fingers are cold against Wei Ying’s palm.

“My father,” he says, and stops. Wei Ying turns to stand in front of him, his sneakers sliding through the wet grass. He squeezes Lan Zhan’s hand. “My father is dead.”

“Oh,” Wei Ying says.

It hangs between them for a moment, and Wei Ying feels his stomach twist uncomfortably in the silence, his head bowed, staring at the point where their fingers are intertwined. He feels something drop, a splash of wetness against his wrist. And when he looks up, Lan Zhan is crying.

“Lan Zhan,” he breathes. Wei Ying doesn’t know what to do, twitching forward and then stepping back.

Dropping Wei Ying’s hand, Lan Zhan mirrors him, turning to the side and wiping his face. The sudden space between them yawns open and Wei Ying doesn’t know how to bridge it, how to reach across and make it better.

“H-How— When—" he says, fishing for something, anything. 

“This afternoon,” Lan Zhan says, and Wei Ying finally places what’s wrong in his voice, the suppressed emotion sitting tightly in Lan Zhan’s throat. “He killed himself.”

Wei Ying’s jaw drops and he gapes at Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan who he’s known since he was eight, who lives with his older brother and his uncle. Lan Zhan who is awkward but fiery, shy but proud, rigid but warm, kind but lonely. Lan Zhan who used to look down his nose at Wei Ying, who would still let Wei Ying hang off his arm. Lan Zhan who forces Wei Ying to do his assignments. Lan Zhan who brings him coffee in the morning. Lan Zhan who kisses him and holds him.

Lan Zhan, who’s father just killed himself today.

With a sob, Wei Ying throws himself against Lan Zhan, arms wrapped tightly around him. Lan Zhan moves like he wants to flinch away, but he makes himself stay still, his arms awkwardly coming up to hold Wei Ying back.

“Fuck, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying is saying, pressing his face into Lan Zhan’s shoulder. “Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

Lan Zhan says nothing. In Wei Ying’s hold, he’s tense and stiff until he’s not, until he’s all but collapsing against Wei Ying, pressing his face into Wei Ying’s hair. And Wei Ying can’t stop himself from crying, loud sobs that burn in this throat. Lan Zhan doesn’t make a sound, but Wei Ying can feel the wetness against his neck, so he just holds Lan Zhan tightly and hopes he’s enough.

He didn’t cry this hard when Jiang Fengmian died.

Eventually, when he’s dried out and shaking, Lan Zhan whispers, his voice a bare rasp, “Thank you.”

Wei Ying swallows and shakes his head, takes Lan Zhan’s hand again. He leads him over to a bench where they sit, Wei Ying’s head on Lan Zhan’s shoulder, and Lan Zhan’s cheek resting against his hair. 

They’re quiet for another moment, and then Lan Zhan starts to talk. He talks about their mother who died when he was a child, and how his uncle took them in when their father couldn’t take care of them. How his uncle raised them, how Lan Huan had raised Lan Zhan. How their father rarely left his room until he grew sick and bedridden. How Lan Zhan had a scholarship to a better school, but gave it up so his brother could keep both his classes and his internship instead of taking care of their father. 

How Lan Zhan had taken the bus home this afternoon from the coffee shop. How Lan Zhan had walked into his father’s room and found him.

Wei Ying almost wants to cry again, listening to it, a cold pain sinking into his heart.

“I’m sorry,” Wei Ying says.

Lan Zhan doesn’t reply, presses his face against the top of Wei Ying’s head. 

The sky is just barely lightened, a gray-blue cast when they stand. Lan Zhan walks him back to his dorm building, their fingers intertwined, and he stops. Slowly, he raises their hands and kisses Wei Ying’s knuckles, his eyes looking right into him.

“Thank you, Wei Ying,” he says, quietly.

“Lan Zhan…” Wei Ying starts, but what can he say. Instead he leans forward and kisses him, gentle, sweet, a little warmth between them before he rocks back onto his heels. 

The look Lan Zhan gives him is so full of grief, but soft, and his lips twitch up into something that tries to be a smile. “Good night,” he says.

“Good night.” Wei Ying swallows. “Let me know when you get home, okay?”

Lan Zhan doesn’t reply. He lets go of Wei Ying’s hand, his arm dropping lifelessly to his side and he turns away. Wei Ying watches him for a long time, until Lan Zhan disappears into the morning gloom. He doesn’t look back once.

Wei Ying doesn’t know that this will be the last time he sees Lan Zhan for years.

-

i'll be waiting here

In fact, he doesn’t know it for weeks. The next morning, Wei Ying is standing on the corner with his phone in his hand, waiting to see if Lan Zhan will either show up or text him back. The last thing Lan Zhan messaged him was a bunny sticker rolling its eyes, and everything after that is Wei Ying’s increasingly worried questions from the day before.

Me (2:33 a.m.) - did you make it home?

Me (2:40 a.m.) - let me know that you’re okay

Me (4:02 a.m.) - is there anything i can do? do you need me to get anything on campus for you?

Me (6:52 a.m.) - text me back when you can, okay?

Five minutes before his class starts, Wei Ying glances down the road, hoping to see Lan Huan’s car crawling towards him. He’s nearly twenty minutes late to the lecture.

Lan Zhan never messages him back.

Wei Ying still waits on the corner all that week. And the next.

Lan Zhan never shows.

-

“You look terrible,” Jiang Cheng says when he steps through the front door that Saturday.

Wei Ying just shrugs. “Is your mom here?” The last thing he wants is to see Yu Ziyuan today.

“Out with Jin Zixuan’s mom,” Jiang Cheng mutters, his brows furrowing low over his eyes. Wei Ying can’t meet his gaze. His throat is already closing up, and the last thing he wants to do is cry in the middle of the foyer. “Hey, seriously, what the fuck is up with you? I’ve never seen you like this. Why are you even home today?”

“Nothing.” He slides past his brother up the stairs, but Jiang Cheng is on his heels. “Just failed a test, it’s fine.”

Jiang Cheng snorts. “As if failing a test as ever bugged you. Seriously, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“What,” Jiang Cheng says, and Wei Ying can hear him rolling his eyes. “Did Lan Zhan break up with you?”

And Wei Ying has no control over the way he suddenly sobs. Jiang Cheng freezes behind him, and normally Wei Ying would want to see what kind of stupid face he’s making right now. He would love to turn around, grin and tell him Just kidding!

Instead, he escapes to his room, slamming the door behind him. By the time Jiang Cheng has recovered, Wei Ying has curled himself under his blankets, trying and failing to stop crying like some broken-hearted teenager. He doesn’t even notice the door open until there’s a weight against his back.

“I’ll kick his fucking ass,” Jiang Cheng hisses, vhenement. But he rubs his hand awkwardly up and down Wei Ying’s back, like Jiang Yanli used to do when either of them got in trouble with Yu Ziyuan. 

Wei Ying chokes on a laugh, watery and weak, suddenly all too aware that this is the most they’ve spoken in weeks. “If you can find him, let me know so I can beat him up too,” he says, even though he doesn’t mean it at all.

Jiang Cheng pauses. “You don’t know where he is?”

“No,” Wei Ying says, and the word cracks in two on his tongue, a fresh wave of tears stealing his voice.

“Oh. Oh, fuck, uh, come here,” Jiang Cheng says, stumbling over his words and tugging on Wei Ying’s arm. 

Wei Ying goes, sitting up just enough to bury his face on Jiang Cheng’s shoulder as he cries. Jiang Cheng’s hug isn’t like their sister’s. It’s not warm and soft and safe, but Jiang Cheng’s is just as good. When he’s cried as much as he can for now, he finds a laugh bubbling out of his throat when Jiang Cheng sniffs.

“Fuck you,” he huffs, wiping at his eyes when Wei Ying sits up. “I’ll really kick his ass for making you cry.”

Somehow, Wei Ying finds it himself to smile, mopping at his face. “Ah, I got snot on you.”

“Ugh, gross.”

And they both burst into laughter. It’s the best Wei Ying has felt all week. It’s the best he’ll feel for a long time.

-

That night he goes to a party and gets so drunk, he doesn’t remember getting back to the house the next morning. Yu Ziyuan finds him still in his club clothes at noon and screeches at him for the rest of the day. He does the same thing that night as well. He’s so hungover that Monday, he misses four of his five classes and falls asleep at his desk on the last. There’s a rager at an apartment block down the street from his dorm on Tuesday. Wednesday night is one of the rare days Xue Yang drops by. He takes one look at Wei Ying and grins, saying, “I got just the thing you need.” By the time Saturday rolls around again, Wei Ying really doesn’t remember much of the week.

But he hasn’t cried since he made a mess of Jiang Cheng’s shoulder, so he isn’t very bothered by it.

-

“A-Ying,” Jiang Yanli sings when he answers the phone. Something that’s been twisting up inside him settles for the first time all day. “How are you doing?”

“I’m fine,” he says, and by the way his sister hums, he must not be very convincing. But Jiang Yanli is too sweet to press on fresh bruises.

“How are your classes?” she asks. Wei Ying has to wince, because he really doesn’t know. He hasn’t left his dorm room in weeks except to trail after Xue Yang, who’s around constantly now. “Are you eating well? Finals are coming up, so make sure you’re taking care of yourself!”

“Aaah, shijie, I’m totally fine,” Wei Ying lies through his teeth. “Don’t worry so much about me. Tell me about your apprenticeship! Have you taken over the kitchen yet?” he asks, just to hear her laugh. 

He settles back to listen to her, glad for this one thing that anchors him in this moment before he’s adrift again.

-

He should probably be upset right now. He should probably dread going home. He should probably say something as Yu Ziyuan screams at him. But instead, Wei Ying feels nothing.

“You ungrateful little shit,” she hisses, flinging the letter at him. “Academic probation? You expect me to pay for you now that you’ve lost your scholarship? You’ve lost your fucking mind.”

Wei Ying sits, slouched and still, at the dining table and stares at nothing. Across from him, Jiang Cheng is fidgeting like he always does when Wei Ying is getting punished. If he could meet Jiang Cheng’s eyes right now, he would get a look begging him to say anything, anything to make this better. But Wei Ying can’t make it better, so he stares at the thinning varnish over what was once expensive wood grain and waits.

“Nothing to say at all?” Yu Ziyuan snaps. “Are you so worthless that one little break up is all it takes for you to fuck me over?” 

Wei Ying doesn’t say anything, because there’s no way to answer that. There’s no way to tell this woman who raised him that Lan Zhan had been the one teaching him how to breathe right, how to sleep through the night, how to trust someone so wholly for the first time in his life. There’s no way to tell her that he hates himself too, that he detests himself for being so dependent on someone, that he let himself trust that he wouldn’t be left behind.

And he says nothing still, when Yu Ziyuan leans in close and says, “Get your shit and get out of my house.”

-

Wei Ying spends one cold night outside, his bag of clothes under his head on a tucked away park bench in the corner of the city park. He has only a change of clothes, a few extra socks, and the wrinkled, faded polaroid that had lived next to Wei Ying’s bed for the past nine years. He’d been lucky to grab even that much, Yu Ziyuan looming over him with the police on the phone. As soon as he’d managed to snatch up his wallet, he’d bolted, past his silent brother without even saying goodbye. He even left his phone behind.

It’s better like this, he had told himself on the bus.

It’ll be better like this, he had told himself when he’d laid down on the bench.

He didn’t sleep. He pretends like he wasn’t crying. And when the sun rose, Wei Ying had sat up and reluctantly hunted for a payphone and called a number he barely remembered. Wen Qing picks up on the second ring and listens to him while he sobs his way through the whole story from the side of a run down gas station. 

“I’m sorry,” Wei Ying hiccups. “I didn’t know who—"

“Shut up,” is the first thing Wen Qing says to him since she picked up the phone. Wei Ying’s mouth closes with a click of his teeth. “Where are you right now, give me an address.”

“I’m sorry,” Wei Ying babbles, wiping hard at his face. He lists off the address the best he can guess, some corner street near the freeway. When she shows up, it’s night again, and Wen Ning has to half pick him up to get him into the back of the car. 

He doesn’t remember the ride beyond the sound of his own voice, words unintelligible, Wen Ning’s arm around his shoulders, and Wen Qing’s knuckles white on the steering wheel.

-

Wen Qing’s house is tiny, with only two bedrooms and a small fenced yard in the front. For a while, she had lived here with her great aunt and her two sons’ families, forced together after Wen Qing’s uncle ran his business into the ground and got arrested in their last year of high school. But before long, as Wen Qing’s cousins had gotten jobs and bought homes, it became just Wen Qing and Wen Ning who live here.

And, for now, Wei Ying. 

“You’re welcome to stay here as long as you like,” Wen Qing tells him. “As long as you need to. In fact, I’m not letting you move out unless I say it’s okay.”

“A-jie…” Wen Ning says quietly.

Wei Ying tries to smile, but it feels like a ghost on his face — too tired and too transparent to see even at midnight. “Thanks,” he tells them both and then proceeds to not move from their couch for a solid week.

And that’s as long as Wen Qing will let him sulk. Wen Ning starts to ask him to go to the grocery store with him, or Wen Qing will force him to help her with her pre-med homework. They’ll ask him to help cook, or if he’d go grab them something from the store, or to meet them for dinner after their classes. 

Both of them are in college and juggling it with part-time jobs and internships, and it isn’t long before Wei Ying wakes up enough to realize how patient they’ve been with him, how much of their time and money he’s taken up.

“You don’t have to,” Wen Ning tells him when he starts circling job adverts in the paper. “It’s… only been a few weeks.”

“Too long to just be mooching off the two of you,” Wei Ying grumbles.

“A lot happened. It’s okay if you’re not ready to just… move on right now.” Wen Ning says it in that gentle way of his, like he’s worried Wei Ying is burying a lot of pain and trauma instead of processing it. 

“That sounds like something a therapist would say.”

“Well… You know…”

“Fair enough,” Wei Ying says with some humor. “But I can’t pay for a therapist if I don’t have a job.”

And Wei Ying takes on three, an opening shift at a cafe, an afternoon gig at a small theme park, and nights cleaning and sanitizing at a local gym. It’s nothing grand like he once dreamed of, on a scholarship for forensic science across the country. And it’s not the steady salary he had once hoped for in the environmental science department at the community college. But it’s work, and he manages to rake by enough to pay the Wens rent and buy groceries every third week. 

It’s not what he had once thought he could have for himself, but he’s not unhappy.

-

Five years pass like that in a blink, losing himself in the ups and downs of part time work, still sleeping on Wen Qing’s couch. Wen Ning says they could squeeze another bed in his room, but that would require moving out his desk. Wei Ying adamantly tells him no, that nursing majors need their beauty sleep and the couch is too comfy to give up.

He’s not really lying, it’s a great couch.

These days, he’s working full time at the cafe, managing college-aged part timers, creating new menu items, and taking care of the accounts. Wei Ying may never be a good cook, but the exactness of baking works out fine for him. Every morning before the crack of dawn, he heads for the store to start that day’s pastries, reveling in the stillness just between him and the kitchen. And when it’s time to open, he preps the roaster and the coffee maker just in time for the first customer to step through the door. And he likes it. It’s fine.

He could be something like happy, he thinks. Maybe. And when he’s not, he at least has the Wens, as much as he’ll allow himself to. He doesn’t hang onto them, not in the way he used to with… 

Well, he’s learned his lesson twice over. People leave Wei Ying. So Wei Ying won’t hold his breath until they do.

-

And then, Wen Yuan is there one day, all of a sudden, a baby bag left by the door and a car seat on the table. The kid inside is dark haired and dark eyed, with pudgy little hands that reach out, wrapping around Wei Ying’s finger while Wen Qing is telling him the story, tears in her eyes. There was a car wreck. Her other cousin has kids of his own. Popo is too old to take care of him. Wen Qing will have to drop a few classes, but it’ll work out.

“What, why? You don’t have to do that!”

Wen Qing glares at him. “Of course I do, he can’t take care of himself!”

Pausing, Wei Ying looks down at the baby in front of him, his little hand wiggling back and forth with Wei Ying’s finger still captured in his fist. “I have a lot of free time.”

“What do you know about taking care of babies?” Wen Qing scoffs.

“Probably more than you,” Wei Ying says, raising a brow at her with a smirk. “I grew up in an orphanage after all. One of the aunties hated changing diapers, so she would always make us do it.”

Sighing, Wen Qing deflates. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“Sure you could,” Wei Ying says nonchalantly. “You saved my life. Plus, he’s cute, and he likes me.” Wei Ying jiggles his finger to emphasize his point, and Wen Yuan giggles, a little, gurgling laugh. 

Wei Ying might fall in love on the spot, meeting Wen Yuan’s waving hands to pick him up, cradling him against his shoulder. In truth, the last time he held a baby was when he was seven, but Wei Ying still remembers how delicate they feel in his arms, the quiet terror that he may break them, and the warmth when they curl close against his neck, rubbing their noses into his shirt. 

“You don’t owe us,” Wen Qing says, but she’s watching Wei Ying with a hint of relief in her red-rimmed eyes. 

-

Somehow, Wei Ying manages to wheedle paternity leave out of the cafe owner, and Wei Ying spends two weeks with Wen Yuan on his hip and going through every little thing a baby might need with Wen Qing. Wen Yuan is still so young, not even old enough to crawl. He keeps Wei Ying up with bottle feedings until he’s settled enough to sleep through the night.

They move his crib into Wen Qing’s room when Wei Ying goes back to work. Each morning, Wen Qing drops Wen Yuan off at daycare and each afternoon, Wei Ying picks him up, and Wen Ning in the event that either one of them cannot. 

It’s a strange pattern, three parents to one child, but Wei Ying finds himself loving it. 

On sunny days, when he picks Wen Yuan up from daycare, he’ll take him to the park and slather him with baby sunscreen and let him roll around a blanket on the grass for a few hours. On others, he’ll pick up a new toy or a baby book and spend an afternoon reading to Wen Yuan, teaching him the words like he already understands all his letters and numbers. His phone suddenly fills with pictures: Wen Yuan’s first taste of ice cream, Wen Yuan covered in noodles, Wen Yuan wiggling around the floor of their living room. 

It’s a strange feeling, to wake up after a long sleep to find someone there waiting for you. Wei Ying had been feeling so adrift, like he might float away if it weren’t for this little kid with his big eyes and messy hair. 

-

“You know, I was really worried about you.”

Wei Ying glances up from icing the cake in front of him, a tiny little tier that’s white and blue with a giant number one piped on top. Wen Yuan’s birthday felt like it came fast and hard, but babies don’t really remember birthdays anyways.

“Worried about me?” Wei Ying asks, distracted. He has frosting in his hair and flour on his face. He’s not usually this messy in the cafe, but it’s not like Wei Ying is often making cakes. “I haven’t been sick in years.”

Wen Qing rolls her eyes, dragging her finger through a bowl of leftover whipped cream. “I was worried about you, idiot, not your health.”

Finishing one last piped flower, Wei Ying straightens and looks at her with a furrowed brow. “What are you talking about?”

She huffs, looking at him dead in the eye like she sees right through him. “I was always worried one day you were just going to disappear, you know? You’ve been so… absent, since, well, you know.”

And Wei Ying does know, knows that he really hasn’t been all there in the years since he came to live here. He prefers not to think about it, ignoring the homesickness and loneliness and the hurt that’s built up with each passing month, with each passing year. Sometimes, he would wonder if... But most of the time he pretends like that part of his life didn’t exist at all.

“But now,” Wen Qing continues, her eyes dropping to the little cake Wei Ying decorated for the kid he’s a guardian of. “Now I think this is the happiest I’ve ever seen you.”

“I was happy in high school,” Wei Ying says, just to defend himself. He’s not that much of a drag, he hopes.

Wen Qing just gives him a flat look. “You were miserable in high school.”

“Stop psychoanalyzing me.”

“I wouldn’t if you would have at least a drop of emotional intelligence, you stunted asshole.”

“I resent that. My asshole is just fine, thank you very much.”

Wen Qing socks him in the arm, hard, just as Wen Ning steps into the kitchen with Wen Yuan in his arms. “No fighting, please,” he says, chiding and Wen Yuan repeats after him, babbling, “No no no fighting please.”

“That’s right,” Wen Qing says, cooing at Wen Yuan as she takes him in his arms. “Take after Ning-ge, so you can grow up to be sweet like him.”

“No no no fighting please,” Wen Yuan says, grinning at her. “Asshole.”

Wei Ying is ducking out the door before Wen Qing can start throwing things at him, laughing the whole way around the house as she chases him, Wen Yuan giggling madly in her arms as she goes.

-

When Wen Qing gets a job nearly four hours away, she almost doesn’t take it. And when Wei Ying and Wen Ning finally convince her — we’ll be fine, between Wen Ning and I, we can take care of him, don’t miss this opportunity, it’ll set you back even further — she sighs forlornly about the commute and they have to spend another hour convincing her that she can afford an apartment.

She goes, rather reluctantly, but she goes. The house is a little emptier without her clutter on the kitchen table, but she makes Wei Ying move all his and Wen Yuan’s things into her room as she goes.

“Don’t keep sleeping on the couch when there’s a whole unused bed, idiot,” is all she says. His clothes had already been tossed into her room.

Wen Ning takes a lighter class load that semester, despite Wei Ying’s attempts at convincing him otherwise. 

“You really don’t have to do that, I can handle everything for A-Yuan,” he tells him.

“It’s fine,” Wen Ning says, smiling placidly. “Honestly, I could use a little less stress anyways, and if it makes it a little easier on A-Yuan, then it’s good.”

And so their routines change. Wen Ning goes to class in the morning while Wei Ying drops Wen Yuan off at daycare, and Wen Ning picks Wen Yuan up during Wei Ying’s new afternoon shift and gets dinner ready. That evening, the three of them pile around Wen Ning’s laptop to video chat with Wen Qing, who’s eating microwave dinners around her paperwork and listening attentively while Wen Yuan tells her about his day. And when she’s free, she makes the three hour drive to visit and Wei Ying chivariously gives up his bed for his old couch stand-by.

“This one is mine anyways,” he laughs the first time she tries to refuse. “I’ve missed it so much, why would you separate us again?!”

Wen Qing rolls her eyes. “You’re an idiot. You better have washed the sheets.”

It’s good though, the change. Wei Ying is so fiercely proud of her for following her passion, proud of Wen Ning for taking better care of himself, and proud of Wen Yuan for how well he’s handled the transition, especially for a kid who’s had so much terrible change in his short life. 

Wei Ying loves them, these friends and this new life of his. It’s not what he thought it would be, but he’s happy. And he wants to stay that way.

-

“He deserves a dad,” Wen Qing says one weekend on her rare days off. They’re at the zoo on a Saturday because Wen Yuan begged — he actually just asked in his timid little way, but it’s just as effective as if he’d laid on the ground and screamed — and Wen Ning is crouching low, petting bunnies with Wen Yuan. He’s nearly four now, his hair around his ears, and his eyes bright and excited.

Wei Ying’s smile drops off his face. “Of course he does,” he says, hesitantly. There’s a long pause between them. “I guess, some uncle is wanting to adopt him?”

“Oh my god,” Wen Qing scoffs. “No, stupid. I mean you.”

“Oh.”

Wen Qing raises her brow.

“Oh!” Wei Ying gasps. He feels like the breath has been punched out of him, an unfamiliar emotion soaring through his blood. “Me?!”

“Yes, you idiot!” she snaps, and lists off on her fingers. “You take him to school, you pack his lunch, you pick him up, you play with him, you teach him, you read him stories at night. You are practically already his dad!”

“Wait, you’re serious?” Wei Ying says desperately, because he’s starting to recognize that feeling is hope. Hope is a dangerous thing, but Wen Qing has never given him a reason to be wary of her.

“Yes!” She explodes, glaring at him. Then her face changes. It’s a strange thing to see her uncertain, hesitant. “Unless of course you’re uncomfortable—"

“I didn’t say that!!” he breathes, shoving his shaking hands into his pockets. He feels a bit like he’s panicking, but in a good way, and incredibly aware of what a horrible place this is to be having this conversation. “I just —  I mean —  GAH! He’s your family! I’d figure you wouldn’t want, you know, someone who’s not, to care for him.”

Wen Qing stares at him for an uncomfortably long time. Around them, kids are giggling and shrieking, cooing over the animals. There’s a group of children gathered around one of the keepers, a giant rabbit in her arms as they all gently brush their little fingers over its shiny fur. Among them, settled on Wen Ning’s knee, is Wen Yuan, his face bright with wonder and excitement as he pets one velvety ear. Wei Ying watches him, teetering on the edge of hope and crushing disappointment. Now that it’s been brought up, Wei Ying can’t think of anything that he’s wanted more than this. 

“Wei Ying,” Wen Qing says finally, dropping her hand on Wei Ying’s slumped shoulder. Wei Ying turns to her, chewing his lip, and tries to meet the softness in her gaze. “You are family. You’re my family, just as much as A-Ning and A-Yuan.”

Swallowing, Wei Ying finds he doesn’t have any words for that.

“You know that right?” Wen Qing asks.

And Wei Ying can only nod. Wen Qing smiles her small, amused smile that she rarely shows to anyone, and wraps her arm around Wei Ying’s back. In turn, he settles one over her shoulders until they’re tucked together, the two of them watching as Wen Yuan looks up and waves at them.

-

Wen Yuan becomes Wei Yuan that next spring. They have a little ceremony and everything, Wei Ying in his best slacks and button down, and Wei Yuan in his tiny little suit that Wen Qing had thrifted for him. Wen Ning takes about a million pictures of the two. 

Before though, Wei Ying had sat Wen Yuan down and asked him if it would be okay.

“I’d be your dad,” Wei Ying tells him, and finds his throat closing up. Wei Ying never had a father, no one that he can remember, but Wen Yuan doesn’t remember his parents, the same way Wei Ying doesn’t. And here Wei Ying is, trying to be something he’s not, but so desperately wants to be. “If you want.”

“My baba?” Wen Yuan asks, grinning in that sweet way of his. 

Wei Ying laughs, tearing up. “If that’s okay with you.”

And Wen Yuan doesn’t call him anything else, repeating “Baba Baba Baba,” for the rest of the day.

-

make this hole a home

It’s a Tuesday half a year later, and Wei Ying is starting to believe that Tuesdays are cursed.

Fall is just starting to settle over the city, cool breezes and falling leaves and pumpkin everything. Wei Ying smells so much like walking pumpkin spiced latte that he might as well start showering in the shit. He doesn’t hate it though. 

And fall means halloween, which means matching father-son costumes. Last year, Wei Ying was roped last minute into trick-or-treating duty and was unprepared. This is Wei Ying’s first Halloween as a father, and he’s more excited about it than Wei Yuan is. 

“How about Batman and Robin?” Wei Ying asks. 

Wei Yuan makes a thoughtful hum, eyes focused on his feet as he balances on the low stone wall that edges the sidewalk, clutching to Wei Ying’s hand. “How about Spiderman and Robin?”

“You can’t mix universes like that. Ningning would laugh at us.”

“Ning-ge would not!” Wei Yuan says, outraged.

Wei Ying snorts. “Fair enough. Jiejie would though.” 

“Jiejie would,” Wei Yuan agrees. “Is she coming, too?”

“Nope, it’s you, me, and Ning-ge. Ooh, we could be the three musketeers!” Wei Yuan makes a face. “Yeah, I’m not too interested in the tights either. Cool swords though.”

“If Jiejie came, she could be Velma and Ning-ge could be Shaggy.”

“What about us?”

“I could be Scooby! And you can be Daphne.”

“I do look great in purple.”

“But I guess we can’t do that,” Wei Yuan says, jumping down from the wall, and looking seriously up at Wei Ying. “Why can’t she come?”

“Awe, kiddo,” Wei Ying sighs, crouching down. They don’t get to see her as often as Wen Ning, who lives now in an apartment building just a few blocks away from their house. “She’s on call that day. Most residency doctors have to be, so it’s important she’s there. Don’t worry, she’ll be here for Christmas.”

“Fine,” Wei Yuan says. “We didn’t have anyone to be Fred anyways.”

Wei Ying ruffles his hair and stands. “Maybe next year, okay? We can probably kidnap that Jingyi kid to be Fred.”

“No way!”

“Yeah, he probably couldn't pull off an ascot anyways.”

And that’s when he looks up, and sees him.

Lan Zhan is stopped, stock still in the middle of the path, and Wei Ying feels himself frozen, caught. Because it couldn’t be anyone other than Lan Zhan: his long black hair falling in perfectly straight lines behind his ears, his shoulders broad and strong, the delicate cut of his jaw, the sweet, heart shape of his face. For a moment, Wei Ying is breathless, drinking him in.

And then Lan Zhan takes a step forward, eyes wide, his lips — full and dusky pink, just like Wei Ying remembers — part as he speaks, “Wei Ying."

Wei Ying graps Wei Yuan and bolts.

He doesn’t stop until they’re clear across the park and Wei Yuan is complaining in his ear. Panting, he stumbles to a stop and sets Wei Yuan on his feet.

“Who was that?” he asks, patting Wei Ying’s sweaty face where he’s bent over, trying to catch his breath.

“No one,” Wei Ying gasps. “I just really hate this park. We’re never coming back.”

“Awe, I liked the swingsets.”

Wei Ying chuckles, glad that his kid is so used to Wei Ying picking him up and swinging him around at any given moment. Nothing like throwing a four-year-old over his shoulder to prepare him for running from his ex. He takes a moment to swallow back the sudden rising emotion in his throat, the hurt, the anger, the joy of Lan Zhan filling him until he might explode like a geyser with too much steam.

It’s fine. It’s a big city, and the odds of running into Lan Zhan again is so small, Wei Ying shouldn’t have to worry. They’ll avoid the park, and that’ll be it. He never has to see Lan Zhan again.

And like most things in Wei Ying’s life, that doesn’t even last to the end of the week.

-

Wei Ying is glaring before Lan Zhan even looks up, the door sliding shut behind him with a rattle of bells. If it weren’t the middle of the afternoon and he wasn’t the only person on shift to staff the front, Wei Ying would already have ducked into the kitchen to let someone else deal with this.

And the shocked look on Lan Zhan’s face should be gratifying, but Wei Ying is really just too pissed off to laugh.

“What can I get you?” he asks when Lan Zhan opens his mouth, cutting him off harshly. 

“Wei—" he starts.

“I recommend our special,” Wei Ying snaps, waving a hand at the little chalkboard on the counter. It’s covered in lopsided sunflowers and butterflies, even though it’s the middle of October and no one’s had the heart to erase it because A-Yuan drew them in summer.

Lan Zhan pauses, and Wei Ying tortures himself by wondering what he thinks of the little chalk decorations his son drew. Odds are, Lan Zhan doesn’t even notice.

“A tea,” he eventually says. “A green tea, small,” he clarifies when Wei Ying’s glare turns frosty.

Wei Ying swipes his card with enough force to snap the plastic and slaps it down on the counter for Lan Zhan to pick up. He doesn’t wait for Lan Zhan to say anything else, and makes the worst cup of green tea he can imagine: luke warm tap water, loose tea leaves, and five healthy dollops of agave syrup.

Lan Zhan’s face doesn’t change when Wei Ying slams it on the counter in front of him, eyeing the cup for a moment before he pulls the lid off and downs it in one go. Wei Ying gapes. It has to taste terrible, bitter and sugary at once, but Lan Zhan’s taste buds have either died in the decade since Wei Ying last saw him or he has an amazing poker face.

“Wha—" he starts, but Lan Zhan pulls a wad of cash out of his wallet, wraps it in a napkin, and shoves it into the tip jar.

“Thank you,” he says, meeting Wei Ying’s eyes head-on for the first time in ten years and it nearly takes his breath away.

He’s out the door before Wei Ying’s brain can come back online. 

Immediately, he fumbles for the tip jar, grabbing the neatly folded cash still wrapped in the napkin. There has to be over a hundred dollars there, but Wei Ying just drops it back in, more interested in Lan Zhan’s hasty note, written when Wei Ying’s back was turned.

Wei Ying, it says, I understand your anger. I know I have a lot to answer for. If you would like to speak, please contact me. I won’t bother you at your workplace. I hope that you have been well these past years.

Below is a set of numbers, and beside that, a half-formed bunny. Lan Zhan used to doodle them on Wei Ying’s papers all the time because Wei Ying liked them. It’s enough to make a few tears prick at the corners of his eyes, and he crumples the note in a fist before tossing it in the trash.

Good. He better not come back, he thinks resolutely, wiping quickly at his face and glad for the empty cafe around him. I never want to see him again.

Yet, barely a minute pases before he’s digging the note back out, now stained with coffee grounds. He smooths it out best he can, carefully folding it and slipping it into his back pocket, and into the back of his mind as a gaggle of teenagers step through the door. 

-

That night, when Wei Yuan is settled in front of the television with his chicken nuggets and carrots and Wei Ying has collapsed onto the couch, he digs the note back out of his pocket. The ink has run a bit, but Wei Ying still drinks it in with a hunger that almost fills him with shame.

Ten years. It’s been ten years, and still he’s…

He sighs heavily, and throws an arm over his eyes. How stupid, to still be so caught up on a guy he barely dated for half a year, one that had dropped out of his life in an instant. Wei Ying is perfectly aware of his abandonment issues, but ten years! 

“Pathetic,” he murmurs to himself.

A little hand smacks down on his forearm. “Babaaa,” Wei Yuan whines. “Baba, are you sick?”

Wei Ying uncovers his face, smiling as Wei Yuan looms over him, his little face pinched in a frown. There’s little ketchup stains around his mouth. “Baba’s fine, baby,” he says, reaching up to ruffle his hair. “Did you eat all your dinner?”

“I’m full.” Wei Yuan reaches out and pets Wei Ying’s hair. “Don’t cry, baba.” 

“Ah,” Wei Ying starts, registering the wetness on his face. He quickly wipes it away with his sleeves, the wrinkled napkin still between his fingers.

“Are you sad?” his son asks, and Wei Ying almost starts to laugh when Wei Yuan leans down to place a sloppy kiss on Wei Ying forehead, just like Wei Ying does whenever he cries. “Don’t be sad, Baba, I love you.”

Grinning, Wei Ying sits up and sweeps Wei Yuan into his arms. “Well, how can Baba be sad then, if you love me so much!” Wei Yuan shrieks and giggles, his hands on Wei Ying’s cheeks when he begins to peck kisses all over his chubby face. 

“Baba, no!! Shh, it’s quiet time!”

“Quiet time!” Wei Ying gasps, glancing at the clock. Indeed, it is past eight, when Wei Ying usually starts to get Wei Yuan ready for bed. “Boring! Who raised you, huh? Let’s eat cookies and stay up ‘til midnight!”

Wei Yuan takes a moment to think it over, before he says, very pragmatically, “Jiejie would get mad.”

Sighing, Wei Ying nods, thinking of how Wen Qing would reach through the phone to strangle him when she inevitably finds out. His son is a snitch. “A-Yuan is right, as always,” he laments, smacking one last kiss to his chubby cheek. “Let’s go get you a bath then, ketchup man.”

He places the note onto the arm rest, chewing his lip, before he follows Wei Yuan’s enthusiastic chattering to the bathroom. When bathtime is over and bedtime stories have been read, it’s just past nine, and Wei Ying wonders if Lan Zhan still keeps the same schedule. If he’s in bed already, or if he’s waiting by his phone for Wei Ying to text or call or whatever.

Sitting on the edge of the couch, Wei Ying pulls out his phone, staring hard at the black numbers and the little rabbit doodle, and Lan Zhan’s ‘I understand your anger.’

Does he? Does he really though? Wei Ying had trusted Lan Zhan in a way he’d never trusted anyone else. 

He’s typing before he really considers what he wants to say, a whole long paragraph that rapidly fills the composition frame on his phone, and somehow that pisses him off too. Ten years, and still he’s so mad and hurt about it. Wei Ying has brushed off worse hurts all his life, but somehow this still feels like an open wound, a crack in his skin that won’t heal no matter how many years Wei Ying puts behind him. It still hurts, and it shouldn’t. So Wei Ying pours it out and hits send without reading it over.

And immediately, he’s disgusted with himself. Already he can imagine Lan Zhan reading all of it, imagines how it might hurt him, wonders if it will hurt him. He throws his phone onto the cushion so he doesn’t have to look at it. Tomorrow’s Saturday, he doesn’t even have an alarm set, so he leaves it there.

He pretends like he isn’t crying when he crawls into bed.

-

Like clockwork, Wei Yuan bounces onto the bed at seven the next morning, and flops bodily onto Wei Ying stomach. “Good morning!” he sings while Wei Ying does his best to catch his breath.

“Sure,” Wei Ying wheezes. His face still feels a little puffy around his eyes, but he manages his usual grin and good morning kiss. “I can’t wait until you’re a teenager and you sleep past lunch.”

Wei Yuan crinkles his nose. “But breakfast!”

“But breakfast, indeed,” Wei Ying agrees, heaving himself upright. “Pancakes?”

“Pancakes!”

Swinging Wei Yuan up and squeezing him until he giggles, Wei Ying heads for the kitchen, already half a mind on a mental grocery list when his eyes catch on his phone sitting innocently where he tossed it last night, face down on the couch cushion. He ignores it, dead set on breakfast and the squirming kid in his arms.

They make a huge mess of pancake batter and bacon that morning, Wei Ying too distracted to clean up afterwards. There’s flour in Wei Yuan’s hair, and egg on Wei Yings pajama pants, but they don’t burn anything, and their breakfast is almost picture perfect. He doesn’t dare go anywhere near his phone. 

Wei Ying is cutting a stack of pancakes into bite-sized pieces when his phone dings with a new message and he jumps violently, spine straightening and stomach twisting, and nearly knocks a full glass of milk over.

Wei Yuan, his feet swinging back and forth under his chair, looks up at him with wide eyes. “Baba?”

Fumbling, Wei Ying rights everything with shaky hands. “Sorry kid,” he says with a smile. “You good? Want me to put on cartoons?” 

“Yeah,” Wei Yuan says, his voice small, and Wei Ying kind of hates himself, hates that his kid picks up on his mood so easily. He drops a kiss to the top of Wei Yuan’s head, pasting on a quick smile. 

He picks up his phone and the remote, and takes his time finding a good channel. WeI Yuan stuffs his face with pancakes, just as intent, and starts kicking his legs again when Wei Ying settles on some colorful show to keep him occupied.

Dread sitting heavily in his stomach, Wei Ying picks up his phone, unlocking it to find two new messages.

Wen Ning (8:43 a.m.) - obligatory message to let you know finals didn’t kill me! yes i’ve eaten regularly, yes i’m fine, yes i am going to sleep for another twelve hours, good bye

Wei Ying would laugh, if his eyes hadn’t fallen to the text below.

+5552387310 (yesterday, 9:58 p.m.) - I do love you.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, staring at the stupid message on his phone. The screen goes dark until he taps it again. Wen Qing replies to Wen Ning. Wei Yuan sips his milk noisily, his head nodding back and forth as he glances from Wei Ying to the television. 

It’s the sudden thump from their upstairs neighbor that shakes Wei Ying from his stupor. His fingers are clammy and it takes a few tries to unlock his phone.

I do love you, says Lan Zhan’s message still, sent barely five minutes after Wei Ying’s wall of text above it. 

“Are you stupid?” Wei Ying asks under his breath. He scrolls up to his, frankly embarrassing, message.

Me (yesterday, 9:54 p.m.) - i don’t really have a lot to say to you. you’re an absolute asshole and i know you know exactly why. you couldn’t have given me a heads up? literally anything? you could have at least broken up with me before you fucked off for the rest of my life, but you just disappeared and i never fucking knew if you were okay or if you were safe or fuck if you were even alive. you were just fucking gone. so fuck you, i don’t have any questions for you to answer for or whatever. i was so goddamn sure you loved me, and i loved you so much, and it hurt like hell that you didn’t even care enough to say goodbye. so no lan zhan, i don’t give a fuck what you think you have to answer for. and for all i care, you can fuck right back off again. 

+5552387310 (yesterday, 9:58 p.m.) - I do love you.

Wei Ying takes a deep, shaky breath and sets his phone face down on the table. When he turns, Wei Yuan is looking back, his eyes big and worried.

“Aaah, what’s with that face?” he asks, leaning over to rest his hand on Wei Yuan’s head, ruffling his hair. Wei Yuan doesn’t reply, chewing his lip, and tears filling his gaze. Wei Ying feels his heart shatter for the hundredth time, and he stands, gathering his son up in his arms. 

He understands so much better than he wants to. First his mother, then his grandfather, and then his father. That’s a lot for a little kid to lose in a year. It made Wei Yuan sensitive, in the same way Wei Ying once could feel the exact moment Yu Ziyuan’s eyes fell on him. The way a silent house would make Wei Ying’s heart beat a little faster. The way long car rides would make his stomach twist until he vomited. Jiang Cheng used to think he got car sick.

Wei Yuan’s therapist says it’s good that his son feels safe enough to come to him for comfort, and Wei Ying can recognize that. He’s so proud he can be a safe haven for his son.

Once, Wei Ying had thought he’d found that too. The thought makes him want to cry all over again.

Instead of breaking down, Wei Ying does what he does best: distract. 

Pressing kisses Wei Yuan’s cheeks, they settle on the couch together, cuddling close and watch cartoons for the rest of the morning. Wei Yuan clings to him, arms just barely suffocating around Wei Ying’s neck. Wei Ying rests a cheek on top of his head, gently rubbing his back until Wei Yuan speaks.

“Are you going away?” he asks, and Wei Ying holds him a little closer.

“No, sir,” Wei Ying says, his voice quiet and serious. “I’m staying right here with you.”

Wei Yuan sniffles. “Okay.” And then, after a long moment, he says, “Mama was sad before she left.”

Closing his eyes, Wei Ying breathes in, trying to calm the storm of his heart. He knows they’ll never know what really happened to Wen Mei, that he will never have an answer to Wei Yuan’s questions as he grows up.

“This is different,” Wei Ying says, chewing over his words before he says them. “Someone I used to really love… He really hurt me once. And now he wants to be friends again.”

“Oh,” Wei Yuan says, very seriously. “If he hurts you, he has to say sorry.”

Wei Ying chuckles. “That’s true.”

“Did he say sorry?”

“He wants to.”

“You don’t have to say it’s okay,” Wei Yuan tells him, parroting back Wei Ying’s own words. “Not until it is.”

Snorting, Wei Ying tugs gently at Wei Yuan’s hair. “Well aren’t you smart. How did you ever get so wise, my noble son?”

Wei Yuan sits up, and he’s smiling so brightly that Wei Ying can’t help but grin back. “Baba told me. Can I go play?”

Wei Ying bursts into laughter, relieved that the heavy atmosphere has left them. “Ah, you really bounce back easy, huh? Yeah, yeah, go on,” he says, grunting as Wei Yuan crawls off of him, racing off to his room to play without a second glance back.

For a moment he’s still, and then he’s up, and his phone is in his hand.

+5552387310 (yesterday, 9:58 p.m.) - I do love you.

“Idiot,” Wei Ying says again, and starts to type.

Me (10:33 a.m.) - you’re stupid

Lan Zhan (10:33 a.m.) - I know.

Me (10:34 a.m.) - you’re the biggest asshole i’ve ever had the misfortune of meeting

Lan Zhan (10:34 a.m.) - I know. I’m sorry.

Me (10:37 a.m.) - it’s not okay

Lan Zhan (10:37 a.m.) - I know.

Lan Zhan (10:42 a.m.) - If you are willing, I’d like to make it okay one day.

Me (11:01 a.m.) - you’re going to spend the rest of forever grovelling before it ever becomes okay. It’ll be 80000000 years before i forgive you.

Lan Zhan (11:02 a.m.) - I will for the rest of my life, and for 80000000 years afterwards.

Me (11:02 a.m.) - are you proposing?? what the fuck lan zhan

Lan Zhan (11:03 a.m.) - Not yet.

Me (11:03 a.m.) - OH MY FUCKING GOD

Wei Ying throws his phone down, face on fire and heart pounding, and fuck he must be an idiot to be giddy over the first real conversation that they’ve had in years. Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

“A-Yuan, do you want to go get ice cream?” he shouts, already putting on his shoes.

Wei Yuan comes running, and frowns at Wei Ying. “Baba, you’re in your pajamas still.”

-

Wei Ying must be insane.

He’s sitting on a park bench a week later, watching Wei Yuan run, shrieking, around the playground with a gaggle of other kids. It’s chillier today, and Wei Yuan is wrapped up in a jacket and scarf. He’ll probably get hot soon with all his jumping around. Wei Ying bounces his leg and fiddles with his phone and considers that he must be insane.

“Wei Ying,” comes a soft voice to his side, and Wei Ying startles so hard that he has to catch his phone before it clatters to the pavement.

He almost doesn’t want to look up.

But Wei Ying has never fancied himself a coward, so he does.

Lan Zhan is standing several respectable feet away, watching Wei Ying intently, like he’s looking his fill the same way that Wei Ying is doing to him. His hair is pulled back today in a loose braid that lays over his shoulder and he’s wearing a light grey peacoat left open over his chest. He looks so beautiful and Wei Ying almost wants to cry.

Instead, he clears his throat, and still his voice croaks when he says, “Lan Zhan.”

-

He doesn’t know how he feels about it, the way Lan Zhan is suddenly there. 

It’s awkward at first, meeting up at the same park bench and trying to talk around each other. Lan Zhan brings him coffee each time, and the first time Wei Yuan runs up to him, several weeks into these dates, and asks if he gets anything too, Lan Zhan says, “As long as it’s okay with your father. Do you have any allergies?”

Lan Zhan is Wei Yuan’s new favorite person after that, excited each weekend to go meet him.

“Are you trying to bribe my kid with donuts?” Wei Ying asks, chucking over Wei Yuan’s powder sugar grin.

“Maybe,” Lan Zhan says, and Wei Ying bursts into laughter.

After that, it’s easier. Lan Zhan fits into their house like he belongs there, sitting on that same couch that Wei Ying slept on for years with Wei Yuan beside him, demanding he read him books or play games. Lan Zhan is terrible at board games and takes it in stride when both Wei Ying and Wei Yuan bully him for it. Sometimes he stays late enough to see Wei Yuan to bed and then will thoroughly thrash Wei Ying at poker. 

He’s there more, and more, to the point that it scares Wei Ying, worry pooling in his belly after every movie night and phone call. Wei Ying has a picture of all of them — Wei Yuan in Lan Zhan’s lap, Wei Ying pressed against his side, and Wen Ning leaning across Wei Ying’s legs — crowded on a couch for a movie night. The last time he video called Wen Qing, Lan Zhan had been forced to speak to her over Wei Ying’s shoulder, pleasantly answering all of her questions and asking after her in turn.

Wen Qing and Wen Ning had been worried at first.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Wen Ning would ask him. “I’m right here if you need me.”

“Take care of yourself,” Wen Qing would say, vaguely threatening. “Or I’ll take care of him for you.”

But the more Lan Zhan hangs around, the more they ease up to him, forced pleasantries turning into something warmer, until Wen Qing and Wen Ning stop looking at him with so much concern, and more with hope.

“Just take it slow,” Wen Qing says on a night he calls her halfway panicked over everything stewing heavily in his chest. “Take your time, and you know Wen Ning and I are here.”

Lan Zhan is constantly buying them things, new toys, groceries, dinners. Wei Ying doesn’t think he’s eaten so well in a decade, even if it fills him with guilt.

“You have got to stop buying us things,” Wei Ying sighs one day. “A-Yuan’s room is too full.”

“I want to,” is all Lan Zhan says in response.

The day Wei Yuan gets so sick that Wei Ying bustles him to the emergency room, urgently talking to Wen Qing on the phone the entire time, Lan Zhan shows up almost the same time they get there, concern etching deep lines on his face. He takes Wei Yuan from Wei Ying, rocking him back and forth as he cries, while Wei Ying talks with the nurse and Wen Qing.

Later, he’ll tell Wei Ying that Wen Qing had texted him since Wen Ning had been in a final exam at the time. “You didn’t have to do that,” Wei Ying sighs.

“I want to,” is all Lan Zhan says. Wei Ying stares at him, watching as Lan Zhan makes chicken noodle soup on his stove, and thinks that he wants to kiss him.

Then there’s the week that Wei Ying comes down with the flu so bad that he barely knows which way is up and if he still has feet. Wen Ning takes Wei Yuan for the week so he doesn’t catch it, and Lan Zhan sleeps on his couch.

“You don’t have to,” Wei Ying says, nasally and gross and hiding under the covers. It’s so hot and so cold all at once, and Wei Ying hates being sick. “I’ll be fine.”

“I want to,” is all Lan Zhan says, wiping away the sweat on Wei Ying’s forehead, his fingers gentle and cool against Wei Ying’s skin, brushing the damp hair from his face.

“You always say that.” And Lan Zhan smiles, the way that makes Wei Ying’s heart start to beat out of his chest. He’ll pretend later that it’s the fever that makes him say, “Stop making me fall back in love with you.”

Lan Zhan pauses, and his touch is hesitant after that. “Do you really want me to stop?” he asks, his voice barely a whisper.

“No,” Wei Ying says, turning over so he doesn’t have to see the gentleness in Lan Zhan’s eyes. “But you should take me on a date if you keep doing it.”

-

The date Lan Zhan takes him on is the kind of evening Wei Ying could have had without him, and Wei Ying loves every second of it. He takes Wei Ying for hotpot and orders the spiciest dishes, sweating through the entire meal despite Wei Ying trying to hide his laughter. They walk through the streets after, picking up street foods as they go, and stopping briefly for a glass of wine. 

Later, when Wei Ying is pressed up against an alley wall with Lan Zhan’s mouth at his throat, he’s suddenly very glad Lan Zhan never drank with him while they were in college.

“Lan Zhan,” he whines, gasping when Lan Zhan bites at his neck, dragging his teeth down Wei Ying’s pulse. “Lan Zhan, if you do that, I’ll—"

Lan Zhan hums, pressing wet kisses against his skin, his hands sliding down to cup Wei Ying’s ass to pull him tight to his front. There’s a clear bulge pressing into Wei Ying’s hip and he groans, all the blood in his head rushing south as Lan Zhan drags him into a kiss. It’s heated and wet, Lan Zhan licking impatiently into his mouth, and Wei Ying’s fingers automatically find their way into Lan Zhan’s hair.

They kiss there for what feels like hours, Wei Ying’s head swimming with the feel of Lan Zhan against him, his hands roaming him, his knees going weak with how much he missed Lan Zhan.

“Er-gege,” he breathes, panting when they pause, foreheads resting against each other. “Take me home, okay? Take me home, I want to—"

Taking Wei Ying’s hand, Lan Zhan drags him home, where they fall into bed immediately, hands and mouths and teeth. Wei Ying doesn’t hesitate, even though he’s nervous, hands trembling as he unbuttons Lan Zhan’s shirt, sliding it off his shoulders. They struggle, kicking off their pants and sliding out underwear, until they’re both bare on top of the covers.

Sitting back on his knees, Wei Ying’s legs on either side of him, Lan Zhan stares, looking over every inch of Wei Ying, setting Wei Ying on fire with his eyes.

“Lan Zhan,” he says, pleading. “Touch me.”

And Lan Zhan does, crawling over Wei Ying to kiss him, his lips, his cheeks, his nose. He trails kisses and touches down Wei Ying’s chest, and across his ribs, biting at his hips, mouthing at the base of his cock. Wei Ying moans, bucking up into it before Lan Zhan moves down, kissing at the insides of his thighs, his knees. 

“Wei Ying,” he says against Wei Ying’s skin, his breath hot and his touch cool. “Wei Ying, Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying feels like he could cry hearing the reverence in Lan Zhan’s voice, shaking with each touch, with each kiss. “Lan Zhan,” he says, gasping. “Please, please fuck me.”

There’s the click of the lube bottle, Lan Zhan clumsily spreading it across his fingers, and the moment he slides the first into Wei Ying, he swallows his cock at the same time. Wei Ying tugs at his hair hard in reaction, hips thrusting into Lan Zhan’s mouth, but Lan Zhan just moans around him, sucking him harder.

“Hurry, hurry,” Wei Ying says, lost in the heat of Lan Zhan’s mouth and the feeling of Lan Zhan stretching him open ruthlessly. “Please, I want you fuck me, please, Er-gege.”

Lan Zhan moans again, and it vibrates all the way up Wei Ying’s spine. Wei Ying tugs at his hair, hard, and Lan Zhan pulls off, grabbing Wei Ying at his thighs and pulling him right onto his cock.

Wei Ying’s back arches off the bed, gasping. “So good, give me more,” he pants, fingers twisting in the sheets as Lan Zhan lifts him further into his lap and fucks him. “Just like that, fuck, harder, harder.” Lan Zhan does as he says, until the room turns humid, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the air.

Reaching down, Wei Ying takes himself in hand, jerking himself as Lan Zhan pounds into him, until he’s coming across his fingers. Lan Zhan groans, low and loud as Wei Ying tightens around him.

“Can I — ?”

“Yeah, baby,” Wei Ying says, eyes unfocused as he watches Lan Zhan still fucking him. “Come in me.”

When Lan Zhan comes, it punches another moan out of Wei Ying, Lan Zhan’s hips stuttering against him. They collapse into each other, gasping for breath, and lay there for a long moment. Wei Ying presses his face into the side of Lan Zhan’s neck, his heart bursting in his chest.

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” he whispers. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

Lan Zhan hums, arms tightening around Wei Ying, and snores. Shaking with laughter, Wei Ying wiggles out from underneath Lan Zhan’s sleeping form, leaning down to kiss the furrow in his brow when Lan Zhan frowns at his absence. He cleans himself quickly, and pokes Lan Zhan until he moves off the ruined covers, grumbling until Wei Ying throws a clean blanket over him and slides into the bed at his side. 

“Good night, my Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying murmurs, curling close underneath Lan Zhan’s arm and throwing a leg over Lan Zhan’s waist. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

-

Being with Lan Zhan is as easy as it had been before, Lan Zhan’s hand fitting perfectly in his, Lan Zhan’s arm around his shoulders. Lan Zhan falling asleep with his head hanging off the back of the couch during movie night. Lan Zhan’s quiet laughter when Wei Ying squishes Wei Yuan between them in a hug. Lan Zhan letting Wei Yuan tug on his hair as he rides on his shoulders through the park. 

Lan Zhan staying at their house more nights than not, the two of them curled around each other and talking through the night. 

Lan Zhan tells him about the years after his father’s death, the way he had blamed himself, the way his uncle blamed him as well. The guilt he felt when he realized that he’d never replied to Wei Ying’s messages for weeks. The hurt he felt when he’d found Wei Ying’s number had been cut off. The anger he’d felt when he’d reached out to Jiang Cheng to ask about him. The way his uncle made them all move overseas, and Lan Zhan had given up on ever seeing Wei Ying again.

Wei Ying tells him about the drugs and the night on that park bench, about Wen Qing driving all day to get him and all night to take him home. About the years he slept on the couch because he didn’t want anything else. He tells him about Wei Yuan, how perfect and wonderful he is, how Wei Ying needs Wei Yuan as much as Wei Yuan needs Wei Ying. About how proud Wei Ying is to be a father.

“I’m a little terrible at it,” Wei Ying says, laughing wetly in Lan Zhan’s arm. “But he’s so happy, so I have to be doing something right. Right?”

“You’re a wonderful father,” Lan Zhan says. He kisses the top of his head, and Wei Ying can almost believe it.

Sometimes, Lan Zhan is still too much for Wei Ying though.

“If you want to finish your degree, I’ll pay for it.”

Wei Ying nearly drops all the plates in his hands, fumbling with them until Lan Zhan steadies him. He glares at him, shocked.

“Do what?”

“Your degree,” Lan Zhan says, taking the dishes from Wei Ying to put away. “If you want to go back to school, I’ll pay for it. There’s also a forensic science track as well, if you’d prefer that.”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying sighs, trying to calm his beating heart. “You can’t do that.”

“I want to.”

“You’re so stubborn,” Wei Ying laughs, poking at the furrow that appears between Lan Zhan’s brows. “You absolutely cannot pay for my tuition. Boyfriend rules.”

“I don’t like that rule.”

Wei Ying throws his head back and laughs. “We don’t even live together and you want to act like we’re married! Er-gege, you’ll be the death of me, please have mercy.”

Lan Zhan smiles and wraps an arm around Wei Ying’s waist to pull him close, kissing him soundly. “No.”

Wei Ying catches him that night on his laptop with a real estate agency on the screen, scrolling through available homes, and screams, “Are you buying a house?!”

-

Lan Zhan somehow fits half of their things in his tiny little electric car through some kind of tetris magic. Wei Ying had tried to help once and only once with packing, and Lan Zhan had given him such a scathing look that Wei Ying had resigned himself to being the muscle for the move. Still, somehow Lan Zhan trusted him to drive their rented moving truck, so Wei Ying won’t complain.

The house — and it’s a HOUSE — is two stories with a garage and an enormous backyard, and it feels almost too much for living together.

It still makes Wei Ying squirm. They’ve only reconnected last year, and they’ve only been dating for five months. Isn’t this too fast? Isn’t this too much? 

What will he do if Lan Zhan leaves again?

He’s thinking about it again as he’s setting another box down in the kitchen — a GIANT kitchen —  and Lan Zhan looks at him.

“Nothing,” Wei Ying says, automatically, because that’s all Lan Zhan has to do anymore. He just looks at Wei Ying and sees right through him. Or maybe into him, because Lan Zhan doesn’t say anything. He sets his own box down and then wraps his arms around Wei Ying’s waist and kisses him.

“Ah,” Wei Ying sighs, even as he’s kissing Lan Zhan back. “You can’t just do that every time.”

Lan Zhan hums and just holds Wei Ying, waiting, until Wei Ying finally relaxes into his arms and presses his face into Lan Zhan’s shoulder.

His words are muffled into Lan Zhan’s chest and he can feel it when Lan Zhan laughs. 

“Wei Ying,” he abominishes, chuckling. “I can’t understand you.”

Wei Ying lifts his head and jams his chin into Lan Zhan’s chest. “I said I love you.”

Lan Zhan, when he smiles, always manages to dazzle Wei Ying. “I love you.” He kisses Wei Ying’s nose.

“Do you?” Wei Ying asks, wrinkling his nose and distracted. When he realizes what he said, he wants the ground to swallow him whole.

It makes Lan Zhan pause. Wei Ying never verbally questions Lan Zhan on his feelings, even though he must know Wei Ying is… insecure. Wei Ying knows Lan Zhan knows. Lan Zhan is the only person in this world who has paid so much attention to Wei Ying’s moods and thoughts and feelings. But at the same time, Wei Ying wishes he wouldn’t.

Lan Zhan tightens his hold on Wei Ying, pressing him close and ducking his face down into Wei Ying’s hair to press a kiss against his ear. “I do,” he says gently, and Wei Ying both doesn’t want to hear the way Lan Zhan’s voice is gentle and loving, and at the same time desperate for it. “I love you Wei Ying. I always have.”

“I know,” Wei Ying says. “I—"

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan interrupts, kissing Wei Ying’s ear again, and a fire ignites at the base of Wei Ying’s spine. His breath hitches, shuddering when Lan Zhan’s teeth drag along the ridge. “I love you.”

Whining, Wei Ying obligingly tilts his head to the side as Lan Zhan’s mouth meets his neck. “N-No fair.”

Lan Zhan hums and then bites him right at the juncture of Wei Ying’s throat and shoulder, and Wei Ying’s gasp echoes in the empty house, still bare of any of their belongings. Lan Zhan’s hands have travelled down from Wei Ying’s waist, over his ass, and to the back of his thighs until he lifts Wei Ying and places him on the counter.

Instantly, Wei Ying’s legs go around Lan Zhan, dragging him close, kissing him heatedly, moaning into Lan Zhan’s mouth. “Ah, ah, Lan Zhan,” he breathes, arching into his boyfriend when he starts unbuttoning his shirt, cold hands trailing along Wei Ying’s heated skin. 

“I love you. I love everything about you,” Lan Zhan says lowly, against Wei Ying’s lips, against his neck, his chest, his ribs, kissing his way down until he’s reached the bulge in Wei Ying’s jeans. 

He unbuttons Wei Ying’s pants as he says, “I love your laughter.”

He pulls down his underwear as he says, “I love your intelligence.” 

He kisses the tip of Wei Ying weeping cock as he says, “I love your resilience.”

Wei Ying, red all the way down to his chest, bangs his head back onto the cabinet, hands clutching at Lan Zhan’s shoulders until Lan Zhan ducks even further down. He looks, the red of his cock against Lan Zhan’s pink lips, and nearly comes right there.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says when Wei Ying tries to look away. “Watch.”

So Wei Ying does, hands trembling on his thighs, as Lan Zhan takes him into his mouth, his eyes never leaving Wei Ying’s as he sucks him down all the way to the root. Lan Zhan’s cheeks hollow out and Wei Ying can feel his tongue moving against the underside of Wei Ying’s dick.

“Fuck,” Wei Ying chokes, and his fingers go to Lan Zhan’s hair. Lan Zhan moans, tilting his head back a little more, and Wei Ying’s cock slips further into his throat. “Fuck,” Wei Ying says again, his voice cracking, his fingers tugging at the long, silky strands of that gorgeous hair. He knows there’s no way he’s going to last, still caught in Lan Zhan’s gaze, sharp and heated, like he’s committing Wei Ying to memory, every moan and gasp, the red flush of his skin. 

“Lan Zhan, ah, Lan Zhan,” he cries as Lan Zhan bobs his head. “I’m not going to—"

And he does then, almost immediately, and Lan Zhan doesn’t even flinch, even as Wei Ying shudders, fucking into his throat and curling over him, babbling, “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, so good.”

Wei Ying is nearly soft when Lan Zhan finally pulls off, his lips fucked red and glistening. He kisses Wei Ying, and when Wei Ying says, “I want you to fuck me,” he pulls Wei Ying to the edge of the counter and slides his pants all the way off.

“Is this,” Wei Ying starts, breathless, because Lan Zhan already has a spit-slick finger sinking into him. “Is this going to be a regular thing now?” 

“What?” Lan Zhan rasps as he pulls a bottle of olive oil — OLIVE OIL — out of a nearby box.

“Fucking in the kitchen,” Wei Ying says, distracted by the way Lan Zhan is coating his dick with olive oil. “How is that so fucking hot?”

Lan Zhan snorts, and presses the head of his cock against Wei Ying hole and thrusts in, smooth and clean. “Unsanitary,” he says, voice tight, and his teeth sinking into Wei Ying’s shoulder.

“You’re the one with your dick in there,” Wei Ying whines, head rocking into the cabinet as Lan Zhan fucks him until Lan Zhan’s hand sneaks into his hair so it doesn’t bang against the wood. 

“I mean the kitchen.” Lan Zhan is panting, hips rolling powerfully with each thrust, Wei Ying legs around his ears. He leans in further, his other hand pressing into Wei Ying’s back, until Wei Ying is folded in half as Lan Zhan pounds into him.

Wei Ying isn’t paying attention anymore, moaning into each biting kiss Lan Zhan presses against his mouth, his hands in Lan Zhan’s hair and pulling until he’s coming between them again, hot against Lan Zhan’s belly. Lan Zhan groans and practically picks Wei Ying up, fucking into him a moment more before he comes as well, gasping against Wei Ying’s ear. 

“What was that about the kitchen?” Wei Ying asks, dazed, as Lan Zhan sets him back down. 

“No more fucking in the kitchen,” Lan Zhan says, winded. He hides his face into Wei Ying’s sweaty neck, and Wei Ying presses a loud smooch to the side of his face.

“You started it.”

Lan Zhan doesn’t reply to that as they stay there, Wei Ying wrapped around him, and Lan Zhan holding him up against the counter until Wei Ying’s back begins to ache and his ass goes numb. He digs his heel into Lan Zhan’s back.

Lan Zhan grunts, pulling back enough to give Wei Ying his favorite bitchy face. 

Wei Ying laughs. “If you wanted to cuddle, you should have brought the mattress in first.” He shrieks when Lan Zhan pinches his ass. “Excuse me, sir! I thought you were a gentleman.”

“I am,” Lan Zhan says, and pinches Wei Ying again, smirking when he squirms.

“Lies! The highest of insults! Release me fiend,” Wei Ying hisses.

“No.”

“Trapped! Trapped like a rat!” Dramatically, Wei Ying goes limp, nearly sliding off the counter until Lan Zhan bends down and throws him over his shoulder, Wei Ying’s underwear still hanging off his ankle. Wei Ying heaves with laughter as Lan Zhan tosses him down onto the couch and crawls over him.

They don’t get back to unpacking the moving truck until Wen Ning calls them hours later that he’s on his way with Wei Yuan. 

-

Wei Yuan loves his new school with the immediacy only a five year old could manage. It’s close enough that the two of them can walk, hand in hand, and sometimes Lan Zhan will join them if he feels like it. It’s so perfect, and the dread in his stomach is like acid, bubbling and painful.

He doesn’t think about grad school and Lan Zhan doesn’t bring it up again. He’s happier at the cafe, managing the morning bustle. 

And everyday, he gets to come home to Lan Zhan and Wei Yuan, cooking dinner or playing games, Lan Zhan stretched out on his front on the floor, his long legs crossed on the carpet as he listens with a very serious face to all of Wei Yuan’s ridiculous rules.

Wei Ying loves it so much, and he’s terrified that it’ll one day go away. 

-

Wen Qing visits as often as she can, which is maybe once a month. They make Wen Ning stay as well, even though his apartment is only twenty minutes away.  Which means that they get to host both of the Wens often, and they never feel like guests. Even if Lan Zhan tries to treat them as such.

“I know where the towels are, Lan Zhan, really!” Wen Qing huffs at him, flapping her hand at him.

Lan Zhan, used to this by now, just nods his head and leaves her to it. Wei Ying would laugh at them both, but they’re scary when they team up on him, so he keeps his teasing for when he can get either of them alone.

But Wen Qing always gives Wei Ying this pointed smile when Lan Zhan’s back is turned, and if Wei Ying didn’t know any better, she’d say she’s happy for him.

-

“Are you nervous?” Lan Zhan asks, wrapping his arm around Wei Ying’s waist. 

Shrugging, Wei Ying continues to fiddle with his tie, doing his best not to be distracted by Lan Zhan. He’s dazzling in his suit, black with a white-gold embroidered filigree that must have cost a fortune. But, it’s not every day that Lan Zhan’s brother gets married.

“Not at all,” he says airily, straightening and re-straightening his tie. “Just another night, right?”

Lan Zhan hums, the corner of his lip quirking up ever so slightly, and he takes Wei Ying’s hands in his, squeezing them gently and then smoothes the wrinkled tie for him. “It is,” he agrees, and kisses Wei Ying’s forehead. “But if you need anything, you can ask Meng Yao. He said he would keep an eye out for you.”

“The wedding planner? Won’t he be too busy to bother with me?”

“He’s a close... friend of my brother.”

“Friend?”

Shiftily, Lan Zhan glances away.

“Nooo, no, you must tell me the drama, Lan Zhan, I demand it!”

“It would be inappropriate.”

“Lan Zhan!! I am your boyfriend!” Lan Zhan’s ears pinken, and his lips quirk up again, pleased. Wei Ying grins triumphantly. “You must tell me these things, it’s a boyfriend rule!”

“Boyfriend rule?” Lan Zhan arches a brow at him. “Ridiculous.”

“It is, er-gege,” Wei Ying whines, wrapping his arms around Lan Zhan’s neck. He’ll wrinkle his suit if he’s not careful, but Lan Zhan doesn’t push him away, just rests his hands on Wei Ying’s hips in turn. “Please, baby?”

When Lan Zhan’s ears redden, Wei Ying knows he’s won.

“Meng Yao is… Brother’s ex-boyfriend.”

“Oh?”

“And Nie Mingjue’s ex-boyfriend.”

“Oh?!”

“The three of them are still… very close.”

“Oh my god, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying breathes. “Your brother has two lovers.”

“I don’t know. I’d honestly prefer not to know,” Lan Zhan admits, but he smiles. “Uncle knows nothing of it though. You can imagine.”

Wei Ying has only met Lan Qiren twice since their flight and with Lan Huan always there as a buffer, but, yes, he can imagine it in detail. He mimes zipping his lips, locking it and throwing away the key, and Lan Zhan chuckles, dropping a kiss onto Wei Ying’s pursed mouth.

“Ridiculous.”

Grinning, Wei Ying steals another before Lan Zhan has to take his place near the front as his brother’s best man.

The ceremony is grand and large, the ballroom filled to the brim as Lan Huan and Nie Mingjue say their vows. Wei Ying should probably pay more attention, but he knows literally no one else in the room, and he’s sat, somehow, right behind Lan Qiren. So he watches Lan Zhan watching his brother get married, his eyes a little misty, and his stoic face gone soft and happy. He’s stunning, and honestly Wei Ying can’t look anywhere else.

Their eyes meet during the service, and Wei Ying can’t help but grin at him. Lan Zhan’s head tilts, softening his expression even more.

The reception is even bigger, hundreds of people milling around, some dancing but most chatting. Wei Ying is lost amongst them, sipping on the most expensive champagne he’s ever tasted when Lan Zhan finally finds him.

“There you are,” Wei Ying says, breathing a sigh of relief, laughing when Lan Zhan presses a kiss to the side of his head. He straightens when he catches sight of the happy couple.

Wei Ying has talked several times with Lan Huan over the past year, more so since he and Lan Zhan had moved in together. Lan Huan is nearly as stunning as his brother, and Lan Huan’s husband… Well, Wei Ying isn’t sure how he’s managed to become on speaking terms with the hottest group of people he’s ever seen, but he won’t complain about it. 

“Wei Ying,” Lan Huan greets, smiling widely. “I hope you’re having a good time.”

“Of course! The wedding was beautiful. Congratulations to you both!”

Lan Huan’s smile grows somehow, and it only makes him handomer. Beside him, Nie Mingjue is beaming, his hand on the small Lan Huan’s back. “Thank you,” he says. “We’re glad you could be here.”

Considering that Lan Zhan had paid for his flight and his suit, Wei Ying really can’t take any credit. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Ah, excuse me,” a soft voice interrupts them. A short man with a waterfall of long, dark hair down his back and dressed in fine gold, a perfect match to the wedding colors, smiles brightly at the four of them. “Da-ge, it’s almost time.”

“Right,” Nie Mingjue says, flushing. He turns to his new husband, flustered. “I’ll be—"

“I’ll meet you there,” Lan Huan says, leaning up to kiss Nie Mingjue on the cheek. “Don’t be nervous.”

“Who’s nervous?” Nie Mingjues grumbles, and Lan Huan laughs as Meng Yao leads his husband away towards the dance floor.

“Sooo,” Wei Ying starts slyly before Lan Huan can follow. Lan Zhan pinches Wei Ying’s side, but he ignores it. Wei Yuan’s pinches are harder after all. “What’s going on there?” he asks with an eyebrow wiggle.

Lan Huan’s smile doesn’t falter a bit, and he turns to give Wei Ying a wink that is saucier than it has any right to be, leaving Wei Ying spluttering. 

The reception is as lovely as the wedding. Wei Ying meets Nie Mingjue’s little brother, Nie Huaisang, as he flits about the reception like a bird, always with a glass of champagne and often with Meng Yao at his side, keeping him out of trouble. But Wei Ying has seen Meng Yao dance with both of the grooms several times over, that he doesn’t feel awkward about Meng Yao being on babysitting duty.

Plus Nie Huaisang is hilarious when he stops by to chat briefly, hanging heavily on Lan Zhan’s arm. “You must be Wei Ying,” he says, his voice almost a slur, but still managing to sound sly. “Did you know that Lan Zhan pestered me for years trying to find you?”

“Oh?” Wei Ying says, trying to hide his laughter, because Lan Zhan’s face has stiffened.

“Ugh, yeah, it was a pain, because he nagged me constantly. And you!” He points at Wei Ying, somehow managing not to spill a drop from his glass. “Who doesn’t have ANY social media! You weren’t even listed on the site of that cafe you worked at. So frustrating, I finally found you when that paper did a review.”

“Oh yeah,” Wei Ying says. “I actually poured coffee all over that reporter, and she still gave us top marks.”

Behind them, someone scoffs loudly, and Wei Ying watches as Lan Zhan’s face pales.

“Uncle,” Lan Zhan says warily, and Wei Ying turns to meet Lan Qiren’s icy glare.

-

Wei Ying doesn’t talk about it on the flight home and the weeks that pass after, even though Lan Zhan and Lan Huan had both apologized profusely. He feels terrible about it, the whole scene at Lan Huan’s wedding and making Lan Zhan come between him and his uncle. He does his best not to think about all the terrible things Lan Qiren said to him. But it festers, a new wound on top of an old one.

You’ve ruined him, dragged him down, and now you dare think you can show up here.

“Maybe you should go.”

Lan Zhan pauses where he’s putting groceries away in the cabinet, his back stiffening. Wei Ying watches as he clenches his jaw, and his face goes icy, blank. And still his voice is gentle.

“I have nowhere I’d rather be.”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying sighs. He swallows around the lump in his throat. People leave Wei Ying, it’s a given, but this is the first time he’s told someone to go. If he’s honest, he doesn’t want to. “You should go back to your uncle and your brother, it would be—"

“I don’t want to,” Lan Zhan says, voice soft and quiet, but when he turns to meet Wei Ying’s eyes, all he can see is the pain shining in them. “Wei Ying, I don’t want to be anywhere where you aren’t.”

His fingernails bite into the palm of his hand as Wei Ying clenches his fist. “You won’t be happy here.”

“I am happy here.”

“But your career…”

“I can write music anywhere. I’d rather write it here, with you.”

“Your family—"

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, crowding into him suddenly, a hand on Wei Ying’s cheek. “Wei Ying, you are my family. You and Wei Yuan, you’re the most important to me. I’m not going to leave you. Ever.”

“Oh,” Wei Ying mumbles, and then presses his face into Lan Zhan’s shoulder to cry.

-

There’s the sound of guitar music floating through the house when Wei Ying wakes that next morning. Burrowed still in all the blankets in their house, his eyes still aching, Wei Ying sits up just enough to see that it’s light outside, the autumn sun shining bright through the window. He can hear the sound of Wei Yuan giggling underneath the music.

He rolls out of bed, carpet soft on his bare feet as he sneaks into the living room.

Lan Zhan sits with that same old guitar, still covered in stickers and sharpie doodles, and Wei Yuan on his lap with his hands on top of Lan Zhan’s. Slowly, he strums and Wei Yuan’s hands follow his as he walks his fingers down the guitar neck, playing a song Wei Ying recognizes from Wei Yuan’s favorite movie.

Wei Yuan grins. “I’m playing it!”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan says, smiling. “You’re very good.”

“I’m not actually playing it,” Wei Yuan says, giggling. “Don’t be silly, Daddy.”

Wei Ying watches as Lan Zhan’s smile grows, his ears turning pink and he drops his face into Wei Yuan’s hair. He must make a sound because Lan Zhan tilts his head, catching Wei Ying leaning on the doorframe, eyes shining.

“Baba!” Wei Yuan says, and wiggles out of Lan Zhan’s lap. “Okay, okay, you have to play.”

“Yes,” Lan Zhan says, eyes never leaving Wei Ying.

And then he plays that familiar tune that Wei Ying still dreams about sometimes. He never asked Lan Zhan to play it again, even when they had started dating, even when they had moved in together. It catches in his chest, a hook in his heart that tugs him closer as Lan Zhan sings that same song. 

It’s low and yearning, and it sounds sadder than Wei Ying remembers. Lan Zhan’s eyes never leave his as he plays, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. By the time it’s done, the last note trembling in the air, there are tears threatening to spill down Wei Ying’s face. 

“Lan Zhan—"

“Baba!”

Wei Ying looks down automatically, and Wei Yuan holds up a small box to him, black velvet with a small red bow. Freezing, Wei Ying gapes.

And then Lan Zhan is there, kneeling down next to Wei Yuan and looking up at him. He’s smiling, that little curve of his mouth that’s so perfect and beautiful, and he takes Wei Ying’s hand in his and says:

“Marry me.”

-

there's no place I'd rather be

Wei Ying is getting married. He doesn’t know when or where, but he’s getting married. Dazed, he sits down on his couch that evening, Wei Yuan curled in his lap and dozing while Lan Zhan is making hot chocolate in the kitchen. 

Married. Wei Ying is going to get married. To Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan wants to marry him.

“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan says, his voice low. Wei Ying looks up. Lan Zhan is staring at him, a little concerned.

“You asked me to marry you.”

Lan Zhan snorts, setting down the three mugs before he sits close, pressing a kiss to Wei Ying’s cheek. “I did,” he says, running a hand along Wei Yuan’s back until he stirs and sits up. “Do you want your cocoa?”

“Yes, please,” Wei Yuan says sleepily, his eyes drooping. Lan Zhan hands him his mug, half full and warm, and watches him as he carefully takes a sip. Wei Yuan hums happily, laying back against Wei Ying’s chest as he drinks.

“We’re getting married,” Wei Ying says.

Glancing up at him, Lan Zhan’s lips twitch into a small smile. “If you haven’t changed your mind.”

“No,” Wei Ying says, still a little dazed. “I haven’t.”

Lan Zhan chuckles, his laughter warm and quiet, and he kisses Wei Ying’s cheek again. “Good.”

“Good,” Wei Ying echoes. He grins then, and leans against Lan Zhan’s side, Wei Yuan slurping down his hot chocolate. “We’re getting married.”

“We’re getting married,” Wei Yuan repeats sleeplily, giggling when Wei Ying bursts into laughter.

-

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says one Tuesday a few weeks later. He’s looking at his phone with his brows furrowed, still stirring a pot of soup. Wei Yuan is on the counter beside him, watching his progress, and Wei Ying had been gazing at them from his place of banishment on the other side of the kitchen island for attempting to add too much hot sauce. 

“Yes?” he asks. His brows raise when Lan Zhan turns off the burner and picks Wei Yuan up to set him on the floor. Lan Zhan’s face is twisted into a complicated expression, hesitant and concerned. “Did something happen?”

“My brother just messaged me,” Lan Zhan says, looking up. “Someone reached out to ask about you.”

“Oh?” Wei Ying asks, surprised. Lan Huan and he text regularly, so he’s not sure why he didn’t message Wei Ying directly. “Who?”

“Your sister.”

“Wen Qing?” Wei Ying asks, even more confused, before it clicks. “Oh.”

Lan Zhan doesn’t say anything, and they watch each other for a long, long moment. Wei Yuan, glancing back and forth between, tugs on Lan Zhan’s pants until he’s picked up again, Lan Zhan settling him on his hip. 

“I don’t—" Wei Ying starts, and stops. “How did she…?”

“She has a mutual friend of Brother’s,” Lan Zhan says gently. “She saw you in the wedding photos.”

“Oh,” Wei Ying says again. His eyes drop down to the counter. He wonders idly what kind of photo Jiang Yanli might have seen, if Wei Ying had been smiling in it, if he and Lan Zhan had been dancing. “And she wants to…?”

“To get in contact with you. She stressed to Brother that she’d like to see you, but only if you were comfortable with it.”

Wei Ying swallows, swallows again. “I don’t know,” he says, running his thumbnail over the marble countertop. Lan Zhan had loved the marble when they’d first toured the house, a creamy white with a golden grain. “I don’t know,” he says again.

“That’s okay,” Lan Zhan says. He comes around the island and sits on the stool beside him, Wei Yuan in his lap. “You don’t have to know right now.”

“Baba,” Wei Yuan demands, arms outstretched, and Wei Ying automatically pulls him into a hug, pressing his face to the top of Wei Yuan’s head. Lan Zhan puts a hand on Wei Ying’s shoulder, and leans close to press a kiss to his forehead.

“I’ll tell Brother that you’re thinking about it,” he says, brushing Wei Ying’s hair back, tucking it behind his ear.

“I should just do it,” Wei Ying murmurs.

“Is that what you want?”

“I don’t know what I want.”

“Then you should wait,” Lan Zhan says. “Until you know for sure.”

Wei Ying feels his chest lighten a little, and he looks up, managing to smile. “Okay. Thank you, Lan Zhan.”

“No need for thanks,” Lan Zhan says, pressing another kiss to Wei Ying’s forehead before going back to cooking their dinner. 

-

Wei Ying’s leg bounces against the leg of the table, his phone set in front of him. Behind him, there’s cartoons on the television, and Wei Yuan is munching on a bowl of dry cereal as he watches. It’s so much like the last time Wei Ying was given a number of someone who used to be a big part of his life, to reconnect with them. Except this time, Lan Zhan is on his other side, cutting up an egg before setting it in front of Wei Yuan. 

Lan Zhan blessedly doesn’t say anything, silently buttering and spreading jam over a piece of toast before he sets it in front of Wei Ying. His hand comes down once he’s done, resting against Wei Ying’s bouncing knee with a gentle squeeze.

“Sorry,” Wei Ying says automatically.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Lan Zhan says. “Take your time. Eat.”

Shaking his head, Wei Ying bites his lip. His stomach is flipping in his gut, twisting itself into some complicated knots. “Can’t.”

“Okay.” Lan Zhan stares at him for a moment, his hand a gentle, grounding weight against his leg. “It’s okay,” he says eventually. “I… can’t imagine how hard this is for you.”

“Not as hard as texting you was,” Wei Ying admits. He gives Lan Zhan a forlorn smile when he bows his head, as if shamed. He knocks their shoulders together. “Then again, that didn’t turn out so bad, did it?”

Lan Zhan hums, reaching over to take Wei Ying’s hand in his, kissing his knuckles. “Not bad at all.”

“Can I get down?” Wei Yuan pipes up, having successfully eaten his eggs and cereal. Lan Zhan stands before Wei Ying, patting his shoulder before helping Wei Yuan out of his booster seat.

Watching them for a moment, Lan Zhan with gentle hands and Wei Yuan with a sugary grin, some of the dread loosens in his chest. Wei Ying stands and Lan Zhan’s eyes immediately turn, taking in Wei Ying’s wobbly smile and wide eyes.

Straightening, Lan Zhan leans over and presses a soft kiss to Wei Ying’s mouth. “It’ll be okay.”

Nodding silently, Wei Ying retreats to their bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed, and fiddling with his phone, typing and retyping the number Lan Huan had sent him. 

Wei Ying hits the call button before he can talk himself back out of it. It rings just once, before there’s a click, silence, and then…

“A-Ying?”

Swallowing hard, Wei Ying lets out a shaky breath, his voice wobbling. “Shi… Shijie,” he murmurs.

“Oh, A-Ying,” Jiang Yanli says, and then she’s crying. The both of them are, stuttering out a myriad of apologies and platitudes, until their tears eventually turn to laughter, their voices still wet and choked. Jiang Yanli is a married woman now with a husband and a three year old.

“I bet you were a beautiful bride, Shijie.”

“I… I’ll show you pictures,” she tells him, and then adds quietly, “I wish you had been there.”

“Me, too,” Wei Ying says.

Jiang Cheng is a partner at a law firm with one of Jiang Fengmian’s old friends. He had worked quick and hard through law school like a man on fire, always busy and driven.

“But you should see him with A-Ling,” Jiang Yanli tells him, and he can hear her smile through the phone. “He adores him, he always fought Zixuan to hold him when he was a baby.”

Wei Ying laughs, because he can almost imagine his scowling brother with a baby in his arms. Except he hasn’t seen Jiang Cheng in nearly ten years. 

“Is he doing well?” he finds himself asking.

Jiang Yanli pauses. “He’s…” she starts, but never finishes her sentence. 

“Yeah, okay,” Wei Ying says, because there’s nothing else to say.

“A-Ying, listen,” Jiang Yanli says, her voice almost pleading. “Can we come out there and see you? I just… I want to be part of your life. You’re still my little brother.”

“And you’re my big sister,” Wei Ying says. He chews his lip. “Who’s we?”

“Just me, and Jiang Cheng,” she says. “I’d like to introduce you to Zixuan—"

Wei Ying scoffs, “I remember that jack—"

“And A-Ling,” Jiang Yanli says over him, giggling. “I’d like for you to meet more of your family.”

“Ugh, I’ll take the nephew, but you should leave the brother-in-law there.”

“A-Ying.”

Laughing, Wei Ying shakes his head. “Okay,” he says finally. “Yeah, I’d like for you to come out here. Maybe… we can meet somewhere. Unless you want to meet A-Yuan.”

“And Lan Zhan.”

“You’ve met Lan Zhan.”

“But I’d like to see him again. He’s your boyfriend isn’t he?”

“Uh, about that.”

“Oh,” her voice goes soft and gentle. “Did you…”

“No! Oh gosh no, he, uh, asked me to marry him.”

“Oh A-Ying! Congratulations!”

They talk like that for an hour more, and Wei Ying can almost pretend that there isn’t ten years and hundreds of miles between them, that the hurts don’t hurt anymore. And when he hangs up with Jiang Yanli already promising to see him within the week, Wei Ying lays down on the bed, buries his face in Lan Zhan’s pillow, and tries to breathe.

-

Jiang Yanli is in his doorway by that Saturday, tears in her eyes and hugging him so tightly like Wei Ying might disappear at any moment. She had told him over the week, haltingly, how she had no idea until a week later when Wei Ying had been long gone. That Yu Ziyuan wouldn’t change her mind, that Jiang Cheng wouldn’t speak to her for months.

“He was hurt,” she had told Wei Ying. “By everything, you know? First dad, and then everything else…”

“I understand,” Wei Ying had said, but Jiang Yanli had made a desperate sound.

“He shouldn’t have blamed you. It wasn’t any of your fault. But I think it was just easier for him, to think you didn’t want to be there.”

And now, Jiang Cheng is here, hovering awkwardly on Wei Ying’s front step, a scowl on his face and looking around with a sneer in his eyes. He doesn’t thaw for the rest of the visit, sitting on Wei Ying’s couch silently while Jiang Yanli grills him about the wedding that Wei Ying hasn’t had a spare braincell to think about. 

“A-Ying,” she says, a little breathless, her eyes shining. “You might already have someone in mind, but can I please help you plan your wedding?”

“Uuuh,” Wei Ying says, because he can see that kind of obsessive enthusiasm in Jaing Jiang Yanli’s eyes that she used to get when she was excited about a new interest or challenge. It used to be kind of scary, but now it fills Wei Ying with warmth to see something so familiar about her. “I’d have to ask Lan Zhan, but I’d be happy if you want to,” he says, smiling.

Beside them, Jiang Cheng scoffs and the smile drops from Wei Ying’s face.

-

Jiang Yanli texts him every day after that, just like she used to when he was in college, and Wei Ying finds himself sliding back into that routine, the words between them becoming easier and easier with each passing day.

He gets a million pictures of Jin Ling and several selfies of Jiang Yanli, sometimes with her husband and rarely with Jiang Cheng. Each time, Wei Ying’s brother is scowling like he’s been forced into the picture. Wei Ying tries not to cringe each time. 

He sends Jiang Yanli back a million and one pictures of Wei Yuan, and a few thousand of Lan Zhan just in case, only a handful of himself, usually making silly faces. He sends her latte art and candid shots of strange customers at the cafe. And the first time he sends her an image of a wedding cake, the floodgates open.

Their chats become about venues and food and guest lists, and Wei Ying is so overwhelmed that he pushes her off onto Lan Zhan, who takes it in stride. Thus Wei Ying begins to find his fiance several evenings a week in deep discussion with his sister about wedding planning, a whirlwind affair that Wei Ying really wants no part of. 

He’s glad to let Jiang Yanli handle all of it. Just thinking about picking out invitations and napkins makes him want to break out in hives. Lan Zhan’s different though, and lets Wei Ying disappear into the backyard whenever his sister shows up on their doorstep with her — frankly terrifying — wedding binders.

Some things, though, he can’t get out of.

“Did you both want to have a wedding party?”

“Wedding party?” Wei Ying asks, where he’s intently trying to pry his fingers out of Lan Zhan’s hold. “Isn’t that the reception the part?”

Jiang Yanli reaches over and baps him on the head with her pen. “No, you goof. Do you want a best man and groomsmen?” she asks, her tone so chiding that Wei Ying settles back on the couch without a fuss.

“Uh,” Wei Ying says. He looks at Lan Zhan, just in time to catch him turning away to hide the face he’s making. Which means he wants Wei Ying to decide this one, despite what Lan Zhan wants.

He’s only done this twice: once for the date, and once for the guest list. Those were things Lan Zhan considered important that Wei Ying had to express his feelings about, no matter how much Wei Ying assured Lan Zhan that he was allergic to all emotions and would much prefer to just show up the day of. He hadn’t really cared about the date, except Wei Ying doesn’t really like holidays anymore and he’s only had one good birthday his entire life, and would prefer not to curse his wedding day with it. The guest list was harder, because it was Wei Ying who had to champion invitations to Yu Ziyuan and Lan Qiren. Both Jiang Yanli and Lan Zhan had scowled at him, but invitations had gone out and now both of them were coming, and Wei Ying absolutely wasn’t regretting his choices. 

So now: groomsmen. Or maybe grooms people. A best man. Once upon a time, it would have been no contest and Wei Ying would have bullied Jiang Cheng into it, but now… 

Who would Wei Ying even ask? Wen Ning hates being in front of crowds, though he’d do it if Wei Ying asked. Wen Qing might do it, but she’d probably wear a suit and Wei Ying can’t have that kind of competition on his wedding day.

Just then, Wei Yuan comes barreling around the corner, Jin Ling shrieking in his arms, and bops Wei Ying with his toy light saber.

Immediately, the tense atmosphere — that Wei Ying hadn’t even noticed while he was thinking —  disappears, and he bursts out laughing, dragging the two kids into his lap. Lan Zhan has to dodge the business end of the light saber as it swings wildly in Wei Yuan’s hand.

Across from them, Jiang Yanli is smiling brightly. “A-Ling, are you having fun?”

Jin Ling, his fingers already tangled in Wei Ying’s ponytail, shouts right into Wei Ying’s ear.

“Aiyah,” Wei Ying winces, working at untangling his hair from Jin Ling’s sticky fingers. Wei Yuan has already abandoned him, crawling peacefully into Lan Zhan’s lap and smacking his shoulder with his toy. Lan Zhan lets him with an indulgent smile. “A-Yuan was never this loud you know.”

“I know!” Jin Ling yells. 

Wei Ying laughs, and tickles his nephew’s sides, grinning when he shrieks. Across the table, Jiang Yanli is smiling benevolently, her eyes sparkling. “A-Ling, you love your uncle Yingying, don’t you?” she coos.

“No!” Jin Ling shouts, wiggling immediately out of Wei Ying’s hold, and Wei Ying gasps dramatically.

“My own flesh and blood,” Wei Ying says, falling gently on top of Wei Yuan in Lan Zhan’s lap. “Betrayal! Hurt! Pain! Lan Zhan, my love, I perish.”

Lan Zhan pats his head. “There, there.”

Wei Yuan laughs and copies him, patting Wei Ying’s head just as softly. “There, there, baba!”

“Ah!” Wei Ying gasps, twisting around until he can blow a raspberry into Wei Yuan’s cheek. “I am loved again! All better!”

Grinning Wei Ying sits up. “Aren’t you both the best,” he says, and his eyes light up. “Hey, Wei Yuan, you’ll be my best man right at my wedding right?”

“We’re getting married!” Wei Yuan says, laughing. 

“Yes, we are!” he looks up at Lan Zhan smug. “Ha, I get A-Yuan, so I guess you’re stuck with your brother.”

Lan Zhan’s smile is indulgent, his eyes glittering. “Naturally.”

-

The months before the wedding go by in a blur. Lan Qiren visits briefly with two months to go, to see the venue and, though he turns his nose up on their guest bedroom, his eyes light up when he sees Wei Yuan. Wei Ying watches as his son suddenly has the experience of having a grandfather. Lan Qiren sneers at him any time Wei Ying or Lan Zhan try to keep him from buying Wei Yuan new toys or sweets.

“Well, at least your uncle likes one of us,” Wei Ying says with a laugh, trying to close Wei Yuan’s now overstuffed toy box. Lan Zhan doesn’t seem too impressed with that joke.

Jiang Yanli is in and out of their house almost as much as they are, her notebooks bulging terrifyingly. She takes each of them separately to get fitted for suits, Wei Yuan included. Wei Ying spends a day cooing over the photos she sends him, showing off his dapper son to anyone that will look at the cafe.

They don’t have bachelor parties, instead inviting everyone involved to the house, packing nearly ten people all in while Jiang Yanli and Lan Zhan cook dinner. 

Lan Huan and Nie Mingjue brought Nie Huaisang with them, and he and Wei Ying hit it off again, pointedly not speaking about the last they saw each other. Wen Ning has both Wei Yuan and Jin Ling in his arms as he talks to Jin Zixuan. Jiang Cheng has avoided Wei Ying completely since he arrived, sitting in a corner with his back straight and glaring at anyone who dares come near him.

Wei Ying tries not to care. He’s getting married in a week. His fiance and his sister are laughing quietly together as they cook. All the people he cares about in this world are here with him, even the ones that might not want to be.

He’s glad for it. 

And still he finds himself outside, trying to breathe.

He almost doesn’t notice when Wen Qing sits down on the back step beside him, and when he turns to look at her, it feels like he’s trying to see her through a mirror, unreal, a face in a shadow. The night around them is dark and cool, and soon he’ll be getting married.

“I’m getting married,” he tells her, and Wen Qing snorts.

“You’re getting married,” she agrees, bumping their shoulders together. “How are you feeling?”

“Kind of like I’m floating,” Wei Ying says. He fingers the silver band, twisting it around his knuckle. “It doesn’t feel real,” he admits, voice quiet.

Wen Qing hums, leaning into him so they’re pressed together. There’s a silence between them that they’ve always shared, two people comfortable with their own thoughts, Wen Qing with her eyes on the cloudy skies above them and Wei Ying’s on the ring on his finger.

When she finally speaks, it’s in a quiet voice. “It is though, Wei Ying. This is real.” She takes his hand in her’s and squeezes. Her fingers are delicate compared to his, but her grip is strong, grounding. Wei Ying focuses on it, trying to ignore the sudden tears in his eyes. “This is real,” she says. “And you deserve it.”

Choking on a laugh, Wei Ying wipes his face quickly. “I don’t know about that,” he says, and his voice sounds raw, jagged in his own ears.

“You do,” Wen Qing says simply. She leans closer, resting her head on his shoulder. “You deserve every bit of it and more.”

-

Wei Ying is sweating. There’s snow on the ground outside and he’s sweating. Nie Huaisang, who Wei Ying has only met twice, is fanning him desperately with a fake smile plastered on his face.

“It’s fine, don’t worry, Da-ge said he wouldn’t let him.”

“Listen, your brother is a badass, but I really don’t think he’ll be able to stop Lan Qiren from stopping the wedding—"

“STOP THE WEDDING!”

The both of them jump, Nie Huaisang dropping the fan, when the door is slammed open. They gape openly at Jiang Cheng standing in the doorway.

“Don’t marry him!” he screeches, glaring at Wei Ying.

All at once Wei Ying straightens up, standing, livid. “Don’t marry him?! What the fuck, why not?”

“Because he’s an asshole.” 

“Yeah?” Wei Ying asks, crossing his arms. “I like that about him.”

“He doesn’t deserve you,” Jiang Cheng hisses. “That asshole will just drop off the face of the earth again, how can you trust him like that?”

Nie Huaisang inches for the door, his eyes bouncing between them as Wei Ying’s face goes from pale to red. “I’ll just… go get… someone?”

“How can I trust him?!” Wei Ying snaps, voice raising with each word, ignoring when Nie Huaisang runs off. “What do you even know about it?! He spent years looking for me because he loves me! He loves me, and you don’t want me to marry him?!”

“He made you cry!”

“So did you!” Wei Ying bellows.

“You left!” Jiang Cheng roars. “You left, even though I needed you. Dad left and Jiejie left and then you left, too.”

All the fight leaves Wei Ying all at once. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“You did even fight,” Jiang Cheng hisses, rubbing quickly at his eyes, but he’s still crying, cheeks wet. “It was so fucked up, everything was so fucked up, but you didn’t even argue with her. And then you invited her to your goddamn wedding. What the fuck, Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying shifts, uncomfortable with the burning in his throat. “I thought that you—"

“Oh fuck, shut up,” Jiang Cheng says, laughing wetly. “You did not invite my mom because you thought it would make me happy.

“I did!”

“God, you’re so stupid.”

“So are you! ‘Stop the wedding,’ it hasn’t even started yet, you stupid.”

“A-CHENG!”

“Uh oh,” they both say at the same time and Jiang Yanli rounds the corner, eyes on fire.

“Jiejie, I—"

“Shijie, it’s fine—"

“I can’t believe that you would pick a fight on his wedding day, are you a child?!”

“Shijie, it’s fine, it’s fine, no more fighting!!” Wei Ying says, patting her shoulders to calm her down. “And please, please tell me you didn’t tell —  Oh! Lan Zhan, love of my life, my stars and moon, oh gosh, you know you shouldn’t be here, bad luck to see the bride you know, why don’t you—"

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says from behind Jiang Yanli, intruptting Wei Ying’s panicked babbling, his eyes sliding slowly from Wei Ying to Jiang Cheng and back. Jiang Cheng visibly stiffens under his gaze “Are you okay?”

Breathing a quiet sigh, Wei Ying manages a smile. “As long as your uncle doesn’t stop the wedding, I’ll be just fine, I promise.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes narrow. “He won’t,” he says, finally. He reaches out and straightens Wei Ying’s tie. “I’ll see you out there?”

“I’ll be there,” Wei Ying promises, pressing a quick kiss at Lan Zhan’s jaw, before pushing him out the door. “Okay, seriously, it’s bad luck right? Go go go!”

His eyes shining with amusement, Lan Zhan gives him one parting smile before he leaves. 

Jiang Yanli glares at both of them, her arms crossed tightly in front of her. “So you’re not fighting?”

“Not any more,” Wei Ying says, and turns to Jiang Cheng. “Uh, right?”

Snorting, Jiang Cheng refuses to look at him. “It’s fine.”

“You owe me free babysitting for saving your life.”

“What? Babysitting?! Isn’t A-Ling enough?”

“Nope! Two nephews now! Oooh, can you help Wen Ning with him tonight?”

“Absolutely not—"

“Wen Qing will probably be too tired, but she’ll make you breakfast in the morning.”

Jiang Cheng folds his arms in front of his chest, pointedly ignoring Jaing Jiang Yanli’s sudden coughing fit. “Where would I even sleep? You’re going to make me sleep on the couch?”

“You can stay in our room.”

“Hard pass.”

“We change the sheets regularly!”

“You should burn them,” Jiang Cheng grumbles. “But fine, I can do that.”

Laughing, Wei Ying drags the both of them into a hug. “I’m glad you’re scared of my husband, makes it easier to blackmail you into things.”

“Why is he so scary,” Jiang Cheng hisses. “And you’re not married yet, so shut up.”

-

The hall is filled, packed in with everyone Wei Ying has ever met, people he hasn’t seen since high school all staring at him as Lan Huan is saying something to them from his place beside Lan Zhan. They had rehearsed all of this last night, Lan Huan’s introduction, their vows, the wine and the rings. But Wei Ying can’t remember a word of it, eyes stuck on Lan Zhan.

Lan Zhan in his deep blue suit, velvet and embroidered with silver clouds, a match and compliment to Wei Ying’s red. He’s smiling at Wei Ying, so openly and happy, and Wei Ying can feel the weight of it in his chest.

“Wei Ying,” he says, dragging Wei Ying back down to earth. “You know I’m not good with words,” he starts, eyes dropping down to their clasped hands. “And I’ve hurt you in the past. But believe me when I say, I will forever be at your side.

“I want to spend every moment with you, because no one has ever made me as happy as you do. I love you.”

Wei Ying can feel his tears slide down his face, over his cheeks stretched on a grin. “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” he says, all his vows completely forgotten as Lan Zhan looks at him. “You’re really great.”

There’s a snort from the audience.

Laughing, Wei Ying babbles on, “I like you, I like you so much. I want to sleep with you—"

“Hey!”

“ — I want to listen to everything you have to say forever. I like you, I love you, I fancy you, I want you, I can’t leave you. I whatever you. I everything you.” Lan Zhan huffs a laugh, raising their joined hands to press a kiss to Wei Ying’s knuckles. “In other words,” Wei Ying says, taking a deep breath. “I want to be with you forever.”

And then he surges forward, shaking his hands free to cup Lan Zhan’s face, and kisses him.

-

Wei Ying is married. He can barely believe it, his head floating in the clouds as Lan Zhan spins him around the dance floor, his suit soft under Wei Ying’s hands. Distantly, he’s aware of the eyes on him, the photographer circling them with her camera, but he feels like he's walking through someone else’s dream. If it weren’t for Lan Zhan hand in his, his fingers cool against his palm, Wei Ying might decide he’d stolen someone else’s life.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan calls him in a whisper, and Wei Ying looks up from where he had been staring at their feet. 

“Sorry,” Wei Ying whispers back. He smiles when Lan Zhan drags him closer, pressing their foreheads together. “I’m just… I don’t know.”

The corner of Lan Zhan’s mouth quirks, and he leans in just enough to press a small kiss to Wei Ying’s lips, soft and sweet. He looks at Wei Ying like he knows everything about him, inside and out, and it makes Wei Ying’s heart flutter in his chest.

-

They’re barely in the hotel suite when Lan Zhan is already backing Wei Ying against the nearest wall, hands cupping his face and kissing him deeply, hungrily. Wei Ying hums, pleased, into his mouth and drops his hands to Lan Zhan’s belt. 

“Lan Zhaaan,” he sighs when Lan Zhan breaks away and begins mouthing down his neck. He’s already gotten his hand into Lan Zhan’s pants, palming his filling cock over his underwear. “So greedy, we only just got married!”

Lan Zhan bites him, hard enough to bruise, and Wei Ying moans, hips jerking off the wall. Hands falling to his waist, Lan Zhan pulls in close, pressing them tightly together and grinding himself against Wei Ying’s hips. They rock together for a long moment, Lan Zhan sucking bruises along Wei Ying’s neck and Wei Ying struggling to unbutton Lan Zhan’s shirt.

“Aaah,” Wei Ying moans as Lan Zhan grinds his length against his hip. “Aaah, Lan Zhan —  Do you really want to —  right here, when there, ah, a bed?” He nips at Lan Zhan’s ear, and Lan Zhan’s hips stutter. He groans low and hot against Wei Ying’s neck.

“Here,” Lan Zhan breathes, dragging his teeth along Wei Ying’s pulse. “And then again on the bed.”

Wei Ying gasps, and then grins. “Awe, but Lan Zhan, you’ll get my present for you dirty.”

Pausing, Lan Zhan leans back an inch, eyes dark and blown out. His gaze is so heated that Wei Ying can feel it stoke the fire in his belly. He rolls his hips against Lan Zhan’s again, rubbing his erection against Lan Zhan’s thigh. 

“Don’t you want to unwrap me?” he says, coy and batting his lashes. Lan Zhan’s hand drops to the bulge in Wei Ying’s pants, rubbing him through the fabric. “I’ll give you a hint,” Wei Ying murmurs, leaning in close to whisper in his ear. “They’re white.”

Lan Zhan’s hands drop to the back of Wei Ying’s thighs and he lifts him easily, Wei Ying tumbling half over his shoulder with a squawk and a laugh. He’s still laughing when he’s dropped onto the bed, breathless as Lan Zhan looms over him, stripping Wei Ying quickly of his shirt before his hands fall back to his waist. Lan Zhan moans deep in his chest as he slides Wei Ying’s pants down his thighs, revealing the white lace lingerie beneath: a thin pair of panties and thigh garters. 

Grinning, Wei Ying kicks his pants the rest of the way off and opens his legs invitingly. “Isn’t there some tradition where you have to pull these off with your teeth?”

And Lan Zhan, Wei Ying’s beautiful, perfect husband, drags his eyes away from where the white lace lays across Wei Ying’s golden skin, his gaze burning, and says, “I’m going to make you cry.”

Wei Ying’s breath catches deep in his chest, and he can feel the way his entire body explodes with a hot flush, and then Lan Zhan is between his legs, pressing his face against the lingerie and mouthing along the line of Wei Ying’s cock beneath the fabric. His thighs come up automatically around Lan Zhan’s head and Wei Ying moans, hips bucking up, grinding his cock against Lan Zhan’s face. Lan Zhan lets him, hands biting bruises into Wei Ying’s waist, sucking at the spreading wet patch at the tip of Wei Ying’s dick. 

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying moans, fucking up against Lan Zhan’s lips. “Baby, please, aah—"

“Please what?” Lan Zhan asks, his voice lower and deeper than usual.

“Please, baby, please suck my dick,” Wei Ying begs shamelessly, still rutting up against Lan Zhan’s chin and jaw. “Please, I want to fuck your mouth.”

Lan Zhan groans, hooking his fingers around the edge of the panties and pulling them over just enough to suck Wei Ying down, and Wei Ying practically wails, hips juttering off the bed. He fucks up into Lan Zhan’s mouth, soft and pliant, his head held still as Wei Ying gasps and drags his cock over his tongue. Wei Ying can feel the drool sliding down his length. He wants to wrap his legs around Lan Zhan’s neck and stay right there in his mouth, Lan Zhan’s lips wrapped tight around him.

And when Lan Zhan’s fingers slide down past his balls to rub against his entrance, Wei Ying’s back arches off the bed, hands in Lan Zhan’s hair. The first slide into him is a spit-slick burn, just on the right side of painful. Lan Zhan fucks him slowly with a thumb as Wei Ying thrusts jerkily into his mouth. 

Wei Ying is too caught in the heat around his cock and the burn at his hole to notice the sound of an uncapped bottle, but then their are two lubed fingers sliding into him and Wei Ying stops breathing at the sudden stretch. He can feel everything tighten, arching off the bed to bury his cock to the hilt in Lan Zhan’s mouth, trembling. 

And Lan Zhan knows him too well it seems, because he presses further into him until his finger brushes against that perfect spot, and Wei Ying comes down his throat with a half sob.

Humming around Wei Ying’s oversensitive cock, Lan Zhan swallows it all down easily, sucking gently as he continutes to fuck his fingers into Wei Ying’s hole, sliding his finger tips across that spot over and over until Wei Ying is whimpering. He squirms, his thighs squeezing around Lan Zhan’s ears, fingers tugging at his hair. 

Still, he’s panting, “Don’t stop, don’t stop,” as he hardens again in Lan Zhan’s mouth, tears prickling in the corners of his eyes.

By the time Wei Ying is back to thrusting sloppily against Lan Zhan’s tongue, he’s well stretched. Lan Zhan presses him to the bed and licks along the length of his cock one last time before he sits up, Wei Ying legs around his waist, and shoves himself in with one, smooth thrust. 

Wei Ying jolts, back curving, as Lan Zhan bears down over him and holds him down by the wrist, biting at Wei Ying’s panting mouth. 

Lan Zhan fucks him with a slow, tortuous roll of his hips that makes Wei Ying whimper and scowl.

“More, Lan Zhan, please,” he gasps, tugging at Lan Zhan’s hair and twisting his hips to meet Lan Zhan’s thrusts, urging him faster, harder. “Please, baby, don’t tease me like this.”

“Hm,” Lan Zhan hums, dragging his teeth down Wei Ying’s ear. “Have I really teased you?” he asks, and licks into Wei Ying’s mouth, and Wei Ying can taste himself on Lan Zhan’s tongue. He moans into it, gasping when Lan Zhan picks up the pace just like Wei Ying likes anyways, bending Wei Ying in half until his knees are around his ears and Lan Zhan is fucking into him quick and powerful.

“Yes, yes, just like that baby, aaah,” Wei Ying groans, and he yanks on Lan Zhan’s hair, swallowing his grunt in another biting kiss. 

Lan Zhan’s rhythm sputters as he comes with another sharp thrust, pausing only a moment to catch his breath, and then he keeps going, arms holding Wei Ying’s thighs to front as he continues to pound into him, making Wei Ying wail. Wei Ying comes, untouched.

“If you keep fucking me like that,” Wei Ying pants, still seeing stars. “You might put a baby in me.”

Glaring, Lan Zhan pinches Wei Ying’s ass before he collapses beside his husband. Wei Ying, despite the mess across his stomach and between his thighs, crawls half on top of him, resting his head on Lan Zhan’s shoulder.

They lay there, sweat cooling on their skin, the night deepening outside their window. Wei Ying dozes, Lan Zhan’s hair in his face and the bed a mess, and can’t keep the smile off of his face.

-

“BABA!” Wei Yuan screeches, trotting through the airport and throwing himself in Wei Ying waiting arms. “Baba I missed you!”

Wei Ying throws his head back and laughs. “You missed me? It was only one night!” he cries, peppering Wei Yuan’s face with kisses. “I guess this means you can’t ever grow up and move away, you’ll just have to be my baby forever.”

Wrinkling his nose, Wei Yuan glares at him in a familiar way. “I’m not a baby!”

“Oh god, you spend one night with your jiujiu, and you’re already taking after him.”

Behind him, Jiang Cheng huffs. “I revoke my free babysitting services,” he grumbles, glaring at Jiang Yanli when she starts to giggle. It’s just the two of them at the airport, dropping off Wei Yuan with his bag. “You’re welcome for driving all the way out here, too.” 

“And you’re welcome that we gave you the bedroom at our place. I hope you and Wen Qing didn’t stay up too late.” Wei Ying missed making his brother blush red over his twenty-year-old crush.

“You—"

“Alright, alright, you three should get going!” Jiang Yanli says, clapping her hands together to quickly interrupt their fight. It’s so familiar and unfamiliar, the three of them together, that they pause. She shakes it off quickly, throwing her arms around Wei Ying’s neck for a quick hug. “Congratulations again, A-Ying! Have a good trip okay?”

“I will.” Wei Ying presses a quick kiss to her cheek before she releases him to go fuss over Wei Yuan and Lan Zhan. He turns towards Jiang Cheng and holds his arms open. “You gotta hug me too!”

“Did you shower?”

“Oh my god, of course,” Wei Ying says, laughing, as Jiang Cheng wraps him up in a hug. He’s taller than Wei Ying now, and he kind of wants to kick him for it. Instead, he reaches up on his toes like has to do with Lan Zhan, and smacks a loud, slobbery kiss on his cheek.

“UGH!” Jiang Cheng pushes him away, wiping at his face and gaining the attention of everyone in the lobby. “You’re so gross.”

But Wei Ying has already beat a hasty retreat, swinging Wei Yuan up in his arms, and waving maniacally at Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli as Lan Zhan follows behind with their bags. The both of them wave back, standing in one spot until they’ve turned the corner and out of sight.

It’s still hours later until they’re on their plane, Wei Yuan in the seat between them, eyes already drooping from the excitement of the morning. Wei Ying pushes the hair from his foreheads as he curls up against Wei Ying’s thigh. He looks up to find Lan Zhan watching him, that smile on his face that Wei Ying knows is all love.

“Wei Ying,” he says, voice low under the clamour of the loading plane. But Wei Ying hears every word. “Are you happy?”

Wei Ying feels his face stretch in a smile. There’s a little bruise high on Lan Zhan’s neck, just visible over his collar, and his hair is a little wavy because he didn’t have time to brush it properly before they had to leave for the airport. He’s the most beautiful thing Wei Ying has ever seen.

“I am,” Wei Ying says, leaning over Wei Yuan sleeping between them, to steal a quick kiss. “I’m very happy.”

[cosmic-has-moved]

The Vamp N Wolf - Chapter 4

The Mistress was quick to send out an investigation inside the castle for these small cameras, her daughters coming back with no results of these devices. Despite there being no more spotted, the Mistress still advised keeping an eye and ear out for anything out of the ordinary.

After that she decided to go find Hayden. If there were people spying on the castle, there’s a chance they’re also spying on the village.

It was easy finding him since he mostly spends his time in the piano room, he stood in the room arms crossed and cupping chin in deep thought. Alcina brushed it off as just concern about the cameras. “Hayden, I need you to do something for me.”

He snapped out of his thought and looked at her before standing straight. “What is it?”

“I want you to go patrol the whole area, including outside the village.” Cupping her chin she furrowed her brows. “If someone is spying on us, there’s a chance they’re still here.”

Hayden nodded “Than I’ll be going.” He went and walked passed her, but a hand on his shoulder made him stop and look up at her.

Alcina looked back down at him with a concerned expression. “Please be careful.”

He smiled reassuringly and patted her hand before making his way out.

________________________________________________________________

It had been nearly five hours since Hayden went on patrol and the four had grown worry, but Alcina chose to wait more. Thankfully their worries were quickly gone when Hayden returned, with what looked to be the spy over his shoulders.

Throwing the body onto the ground, he began speaking. “I found this person just outside the areas border. He was hiding in a hut that was built in the ground.” Lifting his hand that held the person’s cutoff hand, there was a walkie talkie in its grip. “He went to call for back up when I came in, but I put a stop to it.”

With a silent order from their mother, the girls began examining the body. It was clear that the guy was dead due to there being a large hole through his chest, Hayden explained that it was self-defense because the spy shot at him.

Examining the body vest and other items, Alcina knew who started to spy on them. Mother Miranda only mentioned them a few times because of their concealed reputation, it was the Umbrella Corporation.

“You did wonderful, Hayden.” Alcina ruffled up his hair and turned to her daughters. “Do with the body as you please, it’s practically useless to us now.”

With a nod, Daniella and the two grabbed the body and walked off. Leaving Alcina and Hayden to themselves.

“So I take it you have an idea on what’s going on?” Hayden asked as he gave her the bloodied hand.

“I was told of them from time to time, I heard that they have a bad reputation for creating a dangerous virus but that could just be Chinese whispers.” She wrapped the limb up in a cloth and called over a servant. “But they are a group that shouldn’t be taken too lightly. They’re easy to deal with, just annoying.”

After a servant came over and she gave the hand to them, ordering them to keep in the dungeon bin, with a nod and bow they left.

Hayden furrows his brows while mumbling the corporation name, “Umbrella Corp? Silly name.” Placing his hands on his waist and tilting his head. “We might need to do some digging if they’re spying on us, or at least get word out.”

The Mistress gave him a nod and smiled. “Yes, but I do think Miranda already knows what’s going on. She has eyes everywhere, nothing is safe from her.” Turning around and gesturing him to follow, she walked off. “Now come, I believe it’s nearly time for dinner.”

A huge grin grew on the young man’s face as he happily followed.

________________________________________________________________

Long after their dinner and everyone separating to do their own thing, the Mistress laid in her bed wearing her nightgown.

She barely sleeps due to lack of needing it, her energy lasting for a whole month or more. But when she does need sleep it can be quite difficult to wake her, this was one of those situations. The whole experiment Mother Miranda was running and previous troubles had caught up to her, she was psychically and mentally exhausted.

Closing her eyes and exhaling loudly, she allowed herself to fall into slumber.

She slowly opened her eyes and found herself in the family room, the fireplace crackling from the flames burning the wood. Looking down she saw her daughters, but they were way younger. Daniella and Novella were nearly in their teens while Anna was about six or eight.

“Ah.” Alcina came to the conclusion that she was dreaming up a memory, memories she has long forgotten and desired.

“HEY!”

Snapping herself out of her train of thought, she looked over at the source of the shout. It was Daniella wrestling with Novella while Anna cried over a torn teddy bear, she remembered how often the two would fight while Anna stood back keeping to herself.

Smiling and getting up off the chair, Alcina went over to break up the fight. It was easy separating the two and sending them off, next she picked up Anna and walked her over to her sewing machine that sat in the corner of the room.

The little one watched in interest as her mother sewed the bear back up, the thing was old but Anna still loved it. She smiled joyfully as Alcina handed her back her teddy bear and thanked her before running off.

Watching her child run out she sighed happily and stood up, the atmosphere to the Mistress felt nice. The warmth from the fireplace mixed with the smell of wood made it comfortable.

“I should sleep more often.” She whispered to herself before sitting back down on the lounge chair, quietly wishing she could take here forever.

While laying in the chair she noticed a taste in her mouth, leaning forward and slipped her index finger in her mouth before pulling it back mouth. No blood, yet she could taste it. It started out as feint but quickly took over her taste buds, it shook her enough for her to wake from the dream.

Her vision was groggy upon waking but the first thing her eyes met with was a clenched hand, the taste of blood filling her mouth as her fang dug into the person’s wrist. It was strongly delicious that she continued drinking without a care, later letting go of the hand and moving to the neck. It had been so long since she had her fangs dig into someone’s neck, especially from the ones who previously worked for her as her private toys. Their screams of submission echoed in her head, it deeply aroused her.

Her tongue tingled as her body heated up, her other hand caressing the person’s chest. Something was telling her to stop but her body continued. Occasionally she would pull her teeth out and lick their neck before going back to sucking.

After what felt like hours which were only five minutes, Alcina finally let go and sat up panting heavily. Licking the blood off her lips she looked down to see who had unluckily decided to be her meal.

Her eyes widened in horror as Hayden laid below her looking as pale as snow and close to losing consciousness, her hand gripping his wrist that was cut.

She was quick to get off of him and getting him up off the ground. “No no no no no no, what have I done!” She laid him on her bed and squeezed his wrist to stop it from bleeding. “What the hell happened!?”

Letting out a weak groan, Hayden opened his eyes a bit. “I’m sorry, Mother Miranda gave me orders to give you a bit of my blood. She said it was important or something.” He winced as his wound started healing. “It was only suppose to be a bit, but you tackled me to the ground and I didn’t want to wake the others.”

Alcina sat there with a look of deep regret and anger, that damn woman had nearly gotten Hayden killed again. Placing his hand on her lips she hushed him. “It’s not your fault, just rest.” Using her free hand she stroked his head and continued hushing him. “Worry not, everything will be okay.”

Slowly Hayden shut his eyes and fell asleep, Alcina making sure he was still alive after a few seconds. Placing his hand down she stood up and clenched her fist in anger, “How dare that old hag bring harm to my boy.”

________________________________________________________________

The morning was young and cold, Hayden still laid in Alcina’s bed resting peacefully.

Alcina herself sat at her desk staring intensely at the phone, waiting for it to ring. Mother Miranda would for sure call for results of her orders, if only she was given a phone that could call instead of answer.

As soon as the phone rang she picked up and answered, “About time you rang, I have a few choice words for you.”

There was a couple seconds of silence before Mother Miranda responded, at first she laughed. “So I take it Hayden did as I ordered. And judging by your attitude, you nearly sucked him dry.” She laughed more before calming down. “I only did that to see if my theory of his blood becoming irresistible was true.”

“Do you have any idea how angry I am, you caused me to nearly kill him!” She gritted her teeth as to hold back her yell of anger. “You better stop with this experiment with my son and pick someone else, I can’t bare to see more of my children hurt.” A bit of sadness trickled out of the last sentence.

Yet again there was silence, but there were quiet mumbles in the background. The silence was broken by Mother Miranda clearing her throat. “Fine, I’ll stop.”

Alcina smiled a bit upon hearing that, “But I do need him for one last thing, by the sounds of it he’s managing your blood very well.” Alcina’s smile quickly disappeared and she dug her claws into the desk. “This experiment only involves him mating, nothing more nothing less.”

After a few moments of thinking, the Mistress let out a defeated sigh. “Fine… Just stop hurting him.”

“He’s a stubbornly tough kid, he’ll be fine.” And with that she hung up.

Putting the receiver down, Alcina rested her head on the table. “This is just a huge emotional mess.” Lifting her head up and looking back at Hayden, who was sitting up on the bed yawning. “Hayden!” Alcina sat up off the chair and swiftly sat next to him on the bed, hugging him.

The hug startled him but he patted her back in return, “How long was I out for?”

Letting him go she smiled at him. “Not long, I was just worried since last nights incident.” Rubbing his neck she was relieved to see the bite mark has vanished. “Next time Mother Miranda ask you to do something, let me know first.”

Hayden gave her a slight nod, an apologetic expression on his face. “Again, I’m sorry about last night. If I had know that you’ll react that way, I wouldn’t have done it that way.” He was silenced by Alcina’s finger lightly pressing against his lips.

“You have nothing to apologize for, Hayden. Mother is the one I’m angry at.” Lowering her hand and getting up off the bed, “but more importantly, how are you feeling?”

Giving himself out of her bed, Hayden stretched his body. “I feel fine, bit sore and drained but a warm shower will help with that.” He went to walk off but Alcina grabbed his shoulder, causing him to turn around. “Hm?”

Removing her left glove and getting a claw out, Alcina made a large deep cut on her palm. Hayden protested but was hushed by her. “The least I could do after last night is let you drink from me. It’s safe to say knowing that you can handle my blood perfectly, you can drink it.” Extending her bloody hand towards him, she continued. “I’m ordering you to do so.”

Letting out a sigh, he took her hand and pressed the wound against his mouth. It did give the Mistress some relief that he’ll be fine blood wise now, she could now only hope that he’ll be fine afterwards.

With a lick of the cut and lips, Hayden let go of her hand. “I’m full, thank you.” After rubbing his mouth he looked up at her. “I’ll be going out on patrol today, just in case there’s more of these Umbrella folk. I’ll be sure to let you know of anything interesting.” And with that he left.

Alcina knew she should’ve mentioned Mother Miranda’s next plans for him, but chose it’ll be best to wait until he gets back. Figured it was best to leave him be for now.

________________________________________________________________

Some time had passed and the sun had lowered enough for the sky to be a dark blue, the snow storm that had been warned of coming was just misinformation. The cold temperature hasn’t changed and most likely never will.

The Mistress sat in the family room, Mother Miranda sitting just across from her drinking tea. It was visible that the Mistress was troubled by her sudden presence but kept quiet about it, she knew she was here for Hayden but a carriage would’ve been sent down, Miranda likely had something else to do to be here.

“It was a good idea to let Hayden patrol, it helps his health and hunting skills.” Miranda put her empty cup down and looked up at Alcina. “I have gotten word from your brother about the small incident, you should know by now how I feel about you two killing each other.”

Sitting back in her seat and taking a sip of her own drink, “My apologies, but you know how I feel about people sneaking around my castle.” Twirling her glass she looked at the lit fireplace. “But lets change the subject. I know you’re here for something else other than Hayden.”

The woman let out a slight chuckle, “You’re always sharp, that’s why I like you.” She lend down to a bag she had brought with her and picked it up. “When I first put Hayden into your care, I thought that afterwards you’ll keep him as one of your sex toys.” She lightly tossed the bag to the tall Mistress.

“So I was quite shocked to hear you call him your son, never thought you’d take him in as your own. After some thinking I thought it was best to give you all the information I have collected about him.” She crossed her legs and smiled. “I figured you’d want a copy of them.”

Opening the bag and leaning forward, Alcina got out a folder with Hayden’s full name labelled on it. She had to admit, she was surprised that Miranda had given her this. “I appreciate this, but I don’t know why you’d think I want a whole folder of information about him.” She opened up the folder and stared wide eyed at the photos.

“Oh there’s more than just files on his past life, it also includes notes from the test I’ve done to him and more.” Looking at Alcina’s shocked expression she continued. “I started after seeing him survived such a crash.”

The photos were of the crash site Hayden was found in, it was like a crime scene. But that wasn’t what shook Alcina, it was the photo containing Hayden laying in the drivers seat, a tree branch thick enough had been lodged into his head that only his bottom jaw was visible.

Going through the photos more she picked up three that showed his head regenerating back, each one of them labelled four days apart. She stopped looking at the photos and went to read through the files.

“There you are.”

The Mistress snapped her head up and at the source of the sound, making sure to close the folder.

Hayden stood at the room entrance holding a small box, his smile towards Alcina moved over to Miranda as he looked at her. “Oh it’s you, the soup lady from a while back.” He walked towards Alcina and stood next to her. “It’s safe to say that I couldn’t find anything out of place, but I’ll still look around again tomorrow when I can.”

Giving him a satisfied smile, Alcina patted his shoulder. “Good job for making sure the area is safe.” She looked over at Miranda as her smile faded. “Hayden, this is Mother Miranda.”

Hayden blinked a few times before looking at the woman in question, his body straightening up. “Oh, so we have met before.” Walking over to her he extended his hand to greet her. “Well it’s still a pleasure to meet you.”

As Miranda took his hand, he leaned down and kissed it. The gesture made her smile in response and wanted to be vocal about it. “My my, what lovely manners.” She looked at Alcina. “You have done well, Alcina. The women back in my home will appreciate it when I bring him back with me.”

The last sentence caused the young man to stared at her puzzled. “Being me back with you?” He looked over at the tall Mistress. “What is she talking about?”

“I was going to tell you when you got back, but she surprised me with a visit before your return.” Alcina put her drink down on the table. “You’ll be staying with her for an experiment, it’s harmless judging by what’s involved and you’ll hopefully be home by tomorrow.”

Looking back at Mother Miranda, Hayden tilted his head and asked. “What kind of experiment?”

Standing up off the chair, Miranda answered. “I need you to have sex with a few women, get them pregnant. If it’s successful and the babies turn out fine, you don’t have to worry about being involved in their lives.” Noticing his frightened expression, she giggled. “Now that you know, we better get going. I’m in a bit of a rush.”

As she took his wrist to drag him out, he spoke up. “Wa-Wait. Before I go, I have something for Mother.” Alcina blinked a few times in confusion as Hayden walked over to her, handing her the box he was holding when he returned. “It took some time to finish, but I made you this.”

Before she could say anything in response, they left. Mother Miranda must’ve been in a rush.

Sighing in frustration, Alcina looked at the box before slowly opening it and gasped. She got out a choker necklace. The golden curb had small pearls connected to it with a flower matching the choker material dangling slightly on the center.

A blissful smile grew on the tall lady’s face, “It’s beautiful.” She whispered before putting it on, it fitted perfectly. Gently caressing the metal flower, she hummed.

Her humming stopped upon remembering the folder, looking down she opened it up again. Grabbing the files she flickering through them, she picked out the top file and read it. While reading it was clear that Mother Miranda is interested in Hayden, but it was in a twisted way. She felt sick to the stomach knowing that she'll likely mate with him, but they were already gone so there wasn't anything she could do. She closed the folder and rubbed her temple.

"She better return him."

[my-miraculous-headcanons]

Kim Possible AU

In which Marinette is in gymnastics, is childhood friends with Adrien, and somehow became an agent-for-hire when someone accidentally dialed her number to call for help instead of actual, professionally trained agents. That’s right, they called a preteen for help, didn’t have the time to call anyone else, and rolled with it.

Also Adrien is a total goofball with a hairless cat. He still has both his parents, who start out overprotective but gradually loosen the reigns when it becomes clear that his friend will keep him safe.

(The reason I put gymnastics and not cheerleading is because I’m pretty sure that’s an exclusively American thing? Besides, gymnastics kind of makes more sense, skillset-wise.)

Origins

     • Marinette took gymnastics since she was seven, mainly because her clumsiness had been turning into a bit of a problem. (Parents start to get worried when their child’s having genuine physical difficulty in not hurting themselves. They thought gymnastics would help her learn balance, and also allow her to burn off some of her natural childlike energy.) By the age of eleven, Marinette is the best in her class, and is thinking about entering competitions.

     • Adrien is Marinette’s childhood best friend. Along with gymnastics, Marinette also started taking ballet, which is where the two met. Adrien was taking ballet because both his parents had taken it, and also because he thought it would be fun. Since he’d been taking it longer than Marinette, he helped her out in class, and the two have been inseparable ever since.

     • Adrien helped Marinette build a website to help get her name out there when they were eleven. They took videos of her doing a couple moves, and added a contact number. Unfortunately, (or, rather fortunately, actually,) Marinette’s number is very similar to a number for a group of agents who do pretty dangerous, life-saving jobs. 

     • Marinette’s first call is from a man requesting for help at a rather big bank in Paris, not far from her house. Being eleven, she doesn’t really understand that this is probably something she should inform the police, rather than handle herself. So, she and Adrien (who she sneaks out of his house) rush over, and save the day themselves.

     • Adrien had videotaped the impressive gymnastics Marinette had pulled off in order to safely get through the security lasers and shut them off. After that video was posted, she started getting calls on a much more regular basis, all from people in need of help. It wasn’t the sort of attention she was looking for when making the website, but she can’t deny she doesn’t love her new job.

The Present

     • By the ages of 16, Marinette and Adrien have travelled all over the world, gaining favors from a bunch of grateful individuals, and are pretty dang famous. They aren’t necessarily given special privileges at school, but if things are urgent, then they’re allowed to leave and makeup missing work online. 

     • Adrien is still a model, still plays piano, still takes Chinese, and still does a lot of different sports. On his own, he’s actually pretty famous. However, in this world, it’s pretty much impossible for him to display the ‘perfect, gentlemanly son’ persona when most of the world has seen videos of him screaming at the top of his lungs, running around in his underwear because somehow his pants got pulled off again. Yeah, he’s a straight A student with the classic, rich people training, but he’s still an utter dork and everyone knows it.

     • Marinette, while still taking gymnastics, has lost interest in making it a life career when she already sort of does it already. She’s picked up other interests, one of them being fashion design when Adrien had introduced her to what goes on behind the scenes in his workplace. She’s good at designing stylish, yet very practical outfits, and made uniforms for herself and Adrien for their ‘side jobs’ as agents-for-hire. 

     • While Adrien isn’t necessarily incompetent, he’s more of the ‘do first, think later’ type of guy when it comes to their dynamic, which often leaves Marinette to do the planning and problem-solving. At this point, it’s kind of abundantly obvious that, while Adrien is academically more profound, Marinette is vastly more analytical, and probably has a ridiculously high IQ if they ever bothered to check. 

     • There isn’t a main villain. Papillion doesn’t exist because Gabriel is completely aware of what his son is doing, still has his darling wife, and has literally no reason to waste his money on illegal activities. He’s a big name in the fashion world, it’s not like he’s looking for world domination or something stupid like that.

     • (I’m sure you’re wondering why the fuck Gabriel Agreste would let his only son go off on dangerous adventures like that on a daily. Well, he didn’t at first, but over time Marinette proved to be a more effective bodyguard than Adrien’s actual bodyguard, so he became more chill. Also, Adrien’s the face of his company, and with all the brave and daring things he’s done alongside Marinette, his popularity ratings are through the roof. Son has fun, is well-taken care of, still performs exceptionally in all his extracurriculars, and does well by the family business? It’s a win-win on all sides.)

     • I would make Lila Shego, except Shego is an actually likeable villain who’s genuinely smart, badass, and fun to watch. So, idk who Shego is, definitely not any of the catty girl rivals Marinette has to put up with, but you can’t have a Kim Possible AU without Shego, so she’s definitely in there. 

     • Max is probably Wade. Honestly makes the most sense, but here’s a suggestion: Max and Kim are the ones who contact Marinette when she has a mission. Max is great with numbers, technology, etc, but Kim’s expertise in completely random shit like sports, terrain, and necessary gear needed for specific situations makes him a valuable asset to the team.

     • We all know who Chloé is going to be, I don’t even need to say it but I will anyways. Say hello to our Bonnie, everyone. She was probably in that ballet class with Marinette and Adrien too, years ago. 

     • While Tom Dupain is still a baker, in this AU Sabine Cheng went on to pursue her dream as a literal rocket scientist, and succeeded. So, Sabine is basically Dr. James Timothy Possible. 

     ��� Adrien has a hairless cat named Plagg. His father is allergic to fur, and Adrien’s allergic to feathers, so he was sort of limited to pets like fish or lizards, neither of which he really wanted. He found Plagg outside gorging himself on camembert by a dumpster. Having been previously a street cat, Plagg’s growth was stunted, so he stayed pretty small.

     • Luka is obviously Josh Mankey. Marinette and Luka date for a while, but eventually break up on mutual terms due to him not being able to handle some of the dangerous things that pop up in her life often. While he doesn’t panic when things go south, he’s not really physically equipped to protect himself... He’s a musician, not a fighter.

     • Listen, y’all can fight me, Marinette’s longest relationship before finally getting together with Adrien is going to be with Kagami. Kagami handles the dangerous things that go on in Marinette’s life perfectly well, and they date for several months. Eventually, they do break up, but still remain good friends. (This is the period in which Adrien realises he’s jealous of Kagami, and has feelings for Marinette.)

Get Together

     • For those of you who haven’t watched Kim Possible, (and honestly what the hell are you even doing with your life if you haven’t,) Kim and Ron get together at a school dance (prom, but I don’t think prom exists in France,) and share a slow dance with each other. Uhhh so basically think Despair Bear, except Adrien and Marinette are wearing fancy clothes, just got together, and share a kiss in the end.

     • Marinette had recently broken up with Kagami before the dance, and is a little upset over not having a date when she already made herself a dress. Adrien is dealing with his realisation that he likes Marinette romantically, but keeps quiet about it and gives her a shoulder to cry on because she’s hurt, and he’s not going to take advantage of that. He suggests they go to the dance together as friends.

     • Kagami is there, and Adrien confronts her as to why she had broken up with the most amazing girl in Paris. She tells him that she came to the conclusion that, though she loved Marinette with all her heart, Marinette clearly had someone else as her #1. Kagami was sick of having to compete for that position when the other person didn’t even need to try. Adrien is left baffled by this.

     • Marinette overhears this as she’s walking over to ask Adrien for a dance. Kagami looked past Adrien’s shoulder, directly into Marinette’s eyes, and smiled knowingly. Then she walked away, sipping at her drink. 

     • Adrien turns around, pretty green eyes latching onto hers, and Marinette immediately understands what Kagami had meant. A slow song comes on, and she asks him to dance. Things fall in place from there.

     • (Of course, after they’ve kissed and become a couple, some dumb villain is going to inevitably crash the party and try to kill Marinette, as usual, but they deal with it like they always do.)

Alright that’s the end! This was an almost completed draft of mine I had, and since I’ve been lacking on content recently, I thought I’d quickly polish this up a bit and post it. I also have some other completed things I could polish up on, but eh, don’t feel like it right now. Enjoy!

(And maybe tell me how you’d imagine your favourite KP episode would go with Marinette and Adrien as the protagonists instead!)

[raspberryfanfics]

La Primavera—NT Month Day 2

Day 2 - Primavera or spring

I know i’m late ok? Only 17 minutes of day 3 so making the most out of it

On FFn

Introduction

The optional part of a sonata, slower than the main theme, usually in the dominant key. May contain material later stated in the exposition.

Lead violin.

Tenten swore those words would haunt her until the day she died. She was so close. Her audition was perfect. Her music was expressive, her calloused fingers rolling across the strings with grace and her arms moving the bow with so much feeling.

And the worst part was that even if her audition was perfect, she still knew that there was no way she would have made solo violin compared to Neji Hyuga. Because the moment she heard him play, she knew he did everything she did twice as well.

To be honest, La Primavera wasn't even that hard to learn as a girl who had played the violin for 18 years. She shouldn't be so upset. It wouldn't be her most important gig. It was a charity one. She wasn't even going to get played. But she knew immediately that she lost the position very easily to him. She had never lost so badly

So the past four weeks, it had been playing the first violin leading the string quartet rather than the solo violin leading the song. Tenten had been responding to the solo violin on the music rather than asking. But what could she do? No matter how much more effort she put in, she couldn't have beat Neji Hyuga, whoever that was.

But who was she kidding? She had stalked Neji Hyuga on Instagram, Twitter, and every other social media he rarely used. He appeared more frequently on the news, awards, charities, and small albums. He wrote his own music.

Meanwhile, she was making pop covers with a violin.

Of course, Tenten wrote her own music too, but it was simple, nowhere as extravagant as his.

Tenten walked into the rented church, her case heavy in her arm. A smiling boy joined her side, he had shiny black hair cut into a bowl-shape, a case similar to hers, only larger. She assumed he was the violist.

"I'm Tenten," she offered.

"Lee," he flashed a smile, bright and glaring. It made her wince, though she thought he seemed like a sweet person.

"Are you familiar with the other musicians, Hinata, Gai, and Kakashi?" she asked.

"Not Hinata," Lee said, his voice loud. "Gai-sensei taught me everything I know about the viola, Kakashi is his husband. They are incredibly talented. Do you know of Neji Hyuga?"

Tenten nodded weakly. "Yes, I've listened to his recordings. He's great."

Fucking amazing, she meant.

And he was already sitting in the room with supposedly Hinata, tuning his violin without the help of the harpsichord or a tuner.

"Do you need me to play and 'A'?" she offered, already reaching for the keyboard.

Instead, he looked up at her, his cold pale eyes meeting her warm brown ones. A tingle went down her spine, but it didn't seem to be because of the cold not because she was intimidated.

"I have absolute pitch," he replied curtly before going back 'D'.

Tenten scoffed at his abruptness and his arrogance. Of course, he'd have perfect pitch. Who would expect?

Hinata gave a slight smile. She had the same eyes as Neji did. And last name, for that matter. "I'll take an 'A', please."

Tenten smiled at her, pressing the note so it rang out. She knew that Hinata easily could have listened to her cousin's note in reference to her own, but took the note anyhow.

Lee had taken out his viola as well, tuning his instrument. With the notes fresh in her mind, Tenten started as well.

When Gai and Kakashi burst in late, she was surprised by the similarities between the former and Lee. They really looked like father and son. More so than Neji and Hinata looked like siblings or cousins.

"I COULD HEAR YOUR YOUTHFUL TUNING ACROSS FROM THE ROOM! DO PLAY ME AND 'A', MISS—"

"Tenten," she said, her voice sounding like a squeak compared to his boisterous one.

Nonetheless, she let the note run through.

And when everyone was tuned, warmed up, and ready, they started. Just from the pure grace expressed on his violin, Tenten knew she was screwed. Neji Hyuga was too good, even with only a month of practice.

Exposition

The primary part of a sonata, the beginning, presenting the main motif, commonly repeated throughout. The key changes near the end of the section, preparing for the development.

Weirdly enough, after a few practices, Tenten met him again not at the church, but when she was performing on the street, greeting strangers as they walked by, pausing to talk after each song. So she finished her cover of Riptide and smiled at him.

"Hey," she said to him while answering the questions of a few admirers. However, his posture seemed to scare off the rest of her audience.

"You use your talent for this?" he scoffed.

Whatever was the opposite of a backhanded compliment was what he had done.

"I like talking to commoners," she replied. "Everyone should hear good music."

He raised an eyebrow, she began the next song. Tenten expected him to leave but he stuck through each one of her songs, even as she talked to the people who ignored him.

"Requests, anyone?" she shouted to her audience. They looked at him and she rolled her eyes, seeing that they didn't dare speak.

"An original," he provided.

Tenten's face reddened. Did he want to make fun of her or something? Shove his superior skills in front of her face? Make it obvious that he had better music than she?

"I don't have originals," she replied. The spring breeze seemed to bring a strangely gentle smile to his lips.

"A person like you has to have originals,"

"What is that supposed to mean?" she scoffed.

"Have you really never composed anything?" Neji inquired.

Tenten paused. Any musician playing as long as she had was bound to have written something, to have memorized something. She just didn't choose to make money off of them. "I've never played them for anyone."

"Play one for me,"

And somehow, the expression on his face convinced her.

"An original for Neji here," she announced. "I call this one, Spring."

A few cheers came from her audience.

Tenten rested her bow on the strings, her calloused fingers pressing down on the board. Everything tuned out until the first ring of the music drifted through the air. It was her own interpretation of spring. Tenten played the flowers blooming, the gentle breeze, and the birds singing. When she stopped, the tips in her case looked heavier and the look of admiration and fascination in his gaze made her breath batch.

Something was different between them after that.

—

"I didn't know you had a studio," Neji walked into the apartment, offering the homey nature of where her many students would learn from her when she wasn't practicing at charities or for the people on the street.

You don't know a lot of things about me.

"Yea, it gives me more privacy. And it separates work from home. An office, in a way."

He smiled. "Impressive that you can afford it in a place with such expensive rent."

Tenten looked at him to see if there was any suspicion on his face. There weren't any. "I have my ways."

Though her ways might be questionable.

"It's not like you'd have any trouble affording it."

He shrugged, slowly looked around, sitting at her keyboard. The score on the stand took his attention. His pale eyes skimmed through the music. Her music. She could see him playing silently in his head.

"You've added more to this," he held up the page, half littered in notes. Then he motioned the piano, making her blush. "May I?'

Tenten nodded, slowly sitting beside him on the bench, the way she would with her student. Yet usually she'd listen to her students play and judge them, but now she was listening to Neji play and he was judging her.

His fingers played the first motif, then continued, playing the simple melodies with usual grace, giving her music more of a solemn feel than playful. He went through what she had not yet composed for him and the way he brought something she had written herself to life made her fall for him just a little more.

Neji filled something that Tenten made with the life only he could give, the magic he seemed to bring with him.

"It's beautiful," he said, his baritone voice deep in admiration. While her voice was high like the violin they played, his was low like the cello. Tenten's heart stopped.

"You can have it when I complete it," she blurted without thinking. He turned to her, his expression unreadable other than the fact that he thought she was crazy. "I mean, you don't' have to, of course. I know the song is super simple and definitely nothing like Vivaldi or Beethoven—"

"You'd give it to me? Your song?"

She flushed. "Well, you'd have the original score and I'd have a photocopy to play but yea, I'd write it for you."

Her face turned so red she thought she had a fever.

Yet Neji just seemed flabbergasted. Every emotion usually masked until he played the violin was open for her to see. Surprise, confusion, captivation...though she understood the expression, she just didn't understand why.

"No one has written me a piece before," he admitted, a breath escaping from his lips. And the admiration of her music turned to the admiration of her. He looked something between wonderstruck and struck. Her heart pounded in her chest a few tempos faster.

"I—I can give you one of my scores as well," he said. "It's one of the pieces I've memorized for my next concert so I'm completely finished—"

"You don't have to," Tenten said quickly, eyes wide. "You don't owe me—"

"I'd like to," he insisted. "Should you wish to learn it one day."

"Without thinking, she took his face into her hands and pulled his jaw towards her. He was still. She could feel the shock on his frozen lips. But his surprise seemed to melt like the thawing mountain streams, growing trails of new life and magic that only music could describe.

And Tenten was slowly falling for the man who tasted of spring the more she kissed him.

—

She didn't know when or even how, but there was a point where playing the Vivaldi seemed more emotional than it was. Because now, though Neji's violin was still calling, he was calling for her. She'd answer, light as the birds, like a nature spirit. And though Hinata would answer the call, then Lee, it still felt like he was calling for her only.

There they were, six strings, making one song. And it truly felt like spring.

That evening, Neji and Tenten went back to her studio. He brought his violin. He played for her the music he was still perfecting. Tenten could barely breathe. The sweet sounds made her eyes flutter shut instantly. They played for her ears only. She believed, let herself believe that this song was for her. When he finished, there was a pause. There always was a pause at the end of a great performance.

Only when he lifted his bow from the strings, had he truly completed the song. She watched anxiously as he set the instrument down, turned to her and stared into her eyes. His pale gaze was strangely warm. She breathed slowly, he breathed over her, and their legs were a tangled mess. But their lips? Oh, what was going on between their lips was far from messy.

Tenten felt like she was on cloud nine. His kisses trailed to his neck and what was supposedly warm became heated and all she could do was cling onto his dress shirt with helpless whimpers. But he pulled back, to her dismay, and it was only the grin on his face that kept her from taking charge herself.

She slowly opened her phone and tapped, then handed it back to her.

"I want to take you on a date."

Tenten nearly passed out.

"Just before the charity recital," he added. "Wear what you'll perform in and bring your violin."

She nodded dumbly.

Neji kissed her on the cheek. "I'll see you then, Tenten."

After he left, she opened her phone and realized he had sent himself her real address.

All of the heat froze with a wave of fear.

—

The doorbell rang. Tenten adjusted her hair, makeup, threw her shade of lipstick into her purse in case the dinner messed it up. Or his lips.

Tenten threw makeup wipes in there just in case.

She opened the door and she had to keep herself from pouncing at him at the sight of how he looked in a perfectly tailored suit and somehow even neater hair. His tie probably cost her her her dress, shoes, and purse combined. There was a bouquet of flowers in his hand, not roses, but crocuses. Tenten didn't know a lot about flowers but she knew that crocuses were among the first flowers to bloom in spring.

As she stared at the thoughtfulness, it gave him a chance to look her apartment over. It looked normal, hopefully. He didn't point anything, in particular, out so she was in the clear.

"Shall we go?" he held his elbow out for her, which she took happily.

They walked out of her apartment, violins in their free hands.

—

The restaurant was fancy.

Tenten had feared these types of restaurants when she was younger because she knew it would be much too awkward to be enjoyable. Yet somehow, with the way he smiled and explained the French dishes to her, it didn't matter.

She cracked light jokes. They talked of their music, their lives, their dreams.

"You would have very popular concerts," he spoke.

"Yet I can't compare to you."

"I disagree," he said. "Your music is much more memorable than mine."

"I do not have the fluency that you play with, Neji."

"Will you consider being a composer?"

Tenten nodded. "I'll write you some music. You'll record them for me, make me famous."

He chuckled. "As you wish."

Her eyes widened. "Ooh, speaking of which, Lee and I got tickets to your next concert. We'll be listening very carefully for any mistakes."

"Thanks. You didn't have to."

"I would listen to your playing even had I not pursued you," she teased. "Lee would too."

Neji's expression changed. "With Lee—is there—I don't want to—if you and him—"

Tenten's eyes widened in surprise. "I've only known him since we came together for the Vivaldi. He's like a brother to me. You don't have anything to worry about."

He flushed slightly. "My apologies."

"You don't do this too often, do you?" she asked abruptly.

"Do what?"

"You don't do the dating thing a lot. You haven't had many girlfriends."

Neji stared down at his ridiculously expensive food. "It's easier for me that way. I can focus on my music."

"Then why date me?"

"Most of the time, dating distracts me. Yet you inspire me, Tenten."

Fuck, I love him.

She only smiled. "Why haven't you been inspired by the other girls?"

"I've never been as attached to them as I am with you."

And she could see every ounce of vulnerability he had like all of the snow melted under her. But she was worried about when it would burn.

Development

The second part of a Sonata, introducing new or varied motifs and begins in the key the exposition ended in.

The charity recital had brought in plenty of profit. Easily said, it had been their best performance. Tenten sat by Neji's side in the fluorescent lighting backstage, exclaiming opinions and admiring the way his face seemed all the more contoured, more like a god than man.

She held his hands, firm, calloused fingers on hi his right, softer ones on his left. She was subtle, only her quartet and harpsichord noticed. His pulse would quicken at certain actions. Tenten found that she liked discovering what those actions were.

Tenten was led into his car after the recital and he didn't put keys into the ignition, rather kissed her the moment she closed the door.

"You were driving me crazy backstage," he said between breaths.

"Really? Totally couldn't tell."

"You were."

"Looks like you're gonna have to sneak me backstage during your concert." she joked.

But alas, the moon started to grow tired of them making out in the car and she was yet to go home despite rather staying with him.

"I'm planning the date next time," she told him as they walked to her apartment, lingering because neither wanted to leave. His memory would still cling onto her, though it would never beat the real thing.

He was spring now. He used to be winter; cold, harsh, and thrilling, but she had melted into spring; warm, gentle, relaxing. She liked to think of herself as summer; hot, fierce, and playful, so she was able to do so. She liked to believe she was the only one to make the icy exterior thaw.

They reached the top of the steps to her apartment. She shoved her keys in her door, fumbling. And she looked back at him, let go of her unlocked doorknob, seeing his pale eyes staring at her so wondrously. They were darkened by the dim lighting and Tenten was filled with so much desire and amazement that she let the words at the tip of her tongue slip.

"I love you, Neji."

Tenten was afraid of his reaction so she quickly reached for the door again. Yet he grabbed her hand and pushed her wrists above her head. He attacked her with his mouth and fuck, spring was definitely summer now. She could only wrap her legs around his waist, accommodating his kisses by tilting her head and gasping for air.

Fireworks went off in her body. Symphonies played in her head. Even as he pulled away slightly, she could tell that he wanted to lean in again.

"Say it again," he breathed. She was amazed that he managed to get any words out.

"I—I love you,"

"Again,"

"I love you.

"Again."

"Aren't you going—"

"I love you, Tenten."

Her heart stopped. And it stopped again when he reached up to her cocktail dress and she realized where this was going.

"Wait—" her voice trailed off when he squeezed her bottom and sucked at her collarbone. "I—"

He opened the door and Tenten had to force herself away.

"Neji, I—"

But she was too late.

His pale eyes, previously filled with desire and lust were filled with confusion, slowly morphing into anger. In them, she could see the reflection of a warm light, the type that tried to imitate the sunshine but never worked, and a familiar silhouette.

"Tenten," though he was trying to stay calm, she could hear a slight quiver in his voice. "Who—"

The guy on the couch had obsidian hair and eyes. He seemed bored, a horror documentary playing on the television. In all, he didn't seem to care. "Who am I? I should be asking you, shouldn't I be? You're in my house, after all."

"You live here," Neji said, though it was quite obvious now.

Tenten wanted to hide in a corner. She was going to have a panic attack if this went—

"And you don't. Nice flowers you got for my girlfriend, by the way. I'm sure she appreciates it—"

"Sasuke—" she started, but Neji interrupted.

"My deepest apologies. I wasn't aware that Tenten had—"

"It is not your fault that she failed to inform you of her commitments."

But he was already out of the apartment.

She didn't even spare a look back at Sasuke, following after him with hasty steps.

"Neji!"

He didn't answer her. She called his name again and again yet he continued walking. He walked to his car, the door unlocking. With a burst of speed, she intercepted him from opening the door, biting her lip and holding back the tears she didn't deserve to have.

"Neji will you listen to me—"

"Why should I listen to you!" he shot, suddenly, face red, burned, scorched by her. His chest heaved up and down and though he feigned pure rage, it sounded more like pleading.

"So I can explain—"

"What can possibly explain you having a boyfriend already? I thought I was your boyfriend! What can you say that will excuse not telling me in any fucking circumstance?"

She was silent. Tenten didn't have an answer.

"Fuck," he said, voice breaking as if she had put her hand over the strings, stopping any further sound. "You said—you said you love me and I fucking believed you."

"I do love you!" she said. "I don't love Sasuke, I love you! I want you, Neji—"

"But how can I trust you!" tears started to roll down both their faces.

She shook and he pushed her away to the side roughly. Tenten didn't feel it. She could only feel regret and guilt and knew that she deserved it.

"I don't want to see you again. I don't want you in my life anymore," he said, voice too much calmer than before. He slammed the car door and drove away, not even looking at her through his rearview mirror.

And she broke down in the parking lot of her apartment building, feeling more helpless than she had ever been.

—

It wasn't like Tenten had ever loved Sasuke Uchiha. Not even a little bit. How could she have ever had an ounce of feeling other than platonic for him when that was the only way he felt for her too?

The thing was, she was his rebound friend with benefit. Two bad ideas in one. But bad ideas often outweighed each other and while friends with benefits often caught feelings and as did rebounds, being both made her even colder to him than she used to be.

Sasuke had just broken up with Sakura Haruno, a bassist under Kakashi, while he was a violist like Lee. They had known each other forever. They had loved each other for a little shorter. But Sakura wasn't someone he could just get over. Sex wouldn't change that but would sure distract.

He and Tenten took many of the same classes in university. Were they friends? Not really. But they often collaborated together and knew each other well enough. Around the same time he broke up with Sakura, she needed a studio for her students. So he let her live in his one-room apartment and in exchange, she became his girlfriend, which really just meant she was his sex buddy and warded off any other girls who wanted to be.

And it worked for her too. Like Neji, boyfriends distracted her. She didn't like falling for guys even though she knew she would cave under some of their charms. Sasuke warded them off for her as well. He wasn't bad in bed either. They only considered themself as actual friends when she was so drunk that she brought home a guy who wanted to take advantage of her in her own house, whom he nearly beat up.

Maybe it would have been easier to explain to him had she not slept with him since meeting Neji. Tenten really had done that. She felt dirty, a mistress, and Sasuke didn't know any better than to drive Neji off too. He had been right. Nothing could have possibly excused her actions because he deserved to know about Sasuke in a way better than what had happened, and he would have understood why she did what she did.

Tenten sulked around her house for a week. She emailed her students and said she was sick. She practiced the violin all day, playing the songs he had given her for hours on end.

That was when her "boyfriend" approached her.

"I think it's around time you and I broke up."

Tenten blinked, then saw he was sincere. She set down her instrument and he sat down on their bed, sighing.

"The past few weeks, you don't seem to want sex as much."

She nearly slapped him for his words but he held his pale hand out, stopping her.

"In the times we did have sex, you muttered someone else's name," he explained. "I couldn't figure out what you said. But now that I think about it, it was his. The man you brought home and cried for a week ago. I can tell you love him, the way I love Sakura. I don't want to get in the way between that."

Tenten didn't know what to say. She just stared at him. It was obvious that he still wasn't over his ex, but he had never admitted loving her out loud.

"I'll help you move out. I can loan you some money as well."

"But why? I'm the one who has been in the wrong. Why are you being so nice to me?"

He shrugged. "You were the only person who understood not wanting to talk about Sakura. And you've made me realize that I want her back."

She found herself calling Lee that day, explaining to him the mess she had gotten into. He offered her the empty room in his space.

Recapitulation

The repeat and slightly altered version of the exposition in a sonata. Usually consists of a transition to keep the tonic key so the section can conclude.

"TENTEN! DID YOU SERIOUSLY FORGET?"

It was the middle of the evening. What could she possibly forget? She was in her studio, writing music.

"Lee, what is it this time?" Tenten muttered, setting her score down as he walked in, wearing a green button-up and nice pants. His hair was neater. He looked like he was going on a date. Had he needed a ride for his date or something?

"The concert!" he shouted as if she was stupid. To be fair, she was.

"What concert?"

"NEJI'S CONCERT! NEJI'S CONCERT IS TODAY! WE HAVE TICKETS, REMEMBER?" he shoved a black dress into her hands. "GET READY."

Tenten's heart stopped. She hadn't seen him in weeks. She thought of him every day. She cried herself to sleep thinking of him. She thought of him in her sleep. "Why the fuck would I go to his concert?"

"Because even if you are in love with him, it doesn't excuse the fact that he has great music."

She could see very little resemblance between the two subjects.

"Oh, come on, Ten. Are you seriously going to miss it?"

She wasn't and he knew it. So she threw on the dress and joined him in the concert hall, blending in with hundreds among hundreds of other people, waiting in line just to see him play. Tenten didn't know what to expect.

The lights seemed to dim in what felt like years and he walked out onto the stage. Her breath caught painfully in her throat. It hadn't caught this way in so long.

He was the personification of elegance. His dark suit made him took tall, his hair drifting down his back in a low ponytail, his pale skin glowing in the spotlight. Tucked under his arm was his violin. Even though he was on the stage and she was far into the audience, she could still see those lilac eyes clearer than ever.

Neji took a spot at the center of the stage and closed his eyes, shifting as everything was so silent she could hear a pin drop. When he opened his eyes, music started to drift into the halls.

She recognized the music. She had listened to him play it over and over again, sometimes slowly, sometimes in different rhythms. She had played it over and over again, the music that he had given her the scores to. Upon hearing the sounds coming from his violin rather than hers, Tenten felt like she was going to burst because even though it was the same music, it sounded so different as he did.

And the whole concert was like that. She had to close her eyes and listen so she could be fully immersed in it. Tenten felt herself falling all over again. The music was sombre, cold, and distant. Yet she felt it all. She had been summer before and now she was turning into autumn. Everything was chilly. Shivers ran down her spine.

When he ended his last piece, it felt like no time had passed. Everyone was quiet. They could only breathe it in. Neji bowed, and she could only stand like the rest of them, clapping. He looked forwards and she felt like he was looking directly at her, but he wasn't. He only looked to a sea of faces, faces he couldn't even see, and she knew she was only imagining things. They cheered for an encore, even the staff cheered for an encore, and he slowly raised his hands, allowing them to quiet so he could perform.

Yet he spoke instead. She hadn't heard him speak this whole time until now.

"This piece was composed for me by someone dear to me. She calls it Spring."

Tenten clutched onto Lee's arm with terrifying strength. "Fuck, fuck, Lee, that's my—"

But the first note of her song filled the hall with a warmed feeling than all of his other songs. He was playing her song. He played to exceptionally beautifully, with all the emotions she had felt in her heart. She heard love, she heard spring, and she heard the beautiful thing they had developed in a heart wrenching way.

Tears slid out of her eyes as he finished and when she left, the talkative exclaims of how their favourite piece had been the encore at the end.

—

Hinata had given her his address so there she was, standing at Neji's apartment with only hope and a violin.

She rang his doorbell slowly, holding her breath as she heard his footsteps come closer.

The door opened and he met her eyes, holding her gaze for a solid second before slamming the door in her face.

"Neji Hyuga!" she screamed, tired, fed up, and terribly, terribly in love with him.

"Fuck off!"

She didn't think that such foul and ungraceful words would ever come out of his mouth. Yet Tenten had long predicted such an outcome would happen. So she sat her violin case on the opposite wall, then took out her tuner. She watched as the notes hit a whole tone below what the standard tuning was and started on the song.

Though it was awkward at first, she soon got the hang of it. The melody was the one he composed. Music in exchange for music. A song an audience had heard but only two knew to play. She mustered all the emotions she could into it. Tenten tried to play it as well as he did.

Her performance caught the attention of a few other residents of the building. Perhaps they were enchanted by the music, perhaps they were going to threaten Neji with another sound complaint. Yet they saw her, not him, playing differently, playing in the hall. They listened to her, reciting his music until his door opened once more.

Neji's eyes were brimmed red, he looked more tired than he had during his concert. She stopped playing at the sight of him and couldn't move her sore fingers. She saw his adam's apple bob and he bit his lip.

"You're out of tune," he whispered. Because of course even though her music had brought him to tears behind the door, he would only point out her purposeful mistake to flaunt his absolute pitch.

The people of the apartment watched in interest.

"It's driving you mad," she said, referring herself more than the instrument. Yet she tucked the violin under her arm, grabbing her case, and entering his apartment before he could drive her out yet again.

Neji leaned against the door after closing it, rubbing his temples. He didn't meet her gaze.

"I'm sorry for everything," she whispered, setting down her violin and touching his face lightly.

Neji leaned his head back further into the door, almost as if he wanted to escape her touch, but he tilted it and somehow his jaw fit even tighter into her hand.

"I won't make excuses. But I have never had feelings for Sasuke, only for you, and we broke up a couple of weeks ago. I still love you, Neji." Tenten inhaled sharply. "I know you love me too."

And he started to shake, trembling into her hand, clinging onto her.

"Will you give me another chance?"

Neji nodded.

She hadn't realized how badly she needed that. Relief flooded her veins and she kissed him, slowly, steadily, and never planned to let go.

Spring meant new beginnings, but most of the time it was just being revived again.