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wkemeup · 4 years ago

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Play Pretend (II)

summary: In the aftermath of Munich, Bucky struggles to go back to how things were before. But now that he knows how it is to love you, he's not sure he can. pairing: bucky x reader word count: 5.8k warnings: smut (18+), mutual pining idiots a/n: here is the final part! make sure you catch up at part 1 first! gif by @crispychrissy

Bucky couldn’t get the image out of his head for days after the mission in Munich. Pictures of you laying so beautifully beneath him, the slight curve of your lips as a moan slipped past, skin so soft it begged to be touched and soothed and worshiped. He couldn’t let go of how you sounded, how you cried out his name or the gentle whimpers spoken so sweetly against his ear. He couldn’t stop craving you wrapped so tightly around him, your hands caressing down his arms, his back, his shoulders, your unbridged desire to touch every part of him, even the parts he despised.

Memories that found him in his sleep in the early hours of the morning, in the shower when his legs were weak and tired, at the breakfast table when you strolled in wearing a t-shirt down to your thighs and the evident curve of your breasts bare beneath the fabric.

Bucky tried to push the thoughts away. He tried to stop thinking of what happened in that cold, abandoned Hydra base. He tried to bury that longing somewhere deep, somewhere he’d never be bothered by it again. But it always came back in the image of you in that cell.

It plagued him. It taunted him.

He wanted more.

He didn’t know how to admit it. Not to himself, and certainly not to you. So, he did his best to suffocate those feelings, those cravings for something real, but they still found their way to the surface.

They spilled over on movie nights with the team and Bucky would find himself inching closer to you, in the gym when he took just a second longer to lift his weight from your body after a winded match that ended on the surface of the mat, on walks around the compound when he found himself wanting to capture your hand in his own as your fingers brushed by.

Those feelings slipped from his smothering hold on missions when he watched your back far more than his own, when he’d missed an obvious target in an attempt to clear your enemy line and ended up catching three bullets himself. He lost composure whenever you didn’t respond on coms or when you’d stumble back onto the quinjet with an injury you’d been hiding. He dove headfirst into fires and threw his body up as a shield and spent every night in agony wondering if you knew that he’d give his whole life to you if you’d asked.

It made him stupid. It made him reckless. It might actually get him killed.

But it hadn’t started in Munich. No, that was just the catalyst of it all. Bucky had loved you long before that drug infiltrated his system and left the two of you in an impossible position. He’d managed to keep his feelings at bay for years; hiding behind quick witted jokes and friendly banter and a genuine friendship and it had been enough. Honest, it had.

Only, now he knew what it was like to be with you. He caught a taste of what it would be like to make love to you and he didn’t know if he could ever forget and move on. It had been weeks since Munich and it still felt like it happened yesterday.

He had to do something to keep it from consuming him, even if it broke your heart. Even if it broke his, too.

***

“What the hell do you mean you can’t work with Y/n anymore?”

Steve groaned, pinching at the bridge of his nose. It had been a long day of debriefing with about a dozen agents making demands he was unwilling to compromise on. This, separating his best team, was among them.

“It’s just not a good idea, Steve,” Bucky said, arms folded tightly over his chest as he watched Steve pace relentlessly down the conference room.

“That’s ridiculous, Buck.” Steve slumped into the chair beside his friend. “You two are the best insurgent team I have.”

“Just trust me. You’ve seen how I’ve been in the field lately. I can’t keep a straight head around her, okay? Not after—” Bucky clenched his jaw, turning away.

Steve sighed, hanging his head. “You ever gonna tell me what happened in Munich?”

Bucky’s lip was chewed raw; scars over broken wounds, teeth digging into painful cracks. It was a nasty habit he picked up after Munich. He wasn’t used to this kind of nervousness; a deep and unsettling feeling churned to stone in the pit of his stomach.

“Reassign me, Steve,” Bucky asked again, firmer. He could feel Steve’s eyes burning on him, tracing every inch of his face, searching for a tell, but he wouldn’t find one. Bucky was trained better than that. He knew to keep his features cold, stoned, even if his heart was pounding against his chest. He wondered it Steve could hear it, too.

The silence hung heavy in the air.

“Alright,” Steve finally conceded. He shook his head reluctantly. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Bucky sighed a breath of relief, the weight of months filled with a longing he couldn’t tame and painful twist in his heart slipping from him in seconds. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me.” Steve stood up from his chair, gathered the papers from the desk and made his way to the door. He paused just at the frame, turned around slowly to find Bucky had relaxed a little too much for his liking and added, “you’re going to be the one to tell her.”

“What?” Bucky scrambled out of his chair, nearly losing his footing and all composure as he stood to face Steve.

“You’ve been partners for years,” Steve shot back tensely. “She’s had your back on countless missions, saved your life on more than one occasion, and—come on, Buck— you guys are friends! The two of you spend every day together, even when you’re benched! You don’t want to give me an explanation? Fine. But you sure as hell owe her one.”

Bucky shook his head rapidly, hands clenching at the fraying edges of his t-shirt. “Steve, I—”

“Just talk to her,” Steve said, a heavy disappointment lingering in his voice. His lips parted, as if there were more he wanted to say, but decided against it. He hung his head, pat Bucky firmly on his shoulder, and left.

***

Had he always been able to hear his own heartbeat like this?

It was pounding in his ears, thunderous, deafening, and he swore just about everyone else on the floor could its thumping as he approached your room.

The door was open ajar with a small glimmer of sunlight streaming out into the dimly lit hallway. You were singly quietly to yourself – humming, maybe – as you sat on the edge of your bed, staring down onto your phone. You didn’t seem to notice him at the door. He knocked.

Your head popped up, surprised at the sudden intrusion and your eyes only narrowed upon finding it was Bucky standing below the doorframe. You looked at him for a moment before you turned back to your phone without saying another word.

He deserved that.

“Can I come in?” Bucky asked sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. He was still staring into the room through the small slit in the door.

You shrugged. “Depends. Are you still avoiding me?”

A sharp sting burned in his chest as Bucky tried to unclench his jaw. Truthfully, he had been avoiding you for days now. Ever since he made up his mind to ask for a reassignment. It didn’t matter if Steve shipped him off to Alaska or the Amazons or out into space with the goddamn raccoon; all he knew was that every minute he spent beside you was agony and he needed to get away from it – away from you – before it consumed him whole.

None of that was your fault. You didn’t know why he was suddenly too busy to spar on your usual weekdays or join the team for movie nights. He never told you why he suddenly started pulling away, cutting off all contact as if you hadn’t been friends for years before Munich.

“I’ve got something important to talk to you about,” Bucky replied, clearing his throat.

You sat up, sitting the phone down by your side as you recognized the tone in his voice. Clinical. Mission oriented. Business. He didn’t want it to sound so cold, but he wasn’t sure he could do this if it wasn’t.

Bucky stepped into the room, prying the door open gently with a slow squeak on its hinges as he closed it behind him. He’d been in your room dozens of times before, but somehow, in this moment, it felt like an invasion of privacy, like he wasn’t supposed to be there.

He took a deep breath, trying to keep focus. He took a few steps forward and gingerly sat on the edge of your bed, keeping careful distance as he wrung at his hands in his lap.

“I’m being reassigned.”

You furrowed your brow. He could practically hear your heart skip a beat.

“What? No. They can’t do that!” You shook your head, determined. There were traces of disbelief on your face – anger, too. Your hands gripped tightly into the sheets at your sides. “They can’t just reassign you, Buck. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Y/n, you don’t understand,” he started to say, but you were already on your feet, pacing around the room. It was how you calmed yourself when your thoughts were racing too fast. The stabbing pain in Bucky’s chest only seemed to dig deeper.

“I know the field has been messy lately, but that happens to everyone! They can’t split us up because of a few extra trips to the med bay,” you argued, wearing trenches into the carpet of your bedroom. You stopped abruptly. “Who gave the order? Steve? Tony? I’ll take this up with Fury if I have to, okay? I won’t let them—”

“Y/n, stop. Please.” Bucky hung his head. His right hand was red as his left clasped and tugged at the skin. He couldn’t find the courage to meet your eye but he could tell from the way you stilled that you knew what he was about to say. “It was me. I asked for reassignment.”

It didn’t seem to hurt any less though because your stance still faltered. It was barely noticeable, not to the human eye, but Bucky’s sensed were advanced thanks to his time in Hydra. He saw the way your body weight shifted just slightly, how your breath caught in your chest, the slight flicker of your eyes. Shock. Betrayal. Hurt.

“You said it yourself,” Bucky reasoned, trying to find excuses where there were none, “there’s been too many ER trips lately. I keep getting hurt.”

“Because you insist on using your body as human shield, Buck!” you retorted, arms flung out to the sides. “Just knock that off and we’ll be fine!”

Bucky shook his head, his lips curling ever so slightly though it didn’t touch his eyes. “It’s not that simple.”

“Of course, it is!” you argued. You started pacing again. “Don’t be an idiot, Barnes. I’m not losing my partner. Go tell them you were joking or concussed and not thinking straight!”

“I’m not going to do that.” Bucky clenched his jaw. His right hand was starting to lose feeling from how tightly he was gripping it.

Why couldn’t you make this easy on him? You were supposed to be angry with him for ignoring you for the last week. You were angry with him and yet you still fought for him. He couldn’t make sense of it.

The pacing stopped again, though this time it came in slow, like a realization that found its way piece by piece until it melded into a visible image.

“Was it something I did?”

Bucky jumped up to his feet, instinctively wanting to walk towards you but you held your ground. He froze, standing several feet away.

“No,” he said firmly. “God no. You didn’t do anything wrong, Y/n.”

“Then what?” You raised your arms out to the side in question. “We’ve been partners for years, Bucky. I’ve relied on you all that time to have my back, to keep me alive out there, and—and—” you groaned rather loudly, “you’re my best friend! You can’t just up and decide you’re done with me and move on!”

Bucky frowned. “That’s not what this is.”

You shook your head, arms folding tightly over your chest protectively. “Sure feels like it.”

The silence between you was unbearable. Bucky didn’t have a good excuse. You were right to be angry with him. He was abandoning you. He was a coward. He was running away from a painful situation to avoid facing it head on because he was terrified to lose you. Though, as you pressed the heels of your palms into your eyes, pulling them away a moment later to find a soft glisten of reflection in their wake, Bucky started to wonder that were already true.

“Oh God,” you exhaled, a heavy realization in your voice as you turned to him. Your shoulders slumped. “This is because of Munich, isn’t it?”

Bucky flinched. He tried not to, but you noticed. A look of absolute devastation crossed your features as your lips parted, sinking down onto your bed.

“I knew things were different after that mission. I mean, how could they not be?” You leaned over against your thighs, letting your hair fall down to shield your face where Bucky could not see. “I crossed a line. I shouldn’t have given in. You couldn’t consent with that shit running through your veins. Not really. So— fuck – I completely understand if you can’t be around me after I—”

“That’s not what happened,” Bucky interjected sharply, shaking himself from the fear coursing through him as he crossed the room to you. He knelt down beside your bed and waited patiently for you to lift your head and let the curtain of hall fall away from your face. “I could have fought it. It hurt like hell, but I would have survived it even if we… if we hadn’t…”

He let his voice trail off, his cheeks turning a slight side of pink. He sighed. “The point... is that I wanted to. I really wanted to. And that’s the problem.”

You narrowed your eyes, confused.

Was he really going to tell you? Wasn’t this what he had been trying to avoid? Throwing away years of friendship to confess deeper feelings he was all but sure you’d never reciprocate?

But there was something about the way you were looking at him. With tears glistening in your eyes and a grief he couldn’t quite place nestled into the lines on your forehead, Bucky began to wonder if walking away would give him any relief at all. He wasn’t sure he could ever leave this room again if you were left blaming yourself for his crimes.

Bucky slowly placed his right hand on your knee, rubbing his thumb gently along the dimple. Your eyes followed his movements, watching curiously until he found the courage to speak.

“We’ve been partners for a while,” he started, clearing his voice when it came out shaken. You nodded. “I feel like sometimes I know what you’re thinking just by looking at you and when we’re out in the field, even in the middle of chaos, it’s like you can tell what I’m doing before I actually figure it out myself. We’re really good together. Out there. It’s hard to find that these days.”

You didn’t say anything and for that, he was grateful. He needed to get this out before he shut down completely.

“I think we only got that good because we’re… uhm… we’re close, you know?” Bucky took a deep breath, releasing his grip on your knee when he realized he’d started to squeeze it a little too hard. Your hand was sitting on your thigh, but you’d inched it closer to his, enough so the tips of your fingers overlapped onto his.

“We’re friends.” Bucky paused at the term, deciding it wasn’t strong enough. “It’s more than that though. I trust you with things I wouldn’t even tell Steve. You were the first person I felt like I could be myself around. Not the Bucky that Steve remembers or the one Hydra manipulated. This one. Whatever that means.”

Your whole hand covered his now, as much as it would allow. He glanced up to find your fingers curling under his, a slight squeeze to tell him you were still listening. He exhaled another breath and the pressure in his chest felt a little lighter.

“What happened in Munich didn’t awaken anything or… or open my eyes to something I didn’t know was there,” Bucky continued, his eyes trained on your legs, unable to find the courage to face you. “I’ve known how I felt about you for a long time. I was okay with it. I learned to live with it and manage it because being your friend and being your partner was too important to lose. But…”

He felt your hands squeeze his again.

“But after Munich… I don’t know how to go back. I don’t think I can.” Bucky didn’t dare to meet your eye. He could feel the words slipping past his lips before he had a chance to pull them back in. A waterfall of confessions he couldn’t hope to control. “It’s why I’ve been so reckless in the field, why I keep ending up in the med wing. I can’t shove it down anymore and it punctures me right through the goddamn heart when I see you surrounded by armed agents or when there’s a weapon aimed at you and my instinct is to run towards you. Screw what happens to me.

“I know you’re good at your job,” Bucky stressed, shaking his head. “I know you can handle yourself and you don’t need me to protect you but… but I want to. I want to keep you safe and hold your hand when you’re getting stitches and curl up beside you at night just so I can remind myself you’re real when the nightmares get the better of me. I want… I want more than I should.”

He could hear the skip in your heartbeat, how it gradually picked up in pace the longer he spoke. Your breathing was shorter, too. Shallower. Bucky was certain it was all confirmation of the story he’d been telling himself for years.

“This… How I feel… It’s not good for us. As friends. As partners. I’m trying to do us a favor and just remove myself from the equation.”

Bucky still had yet to meet your eye. He’d turned to examining every detail he could find on the fabric of your sleep shorts, in the sheets you sat upon, in the divots and dimples and blemishes on your thighs. He wasn’t sure he’d have the resolve to leave if he looked at your face.

Several beats of silence passed by and Bucky wondered how it was possible you hadn’t lashed out at him yet. He expected you to be angry for driving a wedge between you with something as reckless as love and affection. He expected you to turn your shoulder, reject him for everything he was, because it was one thing to befriend the Winter Soldier, another entirely to love him.

Bucky slowly rose back to his feet, letting his hand slip away from your knee and your gentle hold on him fell away. He mistook your silence for acceptance, maybe even agreement. He cleared his throat, starting to back up towards the door.

“So, um,” Bucky said nervously, trying to fill the silence in his escape, “that’s why. I hope you can forgive me some day for all of this. I’ll, uh, I’ll go.”

Bucky barely had his hand on the knob when he heard the soft squeak of your mattress springs as you rose to your feet.

“You’re wrong.”

The sound of your voice startled him, enough to get him to look back at you before he could stop himself. Your hands were clenched at your sides, eyes red with tears, bottom lip chewed raw.

“Y/n, I—”

“You’re wrong,” you said again, almost angry and somehow that was a relief. It would make it easier for him to leave if you were angry, but you had different plans. “You’re wrong if you think you’re doing me some kind of favor by leaving.”

Tears were on your cheeks now and Bucky’s stomach lurched. This wasn’t what he wanted. This was agony.

He took a step closer to you. “You have to trust me, it’s not a good idea for us to—”

“You’re wrong,” you continued, cutting him off again as you rubbed at the tears under your eyes. “You’re wrong to assume that I don’t feel the exact fucking way about you and—and if you leave, Bucky, I swear to God it will kill me.”

Bucky froze. His heart stopped beating completely, might have plunged down through his stomach, broken through the floorboards and buried itself into molten lava and dirt, because of all the things he was expecting you to say, that was not one of them.

“Don’t do this,” you implored, voice a little broken, barely above a whisper. “Please don’t go.”

Bucky was at a loss. He didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t prepared for this. He never even considered you might beg him to stay, that you might feel for him in the way he felt for you. It never once crossed his mind. It felt like a dream.

“I miss you.” Your voice was so small and still, it nearly tore him straight in half. “I miss how we used to be. I miss seeing you smile and your stupid jokes at the most inappropriate times in the field.” You laughed to yourself, under your breath, and even through the tears it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard. But you sighed, the smile falling away. “I miss you when you’re not here. All the time. So much it hurts. I feel like I’m going out of my mind when I’m not with you. You’re my best friend, but I… I also… I miss Munich.”

Bucky’s eyes widened and you only caught a glimpse of him for a second before your face was in your hands, trying to shield yourself from him.

“I know it’s wrong,” you murmured, muffled by your palms. “I know it’s not right to miss a moment when you were in pain and made to feel something you didn’t ask for, but… I think about it a lot and... how much I want more.”

Stunned silence. Throat dry. Heart pounding.

“What are you saying?” Bucky finally found the courage to ask.

You lifted your head, finally meeting his eye and there was a relief there as you looked up at him. Your shoulders eased. A soft smile returned to your lips and it nearly melted him completely.

“The same thing you are, I think.”

He swallowed. “Oh.”

Bucky watched, near frozen, as you crossed the room, bare feet padding softly over the carpet until you were only inches from him. The space between you closing as your hands slid up his arms, resting against his shoulders, cupping at the sides of his face, just observing, just feeling. There was no venom in his veins and yet, Bucky felt electrified under your touch. His heart stammered in his chest as your fingers wove at the strands of hair at the base of his neck.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” you told him and he wondered for a moment if he stopped breathing entirely. "No Hydra chemicals. No foreign influence. Just us, okay? You and me.”

Bucky nodded, a little stunned.

Slowly, you inched up closer to him, your eyes drawing closed until you were a breath from his lips. Just barely grazing upon his own, waiting, and Bucky let his hands slid up against your back, tugging you closed against him, and captured your lips in his own.

It was different than the first time in Munich, less rushed, less desperate, but instead filled with a longing that had spanned years between you, coated in affection and heartache and need for one another beyond anything a serum in a lab could fabricate.

Your hands wove into his hair, his arms pressing you firm against his chest, and it was like you were holding onto him for dear life. Your feet began to carry the two of you backwards, dragging Bucky towards the bed, and you yelped as your knees caught on the edge of the mattress, sending the two of you spiraling onto the bed.

“You alright?” Bucky laughed, brushing away the hair in your eyes as he propped himself up on his elbows caged around your shoulders; most of his weight laying upon you in the sweetest comfort of pressure.

“I'm perfect,” you replied, bright smiles and joy radiating from every pore. It was contagious.

“We can stop here, if you want,” Bucky offered sincerely. He was riding a high he never thought he’d ever experience and anything you’d be willing to share with him was a gift within itself. He’d kiss you for hours if you’d let him.

“And if I don’t want to stop?” you questioned, staring up at him with a hunger in your eyes. Your fingers trailed down his t-shirt, dancing around the hem of the fabric at his hips. “If I wanted to keep going... If I wanted you...?”

“I’m yours, sweetheart.”

A simple answer. A true one. He’d never been more certain of anything in his life.

Bucky knelt back, tugged on the fabric of his shirt between his shoulder blades and pulled it over his head. You watching him as he tossed it to the corner of the room before he settled back down against you. Your hands ran along the lines of his muscles, over the scars and imperfections, and for once, Bucky didn’t shy away from the hands of a woman. It didn’t feel like a twist to his gut, he didn’t hold his breath. No – instead, it felt renewing, healing almost.

His hands slid under the waist of your shirt, inching it higher as he rand his touch along the curves of your sides, until you leaned up for him to help remove the fabric. It joined his shirt at the edge of the room.

Perfect and bare. Stunning in your nakedness. A privilege he never thought he’d be granted.

“You want to take a picture or...?” you teased him, noticing how long he’d been staring at you.

Bucky laughed, shaking his head. “Don’t temp me. Besides, I’m hoping I won’t need a picture to see you like this again.”

“Definitely not,” you confirmed, tugging him down to meet your lips again.

It was laced in smiled and laughter and ages of holding back from one another all rolled into one. A freedom of taking your time, of enjoying one another, and learning to memorize your bodies. Bucky would have wondered if he were dreaming if not for the way you wrapped your legs around his waist, grinding against his hardening cock – no dream could produce a feeling like that.

With his lips on your neck, Bucky played with the hem of your shorts, waiting until you lifted your hips just enough to give him the access to slid them down your legs, removing the last remaining fabric along with it.

Bucky kissed his way down your body, mapping a trail from your neck, to the hills of your breasts, to your ribs, to the comfort of cushion at your stomach, to the crevices at your legs and inner thighs. He paused for a moment, setting his cheek against your thigh as he drew his fingers between your lips, separating them to give access to the sweetest parts of you.

You flinched a little as he touched your clit, a gasp emitting from your lips as your hands curled into the sheets. Bucky grinned, encouraged by your reaction as he began to circle the pads of his fingers at your entrance. Listening for the subtle changes in your breath, the moans the slipped past, and the curl of your fingers, Bucky leaned in and wrapped his lips around your clit.

“F-fuck, Bucky,” you whined, hands snaking into his hair and gripping tight against his scalp.

He smiled at the feeling, at the way you cried his name, and he pressed his slicked fingers inside of you. Perhaps it was the haze of the foreign chemicals the last time he had you under him like this, but he didn’t remember you being so vocal, so sensitive to his touch. It was a rush and he had to keep himself from rutted up against the mattress as added a third finger, curling them just enough and massaging at the walls as they squeezed tight around him.

Tongue lapping at the wetness, sucking around the sensitive bud of nerves, fingers perfectly drawing out the high as it built at your core, it only took moments before you crashed. You cried out his name, legs wrestling against him in the sensitivity as he drew out the feeling as long as he could, moving slower and slower until you stilled under him.

“Fuck,” you exhaled, a laugh entranced in your voice.

Bucky grinned, pleased with himself as he crawled his way back up the bed to meet your lips. He didn’t bother to wipe the remnants of your high from his mouth and you didn’t seem to mind as you kissed him, certainly tasting yourself upon his lips, and it only made him want you more.

“You’re turn,” you smirked, trying to slide out from under him as you licked your lips, but Bucky held you down.

“Next time, okay?” he countered and you sunk back into the mattress with a pout on your lips. “I don’t think I can last if you get your mouth on me.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” you teased, running your fingers down his stomach until he began to shiver.

“Yes,” he chuckled, swatting your hands away playfully. He winked. “I’m gonna die if I don’t have you right now.”

“Jesus, Buck, don’t even joke,” you laughed, hiding your face in your hands.

“Hey, someone's gotta,” Bucky grinned as he tugged down his pants, kicking them off to land amongst the rest of the discarded clothing. “If it got me here, I’ll happily make light of a fucked up Hydra breeding experiment.”

“Would you have told me if it hadn’t happened?” you asked, voice a little softer, peering out from behind your hands.

Bucky stilled, his grin falling into something gentler and he shrugged. “Don’t know if I ever would have had the courage. I never thought we’d be here. Never could have imagined you’d feel the same way.” He leaned down to press a kiss to your shoulder. “Would you have said anything?”

“I don’t think I really knew until you threatened to walk away,” you admitted.

“Well,” Bucky sighed, pressing a trail of kissed along your collarbone as he settled between your legs, his length pressing against your thigh, “good thing I’m not going anywhere.”

“Better not,” you murmured against his lips as you drew his mouth to yours.

Then, as he felt the hitch of your breath against his lips, he sank into you. Stretching walls and guiding your legs to wrap at his waist to offer an angle that left your jaw slacked. Your eyes fluttered closed, lips parted, and Bucky felt a rush unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Even through the smoke filled haze of that serum in Munich, he’d never felt an ounce of the relief as he did in this moment. To be completely and entirely yours.

He felt you squeeze at his shoulders, urging him to move, and slowly, he rocked his hips against you. Slow and steady. Needy. Until your nails dug into his spine and Bucky couldn’t prolong the tender build up any longer.

Chasing and chasing; higher and higher. Bucky could tell you were close from how tight your walls were clenched around him. It took near everything he had not to come on the spot, but he held on, waiting, watching as your lips parted, as the most beautiful sounds he’d ever heard slipped past, and you cried out his name.

“Oh fuck—fuck—Bucky, don’t stop.” Your breath was hot against his cheek. “I’m so close. I’m—ah—”

A hitch in your breath and your whole body seemed to fall slack. It only spurred him on. Hips snapped, fingers rubbing quick circles at your clit, until you were whining and shaking under him, until he was satisfied with the blissful look on your face and he let himself go.

He spilled into you, rutting his hips in a few final, lazy thrusts as he sank into the crook of your neck, panting. Dizzy and content, riding a high that extended beyond his body, Bucky hummed into your collarbone as he felt your nails draw patterns along his back in gentle sweeps. It tingled on his skin, send shivers along his spine, and he never wanted it to stop.

“Hey, Y/n?”

You paused, just for a moment, before you resumed tracing the lines on his back, over muscles and scars alike. “Yes, Bucky?”

He could hear the teasing in your voice, the light-hearted laugh, the warmth that made him fall in love with you and his heart clenched. He wrapped his arms under your shoulders, the full weight of his body still pressing you down to the mattress, still buried inside of you.

“Promise me this is real.” An embarrassment crept up as he said it, though the drawing on his back didn’t skip a beat. “You and me. I’m not dreaming or stuck in my head. This is real, right?”

Your hands slid up along his shoulders to his neck, and then to the sides of his face as you guided him off your chest to meet your eye; more beautiful than he’d ever seen you, with a glimmer of sweat and an afterglow radiating in the smile lifting your cheeks.

“This is real, honey,” you told him, leaning in to kiss him sweetly on the lips.

“Okay. Okay, good.” Bucky grinned, cheeks flushed in heat. He settled back against your chest, resting his cheek to your heart as you resumed drawing the lazy patterns on his back.

Perfectly content.

Warm. Safe.

Home.

---

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#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes smut

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vivid4am · 4 years ago

Text

Life Goes On (Chapter 1)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky meets his neighbor who keeps playing the same song on repeat.

Takes place before TFATWS

Warnings: Cursing, suicidal ideation(?), hella Beatles references

A/N: This is my first fanfic in like a long time, so sorry if my writing skills are a little week.

Whoever Bucky’s neighbor was, he loathed them.

Life really hasn’t been kind to him lately. After being under control by HYDRA for so many years, breaking out and finding his best friend only to be turned into dust and coming back five years later with his then best friend abandoning him to go back in time to be with the love of his life. Yeah, not a good hand was dealt to him.

The only good thing was being pardoned by the United States government and not being sent to jail for the rest of his goddamn miserable life.

So here he was, sitting on his living room floor, staring at his T.V. and listening to that godforsaken song his neighbor was playing on repeat.

Ob-la-di, ob-la-da

Life goes on, bra

La-la, how the life goes on

It was taunting almost. After all the shit Bucky’s went through, he wished his life didn’t go on. Wished he could be like Steve, go back in time and find someone who he could live the rest of his life with. Wished that the United States government did lock him up. Wished that they executed him.

Ob-la-di, ob-la-da

Life goes on, bra

La-la, how the life goes on

Maybe he can complain to Dr. Raynor about this tomorrow. Tell her that the song almost makes him feel murderous again. Maybe she’ll report him and they will finally lock him up. It’s what he deserves anyway, after all the heinous crimes he’s committed. Bucky laid his head back against the wall and sighed. He then stopped and listened.

Solace and silence. The song was finally over. A smile stretched across Bucky’s unshaven face and he choked out a laugh. It didn’t last long though.

That stupid bass line along with that stupid piano started to fill his ears again.

“Are you kidding me?” Bucky said to himself. He knocked on the wall, trying to grab his neighbor’s attention to stop playing that stupid fucking song.

The song suddenly stopped and a voice came through the wall.

“Sorry, didn’t realize you weren’t a Beatles fan.” The voice said.

Bucky didn’t give himself time to think, he just spoke. “I have no fucking clue who they are.” He replied.

Bucky didn’t get a response. Silence filled his Brooklyn apartment. Then came a knock on his door. Bucky scrunched his face up. Who the hell would come visit him at this time at night? Mr. Nakajima? He pulled the blankets off his legs and stood up, his dog tags hanging off his neck. He peeked through the peephole and saw a girl standing in the hall with a white t-shirt, Cookie Monster pajama pants and her arms crossed over her chest. He sighed and opened the door.

“Can I-”

“How do you not know who the fucking Beatles are?”

“Excuse me?” Well, maybe it’s because I’m a hundred and some year old man and have never been aware of my surroundings in the 60s before.

“The Beatles! Y’know, John, Paul, George, and Ringo? Abbey Road? Hey Jude? Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club? Here Comes The Sun? The fucking Beatles?”

Bucky was shocked to be frank. Why was this girl screaming at him about The Beatles? He knew he should’ve listened to what Steve put down in that journal, dammit.

All he could do was shake his head. “Sorry, no.”

“What were you, born yesterday?” The attitude on this girl was thick. She intimidated him almost, staring into his stone cold blue eyes.

“No.” Yes.

“Don’t tell me you listen to that shitty Soundcloud rapper bullshit either.” The girl mumbled, pushing her way into Bucky’s apartment. Buck couldn’t help but panic. What if she saw his arm? What would he say to her? Then again, he didn’t really owe her any answers, she was the one who just waltzed into his apartment.

Luckily Bucky had a grey sweatshirt laying on his kitchen counter. He pulled it over his head and stuffed his hands into his pockets. The girl stopped in front of his living room. “Nice pad you got here.” She said, admiring his single cushioned arm chair, TV stand and makeshift floor bed.

“Uh- new furniture coming in, my old stuff fell apart.” He lied, looking down feeling almost embarrassed. “Eh, it’s okay. You’re better than the last tenets that were here.” She said, searching around his apartment.

“I’m sorry, but- what are you looking for? Matter of fact, why are you in here?” He asked, following her around. Hopefully she didn’t find his knife stash. He wasn’t supposed to have any weapons, but he needed something in case someone tried to break in. He still gets paranoid sometimes.

“Looking for the source in your shitty taste in music.” The girl deadpanned.

“I-uh, I don’t listen to music.”

The girl skidded to a halt. She turned around, shock riddled on her face. “Really? I mean, with that haircut and dog tags, you strike me as a guy who listens to Led Zeppelin religiously.” She then put her hand up. “Don’t tell me you don’t know who Led Zeppelin are either.”

Bucky grimaced at the girl and she sighed.

“Tomorrow,” She started, “meet me next door at 8, I get off work at 7:30.” She said before walking towards the door. Bucky gave her a confused look. “For what?” He asked, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. The girl gave him a cheeky smile. “So I can show you music.” She replied, opening the door.

“I’m Y/N, by the way.” She said before she shut the door.

“Bucky.” He whispered, but she was already gone.

| Next Part

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kyleys-empty-mind-shit · 4 years ago

Text

confessions

hol’ up . . . this is our vv first fic together. bye-

inspo: “Isn’t it obvious? I’m in love with you?”

genre(s): angst; fluff

fandom: the hunger games

rating: g・t・r

rated t for swearing

word count: 2.6k

warning(s): two oblivious dumbasses in love; probably unedited

things to know: y/n (your name) ⟢ e/c (your eye colour) ⟢ y/l/n (your last name)

Peeta Mellark.

He was your constant; your rock. You could rely on him for anything and everything.

He was the steadiest thing you’d had in your life for a long time now, but as he took your wrist and led you upstairs away from the party, you couldn’t help but feel the anger bubble up in your chest.

“Peeta, what—”

“Why?” he nearly shouts. Peeta is mild mannered. He’s many things, actually; polite, charming, and personable, but angry was not one of them. It didn’t scare you like you’d always expected it to, but rather frustrated you.

“Why what, Peeta?” you hiss back.

He looks at you as if you had just grown two heads, his brows knit together in disbelief.

“You’re joking,” he breathes. You shake your head, not understanding what he is trying to get at. You defensively cross your arms, knowing the juvenile element would annoy him, but having nothing to do with your hands increases your already anxious state.

“That guy,”

“That guy?”

“Yes, y/n, yes. That guy that was just a little too friendly with you? So close to you that he was practically crawling under your goddamn skin? What were you thinking?”

You laugh at him, unable to contain it. “I can handle myself perfectly fine. Why are you being such an ass?” you all but shout at him. “It’s none of your business anyway?”

“Hm, let’s see y/n, he could’ve, god, I don’t know, taken advantage of you?”

You scoff, unable to handle his cliché statement.

He brings his hands up and pushes his hair back, looking up at the ceiling as he exhales heavily through his nose. You squint at him, unable to read the emotions on his face.

“What is up with you?” you whisper, not quite sure if he was able to hear. Your eyes narrow, unsure of what his next words might be.

“For someone so smart, you can be so goddamn oblivious sometimes, y/l/s.”

“Oh my god, what is with all the stupid riddles tonight? I can’t read your mind! You can’t expect me to just know things,” you exasperate, throwing your hands out in front of you. “For someone who’s supposed to be good at communication, you’re doing a pretty shitty job of displaying it,” you spit, throwing his words right back at him.

“Fine,” he hisses, starting to move towards you.

You cock your eyebrow at him, your bodies coming closer, nearly closing the gap.

“Fine?” you question.

“Yeah.” he huffs out, repeating the word with an heir of finality, “yeah.” His breath warms your face, the scent of vodka invading your senses.

Your cheeks heat up, suddenly very aware of his proximity. You watch his adam's apple bob as he swallows thickly. He can’t meet your eyes, his heart hammering against his chest so loud that it feels as though you can hear it. His head drops along with his gaze, studying the floor before chancing a glance at you. Peeta lets go of a breathy laugh as words tumble out of his mouth.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he breathes, his words choked, hardly audible, him now looking you right in the eyes. Your stomach does a flip once, unsure of his next words. Blue eyes stare at your e/c ones that are clouded in confusion. You can feel his frustration start to build as he takes a step back from you, his voice rising and hands coming from his sides.

“I’m in love with you,” he bursts out.

Oh my god.

You stare at him in shock, his proclamation stunning you. You blink once, twice, as his words echoing through your head.

His hazel eyes bore into your e/c ones, willing you to say something, anything, to let him know you heard him. But yet you stand there, unable to find the words.

Nothing is coming out.

Say something, you beg yourself, wanting to scream out an answer, yet your mouth continues to remain shut. You swallow hard, your tongue feeling like sandpaper. How could you be so oblivious to his feelings? You and him have known each other since childhood, yet there you are, standing only inches away from him, the truth finally known.

The look in his eyes is absolutely heart-wrenching; if you hadn’t just heard him, you’d have thought he had lost his best friend. In a way, you guess, he had.

Peeta just shakes his head softly, shrugging his shoulders in such a way that makes you want to reach out and take his hand. His dark waves fall over his eyes and he turns around, facing the door.

“I—” you begin, but you know it’s too late.

“Just, um, forget it, y/n,” his voice soft, small, “I’ll see you in environmental studies.”

He opens the door and steps out into the hallway, closing the door behind him. You want to scream, to tell him to come back.

“Dammit!” you exclaim, throwing your red solo cup as hard as you can at the wall. The contents spill all over, some of the liquid splashing on you but you can’t bring yourself to care.

You reach to pull at your loosely braided hair, a habit of yours that came out whenever you were experiencing an excess of negative emotions, before you realize where you are. You harshly rub your eyes with the heels of your hands as you remind yourself to breathe.

In, out . . . In, out.

“Get it together,” you tell yourself, taking one last deep breath. “Okay.”

You turn to head back downstairs to the party, nothing on your mind except finding Peeta and setting everything straight, hoping at this point that that was even a possibility anymore.

God, you hated this part. You hated having to make up. Saying sorry was never your strong suit, your pride always getting in the way. But this? This was not a matter of pride. This was about finally coming to terms with the truth that you so desperately tried to avoid for years.

You almost trip as you descend the stairs, looking everywhere for Peeta but unable to find him anywhere in the crowd.

Spotting a head of wavy bronze hair by the water cooler, you rush over to your english lit classmate, who is also a friend of Peeta’s; Finnick Odair.

“Hey Finnick,” you say once you reach him, trying to keep your voice even. He greets you with his signature smirk before bringing his cup to his lips and taking a sip.

“Ah, y/n, having a good time I trust?”

“Trying to,” you grumble. Finnick gives you a quizzical look before you proceed; “Have you seen Peeta?” You can’t help but notice the slight crack in your voice when you say his name.

“Yeah,” he confirms, “I saw him leave a few minutes ago. Seemed pretty upset.”

“Yeah, wonder why,” you mutter bitterly, knowing he wouldn’t hear your words above the music.

You bite your lip, weighing the option of asking Finnick to help you find Peeta. Half of you wanted to go and find him yourself, your need to get the weight off your chest as quickly as possible, the other half of you wanting to stall for as long as you could.

“Could you text him? Ask him where he is?”

“Why can’t you?”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes, your cheeks burning. “Because, I—”

“Wait,” Finnick’s smile widens. “Wait, are you the reason he’s upset?”

Your silence is enough for him. His dopey smile falters for a moment, an emotion that you could only define as realization sweeping over his face. He shakes his head softly, pulling his phone from the pocket of his hoodie and opening his texts. His thumbs glide swiftly across the screen as he compiles a message to send to Peeta.

You can’t have been standing there for more than a minute when his phone dings. Finnick flashes you the screen.

From: Pita Bread

I’m fine... at the pond.

“Thank you, Finnick, really,” you breathe.

He just nods, taking another sip of his drink.

You rush out of the frat house the party was being held in, running across the street to Panem University’s main campus, willing your legs to go faster.

The pond was at the northern end of campus, smack in the middle of Tribute Hall and the Coriolanus Snow Study Center. You see a silhouette sitting on one of the few stone benches surrounding the body of tranquil water, tossing handfuls of what you can only assume is trail mix at the ducks that liked to take up at the pond.

You slow down, bringing your footfalls to a trot, then silently padding your way over the grass towards him. Your chest is heaving from the exertion as you try to make your breaths even.

“Peeta,” You call out, your voice void of any venom as you stalk towards the boy. You’re almost inclined to slap him because of how he acted. No rational person could expect someone to give them an answer to a question as heavily weighed as that right away.

He stands up once you reach him, refusing to look you in the eyes. For a fleeting moment, you catch the grief-stricken look in his usually bright eyes and it’s enough to keep you from raising your hand at him.

“Why did you leave like that?” you breathe out. He shrugs a shoulder with almost casual indifference. “Peeta.” you nearly plead, looking at him as your eyebrows knit together.

“What did you expect me to do?” he says feebly.

You look up at the night sky, inhaling deeply as you hurriedly send off a prayer to whatever higher power that you can say everything you want to say to him, in the way you want to say it.

In a way that says something to him. Means something.

The stars seem to twinkle brighter, almost like they received your message. God, this is so hard.

Peeta is still looking anywhere but at you, his focus now on the ducks idling in the water.

“You could have waited for me,” you say. “I mean, come on! That was… big. A big thing to drop on me,” you add, “so of course I was shocked. But if you had just waited for me . . .”

“What?” he snorts, finally looking you in the eyes. “What would you have said that couldn’t have possibly made me feel like more of a fool than I already was? What—”

“I love you,” you blurt.

Here it goes.

“And not in a ‘you’ve always been there for me, so I’m kind of indebted to you’ kind of way but in a way that’s like, ‘I want to do cheesy stuff with you because I know it will make you smile.’ That’s like, I would do anything, anything to prove to you that I’m worthy of your love. Peeta, you’ve seen everything I was and everything I am, and it just— I just couldn’t believe when you said that . . . But I— I trust you with everything in me and it frightens me, because you know I’ve been hurt before, but I can’t deny that everything feels right when I’m with you. I just. I want another chance. If, if you’ll let me.” You breath the words out, hardly anything but air coming out.

“Y/n, breathe.”

“Right,” you exhale, your mind swirling around, making vertigo seem like a walk in the park.

“You’re not . . . unworthy of love,” Peeta begins but he stops, trying to figure out his words. “What Cato did to you, it doesn’t mean you’re undeserving of love. He’s.. an asshole, who’s going to get what’s coming to him. I— I’m sorry for dropping it on you like that, but seeing you with that guy, he just reminded me so much of Cato, and it made me so mad because I didn’t want you to go through that again, and I.. couldn’t help but think it was my final chance to tell you how I felt.”

“Final chance?”

“Y/n, I’ve loved you since like year six.”

“Peeta, you absolute dumbass!” you exclaim, quickly going to cover your mouth as your own words shock even yourself. “I’m sorry. It’s just . . . wow,” a laugh nearly escapes your lips. “We’re both oblivious fools, huh?”

Peeta’s brows furrow in confusion, as you let out a soft chuckle. His head is tilted slightly to the side, his soft curls falling into his blue eyes. This moment is one you’ll always remember, you think to yourself, already trying to commit it to memory. The way the trees slightly sway from the late summer breeze, the moonlight reflecting off the water; best of all, the glint in Peeta’s eye when your gazes meet. It’s so cheesy, really, but you couldn’t care less. You’ve played it over and over in your head for years, different scenarios always being formulated, but nothing you could have ever dreamt of could compare to this moment.

“I’ve loved you since year seven,” you tell him, every word of it true. “I can’t believe it took us both this long. Could have avoided the whole Cato fiasco of year twelve, I suppose, if we had just . . . had the gall to tell each other back then, I guess,” you say, the last sentence mumbled.

“Yeah.” Peeta laughs, a genuine deep laugh that reaches his eyes. It rouses the butterflies that have been in the pit of your stomach, the fluttering making you nervous as you watch him scratch the base of his neck almost embarrassedly.

“So,” you say, dragging the ‘o’ sound. “Pretty sure this is the part where most people would kiss.”

“Do you want to kiss me?”

“No, not you, Peeta. I was talking to the duck behind you,” You frown, unable to contain the scoff that passes your lips. “Yes.. yes, I want to kiss you,” you breathe, your pulse hammering.

You step forward, your hands reaching up, gliding against his cheeks, his hands resting on your waist. In a moment of bravery, you place your lips against his. They’re soft, and he tastes like cedar and bread, and it’s like coming home, being in his arms as his lips move against yours, the breeze chilling your skin but his warming you.

There are no words spoken between the two of you as you both pull away. His eyes are still closed, his long eyelashes resting against the tops of his cheeks; the corners of his mouth are pulled up slightly.

God, he’s beautiful. So beautiful. That word is usually reserved for sceneries, sunsets or pretty dresses, but in this moment, you can’t tear your eyes away from him.

“Finally!” someone shouts, causing the both of you to jump back from each other, acting like two first years getting caught passing notes in class. You look around before your eyes land on Johanna Mason, leaning against the statue of the university founder Alma Coin that’s off to the left of the entrance of the study center. Finnick is with her, his signature smirk gracing his elegant features once more. “We were wondering when you two would have the balls to tell each other how you felt.”

“It seems everyone knew but you two,” Finnick adds with a deep chuckle.

“Alright, Finny, I think we should leave the two lovebirds alone.” Johanna says, turning away. “Be safe, you two!”

“If you need anything,” Finnick winks at Peeta. “You know where to reach me.”

You laugh softly, leaning your head against Peeta’s chest. His arms wrap around you, encasing you in him. His cheeks rests on the top of your head, his breaths evening out as you listen to his steady heart beat.

This is it. This is home.

#original post #kyley writes #thg #the hunger games #peeta mellark x reader #peeta mellark x y/n #peeta mellark imagine #thg fanfiction #thg fandom #suzanne collins #fanfiction

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paisley-print · 4 years ago

Text

8:00am : When We Cut The Cake

A Wedding Day

Rating: 18+

Word count: 2122

Characters: Agent Whiskey x Reader

Warnings: SMUT (Oral Fem Receiving, PIV sex, semi-public sex) mentions of vomit , implied age gap, pregnancy, family drama, fluff.

Series Master-List

Notes: Does anybody else get super nervous before they post a story? I get so nervous. Why?

“Almost ready honey?” Jack asked, knocking on the bathroom door.

“Yeah, just one sec” you said, fastening the last bobby pin into the veil. “Alright no peaking when I come out-”

“Sugar, our appointment time is at-”

“Jack please,” you whined. “It will just take a moment, and you’re not allowed to give me sass today because I will get my pay back tonight when we cut the cake.”

You heard him chuckle from behind the door, “alright darlin’ my eyes are closed.”

You cracked open the door to make sure he was telling the truth. “No peeking,” you warned, stepping out so that you could be in full view.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said with a smirk.

“Alright - you can open.”

He opened his eyes, giving you the once over and whistling. “Well, look at you. My mamma forced me to go to church all my life, and they never mentioned anything about letting angels walk around on earth... but here you are.”

“oh yeah, that’s me, proper virgin Mary.” You turned around to look in the stand up mirror in front of you. You weren’t showing a lot, but enough to make you feel bloated and icky. It had been weeks, but the morning sickness persisted.

He came up behind you, placing his hands on your stomach and resting his head on your shoulder. The two of you looked at each other in the mirror for a moment.

Jack was in his Sunday best and you in the only white dress you could find at the boutique in town. You two were not pressed for money but considering the circumstances, and how sick you still felt, both you and Jack decided to keep the wedding low key. You didn’t need a big wedding anyway, neither did Jack.

“I don’t look dumb?” you asked.

He looked at you seriously “now sugar, why on earth would you say that?”

You adjusted the dress a little, frowning. “I don’t think either of our families are thrilled about the surprise. You know, one second we were both single, then the next we were pregnant and engaged… The age thing doesn’t help either. Then the people at the courthouse, they’re probably going to judge too-”

He spun you around so you were facing him. “If anybody says anything to you - then you tell me and I will deal with it. I don’t care who they are. You understand?”

You looked into his eyes, remembering how angry he had been the day you found out you were pregnant. “You still want this, right?”

“Yes. Do you?”

“Of course. I’m just making sure.”

He put his hands on your belly again. “Trust me sugar, nothin’ would make me happier than standing up there with you and telling the entire world how much I love you. I do not give a flyin’ fuck what anybody else has to say about it, because frankly it is none of their goddamn business. You understand?”

You nodded. He spun you back around so he could hug you from behind again. You giggled and scrunched up your nose as he pressed little kisses to your cheek, then neck.

Sunlight drifted in through the lace curtain, bathing the room in an amber glow. The two of you, together, it looked right. You had never felt more safe than when you were with Jack. He had collected the pieces of your broken heart and glued them back together one by one, and you did the same for him.

For the first time in a long time, he was excited about the future because he knew he wouldn’t be alone.

“What are you thinking about?” you asked him softly.

He smiled “how much I love you.”

You returned the smile. Feeling that familiar sting in the corners of your eyes. It seemed as though recently you had little control over these kinds of shifts in emotion. The last few weeks had been a lot. “Fuck,” you laughed “I knew I wasn’t going to make it to the ceremony.”

Jack noticed and kissed your cheek again and shushed you gently. “No need for that, you’ll ruin your makeup darlin’.”

“I love you too,” you told him.

“So let's get married. Come on” he said, giving your ass a light tap - before going over to grab his hat from the bed. “Or do I have to pick you up and carry you there myself?”

“I bet you wouldn’t even be able t -” you challenged.

Before you could even finish the sentence, Jack placed his hat on his head and scooped you up bridal style. You giggled all the way down the stairs.

The wedding was lovely. The courthouse was one of the oldest buildings in the county, built in 1796. It was a grand building, full of white stone columns, with a clock tower that made it the tallest structure in miles. The ceremony was brief. You and Jack were smiling like idiots the entire time.

A little while later, you hosted a backyard reception with your family and friends.

“Hey- I need you” you whispered, hooking your arm in your husbands and pulling him away from the group of people he was standing with.

“Why? Are you okay? Is the baby okay?” he asked, placing a hand on your belly.

“Yes. Sorry, nothing like that just...you’ll see” you pulled him into the laundry room and shut the door behind you. Without another word, you leaned up and kissed him. He was surprised at first, but was soon kissing you back - trying to keep up.

You pulled away breathless and kept your voice low, “OK I need a favor.”

Jack’s brows were still knit in confusion. “anything.”

“I need you to fuck me.”

“Now?” he asked, a little too loud. You gave him a stern look and his voice softened “now?”

“Yes” you whined. “Tonight is too far away,” you gave him those puppy dog eyes “please?”

He put his hands on his hips and looked down at you, laughing a little. “Twice this morning wasn’t enough?”

You kicked idly at the floor with your shoe “no... but if you don’t want to-”

He was quick to cut you off “no, no. I want to…. but sugar, we got a whole house full of people, why don’t we go upstairs?”

“I want to save that for our real first time,” you said.

Recently it seemed as though if you weren’t bed ridden from nausea you were all over him, begging for him to fuck you. Jack didn’t mind, of course, he enjoyed seeing you feel better…. and you know, the sex wasn’t too bad either. The record had been four times in one day. At his age, he was pretty proud of that.

The cowboy laughed and glanced out the frosted glass window. Shadows of people moved back and forth. “What if they hear us?”

You gave him a little smirk “then I guess you’ll just have to keep me quiet.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, then took your hand to pull you in for a bruising kiss. He pulled you flush against him, exploring your mouth with his tongue, before breaking the kiss and spinning you around.

He nudged you gently with his body, boxing you in against the dryer.

“This okay?” he whispered, bringing a hand around to your stomach once more.

“Yeah” you said, then felt his hand move to the buttons on the back of the dress. “Don’t bother - keep it on.”

“Whatever you say Mrs. Daniels.”

He got on his knees behind you, large hands brushing the back of your thighs and pushing your dress up over your waist. He smirked at the lacy panties you had on, hooking a finger in them and pulling them down. They fell to your ankles; he helped you kick them off easily.

In one fluid motion, he lifted you up a little and put his mouth on you from behind. You suppressed a groan hen grabbed at a towel to bite down on and muffle your sounds.

He swiped his skilled tongue through your slick folds, loving how you tasted. Your eyes fluttered shut as he pushed his tongue inside of you. His hand came up, grabbing a fistful of your ass and squeezing until he left a little red mark.

He continued licking into you, flicking his tongue against your clit as you squirmed under his touch. It didn’t take long for your orgasm to come crashing into you. You bit down hard on the fabric of the towel, trying and failing to stifle a moan.

“Holyfuck Jack,” you breathed, when he finally broke away.

You felt him move your veil to the side so he could plant sloppy kisses to your neck, his hands quickly undoing the loops on his belt. “Was that good honey?” he knew it was, he just wanted to hear you say it.

“I know what you’re doing,” you giggled.

He pretended to be offended “what? Trying to make sure I’ve satisfied my wife?”

Hearing him referred to you as his wife turned you on even more. That need settled between your legs again. Jack’s arm came to hook around your waist while the other came to steady himself on the dryer.

You shuddered as he dragged his cock along your folds, teasing you.

His voice was dark with lust “you ready darlin’?”

As soon as you nodded, he moved his hand from your waist, clamping it over your mouth as he pushed inside you. You threw your head back and allowed your eyes to close again. The feeling of him stretching you out made you clench around his cock. He always felt so big from behind.

He ground his hips into you slowly, his hand buzzing with the sound of your moans.

Soon he fell into a steady pace, pumping into you as your hips bucked to meet each thrust. His breaths fell heavy on your ear. The two of you were so lost in bliss you nearly forgot about the party outside.

The handle to the laundry room door twisted and was pushed open only a crack before Jack’s hand came out and slammed it shut again.

“Is y/n in there?” a woman’s voice called from behind the door. It was one of your aunts, you realized.

You felt Jack’s hand press a little harder into your mouth. “Yep, she’ll be out in a second,” he responded, never slowing his pace. “Morning sickness is a bitch, gotta get the stain out of her dress.”

“Oh, alright,” the woman said, “tell her to find me once you’re done, we want to get a picture for Facebook.”

“Will do,” Jack responded, then pulled out of you - spinning you around to face him before slamming into you again.

He removed his hand from your mouth and replaced it with his lips. Growling against your lips as he continued to pump into you; he was trying to hold out until you came first. He wanted to make sure your needs were taken care of before his.

He could tell that you were close by the way you clung onto him, the muscles in your body tensing as he built up the pleasure in your core. When you finally fell apart, he made sure to kiss you a little harder - absorbing the sound of your cries with his mouth.

He was not far behind and soon you were both left, disheveled and out of breath. He kissed you on the cheek and nuzzled the side of your neck, breathing in the smell of hairspray. Jack knew that the two of you had to go back out there, but he wished he could stay in there with you all night.

He finally pulled back, studying your face for a moment before saying, “look at that, didn’t even smudge your lipstick. Am I good or what?”

“It’s a stain Jack. Cover Girl gets the credit here” you teased, patting the side of his face before reaching down to pick up your panties from the ground.

He started to dress himself again as well “you just wait, I still got two more tries tonight. I bet that mascara is gonna look wonderful running down your pretty little face.”

“Two, huh?”

“What?..... Three? Christ darlin’ you’re gonna put me in the goddamn hospital you know that? If I throw my back out again you are gonna have to explain to Ginger how it happened this time.” He reached up to straighten your veil as you adjusted his tie. Then he offered you his arm. “Alright baby girl, you up for a dance or two?”

#Pedro Pascal Fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Pedro fanfic #Kingsmen Fanfic #Kingsmen Fanfiction #Agent whiskey fanfic #Agent whiskey x you #Agent whiskey x Reader #Whiskey x you #Jack Daniels x you

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just-dreaming-marvel · 4 years ago

Text

Out Of Time ~ 111

MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 1,900ish

Summary: Captain America: Civil War (sorry if this chapter isn’t that dramatic.... I can promise the next one will be....

Notes: make sure that you have read chapter 110. That chapter didn’t have the taglist with it.

Steve and Sam eventually made it out with an unconscious Bucky in tow. Hidden in some abandoned building. Steve was watching through a gap at a chopper flying overhead.

“Hey, Cap!” Sam called. Steve went over to join his friend, who was near Bucky. Bucky was sitting with his arm in a vice.

“Steve,” Bucky said.

“Which Bucky am I talking to?” Steve asked.

“Your mom’s name was Sarah… You used to wear newspapers in your shoes.”

“Can’t read that in a museum.”

“Just like that, we’re suppose to be cool?” Sam questioned.

“What did I do?” Bucky asked.

“Enough.”

“Was Y/N…”

“The whispers is that you attacked her.”

“Oh, God, I knew this would happen. Everything HYDRA put inside me is still there. All he had to do was say the goddamn words.”

“Who was he?”

“I don’t know.”

“People are dead. The bombing, the setup. The doctor did all that just to get 10 minutes with you. I need you to do better than ‘I don't know.’”

“He wanted to know about Siberia. Where I was kept. He wanted to know exactly where.”

“Why would he need to know that?”

“Because I'm not the only Winter Soldier.”

~~~

Slowly blinking, Y/N let her eyes focus on her surroundings. She was on a plane. A Stark plane. She felt someone’s hand on hers. She looked over to see Tony’s hand on hers, head hung low.

“Where—“ She swallowed. “Where are we going?”

“Oh my—“ He quickly stood up and held a kiss to her forehead. “You… I can’t even… You shouldn’t have gone near him.”

“I had to try…”

“Doesn’t matter. His life is not worth yours.”

“Where are we headed?”

“Home.”

Y/N watched Tony for a second. “There’s something you aren’t telling me.” She sat up. “They got away, didn’t they? And you’re going to go after them.”

“I have to.”

“Please, Tony, stop this before it’s too late. Don’t wait until someone gets hurt and the team is completely destroyed.”

“I just doing what I have to do. And so should you.”

“What should I do?”

“Stay at home until this is all settled.”

“You’re going to keep me as a prisoner? Keep me locked away. You can’t to that.”

“That’s why I’m not telling you where I’m going. To keep you safe.”

“To keep me safe, or to keep me from protecting Steve and Bucky?”

“To keep you safe! Y/N, damn it! Look at your neck! Those bruises are in a literal shape of a hand! I don’t think they’ll disappear for weeks. Your precious Bucky did that to you, and I won’t let it happen again.”

“Tony, if you do something to harm them, either of them, I’ll never forgive you.”

“Tough sweetheart, because I’ll never forgive myself if you get hurt like that again.”

~~~

The compound was all but locked down. Vision and FRIDAY were both keeping an eye on both Y/N and Wanda. Y/N was worried about where Steve, Bucky, and Tony were, and if they were being stupid. Y/N and Wanda weren’t able to fall asleep, so they were in the kitchen. Vision was hovering in the corner, seemingly asleep, or as asleep as an android can be.

Suddenly, the three were on alert. An explosion in the distance lit up the room for a moment. They hurried to the window to see another explosion near the fence line.

“What is it?” Wanda asked.

“Stay here, please,” Vision pled before disappearing.

Once Vision was gone the two women sensed a different presence behind them. Wanda compelled a knife to fly across the room. They turned to see it stop in front of Clint’s head and him flick it away.

“Guess I shoulda knocked,” he commented.

“Oh my god!” Wanda exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

“Disappointing my kids.” He shot arrows to both sides of the room. “I’m supposed to go water skiing.”

“Clint,” Y/n called, the worry extremely evident. “What’s going on?”

“Cap needs our help,” he answered, grabbing Wanda’s hand. “Come on.” Wanda grabbed Y/N’s hand as they began to head out of the room.

“Clint!” Vision greeted, appearing through the wall behind them. “You should not be here.”

“Really?” Clint retorted, him and the others turning back around. “I retire for, what, like five minutes, and it all goes to shit.”

“Please consider the consequences of your actions.”

“Okay, they’re considered.” Suddenly, the arrows Clint previous shot, catch Vision in a force field. “Okay, we really gotta go.” Wanda stepped towards Vision as Clint grabbed Y/N’s hand. He began to led her to the door. They stopped when they noticed Wanda wasn’t moving. “It’s this way.”

“I’ve caused enough problems,” Wanda responded, nervously playing with her sleeves.

Leaving Y/N at the door, Clint jogged back over to Wanda. “You gotta help me, Wanda. Look, you wanna mope, can go to high school. You wanna make amends, you get off your ass. Shit.”

Vision broke the force field with the Mind Stone. Quickly, he punched Clint to the floor, but Clint recovered.

“I knew I should’ve stretched,” Clint groaned.

He extended a baton and tried to hit Vision but the blows went right through him. Clint resorted to punches before trying the baton again. It broke. Clint tried to kick Vision, but his leg wen right through him. Vision then quickly got Clint into a headlock.

“Clint, you van’t overpower me,” Vision warned.

“I know I can’t,” Clint responded. “But they can.”

They look up to see Wanda and Y/N standing side by side, Wanda’s red glow between her hands.

“Vision, that’s enough,” Wanda said. “Let him go. We’re leaving.”

“I can’t let you,” Vision replied.

Wanda held her hands apart, glowing with energy, forcing Clint to slip from Vision’s grasp. He grabbed Y/N and pulled her away as Wanda forced Vision to the ground.

“How far a long are you?” Clint whispered.

“What?” Y/N gasped, looking at Clint with surprise.

“My wife’s had three kids. I know the tells.”

“Five weeks.”

“Does anyone know?” Y/N shook her head. “Then you’re staying here. I’m not putting you or the baby in harms way. And I know Steve wouldn’t want that either.”

“No, I can—“

A crash is heard. They flinch as they turn to see that Wanda as forced Vision through several floors of the compound.

“If you stay here,” Clint turned back to Y/N, hands on her shoulders, “I won’t say a word. If you come or follow, I’ll tell everyone and they’ll force you to stay put anyway.”

~~~~

Vision disappeared out of the hole not long after Clint and Wanda had left. Y/N couldn’t stop worrying, pacing, rounding every inch of the compound. FRIDAY had blocked her from being able to contact any of her teammates or watch any news channels. It was late into the afternoon of the next day when she finally was contacted. She had just barely fallen asleep on the couch when FRIDAY announced the incoming call.

“Y/N?” Natasha panicked voice filled her room. She was immediately on alert.

“Nat? Are you okay? What happened?”

“It got bad. There was a fight at the airport in Berlin. Sam, Clint, and Wanda are in jail. Bucky and Steve made it to the quinjet to go—I don’t even know where.”

“What? How did this happen?“

“And Rhodey was extremely hurt. Tony’s in the other room waiting for the results, but it doesn’t look good. I think he’ll go after them next. The only way to stop him is if you go with Bucky and Steve to wherever it is they’re headed. Tony will trust you if you’re with them.”

“Nat, I don’t—“

“I’m not asking you to pick a side. I’m asking you to save your family.” Y/N’s hand went straight to her stomach. “To save your child’s family.”

“How did you…”

“You were in the bathroom for way too long, Y/N. And I’ve noticed how your hand falls to your stomach. Do they know?”

“Only Clint and you.”

“You need to tell them before it’s too late.”

“I know… Thanks for the information, Nat. I’m assuming you helped them escape.”

“I did. Have to go on the run now.”

“Stay safe, Nat.”

“You too.”

The call ended and Y/N took a deep breath. Bucky and Steve had taken a quinjet from Berlin, the same quinjet Y/N had arrived there in. So she could create a portal there. It was just bracing herself for the inevitable vomiting that would follow. Opening the portal, she rushed through, stumbling into the quinjet.

“What the—“ Bucky immediately turned around, pointing a gun in Y/N’s direction. He lowered it when he saw her vomiting in the corner. “Y/N?” He hurried forward, kneeling beside her. “How did you— are you okay?”

“Y/N,” Steve rushed to her other side. A hand found the way to her back, gently rubbing up and down. “What’s going on?”

“I’m… I’m… fine…” she panted. She straightened up, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. “I’ll be fine.”

“Is there something going on with your powers?”

“I’m fine, Steve, really. How are you guys?”

“Really Y/N?” Bucky questioned. “You just appeared through a portal and began to vomit. I don’t think you’re okay.” As he looked her over, his eyes found their way to her neck. “No,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.” His flesh hand came up, hesitant to touch the bruise. Y/N grabbed his hand and led it to her bruise. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m fine, Buck. I’m okay.”

“I promised to never hurt you and I keep doing it. Leaving for war, falling into HYDRA’s hands, back in DC, now this…”

“Bucky,” Steve called, slowly, watching the interaction. “How much to you actually remember?”

“I remember Y/N the most. Not everything, but I remember the feelings when we were together the strongest.”

“You remember me the most?” Y/N repeated quietly.

“Something happened the moment we met eyes in DC. Things kept creeping back.”

“Oh, Buck.” Y/N quickly wrapped her arms around Bucky. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you too, doll.”

“What are you doing here, Y/N?” Steve asked, again.

She pulled away from Bucky, so that she could see both men. “Nat called me and told me what happened. I came to help.”

“You know that you can’t go back after this, right?”

“I may be able to get us all home safety and talk everyone down. I just need to see this through to be able to explain it and help the cause.”

“I don’t know,” Bucky said, shaking his head. “I think you are safer staying in the quinjet.”

“Not a chance, Buck. If there’s a way I can bring you home, I’m going to do it.”

“I don’t think I’m worth all this.” He looked down into his lap.

Y/N guided her hand under Bucky’s chin, gently guided it up so that they were looking into each others eyes. “I think you’re worth it. I always have.”

next chapter >

NOTES: from now on the taglist when be added by a reblog. I will reblog it using my second account, @just-dreaming-marvel-2. Just so that my main page doesn’t get too cluttered.

If you want to be added to the tag list, please dm me or send in an ask.

#the avengers x reader #avengers x reader #tony stark x reader #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #iron man x reader #captain america x reader #the winter soldier x reader #winter soldier x reader #marvel imagine #tony stark imagine #avengers imagine #bucky barnes imagine #steve rogers imagine #marvel #marvel fanfiction #captain america civil war #civil war

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falcor-thee-luck-dragon · 4 years ago

Text

Don’t Feed The Flames - Bucky Barnes x (f)reader, Natasha x platonic (f) reader

Summary: Bucky has made you angry after a tough mission with the crew, why you ask? Apparently he thinks it’s totally fine to run inside a burning building to help you complete the mission in question.

Warning: bit of angst, mostly a good time with the team, Bucky fluff shoved in ur welcome

-reader has fire powers btw, I don’t wanna confuse anyone lol

Masterlist

The mission was difficult to say the least, successful in its own right, but tough for everyone involved. All the Avengers were needed for this clusterfuck of a mission, minus Bruce and Thor who are elsewhere in the universe, lucky them.

All the team needed to do was infiltrated one of the last highly armed Hydra bases left in existence, get rid of the artillery and boom, slither right on in. Objective? Snatch valuable intel as to where the other bases are hiding, and surprise surprise, you and Wanda had to take care of some very pissed off experimentees who were unfortunately brainwashed beyond the point of helping them recover.

Ending the night in everyone quickly evacuating the premise with the essentials while you stayed back to blow up the base to nothing more then bricks and ash. Although during this, Bucky stayed back to shoot some freelancers who tried to take you the fuck out, with what would you know it; flame throwers.

Apparently Hydra is greatly lacking in weapons and functioning brain cells, among other things. Granted, you understood Bucky’s concern for your well-being when he ran into the fire. But oh dear lord were you not happy with him one goddamn bit.

Luckily Sam was able to pluck him out before anything fell on your idiot boyfriend while you were producing mass destruction in the giant airplane storage area. In the aftermath, you came out unharmed but covered in smudge marks and burnt off cloves yet again.

Bucky? Well he came away with a pissed off girlfriend and his life to say the least. And let’s just say the long four hour ride back was a tad bit awkward, even if you were too damn exhausted to show your irritation with Bucky. The team sure as hell knew he wasn’t going to be spared of your wrath when the jet landed.

It took approximately ten seconds for your man to shuffle out of your line of sight, using Steve as a shield to hide behind while they walked out. You had been distracted when Natasha asked for something picked up, then suddenly your mind was on Bucky. A moment later you stomped out of the Quinjet in pursuit of the one and only James Buchanan Barnes as he awaited your fury.

“James!” You growl fiercely, “You are the most fucking reckless person I’ve ever fucking met and I’m literally friends with Tony!” You snap while the rest of your teammates go about their business, trying to listen yet smartly staying out of everything.

“I know.” Mutters Bucky like a kicked puppy suffering his mother’s wrath, blue eyes looking at you with regret clearly visible on his handsome face.

“You know! You know!? Then why the fuck would you just run into the flames like that!” You shout while throwing your arms into the air in frustration, “You’re not fire proof Bucky!”

“Y/N...”

“Do you have a goddamn death wish!?” You interrupt, giving him a dumbfounded look as he glances from Steve to the floor then back to you again, trying to find something or someone with enough pity to help him.

He finds none, “Well....no.” Your brows raise yet again at his short and annoyingly blunt answers to make up for his stupidly daring boldness.

“Then why-ugh, whatever never mind.” You dismiss with a wave of your hand before quickly turning on your heels to walk for the metal doors into the main part of the facility, while the others keep their distance from your heated state.

“Wait Y/N, come back I’m sorry!” Exclaims Bucky desperately while you continue to ignore your reckless man, “You’re right I shouldn’t have....ugh...come on babe....shit...” Mutters Bucky as he watches you leave him in such a heated state.

“Dude just let her cool off, oh uh well....no pun intended.” Jokes Sam with a shrug as Bucky watches you stomp away in frustration, your body almost sizzling with actual flame.

“I didn’t mean to....well...ugh, shit I guess I kind of did.” Admits Bucky with a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck as you slam the door shut with a loud thud, “Sometimes I forget fire can’t hurt her. I should have just let her handle the burning building herself instead of going inside when she uh, told me not to.”

Steve walks out of the Quinjet with a bag in hand to greet the two, “Y/N seemed a bit...”

“Pissed off.” Adds Sam with a light chuckle as Bucky frowns at the giant glass window.

“Yeah.” Mutters Steve awkwardly as he side eyes Bucky, “Well ugh, see you guys at dinner, I think Wanda and Vision are getting takeout from somewhere.”

“See ya Steve.”

“Bye.”

Sam and Bucky watch as Steve heads for the metal doors, soon he’s gone and the two are the only Avengers left in the giant parking garage of sorts.

“She’s going to hate me for the rest of the day I know it.” Sadly mutters Bucky, already missing your beautiful face no matter what state your in.

“I wouldn’t say it’s hate.”

“She’s going to be very disappointed in me then.”

“Yeah probably.”

Bucky gives him an offended look, “You’re supposed to say something uplifting or positive.”

“Man don’t look at me for relationship advice. This is Y/N we’re talking about, just give her a couple hours she’ll simmer down.” Inquirers Sam with a friendly pat on the back before he starts walking away for the door, as casually and unbothered as ever.

Bucky keeps silent for a moment while his mind swims with what to do next, suddenly he looks up at his retreating friend, “Hey Sam!” Shouts Bucky just as Sam opens up the door, causing him to stop and give his friend a quizzical look.

“What?!”

“Fuck you!”

Sam immediately snorts, “You brought this upon yourself brother!” And with that he shuts the door leaving Bucky alone and full of regret for putting himself in danger today when you specifically told him you could handle yourself.

Why is caring for someone so hard, wonders Bucky.

——

After taking a greatly needed shower and putting on a fresh new pair of comfortable clothing for the evening, you slipped past your friends rooms and away from where Bucky may be hiding.

Until at last you made it to Natasha’s door without being caught by anyone in the hallway and stopped for a needless conversation. Soon enough you slip into Nat’s room and saunter around for a bit as you wait for her to end her shower.

“Oh shit!” Gasps Natasha as soon as she opens the door and notices you poking around her stuff, “Jesus Y/N how’d you get in here!?”

“I opened the door.”

“I thought I locked it?”

“You did.”

Natasha gives you a puzzled look as you wander over to her nightstand, nonchalantly minding your business while picking up her current novel as she watches you curiously, “So uh, how’s it going?” She asks cautiously, well aware of your irritation with Bucky earlier that day.

Flipping through the pages you answer her honestly, “I’m fine now.”

Natasha nods before turning around to search through her drawers for an outfit, “I figured that much, considering if you were still pissed you’d be throwing fireballs into the cement wall downstairs.” She quips with her usual smirk as you gently close the book and set it back in its rightful place.

“That is.....true.” You agree with a shrug, “I’m just sending a message at this point.”

“Oh really?” Laughs Natasha while slipping on a shirt, “Poor Bucky then.”

“Yeah well he was being an idiot tough guy so....it’s what I’m doing.” You add with a lopsided smug grin, “Serves him right for being reckless with no regard for his physical safety. I love him but at what cost?”

“Someone needs to tell Steve that.” Mutters Natasha as she pulls on some sweatpants.

You chuckle, “What? That someone needs to tell Steve they love him? Not a bad idea.”

“That too.” Points Natasha, “I seriously don’t know how he’s not dead yet.”

Your brows furrow in thought for a moment, “He’s built like a stone sentinel with a will greater then many, he fears nothing.” You deadpan, face stoic and serious.

“Just about.” Laughs Natasha as you begin to cackle right along with her, in the middle of your laughing fit does the door suddenly burst open to reveal...

“Hello ladies.” Chirps Tony with an award winning smile, usual old T-shirt on and hair a bit of a mess though somehow managing to keep his Stark charm.

“I really need to get an automatic lock on that thing.” Mutters Nat to no one in particular.

“What’s up Stark.” You add with an acknowledging tilt of your head, “You here to bother us or tell us something interesting?”

“Everything I say is interesting my dear sparky.” Quips Tony with a brow wiggle.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Right, anyways. Foods here.” Chides Tony as he sets a hand on his hip, “Unless you’re both too cool for movie night. More for us then, I’ll have Vision drop off our half eaten tacos.”

“We have tacos?” You ask with an intrigued raise of your brow, just wanting to confirm and make sure he’s not bluffing, you fucking love taco night.

“Yep.”

“How long have they been here?”

“Wanda and Vis just arrived so you’re the first two I found.” Oh, fuck yeah!

Turning your head to a smirking Natasha you smile back before bolting for the door, “Move Stark!” You snap before shoving him to the side and cackling as you and Natasha book it down the hall with Tony trying to keep up in the background. What can you say, Natasha always makes it a competition and its taco night. Sometimes you gotta play dirty.

Soon you and your assassin best friend who you tripped up before reaching the door finally skid into the Avengers giant lounging area. The room is relatively empty with the exception of Wanda and Vision who are seated at the large metal table near the kitchen where all the various paper bags of tacos are seated. And ripe for the taking.

Smelling absolutely delicious all tucked snug in their wrapping and filled with the most divine ingredients, you could just about die of happiness. With a beaming smile upon your face and the surprised expressions from your two friends you belt out loudly, “Tacos FUCK YEAH!” Before racing for the bags and getting tripped by Natasha.

Whipping your head up to watch her snatch a bag you growl half angrily, “You bitch.” While she happily smiles back down at you, taco in hand.

“What are you doing on the floor? Foods here.” She jokes as you quickly walk over to the counter with all the bags.

“Ha ha, you’re hilarious now give me that.”

After about ten minutes of eating and shooting the breeze with Natasha, Wanda, Vision, and Tony; you’re ears immediately catch the sounds of thundered running down the hallway and other muffled curses from two familiar individuals.

“Fun’s arrived.” Whispers Natasha with a friendly nudge to your arm as it lays on the flat surface of the table while you absentmindedly crumple up a wrapper.

Biting your lip you anticipate the impending commotion, “Fantastic.” And this whole evening could be more enjoyable if your hundred year old boyfriend would have used some common sense.

A second later the door swings open to reveal a panting Sam before Bucky slides in after him, equally as flustered, those two idiots. As they stand there collecting their breaths, Steve casually steps into the room, walking past them and over to the bags of tacos, “Aw sweet, taco night.” He confirms excitedly, hungrily eyeing up a particular bag.

Rolling your eyes, you slouch carelessly into your expensive swivel chair before turning to Wanda who’s seated across from you, “Hey, Red Riding Hood, you’re up.” She turns her attention away from Vision and nods before giving you a sly smirk and using her power to send a balled up piece of taco wrapping straight for your head.

In one calculably swift motion do you incinerate the paper material before its able to reach your face, “Y/N you’re going to set the fire detectors off.” Laughs Tony as he crumbles up a new ball.

“Eh, we could afford a renovation.”

Tony fake scoffs, “Rude.”

“Well Y/N, I thought you did great.” Applauds Wanda with a chuckle as the three other men walk around to the far end where no one is seated, “Alright Tony you next.”

You refrain from making any eye contact with Bucky who steals a few longing glances at your smiling face, instead he follows Sam and Steve to the opposite end and watches as you quickly turn another balled up paper to ash. The sounds of your laughter and the rest of the tables almost enough to drive him insane.

Yet he refrains, Bucky knows he’s essentially in time out, reason for almost getting himself killed today; and you’re not breaking anytime soon, or so he thinks.

Ignoring the three boys hungrily attacking their poor tacos away from the main groups theatrics, Vision suddenly gains your attention, “Well I suppose I should participate with this game or fear feeling left out....uh, what is the objective? Or perhaps the name?”

“They throw wrappers at me and I set them on fire before it hits myself or the ground.” You reply while crumbling up another piece, leaving Vision to process the possible deeper meaning to your brief explanation, though there really isn’t one. It’s just for fun.

“By the way I’ve been able to get her exactly once.” Brags Tony with a shit eating grin, causing you to scoff at that memory.

“Oh fuck all the way off you flicked water into my face and then threw the paper.”

“And it was very much worth it.” He confirms as you roll your eyes at his cheating from last taco night.

The rest of your friends fill the room with snickers and some louder laughter coming from Sam down at the far end, with a raised brow you snap your head in that direction and stand, “Something funny bird boy?” You quip in a half threatening manner.

Sam’s smirk immediately drops from his face as his expression appears nonchalant, “What nooo. That was Steve.” He mutters before taking another bite out of his taco.

“Y/N that was definitely not me.”

“Uh huh.”

“Maybe it was Bucky.” Jokes Sam as you shift your fiery attention over to a fearful Bucky who quickly shakes his head before smacking Sam on the arm.

“No.” You confirm with a knowing smirk, “He doesn’t have a death wish.”

“Well neither do I please have mercy.” Pleads Sam with hands raised in defeat, “I would like to finish my taco.”

You stare down at them for a brief tension filled moment before casually shrugging, “Yeah alright.” Before sitting back down again.

——

Opening up the trash can you quickly shove down three giant paper bags from dinner with a bit of effort considering how full it is. Natasha and Vision are cleaning up in various areas nearby while Sam, Bucky, Natasha, Steve, and Tony sit in the lounging area discussing if it was necessary that Dobby was killed off in the Deathly Hallows. You know, normal things you discuss with your superpowered friends.

Well Bucky is mostly just listening and stealing glances over to you every couple of minutes, really wishing you would just walk over to him and let him show you how sorry he was with the biggest hug he could possibly muster. Probably never letting you go again, though you wouldn’t mind.

Ignoring your own longing to be cuddled up next to Bucky, you instead fight with the damn trash can to fucking shut its dumb lid already. With one hand forcefully shoving down bags, paper plates, and banana peels you start to think if volunteering for clean up was even worth it.

A blue flame suddenly erupts from your palm and makes a big black hole through the paper bags and plates, your eyes go wide in surprise as you immediately retract your hand from the trash and shut the lid just as quickly.

Taking a single step back you let out a breath before turning your head to find Bucky watching your whole ordeal go down with a drink in hand, guess he must have gotten up to get some juice and stayed for your one on one brawl with the trash can. Rolling your eyes, you wave it off, “Completely under control.” You mutter as he slowly nods.

Well this is awkward.

Shifting your gaze from Bucky to your friends and back to Bucky again, he finally speaks, “Is that why the lid has smoke coming from under it?”

“What?” You wonder in puzzlement before looking back down at the trash can to find smoke indeed rising, “Oh fuck!” Ripping the lid off you’re kindly greeted with a burst of flame and smoke. Well, shit.

“Uh, Y/N?” Asks Bucky with an uncertain chuckle, “You’re positive everything is under control?” Quips your smartass boyfriend.

With more flames rising to an almost alarming level, though not quit yet, you glance at your oblivious friends before racing for the sink, “Yes! Everything is fucking fine!” Wanda skips to the side as you snatch a cup of something from the counter by the sink.

Running back you skid in your tracks and dump the clear liquid onto the flames which causes them to rise even higher and gain the attentions of everyone sitting down and relaxing, “Why is my trash can on fire?” Asks Tony as casually as ever.

“I don’t know maybe it looks better this way?!” You sass before giving the glass a double take, “The hell? What the fuck was in this!” You shout, holding up the glass while fire burns in the trash from behind you.

“Oh that had some Quinjet fuel in it, why do you ask?” Replies Tony, he’s gotta be fucking with you.

Squinting at him in bewilderment, you shake the empty glass in frustration, “Why the fuck would there be a random glass of fuel sitting in a clear unlabeled glass on the fucking sink of all places!”

“What did you think it was?”

“Oh I don’t know!? Water?!” You snap causing the fire to roar even higher at your outburst.

Looking almost like a demon princess standing there with flames rising from behind you, your fists ball up with blue flame, something that you don’t even realize is happening as you give Tony a (what the fuck are you actually stupid) face.

Sensing your obvious irritation and rising anger, Bucky comes to the rescue with a whole bowl full of actual water and promptly dumbs it onto the flames which causes the unless materials to sizzle and whine. Soon the oranges and reds are gone, leaving the contents turned to ash and nothing more then wet soot.

Distinguishing your own flames, you hang your head low, revealing a tired heavy sigh as you mumble, “Shit.” Suddenly you feel admittedly quit drained and annoyed from the events of the day, even if they weren’t all bad.

Your friends keep silent for a moment before Steve quickly stands, “Movie night anyone?” Gaining the attention of everyone in an instant; you bless the blonde for his intuitive ways of helping you out in the smallest of moments. He truly is a great friend.

“Yeah I could watch something.” Adds Sam with a shrug, “I’m thinking Deathly Hallows Part 2.”

“Yeah it’s pretty good I’ll join.”

“Me too.”

“Yeah I’m in.”

Everyone get up and begins walking for the door as you stay standing in your spot near the wet and ash covered metal trash can, everyone exiting for the home theater except for Bucky who’s back is to you while he tells Sam you’ll be there in a minute.

Folding your arms, you suddenly feel like it’s the first time you and Bucky have ever talked one on one with each other, you’re typically a pretty damn confident and fiery person to begin with, it’s just. Being mad at your favorite human in the whole entire world and then embarrassing yourself with accidentally setting the trash can on fire can take its toll.

Also not to mention the mission many hours ago was admittedly hectic and stress inducing and then, Bucky....perhaps a moment to calm down would have been smart if taken earlier. God your life moves to damn fast.

“You are so intense sometimes.”

Breaking out of your self reflective trance, your eyes quickly dart up to see Bucky who’s giving you a soft smile, “If you wanted my attention you could have just asked.”

“Very funny.” You scoff, “I was actually too busy being mad at you.”

“Ah, right.” Nods Bucky as he mirrors your defensive positioning, deciding to cross his arms and make a pouty face like yourself, “So I guess we’ll just stay here and brood then?”

“I’m trying to make a point.” You mutter, you’re not gonna crack, you’re not gonna do it.

“I’m trying to get my girlfriend to watch a movie with me.” Admits Bucky with an affectionate head tilt as you frown, “I know they’re not going to wait for us so....uh....okay let me start over.....I’m sorry for being reckless and almost dying. And I mean it too, with all of my heart. I love you Y/N.”

Although you’d like to throw his dumb reckless ass some sass and strut away leaving him guessing and begging for more, you just can’t find it in you at this point. He looks at you with those big beautiful blue eyes full of love and adoration for you and only you, how could you possibly resist them?

You know with every ounce of your soul that he means every single word, and you also know that he’s missed you since the second you yelled at him and slammed the facility door, leaving him alone and regretting his past decisions that could have potentially ended him then and there.

“Sometimes James, sometimes.” You mutter, shaking your head in disapproval before a small smirk pulls at your lips and in that moment he knows you’re his, “Come here.”

Heeding to your wonderful command that he’s been waiting to hear all day, he swiftly makes the short distance to gather your smaller body into a giant Bucky bear hug, his strong arms wrap protectively around your back as his head falls into the side of your neck as he quickly steals a small kiss.

You pull him in even tighter and fully enjoy the sensation of himself flush against you, metal arm squeezing your rip cage and long dark hair that falls into your eyes; god you love him so much.

Giving you one last little squeeze of affection, Bucky slowly pulls away and presses his head against yours, “I gotta be honest, I have no idea what this movie is about.” Reveals Bucky as he continues to holds you close.

Chuckling you press a kiss to his lips, “I’ll tell you what’s happening. Let’s go before we miss anything else.”

Nodding, he tilts your head up to press a sweet kiss to your lips one last time before letting you go, so that the two of you can begin walking for the door. Opening up the metal and glass door for you like the gentleman that he is, Bucky quickly jogs over to your side.

“So Sam told me these guys are wizards or something? Like they can teleport and fly I think?” States Bucky in question while walking in step with you.

Looking over at him you smile at how cute he’s being right now, giving him an agreeable nod, “Yeah they can do cool stuff like change form and set things on fire.”

Bucky suddenly starts laughing much to your confusion, “Y/N does that make you a wizard?”

Shoving him to the side you snort as he keeps laughing, “Shut up.” You mutter humorously as he stumbles from your friendly push.

Making quick steps to catch up with you, Bucky pulls you into his side, “Forgive me I didn’t mean it...” Snickers your adorable idiot, “I bet you’d be the best wizard, pointy hat and all.”

Shaking your head you can’t help the smirk that tugs against your better wishes, “I’m gonna set you on fire.” You jokingly threaten him with as he affectionately squeezes your side, causing you to be pressed even closer against him.

“Wizard.” Muses Bucky as he plants a kiss to your cheek as you try and push him away.

“Bucky, shut the fuck up.”

“But, I love you.”

#bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes #the winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier x y/n #marvel imagine #marvel x reader #marvel x you #fanfic

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alexaplaysgames · 4 years ago

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Pairing: Felix Escellun x GN!MC

Fandom: Fictif (Last Legacy)

Rating: T (swearing, dorks making out)

Words: ~2600

Description: Felix and his barista explore his childhood home.

Notes: Felix has all my uwus 🥺 did not post five fics in one day (yet) but I might if convinced.

Thanks to @callioops for the inspiration :)

Please go easy on me I am in no way a fanfiction writer by nature but my love for Felix has evidently overpowered my insecurities ;)

Edit: Uhh.... I was debating between settings for this and realized I made it super ambiguous, so I’ve edited it now!

Warning: This is heavily canon divergent now. Oops.

I’m not even sure how I ended up here, to be quite honest.

But I would’ve had to be crazy to have predicted such a thing- a portal to another dimension (is this another dimension?), a towering manor overflowing with stuffy furniture and servants, a raven-haired goth (although he would protest to such a description) with a bird skull strung around his neck. Honesty, his fashion sense is questionable, though admittedly charming, but I nonetheless can’t seem to get him out of my head.

No, this is the stuff of fantasies born to the insane, of perhaps just the slightly deranged.

I’m not protesting, however, quite the contrary. As I pull Felix through the winding corridors of his childhood home, trying not to thing about the smooth softness of his cool hand in mine, I can honestly say that I haven’t had such fun in a very, very long time.

“Stop, stop!” Felix laughingly protests between laboured breaths, tugging on my hand. I gradually slow to a halt, our footsteps echoing in the large, surprising empty corridor, and Felix slips his hand from mine to brace his hands on his knees as he pants. I try to ignore the resulting disappointment that pangs in my chest and grin.

“You doing okay there, bird boy?”

Apparently, he still has the energy to raise his head and glare.

“My apologies, dear barista, that I have not your physical endurance.” He rolls his eyes, then pauses and smirks. “My being a magical prodigy has spared me the effort of such trivial things as exercise.” He spits the last word out with a scoff.

My grin widens as I saunter closer, placing a finger under his chin to raise his gaze to meet mine from where he is still bent over and panting.

“Perhaps we’ll just have to work on your stamina then, won’t we?”

Felix’s cheeks flush that pretty red that I know has nothing to do with exertion as he ducks his head. I smirk as I turn to examine the nearby wall, giving him time to collect himself. How fun it is to make him blush.

A row of framed paintings lines the wall, all of the equally bizarre. I try to make sense of the faces in them, but the harder I look, the more blurred they become. They are all covered in a discernible layer of dust, indicating that this hallway is rarely used. A peculiar sort of coldness rolls off of the strange pieces, one that has me averting my eyes from the freaky, obviously magically concealed paintings.

“Do you think anyone will find us here?”

I question as I turn to see Felix straightening and running a hand through his hair. I try not to let my eyes follow the motion, choosing instead to meet his icy gray gaze.

He seems perturbed as he looks around, biting his lip. It’s as if he’s just realized where we are. His fault for letting me lead him through the monstrous maze that is his home.

“No. Escell has not entered this corridor in years. I’m surprised he has not blocked it off. He rather enjoys avoiding all things that make him uncomfortable.”

“And what makes him uncomfortable about this wing?”

“Too many memories, my dear. Memories he would prefer to keep locked up.” Though he says it with a smirk, tapping one black-painted fingernail against his temple, it comes out only as sounding rather sad.

I open my mouth to reply, but am interrupted by a sharp-

“Master Felix! Enough with your foolish hiding!”

Felix’s eyes widen as he visibly flinches. “Great goddess, have mercy.”

The voice of Madam Usoro, an angry, mean, lump of a woman, sounds like it is coming from just down the long hall. I cringe inwardly, and probably outwardly, at the thought of meeting her again. According to Felix, she was one of his many childhood nannies (the only one that actually managed to survive his torments), and judging by her scowl, she hasn’t had a “me day” since then.

Unfortunately, Escell also assigned her the task of watching over Felix.

“Ridiculous,” he huffs, “it is as if I am nine years old again!”

My gaze darts frantically between the doors lining the walls, not sure where any of them lead.

I grab Felix’s sleeve and tug, though his eyes stay trained on the end of the hallway, his expression resigned.

“Felix!” I hiss, “which of these goddamn doors will get us out of here?”

He merely sighs. “Why bother? My inevitable capture fast approaches, thus I have decided to be accepting of my fate. I will remain here as a prisoner for the rest of my days while Escell continues to treat me like a babbling infant.”

Great. Now really isn’t the time for his dramatics. I lunge forward and lock my hand around his wrist, tugging him once more down the endless corridor of doors. I feel Felix stiffen as I go to open the first door that catches my eye, but I yank it open and pull him inside before he can protest. The door shuts with a satisfying click and we are alone in a strange, dark room.

“Felix?” I cannot see a thing.

A flash of light, and then Felix appears, a green

orb of light glowing in his palm. I suck in a breath as I take in the captivating way the light hits his features, highlighting his long eyelashes and silvery eyes.

“Apologies! I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

I shake my head, unable to divulge to him the truth. I can’t have him knowing about my strange infatuation. Though I often indulge in what I consider to be harmless flirtation, I know Felix obviously isn’t interested in me. Just days ago he was crying over me, thinking I was someone else! The thought is sobering, and I shake my head.

“What is this room?”

“Ah,” he appears uncharacteristically lost for words. “This is... nothing. We can wait here, I’m certain she’ll cease her endless badgering soon enough.”

I send him a thumbs up before I turn to examine the room. I might as well look around, if there’s nothing else to do but sit around.

“Wait!” Felix’s sharp cry is especially harsh in the quiet of the strange room.

My head jerks up. “What is it?”

“I simply think it best not to carelessly voyage through the uncertainties of the dark. You haven’t a clue what you could stumble upon.”

Something about his tone sounds off, but I sigh and move back towards the door anyway. I have learned that there is no use arguing with him.

I’m almost near the safe haven of Felix’s orb of light when my foot slips on something. I manage to catch myself, but lean down and pick up the offensive item out of curiosity.

It’s a bound, leather notebook. It looks worn, from what I can tell in the faint light, and I flip it open to the inside cover, ignoring Felix’s faint protests in the back of my mind. On the right page are lines of scrawling, messy and unintelligible handwriting. But that’s not what catches my eye. On the left, the page reads:

Property of Felix Iskandar Escellun

I lift my gaze to meet Felix’s guilty visage.

“This is yours?”

He cringes but attempts to hide it with a shrug. The movement does not at all look natural on him.

“You are aware I was raised here?” He snatches the journal out of my grasp with his free hand, then quirks a brow. “Why are you surprised to find an object previously in my possession?”

Felix is an atrocious liar. I glance around the room and suddenly it hits me where we are.

“This was your bedroom, wasn’t it?”

Although Felix is, I assume, currently staying somewhere else, his reaction leaves me with no doubt in my mind that this used to be his room.

Felix bites his lip (he really needs to stop doing that lest I get distracted) then slowly nods. With another sigh, he presses his palms together, then spreads them apart until green light flows throughout the room, the night vision goggle-like effect making it look like we’re on an episode of ghost hunters.

“I would rather not spend time sifting through old memories,” Felix says quietly from beside me as I observe my surroundings.

The room is relatively sparsely decorated. In the centre of the opposite wall is a large, canopy bed, the sheets tossed to the side and the curtains haphazardly thrown about. A large desk is pressed up against one wall, overflowing with notebooks and stacks of parchment, and a bookcase on the opposite wall is spilling over with messily arranged books. A large, elegant armchair is piled high with odd boxes near the middle of the room, and an open armoire is empty save for a pile of clothing laying at the bottom. The whole place is a mess, and though the furniture is very fine, Felix’s attempts to hide that fact are quite obvious. The few windows are boarded up, the curtains surrounding them singed. In fact, there are several odd burn marks on the floor, and I don’t think they’re due to the large stone fireplace.

“Wow.” Very eloquent of me to say.

“Ugh. I despise this room.”

I drift curiously about making note of the objects in the room. Aside from the pieces of writing, there is very little here to signify that the room was Felix’s.

I walk over to the window and am pleased to find the the large wooden board covering it is relatively easy to dislodge. Behind it, there is a window seat, and I glance out the window to see a view of the rolling hills that stretch far and beyond, illuminated by the moonlight.

Felix flops onto the window seat with a sigh. I sit beside him and try to ignore the fact that our knees touch.

Felix squeezes his eyes shut. “I apologize for my theatrics, dear barista, but I would truly rather leap off the highest tower of the castle of Porrima than suffer through living in this room again.”

I refrain from telling him that I did, in fact, almost leap off the castle’s highest tower, and it is not as fun as he makes it out to be.

He hardly ever speaks of his past without flippant disregard for true emotion. “Will you tell me why it was so bad, Felix?”

His eyes shoot open and he scoffs, though his eyes glisten in the moonlight which shines through the window.

His voice is small as he replies. “I was forced every day to live a life I hated in hopes of pleasing a father whose love I already knew I would never earn. I have never felt so useless, so pathetically desperate, as I felt here. And here I am, back again. All my work to escape this place has been for naught.”

My heart aches for him, the expression on his face causing a physical pain in my chest.

“Felix...” I say softly, and before I even register what I’m doing, my hand is grabbing his.

Felix meets my gaze, eyes wide. Every time I touch him he gets so surprised, and I wonder how often he has been touched lovingly in his life.

“I would never think you useless, Felix, never. You are so extraordinary, so brilliant, and it’s a shame that you can’t see it. You have done so much for me and... I need you. Not just to get home, I don’t even know if I care about that anymore, but because you’ve make me so happy, Felix. Being with you feels like being able to breathe. I know that everyone else has left you, but I promise you, I never will. Never.”

His lips part in shock at my words and this time I can’t stop my eyes from flickering down to his mouth. He is so beautiful. I would do anything to kiss him, even just once.

Felix raises his hand and his fingers draw lines down my cheek, making me shiver. Then he leans forward and presses his forehead against mine, closing his eyes.

“Thank you.”

The words are said so quietly that I barely hear them, but I don’t need to with the gratitude that seems to roll off of him in waves.

“Felix?”

“Hm?”

A pause.

“Do you ever think about me?”

“I... I- of course I do. You have consumed every aspect of my waking life.” I can hear a slight teasing in his voice.

I lick my lips. “Do you ever think of me like you think of Rime?”

I can feel him flinch at the name and am about to apologize before he speaks.

“Rime is gone. A necromancer knows better than to waste energy attempting to recall what has been truly lost.”

“Oh... I-“

He sounds so incredibly sad. Whoever Rime is, I’ve no doubt that Felix loved this person. Though I know I shouldn’t feel jealous of a dead person, envy ripples through my stomach all the same.

“I... do. Think about you.”

And the meaning has changed. He pulls back with a shaky breath, cheeks bright red. “I know I am not the most naturally affectionate person, but I-“

He thinks about me. My heart does a fluttering little happy dance at the thought.

Screw it. If I leave this world, I don’t want to have any regrets.

And that’s the thought that propels me forward as I crash my lips into his with a longing I have never before felt. Felix gasps against my mouth and stiffens, and I panic. What the hell am I doing? But no sooner has the thought left my mind then he relaxes and kisses me back. He kisses me back! And I’ve never felt anything more wonderful.

His hands come to set at my waist as mine cup his face, feeling his jaw work as he kisses me and that makes it all the more real that he is kissing me and this isn’t some sort of fervour dream. I pull his hair free from its tie and tangle my fingers in the silken locks of his hair, and god, it’s just as soft as I thought I would be.

Felix kisses like he talks- a little hestitant, full of passion, and enough to make your head spin. It feels like I’m falling, I don’t know which way it’s up and which is down, just like when he rambles on about spells I could never hope to comprehend, but the drop is thrilling because I’ve wanted it so badly and for so long. At first it’s slow, soft, but I want, so I press myself harder against him in effort to let him know that’s it’s okay for him to let himself take from me what he needs.

HIs hands tighten around my waist as he pulls me closer to him, hands drifting over my sides, and I smile against his lips at his momentary display of forwardness. I retaliate by tugging on his hair that flows between my fingers like water, causing his lips to part against mine as he gasps, the perfect opportunity to slip my tongue into his mouth and I’m worried that I’m moving too fast but he moans. I sling a leg over his thigh and we’re grabbing at each other like horny teenagers now-

Felix pulls away with a gasp (I knew we had to work on his stamina). We’re both breathing hard, echoing in the quiet of the large room, and he blinks rapidly; he looks rather like someone hit him over the head with a brick.

I smile at him, running a thumb over his lower lip, and he lets out a pained noise somewhere between a whimper and a squeak.

“I liked that,” I whisper.

“You- you did?”

I nod. “Of course, Felix. I’ve been wanting to kiss you for so long.”

“R-really?”

I roll my eyes, responding by leaning forward and pressing another chaste kiss to his lips.

“Me too.” He whispers it like a secret, one that I’ll gladly hold forever in my heart.

Felix tentatively reaches and takes my hand in his, flipping it over and drawing little patterns into my palm as he turns to stare out the window again. It’s soothing, and I don’t really pay attention to the patterns. But after a while I think he starts inadvertently drawing hearts into my skin. It’s rather cute; I didn’t take him for a romantic.

“Master Felix!” The voice sounds from not too far outside Felix’s bedroom door.

“Shit.”

I’m afraid I don’t possess his way with words.

Our eyes meet and we both burst into a fit of giggles as the sounds of Madam Usoro’s footsteps gets louder. Trapped as we are, she’s bound to find us soon. Somehow, I’m not worrried. Nothing could ever take Felix from me.

And he knows that I will never leave him.

#Felix Iskandar Escellun #Felix Escellun #Fictif #Fictif Last Legacy #Last Legacy #Last Legacy Fanfiction #fanfiction #interactive game #Felix Escellun x mc

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vodkassassin · 4 years ago

Note

LiuShangMo and LQG seeing MBJ being handsy with SQH and throws hands. That's *his* squirrelly fellow Peak Lord! SQH is scared and horny, while MBJ is dazed and like "Oh no I want both" while getting thrown through walls.

Wow Cher, go take a drink of water, you sound a little thirsty there 👀

I think I gave Shang Qinghua too much power in this... eh. When you snap, you snap! He deserves it. @cherfleur

—

Shang Qinghua drops the scrolls onto the large, ornate desk with a heavy sigh, wiping one hand across his brow. He looks down at them and contemplates just leaving them there for future-Qinghua to deal with, but the voice of reason at the back of his head makes a sarcastic quip about how well that always works out for him, and how he’s always so exhausted whenever he finally does return from a long day only to find unfinished work that he’d procrastinated, and so he resigns himself to sorting through them now.

Each scroll gets slotted neatly into its respective shelf above the desk, a miniature library of diamond-shaped holes that expand just above the area of the workspace. There’s another shelf to the left of the desk that rises up from the floor and reaches halfway up the wall toward the vaulted ceiling, veritably filled with even more scrolls and work that honestly Shang Qinghua would love to never have to ever think about again, but….

Even if he never actually signed up for this, it still is technically his job. So.

He slides scroll after scroll into the loose system of organization he has going on here, far less complicated than the one he’d had to design for the actual, legitimate library of the Eternal Winter Palace. Shang Qinghua can still remember the soul-consuming, absolute horror he’d experienced the very first time he’d walked into that place, when Mobei Jun had been showing him around, years ago. If he hadn’t remembered the details of the demonic history he had plotted for this part of the Realms in his first life before, then he certainly knew all of it and then some after he’d been forced to, for the safety of his own mind, reorganize the entire, expansive ancestral libraries of the ice demons. An endeavor which had taken him just under a decade to complete.

The demons, it seems, had little to no sense of organization in their lives. They just wrote down what needed to be written and then stashed said document or scroll into the dark library to never be seen again. Heavens forbid if anything needed to be dug up for later referencing. No fucking wonder the political atmosphere of the demon realms were so stagnant and slow.

Anyway. They weren’t like that anymore! Shang Qinghua has since taught them all better. Every single demon in the palace, from Mobei Jun to the youngest kitchen maid, knows the system of organization that Shang Qinghua has worked so hard to put into place, as well as what would happen if any of them were to ever attempt to somehow mess it up.

“Hey,” a bored and impatient voice sounds from behind him. “Are you done?”

At the demand, Shang Qinghua turns away from his desk and gives his companion a narrow glare.

“You know, you didn’t have to come with me,” he shoots back, annoyed.

Liu Qingge’s arms are crossed over his chest, and he glares right back at him from where he’s leaning against the door of Shang Qinghua’s palace suite.

He mutters something, and Shang Qinghua raises an eyebrow, planting one hand on his hip. “What was that?”

“I don’t trust these demons. Had to make sure.”

“Make sure of what?” Shang Qinghua asks, exasperated. “That they’re not planning to attack the sect? That I’m not giving them inside information?”

Liu Qingge scowls. He’s such a scowly man. Shang Qinghua doesn’t remember writing him like this. “No,” the swordmaster says shortly. “I— We know you’re not. Nobody thinks that, not anymore.”

“Then what are you here to ensure? That I’m safe? Because I am safe, Liu-shidi. I’m safer here than I could be anywhere else.” Thanks to his king, there hasn’t been a single attempt on Shang Qinghua’s life in two years! It’s honestly a new record. It just proves how much of a valued and efficient worker Shang Qinghua is considered in the palace. Makes him feel warm and fuzzy inside.

For some reason, however, his words only make Liu Qingge even grumpier. The man’s hand clenches around the hilt of his sword and he makes a very angry face. Thankfully, it’s aimed at the ground and not at Shang Qinghua, so he knows that Liu Qingge isn’t exactly enraged with him. The fact that he’s enraged at all, though, is still a little nerve wracking.

Shang Qinghua takes a tiny step back. This makes Liu Qingge glare even more fiercely, and the An Ding peak lord does his best not to tear up out of frustration. What the hell is wrong, Liu-shidi? Please tell him, so Shang Qinghua can find some way to fix it so that you’ll stop looking so scary!

Liu Qingge huffs, turning away from him to stare out of the open door instead of at him, like he’s some sort of guard.

“Shidi…” Shang Qinghua hedges, fidgeting with the tail end of his hair ribbon and biting his lip in thought. Is the man even going to answer him?

“There are many powerful demons in this palace,” Liu Qingge finally says, shortly.

Shang Qinghua can feel his soul already exiting his body. “Liu-shidi! Please don’t challenge anyone here to a fight! They take it very seriously in the demon realm! There’s no such thing as sparring. It’s all just fights to the death. If you challenge one of them, they’ll definitely take you up on it!”

Ah! That was absolutely the wrong thing to say! Liu Qingge glances over his shoulder, face thoughtful and considering, and Shang Qinghua can see the glint that enters his eye at his words.

“Shit, no, I meant — Liu-shidi! Liu-shidi, come back here!”

Too late, Shang Qinghua! He’s already out the door, stalking down the hallway like a tiger on the prowl. Fuck Shang Qinghua’s life, honestly. The An Ding peak lord’s shoulders slump, and he hangs glumly from where he’s grabbed onto the door frame, staring down the now-empty corridor with dead eyes.

“Please behave, Liu-shidi,” he whispers. It’s a prayer that he already knows isn’t going to be answered. “... Goddammit.”

Since it’s highly unlikely that Shang Qinghua would catch up to his fellow peak lord before Liu Qingge could make good on his desires and goad a fight out of someone, he decides to leave this, at least, as a problem that is definitely for future-Shang Qinghua to worry about. He closes the door and walks mulishly back over to the desk, grabbing a scroll off the shelf and sitting down to get to work on calculating the tax deficiencies for this month's collection from the merchants in the capital.

Because there is always deficiencies, and the treasury staff of the palace are…. They’re just not really mathematicians. They’re just highly susceptible toward making too many mistakes in the overall count, and mistakes only exist to make Shang Qinghua’s job more difficult. So, he’d long ago told them to just worry about the count of their own departments, and leave the final calculations to him.

It’s a good hour later that the door opens again, and Shang Qinghua is so deep in the slog of long multiplication that he doesn’t even notice someone else is in the room until a large hand settles roughly over his head.

He sits up with a startled sound, lifting his hands to right his hairpiece that’s been knocked askew, even as his face is forcibly turned around and he gets a big eye full of bare chest and black furs.

He blinks, and then jolts out of his chair to stand at his feet and give the scowling Mobei Jun a bow. “M-My king! Forgive me, I didn’t see you come in.”

Shang Qinghua cringes at his own words, glancing fleetingly up from beneath his eyelashes at the demon, who only continues to stare down at him in a glower. Why is his king so goddamn scary all the time? Doesn’t he have any other expression? Why is he so much like Liu Qingge?

And why, oh heavens why, is it so attractive?

You useless fucking gay, Shang Qinghua berates himself from the safety of his own mind. Focus! Let’s do our best not to get beat up today! We’ve been doing so well!

“U-Um, my king…” he tries, hands desperately trying to both keep his hair in order but also not rudely knock the king a hand away. “M-My hairpiece….?”

Mobei Jun’s icy cold stare moves from Shang Qinghua’s face up to his previously neat half-bun, and he finally removes his hand. The peak lord breathes a sigh of relief, fixing his hair while the king takes half a step back and instead looks over his desk, where there are half open scrolls and an ink stone that has been brought nearly to the end of its usefulness.

“You’re working?” Mobei Jun asks, reaching out to touch a finger to the edge of one of the scrolls.

Delicate, tiny vines of frost swirl out from beneath his fingertips and into the paper, and Shang Qinghua makes a noise of panic as he reaches forward to snatch the scroll out from under his King’s hand before the ice can ruin the paperwork.

Mobei Jun retracts his hand, expression dark.

“M-My king…” Shang Qinghua quails, stuffing the scroll into a random empty space on the shelves, disregarding the organization system entirely. He takes the smallest, tiniest step backwards, but the desk hits the back of his legs.

“Shang Qinghua.” Mobei Jun says, simply. It’s enough to send the alarm bells ringing in the peak lord’s head.

The king reaches out the same hand, Frost still costing his long, pale fingers, and Shang Qinghua uselessly ducks his head as if there is any way he could possibly dodge the touch.

He expects his king to grab him by the ear, or the hair, or even the chin like he so often does, but instead the wall next to Shang Qinghua’s desk explodes.

Hm.

That…. What?

Shang Qinghua opens eyes he doesn’t recall ever closing, to stare incredulously at the spot where Mobei Jun had previously been standing. The king is no longer there, the room entirely empty except for Shang Qinghua himself, and here is a large, gaping hole torn in the wall to his left.

It takes a few seconds for Shang Qinghua to reboot from his shock, but once he does he slowly walks over to the hole and climbs over the rubble and debris that decorates the floor and peers out of it into the outer hall that it now connects his suite to.

Ah, there his king is, several yards away, brows pulled down in a deep scowl and blade crossed with a rather vicious and antagonistic looking Liu Qingge.

Shang Qinghua figures that he should have probably guessed.

He watches the two in silence as they go at one another as if they’re trying to kill each other, as they most probably are. Liu Qingge makes to go for his king’s throat, but Mobei Jun summons a jagged spear of ice to redirect his blade and bring his own blade, shimmering and blue just like the outer walls of the palace, around toward Liu Qingge’s unprotected side.

Liu-shidi isn’t the peak lord of Bai Zhan for nothing though, and quickly reveals the weakness as only a bluff, taking advantage of the placement of Mobei Jun’s blade to strike out with his leg and disarm the demon of his sword. The weapon shatters against the ground, and Mobei Jun summons a spear to replace it.

Shang Qinghua steps away from the hole in his wall, gazing wordlessly at where there had once been a shelf. Of scrolls. Neatly organized scrolls. Scrolls which had been filled with data and information that Shang Qinghua still had need of. Paperwork that was either already completely or still awaited completion. He can spot some of those scrolls littering the ground, many of them partially or entirely destroyed by the rubble.

Shang Qinghua brings up a hand to press his forefinger and his thumb down against the sides of his nose. He runs at the bridge, attempting to preemptively lessen the impending migraine, already knowing it would be futile. The clanging and clashing of swords in the hall over isn’t helping.

He steps back toward the hole. His foot catches on a discarded scroll and sends it skittering across the floor. Shang Qinghua feels like crying, a little. He takes in a deep breath.

He watches silently as the scroll hits the frame of the door and rolls to a stop at a pair of boots. Shang Qinghua follows the legs attached to said boots and up until he sees the face of a servant demon standing in the doorway, staring at him in stunned surprise. He watches as the demon glances over at the hole in the wall with wide eyes, as he takes in the mess of rubble on the floor and, finally, Shang Qinghua sees the exact moment the demon spots the buried scrolls.

The blood drains out of the servant’s face, and his eyes flit over to stare at Shang Qinghua. The peak lord isn’t sure what expression he’s wearing, since he’s been doing his best to keep it as blank as possible, but whatever is in his eyes makes the demon take a step back.

The servant sketches a hasty bow, turns tail and runs.

Huh.

Shang Qinghua steps back over the rubble to stand on the hole in his wall. His shidi and his king are still at one another’s throats, snarling insults and causing damage in the interior structure of the corridor. There looks to be another hole in the wall, in the very near future, and —wow! Shang Qinghua clenches his trembling hands in the sleeves of his robes, and jumps down from the hole and into the corridor.

He’s had enough! Did anyone up there hear that? System? God? Shang Qinghua has had enough for today!

The An Ding peak lord stalks over to the two opponents currently fighting to the death in the hallway beside his room. They’re so absorbed with one another and the next possible move they could make against each other than they don’t notice Shang Qinghua approach until he’s already got his hands fisted in their collars.

Shang Qinghua floods the musculator of his upper body with his own qi and gives a sharp, vicious tug with both arms. There are twin noises of surprise as both his king and his shidi go tumbling to the ground.

They whip around to stare incredulously at him, both of them offended and incredibly pissed, teeth bared. They look so much alike in this moment that if Shang Qinghua wasn’t just as pissed himself, he might have laughed.

“Shang Qinghua—!”

“What the hell do you think your d—?!”

“Shidi,” Shang Qinghua hisses, and Liu Qingge abruptly rears back, words cutting off.

Mobei Jun falls equally as silent, sitting up to regard the two of them silently, his analytic and battle-oriented mind likely trying to puzzle out what has the fierce warrior that he’d just been fighting on equal footing so hesitant to interrupt the weak and pathetic scribe that Mobei Jun has before used as his own punching bag. His king is so incredibly observant! It sucks that Shang Qinghua is way too mad right now to appreciate it like he normally would.

Liu Qingge shifts onto his knees, sword held over his legs in one tight fist, and he glares up at Shang Qinghua with a clenched jaw.

The An Ding peak lord isn’t having it, though. He’s way past the point of having it. He can already feel the migraine coming on.

“What the fuck,” he demands, “do you think you’re doing?”

Liu Qingge only continues to glare at him without reply.

Shang Qinghua reaches down and unsheathes his blade. Mobei Jun’s eyebrows rise up in obvious surprise at the move, but the king remains silent.

“What,” Shang Qinghua says, “were either of you thinking?!”

Mobei Jun frowns. “Shang Qinghua, you speak like that to this king?” He finally demands, eyebrows scrunched in anger.

“No, my king. No. Forgive this one his impudence, but,” Shang Qinghua holds up a finger, “shut up. Shut up, or I’m going to shred your body through a woodchipper and serve the remains as a shaved ice dessert to your court of bureaucratic idiots at the next feast. Shut up.”

Mobei Jun blinks in outrage, but doesn’t appear as if he knows how to respond to that. He glances between Shang Qinghua, who continues to stare down at his shidi, and Liu Qingge, who glares back.

“Shidi.”

Liu Qingge hunches his shoulders. “He was going to grab you. He should not have tried.”

“You tore a hole in my wall, Liu-shidi! You destroyed my shelf, and half my paperwork and scrolls! You put me back months in terms of work! Months! Liu-shidi!”

Liu Qingge gruffly turns his head away, belligerent scowl on his face. He clutches his sword in his lap like he wants to use it again, but isn’t yet sure on what.

Mobei Jun leans over into Liu Qingge’s space.

Liu Qingge narrows his eyes at him.

“What’s a woodchipper.”

The Bai Zhan peak lord glares. “I. Don’t. Know.”

“Both of you, look at me!”

Mobei Jun stares back at the swordmaster, eyes growing more and more intense, and Shang Qinghua grows more and more furious the longer these two toddlers ignore him.

“... What is shaved ice?”

“Isn’t it self-descriptive?! Shut up!”

Shang Qinghua drops his sword carelessly back into its sheathe, having not drawn it completely free to begin with, and slaps both his hands to his cheeks in frustration. He lets out a growl, glare fixated at the ceiling, before reaching forward to grab his martial brother by the collar.

“My king, Fix the wall with your ice for now.” He says, not even considering the fact that he’s ordering around Mobei Jun, something he’d normally never dare to do. He turns on his heel and begins to drag a sullen and red-faced Liu Qingfe behind him as he goes.

“Liu-shidi, come with me. You’re going to clean up the mess you’ve made, and then you're going to redo any paperwork you’ve lost me. Do you have any idea how many months worth of work you just destroyed? I am going to fucking flay you alive with nothing but a pair of chopsticks, Liu-shidi!”

Liu Qingge slumps in his hold. The man doesn’t even get to his feet. He remains seated stubbornly on the ground and mullishly allows the still-ranting Shang Qinghua to drag him across the floor and away from the silent Mobei Jun, who stares after them in confusion. The Bai Zhan peak lord crosses his arms and scowls, not meeting the king’s eyes.

After they leave, Mobei Jun regards the hole in the wall of the corridor and how, beyond it, Shang Qinghua’s workspace is completely demolished. He wonders why the man hadn’t just gone back through the hole, instead of walking the long way around.

Then, he spots the half destroyed scrolls that clutter up the floor, and winces. Ah.

#svsss prompts #shang qinghua #liu qingge #mobei jun #moshang #MoShangLiu #vodka answers #vodkassassin fanfiction #cherfleur

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anightflower · 5 years ago

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One Night Stand

Summary: After a shitty one night stand, Bucky slut shames your sex life. You get a little revenge by playing a game Bucky doesn’t like.

Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ ONLY: S M U T

You grumbled as you made your way down to the Towers main kitchen. Your body ached, you were exhausted, and all you wanted was a cup or coffee and some goddamn peace and quiet.

You internally groaned when you noticed that the kitchen was not empty. Bucky and Sam sat at the breakfast bar. One drowsily eating cereal, while the other attempted to flick runaway cereal pieces at the other. Natasha sat perched next to the coffee machine, scrolling through her phone and sipping from a mug of coffee.

Natasha's eyes left her phone and lit up as she focused on you. “You look tired (Y/N)” she snickered. “Did you have a late night last night?”

Out of the corner of your eye you noticed Bucky and Sam focus on you.

You glared at Nat as you made your way to the coffee pot and poured yourself a cup of coffee.

Don’t even start. “I don’t know what makes you say that Nat.” You said irritated.

“Well for one you look like hell, and two I don’t think you’re supposed to put salt in your coffee. Unless you really prefer it that way.” Sam piped up with a shiteating grin.

“Oh hell.” You hissed, tossing your salty coffee down the sink.

Natasha made her way over to you with a fresh mug of coffee. “So tell me, was he good?”

You nearly dropped the cup she handed to you. “NAT!”

“Oh please. I saw you sneak out last night like a horny teenager. You’re an adult now, you can talk about sex. Unless the boys can't handle it.” She raised a brow at Sam and Bucky who pretended not to listen.

Sam smirked into his coffee. Bucky remained stone-faced, glaring slightly at Natasha.

“I for one, don’t need to hear the details of another one of your slinky one night stands doll.” Bucky grumbled angrily, pushing his stool back from the counter.

“Slinky one night stands? Are you fucking kidding me Buck? Sorry I am a grown woman looking for quality sex that I clearly can’t find here!” You growled.

Bucky eyes burned with anger. He looked like he was about to say something but all he did was huff and leave the room.

“Sam maybe it’s time you got Bucky laid.” Nat observed, “He seems to always have a stick far up his ass.”

“Trust me, it’s not all it's cracked up to be.” You mumbled, stirring more creamer into your coffee.

“Was it really that bad?” Nat asked.

“Oh, the guy wasn’t bad, he was horrific. Only cared about himself. I may as well have stayed home and used a toy for hell’s sake.

Sam winced. “I did not need to know you had sex toys.”

“Oh grow up Sam, it’s not a woman’s fault that men don’t know what they’re doing. Men are the problem, sex toys are the solution.”

“Well, who knows (Y/N), maybe you'll meet a special someone at Stark’s Charity Gala Saturday.” Nat said wiggling her eyebrows at you.

“Fuck, I forgot that was this weekend. I’m all for charity, but if I’m forced to go to another one of Stark’s fucking parties-” You groaned.

“Uhem” You heard a familiar voice sound from the door. “First off you love my parties, even if it’s deep down. Second, you always look ravishing in whatever you wear, and lastly, you get all the free alcohol you want. All you have to do is force a smile and be friendly.” Tony hummed.

You rolled your eyes as you pushed past him, careful not to spill your coffee. If Saturday you had to be a social butterfly, today would be a lock yourself in your room and watch Netflix kinda day.

____________________________________________________________________________

“Tony was right, you do always manage to look ravishing. Very Bond-esque” Sam said to you as he entered your room.

You smiled at him through your reflection, admiring the slimming black dress you had on. “Thanks Sam. Have you come to be my handsome escort?”

He held a hand out to you, “Bond, James Bond, happily at your service.

His other hand produced a bottle of expensive liquor from behind his back, a liquor that was most likely stolen from Tony’s “hidden” cabinet. “I have also come to get you throughly wasted before this party. Bucky’s in a bitchy mood and Steve’s very busy trying to untie Bucky’s panties.”

“In that case, pour us some drinks, it’s going to be a long night if we have to deal with not one, but two grouchy old men.”

__________________________________________________________________________

You could have sworn this party was more extravagant than the last. The room shone with several different lights, giving it an ethereal glow. Champagne fountains stood about the room. It was like walking into a Great Gatsby fantasy.

Bucky and Steve were already at the bar, causing your joy to deflate a bit. You had avoided Bucky at every cost since the two of you had fought. He hadn’t sought you out to apologize either.

You let out an exaggerated sigh. “I hope the bar has enough of the strong stuff, otherwise I don’t think I’ll be able to deal with Bucky’s bitchiness all night, even with the alcohol we had before this in my system.”

Sam snickered. “He still hasn’t apologized has he?”

“Nope. So he’s definitely on my shit list. He had no reason to be angry with me or shame my sex life.”

Sam looked like he was about to say something, but stopped himself. He shook his head. “Just ignore him (Y/N). Bucky will be Bucky. Besides if you really feel like enacting revenge I know a little game you can play to piss him off even more.”

You groaned. “Sam as much as I would love to piss Bucky off more, I am not in the mood to play 'One Night Rate’ right now. This last guy really put me off for a while.”

“Oh come on (Y/N)! One guy can’t ruin your chances of a great one night stand. Look at all the beautiful people here.” He said gesturing around the room. “You’re telling me there isn’t a single guy you want to take home?”

There was one guy you wanted to take home, but he currently was the one person who you weren’t speaking to. You knew you would probably regret this but-

“Fine.” You groaned. “I’ll play, but that doesn’t mean I have to follow through with it.”

Sam grinned as you two made your way over to Bucky and Steve.

Steve smiled at the two of you, but it quickly turned into a suspicious look at the grin on Sam’s face. “What are you two up to?”

You and Sam remained quiet smirking at one another. Steve finally put the pieces together.

“You two are not playing One Night Rate again are you?” He groaned.

“Listen man, (Y/N) needs a better partner to make up for the last guy. The least I can do is support her and give good advice.” Sam said, as you blushed.

“You’re the one who convinced me to do it! I wasn’t even going to play it.” You laughed, nudging Sam’s shoulder.

Bucky stared at the three of you stone faced. “Do I even want to know what this game is?”

You gave Bucky a sarcastic smirk. “It’s a game Sam, Steve, and I came up with one night at one of Tony’s galas-”

“It was mostly Sam and (Y/N).” Steve interjected.

You rolled your eyes. “Sure it was Golden Boy.” Sam snickered. “Anyway, we were bored and perhaps a bit more intoxicated than we should have been-”

“Excuses, excuses.” Sam interrupted you. “You are avoiding the point. It’s basically a game where one of us chooses a person and the jury,” he gestured to you and Steve, “Comes to a consensus on whether or not that person should be brought home or not.”

Bucky raised his eyebrows. “Are you guys serious?”

“If you’re going to slut shame, you can always hang with Nat, I’m sure she’s drunk enough to put up with your assholery. Besides, you wouldn’t want to play such a sleazy game right?” You said, plastering a fake smile on your face.

Bucky winced. “(Y/N)-”

You held up a hand, stopping him. “I don’t want to hear it right now James.” You only called him by his first name when you were really pissed with him. “Right now, I want to drink, find a guy, and get an actual good fuck. So if you’ll excuse me.” You pushed past the three men, ignoring their shocked faces and Bucky’s very pissed one.

Sam grimaced. “So much for playing the game. Something tells me she’ll follow her own rules right now.”

____________________________________________________________________________

Sam had remained at the bar with Bucky and Steve, long after you left them. Bucky’s face was steely, his eyes following every move you made on the dance floor. You weren’t alone, and of course the guy you had chosen was incredibly handsy with you. As his hands slide down your body, Bucky couldn't help but let out a growl.

“Buck, I don’t get it. Why won’t you just apologize and tell her how you feel? You’re being idiotic.” Steve said gently, putting a hand on Bucky’s shoulder.

Sam nodded along with Steve’s sentiment. “Dude maybe if you opened your eyes you’d see that she actually likes you back.”

Bucky’s eyes shot to Sam. “What the hell did you say Wilson?”

Sam gave him a look. “Don’t play dumb with me Barnes, you heard what I said. She likes you. I’m surprised that such a good assassin like you could miss something as blatant as that.”

“Then why the hell does she go off with other guys then?” Bucky asked, irritated.

“Because she’s just as blind to it as you. You have no idea how obnoxious it is to be the middleman and keep quiet, especially when you’re dealing with two oblivious morons.” Sam groaned. Steve cackled loudly.

“What am I supposed to do? She’s off with some other guy.” Bucky sighed.

Steve smirked at him, “That never stopped you in the 40’s.”

_____________________________________________________________________________

This guy was doing nothing for you. He was sweaty, way too handsy, and was unfortunately not as attractive up close, a drunken mistake on your part. But you knew Bucky was watching and you would not cave easily, so you kept dancing.

The guy pulled you taut against him. “So babe when do you want to get out of here?”

You grimaced, resisting the urge to push the guy off you. Was pissing Bucky off really worth all this?

“I think I can take it from here bud.” A familiar voice said. It sent chills down your spine. Your date, what was his name? Jake? Jason? You couldn't even remember, that’s how uninteresting he was.

He turned to Bucky releasing his grip on you. “Back off dude, she’s taken.”

Bucky glared at him unmoving. “I think you misunderstood me asshole. Fuck off.” The dance floor lights flashed over Bucky’s face giving sweaty hands a better look at who he was talking to.

His face paled. “Oh shit I’m so sorry man, she’s all yours.” He quickly pushed through the crowd on the dance floor to get away.

You turned to Bucky and crossed your arms. “Are you fucking kidding me James? First, you call me sleazy and now you chase off any fucking guy I am interested in? What is wrong with y-”

Your rant was cut off as Bucky dragged you off the dance floor and through a maze of halls. You were too shocked to say anything as he pushed you into the fancy one stall bathroom and locked the door.

You yanked your arm out of his grasp. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You can’t just scare my date off then drag me into a bathroom.”

“Oh please, that guy was a scumbag, you could do much better.” Bucky snarled.

He turned his back on you and let out a frustrated growl, running his hands through his hair.

“You weren’t even playing the game right.” He said quietly.

“What?”

He turned back to you and moved toward you, causing you to back up until you hit the sink counter. His arms pinned down on either side of you and he leaned in. There were mere inches between both of your lips.

“I said you weren’t even playing the game right. You’re supposed to consult Sam and Steve and come to a consensus. You just picked a random asshole to piss me off. I at least played the game right.” He growled.

You heart was in your throat. You thought of what to say to defend your choices, then you realized what Bucky said. “Wait what do you mean you’re playing the game right?”

Bucky smirked. “The jury came to a consensus. You’re the best choice to take home tonight. You got the highest rating (Y/N).” His smile turned more sincere. “I want to take you home tonight and every night if you’ll let me. I know I’ve been an ass to you and I’m sorry. I was just so pissed that other guys got to have you while I couldn’t. And-”

You grabbed Bucky by his shirt collar and pulled him in, smashing your lips against his. A growl emanated from his throat as he wrapped his arms around you. Causing both of you to go into a frenzy.

You wrapped your legs around his waist as he lifted you up and placed you on the bathroom counter. You whined as Bucky placed kisses all down your neck. He sucked harshly in certain areas making you gasp.

“If I can finally have you all to myself, I want to mark you as mine.” He mumbled against your neck. His words went straight to your soaking core.

You began unbuttoning his shirt as he pushed up your dress. He pulled it over your head and threw it behind him, pausing to admire you in your matching black lace set. You returned the favor and pushed off his suit jacket as he attempted to unbutton his shirt. You let out a moan when his chiseled body was finally fully in view.

Bucky pulled down your bra causing your breasts to be pushed up from the material. He purred as he leaned down and worshipped each one, placing kisses all over the top, then moving down and sucking on your nipple. His hand went to your other breast, his fingers massaging and playing with your other nipple. He tugged at it causing you to let out a loud moan.

“Fuck, Bucky,” you cried out. He smirked as his hands and mouth traveled down your body. When he finally reached your panties, he looked you in the eye and slowly pulled them down with his teeth.

You were speechless.

“Fuck baby, just a few words and some teasing and you’re soaking for me,” He hissed out, his dick hardening as he gazed at your sexed out and wanton state.

‘Bucky please.” You begged. Wanting, no, needing him to touch you.

He smirked at you. “Oh I see now doll, when you want me to fuck you I’m Bucky, notJames?”

“James Buchanan Barnes, if you do not fuck me right now-” you growled.

Bucky chuckled, lowering his mouth to where you needed it most. Your growl turned into a pleasurable scream.

Bucky looked up at you, amusement in his eyes. He paused his work. “You know love, you’re lucky the music is so loud, otherwise you and I could be caught in this very scandalous position.”

You smirked and bit your lip. “Let them find us then.”

With that Bucky feasted on you like you were his last meal. His tongue swirling over your clit and licking your slit until you felt that delicious build up in your stomach. Your hands grasped and pulled at his hair.

“Bucky, don’t stop, I'm going to-” whiteness filled your vision as you came. You tried to close your legs, but Bucky had them pinned against the counter, continuing his work until you finished riding out your orgasm.

Your chest rose and fell rapidly as Bucky kissed back up your body until he met your lips.

You undid his belt and pants, letting his bulging member free. Bucky wasted no time lining himself up with your entrance. Sliding in slowly until he filled you completely.

You gasped at the pleasure that filled your body. You had never felt so full in any other one night stand. Hell hardly any of them had made you come like this once, or at all.

“God doll, you’re so tight.” Bucky groaned as he gave you time to adjust to his size.

“Bucky if you don’t start moving-” you threatened, but were cut off as Bucky quickly thrust in and out of you.

He smirked as you let out a pleasured squeak.

“Fuck you” you giggled.

“Gladly.” He replied as he picked up his pace.

It was relentless and god it was the greatest sex you had ever had. He had actually put your pleasure first, and was about to make you come again.

The feeling built up in your stomach, and you clenched around Bucky. As if he could read your mind, he reached down and began rubbing your clit. You had to bite back a scream.

Bucky smashed his lips against yours, as white flashed again in your vision, as your second orgasm hit you. Bucky followed soon after.

When you both came down from your highs, your eyes met and you giggled.

“What?” Bucky asked, returning your smile.

“I swear this better be the last one night stand I ever had, because all I want for the rest of my life is you Bucky Barnes.”

Bucky’s eyes softened and he planted a soft kiss on your lips. “Funny, because all I’ve ever wanted for the longest time, is you.” You felt your heart skip a beat.

Bucky’s face turned more mischievous. “Now let’s get out of here. I have a long night planned to show you that you actually can find quality sex around here.”

#bucky barnes smut #Bucky Barnes #bucky x reader #winter soldier fanfiction #captain america winter soldier #Avengers #avengers endgame #anightflowers masterlist #anightflower writes #Smut #james buchanan barnes #captain america #Steve Rogers #natasha romanoff #sam wilson #falcon and the winter soldier

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writer-ish · 4 years ago

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hopeful hearts, part two

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x f!MC (Brooke Spiers)

Word Count: 3,750

Rating: E (NSFW 18+)

Summary: During the Gala, Ethan and Brooke sneak off for a more private encounter.

This is a more detailed version of the office scene in Chapter 17, from Ethan’s POV.

PART ONE HERE.

once again, special thanks to: @openheartthot for providing the script that started this all ♥️

Dr. Ethan Ramsey doesn’t care.

It’s a point of pride for him. He does his job - and he does it damn well - but that chip that most people have, the one that makes them ache and burn and torment themselves over the thoughts and feelings of others—no.

That he does not have.

Which is why he finds himself unable to explain—unable to reconcile with his own perceptions of himself, why the woman beside him in this moment makes him ache and burn and torment himself, day in and day out. Why the only thing he finds himself caring about is her thoughts. Her feelings.

Why the feel of her hand in his, gripping him tightly, the trust that’s imbued in that simple gesture as they walk recklessly through the corridors of the quiet hospital, is enough to knock the breath out of his lungs.

Ethan Ramsey finds himself realizing that, for someone who had never cared, this seems to matter a whole lot.

His heart pounds a steady rhythm as they swiftly and silently approach the doors of his office. He lets them both in and then closes the door resoundly behind him.

“Here we are,” he says, hearing the gruffness in his tone and unable to utter the words any differently. “Alone at last.”

She looks up at him and, once again, breathing seems out of reach. It’s a feeling in his chest—one that he can’t explain away with logic or reason, the two tenets with which he’s structured his life.

“Any idea what we could get up to with such a rare moment of privacy?” She’s disarmingly contradictory—provocative and bashful, sincere and flirtatious. Every contradiction stirs his blood in unprecedented ways. He wants her, needs her—not just now, but always.

“I have a few,” he murmurs in response to her question, stepping forward and linking his fingers with hers, drawing her hands around his torso before leaning forward and touching her lips with his.

The kiss is softer, less performative than the one he’d given her downstairs. This one doesn’t need to prove a point to anyone other than himself. And the point he’s trying to prove is how necessary it is for him to be kissing her at this moment.

Pulling away, he takes in the sight of her. The gleaming auburn curls tumbling over her shoulders, the red dress that seized him by the chest the moment he saw her in it—she incapacitated him with her beauty.

He’d seen her at six in the morning and eleven at night (oftentimes in the same day). He’d seen her rested and exhausted. With makeup and without. He’d seen her—

He wills away the image that appears in his mind’s eye. The one of her that’s always a little blurred around the edges — as though he’s looking at her through a transparent barrier; since, of course, that’s exactly what he’d had to do. It’s the image of her unwell. Scared.

His heart thumps painfully as the fear returns again, an old, familiar feeling now, like a cloak that shadows his mind. The moments that he thought were numbered. Panic, the likes of which he’d never before experienced—

No. He won’t think of that now.

He forces his tone to be casual, but the depths of his emotion still seem to break through.

“I looked around and it's definitive. You were the most stunning woman in that room tonight.” The statement pales in comparison to the way he truly feels.

She dimples, pleased by his compliment even as she tries not to show it, and his heart soars.

“Are you trying to flatter me, Dr. Ramsey?” she teases.

All pretence of casualness is gone as he responds, his voice husky and low: “Is it still flattery if it's an understatement?”

Her cheeks redden and suddenly she’s even more of a vision, the rosiness of her face contrasting the colour of her hair and the hue of her dress in the most incredibly charming way.

She reaches up to caress his cheek softly and he feels himself lean slightly into her touch, unable to resist the allure of her body making contact with his.

“I’m glad you did that just now. Kissed me.” He sees her vulnerability and knows that he’s at the root of it—his damned fears and pride and sense of propriety and justice all being part of what almost ruined this for him. For them.

His public declaration - that she was his and, even more importantly, he was hers - was something they’d both needed more than either of them had realized.

“Trust me, Brooke.” He leans forward, whispering the next words. “I’m just getting started.”

Their lips meet and Ethan feels a hunger in his very soul; like he could devour her whole. A frenzied heat runs through him, his entire body thrumming with the anticipation of what’s to come. Now, now, now, are the only words his pounding heart speaks as he guides her to the first available surface: his desk.

Ethan is not a man prone to fantasy.

Even in previous relationships - more like arrangements - he’d always maintained a level-headed foundation to every encounter. The exchanges were simple at their core: the satisfaction of a mutual need. An itch to be scratched. And, once they were over, he barely gave them further consideration.

But Ethan Ramsey would be a stone-cold liar if he’d ever said that he hadn’t had a recurring, relentless daydream - and occasional night dream - of taking Dr. Brooke Spiers on top of this very desk in a multitude of imaginative, creative, and depraved ways.

And now, now at the cusp of this almost two-year fantasy coming to life, it feels as though something inside of him has truly, finally been unleashed.

Keeping his lips crushed to hers, Ethan cups Brooke’s round bottom, squeezing appreciatively before dragging his hands down the sequined fabric of her thighs until he can gain enough purchase to do what he really wants: lifting her effortlessly, he defers all her weight to one arm while using the other sweep every goddamn thing off his usually-meticulous desk. Pens and paper trays clatter to the floor as Ethan lays Brook gently across the desk, with a precise calmness he doesn’t truly feel.

She lets out a disbelieving laugh as she pulls away slightly, hands carding through his hair. “What’s gotten into you tonight?” she breathes against his lips, joy and unrestrained pleasure in her tone.

“Whatever it is,” he replies, pressing his lips to hers briefly before continuing, “I think it’s long overdue.”

“True.” She shimmies her way further up the desk, before reaching for him. “Which is why you shouldn’t keep me waiting.” Grabbing his collar, she drags him on top of her, lips colliding once more in a frenzy of taste and touch. He feels her lithe fingers give his hair a sharp tug and he groans against her mouth.

“Brooke.” He’s panting now, unable to get his heart rate under control. “I need you.”

Leaning in once more to take her again, he’s surprised when she leans away, pressing a finger to his lips. The expression on her face stops him and he finds himself stumbling back a step as she pushes him gently and climbs off the desk.

She moves a few feet away and looks at him coyly, one eyebrow and the corner of her mouth hitched slightly upwards.

“Brooke…” She’s killing him. Does she know she’s killing him?

Probably.

“Shh…” she admonishes, lightly. “Just watch.”

Slowly she turns and Ethan drinks in every curve - from the dip in her waist to her well-rounded bottom. Reaching up, her slender fingers snag the gold zipper resting at her nape and she slowly tugs it down.

Ethan swears he can hear every excruciating millisecond of that zipper’s descent, even over the thundering pulse in his ears, as he watches it go down… down… exposing the creamy white skin of her perfect back, inch by inch.

It stops just below the small of her back, right above the cleft of her bottom, two familiar dimples taunting him. The opening of her dress has gaped over her shoulders and she looks at him one last time over her shoulder, her smile luminescent, before letting the garment fall to the floor in its entirety. Turning back around, she strikes a coy pose, one hand flipped up and the other on her cocked hip, as if to say “Well?”

He takes in her pink-tipped breasts, the perfect size for the palm of his hand. The indented waist that he can span if he so chooses. The swell of her hips, hugged in black lace. Her shapely legs, long for her height.

And the heels. That she’s still wearing.

He almost swallows his tongue.

Well, indeed.

Ethan reaches her in a single stride and pulls her towards him, cupping the nape of her neck as his lips reach hers with a soft reverence. He can feel the heat of her naked body against his, warm and electric, and he steps back only for a second to tear his own clothes off, barely considering the buttons that will need to be re-buttoned, or the obscenely expensive suit jacket that probably shouldn’t be left in a heap on the floor.

All that matters, all he can consider, is his all-consuming need to feel her body against his, unimpeded by clothing.

He tilts her jaw so that she’s looking up at him. He can’t help but be pleased to see that her breathing is irregular, too, her lower lip caught between her teeth, her nipples poking sharply into his chest. When she’s this close, he can see the flecks of green in her hazel eyes. The light smattering of freckles not entirely hidden behind her concealer.

God, he loves her.

The words come to him, unbidden yet familiar. A truth he has known for much longer than he cares to admit. He hasn’t told her yet, not really. But he hopes he’s shown her in all the ways that he’s let her in - into places no one has ever reached - and in all the ways he’s tried to care for her, to protect her, to nurture her and to guide her. And soon—

Soon, the words will come, as well.

For now, he settles for speaking another truth: “You’re so beautiful, it sometimes takes my breath away.”

It’s how he’s always felt around her; like the air has gotten a little lighter. His lungs a little shallower. He sees her and the visceral response of his body to hers feels like a sucker punch.

Every.

Damn.

Time.

Her eyes spark, a light glistening that foretells the chance of tears. They cause the irises to grow brighter, greener.

“Don’t tell me,” she says finally, swallowing hard. “Show me.”

With pleasure, he thinks, navigating her towards the desk again.

As if reading his mind, she’s already halfway there, boosting herself up and pulling him with her. She scoots back again along the smooth surface and he follows her; a predator, his lovely prey trapped between his arms.

“I mean,” she says blithely, her hair fanning around her like a crimson halo, “you did such a good job cleaning it up.”

He bites back a grin at her teasing tone and dips forward to nip at her throat.

“I was hoping you’d notice,” he murmurs against her skin.

She turns her head, guiding his face to hers, and kisses him fiercely on the lips. He responds in kind, tasting and licking at the sweet fullness of her mouth.

Keeping his lips on hers and one hand braced on the desk, he glides his other hand down her smooth skin until his fingers reach the lace of her panties. Teasingly, he plays with the little bow at the front, running his fingers lower, overtop the lace-covered mound, teasing the dampness he finds below.

She moans against his lips and he brings his hand back up, tucking it under the material, touching her skin, finding the slick heat underneath it all.

Biting back a groan, he dips his middle finger down lower, finding the wet give of her body and bringing some of that essence back to the tiny nub at the top of her entrance. Rubbing in slow, deliberate circles, he pulls back to watch her face.

Her head is thrashing lightly as she moans quietly at his touch.

“Someone’s...eager…” she pants, arching against the shiny, cool mahogany, her nipples peaked and straining towards the sky.

“I’ve been dreaming of this moment for months, Brooke,” he says, unable to resist the allure of those pink nipples, beckoning for his touch. His mouth latches onto one and he runs his tongue around the dusky areola before grazing his teeth over the distended tip. She whimpers and bucks under his hand, growing wetter at each moment that passes.

“The chance to be with you without hiding from anyone,” he continues, moving to the other nipple and giving it the same treatment, his middle finger still working her in an agonizingly slow caress.

“Now that it’s here—” He shifts the finger back down to the entrance of her body, filling her with it, unable to help the groan that escapes him as he feels her clench around him.

“—I can hardly help myself,” he ends in a strangled groan. His desperation reaches a fever pitch. All he wants is for her to feel good, to shatter around him, to be brought to the brink and over the edge because of him—

“Show me what you want.” His voice sounds hoarse, pleading, even to his own ears. “What I can do to make you feel good.”

“How about,” she breathes, a slight sheen over her heated skin, “you use—” She breaks off, blushing slightly, before persevering. “How about you use your mouth instead? I’m enjoying your dexterity but—”

She breaks off with an awkward laugh, eyes going skyward as if she can’t believe her own gall. Her face is almost the same colour as her hair and if he wasn’t so worked up he would laugh, too.

“Say no more.”

He takes his time in kissing his way down her body, marking every pale freckle and scar he finds along the way. He moves over her stomach and she giggles breathlessly at the tickle of his stubble. Further down he goes, before finally he’s kissing her over the lace of her panties, breathing in the familiar scent of the most intimate part of her. Reaching up, he pulls the underwear down and off, sending them flying in the same general direction as his clothes’ heap.

He stares down at her for a beat, pink and red and perfect all over, her pale skin marred in places by the scratch of his beard, the rosy nipples beckoning him still, the neat tuft of dark auburn curls between her legs, her trembling thighs and shaky intakes of breath. Her Titian beauty strikes him once more and it’s all he can do, not to prostrate himself between her gorgeous thighs and worship at the altar of those private curls and glistening petals.

Instead, he approaches her with what he hopes is a shred of dignity, tucking his face between her legs and kissing the part of her that he covets the most. Savouring the intimate and familiar taste of her; the taste of coming home.

He feels her fingers thread through his hair, tugging almost sharply as her hips lift underneath his chin, but he’s too immersed in his task to notice. He runs his tongue over her in a measured rhythm, slipping a hand down once more to join in his ministrations, inserting one finger and then two, as she opens easily for him.

“Ohhh.” Her loud moan from above his head is nearly his undoing and he presses a hand against himself, hard, to stay his own desires for the moment.

“I love tasting you,” he murmurs against her, crooking his fingers slightly as he presses deeper inside her.

“I love the way you do it,” she pants in response. He can feel her unravelling, can feel it in the liquid heat surrounding his hands and mouth, can feel it in the increasingly erratic movement of her body beneath his.

“I want you so badly, Brooke,” he groans and, against the vibrations of his confession, she shatters.

She lets out a shout and he holds her in place as her body trembles, gooseflesh rising under his hands and on his cheek where it rests on her thigh. His own body feels shaky, tremulous, as he waits for her to come down.

“I want you to have me, Ethan,” she says finally, her voice hoarse and low. “Now.”

He almost weeps with relief.

“I was hoping you would say that. I honestly wasn’t sure I could hold off any longer—” His gratitude gets caught in his throat as she tremulously slides off of the desk and looks at him, almost bashfully, but with that familiar coyness that he’s grown to love.

She cups his face in her hands and their eyes meet, her greenish-hazel with his electric blue.

“Then don't.”

And then she turns and leans forward, forearms on his desk, ass propped up in front of him, those sky-high heels bringing her to the perfect level for—for—

Ethan feels the air depart his lungs in full force, his knees almost giving way underneath him. He looks at her bottom blankly, before searching her face. She’s smiling at him softly, those damn perfect teeth biting that damn bottom lip, a face perfectly designed to be the death of him. She inclines her chin slightly, as if to say: Are we doing this?

It’s all the permission he needs as he takes himself in hand and positions himself at the entrance of her body. Pushing back slightly, she accepts him immediately and easily, her back arching to take him further, deeper, as her palms flatten against the desk.

The moment he’s fully seated within her, she gasps, and that slight intake in breath is enough to almost make him come on the spot. Her gasp settles into a quiet moan as they find an easy rhythm, bodies moving together in perfect synchronicity.

“Ethan,” she says breathlessly, her fingertips pressing into the mahogany. “Harder.”

Thank Christ.

“I don’t know how much longer I can last,” he admits in a strangled tone as he feels the wholehearted pleasure of their union overwhelm him, body and soul. Never before has he felt such a connection beyond the physical. When she grasps him inside her, when he feels the clutch of her body, intimately connected to his, it’s an emotion beyond reasoning.

A hefty admission, for someone who’d structured his whole life around reason and reason alone.

But now, “reasonable” is a far cry from how he feels as he moves his hands over her body, tracing the arch of her spine, the curve of her waist, before settling there, thumbs almost touching across the span of her back as he rocks into her, his pleasure building by the second.

He groans loudly, unable to control himself. “You feel incredible, Brooke.”

She whimpers in response and he quickly checks her face to ensure she’s alright. All he sees is her flushed cheek pressed to the desk, her full lips parted in a soft, perpetual moan, the imprint of her heated palms leaving streaks on the dark, shining wood as she drags her hands to the edge of the desk and holds on tight.

His vision whites out and it’s all the warning he can give her—

“Brooke… I’m—”

“Yes, Ethan—!”

The force building inside of him erupts in a blinding flash of undulating pleasure, skyrocketing through every extremity of his body.

Brooke’s own cries echo through the empty office as he feels her body rhythmically clenching his oversensitized flesh. A wave of exhausted, satiated rapture threatens to overtake him as he braces his hands on the desk, his bare chest meeting her bare back. Once he’s certain his legs can hold him, his arms shift into an embrace, wrapping around her torso and gathering her cooling body against him.

He holds her tightly against him for a beat, before lifting her up effortlessly. Her head lolls against his shoulder as he carries her to the couch in his office. He sits first, shifting her weight in his lap, and then he lays back, bringing her back with him. As she settles herself into his chest, he finds himself kissing her hair over and over again, the feeling of total adoration threatening to spill from his chest.

They stay like that, wrapped around one another, for a moment or two when he hears her mumble something indiscernible against his shoulder. Stroking her hair back from her face, he tilts his chin down to look at her.

“Hmm?” he murmurs, wondering if his own gaze reflects the same heavy-lidded contentment that he sees in her eyes.

“I said, ‘do we have to go back’?” she repeats, her voice still a replete murmur.

He chuckles softly, kissing her head again. Go back. He knows that she’s referring to the Gala, to their friends and colleagues gathered on the first floor of the decorated hospital. But in Ethan’s mind, it’s a more involved and complicated question than that.

No, they’re not going back.

They won’t be going back to the way things were.

To secrecy and shame, to denial and frustration.

They also won’t be going back to the job they knew, in the ways that they’ve known it. Before touching his lips to hers in that public display he’d performed down there, he’d known exactly which direction the Diagnostics Team would be headed in and what that meant for him, for her, and for the nature of her relationship.

It had been a long time since Ethan had felt anything resembling superiority over Brooke and now, they would both truly be at the same level, in every way that mattered.

He smiles softly as he rubs his cheek against the top of her head, listening to her even breaths.

There still isn’t much that Dr Ethan Ramsey cares about.

But there is one thing.

And he wraps his arms around it even tighter.

#open heart #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #choices open heart #open heart 2 #open heart fanfic #playchoices #open heart 2 fanfiction #Ethan POV #ethan ramsey fanfiction #ethan ramsey pov #oph #oh #oph2 #ophsy #oph fanfic #oph 2 fanfic #my fics

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unpeumacabre · 3 years ago

Text

soaring dragon dancing phoenix - 龙飞凤舞: chapter one

Yunmeng is no longer home for Wei Wuxian, for he is no longer welcome. And so when he visits he can always count on Jiang Cheng descending upon his head with the full strength of heaven's fury, to chase him out. But one day when he sneaks into Yunmeng again, days go by without Jiang Cheng making an appearance. Something has happened to Wei Wuxian's prickly shi-di, something that - once they reunite - they will find is far greater than they could ever have anticipated. Accompanied also by Wei Wuxian's dear friend (?) Lan Zhan and a Lan Xichen who has only just reluctantly left isolation, the four of them set out on a journey that will bring them across the greater part of China to the mystical Kunlun mountains of mythology - and more importantly, may bring them love, healing, and reconciliation.

If only Wei Wuxian could take his head out of his oblivious arse and start putting himself in other people's shoes for once...

Rating: Mature

Relationships: Wangxian, Xicheng, Wei Wuxian & Jiang Cheng

Read on AO3 (bc tumblr might mess up the formatting + more extensive author’s notes on the story)

Count: 8k

<- previous

Wei Wuxian woke in darkness, and it was a darkness he did not recognise.

He sat up, groaning as the movement jarred his bones and made him ache in places he’d not known existed. There was something clouding his thoughts, draining his energy; after a few moments wherein he tried to get his bearings, he sensed the presence of a suppressing array designed to repress spiritual energy and sap his strength.

It was not a man-made array. Instead, it had the hallmarks of something far more ancient and terrible.

The amount of resentful energy in the air was so thick that he almost choked on it. In fact, if not for the suppressing array, he would have had trouble stopping the energy from churning through his body and sending him into a state of backlash.

As he stumbled to his feet, there was a crunch underfoot. Something sharp poked into his hand as he steadied himself against the ground. He felt for the object, and as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he realised he had stepped on and broken the jaw bone of a skull.

“Ah – “ reflexively he recoiled. Then he relaxed as he realised it was likely the skull of a deer.

As he blinked and looked about the room, slowly things came into focus. First he saw around him walls made of dark, dank stone. There was a sour, mossy smell in the air; the air felt thick with moisture, and he wrinkled his nose in response. His head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton, and there was a faint ringing in his ears, likely from the blow to his head he’d received to knock him out before he’d been dragged into this chamber.

“At least whatever took me left me mostly intact,” he muttered to himself, fishing a talisman out of his robes and lighting it with a brief spark of spiritual energy.

He looked down, and realised that the floor was littered with more bones – animal bones, human bones, and unidentifiable shards which were coated in a thin layer of something shiny. When he nudged one of the fragments, it made a squishing noise under his foot, and Wei Wuxian instantly regretted his curiosity.

This must be the lair of the human-eating monster, he thought to himself, and this is where it chucks the remnants of its meals…it must have deemed Mo Xuanyu too skinny and underfed to be worthwhile fare, and tossed me in here for storage instead. It’s not my fault his isn’t a body which builds muscle easily! Why, if I only had my old body…

As he continued to stew indignantly over the monster’s disrespect of his physique, he returned his gaze to the walls, and suddenly realised that there was a passageway carved into the wall, leading into the next room. With one last glance around the chamber he was currently occupying, he deemed there to be little else of note therein, and trotted over to the aperture in the wall.

As he walked cautiously through the passageway, feeling his way with his hands and trying not to cringe at the thin layer of sticky moisture which gathered on his palms, suddenly the corridor opened out into a large chamber. More bones crunched under his feet, and now he found he had to pick his way carefully across the floor without falling over.

Abruptly the faint light from his talisman revealed a purple-clad body on the ground, and Wei Wuxian tripped.

Thankfully, he caught himself before he managed to fall on the body, and once he had regained his balance, he squatted over the body and squinted balefully at the face of the unfortunate person.

Jiang Cheng?! Wei Wuxian exclaimed mentally. What luck!

- Or, lack thereof, depending on how you looked at it. It was supremely lucky that he’d managed to find Jiang Cheng – alive, judging from the steady shallow rise and fall of his chest – and with all limbs and his head still firmly attached. But also supremely unlucky in the sense that they were now alone in a room with both their spiritual energy severely depleted, and without other Yunmeng Jiang sect members/Lan Zhan as buffers.

“Oh well. The rice is now cooked; what’s done is done, and there’s no way around it,” Wei Wuxian sighed. “I’ll just have to deal with his bad temper when he wakes up.”

Wei Wuxian leant over Jiang Cheng and scanned his body. There were faint lines on his temples where dried blood had trickled down from a wound on his head, similar to that on Wei Wuxian’s own forehead, but there didn’t seem to be much lasting damage. His spiritual energy was worryingly low, however, and it could barely be felt through his pulse point. Hurriedly, Wei Wuxian yanked open the collar of his robe and undergarments and placed his hand against his chest.

Thankfully, the thrumming of his spiritual energy was still present – very faint and weak, but still there.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING,” Jiang Cheng said weakly.

“Aaaahhh!” Wei Wuxian yelped, falling backwards and dropping the talisman. They stared at each other for a moment.

“Why are you the one yelling? I’m the one who woke up to being groped by a goddamn cut-sleeve!” Jiang Cheng shouted, albeit a bit feebly.

“Even when you’re half-dead you’re still so noisy,” Wei Wuxian said peevishly. “I was just checking your golden core! As if I’d want to touch you. Gross. And I’m not a cut-sleeve,” he added quickly.

Jiang Cheng ignored him, lifting himself up on his elbows and attempting to get onto his feet. He slapped away Wei Wuxian’s outstretched hand and managed to hobble upright on his own.

“My golden core,” he said suddenly, and looked up at Wei Wuxian with wild eyes. “I can barely feel it. And my senses feel dulled. I can’t think properly. What the hell’s happened to me?!”

“There’s a suppressing array in place,” Wei Wuxian answered. “Can’t you feel it? It’s suppressing your spiritual energy and sapping your strength.”

“Why don’t you seem affected then?” Jiang Cheng said, his tone mildly accusatory.

Wei Wuxian paused. “I don’t have a golden core, remember. And I’ve gone so long without one, I suppose it’s easier to get used to operating on lower spiritual energy.”

He kept his tone breezy and light, but even he felt that it was slightly over-played. Jiang Cheng’s jaw clenched and he turned away.

Wei Wuxian sighed. “Come on, Jiang Cheng,” he tried. “You know it doesn’t matter to me anymore. It’s an old wound, and I was the one who chose to give it up anyway. It wasn’t your fault at all.”

When Jiang Cheng turned back, there was so much guilt and anger in his eyes, Wei Wuxian found he could no longer stand it. He broke their gaze and looked around instead.

“We’re going to need weapons for defence,” he said, thinking out loud. “Spiritual weapons won’t work, since you’re low on spiritual energy, so Sandu and Zidian are out. Oh, how about this!” and he skipped over to the corner of the room, where a bunch of corpses were haphazardly piled on top of each other, covered in sparse cobwebs. A giant hairy spider crawled out of one of the skulls’ mouths and scuttled sideways into the shadows.

From their garb, the bodies had apparently been farmers or fishermen, and accordingly, there were various tools scattered on the ground next to them. Wei Wuxian picked up a few of the items and scrutinised them.

“Here, Jiang Cheng!” he called, and held them out. “Hoe, spade, pitchfork; time to play farmer for the day! Take your pick?”

Jiang Cheng grabbed the pitchfork without looking, his eyes trained on their surroundings and scanning the walls with what little light from the talisman remained. He clenched his fist, and Zidian crackled weakly, but otherwise there was no response, as expected.

“What do you remember before you were knocked out?” he said finally. “How did you find me here?”

Wei Wuxian was relieved to find that Jiang Cheng’s demeanour was back to normal.

He dropped the tools carelessly. “Hmm… I’ve been in Yunmeng for a while, and I went to – I met some Yunmeng Jiang disciples in Yunmeng and they told me you’d taken a group of your cultivators to the area outside the city where there had been a monster causing trouble and eating humans,” he said. “Since you’d been gone for quite a while, I figured it might be an interesting monster, so I came to have a look. I found the entrance to a cave in the area the disciples mentioned, but just as I entered, something knocked me out. Though I didn’t see what.”

“It was the same for me.” Jiang Cheng’s brow darkened, and his jaw clenched. “We must find the Yunmeng Jiang cultivators who came with me – whether they be dead or alive.”

Wei Wuxian nodded grimly. “I came from another room in which there were also many bones and remnants of clothing. There must be other rooms in which they may be found.”

They made their way sombrely through the various passageways and tunnels into other rooms which also reeked of dampness and decay. One by one, they found the distinctive bright purple robes of the Yunmeng Jiang disciples, covering bodies with the flesh only recently gnawed off the bones. For all of them, Jiang Cheng knelt by their sides and covered their bones with their robes, and arranged their remains tidily as best he could.

As he stood up from the side of the last corpse of the Yunmeng Jiang cultivators who’d accompanied him on his night hunt, his eyes were red with unshed tears. Wei Wuxian tactfully remained silent as Jiang Cheng took a few moments more to compose himself.

“We should get out and find reinforcements,” Wei Wuxian said at last, when Jiang Cheng’s colour had returned, and his grip on Sandu’s handle had loosened.

At Wei Wuxian’s words, he stiffened, and said suddenly, “What about the monster? It’s somewhere in here causing havoc. Who knows how many more people will killed in the time it takes for us to get back to Lotus Pier and fetch more people to help?”

“Our spiritual energy is so diminished, and we don’t have any useful weapons on us,” Wei Wuxian answered exasperatedly. “With this suppressing array in place, what damage can we possibly do to the monster?”

“Even if we bring reinforcements, they’ll be hit by the suppressing array too,” Jiang Cheng said stubbornly

“This creature is clearly a dangerous one, if our experiences have taught us anything, and one not to be taken lightly. We won’t be able to do much to it!” Wei Wuxian protested.

“Didn’t you kill the Xuanwu even while starved for three days, and heavily injured?” Jiang Cheng rebutted angrily. “Are you saying I’m not as competent as Lan Wangji?”

When Jiang Cheng was like this, it was difficult to deal with him. Wei Wuxian let his exasperation get the better of him. “Fine! Have it your way then!” he snapped. “For the record, I still think we’re going to our death. But since you��re being so pig-headed about it, we might as well try and find the monster and do what damage we can before we end up dying.”

They walked for a bit in a stony silence. The talisman, previously already on its last embers, soon shrivelled away into nothingness. Wei Wuxian wordlessly fished another yellow sheet from his robes and lit their way once more.

In the few moments in which darkness had reigned, Jiang Cheng’s expression had changed.

He quickly schooled it back to his familiar frown, however, and Wei Wuxian would have thought it a trick of the light, if he had not seen it plain as day.

“At least… let’s at least scope out the terrain so we know it better,” Jiang Cheng muttered, with a curious scraping noise, as if he were grinding his teeth. “Then we’ll know it better the second time when we come back with reinforcements.”

“… Are you feeling alright?” Wei Wuxian asked cautiously, with concern. “You don’t have a fever, do you? Why are you agreeing with me all of a sudden?”

“Shut up! Don’t make me change my mind!” Jiang Cheng said huffily, and walked a little bit faster.

Now I remember why Jin Ling’s princess-like temper seemed so familiar, Wei Wuxian thought to himself. He’s a carbon copy of Jiang Cheng as a child! No wonder, what with the way Jiang Cheng raises him.

Of course he would never dare to say such a thing to Jiang Cheng’s face, so they continued ambling on in more silence. Suddenly, Wei Wuxian stopped in his tracks.

“What is it?”

“I can sense something different,” Wei Wuxian said, turning his head from side to side as he attempted to trace the thing which had caught his attention. He closed his eyes and focused his mind.

It took him much concentration and mental capacity, but finally he sensed what had distracted him – a tendril of energy which differed from the constant thrum of resentful energy that threatened to overwhelm him at every step, the latter which likely came from the multiple corpses that they had left behind in the previous rooms. This new energy felt more similar to the force that sustained the suppressing array, but at the same time, curiously unlike. Wei Wuxian tilted his head to the side as he tried to sort out the tangled coils of energy in the air, into a more coherent map.

“I think I can sense the spiritual energy of the monster,” he said, after a few moments. “That is, if this creature is indeed the one that set up the suppressing array. Following its energy should lead us to its location.”

“There’s such a thick cloud of resentful energy. You can tell the monster’s energy apart?” Jiang Cheng asked in disbelief.

“Master of Demonic Cultivation, remember?” Wei Wuxian said, mustering up a grin. “I lived and breathed resentful energy for a while before I, er, before the siege on the Yiling Mounds.” He rushed on quickly before Jiang Cheng could become maudlin again. “It’s nothing to me, to tell apart different sources of resentful energy.”

“I’ve never before heard of a beast that was able to cast a suppressing array,” Jiang Cheng said, thankfully too preoccupied with the matter at hand to be easily distracted by talk of the past. “It must be a human-like monster then – but no, those were clearly the marks of an animal’s teeth on the bodies of my cultivators.”

Wei Wuxian nodded. “My line of thinking was the same as yours. I don’t think this thing is purely beast-like nor human-like, and it’s probably a mix of both, such that it’s able to cast a suppressing array, and yet attack people with such ferocity and strength. We’ll have to trace the energy to its source to find out.”

With a grunt of acknowledgement from Jiang Cheng in response, they continued trudging on in a firm, painful silence. This was a foreign concept to Wei Wuxian; even in his time with Lan Zhan, that taciturn rock of a man, he’d been able to fill the void between them with his aimless chatter and the playing of Chenqing. But something between him and Jiang Cheng still felt too raw, too new and vulnerable, to risk damaging with his usual frivolous antics.

This is so awkward, Wei Wuxian thought. Should I make the first move? But he might yell at me again. Hang on, since when have I been so afraid of Jiang Cheng’s scoldings? Anyway, what would I even ask him? ‘How are the lotuses doing in Lotus Pier?’ Um, no…

Surprisingly, however, Jiang Cheng was the first to break the silence.

“How – ahem. How is Lan Wangji?”

Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure he’d heard him right at first, but as he looked at Jiang Cheng incredulously, the question forming on his lips, Jiang Cheng flushed, and looked away.

“Oh! Er, Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian asked, loudly to cover up both their discomfort. “I haven’t seen him in a while. He’s Chief Cultivator, you know! Isn’t that amazing?”

Jiang Cheng muttered something that sounded suspiciously like I’m the Yunmeng Jiang sect leader, of course I know who the fucking Chief Cultivator is, but then he harrumphed and cleared his throat. Wei Wuxian magnanimously decided to let him off and pretend he hadn’t heard anything.

“I thought you two were inseparable?” Jiang Cheng asked, darting a sideways glance at Wei Wuxian. “And yet you haven’t seen him for a while?”

For some reason, that particular question grated at Wei Wuxian’s skin, and the light of the talisman flickered in response to his annoyance. “Well, he’s busy,” he said airily, “and… and I’ll see him soon. I’m sure of it. As if he could go a day without my presence!”

“He seems to be getting on perfectly fine without you,” Jiang Cheng pointed out, detestably reasonable as always.

“With Lan Zhan’s poker face, how can you tell?” Wei Wuxian returned quickly. This time it was he who walked a little faster, just to be spiteful, and just because he could.

“You look like you’ve been tramping through the wilderness,” Jiang Cheng said, abruptly switching the subject.

“I’ve just been living wild for a while. You know, living off the land, eating only fruits and berries, surviving by my abundance of wits as usual…”

“Hah!” Jiang Cheng snorted. It was not a nice snort, Wei Wuxian thought crossly, and in retaliation, he decided not to respond.

Jiang Cheng finally spoke up again, after a long while in which Wei Wuxian had been distracting himself with thoughts of a new classification system for demons of the five elements. “We’ve been going in circles!” he said, and his tone bridled with frustration. “I recognise that rock formation over there. I caught my hand on it earlier – look, my blood is still fresh on the stone.”

Wei Wuxian looked at the rock, and indeed, Jiang Cheng’s blood still glistened on its surface. He wondered how he could have gotten so completely turned around – hadn’t he just been following the tendril of malevolent energy? He could’ve sworn he’d felt it getting stronger, too, which should have meant that they were nearing its source. How was it that they’d ended up circling back to where they’d started?

“I thought we were following the energy from the creature,” Jiang Cheng said irritably.

“Shhh,” Wei Wuxian said, not paying attention to him. “There’s something else at work here. Something I’m not getting.”

Surprisingly, Jiang Cheng quieted down, and leaned against the wall. He did so surreptitiously, as if to escape Wei Wuxian’s sight, but of course he noticed.

Jiang Cheng must be more drained than I thought, Wei Wuxian thought, if he’s stopped arguing with me. Especially since he’s been here for a few days more than me already, and with no food or water. I must find a way to get us out of here - and quickly.

He mustered what little spiritual energy he had left, and focused. In his mind he pushed aside the suppressing fog that clouded his thoughts and distracted his attention, concentrating only on sensing the pulses of energy emanating from every wall in the passageway around him. There was the faint tendril of energy from the creature responsible for the suppressing array, yes, and overwhelming amounts of resentful energy pouring from the corpses of the creature’s meals, and underneath it all… underneath all that energy…

“There’s a maze array in place,” he realised suddenly, his voice echoing in the stillness of the corridor. “It’s cleverly buried under the other layers of energy in this cave, but it’s there. It must have been cast a long time ago, for I could barely sense its presence. And it was not cast by the creature maintaining the suppressing array.”

“That’s what’s confusing your sense of direction?” Jiang Cheng asked despairingly. “Then how are we supposed to get out of here with little spiritual energy and our only lead a complete dead end?”

Wei Wuxian shook his head, mustering a small smile. “Don’t lose hope so easily, Jiang Cheng! We’ll find a way out. We just need a way to overcome the maze array – then we can follow the creature’s malevolent energy without being confused. We just need some way of maintaining our sense of direction.”

“What do you suggest we do? Is there any way to track our steps, perhaps?” Jiang Cheng said.

Wei Wuxian tapped idly at the side of his nose as he thought, pacing back and forth in the confined space. Jiang Cheng’s eyes, lit up by the flickering light of the paper talisman, followed him back and forth.

“I could cast a tracking spell… no, but with my depleted spiritual energy, that wouldn’t last long… I have the Compass of Evil which I worked on to improve last week, but this creature doesn’t consume souls, and so it wouldn’t work… Oh?”

The unravelling hem of his ratty travelling robe had snagged on a shard of rock protruding out of the wall, and had caused him to pause in his steps. Wei Wuxian stared down at the little loop of thread curled around the stone protrusion.

Suddenly, an epiphany came upon him.

“I have an idea!” he said, excitedly, and began picking apart the hem of his robe. Jiang Cheng lifted himself off the wall and came over to inspect what he was doing.

“What’s that supposed to do?” he asked sceptically. “Is it just another excuse for you to go naked again? Oi, just because it’s just me down here with you - ”

“It was one time, and I was eight,” Wei Wuxian said exasperatedly, “and don’t tell me you’d never seen a penis before that! I don’t know why you had to act like a blushing maiden and try to stab me with your brush. We’re both men, aren’t we? Nothing you haven’t seen before!”

While he’d been going on, and Jiang Cheng had started spluttering and turning interesting colours, he’d managed to unpick the thread from his robe, and tied it around a sturdy stalagmite on the ground. He gave the limestone pillar a few experimental pulls, and it didn’t budge.

“Now we just have to follow the thread, and we’ll know which routes we’ve walked, and which routes we haven’t!” he said brightly, as he straightened up.

“That’s… actually a good idea,” Jiang Cheng said grudgingly, crossing his arms over his chest and looking down at the stalagmite.

“I always have good ideas. Don’t you know?” Wei Wuxian said, grinning. “Come on, let’s hurry. I don’t know how many days have passed, but surely it’s been too long already. We should quickly find the monster’s hideout and then figure out a way to escape.”

It was indeed a good idea, if Wei Wuxian said so himself (and he did, multiple times, very smugly, so much so that Jiang Cheng started ignoring him again), and with its aid, they managed to find their way out of the maze of corridors that surrounded the rooms containing the corpses. Wei Wuxian heaved a sigh of relief as he finally felt the thick fog of resentful energy that had been giving him a massive headache, fade away into the background and eventually disappear.

Now, the passageways they walked were a little less damp, and a little less foul-smelling. There were even lamps embedded in the wall, unlit and covered with cobwebs, but obviously made by a talented craftsman. Wei Wuxian stopped to inspect one of them, and the style of its carvings and the technique of its forging marked it as a craft belonging to the dynasty of six centuries ago.

“Whatever inhabits this cave must be ancient indeed,” Jiang Cheng said grimly, as Wei Wuxian shared this insight with him.

They stopped abruptly as a carven wooden door appeared beside them, looming out of the darkness, leading into an enclave that branched off from the main tunnel.

The frame of the door extended high above their visible range, and as Wei Wuxian guided the talisman as far up as he dared without losing his tenuous hold on the charm, they realised just how large the tunnel was beginning to run. All they could see above them was darkness, and there was no observable ceiling. They exchanged glances, and with a mutual nod of acknowledgement, Jiang Cheng placed his palm on the door and pushed firmly.

It creaked open with a loud sound of protest. The noise made both of them wince and glance around sharply to see if the clamour had attracted any undue attention. But thankfully, even after a few moments of silence, they were still alone in the tunnel, with no foes in sight. Jiang Cheng pushed the door open all the way, and they peered into the darkness cautiously.

“It’s a library - !” Wei Wuxian exclaimed, his voice hushed, as the talisman floated into the room and lit up shelves upon shelves of crumbling, decaying books and scrolls. Jiang Cheng scanned the titles, trying to make out the words on their spines.

“Vegetarian Dietary Principles,” Jiang Cheng read out, “Journey to the West, Classic of Poetry, Classic – Classic of – Music?”

Wei Wuxian expelled a surprised breath and shook his head. “Whoever owned this library must have been a great patron of the arts - he’s even managed to acquire books which no one’s ever had a copy of before! It’s a collection to rival even that of the Gusu Lan library. But such a valuable hoard would usually be maintained zealously by its collector, not left to rot away in such a sorry state.”

The talisman settled on a pile of objects arranged neatly in the corner of the library, and Wei Wuxian felt his brows shoot up even further.

“A guqin, guzheng, pipa, dihu, yangqin – truly an impressive collection of instruments from all across China!” he said admiringly. “They’ve been left to gather dust as well, and they haven’t been maintained in a while. Things are becoming curiouser and curiouser indeed.”

“Perhaps the owner of the collection was eaten by the monster,” Jiang Cheng suggested.

“Perhaps,” Wei Wuxian said doubtfully. I feel that there’s something here we’re still not getting…

They left the library behind, unable to see much in the darkness and with their limited light source. Wei Wuxian had to light another talisman, for the previous one flickered and shrivelled to dust. Just as he did, his stomach let out a loud sound of dissatisfaction, and he automatically pressed a hand to his abdomen.

“I’m hungryyyyyy,” he whined. “Jiang Cheng, do you have any food?”

“Stop talking nonsense,” Jiang Cheng retorted sharply. “If I’d had any food, I’d long since have eaten it up already!”

“Ugh,” Wei Wuxian groaned, leaning dramatically forward as they walked. “I’m going to die of hunger. Who knows how many days and nights we’ve spent in here! It’s not like you have a set sleep schedule so we can count the days. We’ve probably been walking for a few days without rest already – and who knows how much longer it’ll take to get out.”

He felt his coat slip off his shoulder, and he looked down at it. Because of the unravelling string, his already-raggedy outerwear was falling apart, and it no longer resembled anything coat-like. Wei Wuxian shrugged it off and tucked it under his right arm, and was left only in his underthings.

“I feel the wind blowing through places I didn’t know existed,” he complained, shivering.

Jiang Cheng looked at him and immediately averted his eyes, a dull flush colouring his cheeks. “Shameless!” he spluttered. “What wind?! There’s barely any wind, we’re underground! Wei Wuxian, you’re truly shameless as always!”

“Now you’re starting to sound like the old Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian muttered under his breath. “One of him is good enough, thank you very much…”

Suddenly, there was an ear-splitting crash, and it was only their quick reflexes that caused them not to be buried under a large column of rocks that suddenly came pouring down on them. Both of them leapt to the side, and stared, bug-eyed, at the spot in which they had been standing just moments ago.

“Agh, my eyes,” said Jiang Cheng loudly, as the fog from the avalanche cleared, and piercing sunlight shone down on them from the large hole which had suddenly opened up in the ceiling of the tunnel, far above them. Wei Wuxian shielded his eyes with his hand and squinted blearily up at the hole.

…

“LAN ZHAN!!!!” he cried out happily, as he made eye contact with a very dear, familiar figure. Lan Zhan peered imperiously down at them, the sunlight making it seem as though his head was glowing.

“Speak of Cao Cao and Cao Cao will arrive,” Wei Wuxian said, bouncing excitedly up and down on the spot. “Didn’t I tell you Lan Zhan could be counted on to rescue us?* Huh? He’s reliable, isn’t he?”

*A/N: (he didn’t)

“Did you really have to invoke his name?” Jiang Cheng said grumpily, following his gaze upwards. “I always feel like he’s looking down on me, but now he’s actually literally looking down on me.”

Another figure appeared beside Lan Zhan and peeked cautiously over the edge of the hole. After squinting for a while more, Wei Wuxian realised it was Lan Xichen.

“Are you two alright?” Lan Xichen called down to them, his gentle voice filled with concern. “I’m afraid we went a little, ah, overboard in trying to get down to you two…”

“We’re fine, Zewu-jun, thanks for your concern!” Wei Wuxian hollered back up at them. “Won’t you come down and join us? We’re depleted of spiritual energy and unable to join you up there!”

Lan Zhan immediately flew down, but the moment he alighted and laid his eyes on Wei Wuxian, his finely-sculpted eyebrows shot up towards to his forehead.

“What – what happened to your outer robe?” he said, sounding faintly strangled.

“Oh – this? I used the string from my hem to track our progress through this cave,” Wei Wuxian replied cheerily. “There’s a maze array in place, although it’s quite difficult to detect, and with our limited spiritual energy there wasn’t any other way to stop ourselves getting lost. Jiang Cheng will tell you it was quite a clever idea. It must have been quite cold outside, Lan Zhan, your ears are turning pink! Here, rub your hands together…”

Jiang Cheng, predictably, ignored him and lifted his hands in a salute to Lan Xichen, who’d descended as well to join them. “Sect Leader Lan,” he said formally, and Lan Xichen returned the gesture. Jiang Cheng turned to Lan Zhan and repeated the gesture, a little more unwillingly.

“Here, take this,” Lan Zhan said, pulling a qiankun pouch out from his sleeve. Sticking his hand inside the pouch, he drew out an overcoat with the designs of the Gusu Lan sect and placed it securely around Wei Wuxian’s shoulders.

Wei Wuxian whistled in surprise and appreciation. “Lan Zhan, you came prepared! It’s one of your robes, isn’t it?” A thought occurred to him which made him laugh out loud in pure delight. “Ooh, Lan Zhan, are you embarrassed by my lack of clothing? You know I’m shameless, I don’t mind even if I’m just parading around in my underwear or even if I’m stark naked.”

“As you can tell, Hanguang-jun, he’s doing perfectly fine,” Jiang Cheng said acrimoniously. “The days of starvation and lack of spiritual energy haven’t done anything to dampen his personality.”

Wei Wuxian pouted. “Lan Zhan knows that,” he replied peevishly. “We killed the Xuanwu together under the same circumstances, remember?”

A soft laugh from the side reminded him of Lan Xichen’s presence, and he spun around to face him.

“Sect Leader Lan, what’re you doing here?” Wei Wuxian asked curiously. “I thought you were in seclusion. What brings you here?”

Lan Xichen smiled. “I was in seclusion, but Wangji came to me today and told me of your and Sect Leader Jiang’s disappearance. He was quite distressed by the news, and asked me for help to track the two of you down. And when I heard that A-Yao – that Jin Guangyao had been seen in the area…”

He hesitated, and said no more. None of them pressed him further.

“How did you manage to find us?” Jiang Cheng asked quickly, directing his question at Lan Zhan.

“Jin Ling wrote to me when he found that you were missing,” Lan Zhan answered. “We followed your trail to this place. And I could sense Wei Ying’s energy coming from here, so we entered here.”

“You could sense my energy?” Wei Wuxian asked, bewildered by this new turn of events. “But – how? Plus the suppressing array – “

“Where is the human-eating monster?” Lan Zhan asked abruptly, cutting him off. “Have you already killed it?”

After a pause, Wei Wuxian shook his head, and relayed the events of the past few days to them. It turned out that Jiang Cheng had been missing for nine days, and Wei Wuxian for three – that explains why Jiang Cheng looks so exhausted, he thought to himself; nine days without food or drink will do that to you.

Lan Xichen passed them water in a flask and two bags filled with baozi, steamed buns, which Jiang Cheng immediately started scarfing down ravenously. Lan Zhan took the other bag and held up the flask to Wei Wuxian’s mouth.

“Drink,” he said softly. One of his hands came up behind Wei Wuxian’s back to steady him.

Wei Wuxian drank obediently, thinking, I am so loved.

When he finished, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Lan Zhan immediately fished one of the baozi out of the bag and held it up for Wei Wuxian to take a bite. The meat inside the bun tasted truly delicious to his starved palate, and he couldn’t stop himself from letting out little ‘mm’s of enjoyment as he chewed.

Only when Wei Wuxian had finished munching on the baozi did Lan Zhan exhale and relax, although his hand still remained on Wei Wuxian’s lower back.

“Thanks, Lan Zhan,” he said, smiling widely. Something about Lan Zhan’s presence always left him feeling refreshed. “I knew I could count on you. You’re such a reliable friend. No wonder you’re the Chief Cultivator, indeed!”

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Jiang Cheng said indistinctly, and Wei Wuxian whipped around to look at him.

(If he was being perfectly honest, he’d forgotten Jiang Cheng – and Lan Xichen – were there.)

The two of them were staring openly at him and Lan Zhan, the bag of baozi dangling loosely from Jiang Cheng’s hand and Jiang Cheng’s cheeks still stuffed with bites of baozi so that he looked like a squirrel. Lan Xichen’s smile looked like it had ossified on his face.

“What?” Wei Wuxian said in confusion. He looked at Lan Zhan for reassurance that he wasn’t the only one bewildered in this situation, but Lan Zhan seemed to be trying to do something with his face, alternately widening and squinting his eyes at the two other people.

Lan Xichen coughed. “Never – never mind, Young Master Wei,” he said, his smile back on his face, although now it looked a little bit forced. “If you’ve finished your meal, we should proceed with your original plan to find the human-eating monster. Wangji and I have spent only a few moments in this cave, but already I can feel the effects of the suppressing array. Wangji, you feel it too?”

Lan Zhan inclined his head, his face back to its usual expressionlessness. “It was not cast by a human,” he replied. “The energy is different. Staying here longer than necessary will result in full depletion of our spiritual energy.” He materialised his guqin and played a few complicated sounding notes. Blue light flared as he cast the pathfinding spell, and it formed a faint line on the ground showing the direction in which they were to go.

“We must hurry,” he said brusquely, “or my energy will fail and the spell will disappear.”

“Got it,” Wei Wuxian said, nodding decisively, feeling much more comfortable and at ease now that he was no longer alone with Jiang Cheng, and Lan Zhan was here at his side. As they walked, Wei Wuxian filled the silence with his usual chatter, speculating about the origins of the creature and how it could possibly have cast a suppressing array, interrupted only by Lan Zhan’s ‘mm’s of acknowledgment and the occasional offered insight.

If he was speaking a little louder than usual, it was only because he could feel the supreme awkwardness radiating off the two sect leaders walking behind them. It wasn’t coming off Lan Xichen, no – Wei Wuxian had previously turned around surreptitiously to check on the two of them and Lan Xichen had looked perfectly at ease and his usual composed self. Rather, it was Jiang Cheng who was blatantly trying to avoid everyone’s gaze, and who’d answered Lan Xichen’s initial attempts at conversations with curt, albeit polite, rejoinders.

That’s strange, Wei Wuxian mused to himself, as he chattered on to Lan Zhan about his theories regarding whether or not beasts had souls akin to that of humans, Jiang Cheng’s used to silence and isn’t often fazed. I wonder if something happened between him and Zewu-jun? Or maybe he’s just tired. Or maybe he feels left out of the conversation between me and Lan Zhan? But that’s not my fault! He’s the one being all grumpy and crabby. I mean, I know things aren’t exactly back to normal between us, but I’d thought after the Guanyin Temple events he’d started to hate me a little bit less…

“We’re here,” Lan Zhan said, stopping abruptly, as the faint blue line on the ground ended and they were faced with a large door.

This was different from the door that had led into the library, for it was carved out of granite and not wood, and gems were embedded deep into the stone in a pattern that radiated out from the centre, where two large knockers were located. The faces of two door gods glared at them out of the darkness, painted as they were on either panel of the door.

It must have been a glorious sight, Wei Wuxian thought to himself, when the lamps had been lit. But now the gems only gleamed dully in the limited light from the talisman, and the paint of the door gods was chipped and peeling. Now their stares looked mournful, rather than stern and majestic, as they would have been before.

Words were carved into the upper frame of the door, large, sombre characters in ancient text. They looked as if they had been etched into the stone by a great claw, the edges of the words were still clear and relatively unchipped by time.

“Cave of… Cave of Dormancy?” Wei Wuxian read with some difficulty, for he had not practised reading ancient scripts to any significant extent.

“There is a great well of yang energy beyond this door,” Lan Xichen said from behind them, his voice almost awestruck. Wei Wuxian concurred. As they had been following the path indicated by Lan Zhan’s pathfinding spell, he too had felt the presence of a boundless amount of yang energy emanating from some unseen force, that now apparently lay behind this door.

Even in his weakened state, it felt ponderous and overpowering; he could not imagine what it felt like for Lan Zhan and Lan Xichen, whose reserves of energy were mostly intact. True to his thoughts, Lan Zhan staggered slightly, and the blue line on the ground faded. Wei Wuxian dropped the ratty overcoat tucked under his arm, and steadied him with a hand on his elbows.

The faint crackle of Zidian echoed throughout the space as Jiang Cheng clenched his fist, and he strode forward, placing his palm on the handle of the door.

“Sect Leader Jiang, we must be cautious,” Lan Xichen said, and in his gentle voice it did not sound like a rebuke. Jiang Cheng spared him a sideways glance, then nodded shortly. It took the both of them to push the heavy doors open, and Lan Zhan levered himself out of Wei Wuxian’s grasp to peer carefully into the chamber.

It was the light that hit them first, and blinded them.

Jiang Cheng grunted in surprise and cast his head away, for he had been the first one to gain entrance to the chamber. Wei Wuxian pushed his way forward and squinted into the blinding light.

Once his eyes had stopped metaphorically bleeding, he made out lamps on the walls, larger than the ones in the passageways, and this time, these were lit, with a curious iridescent flame that flickered and danced even though there was no wind.

As his eyes adjusted to the brightness, he began to make out more features of the room. It was a vast chamber, with the ceiling towering high above them, and every panel of the walls inlaid with gold and jade. Golden dragons snarled motionlessly at them from the corners of the room, their presumably-once-gleaming surfaces now flecked with dirt. Two thrones sat at the far end of the room – which was more like a hall – one enormous and golden, the other slightly smaller and carved in jade. A thin layer of dust covered every single object and surface in the room.

Except for the centre of the chamber, a shining golden pedestal, upon which lay a great slumbering long.

There was a sharp intake of breath from behind Wei Wuxian from Lan Zhan that told him he’d noticed the long as well. Very slowly, not daring to take even a single breath, Wei Wuxian stepped backwards and back into the passageway.

Once he was no longer in the hall, he spun around, his eyes open so wide he felt they were about to fall out of his skull.

“It’s a Shenlong. A heavenly dragon,” he hissed frantically. “The nine resemblances were present: the stag’s horns, the camel’s head, the demon’s eyes, the snake’s neck, the clam’s belly, the carp’s scales, the tiger’s paws, the cow’s ears, and most distinctive of the Shenlong, out of all the types of long – the eagle’s claws, of which there were five on each foot.”

Jiang Cheng’s were equally wide. “Is it… is it the real thing?” he managed. “Or is it a deformed copy, like the Xuanwu of Slaughter you and Lan Wangji fought?”

“He is a true Shenlong,” Lan Xichen spoke, and there was a subtle tremor in his voice. “He had the chimu atop its head, without which he may not ascend to the heavens.”

“That explains how he was able to cast the suppressing array, and the non-human aura of his energy, given that a Shenlong is a fully sentient being and not merely a mindless beast. But what’s he doing down here, though?” Wei Wuxian wondered aloud. “A Shenlong belongs in the heavens or in the body of water he governs, not under the ground where he has no access to the water which sustains him.”

Lan Xichen shook his head, his gaze equally uncomprehending. “Before we left the chamber, I observed that there were large lacquer panels on the walls with accompanying text, which likely depicted the Shenlong and his story,” he said quietly. “I did not get a close enough look at the words, however. But there is one thing beyond doubt – this Shenlong is unlike his more benevolent peers, and is responsible for the disappearances of the people of Yunmeng. We must find a way to observe both the Shenlong and the panels on the walls, which may give us a clue as to how to combat him.”

“According to the stories, it has superior sight and smell,” Lan Zhan spoke up. “It will be difficult to evade its notice.”

“It did not notice us when we first entered, however, and we were rather noisy,” Jiang Cheng said. “If we are careful, we should be fine.”

Given that none of them saw any other way to proceed, it was on that note of caution that they entered the chamber once again. Wei Wuxian kept his eyes firmly trained on the Shenlong, but even as they eased themselves slowly past the door and into the room, he did not wake. The lines of his magnificent, serpentine body rose and fell in tandem with his breaths, and the silky tendrils of his beard fluttered in the air that whooshed out of his nostrils. A pearl glimmered faintly from where it was nestled underneath his chin.

Wei Wuxian could not help but stop and admire his majestic beauty. It was truly a sight he’d never thought he’d see in his lifetime, for long were said to be mere figments of imagination, myths of the past.

But… I suppose, if there’s a Xuanwu, why not a Shenlong? It was a perfectly reasonable line of logic, he thought, and besides, unless he and the other three were having mass hallucinations, the proof of truth in those supposed legends lay before his own eyes.

It was only when he was sure that the Shenlong was deep in slumber, that he finally turned his attention to the four lacquer panels on the wall. These were clearly done by a great artist - like the rest of the statues and art pieces of the chamber - for the panels were carefully inlaid with mother-of-pearl and gold leaf carved into the shapes of miniscule birds and flowers that fluttered in and adorned the background of the scenes. Below each panel were lines of ancient script, carved deep into the rock by the same great claw which had labelled this cavern the Cave of Dormancy.

The words were not clear to him, given his inability to read ancient text, but thankfully, the pictures were evocative enough that he was able to get the main gist of the story. In the first panel, the Shenlong perched atop a mountain, watching as the towns and people in his purview were washed away by strong wind and rain. In the next screen, he was depicted swooping downwards into the fray and picking off various unfortunate victims from the deluge of water below. His large bulging eyes, created with carven jade gemstones, glimmered malevolently in the light. Blood gushed from his cavernous jaws.

Then, in the next panel, a Fenghuang – a divine phoenix - had descended upon the scene, and was tussling violently with the Shenlong, her long, sharp beak digging into the flesh of the Shenlong’s leg where it was buried. The artist had captured their likenesses so perfectly that the extended claws of the Fenghuang seemed to leap out from the painting at viewers, and her vibrant feathers appeared soft and inviting to the touch.

The scene depicted in the final screen was set in a familiar location: here, in the Cave of Dormancy, the Fenghuang presided over the Shenlong, the iridescent plumage on her wings spread wide as she cast her shadow on the slumbering Shenlong. His long body was now marked heavily with the scars of battle and blood, and he lay in exactly the same position as he was in now, atop the golden pedestal, feet tucked under his body and tail curled round his head; a curiously docile posture.

The only difference between then and now, Wei Wuxian reflected, as he glanced back to the actual Shenlong, was the array of bones now scattered haphazardly around his pedestal – some animal, some human.

The old stories only tell of the Shenlong as a noble and wise creature, who bestows rain upon peasants as a water god, Wei Wuxian thought to himself. This Shenlong must be a rogue one, akin to the black dragon of Jizhou which was killed by the goddess Nüwa. This Shenlong must have brought calamity to the surrounding towns and abused his power to consume human flesh.

All this information he recalled from dusty textbooks and boring lessons on rainy days that seemed a lifetime away – well, he corrected in his mind, for him at least, they were a lifetime away. But there was no time to dwell on his sad past, now. The important thing at hand now, was to find a way to defeat this Shenlong, and stop it from killing any more Yunmeng people. The only thing was – how? Wei Wuxian could see from the grim look in the eyes of his companions that they were similarly nonplussed.

In the stories, there were few who actually fought a long, and even fewer who survived, Wei Wuxian thought, his brain working furiously. Of those few, most were deities or gods like the Monkey God Sun Wukong, or the Third Lotus Prince Nezha. Long have few weaknesses and many strengths, and it will be difficult to conquer it without external, godly help…

Then, all of a sudden, came the clear, sonorous ring of a bell.

Immediately, all four of them froze. Slowly their gazes turned, from the four panels on the wall, and landed on the Shenlong sleeping atop the golden pedestal.

Wei Wuxian’s last thoughts?

…

We’re fucked.

#wangxian #xicheng #upm works #upm #cql #wwx #lwj #jiang cheng #lxc #jc #mdzs #mdzs fanfiction #cql fanfiction #wei wuxian x lan wangji #jiang cheng x lan xichen #wei wuxian #the untamed #lan wangji #lan xichen

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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years ago

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77. a prophecy said that we’ll save the world together but I’ll be damned if I enjoy your company while we do because you insulted my best friend the first time we met

Ot4, sfw, please!

Here you go! I'm very pleased with this one

The drive hasn’t changed. The road into Kepler goes under the same covered bridges and winds up the same hills it always has. Even the views from driveway to the October House are the same one’s he watched through back windows with rising delight. He’d hoped to get here when the fall colors were still crisp and bright, but they droop from the branches like mourners from the weight of the grey rain.

No one batted an eye when he said he was moving North on Joe’s invitation; Joseph Stern inherited the ancestral home in Vermont, with its sprawling grounds and stately decay. It would make sense that he’d ask the friend who spent so many summers with him there to take up the role of groundskeeper.

Duck pulls his truck into the carport next to a languishing Chrysler Imperial. He runs his finger over the black curves, raindrops plinking on the tin roof as he wonders whether he could coax Joe into taking him for a ride.

He leaves his bags in the car for now. Letting his friend know he’s here is the top priority.

The house is just as tall and mismatched as he remembers, turrets and wide windows mixed with sloping eaves and a sun room. It’s patchwork quilt character extends to it’s color; some walls are red, others goldenrod, and the door is bright as a ripe pumpkin.

Joe christened it the October House the first summer he and Duck visited there. Joseph’s aunt, a proud spinster, suggested his transplant parents send him to the family farm for a few months of growth. When Joe showed his characteristic skepticism about spending his summer alone in Vermont, she offered to let him bring a friend. He chose Duck every year.

The October House was the last thing they spoke about the night before Duck left for basic training (and, soon after, Normandy). Joe was already slipping off the map, recruited for secret purposes by men who valued his intelligence over his humanity. He told Duck to remember the summer they were thirteen, to remember he was brave.

It wasn’t Duck Newton’s first war, but it was for damn sure his last.

He opens the door with the tarnished key Joe sent him. Anywhere else, he’d call out to find his host. But he knows where he’ll be.

One flight of creaking stairs, a left turn down the hallway of faded photos, a right into the room with the mural of Noah’s Ark on the wall, and there he is. Black hair slicked back, blue silk robe covering old scars and new, and eyes that are bluer still turning to take him in.

That’s Joe alright; immaculate even in his madness.

“You’re here.” He stands, dazzling smile reflecting the firelight.

“Told you I’d come. Can’t leave you here to get buried alive in books.” He opens his arms, unsure even as he commits to the movement. Joe hesitates, then steps across crumpled maps of stars and seas to hug him.

“I missed you.” He whispers. Duck doesn’t mention that Joe was the one to disappear once the war was over. They had one night in Huntington celebrating the boys who made it home; Joe’s smile stayed painted on the whole time, but Duck couldn’t get him alone to ask why. Then he fled north and didn’t respond to letters.

“Missed you too, Joe.” He peers over the taller man’s shoulder, takes in the mural and all the materials on the floor. Duck steps from the hug, paper crunching under his boots as he goes to trace the door of the ark, “you’re tryin to go back.”

“I want proof Sylvain was real. I, I want to see it again, to know we didn’t dream it.”

“Got a scar on belly that says we didn’t.” Duck turns, slips his hands into his pockets, “why are you really tryin to go back? They told us we couldn’t, said that if we came home the gate would shut for good.”

Joe doesn’t answer right away, runs his fingers over the badgers and bears fleeing the flood, “Do you ever wish we’d stayed?”

Duck thinks about bloody sand. Then about Jane getting married. His folks celebrating their twentieth anniversary.

“No. Christ, Joe, we were thirteen. It was fucked up to ask us to. Who the fuck asks two kids to rule a kingdom?”

A weak laugh, “and people say I’m the smart one.”

“You are.” Duck touches his shoulder, “now c’mon, smart guy, you don’t show me where my room is, I’m takin yours.”

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

“You sure this is the spot?” Barclay keeps a close eye on the gathering darkness for any bursts of sickly white.

“Yes. The maps align with the stories that they emerged near “a stone like that of a broken heart.” Indrid draws hurriedly in the dirt with his claws, his lower hands uncorking bottles as he does, “come closer, if this catalyzes before I expect, I do not want you to be left behind.”

Barclay sets a hand on his shoulder. Feels his feathers shudder as he inhales.

“It’s time. I, if this does not work, I am sorry.”

He bends, kisses Indrid between his antenna, “I trust you, little moth.”

Indrid hums as amber light fills the clearing, and then everything he knows and loves dissolves into heat and empty air.

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

It's the same static, the rush of heat like wind in a wildfire. The hairs on Duck’s arm snap to attention as Joe leaps from his chair. The door on the ark shimmers and glows with alien majesty. Then two figures fall face-first on the floor and the light is gone.

“Are you alright?” Joe bends to help the first, feathered shape but it stands in a flurry of down, the hairy figure following suit.

“Yesyes, we are fine.” The feathery one looks like a massive moth with some human features.

“Oh.” Joe grins, “I’ve never seen a Sylph like you before. This, this is incredible.”

“You know what we are?” The other asks hopefully.

“We do. We, I’m, I’m Joseph Stern, and this is Duck Newton-”

“Thank the stars.” The mothman bends one knee, his friend doing the same, “yes, we are humble emissaries of the kingdom of Sylvain. We have searched for months to find our way to you. You, who prophecy says will aid us, return and take your rightful place as kings, and save our home once more.”

“No. Nuh-uh, not a fuckin chance.” Duck steps back, spots conflict in Joe’s eyes.

“What do you mean?” The mothman stands, “you, the prophecy, my visions showed you-”

“Then they showed fuckin wrong. I just got my life into some kind of order, I’m not letting you and some giant fuckin ape-thing drag me into another mess.”

Red eyes narrow, “Do not speak of Barclay that way.”

“I’ll speak about him however I damn well please because this is my house!”

“Technically, it’s my house.” Joe sighs, “But Duck is right. We almost died saving Sylvain once before. As, as much as I miss it, I’m not sure I can go back if it means risking our lives again. I was sort of hoping for a middle ground between being stuck here and a near-death adventure.”

“Please-” Barclay steps towards Joe.

“Hey, he said no, so fuck off.” Duck growls. The Sylph growls back.

“Buddy, do you have any idea how much we risked to get here? How much energy Indrid just used to open the gate. Oh, and, by the way, without the stuff we came here for we can’t go home. We’ll be stuck here.”

“Then you shoulda had a back-up plan instead of assumin you could just say a few fancy words and get us to go back. Oughta get some brains to go with the brawn there, big fella.”

“Enough” Indrid hisses, glaring at Duck. “I do not care if you are a chosen one, nothing gives you the right to speak to him, or to me, so callously. We came to you, you who are--if I did not make it clear--our last hope, and you respond with cruelty. I ought to teach you manners, but I will restrain myself.”

“Like to see you try.” He turns to where Joe is carding a hand through his hair, expression lost, “it’s your place, so you decide how we get rid of ‘em. But I’m done here.” With that, he stomps down the stairs, already suspecting Joe will let the Sylphs stay. When it becomes clear that’s the plan, Duck heads into the garden to work and stays there until all the lights are off.

It’s just after midnight when he wakes from a dream, slicing at the air while weak cries die on his tongue. He sits up, then goes gravestone still as the door opens. Indrid’s eyes are warning lights in the dark hall.

“Are you hurt? It did not seem fair to leave your calls unanswered.”

“No. Just had a, uh, a bad dream.”

The Sylph steps through the door, turning on the small, standing lamp, “It is strange to be the only one not waking in terror for once. Well, I suppose Barclay doesn’t.”

Duck tosses off the blanket, “Fuck, is Joe-”

“He is fine now. Barclay was up looking at cookbooks when he started screaming and went to him. Your friend did not wish to wake you, but was so shaken Barclay offered to stay with him.” A little smile, “he is very comforting. Soft, too.”

“You’re sure he was just dreamin? Not sick or anythin?”

“Positive. He was yelling in some other language.” Indrid fiddles with the knick-knacks on a shelf.

Duck runs a hand across his face, “Probably German.”

Indrid cocks his head.

“He had to learn it when he was a, uh, a spy in the last war. The one here. He...he got caught, I only know that because everyone talked about how miraculous it was that he escaped. Joe never talks about it.”

“One can imagine why.” Indrid murmurs.

“Then ‘one’ can probably imagine why I don’t want either of us near a goddamn battlefield.” Duck snaps.

“Is...oh dear, you think that is what we’re asking of you? Nono, we came here for help in preventing a war, one that may destroy both our worlds.”

“You coulda led with that, y’know?”

“I suppose. I, I am, or was, the court seer. But as the evil spread across our kingdom, it disrupted my powers. Now they’re gone entirely. It’s as if I am navigating the woods with no compass and no stars.” His antenna droop. Duck turns the chair near his bed in invitation. The Sylph moves quietly across the worn boards, “The last vision I received before they disappeared was of you two helping us; I saw a new timeline of futures, bright and hopeful, unfurl before it was gone. When you said you would not help us, it was like ripping my wings from my body mid-flight. That is why I was angry. Well, that and how you spoke to Barclay.”

“Sorry about that.” Duck scratches the back of his neck, “I just...when y’all showed up, all I could think about was bein back in the middle of a fight. Of, of seein Joe die.”

“I am sorry too. I did not know you had suffered such things.” Indrid picks at the blanket with chipped claws, “I cannot promise there would not be danger if you aid us. But I give you my word that you shall hear no more of it from me. I only wish for you to accept this quest if you wish to.”

“Thanks. That already puts you ahead of the last time.”

Indrid hums, then peers at Duck’s arm where a tattoo peeks from his shirt, “What is that?”

Duck rolls up his sleeve to reveal the pine tree, “got it because it helped me think of home.”

“Yes but how? To wear art on one’s skin, that is amazing. Do you think they could do it on mine?” He holds out his upper right arm. Duck runs a finger up it, thinking of the polished cherrywood on the table downstairs.

“Might be tricky. You need skin for it to work.”

“Blast.” Wings flutter once, “do you have more I may see?”

Duck unbuttons his shirt as Indrid scoots closer; if he’s not going to sleep tonight, at the very least he can make someone happy.

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

“Gotta say, y’all bein’ here is doin’ wonders for him.” Duck hands Barclay a glass of water as he joins him on the porch. Joseph and Indrid are sitting on a sunny path of lawn, Indrid showing the human his wings and explaining them in detail so he can make notes.

“Seems to go both ways. Indrid hasn’t been this animated since we left to find you two. He’s even more talkative.”

“Joe’s always been good at that. He can get anyone talkin, and can make almost anythin sound interestin.”

Barclay sneaks a glance at the human; he’s much friendlier these last two weeks, but his protectiveness of Joseph hasn’t waned.

“I wouldn’t say him cheering up is all on us. From what he told me, the week you got here made him feel like his cares were washing away.”

“Really?”

Barclay nods.

Duck sips his water, rubs the condensation with his thumb, “In, uh, in Sylvain, am I rememberin right that men could marry men? Ain’t always easy to tell when there’s so many kinds of beings runnin’ around.”

“Why wouldn’t that be okay? Some kinds of Sylphs, like Indrid’s, don’t even have things like men and women. I mean, when they offered you and Joseph a chance to rule as kings, the records make it sound like the two of you would have gotten married.”

Duck chokes on his water, splutters as Barclay pats his back, “I, fuck, I’d never, we’d never, I, fuck, definitely never ever didn’t think about it.”

Barclay lets the horrible excuse for a lie slide, “It’s a way bigger deal that Indrid chose me for this; being a seer makes him noble and I’m just a cook. Going off into the wild with me? Trusting me? Thought some of the ministers were gonna faint.”

“Was it just you helpin him or are you two, uh, y’know?”

“Yeah, I do. Can you blame me? Look at him” he gestures to where Indrid is spreading his wings so Joseph can study them. Stars would he like to go down there and hold the human tight while he taught him how to make Indrid purr.

“He really is somethin.” By the look on his face, Duck wants to do the same thing, just in reverse. After a moment, he murmurs, “the night before we were supposed to face the Red Devourer Joe and I were in the tent by the battlefield. Curled back to front, my arms around him and I could feel his heart beating hard as mine. Shoulda been thinkin about strategy, or prayin, or somethin’ like that, but all I could think was that I oughta kiss him, just in case we didn’t survive. But I didn’t. There were chances after that. I never took ‘em.”

“It’s not too late.”

“If you found out Indrid wanted to kiss you for years and was too chicken to, even when he thought he was gonna die, would you really let him?”

Barclay thinks of claws in his fur, of Indrid huddled against him and chirping softly when Barclay asked to kiss him.

“Of course I would.”

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

“How long until the summer?” Indrid tosses the wool scarf Duck lent him over one wing.

“Months. Y’all got here in October, which means we ain’t even into the worst of the winter yet.”

An annoyed chirr, “We need more blankets.”

“Get you more when we’re in town tomorrow, fluffball. Hah, here’s some.” Duck kneels to cut some surviving leaves from a wild yarrow. They’re out in the woods because Indrid is running low on his feather oil, which keeps him from being miserable and itchy. He described what it did and let Duck smell some (it’s a bit like aloe and vanilla) so the human could reverse engineer what earth plants might do the trick.

Duck brushes off his pants, looks around, “Huh, we made it to the Maples. Joe’s aunt said she never got much from ‘em, but I don’t think she ever really tried.”

“What is special about them?”

“It’s how you get maple syrup. It’s in these trees.” Duck smirks, remembering Indrid licking the dregs from the bottle at the house with his long, long tongue.

Crunch

He whirls to his left, finds Indrid with both rows of teeth sunk into a maple branch. He giggles, then guffaws as the Sylph pulls off with an indignant chirp.

“You, you gotta, hee, you gotta tap the trunk, n-hee” he doubles over as Indrid bites the same branch while drumming his claws on the trunk, “not quite, need some other tools.”

“Perhaps lead with that?” Indrid grumbles, wiping bark from his face.

“S-sorry just, just didn’t expect you to go to town on it like that, heee”

Indrid grins, “It was worth it to hear you laugh like this.”

God, when was the last time he laughed this hard? The thought sobers him, his joy faltering like a bird in a storm. Then he cackles as four spindly arms hoist him into the air.

“ACKhey, put me down fluffball! Ahhno thatheee, that tickles.” He laughs louder as Indrid holds him to his chest and rubs his fuzzy face against his neck.

“I thought that might do the trick” Indrid purrs, nuzzles his cheek, “no more despair, Duck Newton. Not today.”

Duck turns his face so they’re eye to eye, pine green to ruby red, “Deal.”

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

“I found everything on the list.” Joseph crumples the note paper and tosses it away as Barclay gleefully unpacks the shopping bags.

“This is so fucking great, I can’t wait for you guys to try this, and Indrid is going to lose his mind when he sees what I made. This dessert is his favorite.” He tucks the heavy cream and pears into the fridge.

“I’m excited to try it. We definitely didn’t eat any tarts when we were in Sylvain. The badgers who hid us from the red mist were, I think, pretty poor.”

“Yeah, the borderlands were bad off in those days. I was just a kid too but I remember digging out roots to try and make some kind of soup.” The Sylph turns those endearing brown eyes on him, “up for being my kitchen assistant again?”

“Always.” Joseph tucks a dishcloth into his belt. He’s very proud of himself for finding earth equivalents to all the ingredients Barclay needed to make a fall dinner from home. Having the Sylphs living with them means he goes into Kepler more often for groceries or goods to fix up the house. Everyone in town thinks his childhood friend is a good influence, getting him out of the stuffy confines of the October House.

They’re not wrong. When Joseph saw Duck in the doorway, a little world-worn but just as kind, just as practical as he always was, he decided that if the other man didn’t want to return to Sylvain, Joseph would set the project aside. He’d focus on the world he was in, because with Duck there he might yet find things to marvel at, things to discover that weren’t mired in the mundanity of human evil. They’d make the October House into a home, live out their days as bachelors.

Then Barclay had come through, auburn-furred and so gentle Joseph wanted to make like butter in the sun and melt. And Indrid, magnificent and vulnerable (and very infatuated with Duck). When Duck announced he’d help them look for clues to stopping the war, Joseph felt buried bits of his mind rising to the light of the new challenge.

After dinner, they take a pot of coffee into the living room. Indrid is delighted by records, is already putting one on as Barclay puts wood on the fire. The seer lays on the rug, head in his lovers lap and purring low.

Love me like there's no tomorrow

kiss me like it's goin' out of style

“You know, I wonder how one dances to this. It is not fast, but the rhythm is not like the formal dances at court.”

“Here, I’ll show you.” Duck stands, offering Joseph his hand. Lord, he’s pictured this so many times but still has to coax his own hand to move, “Joe, you’re leadin.”

He settles his hand on Duck’s hip and holds the other, concentrates on swaying them to the beat.

Hold me like you're afraid I might get away

Love like I've been gone for quite a while

“You can come closer, Joe. I ain’t gonna bite. Not in front of company.”

“I’m holding you to that.” He presses closer, prays for Duck to rest his head on his shoulder.

Take and wrap me in the package

my future my presence and my past

And love me like there's no tomorrow

and each day might be our last

“Dearest, I am rather tired from that lovely meal you made. Shall we retire?”

“Good thinking, little moth.”

Love me like there's no tomorrow

Make each night one more remembered

we will let the heaven be our guide

“Seems they didn’t need much of a demonstration.”

“Not sure that was Indrid’s endgame.”

Just love me like there's no tomorrow

and keep me right by your side

Joseph tips his head down, whispering, “What was?”

Keep me right by your side

“Duck?”

In the crackle of silence between songs, Duck brings their lips together. Joseph forgoes their stance and pulls him against him, their hearts magnets that were finally turned the right way. Then his feet stumble on the rug, Duck pushing him back with a ferocity he didn’t know he possessed.

Joseph drops into the chair, Duck pouncing before as he breathes. Joseph growls, the hunger that’s been chained threatening to crack his chest from the inside, and nips Duck’s lower lip.

“I said no bitin.”

“You said you wouldn’t bite.”

“You're right, darlin’” Duck cups his cheek as Joseph grips his thighs, “I’m gonna do so much more than bite.”

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

It never gets easier, waking from these dreams steeped in shame, fear, and sweat. Except this time someone’s arms are around him.

“I’m right here Joe, we’re here, we’re safe.”

“Very safe.” Indrid stands behind Barclay in the doorway, “another dream?’

“Yes. I, um, I-” he reaches for Barclay without meaning to, is ready to apologize when the Sylph slides into bed beside him.

“Is this okay?” It’s directed at both the humans.

“Yes.”

“Uh huh.”

Barclay adjusts so Joseph can hide his face in his chest. He should ask Indrid if he wants to be on the bed as well, the poor Sylph might think he’s not wanted-

“C’mon fluffball, my back is gettin cold.”

A delighted chirp and then a wing, black with a grey and red eyespot, drapes across him and Duck.

“Mmmmmm, I knew you would be lovely to hold.”

“Aim to please, sugar.”

“What happens now?” Barclay murmurs.

“My vote is we all get some sleep and work out the particulars in the mornin’.”

“Seconded” Joseph mumbles.

“We will need a good night’s rest; tomorrow I make the disguises for myself and Barclay so that we may begin our wider search.”

“Hope you guys like them.”

Joseph squeezes Barclay, smiling as Duck wiggles closer and Indrid’s wing grows heavier, “We’ll love them no matter what, big guy.”

#OT4: Government men and their cryptid boyfriends #sternclay #indruck #inclay #agent stern/duck newton #meet ugly #taz amnesty #agent stern/ barclay

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gusu-emilu · 4 years ago

Text

seven nights to turn (1/4)

chapter one: from first to fifth night

Ship: Jiang Cheng / Wen Ning

Summary: Jiang Cheng counts the passage of time by nights, not days. He's spending the next seven in a cabin on the fringe of the Cloud Recesses. On the first night, he hears humming.

Rated E, Post-Canon, Rough Kissing, Oral Sex, Slight Temperature Play, Hate Sex, and a lot of Jiang Cheng brooding

Ch. 2 >

read on AO3 or on Tumblr below

Jiang Cheng places the last of the heating talismans on Wen Ning's throat and chest.

It’s winter, and Jiang Cheng is sweating.

He touches skin only once, on Wen Ning’s collarbone. It’s as cold as the night air.

As he walks back to his cabin after he’s finished, he tells himself that’s why he did this. He wanted to touch the cold skin of the Ghost General so he could prove to himself that there is nothing more to the man than a dead body.

A corpse.

Nothing but a corpse…

════ 第一晚 ════

Jiang Cheng doesn’t expect to get any more sleep in the Cloud Recesses than he does in Lotus Pier.

If anything, he’ll get less sleep. It’s the first night out of seven here, and his chances of sound sleep for this week are already looking slim as he lies on his back in the darkness, wide awake, thoughts swarming around his head like gnats.

It’s not that the Cloud Recesses isn’t peaceful. It’s always been a quiet place. And remarkably, without the Lan Clan Leader out to enforce its rules, it’s fallen even quieter than Jiang Cheng remembers.

How fortunate for Zewu-Jun, that he can hide in seclusion, that he has an uncle and a brother to run his pretty little clan for him. This disappearing act would’ve never worked at Lotus Pier. Zewu-Jun has it easy in the Cloud Recesses, getting all the rest he needs for his poor broken soul.

Pathetic. As if any of us walked of out Guanyin Temple whole.

What would it be like for Jiang Cheng to lock himself up in seclusion? To avoid all of his responsibilities, and instead spend his time wiping his memory clean like Zewu-Jun? To avoid the incessant pleas from small sect leaders in his banquet hall and the even more incessant buzzing in the back of his mind?

He lets a moan drift up his throat. It settles behind his closed lips. He shifts onto his side, bedcovers curling and twisting around his leg, and now that’s uncomfortable, so he has to tug the bottom of the blanket out of place, and that rushes cold air over his body and makes him shiver, and goddamn it all he wants is one full night of sleep.

No one’s going to hear him here, so he lets the moan out fully, breaking the air. His lips are parted, but his teeth are still pressed together, and he’s still fiddling with the blanket—because he’s never been good at letting go of things, has he?

Conference. Go through the details of the conference.

He’s done that eighteen times already, but maybe the nineteenth will finally put him to sleep. It’s a simple matter, a three-way trade agreement between the Lan, Jiang, and Nie. For some reason, the Lan have insisted on conferring with Jiang Cheng for a full week before approaching Nie Huaisang with the proposal. Supposedly this extra preparation was taken at the urging of Wei Wuxian.

Everyone knows the Head-Shaker is a pushover, so why Wei Wuxian thinks Jiang Cheng needs to stay in the Cloud Recesses for an entire week to perfect this deal is beyond him. It’s a little insulting, if Jiang Cheng is being honest.

Still, he made the arrangements for a full week of absence from Lotus Pier. At least it’s unlikely to take that long to discuss the deal. The business proceedings will be wrapped up early, and he’ll have the last three days to do what he wants.

The vacancy promised by those last three days. Unheard of. Undeserved.

At some point his eyes open. Blue moonlight shines on the sharp angles of the room. He closes his eyes, shutting them tight.

Hmm, mm, hmmm, mm.

Humming.

Barely audible.

He opens his eyes again and searches the moon-drenched room for a melody he certainly won’t find here. Whoever is humming, they’re a good distance away in the woods.

Jiang Cheng requested a cabin in the forest on the fringe of the Cloud Recesses for his lodging. The farther he is from the Lan and their self-righteous rituals—and the farther he is from Wei Wuxian—the better. If he really does get the last three days to himself, he wants to be by himself.

The humming continues. It draws Jiang Cheng out of the quarter-beginning of sleep that had taken him so much work to get to, and pulls his body up against the silk covers as he strains to listen. Who’s out here at the edge of the Cloud Recesses?

The humming is far from perfect. The tone wavers, the transitions between notes are abrupt, and half of the melody sounds like it’s being made up on the spot.

But it’s raw and overflowing with emotion. So strikingly human.

A-Jie used to hum like this.

Despite how quiet the sound is, Jiang Cheng can’t block it out. It caresses his cheeks as it winds its way to his ears, clumsy and warbling. Seeps into him.

It only takes a few minutes for the melody to lull him to sleep.

════ 白天 ════

Jiang Cheng counts the passage of time by nights, not days.

It’s been four nights since he left A-Ling by himself in Jinlintai to fend off the regent that the elders have been trying to force in his place. It’s been eleven nights since Jiang Cheng was injured on his left shoulder by a demonic beast during a night hunt. It’s been one hundred and twenty-two nights since he found out his golden core wasn’t his and sobbed on the floor of Guanyin Temple.

He doesn’t think about the count for other things. The numbers are so big they swallow him.

His first night in the Cloud Recesses has passed. The day has enough to keep track of—being up and presentable for the criminally early time the servants bring a breakfast of bland congee, sifting through trade terms with Lan elders while Lan Wangji drills him with his eyes, answering three urgent letters from three different sects because apparently even in the home of monks he can’t escape the mail—that he doesn’t bother tacking a number on which sun is in the sky today.

And of course Wei Wuxian is stalking around, one hand behind his back and one hand in the air twirling that nuisance of a flute between his fingers.

If Wei Wuxian has work to do, he doesn’t show it. He talks to the junior disciples and no one else. His laughter rings through the Cloud Recesses, disappearing and reappearing when Jiang Cheng least expects it, like a fish swimming below the water’s surface and suddenly jumping out of the river with a splash.

Not unlike the time they spent receiving instruction here years ago. Perhaps Wei Wuxian is trying to relive something by only speaking to junior disciples.

Jiang Cheng doesn’t speak to any of them.

════ 第二晚 ════

On the second night, Jiang Cheng treats his wound before lying down to sleep.

The salve is sticky on his shoulder. He should have rubbed it in more, given it time to disappear in his skin before lying down on his shoulder and transferring the waxy ointment to the inside of his robes. They’re sleeping clothes the Lan have provided. It’s rude to dirty them, but he’s too tired to care.

For all the stiffness of the Lan, their fabric and beds are surprisingly soft. Another detail to add to the list of things he’s grateful for and will never mention.

The air around holds traces of the salve’s spicy scent and the fragrance of the crushed dried lotus flowers he’d brought from Yunmeng to set beside his bed. Sometimes the scent calms him. Sometimes.

Hmm, mm, hmmm, mm.

He sits up.

That humming again!

Last night, he indulged himself and let the melody lull him to sleep without questioning why someone was outside his cabin. A second time is too peculiar to ignore.

He steps out of bed. The wooden floor is cold. He puts on shoes and slings a layer of robes over his sleeping gown and walks away from the scent of lotus flowers, through the doorway out into the brisk winter air.

The forest is brighter than yesterday, causing the footpath to glisten when it should be dull grey stone. His shoes fall softly on the stone, his steps out of sync with the hummer’s song.

Hmm, mm, hmmm, mm.

The humming is louder tonight. The voice is a bit raspy, as if the person’s breath just falls short of traveling through them in a single stream. A faint breeze kicks up and rustles what vegetation remains in this part of the forest, carrying the melody somewhere else.

Jiang Cheng wanders after it.

He’s left the path, he realizes. Leaves crunch under his feet. He’s fallen in time with the rhythm of the song.

The melody aches. Heartfelt and slightly doleful. The notes lift up at the end, then crack and sink, then rise again, hopeful and beautiful and utterly lost. Emotional.

So starkly human…

He stops.

He knows who this voice must belong to.

It’s not someone he wants to see.

It’s not someone who should be human.

He turns and walks back to his cabin, unable to shut out the song that lays him back in A-Jie’s arms, its gentle melody too familiar despite its fumbling, and it doesn’t belong to that…that…

Hmm, mm, hmmm, mm.

The salve has finally been absorbed into his skin, but the remnants of it are caked on the fabric over his shoulder. He lies on his back so he doesn’t have to feel it.

He would tell himself that the humming doesn’t lull him to sleep again, but it would be a lie.

════ 白天 ════

Fate must’ve wanted to punish him for last night, because the next day Wei Wuxian sits in on the trade proceedings.

“Hey, Jiang Cheng,” he whispers as he leans over while a group of Lan elders are deep in internal discussion, “whose moustache do you think looks the most disastrous?”

“Shut up,” Jiang Cheng says through clenched teeth. Pressure is building in his temples.

Wei Wuxian pouts—mockingly—and turns away.

Idiot.

In the month since Wei Wuxian has returned from his travels, they’ve fallen into familiar patterns like this the few times they talk. It’s easier, he supposes. Wei Wuxian’s always been one to hide everything behind a smile. And Jiang Cheng…he has his temper to guard him.

This hollow banter holds none of the fondness it did the last time they were in the Cloud Recesses together, yet it’s all they’ve been able to manage around each other.

There are other things besides nights that Jiang Cheng counts. One of them is the number of times he’s sworn to himself that he’d be the one to reach out, that a letter with the Jiang seal would find its way into his Wei Wuxian’s hands, that he’d invite Wei Wuxian to Lotus Pier first. Now here he is in the Cloud Recesses sitting next to his brother and it wasn’t even his idea.

The letters are in a drawer back in his study.

════ 第三晚 ════

On the third night, a guqin accompanies the humming.

He shrugs on the same pair of outer robes, paces down the same path, sets his jaw with the same tightness.

Doesn’t anyone know I’m staying here? Are the Lan so eager to have their guests disturbed? Is this some show of disrespect?

The music is fluid and shimmery, winding and tortuous like a flowing stream. It fills him, and he tries to pour it of his senses, but instead he ends up downing it greedily like the extra cup of wine he shouldn’t have had earlier tonight. It was inevitable—the wine, the craving for the music. The Cloud Recesses lacks the street bustle of Yunmeng to distract him from his thoughts at night.

The guqin is played in unmistakable Lan style, but it isn’t as clean as Lan Wangji’s playing. Its imperfection matches the broken, breathy humming that reminds Jiang Cheng of a flickering candle.

He’s strayed off the path. The song is close now.

On the bank of a silent brook, two silhouettes sit on a large low boulder. Their backs are to him, the edges of their forms gilded with blue moonlight. One is large and broad and completely still, the other is delicate and gently sweeping its hands over the length of a guqin.

The music stops.

“That sounds really g-good, A-Yuan.”

“You think so?”

A shaky hand reaches from behind a drooping black sleeve to graze the side of the delicate figure’s face, barely touching him. Tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. “Your practice is working r-really well. I can tell you’ve been doing it.”

The voice is familiar, tremulous and stuttering. Combined with the figure’s broad shoulders and pale skin, there can be no doubt that the hummer is the Ghost General. Beside him is Lan Sizhui.

“Thank you, Shushu,” Lan Sizhui says, his voice rich with fondness.

Jiang Cheng’s throat closes up.

When was the last time he heard Thank you, Jiujiu, in a voice so sincere, so joyful at the praise spoken before it?

When has he ever been able to treat A-Ling like this?

Like how Wen Ning treats Lan Sizhui?

But this thing had killed A-Ling’s father.

The anger that boils up inside him at that reminder is much more familiar than whatever gripped his heart before. Anger he knows. Anger he can use.

Lan Sizhui turns. Dark round eyes stare up at him from beneath a silver headband. “Jiang—Jiang-zongzhu!” Lan Sizhui stands and bows.

The larger shadow shifts, grows tense, but doesn’t turn.

“…Lan-gongzi,” Jiang Cheng says.

Wen Ning finally turns, but only his head, just far enough for a long ponytail to drape farther down his back and for hesitant eyes to focus on the ground in front of Jiang Cheng. “Good evening, Jiang-zongzhu,” he says.

There is no hint of a greeting in his voice.

The soreness of Jiang Cheng’s shoulder wound flares up again, because now is a great time to feel more uncomfortable.

He’d known who he’d find here. It was senseless coming to confirm it.

“Wen Qionglin,” he says, deadpan.

The only sound is the faint babbling of the creek.

Lan Sizhui, always stuck between adults who don’t know how to speak to each other, hurries to fill the silence. “Jiang-zongzhu, we—we didn’t mean to disturb you on your walk.”

“I wasn’t on a walk.”

“Oh. I beg your pardon.” He ducks his head.

“I’m staying in the cabin.” Jiang Cheng points behind himself with his thumb. “Back there.”

“I hope Jiang-zongzhu enjoys his stay.”

Silence falls on them. Wen Ning still hasn’t made eye contact.

Jiang Cheng shifts his feet. “…I’m going back there now.”

“Goodnight, Jiang-zongzhu,” Lan Sizhui says with a bow.

Jiang Cheng heads up the path and only looks back once.

════ 白天 ════

“The Ghost General sings now?” Jiang Cheng channels all the bitterness he can into his voice and lets it loose on Wei Wuxian, who is leaning on the railing of a walkway and tossing peanuts into his mouth.

Wei Wuxian shrugs. “Does he?” He smirks. There’s a teasing glint in his eyes for a moment before it disappears as he focuses his attention on another peanut.

Normally Jiang Cheng’s pride would never allow him to bring up Wen Ning around his brother. A knot has already formed in his gut at Wei Wuxian’s response, which is more of a taunt than an answer. But at least it’s something to talk about. They’ve had nothing and everything to talk about for too long. This topic is manageable.

“How do you know?” Wei Wuxian asks after a while.

“He’s been howling outside my cabin door like a dog.”

The package of peanuts crumples in Wei Wuxian’s hand at the word dog. He laughs nervously. “Ah, I’ve just fixed up his vocal cords recently.” He skews his lips and digs into the package for another handful. “He doesn’t exactly sound perfect, but he can hum now. He’s really excited about it.”

“Does he have to do it where I’m trying to sleep?”

Wei Wuxian raises his eyebrows. “Ask him that, not me.” He pushes off the railing with his elbows, twists around stretching his sides for a few seconds, then turns to walk away. “I’m not the boss of him.”

════ 第四晚 ════

There is no guqin on the fourth night.

Just Wen Ning.

Now Wen Ning knows Jiang Cheng is living nearby, and still he has no shame about stumbling through his improvised songs, stringing haunted notes through the air and sending them into Jiang Cheng’s cabin.

It’s futile for Jiang Cheng to pretend he’ll fall asleep tonight, so he sits at the tea table in the center of the room, lights a candle, and watches the wax drip down the sides.

He can hum now. He’s really excited about it.

Clearly.

It’s strange to imagine being excited about something as effortless as humming. So excited that he spends every night doing it. Jiang Cheng can hum—and despite being untrained, he’s been told that his singing voice is decent—yet for the majority of his life, he’s never bothered to hum or sing. Never thought to do it.

Wen Ning’s ability to hum had been stolen from him for sixteen years.

If Jiang Cheng were in his place, would he start humming every night if his voice came back?

He hadn’t been able to speak to Wei Wuxian for sixteen years. He certainly doesn’t use his voice that way every night.

The dribble of wax he’s been watching reaches the bottom of the candle at the same time Wen Ning’s song reaches its lowest, most resonant note. The liquid hardens and twists, solidifying until he can’t distinguish it from the other distorted shapes of wax drippings.

Suddenly unnerved by watching the candle, he takes out a bundle of talismans and lays them on the table, sorts through them. Takes inventory of each crinkle of paper in his hands—hands that for some reason are unsteady tonight.

Heating talismans. He sets those to the side and examines another pile.

Why isn’t Lan Sizhui playing his guqin with Wen Ning tonight? How often do they sit outside and play music together?

They had only rediscovered each other in the last half a year, but their relationship is already so relaxed and gentle.

When the sect leaders gathered in Yunmeng to hear those two women reveal Jin Guangyao’s secrets, Jiang Cheng forbade Wen Ning from entering Lotus Pier. Even back then, before being aware of their true identities, Lan Sizhui stayed behind to keep him company. Even then, their bond was strong.

What is it about him? Why is it so easy for him to form that relationship?

What is it about me?

Jiang Cheng’s relationship with A-Ling is relaxed, too, but in a way that lets them bark at each other without care for respect or formality. He yells at A-Ling. A-Ling snaps back. Then they part ways.

Even Jin Guangyao—that weasel—had been more open about his fondness for his nephew, showering him with praise and spoiling him with presents. A-Ling fully believed that Jin Guangyao loved him.

Jiang Cheng crumples a talisman, or two, or ten, in his fist, because despite how much time he has spent with A-Ling since Guanyin Temple, he doesn’t know if A-Ling still believes that Jin Guangyao loved him.

He’s failed A-Ling. He’s been plenty busy helping him with politics, taking him on night hunts, arranging for his visits to Lotus Pier, but he’s never talked to him about…about how he feels.

Jiang Cheng would have given anything for someone to talk to when the last of his world fell apart at the age of twenty-two.

Who is that person now that Jin Ling’s world has fallen apart at the age of sixteen?

Does A-Ling know I love him?

Wen Ning’s song crescendos, swells to a climax, fades to silence. Like wine poured into a cup until it overflows, then left still until the surface no longer shimmers.

Jiang Cheng has never saved A-Ling’s life.

Wen Ning has.

That—thing has.

What if it causes a bond to form between them?

What if Wen Ning will develop a relationship with A-Ling, like he has so quickly with Lan Sizhui?

It’s not impossible. Since everything was revealed, A-Ling has grown rather sympathetic of the Yiling Patriarch and his Ghost General.

And they do have the chance to interact. Wen Ning stalks A-Ling’s night hunts just as much as Jiang Cheng. He’s seen them exchange a few words.

Wen Ning has just the right personality, doesn’t he? The ability to win over his nephew in a few months when Jiang Cheng has spent years taking care of—

Enough.

It’s ridiculous to think this way.

But he can’t help it.

He fiddles with the talismans, fixing the ones he crumpled, straightening the piles until no corners of the papers stick out of place.

If he’s honest with himself, can he even be angry at Wen Ning? Can he condemn someone who saved A-Ling’s life?

Shouldn’t he…thank him?

Of course, he won’t. He’s too prideful for that. Too selfish.

It’s his selfishness telling him that Wen Ning doesn’t have feelings, has no reason to want to be close to A-Ling.

It’s his selfishness that makes him ignore that he’s part of the reason Wen Ning and Lan Sizhui have only developed a relationship now, that makes him afraid that there is more to Wen Ning than just being dead…

The hum rises again, so messy and intoxicating that he can barely take it.

He jumps to his feet, jaw clenched, lip curling, fists shaking. He swipes up the pile of heating talismans for who knows what and stomps outside, fully intending to shout at Wen Ning to stop all the goddamn humming.

But when he reaches the boulder on the bank of the creek, he holds out a talisman.

The corpse’s eyes drift from the paper up to Jiang Cheng’s face, dark and languid. “What is this?”

“Heating talisman.”

Wen Ning blinks at it. Blinks up at Jiang Cheng. “Why?”

“Do you want it or not?”

“…Okay.” He carefully slips the talisman out from between Jiang Cheng’s fingers. “Th-Thank you.”

Jiang Cheng means to do something in response—grunt in acknowledgement, say “You’re welcome,” turn around and walk away, something.

Instead he just stares as Wen Ning uses two hands to draw the talisman close to his face, examining it, his eyes wide and full of adoration like he’s received a long-lost family artifact. He flicks the talisman to light its heat, and the warmth enters his expression as much it does the air.

He fumbles with the talisman, hovers it over his shoulder, his forearm, his chest, his knee, as if overwhelmed by the decision of where to put it for maximum effect. After all that deliberation, he ends up placing it nowhere, and instead presses it between his palms like he’s praying.

Jiang Cheng scoffs. Wen Ning looks up, startled.

“I have more,” Jiang Cheng says. “Stop overthinking it.”

Wen Ning’s only response is to lower his hands an inch. Jiang Cheng pulls more heating talismans from his robes and holds them out. Wen Ning takes them slowly, one at a time, like he’s afraid of them disappearing if he doesn’t account for each individually.

He lights them one at a time. “Why…” He leans away a bit. Louder: “Why?”

Jiang Cheng shrugs.

Wen Ning waits, then goes back to lighting the talismans, heating them all up before sticking them on his robes.

“Not like that,” Jiang Cheng says.

“Th-Then, like what?”

“It’s to make your awful humming sound better. Some warmth to help your vocal cords. You have to…” Jiang Cheng stops. He didn’t think through how to explain this. Didn’t think through coming here in the first place. “Put them—"

Wen Ning gapes up at him, dead lips parted.

Damn it. I’m going to have to touch him, aren’t I?

Jiang Cheng steps forward. Steps back again. “Um.”

“Y-Yes?”

“Don’t move.”

Wen Ning holds the remaining talismans closer, studies them, studies Jiang Cheng. Understanding crosses his face. He nods.

Jiang Cheng takes a deep breath, then steps between the babbling creek and the boulder where Wen Ning sits, ivory skin bathed in moonlight and covered by dark flowing robes. Jiang Cheng pulls back the collar of his robes, just enough to reveal his collarbone and more ivory skin with black veins trailed across. He wonders how far down Wen Ning’s chest those black marks go.

What the hell am I doing?

He takes a talisman from Wen Ning’s hands, which are trembling slightly—Jiang Cheng’s own hands are shaking—and presses the talisman onto Wen Ning’s neck. Takes another and tucks it under the robes covering his chest.

“I’m no doctor,” Jiang Cheng says as pulls another talisman from the pile between Wen Ning’s fingers. “I’m not as good at this stuff as your sister, but at least this might help you sound a bit nicer.”

Wen Ning’s expression morphs into something…strange.

Something dark.

That might not have been the smartest thing to say, now that he thinks about it.

“You’re right,” Wen Ning says. “You’re not as good as my sister.” The intensity of his stare is like the sharp edge of a blade.

Jiang Cheng is beginning to regret this.

“Why…why do you want to help me now?” Wen Ning asks, his fingers closing tightly on the talismans he’s holding. “Where were you when my sister was still here?”

Jiang Cheng has no idea what to say.

No idea.

As he struggles to shove down the panic and guilt rising inside him, he sets his jaw and says, “Just—just put on the damn talismans yourself, then.”

“You said I don’t know how.”

They stare at each other.

Jiang Cheng should leave.

But what is he going to do now that he’s already standing this close to Wen Ning, already started to put the talismans on him? Back down and run away like he’s scared off by a few words from the Ghost General?

“Fine. I’ll finish it.”

As Jiang Cheng places the last of the talismans on Wen Ning, working much faster than before, Wen Ning doesn’t look at him. No. He glares. The entire time.

It’s winter, and Jiang Cheng is sweating.

He touches skin only once, on Wen Ning’s collarbone. It’s as cold as the night air.

A corpse.

Nothing but a corpse…

But the humming is richer now, more resonant. The heating talismans actually seem to have helped.

Before, the humming was faltering, rough, staccato, but Wen Ning tried hard enough that it was still nice.

Now, it sounds hauntingly beautiful.

Twice as human.

As if to spite Jiang Cheng.

He shouldn’t listen to it, he shouldn’t enjoy it—he’s too guilty to enjoy it, but it puts him under a spell anyway.

For the first time, he’s desperate not to fall asleep to Wen Ning’s humming.

He’s out within minutes.

════ 白天 ════

The trade discussions end early, as Jiang Cheng predicted. He visits the Cloud Recesses library for the first time since coming here for lessons as a junior disciple and finds a book on Herbal Remedies of the Mouth and Throat.

He takes it back to his cabin.

He’ll do better.

He can do better.

════ 第五晚 ════

The moon is darker on the fifth night, half of it cloaked by clouds. The other half of it seems to be cloaked by Wen Ning’s voice, raw and warbling, back to its original, rougher sound.

Jiang Cheng hides a distance behind the Ghost General. Watching. Listening.

He’s only here because he has a bone to pick. If he wants to wait and watch, to take a while before sinking his teeth in, he’s in the position to do so.

The humming stops. Wen Ning turns around. “Jiang-zongzhu,” he says quietly.

Did his stomach used to lurch like this when he heard that title from Wen Ning’s lips?

He nods. Clears his throat. “Qionglin.”

Wen Ning’s eyebrows shoot up. He doubts Wen Ning meant to start a naming game, but he expected some kind of reaction if he spoke only a courtesy name, and it worked. It’s payback for the pit in his stomach right now.

“Can I help you?”

“No.” Jiang Cheng manages to hold back from snapping. He tilts his chin down, turning his face away. “I just have something you might be interested in.”

“…Does Jiang-zongzhu mean to put more heating talismans on me?”

“No!”

“Oh.” Wen Ning shuffles his legs around the other side of the boulder to fully face Jiang Cheng and rests his hands on his knees. His posture is stiff. “I’ve…thought about that. L-Last night.”

Jiang Cheng’s heart beats a bit faster. He scowls, trying to hide the rising embarrassment. “What do you mean?”

“I think I’d like to take care of my voice myself.” He looks to the side and watches the flow of the creek. “If you have something else meant to change what I sound like, please don’t trouble yourself.”

Fire claws up Jiang Cheng’s throat.

Some thanks this is!

“Do you have anywhere to be right now?” Jiang Cheng snaps.

Wen Ning stares at him for a few moments, then shakes his head.

“Then come to my cabin.”

He storms off without checking if Wen Ning will follow.

* * *

The breeze whistles softly outside. Wen Ning sits at the table in the center of the room, his large frame awkward and looming. The fragrance of tea leaves and ginger fills the cabin. Not that Wen Ning can smell it.

Jiang Cheng sets a teapot and a cup on the table. The book from the library said that this tea creates heat throughout the drinker’s throat and chest, improving the quality of the voice.

He’s going to make up for what happened last night. He’s going to help Wen Ning with his new hobby of humming, and this time he’s going to be nice about it.

Of course, Jiang Cheng can’t just explain that so casually.

Wen Ning looks up. “Thank you, but I d-don’t taste anything, or need to drink. I don’t mean to trouble you.”

“Just drink it.”

“I—I really don’t need it. Jiang-zongzhu may enjoy it instead.”

Jiang Cheng backs away and crosses his arms. “Drink.”

Wen Ning glances up at him, then back down at the tea, still hesitating.

It doesn’t seem like he’s refusing for the sake of politeness.

He really just��doesn’t want it.

Why would he? Why would he accept something from you?

Jiang Cheng crosses his arms tighter, tucking away his hands that are now ashamed of their work, of sifting through tea leaves, peeling ginger, placing a cup in front of someone who didn’t even want it.

His pride is beginning to sting.

“Just drink it already!”

Wen Ning stares at the cup for a while, then raises it to his mouth and sips. Jiang Cheng doesn’t move until the cup is empty.

He takes a few steps toward Wen Ning. “Well?”

“Thank you for your hospitality.” Wen Ning stands and bows. “Goodnight, Jiang-zongzhu.” He heads for the door.

Jiang Cheng cuts off his path. “That wasn’t the point,” he hisses from behind clenched teeth.

The breeze has stopped whistling outside.

“What else may I do?”

“Did it work.” Jiang Cheng gestures at the tea table with a sharp chopping motion. “Just tell me if it worked.”

The line of Wen Ning’s mouth tightens. “H-How?” he asks.

“The hell am I supposed to know? You tell me!” When Wen Ning just looks at him in confusion, he says, “It—It’s supposed to help your humming sound better. Make your throat warm.”

They stand frozen in front of the door.

Wen Ning narrows his eyes. He doesn’t look pleased.

But he begins to hum.

The song is fluid, graceful, more beautiful than ever, snaking past the sides of Jiang Cheng’s face and tangling in his hair, taking its time hovering over his ears before sinking into the crevices of his body. He shivers.

Jiang Cheng recognizes parts of the song by now. There are melodies that Wen Ning uses over and over, and others that are new every night.

Hmm, mm, hmmm, mm.

Jiang Cheng blinks.

Wen Ning is less than an arm’s length away.

He blinks again.

Wen Ning’s face is approaching his own, closing in on him.

He looks down, and now he sees the reason, that Wen Ning’s shoes are slowly stepping closer, softly falling on the floorboards. Jiang Cheng backs away, retreating until he’s flat against the door and can’t flee any farther.

He swallows.

The humming is richer now.

His palms are sweaty.

Wen Ning’s face is mere inches from his own.

The melody is reaching its end, rising to a high point and now cascading back down, each hum longer than the last, until the second-to-last note reverberates in Jiang Cheng’s bones.

The last note never comes.

Instead Wen Ning lurches forward and covers Jiang Cheng’s lips with his own, grabs Jiang Cheng’s shoulders with rough hands and shoves him against the door, the final note of the song hanging over them, tormented, unresolved.

Wen Ning’s mouth is still hot from the tea. He tastes like ginger. He stings like raw ginger.

Jiang Cheng’s breath rushes out in hot puffs and gasps. He’s suffocating by Wen Ning’s tongue.

Teeth bite down on his lower lip.

There’s no strength in Jiang Cheng’s body. His knees wobble, he whimpers, his heart races.

He tries to bite Wen Ning back to cover up how weak he is, to keep Wen Ning from seeing how his strength is melting away, but he’s already lost. Wen Ning has too much control. Too much force.

“I don’t want your tea,” Wen Ning mumbles between digs at Jiang Cheng’s mouth.

Finally he raises his lips from Jiang Cheng’s and lowers them to suck at Jiang Cheng’s neck, scraping teeth over his skin.

Jiang Cheng’s head jerks back at the sensation, striking wood.

He moans.

“I don’t want you to help me,” Wen Ning says, his voice thick with loathing.

One of Wen Ning’s hands slides over Jiang Cheng’s shoulder, up to the other side of his neck. A little tighter, a little more to the center of Jiang Cheng’s throat, and he’d be choking him.

This shouldn't feel so good.

Wen Ning’s fingers twist in his hair, and his thumb pushes at the underside of Jiang Cheng’s chin, forcing his head to tilt up. Wen Ning’s other hand is locked around his bicep.

He can’t let Wen Ning force these reactions from him—can’t let Wen Ning play with him like a doll—

The pressure vanishes from Jiang Cheng’s arm and reappears at his waist. He yelps as Wen Ning squeezes, crushing his side.

“You never helped me before.” Wen Ning raises his head to interlock his lips with Jiang Cheng’s again. Wen Ning’s chest presses into him, pinning him to the door. Jiang Cheng struggles to match the pace of Wen Ning’s lips, the intrusion of his tongue, channeling all his energy into it. His shoulders slump with the effort.

Wen Ning bites down, tugging at his lip, then releases. “I saved your life, and you never helped any of us.”

The words hit like a blow to the stomach, driving the air from Jiang Cheng’s lungs.

For the first time since whatever this is began, Jiang Cheng’s thoughts wander. Flashes of memories—a child wrapped around his leg in the Burial Mounds, Zidian nearly striking Wen Ning’s talisman-covered body, and—

A lacquered wooden comb that still lies in his bedroom in Lotus Pier, tucked away inside a silk handkerchief.

No, he never helped anyone from the Wen Clan.

Not even Wen Qing.

He’s no fool. He knows Wen Qing never loved him. But he wanted to help, wanted to make some lasting difference in her life, yet all he managed was a comb that got returned to him, useless.

But Wen Qing left a lasting mark on him. His golden core inside him.

He wonders if Wen Ning is trying to leave a mark of his own, to carve another scar, to sear a brand of the lost Wen Clan into his skin.

How many times must a Wen do something irreversible to me?

He wriggles under Wen Ning’s grip, struggling to break free.

But does he…want to?

He hadn’t been able admit it to himself—or maybe he was too overwhelmed to notice—but he’s hard.

So hard.

Does Wen Ning notice?

He’s rubbing against Wen Ning’s thigh. He must notice.

Fuck.

Wen Ning pulls away from Jiang Cheng’s lips, pauses with their noses nearly touching. Their eyes meet.

“You like this,” Wen Ning says quietly. It sounds like a disbelieving question and a cruel taunt at the same time. Especially given that Jiang Cheng’s cock is still pressing against him.

He does.

Fuck, he does.

Heat spreads through Jiang Cheng’s face. “I—I—if you tried harder—”

The intensity of Wen Ning’s expression starts to mix with something else. Something like eagerness.

But within seconds, it disappears.

Wen Ning wraps his hands around Jiang Cheng and yanks him away from the door, shoves him against the bed. His hip slams into the side of the bed, but he manages to steady himself enough to stand hunched over with one hand pressed into the mattress.

Wen Ning glares down at him from where he stands by the door, his jaw set and his shoulders broad.

For the first time, Jiang Cheng fully understands how big Wen Ning is. In a fair fight, spiritual powers sealed, he could crush Jiang Cheng like a bug.

And I’d deserve it.

That thought makes his throat constrict, as if Wen Ning’s hand is still on his neck, choking him as punishment for the past. He chases the thought away, but it lingers, unwelcome.

“You threw my people away,” Wen Ning says.

Jiang Cheng shifts his feet, trying to hide the erection under his robes. Not that there’s any point. Wen Ning definitely knows.

“And you put a golden core inside of me!” Jiang Cheng shouts. “I didn’t want it!”

Wen Ning approaches him. Slowly closes the space between them, drawing in like a black curtain about to shut around Jiang Cheng. His breath catches in his throat.

Wen Ning narrows his eyes, his gaze dark. “Take off your robes.”

Jiang Cheng’s breath catches again. “I…why?”

“Take them off.”

More heat rushes to his face.

If it was even possible, somehow he gets harder.

The hell is wrong with you? Do you like being pushed around like this? Ordered around like a dog? You’re a clan leader!

He straightens his spine and leans into the edge of the bed, every muscle in his body fraught with tension, his sinews about to snap. His face is burning.

“I don’t answer to you,” Jiang Cheng says through a snarl.

Wen Ning’s shoulders draw up slightly.

“You’ll have to strip me yourself if you want my robes off.”

That might be more than he bargained for, because judging by the look on Wen Ning’s face, he has no issue taking up that challenge.

Wen Ning steps closer, then stands motionless over him—scanning Jiang Cheng’s body with his eyes, lingering on his neck, his chest, his crotch. It’s agonizing, slow pain, each second of scrutiny like a needle pricking his skin until he’s covered in puncture wounds, deflated.

He can’t let himself become so vulnerable. Can’t let Wen Ning of all people humiliate him like this.

He has to save some face, however small—

“What’s wrong?” Jiang Cheng says with as much venom as he can muster. “Is the Ghost General scared?”

Wen Ning blinks at him, then his fingers graze the ties of Jiang Cheng’s robes, slowly undo the thick leather belt, peel away layers like picking petals off a flower. Jiang Cheng’s outer robe falls onto the bed behind him.

He’s gentle, Jiang Cheng thinks, surprised. Why the fuck is he so gentle?

Wen Ning opens Jiang Cheng’s inner robe, his cold fingers brushing Jiang Cheng’s skin. He exposes Jiang Cheng’s torso and leaves the robe hanging off his shoulders.

He trails his thumbs across Jiang Cheng’s chest. Across his whip scars. Across his nipples.

Jiang Cheng shudders.

Cold. Cold.

And yet—

His cock throbs.

Wen Ning narrows his eyes and meets Jiang Cheng’s gaze. There’s something behind his stony expression. Jiang Cheng has no idea what.

Jiang Cheng looks away before Wen Ning can see the shame in his eyes. Not that it’ll save him any dignity.

The icy touch finally lifts from Jiang Cheng’s skin. He’s left cold and sensitive as Wen Ning fully removes his inner robe and settles his fingers on the waistband of Jiang Cheng’s trousers. Jiang Cheng closes his eyes.

He gasps.

Wen Ning’s thumb is stroking the fabric over his cock.

“You—” Jiang Cheng tries to snap at him, but can barely form words. “Just—just get on with—”

Wen Ning shushes him.

His finger pauses on a wet spot at the end of Jiang Cheng’s cock.

It’s humiliating. The pad of Wen Ning’s cold thumb pressing his dampness back against himself. Teasing him, forcing this proof of victory into his skin, sending it throttling through his nerves.

“You’re wet,” Wen Ning says.

The heat in Jiang Cheng’s face fully blazes into a fire. He wants to punch Wen Ning, strangle him, anything to get back at him for making his shame undeniable by putting it into words, but he can’t bring himself to move.

His trousers come down. Suddenly his cock is cold.

He can’t imagine how much colder it would feel if it were Wen Ning touching him instead of the night air.

But there’s nothing touching him. Not even a sound reaches his ears.

He waits, bracing himself for another chill from gentle fingers, another rough shove against his shoulders, another bite of heat on his lips, but nothing comes.

The night sinks, until it feels empty like it usually does.

He feels…

Alone—

He opens his eyes.

Wen Ning is standing beside the tea table. “You wanted me to tell you if it w-works?”

It takes three tries for Jiang Cheng to get his mouth to move. “Wha—what are you talking about?”

“You wanted me to tell you,” Wen Ning picks up the pot of tea and holds it awkwardly over the table, “if this worked?”

Jiang Cheng just stands there with his mouth hanging open like an idiot.

Wen Ning pours a cup of tea. Holds the porcelain cup in front of his face, weighing it, tilting it. He places its rim to his lips.

He stares at Jiang Cheng as he downs it. Then another. The cup clinks when he finishes and sets it down on the tray. He straightens out his robes.

Robes—

Wen Ning has robes on.

Jiang Cheng is fully naked. Wen Ning is fully clothed. Funny he’s just realizing this now.

He never meant for anyone to see him like this.

The fact that it’s Wen Ning, that he caved and bent to Wen Ning’s will—

“You think my mouth should be h-hot,” Wen Ning says.

Jiang Cheng grips the edge of the bed tighter, his eyes widening.

“You think I need this remedy to make me more human.”

Wen Ning drops to his knees between Jiang Cheng’s legs.

Fear courses through Jiang Cheng’s veins.

Wen Ning looks him dead in the eyes. Waiting.

The understanding of what Wen Ning wants to do hits him like a heavy blow, and his heart leaps.

He shuts his eyes tight and nods.

“Then that’s what you’ll get, Jiang-zongzhu.”

“Agh—ah! Wen—Wen Ning!”

There’s never been a mouth on his cock before.

The sensation pounds through his body. His ears ring.

Wen Ning’s mouth is wet. The heat is like the soft warmth of holding a teacup filled with steaming water, just hot enough to induce both discomfort and wild pleasure.

Jiang Cheng’s persona of authority and strength, his status as a clan leader, this shield that he spent his whole life building—it’s falling farther apart with every moment, undone by Wen Ning’s tongue.

Just when he thinks it can’t get worse, when his entire body is about to convulse and his knuckles turn white and he throws his head back and moans—

So close—

Wen Ning pulls his mouth away and grabs Jiang Cheng’s cock with his hand.

The cold shocks him. Knocks the breath out of him.

Sends him over the edge.

He comes in Wen Ning’s cold hand.

Exhausted. Humiliated.

It feels so good—it feels so fucking good—to finally have someone punish him.

To tear him down for what he did in the past, as he deserves.

Wen Ning leaves without a word as Jiang Cheng sinks to his knees.

* * *

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this chapter, you can be a supportive sibling like Jiang Yanli by visiting me on AO3!

Ch. 2 >

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