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sashaisready · 3 months

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The Blood Pact: Chapter 1 - The Viewing

Bucky Barnes Vampire AU x Female Reader

Series Masterlist

Chapter 2

Reeling from a bad break-up, you're desperately trying to find a new place to live but the Brooklyn rental market is a complete nightmare. You take a chance on an intriguing newspaper ad and enquire about a room in a shared house, where you'd be living with two mysterious men. The catch is that they want something other than your money for you to pay the rent...the one thing they don't have

Large double room and en-suite bathroom available in shared house in Brooklyn. Living with two male professionals. Rent reasonable and negotiable – call to enquire, ask for Steve – 555-6786

That’s all the ad said. You couldn’t help but be intrigued. After all, who even finds a roommate via the newspaper nowadays? You’d only found it because you were absentmindedly flicking through an old paper someone had left on your table in the coffee shop. In the last few weeks you’d spent hours trawling through apartment listings online, viewing terrible dump after terrible dump. Damp. Cold. Tiny. That one apartment with literal mushrooms growing on the ceiling. Another where the other roommates had clearly put a single mattress in a closet and were trying to shave a few bucks off their own rent. You’d met with potential roommates who all ranked highly on the awful scale – everyone from that potential serial killer looking guy who insisted you didn’t need a lock on your bedroom door, to that girl who kept jars of her toenail clippings on the coffee table.

Frankly, you were getting desperate. You weren’t looking for much, just a non-closet sized, clean bedroom that you didn’t need a lottery win to afford. But that was apparently a tall order.

You had been crashing on your friend Wanda’s couch for too long now. As welcoming as her and her boyfriend Vis were, enough was enough. Your break up with Peter had left you homeless. After a well-deserved period of mourning and ‘what the fuck?-ing’, it was time to move on. Move out. Give Wanda and Vis their space back, stop being a burden and get back on the horse.

…And that’s how you found yourself on the doorstep of a beautiful, nineteenth century townhouse in Brooklyn at 7.30pm on an autumnal Wednesday.

It was worth a shot, right? You genuinely had nothing to lose by now.

Maybe the room was perfect for you. Maybe they were hipsters who put the ad in the paper as a retro throwback thing. Maybe they were super old. Whatever, at this point as long as they were clean and not sociopaths you were willing to overlook all sorts of potential flaws. And rent was negotiable, so maybe you wouldn’t need a bank loan just to pay the deposit.

Steve had sounded nice on the phone when you’d enquired yesterday. Not super old. Friendly and sweet. Very polite. He had given you the address and directions. It was actually refreshing to speak on the phone, as normally your apartment enquiries took place over tedious exchanges via the SpareRoom app. When you told him 7.30pm was a bit of an odd time for a viewing he just explained that he and his roommate worked long hours throughout the day, so evenings were best. Fine. It was New York City, a night time viewing was hardly going to raise an eyebrow.

Even so, you were a young woman going into a stranger’s house alone at night. In the city. You weren’t stupid, you dropped your location pin to Wanda and texted her the address and details. Just in case.

You took a deep breath and rapped your knuckles on the front door. You’d done so many of these that they were almost muscle memory now. Be polite, charming, make them want to live with you. You stretched out your shoulders as you waited and took another look at your potential new home. The building really was beautiful, a classic caramel colour with period features. Tall with big bay windows. A whirring noise caught your attention and you spotted a security camera perched just above the door. It turned to face you before whizzing back to its original place. They were clearly security conscious, so that was a plus.

Moments later the door swung open to reveal a tall, handsome man who must’ve been in his 30s standing in front of you. He wasn’t at all what you expected, blonde and classically handsome, a rugged beard and bright blue eyes. A bit on the pale side, but then summer was long gone. Your gaze couldn’t help but switch to the muscles clearly lurking under his tight white t-shirt, before you caught yourself and looked back at his face just as quickly.

“Hi…I’m-” you told him, slightly flustered.

“Hey. Right on time, I’m Steve” the man grinned, extending his hand to you as you shook it and introduced yourself. You were struck by how cold his hand was, hoping it wasn’t a tell-tale sign of the lack of heat in the house.

Steve smiled warmly and gestured for you to come in. “Thanks for coming. Let me show you around, and I’ll introduce you to my roommate, Bucky”.

You nodded, following him mindlessly. There was just something about him…something magnetic. He was cute. God, was he cute. But it was something else. You had no idea what had come over you.

Steve enthusiastically gave you the tour, guiding you throughout the ground floor. The house was just as stunning inside as out, with clean white walls and a mix of modern and antique furniture. A blend of modern and classic art adorned each room but didn’t seem to clash. The whole place was somehow both pristine yet comforting, spotless yet lived in. He showed you around the enormous kitchen with its big oak table, then the kitchen island which would bring any Pinterest interior design enthusiast to their knees. Huge windows framed the sink, thick blinds were pulled down and stopped the evening darkness from creeping in.

“Wow” you muttered as you took it all in.

Steve chuckled. “Yep…we’re pretty lucky” he smiled.

He took you through to the living room which to no surprise was equally stunning, your eyes found a chic cream couch which looked comfier than any bed, but you knew you would destroy with food and drink stains in a matter of days if unleashed upon it. Your feet padded on the wooden floor as she showed you the fireplace, then the television unit custom built into the wall which you knew must’ve cost a pretty penny.

The tour continued and he showed you a bathroom (one of many) and utility room (no more trips lugging all your clothes to the laundromat…genuine bliss) before leading you up the winding staircase. The stairs each creaked underfoot and you noticed every single window you’d seen had been fitted with heavy duty blinds. Even the tiny ones which must only allow the smallest sliver of light in. A little odd. But hey, it’s their house.

Steve was animated and charming throughout the tour, pointing out his favourite parts and telling anecdotes about where they found certain belongings. Asking questions about you and your job. He took you to the first floor and walked up to a closed door.

“And this would be your room”.

He opened the door and you nearly gasped at the size of the place, an enormous bedroom with a huge double bed and antique wardrobe. The vast window was covered by the yet another ubiquitous blind.

“Obviously it’s looking a bit sparse right now, but you could really make it your own if you took the place. We don’t care if you paint or whatever” Steve added, smiling as he moved to open another interior door across the room.

“And here’s the bathroom. This would be just yours, Buck and I have our own upstairs”.

You couldn’t hold in the loud, appreciative whistle you made as you walked in - which made Steve laugh.

“Are you kidding me?” you scoffed.

The bathroom was enormous. Perfect white tiles, every inch spotless. A beautiful waterfall shower stood in the corner, a vastly superior upgrade to the slightly dribbly shower head over the bathtub at Wanda’s. Along the wall was an immaculate marble sink mounted with a stunning vanity mirror, and the pièce de resistance was a huge copper bathtub in the centre – so deep that you could clone yourself and fit at least three of you in there comfortably.

After taking in the impressive room you spun excitedly on your heel to face Steve.

“You like it?” he said teasingly, a flash of mischief darkening his baby blues.

“Like it? I would happily live in just the bathroom, never mind the bedroom” you practically squealed.

Steve laughed good naturedly at your excitement. He seemed to view you with slightly bewildered amusement, but it didn’t feel patronising or snooty.

“Great. So you’re interested?”

You nodded enthusiastically. “God, yes. I just don’t think I can afford it…this place is so nice…” you mumbled, the realisation of how much this must all cost sinking in.

Steve eyed you with interest. “Well, let’s see shall we? It’s negotiable. We’ll have a talk with Bucky and see what we can agree”.

You nodded again, following him out into the hall. You had fallen hard for the room. It was the best place you’d seen by a country mile, let alone the ridiculous plus of having a private bathroom. Steve seemed…nice. Normal. Well, aside from being insanely hot and you clearly having a weird crush on him which made you feel strangely dazed…but that was okay. You would get over your crush. If your biggest problem with him was him being too hot, you would cope. Especially for your own copper bathtub. You wondered what exactly ‘negotiable’ meant. And what about this Bucky guy? You and Steve seemed to get along fine, but what was the other roommate like?

“Uh…where do you sleep?” you asked as Steve led you back towards the stairs.

He flicked a finger upwards. “Next floor up, Bucky and I have our bedrooms there. I would take you up there but it’s not particularly interesting” he said dismissively as he guided you back down the stairs.

You thought it a bit strange that he had left out an entire floor, after all the rest of the tour was so thorough he’d shown you inside cabinets and drawers downstairs. But bedrooms were personal, you wouldn’t be in their rooms or their bathroom anyway – so you supposed it wasn’t relevant.

Steve led you into the living room and you were surprised to see the wood fire roaring, as if it had been like that for hours. You had been in here not a few minutes earlier and there wasn’t even a hint of a spark. Someone must’ve got it going in record time…

“Hi there, nice to meet you” came a voice from behind you.

You flinched, surprised as you hadn’t noticed anyone else in the room when you came in. You turned and your stomach dropped when you locked eyes with the owner of the voice.

There sat nonchalantly in an armchair was possibly the most beautiful man you’d ever seen. He was dressed in a tailored black suit, every thread hugging his body perfectly. He had long chestnut hair slicked back into a small bun, and a jawline that could cut glass. A bit pale, like Steve, but it made his skin look porcelain. His lips were full and pouty, and you could see a glimpse of his shirt straining over his broad shoulders. What had stopped you in your tracks though, were his eyes. Perfectly cerulean pools that seemed to pierce into you, to penetrate your very thoughts and dreams. If you thought you’d felt a pull towards Steve, then this was like a blackhole – unstoppable and relentless.

You gawped open mouthed at him for a moment before remembering you were trying to impress and charm here, shaking yourself out of it.

“Oh yes, hi. You must be Bucky?” you managed to utter, extending your hand to his as you gave him your name.

He smiled back at you and for a split second you could’ve sworn he was smirking, entertained by how flustered you were. But it was a tiny glimpse, quickly swallowed by a more genuine smile.

“Yep. James Barnes, officially. But everyone calls me Bucky” he replied. His voice was soft yet deep. His hand was just as cold as Steve’s had been, you almost flinched as his cool flesh met yours.

“Ooh, I think you’re a little chilly. Hopefully the fire will warm you up” you stammered, still ruffled by the effect he’d had on you.

Bucky just smiled dryly in response, gesturing for you to sit on the couch as Steve slipped down in the armchair next to his.

As you sat you were suddenly aware of how warm it was in the room. How could he possibly be cold? It was sweltering in here with that fire.

“So it’s great you’re interested in the room” Steve began. “We just want to check our compatibility, make sure you’re a good fit. And then we can talk about rent payment, alright?”

You nodded, grabbing your purse and pulling some documents from it.

“Here are my last six pay stubs” you said as you passed the papers over to Steve, doing your best not to look at Bucky in case you had another meltdown. “I work full time, and I have good references from past landlords. So I can prove I’ve got a steady income and I’m good for the rent” you explained, with slightly more urgency than planned.

Steve nodded and looked at them briefly, but didn’t really seem to read them. He passed them to Bucky who seemed just as disinterested. Your heart sank, that wasn’t a good sign.

“So where are you living now?” Steve asked.

You giggled awkwardly and launched into the much shorter, less warts and all version of your break up and subsequent forced eviction. You explained you were staying on your friend’s couch but needed to move out, and that’s why you were house hunting now. Both Steve and Bucky seemed intrigued, studying you carefully as you awkwardly gestured with your hands, laughing nervously to fill the silence.

“Sorry to hear that” Steve finally said. “Break-ups are tough. Especially when you’re cohabiting. Did you just want different things?”

You nod. “Uh yes. I wanted to be in a relationship with him, and he wanted to be balls deep in other women while I was in the next room. You know, classic incompatibility”.

Steve looked at you sympathetically while Bucky let out a strangled laugh.

Up your hand went to your mouth as you realised what you’d said.

“Oh wow, I’m so sorry that was…too much” you cringed.

“Don’t apologise. Sounds like you’re far better off” Bucky said sternly, his eyes practically burning into you.

You nodded, you felt your face flushing slightly from the intensity of his attention.

Your eyes must’ve been playing tricks on you in the firelight as they both men seemed to tense up for a second. But then it was over as quickly as it started.

“Thanks…I guess it’s all still pretty raw” you chuckled weakly.

They told you that they were business partners, dealing in antiques and doing some book restoration on the side too. They’d been friends for years, more like brothers really, meeting in the army and setting up their company after they were discharged. You were impressed, you didn’t know any former soldiers turned antique dealers.

They proceeded to fire questions at you. Standard stuff about your job as a copy editor, you explained you worked from home mostly and they said that was fine as they weren’t around much during the day and the WiFi was decent. Perfect.

They asked if you did any drugs or drank heavily. No and no. Maybe a few glasses of wine or a cocktail at the weekends.

Then they asked if you had any medical conditions they should know about. You cocked an eyebrow, unsure of why that was necessary information for a roommate interview.

“I’m sorry, I promise we aren’t trying to pry” Steve advised, noticing your discomfort. “And obviously you don’t have to share anything you don’t want to. It won’t affect your chances of getting the room. It’s just we had a diabetic roommate once who didn’t tell us, he went into a hypoglycaemic coma in the kitchen and we had no idea what was going on and couldn’t help him. He was fine, an ambulance came in time. But now we just like to know if it’s not too intrusive to share, just in case we ever need to help”.

You nodded. That made sense.

“No, no medical conditions”.

They smiled at you, then exchanged glances. Both of them looked at each other for a moment before nodding in unison.

“Okay, the room is yours” said Steve.

You couldn’t hide your squeal, your fists clenching in excitement. You almost wanted to run up and hug them both, but restrained the urge. You were already daydreaming about that tub.

“Oh wow, amazing!! Thank you” you beamed. “But what about the rent…?”

They exchanged another look before Steve spoke again.

“Well, you see. That’s where the more uh…unconventional elements of the contract kick in” he replied warily.

Your brow furrowed in confusion.

“The thing is…” Steve continued, his voice solemn. “We don’t need your money for the rent. We require something else from you”.

You frowned, suddenly uncomfortable. “Look, I know this is the twenty-first century but I don’t do stuff like that to keep a roof over my head, no matter how bad the rental market is” you spat, getting to your feet as you felt your anger rise. Who did they think they were?

Steve and Bucky shook their heads, laughing, which just made you madder.

“No, not that” Steve soothed. “We want your blood, sweetheart”.

You scoffed. “What?”

“Your blood” replied Bucky nonchalantly. “We’re vampires, Doll”.

You rolled your eyes. “What kind of sick joke…”

“We’re vampires and we need your blood” Bucky explained, cutting you off. His tone deadpan, as if he was explaining something as trivial as how to use the stove. “So you can stay here for free, no payment needed, we just need to feed from you every couple of days. We won’t take more than you can give. You won’t feel any ill effects, and you’re not in any danger”.

You laughed incredulously, clutching your face with exasperation.

“Really? Is this how you fuckers get your kicks? Pretending to rent a room so you can pull messed up jokes?” you hissed. You should’ve known it was too good to be true.

Steve and Bucky seemed unfazed by your disbelief. They both watched you with merriment as you got up and grabbed your purse, stuffing your wage stubs back inside.

“You wanna show her or should I?” Bucky asked Steve.

“Knock yourself out” Steve replied dismissively. He reached for his phone.

As you headed to leave you had just managed to wrap your hand around the doorknob when Bucky was suddenly inches away from you in a single second.

You sputtered, turning to face him. “H-how did you get here so fast?”

You looked over at Steve who was mindlessly scrolling on his phone, unbothered by whatever was happening just a few feet away from him.

Bucky grinned. His eyes glowed yellow for a brief moment which made you gasp and slump against the door. You watched in horror as his canines grotesquely lengthened, morphing into something like animal teeth before your very eyes.

No, not animal teeth. Fangs.

At first you thought it was a prank, some sort of special effect or trick of the light. But it wasn’t, you saw it with your own eyes and you knew it deep down. This was real.

Suddenly it all clicked. Their inhumanly cold skin despite the warm house. The insistence on meeting at night. The way Bucky had soared across the room in half a second. The covered windows.

They were vampires.

“This can’t be happening” you muttered under your breath, your chest rising and falling as fear gripped you. You wanted to run but you couldn’t, your terror freezing you on the spot like a deer in headlights. Panic had overtaken you.

“Hey. Don’t get yourself too worked up, like Buck said - you’re not in any danger” Steve offered casually, not looking up from his phone.

“You’re safe” Bucky echoed, and you saw his fangs slowly switch back into normal, human teeth as they were before. It was almost like it never happened.

Almost.

“You wanna continue this? Or you wanna go home?” Bucky asked. He sounded annoyed, like you were somehow the unreasonable one here, wasting their time.

“You’d just…l-let me leave?” Your eyes widened with fear. “Even though I know your secret?”

“Sure” said Steve, as if it was nothing. He was much softer and gentler than Bucky. “We can hypnotise you into forgetting and send you on your way. You’ll just think the room was a bust and that’ll be it. You think this is our first viewing?”

You flapped your mouth open and close like a goldfish while they patiently waited for you to decide. It was too much. You couldn’t process it. Vampires existed?? Really? How could this be happening?

You wanted to tell them to hypnotise you, to erase all of this and let you go back to your life. You could return to blissful ignorance, rent a shoebox room somewhere else with actual humans. Human roommate toenail clippings and all.

But something inside you rebelled against all reason. A tiny voice of dissent amongst the otherwise harmonious chorus. You had no idea where it came from, it was against every survival instinct you had as adrenaline coursed through you. You battled against the urge to leave, to run as fast as you could out into the night and never look back. You couldn’t justify it, you knew it was stupid…but you listened to that tiny voice.

“Tell me more about how this works” you whispered, as your rational brain screamed at you.

#vampire bucky barnes #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #the blood pact fic #james bucky barnes #Vampire bucky au #Vampire bucky x you #Vampire bucky x reader

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tzauric · 4 months

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& when he said goodbye, he meant he would see me again (tartali, 1/1)

summary: Zhongli is home in Liyue for his birthday. Childe comes to visit. rating: E notes: Happy birthday Zhongli! My first 5* and main, and dearly beloved still.

↣AO3 LINK↢

❣❣❣

Ajax got in on a late ship, surviving off naps and still smelling like gunpowder, and was briefly tempted to collapse at the sight of Zhongli waiting for him on the docks. Instead he stiffened his spine and jumped off the ship, taking long strides up to Zhongli only to come to a short stop before him. He would like to embrace him, but they had to be gentlemen about these things.

“Zhongli-xiansheng,” he said, “you look well.”

Zhongli did. Of course he did, because he always did. Zhongli smiled, inclining his head slightly.

“Are you hungry?” Zhongli asked. “Or wish you to bathe, and rest?”

That meant Ajax must not look very good at all. Understandable; he was in dire need of a haircut and a shave and hadn’t had a chance to wash these clothes in a few weeks. He was squeezing this visit in, and had needed to rush.

“A bath, I think,” Ajax said. “Thank you.”

Zhongli turned, and Ajax fell into step with him, giving his shoulder a weary roll. His things were on route to Snezhnaya, so he’d have to rely on whatever he had left behind at Zhongli’s and Zhongli’s generosity. It wasn’t so scary a thought as it might have once been.

“Things have been good?”

“Yes -- I was invited to join a brief archaeological expedition to the submerged caves along the Strait of Dragons, and only returned from this last week myself …”

Zhongli spoke warmly of this trip, and Ajax was happy to listen. They soon reached Zhongli’s humble home in the Rock, where Zhongli set about preparing tea as Ajax headed upstairs to run the bath and do a quick shave, considering himself in the mirror. A haircut, yes. Ekaterina would help with that. He should look presentable at Zhongli’s side.

Fresh-faced once more, he sank into the hot bath with a relieved sigh; Zhongli entered soon after with a tray bearing a teapot and cup.

“A new white tea blend from the south,” Zhongli said, setting it down on the bath stool so Ajax could reach it, picking up the pot to pour it elegantly. “I find it most refreshing, a gentle relief to a tired mind.”

Ajax smiled. Zhongli made everything sound so beautiful and cared for, and it was because he cared so much, and found all these things genuinely beautiful. He reached a wet arm out, touching his fingers to Zhongli’s wrist, hooking in his cuff.

“Thank you,” he said. “Will you join me in drinking it?”

Zhongli understood, and smiled, nodding as he set the pot down. He undressed without any frills, a simple display that made Ajax’s smile grow slowly, and then he sank into the water with Ajax, leaning back against him. Ajax wrapped an arm around him, dropping a kiss to Zhongli’s shoulder.

“So any birthday plans?”

“I have none at this time,” Zhongli replied. “You will be here for it?”

“Of course. I think I can spare a whole week, maybe two. Her Majesty can scold me later.”

“This is the ethos of ‘better to ask for forgiveness than permission’?”

“Hahaha … yeah, it is.”

Ajax reached for the cup, offering Zhongli a sip first before he carefully maneuvered to take a sip himself, making sure not to drip on his dear husband-to-be. They idled in the bath, chatting and drinking tea, washing up in a way that became more lazy groping, before they decided to retreat to bed. Ajax toweled his hair into a frenzy to make Zhongli smile, then used that towel to loop about Zhongli’s neck and tug him into a kiss. Still a little damp they collapsed into a tangling of limbs on Zhongli’s antique gate bed. It always felt cloistered, tucked into its wooden canopy, like it was just their little private world. Ajax had missed it, as he had missed Zhongli, deeply.

“Missed me?” he teased into the crook of Zhongli’s neck, layering kisses against it, and Zhongli shifted beneath him.

“Yes,” Zhongli said, maybe too seriously; it made Ajax’s smile soften as he reached down to curl a hand around Zhongli’s cock, thumb sweeping firmly until Zhongli was lifting his hips into the touch. His little sounds, resonant, primal; they made Ajax want to devour him completely.

“I suppose I owe you a whole night of lovemaking …” Ajax said, and Zhongli let out a long breath, trembling on the edges.

“I would think it not owed, but deeply appreciated.”

“Heh, is that so …”

It wasn’t to be. One round had Ajax thinking of sleep. It wasn’t really the physical tiredness -- he’d pushed through worse. It was that gentle relief, a chance at rest with someone he trusted, his mind more than his body asking to set everything down for now. Ajax listened, because Zhongli would want him to, rubbing circles into Zhongli’s hip as they lay on their sides, trading slow kisses in the afterglow.

“Will you forgive me if I sleep now?” he asked with a grin, nipping at Zhongli’s lower lip, and Zhongli hummed.

“You forsake a promise …”

“Hush,” Ajax laughed. “I never actually promised, and you know it.”

Zhongli pulled back, smile gentle as he regarded Ajax with those warm eyes.

“Then forgiveness need not be asked for.”

“I am letting down expectations …”

“One’s expectations for others should be well-tempered.”

“Hah! Strict old man …” Ajax chased after Zhongli, kissing him again before murmuring against his smiling lips. “I mean, you don’t need to sleep -- if you want you could ride me all night long. I bet it’d be nice to wake up knowing you never stopped being full of me …”

Zhongli breathed a little deeper at that, shifting against Ajax as he grabbed at Ajax’s waist as he tried to draw him closer.

“I would disturb your sleep,” Zhongli said lowly.

“Disturb away.”

“Ever a tease.”

“Who’s teasing?”

Zhongli was quiet a moment, squeezing Ajax’s waist, forehead kissing Ajax’s own.

“You give me new things to dream of …”

“Dream, hm?”

“When you are not here, I try to touch myself as you would,” Zhongli said, now almost hushed, and boy if that didn’t wake Ajax up, “but true satisfaction cannot be found … they are dreams without release, for it is best with you. Asleep -- I would not have your eyes on me, the comforting weight of recognition … that is what I want right now.”

Ajax hated to think of Zhongli lonely as Ajax did as he had to, though it was a thing they had discussed in all kinds of ways as they’d slowly settled into a relationship. They both knew the value of duty more than most people would, it just didn’t change how a heart could feel. Ajax kissed Zhongli, deepening it with twists of his tongue until he had Zhongli was so open and wet for him, hand sliding down to press his fingers back inside Zhongli, slow and steady.

“One more,” Ajax said, and it was a promise. “Sit on me, let me watch you, and I’ll dream about you too.”

There was a frazzled, weary edge to his thoughts, like a poor bit of knitting going loose at the edges, but Ajax drew Zhongli into the twists of them and drew it tight, hoping he would see him in his sleep. He didn’t dream much, not since the Abyss, but he liked to think Zhongli never left his mind.

“Your sleep --”

“Can wait a little longer.”

Zhongli wasn’t a man to waste a chance; he was shifting, a rising wave rolling Ajax onto his back and then reaching down to stroke Ajax back to hardness so he could sink onto him again. Ajax gripped his hips and watched him as promised, letting Zhongli adjust with an easy rocking pace before Ajax was planting his heels against the bed and snapping his hips to fuck up into him properly. Zhongli’s moans were punched out of him as he bounced; it seemed he was struggling to keep his own eyes open, gaze two molten slits of gold as he met Ajax’s. The world fell away; Ajax was nothing but the tight heat around him and Zhongli’s focused look, and maybe in a way it did go on all night, for eternity, but also no time at all --

Zhongli came without being touched, gasping breathlessly, and fell forward, face burying into the pillow next to Ajax’s head as Ajax continued to fuck into him.

“You --” Zhongli managed, the words a muffled hot wash against Ajax’s ear that made his hands tighten on Zhongli’s hips. “You dream of me --”

Zhongli knew Ajax didn’t actually, couldn’t actually, but the words were bigger than facts.

“Always,” Ajax vowed, hips pressing up to a slow, twisting grind, knocking a high sound out of Zhongli, “forever -- fuck -- tighten up a little -- there you go, sweetheart --”

Nowadays when Ajax came he saw gold more than white; he buried his face against Zhongli’s shoulder as he seared by its light. The come down was slow, Ajax resisting the urge to go boneless as he carefully lowered his hips and straightened out his legs, hands sweeping over what skin he could reach, kissing words he didn’t have the energy for right then into Zhongli’s skin. Zhongli was lax against him, and so warm, and solid, and Ajax just couldn’t imagine moving much now.

He fell asleep not long after, Zhongli breathing against his ear; Zhongli maybe said something, and maybe they parted, but Ajax couldn’t remember.

The next morning Ajax woke from a dreamless sleep feeling immeasurably well-rested, and rolled into easy morning sex with Zhongli with a smile. The winter sunlight wasn’t so strong as it shone through the window, but the day felt bright all the same.

“So what do you want to do today?” he asked afterwards, and Zhongli sat up, always with such elegant posture even in bed like this.

“Do you have plans yourself?” Zhongli asked, and Ajax sat up as well, amused at the question. “You have many who would gladly invite a social visit from you, not the least of which being Ms. Ekaterina.”

Ajax should see Ekaterina, for her company, a haircut, and to give her a chance to spy on him a little for Pantalone. There were also people who were practically family and he’d be a sorry son of Snezhnaya if he didn’t drop by, and all the parties he was no doubt going to receive an invitation to any be playfully scolded if he didn’t attend. He knew all this, but still shook his head as he ducked to kiss Zhongli’s shoulder.

“I’m in Liyue to see you,” he said. “The rest I leave up to chance.”

“Then we may do some shopping --” off Ajax’s laugh, Zhongli persisted with, “-- the director has given me a list --”

“And some money? Or will I have to stop by the bank?”

“She gave me funds, yes.”

“Then if you let this fishwife’s son do the haggling, we’ll have no problems.”

“I trust in you,” Zhongli said, which made Ajax fondly shoulder check him.

“Then let’s wash up,” Ajax said, “and I’ll make breakfast, and then you can show me this list.”

Zhongli lent him some clean clothes for the day, which were exquisitely tailored to his perfect form and were therefore alternatingly too tight and too baggy at various points on Ajax’s body, but it still warmed him to see himself in them in Zhongli’s tall mirror. For breakfast he put on a record, smiling to see one of his favourites near the front of Zhongli’s collection as if Zhongli had been listening to it in his absence, and when Zhongli joined him from putting on his many layers Ajax pulled him into a silly, lopsided dance that didn’t keep time to the crescendoing strings at all.

An invitation to the great lady Marguerite’s fabulously glitzy parties for new year’s sounded nice right about then -- Ajax would like an excuse to dance with Zhongli properly.

After they’d settled down and had their breakfast, Zhongli tugging on an excessively heavy coat like he wasn’t immune to the weather while Ajax settled for something lighter -- winter here was springtime at home -- they left the house. Here Zhongli pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket, neatly snapping it out to its full length -- and what a length it was -- before handing it to Ajax.

“Director Hu’s requests.”

Ajax took one look at this list and laughed. “I thought you said you had no birthday plans?”

“Hmm. No plans, as such they could be named.”

“This is her idea of a surprise? That’s bold of her.”

“Could one call a simple list of requests bold?”

Ajax shook his head. He had long since decided that if the question was ‘Is Zhongli messing with me?’ the answer was generally ‘Yes’, unless the subject in question was human emotion. If he had to guess though, this was less about Zhongli’s habit of idle misdirection and more wanting to preserve Hu Tao’s own deliberately playful misdirection of a party planning attempt. Those two were a well-matched pair, that was for sure.

“One could,” Ajax said drily, giving the list another look over. “Hmm … fish. We oughta get that day of, but everything else we can get today.”

“As it is considered auspicious to eat fish on the new year, inviting abundance and wealth into one’s home, fish the day of will sell out quickly. It is better to pay in advance, in order to reserve your order.”

“Ah. Smart. We’ll do that, then. To the docks, Zhongli-xiansheng.”

It was an easy wander through the city, taking it in as everyone prepared for the festivities and the new year. Furniture and columns being waxed, carpets beaten, brass polished to a shine, city employees checking on decorations and launch sites for fireworks. Zhongli was greeted as they went, and the brisk air felt warm with excitement and anticipation.

“They must outdo themselves every year,” Ajax said as what had to be a test firework went off, whizzing up and into the air and going off with a bang, its golden splendour undercut by it being early in the day, little more than a shimmering spray against the flat blue of the winter sky.

“They try, though with well-cautioned restraint,” Zhongli said. “Some time ago, a new type of poorly-tested and ultimately dangerous firework became popular. When dozens set them off on the new year it resulted in numerous fires. A youth by the name of Dongyang died, as well as a dozen horses who were trapped in a burning stable. After this, Rex Lapis advised that only those expert craftsmen whose qualifications had been verified by the Qixing be permitted to sell fireworks, and on advisement himself by a friend, that the Qixing should take on the lion’s share of duties as it came to organizing the displays. The logic was that others would be less tempted to create and set off their own unregulated fireworks if they were suitably awed each year, and it did prove mostly effective as a solution.”

All these memories Zhongli had … a mountain to carry, or an ocean to sink into, but they were also what made him him, because he could bear that weight. Sometimes it was hard, Ajax knew, for Zhongli had said as much, but Ajax could only hope then that giving Zhongli the chance to share those memories would help.

“There’s no need to steal what you get for free … ah, Zhongli-xiansheng, tell me what the best firework display you’ve ever seen was.”

“Hmm. Many spring to mind, but one which I hold particularly dear was a display of ten thousand miniature fireworks, each a perfect golden flower as they bloomed across the sky …”

Ajax slowed their already casual pace to a proper amble to give Zhongli time to paint his pretty pictures of the past, and the docks were busy with early morning shoppers when they arrived. Ajax set his sights on a fellow who had the look of a hard sell, and went to battle.

“Ten thousand Mora, and that’s the best deal you’ll get this time of year!”

“Hah. Ten thousand? Brother, you’d starve a mother and her children …”

Ajax really had learned to haggle from his mother, and it was proven effective. After some dickering a good deal was struck, the order slip entrusted to Zhongli, and then they were free to see about everything else on the list. This included, but was not limited to, other meats and various vegetables, snacks, a bunch of ‘very hot’ chilis (Ajax debated on this one -- it sounded suspiciously like a prankster’s request), fireworks, sparklers, lanterns, kites, and streamers. Honestly, Hu Tao had probably asked Zhongli to get all this because she wanted everything to be up to his standards -- a true man of taste wouldn’t skimp on any of these things.

“You know, Xiansheng,” Ajax said as they left the docks, “thinking of fish --” he smiled at Zhongli’s wary glance flicking his way “-- there’s another thing I ought to get you.”

“Yes?”

“A -- ah, what’s the word in Trade? A knife for gutting fish.”

“A fillet knife.”

“Yes, that. You don’t own one!”

“Indeed.”

Ajax grinned at Zhongli’s dry tone. “It’ll be just for me. I’ll make mincemeat of every poor little fishie that crosses my cutting board, and because you like me an awful lot, you’ll eat whatever tasty, not-fishy-at-all stew I make with it.”

Zhongli smiled a little at this. “There is no need to overexert yourself on my behalf.”

“I’d say there’s every need.”

“You do it quite often,” Zhongli said, surprising him by shifting the conversation’s tone back to something a little more serious, thoughtful. “A thing you have a natural talent for, perhaps, and I would not wish you to think me ungrateful.”

“Ungrateful? Of course not.”

“Yet if I do not reciprocate as naturally …”

“So tit-for-tat …” this was something Ajax knew Zhongli struggled with. Take a God of Contracts who had lived a life of either exact exchange or deep, unending generosity for his people, and it was hard for him to understand simply accepting things with nothing in return. Ajax stopped them, giving Zhongli’s coat sleeve a gentle tug as he waited for a moment of privacy on the busy street. “Look, it’s simple, really. It makes me happy. I can’t always be here, but when I am, I want to make your meals, and keep your house, and do everything I can to make you happy too.”

Zhongli sometimes reacted to statements like these with a totally blank face. Sometimes, a ripple of unidentifiable emotion would cross his face, what Ajax considered Zhongli’s private little earthquakes. And sometimes, like now, he would smile in a way that was so genuine and gentle it made Ajax almost embarrassed to witness. He bravely faced it, however, and continued on, voice softer.

“Because, you know … an engagement is a promise so it’s really just a vow. I know we’re not actually married yet, but to me, you already are my husband.”

Zhongli reached up, hand pressing to Ajax’s chest. His fingers dug in a little, smile fading but gaze sharp; Ajax knew that look, but decorum was decorum. He curled his hand over Zhongli’s hand, giving it a squeeze.

“Now come on,” Ajax said. “It’s a long list.”

Zhongli nodded, but they stood there a little longer before they parted and continued on walking, pinkies brushing.

They shopped, and dropped their bags of purchases off with Hu Tao. She hardly said a Hello, how do you do? before she was grabbing Ajax’s ear to tug him down and inform him she expected him to ‘check in’ with her about ‘matters of business’, which meant either a recent Fatui mass death incident or Zhongli birthday party planning. Ajax nodded but made no promises, and then he and Zhongli went to go get lunch at Wanmin’s.

“Here you go,” Xiangling said, setting down some extra appetizers they hadn’t ordered, Zhongli helping Guoba as the little bear pushed his platter onto the table. “On the house!”

“Thank you,” Ajax said. “Is this an early birthday gift?”

“Yep!” Xiangling beamed. “Zhongli-xiansheng, you’re our best customer. We look forward to another year of you enjoying our food, and giving your amazing feedback!”

Zhongli smiled. “As I look forward to enjoying the continued development of your unique style, this symbol of Liyue’s eternal growth.”

“Hehe …” Xiangling pressed a hand to her cheek, smiling. “Thank you -- you’re way too nice- oh, Childe! You’ve been to Inazuma, right? I just got back from a culinary adventure there. You’ll have to tell me what you think of that there -- I was really inspired by udon!”

“It looks amazing,” Ajax assured her. “Say, are you going to be at the party? We’ll catch up then.”

“What party?” Xiangling asked guilelessly, eyes big. “I don’t know anything about that. But if there was a party … yes, totally!”

Guoba chortled, and Ajax smiled ruefully. Alright, alright, he could play along. He tossed Guoba some shrimp and ruffled his little bear head.

“I must be mistaken,” he said, noting Zhongli’s own smile out of the corner of his eye. “Well, maybe we’ll get lucky.”

“Mm-hmm!” Xiangling backed up, grinning, Guoba . “Enjoy your lunch, guys!”

Ajax watched her and Guoba go, thinking he had even more people in Liyue to check in on than Zhongli had originally estimated. Friends the world over … hah. That boy in that seaside village could only have dreamed of a life like this … and never could have imagined sharing a meal with someone like Zhongli, ready to spend his life with him. He slid his foot over to press against Zhongli’s, and thought warmly of all the meals they’d ever shared.

After lunch they stretched their legs on a nice long walk, Zhongli pointing out some things that had changed in Ajax’s year away. He kept careful track of all the developments in Liyue, and could be as pleased about a new dumpling stall as he was about some grand new house. That was familiar; newer was this way he kept stopping to exchange words with various people. Not that Zhongli wasn’t always friendly, but maybe Ajax’s presence had scared people off in the past, because he didn’t remember so many people calling Zhongli over when he was there. Had Ajax’s reputation finally been forgotten in town? Had Zhongli formed bonds not easily shaken by Ajax’s presence? Or was this just evidence of Zhongli finally finding his place in mortal society, in a way he hadn’t back then when he was still so new to it?

“Yes,” Zhongli was saying to a little grandmother whose groceries they’d detoured to help carry home, “I did see him. He has developed remarkable form -- he shaped a rooster quite deftly for me.”

“Ah, good …” the grandmother wheezed, “he was all trouble, but now …”

“He is well on his way to being a true craftsman,” Zhongli said. “I look forward to seeing him come into his own as an artist.”

Ajax was glad. As much as he missed Zhongli while he was gone, and as much as he believed Zhongli missed him as well, at least Zhongli would never be alone in Liyue.

“That boy …” the grandmother sighed. “That boy …”

They said their goodbyes to her after helping tuck her groceries away, and continued to angle their way up into the upper reaches of the city, Zhongli speaking broadly on the art of glassblowing as a whole as they went. Ajax was distracted from idle thoughts of how Zhongli would look glassblowing (very, very good) by the sight of a distinct group standing under what was, according to Zhongli, the oldest sandbearer in Liyue Harbour. Old lady Ping, Yanfei, and a tall woman Ajax didn’t know but decided to safely bet by her striking appearance and present company must be an adeptus as well. Ping spotted them as well, raising a gnarled hand, and he and Zhongli veered towards the trio.

“Hello,” Ping said. “How long it’s been, young master.”

“Almost a whole year,” Ajax agreed. “Hello, Ping-laolao, Yanfei-nushi --” Yanfei did smile, which was nice “-- and hello to your new company here, whom I don’t believe I’ve been introduced to.”

From the look she sent him, they either had met and he had failed to impress her, or she had never wanted to meet him. Maybe it was Cloud Retainer; they’d had a bit of a run in once, and that haughty look was pretty much identical.

“This is Xianyun,” Ping said, “an old friend, come to live in the city.”

Xianyun adjusted her glasses. “We were about to get tea,” she said shortly. Ah. The voice was unmistakable. Definitely Cloud Retainer. “Will you join us?”

The question was directed to Zhongli, who looked to Ajax, as if Ajax would or should say no. Ajax nodded with a smile.

“Sounds nice,” he said. “The usual place, Ping-laolao?”

“Yes,” Ping said, eyes creasing gently. “With the new year so close, it is an excellent time to spend time with friends and family. Let us enjoy some warm tea, and catch up.”

“Alright,” Ajax said, “but fair warning, I haven’t been to the bank, so I don’t have any Mora, before anyone expects me to foot the bill.”

Ping smiled so innocently and Zhongli blinked as if this was an unheard of concept. Xianyun sniffed and Yanfei lifted a wry brow.

“Some of us are employed,” Yanfei said. “It’ll be fine, Master Childe.”

Ajax smiled at her tone, and their fivesome made tracks for the discreet and elegant teahouse that he’d gone to a few times with Ping and Zhongli both, on top of some other matters of diplomatic or financial interest to Snezhnaya. Being a place for such meetings meant you could people watch wealthy merchants and other members of Liyue’s elite here, but he knew that for Zhongli and Ping it was really more about the quality and diversity of the teas. They got a table, ordered some snacks and a few blends as Ajax answered questions about his time away.

“They make the dough from corn, and they stuff it with all sorts of things, and steam it in plant leaves -- really, it’s so good. I think everyone should try it at least once!”

“I know what you’re talking about,” Yanfei said. “My dad used adeptal arts to keep one fresh and mailed it to me …” she shook her head, but in a fond way, as if she couldn’t totally approve of this frivolous use of magic but also couldn’t deny the result.

“That one carries himself like a judge, but acts like a child when his stomach is concerned,” Xianyun sighed.

“He knows the things to be serious about,” Yanfei said diplomatically. “But I think travel’s been good for him. Mother says he smiles more.”

Xianyun sighed again. “Rushing to travel, before such times …”

“Times come, and times pass,” Ping said sagely. “As things have settled, even I myself have thought of travelling.”

“Oh!” Yanfei turned to her. “You should join me in Fontaine, then.”

“Having an old woman about may not be fun,” Ping chuckled, and Yanfei shook her head.

“I’ll always want you around,” she promised, and Ping pat her hand. “Besides, I’m renting a flat, so I’ll have plenty of room.”

“A whole flat?” Ajax asked. “That’ll be a long case.”

“Teaching an exchange course at the law school,” Yanfei corrected. “Students who take courses like that get a certificate which lets them practise in whatever nation the teacher came from.”

“A nation may grow best alone,” Zhongli said, smiling, “but people will benefit from growing together. Friendships between nations are an admirable thing.”

“Yes,” Xianyun agreed, “and she will impress them all.” She turned her gaze on Ajax, as if he’d ever suggest Yanfei capable of being anything less than excellent. “For one so young, she is very bright. Her parents are proud to have such a daughter.”

The tone was aloof but the words were like an adoring auntie’s. Of course, they were all family, weren’t they? That’s how it seemed to an outsider like him, at least, but outsider or not he could recognize the fond way Zhongli watched them. All the adepti he knew, all the ones he had lost, and all the ones he still had …

Definitely never alone, Ajax decided, and gave Zhongli’s thigh an affectionate squeeze under the table. Zhongli reached down to cover Ajax’s hand, holding it there as his left hand deftly picked his cup back up to continue enjoying his tea. Their hands stayed so layered as the conversation moved on, and it maybe wasn’t entirely subtle, but hey, their relationship was well past the state of secrecy now. Something Ping herself very boldly commented on, smiling knowingly at them.

“But is it the festivities that have brought you to Liyue, or do you two have plans?”

“Plans? Hm?”

“Marriage,” Xianyun said, unimpressed. “Are you two not betrothed?”

“We are, yes.”

“Then marriage is the natural result.”

“People can take their time with these things,” Yanfei said, unexpectedly coming to their defense. Maybe she had a lover people were asking her about. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“It’s not about time,” Ajax said, not wanting them to think this was a matter he was thinking over or something. Underneath his hand, Zhongli’s thigh shifted. “Or it is, but not that way. It’s only that no Snezhnayan ever gets married without their whole extended family there, and I have a very big extended family -- and no time to plan that sort of thing.”

“A traditional Snezhnayan wedding, with all its celebrations, may last an entire week,” Zhongli said mildly. “It is not a thing undertaken lightly.”

“And then coordinating with the Liyuen side of things …”

“Two ceremonies?” Yanfei asked. “One for here, one for there?”

“Ideally,” Ajax agreed. “I’d say both our invitation lists are a little too rooted in their homelands to ask to meet in one place for one ceremony.”

“Though I would prefer the Liyuen ceremony to be a small, private affair,” Zhongli said, which surprised Ajax, glancing at him. He’d have thought Zhongli would want to pull out all the stops -- he did like having the best of everything. Ajax would know. He’d been the one to foot the bill for Rex Lapis’s extravagant state funeral.

“Too many ceremonies and rituals, old friend?” Ping asked kindly, and Zhongli inclined his head. Yanfei glanced curiously at Ping. Xianyun set her cup down with firm authority.

“It is a good idea,” she declared. “Celebrations are too noisy. Do as you wish, and know that no matter what wind lifts you, you have our support, eternally.”

Zhongli murmured his thanks, but Ajax was distracted by Yanfei, because he could see the exact moment it clicked for her. Her eyes widened, lips parting a little before she schooled her face back into its usual placid calm. She’d once told him she wanted to learn Zhongli’s secret, and now it seemed she finally had. She looked from Zhongli to the other two adepti wonderingly, then to Ajax, who smiled understandingly. Yanfei blinked slowly, then buried her face in her tea, taking a long drink of it.

The afternoon faded away, Yanfei’s gaze lingering on Zhongli throughout, thoughtfully. The tea was drunk, the snacks eaten, and countless stories shared, but it eventually came to an end. Xianyun covered the bill, and huffed out her nose when Ajax thanked her. Outside they stepped into the brisk, though not really that cold at all, winter air.

“So do you three have new year’s plans?”

“There are always ways to while away the hours,” Ping said whimsically.

“I’ve gotten a few invitations,” Yanfei said vaguely.

“It is a surprise,” Xianyun said bluntly, and Ajax grinned.

“Alright, I see.” Hu Tao must be inviting just about everyone Zhongli knew. Where exactly was she planning on hosting this thing? Her apartment above the funeral parlour wasn’t that big. Was she renting a space? “Then best wishes for the new year.”

They all shared their well wishes and goodbyes -- Yanfei adding a deep head bob to Zhongli that bordered on a bow -- and he and Zhongli peeled away, ambling vaguely in the direction of Ajax’s favourite Liyuen hotel. It was a path they’d taken many times together, so it was natural for their feet to lead them that way without any other real plans.

“I think Yanfei just sussed you out, Zhongli-xiansheng.”

“It is past the time for real secrecy,” Zhongli replied, unbothered. “New paths have been forged, free of Rex Lapis’s guidance, and so there is little fear of retreading old footsteps.”

“A bit of a if rowing upstream, don’t stop advancing thing?”

“I think more the current favours the rower,” Zhongli said, letting out a quiet sigh of what might be called relief. “As it should favour the fallen leaf, or the migrating fish.”

“Right …” Ajax nudged him. “But the guidance is still there, you know. It’s just a legacy, not a helping hand. And I think it’s nice, that I see Rex Lapis everywhere around us.”

Zhongli leaned into him briefly, their arms flush, and smiled to himself. Ajax’s gaze traced that familiar regal profile, the warmth of that smile, pace slowing.

“So what now?” he asked. “Any construction projects you’d like to admire? More shopping? Or maybe to the cliffs, wait and watch the stars come out?”

Zhongli stopped walking, looked at Ajax seriously enough that it made Ajax blink, and said,

“I would like to have sex.”

There was a pause, and then Ajax was laughing so sincerely it took him a few moments to gather himself, jostling Zhongli affectionately as Zhongli watched him with one of those head-cocked smiles that meant Ajax was puzzling him. How could Ajax help it though? Zhongli could be blunt about everything, sex included, but he normally led in with some poeticism first, at least.

“What’s that?” he said, giggles trailing off. “Where’s the fancy words? No ‘the flower quivers for the long-legged bee’ or whatever?”

Zhongli’s smile grew, raising a knuckle to rest against his bottom lip. Ah, he was cute. Ajax resisted an impulse to kiss him.

“Evocative imagery,” he said. “Perhaps you have potential as an erotic poet in you.”

“Oh, sure, sure,” Ajax said, fighting to keep his voice down. The street wasn’t so busy, but still. “I think I’ve heard enough of the Liyuen kind by now to try my hand.”

Zhongli, smile quite wide now, gestured in silent invitation, and Ajax wasn’t one to back down from a challenge. He straightened, clearing his throat.

“Hmm … ‘In day, the flower quivers for the long-legged bee. / At night, the moon covers the mating ducks. / No matter the hour, the jade stems grow / and the forgotten candle burns low.’ Heh.”

“A fine attempt,” Zhongli said, and Ajax gave a little half-bow of thanks, “if somewhat derivative.”

“An amateur foreigner’s best attempt, I’m afraid.”

“An attempt deeply appreciated,” Zhongli assured him, “though I fear it has misled us from my initial request …”

That Zhongli, persistent as ever. Not that Ajax was mad about it. He wrapped a hand around Zhongli’s wrist, giving a quick squeeze.

“The Lily’s close by,” he said. “Maybe we should relive some past memories.”

“I imagine that they will be fully booked, unfortunately.”

“Ahh, true … big holiday …” for the end of the year and Morax’s birthday, Liyuens from all over came to the heart of the nation to fill temples and shrines with offerings for their lord. Even three years out from Rex Lapis’s death, it seemed that hadn’t changed. “Then I guess I have no choice but to drag you into some bushes like a wild animal …”

His teasing smile was met by a flicker of interest from Zhongli -- oh, Ajax bet he liked that idea -- but instead of engaging in some more playful banter that would eventually lead them back to Zhongli’s cosy home and nice, warm bed, Zhongli stepped close and murmured,

“The leaves have dropped, but I believe I may find us a private corner to screen us all the same.”

And how did Ajax say no to that? He let the person who knew Liyue best lead away, and soon they were tucked away in what looked like a storage shed for whatever business whose back lot they were in. Like most back areas in Liyue it was narrow and cramped, and the shed hardly big enough for more than a few stacked crates, some tools, and two grown men. It was a tight fit. Ajax hummed as he turned Zhongli around with lingering hands, the effort bumping him back against the shut door behind him, which rattled in its frame, before he could plaster himself comfortably against Zhongli’s back, tugging his gloves off and tucking them into Zhongli’s front pocket.

“Why, Zhongli-xiansheng,” he said lowly, “you’ve lured me into such a suspicious location … what could you possibly have planned …?”

Zhongli shifted against him, until Ajax gave his hips a pointed squeeze. He stilled, letting out a long breath.

“Reckless abandon,” he replied on the tail end of that breath, and Ajax wasn’t sure he had enough room to work for complete and total abandon, but he’d do his best all the same.

“What a threat!” He pulled off Zhongli’s scarf, winding it about Zhongli’s arms and tying his wrists together with an exaggerated tug, leaving Zhongli’s bound arms resting atop a crate. “But it seems I have you at my mercy, now …”

Ajax slid his hands into the folds of Zhongli’s really very unnecessarily heavy jacket, parting layers like they were an army between him and his goal. (Cutting down an army for Zhongli -- now that made his dick twitch.) If Zhongli wanted to pretend the cold bothered him, Ajax would just have to warm him up … work his hand up under Zhongli’s shirt layers, find one of those cute nipples to toy with, let his other hand work at Zhongli’s fly …

No, he decided, taking Zhongli in hand and tracing a light circle with his thumb, watching Zhongli bow his head forehead with a heavy exhales, that wouldn’t do at all. Ajax wanted to kiss his neck, to breathe him in, to feel the jump of his pulse against his tongue. He dragged his hand back down Zhongli’s torso, flicking light touches along the tensing muscles, only to work his way back up above the clothes to bury his hand in Zhongli’s hair. With a gently firm grip he towed Zhongli straight again, pressing his face against Zhongli’s neck with satisfaction.

“Like this?” he teased, thumb still working idly as Zhongli hardened beautifully against his palm. “Or more?”

Zhongli didn’t dignify that with a response, trying to fuck into Ajax’s loose fist, and Ajax chuckled, working his hand in light strokes until a stutter to Zhongli’s hips indicated impatience. Only then did he tighten his grip, fisting Zhongli’s cock firmly and giving his hair a short, stern tug at the same time. Zhongli hissed, and Ajax rewarded him by starting to stroke him properly.

“I like it when it’s like this,” Ajax murmured. “Just you and my hand … so easy to please …”

“You please me,” Zhongli said lowly around staggered breaths, “I must be easy for it.”

Ajax kissed his neck fondly. He couldn’t see Zhongli’s pretty cock like this, but he could definitely picture it, how dark it flushed and how much it dripped, the way it pulsed and twitched at Ajax’s toying with it. He tightened his fist, jerking a little faster, and Zhongli’s breathless response made Ajax tighten his grip in Zhongli’s hair. The way Zhongli moaned at that … Ajax was grinding against him, biting at his neck, contemplating the logistics of getting his own clothes out of the way so he could push inside --

Footsteps, outside. Ajax’s hand dropped from Zhongli’s hair in a flash to plaster against his mouth, muffling his sounds.

“Shh,” Ajax breathed against Zhongli’s ear, thumb rubbing right under the head and earning a helpless jerk of Zhongli’s hips for it. “Don’t get us caught …”

Zhongli’s hot, wet mouth burning against his hand, panting sounds not stilling at all, Ajax working his hand faster. The person reached the shed, but when he tried the door, he found that it wouldn’t open -- Ajax had slipped a firm bit of Hydro construct into the handle to stop that. It wasn’t as good as a lock; the door bounced and rattled as the person jerked on the handle, grunting in frustration.

“He sure seems upset … should I let him in?”

Zhongli shuddered in his arms at that, exhibitionist that he was. Ajax dropped the hand covering Zhongli’s mouth as he flicked his wrist, and Zhongli came with a sound that seemed to echo off the walls of the shed. Outside, the fumbling sounds stopped, and Ajax chuckled.

“Uh-oh …”

“Who’s there?” the man demanded, hammering a fist against the door, but that was all Ajax heard because Zhongli whisked them away, and a blink of distortion later they stood by the Anchor near Zhongli’s house. Luckily the courtyard it was housed in was empty, or that might have given someone a real shock twice over. Ajax smiled as he kissed Zhongli’s neck, carefully working to tuck him away.

“He’s going to think his shed is haunted now,” he said. “Maybe Hu Tao will get some new business.”

Zhongli chuckled in an absurdly husky, sexy way, leaning his weight back against Ajax heavily as Ajax gladly unwound the scarf from his wrists.

“She will find it a nuisance,” he said.

“So you get a little revenge for your birthday! How nice.”

Zhongli hummed, head lolling a little against Ajax’s shoulder. Ajax liked this, these moments where Zhongli was so unusually lax and boneless. A private side of him, one that others may not guess at. Ajax turned his face against Zhongli’s hair and breathed him in, idly rubbing a slow circle against Zhongli’s belly under his coat until Zhongli straightened into perfect posture once more.

“Home, I think,” he said with a deep intent and a hot gaze turned on Ajax, and Ajax tempered an impulse to inform Zhongli he would follow Zhongli through any pain or misery and also kill every last person in the world for him. Such things went without saying, really.

“Yes,” Ajax said instead. “Let’s.”

Here was the trick for getting Zhongli to sleep as mortals did instead of passing the night in an enlightened meditative reverie: a good dinner, a hot bath, an orgasm, and an hour-long massage. As far as bedtime routines went it was about as far as you could get from Ajax, who could sleep just by closing his eyes and telling himself it was time to rest, but he didn’t mind. Even in the little time they’d lived together it had been far from habit, but even if it was happening nightly, Ajax still wouldn’t mind.

Lying next to Zhongli, seeing genuine rest on his face … it was nice. Ajax liked being able to give him something like that.

Ajax maybe stayed up a little too late that night, just watching Zhongli, enjoying his peace, but also thinking about what Zhongli had said at tea. Ceremonies, big and small, and all those compromises that made relationships work. Ajax had never wanted to be a detriment to Zhongli’s life, but it was hard to judge if he’d done real damage when Zhongli welcomed him with open arms and an easy softness. You could sink into that and forget how to look around you, it felt so right.

Zhongli shifted in his sleep, let out a soft, slightly hitched breath. Sex and sleep -- the only times his breathing was less than perfectly steady. Ajax loved him very, very much, and almost ached for it, right then.

Enough, he told himself, and shut his eyes, and slept.

The next morning passed lazily, slow sex and slipping out of bed just to use the facilities or forage for winter fruits from the kitchen to eat in bed, juice-sticky fingers wandering between bites. Outside, a dusting of snow had fallen in the night, but Ajax only spared it a glance out the window before returning to Zhongli’s warmth. By the time they finally rolled out of bed, it had melted.

“You will give me an hour?” Zhongli asked, tugging his cuffs straight. “I have something I must collect.”

“Last-minute gift shopping, Zhongli-xiansheng? How shocking.”

“More an old gift, recovered,” Zhongli said. “But please, take the time to do your visits. If you do not, I fear the director may track you down here.”

Hu Tao had so far had displayed enough tact and wisdom to not try one of her classic frog-in-bed style pranks on poor Zhongli while she knew Ajax was in residence, but maybe that lucky streak would come to an end and she would see something she shouldn’t. Ajax nodded.

“Good idea,” he said. “How about we meet at Third-Round for lunch?”

Zhongli nodded, and Ajax drew him into a deep kiss before they said their goodbyes. He tugged on his clothes that he’d washed the evening before, actually kind of missing Zhongli’s too-tight shirts in a silly way, and then went to see Ekaterinaa at the bank. She was busy, but still found a few minutes for him in her office.

“Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“Permission denied.”

“Your hair is too long. You look disreputable.”

They held eye contact for a moment then broke into laughter. Ahh. No matter how much time passed, they could always fall right back into it.

“Your court martial is pending,” he informed her, and she nodded.

“Of course, sir. Can it just wait until after the new year?”

“Got plans?”

Maybe Hu Tao had invited Ekaterina to this not-a-surprise party too.

“Maybe,” Ekaterina said coyly. Oh, Hu Tao had. Were Zhongli and Ekaterina even close, or had Ekaterina been meant to act like a representative on Ajax’s behalf? “Oh, sir. It’s very nice to see you again. How long are you here?”

“Not long enough.”

“Missing your fiancé?” she asked, not without sympathy; Ajax nodded and heaved a sigh.

“The cat’s out of the bag a dozen times over, so of course you can tell Pantalone I’m pathetically in love and pining … say, is he the reason I’ve gotten so much scut work recently? Whispering in Her Majesty’s ear in some ploy against me?”

“You are definitely overestimating how much time Lord Pantalone spends thinking about you, sir.”

“Kick the poor man when he’s down, I see how it is …”

“Would you want him to think about you?”

“Actually? No.” Ajax suddenly leaned forward. “Ms. Ekaterina, my sharp-eyed friend, how would you say Mr. Zhongli has been doing while I’ve been gone? Well enough?”

“Well enough,” she confirmed. “He keeps himself busy. It used to be he’d turn away plenty of work offers that came his way, but now he accepts at least a quarter. He eats out with friends often throughout the week -- and never seems to pay, naturally -- and there’s always theatre and exhibits and performances and so on for him to attend. And everywhere he goes, he has someone to talk to. People love him. If you could vote for a new archon, I’m sure his name would be top of the list.”

“Hah … yes, that sounds right …”

“He did ask me if I was spying on him for you once, you know.”

“And what did you say?”

“No, of course. What kind of Fatuus do you think I am?”

“I mean … you weren’t. I didn’t ask you to.”

“Yet here we are all the same.” Ekaterina smiled. “But we can call them observances of a friend --”

“Which is what they are.”

“-- and you are going to make me some scissors, so I can fix that hair.”

Ajax shook his head at her spurious accusations -- he’d spied on Zhongli plenty, for gnosis-getting plans, but that was well in the past, and he was a good husband-to-be who wouldn’t do such a thing now -- but created some Hydro construct scissors, handing them over before he removed his mask.

“Go extra short around the ears -- it’s been driving me crazy …”

After his haircut, Ajax left Ekaterina to her work and went to see Hu Tao at hers. She was saying goodbye to some patrons, and the way she switched between her light solemnity to her usual air of conniving mischief the moment the clients backs were turned was impressive to witness. She beckoned him over, and he followed her to her office in the back, a small, stuffy old room of antique furniture and overflowing cabinets that always smelled faintly of incense. He and Zhongli may or may not have gotten a little handsy in here, once or twice.

“So,” she said, once the door was shut and she’d drawn the curtains on the window with unnecessary, but appreciated, drama, “I have something to say that will shock you terribly.”

“Shock away.”

“The truth is … I’m planning a surprise party for my dear consultant.”

“Oh my,” Ajax said, hand to his chest. “Oh dear. Who could have thought?”

“I know, I know.” Hu Tao laced her hands together, tucking them beneath her chin as she regarded him with twinkling eyes. “But gather yourself, because I have your marching orders, soldier.”

Ajax saluted. “Fire away, sergeant.”

“They’re really very simple -- just keep him out of his house on his birthday until about six o’clock in the evening.”

“His house? Didn’t want to rent a banquet hall?”

“I want something cosier than that,” she said, shaking her head. “You know …”

“Yes?”

“He keeps a brave face on about it, but he does miss you,” she said. Ajax was too controlled for a flinch, but he didn’t like hearing her say it. “And I think he’s gotten too used to thinking of his home as a place for you and nobody else. I just want to remind him it’s more than a love nest, and he can open it up to others too.”

Ajax raised his brows. Was that an accurate assessment? Hu Tao did know Zhongli very well, but it just sounded so … irrational. Love was irrational, sure, but Zhongli liked to spend time with people, didn’t he?

“He is a grown man,” Ajax reminded her. “It’s his choice who he opens his home to.”

“And he can make that choice,” she said, “after my little reminder. So. Tomorrow, until six o’clock, and not a minute early.”

Ajax shrugged. It wasn’t really a terrible plan on the surface. A party in Zhongli’s home sounded nice and, well, homey. He’d just make no extra effort to hide his intentions in luring Zhongli away … though honestly, with how much Zhongli clearly knew already, he probably also knew what Hu Tao had planned.

“Alright,” he said, “but if I get into bed and there’s a frog there, I’m going to show you the kind of pranks only someone with six siblings could know.”

Hu Tao shut her eyes and heaved a lofty sigh, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

“Frogs in beds are a child’s game,” she announced. “I have moved on to far more elegant and mature things, my foolish Fatuus.”

“Snakes, huh?”

“Only non-venemous ones,” she promised, and then flapped her hands. “Now shoo. Some of us are gainfully employed.”

Ajax gave her hat a flick before she could duck out of the way, sending it askew, and grinned as she pushed him out of her office with exaggerated huffs. A glance at the lobby’s grandfather clock on the way out told him he still had some time before meeting Zhongli, so he took the Mora he’d picked up at the bank to a stall where he’d eyed something on the other day’s shopping trip he thought Zhongli might like. It wouldn’t go down as his most incredible gift (of which he would not so humbly say he had given Zhongli plenty over the years) but sometimes you just wanted a little something to say you were thinking of a person. The shopkeep agreed to deliver it to the bank, and Ajax made his way to Third-Round. Zhongli was already there, at the corner table he liked when inclement weather forced him off his beloved people-watching outside terrace. Ajax wove his way through the lunch crowd packed into the tiny space to settle across from Zhongli, shifting his stool a little closer.

“Not waiting long, I hope.”

Zhongli shook his head with a smile. “No. I have only recently arrived myself.”

“Got your errand done?”

“Yes.” Zhongli’s lashes lowered. “Did you see Ms. Ekaterina? She did well with your hair.”

“Calling me handsome, Zhongli-xiansheng?”

“All that, and more,” Zhongli said, and Ajax curled his hand around Zhongli’s, shifting his grip so the ring Zhongli had made for him kissed Zhongli’s thumb ring, enjoying the smooth resistance as they rubbed together. When he’d first noted Zhongli had an archer’s ring, he’d wondered if it was just an antique status symbol for style or if it meant Zhongli had some skills. Zhongli did; he’d demonstrated such excellent form and accuracy it had made Ajax immediately realize how wrong he was handling the bow. How talented Zhongli was; how he never stopped surprising Ajax.

“I think …”

Zhongli tilted his head, regarding Ajax curiously, but Ajax didn’t actually have an end to that thought. He shrugged, smiled, and tugged Zhongli’s hand off the table to keep hold of it as the waiter approached with tea.

Tian did not let any season or location stop his storytelling, today regaling them with a tale of Rex Lapis realizing a mountain cast too aggressive a shade on fertile farmland and so relocating it for his people’s benefit. It ended on a cliffhanger note of an evil beast attacking while Rex Lapis had the mountain in the air.

“And what did our lord do? That, my friends, is a story for another time …”

Ajax smiled. Sometimes those words had driven him a little crazy, because when he and Zhongli would go the next day it would always be a different story. Now, it was pleasantly nostalgic.

“So, Zhongli-xiansheng …” he smiled at Zhongli. “What happened next?”

Zhongli wouldn’t tell him. Zhongli never did. He respected the storyteller’s craft too much.

“Hmm. If such a thing once truly happened,” Zhongli said, smiling into his teacup, “it would be a situation requiring some imagination.”

“Just drop the mountain on the beast. Easy.”

“That may create a rather unfortunate situation for the common people nearby.”

“Heh … then I guess he should learn how to juggle.”

Zhongli chuckled, lowering his cup and gaze creasing fondly at Ajax, who beamed back, giving Zhongli’s palm a slow rub with his thumb. Honestly, he was sure they were an absolute embarrassment to witness sometimes. He’d have to remember to find his shame, some day.

“There is a forgotten story, of Rex Lapis being challenged by a canny juggler … would you like to hear it?”

“Absolutely.”

“It began on a rainy day, at a roadside shrine …”

It was easy to lose track of time when Zhongli spoke. His voice had been one of the first things that had caught Ajax’s attention, all those years ago, hitting him like lightning out of the blue. They’d talked about something he would never remember, and he hadn’t known how to handle the reaction it had brought over on him. It’ll fade, he’d assure himself, this strange fascination with the mysterious consultant, but Zhongli was not a person who was ever anything less than extraordinary.

The lunch rush passed; their own food was eaten, idling through cups of tea until a need for the bathroom knocked Ajax out of his almost dreamlike state.

“Let me powder my nose,” he said, “and then let’s get out of here. Yeah?”

Zhongli nodded his agreement. A refreshed Ajax soon paid for their meal and they took back to the streets. A wind had picked up, with heavy clouds rolling in from the ocean. It wasn’t cold enough for a snowstorm, but maybe icy rains? Ajax figured that was a good excuse as any to cuddle up at home, which was nice, but he hoped it wouldn’t be raining into tomorrow. That meant no fireworks, and though he was sure it had rained through many of Zhongli’s birthdays and he’d survived it, Ajax still wanted the best for him.

“Rain,” he observed. “Should we head home now?”

“I would like to walk a little longer,” Zhongli demurred. “I do not mind rain.”

“Hey, I don’t either. Actually, I didn’t tell you, did I, about the storm that kicked up on the ship ride over -- then this huge thing starts breaking out of the water …”

Ajax’s tale of attempted monster slaying veering into polite awkwardness upon realizing the monster in question was actually trying to help their ship carried them into the quieter southern reaches of the city where residential homes and small specialty shops lined the streets. The busy city slowly eased into wilderness beyond here, back lots turning grassier and grassier until you had fields and the ever-present mountains that cradled the Harbour on all sides. Though they’d undoubtedly walked every street of this city together at least once, this wasn’t a direction they often went, Zhongli preferring areas with more activity.

His energetic old man, so full of life …

The skies opened up. The first drops struck like little cold needles, and Ajax smiled, tipping his head back to appreciate the chill even as he thought a construct umbrella into existence. When he raised it he made sure Zhongli was fully covered. Maybe Zhongli couldn’t catch a cold, but no need for him to be uncomfortable.

“Sorry -- as I was saying, you wouldn’t believe the size of these pearls. Can’t hate the ocean when it gives us such pretty things, eh?”

“I would not say I hate the ocean …”

“Hehe, I know … hmm.” Ajax’s gaze was drawn to a distinct building set next to a small rock garden, approaching on the left. It was a temple, on the more modest end of things, though still plenty nice due to its existence in the seat of Rex Lapis’s power. The rain dripped off the eaves, pattering off the little statues out front, quiet and peaceful looking. “Say, Zhongli-xiansehng …”

“Yes?”

“Want to get married?”

Zhongli’s reply came after a brief pause. “Is this not something you already said yes to?”

“I meant right now. At that temple there.”

They stopped before the temple, the rain falling harder. Ajax peered through the half-open door; there was a priest in there, but it seemed not much else in the way of people. Ajax could just hear the sound of the priest’s broom scratching the ground under the rain.

“I … do not wish for you to feel rushed,” Zhongli finally said. “Your family --”

“I figure we can always hold a ceremony later,” Ajax said with a shrug, looking back to Zhongli. “And so long as we don’t tell my grandmother the truth, I probably won’t be disowned.”

“Childe …”

“What’s the point of waiting?” Ajax continued, shrugging again, feeling a little helpless for how silly it all was to explain. “Because if you don’t want to make a big fuss out of it … you’re just waiting on me, aren’t you?”

Zhongli didn’t quite frown, but there was a firm set to his brows that suggested he wasn’t thrilled.

“I would wait,” he said. “There would be no end to the waiting I would do for you.”

That Zhongli would do -- had done -- will do? Ajax’s free hand gently cupped Zhongli’s face, thinking that if he could do all that waiting on Zhongli’s behalf, he would.

“That’s sweet of you,” Ajax said, “but let’s not get ahead of ourselves … we’re both here, and I know what I want. Alright?”

Zhongli studied Ajax’s face a little longer, and must have found Ajax’s sincerity, because his brow relaxed and he slightly turned his face to press more into Ajax’s palm, nodding.

“Yes,” he said. “I will marry you.”

A year ago, it had been Ajax saying those words. He brushed a thumb against Zhongli’s cheek, and then they turned to enter the temple.

The ceremony was short, but precious, like a little gem that would only ever belong to them, witnessed only by that nameless officiating priest. Maybe Ajax had lied a little; there was something different about knowing things between them were this real.

“Hah … I didn’t think about the auspicious dates … sorry about that.”

“Worry not. I trust in you to make your own fortune.”

“Heh. Thank you. I’d say you’re pretty lucky too … but tell me, what do you want to do for our honeymoon?”

Ajax smiled at his husband, who smiled back, eyes crinkling softly. The rain pattered heavily on their umbrella, the streets were empty, and it seemed there was no one else in the world right then.

“We will take a trip after the new year -- for now, let us go home, and celebrate.”

“Hmm. I like the sound of that.”

Ajax took Zhongli’s arm in his own, tugging him closer, and they strode off into the rain.

The rain turned into a proper storm, then to flurries as the night drew its chill on. Ajax watched the light snow dance beyond the bedroom window, and the homesickness didn’t cut so deeply; having another home now must help with that.

“I wished to elope,” Zhongli confessed, from where he lay on Ajax’s chest. Ajax hummed, giving Zhongli’s hair another slow stroke. “This is a gift you have given me.”

“So that means I can return that other birthday gift I got you?”

Zhongli huffed a short, soft sound of amusement, hand sliding down to Ajax’s, lacing their fingers together.

“Do as you wish,” Zhongli said. “I expect nothing from you.”

“I can think of a few things you can expect …”

“Hmm.” Zhongli let out a pleased sound as Ajax scratched lightly at his nape. “Childe …”

“Yes?”

“I do wish to celebrate with your family. That is still true.”

“We will.” Right then, Ajax didn’t want to think too deeply on a family that continued to grow apart into their own lives, a family he had not seen in far too long now. Maybe a wedding would unite them again; maybe Ajax would seem so normal in their eyes for the first time in years, if they saw him in love, as any other man could be in love. Hah. Maybes -- not a thing to torment yourself over, especially when you were safe in bed with someone you loved. “There’s no rush. And hey.”

“Yes?”

“Tomorrow, we celebrate with your family. Yeah?”

Zhongli didn’t think about that as long as he might once have; he only nodded, and squeezed Ajax’s hand.

“If we occasion to see those I hold dear tomorrow, I will surely count it as a belated wedding banquet.”

“Oops. That’s right. It’s still a surprise.”

Zhongli chuckled, and Ajax could only roll them over, pushing Zhongli down with a deep kiss, ready to continue their celebrations.

In defiance of the previous night’s weather and with respect for the holy day being celebrated, the end of the year dawned bright and clear. Ajax wished Zhongli a happy birthday in a variety of different ways (most of which involved his mouth) but they decided to forsake a lengthy morning in bed to instead get out and about.

“We have to get the fish,” Ajax said as he combed out Zhongli’s hair at his vanity. “We should do that first thing.”

“Yes -- we would not wish to risk being given a late-day subpar product.” Zhongli met his gaze in the mirror. “Will you start breakfast?”

“Of course, husband.” Ajax bowed over to press a kiss to Zhongli’s crown, handing him the comb. “Any special requests?”

“Hmm. Something simple. There will be food enough later.”

Ajax squeezed Zhongli’s shoulders, tugged on a shirt, then headed downstairs. Leftover rice fried up and eggs sounded good. He had this underway by the time Zhongli joined him, at which point Ajax was immediately distracted. Zhongli was wearing something Ajax had never seen him in before, something that felt immeasurably elegant and important. Not divine, but right next to it, like a close brother. Dark browns and golds as Zhongli liked to wear, a subtle scale pattern, an impressive mantle.

“This is new,” Ajax observed, pacing closer.

“An old gift, which I have not worn in some time.”

“It’s pretty,” Ajax murmured, hands sliding happily along the curve of Zhongli’s waist. “I like it.”

Ajax then dipped Zhongli into a proper showy kiss, because when someone looked that good you needed to be big about appreciating it.

“Now how come I have such a handsome husband?” he asked against Zhongli’s lips, then pulled back to smile down at him, hand spreading a little wider against Zhongli’s lower back. “It doesn’t seem fair to be this lucky.”

Zhongli smiled back, the hands braced against Ajax’s chest sliding up a little. “They say when a god smiles upon you, it brings good fortune …”

“Ah! Do you think there’s a god out there who favours me?”

“One or two,” Zhongli said, maybe a little drily -- he had a complicated relationship with the Tsaritsa, Ajax had gathered -- and then pat Ajax’s chest. “The rice is burning.”

Ajax sighed playfully, but before returning to breakfast pressed one last kiss to Zhongli’s mouth because some things were more important than good food. After the (really only mildly too crispy) meal was eaten they left the home to its presumed incoming Hu Tao invasion and made for the docks. Despite the early hour it was busy as, but the fishmonger clearly recognized Ajax and Zhongli and they managed to get their fish quickly.

Of course, only after leaving the stall did Ajax realize a slight problem, namely that he had to get this fish to Hu Tao. If she was already at Zhongli’s, he wouldn’t be able to do that without leaving Zhongli’s side, and naturally he didn’t want to do that unless he absolutely had to for god and country.

“I don’t suppose you see a plucky kid looking to make some quick Mora, Zhongli-xiansheng …”

“Hmm.” Zhongli turned his head slightly. “I believe a solution arrives.”

Ajax didn’t get to ask what Zhongli meant before there was a whipping of power in the form of a sharp breeze that had him turning and about to think a weapon to hand … only to recognize the sudden arrival. He left a battle ready stance to cock his head at the short adeptus standing stiffly atop a pile of crates.

“Ah. Hello. Happy new year.”

“The fish,” Xiao said, jumping off the crates to land neatly before them, glaring at Ajax with hawkish yellow eyes. “Give it to me.”

“Excuse me? Is this a mugging?”

“No,” Xiao said with a tight sigh. “I’m going to bring it to where it needs to be.”

He said this with the grim tone of voice someone might say they were taking a sick dog out back to shoot it. Ajax blinked, glancing at Zhongli, who had his mouth tucked behind his fist in a way that was either pensive or hiding a smile. He caught Ajax’s eye, and nodded.

“Thank you,” Zhongli said. His tone was level enough, and warm. “That is kind of you.”

Xiao looked like the compliment made him want to throw himself into the ocean. Ajax kind of understood the guy. He handed the wrapped fish over as asked, and Xiao carefully cradled it against his chest. There was a moment of silence and then, still sounding pained, Xiao said:

“Happy new year, to you both.”

“Happy new year, Xiao,” Zhongli said. “Each year, I count myself fortunate to know you, and the world fortunate to have you in it. May we see another year together that shines upon you.”

Xiao looked away, shuffled his feet, nodded jerkily, then vanished in another sharp breeze that seemed to cut through the air around them. Somewhere behind them someone shouted:

“The adepti bless the new year!”

Cheers went up about this from all the early-morning shoppers and dockworkers within earshot of the enthusiastic fellow. Ajax chuckled.

“Is that true, Xiansheng? Are we blessed?”

“Good company is always a blessing,” Zhongli replied easily. “In this regard, I count myself fortunate many times over.”

“You sweet talker you.” Ajax waved a hand at Zhongli as they started to walk again. “My mother warned me about men like you …”

“Indeed? What did she say?”

“That you absolutely have to marry them.”

“Then it seems you were an attentive son.”

“Mm-hm. And aren’t you lucky, because they say attentive sons make for good husbands …”

They flirted as they strolled, taking in the city as more and more people awoke and began their celebrations. It wasn’t meant to be as big as Lantern Rite, but there were still things to enjoy. They caught a duelling poetry match, enjoyed tea with some old chess players, and occupied themselves at a few booths with little games and food. Zhongli, resolutely aware that he knew the secrets of these games more than most and that he had preternatural skills did not believe in joining in on the competitions, but Ajax had his fun. Though as much as he liked to win, the most fun came from when a kid was his opponent. Then it was on him to believably lose by a narrow enough margin that the kid in question was left feeling unstoppable.

“Hey!” The girl pointed at him. “Take that, mister!”

“Ack …” Ajax grinned. “You’re supposed to be humble in victory, aren’t you?”

“Uhh …” her nose scrunched. “That’s something losers say.”

Ajax bit back a laugh (he couldn’t help it -- he loved rude kids) as Zhongli tilted his head gravely at the little girl.

“When Rex Lapis faced his greatest foes, mercy was a difficult recourse,” he said. The way she straightened, like something in her could tell this was important, coming from someone important, was adorable. “Yet it was something he held in high regard, for a compassionate heart and a humble mind is what makes for a true hero. Are heroes not a thing we all aspire to?”

“Uh -- well, uh -- yes!” the girl nodded. “Heroes are the best!”

“Knowing this, wisdom may be found, I believe. Do you agree?”

“Right! I mean -- yes, that’s right!”

Ajax’s smile softened as he watched Zhongli get through to the girl. If there was something he was sure on, it was how good a father Zhongli would be. Kind, patient, and firm without ever being cruel. If Ajax was living a different life in a different world … but as things were, it was just a warm dream -- out of reach, but nice to keep tucked into your heart all the same.

“Now I’m sure your mother is missing you,” Ajax said to the little miss. “Why don’t you go tell her you won? Maybe she’ll get you a treat.”

The girl’s eyes widened, and with a grin and a cheeky, “See ya, nearly-a-winner-mister!” she ran off. Ajax turned to Zhongli, giving his sleeve a little tug.

“And he thinks he’s no good with kids,” he teased. “But c’mon. I need a treat myself. Where do you want to get lunch?”

“Hmm. Maybe a stall selling scallion pancakes …”

As they went in search of this (not much of a search, with Zhongli knowing where everything in Liyue was, but he let Ajax lead all the same) a stray firework went off. It was easy to tell this wasn’t intentional as a harried looking Qixing employee soon ran past toward the source, clutching at her hat to keep it on.

“It’s always something, eh, Zhongli-xiansheng?”

“Certainly, planning large public events is a way to learn every way in which even the simplest of tasks may go wrong. Once --”

“Ho! Zhongli-xiansheng!”

They were flagged down by one of Zhongli’s scholar friends. This one was part of a little group whose name Ajax had forgotten -- he called them the Old Fogeys himself -- that were always eager to debate matters of history and Rex Lapis with Zhongli.

“I’m glad I caught up with you -- I’m on my way to a lunch at Spring Rabbit. We have a room -- would you and Master Childe like to join us?”

Zhongli glanced at Ajax, who nodded with a slight shrug. It wasn’t like they had real plans otherwise.

“Yes, we will join you. Thank you.”

“Wonderful! We simply have to discuss that find out by the prison -- it’s the talk of the town!”

Ajax had no idea what this man was talking about, but Zhongli clearly did, and as they walked Ajax gathered it was about some discovery of a large amount of buried pottery. Needless to say, this was not a conversation that required or wanted his input, so he just admired Zhongli instead.

Most of the others were already at the Rabbit, and though Ajax would guess a majority of these fellows were unmarried, two of them had brought wives. One of them was clearly just as invested in history as her husband, almost immediately launching into a debate with Zhongli about some kind of antiquities protocol. The other looked lost and a little bored, so Ajax took it upon himself to keep her entertained. As he worked his charms, he kept an ear on Zhongli’s conversations to enjoy the neverending comedy of Zhongli arguing about history with mortals.

“But it simply makes no sense, Zhongli-xiansheng! The imagery is undeniable!”

“The imagery is suggestive, I would say, but rather more importantly beautiful, which is its own value into itself --”

“No, no -- you madman, really, our lord wouldn’t have let something inaccurate go out like that!”

“I imagine even Rex Lapis has made his erroneous judgements, but again, this was more a matter of form before all function --”

These guys thrived off getting steamed up about Zhongli’s strange-seeming ideas, and though Zhongli always deflected when Ajax asked, he suspected that Zhongli enjoyed how heated the debates got as well. Maybe this was his last battlefield, and it was fun to watch.

Halfway through lunch the wife’s giggling drew Ajax some suspicious looks from her husband, and he draped his arm casually across the back of Zhongli’s chair to remind the man he was happily taken. Married, in fact, and remembering that made a silly, genuine smile cross his face. They hadn’t told anyone yet, but he was sure it was written all over his face all the same.

Lunch took longer than Ajax expected, the involved discussion continuing into extra cups of tea until the staff started to politely chivy them out. They said goodbyes and shared well wishes, but they weren’t walking long before Zhongli turned to him with a request.

“If you would accommodate me, I wish to visit a temple.”

The one other new year they’d celebrated together, Zhongli had said he wasn’t in the habit of visiting the temples with everyone else. That he felt what happened on this day was not really for Rex Lapis but for mortals, so they would have reason to find joy and warmth even in their coldest days, and he did not wish to impose. Ajax hadn’t totally gotten it, but he wasn’t a six thousand year old god who probably didn’t even have an actual birthday, so understandably there were perspectives they would never share. What he did know was how mortals felt about their gods; as nice as any relief in winter was, there was plenty of genuine love for Rex Lapis being shown today.

“I would accommodate you. Do you want to make an offering, say a prayer? Should we get incense on the way?”

“My intentions are less a religious visit,” Zhongli said. “I also speak not of a city temple, which will be busy at this time … will you give me your arm?”

“Yes, of course.”

Ajax accepted Zhongli’s arm curiously and let Zhongli guide him into a quiet, shadowed alley where he could disappear them without being watched. Why was Zhongli taking them out of the city? he wondered. It wasn’t like there weren’t plenty of temples to choose from here.

A blink later they were standing in what looked like the crook of two mountains; judging by the horizon they were fairly high up, though he could see only grand, sweeping Liyuen countryside from this angle. Snow fell around them, and a temple stood in a copse of trees.

“Where are we?” he asked.

“About a day’s walk from Yilong Port,�� Zhongli said. “This is informally called the Twin-peak temple.”

“And it’s … special? More than any temple is?”

“It is, at present time, abandoned,” Zhongli said, crunching through the shallow snow toward the temple. Ajax followed, still curious. “The stairs leading here collapsed in late autumn, and it was decided repairs would have to wait until next spring. The elderly priest did not wish to abandon his post, but Rex Lapis appeared to him in dream to ask that he put his health first, for no food or medicine could be brought to him here and the winter may prove a harsh one. He is in the nearby village for the time being.”

“So we’re here to neaten up? Do a kind turn for the new year?”

Zhongli paused. “We … may also do this, yes.”

That was when Ajax finally cottoned on, and he grinned.

“In a temple? For shame, Zhongli-xiansheng. I thought you were a respectful, respectable gentleman.”

“I do recall an incident in a shrine …”

“Eh? Hehehe … hmm … maybe …”

Ajax scratched his cheek (it hadn't been one of his finer moments) while Zhongli shook his head with a slight smile. They let themselves into the temple, which was quiet, cool, and dusty on the inside. It was country-standard, a small main room and a door in the back leading to the priest’s quarters. In the middle was an altar with a stone bowl for offerings; wandering closer revealed that a single Mora was all that was left. Hopefully because the priest had taken the offerings for safekeeping, not because some particularly cowardly thieves had come by. Ajax dragged a finger through the dirty film atop the altar -- maybe cleaning really would be in order -- then turned at Zhongli’s light touch to his lower back. He looked at his husband, who met his gaze before retreating a few steps, still watching Ajax.

Zhongli said nothing, only pressed a hand to his chest, almost seeming to sink in a little as if he had a gnosis still to retrieve, and from this touch a great rippling gold spilled out, like the pennants of a burning sun. It was brief and bright, and once it faded Zhongli had traded his handsome dark robes for another far more divine pair in white. Ajax followed the sharp lines of it down arms which now glowed a hot gold, and it was like those hands were buried in his own chest, warming him from the inside.

“This is what you want?” Ajax asked quietly, returning his gaze to meet Zhongli’s.

“Yes,” Zhongli said, dripping with divine grace. “Like this, here.”

As bed partners went, Zhongli was all superficial contradictions. Bossy but passive, proud but submissive. As a general rule he didn’t beg and he didn’t kneel, but he could make the filthiest requests without shame. Standing here like this, divinity wanting to be worshipped and defiled, he was all those things at once. Ajax approached, remembering that time at the shrine. That had been Zhongli proving himself to Ajax -- this? Hah. Ajax didn’t know. He just knew that Zhongli was beautiful, and if it was Ajax’s turn to prove himself, he would do so, gladly.

“Hmm.” Ajax grabbed Zhongli’s waist, enjoying the way the solid press of muscle didn’t feel as obscured by layers as it normally did. “Morax in the flesh …”

A quick glance at Zhongli’s face confirmed the name was the right one to use, and he ducked his head to kiss at Zhongli's neck, hands dropping lower to grab handfuls of Zhongli's ass. Now that was something divine right there, he thought with a sly smile, fondling and kissing and tonguing the underside of Zhongli's jaw until Zhongli was grabbing at the back of his jacket.

“Of course, maybe it's not,” Ajax said. “Should a god make this so easy..?”

Zhongli's breath hitched as Ajax picked him up, burying one of those golden hands into Ajax's hair, thighs squeezing his sides.

“You would prefer difficult?”

“A little fight first wouldn't be so bad,” Ajax said, smiling up at Zhongli as he carried him to the altar. “Blade on blade before blade meets blade …”

Ajax set Zhongli on the altar's edge, leaning back to admire the sight of him. Clothes aside he still mostly just felt like Zhongli; this was testament to both Zhongli's natural grace and his complete lack of acting skills.

“That may damage the temple,” Zhongli said lowly.

“Maybe I don’t care,” Ajax teased, bracing his hands on either side of Zhongli's hips. “Maybe I’d gladly break every pretty temple you have.”

He emphasized this by reaching behind Zhongli to knock the offering bowl off the table. It hit the ground loudly, though didn’t sound like it broke; the Mora rolled off and fell with a quiet sound that Ajax barely heard over Zhongli’s deep exhale. He smiled slowly at Zhongli.

“Are you going to make me get that?”

Zhongli’s lashes lowered. “No.”

Ajax stepped closer, nudging Zhongli's thighs further apart.

“I could keep going … see how the stone of Liyue stands up against this walking natural disaster … but do I need to?” He grabbed Zhongli's waist, slid his hands higher to thumb Zhongli's nipples through the clinging fabric. Archons, if he couldn't spend all day playing with these if given the chance. “You would still let me, wouldn't you?”

Faint colour was rising in Zhongli's cheeks as he turned his face slightly away, but kept a sharp golden eye on Ajax.

“Yes.”

“No matter what I flood or burn or cut down or tear apart …” Ajax laughed softly. “But the gods are generous to everyone, so they say, even us wicked ones who don’t deserve it.”

Zhongli's breathing was starting to sound tight; Ajax would have to get him moaning to knock some air into him.

“Childe, you--”

“Going to argue with me, Morax?” Ajax leaned in to nuzzle at Zhongli's neck again, one hand dropping to press against Zhongli's cock, setting a firm, slow rub to it. Zhongli made a short sound, hips shifting beneath Ajax's touch. “Because I'm sure you know what your people would say, if they could see their lord like this for a Harbinger …”

“They would come to accept his desires,” Zhongli said, deeply and with sincerity, which made Ajax smile as he nipped at Zhongli's pulse point.

“All of them? Hmm? Every little last dirty one …?”

Ajax continued to kiss his way down as he spoke, until he could tongue at Zhongli’s pebbling nipple. The way Zhongli arched into that … foreplay was a test of endurance and one’s skills, and Ajax liked to warm Zhongli up until he was softened wax in the hands, but there was still that desire to just be as close as possible, as soon as possible. He channeled this need into a hungry mouth, laving and sucking and teasing while his fingers played with Zhongli’s other nipple; Zhongli’s hands were a steady, tugging pressure on Ajax’s hair as he tried to rock against Ajax but couldn’t with the angle Ajax was slanted at.

“Childe …”

Ajax responded by swapping sides. Out of the corner of his eye he could see how the white fabric looked, soaked through and clinging to the flushed, tight bud underneath, and it was pretty enough to be worth doing twice. Pretty, and arching beneath his hands, his mouth, until Zhongli’s arousal-roughed voice broke the air.

“You like myself easy for your hand, but you will not indulge me now?”

“Mmm?” Ajax restrained a laugh. Foreplay also meant getting an extra-eager Zhongli, and he liked that too. “Like this?”

Ajax worked his hand under the layers and down the soft trousers, smiling a little at the lack of undergarments of any kind -- (a question about the gods most scholars would never be able to answer, but here he was) -- and curled his hand around Zhongli’s cock. Always so eager, always fitting so perfectly in the cradle of Ajax’s hand, always so wet at the tip … he thumbed through that wetness, pushing down and rubbing with a slow twist of his hand until Zhongli made a sound that could be called a whimper in someone less dignified. Ajax dragged his thumb down, smearing that wetness all down the hot line of Zhongli’s pretty, silken cock, jerking a few times as his mouth kept at its sucking. The hands buried in his hair tightened, Zhongli heaving out a --

“Childe -- I wish --”

Ajax flicked a look up. Zhongli met his gaze with his chin tucked against his rapidly rising chest.

“More?” Ajax asked, pulling back.

“More,” Zhongli confirmed, and Ajax smiled.

“A god can be a bit more commanding than that, can’t he?” he asked, giving another flick of his wrist. Zhongli inhaled slowly, and Ajax kindly slowed the movement of his hand. “Go on, Yanwang Dijun. Tell me exactly what you want me to do to you.”

Never let it be said Zhongli backed down from any challenge.

“I want you to take of me,” he said, hands dripping down to caress Ajax’s neck before grabbing at his shoulders, tugging him upright, closer, “to drink of me, to make me a wanting vessel waiting to be filled, to break upon me a furious wave, to sunder my defenses and part me to my softest flesh …” Zhongli tipped his head down, pressing their foreheads together “... I want you to show this god exactly what mortals are capable of.”

Ajax was so hard right about then he could probably fuck a hole in a glacier, but he contained himself by pushing up to kiss Zhongli deeply, messily, teeth and tongue before he pulled back to breathlessly oblige.

“Don’t you say the nicest things … how can I say no?”

Ajax soon had Zhongli splayed out properly atop the altar like some storybook sacrifice as he made quick work of Zhongli’s trousers, leaving him bare legged beneath the white tunic. Ajax spread those legs and stepped between them, gaze hungry. The way the light fabric tented over his hard cock, a hint of a wet patch to match the more obvious ones Ajax had sucked onto his chest … Ajax exhaled in satisfaction as he drew his hands up to Zhongli’s torso.

“So beautiful …” he pressed firmly on Zhongli’s tensing middle, keeping him flat as he bent over to tongue Zhongli’s cock through the fabric, tasting him. There was a thumping sound, like head meeting stone, and he smugly felt Zhongli’s bare knees draw up in reflex.

“Childe.”

Ajax straightened again. Boy, that had sounded impatient.

“Ah? Am I being a tease …? Sorry, sorry …”

Zhongli harrumphed a little as Ajax repositioned himself with a wink and some groping hands, tugging the tunic out of the way. With Zhongli’s thighs flush to his torso, calves hooked over his shoulders, he pressed a bare Hydro-wet fingers into Zhongli, slowly, watching as Zhongli arched against the stone as if Ajax’s fingers were moving his whole body. A furious wave … but this stone could weather it.

“Happy birthday, Morax.”

The words were quiet but sincere when Ajax pushed his achingly hard cock inside Zhongli, who gave way so easily. Zhongli watched him, lips parted wetly, a hint of tongue bracing against the back of his teeth, little ragged breaths falling out of him. That first thrust … Zhongli always reacted the same, looking like he was trying to memorize the feel of it. And he touched himself, thinking of this? Tried to? Worked his hand -- hands? -- with frustrated unfulfilledness, wishing Ajax was there to fuck him properly …?

Ajax rocked back before he was all the way in and snapped his hips; Zhongli arched off the altar with a guttural cry.

“Ah -- ah --!”

Ajax fucked him sharply, deeply, rolling thrusts that rocked Zhongli against the altar until Zhongli was grabbing onto the edges to stay steady. The way his face went tight with pleasure, the way his moans were practically a purring rumble, the way he seemed to glow at all the tips like he’d swallowed a star … Ajax was wild for it, feral, civilization forgotten as he lost himself in his husband.

Zhongli tipped his head back, eyes squeezing shut, and Ajax tutted with breathless glee. That wouldn’t do. His recognition was here for Zhongli, and Zhongli needed to see that.

“Keep your eyes on me, Morax,” Ajax cooed. “Don’t ignore -- hah -- that it’s me doing this to you …”

Zhongli reopened them with seeming difficulty, the burning gold veiled by dark lashes, but meeting Ajax’s gaze all the same. He was tight and quivering and getting even tighter and it was no surprise when he came with a cry that made the earth beneath them shake a little, a tremble that jolted Ajax just that bit deeper into Zhongli’s clenching heat and soon had him grinding out his own orgasm, fingers digging into the flesh of Zhongli’s thighs. He fucked them both through it, heat spreading and dripping until the sound of it was obscene, and distantly he heard the sound of something breaking.

“Fuck -- so good for me, Morax, so good …”

Ajax dropped Zhongli’s legs to reach forward to grab the front of his tunic and haul him up into a kiss, hip still working to fuck little frissons up through Zhongli’s body he could taste off his tongue. He didn’t ever really soften before they were moving together again, afterglow becoming another frantic, somewhat sloppy round where he kept Zhongli close and forgot it was winter for how hot and close and wet it was between them.

“Zhongli -- Zhongli --”

Zhongli said nothing, only panted out sharp cries against his temple. Ajax pulled him closer still, and thought he’d never let go.

That was just a dream, of course. Eventually, all good things came to an end, and parting after another orgasm became a little necessary -- even Ajax could only tough his way through an oversensitive, spent cock so long -- but they kept grabbing at each other all the same, trading slick kisses. It was a while before their mouths could be spared for talking, before he wanted to do more than just rut idly against Zhongli and feel him squirm in response.

“Ahh …” Ajax nuzzled along Zhongli’s jaw, kissing at his ear. “Good?”

Zhongli hummed an agreement.

“I think you broke something …”

Zhongli’s voice was an unfairly sexy hoarse rumble when he spoke. “The bowl, yes.”

“Can you fix it?”

“Once stone decides to part, not even I may command it to join once more,” Zhongli said. “I will make a new one instead.”

“Haha … guess he can’t complain about the providence of that …”

Zhongli hummed again in agreement, and pressed a slow, tender kiss to Ajax’s temple. He’d gotten better at these little human gestures, and thinking that was likely thanks to Ajax was a thought worth treasuring.

“Thank you for this,” Zhongli said quietly. “It was all I could have wished for, and more.”

“I know. I really am that good.”

He felt Zhongli shake his head a little, and pulled back to smile at him before shutting his eyes.

“Now shh … considering the location, you have to let me make a prayer.”

“Hm. Do you believe it will reach its recipient?”

“I hope so,” Ajax said, smoothing his hand up and down Zhongli’s back slowly. “Because Rex Lapis should know I’m very grateful for giving me the chance to meet you.”

Zhongli kissed his temple again, and held Ajax in return as Ajax showed his gratitude.

They approached Zhongli’s home with a minute to spare until six o’clock; Ekaterina waited outside, looking handsome in a dark fur-trimmed Snezhnayan dress. Over her arm she had a shirt and jacket draped.

“Hello, sir,” she said. “Were you really going to show up to the party dressed like that?”

Ajax glanced down at himself. Okay, maybe there was dust clinging to him from all the tussling in an abandoned temple they’d done, but …

“It’s not so bad. It’s just a little dust.”

“It’s not about that -- though, really, what were you two doing? It’s about dressing up. You aren’t walking in there looking like a soldier, not with Mr. Zhongli looking so handsome -- here. Change.”

Ah. It seemed Ekaterina had foreseen his lack of anything more formal to change into. She really was too good.

“Thank you, Ms. Ekaterina.”

Ajax stripped to the waist while Zhongli and Ekaterina chatted a little about the day’s celebrations, and pulled on the handsome button-down and jacket Ekaterina had thoughtfully provided. They fit well enough, if a little tight around the shoulders. A pat to the pocket revealed his gift to Zhongli was tucked inside, no doubt neatly wrapped. Ah. She thought of everything.

“There. How do I look?”

“Entirely handsome,” Zhongli said, and Ekaterina gestured to him as if to say, ‘Trust the man.’ “You have quite the fine eye, Ms. Ekaterina.”

“Thank you, Zhongli-xiansheng.”

Ekaterina accepted his dirty jacket and shirt, and Ajax grinned at Zhongli. “Ready to walk inside and have nothing at all happen?”

“Hmm. Actually, I suspect the director may have something planned.”

Ajax was still laughing about that as they let themselves into Zhongli’s home, tugging on their slippers, Ekaterina quickly slipping past them. Even if they’d been totally ignorant, anyone could have heard the mass of breathing people and smothered giggles coming from the sitting room. They approached, and all the lights went on at once as a loud barrage of voices shouted in somewhat clumsy unison:

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”

Hu Tao was leader of the pack, of course, but Ajax was impressed at the golden-red decorating job she’d done and the crowd she’d assembled. A quick look saw Ganyu and Keqing seated next to Yanfei and Ping on the sofa, Xianyun and Shenhe in the corner with two more people of adeptal descent like the doctor Chenguang; Xiao was half-lurking the doorway. Zhongli's Wangsheng Parlour colleagues had turned up, the Ferrylady an unexpected delight in green instead of her undertaker darks. There was also a few of Zhongli's favourite scholarly and antiquing buddies, such as Rolf and his wife Huifang, or the scholar who had flagged them down earlier for lunch, smiling cheekily. Chef Mao, Xiangling, and Guoba were cheering, alongside a bunch of the rest from Hu Tao's younger friend group. Ekaterina's girlfriend occupied a chair with exceptional grace with what Ajax was pretty sure was a poet Zhongli was fond of perched behind her. Round off this eclectic collection was a sprightly youth in green he couldn't place, who was fiddling with the record player.

“Ah.” Zhongli crossed his arms, nodding with a slight smile. “A surprise party. How novel.”

This earned some laughter. Before Hu Tao and other well wishers descended on them, Ajax took the opportunity to lean in and kiss his cheek.

“Happy birthday, Zhongli,” he said softly.

Zhongli grabbed his hand, gave it a tender squeeze, and then was pulled away by Hu Tao to be the heart of the party. Ajax smiled fondly, and went to make Zhongli a drink.

END

#tartali #childe #tartaglia #zhongli #genshin fic #my writing #i don't think the genshin fandom is even on tumblr but i still prefer it as a platform sob

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kharti · 2 years

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[ Diddle Where You Work #5 ]

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Ed drew his fingers along his own jaw, and Stede watched insecurity flicker across the man's face.

( Continue reading on AO3 or... )

Ed drew his fingers along his own jaw, and Stede watched insecurity flicker across the man's face.

"What?" Stede prompted softly, his gaze darting between eyes, fingers, lips. "Do you not like it?"

"Hmm?" Ed shook his head. "No, just. Little caught off-guard by how sensitive m'skin is."

Without any thought, Stede reached up and touched Ed's cheek, the skin soft and smooth and warm.

Ed sucked in a shaky breath, his eyes half-lidded as his own hand moved to cover Stede's. "Listen..."

"I'm so sorry," Stede started to say, but his attempt to pull his hand away was stopped by Ed squeezing it gently. "I wasn't—"

"No, seriously. Listen." The corner of Ed's mouth lifted into a small, lopsided grin. "It took everythin' I had to finally come in here. An' I know it's a lot, t'just confess a bunch of shit on you out of nowhere, but." He turned his head to brush his lips against Stede's fingertips before he let go and stepped back. "If y'want me t'just pay fer the shave an' leave, I will."

Stede was frozen in place, his hand still raised, just hovering in the air.

You don't try, he repeated to himself, so of course you don't have anyone.

Lucius took risks. If someone gave him a flirty look, he dove right in. He had so many stories of failed flings and earth-shattering sex and how all of them were worth every awkward moment of the first to experience just one of the latter.

Stede had always wondered how one just, took the risk, put themselves out there with the knowledge things could not go right. How Lucius or anyone could just let go of fear and give themselves up to chance.

And now, in front of him, standing right here, was a man who had taken a big leap of faith just to have a short moment of near-intimacy.

"Okay." Stede stepped forward. "All right."

Ed looked at him with a growing smile spreading across his face. "Yeah?"

Stede breathed in to steady his racing heart as everything told him to run away, stay safe, don't risk embarrassment or heartache or failure. But then he inhaled the scent of the man, leather and smoke, and it filled his lungs with warmth.

"I would very much like to kiss—"

Ed didn't wait for him to finish before he closed the distance between them, pressed their lips together in what was, surprisingly, a kiss so soft and gentle and nothing like what he would have expected from a man who looked like someone who lived rough and tough.

Stede appreciated it. He genuinely smiled against Ed's lips at the tenderness, gave a happy little hum to ensure it was clear that he did like it.

And then he put a hand to the back of Ed's neck and pulled him down closer, daring to use his tongue to part their lips, just enough to make the silent request for more.

Ed didn't need anything more than that, his whole body moving to crowd Stede against the chair and pinning him there while he absolutely devoured him in a way Stede had never known a person could be consumed.

Ed pulled back just enough to break contact, his forehead to Stede's as they panted, gasped, neither of them remembering how to breathe correctly.

"Fuck," Ed murmured, rubbing his cheek to Stede's like a cat. "Fuck, it feels so good."

"Kissing?" Stede asked with a delirious, breathless laugh. "Yes, you are rather good at it."

"No. Well, yeah. That too." Ed moved to rub their other cheeks together. "But the. Contact, it's so—intense, like my skin's not been touched in so long that I forgot it could feel."

Stede dared to turn his head and dragged his teeth over Ed's jaw, smiling at the pitchy moan it drew out of the man. "Technically, it has been hidden away under your beard..."

Stede lifted one hand to trace his fingernails along the other cheek while he started to kiss and even dared to lick the one turned toward him.

"Stede, fuck—" Ed moved even closer, slipped his leg between Stede's so he could grind himself on his thigh. "I want you so fuckin' bad—"

"How long?" Stede, in turn, rubbed against Ed's thigh, the two of them dry humping each other like absolutely hormone-addled teenagers.

"Huh?"

Stede wrapped his arms around him, fingers finding purchase in the seams of Ed's leather jacket and holding on while they rocked together, desperation thick in the air.

"How long—have you wanted me?"

Ed snorted and shook his head. "It's embarrassin'."

Stede bit his lower lip and tugged on it, kissed him hard before returning his teeth to the curve of Ed's jawline. "Please, indulge me... I've never been wanted before."

Ed released a shuddering breath. "Too fuckin' long. Been tryin' t'work up the nerve... god, I sound like a lunatic."

"No!" Stede tightened his grip and pulled back to look up into his eyes. "No, please, I don't—I don't mind."

"'Fraid yer gonna think I'm a stalker."

Stede couldn't help a small chuckle. "Are you?"

"Nope." Ed rubbed their noses together. "Don't know where y'live, no clue if y'like tea or coffee."

Stede laughed, fully and completely and a little too loudly. He snorted in his attempt to quiet himself, which only made him laugh harder. "That's... That's your definition of a stalker?"

"Yep." Ed held out a moment longer, then started to shake before the laughter was forced out of him.

And for a moment, they just held each other and laughed, their lips brushing together in futile attempts to recapture the previous heat, but the mood had simmered into something strangely resembling a kinship that had been formed over a long time, not a single evening.

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#our flag means death #ofmd #blackbonnet #gentlebeard #alternate universe #hairdresser au #ed x stede #diddle where you work - hairdresser au ficlets

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whelvenwings · 3 years

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Castiel's grace is missing, and Dean's frustrated - instead of looking for it, all Castiel wants to do is grow his flowers. Eventually, the two of them have to talk about it.

Read it below or here on AO3! Tags: Canon Divergent, Gardener!Cas, Cas' Grace

This fic was inspired by this wonderful art by saminzat, and written as part of the @spnreverse-promptchallenge!

It’s not Heaven. It’s not even close. It’s just a garden, where Castiel is growing things.

If it were Heaven, Castiel thinks, then Dean would be looking a lot happier, those wrinkles around his eyes all eased away. If it were Heaven, there would have been a break in the clouds overhead when Dean arrived.

If it were Heaven, the peach rose would be in bloom, not straggling all green and leggy and ungainly through the picket fence that Castiel had put up to help it grow.

Castiel puts down the secateurs he’s been using to prune the forsythia, and takes off his gardening gloves. He walks over to Dean, acutely aware of the fact that he’s wearing enough sunscreen to make his skin shine, the worn-thin, oversized blue t-shirt he found at a Goodwill that says Thyme to Garden, and a very large sunhat to protect the back of his neck.

Sunburn, he reminds himself, is more uncomfortable than the growing look of mixed amusement and judgement in Dean’s eyes. Even on a cloudy day, his skin will burn if he’s outside for a long time. Something he learned the hard way after becoming human.

“I thought you were researching a case,” Castiel says to Dean as he approaches.

“Done. Thought I’d come say hi.” Dean raises an eyebrow and a half-smile at him in greeting. “So, hi.”

Castiel stops a few feet from him and tips his hat a little further back on his head, so that Dean can clearly see his face.

“Hello,” he says. Dean takes in the hat, the t-shirt, the full gardening ensemble, with one sweeping gaze.

“Looking good,” Dean says.

Castiel looks down at himself, and then solemnly back to Dean.

“Thank you,” he says, with just enough irony in his tone to get Dean to smile. Or it would have been, usually, but today Dean’s expression is sinking back into hard lines. The greyish, muted light seems to lie heavy on him, putting a coldness in his eyes.

Castiel searches his face. Just as he’s about to say something more, Dean breaks their stare, glancing around at the plants nearest him as a light breeze ruffles at them.

“They’ve grown since last time you showed me,” Dean says. He’s holding himself strangely, his fists clenched. Castiel tilts his head to one side, and then looks around with Dean at the garden.

He feels the familiar spark of happiness as he surveys his handiwork. Once, the place had been a sad little patch of chalky, lump-filled earth. Now the flowers drip off their stems like dewdrops, and the soil smells rich, and the leaves tremble their creaky little paths to follow the sun each day. Even the blossomless peach rose has strong roots.

Castiel glances back to Dean, and feels the warmth in his chest sputter out. Dean’s eyeing the plantlife with an expression that doesn’t seem impressed.

“It’s been a while since last time,” Castiel says.

“Yeah. Well, you know.” Dean looks distracted, frowning down at a squat little succulent plant. There’s something bothering him, obviously, and Castiel isn’t sure whether Dean wants to be asked about it or have it be left alone.

“You’re always welcome,” Castiel tries quietly. Dean seems to catch himself, shifting his expression to something more neutral as he turns back to Castiel.

“Yeah,” he says, not as though he particularly believes it, and – in a way that almost manages to seem genuine – not as though he particularly cares.

“You can stay,” Castiel says. “If you want. There’s plenty to do. If you’re not busy.”

Dean puts his hands into his pockets and looks around the garden again, this time with his eyes a little less sharp.

“Nah,” he says. “Nah, I don’t wanna spoil the fun.”

Spoil the fun? Castiel gives Dean a look that he hopes is eloquent, and Dean rolls his eyes.

“I dunno, man,” he says. “Anyway, it’s not really me, is it.”

He looks tired, Castiel thinks.

“Didn’t think it was you, either,” Dean adds after a half-beat. He reaches up unselfconsciously, and then seems to realise what he’s doing at the last moment, and awkwardly flicks the brim of Castiel’s hat with the back of one finger before taking a step away. “Didn’t think you’d ever go in for… you know. Whatever this is.”

Castiel can easily read that expression on Dean’s face. He’s seen it before, in other times, other places. The mixture of bravado and hurt and confusion had made sense when lives had been at stake and grand lies had been unfolding, but this – here, today, in among his roses and sunflowers, Castiel hadn’t expected it. Dean looks betrayed.

And Castiel doesn’t know what to say. He reaches up to his hat, just brushing the brim with the tips of his fingers in the same place Dean touched it.

“I need the hat,” he says. “To keep the sun off my neck.”

“Right,” Dean says. “Yeah.” He looks up at the sky, which is still an overcast grey.

“Even through clouds,” Castiel offers.

“Uh huh. Okay.”

Castiel squints at him.

“You seem angry,” he says. No more dancing around it. Predictably, Dean makes a face, as though the suggestion were ridiculous.

“Nah.”

“Dean.” Castiel fixes him with a look, and Dean shrugs.

“Whatever, man.”

“If something is wrong…” Castiel says.

“Listen, if coming out here and growing your little flowers and everything helps, then that’s fine,” he says. “It’s fine.”

There’s a but coming, and Castiel knows enough to wait for it. Dean looks aimlessly around at the burgeoning plants. His eyes trace the tangle of a buddleia, until he glances back to Castiel, who raises an eyebrow.

Dean’s front drops, the stiffness going out of his shoulders, his hands unclenching.

“But your grace, man,” he says. Castiel looks down at the ground. He should have expected this, he knew. But somehow hearing the words still takes him by surprise.

“What about it,” he says, in a tone that doesn’t really want an answer, but knows it’s going to get one.

Dean’s hands come up, palms facing out, asking a question without words at first.

“Seriously,” he manages after a moment. “What about it? It’s your grace, Cas.”

“I know,” Castiel says.

“It’s gone,” Dean says.

“I know.”

“It’s been months.”

“I…” Castiel sighs. “Yes.”

“You told me it was just gone,” Dean says, ducking his chin slightly to catch Castiel’s eyes. “Like it was no big deal. And now all you do is spend time up here, planting flowers. Not even trying to look for it. I don’t get it, man. And whenever I try to bring it up, you just say –”

“It’s taken care of,” Castiel says, at the same time as Dean mouths the words along with him, his expression exasperated with a spiderweb of hurt threaded through.

“It’s your grace.”

“I know,” Castiel says. “I know it is. But it’s taken care of, Dean. I don’t want…”

He cuts himself off before he says too much, pressing his lips together.

Dean shakes his head. Castiel can see him battling with himself, trying to decide whether he wants to push harder. Castiel keeps his face neutral, hoping Dean will drop it.

“Don’t want what?” Dean says, though, and Castiel feels his heart sink. “You’re human, now. And you’re stuck that way until you get your grace back, but you won’t even…” Dean seems to run out of words. Castiel tries to think of something to say to divert the conversation, take them down a different track.

“I’m doing better at shaving,” he says. “And I’ve learned not to brush my teeth before drinking orange juice.”

Castiel can see the slight smile on Dean’s face, but it’s almost completely buried under the worry and the anger.

“Right,” Dean says.

“Dean…”

“I just don’t get it. The grace… if it’s lost, I can help with that. If it’s destroyed, I can try to help too, or… we’ll figure something out. Or if it’s safe, why won’t you tell me what happened with it?” The strain in Dean’s voice tells Castiel that they’re at the heart of it now, at the reason for the tight shoulders and the clipped answers and the judgemental eyes on his catmint and cosmos. “Why won’t you just tell me?”

Castiel stares at him helplessly. The answers are in the back of his throat, ready to be said, but he can’t open his mouth – can’t get them out. He feels his heart thudding, his human heart. He doesn’t know if he likes that feeling, if he wants it – perhaps not, no more than he wants sunburn, or the taste of orange juice after toothpaste, or blood on his palms when he catches himself on that peach rose’s thorns.

But there’s something he does want. And any chance at – at that – any chance at all, it’s worth the weight of being human. He made a choice and he knows he’d make it, the same one, over and over again.

He thinks it all, but he can’t say it. Dean watches him, angry and confused. Overhead, the clouds lumber their heavy bellies across the sky.

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” Dean says. Castiel looks away, and Dean takes a step closer. “Cas,” he says. “I swear to god.”

Castiel looks up at him, knowing his own tiredness is right there to be seen on his face – and his sadness, his hurt. Dean’s expression shifts, and he comes even closer.

“What did you do, man? Is it that bad?”

It’s easy to see Dean’s mind working, trying to piece everything together. He’s probably thinking demons, and deals, and treachery, all the things that they’ve been through before. Castiel doesn’t know how to explain to him that he’s wrong without telling him the whole truth. And he can’t tell the whole truth.

“Look,” Dean says, “we’ll figure it out. If you just tell me – tell me where it is, or what happened. Did someone do this? And what… what does all of this have to do with it…” He looks around again at the garden. Castiel closes his eyes for a second, lets the familiar feeling of being here fill him as much as he can let it – the warmth in his chest, the spark.

He knows he should try to talk about it, but he can’t. He can’t.

When he opens his eyes, Dean’s waiting, watching him. Castiel opens his mouth – but nothing comes out.

Dean’s face tightens again.

“Okay,” he says. “So it’s like that. Great, Cas.”

“Dean, it’s –”

“No, it’s fine,” Dean says, his tone taut with bitterness, but his face carefully unbothered. “That’s fine. Deal with it by yourself. That’s always gone so well. And meanwhile, me, I’ll just, what? Wait for you to give me the bad news, I guess. That’s great, Cas. Really. You know, you –”

“Stop,” Castiel asks.

And a little of the fight leaves Dean again. He looks as though he wants to say something else, but doesn’t know what. His face is half apology and half anger.

“It just…” he says. And then waves his hand, like it doesn’t matter anyway.

And it’s the simplicity of the hurt in that gesture that has Castiel throwing all his caution to the wind and saying,

“I don’t want it back.”

Dean stops moving. His eyes fix on Castiel.

“What?” Dean asks.

Castiel’s jaw is tight, but he manages to say again,

“I don’t want it back. My grace. I know where it is. But I don’t want it back.”

All of Dean’s carefully placed anger is gone, suddenly, in his shock. There’s no performance, no strategy, in the way that he steps closer and looks utterly bewildered.

“You don’t?” he says.

“No. I…” Castiel hesitates, and then says, “I took it out myself.”

“You what?”

Castiel lifts one shoulder, a little diffidently. It had been necessary, so he’d done it. As simple as that.

“Cas,” Dean says, and then seems to be at a loss. Castiel doesn’t say anything. There isn’t anything to say, so far as he can see.

He’s made his choice. And if he ever regrets it, if he ever wishes things could be different, all he has to do is look at Dean and it pales to nothing.

“Cas… why?” Dean manages eventually, and Castiel breathes out.

He looks at Dean.

Dean stares right back at him, not understanding.

“Did someone make you?” Dean demands. “We can go and look for them, we can –”

“No,” Castiel says. “No. I chose to do it.”

“But Cas…”

“It’s –” Castiel presses his lips together again, trying not to let the expression look pained, even though there’s a flash of hurt through his chest at the thought of trying to say any of it aloud. Saying it would push the two of them, Dean and Castiel, towards a tipping point. A no-takebacks, no room for misunderstanding point. Sharp as a thorn.

And it’s the last thing Castiel wants.

Until they talk about it, anything seems possible. It almost feels real enough. But if they talk, it’ll all be over. Dean will tell him to take back his grace, and Castiel will have to leave. It’ll be over.

“You took it out. What would you do that for,” Dean says. When Castiel doesn’t reply, he reaches out and puts a hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “Hey,” he says, the word harsh enough to compensate for the touch.

“It’s nothing,” Castiel says.

“Cas.”

“Really, it’s…” Castiel stops. The denial dies in his mouth. He swallows, his eyes on Dean, before he looked down. “I just want to be able to stay with you.”

The last two words are too much – all of it is too much – but they’re out his mouth before he can stop them. Castiel breathes out and waits to feel Dean’s hand loosen its grip, drop away in shock at the unwanted intensity. It’s too much. Castiel knows it’s too much.

But Dean’s hand is still on his shoulder.

“You want to be able to stay?” Dean says.

“Yes.” Castiel says it bluntly, to try to shave off the emotion, make it easier to talk about. Dean’s hand still doesn’t move. Castiel can feel each place Dean’s fingers are digging in slightly through the thin material of his t-shirt. His heart is pounding and he wants to be able to turn it off, quiet it down, hear Dean’s heart instead in the way he could when he had his grace. He wants it with a sudden acuteness, a pang of loss.

“But – you can,” Dean says. “Why would you think you needed to do this?”

Castiel can’t look back up at him.

“Cas,” Dean says.

There’s a band of pain squeezing tightly around Castiel’s chest. He can’t quite seem to get his breath, suddenly.

“I just thought I’d fit better this way,” he says.

“Fit better?” Now Dean moves his hand, pulls back, though he doesn’t go far. “What do you mean?”

“You’re human,” Castiel says. He looks up, meets Dean’s eyes. “Now I am too. I thought, maybe…”

He trails off. He can’t say more. He can’t talk about what he hopes for, what he wants. He can’t.

Dean’s hand is back on his shoulder and the touch is different, now, less insistent. Softer. Castiel can see the gentleness in Dean’s eyes, shy and uncertain, allowed to show just for a few moments.

“We don’t have to be the same,” Dean says.

Castiel doesn’t know how to answer.

“We’ve never been the same,” Dean says. “But we’re still good. Right?”

There are no words in Castiel’s mind, or none that make sense – or none that he can say aloud. He wishes he could give Dean the way that he feels, just drop it into Dean’s mind, show him without having to explain it. The feeling is yes, good, of course we’re good, but there’s more – there’s different things, things I want to be to you, ways I want to be with you. And not telling you feels more and more like lying with every passing day but I don’t know how to tell you without you being suddenly aware that I’ve been wanting you in a different way to how you want me for a very long time, and will you hate me for that? Will you think I’m a liar? Will you send me away? Could I bear that? Could I bear it? If you hated me, how could I bear it?

“I just,” Castiel says, “I just want to be able to stay.” It’s the only part of it that will come out of his mouth.

“You can,” Dean says. “You don’t need… damnit, Cas, you didn’t have to take your own grace out just to be able to stay.”

Castiel nods mutely. Dean’s hand squeezes Castiel’s shoulder.

“So you can put it back, right?” he says. “The grace. You can go get it and put it back?”

“I could.” It comes out more direct and harsh than Castiel intended, and Dean’s grip tightens.

“So…?” he says.

Castiel can’t meet his eyes. He looks to the side, around the garden that he’s created. The flowers that have unfurled for him, trusting, unfussy about what deep love and secrets he’s hiding. The leaves and shoots that grow steadily under the care of his hands, no matter who else those hands wish they could hold.

“Cas,” Dean says again, and gives another squeeze, and then lets go. “Your grace is you, man. All these months, it’s not like you’ve had a good time being human, is it?”

“It’s worth it.”

“Worth it?” Dean echoes.

“If it means we’re the same,” Castiel says. And his reasoning isn’t even clear to Castiel himself, now. It just feels as though if they’re both human, if they both are the same thing, there’s a chance they could both feel the same way, too – it makes no sense, and yet Castiel can’t imagine letting go of the thought.

“We don’t need to be the same,” Dean says, repeating himself with a look that’s crossed between confusion and concern.

“But I…”

Castiel stops talking, cuts himself off. Dean’s eyes search his face.

“You want to be?” Dean says, cautious, hazarding a guess. And when Castiel’s expression tells Dean he’s right, his face goes even more soft with surprise. “Why?”

There isn’t anything that Castiel can say in answer. No explanations he can give that will make sense outside his own mind. All he finds himself doing is looking at Dean – looking at him more openly than he has done in a long time, half tight-lipped and wanting the conversation to end, half hoping that Dean will finally piece it all together. He allows himself to stare, frankly and directly, pushing away the guilt and shame that push at him and tell him to look down, step away, move back, leave. He stares like he once used to all the time, letting down the walls.

There’s Dean, he thinks. There he is. Sometimes the feelings in Castiel grow so big and overwhelming that he forgets the shape of the man at the heart of them. The way Dean cares. The way Dean looks at him right back, matches him – when it comes down to it, never pretends it doesn’t matter to him when it does.

Dean’s mouth opens to form words, but he seems to stop himself. Castiel watches Dean swallow, and feels the familiar swoop and ache in his chest as all his crushing sky-sized love focuses into the smallness of the place on Dean’s throat that he wants to touch.

Dean goes to say something, and then stops.

Castiel looks down at Dean’s lips, and then back up again.

Is it wrong, how much he wants to kiss Dean? The feeling is pressing, immediate, alive. It’s in Castiel’s blood, in his bones. If Dean doesn’t want him too, in the same way, does that make the feeling wrong? Or would it just be acting on it, making Dean aware of it, that would be wrong? But the feeling is a background hum in everything Castiel does. He acts on it even when Dean isn’t with him. He acts on it all the time.

Every passing moment changes the gaze between them. Dean’s waiting for him to talk, not filling in the space with any words this time, but his face keeps sinking further into something that looks dangerously like realisation.

“I don’t know,” Castiel says. If how he feels, or what he’s doing, is wrong, then he should look away. He should go away, leave Dean alone, find somewhere else to be. But he couldn’t, he can’t, not until he knows for sure that Dean doesn’t feel even slightly the same way – and he can’t ask, because as soon as he knows Dean doesn’t feel the same way, he’ll have to leave. The thoughts chase their tails in Castiel’s head and he stares and he stares at Dean and he hurts so much that he wants to hit his own chest just for the distraction of a simpler pain.

“You don’t know what?”

“I just don’t know, Dean.”

Dean is watching him carefully, his mouth slightly open, as though trying to figure out how to phrase something he wants to say. There’s a slight tinge of colour to his cheeks, too, Castiel notices.

“Uh,” Dean says. His mouth shapes a ‘w’ like the start of a question, and then closes again, and he frowns – but he doesn’t look away.

He almost knows, Castiel thinks. He’s almost understood. And as soon as Dean understands, it’s over. Unless he feels the same way, which he doesn’t. He can’t. We’re not the same. No matter how hard I try and how much I change, we’re not ever the same.

He needs to cauterise this conversation like a wound, stop all this from happening, but he can’t find the words. Dean’s still watching him. Castiel’s heart is thunder in his head, drowning out his thoughts.

“You look like the whole world’s falling apart,” Dean says eventually. “Not an exaggeration. ‘Cause I’ve seen your face when the world was actually falling apart.” Dean points vaguely with one finger towards Castiel’s face. “And it looked like that.”

Castiel nods mutely, and Dean sighs and glances sharply away, and then back again.

“Come on, Cas, jesus. Something’s up, so whatever it is, just tell me.” He looks at Castiel for a long time, and then he says it again. In a different voice, quieter, with a little rise at the end as though of hope or something equally as stupid for Castiel to consider. “Tell me.”

It’s said in a way that makes Castiel want to believe he’s asking for all the things Castiel wants to give.

Dean’s eyes are wide, too. Like he can’t quite believe what he’s asking.

And Castiel’s human heart is pounding at that tone in his voice, that look on his face, because it feels as though – tentatively – they could be talking about the same thing. The longer Castiel watches Dean’s face, the more he sees it. There are the little flickers of denial, uncertainty, in the way Dean’s eyes narrow for a half-moment. And then there again is the rise of hope in the depth of Dean’s gaze, the openness.

It’s so small and barely-there that Castiel can’t trust it. He can’t know how this ends. It’s a rope thrown into down into his well, though, and with no idea what waits for him at the top, he still puts his hand on it and wonders if he’s strong enough to begin to climb.

“I, um.” He starts to speak, and his voice is low and rough. When he pauses almost immediately, Dean shifts his weight from one foot to the other, licks his lips. Castiel searches for the words. “I tried staking that peach rose. But it didn’t do any good.”

Dean looks confused. He doesn’t even bother to look down at the rose, just keeps his eyes on Castiel.

“What…” he says.

“It just grew that way,” Castiel says. He can feel a lump in his throat. “Naturally. It wanted to grow that way.”

“Okay,” Dean says, as though slightly concerned for Castiel’s sanity.

“I think sometimes it’s just like that,” Castiel says. He meets Dean’s eyes. “You can try planting them in the place you want them. Cut them back. Put a stake through them.” He resists the sudden, unexpected urge to reach up and touch the place on his chest where, years ago, Dean buried a knife in his heart. He swallows. “But sometimes there are things you can’t control. And even if it’s not… not healthy, or pretty, or the way it’s supposed to go… that’s how they’ll grow. Just towards the place they want to be.”

Dean’s listening intently, but his eyes are clouded with confusion. He looks like he wants to say something, and then stops himself. Castiel can’t blame him for not understanding, when half the point is that he’s talking without getting to the point. He doesn’t want to get to that sharp-split point when his life takes one of two courses, when Dean says one of two things.

“Dean, I…” Castiel says, and his hand reaches out. Unconsciously, awkwardly, the straggling limb of a plant that has never grown the way it should have done. And Castiel goes to catch himself, to stop letting his fingers trail through the air reaching for a place they can’t go – but then Dean takes his hand.

Dean takes his hand, and holds onto it. Not sweetly, not softly. Hard. Like they’re at the top of a cliff and Dean’s afraid of losing his grip and having to watch Castiel fall alone.

Castiel can barely breathe. Against the odds his hand is being held by Dean. Against the way that his words desert him, against the thousands of reasons that the two of them shouldn’t have ever even met, let alone be standing here together in a garden. Against all of it, Castiel’s hand is squeezed tight in Dean’s.

There’s a part of Castiel that’s trying to pinch itself, that’s shaking its head in denial, but Dean’s grip is warm and real.

“Cas,” Dean says. “Do you…”

The question has no ending, but it’s Dean, so the answer is yes. Castiel nods.

Dean’s expression seems, with just the smallest of looks in his eyes, to break apart. He holds onto Castiel’s hand and says nothing, doesn’t move.

“And…” Castiel says, but his throat goes dry. He can do this. He has to do this. If he doesn’t now, he never will. He tries again. “And… you?”

Dean looks momentarily bewildered.

“Yeah, Cas,” he says.

Castiel feels himself go light, so suddenly his stomach flips.

Yeah, Cas, he hears in his head. Yeah, Cas.

On another day, when Castiel hadn’t just told Dean how he feels through a series of oblique angles – when Castiel’s hand wasn’t still being held in the rough warmth of Dean’s – Castiel might have been indignant at that tone in Dean’s voice. As though it had been obvious, when yes, half the time Dean was staring at him like he actually mattered, was ready to die for him – but the rest of the time Dean couldn’t look at him, was ready to die for anything.

Their hands swing a little between them. Just their arm muscles getting a little tired, and their hands moving together. Such a very little thing to happen, Castiel thinks. So very small. After all this time it’s just one hand in another, and it means absolutely crushingly everything, in the way that he’d known it would.

It’s happening, he thinks. It’s happening. We’re the same. We’re the same.

A little clutch of fear that he might change, one day. Wake up and be something else, unexpectedly. Grow again, in a direction Dean doesn’t –

Castiel breathes. It’s alright. He’s torn out his grace for this. He can be the person Dean needs. He can change himself again. Over and over, if needs be.

He holds Dean’s hand. Tight. He can always change again. He can make them the same again. Whatever it takes. For this, for the feeling of Dean's hand in his, it would be worth it, anything would be worth it. But –

Dean’s grip goes slack in his own.

“Wait,” Dean says. “Wait. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Castiel says. He holds tighter. “Nothing.”

Dean’s hand drops Castiel’s. The loosening of his grip is a slow-motion whip crack across Castiel’s chest.

“No?” Dean says, looking at Castiel, asking with the single word whether Castiel doesn’t want anything that just happened. He puts his hands up just a little way, maybe a surrender, maybe just a gesture to show he isn’t touching.

“Wait,” Castiel says, his hand still in place, still reaching. It shows, then, he thinks to himself. That sickle-curve sharpness in his chest, the fear in him that he won’t always be able to fit himself to what Dean wants, it must show. Dean can see it. Castiel lifts his chin, tries to look as though he’s feeling incredibly happy, instead of just incredibly much. “Dean, why are you –”

“Cas…” Dean’s eyes are searching his face, looking for the place where something is wrong. Castiel wants to cut in, insist that nothing is wrong. Take Dean’s hand again, reach for more – he could reach for more, he thinks, and his heart twists, and his head feels light. He could reach for more. Dean might let him. Dean was holding his hand for a moment, there, by choice, as though it really meant something. Castiel’s mouth is dry.

“What’s wrong?” Castiel tries. But his stomach is sinking, even as he’s aching with the terrifying joy of the sudden opening of all the doors he’d always thought were closed for him.

Dean can see that he’s scared. Dean is going to figure it all out. And then those doors will close again.

“I mean…” Dean says. He blinks, shakes his head just slightly. Seems to remember where exactly he is, glancing around at Castiel’s garden. It’s all slipping out of Castiel’s grasp. They’re going to pretend as though the last two minutes never happened, Castiel can feel it.

It’s unbearable. It’s unbearable. The idea of having had it for barely a few seconds, and then losing it. Castiel reaches for words, for anything – something that will show Dean how much it all means to him, how far he’ll go to make it work.

“We’re both human,” he says, almost blurts. “I took out my grace. So we can be… so I can stay.”

Took out, he thinks to himself. What a clinical way to talk about the tearing, the self-destruction, the loss.

Dean just looks at him, mouth slightly open.

This is supposed to be the part where Dean argues, Castiel realises only when it doesn’t come. This is the part where Dean asks me what the hell I was thinking. Tells me to put the grace damn well back where it came from, and to stop making terrible decisions. And then I argue back, and tell him I’ll do what I want to do with my own grace, and I made this choice for him, and I’d do it again.

But Dean isn’t saying anything. He’s just staring. And Castiel stares, too. He can’t argue back when Dean hasn’t started the fight. He can’t push back if Dean never pushed forward. So they stand in silence. The clouds overhead roll on, oblivious to the hearts frantically pounding so far beneath them.

“Cas,” Dean says, and he says it differently to how he’s supposed to – quietly, carefully, handling the name like it’s made of something delicate. “I don’t know what you want me to say, man.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Castiel says.

“But you… you did that…”

Castiel watches him mutely.

“Why?” Dean asks.

So many answers. To be like you. To be near you. To show you I can change for you. Castiel opens his mouth and tries not to say too much.

“For – this,” Castiel says, managing to stop himself saying, for you.

“This?”

“This,” Castiel says, holding Dean’s gaze.

Dean holds his gaze.

“But it – ah. Jesus, Cas, this is hard to talk about.”

Castiel nods. He doesn’t want to let it go – feels sick at the idea of Dean just dropping the subject, and heading back inside, leaving the garden and forgetting all about what they’d said to each other. Chalking it up as somewhere he’d never go again. Too much baggage, too heavy, not worth it.

Dean puffs out his cheeks, though, and breathes out sharply, and says,

“It’s just that, hell, man, you never had to take the grace out to have… you know… anything you wanted out of me.” Dean looks uncertain as he says the last part, as though a little disbelieving that Castiel could want anything from him in particular. “You know that. Right?”

His voice is so different. So gentle in a way that Castiel only barely recognises from the most private of moments they’ve shared. Castiel is suddenly so intensely aware that they’re the only two in the garden, alone with each other. No one else to see them or hear them or judge what they say to each other. It’s a thought that gives him courage.

“I’ve changed for you since the beginning,” Castiel says. Dean opens his mouth, and then closes it, his eyes troubled. Castiel watches him, thinking. “Or –” he starts, as a new thought occurs to him. “Or, changed because of you, at least.”

Dean still looks confused, as though he doesn’t really see the difference. To Castiel, though, it feels clear as day. He changed because he met Dean – without that meeting, he would still be the angel he’d always been. But when he thought about it, the person he changed for was himself. Because it had felt right. Because it felt, period, and that was what he’d wanted.

It loops round and round perfectly in Castiel’s mind. Meeting Dean, the push Castiel needed to start running. And knowing Dean, now, the pull Castiel needs to keep changing, stay with him, stay together.

“I just thought,” Castiel says, when Dean stays silent, “if I could be human like you, then maybe you’d… maybe we could be the same. And stay that way.”

“And you want that,” Dean says.

“Yes.”

“Because…”

“Because,” Castiel says, a little taken aback, “I want… this.”

“But why’d we have to be the same for that? I mean – this?” Dean frowns, as though almost losing track of what he’s trying to say. They’re trying to talk all around it without using any words that are too big.

“Why…” Castiel trails off as he considers the question.

Dean shrugs, in a way that battles to look uncaring and ends up looking heartfelt.

“But… we need to be the same,” Castiel says. He wants them to be close like two leaves on a tree. Closer, two petals on a flower. No, closer still, not even two things. Just one, one plant, growing strong. He wants them that close, that inseparable, after so long being forced apart by fate and circumstance. No would-be gods or divine powers could set them apart if they were one thing. The same.

“But we aren’t the same, Cas,” Dean says, so quietly that Castiel only just hears it over the little burst of breeze that briefly ruffles over them.

Castiel feels his chest clench.

“I’m trying…” he says.

“No, I mean – I mean we can’t be,” Dean says. “I mean, we aren’t, ‘cause we’re… you know… two different people. There it is, you know? Different people. We can’t be exactly the same.”

“But…” Castiel starts, and the word comes out sounding almost angry, so he checks himself and looks down. “But,” he starts again, “if I can just…”

“C’mon,” Dean says, the smallest of smiles softening one side of his mouth. “You wouldn’t really want two of me running around the place, would you?”

“That’s not how I meant it,” Castiel answers, his voice serious, but with a lightness in his eyes to acknowledge Dean’s brush with humour.

“Come to think of it, though,” Dean says, “I’d get a lot more work done on the car if there were two of me. And we could harmonise on Zepp tracks. Maybe you are onto something.”

“Dean,” Castiel says, though he can feel his heart lifting just seeing Dean reaching out for him, trying to make him smile.

“I wouldn’t let you share my toothbrush, though, no way.” Dean looks around the garden. “And this would have to go. Hate to break it to you, but no way are you digging around in the dirt for hours if you’re me. Not unless there’s something to salt and burn at the end of it.”

“I know,” Castiel says, and the words sound little and obstinate, but his hands relax. Dean is looking at him like he gets it – like he sees that curling fear inside Castiel, the one that can’t let them be two different and separate things that just happen by the grace of luck to be next to each other. Because luck runs out, and they both know it. The only way to be sure of staying together, the fear says, is to be so much the same as to be one thing.

But it’s impossible. Castiel can’t be Dean. And Dean’s right, too, because Castiel doesn’t really want to be. He doesn’t want to give up gardening. He doesn’t want to work on Dean’s car. He doesn’t want to share a toothbrush.

He wants to spend time growing things. He wants his own hands in the dirt. He wants – he wants Dean, in the way that he has done since meeting Dean. And he wants to keep wanting.

Even if he didn’t want it, it’s what is. They’re two plants next to each other. Hoping not to be uprooted, hoping for sun, hoping for kind hands that stake them upright and water them even when they won’t flower. Always at the mercy of whatever storms might come, however hard Castiel tries to tangle himself together with Dean, camouflage with him, become just the same.

There are plants that do that, Castiel remembers. Plants that tangle and blend with other plants. They’re weeds. They choke out the first plant, cut off all its light and food until it dies. Two things can’t become one thing without loss. And Castiel doesn’t want to lose Dean – and, he realises quite suddenly, he also doesn’t want to lose himself. There’s so much he wants to do.

Things he might be able to do.

He looks at Dean, who’s watching him piece it all together, giving him time in silence, or maybe just struggling to find more words. But either way, Dean is still here. Dean is in front of him. A moment ago, they were hand in hand.

They could be again.

“You good?” Dean asks, seeming to sense Castiel come to a conclusion.

“Yes,” Castiel says. Dean visibly relaxes, shoulders easing under his coat. Castiel wants to put his hands on those shoulders. He wants to reach out. He wants to touch. He wants, wants, wants, and it feels like still growing, it feels like still changing, it feels like being alive. Like being himself.

He wants to hear Dean’s heartbeat. He wants his grace back. With a sudden absolute certainty, Castiel feels how much he wants his grace back.

He meets Dean’s eyes, and says simply,

“It’s here.”

Dean cocks an eyebrow, catching Castiel’s mood without his meaning.

“It’s here?”

“My grace,” Castiel says. “You were asking where it was. It’s here.”

“Here?” Dean looks confused.

Castiel can feel his mood unfurling, the parts of himself that he’s pushed away and hidden – the parts that have known all along he wants his grace back – finally allowed to breathe, finally being given what they need. He turns his attention to his garden, bending down next to the peach rose that has been so wilfully refusing to blossom.

“I didn’t expect anything to grow when I buried it here,” Castiel says to Dean, over his shoulder. “But then the first flowers came, and so I bought more, and then I put in the fence, and – it helped, being able to come here.” He puts out his hand towards the peach rose, speaking meditatively, almost not quite to Dean at all.

His fingertips brush the tightly closed buds, the sharpness of the thorns. Castiel lets that want for his grace rise up in him, unafraid of the feeling now that he knows it can be acted on. He closes his eyes, and feels for his grace.

It’s right there, waiting for him.

Brilliant and electric. Fast, so fast, and all colours, colours so bright they hiss and spit as they rocket up the stem of the peach rose and through Castiel’s fingers, filling his body with a fierce familiar hum. Castiel breathes in and smells every flower in the garden at once and the breeze and the tang of sap and the rich wetness of the soil and there, behind him, Dean. He breathes out ozone, heady.

He can feel the hat on his head, the way it rests on each hair. He can feel Dean’s closeness, the way the atoms of air jumble between them.

He can feel the sunshine on his face when it finally breaks through the clouds overhead.

The world is turning beneath his feet as it should. The plants around him are creaking as they grow. Dean is breathing a little quicker than usual, and Dean’s heartbeat – there it is. That sound Castiel has missed since the day he tore out his grace. Thud thud, thud thud, thud thud. Castiel closes his eyes more tightly and focuses in on it, loses himself briefly in its rhythm.

“Cas?” Dean says. His voice has all the layers Castiel can hear as an angel. Richer, deeper. He can hear the roughness that comes from the light scarring in Dean’s throat after years of hunting, calling out warnings and yelling in shock. He can hear the exact pitch at which Dean ends the single word, the note that means it’s a question and it’s shy and it’s hopeful and Dean is trying to hide all of it.

The sun is bright when Castiel opens his eyes. There on the peach rose, at the tip of the stem through which he drew out his grace from the earth, is a full-blossom flower. Blushing petals unfurled, just waiting to be looked at, to be touched. Castiel reaches up a finger, and presses it to the velvet centre.

He stands up, and turns to Dean, who’s looking at him with something in his eyes that’s just the same. Newly unfurled, wanting touch.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says, and Dean’s face relaxes.

“Here all along, huh.” Dean says. “Damn it, Cas. And there was me, worrying where to find it for no goddamn reason.” The words are irritable but Dean’s tone is a betrayal of them, because it’s so gentle, so serious. Serious enough that Castiel doesn’t feel silly when he takes a step forward, closer to Dean.

He meets Dean’s eyes silently, asking a question.

“You still…?” Dean says.

Still what exactly, Castiel wonders. Still want this? Still want you? Still look at you and think about how anything else I’ve tried to care about felt like trying to follow a script written for a part I was never meant to play, but with you caring grows up without me even trying like a wild rose in good earth?

The answer to all of it is yes. It’s Dean, after all. The answer is yes.

Castiel doesn’t use words to say it. Dean barely used them to ask the question, it was all in his eyes and the way he’s still holding his arms slightly out to the sides as though hoping to have a reason to put them around someone, and so Castiel gives him a reason.

The closeness – Castiel has always thought it might be jarring, if it ever happened, to be in Dean’s space like this. Something he’s wanted for so long and imagined so many times that the reality would be strange. But it’s not strange, it’s – it’s just a little slow, and hushed. It’s so quiet in the garden as they come together. Hand touching hand. Then arms reaching up. Castiel’s eyes tracing the lines of Dean’s face, finally having time to do it in as much time as he chooses, because Dean’s going a pleased shade of red under his gaze.

“I, uh,” Dean says, his voice a little hoarse. Castiel tilts his head at a slight angle. “I, uh. I don’t know how to do this. When it’s you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I – I don’t know if you want me to…” Dean’s eyes drop to Castiel’s lips. Through angel’s eyes, Castiel can see the slight tremor in him, the way he leans in just a little and then pulls back, the way his muscles are tightening in uncertainty.

“Yes,” says Castiel simply. He reaches up, and tilts his hat back.

“But you… it’s…” Dean looks at him helplessly.

And Castiel thinks perhaps he understands. This thing between them, the way that Castiel feels, it’s – it’s alive, it’s wider and deeper than the sky. It’s everything. And they’re supposed to, what, kiss about it? As though it were the end of a fairy tale? The end of a second date?

But then, they’ve done all the rest of it before. They’ve done blood and big choices. They’ve done hands grasping for each other against every rule, against all the smart money. And now there’s just this.

There’s just Castiel leaning forwards, and seeing relief and happiness break through on Dean’s face like sunshine for a second, before they kiss.

Castiel feels his wings unfurl.

It’s still not Heaven. It’s not even close. But – Castiel pulls back, and sees the expression on Dean’s face, the way his eyes are wide and unbelieving and so, so happy. But it’s a place, where Castiel is growing things.

#whelvenwingsfic #destiel #destiel fic #ahh I managed to finish it in time!! I'm so glad #I started this thinking it was gonna be something tiny and all fluff #and then this came out #what can you do #thank you so much to the mods for running the challenge #and to the artist for submitting such lovely art #and to sam wanderingcas for being herself in my vicinity

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elfwoodfae · 3 years

Text

Writing’s On the Wall Harrison Eo Wells x reader.

Chapter 2- Specter.

Author’s note: I am so happy and excited for this new series. I hope sincerely that you all like it and let me know your thoughts, this new series will touch on darker themes up ahead in the future. Also tumblr is being annoying with the paragraphs that’s why they are so far apart.

I made this moodboard. I looked up and searched the photos and edited them. I don’t mind if you use it.

Part 1 (here)

A strange calmness falls over him; he turns around, opening his eyes for the first time in hours. He feels exhausted, having spend the majority of the night observing you. He chastises himself, he shouldn’t have done that, there was no other option, he reminds himself, he is desperate and frustrated. The sudden reminder of your presence this early in the morning angers him, a growl escaping his mouth as he sits up, the white linens of the bed pooling around his hips as he rubs his face with one hand, turning his head and doing a double take at the door, making sure is locked, he knows he locked it last night but the paranoia your presence has brought him makes him second guess himself.

His feet touch the floor first, he stretches his arms over his head, moaning at the relief it offers, his white shirt riding up enough to expose a gleam of milky skin; his hair is a mess of black curls, the expression looking back at him thorough the mirror is annoyed, tired, he splashes water on his face, he needs to wake up. The shadow of a beard is starting to appear on his chin, along his jaw and cheeks, he closes his eyes, rubbing the back of his neck and sighting before gripping the sink in a moment of fury where he wishes he could rip it out of the wall and throw it, shattering it into pieces.

How hard could it be to get rid of you? It wouldn’t be hard at all, it would be done before you could even draw your next breath, it would bring him more pleasure than beating Allen, but the consequences would be devastating, his rational side reminded him, there was not possible way to free himself from the torture of your existence without dooming his. Had Joe not met you things would have been different but he could see as clear as day the picture waiting back for him at the lab. Barry most likely knows about you by now, he knows there will be questions once he gets there, they will be innocent in nature but they will only serve to cement your presence into his mind.

He looks at himself in the mirror, admiring every detail of his clothes before he turns around, spotting his chair exactly where he had left it last night; he walks to it, looking at it so intently as if his gaze alone could burn it, hating the thing he punishes himself with. It’s for a greater good, he remembers. Wheeling into the main area of the house he notices all the lights are still off, he takes solace onto the fact that you are still sleeping, freeing him from your presence even if he knows it will only be for a few hours. He decides to leave, not wanting to take the chance of you deciding to appear and tag along, he doesn’t think of himself capable enough to not pull a Brutus a gut you in the middle of the day. This are also the only quiet moments he will get to think, to work on his suit, he sighs, there is so little time for him to use even when he is always alone.

The room is unfamiliar to your eyes, the bed linens are soft, warm, they smell of fresh cotton and clean clothes, it takes a moment for your memories to return, reminding you where you are. The room is dark, the curtains successfully blocking any sunlight from peaking in, there is no telling the time as you look around trying to get at least a sense of how rested you are. The clock reads sometime after 8, Harrison has more likely left by now and a slight disappointment settles over you, you wanted to see the labs, maybe he will want to take you tomorrow. The bathroom is spacious, glass doors decorating the shower as a black marble vanity rest on the wall, its too big for one person, it feels too luxurious for a guest room. Your mind reminds you of a forgotten fact, Harrison was never a showoff kind of person, he liked his house to feel welcoming and cozy, completely opposite to this place.

Walking out of the room is impossible not to notice the eerie silence that accompanies you, all the lights are off but the sun seems to illuminate the whole place through the skylight. A feeling of anxiety settles in your stomach as your eyes scan the expanse of the room, a corridor shielding doors you haven’t explored yet calls to you, maybe it would be best to wait for him to come back and show you around. You look around once again, scanning the walls and every available surface, your brows furrowing once a detail settles into you that you hadn’t taken into account the previous day; there is not even a single photo of Tess or himself anywhere. Maybe he has them in his room, or perhaps in his office, you think, the anxiety of walking into his space long forgotten, replaced with curiosity.

With fast steps you make it to the first door, its unlocked. The wood doesn’t creak when you open it and you wish it had, any sound would be better than this silence. Peaking your head inside, rows of shelfs of books welcome you, a dark desk sits in the middle, random papers and pieces discarded around it, nothing you would be able to recognize. A leather chair sits behind it and for a moment you wonder what could he need it for? Scanning the surface for any photos, any memories of Tess you could find but is empty, not even a photo of her in any of the walls.

Moving along you walk to the last room, the one on the end of the hall; opening the door, the room is dark, no light peaking into it, the bedsheets are a dark grey, almost black, nothing is out of order, a smell that could only be described as a freshly shaved man and clean clothes hits you, its pleasant, fresh. There is once again no photos to be seen, you should turn around, walk back and continue with your day but curiosity gets the best of you; the walking closet is big, rows of clothes hanging, color coordinated and perfectly ironed. A mirror from floor to ceiling adorning the wall in front of you. Walking closer to his clothes you grab the sleeve of one of his expensive white shirts, wanting to feel the softness of it, you don’t recall ever seeing him wearing one. Out of impulse you bring it to your nose, clothing your eyes as the smell of his cologne hits you, causing a blush to rise up your cheeks; he probable sprays it on himself here, impregnating everything around him.

Abandoning his room you walk into the kitchen, there is so many things about him you wish you knew, things that have probably changed and things that you don’t remember. He seems so distant, so cold, so unavailable to you, it made you wonder why he had allowed you to stay with him, perhaps it was not you, it was your attachment, the last piece of her memory he had, you were like an heirloom, one he refused to throw away, and that realization made you sad.

He didn’t seem happy, he seemed lonely, used to being by himself, making you question if he had any friends, if there was anyone caring for him. The man you remembered was always accompanied, always surrounded by people, always kind, always loving; where had that man disappear? You wondered, remembering how he hadn’t even known who you were once he picked up the phone that night, but what could you expected? You had never reached out, staying like a ghost, gone and hidden from his life.

Sighting you shake your head, forcing these thoughts to abandon you, having had enough of their torment for a day, there are things after all to be do today. Her face attacks your memory, you remember her from the times Tess and Harrison had brought her over, Christina is her name, she was close to Harrison and she had been very close to Tess, urging the obligation of a visit in you the moment you had decided to visit Central City, certain guilt at staying so out of touch to both of them fills you.

Perhaps you should have called her office before hand, you think, she is a busy woman after all, but after a few name drops from her past her assistant informs you that she will see you shortly. The door opens to the conference room she asked you to wait at, her face haven’t changed, a few wrinkles here and there, but the same determine eyes started back at you.

“Y/n” she says your name, surprise lace in her voice, she seems excited to see you. She hugs you, before commenting how much you have changed since she last saw you approximately fifteen years ago.

“I am so glad you could see me, I’m so sorry I never reached out, is just after the death of Tess so many things changed.” You begin, feeling the sting of tears coming to her at the emotion of relieving those memories, at being so close to someone that knew her.

“I’m surprise Harrison didn’t mention that I was visiting, I assumed you both were close friends.” You say nonchalantly, catching in the way her face contract, she seems uncomfortable at the mention of his name.

“Well yes we were.” She says, taking in a breath before continuing.

“You see, after the accident Harrison and I fell out of touch.” She says, seemingly leaving it at that, but curiosity is a powerful feeling, pulling its strings inside of you, forcing you to ask.

“Oh, but don’t you both keep any contact at all?” The question seems innocent, you genuinely want to know. She understands that, concern for you raising in her as she decides to open up more to you.

“I’ll be honest with you y/n, after the accident Harrison changed so much, that loving, caring man disappeared, he became cold, calculating, manipulative. I understand how grieve can change a person, but he, is like he is not even the same person anymore.” She tells you and you get the feeling she is not speaking in a metaphorical way.

You decide to confide her in your worries of him, in your confusion when he didn’t know who you were, when he didn’t even recognize your name. You can see the concern raising in her eyes, at you being alone with a man neither of you know any longer, but you assure her is fine, you will be fine, how bad could he be? He wouldn’t hurt you, this was Harrison you both are talking about, even if neither of you believe it completely.

@twilightlover2007

@austarus

@harrisonwellsisdaddy

@wintersire

@reallystressedhoneybee

@fanfiction-and-fantasies

@saltykidcreation

@dumpeetintofyre

@yetanotherwells

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floorbe · 3 years

Note

Can I request a NSFW head cannon or one shot of dom! Fuyuhiko x Short Fem! Reader and what Fuyuhiko does when he gets jealous she’s talking to a tall guy

sure thing! n*sw under the cut//

-Despite what he vehemently spouts, he’s actually a bit insecure about his height

-Especially if you’re taller than him, even if by a little

-One day when he sees you talking to someone much, much taller than you, he doesn’t think much at first

-That is, until he sees the guy very blatantly flirting with you. Like, hand on your arm, winking, gesturing back to the exit. You, of course, are oblivious

-Fuyuhiko does not like it. He’s immediately behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and asking what’s up

-“Sorry ‘bout that wait, babe, bathroom line was long as fuck. Who’s this?”

-Once the guy recognizes the very large body guards behind Fuyuhiko glaring at him, he leaves pretty quickly

-You’re confused, and even more confused when Fuyuhiko insists you two leave early with a frustrated edge to his voice

“You-” his voice cuts off, huffy as you close the door quietly behind you both. You’d been watching him grind his teeth the entire car ride home, insisting that he didn’t want to talk about it in the car. You watch his face morph from anger into something quieter, more sincere in his real emotions as he struggles to find the right words.

“...You’re fine with my height, right?” is what he settles on, voice considerably quieter from just a moment ago, but there’s still a rough, uneven edge to it as if he’s trying hard to not blow up at you. You can tell it’s hard for him to be so genuine instead of just settling things how he used to.

His back is to you, and you wonder if he’s feigning undoing his tie, because he’s never taken so long to undo it before. You swallow thickly, mind immediately flashing a memory of the taller guy you were talking to. “Of course I am,” you reassure him, placing a hand on his back as you circle to his side. He’s tense under your touch, but you can see him take in a deep breath as he relaxes slightly.

His eyes meet yours, and you swallow thickly at the intenseness in them. They scan your face, as if searching for any sign of dishonesty, before settling on the floor. He’s quiet, and you’re not sure if he’s unsure of what to say or if he’s thinking. You take another step to stand in front of him in the silence, giving him a smile as you bring your hands up to rest on his chest.

From the way his tie is crumpled yet still intact, you figure he was fiddling with it as an excuse to avoid facing you. You slide your palm down it, smoothing it across his chest before hooking your fingers under it. He watches you closely as the pads of your fingers skim up the tie and to the knot, carefully wrapping your fingers around it and tugging on it lightly.

He complies with a quirk of his brow, frown still deep as he comes closer to you. “I’m yours, Fuyuhiko,” you murmur, lips barely brushing against his, “No one else matters to me.” You watch his eyes slide halfway shut, his eyes flickering between your lips and your eyes. He’s hesitant (insecure?), you realize, for what reason you’re unsure, but you’ll be damned if you’ll let him stew in it.

“Fuyuhiko,” you murmur again, tone breathy as you pull yourself flush against him. You can feel his chest rising with each breath he takes, and you let your palm not holding his tie rest over his heart. His eyes are wide now, attentive, waiting for your next words. “I’m yours,” you repeat, tilting your head just slightly as his eyes almost droop completely shut. “Take me.”

He blinks in surprise, jolting back slightly as he stares at you. He doesn’t get a chance to ask the burning question on his mind, obvious from the way he’s intaking to speak, when you’re pulling him close to you again, “Please.”

His lips are smashing against yours in an instant, hands coming up to latch onto your waist and pull your hips against his. There’s a fire in the way his lips are melding to yours, harsh enough to where you know they’ll be aching later, and it’s only emphasized when his teeth hook into your bottom lip. You gasp as he tugs on it lightly, a grunt escaping his lips as his fingers travel under your top.

He pauses for a moment as you shiver, releasing your lip and pulling back, breathing heavy as he scans your face once again. “I... I don’t want us to do this because you feel like you have to,” he nearly whispers, his harsh grip on your waist loosening to swipe his fingers over the area softly.

“I want this,” you reassure, smiling adoringly at him, “I want you.”

He doesn’t get to ask the ‘are you sure?’ that you know is playing on his lips, because you’re already covering them with your own. You raise your hands to tangle through his short hair as much as you can, memorizing each ridge and corner of the shaved patterns. His kiss is softer this time, more loving, almost as a reminder of his adoration before it slowly turns back into the fiery passion shown moments before.

In a second he has you pressed against a wall, hands climbing under your shirt with renewed fervor. You shiver as his warm hands race to your bra, cupping your breasts roughly from beyond the material. You gasp as his teeth suddenly dig into your bottom lip, nearly shoving his tongue into your mouth as you eagerly let yours meet his.

You let out a moan into his mouth as his knee comes to press directly against your clit over your clothes, and you instinctively buck into the welcome pressure. He slowly grinds his knee against you, starkly different from the way his hands are already trying to impatiently rip your bra off from beneath your shirt.

He separates only tug your shirt off, and as soon as he’s able to he’s pressing sloppy kisses against your neck, hands fumbling with the clasp of your bra. You throw your head back against the wall, too overwhelmed with the sensation of his knee teasing you along with his mouth heatedly working on your throat, nipping and biting it as he finally tosses your bra aside.

You gasp out his name once as he suddenly moves to suck on your nipple, pushing against the small of your back to arch into him as his knee’s grinding becomes more jerky.

“F-Fuyu-!” you can’t even finish your whine of his name as one of his hands trails down to replace his knee. “P-please, please-!”

“Please what?” he nearly growls, “Say it.”

“Please,” you whimper, bucking your hips against his nimble fingers as they barely stroke you through your pants. “Need you-” you whine loudly as he stops stroking you, “F-fuck me, please, please-!”

Those seem to be the magic words, for Fuyuhiko immediately yanks down your pants and underwear in one pull, letting you step out of them hastily before he grips your thighs harshly and lifts you up. You yelp, locking your legs around his waist as he presses you back up against the wall.

Your hands reach his slacks before he does, desperately undoing his fly and nearly shoving his pants down. As soon as his cock springs out, you let out a whine, hips grinding towards him helplessly as you feel yourself throb incessantly.

He wastes no time slamming himself into you, and you throw your head back against the wall once more as he sets a brutal pace, his hands still gripping your thighs as he leans his head into the crook of your shoulder. You tighten your legs around him, struggling to pull him even deeper inside of you.

You’re quickly reduced to moans and whimpers as you feel the drag of his cock filling you so deliciously, so perfectly that you’re sure he was made for you. “Mine,” he suddenly hisses, and you swear his thrusts get even rougher if possible, sending you into a daze as you try fervently to meet his thrusts with your own.

“You’re fucking mine, got it? All mine,” he growls, and as soon as he lifts his head to meet your eyes you’re coming around him hard, letting out a cry of his name.

“Oh fuck, sweetheart,” he groans, eyes rolling back as you squeeze him tight, “That’s it, that’s it, cum around me, fuck!” And with that he’s shoving as deeply into you as he can, biting his lip harshly as he cums. You whine breathily at the feeling, still dazed from your orgasm, weakly twitching your hips towards his.

The only sound you hear as you both come down from your highs is your heavy breathing, resting your forehead against his as you try to regain your sense. He presses a clunky kiss against the corner of your mouth, still holding you up against the wall. You start to loosen your grip on his waist to let yourself down when he suddenly bucks his hips against yours, making you gasp.

“We’re not done yet,” he breathes out, eyes glinting in a way that makes you shiver in excitement. “We’re far from done, sweetheart.”

#n*sw//#fuyuhiko kuzuryu x reader #danganronpa imagine #danganronpa scenario #danganronpa x reader #fuyuhiko kuzuryu #danganronpa #dr2 #Anonymous

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sapphicknightaesthetic · 3 years

Text

Prompt #2: The winds call me back to you

Ireland had proved to be more than Eivor had bargained for. She sailed home on the wind-tossed sea, wondering if the trade routes, outposts, and alliances she forged would prove to be worth it in the end, compared to their exorbitantly high cost. She remembered Barid’s eyes, soft but desperate, pleading with her to ensure King Flann’s allegiance with his last breath, paired with an intensity of his love for his son. He had built a thriving city all so that Sichfrith could prosper...

“...Valhalla need not be a place, Eivor. It can be a legacy…”

She thought about her own legacy. Her intention had always been a life dedicated to fighting for honor, for the glory of her people, for some measure of peace where she no longer needed to pick up her axe to defend them at every turn. But is that what England had given her? She had spent much of her energy and immense skills at the whims of others with political aims and goals, not always aligning with her own. She had placed more than one puppet king on a throne, often needing to choose between the better of two evils. Was this honor? Was this a legacy worthy of entrance to Valhalla?

Eivor felt exhaustion roll through her like the tide, filling every crevice. She felt unsure of her place in the world, and just needed the comfort of home. Of Randvi. That was her raison d'être, as Estrid would say. Her reason for being. If she fought for the betterment of her clan, if she made connections and alliances to ensure their safety, that was all that mattered. She shook the sad cobwebs from her mind, determined to have a genuine smile for her wife when she returned. She leaned against the firm wall of the longship, and fell into an uneasy sleep.

Birna shook her shoulder. “Come on Sunbeam. Home time.”

Eivor’s eyes fluttered open, she blinked sleep back to its void. “Have we docked?”

“Not yet. We’re just around the bend.”

“Thanks for waking me, Birna.”

“I’m so glad to be rid of Ireland! Those Druids were something else, eh? Giving decent Pagans a bad name.”

“Mmmm.”

“Eivor, I don’t mean to pry. But you spent a lot of time with that red haired witch...what’s her name…”

“Ciara. I did. What’s your question, Birna?”

“I’m just wondering if you made any Druid magic of your own in that wet bog of a land?”

Eivor rolled her eyes. Birna knew full well she hadn’t, though this question seemed to pop up after every major journey they undertook. Eivor had tried to tell her multiple times that she would never be unfaithful to Randvi, that she could not bed anyone for the sake of it if her heart wasn’t in it. The concept had been lost on Birna, and so the questions had persisted.

“You know I didn’t.”

“I’m just checking. You do have a type, Sunbeam. That red hair burns like fire.”

Eivor grinned ruefully, shook her head, and turned to look at their surroundings. They were just passing the trined point in the river that led to Grantebridge, the ruins of Duroliponte looming to the Southeast. One more bend and they’d be home. She wondered if Randvi would be there waiting; she had sent Sýnin ahead with a note. The evening was well on its way, Randvi might even be asleep. She pictured their bed, warm and soft, furs piled on top of them as they snuggled together, limbs entwined. More and more, this was what she wanted. The return home was always worth it, and was always something she looked forward to, but lately she no longer wanted to return, she only wanted the simple everyday fact of her and Randvi together, because she had never left in the first place.

She watched, wistfully, as the crew lowered the sails and started rowing, this part of the river too narrow to traverse safely. Her heart rate increased as the Raider’s hut roof became visible, growing closer with each stroke of the oars. She felt a swell of pride as more of her village emerged from the lowland fog. Her village . She had built this place from almost nothing, discarded hovels of canvas and sticks. Sigurd may have claimed it as theirs, but Eivor had been the one to turn it into something to be proud of, something worth protecting. She leapt to the back of the ship’s tail, standing on a ledge. “...Valhalla need not be a place, Eivor. It can be a legacy…” This was her Valhalla, and it would never be complete without the person at it’s centre, at its heart.

Eivor realized then that while she was proud of Ravensthorpe, Ravensthorpe, much like her former idea of Valhalla, was only a place. Randvi was her true home. She’d go wherever Randvi was, without question. Their love, with all of its storied history of waiting, longing, and hiding, was her legacy. She saw copper hair, cloaked against the oncoming chill of the evening, waiting like a beacon between the posts of the village entrance.

The ship glided silently up to the dock, and Eivor immediately leapt off, running as fast as her exhausted legs would carry her. She grabbed Randvi, lifting her off the ground in a tight embrace, spinning her around. She inhaled Randvi’s scent, spice and fire blending with earth and ink and smoke. Her heart beat Randvi’s name in fast repetition, her hands holding onto her wife as tightly as she dared without hurting her.

“My love,” Randvi whispered, as she held fast to Eivor. “How I’ve missed you.” Her hands caressed the back of Eivor’s newly shaved head, luxuriating in the velvety feel.

Eivor couldn’t speak, she did not want to break the moment with words, but slowly set Randvi down, quickly finding her mouth and communicating everything she couldn’t say with a long, slow kiss, paying attention to the feel of Randvi’s lips, the warmth of her mouth, the teasing nature of her teeth.

Claps and pats of hands landed on her back and shoulders from the crew as they walked past the pair. Their hearts never failed to be happy for their Jarl, for the love that she had found and fought for. For all of her sacrifice, for the enormous work she had devoted to make their lives better, they gladdened at the sight of Eivor and Randvi together. They knew how hard her road had been, how much she had suffered, often silently, from such a young age. Her happiness was their happiness, and they showed her whenever they could. Birna let out a whistle.

“You better get her to bed, Jarlskona.” Birna wrapped an arm around Petra, who had walked down to meet her wife when she saw the familiar Raven sails from her hut.

“Leave them be, love. I’d better get you to bed.” Petra wrapped an arm around Birna’s waist.

“You’ll hear no complaints from me, Petra. Good night, Sunbeam!”

Eivor and Randvi watched them leave, as Eivor sent them off with a wave. Randvi turned back around, seeing the edges of something in Eivor’s face. “What’s wrong, darling? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine. I have a few cuts and bruises, nothing to worry about, my heart.”

“Thank you for sending Sýnin. I have a bath prepared. And some roast boar, thanks to Petra.”

Eivor felt overcome at the thoughtful care Randvi showed her in all things. “Randvi...thank you.” Was all she could manage.

Randvi smiled at her, her wife was always so ready to display gratitude, a custom she never tired of, but she furrowed her eyes, wondering what was troubling her usually contented drengr.

“Let’s get you home.”

Randvi and Eivor sat in deliciously scented hot water. The worry and tension Eivor had carried home with her evaporated into the steam drifting to the longhouse ceiling. A satisfied smile now constantly fixed on her face.

“This was a great idea, possibly the best you’ve ever had. And that’s truly saying something.”

“I aim to please, my Jarl.” Randvi felt self-congratulatory at the obvious change in her love’s mood. Years of observing Eivor, of seeing her come home in different states of health and happiness, of finding different ways of tending to that glorious body and soul made Randvi an expert in the proper care and maintenance of her physically ferocious wife. But one truth prevailed among her experience: Eivor always recooperated faster with a bath.

“Are you ready to talk about Ireland?”

Eivor exhaled. “I will do my best. It still feels...fresh.”

Randvi sat up in the bath, giving Eivor all of her attention.

“You know I went to Ireland to help my cousin, Barid. And I did help, although Barid fell in battle. His High King did not heed Barid’s warnings. We were able to beat the Druids back, but I have been wondering if his death was needless, no matter how good and glorious his end. He died a hero, and is no doubt in Valhalla, but had his words been listened to, he would still be the King of Dublin, and his son would still have his father.”

“It is not up to us to change fate, Eivor. It sounds like the Nornir gave Barid a good death. What else can we ask in this life?”

“The love of the most beautiful and intelligent of women, for a start, at the very least.”

Randvi rolled her eyes and laughed, pleasure and embarrassment mingled together. When she looked back at Eivor, sorrow still crept in the periphery. “Is that all that troubles you, Eivor?”

“The Druids of Ireland are much like us, trying to carve out a life for themselves, trying to hold onto their traditions and culture, though the Christians would willingly wipe them, and us, away if given the chance. There was an extremist faction, the Children of Danu, that were causing all the strife while other Druids were forced to live in fear and even secrecy. It made me wonder if we will ever truly pacify this land. The Christians make no room for anyone else. I…I had to kill a Druid priestess who I thought was my friend, all for a Christian King who would rule over all. Was that honorable? I feel...stained, Randvi. I wonder if the decisions I’ve made in my time here are hurting our people, rather than truly helping. She was misguided, angry, she caused a lot of pain in the land there. I think King Flann Sinna saw the error of his ways in his treatment of the Druids, and he will make amends - he said as much. But these Christians...they can be false as well as unyielding. I’m not sure how far he can be trusted.”

Memories of Fulke and King Aelfred made her skin prick involuntarily. The Norse and Danes were often met with a great deal more than suspicion and hostility, labeled as barbarians and savages for their voracity in war. But there was something honest and forthright in them as a people; they hid nothing, they lived openly and celebrated the customs and cultures of all who chose to live among them. Sharing resources through a community was their way, regardless of the people that community comprised; yet this was not the way of the Christians. From what she had seen, they feared all outsiders. She was unsure if this was unique to Anglo-Saxon Christians or not, but from all she had experienced, she was not keen to go looking for other examples.

Randvi found Eivor’s hand under the warm water, and stroked soothingly. Her love never lost sight of the broader view and what it meant for her people. It was one of the many things she adored and cherished about her. She took Eivor’s fingers and brought them to her lips, kissing them lightly.

“These are large questions, my love. Too large to confront in one night. But I promise I will help you as much as I can in our time come in this land. You try to take care of so many, Eivor Varinsdottir. I fear the world is too big, even for your very broad shoulders.”

Eivor felt her heart flutter. After all these years, after all this time, being with Randvi made her feel like she was falling in love with her over and over again. She never stopped falling.

“But maybe, just for tonight, you can let me take care of you?” Randvi leaned forward, kissing one cheek lightly, then the other cheek, her nose, her chin, across her forehead, until she found Eivor’s lips, nipping lightly, until Eivor pulled her forward and kissed her with earnest desire. She opened her body, as Randvi lay on top of her in the bath, relishing the closeness after too many months apart.

Eivor leaned her head back slightly, looking into Randvi’s eyes, darkened to forest green between her desire and the dim candlelight around them.

“Barid said something to me, before the Valkyrie came to claim him. He told me that Valhalla need not be a place, that it can be a legacy.” Eivor held Randvi’s gaze, needing her to feel how much she meant what she was about to say. “I think perhaps for me, it is not so much a legacy, as it’s you, Randvi. You are my home, my Valhalla. After all of our time in England, all of the campaigns, the politicking, the alliances we have paid for with sweat and blood, we could walk away tomorrow and I would not care. The winds always call me back to you, wherever you are.”

Randvi felt strangely vulnerable, though deeply moved. She felt her heart race to echo and return Eivor’s sentiment. If Eivor ever left Ravensthorpe, Randvi would follow without hesitation. She used the moment to lean down and kiss Eivor again, with unashamed love and lust and pride and longing and hope. Their lives together had not been easy, but it had been worth every moment they had paid.

She felt Eivor’s hands slide down to her lower back, holding her closely. She felt a hot rush in her center, and decided it was time to leave the bath.

“Shall we adjourn to our chambers, my Jarl?”

Eivor smirked, knowingly. “Indeed, my Jarlskona.”

Randvi made her way out of the bath, as Eivor followed suit. Randvi spied some new blade slices over Eivor’s body, and some fresh bruises getting ready to bloom; she’d be sure to kiss them all later. She took Eivor’s hand and led them naked to their bed. Their bed . A place she was never tired of acknowledging.

Eivor pulled Randvi to her, wrapping her in strong, solid muscle. “I missed you, Jarlskona.”

“And I you, my Jarl.” Randvi pressed her teeth against Eivor’s neck, nipping and sucking her way along the tender flesh under her chin. She heard Eivor’s breath catch, and a gasp after she released skin from her teeth. She moved a hand, cupping Eivor’s sex, feeling the wet traces of her want on her fingers. Eivor bowed her head resting it on Randvi’s shoulder, her breathing deepening with anticipation. This fierce drengr, terror of England and Ireland, great Jarl of a proud clan, was made vulnerable and soft with a single touch. It was a power Randvi knew only she wielded, and she never took it for granted.

She brought Eivor to the bed, guiding her down. “What would you like, darling?” She purred in a way that drove Eivor wild.

“You. I just want you.”

“I am yours, Eivor.”

And the sound of those words, said by the only woman in the world she needed to hear them from, snapped Eivor out of the worry she brought home with her. As the sounds of their love-making filled the longhouse, Ravensthorpe sighed relief, and for tonight at least, everything was well in the world.

#eivor x randvi #eivor randvi #lady eivor #lady knights #women in armor #my writing #randivorprideweek #randivorprideweek2021

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i-stan-nct-and-satan · 3 years

Text

Not Broken (Jaehyun Mafia au pt 16)

Not Broken Masterlist

Jaehyun X Reader

Y/N is a burlesque dancer living in Seoul. Jaehyun is one of the most powerful mafia men in Seoul. How will Y/N survive when Jaehyun suspects that she is involved with a rival gang?

Reasons to read this story: Ten’s a cross-dressing madam so….. yeah read it ya freaks.

Trigger Warning: mentions of past abuse

Beep! Beep! Beep!

My head instinctively turned to stare at the alarm. I watched as it continued to beep. Usually, the harsh tones of the alarm were enough launch me out of bed. Every morning I somehow managed to reach the ungodly contraption to silence it before it even began to muster out its third beep.

Not today though.

I had been lying awake long before my alarm started to sing its first note. I had just been staring at the ceiling, anticipating the events that were to come. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t get at least a bit of sleep. I probably managed to get in a few hours before waking up to see that the neon green numbers I had gotten used to seeing read, 2:46 a.m.

My mind was too anxious to fall back asleep, but my body was too stubborn to leave the comfort of the satin sheets which were messily draped over my body.

I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about what awaited me and I felt as though leaving my bed would be what put said events into motion. Thus, when my alarm began ringing, signaling to me that it was time to get up, instead of rushing to towards it, I merely stared at it. I continued staring until the digital clock changed from 4:00 to 4:01 and then to 4:02 and finally to 4:03 before I decided it would be best to put an end to the incessant beeping before it caused a disturbance to those who still might be sleeping.

I dragged my body towards the bathroom and stared at myself in the mirror. I looked dead, not like I cared. In a way, I felt as though I might actually be dead; that perhaps I died long ago and that every event since my death was the result of divine punishment. Punishment for what, I didn’t know.

I chuckled at the overly dramatic thought.

I splashed cold water onto my face in an attempt to return my rationalities, though it was no use. There was nothing rational about my situation, so how could I think rationally while in it?

I instinctively began brushing my hair, before stopping midway to curse myself. It was like I could see into the future. That narcissistic scumbag, Jaehyun, would interpret any step I took to freshen up as an attempt to impress him, something I definitely didn’t want him thinking.

When I trained with Jeno, it would take me roughly an hour to fully wake myself up, get dressed, and freshen up before heading down to the training room around 4:50. I could tell that today, I wouldn’t need as much time to ready myself.

I quickly tied my hair up in a ponytail, simply to keep it out of my face. When I opened my closet, Jaehyun’s words found themselves at the front of my mind.

“You should wear something blue. The color suits you.”

I scoffed to myself as I grabbed the first blue piece of clothing I saw and threw it to the side, missing the trashcan by more than a few feet. I instead picked out a yellow workout shirt and grabbed my regular leggings from the floor. I only had a few pair of leggings so I would often re-wear the same pair, not wanting to wash them after every use. I brought the leggings up to my nose and smelled the already worn-out fabric. They were definitely reaching the point where they needed a wash. I put them on anyway. A part of me hoped that the smell of old sweat would keep Jaehyun from making any advances, or at least turn him off from the thought.

It reminded me of how women would skip shaving their legs before a date to prevent themselves from going home with a guy, though in my case, it was like putting my legs on display to keep the guy from thinking I’d want to go home with her in the first place.

I looked at the clock.

4:34.

I definitely finished getting ready much earlier than usual, but I didn’t want to make any steps towards the door just yet. I even considered waiting until it was after 5:00 to leave my room, just to spite Jaehyun for telling me that being late wasn’t an option. This thought lost traction as soon as I remembered the things Jaehyun was capable of when even just the tiniest bit annoyed.

Better not to anger him.

<><><><><><>

“Right on time, babe,” Jaehyun welcomed me in the most unwelcoming way possible.

He was already on sitting on one of the weight machines. From the beads of sweat that dripped down his jaw on onto his white t-shirt, I could tell that he had already gotten in quite the workout. I wondered how long he had been there for.

I didn’t want to ignore him, but I didn’t want to exactly engage with him in conversation either, so I gave him my best “fuck you” smile and proceeded to set my water bottle down on the mat.

“What? No greeting? Not even any pleasantries?” Jaehyun asked as he stood up from the machine. He stared back at me using one of the gym’s towels to wipe his red tinted face.

I silently scoffed, smiling at his audacity.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Hello Jaehyun! How are you? Still holding women captive and forcing them to be your bride? Oh, you are? Well, isn’t that just swell?”

I expected Jaehyun to snap at me for such insolence, or to at least look a little upset, but he just smiled back at me and laughed.

“That’s funny,” He said wagging his finger at me.

“Just remember, who’s training you for the next hour.”

I froze, unconsciously biting my tongue. He was right. I shouldn’t push my luck too much. I had no idea why Jaehyun was in such a good mood this morning, but I knew it was in my best interest for it to stay that way. At least until after our little competition.

Like a beaten dog who’s finely entuned to their master’s change in mood, I noticed a sudden glint of disappointment in his eyes. I watched them trail over my body in search of something he just couldn’t find.

Once he noticed my noticing, he exhaled abruptly as if he were expelling his thoughts along with his breath.

“Let’s start by going over yesterday’s match.“

I stared at him silently, waiting for him to elaborate further.

Jaehyun looked away briefly, clearing his throat in order to break the silence.

“I am of course, referring to the tactic you used...”

I continued to stare at him not quite sure where he was going. He stared back, gauging my reactions.

“-or am I just assuming that your decision to storm me was a strategical one?”

“Does it matter? It didn’t work,” I responded.

Jaehyun relaxed a little.

“Ah. So, it was thought out.”

I silently sighed to myself, ready for him to explain why my strategy was flawed or how my impulsiveness is what led to my defeat. I already began piecing together my response. I’d probably ask him how else I was supposed to fight against someone much stronger than myself, or if there even was such a tactic. I could feel the words bubble in my throat waiting for the criticisms, he was about to list.

“You surprised me. That’s not something that happens very often. You should be proud.”

“Wait, what?” I blurted out, suddenly breaking my façade of nonchalance.

Jaehyun’s eyes widened a bit only for them to crinkle as he laughed.

“What? Were you expecting me to say something else?”

I reached my hand up to rub the back of my neck. Once Jaehyun understood that I wasn’t going to give any more of a reply, he flashed me a smile that seemed too genuine to have come from a man so... well, ingenuine.

“I’m being serious. I was really quite impressed. You were fighting against someone you had no chance of winning against, at least not with physical prowess, so you came up with a strategy and not just any strategy, a good one. You understood that I had certain expectations of you and you somehow managed to subvert those expectations in your favor. I had expected you to be hesitant in your actions and assumed that you would wait for me to make the first move. Yet, as soon as the whistle blew you came at me full force. I mean-” Jaehyun stopped abruptly to stare at me.

I was smiling.

I hadn’t meant to. I just wasn’t thinking about it. I mean, could you blame me? Maybe it was just my ego. What can I say? I’m the type of person who likes being praised. Sue me.

As soon as I realized why the sudden pause, I forced my face back into one of disinterest. I silently prayed that he would let it slide just this once.

He didn’t.

“Don’t get big-headed on me now. Just because a cat learns it has stripes, it doesn’t suddenly make it a tiger. You still have a long way to go before you’re ready to use your claws,” He said with a smirk.

I couldn’t tell who I was more embarrassed for; me, for having come across as a girl who just got called pretty by her crush, or him, for having used such a cheesy metaphor, one he was somehow proud of.

“Now let’s go over some technique. Yesterday, when you charged me, I used a simple maneuver to use your own force against you. Come over here, I’ll show you,” He explained, walking towards the center of the mat.

I hesitated but opted to follow suit as he had instructed. I stopped when I was roughly 4 feet in front of him.

He took a few steps closer, causing me to back away.

He paused.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to slam you down this time. I’m just going to show you what I did so that you can learn how to avoid it next time, or perhaps even do the same to me.”

I didn’t back away because I thought that he would slam me down on the mat. It hadn’t even crossed my mind. I just didn’t really feel comfortable with being handled by him, even if it was for instructional purposes.

He stood there, waiting for me to come closer. When I didn’t, he took another step towards me instead.

Again, I took a step back.

Jaehyun let out a sigh.

“How am I supposed to teach you if you won’t even let me touch you?” He asked, obviously annoyed.

“Can’t you just explain it to me verbally?”

“Of course, not. Even if I were to show you the move by doing it on someone else, that doesn’t mean that you’ll be able to recreate it when push comes to shove. Muscle memory is important. You should know that as a dancer.”

I quirked my head to the side.

“You can learn to dance from watching others dance.” I retorted.

Jaehyun stared at me as if he were a teacher waiting for a disruptive student to stop acting out.

I looked down at the floor.

“That may be true when preforming a solo act,” He began.

“But what about when you’re learning a choreography that includes more than one person?”

“Then we practice the choreo on our own. Even when we practice together, it’s not like we really need each other,” I asserted.

Jaehyun groaned.

“I’m talking about dances that directly rely on being in sync with the other person’s moves. Like this.”

Before I could dodge his advance, Jaehyun wrapped his arm around me, capturing my waist and pulling my body into his so that our chests were practically pressed together. I tried to wriggle my way out of his grip but before I could, he used his other hand to grab mine, tightly squeezing it as if warning me that he was not in the mood to play games.

“Can you waltz?” He asked.

“Never tried it.” I answered.

Without any other warning, Jaehyun began moving his feet dragging me along with him.

As he moved in precise uniform movements, I stumbled around awkwardly, somehow managing to step onto his feet with every other step. Instead of scolding me, Jaehyun continued to waltz, ignoring my steps as though I were merely a ragdoll he was throwing around as he danced to a song only he could hear.

“The Waltz is a uniform dance with very little room for variance. One could learn the steps and even master them on their own only to flounder around like a fish when matched with a partner.”

“Yeah, but you can’t exactly learn the steps from practice alone. You need some sort of instruction,” I complained.

Jaehyun’s steps came to a sudden halt. Instead of releasing me like I had expected him to, he let my body fall, catching it in what I recognized as a “dip.”

“I completely agree, so why don’t we do a little of both? I’ll lead.”

He released his grip on me and I fell flat onto the mat.

I sat up, seething with annoyance. Jaehyun stared at me, arms crossed and with a grin so wicked, it’d make the devil anxious, though I’d be surprised if a devil greater than Jaehyun truly existed.

<><><><><><>

Jaehyun showed me exactly how he managed to pin me down so fast. When I came running towards him, he applied a heavy pressure to the top of my chest, thus using my own force against me. He explained that by stalling my upper half, I actually did half of the work for him in knocking me down. Because I had charged so fast, my legs barely had any time to catch up as my upper half was held in place, so they continued to run, flipping me onto my back.

Once I understood where exactly I went wrong, Jaehyun spent the first half of our session showing me different ways to keep myself guarded against an attack so that I could, in his words, “not be used as a weapon against myself.” The second half of the session was spent showing me examples of ways I could use someone’s force against themselves as he did had done to me. This part was my favorite because Jaehyun let himself fall to the mat every time I followed his instruction in order to show me exactly how the move would work. Even though I knew he was letting me take him down for practice’s sake, I still enjoyed hearing the loud smack it made when his body came in contact with the mat.

When we finished, he tossed me my water bottle. I quickly down the remainder of its contents.

“Here, toss it back,” Jaehyun called out, his hand outstretched.

I did as he instructed.

He began walking away motioning for me to follow.

Once we made it to the water fountain, Jaehyun opened my bottle and filled it, tossing it back to me before taking his turn to drink directly from the fountain.

I stood there watching him, unsure of what else I could do.

Once he finished, he turned to me.

“How’s your rib feeling?”

“My rib?”

I looked down at my torso having remembered where Taeyong had touched it. The pain, which was sharp and sudden at the time, had now turned into a dull constant.

“It’s alright, I guess. Better at least.” I informed him.

Jaehyun looked at me, navigating whether or not I was lying.

“Good, that’s good. I was worried that after yesterday I might have made it worse.”

It was strange. I knew that he was the one who broke it in the first place, but that didn’t keep me from seeing his sincerity.

“I’ll try my best to avoid damaging it any further during our match. I’m sorry that’s all I can do for you given the circumstances of our bet.”

I knew that his statement was bullshit. I mean, he knew about my rib when he decided upon the terms of our bet. I knew that fighting him on the matter would be pointless though.

“Will it go back to the way it was before it was broken?” I asked.

Jaehyun seemed caught off guard by the sudden question.

He took a second to think.

“Are you trying to ask if it will heal properly, or if it’ll go back to the way it was before it was broken?”

“Isn’t that the same thing?” I asked.

Jaehyun gave me a look that seemed to question if I really didn’t know already.

I quirked my head to the side showing him that, no, I really didn’t know.

“When a bone breaks, it's because the bone’s developed a fracture.”

“Okay?” I scoffed, asking if he was really trying to explain what a broken bone was to me.

“Just, listen,” He continued.

“During the healing process, a callous of extra strong bone forms around the fracture, bonding it together again. This new extra strong bone is meant to protect the fracture as the bone heals but once the bone is fully healed, the area of the fracture is stronger than it was before the break ever occurred so-”

“So, bones heal stronger?” I interrupted.

Jaehyun smiled gently towards me and took a step closer.

“Y/N, I can’t tell you that your rib will go back to the way it was before, because that wouldn’t be the truth. What I can tell you though, is that maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”

Jaehyun reached a hand out towards me. Before I could think about it, I jerked away from his touch.

Jaehyun hesitated before reeling his hand back. He looked away from me for a second before returning his gaze to mine.

“We should probably start today’s match so that you have enough time to get ready.“

<><><><><><>

Just like the day before, Taeyong blew the whistle and shortly after, I was pinned to the ground. This time I didn’t charge at him, instead I chose to go on the defense. It didn’t take long for Jaehyun to make his move, pinning me instantly. Luckily for me, I didn’t suffer any pain, just frustration. It was like Jaehyun had just picked me up and set me down, easily managing to hold me there until Taeyong called the match.

I wasn’t surprised, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t still disappointed. The Jaehyun’s newly discovered tenderness from before the match had disappeared, immediately replaced with his usual dirtbag self. Not more than a second after the match had ended, he instructed Taeyong to escort me back to my room to catch me up on today’s plans. Before he left the room, he turned back towards me as I just gotten back on my feet and said, “Don’t be late now, Honey.”

I scoffed at him. He laughed at my reaction which made me want to do a lot more than just scoff at him. I was caught off guard by his sudden usage of the pet name I had called him at dinner the night before. It became clear to me that that’s why he used it instead of opting for “Kitten,” like I had come to expect from him. When spoken by him, the word felt less like a term of endearment and more like a taunt, though a taunt was still better than a threat.

“At least he’s in a good mood,” I thought to myself.

Taeyong brought me back to my room, instructing me to shower and put on the dress he left for me on the bed. Once I did as I was asked, I opened the door to let Taeyong back in only to see that both Haechan and Jaemin had been waiting there with him.

“Jaemin? What are you doing here?” I asked.

“Wow, Y/n. You aren’t gonna ask why I’m here?” Haechan pouted over-dramatically.

“I already know why you’re here, Dongfuck. You don’t have a life and so you like to drop in on mine,” I quipped lightheartedly, suddenly realizing that I had to come up with a new nickname for Haechan now that I’d discovered that his name was, well... Haechan.

Fuck, what insult even rhymes with Haechan? Faketan? No that’s stupid and probably problematic. Besides, Haechan’s darker skin tone is literal perfection. Even I have to admit that.

I physically shook my head before going on.

“I’m asking why Jaemin’s here because he normally takes care of Jisung and Chenle around this time of day.”

I turned to Jaemin who simply laughed as Haechan stuck his tongue out at me.

“Wow, you really were close friends before this, weren’t you?” He commented.

“What do you mean were? Haechan demanded wrapping his arm around my shoulder.

“Y/n and I are still as close as a pair of conjoined twins.”

“Please, never use that metaphor ever again.” I sighed already exhausted from the encounter.

“Anyways, today you’re going to be officially meeting Chenle and Jisung as their soon to be sister-in law. Jaemin is here to make sure that it goes well,” Haechan explained, answering for Jaemin before the poor man even had the chance to open his mouth.

“Wait, what?”

Instead of explaining further, Haechan guided me towards the vanity, sitting me down in the chair, and immediately going to work on my hair.

Taeyong and Jaemin both sat on the bed and got to explaining the situation.

“So, as you already know, Jaehyun has two younger brothers, Chenle and Jisung. I believe that you’ve already met them before, but as a hostage, not as their sister-in-law.

My mind flashed back to meeting the two younger boys back when I still had horrible bruising all over my face. I recalled the image of a queasy Chenle, asking if his brother really was the one who did that to me.

“I can’t tell them the same story, I told Jessi. They already know that Jaehyun was the one who nearly beat me within an inch of my life!”

Taeyong and Jaemin looked at each other, obviously aware of something I was not. Haechan on the other hand, continued to act like a dumbass.

“Ooh! Already on a first name basis with the former lady of the house, are we? So, I take it you’ve successfully gained Jessi’s approval, not that I’m surprised. Personality wise, it’d easier to believe she was your mother than Jaehyun’s. I mean-”

“We’ve already taken that into consideration,” Taeyong began, cutting Haechan off right in the middle of his rant.

“Fine, I guess I’ll just leave since I’m just gonna be a nuisance,” Haechan pouted.

When no one acknowledged him, he scoffed in annoyance, but stayed quiet.

“You see, the boys actually know a lot more than just that,” He continued, glancing at a now sheepish Jaemin.

“The boys have a habit of eavesdropping and while they were supposed to be in my care... I accidentally fell asleep and they listened in on one of the group’s official meetings.” Jaemin admitted.

“At the time, you were still under suspicion for IU’s death.” Taeyong explained.

A look of horror took over my face, causing one to come over Taeyong as well.

“D-don’t worry! Everything has been cleared up. They know that you are not responsible for the death of their sister. They have also been informed that you are responsible for the death of Lucas. They know that you killed him on accident in an attempt to fight for your life, though out of respect for you I didn’t going to any other details of what you went through that night.” He said in an attempt to reassure me.

“Wait, but if they know the truth then what about-”

“Mrs. Ho? She is to remain in the dark about the true nature behind Jaehyun’s and your relationship. They understand the gravity of the situation and have been instructed to speak as little as possible about anything that might rouse suspicion. Jaehyun and I have also decided that it would be best to pretend as though you’ve become something of an older sister to the two of them, but that this is the first they are hearing about your engagement. That’s why Jaemin is here, to help you learn as much as you can about the boys to make this ruse as believable as possible.”

“What the fuck?” I exclaimed, dumbfounded as to how on earth Jaehyun and Taeyong could have decided that this was the best route to take. Having me pretend to know about and be extremely close to a pair of teenagers that I met once and talked with for all of like, what? Five minutes?

“I know it sounds daunting, but Chenle’s been feeling a bit under the weather lately and Mrs. Ho is aware of that, which gives us an out if anything goes wrong. We even have a signal in case Chenle should need to bring up his condition as an excuse to cut the meeting short.”

“Still though,” I hesitated, not fully convinced.

“Listen,” Jaemin interjected.

“You don’t have to act like a big happy family, giving them hugs and stuff. If anything, that would make Mrs. Ho really suspicious. Just act like how you would any other teenager. Act snarky, roast them, I don’t know. There are more ways to show closeness than acting like you're in a lifetime Christmas special. Besides, it makes sense for you to not know everything about them since Mrs. Ho still believes that you and Jaehyun met only a few months ago. We just have to get you knowledgeable enough for Mrs. Ho to-”

“Knock! Knock!” Someone called from outside the door.

“Why say ‘knock?’ Why not just do it if you’re gonna say what you’re doing?” Haechan groaned, almost unreasonably annoyed by the knock knock-er’s chipper demeanor.

Taeyong scowled at Haechan before walking toward the door.

“Who is that?” I asked.

“That should be Momo with the boys,” Jaemin answered.

“Wait, what? Why are they here? I’m not ready.”

“It’ll be fine. Think of this as a practice round. You’ll do great!” Jaemin gave me two thumbs up as Taeyong opened the door.

I definitely was not ready and by the looks of it, neither were they.

Momo and Taeyong stood by the door as Jaemin motioned for Jisung and Chenle to come over.

It hadn’t been more than a couple days since I had last seen the two of them yet I wouldn’t have recognized the yellow haired boy had I not been expecting to see him. While Jisung looked almost exactly the same as the day we met, Chenle looked as though he were the one who had been locked up in the estate’s basement, not me. The dark spots that lay wrapped below his eyes took up more space on the young boy’s face than the eyes themselves. The state of his cheeks made it obvious that what he lacked in sleep, he definitely wasn’t making up for in calories. The chubby cheeks I had remembered were long gone, now sunken in to the extent one might mistake the boy for a character in a Tim Burton movie. He looked less like a teenaged boy and more like an old man, hair loss and all.

To describe him as a bit under the weather as Taeyong had only moments prior would be like saying that Hitler was kind of a douche; not necessarily untrue, but definitely not the most accurate way of portraying the severity of things. Chenle looked sickly, though I couldn’t think of any sickness with symptoms so... apparent.

Neither him nor Jisung looked particularly excited to see me, which is of course understandable since to them, I’m practically that one distant relative who your parents made you hug as a kid despite your apparent discomfort. Though, while Jisung just looked awkward and unsure of where he should focus his eyes, Chenle looked at me as though I were the cause of his illness.

It looked as though simply being near me was physically painful for him. I kept his gaze, trying to uncover the cause of his extreme discomfort towards me. It was strange. There was no hatred in his eyes, something I should have been relieved by given that we were going to have to act all buddy-buddy with each other, but I couldn’t help but wonder why he was looking at me like a child who’s about to be told on to his parents.

“I thought we could start with you guys telling Y/n your interests. Does that sound good?” said Jaemin.

The two took turns telling me about which video games were their favorites and about what sports they played at school. It was awkward at first, especially since it felt like the first day of school and our teacher decided to make everyone takes turns introducing themselves and saying three things about themselves, something which teachers don’t understand is actually torture in its purest form.

Though I was lost as fuck when Jisung tried to explain this game called Amoungus to me, Jaemin interjected to ask the two of them what their favorite show was. That was when things started to look a bit brighter.

“Well, right now, me and Chenle are watching this show called HunterXHunter.”

“HunterXHunter?” I asked, suddenly more serious than was necessary.

“Uh, yeah. Have you heard of it?” Jisung asked, confused.

“Which one? The 1999 one or the 2011 one?”

Both of the two boys lit up a bit.

“Wait, there’s a 1999 version?” Chenle asked, this being the first time he spoke without being needing to be nudged first by his brother.

“Uh, yeah. And get this, it’s better. Don’t get me wrong, the newer one is great. I love the art style, but the 1999 verion includes more from the manga that the 2011 version completely leaves out.”

“You read manga?” Chenle asked, excitedly, and for a split second, he resembled the boy I met before, still strung out, but not as much so.

“No, I just read an article comparing the manga to the show- Of course I fucking read manga,” I replied, probably laying the sarcasm on a little too thick.

I paused as the two boys looked at each other and nodded.

“Do you like shoujo or shonen better?” Jisung asked, though it sounded more like a demand.

“I won’t lie, I like shoujo a lot. Don’t roast me though I like both. It depends on my mood. Sometimes I wanna read a high-stakes power fantasy battle palooza with fucking lasers, and other times, I just wanna read about a high-schooler asking out his crush.”

“I get that,” Jisung nodded.

“Yeah, that’s because you get all your dating advice from playing dating sims,” Chenle snorted.

Jisung glared at Chenle and raised his hand, but quickly lowered it as though reconsidering hitting him when the older is in such a weak state.

The four of us started laughing only to be interrupted by a concerned voice.

“Mrs. Ho, what are you doing here?” Taeyong stuttered.

Momo quickly bowed to her, prompting Jaemin to stand up and do the same.

“Is it strange for me to be walking around my own house?” Jessi asked eyeballing Taeyong.

“No, of course not ma’am. It’s just that I was expecting for us all to meet at the dining room table later today like what was planned.”

“I too thought that that was to be the case, but when I heard my son’s laughter from Y/n’s room, I figured I’d stop by.”

Jessi walked further into the room. Everyone did their best to hide any signs of the shock, nervousness, or stress they were feeling, though nobody did a good job.

I let out a soft laugh. To think that I was going to have to rely on them, they’re the ones who’ll be depending on me to make this go smoothly.

“Jessi! What’s up?”

Jessi wipes the back of her hand over her forehead as if wiping off an imaginary bead of sweat.

“Whew. Thank god. I thought you were gonna be all formal with me again just because there were others around.” She laughed, taking a seat on the vanity table

“You know, this might actually be better having a formal meeting anyway,” Jessi said, switching to Korean for the rest of the room’s inhabitants.

“Oh, uh... sure. Why not?” Taeyong replied.

Jessi stared at him silently, making Taeyong even more nervous.

“Well?” She asked.

Taeyong hesitated, unsure of what to do.

“Yes?”

“Go get him.”

“Pardon?”

“Jaehyun. Go get Jaehyun. He should be here for this shouldn’t he?”

“Ah. Yes. Of course. Right away.”

Taeyong gave me a look as if to ask if I’d be okay while he was away. I gave him a little nod and made a “shoo” motion in response.

Both him and Momo disappeared, her bowing once again before making her exit.

Luckily, the moments that were filled with Taeyong’s absence had been taken up by the exchange of simple pleasantries. I asked Jessi how she slept, she told me she slept well. She asked me the same, I replied the same. Then she turned to Jaemin to ask whether Chenle had taken his medicine yet, to which he responded with a simple, yes.

Taeyong returned as quickly as he came which was surprising given how Jaehyun must have been busy with other matters given the meeting’s spontaneity of the meeting.

He entered the room following Taeyong and stopping to rest his hands on my shoulders as he stood behind my sitting place. I had expected him to do something physical since his mother was here, so I was able to mentally prepare myself and refrain from flinching away from his touch.

The meeting was short, with Jaehyun announcing that he and I were getting married. Jisung and Chenle reacted with surprise and then faux excitement. I hadn’t needed to do much except for sit there, which was a relief. Jaemin and the kids were the first to leave, with Jaemin announcing that it was time for them to work on their homework. Taeyong escorted Jessi back to her room leaving Jaehyun and I to be the only ones left.

“Good job.” Jaehyun said, now having sat directly in front of me on the bed.

I nodded trying my best to hide my anxiety.

“Tomorrow I’ve arranged to have several dresses sent to the estate for you to try on. You may pick whichever one you like. My mother will be there to aid you.”

“Dresses?”

Jaehyun laughed at my reaction.

Jaehyun set his hands onto the bed and leaned back slightly.

“I do believe that it is tradition for the bride to wear a dress on her wedding day,” He mused.

“Oh.” I muttered.

Jaehyun stared back at me with a relaxed smile.

I took the time to get a good look at Jaehyun, something I hadn’t thought to do during the meeting. He wore a simple white button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up past his forearms. I remembered walking in to find him sitting on the weight machine only a few hours earlier. It made sense that he worked out given his build. Body types like that don’t just happen naturally. Even his hands were muscular.

I felt conflicted. If I had seen this man on the street a month ago, I probably wouldn’t hesitate to imagine those arms wrapped around me, or maybe even his hands digging into my hips, but after what I had experienced, all I could think about was the feeling of losing consciousness as their grip tightened around my throat.

I did my best to be subtle as I looked down at his thighs. I wasn’t surprised to see that the light grey slacks did little to hide that they, like his arms, were... large.

We sat in silence just staring at each other until Jaehyun stood up from the bed, now at least 3 heads taller than my sitting form.

He leaned forward resting his hands on the armrests of my chair. Trapping me.

I froze.

“It’ll probably take the entire afternoon to finish all the work I have left, so I likely won’t be joining you all for dinner.”

And with that, he left.

<><><><><>

Jaehyun was right. He wasn’t be able to attend dinner. I wasn’t surprised by his absence; It was everyone else’s absence I was surprised by. Not a single member of 127 nor Jaemin or Jeno attended dinner that night, leaving Jessi, Jisung, Chenle, and I to awkwardly sit around theorizing about what business they had that kept them away.

<><><><><>

Jaehyun could feel his blood boil as Taeyong and Jeno made him aware the sudden turn of events.

“And you’re sure the messenger was unaware of the message’s contents?” He asked the two men.

“We’re sure,” Taeyong answered.

“Since we don’t usually receive deliveries directly to the house without being made aware of them in advance, I took every precaution in questioning the man myself,” added Jeno.

“His story checked out. We quickly confirmed that he was a registered courier at a local delivery service within the district. I opened the letter in front of him and once I realized its contents, I demanded all information regarding the letter’s origin. After informing Taeyong, we sent over several men over to inspect their security footage, but it seems that the letter was actually delivered to them via a different delivery service. We have men over there as well checking their footage and all, but it seems as though they managed to send the letter through a system I’ve never seen before. The letter was put into several other envelopes, each one containing instructions and payment for the next delivery. Since each company only opened the outer envelope, we were unable to see any past instruction that may had been included before the letter reached each individual company.”

“How long will it take to trace the source of the letter?” Jaehyun inquired.

“We don’t know. It depends on how many companies they went through. We won’t be able to locate the original sender, especially if their trail is long gone by the time we reveal any trace of their identity. We might not even be able to discern how long the letter has been in transport for quite some time. Our best guess is that it’s only been in transport for 1 to 2 days.” Taeyong sighed, showing his frustration at the situation.

Jaehyun dragged his hands down his face, his good mood now a distant memory.

“Two days, huh?” He pondered, staring down at the piece of paper he held in his hands.

If you fail to hand Y/N over to us, then prepare for a red wedding.

“Call everyone up here, now.“

Jaehyun watched silently as his office began to slowly fill with the members of 127.

Taeyong and Jeno made sure to inform them all of the gravity of the meeting thus ensuring that none of the members were to speak until Jaehyun officially started the meeting.

“Where is he?” Jaehyun demanded.

Everyone began exchanging glances, not yet sure of who exactly it was that Jaehyun was referring to.

“We’re here,” Taeyong announced as both he and Winwin entered the room.

“And where exactly were you?” Jaehyun asked, making it obvious that his question was directed more at Winwin than the both of them.

“He was in the library, reading,” Taeyong answered for him.

“If he was that close, then why was he the last to be found?”

Winwin approached Jaehyun. He reached his hand into his pants pocket, retrieving a pair of earbuds before placing them on the oak desk.

“I had them in, so I couldn’t hear my name when it was being called,” Winwin smirked, staring straight into the eyes of the man sitting in front of him.

Jaehyun scowled.

“You know, Winwin. Ever since I relieved Johnny of his duty to keep an eye on you, I often spent my time wondering where you were and what you could be off doing.”

“Well, isn’t that sweet?” Winwin commented, his tone filled with mockery.

Instead of getting angry, Jaehyun smiled, catching everyone, including Winwin off guard.

“As it turns out, my musing was pointless,” Jaehyun explained, as he placed the letter on the desk, directly on top of Winwin’s earbuds.

Winwin read the letter without needing to touch it or lean closer to it.

He frowned but said nothing.

Jaehyun continued.

“I don’t have to ask myself where you’ve been or what you’ve been doing because I already know.”

Winwin already knew what was coming.

“You’ve been telling Wayv our secrets.”

The meeting went as one would expect. Jaehyun showed the letter to the remaining members, had Taeyong and Jeno go over what they had gone over earlier with him, and then Jaehyun posed the very important question, “How come only days after Johnny stopped watching over you, we receive a letter from Wayv confirming that they found out about the wedding?”

“We don’t know that for sure,” Yuta interjected.

Everyone looked up at him expectantly. Yuta froze, as though he came to Winwin’s defense without having even thought of what he was going to say.

Before Jaehyun could move on, Taeil began to speak.

“Wait, he’s right. Didn’t Taeyong and Jeno say that we have no way of knowing for sure how long the letter has been in transit? It’s possible that the letter has been in transit since before Johnny stopped keeping watch over Winwin.”

“Yeah,” Yuta exclaimed, having regained his momentum.

“And besides, wouldn’t Winwin have known that updating Wayv this soon after regaining his freedom would put him under suspicion?”

Jaehyun paused.

“Perhaps, but that doesn’t out rule the likelihood that Winwin’s loyalty is with Wayv. It’s highly probable that he prioritized his mission to leak information over his own safety.”

“No, that’s not necessarily true. If that were the case, then why would Wayv have sent such a message? If they knew that the wedding going to be announced in five days anyway, then why would they put Winwin under suspicion? Wouldn’t they want us to trust Winwin so he could leak information more easily?” Taeil pressed on.

Jaehyun, Taeil, and Yuta continued arguing with each other as Winwin and the others watched in silence.

“I’ve made my decision,” Jaehyun announced.

“Winwin will be removed from any NCT related activity until further notice and will be placed back under heavy watch.”

“Will I be the one to watch over him again?” Johnny asked.

“No,” Jaehyun answered.

“This time, Taeil will be the one to watch over Winwin.”

“But sir, I thought you said you didn’t want me to watch over him given our close relationship.”

“I am aware of that Taeil, but given how eager you are to prove Winwin’s innocence, perhaps that will motivate you in making sure that nothing gets past you. If Winwin were to fall under suspicion again, just know that you’ll be the one to we turn to in confirming his innocence. I also doubt that if Winwin were to display suspicious behavior that you would try to cover up for him.”

Jaehyun looked at Winwin.

“Today cameras will be set up in your room. You are not to leave your room without Taeil there to escort you. You will not be permitted to use any electronic devices without Taeil either. As for the rest of you,”

Jaehyun looked around the room.

“From this moment on, no one is permitted to speak to Winwin regarding anything NCT related.”

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ineffablesnakegender · 3 years

Text

A little bit of autistic Janus for your soul <3

Hurt/comfort fic in which Janus has a meltdown because his of his hair (based off of true events in my life) and is comforted by the rest of the squad

Familial dlampr

Characters: main character Janus, Remus, Logan, Roman, Patton, Virgil, Thomas mention

First time writing in a while so please be easy on me also sorry if formatting is weird

If there was one thing Janus hated it was his hair. His hair that would constantly fall on his forehead and become a disgusting distraction. His hair that tickled his ears and sent him into a frustrated flurry. His hair that was now all over the bathroom floor. He hadn’t meant to do it, really he hadn’t, but he had become increasingly frustrated with his hair through the month. You see this whole thing started when Janus decided it was time to finally do that big stack of paper work from the lies he had told at an obnoxiously loud and irritatingly bright party that Thomas promised to go to for his friend.

Janus was sitting there at his desk and was hunched over his work, and with one last wriggle of annoyance, he had finally finished with the large stack of papers, now with every box checked I dotted and t crossed, Janus looked up from his desk and the first thing he noticed before he had gotten the chance to straighten his back was, of course, the wretched mess of itchy, bothersome hair that was now doubled in length sense the last time he checked. Janus grimaced and mumbled some colorful words directed at the ever so unaware strands that sat atop his skin, stretching his back and standing Janus noted to himself the mess he had made on his desk and promptly added cleaning it to his to do list choosing instead to be rid himself of the scratching at his neck, ears, and forehead.

It had been about a week since Janus cut his hair but the phantom itching persisted causing Janus to, on more than one occasion, consider asking Remus to simply cut his head off to make the insufferable feeling go away.

Another week passed and the itch was still not gone and Janus just couldn’t stop focusing on his hair, the way it fell into his ears and forehead and ran up his neck, it was as close to torture you could get without any actual torture involved, and Janus had just about had enough of it, and to make matters worse whenever he would tug at or scratch his hair even a little to much Remus would always be right there with a “Dee you are bleeding!” Or “Janus you’re pulling your hair out!” Didn’t he see that was the goal? Well the blood was just a side effect but it resided the pain of the ants crawling on Janus’ head.

Another week and Janus was ready to snap, NO, he had snapped! Janus would refuse to be without a hat on and even that was irritating to his skin, only small bits better that the hair on its own. He made the decision he had just cut it to long and so, in the middle of the night, Janus crept his way into the bathroom trying to be as quiet as possible and picked up the scissors. He had only intended to cut a little bit but it wasn’t enough and so he cut more hair off and some more and just a bit more just one more chop and soon he found him self reaches for the clippers and completely shaving his hair down to a thin layer of spikes. By now he was crying, his increasingly manic race to rid himself of the painful feeling forcing him to spiral into a frenzy of cursing, shaking, and stimming frustratedly, he had abandoned being quiet somewhere between the crying and the clippers and as he turned the clippers off their quiet but oh so loud buzz stopped abruptly and Janus could finally hear a very concerned Remus on the other side of the locked door, when had he locked the door? He reached up to unlock the door, when had he sat down? Remus flung the door open.

“Janus are you alright?!? What happened?!!” Remus spun his head around until he found Janus on the floor, who was suddenly not crying at all?

“Janus-“ Remus cut himself off with a sigh “what are you doing in here?”

“Why were you yelling kiddo?” A very anxious Patton said from beside Remus, when had the others got here?

“I was?” Janus finally said after what felt like forever. Patton let out a very concerned noise that Janus failed to catch his head spun in captivating circles of emotion.

“Yes Janus the whole house could hear you” “and then some” Patton said cut off by Roman who’s head appeared out from underneath his velvet sheets, Janus shivered at the thought of it, velvet? Seriously Roman velvet? Do you enjoy pain?

“Sorry guess I wasn’t paying attention.” Janus said far to nonchalantly for Patton’s taste. A long silence rung out from everyone as they all seemed to get what had happened and collectively waited for Janus to come back from his spiral, Virgil and Roman backed off from the situation, Logan and Patton went to prepare things to possibly help the situation such as water, Janus’ favorite gloves, and a heating lamp that Janus liked a lot. Remus just stood in the doorway and kept watch over Janus as his brain cleared of the fog and static that prevented Janus from being able to process what had happened.

“I’m bleeding.” Janus said so quiet it was almost a thought.

“Where? Do you want help?” Remus said equally as quiet

Janus nodded and pointed to the back of his ear and sure enough a small River had formed down his neck and seeped into his shirt.

Remus healed the wound without touching Janus as much as possible and after a while the two of them walked to the living room where Patton and Logan where setting up Janus’ favorite fidget toys and sensory gadgets. Janus immediately snatched up the black and white chew necklace that was in the shape of a crystal. He flopped down on the couch tired from the emotional outburst.

It was already the afternoon by the time anyone spoke next, everyone trying to give Janus the necessary time to cool down. It was Janus who spoke first.

Everyone was in the living area reading or listening to music through headphones or doing some arts and crafts, something quiet to let Janus rest, and Janus himself was simply sitting on the couch and watching everything around him.

“….thank you..” he whispered out “for helping me..” he looked entirely too unbothered but anyone who knew him could tell he was everything but.

“No reason to thank us Janus it’s not like you choose to have a meltdown.” Remus responded distracted by the bloody picture he was drawing.

“Yes but still… it means a lot to me.” Janus smiled the smile not reaching his eyes but still genuine.

They all silently agreed that it was ok to be noisy again and life went on as normal, but Janus would never forget the incident. Sure he had had meltdowns before but it was just him and Remus then and while Remus always did a great job and tried his best he didn’t always know what to do. Janus felt lucky and loved more than ever when he was with everyone and he knew deep down that no longer would there be days where Remus was left to scramble to help him because they weren’t alone anymore and he knew it would always stay that way forever.

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ohheyitsokay · 3 years

Text

classic

pairing: Jack Daniels (Agent Whiskey) x reader

wordcount: 3k

warnings: none, tropes on tropes on tropes, weird descriptions of things

summary: good, old fashioned fan fiction chaos

notes: there’s no getting around it - everything I write with Jack is inevitably influenced and inspired by @scribbledghost s version of him, particularly her neighbor!whiskey. I tried not to, but I still feel I should give credit!

It was the kind of razor your grandfather would have used – more of a knife than anything, because of course it was.

Of course this would be edge that your housemate used to slide along his jaw and chin and cheeks to make that perfect mustache before work in the mornings. He was the type to love old fashioned, traditional, dangerous things - it made sense. After all, that was why you were staying in the guestroom of his ranch home while your apartment was being renovated. Old fashioned courtesy between friends, of course.

Dangerous.

Jack had caught you watching him, impressed in spite of yourself as the sharp blade scraped over his neck, neatly slicing the hairs on his throat, and pushing your heart into yours. It was unnecessarily intense, dramatic, the touch of risk for the sake of vanity. It made you swallow, awed that he wasn’t covered in little cuts, and almost aroused at how casually he used something so akin to a weapon. And that alone made him smirk, cocky, as though he had been waiting for you to notice, hoping to impress you.

A few days later he’d coaxed you to him, settled in a chair with his legs spread wide with confidence as he handed you the tool, smug with confidence – almost a challenge. He had gotten wrecked at work – he actually had, and it was the perfect excuse to draw you close, make you bend to his will. Schoolyard tactics, really, but all of this was, and it was worth it to have your eyes on him alone, face a breath away from his.

It was about trust more than anything. Not that you would ever hurt him, but the power of being over him was heightened by the intimacy as you lathered the cream over his skin.

His deep eyes bore into you, not flickering to the blade as you tried to focus on your task. If he had asked you a different time, another day, you maybe could have refused, but somehow his wanting your steady hand felt heavy with implication.

Ignoring the quickening steps of your heart, your fingers grasped his chin, shaving away the stubble he’d let grow just for this. Each slice of smooth skin revealed left a thick line of froth and hairs on the blade, and you got to breathe as your turned away to wipe it off. You could feel his gaze, still, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet it. Hovering over him while he was seated, touching his jaw, leaning close, and meeting those brown eyes would have been too much.

Your denial was as a solid as a wall with half sunk into the ground with cement – almost rooted in your fear of rejection.

It was a challenge to ignore the shots of adrenaline that filled you when he’d reach around you to grab something in the fridge, his chest against your back, hand on your hip. Already you had shoved down the butterflies in your stomach when he’d offered you a place to stay, carried your boxes, and called you sweetheart. You had spent far to long ignoring the way he hadn’t brought a single girl home since you’d been there to fold now and admit anything. Because if you did, there was a chance you would lose your friend forever, and that was out of the question.

You kept your eyes down to keep your hands steady.

For his part, Jack’s plan was only half working. He liked your attention, liked the way your breath hitched as you wiped him clean. But you were closer than you had ever been, patting in the aftershave and you wouldn’t look at him, wouldn’t open the door for him to push the tools and towels aside and kiss you. All he wanted was to grab hold of you and pull you into his lap and make you melt against him but there wasn’t a moment.

You’d been friends for a long time, been there for each other countless times and he had yearned for you almost as long. At first, he tried to deny it too, grabbing at random women and hating himself when he imagined they were you as he pulled them into his room.

Then he’d given that up, stopped pretending anyone could replace you, that anyone else occupied his dreams, anyone else could be as good a fit for him, and went after you full speed. It had honestly been innocent to invite you to stay, instinct instilled in him from his childhood. Still, he had begun to see the opportunities for the two of you to enjoy intimate domesticity right away, when he’d cooked you dinner and you’d talked at his table for hours, finally not worried about having to drive home. He ached for that – not ever really having to leave you, and he spent more nights than he’d like to admit thinking of knocking on your door.

Only… you were still in your denial phase. Not sleeping around just pretending it was normal to sink into his arms after a bad day, to let your friend play with your hair until you fell asleep, to watch his lips as you gently helped him shave.

It was too vulnerable, to high of a risk to go after you with the chance that you weren't ready. The last thing he wanted was to scare you away.

“What, really?” you said, genuinely surprised. When you’d accepted to stay, he’d promised you there would be no problems, but now you felt guilty.

His mama was coming to town, and would more than likely be staying with him.

“I’ll find somewhere else!”

Jack was already shaking his head at you, like you were missing the joke, but he looked… almost nervous? You couldn’t tell, it wasn’t something you saw on his face often.

“Actually, sweetheart, I was hoping you could do me a favor,” he was asking, but it’s not like you could actually say no you him, when he shot that winning smile your way. It was like not petting a puppy – and you were the opposite of allergic to cowboy secret agents.

“You know Mama Daniels,” he said and you smiled, having spent many a summer helping her in her garden, and being thanked with dinners heavy with butter and love. “She’ll like you here, she’ll be over the damn moon.” And you conceded. It would be more than nice, to spend time with such a wonderful woman, an Jack had invested in a very comfortable couch. For a week you enjoyed a hopeful bliss, that she would help remind you Jack was just your friend.

The sun was shining through the windows, the winding almost singing a quiet, breathy song, and everything was as spotless as you could manage. Well worn quilts were clean, and you had set up a little station for yourself in the living room determined to make it your home for the week.

Then she came with a jacket that matched her slacks and shoes with little buckles and a paisley suitcase full of presents for her son, who she insisted wasn’t really grown. She hugged you and scolded you for being at work instead of coming to pick her up, and finally settled at the kitchen table, her intentions clear. You were to sit and catch up - Jack was already pulling the sweet tea you’d made from the fridge and a reused sewing tin filled with butter cookies appeared out of her purse.

Meekly, you sat, knowing if you didn’t eat the cookies in quantity, she would pout her whole visit. You could feel Jack settle at your side as she talked, warm and solid, a comfort, despite the heat of the day.

The cookies disintegrated on your tongue, melting with a burst of sweet before the bite was gone. They were full of love and maternal affection and things that you hated to spend money on and made all bad thoughts disappear. You were thankful your mouth was full of one when she mentioned, offhandedly, how plum delighted she was when she found out the two of you were finally dating. Abruptly, you remembered just how wrong your previous hope was.

The sweet lady had been hinting for you to marry her son since before he’d mastered his first lasso, and apparently, she was sure that moment was well on its way.

“And living together, no less!” she was beaming with pride, tradition apparently irrelevant as she chatted happily about it.

Turning to the man by your side, you found him choking, trying to breathe through the cookie he’d accidentally inhaled. There was a white ring around his irises as he stared at you, panicking and aptly confused. Sure your face matched his, you jerked your head at his mother, a silent argument ensuing.

Did you do this?

No!

What do we do?

We can’t break her heart!

It went unnoticed. You felt helpless, drinking your tea and trying not to have a small meltdown in front of a very misinformed lady who had brought you cookies.

He was your friend! And sure, you liked the weight of his arm around your shoulders or could get lost in the drawl of his voice but that was normal! It was normal to be so comfortable with him as the beginning, end, and highlight to each of your days.

Sounding weak even to yourself, a crack, solid and formidable, formed in the wall you created to protect yourself and the friendship you had built.

“Ma’am, I’ll be back in a moment,” you whispered, grabbing your phone as you grasped at air, hoping beyond logic that you could pretend it was an important call.

You didn’t exactly run away, but you walked very quickly outside, mourning the loss of your little guestroom, and the privacy it offered.

Jack would never, ever smack his mama but he did want to say some choice words. Nothing could have prepared him for the last two minutes of his life, first the embarrassment of the misunderstanding and then… the fear in your eyes.

He hated it, hated it so much more than he ever thought he could, hated that it was probably his fault it was there. And he hated that it shrouded the longing he had begun to see there, these past few weeks. Long strides carried him after you, hearing his own voice distantly saying words, explaining maybe, as he left the table.

There was a tree, trunk too wide to wrap your arms around, thicket of leaves creating bean-shaped shadow on the ground, by one corner of his home.

You were behind it, almost like a child, letting the bark press lines into your forehead. The dappled lighting did wonders for you – you looked the perfect picture of a storybook wanderer in distress.

Jack slowed, overwhelmed with the desire to encompass you in his arms, slay your dragons, and whisk you away. Now was not the time.

He kept his voice soft, reaching for you in place of his hands, trying hopelessly to find the root of your panic.

You were just as quiet, telling him it was fine, you would pretend, as long as you’d talk tonight, after she went to sleep. His heart was creating dramatic movie scenes where you would float into his room, declaring your love for him, before settling in his arms, but he shook them away, agreeing.

Smile over-bright, you touched his smooth cheek a moment too long, before pushing past him back towards the house.

He allowed the afterglow of his daydream to wash over him only a moment before he jogged go catch up with you.

The quilt on Jack’s bed had chickens on it, of all things. It was one of those that had clearly been homemade, years and years ago, taken care of, but worn at the edges with memories and use. One pillow had a dent for his head, the other was squashed into an unrecognizable shape

You didn’t know that it wasn’t like that, before. That his arms had only started searching for something to hold onto since you had been around.

All of his room was new to you – it made you feel strange, realizing that for weeks you’d been in his home but not this part of his space.

The afternoon his mother came, he’d been called into the field. You had never quite seen the look on his face as he reasoning fell on deaf ears – desperation and frustration like ants ruining honey on a picnic. The flannel across his back bunched as his shoulders had filled with tension before he stripped it off to change into his work clothes. Jack kissed his mothers cheek and spewed instructions for the both of you, some apologies spilling out and others kept just behind his eyes as he grasped your hand.

His final command was for your ears alone - that you take his room, and you’d been too panicked to refuse. The last three days, the smell of him and the memorabilia scattered around the space kept you company when his mother went to sleep and you slept in his bed for the first time, alone.

It was surprising how sentimental he was. His hooks had another cowboy hat on them, a little wider, brown, and considerably more worn. There was a stack of printed photos in a little box by his bed – it was open, and some of the photos had oil-worn fingerprints along the edges. You found ones of you, and your heart flipped inside your chest.

You should have realized it was impossible to deny yourself, your feelings, with him surrounding you like this. Each thing you learned, each reminder of him practically reached off of the walls, as if he were there, coaxing your heart into his hands. It felt silly, almost, that you even tried to ignore it - you had missed him the moment his hand left yours. Now you had all the time to process, surrounded by his neatly folded shirts and the line of his favorite boots.

The idealized illusion of your relationship had only lasted half a day of living with his mother. Her warm brown eyes were too much like her son’s – you couldn’t lie to them. It was good though, for her to hold your hand a listen to you talk as the birds gossiped outside the window and steam seeped out of the pie you helped her bake. Miraculously, she wasn’t disappointed with you, commending your honestly, and explaining that if she was patient until now, then she could certainly continue to do so.

The more you talked to her, the more you suspected that she was right, all along. She helped you dig up the walls, her kind determination the shovel you needed for those concrete roots.

You would work and talk and tuck yourself into his chicken-clad blanket at night and finally, finally let yourself think of him, allow yourself to be in love with him. You didn’t know he had started actually living in his room again, when he’d started letting himself love you. That he thought of your smile when he’d found his old quilt. Still, the more you thought, the more you could admit to yourself that maybe, just maybe, he loved you too.

That was how Jack found you - absorbed in your thoughts - the whiskey in his hand as forgotten as the mission and the agent he’d played for the past seventy eight hours and twenty one minutes.

He watched through the half open door, words failing him as you sat up, startled and the way your eyes searched for injuries made him want to eat you alive.

There was nothing that could’ve prepared him for the sight of you in his bed, even though he had told you to be there and three days to daydream about it. It was intensely intoxicating, having someone care for you so intimately.

With his sheets sliding down around your waist, you looked as good as the pie on the counter, as if a single snapshot could encompass everything he wanted home to be.

You were wearing a shirt he’d given you, years ago, and he swallowed, hard.

“Are you up for that talk?” his voice was rough. It would have been nice, to relish in the feeling of you checking him over, attention on him as he unwound, but he couldn’t wait. This moment was three days overdue.

“I told your mom we aren’t dating,” you blurted and he smiled, having guessed as much. Smoothing the blanket, your hand patted the spot next to you, your legs crossing.

In that, Jack knew something had changed since he left you. The flickering fear had fled your eyes, and you seemed settled into your skin more than ever before.

He sat next to you, having played over how this talk would go a million times, and still not finding the right words. Confidence was easier to find when he was flirting, poking at you, but seemed foreign in the din lights of his bedroom. Instead he shifted trying to lean back with his arm along the headboard, hoping he didn’t seem like a teenager trying to buy himself time.

You began to talk, saving him, and all the things you’d processed with his mama tumbled out of you before you were realizing that you were confessing how much he truly meant you. In hindsight, it shouldn’t have been strange how comfortable you felt, but in the moment, you were in awe.

Jack was as handsome as always, if a little roughed up, like he’d worn the same clothes a few days in a row. You wanted to run your fingers over the short, patchy beard he had going, and without a second thought, you did, feeling his cheeks move as he smiled crookedly and leaned into the touch.

There was only a moment of quiet, crickets outside, before he said, “I missed you, too.” And then, “Will you stay, sweetheart?”

When you whispered, “Where else would I go?” he kissed you.

It was late, and there were still words unsaid, questions to be answered, but you both let yourselves get lost, exploring each other. Long moments passed, letting all the pent up yearning overflow like cool water after a long, hot day. Then the next steps came out, whispered between kisses and as he moved over you, shucking the final walls between you, you found yourselves actually dating, and maybe even actually living together.

Old fairy tales and historic romances played in the back of your mind, inserting their logic into your life like had never quite made sense before.

And you wondered if you had time in the morning, and his mama didn’t give you too much grief, if he would let you help him shave, and eat pie for breakfast. Because for the life of you, you couldn’t think of a single reason why not.

Taglist:

@fangirl-316 @scribbledghost @writeforfandoms @0celestialbitch0 @beautyagegoodnesssize

#this got away from me #jack daniels x you #jack daniels x reader #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #kingsman #maybe i don't know people

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oftenderweapons · 3 years

Text

Dirty ABCs | Seokjin and Angel

Grab your water because this is getting thirsty!

Pairing: Seokjin x reader/OC (Angel)

Wordcount: 2.3k

Genre: headcanons, smut, fluff

Rating: 18+, minors dni

Trigger warnings: Cockwarming, Cumshots (face, mouth, chest), Creampie, Cumeating, Bondage, Saint Andrew‘s Cross, Impact play, Nipple and clit spanking, Riding crop, Objectification, Body tray (using body as a food tray), Submission (slave) and domination, Discipline and punishment, Deegradation, Pinning, Masturbation, Oral sex, Sex toys (vibrator, nipple pumps, clamps, wrist restraints, cockrings). Mentions of threesome, mild exhibitionism and teasing in public.

Edited by Goddess Almighty, Queen Of My Heart, @joheunsaram, this is all for you, muffin 😘🥰

Here’s my masterlist

Enjoy 💜✨

Aftercare: For Seokjin, aftercare is mostly a way for him to calm down and for Angel to take care of him emotionally. Angel is usually okay after a scene as long as Seokjin isn’t feeling guilty or dirty or distant. So it’s mostly her performing aftercare on him, while he prefers staying on the receiving end, getting his body scrubbed and his hair washed, or being fed while being held. He really likes being hugged while talking. He’s also into cockwarming after sex, since he feels like he’s being protected and that he’s reconnecting with his vanilla side.

Body part: TITS. Jin loves the entirety of Angel, but he has a thing for her chest. And her face. She’s so beautiful, and so clean-faced. He loves being the only one who sees her pretty face crumble in pleasure when she cums for him. Now, Angel loves Seokjin’s hands and lips. He loves watching his lips kiss and suck at any part of her body.

Cum: Seokjin loves to cum inside Angel’s mouth. When he’s feeling especially naughty, he wants to cum on her face, then get inside her and see her ecstatic expression covered in his semen as he coaxes an orgasm out of her. Angel likes cumming on his cock, mostly because of how whiny he gets when she squeezes him with her cunt; plus, once she discovers she can cum without him touching her clit, just ramming inside her, she decides that’s her new favourite way to orgasm.

Dirty secret: Seokjin wants to tie Angel up to a Saint Andrew’s Cross and use a riding crop to spank her clit and nipples. Of course he has plans to make that happen, he just needs to figure out a couple more details. Like whether he should buy a cross and then turn it into… a coffee-table? Angel wants Seokjin to use her body as a food tray, ignoring her entirely while he eats, only to turn her around and fuck her against the table once he’s done. She wants to be treated like a slave just once. Just to try.

Experience: Jin has had a couple of partners before Angel, but he never went that far. He’s always been a freak, but way too restrained to try things out. Only with Angel he realised he could get what he wanted without feeling like he was disrespecting his partner. Angel has had maybe two partners. Maybe just one — the guy who cheated on her with a girl they had a threesome with. He was a freak through and through, and it only felt natural for Angel to join him, but she’s always been a bit of a freak — and she has always known that.

Favourite position: MIS-SIO-NA-RY. For both of them. A soft go-to for romantic sex and a hard and fast jackhammering. Though there is some debate on cowgirl — especially once Seokjin starts shoving Angel on his cock.

Goofy: these two can be major goofs when having sex. It’s pretty common for them to start laughing when something is extremely out of character, but they have a special look they exchange to make sure that laughing is okay at that moment. Such an agreement came after the mood was ruined by inappropriate cackling, so they found a way to look for the other’s permission. Once one of them starts laughing, the other one follows suit. After releasing tension by chuckling, the sex turns very playful, the best expression of Angel and Seokjin’s genuine friendship and companionship.

Hair: Seokjin keeps things neat, but he doesn’t put too much effort on that. He prefers staying as natural as possible, with some trimming when the situation gets out of hand. Angel trims her hair short, she has a specific electric razor to make sure it doesn’t get long but also so she can shave comfortably and safely.

Intimacy: Seokjin aims at intimacy mostly during aftercare, when he needs to feel Angel extra close and loving. Also, on romantic nights. Sometimes he just needs to go vanilla-galore all over her, and spoil her and just… treat her like a goddess. During soft lovemaking, these two just say ‘I love you’ a lot. Most of their intimacy is unspoken and really physical rather than verbal.

Jack off: Well, there are cases where it’s strictly necessary. Though Angel does it a bit more than Jin, he still is a pro at it. He actually prefers when she’s around to do it for him, or can “assist”. He just wants to cum on her tits or her mouth. Or her face. Angel just uses toys when Seokjin is away. Or sometimes when he’s around but is feeling lazy and is not in the mood and she needs to get laid: she simply picks up her small, efficient vibrator and gets stuff done. Though sometimes Seokjin changes his mind…

Kink: Ooh… Seokjin is learning how to actually dominate. However, he already knows a couple things, like punishments, discipline, degradation and impact play. He sorts of assumes he’s into restraints too, but he’s still trying to figure that out. Angel truly enjoys power dynamics, and she absolutely adores subbing for Seokjin, especially since her ex never had the kind of authority that Jin can muster and impose on her so easily. She likes being pinned and degraded by Seokjin. She finds it extremely exciting when he grabs her and uses her a little, when he doesn’t give her a chance to fight back. She likes feeling overwhelmed by him, like she’s finally unraveling him from that polished outside that he curates so expertly. She loves being the only one that gets to feel the beastly part of him on her own body. Truth is, she’s even more proud of being the one who lets him liberate himself and finally embrace his true passion and pleasure.

Location: Their home because Seokjin is shy. But as long as there’s a flat surface and a lock on the door, he’s game. Actually — the flat surface is not truly necessary. Just wait and see. Anyway, Seokjin is super glad that Angel is almost always ready when he wants to get dirty. Most of the time he’s the one dictating when and where, and Angel is entirely okay with that. Saturday night in their apartment is code for “do not disturb, we’re smashing. Maybe across the kitchen floor so absolutely do not enter”. If they’re out in public, there’s a very low chance of Angel teasing him. If she does, she’s very subtle, and in a rather private public place. Think of a hand on his thigh while he’s driving with her somewhere. Blowing him in the bathroom of a rooftop restaurant.

Motivation: The easiest way for Seokjin to get horny is seeing Angel showing off her boobs. If she's going around the house in a t-shirt and a pair of shorts (no bra), consider her busy for the next two hours minimum. She's most definitely trying to get fucked. Sometimes she might even forgo the shirt too. Seokjin can't stand her being stressed, because of her being moody and hard to deal with, he'd much rather get some dopamine and oxytocin running through her by fucking her against the kitchen table. Especially if she's being exceedingly argumentative. However, if she's truly stressed and tired, then expect him to take the lead and try to relax her as… as deep as he can. Angel's greatest weakness is watching Jin doing the housekeeping. Cooking is excellent for sex on the counter. The laundry is freaking amazing for sex on the washing machine — even better if the machine is running. But the absolute best is when he's using the mop for the floors and she can drop her clothes and scold him for not cleaning properly. It always drives him mad and subsequently leads to Angel getting fucked exactly the way she wants.

No: Third parties in the room. Angel absolutely doesn't want to share. It's mostly due to her past experiences rather than Seokjin himself. That's her only strong no. Seokjin supports her fully and he has no interest in adding anyone to their mix. Angel is more than enough to deal with. Jin has a couple hard No’s, mostly linked with Angel teasing him in public, but also her flirting with other people. She’s rather cheeky and he gets a bit mad when she gets too comfortable with his friends. On more sexual terms, he’s still exploring; however, he already knows he’s not okay with anything considered strictly hardcore.

Oral: sloppy, hungry, fast. That's the way Seokjin wants it done. Yes he's fucking hung, but he doesn't care how much Angel takes in her mouth (throat, actually), he rewards the enthusiasm. He appreciates plenty of sucking, and encourages Angel in pumping his balls in her mouth. Angel goes insane with oral sex. I mean, have you seen his mouth? Meow, purrfect. He can make a kitty purr for sure. Angel's most definitely.

Pace: The fastest, the furiousest. This man is a fucking train. He won't stop. Till he's broken Angel through and through. Though some slow rolling of hips is used to tease and arouse and torture, and eventually to please on calmer, sweeter nights. Nevertheless, they both prefer to go as hard as possible. If they don't break they're not done yet.

Quickie: strictly limited to emergencies, but they love them. They can't have casual quickies because they usually turn on multiple rounds and torture, so they must be on a schedule, like ten minutes left before one or both of them has an appointment or has to leave. Usually that happens with Angel bent over or pinned to the wall while Seokjin goes wild all over her.

Risk: Depends. Usually no. If Angel's been naughty enough, well, Seokjin can consider. It's mostly about restaurant bathrooms, car back seats, and some very mild inappropriate touching on lifts, think of Angel standing before him, discreetly rubbing her ass against his crotch. Oh, and one backstage storage room. Once. Never gonna happen ever again.

Stamina: if I had to rate it, I'd say 8/10 solid. The point is burning out, not burning steady. The goal is running out of energy, so they don't hold back, they do their thing for however long that takes. But Seokjin can most definitely handle multiple rounds. His record is probably four, but he doesn't like going there often. Foreplay and one or two rounds is more than enough for him

Toy: a big yes for Angel. For Seokjin too once he gets used to the idea of them. Angel likes vibrators, the more unusual the better. It needs to do something that a dick can’t do, so no dildos. A big yes for breast-toys (her boobies are hella sensitive). She’s also a fan of restraints (mostly hand ones but not exclusively) and impact toys. A big toy freak. Seokjin embraces her love for cockrings (especially vibrating ones).

Unfair: Seokjin? Yes. Very. Angel won’t get to cum unless he has tortured her for at least twenty minutes. Sometimes he sets a timer and edges her until it rings. Sometimes he keeps her tied up while he cums over her body — her chest especially. He likes reminding her consistently that he is superior to her as long as the scene is going. But once it’s over, he is quick to remind her she’s his partner, his equal, and anything that happened during the scene was just an act.

Volume: Angel is super quiet. She can exercise incredible volume control — and she is particularly encouraged to do so by the fact that Seokjin can be extremely shy about his moans and grunts, keeping them on the low. Especially when going vanilla, she really needs to pay attention to spot his little whines. At some point in their relationship, she admits she wouldn’t mind him controlling himself a bit less, vocally speaking, and from there on Seokjin gets gradually less shy, finally being the loud, messy man he is in his everyday life.

Wild card: Seokjin practices impact play on pillows when Angel is not at home. Mostly to make sure his game gets really safe and good before he uses any new toy on her. Once he learns how to use a riding crop, Angel can’t stop asking for it for weeks.

X-Ray: Girth? Considerable. Length? Excessive. The combo makes it impossible to take him without a stretch. He’s a grower. Angel’s power is all in her boobs. Her ass is on the flat side, but Seokjin wouldn’t have it any other way.

Yearning: Seokjin is the usual two-rounds-on-Saturday-night kind of dude when he first gets intimate with Angel, but mostly because he thinks that’s the way it’s supposed to be. He wants it a lot more. Once they start exploring, he feels free to ask for foreplay or sex pretty much whenever he wants to. Angel is up for daily masturbation/oral sex. They either end up going kinky on Saturday night, or doing the nasty mid-week and go for some fond, soft vanilla once Saturday night rolls in. Still, they’re not the kind to go two or three nights in a row: too exhausting.

Zzz: Angel gets sleepy during aftercare, but she tries to stay up as long as possible if Seokjin doesn’t feel okay. Sometimes he notices she’s sleepy and reassures her she can fall asleep, since the greatest comfort for him is knowing that no matter how cruel he was to her during playtime, she loves him and feels safe to sleep in his arms. Oh, and he’s clingy. He spoons.

#seokjin headcanons #seokjin scenario #kim seokjin x reader #seokjin smut #seokjin fluff #Seokjin imagine #seokjin x angel

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moonbeambucky · 4 years

Text

Hey Neighbor (Part 18)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 5308 Warnings: fluff

Summary: You had a plan and then life came along with one of its own. With your future almost derailed you worked hard to get yourself back on track and finally everything seemed to be going right… that is, until your new neighbor moved in.

A/N: Wedding weekend starts now and I know you’re all very excited! Feedback is always appreciated!

HEY NEIGHBOR PART 17 | HEY NEIGHBOR MASTERLIST

Sweat trickles down your temple as you climb up the stairs from the subway, inhaling a deep breath of fresh air. It was a little thick but a thousand times better than the overwhelming stench of sweat and other odors from those that didn’t understand the concept of deodorant. The sun was pounding on you for the rest of the walk home, as your heart and mind raced, calculating if there was enough time to pack and eat something before you had to leave. This weekend may not bring a reprieve from the heat but at least things would be able to slow down.

In preparation for the wedding this weekend you had been working as much as possible, spending most of Memorial Day at the hospital to get a jump on making up for some hours, and getting to Stark Industries a bit early each day in order to get your proposals for an upcoming project completed. You weren’t drowning yourself in work to avoid Bucky, nope, that definitely wasn’t it.

Technically you weren’t avoiding him, he kept in touch during the week through messages, making sure you were all set for this weekend. When he asked if you wanted to grab food you told him the truth, that you couldn’t because you were too exhausted. If he asked last week you would have gone out with him despite your exhaustion but ever since you witnessed one of Bucky’s thousand hookups in your face this past weekend you weren’t in any mood to see him.

It was better to keep the distance, allowing the time you spent apart to let the logical side of your brain take the reins from your heart and stop it from falling for someone you know you shouldn’t. None of this was new. You knew exactly who Bucky was before you even met him, hearing the revolving door of women screaming out every night. He was a nice person, a good friend, but someone to date? Never.

Bucky: hey.. the trains @ 4:19 so you wanna head out a quarter to?

Somehow he always texts when you’re thinking about him… or maybe you just think about him too much.

You responded quickly, taking advantage of the time you didn’t think you had to make something quickly. In between bites of a sandwich you ran around your apartment, gathering together the things you would need through Sunday.

“Fuck!” you barked in response to the knock at your door. It wasn’t even three o’clock, did you read Bucky’s text wrong?

With worry settling on your brow you opened the door, relieved to find Wanda standing there instead.

“How’d you get in?” you asked curiously, letting her inside your apartment.

“Hello Wanda. How was moving, Wanda?” she said, mocking with sarcasm.

Your hands came up in playful defense, “Sorry, sorry.” You laughed, giving Wanda a real greeting as you pulled her in for a hug. “I’m sorry I haven’t checked in. How was moving? Are you all settled in at Sam’s?”

“Hell no,” she laughed, making herself comfortable on your couch. “Unpacking is like fighting a hydra, empty one box and two more take its place.”

You offered her something to drink along with your services to help unpack her never ending boxes when you get back.

“That would be great!” she said, taking the glass from your hand. “Anyway, Clint let me in because you didn’t respond to my texts. I thought maybe Bucky was here and you might have been… busy.”

The smirk her mouth pulled into made you roll your eyes. “Wanda, no… just no. There is nothing between me and Bucky, okay? You saw that girl last weekend. That’s what he wants. One and done, nothing more.”

Her lips pressed together as her head shook ever so slightly. “Mmmhmm.” With a hand digging in her bag she spoke, “Well, all I’m saying is you should be prepared, just in case.”

Wanda threw whatever she pulled out of her bag towards you. Catching the small box in your hands your eyes widened at the logo. “Condoms? Really?” you huffed, throwing them back at her.

“What? I want you to be safe!”

You turned away from her, taking a moment to compose yourself. Wanda didn’t know how bad you were feeling this week, you really were too exhausted to reach out to anyone. Maybe if you had a chance to speak she would have known not to joke about you and Bucky.

It’s not completely unreasonable, the idea that you could have sex with him but you didn’t want to be another girl on his mile long list. You wanted something he could never give, and the fact that your hopes were up and subsequently crushed in front of you didn’t make any of this easier.

“Take those back Wan, I promise you I won’t be needing them.”

“Fine,” she huffed.

Wanda helped you go over what you packed to make sure you hadn’t forgotten anything.

“Toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, razor…”

“Oh shit, yes. Gotta shave my legs tomorrow.” You grabbed the bag that held your toiletries, taking it to the bathroom with you to pack your razor and anything else you might have forgotten.

Wanda looked over your bag pulling out the clutch you packed, staring at the glittery reflection of sunlight on your walls. “You should wrap this in something,” she called out, waiting for you to return towards the bed. “If not, the glitter will get everywhere.”

She made a good point. You searched through your closet for something you could place in it and handed it to her, thankful that your dress was still hanging up and unaffected by the ubiquitous glimmering speckles.

“Oh shit I almost forgot!” Wanda went back into her bag to dig out something you actually wanted.

She handed you a beautiful gold necklace meant to wear down the open back of your dress, with four diamonds spaced out evenly along the dainty chain. “You’re going to look incredible. Bucky won’t be able to keep his– ”

“Wanda! Nothing is going to happen between me and Bucky!” you shouted, cringing at the fact that he probably heard you through the walls. With a groan you squeezed your fists tightly, releasing them with a heavy breath. “Those condoms better be in your bag, okay? I’m serious.”

She pulled the box from her bag, scrunching her face with her tongue slightly sticking out at you. A smile broke the hardened look on your face, you could never stay mad at her. Before she left Wanda hugged you, wishing you a nice weekend and thankfully she didn’t mention Bucky anymore.

Everything but your dress was packed so you texted Bucky to let him know you were ready. He was bringing a garment bag for his suit so he offered to put your dress in there as well. A few minutes later you heard the knock at your door and remembering you locked it after Wanda left you had to open it up for him.

“Oh my god!” you gasped, staring wide-eyed at Bucky who sported a new look– short hair!

His head hung down, scrunching his eyes shut to avoid any more of your reaction. He hadn’t cut his hair in years and honestly he never really planned on it but something changed over the week and Bucky knew exactly what it was.

Last weekend surrounded by all of his friends who were happily coupled up really showed Bucky what he was missing and the run in with Whitney reinforced everything about how he’s been living his life and what he wants to change. Bucky wanted a relationship and he was desperate to start one with you.

He couldn’t believe that after all these years of screwing around and closing off his heart that he was able to find someone he could trust with his heart. It’s a crazy thought, for Bucky Barnes, the man who thought he’d live life as a bachelor to have these desires but he couldn’t deny the truth any longer. His revelation came with a need for change.

If Bucky wanted a fresh start he needed to let go of the past, cutting away the dead ends in more than one way. He deleted all the numbers from his phone from the girls he has no interest in sleeping with any more. He deleted the apps from his phone because he didn’t want to meet anyone else, he already found the perfect person and he was sure he had seen sparks in your eyes, the same ones that set off fireworks inside of him anytime you were together.

But this weekend wasn’t going to be about convincing you to date him. He was genuinely happy to have you as a companion to his cousin’s wedding but if there is something between you (and Bucky really hopes his suspicions are true) he would let things happen naturally. And if it’s not meant to be he’ll be there like he always was, as your friend that wants to see you happy, no matter how badly it hurts.

“You cut your hair!”

He grimaced, clenching his teeth together with worry. “You hate it right?” He ran his hand through the short crop, what used to be long strands now a fluff of brown on top of his head.

“No, no, I think it looks great. It’s just… you look so different!” His anxious smile made you clarify your words. “You look great Bucky, honestly. I really like it, I just have to get used to it.”

The soft smile on your face reassured Bucky that his haircut wasn’t a mistake. Deleting apps is one thing but he couldn’t reattach his hair.

You placed your dress in his garment bag, still a mystery to Bucky as it was wrapped in white plastic and then you were off to Penn Station. A large crowd rushed down to the platform of the Long Island Railroad when the train was announced and you had to walk fast down to a further train car to get seats.

Bucky hung the garment bag on the rack above before settling down beside you. He was all prepared with tickets on his phone, declining your offer to pay him. He insisted everything was on him this weekend since you were his guest so you didn’t argue much.

During the long train ride Bucky began to tell you about the people whose wedding you were attending. His cousin Scott was marrying Hope Van Dyne, the daughter of his new employer.

“This is Scott’s second marriage actually. He got divorced after he went to prison.” Your eyebrow quirked at Bucky’s remark. “Scott found out his company was stealing from customers so he hacked their system to pay ‘em back. He did a good thing, shouldn’t have gone to jail in my opinion but anyway, it didn’t help his marriage, ‘specially since he couldn’t see much of his little girl.”

Scott had a daughter named Cassie who he was now able to see regularly since he and his ex Maggie had reconciled and according to Scott she’s going to be the cutest flower girl ever. Bucky isn’t sure how many people would be at the wedding, only that it was taking place on the North Shore of Long Island in a beautiful venue off the water. The hotel Bucky found was about twenty minutes away, something moderate and comfortable for the weekend.

“So, my parents offered to drive us to the wedding, if that’s okay, but I’m assuming they’ll leave early so we’ll probably have to Uber it on the way back.”

“Yeah that’s fine,” you replied. “I was going to meet them at the wedding anyway so we might as well get the awkward introductions out of the way first.”

“About that…” Bucky rubbed the back of his neck, feeling goosebumps prick at his skin. “They actually wanted to pick us up from the train and go for dinner.” He turned to face you, biting his lip as he tried to sense how you were feeling about it. “I can tell them no if you don’t want to.”

Bucky appeared to be more nervous than you’ve ever seen him before and it finally hit you why, he’s never had his parents meet anyone before. Do they know about his lifestyle? Running through women like fire through a haystack. Your curiosity took the lead, wanting to see Bucky sweat a little under the heat of his parents' possible interrogation.

“No, I’d love to!” you answered, trying to hide the sly smile that started to creep its way on your face.

“Cool, yeah…” Bucky responded with failing confidence at trying to hide the fact that he wished you would have declined.. “I’ll text them now.”

More people filed into the train at the next stop, sharply dressed white collar workers looking to get a jump on the weekend even if it was just before rush hour. A man squeezed into the seat beside Bucky, making him encroach on your space a little.

You could tell he was uncomfortable in the middle seat, his muscles stiffening to keep his legs as close together as possible and also not play accidental footsie with the woman in front of him. By shifting your body you were able to give Bucky a little more space at the cost of getting closer, leaning into his shoulder.

With a few more adjustments you both found a comfortable position though Bucky can’t say his nerves had gotten any better. You spent most of the ride that way leaving Bucky’s brain to imagine several scenarios of you snuggling close to him; his arm tucked around you, his lips leaving a trail of soft kisses from your temple, down your cheek until he reached those perfect lips.

“Is that our stop?” you asked, breaking him from the trance where he was indulged in fantasies.

“Uh yeah, comin’ up.”

Grabbing your bags you made your way towards the doors waiting to exit. Bucky checked his phone, finding a message from his parents that were already there. He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, his stomach sinking like an anchor as he realized what was about to happen, and worse he hadn’t told you something important.

You began walking ahead of him down the stairs from the platform and Bucky rushed behind. With his hand on your shoulder you turned around to find worry written all over his face. “I have a confession to make. He sighed, “My– ”

“James!” A soft bubbly voice called out and Bucky turned his head to find a woman on the next block waving both arms in the air and calling him over.

“James?” you questioned under your breath as you walked over to the woman who was clearly his mom.

She was half a foot shorter than him, with shoulder length hair that reminded you of Bucky’s but with a slightly brighter color. Her eyes crinkled with her mouth opening to a huge grin.

“Your hair!” she exclaimed, cupping both sides of his face to examine his new look up close. “You look so handsome.”

She lifted her heels to bring herself closer to him and Bucky met her halfway for the distance so she could give him a kiss on the cheek. You stood there smiling as you watched the cute exchange.

When they pulled apart her gaze came to you, another smile stretching across her face. “James, aren’t you going to introduce us?”

Bucky cleared his throat nervously, “Uh, yeah sorry Mom, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is my mom Winifred.”

“Call me Winnie dear. It’s a pleasure to meet you, James told us all about you.”

“Oh really?” you replied, cocking your head towards James who clearly had some explaining to do.

Bucky swiftly changed the topic as he saw his father’s SUV approaching the curb. As he opened the passenger door for his mother you wondered if he was showing off or not. Then again Bucky had no reason to try and impress you. Your friendship from the start has been completely platonic, except for a shared kiss on New Years.

Considering the first encounter you had, where you awkwardly told him his “guests” were always so loud, Bucky had probably figured there was no point in barking up that tree with you. And he was right, there wasn’t. You’re not interested in becoming another notch on his belt.

Bucky’s father George turned around to greet you after you settled in and he bore a striking resemblance to Bucky, sharp jawline, cleft chin and piercing blue eyes. His smile was different though, still a very warm and friendly one but there was always something about the way Bucky smiled that makes your heart skip a beat. Made. It used to do that but not anymore.

In no time you were at a diner, being seated next to Bucky in a booth across from his parents. Right away they began asking about The September Foundation; apparently Bucky really has told them a lot about you.

“That sounds like a wonderful opportunity to enrich so many young lives,” Winnie said.

“And speaking from the social work field, it’s a great alternative to keep kids active and away from harmful situations. A lot of the programs are STEM based but since that doesn’t appeal to everyone I’ve also worked out a homework help program, where kids can connect with a teacher on-site or through video conferences for extra help.”

Lost in the joy of discussing your work you completely missed the way Bucky was staring at you, seeing your face shine brighter than the sun. Winnie didn’t miss it though, as her eyes flitted over towards Bucky’s, catching him in the act which caused him to look away as an embarrassing shade of pink dusted his cheeks.

“October is our official opening even though we were aiming for September, not because of the name but to coincide with the start of the school year. Though we plan on keeping it open all year round, if we can get the donations of course.”

A proud smile spread across George’s face, as if he was listening to the accomplishments of his own child, “I have no doubt that you will.”

Bucky’s blush deepened knowing you had his parents' approval, not that he meant for this. He told them you were just friends, neighbors, that’s all, nothing more. Despite the details of your life he couldn’t help but tell them; how incredibly devoted you were to helping people, how smart, talented and funny you are… how beautiful. Yeah, he may have let that one slip out but it didn’t matter, you were only friends, sadly.

His thoughts were interrupted by a server coming around to take everyone’s order and thankfully the conversation had changed to his sibling Rebecca, giving his cheeks time to return to their normal shade.

“They’re coming tomorrow, right?” Bucky asked.

“Flying out in the morning and has to be back for work Monday,” Winnie began, “Rebecca was just promoted to Director of Avian Care.”

“That’s great ma.”

“It is, but it means they’ll be even busier than before, so next time when they’re in town James you better stop what you’re doing and come over. It’s bad enough you didn’t come over for Thanks– ”

Bucky interrupted with a vomit of sounds to stop his mom from completing her sentence, revealing the lies he had told everyone about his plans for Thanksgiving. “I promise from now on when Bex is in town I will always make time to see them, okay?”

Nervous inflection took over and he cleared his throat, taking a sip of water to clear it away. An opportunity to change the subject had come up as his mom took out her phone.

“You got a new one?” he asked, nudging his chin towards the device in her hands.

“She didn’t need it,” George added, ranting about the high price. “Your mom thinks she’s a photographer now.”

Winnie playfully nudged his arm, cracking a smile as she told him to knock it off. “I can become one if I want to. The camera has a lot of new features... if only I can figure out how to use them.”

You and Bucky shared a smile, an unspoken look that remembered previous conversations about your parents and technology.

“Hang on, let me try something,” Winnie whispered quietly under her breath and before you realized it she had taken a picture. “Look how good that came out!” she beamed, showing off her phone to George who smirked.

She revealed the image to you and Bucky, the moment you just shared, gazing at each other with a smile that shined all the way through your eyes. A lump settled in the back of your throat as you stared at the picture; somehow seeing it from an outside perspective opened your eyes to the truth. The feelings you had for Bucky were written all over your face, no matter how much you tried to hide them and the fact that his expression mirrored yours made you feel conflicted.

His parents knew things about your life that you never expected him to share with them. Does he do that with all his friends? Probably, right? Because you were just his friend. Bucky doesn’t date, you repeat in your mind over and over. But friends don’t look at each other like that.

The jarring thoughts battled in your mind as you stood silently, an innocent bystander in the war for truth with your heart on the line. Looking back at George and Winnie didn’t help at all, not when he leaned in to peck a kiss on his wife’s lips, crinkles surrounding his eyes as he looked at Winnie in a similar manner, the way lovers see each other.

As dinner finished his parents insisted on picking up the check, and after another short drive they dropped you off at the hotel, with plans to speak tomorrow before picking you up. Walking into a hotel with Bucky was something you never expected to be doing but you tried to keep the awkwardness inside.

“Uh, hi,” Bucky said to the man behind the counter, placing his bag on the ground, still holding the garment bag over his shoulder. “Checking in, James Barnes.”

How can you even think Bucky likes you if he wasn’t even telling you his real name? Your thoughts were interrupted seeing Bucky struggle to take out his wallet with only one hand. You offered to hold the garment bag as he handled the check in process.

“Alright Mr. Barnes, we have you staying for two nights. Check out is eleven, breakfast is available in our lobby from six to nine-thirty. Your room is number 342. If you need anything please don’t hesitate to call the front desk.”

He thanked the man and took back the garment bag from your hand as you walked towards the elevators, stepping inside as the doors opened with a ding. He pressed the button for the third floor, looking around everywhere but to you. The silence was quickly broken as you spoke.

“So… James is it?” You turned towards him as a smirk pulled at your lips.

He sighed, smiling as he shook his head. “I knew this was coming.” He swiped at his chin, chuckling under his breath before he began. “My name is James but no one calls me that. Well, except for my parents.”

“So where did Bucky come from? Is that your stage name?” you teased.

“Ha ha,” he said dryly. “I grew up with a friend named James and since my middle name is Buchanan I sorta became Bucky.” A boyish smile crossed his face.

The door opened and Bucky followed your lead to find the room. The card unlocked the door and you stepped inside happily surprised that there were in fact two beds. You didn’t think Bucky lied when he said he was booking this but the scenario did play in your mind. There must have been a mistake and now there’s only one bed, I guess we’ll have to share. At least Bucky didn’t pull anything scummy like that.

The garment bag was hung in the closet and then you threw your bags onto the bed closest to the window, laying back on the moderately soft blanket that was meticulously tucked in.

“You up for a walk?” Bucky’s question prompted you to lean back on your elbows. “There’s a CVS down the block, I wanted to grab some drinks and stuff.”

“Yeah, sure.”

You popped up from the bed, ready to go, taking the extra room key to place in your bag just in case. The white and red illuminated sign was visible from when you stepped out onto the street, and beyond it was a beautiful sunset, the fiery orange sky licked at the clouds above, with blue trickling through like a stream of water.

“I’m in the mood for chips, you want some?” Bucky asked, as you entered the store.

“Yeah, chips sound good and maybe cookies?”

The exaggerated batting of your eyelashes combined with the innocent smile that stretched along your face made Bucky let out a chuckle of laughter.

“Fine, but you’re eating the cookies in your bed. I don’t want crumbs in mine.”

“Oh and chips don’t make crumbs? I guarantee you’ll get tiny flecks of potato chips all over that bed.”

“No, you’re wrong Y/N,” he said, placing his hand on your shoulder, “‘Cause I’m getting Doritos.”

You laughed along with him, browsing the aisles until you found what you needed. Doritos, chewy chocolate chip cookies, a few protein bars and a small package of almonds (to stay healthy of course), along with some Gatorade and flavored water, split between a few bags, with Bucky carrying the heavier items.

“My water’s going to explode if you keep swinging the bag like that Bucky.”

With a mischievous gleam in his eye he said, “Oh, like this?” He shook the bag that held the carbonated water as you pleaded for him to stop.

“I’m gonna make you open it!” you said through laughter.

You didn’t, insisting that it would be fine if you let it sit until tomorrow, but it did mean Bucky would have to share his Gatorade tonight. He poured two cups, placing them on the nightstand in between the beds and tossed the package of cookies onto your bed.

Opening up your bag you pulled out pajamas, along with a bag of toiletries you took to the bathroom to set out. While you were in the bathroom Bucky got comfortable, toeing off his sneakers, and changing out of jeans into loose basketball shorts. He kept his t-shirt on even though he felt a little hot.

He saw your reflection in the mirrored closet opposite the bathroom door, smiling as he noticed your pajamas, a plain shirt, not too loose worn with pink cropped bottoms decorated with happy smiling faces on all types of breakfast foods; a smiling stack of pancakes with a syrup spilling over the edge, a happy frosted donut, bacon and eggs holding hands with beaming smiles.

“You have to wear those when we get breakfast,” he said, a smile pulling even wider across his face the closer you got.

“No way!” you laughed. “You wear ‘em.”

“I think I will,” Bucky grinned.

Propping up the pillows on your bed, you sat back, pulling back the foil of the package to take out a cookie. The remote was on your side so you flipped through the channels to find anything that might keep you both entertained.

The bag of Bucky’s chips crinkled as he opened them, digging his hand in the bag. It wasn’t long after that he craved something sweet. “Cookie?” he asked, sucking the orange powder off his fingers.

“I thought you didn’t want crumbs in your bed.” You raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah yeah… well I like cookies more than I hate crumbs.”

A smile tugged at your lips. “Fine, but only if I can have some Doritos.”

Bucky scooted over from the center of the bed. “Fine, c’mere. Might as well have just one bed covered in crumbs.”

You smiled, tossing the remote to him as you climbed out of your bed and into his. Only when you were sitting so close did you realize how weird this felt. It shouldn’t though, you’ve been close to Bucky before, closer even, but since you’ve acknowledged your feelings you’ve become more aware of how being near him makes goosebumps prickle across your skin.

But this was nothing, just an easier way to share snacks. Nothing more.

“Go back!” you said, as Bucky was flipping through channels. “Look! It’s you!”

The Music Man was on, Bucky’s namesake for when he first moved in. Bucky looked past your finger that was pointing towards the screen towards the main character “Professor” Harold Hill.

“You think I’m a con man?” he questioned, his brows furrowing as his lips pulled down into a sad pout.

Though he looked concerned you saw the smallest twitch in the corner of his lips and decided to tease him some more.

“You didn’t even tell me your real name so…”

His frown broke out into admitted laughter. As Bucky stared at the way your smile reached your eyes he felt his own lips form a soft one, letting out a sigh that made his heart skip a beat. “You know it now.”

The gaze between you was held for longer than you should have let it, your heart urging you to lean in and press your lips to his again, to feel the sweet relief of the way his soft lips caressed your own. Against your wishes you felt your eyes break contact with his for a brief moment, glancing at his lips, your tongue delicately sneaking out to wet your lips… that is until your mind took control of the reins again.

Clearing your throat you dug your hand into the Doritos, keeping your mouth busy in a different way and Bucky shrugged off whatever was about to happen. He grabbed a few chips for himself, knowing he was not going to push you into something you didn’t want.

A hint of tension lingered in the air but Bucky diffused it quickly, joking, “And anyway, Harold Hill can’t even read music so that was a pretty poor choice of a name to call me.”

A smile eased its way onto your face again. “Well I didn’t call you Harold Hill, I called you the Music Man, which was a shorter way of saying ‘my annoying new neighbor that plays every instrument known to man through our thin walls every night.’”

“Not every instrument.”

You chuckled. “Right, right. You don’t do horns.”

Bucky laughed back, the boyish smile on his face retreating slowly as he asked, “Am I still annoying?”

Your answer was halted as you appraised him, eyes narrowed, lips pursed tightly in an attempt to make him nervous, but you couldn’t hold a straight face for very long.

Breaking out into a smile you couldn’t hide the truth, “No, definitely not.”

It’s amazing how far you’ve come with Bucky, from silently cursing him out in your mind everyday to forming a friendship, one close enough that brought you to this situation that has your heart and mind dueling in a battle for the path you should take.

Sleep didn’t come easy that night, when all you wanted to do was hop into Bucky’s bed, lay your head on his chest and cuddle. Instead you wrapped the blanket around yourself and rolled over, knowing that no matter what side won a part of you would still lose.

PART 19

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes series

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socheckitout-mikey · 3 years

Note

you can totally make hc if you want!!!! i'd eat that shit up like breakfast ngl. in my opinion david is joe (kind of obvious) dwayne would be sal, marko would be murr and that makes paul q <3333

omfg yes! i had way too much fun doing these. i know they're a little shitty, but i tried istg! - mae

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The Lost Boys Pranking Each Other Like Impractical Jokers Hc's:

° I JUST KEEP IMAGINING DWAYNE AS SAL RUMMAGING THROUGH TRASH FOR HIS BIKE KEYS AND THEM LEAVING HIM DHDHDHR OR THAT TIME SAL HAD TO DIG THROUGH ELEPHANT CRAP TO GET HIS PHONE, ONLY ITS DWAYNE'S KEYS AND ALL OF A SUDDEN MARKO GOES "EH BUDDY LOOKIE ERE!" AND HE'S DANGLING HIS KEYS IN THE AIR "I'M GONNA FUCKING KILL YOU GUYS!" SHDHFJFJF

° Paul is deadass one of the most ruthless out of all of them when it comes to prank wars. He's targeting everyone with ridiculous pranks, but they always bite him in the ass later on when he wakes up the following night with his hair dyed a luminous green. He rocks it but he totally had a nervous breakdown over it bc "THAT'S MY FUCKING HAIR MAN!"

° "Maybe you shouldn't have thrown my keys into that gross guys hotdog stand-" David drawls nonchalantly, flicking cigarette ashes at Paul's green goblin looking head.

° There was this one time that Marko attempted to prank David, and I say attempt bc it went absolutely atrociously... Maybe it was because Paul was trying to get him back and gave his buddy too much of that good green stuff. Marko's plan to train his pigeons to crap all over David had ended up with him waking up the next morning covered in pigeon shit. "Serves you right, you yutz-"

° "Man, we need to drown you in the tub." Dwayne snorts.

° "DON'T BRING THAT SHIT UP-" Paul screams from the other end of the Cave.

° "Right... But it's not like we're adding a dog into the mix..." Marko muttered under his breath, using a crumpled old napkin to clean the literal crap off of his face.

° "I SAID SHUT UP!"

° Paul thought it'd be a good idea to drop rice to bug David, but it ended up with all of them counting the fallen grains of rice lmaoo. He kept losing count and everyone got different numbers.

° Honestly, the best one's at pranking people are Dwayne and David as they're very patient and thoughtful.

° David schemes like an asshole cat, striking when you least expect it. It leaves Paul and Marko on edge for months, just waiting for David to pull a prank on them.

° "C'mon man! Just prank us already!" Paul pleads, paranoia finally driving him up the walls.

° "Yeah, we're livin' in fear here!" Marko agreed suddenly.

° "You know, you just reminded me about that..." David's just kidding, though the other two don't know that. David forget something? Not a chance. This guy is on that Petty Train™ and it's going straight to Saltyville!

° Dwayne can take years to strike with his pay back. He's got patience that even David doesn't have, and honestly, Dwayne's pranks are really intense. He'll scare the shit out of the others so much so that they don't prank him for good long while. Paul's the one who never seems to learn lmaoo.

° Well, unless he's in the mood for being playful that is...

° Like I'm talking about the fact that after digging through elephant crap in the local zoo after hours for his bike keys, he not only chased down all of them, but he kinda tied Paul and Marko up and may've just let the sun rise a little... he's waiting for an apology- he's salty now and won't care if they burn... but once he get's that apology he's been wanting to here, he's pulled them into the shadows.

° "Ahhhhh! Dwayne, man, c'mon! The suns rising!" Paul screams, thrashing around in the sturdy chains he's been bound by the wrists at.

° Dwayne responds with an expression of total anger, but it's cool and collected. He's patient. He can wait a little longer. He's in no hurry.

° Whereas David's lounging on one of the dusty old couches in the shadows. He had given Dwayne what he wanted, whether his apology was half assed or not. He still said it with some meaning, right?

° "David didn't even mean that piece of garbage he called an apology!" Marko spat out, eye cracking a vivid yellow whilst he stared directly into David's blue amused eyes.

° "Well at least I had the courage to swallow my idiotic pride~" David sing-songed joyously, folding his nimble gloved hands behind his spikes of bleach blond hair. "And it worked wonders, didn't it? I'm not the one about to be fried into ashes..."

° "Man, we're sorry alright?! We won't fuck with your bike or your keys again!" They both screamed in unison, shutting their eyes tightly as the sun began to rapidly crawl into the open space of the Cave. It's golden rays beginning to spark the ends of their blond locks alight! That was precisely what Dwayne wanted to hear, and without little thought, yanks them down and watches them scurry into a deep crack in the wall. That'd teach them from fucking with his shit ever again.

° "Fuck, my hair! It's all burnt on the ends!" Paul wails, swatting the frizzy ends rapidly to put out the sparks.

° "That's literally the least of your worries, Paul." David retorted into the air, gathering himself up from the couch and towards his own nest.

° "Yeah, we almost got fucking fried you sack of shit! This is the last time I listen to your ideas-" Marko rambles on angrily.

° Yes, they did sleep curled up together in the crack in the wall. They genuinely held each other tightly, Paul waking up from nightmares! Poor baby :'(

° Marko definitely does listen to his ideas after that lmaoo.

° Also it's very true, these guys compete to embarrass each other out in public, so much so that they've pretty much become a star attraction.

° That is until that one time Marko drop kicked Paul off the Pier and cracked his skull open... Yeah, they got into a lot of trouble for that one...

° These guys are chaotic dumbasses and their prank wars a cynical as hell. Like it get's so intense, but it's hilarious! Star and Laddie are kept entertained for ages!

° They be pranking Laddie too, but it's all in good fun. He's a kid after all! They're not gonna be excessively mean to him. That is until he fucks with their shit...

° Then you've got Paul and Marko holding him up by the scruff of his jacket, demanding where their Playboy mags, bike keys, their specific wrench is, that Deff Leppard Tape... boy you name it! They'll interrogate him good cop bad cop style lmaoo.

° Dwayne's heart kinda warms up whenever Laddie pranks him. He ruffles his hair, even if it makes him mad as hell. Laddie is his weak spot tbh.

° David just gives Laddie a pointed look and goes, "This better not become a common occurrence, otherwise I'll have to shave your head."

° Lmaoo the absolute sass that he receives from Laddie after that djkgdsghjsd-

° Sometimes David allows Paul and Marko to get away with their stupid pranks on him. Although it's incredibly annoying, he also finds it endearing how happy getting away with some of the simpler ones makes them. Paul thinks he's literally gotten away with it, but Marko knows.

° Paul deems himself to be the Prank King™ and honestly he is, but you know what? He's usually quite good natured and even though he does overstep boundaries, he'll always make things up to everyone if it really bugs them. He's out to have fun, not get murdered or cause tears. Most of the time...

° He ropes Laddie in on the pranks and loves it! Paul is a great big brother! He also enjoys pranking Star quite a bit, and she can be quite mean when returning the favor.

° Marko however, plays the dirtiest! He's pretty cynical himself, so his sadistic nature comes out full throttle. The lines within him are blurred. He's genuinely good natured usually, but once someone does something that pisses him the hell off... They best be prepared for hell to arrive at their feet.

° Like this one time, Marko cock blocked Paul for several weeks lmaoo then he ate the person Paul had the hots for. He dropped them at his feet in the Cave like, "Whoopsie!" He got into so much shit from Max bc that person was like hella important, I'm talking celebrity status sfjdshfhjsdfnbds

° David's just cynical as hell and he's always got something witty to say during or after it. Definitely mocks them dsjgdsjfds David's just an asshole cat istg! I mean, not even Star is safe from his pranks, but he kinda has a sisterly soft spot for her. He likes to dig deep under her skin and bug her. She's quite fiery honestly.

° Pranks with the Lost Boys is incredibly chaotic to round it off.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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itmighthavebeenintentional · 3 years

Text

We've Got Tonight - Ch 6

Summary: “It’s not your job to do this, Andy. You make people happy. I was in the diner all of ten minutes, and you knew exactly how to get me to smile. You do normal, real things like garden and sing karaoke. Saving the world is my job, Sam’s job. Sometimes it’s even Cas’s job, but it’s not yours.”

Inspired by Bob Seger’s “We’ve Got Tonight”

Warnings: Major Character Death, More Major Character Deaths (sort of?), higher than show level violence, blood, light smutting, language, demons, apocalypse, inferred suicide, cult activity.

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Author’s Note: Image and major edits by the incomparable @there-must-be-a-lock . Heavy editing and cheering by @thoughtslikeaminefield . Thank you both so much.

The next chapter is the last part. I'm truly sorry.

In case you missed it: Chapter 5 ItMightHaveBeenintentional’s Masterlist

We’ve Got Tonight

Chapter 6

“Cas, you’ve got to listen to me.”

“I’m sorry, miss, I think you have me confused with someone else. My name is Agent Michael Jagger.” Castiel’s bewilderment is so endearing and familiar that Andy nearly loses her composure.

She grabs his hand, pulling him uncomfortably close, and she can see suspicion dawning amidst the confusion. She tows him to the back area of the restaurant, technically for staff only, but she doesn’t figure petty rules like that matter just now.

“Listen, Miss, you’ve shown interest in my partner and scheduled time to socialize with him later. While I do understand that you are traditionally attractive, I really-“

“I need you to listen, and then I need you to look. Do you understand?”

“Not even a little.”

“That’s okay, hun, neither do I.”

And then she tells him everything. He can only stare at her silently afterwards, his mouth working as if he’s lost the ability to speak.

“Read me, Castiel. You can see if I’m telling the truth. Hell, go deeper and see what I’m telling you. Please, it won’t hurt anything if I’m lying, and if I’m telling the truth, you and I can save them. Please, please, I’m literally begging you. Just look.”

Castiel gingerly slides his fingers into her hair until the heels of his hands are resting on her cheekbones and his thumbs rest on her temples. His eyes slide shut, his face going just a little slack, and then he’s there with her in the memories, memories that faded with the sunrise but seared themselves permanently on her brain the second she saw the three of them again. She knows the moment he sees his own death because his body convulses ever so slightly, but he holds on until the scene plays out and she takes her last breath in the dream.

His eyes snap open and unerringly find hers.

“How is this possible? Who are you?”

If she didn’t have those weeks of memories, she might be afraid of him right now.

“Cas, you know who I am. You saw me. I have no more idea why this is all happening than you, but we’ve got this second chance, and we have to take it.”

He eyes her cautiously, but his mistrust is beginning to fade. “I’ve been fooled before. You could be hiding something, I suppose, but...I don’t think you are.”

Relief floods over her, though a bitter tinge underlies the sweetness.

“You believe me?”

He nods reluctantly, his dry lips thinning unhappily. “I saw your plan. Are you certain this is what you want to do? Do you think it will work?”

“Well, Cas, you can see I don’t have the best track record with plans. Can you think of anything better that leaves the world intact and you, Sam, and Dean all standing?”

Even though she knows what his answer will be, her stomach still drops a little when he shakes his head.

“Yeah, me neither. It was worth a shot.”

He searches her face without suspicion this time, only a deep, genuine sorrow. “I wish I could have had those weeks with you, Andrea. In the vision, you were a good person to spend time with.”

“Call me Andy, Cas. I swear, I never could get you to call me Andy.”

“But your name tag-”

She cuts him off with a kiss to the cheek. She holds back everything else she wants to say to her friend-that-never-was. It wouldn’t make any sense to him now, on this side of their non-existent time together, and it wouldn't make either of them feel any better. She hands him a piece of torn paper from her order pad, this one larger than the one she gave Dean.

“Check the memories you read off me to be sure, but I remember the ritual starts at midnight tomorrow night. They took me from the Brass Monkey not long before then. You can investigate if you need to, but I would bet that they’ll be at the first address I gave you a few hours before then, say eight or nine o’clock, getting everything set up before they come to snatch me. You know what you and the guys will need to take them out; without my blood and the ritual, they’re still dangerous, but they’re only human. Tell Sam and Dean whatever you need to get them there, but...I don’t think you should tell them what you saw. I think everything would get too muddled, and we’d end up right back at the same crossroads with Crowley.”

“Are you sure it’s wise to still meet up with Dean tonight? What if-”

“Everything has happened the same way so far, Cas, down to Sam nagging Dean about vegetables. And I’ve got to give myself something,” she says, her laugh a little more desperate and hysterical than she intended. “I can’t just...Look, just give me this one night, okay? I think I deserve that. I think Dean deserves that.”

He glances from her to the scrap of paper in his hand. She notices that his lips move a little when he’s reading, and she thinks that little quirk suits him just fine.

“Why is there a second address?”

Thanking whatever higher power gave her this second chance and the ability to keep the fallen angel out of even a few of her thoughts, she turns away from Castiel, moving towards the sink to start on some dishes that someone has let pile up. She’s under enough strain right now that she can’t disguise her expression anymore, and she honestly doesn’t think she can handle the sadness in his eyes for one more second.

“I’m going to keep myself out of the way this time; I have no intention of starting another apocalypse. I’ll stay in tomorrow night and triple lock every entrance to my apartment until you tell Dean to call me and give me the all clear. That’s where you’ll find me when the job’s done. And, Cas?”

He pauses in the doorway, looking back at her with a tortured expression she never sees.

“Remember, we can’t leave any loose ends this time. That’s how you get more apocalypses.” ...

She’s ready and waiting for Dean when he walks in the bar. She can tell he’s taken a little effort with his appearance: his hair is freshly styled, he’s wearing a button-up that isn’t a flannel, and - wonder of wonders- he actually shaved. Having spent an extra minute or thirty on her own primping, she is pleased when his eyes go a little wide as they rake over her seated form.

“I already know I look good, but damned if you didn’t just make me feel edible,” she quips.

She is rewarded with the warmth of his smile as he takes the stool next to her. She’s pleased (but not surprised) when he brushes a kiss on her cheek in greeting. She sips her drink as he orders one of his own, and then they turn on their stools to survey the crowd. He leans a little closer to say something, and she hears him inhale when he gets near.

“You smell amazing. What is that?”

She grins behind her glass. Dean Winchester is not one to comment on a woman’s scent, at least, not in such an innocent, non-sexual way. And yet, both times around, he does just that.

“Lavender and clover blossoms from some boxes on my balcony. I clip some fresh bits sometimes and rub them on instead of perfume. Smells cleaner, less suffocating.”

“I like it.”

They talk about little nothings and nonsense for the next few minutes, favorite bands and movies and foods and anything she can think of just to listen to him talk, to experience him a little more. She doesn’t remember being able to make him laugh this much before, and she thinks maybe she’s doing just a little better time around.

“So, what’re you gonna wow me with?” he asks, gesturing towards the stage with his half-full glass.

“I was thinking ‘Making Love out of Nothing at All,’ but you could probably talk me into ‘Lonely Is the Night’ or even ‘All out of Love’ if you get me tipsy enough.”

He laughs, a bright, weightless sound that cracks her heart in half. She can’t help leaning in and kissing him then, and he leans right back, blissfully unaware of the burden she’s struggling more and more to hide. She pulls away, and he opens his mouth to say something, but she pecks him on the lips again just long enough to stop him speaking.

“You don’t. But you could.”

There’s that smile.

They sit in companionable silence for several songs, sipping their drinks and listening to the other singers. She’s just about to go put her first song request in when he looks over at her, freezing her utterly with one side-long glance.

“How long?”

She can’t have heard him right.

“I’m...I’m sorry?”

“How long have we got? Do you turn into a pumpkin at midnight, or can I keep you out later?”

Oh. Oh, God, Dean, why?

“You know what? I think I might actually go for some Bob Seger. Come help me pick one out.” ...

Chapter 7 (end)

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wiypt-writes · 3 years

Text

Stark Spangled Banner

Ch44: Peanut Butter And Poop

Introducing: Baby Rogers!

Warnings: Bad Language words. Smut! (NSFW) No under 18s. Teeth rotting fluff…

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

A/N: Yeah, I love this chapter. I hope you all do too. And thank @angrybirdcr for the edits. They melted me.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Chapter 43

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

March 2020

“Is everything ok?” Steve asked, tiredly. For the fourth time in about two minutes Katie had shifted, next to him, rubbing her hand over her distended belly. She was fed up now, and he wished he could help her get comfy, he really did. But until their baby decided to make an appearance, there wasn’t much more he could do. She had been feeling crappy all day and had thrown a spectacular tantrum at the fact Steve had shaved his stubble. His reasoning being that although she technically had another four weeks to go, she was already at full term size, and if their son arrived, who knew how long it would be before he managed to shave again, but she was having none of it. Steve had simply stood there, calmly whilst she’d ranted and raved about that and everything else she was pissed off about before she’d broken down into tears and apologised, falling into his arms and going on another rant about how shitty she was feeling.

His wife was such a strong person normally, the strongest person Steve knew in fact, but over the last week she’d been up and down mood-wise more than any other time during her pregnancy, and he hated seeing her so uncomfortable and upset. And tonight, she was physically the most uncomfortable he had seen her yet. “Yeah, he’s just kicking.” She sighed, rolling over to face him. “Really hard, Steve. It fucking hurts.” Steve gave her a sympathetic smile as he reached out and pressed his hand to her abdomen, waiting, and then he felt another sharp dig, Katie hissing air out through her teeth.

“Maybe he’s gonna be a footballer.” Steve yawned, attempting to make light of the situation. But it didn’t work. “Well I’m not a football.” She grumbled, pressing her hand to her stomach just above Steve’s. “Pack it in, Buddy, please.”

Co-incidence or not, their baby stopped kicking, but Katie was still restless. She moved again, and again, until finally Steve sat up, flicking on the lamp, his face silently asking her what the issue was. Katie had to smile, there wasn’t a shred of annoyance in his face, despite the fact it was almost one in the morning thanks to her sleep patterns being all over the place. Instead, there was nothing but love and genuine concern across his handsome features and coupled with the fact she was hormonal and just felt a bit shit, she started to cry.

“I’m fed up Steve.” She sniffled. “I’m fat, I had to get Natasha to shave my legs yesterday, I can’t see my feet, I need to pee all the time and…” “Sweetheart,” he chuckled, softly looking down at her, taking his face in her hands, “first off, you’re not fat, you’re pregnant. Very pregnant. With our baby.”

“I know but,” she continued to cry, “I just…”

Whatever it was that she just, Steve never found out as she simply sniffed again and moved so that her head was lay across his lap over the covers of their California king, and he gently stroked her hair. And for a moment he thought he’d managed to sooth her until she gave another groan.

“For fucks sake, I just can’t get comfy.” She sniffled, her sobs coming again as she sat up. “My back and my shoulders…”

Okay, this he could try and help with. Smiling to himself he looked at her. “Assume the position, Doll.” She gave out a watery laugh as she heaved herself over so she was facing away from him. Steve shuffled down so that he was led right behind her and doing the one thing he could to try and get her to feel a little relaxed, he slid his strong hands up her top, his deft fingers gently massaging and rubbing at the spot he knew was sor in her lower back.

“You still feeling funny?” He asked, his fingers working the tight and aching muscles and she nodded.

“Have been all day, but it’s not uncommon apparently. Pepper said she felt iffy for the last four weeks of her pregnancy.” “Four weeks.” Steve mused, his fingers stopping momentarily before he started again. “As if he’s gonna be here in four weeks.” “Well, it could be any time technically. And I hope it is, because frankly, I can’t wait to get him out.” She sighed, as Steve’s hands gently guided her top, well his shirt, over her head so his hands could work at her shoulders and her upper back.

“Hmmm,” he gently swept her hair off her neck so he could plant a soft kiss there. “I can’t wait but I’m gonna miss your bump.” “I’m not,” she scoffed, as his hands crept round to cradle her distended stomach, “and stop feeling him and carry on. Until he’s here this is all about me, remember.” She shrugged her shoulders, emphasizing her message, and he chuckled. “Sorry doll.” Relaxing into his touch, Katie felt herself leaning back against him and then Steve made the best suggestion he had ever made to her in the history of suggestions.

“Why don’t I run you a bath? I know it’s late but Emmy’s at Brooke’s for the evening and it might help.” Katie groaned “God, yes.”

He kissed the back of her neck and threw back the covers, climbing out of the bed, not an inch of tiredness displayed in his body. Despite herself, Katie had to bite back a laugh. He was like a coiled spring at the moment. He had told Rhodey a few weeks ago that he wasn’t travelling anywhere now until the baby was here for fear of missing anything, but as a result that relentless energy which normally went into his work was bubbling inside him, and even his runs every morning and night were doing nothing to help.

Laying back she closed her eyes until she heard him calling and she heaved herself up, taking a moment to steady herself before she rather ungraciously waddled out of the room, one hand pressed to her lower back, the other clamped under the bottom of her bump.

“Give me a hand when you need me to lift you out.” Steve chuckled as he passed her on the hallway and she spun round, glaring at him. “Like last time.” “That’s not funny.”

“No, but it will give me the chance to eye up your naked pregnant body, something I intend to make the most of as it won’t be around for much longer.” “You’re a piece of work, Steven Grant Rogers.” She huffed, as she turned and headed to the bathroom.

Steve settled back on the bed and flicked on the TV. There wasn’t much on but in the end he logged into Netflix and settled for a few re-runs of ‘Brooklyn 99’. The show was absurd, but it was easy watching and he quite liked it, Jake Peralta reminded him in an odd way of a cross between Tony and Thor with his incessant energy and ridiculousness. About halfway through an episode, he was struck with another good idea, and he headed down into the kitchen to make them both a drink, cocoa for him and a ginger and honey tea for Katie. He carried the mug into the bathroom where his wife was slumped in the tub, surrounded by lavender and camomile bubbles, her eyes closed. She looked up at him, one eye open as he walked in, handing her the mug and she let out a soft groan.

“My hero.” She smiled as he dropped a kiss onto her lips before heading back into their room.

It was about another thirty minutes or so when she did call him. He knew she hated this, needing his help, but getting out of the huge tub on her own was simply a physical impossibility. Once he’d helped her out and she was wrapped in a robe, she dropped on the bed, seemingly pacified for a moment until she suddenly wanted peanut butter. Heading into the kitchen, he opened the cupboard and a cold feeling of dread washed over him when he realised they were out.

Fuck, fuck!

He was certain there had been three jars in there this morning. He frantically searched the rest of the kitchen, just in case Katie’s baby-brain had meant she’d stashed it somewhere else, but there as none to be found. Grimacing, he took the stairs two at a time and winced at the look on his wife’s face when he told her she must have eaten it all, before hastily placating her as her eyes watered, reminding her that the twenty-four hour mart was only a five minute drive away.

Which was why he found himself there at twenty-seven minutes past two on a Sunday morning buying six jars of the damned stuff.

Captain America, buying jars of peanut butter at half 2 in the morning for his wife.

Steve smiled to himself, he didn’t give a shit.

“Missus is Pregnant.” He nodded to the man behind the counter, who gave him a look of confusion as he dropped the jars onto the side by the till. The guy laughed, and nodded.

“It was chow-mein with my gal.” He chuckled as Steve handed over the cash. “That was a pain in the ass at four am on a Sunday. Trust me buddy, you got off lightly.”

Thanking his lucky stars that his wife’s craving was, indeed, relatively simple, Steve headed back home and she nearly cried when she took a jar off him and dug in with a spoon. They sat still for another hour, at which point Steve really was ready to fall asleep, and after eating half of a jar in one go, Katie screwed the top back on and set it back on her nightstand, her eyes drooping slightly.

“Think I’m okay now.” She nodded softly and Steve hummed into her hair, reaching up and turning the TV and lamp off and settling them down. She managed about half an hour before she groaned again and heaved herself off to the bathroom, this time for a pee. When she came back she lay facing him, her fingers gently tracing his jaw and he cracked one eye open and they just lay there, watching one another in the dim light.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered.

“What for?”

“Keeping you awake.”

Steve chuckled and leaned forward to give her a soft kiss “Honey, it’s fine.”

And it was, it really was. He would be tired tomorrow, he knew that, but he didn’t care.

He closed his eyes and he was on the verge of sleep, teetering between dozing and being fully under when…

“Steve.” Katie whispered softly, and he grinned as he knew that suggestive tone way too well. “I’m horny, now.” “You really know how to pick your moments, Mrs Rogers.” He sniggered a little, opening his eyes, as his mouth met hers again, the slight taste of the peanut butter made him smile even more as both his lips held her bottom one as the kiss lingered.

“Blame your son.” She murmured as she kissed him again, her hands creeping into the back of his hair, eliciting a soft moan from him.

And that was all it took.

Steve was obliging, and kissed every part of her body he could, taking care to avoid the rather tender chest area. It was slow, soft, as their bodies joined in the ever so familiar dance, tangled in the sheets of the bed. As his wife rode him, her large bump not allowing for any other position, Steve’s hands never left the side of her hips, the pair of them groaning loudly as her release took her over the edge and he followed shortly after. They lay there, gently on the bed together, Katie’s back pressed into his chest, for half an hour or so afterwards. Steve’s hand was strong yet gentle over her waist, his hand caressing the place his son was currently dwelling, thumb stroking her stretched skin in soft arcs. And when he felt her finally relaxed, he took a quick glance at the digital clock on the night stand, giving a slight roll of the eyes as he saw it was almost half four in the morning.

****** Katie woke later that morning at little after eight, trying not to groan at the now quite nasty pain in her back. She didn’t even try to go back to sleep, knowing it was utterly pointless. Instead, leaving Steve flat out, exhausted from the nights activities, she headed into the kitchen to make herself a peppermint tea and stuck a heat pack into the microwave, grabbing another jar of peanut butter.

The pains in her back and lower stomach continued to get progressively worse through the morning and along with them so did Katie’s mood. Emmy had called asking to stay at Brooke’s for a bit longer, which suited Steve as it meant he could give Katie his undivided attention, so he agreed and promised to collect her later in the evening.

As they both stood in the kitchen, Katie trying to decide what she wanted for lunch, eventually settling on meatball subs. They began to cook together, something to take Katie’s mind of feeling so uncomfortable, but as she turned to pass Steve the cheese so he could start loading the bread up, a searing pain flashed across her abdomen causing her to give a loud exclamation and clutch at the counter edge with one hand, dropping the packet of grated cheddar from the other.

“Katie?” Steve turned to face her, frowning “Sweetheart?”

She turned into him, curling her fists into his shirt, pressing her head against his chest, with a groan, her forehead digging into his collarbone. He gently held her back, supporting her as she breathed through the pain.

“I - mm.” Katie’s voice was trembling, a combination of fear and excitement. “I thought it was just cramps but now I think…”

Steve understood immediately. And despite all the classes, all the prep, everything, he suddenly felt really, really nervous “What? Now?”

She looked up into his eyes which were wide, in a combination of anticipation and trepidation and laughed. “I think so, yeah.”

Steve went straight into Captain mode. The maternity bag was loaded into the car, Dr Kellet was called who told them to monitor the contractions in frequency and duration, and a bath was run to try and make Katie more comfortable but it didn’t work.

Neither did a soft walk round the block with Lucky.

Four hours later, Katie was stood, bent over the back of the sofa as Steve rubbed her back, helping her breath through another contraction. They were now coming every thirteen minutes and getting far more painful (thanks to Steve’s impeccable time keeping skills for that one) when Katie noticed him step back slightly as she felt a dampness spread across her legs.

Her waters had gone.

“Baby, I think-“ “I know,” she grit her teeth as the pain subsided again. Steve was already on the phone to Dr Kellet and as he thanked her and placed the phone into his pocket he gently placed his hands on the side of his wife’s hips as she straightened up.

“She’s told us to go in.” A smile flickered on his face and despite the pain and stress she was feeling, Katie couldn’t help but find her heart swelling at the excitement on his face.

Steve called Tony, asking him to collect Emmy, then rang the girl herself who squealed with excitement at the fact her brother was on his way. A quick chat to Jennifer’s mum to explain, the woman wishing them both luck, and Katie was in the car and they were off, making quite possibly the most important journey of their lives. Steve drove carefully but determinedly to the Birthing Centre, his thumb tapping out a nervous rhythm on the steering wheel, casting glances at Katie every chance he got, and by the time they had arrived twenty minutes later the contractions were arriving five minutes apart.

He helped her change and got her settled in their airey room, his hand curling round hers as she lay back on the bed, both of them pleased to see the familiar face of Dr Kellet as she walked into the room just as another contraction hit Katie. Once it had subsided, Dr Kellet smiled moved to examine her.

“Yes, you’re in active labour Mrs Rogers.” The Doctor smiled. “You have a little while to go yet though so, we’ll try and get you a little more comfortable, okay?”

Katie nodded.

“And you still don’t want an epidural?”

“No.” She shook her head firmly, and Steve raised her hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the back of it. She’d been adamant that there were no needles going anywhere near her back, not after what HYDRA had done to her, which broke Steve a little when she’d said that to him, not only at the memory of what she’d been through, but also a the fact she was going to be giving birth with little relief.

Three hours later, however, Katie was seriously questioning her decision. She was on all fours on the bed, desperately trying to find some release that the gas and air wasn’t really providing anymore as Steve rubbed her back, feeling utterly helpless.

“I don’t like you-” Katie groaned, her voice cutting off as another wave of pain washed over me. “I don’t you seeing me like this. I don’t like it, you should go”

Go? Not a chance, Doll, he thought to himself as he glanced up at the midwife who simply smiled at him. He leant down so his lips were by Katie’s ear and she turned her head, burying it into his shoulder, as his arms supported hers. “Katie Marie Rogers, I have seen you throw tantrums that rival the ones a two year old could produce, I’ve seen you with a face full of blood and a broken nose, I’ve watched you crawl through a dirty hole in the floor to disarm a bomb, and come out trembling. I’ve seen you scream the house down after spotting a damned spider, I’ve seen you half dead,” the words caught in his throat at the memory, “I’ve seen you shit faced to the point of puking, not to mention that I’ve seen you in every single position going.”

Katie snorted loudly, before gripping at his arm as another wave crashed over her.

“None of that could ever make me love you any less. And, seeing you here now, about to give birth to our boy, well I couldn’t love you anymore if I tried. I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

She looked up at him through her tears and he wiped at her face with his thumbs, giving her what he hoped was a reassuring smile, before she let out a gasp.

“I need, I need to push.” The panic tone in her voice made Steve glance up at the Doctor as Katie grabbed athis arm. “Steve, I…oh shit, I want to lay back, please, I need-“

“Okay, okay, I got you.” Steve assured her as the Doctor nodded at him to oblige. He gently helped her onto the back as Dr Kellet stood forward.

“You good?” She asked Katie who shot her a scathing look and Steve had to bite back the snort at the fact the Doctor merely raised an eyebrow whereas most people would be quaking in their boots at that infamous Stark glare. Instead, she merely smiled. “Let’s have a look.” Katie grabbed Steve’s hand with a force he didn’t think possible, and it almost made him wince slightly, but he was damned if he was showing her that she was hurting him. As far as he was concerned, she could break every damned finger he had if it meant she was okay, that their son was okay.

“Yep, we’re in business.” The Doctor said, nodding to the midwife that was in the room. “Okay, Mrs Rogers, next time you feel ready to push I want you to do so gently, follow my lead, Steve is gonna help you with your breathing okay?”

And Steve tried, boy did he try. But after twenty minutes of pushing, Katie was pissed off, tired, in agony and just wanted it all to be over.

"You’re doing so well, Sweetheart.” He smiled gently, as he brought her hand up to his lips.

“You are NEVER touching me again.” She grit her teeth and he let out a chuckle, wiping her clammy forehead with one hand.

“Alright, Katie.” The midwife looked at her from the foot of the bed. “Next time, I want a big, strong one. He’s crowning. Chin into your chest…”

“Fuuuuuck…” Katie screamed, another contraction hitting her and she let out a yell, gripping Steve’s hand as she pushed with everything she had.

You’re doing amazing, Katie. Just one more.” Steve dropped a kiss to her forehead, his heart was beating so loud he was sure she would hear it. “Come on, you got this, and I’ve got you, okay?” Another yell, one final push and then…

A piercing scream hit their ears as Katie sagged back on the pillow panting before she looked up, relief crashing over her. Steve was beaming from ear to ear, his eyes wet as he looked at his wife, in awe at how simply amazing and strong she was.

“You did it.” His voice cracked as he kissed her head. “Oh, Baby Girl, you did it.”

“He’s here?” Katie asked, dazed slightly as their baby was placed straight onto her chest, where the buttons at the top of her gown were undone, and instantly the warmth she felt was like nothing she had ever experienced before, her chest filling as she held their baby boy tenderly, tears pouring down her face.

“Oh God.” Steve breathed, his voice cracking, as Jamie was covered with a towel, resting on his wife’s chest, his piercing cries subsiding at the skin to skin contact. Steve rest his head against Katie’s, wiping the tears that had pooled at the end of his nose away, and the pair of them looked down getting their first glimpse of their son.

“Hi, baby!” Katie finally managed to speak, looking down through her tears at the tiny bundle in her arms as his head lay against her chest, making little snuffling noises. “We waited so long for you!”

She finally tore her eyes off the precious bundle and looked up at Steve, his eyes swimming with tears of joy as her own continued to fall down her cheeks. "It’s our boy, Steve.”

“He’s perfect.” Steve whispered again and gently smoothed down the towel with a trembling hand so he could see their baby’s face clearly. Steve instantly noticed he small spattering of dark blonde hair on his head, and there was something distinctly Stark-like about his nose. Then his eyes barely opened, but through them he saw a sliver of beautiful baby blue.

The Soldier’s heart instantly swelled so full he thought it would bust from his chest. He already knew this, but as he looked down at his son, it simply solidified the fact that he would take on the world to protect that little bundle in his wife’s arms, shield or no shield.

They remained wrapped in their own little bubble so much so that neither of them knew what was going on around them. Eventually, their baby was gently taken to the opposite side of the room whilst Katie was cleaned up. He was weighed at 7lb 4, which was, given Steve’s size, rather small but still perfectly healthy. Steve couldn’t help but hover, watching what they were doing with his boy, wincing as they gave him a shot of vitamin K.

“Does he have a name?” The nurse recording his AGPA scores looked up. Steve looked at Katie and she nodded at him.

“James” Steve spoke, his voice croaky. “Jamie.” “Alright.” The nurse scribbled something onto a band which was placed around his wrist before he was wrapped in a clean towel and the midwife looked up at Steve.

“Would you like to take him, Dad?”

Steve nodded, swallowing.“Yeah, yeah I would.” “Okay, well if you’re comfortable doing so, open your shirt, he’ll appreciate the skin to skin contact…”

Steve did was he was told, undoing the four buttons on his dark green Henley and could do nothing but gasp as his son was laid in his arms, tears once more forming in his eyes as he cradled their child to his chest for the first time, awestruck as he brought his lips down to drop gently on his head.

“Hey, Pal.” He whispered unsteadily. “I’m your Dad.”

Katie watched the two of them, more tears springing into her eyes as Steve sat down on the chair next to the bed and she just watched the pair of them, Steve’s eyes not once leaving his boy, who Katie noticed was now trying to burrow into his chest face-first.

“What are you doing, lights too bright for you, Buddy?” He asked softly.

“It’s called rooting.” One of the nurses looked over “He’s wanting to feed. Are you ready to try Mrs Rogers?”

Katie nodded and sat up slightly, as Steve gently handed him over and the midwife helped Katie position him correctly. It took a while, but when he finally latched on and began to suckle, Katie looked down into her baby’s face, trying to memorize the way the tiny hand curled against her skin. Steve leaned close, simply watching, his heart full of a love like nothing he had ever felt before.

“You’re beautiful,” he told Katie suddenly, and she laughed a little, because it was anything but true at that moment in time.

“I think the serum is failing as your eyes are clearly not working properly.” She retorted, glancing up at him.

“I mean it,” he repeated, leaning in to kiss her temple. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. And look what you made!”

She glanced down at Jamie, who was feeding enthusiastically and smiled. “What we made…” “Yeah but you cooked him.” Steve’s finger slid under her chin so that she was looking back up at him, and he held her gaze, driving his words home. “Thank you.”

Katie leaned into his touch as his palm caressed her cheek. Carefully, he moved to sit on the bed beside her, guiding her head against his shoulder and gathering his family into very gentle embrace, his eyes not once leaving his baby.

"I love you,” he whispered into her hair - and he didn’t budge from that spot until Jamie was done nursing and Katie was then escorted to the toilet. In there she changed out of the gown and into a pair of pyjamas and returned from the en-suite of their private room, with a tired smile on her face to see that Steve, had dug out a baby grow. Katie watched as he placed their son in the cot by the end of the bed, with infinite tenderness, and the new parents dressed him for the first time.

“I suggest you both get some sleep whilst you can.” Dr Kellet smiled, peering into the cot where Jamie was now yawning, eyes drooping. “I’ll be back tomorrow to check on you. If you need anything though, just hit the call button and one of the Midwives will come in. Congratulations.” Steve and Katie both thanked her as Katie headed over to the bed, dropping exhaustedly onto it.

“You should go get some rest.” She yawned and Steve shook his head.

“I’m not leaving you.” Steve snapped a quick photo of the sleeping baby before settling on the bed as Katie lay her head on his chest. “Not a chance.”

It wasn’t long before she had fallen asleep, exhausted, and Steve sat up slightly, firing the photo off to Tony, Emmy, Nat and Rhodey. The replies of congratulations flooded in, along with a selfie of Tony, Pepper and Emmy on Tony’s sofa with their thumbs up. Steve snorted, it was almost two am now, but he knew that Tony and Emmy would be too excited to sleep. He placed his phone back on the night stand and settled down next to his wife, his hand straying into her hair. A little sniffling noise came from the cot at the side of the bed and Steve sat up, to check on him, but Jamie was sleeping soundly so he relaxed back, taking a deep breath.

He was in way over his head, and there was no planning for this mission, not one bit. But Steve found he didn’t mind. As he dropped a kiss to Katie’s head, he closed his eyes with a satisfied sigh knowing full well that the 7th March 2020 was a date he was never going to forget.

****

Katie opened her eyes and stared around the unfamiliar room which was lowly lit from a chink of light flooding in under the door. She sat up so quickly that her head spun, and she dropped back against the pillow, taking a deep breath. Then her eyes caught the man in the chair by her bed, and the memory of the night before came back. At some point in the night Jamie had woken for a feed but post it wouldn’t stop fussing and Katie’s half-conscious attempts to soothe him had failed. Steve had at that point stepped in and taken him, insisting that she get some rest as he paced the room with his son, gently rocking him to and fro. Her husband was now leaned back in the chair by her bed fast asleep, their little boy slumbering on his dad’s chest, secured by Steve’s large, gentle hands. Katie felt her heart swell and she grabbed her phone, noting that the time was only a little after 6:30 am, meaning that it was only two hours or so since his feed. She took a quick snap, contemplated taking Jamie back to his crib before she decided he was fine where he was. Steve wouldn’t let anything happen to him. Glancing at her two boys, she sank deeper into her pillow, quietly satisfied, as she drifted back off into a light sleep.

Steve was woken by a soft cry about forty-five minutes later, and despite his best attempts Jamie wouldn’t settle.

“Sorry, Doll.” he looked at Katie as she woke, blinking as she pushed herself up. “I think he’s hungry and I can’t help him in that department.” With a smile she took their baby and began to nurse him again, something Steve didn’t think he’d ever get tired of seeing. Once he was fed, the midwives appeared and offered them breakfast which they gratefully accepted and then Katie positively moaned when she was told she could shower. She was dried off an and in a clean set of Pyjamas just in time for visiting hours which started at ten.

At one minute past there was a knock on the door to their room.

“Hey Mommy and Daddy!” Pepper peering round the door clutching a huge blue balloon as Tony followed, Morgan in her stroller. The tot squealed when she saw Steve who stood up to greet them as Emmy flew into the room, locking her arms around Steve’s waist. He dropped a kiss to her head and looked up as Natasha stepped in hot on their tail.

”Congratulations Cap.” Tony beamed, shaking Steve’s hand before he pulled him into an embrace. Katie smiled up at her family, Jamie clutched in her arms having just been fed again as Tony moved and stepped up to the bed, kissing the top of his sister’s head as he peered down at his nephew.

“Well done, Kiddo.” he whispered softly and she smiled at him.

Pepper was next to congratulate her, then Natasha and finally Emmy who gave her brother an appraising look. “Hmmm takes after you, Dad.” She smirked up at Steve. “Where else is he gonna get a face like that?” Steve rolled his eyes as he stood up from where he had been crouched saying hello to Morgan. He glanced at Tony who was peering down at his nephew, a huge grin on his face.

“He’s beautiful, guys.” Tony said and Katie smiled up at her brother and he made a gesture with his arms. “Can I?”

Katie nodded, and moved to gently pass him over, and Tony took him in his arms with a soft chuckle.

“Hey, Champ.” He beamed down as Jamie moved softly in his arms, kicking slightly. “How’s it going?”

“How are you feeling?” Pepper asked, looking at Katie.

“Tired but, I’m good.”

“So, does he have a name yet?” Tony looked at Katie and Steve took a deep breath, his arms crossing over his chest. If truth be told, he was a little nervous about revealing the name they had chosen, Bucky wasn’t Tony’s favourite person, but before he could answer he spotted Katie giving Emmy a small wink.

“Horatio Montgomery Rogers.” Katie nodded. “Monty for short.” There was a pause whilst Pepper, Tony and Nat all exchanged a look and Steve bit on his lip.

“That’s…” Tony began, searching for words as he glanced down at the baby in his arms before he finally settled on, “…unusual”

Emmy looked at Katie again before they but out laughing.

“I can’t believe you fell for that, Uncle Tony!” Emmy cackled. “Such an idiot.”

“I resent that.” Tony pouted and Natasha cleared her throat.

“So what is his name?” Nat pressed. Katie looked at Steve and gave him a nod.

“James Anthony Samuel Rogers” Steve took a deep breath as Tony blinked. “Jamie for short.” “James Anthony Samuel.” Tony whispered looking down at Jamie. “James. Anthony?” His eyes locked onto Katie’s, then Steve’s, before they flicked back down to his nephew. “You actually named him after me?”

Katie smiled. “Yeah, guess we did”

“And I was only joking too.” His voice choked as Natasha, stepped forward to peer down at the baby in his arms. “But the James is after Barnes, right?” She looked up. Steve took a deep breath, his eyes flickered to Tony who was simply gazing down at his nephew with adoration as Katie answered.

“There’s so many people we’ve both known or know with the name James.” She shrugged. “Rhodey, half the Howling Commandos, but yes, Bucky was one big reason, another was Grandad Jim.” Tony looked up at her, smiling, his eyes wet. “Yeah, Grandpa Jim was pretty awesome”

“And so is his uncle-slash-grandpa.” She smiled and Tony gave a loud sniffle.

“Wrap it up Kiddo, you’re killing me” He shook his head as he turned to Natasha. “We’ll call that one a draw.”

Steve rolled his eyes, as Natasha shrugged. “Suppose you can’t be wrong all the time, Shell-Head.”

Jamie was passed around, and Emmy finally got to have a hold as she sat in the chair, Steve crouched by her side as she peered down at the baby. But when it was Natasha’s turn, the red head grew almost as emotional as Tony as she held him and he curled his tiny hand around her finger.

“Good job he likes you.” Katie smiled at her, “you know, seeing as you’re gonna be his god-mother and all…” “Me?” Nat’s head whipped up and she looked at Katie, then Steve, her eyes full of tears. “I mean…” “Well, there’s no one else for the job so it kinda falls to you by default.” Steve teased from where he was perched on the arm of the chair.

“You’re such a douche.” Emmy muttered, elbowing Steve in the ribs and Tony’s face split into a grin.

“Kid, you have no idea…did you know his nickname is Spangles?” “Spangles?” she grinned and Steve groaned

“No one calls him Spangles other than Tony, because Tony is an idiot.” Katie shook her head.

At that point, Jamie let out a huge shriek and Natasha promptly crossed the room to hand him back to his momma, who placed him over her shoulder and he nuzzled into her neck, his nose brushing against her jaw line. As she looked around the room, her eyes locked onto Steve’s and he gave her, quite possibly, the most affectionate look she could ever recall him giving her. And at that moment, although they were surrounded by their friends and family, she felt like the only woman in the world.

*****

Thankfully as everything had gone as well as expected they were discharged later that day and they could go home. Steve, having practiced about a billion times, expertly clipped Jamie’s car seat into the base of the Porche SUV they had borrowed from Tony a few weeks ago (the Camero just wasn’t baby friendly) and Katie climbed into the back, positioning herself in the middle seat so she was by their son for the drive home.

Emmy had gone back to Tony’s to give them the evening to settle in, and with Lucky also with them, when Katie and Steve walked into the house, Steve carefully carrying the car seat containing the most precious cargo he had ever carried, it struck them that they were suddenly on their own.

With a baby.

Steve set the car seat on the coffee table in the lounge and the two of them sat on the couch, looking at their baby before they looked at one another, neither of them having a clue what to do next.

Thankfully, a piercing scream from Jamie jolted them out of the stupor and dictated exactly what they needed to do. As Katie set about feeding him, Steve headed into the kitchen to make them something to eat and by eight pm the pair of them were whacked and ready for bed but Jamie had other ideas. It took a lot of pacing, frustrated sighs and prayers but he finally settled a few hours later and the new parents crawled between their sheets, exhausted, frustrated and feeling like they were embarking on a mission which was far bigger than any they had faced before.

*****

Steve heard his wife get up, but didn’t register why. Not at first. He dozed for another half hour or so before he heard a cry and he sat upright, looking around. He blinked, saw the empty crib at the side of the bed and smiled to himself. Swinging his legs out of bed he pulled on a t-shirt and grabbed the bag he’d had waiting for weeks out of the back of his closet before he headed down the stairs.

Katie was sat on the sofa in one of his button downs, her bare legs crossed, munching on a piece of toast when he paused in the door to the lounge taking in the scene. The domesticity of it all hit him for a moment and he felt himself welling up, he’d never in his wildest dreams dared to imagine he would ever be this damned lucky. But here he was, gorgeous wife, beautiful baby…

At that point, Jamie started fussing and she instantly placed her hand on his tummy whilst he lay in the wicker Moses basket in front of her, gently hushing him, all the while a look on her face of infinite tenderness. As he settled she smiled, simply gazing at their boy for a moment before she looked up and smiled at Steve. He walked over to her and dropped a soft, lingering kiss to her lips and she smiled.

“Morning.” She whispered and he smiled against her mouth, kissing her again before his attention turned to his boy and he gently reached into the basket, his finger softly running down his son’s cheek.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” “Could you feed him?” Katie grinned and Steve let out a soft laugh and shook his head.

“No, suppose not.” He looked at Katie and nodded to Jamie “Can I?”

“Steve, honey, he’s your son. Of course you can.” He placed the bag he was holding on the coffee table, Katie still not noticing it, as he reached into the basket and gently picked his son up, cradling him to his chest as Jamie buried his face into his neck, still sleeping. Steve gently moved to sit on the couch and Katie watched the pair of them, smiling softly.

“That’s for you.” He nodded to the Tiffany bag. Katie glanced at, blinking in surprise before she frowned slightly.

“What for?”

“Well it used to be a tradition to buy your wife something after your first child and Tony assured me it still was so…”

She beamed at him and reached over for the bag. As Steve cradled his boy close he watched his wife pull out the blue ring box and open it, her mouth dropping open as she looked at the platinum Eternity band which was studded with sapphires and diamonds.

“It’s beautiful.” She whispered, turning to him and leaning over to give him a soft kiss. “Thank you.” Steve beamed at her and watched as she rejigged the rings on her wedding finger so she could place it in between her wedding and her engagement ring. She flashed her hand at him to show him what it looked like on.

“Looks good.” He smiled “I clearly have good taste.” “Of course you do, you chose me.” ****

“Come here.”

Steve turned to look at Katie who was on the other side of their bedroom and he frowned. “What?”

“Just come here.”

Steve crossed the room towards her where she grabbed the bottle of his aftershave and sprayed an amount to his neck.

“What are you…” he frowned as she stood up to take a deep sniff.

“Oh thank God!” She groaned. “I can sniff you again without feeling sick!”

Steve snorted, and shook his head, a grin on his face as Katie began to spray the Hugo Boss around the room, sniffing and smiling to herself before she stopped and grimaced.

“Oh, that’s…” She looked down at the crib and Steve did the same.

“Oh.” Steve wrinkled his nose

“Your turn, Daddy.” She patted his back. “I’m going for a shower.” Steve looked at her, slightly panicked as Jamie began to let out a soft cry “What, alone?” “Don’t tell me Captain American can’t deal with a bit of poop.”

“It’s not that. I might do it wrong or…” “Steve, relax, what’s the worst that can happen?” She eyed him, as he bit his lip, watching his reaction carefully. Whilst he had been amazing that night in the hospital, once they had gotten home and away from the safety net of midwives, she had fast realised that Steve had suddenly grown incredibly nervous when it came to their baby, asking permission to pick him up, wind him, cuddle him and Katie was keen to nip that in the bud right away. She knew he wanted to help as much as possible and she didn’t want him to constantly be second guessing everything he did.

“I err…” Steve stuttered and she cut him off. “You saw me before.” She shrugged, heading into the en-suite. “You’ll be fine.”

Steve watched her go and then peered down at his son, swallowing slightly before he picked him up and took him into the nursery. As soon as the baby-grow was off, Jamie still crying slightly, Steve suddenly felt completely inadequate. Cursing to himself, he laid Jamie gently on the changing mat, wrinkling his nose and trying to shut out the scream that was ringing round his ears. At that point he was seriously starting to believe that this was worse than facing off against thirty HYDRA agents single headedly. Taking a deep breath and telling himself to get it together, he managed to clean Jamie, get a fresh diaper on, and then once he was dressed again, he picked the baby up.

“Come on, Pall.” He soothed softly, his large hand gently smoothing his son’s back as he walked over to look out of the bedroom window “You know, that there is the best city in the world,” he glanced over the Brooklyn skyline, “one day I’ll show you all the places I used to go, tell you all about my life and the Rogers clan, and who you’re named after. Take you to meet your Grandma…”

He stopped talking as he realised Jamie had fallen silent, and was now relaxed completely against him, his face gently pressed against his shoulder. “Thass ma boy.” He whispered, dropping a kiss to his head. He turned to see Katie was stood in the doorway, her hair damp as she was wrapped in a towel gown.

“See.” she smiled as she crossed the room towards them both. “I told you it would be okay.” She gently smoothed a hand over the baby boy’s head before dropping a kiss to his crown.

“Should I put him down to sleep now?” Steve asked and Katie looked at him.

“Do you want to put him down?”

“Not really.” Steve admitted, with a little smile. “You gonna drop him?” “Shut up.” Steve rolled his eyes. “Of course not.” “Then no, you don’t have to put him down.” Katie smiled “He’s your baby, Steve. If you wanna cuddle him, cuddle him.” “Sorry, I’m fussing again ain’t I?” Steve sighed.

Katie gently stood on her toes and pressed a kiss to her husband’s lips. “Fussing is fine, just don’t doubt yourself. I don’t know what I’m doing any more than you do, but we’ll figure it out.”

Steve smiled, as he gave her a soft kiss. “I still swear you can read minds.”

“No, I can just read you.” She corrected. “Now, before you go get Emmy, can I leave you whilst I take a quick nap? He’s gonna want a feed soon and I’m so tired. ”

Steve looked at his wife, then to his son who was perfectly content, his little nose and mouth now resting firmly against Steve’s collar bone. He smiled back at Katie and gave her another soft kiss.

“Think we’ll be okay.”

**** Chapter 45

**Original Posting**

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