#I am sorry but my idea for the resolution was so much better T-T | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

onebatch2batch · 3 years

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kastle + "“Is that.. my shirt?” please and thank you❤️❤️

HI, I KNOW YOU SENT THIS A MILLION YEARS AGO BUT I JUST FINISHED IT SO HOPEFULLY YOU LIKE IT <3

If there’s one thing Karen hates most in the world, it’s laundry. Which isn’t entirely warranted, because a majority of her things are dry clean only, and she usually only has to do a load or two herself every other week—but still. She hates that it feels like an all day affair, she hates folding everything, she hates the feel of the lint of her fingers when she removes it from the filter. So when a warm Saturday in June arrives and she’s low on clothes, like really low on clothes, Karen realizes she should start a load.

Unfortunately, her body is not on board with the idea. She wakes up slow, eats some late breakfast, and lethargically gathers the clothes strewn about her apartment. It’s a Saturday, so she has nothing to do but procrastinate. Procrastination forces her into the shower, and procrastination has her drinking coffee in a towel at the edge of her bed as she realizes that she has nothing to put on. It’s either she wears a skirt and blouse around the apartment or a towel until the first load is done.

Or, her brain supplies helpfully, there’s Frank’s drawer.

Karen’s eyes slide unwittingly towards her dresser, where the bottom drawer remains firmly closed. He’s been out of town for the last week or so with Curtis, up in the mountains with absolutely no reception. She knows it’s good for him to get away every once in a while, especially with his friends, but part of her—the smallest part, the only part not thinly veiled in denial—wishes he would have asked her along. It’s a thought she’s had a lot in the last couple days, accompanied by the hollow ache left by his absence.

God, she misses him.

She misses his surprise visits that turn into too much wine and inevitably leading to his crashing on the couch. She misses waking in the morning to freshly brewed coffee and he at the kitchen counter, head bowed over a book. She misses walking into the bathroom and inhaling Frank’s steamy post-shower smell: cedarwood, something earthy, something subtly metallic. It’s both a blessing and a curse to have him stay the night at her place; she only wishes it was in her bed, not on the couch.

Karen sighs. Goosebumps are starting to pebble on her skin from the AC, and so she steels her resolve and kneels before Frank’s drawer. She’d casually offered it to him months ago over breakfast. You spend the night enough, she tells him while staring resolutely into her mug. Might as well have a change of clothes here just in case you need them.

She had felt his eyes on her, all intense heat and wariness, long enough for her to fidget. And then finally he’d said: Yeah. Yeah, okay. Thanks, Karen.

The drawer is filled with a myriad of things, and not just clothes. On the top of the pile there’s a paperback by Jack Kerouac, a box of ammo, and a pair of spare keys she suspects is to that intimidating black van he drives. Underneath is a pair of socks, boxers (that she hurriedly paws past), some grey sweatpants (that look absolutely sinful on him, she recalls), and a pair of dark jeans. At the very bottom is a long sleeved henley and a plain black t shirt—Karen pulls out the t shirt and slips it over her head before she can talk herself out of it.

It’s comfortable, if a little too big. The hem hangs just past her hips when she stands, so Karen slips on a pair of underwear and leaves it at that. The rest of the afternoon she spends doing laundry and pretending as if she can’t smell him on her with every inhale. And when the guilt starts to eat at her, she tells herself that the shirt will be cleaned and replaced before Frank even knows it’s missing.

—

Except it isn’t, because of course it isn’t.

Hour three of dragging herself through the slowest washing machine cycle in the world (she’d splurged a little on an apartment with a hook up, too unwilling to deal with the laundromat down the block) and the worst dryer to accompany it (she hadn’t so much splurged on the actual machines)—finds Karen on the couch, flipping through the television channels. It’s nearly four o’clock and the temperature outside has finally broken, so the air is off and the windows are open. A soft breeze occasionally brushes over the exposed skin of her legs. And there’s absolutely nothing on the television.

So she does what any sane person would do, and returns to Frank’s drawer for the book. Not that she doesn’t have plenty of her own reading material, but she’s never read Kerouac and she’s a little curious what Frank sees in him. It’s halfway through the first chapter that she realizes there’s a key turning in the lock, and that Frank’s back.

Because of course he would walk in to this: her, clothed in underwear and his t shirt and no bra; sitting with her legs stretched across the couch cushions, back against the arm; his book in her hands as she struggles to parse the casual run-ons of Kerouac; a basket of half folded laundry on the floor. And he does—his face appears at the end of the hall leading to her front door and he pauses, bag slung over his shoulders and eyebrows raised to his hair.

“Hi, Frank,” Karen greets, carefully closing the book. “How was your trip?”

His eyes glance quickly at her exposed legs, and then up to his t shirt, back down to her legs, and then up to her face. Karen relishes in the warm flush that spreads across his cheeks, even if it is partially covered by his beard. “It was, uh, it was good,” he tells her roughly, unmoving. His eyes stray back to her lower half. “Is that...my shirt?”

Karen realizes that she should be embarrassed by her lack of clothes or admonished for going through his things without asking. But the only thing she really can feel is frustrated as a thought strikes her. That day in the hospital when she and Frank were alone--before Amy had interrupted--after Karen had all but blurted her feelings into the stale, tension-heavy room. His entire body had been covered in lacerations and zig zagged with stitches; his face was bruised and battered. He’d been so evasive with her, gaze hardly connecting with her own before darting away again. She’d been so afraid for him. Hopeless. And frustrated.

“You could love someone else instead of another war.”

“I don’t want to.”

At the time he’d been so determined, so set in his jaw as the hoarse declaration hung in the air. She wonders if that’s changed now, months of spending the night and phone calls and take out dinners later. If she were to ask the same question now—what he would say?

“It is,” she tells him evenly.

Frank’s hand tightens on the strap of his bag, a nervous gesture. “Why?” he finally asks.

“I haven’t been pining after you, if that's what you mean. I was out of clothes.” Karen offers him a small smile, trying to quell the bout of butterflies that erupt in her stomach at the rough edge to his voice.

To her relief he smiles. The tension eases from his shoulders. “You don’t seem like the pinin’ type.”

“I’m not.” Liar, liar, no pants on fire. “You just got back?”

He nods, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Was thinking about gettin’ dinner.”

“You find the take out menu, I’ll put pants on,” she wages.

Frank’s blush rises. He coughs and then turns, walking into the kitchen at a pace quicker than usual. Karen fidgets with the hem of the shirt, waiting until she can hear the telling sound of the coffee machine being manhandled. She grapples for a pair of leggings in the basket beside her and hurriedly puts them on.

“Sorry about the shirt,” she says loudly. “I was completely out of laundry and I figured you wouldn’t be back for a while. I’ll wash it for you.”

Frank reappears in the doorway, eyes on the floor until he’s sure she’s fully clothed. “Don’t worry about it,” he mumbles. “It’s nothin’.”

“I went into your things, Frank, I hardly think that’s nothing.”

At that, he meets her gaze.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he counters, shooting her a grin.

Karen huffs out a laugh. “Whatever. Hang on, I’m going to change out of this and then I'll order the food.”

“No.”

Karen swivels her head to give Frank a surprised look. The intensity of his no is startling but he seems as shocked as she is. There’s a beat of silence, and then he clears his throat and looks away as his finger starts that familiar rhythm against his leg. “I mean. You don’t have to. If you’re comfortable.”

She considers pushing it. She doesn’t. Not yet.

“I am. Thanks.”

—

Several hours later, Karen realizes their bottle of wine is empty. She’s sitting against one arm of the couch with Frank against the other. Her legs bridge the gap between them, and if she were to point her toes she could touch the strong muscle of his thigh. Their take out boxes sit empty on the coffee table, and Frank has his head tilted back, eyes on the ceiling. The apartment is quiet.

“So what did you and Curtis do in the mountains?” Karen asks into the silence, hesitant to break it but curiosity finally getting the better of her.

Frank sips his wine, and then turns his head to look at her. Karen is struck by how handsome he looks, the setting sun’s orange rays highlighting the curve of his nose and the warmth of his eyes. “Stupid shit,” he tells her with a chuckle. “We chopped up some trees, went hikin’--that asshole’s still faster’n me even with that leg--I read a lot. Talked. Drank some.”

Karen waggles her eyebrows. “Does that mean you guys got hammered in a cabin?”

His mouth curves into an amused smile. “Takes a lot to get me hammered, Karen.”

“When’s the last time you were?”

Karen is always careful about asking questions regarding his past. She knows it’s dangerous territory--one small slip could turn their conversation from lighthearted banter to emotional warfare. That’s the last thing she wants for him, for them.

Thankfully, Frank has a quick answer. “Can’t remember. Years.”

She hums, curiosity piqued. She wonders what an overabundance of alcohol does to someone like Frank Castle--someone who is already so intense, so physical. Someone who already isn’t afraid to cry in front of her, who isn’t afraid to show emotion--would he close himself off, shut down? Would he laugh more? Would he touch her more than the casual touches she already receives? Would he kiss her? A thrill runs through her at the thought. She stays firmly planted on the couch, fighting the urge to grab the whiskey in her cupboard and put her theory to the test.

“What about you?”

“What?”

Frank fixes her with an amused look. “The last time you were sideways.”

“Oh. A couple weekends ago, Foggy came over.” She smiles, remembering. “Marcie was out of town so he brought over the wine and we did--well, this. Take out and wine. A lot of wine.”

There’s an expression on his face she can’t figure out. A mixture of forced casualness, of caution, of amusement. “So this is--...” He pauses, takes a drink of his wine, starts again. “This is what you do with your other friends?”

Two thoughts settle into the sudden ache in her chest at his words. That on one hand he does, in fact, consider her a friend. She’s not just a warm body to keep the loneliness at bay. Which she’s known that for a long time, of course. They trust each other in the way that only two people who have gone through a number of life-changing and dangerous ordeals together can--why wouldn’t they be friends? The second thought is how carefully he speaks the word friends, as if solidifying the idea. As if reminding her of their relationship status. As if to say, we’re friends, and I know you want more--but I can’t. So we’re friends.

“Yep. This is what I do with my other friends. All two of them.” The joke falls flat, overshadowed by the catch in her voice. Karen finishes off her glass of wine and decides she will get out the whiskey after all. Even if he doesn’t drink it, she needs something a little stronger than just another Rosé. She starts to get up, but his hand catches her ankle and keeps her firmly in place.

“You’re upset.” He looks at her cautiously from under a furrowed brow. His hand doesn’t lift from her skin, and it sends an unfair thrill through her. Karen’s toes curl before she can stop them, pushing against his thigh.

“I’m not upset.”

He frowns. “And now you’re lying. Did I say somethin’?”

She doesn’t want to lie to him. She also doesn’t want to tell him the truth. There’s a nagging thought in the back of her mind that says if she’s honest with him, he’ll be scared off. He’ll decide her feelings are too much for him to handle, and then he’ll leave. Again.

Her heart couldn’t bear it.

Karen tugs her leg out of his grasp and sets her feet on the carpet. He sits forward, trying to capture her eyes again. “Karen,” he says gently. It’s cautious and worried, and so completely Frank in the way he grinds out her name that the words escape her before she can stop them.

“It’s nothing, Frank. We’re friends, and that’s all, and I’m being selfish wanting more. I’ve just been--I’m not trying to--...” she glances over helplessly, but he’s giving her a look that she can only describe as stricken. She looks away quickly, desperate for a change of topic. Desperate to pull herself out of the hole that she’s dug for herself. There’s a brief moment of silence where she tries to decide what to do, outside of leaping from her fire escape, and then she hears Frank move. The cushion dips next to her. Warm fingers intertwine with her own, and then his lips are pressed to the back of her hand.

“Shit, Karen,” Frank murmurs, exasperated. “For a smart woman, you’re bein’ pretty stupid.”

She’s still stuck on her fact that his breath is dancing over her skin, and that he’s pressed against her side, and that he still hasn’t released her. That he hasn’t gotten up and made a hasty exit. His words barely register. “What?” she asks weakly.

“Curtis and I did a lot of talkin’ this weekend,” he says, staring to look her in the eye. The sudden change of topic throws her off balance. Before she can get a word in, he’s continued on. His thumb strokes her palm. “And a lot of it was dumb shit. We talked about his new apartment, the one he had to get after Billy shot up his old one. He says it gets a lot of sunlight. He talked about how the vet group is going and what team he thinks will win the World Series this year. It was good, and easy. We talk about some hard stuff too. We talked about Maria and the kids, and the war, and you.”

She’s not sure she likes being in the ‘hard’ category, but he seems to be edging towards a point, so Karen remains quiet.

“And after we talked through all that other stuff, Curtis told me I was bein’ an idiot. He told me that you’re a good woman, and an even better friend. That I needed to make a decision before someone else made it for me.” He pauses, looking away. In the following silence, she digests his words and tries to keep the hope from blossoming in her chest. His hand is still warm in hers, and the earthy, woodsy smell of him fills her nose.

He doesn’t speak long enough for Karen to finally hedge, “I’m not sure what you’re getting at, Frank.”

He turns back to her and offers a tiny, nervous smile. Not many things make a man like Frank Castle nervous, and the thought eases some of the tension from her body. She grips his fingers and holds her breath.

“I’m tryin’ to tell you that I’m yours, if you’ll have me. I don’t want to be friends, Karen. I want you. I want more, too.”

In retrospect, her next words could have been a little more eloquent. She could have taken an extra second to think of something romantic and elated. Something that matches his earnestness. What she actually says is, “Frank Castle, you’d better quit keeping me waiting and kiss me.”

His eyes widen briefly, and then he’s grinning at her. His free hand cradles her cheek and between one breath and another he’s doing just that. Karen wont admit to herself how often she thought of this moment, but she does think about how every imagining doesn’t come close. She never could have pictured the tenderness with which he kisses her or the feeling that swells inside her. There’s no daydream in the world that compares to the softness of his lips or the sensation of his beard against her chin. She fists one hand in his coat, letting the other drift up into his hair. It’s longer, curling at his temple, and when she gently tugs he lets out a groan that makes her shiver. His tongue swipes at her bottom lip and she grants him access eagerly. The kiss devolves into wandering hands, heaving breaths, and the distinct feeling that Karen is being carefully, intimately devoured.

After some time, Karen forces herself to pull away. Frank backs off immediately, a flash of concern in his gaze, but she gives him a small smirk, smoothing her hands over the hard planes of his chest.

“How do you feel about me taking off the shirt now?” she asks casually.

Her meaning sinks in quickly. His fingers grasp at the hem, dancing along the bare skin on her hips. Frank gives her a mischievous, sinfully attractive smile. “If you’re comfortable,” he repeats, and then drags his shirt up and over her head.

The buzzer on the dryer goes off in the background, but Karen has never been less inclined to attend to it than she is now. In fact, she thinks, if wearing his shirt gets this reaction, I may never do laundry again.

It’s a nice thought, but then Frank lips meet her shoulder and she doesn’t think about laundry for a long, long time.

#kastle #my writing #kastle fic #kastle ff

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cheesesteakphil · 2 years

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Got any resolutions?

Yes and no? I haven't put any serious thought into making defined resolutions yet, but I have some general ideas:

1. Put more effort into self-care: That's a big umbrella of what it involves that I still need to organize into priorities (weight loss for health reasons, body positivity, cutting back on self-deprication etc). I need to put more effort into how I present myself irl. Buy some clothes that aren't just worn out t-shirts. Maybe start looking for an official ADHD diagnosis. idk, there's a lot of stuff under this one so I'll have to pick and choose what I can reasonably work on without making it too much stuff.

2. Create a living space I'm happy in! Despite me LOVING the independence of living alone, it taught me that I'm also not very good at living alone. Point one being it's EXPENSIVE. And point two mainly impacted by the pandemic in that it kind of really sucks living alone if you can't actually have friends over. But that is getting resolved immediately (I'm moving back in with my parents in like 2 weeks lmao) and I'll be getting my own office space to do with as I please, and I'm really looking forward to decorating it!

3. WORK HARD! The later half of 2021 was SHIT for me, work wise. I went through a LONG family issue which reflected in my job, so I want to make sure I put my everything into it to get back to the top of my game, my goal is to get promoted in the QA tester line I'm in. I think it'll be a lot easier to focus on work mentally when we're actually allowed to go back to the office (fingers crossed it'll be soon PLEEEEEAAASE I MISS MY FIDGET CUBE!!!) 4. Stream more! I have. An entire discord server just so I can put stream ideas in. There are SO MANY IDEAS that went unused because of. Well, EVERYTHING that got in the way of me streaming consistently. But I want to do it. I LOVE doing it. I'm going to do it.

5. WORK ON THE ART STUFF MORE! I am SO happy with where my art is currently, I'm having an absolute blast with all the inspiration bugsnax and my friends have given me and I intend to keep riding that high as long as I'm able, and for the first time ever I actually got responses when I put out for commissions! Which blew me away! I had some trouble with irl stuff that impacted my last set of commissions but hopefully the next time I open them (soon) I'll be able to do better for folk! It's been such a great way to interact with new folk and work with them to provide something they enjoy, and I like making people happy :)

WHOO THAT'S A LOT SORRY! But thanks for asking! I hope you had a good new years eve/new year and that you're able to achieve any resolutions you have (if you have any! If you don't I still hope you have a great 2022) <3

#dr. phils' therapy talk session #ask #weloudfollower #long post.

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bubblyani · 4 years

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Delicious as You

(Lucifer Morningstar x Reader)

A Lucifer Morningstar One Shot

Genre: Smut

Word Count: 2,304

Summary: Unexpectedly stopping by one night during your cooking adventures in the kitchen, Lucifer was determined to have you all to himself. But to his surprise, you were equally determined to get your cooking done. Who will win?

Author’s Note: Sorry for being absent without any Lucifer content. Had this idea while I was cooking one day. Stayed in my head for a while until I finally decided to vent my frustration through words. Enjoy Thirsty Luci-fans!

He watched her, like a hawk. But instead of having a predatory intention, he was full of fascination. He drank in the curves of her face, the warm cheeks that lifted as she smiled to herself, the wrinkles that formed in the corners of her eyes, giving her lips some competition with a touch of sunshine. He drank it all while she worked her magic in the kitchen. She was certainly lost in her own little world.

For she had not even noticed his presence for the last 5 minutes. Bored already, he decided to change that.

“Boo…”

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

“Boo!”

Looking up, a squeak came out of you as you clutched your chest, dropping the steel bowl on the counter top with loud clang. You realized it was Lucifer Morningstar standing before you, his hands resting inside his pockets while he watched you work in the kitchen island.

“Lucifer!” You cried out, “H-How did you get in here?” You babbled. “Well…I seem to recall you giving me a spare key to your humble abode…” he said nonchalantly, holding up the small key for display. Sighing with relief, you chuckled. Of course you did, you remember promising him one when he repeatedly demanded whilst claiming his rights.

“Oh yeah…I forgot that” You said, pushing the steel bowl to the back, “Well…how can I help you today?” Your tone was a mocking equivalent to a sales assistant at a clothing store. Lucifer scoffed in kind.

“I prefer to call this a visit from a concerned lover, rather than a favor” he replied with much sass. You stifled a smile. Indeed, you were more than happy to have your super handsome, wonderfully talented and secretly benevolent boyfriend around more than anything. Truthfully, sometimes you would even wonder what made him fall for you in the first place.

“In the mood for a culinary adventure tonight?” Lucifer inquired, walking over to your side. You nodded.

“You bet, slow cooking night, baby!” You said joyfully, whilst peeling off the papery layers of some onions and cloves of garlic. Cooking was always exhilarating. But slow cooking with a touch of exotic flavors brought it to another level. No wonder you were in high spirits. No wonder a smile was on your face when the pieces of meat were seasoned with sea salt and ground black pepper, before Lucifer frightened the living daylights out of you.

“As much as I commend your love of the culinary arts…” Lucifer stressed, before wrapping his arms around your waist from behind, “…the dance floors at Lux misses you immensely…And so does my warm bed…” he purred. As much as it brought warmth to your heart, you laughed it out to sound unaffected:

“Ha! Now that’s a panty dropper of a line” you joked, taking the knife in hand to chop the onions. You felt Lucifer scoff as his breath fell on your neck.

“Oh! Humor was clearly not the intended emotion I was trying rouse from you…” he said, flashing a naughty smile. Though you were busy crushing the garlic, your heart felt heavy for the man. Due to your recent busy schedule, you were deprived of the opportunity to visit and witness the flourishing business of his nightclub, LUX. You missed it as well, for every night there was a night to remember. And seeing the proud smile on Lucifer’s face every time you would wake up in his bed was something to hold on to.

“Awww…” You pouted, looking his way, “…just be a little patient, babe…” you said, turning back to chopping, “I’ll be right…” you paused to yawn , “…with you”. Whilst yawning, your body involuntarily stretched, pushing your buttocks back, only to accidentally have them brush against his clothed manhood. “Oh…my” You heard Lucifer mutter with fascination. Not caring much for it, you completely missed the naughty smile that returned to his face. A few seconds later, you suddenly felt the tightly wrapped apron loosen.

“Lucifer…?” You began questioningly,“What are you doing?” When you caught him in the act.

“Oh, you know. Just being patient…” He said innocently, his hands firmly gripping on your waist, “…might as well keep myself occupied…” he purred. Suspicious, you raised your eyebrows. “Clearly…” you said, “But w-oh!” Your suspicions were on point when you realized his right hand quickly dug inside your elastic shorts. Stomach retracting in response, it was the moment you knew where this was heading, what his intentions were, “Oh…you’re cheeky…”

“Not as cheeky as you are…” Lucifer teased smugly, slapping your buttocks in an instant. You chuckled loudly. Except those chuckles only lasted a few seconds when you gasped , queuing his beautiful fingers to graze over your panties. The few weeks of sexual depravity was handed to the world on a silver platter with your hushed breaths and twitching.

“Your resolute attitude is much appreciated, Mr. Morningstar…” your voice shook, as you reached for the mortar and pestle, “…but I have a dish to prepare…Oh my!…” unable to finish the sentence, you cried out. He defied you when his skilled fingers dipped inside your cotton panties, obtaining close contact with the bare skin between your thighs.

This, this was a battle of the wills. Being the stubborn man he was, Lucifer Morningstar would stop at nothing to get what he desired: You.

But you were not going to give up so easily. No matter he would try to make you cave in, you will thrive with your culinary mission tonight.

“In the mood for some spices, Lucifer?” Your inquiry was brimming with teases, taking a few steps to grab the steel spice container. Like a conjoined twin, he followed you wherever you moved towards. “Why not?” He breathed against your ear, “Nothing’s better than getting this tongue fired up…”

Adding spices in the correct measurements to a mortar would typically be considered an easy task. But nothing was of the typical nature at this moment. Not when your lover was occupied in distracting you using the nastiest method possible. Your body began to jerk when you felt three of his fingers familiarize themselves with the fleshy outer lips around your slit. His index finger and ring finger marked their territories there, while his middle finger gingerly stroked the sensitive tip that began to swell the longer he stroked it in tiny flicks. Having gained access to the part which induced the most pleasure, Lucifer held the liberty to do whatever he pleased with it. His finger stroked it in circles, he stroked it in straight lines, in triangles, and even in shapes that only existed in his subconscious. Regardless, every second he played with you, a small fire was lit up within, only to have that fire burst into gigantic flames. When he daringly inserted that finger into your thoroughly wet opening. All while his ears indulged in your cries of pleasure.

 Taking the pestle, you began to grind up the onions, garlic with the spices in a fashion that was much more intense than it was previously done. And Lucifer noticed instantly. He felt victorious.

“My my…aren’t you the hard worker?” He commented in a seductive tone. Bitting your lower lip due to the fact his finger was literally inside of you, chuckling was the only option. “Of course, how else am I to let my frustrations out?” You said, looking over to him. “Well…” he said, licking his lips, “…you can always turn back to me-” “Not until this is done” you insisted, not willing to give up. Not ever. “Your call, darling” Lucifer said, as his finger quickly began to move in and out of you. Groaning, you finally stopped grinding the spices. “Ah fuck!” You cried out, “…fuck fuck fuck…” you repeated through gritted teeth, “Lucifer, that’s not helping” you added with desperation. “Who said I intended to help?” He said darkly, his stubble grazing over your shoulder. He was not jesting for sure. When your hand reached out to grab the salted meat in the steel bowl, Lucifer’s left hand surprised you, by reaching up to cup your left breast over the t-shirt. But you would be fibbing if you did not admit your increased arousal at that point. Feeling the softness that resting on his palm, Lucifer was more than pleased.

“Oh!” He said amusingly, “Braless at home, are we?” He smiled mischievously, “Lucifer, you lucky devil…” he said to himself. You rolled your eyes with a grin. “And again with the Devil persona…Ah!” Once again, you were forced to bite your lower lip when his fingers moved steadily in rhythm. Closing your eyes, you wished to savor this. Savor his loving to your leisure. But you had meat to marinade. Looking at the spice paste and the meat, you inhaled with determination. “Okay…” you began, smearing the spices over the pieces of meat, “This shouldn’t be too hard…Oh fuck!” Throwing your head back, you felt Lucifer tease you even more. For whilst you smeared and massaged the raw meat with the aromatic paste, his eager right hand massaged your breast, even having the audacity to pull the nipple through the shirt, making it thoroughly erect. “Ah! Shan’t leave the other feeling jealous…” Lucifer said, which made your eyebrows furrow. “What? Oh Lucifer….” You moaned, when you realized how his hand moved to your other breast to do the same. With two erect buds at the mercy of his touch, you felt the heat increase within you like a sauna.

“Oh boy…” you exhaled frustratingly, trying so hard not to scream in arousal with this torture. This sweet, delicious torture to be specific. Turning the stove on, you poured the oil on to the Dutch Oven. But it was certainly a challenge when your lovers hands were all over you. Lucifer’s mischievous chuckle tickled your ears.

“Come on, Y/N…” Lucifer whispered, “You know you want this bad…”. He thought he had you, dead to rights.

When the ginger and garlic paste infused with the cinnamon sticks in the hot oil, the aroma was invigorating. Throwing your head back over his shoulder, you tried to distinguish the pleasures you were gifted with. The aroma of your cooking, and the eager passionate touch of the man you longed to defile everywhere with.

“Not…until…it’s done…” you said with difficulty. As much as you said this to him, this was also for yourself. Only a little while longer till you had to hold out on this frustration. Truthfully, you could just stop all this, spin around and pounce at him wildly. But the task you started with genuine interest would end up burnt, ignored and wasted. When you added the seasoned meat into the pan, you heard the pan sizzle loudly whilst indulging on the rich aroma that traveled all the way through your nostrils.

“Well, I do like a challenge” Lucifer cried out, proceeding to make everything more diffusely by kissing your neck. His lips on your neck, his hands on your bosom and between your thighs, he literally was lighting you in flames. The delicious aroma and the whiff of his cologne mixed together drove you wild with arousal. You could imagine it, his body on top of your own, licking his own lips before he proceeded to your lick your bare frame, eating off the food you just cooked. No matter what he did, he was insanely skilled at it. He was simply inhuman. Though you washed your hands frantically, though your cleansed your hands of the spices, your mind becoming filthier by the second. Holding the tap tightly, you felt a jerk inside. That was it.

“Lucifer!” You moaned, “I’m close…so close…” you breathed, motivating his fingers to increase speed. Moving your hands towards the marble counter, a loud cry exited your lips as you finally, found your release.

This release was certainly different from all the others you have shared with him.

“Whoa!” You panted, as his fingers retracted, “What-How did you even do that?” You said, looking at him over the shoulder. He smiled. “Darling…” Lucifer began with pride, “It’s me…” he said, making your jaw drop as he brought his finger to his lips, sucking your juices in front of your very eyes. You shook your head. “Show off..” You panted with a smile. He chuckled, looking at the pan, “I bet that won’t be as delicious as you are, my darling” “Normally, I’d be insulted if anyone disses my cooking…” you said, as you stirred the meat, “…but in this case I really don’t know what to say…” you added dreamily. “A Thank you would be suffice…” “How about this…as a thank you?” You said, making his eyes widened with disbelief when you finally closed the the lid of the dutch oven, and turning the stove heat low. Your job was complete. And now it was all up to time to solve this culinary equation.

“Finally…” turning you towards him, Lucifer pulled to kiss you roughly on the lips. It felt like you were being gifted for doing a wonderful job. His kisses were that rewarding. You blushed when you tasted yourself in him, especially as his tongue jumped in to show you.

“Now that I have your complete attention…” your lover began, letting you go, “I’m afraid you won’t escape me for a few hours” he said. You giggled.

“F-few?” You inquired, seeing him put away his phone “Oh wow” you chuckled, full of squeals when he grabbed you by the waist once again.

“Darling…” he purred, brushing his nose against yours, “…Tonight I’m all yours…”

When he kissed you fully once more, you were certainly very glad you decided on slow cooking tonight.

——————————————————

Tagged: @ladyofwalpurgis @kittenlittle24 @aberrant-annie @ellimcgiseler @therealcap @valentina15 @sunflowersglowing @jellicorn05 @sailor-earth-1 @xxbeckybeexx-blog

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yodawgiherd · 3 years

Text

Love

>>>Read on AO3<<<

Rating: T

Setting: Canon, chapter 138

I got the idea for a story the moment I saw the leaks, and because of how wrecked 138 made me, I stayed up and wrote this instead of sleeping. What if Love was truly the main point of the story? What if Love could change the cruelness of the world? What if...

The explosion roused Eren from the strange hibernation he was in just in time to see the colossal teeth crumble. A figure jumped through, blade in hand, obviously going in for the kill. It was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.

And as Mikasa’s blade cut through his spine, as the world went black, Eren was completely at peace.

Until something coarse and rough scratched his skin. Opening his eyes, he saw that he was back in the paths, lying on his back. He stood up, shaking the sand away from his clothes and looking around. Ymir was there, watching him with her judging eyes, but Eren was no longer intimidated by that. He was dead, what fear did he have of gods?

Crossing the distance, he approached the child.

“I’m sorry kiddo, I did my best.”, dropping to one knee, Eren ruffled Ymir’s hair playfully, “But I couldn’t destroy the world. They stopped me.”

The little girl stomped her foot.

“You planned this since the start!”, she accused him, “You knew that they would kill you in the end!”

“I didn’t know.”, Eren countered, “I hoped.”

Ymir fell silent after that, pouting. Eren stood up, looking over the endless sands of the Paths, over the pulsating crystal tree in the middle. It was a beautiful place.

“Why did you send her the vision?”, Ymir spoke from behind him, “The Ackerman girl. Why show her what was not real?”

“It was my parting gift. Mikasa had to know how I really felt about her, I couldn’t let her think that I hated her.”

“What was that emotion you felt when you looked at her, the one that made your heart beat faster?”, Ymir pressed on, “What was the thing you two shared?”

Gazing into the endless Paths, Eren’s lips curved into a sad smile.

“Love. It was love.”

The girl’s breath hitched.

“Love is beautiful.”

“It sure is, even if it's as short-lived as ours was.”, Eren sighed, running a hand over his face, “There are so many things I would like to do with her that I’ll never get to. So many memories we will never create together. It hurts, but the pain is delicious in its own way.”

Ymir was silent, so Eren continued.

“I just wish that she will learn to let me go. That she will experience this with someone else, now that I’m gone. I don’t want her to keep loving a ghost.”

“A ghost?”

“I am consciousness trapped in the Paths. Is there a better way to call myself?”, his fists clenched, “I’m dead. I tried to destroy the world and failed. I fought against everyone and got killed for it. It’s time for me to fade away and be nothing but a memory.”

He turned to Ymir, extending his arm towards her.

“You don’t have to keep me around anymore, founder, you have no use for me. Release me.”

“No.”

Eren blinked a few times.

“Why?”

This time, Ymir met his gaze with her own.

“Because I’m jealous.”

“You are a god, what can you be jealous of?”

Ymir’s hands tightened on the handle of her bucket.

“I never got to experience love.”

“I’m sorry...”

The little girl sniffled, drying her eyes.

“When I saw what you two have, I never felt so lonely in my life. I want it too, I want to share that wonderful feeling with someone, I want to love and be loved back….”

Overwhelmed by the raw emotion in her voice, Eren hugged her, feeling the tiny body shake with sobs in his hands. Not sure what to say, Eren did what he had often done in the past and used the words that always gave him strength in the darkest moments.

“The woman I loved, Mikasa Ackerman, had a saying – “the world is cruel but beautiful”. It’s the beauty that you must look for, not the cruelty. Because if you don’t, there is no point in going on.”

Ymir thought about his words for a moment, while the time stood still.

“Eren?”, she spoke up from his shoulder.

“Yes?”

“I don’t want this.”

“What do you mean?”

“This world, this cruelty, I don’t want it to exist. I don’t want to be unloved for eternity.”

“I don’t think there’s anything we can do.”, he confessed, but Ymir was shaking her head.

“I can.”

“Ymir, we tried to…”

She didn’t let him finish.

“I don’t want to destroy the world anymore. I want to remake it.”

“What are you talking about?”

“My power comes from the titans, and now there are so many in the outside world….”, she took a shuddering breath, “So many people transformed, I’m stronger than I ever was.”

Looking over her shoulder, Eren could see the crystal tree, shining brighter and brighter with every pulse.

“You realize it now?”, Ymir asked, “The lights in the tree, they are….”

“Souls.”, Eren finished for her, “Souls of the Eldians.”

“Exactly. Now when that strange being transformed every single Eldian into a titan, it’s crackling with power. In its last effort to save itself, it gave me the strength to do what I want.”

Eren shouldn’t be scared. He was dead, there was nothing Ymir could do to him. So what was the cold feeling creeping up his spine?

Of course. He didn’t fear for himself, there was no point in that. He feared for those who survived. He feared for Armin, for Levi, and most importantly….

He feared for Mikasa.

“And what is the thing that you want to do?”, he asked the goddess in his arms cautiously.

“Erase this world and all its cruelty, take the souls and create a new one, one where we can all be free.”

“Will they remember it?”

“No. Well, the Ackermans will, in some way or form, I can’t influence them as much.”

“I see.”

“I will do it on one condition though.”, Ymir said, pulling back so their eyes could meet.

Taking a step back away from his kneeling form, the goddess extended her open hand, strange light gathering in her palm.

“Eren Yeager, when I create this new world for us, will you show me what love is?”

New world. New chance. New life with her. To have that, Eren would strike any bargain. He nodded.

“I swear.”

Ymir smiled. And closed her fist.

The crystal tree behind them exploded into million pieces, and the wave of energy that ran through him was the last thing Eren felt, his thoughts filled with a certain raven-haired girl.

When the reality began to disintegrate around Mikasa, she didn’t even question it anymore. When her own body started to unravel, she kept her gaze trained at Eren’s head in her hands, a faint smile pulling at her lips.

“See you later, Eren.”

“Okay, I can see the head. Push, missis Yeager, push!”

“Oh god, Grisha I hate you so much!”

“I’m so sorry dear, but please listen to the good doctor.”

“Deep breaths, deep breaths, almost there….”

The room was filled with cries of a newborn.

“Congratulations, you have a son!”

Carla took the tiny bundle from the doctor’s arms, breathing heavily. She was met with an intense stare of green eyes and a red face, angry at everything. He was adorable.

“Hello Eren.”, she said, gently rocking him, “Welcome to the world.”

“This was a bad idea.”

“Dude, we are in college now, we can’t just sit at our dorm all day.”

“Please, tell me that you wouldn’t prefer having your nose in a book right now.”

“You are the one to talk! When was the last time you even spoke to a girl, you studying tryhard.”

Eren sighed.

“Being a doctor doesn’t come from nothing, Ar.”

“I know, I know,”, Armin calmed him, “But you really should find a girlfriend. I’m not sure I can survive any more of Jean’s jokes aimed at your repressed homosexuality.”

“And I told you, like a thousand times, that I’m not interested in dating. I just…”

Holding a red cup identical to his own, a visage walked into the room. With midnight hair pulled into two braids at the top, dark shirt and skirt and a multitude of necklaces around her neck, she was obviously nervous, slanted grey eyes darting around the room, absent-mindedly turning the rings around her fingers. Eren took her in, all of her, from the tips of her boots and over her black tights to the top, to where the piercings glimmered in her ears. He took her in, and he realized that girls are an incredible species, especially the goth ones.

“Dude,” Armin tore him for his trance, “You’re staring.”

“She’s so beautiful…”

“Who?”, his friend followed his gaze, frowning, “The strangely dressed Asian?”

He just nodded. Talking was hard when the girl was occupying all of his brainpower. The little irritated twitch of her nose, the way she took a sip from the cup and grimaced, that was Eren’s whole world.

“Jolly good.”, Armin nudged him, “Now go talk to her.”

“Me? Are you insane? No way dude, no, why would such a beauty be ever interested in me? Me and her? Nah, but you’re crazy man, that could never work.”

“Fine.”, with a resolute move, Armin finished his drink, “I’ll do it myself.”

And he was gone, walking towards the girl. He said something, she said something back, and then the traitor was pointing at Eren who did his best to shrink behind the cup in his hand. The girl smiled, reached up to smooth some strands behind her ear and Eren felt like he could die from how flawless that move was. Oh god, she’s moving. She’s moving towards him. He should… He should….

“Hello, your friend said that you wanted to talk to me.”

Heavens above, even her voice was attractive. With brain fried, Eren extended his hand mechanically in a way of greeting.

“Hi, I’m Eren.”

She took it, the edges of her rings gently scratching at his skin.

“Mikasa.”

And he was lost.

“Eren! She’s kicking again!”

“Now?”, there was a tumble from the bathroom and then he was here, face half-shaved, “Let me feel.”

Mikasa took his hand, placing it on her round belly. True enough, there was a kick soon after, making him grin like an idiot.

“Do I have to work today? I want to stay here and feel Ymir’s kicking.”

Mikasa looked up with a raised eyebrows, smoothing her bangs away from her eyes.

“Ymir?”

“Huh?”

“You just called our baby Ymir.”

“I…. I guess I did?”

“Eren, there’s already a girl called Ymir. You know, the tall freckled one from your work, dates the cute little blonde Krista? Ring any bells?”

“Please Miki, I know who that demon is woman’s body is. But I…”, he rolled the name around in his head, “I still like it. The name that is, not the old Ymir, she’s a natural disaster in human form.”

“Ymir…” Mikasa was the one thinking now, her hand rubbing her belly.

“Ymir.”, Eren agreed, putting his hand over hers.

“Fine.”, she said, looking down, “Hello there, your name is Ymir now. Are you going to kick your daddy again?”

She did.

“Mikasa, you have to push!”

“I don’t want to! Eren said that he will be here! I..”, her back arched in pain, teeth gritting, “The bastard!”

“I know.”, Ymir’s eyes were calm above the surgical mask, “But I can see the head already, you have to push the girl out.”

“Eren!”, Mikasa screamed in pure desperation, “I swear that I’ll kill you!”

The door cracked, letting a disheveled figure in. It immediately crossed the room to stand at Mikasa’s side, taking her hand.

“I’m so sorry.”, he whispered to her, “I got here as fast as I could.”

“Okay Miks, Eren is here, so it’s time to push.”, Ymir cut in, “Come one, deep breaths, and let’s go.”

And Mikasa pushed and tightened her hold on Eren’s hand. With a scream, the baby fell into Ymir’s waiting arms, while a certain crack could be heard.

Ymir Ackerman-Yeager came into the world at the exact moment when her mother broke two of her father’s fingers.

“Look, Krista, she’s eating me.”

“We are supposed to watch over the baby, not feed it body parts.”

Ymir just giggled like crazy, watching as little Ymir chewed on her fingers with toothless gums. Soon she was joined by her wife, who sat down on the couch next to them, a faint smile on her lips.

“She’s a tiny monster.”, the freckled girl said, “Mark my words.”

“Well, if she has the strength of her mother combined with the recklessness of her father, we might be in for a treat.”

“Yes and…” whatever Ymir wanted to say got interrupted, as she quickly pulled her fingers out of the baby’s mouth, staring at the bloody line.

Uhm... I think that she has her first tooth.”

“Oh babe,”, Krista was trying and failing at holding her laughter in, “You want some ice on that?”

“I told you, she’s a monster. Eating her own auntie.”

“She’s a toddler!”

“Won’t be one forever though.”

Leaning close to the baby, Ymir dropped her voice in a whisper.

“You and me? We are going to rock this world.”

“Uncle Armin?”

“Yes, Ymir?”

“Why am I sleeping here tonight?”

“What, you don’t like it here?”

“I do! I was just wondering…”, the little girl looked up from the picture she was creating, “Why tonight?”

“Well, you see…”, Armin scratched the back of his head, looking for an answer that was NOT the truth. Ymir was way too young for that.

“Your parents just want to be alone for a while.”

“Why?”

“To have some time for one another.”

“Why?”

“Because they love each other very much.”

“Oh, and they don’t love me?”

“Of course they do! What I’m trying to say is…”

“Please, this is embarrassing.”, Annie appeared from the bathroom, toweling her hair, “You see Ymir, your parents left you with us because they want to spend the whole night fuc-“

“Fun! They want to have fun!”, Armin interjected, spearing Annie with his blue eyes.

“Fun?”, Ymir repeated, “I want to have fun too…”

“But they are going to have adult fun. Like these boring movies that you don’t like, or some of my books that have no pictures.”

“Ah. Okay.”, successfully fooled, Ymir picked up the crayon and almost went back to painting. But then Annie did what she does best, and completely wrecked the situation.

“Ha, the only book that they would be reading tonight is Kamasutra.”, she nudged Armin with her elbow, who groaned and hid his face, “Although they probably have it memorized at this point.”

Still laughing, his wife disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Armin alone with Ymir. And everything was fine for a moment, the little girl was coloring the strange crystal tree that she drew, but then the crayon was on the table and her eyes were once again meeting Armin’s.

“Uncle Armin, what’s Kamasutra?”

Even after seeing the ultrasound pictures, Ymir had a hard time believing it.

“There’s my brother in here?”, she asked for like a thousand time, touching Mikasa’s belly, “Are you sure?”

“Yes, we are quite sure.”, Eren said, running his fingers through his wife’s long raven hair.

“And how did he get there?”

“With love.”, Mikasa answered, gently smiling, “Lots of love.”

“Well, that’s one way to put it.”, Eren snickered behind her, making her frown at him.

Ymir ignored that, still staring at her mother’s smooth skin.

“Mommy? Did you also make me with love?”

“Of course.”

“And do you still love me?”

“Ymir, you are our daughter.”, Eren spoke, reaching over to pat her head, “Daddy and mommy love you more than anything.”

She could feel it. She could feel the warmth, spreading from them both and into her entire being. They loved each other so much, it was like standing near the sun. But they loved her too, so magically, loved her in a way that Ymir was never loved in.

Closing her eyes, the little girl splayed her fingers on the warm skin of her mother.

“Mommy?”

“Yes, sweetie?”

A long, shuddering exhale, one that Ymir was holding in since….

Since forever

“Love is beautiful.”

#eremika #snk #ch138 #fanfic

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thewayshedreamed · 4 years

Text

This Time— Part 5

A Nessian Fan Fic

Fic Masterlist

This chapter was a tough one for me to write. I got stuck a few times with the order of things (for this chapter and the following ones). Once I decided on that, the angst in this one was a little emotional for me to write, then edit. So, proceed with caution. That’s the official angst warning!

On a more positive note, this is a definitive turning point toward resolution, so it WILL get better! Thanks again for all of you who have offered your feedback and followed the story. Knowing y’all are enjoying this little au with me makes it all the more fun to write 😊

Trigger warning for short depiction of grief.

——————————————————————————

Birthday breakfast was really more of a birthday lunch the day after celebrating at Rita’s. Elain was sitting at the small island of Nesta’s kitchen, nursing a Gatorade and holding her head in her hands. Feyre was next to her scrolling through her phone. She was doing intel on their group’s collective social media updates, and so far, there were no embarrassing posts to deal with.

Nesta was mixing pancake batter, periodically folding in chocolate chips. Chocolate chip pancakes were reserved for Archeron birthdays or holidays, and they looked forward to sharing them when the occasions presented themselves. She poured some of the batter into her skillet, absently watching for bubbles as her indicator they were ready to flip. After making the initial flip, she walked to her refrigerator and produced a bottle of champagne with orange juice.

“Who wants to open the champagne for birthday mimosas?” She set both bottles on the island, with glasses, before turning her attention back to the pancakes. Elain’s only response was a long groan. Feyre giggled, pulled the champagne toward her, and started untwisting the cage over the cork.

“What’s the expression, El? Hair of the dog? It may make you feel better.” She stood away from the island to pop the cork. The last things they needed were physical injuries.

“I guess it can’t make me feel any worse, right?” She picked her head up from her hands. “I’m going to go grab my phone,” she said, with a cringe. She padded away to Nesta’s room, returning seconds later. She was scrolling through her phone as she walked and stopped short once she met the threshold of the kitchen, a horrified expression on her face.

”Why the fuck would I have deleted all of my texts last night?!” Her voice was more shrill than normal, and her sisters’ eyes grew at her use of “fuck” during pancake breakfast.

It was Feyre who dared answer her. “Umm... I have no idea. Maybe it was an accident?”

”That’s a pretty impressive accident.” Nesta realized her comment wasn’t helping as her sisters glared in her direction.

Elain continued. “I’ll tell you why. Because drunk me tried to hide something from sober me.” She paused for a second, blushing. “My evidence, in case you were wondering, is a text from Azriel that says: ‘*laugh emoji* Not cool. You had me worried there for a minute, Ellie. Goodnight. Hope you enjoyed your birthday.’” She glanced up at them in horror.

Nesta gave her a small smile. “Ellie, I’m sure it’s nothing. Even drunk you couldn’t have said anything too terrible. Maybe just talk to Az? It would be better than wondering.”

Elain sat down, her anxiety palpable in the small kitchen. She was quiet save for the nod she’d given her sister in acknowledgment of her advice. Nesta assumed maybe she could use a little more encouragement since she didn’t look wholly convinced.

“I really think it’ll be okay. Az is reasonable and has probably said his own fair share of drunken things he would care to take back.” She offered a short chuckle before sipping her mimosa. “You could call him, maybe, or—“

”Nes, are you really preaching to me about communication right now?”

Nesta blinked, taken aback by the irritation in Elain’s voice. “I wasn’t trying to preach, El. I just meant you didn’t have to worry and could trust Az to give you a chance to—“

”The same way you gave Cassian a chance to fix whatever the hell you’re holding against him? Why should Az be any more gracious than you’ve been?” Elain snapped. Her shoulders rounded a little at her own words, and Feyre’s eyes grew to the size of two steel blue saucers.

“Cauldron, Elain,” she said, looking from one sister to the other. Her back was straight, anticipating Nesta’s best weapons: her words.

Nesta took several seconds to reflect on their current situation. It was such an unexpected shift, where Elain was the one throwing insults, and Feyre, of all people, was defensive of Nesta. She wasn’t used to this type of interaction with Elain, and her words stung more than she was willing to admit. She finished her mimosa in one swift gulp and placed her dishes in the sink.

“Lucky for you, Azriel is nowhere near as disappointing, or shitty, as I am. I’m going to shower while you two finish breakfast. I’ll bring you home when you finish.” Her tone was neutral, dry even. By all measures, it was on the milder side for Nesta. She was halfway to the bathroom when she heard Elain’s wavering voice.

“Nes, wait. I’m sorry I didn’t mean—“

“Don’t ever apologize for saying what you mean, Elain,” she said, coldly, before walking the rest of her way. She couldn’t get out of there fast enough, wanting to leave the gaping wound that Elain had ripped open far behind her.

——————————————————————————

The following week went by fairly quickly. Elain and Nesta had made up within the day, Elain insisting that she had spoken from her own nerves rather than how she truly felt. She asked if Nesta wanted to talk about what happened with Cassian, but she declined, saying it wasn’t a big deal. She tasted the lie the second it left her mouth, but she shoved that down with everything else.

Her attention to the day of the week was higher than usual in anticipation of Wednesday. She was oddly preoccupied with a day that truly meant nothing to her, but it had haunted her since she overheard Cassian’s conversation with Alis. When the day finally arrived, she found herself ruminating over their conversation, letting her imagination run wild with the possibilities of how they were spending their time.

She told herself that she didn’t care beyond the fact that he would usually tell her all about these sorts of things. Gods, it bothered her to no end that she wasn’t his person anymore.

That Thursday, she found herself getting ready for dinner with Tomas. He had called her that Monday to see if she’d like to go out, and she didn’t have a reason not to. She may have even wanted to go. The downside, when the day arrived, was that it happened to be a particularly brutal work day. She was at home touching up and mentally preparing herself for a couple of hours of conversation. She would usually call Cassian for pep talks on days like this, but their non-friendship was a dealbreaker in that department. Not to mention, he likely wouldn’t have cared to give her a pep talk for this particular night. Gods, it bothered her to no end that he wasn’t her person anymore, either.

Dinner had been fine enough. Tomas looked handsome and seemed completely engaged with her the entire night. He was interested in her work, how her life had been since he’d last seen her, and her friends. He made brief mention of her mother and how he had been really sad to hear that she passed a few years ago. His condolences were sincere, but Nesta found herself oddly defensive at his mention of her. He hadn’t known her well, since their relationship hadn’t lasted long, and she felt like he couldn’t possibly imagine the void she left in their lives.

She resisted any response beyond a “thank you”, knowing that her reaction was likely due to her death anniversary coming up within the week. The rest of the night had gone well. The food was good, the conversation was fine, Tomas was fine. They had a fine time together. Everything was just fine.

Which is why, she assumed, that Tomas had tried to kiss her at the end of the night. He had driven her home, walked her to the door, and hugged her goodbye. As he pulled away, his cheek lingered next to hers, face turning toward her in slow motion. She cleared her throat abruptly and reached into her bag for her key.

“Well, thanks for tonight! I had a nice time.” She had the key in the lock, and she was already mentally selecting her sweatpants for the evening.

“Wait.” Thomas grabbed her elbow, turning her around. “Why are you being so weird? I thought we had a good time?”

”We did. I just said I had a nice time.”

”You seem to be rushing out pretty fast for a person having fun.” He paused for a few seconds to allow her to insist that she was having fun, or to invite him inside, she thought. She did neither.

He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “Is it Cassian?”

She knew she was balking at him, but she didn’t have it in her to control it.

“Are you kidding me? Just because I’m ending the night without kissing you or asking you to come inside and fuck me, there has to be a man responsible? Could it be because this night has taken us as far as it was ever going to?” She rolled her eyes, turned the key, and walked inside. “Goodnight, Tomas,” she said, as she shut the door in his face.

She kicked her shoes off in her entryway and tossed her purse onto the small table next to her door. She removed her dress over her head as she walked purposefully to her bedroom and ripped her sweatpants out of the too-full drawer. She pulled on an extra large t-shirt and went to the kitchen to pour herself some red wine. She settled onto her couch, put on some mindless television, and tried to relax.

She reflected over the night’s events. She was honest when she told Tomas that they had a fine time. She had enjoyed herself tonight, and she started to feel a twinge of guilt for snapping at him in her doorway. He hadn’t done anything wrong before asking that question, and if she was honest with herself, she knew why it bothered her so much. It’s not that he wasn’t handsome, that he was unkind, or that he was disrespectful. It wasn’t even that he had misjudged and asked the wrong question. The truth hammered through her brain like an ambush, and she was utterly incapable of stopping it.

He’s not Cassian.

——————————————————————————

Nesta watched several episodes of a home renovation show as she worked through her bottle of wine. She decided that it was the perfect type of show to watch on nights like tonight, where she was knee-deep in her thoughts. Her earlier revelation had sunken its claws into her brain, and she was having trouble thinking of anything else. She wasn’t sure at what point she had stopped fighting it— either glass 2 or glass 3. She finally allowed herself to take a critical look at all these pent up emotions, and noteworthy memories of Cassian started to play through her mind like a montage.

She is sitting in the passenger seat of an older, black pick-up truck. Cassian is driving, and they have the windows down to feel the cool fall breeze. They’re going for a leisurely drive because he got his license just yesterday, and he loves the freedom it’s given him. He doesn’t have to be a slave to his home life or his abusive father anymore. He can just drive. She makes a joke, and he’s laughing now. His mid-length waves are dancing around his face, and he turns to look at her for mere seconds before looking back at the road.

She sipped her wine thoughtfully, noting the memory as the first time he ever took her breath with how beautiful his joy could be. She remembered how her chest had burst with pride at being able to make him laugh and smile like that, despite his pain. She noted now what she was too scared to admit then: there was little she wouldn’t do to protect his happiness.

It’s junior prom, and she’s posted against the wall with a bottle of water. Her date is a total jerk, and she’s hoping that maybe he’ll just leave. His departure would be better than pretending to enjoy herself anymore. She sees Cassian approaching her from her left. He looks so much more mature in his tux, half of his waves tied back in a knot at the back of his head.

“Hey, Archie. Where’s your date?”

She chuckles softly. “I don’t know. But I think I like it that way. He’s kind of the worst.”

Cassian frowns. “Well, he’s an idiot, then. Dance with me?” He extends his hand to her, palm up, and offers her a half-smile. He looks almost nervous, and her heart swells with affection for him.

“Always. You’re my favorite person here.”

She wiped the tears from her face, not sure of when she started crying. The feeling now so vivid; her favorite person. The truth of that statement refused to be downplayed. She shook her head, realizing it to be as accurate as ever.

It’s her sophomore year of college, and her friends are at a local bar celebrating the end of finals. She hasn’t been able to see them nearly as often this semester, and she’s enjoying their time together. At a certain point, a guy she doesn’t know gets awfully too comfortable with her, and he’s touching her all over. She tries to walk away, and he grips her arm tightly as she fights against him. He’s so much stronger than she is, but her brain can only focus on getting away from him. Just before the panic sets in, she sees two familiar figures approaching from the side. Faster than she can note what is really happening, Azriel is separating the guy’s hand from Nesta’s arm and is shoving him too easily away from her. She’s immediately wrapped in a tight hug, her face tucked tightly into Cassian’s chest. She inhales his scent as she steadies her breath, and she clutches the back of his shirt like a lifeline. She isn’t truly crying, but tears are starting to pool in her eyes from the sheer relief of being safe with him. He pulls back only as much as he needs to cup her face with his hands. His brow is deeply furrowed as he scans her face in that knowing way of his, and his lips form a tight line. He is painfully concerned. He is furious. He is fighting all of those things to remain even for her.

“Are you okay? Nes, please. Talk to me. Tell me you’re okay.”

”I’m okay.” Her response is quiet, robotic.

“He’s gone. Azriel took care of it.”

She was yearning for a sense of normalcy, the intensity of his care becoming too much. She resorts to humor as she usually does.

“I’m surprised. It’s usually you who runs straight to the front lines. Forever the hero.” She cracks a small smile, hoping it’ll comfort him.

He’s still holding her face in his large hands. He drops his gaze briefly as he shakes his head, and when he looks back at her face, he’s wearing an ironic sort of smile.

“All I could see was you.”

The memory knocked the breath out of her, having been so long since she had thought about it. She understood his meaning then, but it hit her with a renewed vigor now. She superseded his basic instincts to protect, eliminate the threat. When it came to her, he trusted no one else and had to personally ensure she was okay. He would throw himself between her and anyone or anything that threatened her, and he would do it happily. Her heart clenched as she thought about how no one else could have made her feel comfortable or calmed her under those circumstances. Another tear rolled down her cheek at how careless she had been with his heart and how much she had taken him for granted. At how much she had always lied to herself. Because she was feeling particularly masochistic, she entertained one last memory, her tears pouring.

Her mother is terminally ill, and the doctors believe she will leave them any day now. It’s 3 AM, and her phone rings. Her father tells her she’s gone, and she holds herself together until she hangs up the phone. She is panicking; can’t catch her breath. Her father is calling Elain and Feyre, and they are supposed to meet at his house when they can get themselves ready. She doesn’t know how she will face this. She can’t do it. She can’t do it. She Can’t. Do. It.

Her fingers work automatically, pressing Cassian’s contact and putting him on speaker phone. Holding it to her face seems too taxing, and her tears will smear all over the screen. He answers in two rings, his voice gravelly with sleep.

”Nes?”

Her only answer is a choked sob, followed by several attempts at catching her breath.

“Nesta. I’m on my way. Stay on the phone with me.”

She complies, finally mastering herself enough to say, “Momma” through her sobs.

“Nesta. Sweetheart. I’m so sorry. I’m in the truck now. Please stay with me.”

Everything else is a blur except for hearing him come through her door. He opens her bedroom door swiftly, obviously in a hurry to get to her. He leaves the bedroom light off, allowing the hallway lighting to be his guide to her. His weight is shifting the mattress next to her, and he’s leaning against the headboard. He easily pulls her into his lap, and she’s tucking her face into his neck as she cries. She curls her legs into herself, and he holds her for what feels like seconds and years. She feels something wet soaking into the shoulder of her t-shirt and realizes his tears are falling as well.

He drives her to her father’s once she’s ready, holding her hand the entire way. He never leaves her side the days following, through arrangements, the ceremony, and family visitations. He makes sure she eats on somewhat of a schedule because time is all an illusion to her. He sleeps on her couch every night for the couple of weeks following, knowing bedtime is the hardest time for her, and she won’t want to be alone. She is so touched by his dedication, and she isn’t sure she could do this life without him.

She cried for a long time, only recovering when she felt like she had nothing left to give. She was hardly surprised at the landslide of emotions tackling her considering she had been repressing them for the entirety of their friendship. It was now apparent to her what should have always been apparent: she was in love with Cassian.

She was in love with him, but she had been myopic for so long that she may have finally exhausted his love for her.

——————————————————————————

A/N: Well, here it is. We’re nearing the end of this one, and I’m excited to get the rest up for y’all. As always, your feedback/ comments are welcome! If you’d like to be tagged, feel free to message, comment, or reblog! I’ll be happy to add you to the tag list.

Tags are below!

@polireader // @lord-douglas-the-third // @justgiu12 // @notyournymphetish // @sjm-things // @strangeenemy // @iammissstark // @keshavomit // @sjmships // @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks // @dusty-lightbulb // @texas-shaped-waffle-maker // @julemmaes // @charincharge // @superspiritfestival // @awesomelena555 // @sleeping-and-books // @hizqueen4life // @maastrash // @bookstantrash // @rhyswhitethorn // @grace-k-sterling // @sayosdreams // @sis-it-dont-add-up // @ladywitchling // @b00kworm //

#nessian #nesta archeron #nesta x cassian #nesta #cassian #acotar #nessian au #nessian fwb #nessian angst #nessian fanfic #acowar #acomaf #nessian fluff #archeron sisters #acotar fanfiction

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copias-thrall · 3 years

Text

There’s Something About Mary

A day in the life of our crusty Mr. Goore

Mary POV chapter bc I want to and I can.

⬅️ Previous

*public masturbation, kinda*

Mary wakes up horny.

He must have been having a pleasant dream, because his cock is hard and throbbing where it rests heavy against his thigh. He shoves a hand down into his undone jeans to give his cock a squeeze—just for a moment of relief—and, as the touch wakes him up fully, he realizes he can hear the distinct sounds of sex from one of the rooms. A thump thump thump and a squeak squeak squeak, all punctuated with blatant moans.

Fuck it, he thinks, and he begins to jack it to the sex orchestra going on, not 10ft from where he lies on the couch. Once a place they sometimes took turns on, the couch has become Mary’s de facto room—a subtle punishment for his supposed defection. So, he has no qualms about masturbating in his room, and if any of the other guys have an issue with it, Mary has no problem making his display more public, just for spite.

He pauses only to spit in his hand when his dry palm begins to chafe. It doesn’t even matter when the noises from the other room cease (and later Mary will have to tease them about their staying power), Mary just scrolls through his mental Rolodex until he brings up the memory of his dick in between Suey’s tits, how they jiggled despite being held together, how shiny they became once covered in his jizz, and how she looked up at him as she contorted one to bring it up to her mouth to lap some off.

“Shit, shit,” he exclaims as the memory of her pink tongue lapping up his cum causes him to release. Some shoots up his bare chest, but most of it lands and pools in his belly button. Eyes still closed, his free hand shoots out and fumbles for the box of tissues on the table, encountering instead a stack of thin takeout napkins.

As he does his best to clean himself up with the napkins—whose integrity is suspect—he can hear the low rumble of male voices and a high, feminine giggle from the sex room. Just to be a jackass, he gets himself up so that he can have first dibs on the bathroom.

Making sure to lock the door behind him, Mary turns on the hot faucet, willing the water to warm up sooner than later. He takes the opportunity, while he waits, to piss in the toilet; it’s already open—toilet seat up—even though it’s supposed to put it down when they have guests. They’re out of TP again, so a roll of paper towels rests on the lid of the tank.

Once the water is warm enough, Mary uses a couple pieces from the roll to clean off the jizz drying and to give himself a brief wipe down. His face is still half crusty with makeup, and he’s tempted to just add to it, but he’s learned from hard experience how that can fuck up your face, so—even though it’s a goddamned pain—Mary washes his face. He even uses the harsh Dial hand soap, even though the acrid smell will get up into his nose for hours.

He thinks of the nice-smelling scrub Suey has and her drugstore face cream he sometimes rubs into his skin.

In the soap- and toothpaste-speckled mirror, he starts to apply his “Day Face” (as Suey calls it) from the communal box of makeup (his better stuff is in his backpack): a light dusting of white powder; some eyeliner all the way around; a dull, red lipstick; and black shadow on his cheekbones.

He’s just starting on his hair when there comes a pounding on the door

“Fucks’ sake. C’mon, Goore.”

Mary turns his head upside down in the sink basin so he can haphazardly splash some water into his hair.

“Fuck off, douchebag.”

He starts to work his fingers into his locks, coaxing the glue already in it to activate.

“She’s gotta pee, man.”

He fluffs his forelock in the mirror as his other hand searches for the blood tube in the box.

“We have a kitchen sink.”

A small voice tells him not to take his annoyance with his friends out on the girl, and he sighs.

“Stop being a di—”

The voice cuts off as Mary swings the door open. Brendan's angry face smooths into one of minor irritation. The girl—Lisa?—stands, thighs crushed together, in an oversized kitten t-shirt. She looks at Mary, wide-eyed; her gaze darts to his bare, wet chest before snapping back up.

“Lis,” he says, winking as he saunters out.

Her face crumples a little.

“Lizzy,” she says, and Mary’s stomach swoops a bit when he realizes he’s probably slept with her before.

He makes himself smile as she moves past him to the bathroom.

“That’s what I said: Liz.” He shoots her a finger gun at her as Brendan scowls at them both. When the door closes and Brendan is still glaring, Mary lets out a “What?”

“You sticking around for breakfast, man?”

Mary rolls his eyes. “I’m here, ain’t I?” He starts to paw through the plastic shelving drawers next to the couch for a shirt.

Brendan shrugs. “Thought your pussy-whipped ass might need to get back to that uptown princess of yours.”

He glares at Brendan. “Stop being dick.”

“She’s fucking slumming it, dude. I’m warning you.”

It’s not a new argument, so Mary just ignores him, instead trying to apply a bit of blood to the tip of his forelock using the heart compact Suey gave him.

Titus emerges from the shared room, yawning, in his terrible leopard print robe that’s way too short.

“Morning, asswipe,” he says to Mary as he walks by. “What’re we bitching about?”

Brendan says “uptown girl” as Mary says “nothing.”

Titus sighs.

“Jesus, Brendan. You gotta get over that. That’s Mary’s mistake to make.”

“You know what? Fuck this shit.” Mary starts getting his backpack in order.

“That’s right! Blow off another band meeting!” says Brendan, and Mary spins on his heel to stomp back.

He jabs a finger into his chest. “I’m here all the goddamned time, more than I am at her place. I come to every meeting you tell me about.”

“I shouldn’t have to tell you about anything. You should just be here. You should be committed,” hisses Brendan.

“I’m going to make some toast,” says Titus as he swishes toward the kitchen.

Mary rifles through his plastic draws and slams a notebook and loose papers onto the table.

“There’s mine, dude. Lyrics. Composition. Where’s yours?”

Donnie and Jamie wander out of their room.

“Not this shit again. It’s too fucking early,” says Donnie.

Brendan vibrates. “What about funds, man? A social media presence? You think all that happens by magic?”

“So I’m supposed to write, and compose, and do the budget?” snarls Mary.

“Guys,” moans Jamie.

“And our Insta is shit, by the way.”

“Fuck. Can we not?” moans Donnie.

Mary again jabs a finger at Brendan. “Then tell him to can it. I’ve already been exiled to the couch. I don’t need him picking fights because he doesn’t like my girlfriend, who—by the way—has never fucking done anything wrong.”

“You haven’t been exil—” Jamie starts.

“We were supposed to fucking share those rooms,” Mary hisses as he gesticulates. “I pay the same amount of rent, and yet I come home one day to find all my stuff in a pile in the living room. I have to wait for you guys to stop playing video games because ‘this is shared space’ to fucking sleep.”

“We all agreed—”

“No. You guys agreed. I didn’t get shit to say about it. So you’ll forgive me if I’m not too fucking keen on being pleasant.”

They all stand there, glowering at each other until Donnie says, “I need to take a goddamned piss,” and finds the bathroom door locked. At his soft The fuck? the lock clicks, and Lizzy opens the door cautiously.

“I’m sorry. It just. Seemed like you guys were getting into it.”

Brendan sighs. “C’mon, babe. Let’s get your stuff.”

The fight isn’t a new one, and—with no resolution in sight—they all drop the subject so they can get on with the breakfast of eggs on toast Titus brings out and the subsequent band meeting. The Brick—a cheap, overworked laptop—is brought out so they can go over band business: the budget; the van maintenance and parking costs; the gig and practice schedule is outlined so that they can align their work shifts; new merch ideas are bandied about; and they talk about how to improve their digital sales.

Mary’s leg jiggles impatiently.

The meeting breaks nearly 5hrs later; Jamie goes back to sleep because he’s got the night shift at the Quik•Mart; Brendan heads out for his afternoon shift at Target; it’s Donnie’s day off, so he cues up Mario Kart; and Titus decides he’s going to go pound on the drums in the practice space they rent, since his dad pays his bills.

Mary has been saddled with stopping by the local record stores to see if any of their physical CDs have sold to prove he’s “committed,” even though he’s got the closing shift at Sixes & Sevens.

As he’s leaving the building, he encounters Brendan, who is leaning against the brick, smoking a cigarette. Mary’s fingers twitch.

“So you’re not coming back tonight, then.”

“We have band business?”

“No.”

“Then, no.”

Brendan lets out a puff of smoke.

“You think I’m being a dick, but that girl does not care about you. She’s a tourist. Us—the band. That’s what’s real, Mary.”

Mary knows he should keep walking, but even after counting to 10, he’s still pissed, so he spins on his heel.

“You don’t know anything about her or her goddamned life.”

“Neither do you.” He finishes the smoke, then tosses it to the pavement to grind under his combat boot. “We’ll be here when it all explodes in your face, Goore. But you’re going to have to rebuild a lot of bridges.”

And then he’s off down the sidewalk. Mary stands there, seething, waiting until Brendan disappears round the corner since he’s also headed in that direction.

He’s not really in the best of moods when he hits up the first store, but by the 4th, he’s back to his plucky repartee. The owner of his favorite shop intimates that a vinyl version of their LP might sell much better than their DIY CD, and Mary enthusiastically thanks the dude as if it’s the first time such a concept has been considered.

The whole route honestly doesn’t even really take that much time at all—maybe 2 hours—so he chances stopping by Suey’s. Worst case, he’ll take a nap; best case, she’ll be there to bitch at him.

Like everything else today, however, circumstances are just not on his side, and he opens the door to her tiny fucking apartment to find it empty. The mail is bad again, and he rifles through it, plucking out anything that’s obviously junk to toss and anything that looks like a bill to put on her counter. There’s only a bowl in the sink, so he leaves it.

He’s hoping that she comes home before he has to leave—maybe she’ll even give him a blow job—as he wraps himself up in the afghan that smells slightly of her.

She doesn’t.

His alarm wakes him up at 4:15pm for his shift at 6. Groggily, he stumbles to the fridge to see what there is to eat, and finds a pot crammed in haphazardly amongst the other food items. Mary’s not really sure what he’s looking at—Suey tends to just throw shit together when she can’t be bothered, but most of the time it’s edible.

It ends up being some sort of cheesy potato stew and actually isn’t that bad. He eats the whole thing out of the pot before scrubbing it and the lone bowl clean. He waits as long as he dares to watch her come clomping tiredly through her door, but he really does have to leave. He leaves a kiss on her mirror after he reapplies his lipstick. (He should probably redo his face but: eh.)

Work is work. It starts slow—with Mary taking down the chairs and wiping off everything with the disinfectant spray. Sometimes Mary finds this kind of Zen—a time to hum out chords and roll around lyrics in his head—but today he’s just tired. It gets a little better when Mickey and the other bartender show up to do citrus prep. It’s a weekday, so there’s only a moderate crowd, and Mickey leaves them to it so he can do business manager-type things in his office.

And then there are the girls. Most of the girls who come to Sixes & Sevens aren’t the type to be put off by Mary’s whole shtick—and there are obviously the ones who come here expressly to flirt with him—so he has no qualms turning on his charms. Mickey lets him do it because customers are customers, and if girls want to come and spend money on drinks while they purr at Mary, who is Mickey to stop them? Len or Mika don’t give a shit because tips are pooled.

Used to be Mary could have his pick of a warm body for the evening—some girl (or occasionally some guy if Mary deemed him beefy enough) who’d take him to her nice-smelling, clean apartment … who’d let him spend the night on her soft, downy pillows after he pounded her into next year, before kicking him out at dawn. But now he’s got a girlfriend—one who makes sure he eats and yells at him to wash his face—waiting for him in her stale apartment with her flat, polyester pillows, and Mary hopes he’s not fool enough to fuck that up.

Not that his dick has gotten the memo.

No matter how many times Mary tells that fucker that he’s not going to fuck any of these women, his dick still twitches in interest whenever plump lips are wrapped around straws or fingertips trail over his hand. Tonight is especially bad for some reason, and Mary has to stick close to the walls of the bar so that no one can see his semi. A girl in a furry, white shrug seems particularly on his dick, and he does his best to flirt just enough for a good tip, but not enough for a proposition.

When he gets his break, Mary takes it out back in the alley by the dumpster. The air is chill, but it feels good after the humidity of the bar. He was hoping maybe his dick would go down, but it’s like it’s trying to spite him. Leaning his head back on the wall, he can’t help but close his eyes and run his palm lightly over the outline. It’s a fool’s errand—it’s not like he can get off without it showing on his pants—but that doesn’t stop him from touching.

A voice clears, and Mary startles. He’s out here by the rancid garbage so he can be alone, so he wasn’t really expecting to find anyone else.

“I can help you with that,” says the girl with the white fur that may or may not be real. She’s standing across from him, and he can see that she’s in a dress so simple that it must be hella expensive. She’s holding an unlit cigarette.

Mary jerks his hand away from his crotch, shifting so that he can surreptitiously adjust his jeans.

“The fuck are you doing out back here?”

She shrugs. “Needed to get away from my bitches. I love them but: drama city. You got a light?”

He knows it’s a ruse, but he still fumbles out his Zippo because he’s a goddamned gentleman. She, shockingly, takes the opportunity to move in closer to his body as he holds out the flame … close enough to blow the smoke of the first drag in his face.

“So,” she says, eyes darting down to his semi. “You want me suck that?” She gesticulates with her chin, posture nonchalant but eyes hungry.

His dick gives an answering throb, but he shrugs. “Nah. I got a girl.”

She looks at him, assessing, before half crossing her arms and taking another drag. Smoke pours out her nose.

“She’s not here.”

Mary doesn’t respond immediately, not knowing how to get out of this. She hasn’t said anything untrue. He’s horny, Suey’s not here, and she wants to suck his cock.

He reaches his hand up and taps his breast where he thinks his heart is.

“She’s here,” he says, and he’s glad Suey’s not present because hoo boy would she give him shit for that winner.

The girl just tilts her head at him, this time blowing smoke out the side of her mouth after she inhales. It occurs to Mary that he wants her cigarette more than his dick wants to be sucked. If she thinks this is some kind of elaborate game of hard to get, she’s sorely mistaken.

“You got a picture?”

“A … what?”

She gesticulates impatiently. “A picture. Of this girlfriend.”

Mary thinks, then pats around for his wallet, even though he only ever puts it in his back pocket. When she sees the wallet come out, she laughs.

“An actual picture? That’s old school.”

He shrugs as he rifles. “I’m on my break.” He doesn’t tell her that his ancient flip phone doesn’t take pictures. Well, not good ones.

The photo of Suey he has is relatively new—slipped in behind the old, worn one of his mum—but its edges are starting to soften. In the image, Suey stands, hip popped, as she gives him the finger with a snotty look on her face. She’s in one of her weird 90′s outfits—a micro mini and tied up band tee—and the cute pudge of her belly hangs over her waist band a little. Her hair is pushed back from her face because she’s just lifted up her sunglasses—there’s still a little mark on her nose where they were resting.

She hates this picture, but her attitude makes him smile.

“You gonna ogle it all night, Mary?”

Mary’s attention snaps back to the alley. He ignores the intimacy. Carefully, with a stern look on his face that he hopes conveys how much the photo is not to be fucked with, he hands the picture over.

White Fur looks at the picture for a long time. Then she looks up at him. She gives the image one more glance before handing it back to him.

“Yeah, ok,” she says as she crosses her arms again.

Mary tucks the photo back into his wallet.

“The fuck does that mean?” he scowls. He’s just about had it with people insulting Suey today, and some random-ass girl in a back alley is the last person he’d let get away with it, even if she is a fan.

She takes her last drag before flicking the stub in the direction of a dumpster.

“Dunno. You seem like the type to have some scene girl with more legs than brains hanging off your arm.”

Mary thinks that’s a little uncharitable: he’s always been an equal-opportunity lay.

“She seems legit though,” the girl continues. “Makes sense.”

“Uh. Thanks?”

“Yeah, no problem.” She heads for the door, but stops to smirk at him. “Looks like I helped after all.”

As she swings back inside, Mary looks down to realize his hard-on is gone.

Mickey doesn’t cut him early, but he doesn’t make him stay past closing either. Even so, it’s still after 3am when he gets to Suey’s. The bills are gone from the counter, but there are no new dishes in the sink. He opens the fridge to find a pizza box crumpled into the top, balanced precariously on the other items. Mary takes it out and inhales the cold pizza right from the box; he knows they’re all for him because Suey fucking hates pepperoni. (Though it doesn’t escape his notice that she’s put one piece of pineapple in the center to mess with him.)

He leaves the box by the trash (he’ll flatten it tomorrow), and then makes his way to her bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth, lest he incur her wrath.

When he finally wiggles into her twin bed in his boxers, he’s bone tired. His dick still kinda wants some action, but Mary thinks he’d probably just fall asleep in the middle, and Suey really would bite his head off if he woke her up for no reason. He wishes she’d just sleep nude, but finding her in one of his well-worn shirts is the next best thing. He doesn’t mean to wake her up, but he can’t help himself from running his hands all over her—this girl who sees him and not his “image.”

“Mare?” she says in a quiet, sleepy voice.

He kisses her head.

“Go back to sleep, baby doll.”

She doesn’t speak again, but she squirms around until she’s sprawled across his chest. He’d prefer to have her caught up in a little spoon, but having her pressed into him—body sleep warm—is nothing to wave a stick at.

This is all he wanted, anyway.

Next ➡️

#mary goore #feral cats fic #gutter punk #mary pov #my writing #original post

37 notes · View notes

vasoula · 4 years

Text

The Peepshow (chapter three)

Summary: Two months after his redemption journey, Sasuke is back to Konoha and Sakura couldn’t be more happy about them spending a lot of time together. However, things take a hard turn when Sakura is assigned a special mission and she has to hide it from the rest of Team 7. Everything comes spiraling down when Sasuke finds out exactly what she has to do.

Tags: hard rated m, blank period, kinda AU-ish

You can also read it on ffnet and Ao3.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Author's notes: The grand finale of my three way saga ends here with a bang! Beware this chapter is hard M, lots of naughty things happening here ;) This monster is almost 10k on its own XD BTW this is the only chapter my friend strawberrycreampiefluff has not read, even though this is a collab between us and the story was her inspo, so this is a surprise for her also. I hope everybody enjoys this fic, comment your thoughts. Ah, I didn't know which way to end it because this is quite self indulgent and the main theme of the fic was teasing so the ending is similar. One day, maybe, I will write a continuation. Thank you everyone for your love and support!

“Act three: Jealousy will drive you mad”

With two powerful stomps and a determined expression on her face, Sakura reaches for the doorknob and pulls.

Sasuke does indeed greet her in the doorway. It is obvious from the casual attire he has put on that he was also about to go to bed; his toned physique is adorned with gray sweatpants and a light blue shirt.

The pink haired woman has no clue what riles her up the most. Is the way those simple clothes cling onto him like second skin emphasizing his fit body or is it the way he is staring her with those bewitching mismatched eyes of his? She cannot wait to find out.

"Sakura," he says in the usual lethargic timbre he uses to pronounce her name.

She blinks her eyes at him fast in response to make sure she is seeing right.

"What are you doing here, Sasuke-kun?", Sakura asks, "It's late."

She casually points out it is time for sleep and not time for late night conversations in her room the two of them alone, together. It does the trick because Sasuke seems to realize a few things about their current situation. His eyes lose focus and start their slow descend, carefully scrutinizing what she is wearing.

His gaze stops his inspection the moment it reaches her chest, zeroing on her breathing pattern and the way some parts of her body stand out thanks to the chilly weather. Sasuke's impassive face instantly changes, his cheeks and ears coloring in a nice red hue.

Then, without much thought, his observation continues and he bites his lip at the display of her bare legs so up close.

For the life of her, Sakura cannot fathom that Sasuke Uchiha is blatantly checking her out.

Feeling self conscious, she hugs herself and steps sideways to allow the man to come into the room. Her blush matches his in response.

Sasuke finally – finally moves from his position and steps into her territory.

Putting a few loose pink strands behind her ear, Sakura closes the door quietly and props her body on it, hands coming to rest between her backside and the wood.

She lets the silence hang on for a few minutes allowing Sasuke to take his time to make up his mind.

"I came here to apologize," he speaks after a while, "I am sorry."

Sasuke peers at her from his spot in the middle of room, shuffling his feet unconsciously.

He looks down, "I shouldn't have interfered with your mission," and spins around to face her bed instead. "It was brash and uncharacteristic of me."

His apology sounds genuine enough, but that still does not excuse the fact he acted out of the ordinary for no reason.

Sakura has had it with this man. Even though she feels beyond furious with him, the girl prefers not to argue with him.

"Apology accepted." She announces curtly. "Still doesn't explain the reason you decided to interfere, Sasuke."

The lack of honorific translates to failure in Sasuke's book of apologies. He tries to take another route. Although he came inside her room prepared and resolute to be honest with her, it seems his pride and ego are still in the way.

"Sakura, you know I am not good at this," He deflates in frustration, "I am not good -"

Sasuke pauses abruptly, not capable of continuing his next sentence. Why is it so hard for him to confess his feelings? How does Sakura do it? Why can he not be more like her when it comes to matters like these?

The lone Uchiha knows how he feels about her, his heart hammering in his chest is that much of a clue. Since he was a young boy- he has always known -what he felt towards her. There is a special connection, even the most logical part of his brain cannot grasp it enough to explain it. It should not make sense how strongly he feels about her without him even comprehending it when growing up.

It has been building up since the start, those emotions have been lying dormant for years, slowly but surely pestering inside his heart. His mind always conjuring up images of her lovely smiles and her healing words. Her confessions and trials towards him whispering hotly in his ears and driveling his mind mad into oblivion.

For such a foolish little game she was playing, her opinion is sure important and sufficient to have him questioning his moralities; her words festering inside his heart and poisoning his mind with good prospects in life like love and family. Who is he to deny her anything when at times he was ready to sacrifice everything he thrived for just to keep her safe? He can try but ignoring his feelings like he used to do in the past is no solution anymore.

Sasuke recalls everything about her until now and comes to one realization.

Sakura was, is and will always be precious to him.

"What?" The woman, plaguing his thoughts, asks defeated. She pushes herself off the wooden door and takes a big step forward.

Thinking what he can possibly do to make things better, he comes up with an idea.

Following along, Sasuke moves closer to her, leaning the right side of his body to a pillar next to him. He is right across her now.

"I am more of a man of action-", he starts trying to redeem himself with his compensatory qualities.

"Then do something -", she explodes, interrupting him mid sentence.

Sakura puts her foot down hard, literally stumping it to the ground. With her fists balled to her sides and a snarl on her face, she feels her patience running out.

The woman looks at him expectantly, waiting for him to do something – anything.

Sasuke's ears are roaring, his pulse skyrocketing. He is breathing hard now, his gaze penetrating as he surveys every aspect of Sakura's face. From her rosy cheeks, to her heated eyes and at last to her luscious, red lips.

She hears him before she sees him react. A hard punch to the pillar he has been leaning on signals he too has reached his limit.

With two fast strides, in speed only Sasuke is capable of, he pushes her against the door with his body. His right hand comes up and he tangles his fingers in her hair, cradling her upper half in urgency.

His stump meets her waist halfway in an attempt to hold her.

"I am losing my mind here, Sakura," He confesses unabashedly, looking at her straight in the eye.

The girl in question glances up at him, his sudden embrace unexpected, but welcome nevertheless. Both of her hands are at his torso, her clenched fists clasping his shirt tightly and crumpling it in the process. Thanks to the position of her grip, she feels his heart beating fast inside his chest – a sign that rings true to his earlier statement.

Searching his eyes for any sign of discomfort and finding none, she makes it easier for both of them and inches closer; her mouth a breath away from his lips.

Sasuke's eyes open and close languidly in response, her glittering irises and pampered freckles on her nose the last thing he sees before he leans in to kiss her.

Sakura spots stars behind her closed eyelids the moment their lips finally touch. It is nothing more than their mouths caressing each other in slow strokes, but the implications of that innocent kiss are more than enough for the two of them.

Feeling brave, the pink haired woman wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him closer to her. Her heart is about to jump off her chest, aware of his hard yet lean body flash against her. They do not have any prior experience to this, but with their instincts leading them on, they are matching each other just right.

Sasuke feels something inside his head clicking into place, like a puzzle being completed; the repressed emotions inside of him exploding into a thousand pieces. The way he loves and displays it might be crooked, but when he has the woman he adores in his arms, he knows, he can conquer any emotional disadvantage he may encounter.

It seems everything that happens next plays out like it is in slow motion.

Grabbing her by the hip, Sasuke begins to move. Sakura arches into him, their kiss turning deeper. With the tall man leading them on, the couple turns around, mirroring their previous position, but with Sakura on top this time.

"Lift your legs," Sasuke quietly orders with his back against the door. Sakura obliges wordlessly and jumps slightly. Putting pressure on his shoulders, Sakura breaks their kiss for a split second and wraps her thighs around his waist, locking them tightly.

Sasuke's lone arm comes and finds its position snugly under her backside, palm open on her butt cheeks. Without so much a strain, years of physical exertion being put into work, Sasuke lifts her off the ground easily.

Sakura, still preoccupied with Sasuke's soft lips, does not realize their compromising position. Gently coursing her hands through his hair, she caresses his scalp while kissing him tenderly.

With his limbs busy and his vision limited, Sasuke takes a few cautious steps forward. With the bed as final destination, he carefully maneuvers them through the room. A few centimeters away, the mattress lies warm and inviting.

Their kiss stops abruptly when Sasuke's foot comes in contact with outpost of the bed. Lips breaking apart and breaths mingling, they stare silently into one another.

Realizing where the course of their situation is taking them, both of them pause.

Sakura searches his eyes and sees the lust mirrored in them similar to her own. With a determined expression, she grabs the collar of his shirt and drags him down with her the moment she lets herself fall back into the mattress.

Trying to stop his body from crushing her, Sasuke's arm goes forward and he places his hand next to her head. He lets out a disgruntled sound and lets his face fall into the soft cushions of her breasts.

"Sakura," he mumbles incoherently. In response, the girl in question lets out a sigh of pleasure and relief.

She knows the implications and relishes in them. No dream or fantasy could counter that moment in her mind.

Sasuke hesitantly looks up, face heating up slowly. Then, feeling suddenly nervous, he glances sideways, a scowl forming.

Being on top of Sakura, her body body pliant underneath him and her lips bruised from their intense kissing had him feeling some type of way. But, god, her face is what made him look away. Nothing prepared him for this.

Sakura makes a sound in the back of her throat, her teeth biting hard her plump bottom lip. She bats her eyes at him, light pink eyelashes fanning against her rosy cheeks prettily. Sasuke pretends to ignore her, even though he keeps stealing glances at her.

Sakura cannot believe there would come a day where the great Sasuke Uchiha, the infamous avenger, would be shy with her.

Hot stares and naughty smirks are more his thing than awkward and fleeting looks.

Sasuke is nervous, no one taught him how to handle situations like these.

Love is a new, unknown part in his life, and he is quite unprepared.

Wordlessly, she lifts her hand and touches the right side of his face.

He looks gorgeous like this, all strong bone structure and pale white skin. His aristocratic nose scrunching up in distaste, because he dislikes the fact he has no control.

"What?" The Uchiha finally looks at her and asks. He purses his lips and drags his body forward a little bit.

Sasuke is snugly on top of her now, their chests pressed together closely.

Sakura starts caressing his cheek, staring lovingly into his eyes.

"I thought I couldn't love you more than I do," she takes a shuddering breath, her eyes watering slightly. "But, I do."

Sasuke takes the whispered confession in, his throat bobbing. He feels so emotional right now, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. He clutches at her words, her proclamation consuming him like it did in the past.

The inner turmoil inside him makes his eyes burn. He struggles to find the words to express what he feels for her. The capacity to love and care endless, unlimited for her. A never ending waterfall of emotions washing his wrongdoings away.

The power coursing through his veins is nothing in comparison to the power she has over him. She could bend him all she wants, mold his being all the way to nothingness and put his pieces right back to their rightful place. No darkness inside of him is strong enough to overcome him as long as she loves him. Her light nourishing him and making him feel alive again.

So many thoughts plaguing his mind, but no words are enough to describe his admiration for her. He wants to convey though, he has to try. For her, going forward in life, he has to try.

"You make me feel alive," he shares with her, "I need you close to me,"

Sasuke utters in a mere whisper, but with each syllable his drive to confess grows tenfold. "I love you," he breaks, voice cracking in the end.

He closes his eyes to get his bearings for a second and hears Sakura's breath hitch.

Sakura feels her soul quivering in her chest; she went to heaven and back.

Before anymore tears could escape her eyes however, she quickly shuts them close. This is no reason for her to cry, for this is a happy moment. She sniffles and opens her jade orbs again. The sight that greets her makes her feel like her entire being is being consumed by hot molten lava. The man of her dreams is staring at her, his eyes intense – an endless inferno of feelings exposed for her to cherish.

Her throat bobs in anticipation at the prospect of him acting out what his eyes are conveying.

"Sakura," he says and nudges her chin with his nose.

Sasuke senses her shiver underneath him even though the temperature of the room is far from low. No matter, he is starting to sweat so he decides to undress. Knowing where this is leading them, he pushes himself up and straddles her, knees on either side of her body. Using his lone hand he grabs the outer part of his cotton shirt from behind and lifts it forward over his head.

Sakura gasps beneath him, eyeing him up and down in appreciation. That escalated way better than what she had in mind. Years of need, aching deep within her.

Her hands twitch and she tries to think clearly despite the situation.

"W-what are you doing Sasuke-kun?", she mumbles worriedly.

After finishing his task, the man in question looks down at her. The left side of mouth lifts in haughty grin before he can stop himself. Now, now what a nice view, he thinks.

Sakura's hair has created a beautiful pink halo around her head, matching her flaming, flushed cheeks. Those unique eyes of her sparkle in the dark, passion shining through clearly in them. Her lips part sensually in silent plea for him to claim her.

She wants this as much he does.

"Hot," he answers. The sensation of her, needy, under him or the room temperature are either correct interpretations.

He knows she likes what she sees. His athletic, lean body is no secret, but for him to display it so proudly to her strokes his ego in all the right places. No woman can appreciate him the way she does. Her pure devotion fascinates him, her hungry stares excite him. Only she has that effect on him. She may be the one to yearn for him since the beginning, but he is the one that has been suffering in silence for so long.

She has been loud, clear, but he has been repressed and tortured with his own fondness right along with her. He wants to toy with her a little more, tease her with some scalding remarks until she is dripping wet with fervor, but alas his patience is running out.

His arm stretches out and his hand reaches her throat, her eyes following along his every movement. His fingertips tenderly graze her pulse point, her skin alight with heat.

Goosebumps rise on her skin, his touch creating thousand fires along her neck. He is stalling, they both know it. But, she continues to stay pliant under him allowing him to continue his ministrations.

His eyes burn in a hankering frenzy, analyzing every little reaction he can get out of her before she turns the tables on him.

She closes her eyes in pleasure, throat stretching out and torso lifting, baring more surface for him to please.

Sakura breaths heavily, legs squeezing shut. She cannot believe this kind of simple form of touch brings forth this much twisted pleasure out of her. This is too light for it to be even considered foreplay, yet...she can get off just to the thought of him even touching her.

"N-no…" she tries to halt the upcoming teasing.

She is weak and needy and she knows he will abuse this knowledge to the fullest. He has always been a person to test her limits. Sasuke loves having the upper hand.

His hand slowly goes down and it reaches her ribcage, right at the center. Her nipples harden in response and she feels Sasuke shift above her.

When something hard grazes her stomach, her insides quiver. She is affecting him even though she is doing nothing to him in return.

Sasuke's movements stop abruptly when he realizes his body has been reacting quite positively to the display. He feels himself confined in his loose pants, the underwear straining against his hard length. Apparently, the object of his desires noticed it too.

This is where he loses the battle it seems.

Sakura opens her eyes slowly, her hands reaching her torso. Both of her palms lay flat on top of his hand – trapping him there. She takes it and starts to move it around her body, showing him just where she would enjoy for him to touch her.

When it reaches her right breast, she lets it loose. Sasuke keeping eye contact with her starts to massage her mound; first tenderly and then more roughly.

Depending on the reactions he gets out of her, his fingers play with her hardened nub, her thin t-shit an extra layer of teasing against her sensitive skin there.

Not knowing what to do with her free arms, she decides to test her power. She splays them flat on top of her lover's chest without so much a thought. His skin is a little cold and damp from sweat, his nervousness slipping through bodily fluids rather than expressions. Going up and down with each hand, she caresses his taught stomach, abs prominent against his skin.

Sasuke hums in response, an appreciative tone somewhere hidden in there.

Sakura makes it her mission to get more reactions out him before he finds out just how wet he has made her down there. His chest is there, pecs hard and her fingers skim over his nipples with a feather like touch.

His eyes clump shut and his body leans forward a little bit. He bites his lip and lets out a small sigh. Sakura smiles triumphantly knowing she is staring to push his buttons. Her hands descend lower, fingers toying with the waistband of his trousers.

Sakura looks from where her hands are, the bulge obvious and near to collision with the inside of her left wrist. She purses her lips and risks glancing up at him. He is breathing harder now, his hair falling like a curtain, his side bang hiding half of his face.

"Don't," comes out the strained response.

His jaw is taught, the angles of it sharp, someone would think he is mad.

He is mad alright, mad with desire.

Sasuke has been thinking a lot about these kind of moments the last few months, his mind conjuring up scenarios and positions – dirty, dirty little longing.

Nothing has prepared him for this sensation. He is powerless against her, needing her to feed his solicitude with ardor. Still though, greedy for her as he is, he struggles to shred his shyness away.

She sees right through him and pauses. "Are you sure?" she asks tentatively.

In an abrupt movement, he grabs her hand, grip strong on her wrist and slams it right back at the bed, near her head. An act of dominance will not hinder Sakura obedient so soon. She fights right back, seeing Sasuke struggle to keep her hand in place.

Sakura huffs and smiles smugly up at him. His face stays impassive, but his eyes glint dangerously.

Thinking she has won this round, the woman prepares a trotting remark. However, Sasuke renders her speechless with his next move. Abandoning his place above her, he straightens up and pushes his knee right between her legs, just below her searing heat. His lone arm reaches out and grips her left thigh roughly, pinning it backwards and spreading her legs apart in an instant.

Sasuke smirks devilishly at her.

The new position and attitude leaves her all hot and bothered.

Then, his hand finds its place just below her belly button. Leaning forward, he grabs one side of her shorts and starts pulling it towards him. Stunned, she allows him to take them off her.

Sakura wants, needs...she craves to see just how much further he can take it.

But despite all the excitement to see Sasuke's walls fall apart in front of her, she cannot help it when she tries to hide her half naked body from him. Only a thin layer of underwear is keep them apart. Feeling shy now is useless, but god these feelings in her heart are so intense and Sasuke acting out all her desires does not help her at all.

Sakura squeezes her legs shut, thighs pressed deliciously together and stomach taught - straining to keep her lower body hidden from his hungry eyes as much as she can.

In a way, Sakura muses, she is teasing him further by denying him access. Sasuke hates disobedience as much as he hates not getting what he wants.

As always impressed by her strength – even in bed – he clasps her knee and tries pushing it apart. "You don't have to ever hide from me." Sasuke says heatedly.

"I-I," Sakura struggles to find the right words, her blushing cheeks a hot flame on her face. "Sasuke-kun, please," she tries to prolong the inevitable.

How can he be so cool about this when they both know how reserved they are? Be that as it may, they both covet each others' touch and they have been doing so since their younger years.

Knowing she can hide herself no more and she is willing to give all of herself to him, all her scars and her invisible wounds, the pink haired beauty spreads her legs apart, baring her womanly figure to him.

It occurs to her that Sasuke is about to say something to her, but decides against it and prefers to speak with his body instead. With more space now free, the man finds himself snugly between her legs.

Before Sakura could realize what is exactly happening and what his next move is going to be, Sasuke surprises her yet again. Rather than mirroring his previous position on top of her, he chooses to cascade down gently with an objective in mind.

Continuing his ministrations, he smoothly lifts her shirt and scrunches it up towards her chest. With that out of the way, Sasuke starts peppering her belly with soft, open-mouthed kisses. It tickles a tiny bit, but the heat pooling between her legs is a tell-tale sign just how much this is affecting her.

When his hot breath fans above her damp underwear, she knows exactly what he is planning on doing to her. Then, Sasuke pauses and looks up at her questioningly as if to confirm if this okay with her.

To answer his unspoken query, Sakura sits up slightly and crosses her arms grabbing her white blouse by each side. She takes it off in one swift movement and quickly lies down, her eyes focused on the ceiling.

Sakura bites her lip, her hands finding themselves near his nape and fondling his shoulders in an attempt to clear any doubts in Sasuke's head that she may not be ready for this. No words need to be exchanged between them, Sasuke could tell even from the way she breathed if this kind of loving was unwanted from her.

She still feels coy, but, Sasuke knows how to handle her. His hand grips one thigh gently, putting slight pressure on it. He bends down and starts pressing delicate kisses right below her belly button and going lower. When his teeth graze the top of her baby pink, lacy panties, she lets out a tiny whimper. He bites the cute bow and pulls down; his eyes are closed and his fingers are digging into her supple skin, a sweet pressure pulling her back to reality.

Her feet trash a little bit, the covers of the bed becoming a mess in her wake.

Sakura unconsciously lifts her butt up when his hand places under her leg. Taking that as his cue, Sasuke grabs the underside of her lingerie and takes it off her.

With that out of the way, her legs spread apart and he leans back to take a good at her. So many thoughts are running through his head, too many things he wants to say to her. Compliment her beauty and ravishing body; even the most hidden parts of herself are pretty to him.

She looks gorgeous like this, all docile and yielding for him. Sasuke wants to worship her body and treat her with fairness; kiss every scar and caress every curve of her. Every little thing he cannot confess to her, he wants to convey it through every action he does just to please her.

The raven haired man wants to clear any doubts she might have in her head. He needs to make her his, claim her and show her how much she means to him. But first, he has to make sure she knows just how much he wishes to satisfy her.

Sasuke bends down once again, his head between her legs and his arm under thigh, his lone hand holding her captive.

Sakura puts her hands over her mouth in an attempt to muffle her upcoming reactions. When his hot breath fans over her wet folds, she loses it.

He hums thoughtfully as if he is pondering something and then his lips are on her most intimate area. First, a gentle kiss on her clit and then his lips part and he is consuming her wholly. Sasuke uses his tongue skillfully, parting her nether folds and lapping at her entrance. The skill he is displaying has the woman questioning her sanity.

He is very meticulous with her, going as far as using the sounds she makes as guidance. His mouth works in wicked ways and she is making embarrassing, loud noises.

When he pauses to take a breather, Sakura whines. The loss of this endless satisfaction turning her bratty.

"So wet, already," Sasuke says with pride.

Sakura wants to punch his face to the next dimension for that snarky comment, but he has her putty in his hands.

Her face is a little damp from sweat and she pushes a few loose pastel strands away from her sticky cheeks and forehead.

"Don't tease me," she pouts and she slaps his arm lightly – a warning.

Sasuke smirks as if expecting that reaction and then his hand leaves her thigh, a slight bruise already forming on her skin where he had been grabbing her.

Sakura's toes curl in anticipation, her hands settling flat at her sides.

At the same time, Sasuke's exploration begins once more, his mouth finding its place on her needy point. Her heart hammers in her chest and she feels her pleasure reach new heights when his fingers join his tongue.

He strokes her dutifully with his tongue while his two long digits spread her wet folds further apart, providing him with more access. Sakura moans in response, her legs unconsciously lifting with her feet landing gently on his shoulder blades.

Her eyes stop staring at ceiling and she watches as the man she desires has his face all up in her pussy, eating her out like she is the most delicious meal.

"A-ah, please," she keens, anything to lead him on.

Suddenly, he is sucking her clit benevolently, his eyes opening slowly when he senses her staring at him.

Sasuke's prowess activates committing this particularly sensual moment to his memory along with many others to come. Her green eyes are shining brightly and her skin glows; the color of her hair matching her skin, splashes of unique shades of pink intensifying her beauty to the next level. She is shaking slightly, trying fruitlessly to suppress her upcoming orgasm from reaching her too soon.

He itches to make her cum more than once, but his main mission for tonight is to make sure she remembers this night forever... just as he will.

Next thing Sakura knows, a finger is added to the mix and now both his tongue and this are hitting different pleasure points inside her.

Too soon, he suddenly stops and sighs against her quivering entrance. "Fuck, Sakura."

Those last few seconds were such a delicious sensation, she never wants him to stop until she is completely spent. Before she could prod him to continue, the woman feels his index entering her.

Sakura trembles when two fingers start going in and out of her in a fast pace, the intrusion welcome and needed. Then, as if this is not enough, his hand curls and his thumb starts teasing her clit simultaneously whenever possible.

Unable to do anything other than shake in his grasp, Sakura courses her hands roughly through his black hair needing to hold on to something. Her waist bends like a feline in heat, her chest heaving up and down and her breaths coming out in quick pants.

Sakura knows she might be hurting him with how much she is pulling on his hair, but she is unable to care at the moment. He deserves it for turning her in to this tiny, needy monster.

"Don't stop," she moans, face contorted in bliss. Her eyes are closed and her brows are furrowed in concentration. Sakura's mouth parts in a silent plea, her red lips shiny with spit.

She is so close, yet so far away.

Sasuke bites his lip, changes his position and moves to rest his forehead on her shoulder. He feels his member leaking precum inside his boxers and he tries to keep it together.

The man is listening intensely to all the beautiful sounds she is making and breathing hard. His pace is relentless and the muscle in his bicep is straining against his skin from the exertion he is putting it through.

Sasuke grits his teeth when Sakura's walls clench around his fingers, signaling she is close – he cannot stop now.

Sakura's arms loop around his neck and she hugs him close, their bodies sticking to each other. The position is not the most comfortable for him, but damn him if he does not love the way she feels around him. A few of her stiletto pointed nails dig into his skin, leaving angry marks on his back, but the pain just adds fuel to the fire.

"S-Sasuke-kun," she sobs into his neck, reaching euphoria finally. Her body spasms around him, his fingers getting coated with her juices.

Sasuke lets out a pleased sound, something akin to a quiet moan and rests his body on her, his hand coming at a stop and pulling out of her.

Sakura lies spent beneath him with her eyes closed and breaths shallow.

The black haired male feels immense pleasure and pride knowing he made her orgasm just with his fingers and his ego swells at her satisfaction. He has been wishing to be the only one to make her a hot mess like this.

Moreover, the discomfort he is experiencing right now because of her is distracting him from teasing her further, even though he truly enjoys watching her blush and squirm under his penetrating gaze and vexing comments.

His cock is solid hard and aching. It is borderline painful not only because he wishes to get his release soon, but also the whole stimulation confined in his pants is a dire situation that needs to be fixed immediately.

When she shifts underneath him, his boner brushes against her hipbone firmly. Sakura pauses, and peaks at him cautiously, her eyes burning with desire once again.

Not wanting her to make her uncomfortable, he tries to untangle himself from her, but the woman in his arms has other plans.

"You are…" Her voice speaks with purpose, however, her tone is light and shy.

Sasuke flushes and stays still as a rigid board, not wishing to discuss his rather big problem down there. He swears if she tries anything, he will lose control fully.

He is like a wild animal caged and untamed, but about to be set free.

The tall man starts to sit up on his knees in order to avoid the impending confrontation, but his member stands proud and obvious to the eyes. His hand, still wet from her peak, lies limply at his side. He swallows hard and blushes, turning to look the other way and avoiding her ignited stare.

Sakura's mouth waters at the sight displaying before her. Her beautiful lover has never looked hotter than this moment. His skin glistens slightly from perspiration, adding a nice glow to his body and accentuating his toned physique. Sasuke's bangs are tinted at the tips, damp from sweat.

His trousers, along with his boxers, hang low past his waistline and his pelvic bones peak out bringing attention to his happy trail and the prominent bulge in his pants. A vein is popping out in his bicep and Sakura catches a glimpse of his arm flexing, probably to ease up the muscle there.

Sasuke tries hard to compose himself in front of her, but his expression gives out and exposes how clearly turned on he is by this – as if his body has not showcased it enough to her.

It is her turn to command him, it seems.

Sakura decides to take the initiative since Sasuke has not moved from his spot. She approaches him cautiously, slowly sitting up on her elbows and regarding him. He murmurs something inaudible and glares at the mattress if it is the source of all his problems. Sakura takes his silence and his stagnant form as her cue and raises completely from the bed, her core still sore from his intense loving.

"Let me,"she whispers to him immediately upon kneeling in front of him. She almost does not recognize her own voice, with how seductive her tone sounds.

The moment the words come out of her mouth, Sasuke gets alert and his eyes widen a fraction. His lips part, ready to say something, probably to stop her, but he does not have the power to do so. She notices his sharingan is deactivated now, but the look he is giving her makes her resolute with her decision.

It incites her motivation to please him and show him how much she appreciates him and all of his efforts towards her. After that amazing orgasm he gave her, the talented man deserves to feel some kind of pleasure too. Besides, she cannot let him handle all that by himself, she thinks cheekily.

"Sasuke-kun," Sakura uses the best authoritative voice she can master at a time like this.

He instantly glances up at her, contemplating his options inside his head. Everything points to her with his dick in her mouth. Fuck him and his traitorous body. The most collected part of his brain melts at the thought of her even touching him.

Sakura's hand reaches forward and she palms him roughly through the layers of fabric, face set with a purpose in mind. Sasuke in return short circuits.

He allows himself to be completely overtaken by her.

His senses are overcome by the sheer desire coursing through his veins. Every fantasy, every touch, every word that has to do with her replaying like a broken mantra in his mind. He feels everything tenfold, the emotions consuming him like the black fire he commands to destroy.

Sasuke closes his eyes and takes a deep breath through his nose, his cheeks aflame and his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. His path to redemption has reached its final destination.

To become hers, wholly.

Sakura begins to massage him based on his repressed reactions like a twitch of his lip or the fluttering of his eyelashes. She starts gently, then she adds more pressure as she goes on. When the woman feels like she has had enough, she grabs the hem of his trousers and pulls down. The same process follows gradually for his boxers too. His cock stands proud and thick, complementing his already perfect figure.

Meanwhile, Sasuke, not knowing what to do, tries to minimize his reactions, preferring to stay reserved yet. His introverted nature makes him hesitant when he is the one on the receiving end. Despite that, he knows Sakura, being perceptive when it comes to him, will catch on quickly and she will accommodate herself to get customized to his still reluctant attitude.

Sakura understands why Sasuke acts so averse since he has yet to come to terms with that fact that it is alright to feel emotional. It is okay to express love and feel it consume you. He is afraid that if he lets himself go, he will never be able to stand even the thought of losing her.

When the outer part of her index finger starts to tenderly caress his hipbone, he shallows hard and opens his eyes to look at her.

The look she is giving him makes his heart flutter in his chest. Her expressive light green eyes shine with so much genuine adoration and her smile is sweet and warm; her whole aura feels inviting and secure.

"Sakura, I-" Sasuke begins, the tremor in his voice startling him.

"It's okay," Sakura says kindly and her other hand lifts, her palm laying flat atop of his heart. She soothes him with her next words, "It's okay to feel like this."

Sasuke studies her carefully, appreciating how much she cares for his comfort. She knows him so well and they are not even an item yet. He cannot wait to spend more time with her and learn each others' habits and quirks.

He lets out an affirmative hum and nods at her.

The powerful shinobi observes her as she continues her ministrations. Her left hand joins her right down there. She breathes out heartily, something akin to a laugh and an awkward smile etches across her face. Obviously, she has not done this before.

Then, Sakura purses her lips and with determined expression on her face, her right hand descends smoothly on his rock hard cock. The head is angry, red in color, his shaft one shade darker than the rest of his body. The girl inspects it as discreetly as possible and with two swift motions, her fingers circle around him and she begins to stroke him gently.

Sasuke lets out a hiss, unprepared for the foreign contact. He has touched himself before thinking of her, but nothing compares to this new, real sensation.

Her left hand stays still, clasping firmly his left hipbone to steady her movements. Sakura peers at him from underneath her pastel eyelashes, jade orbs shining innocently just as she bends down and places her bruised, scarlet lips right before his manhood.

Sasuke gulps down the saliva stuck in his throat, his Adam's apple bobbing. Sakura breathes out hotly on it, blinks at him and her tongue comes out to lick him.

The first swipe of her cute tongue against his shaft makes him let out a quiet moan. Unconsciously, his lone hand grabs a fistful of her hair, tangling his fingers in her soft tresses. He tags her forward a little bit, her mouth and nose bumping on his hardness, urging her to take him into her mouth.

Sakura, realizing she needs to step her game up, opens up and pushes his cock inside her mouth. She starts to suck him, creating a steady rhythm in tandem with her right hand. Half of his member is inside her crevice, her jaw stretching and aching pleasantly because of his girth while her hand strokes the other half that she cannot fit in her mouth yet. His size is above average and hard to handle, but it is nothing Sakura cannot learn to master with Sasuke as her teacher.

In time, she swears, Sakura will learn to please him so good, she will have him begging for more.

The woman picks up the pace, and her taste buds feel a salty essence on her tongue. He is starting leak precum already and her suspicions are further confirmed when he commences to panting.

Sasuke is rougher with her now, pushing her forward and making her cheeks hollow out. Her jaw hurts, but the pain is welcome. She gags a little bit, but she does not relent, wishing to deep throat him further.

"F-fuck, Sakura," he curses, his pleasured groans music to her ears. Sasuke sees white behind his closed eyelids, and he grits his teeth trying to hold on longer to the feeling.

The air smells like sex, and the hormones releasing from Sasuke's body makes his manly musk even more intense as Sakura tries to breath through her nose since her mouth is busy.

She moans loudly at a rather harsh tag against her scalp, and the vibrations it creates against his dick cause Sasuke to buckle suddenly. Her fingernails dig into his skin anew and it stimulates him even more, his orgasm approaching at an alarming rate.

Her strokes become uneven, but faster. At that moment, he decides to look down at her, and seeing her like this, on her knees for him doing everything she can in order to satisfy him enhances his experience even further.

"S-Sakura," Sasuke tries to warn her, albeit late. "—I am going to-"

Before he can get any more words out of his mouth, his climax hits him and his hand grips her hair hard, holding on for dear life.

"A-ah," Sasuke lets out a racy moan; a foreign sound when it comes to him. His eyes close in satisfaction and he leans forward slightly, riding out the remnants of his orgasm inside her mouth.

The image that greets him is enough to make him hard again.

Despite being unprepared, Sakura took his cock well, his semen filling her up and quenching her thirst to please him. She shallows everything he has to offer, like its sweet wine pouring down her throat.

He releases her hair finally, and in return she lets out his member fall out of her mouth with a loud pop. At the same time her left arm abandons its place at his hip and steadies herself on the bed instead. Her lips are bruised and swollen, while her hair is wild and untamed, the endeavor clearly leaving her disheveled. Her chin is shiny with spit and some of the excess fluids that must have spilled out.

As if this is not erotic or sensual enough, her fingers come forth and tap on her coated lips and chin to capture any sticky residue that has escaped. She glances up at him from her spot on all fours before him and puts her fingertips in her mouth, savoring every drop of him. Sakura smirks mischievously up at him, putting his infamous sneers to shame.

Sasuke almost gives in, ready to act out all his shameful thoughts away.

Sakura's core still burns deliciously and Sasuke's reactions to her has made her a little wet, in need of attention again, but she does not voice anything out loud and chooses to let this moment pass. They have all the time in the world, after all. The beautiful woman sits on her knees, her palms resting flat on her thick thighs and she lets out a content sigh.

And just like that, their lust infused spell is broken, their awkwardness and shyness returning back, reverting to their usual selves.

The man seems to have a similar thought process, because he relaxes and following her lead, he sits down on the bed.

They exchange a few fleeting glances, unspoken naughty thoughts going back and forth between them; the newly made couple stays put instead.

A few minutes pass, and then Sakura is getting up. She is fully naked, but she is not ashamed anymore, flashing her gorgeous naked body to him.

"We should probably wash up," she comments as casually as possible to alleviate the awkward atmosphere. Unconsciously, the girl scratches her head and puts a few pink locks behind her ears.

In an act of bravery, Sakura adds a proposition.

"Join me?" she asks and extends her hand out.

"Aa." Sasuke nods and gets up from the bed in all his naked glory, leaving his trousers and boxers behind.

Sakura clasps their hands together and leads him to her private bathroom.

Sakura steps inside the shower stall, Sasuke following close behind and joining her, just as she opens the tap. She alters it from faucet to shower head and together they let themselves be washed by the hot steam. His lone hand grabs her by the hip, aligning her thick behind to his still semi hard length. Sakura bends over a little bit, both palms laying flat on the shower wall, probing him further to sensually rub against her. They stay like this for awhile, their aftermath of their hot desire still prominent, influencing their movements.

Sasuke leans in close and hugs her, his hand continuing its journey and draping over her tummy, bringing her adjacent to his chest in an intimate embrace. Then, he kisses her neck and closes his eyes, sighing in contentment. His black hair is fully wet, sticking to his face and obscuring the left side of it completely.

The pink haired beauty, enjoying the warmth provided by her lover, exhales in quick gasps, her lips parting – tasting the water on her tongue, quenching her imaginary thirst. Her pastel locks stick to every part of her face, the hair transforming under the influence of the humidity and turning one shade darker, a close mix of hot pink and coral.

Deciding she has had enough, and this could lead them further into an endless inferno of love and sex, Sakura grabs the nearest bottle of soap and pours some of it into her open palm. Noting the new development, Sasuke lets go of her and allows the woman in his arms to turn around. She starts to wash his hair, standing on her tip toes. To help her out, Sasuke tries to shorten his height by buckling his knees a tiny bit and minimizing the distance between them.

He inclines forward, favoring her gentle touch, her caresses soothing him. The man pulls her into his chest, his arm circling around her waist and hugging her close. Her fingers tend to his scalp, her nails scratching him and creating a pleasurable, fuzzy effect.

Finishing her task, Sakura washes the soap suds off his head with the help of the flowing water, creating bubbles in her wake.

To return the favor to herself, Sakura pours another patch of soap straight atop of her head and turns around. "My turn," she says, giddy.

"Sure, darling." Sasuke says ironically to tease her, smirking lazily. Not counting the implications of such endearment, they both brush it off as a joke for the time being.

He stars to tend to her locks, coursing his fingers through her hair and smothering the soap everywhere, washing her up. Sakura stays still, humming in appreciation at the gentle touch of her menacing warrior, marveling at the fact he is becoming this soft with her.

When his hand descends lower and starts massaging her nape, Sakura lets out a whimper, feeling her knots loosen under his skillful fondling; the stress leaves out of her in a whoosh.

Sakura relaxes under his ministrations, not minding him caressing her body, from her shoulder blades down to her backside. Stopping just above her perky butt, Sasuke halts abruptly, not wanting to be tempted to do more. Paying attention to his struggle, the woman turns around and gives him a chaste peck on the lips.

After that small show of affection, the beauty does not waste anymore time and pours soap all over his body in a rush. He grimaces instantly at the sudden assault, but she does not relent, giggling heartily at his reaction. With the steam volume lowered, she gets her chance to wash his body clean, helping him out and lending a hand wherever it deems necessary.

Busy as he is, Sakura begins her own cleaning process. Using her hands quickly, she gives herself a throughout bath, paying extra attention to her nether regions. Always preppy and careful, Sasuke makes a good use of his lone hand and he washes up nicely, leaving no spot unattended.

They both finish around the same time, and Sakura adjusts the temperature and flow to fit their needs. Splashes of hot water come out strongly, rinsing their foamy bodies fully.

With that out of the way, Sakura grabs the nearest towels she can find; one for her and one for her lover. She lends it to Sasuke who steps out of the stall, giving her more space. The material feels fluffy as she brushes the towel against her body, wiping any excess water.

Sasuke swipes his black locks behind, the purple of his rinnegan glimmering in the low dimmed lights of the bathroom. The mirror is foggy from humidity so his reflection is blurry, a haze of skin in contrast to his glowing eye and dark hair. Sakura's pink halo comes to view, the rose to his black abyss; the contradiction of their permanent colors a poem of its own.

He uses the towel she gave him to wipe away most of the wetness on his skin, tapping gently everywhere. Meanwhile, Sakura struggles to squeeze all the water out of her hair, the towel moving along her scalp to make her strands as dry as possible. Sasuke follows her steps and uses his own towel to dampen his locks just enough so it is not dripping on his shoulders anymore.

After that, they both take a few minutes of their time to finish some extra bathroom businesses respectively and they exit the room. Clean and fresh, the couple lies on the bed; the fact that Sasuke has his own separate room across the hall left unsaid.

Sakura turns to her side to look at him, her body slightly curling to adjust to her favorite sleeping position. Sasuke lies on his stomach, his head turned to his left, staring at her silently. It feels quite domestic like this, Sakura almost muses out loud.

"Good night, Sasuke-kun," she says sweetly, a toothy grin on her face.

She is happy, Sasuke thinks. He blinks slowly, savoring every second he is looking at her.

"Goodnight," the man responds, a tiny smile gracing his lips.

His eyes speak way more volumes than his words are. The night may be small, but their love is forever. Both content, they let the need to sleep overtake them.

Knock, knock, knock.

What an awful background noise for the nice dream she is having; Sakura stirs in her sleep, her brows furrowing as she tries to hang on to the sleepless state. The imaginary images stop and her mind draws a blank.

She feels a little drool on her lips and her hand unconsciously wipes it away.

Sakura-chan!

Ah, yes, Naruto of course, Sakura thinks, exasperated.

Then, the weirdest thing happens. The woman hears mumbling next to her, more specifically grumbling. This person must be quite grumpy in the morning, because next thing she knows, someone curses.

"Oh my god, I can't believe this!" The blond is desperate, his fist banging against the wooden door loudly.

"Wake up Sakura-chan!" Naruto bellows, frustration clear in his voice, "That bastard, Sasuke, had the audacity to leave before us!"

This piques Sakura's interest, because she clearly recalls being the last one to see Sasuke last night. Just when she was enjoying her sleep, her overly excited friend had to come and remind her about her problem.

But wait a minute…

The culprit came to her room last night.

"Shut up," a male voice mumbles hoarsely, the grouchy tone awfully familiar.

Sakura's eyes widen instantly and the sight that greets her makes her breath hitch.

Sasuke is on his back, his lone arm resting on top of his eyes, trying to prevent the sunlight from peeking through his closed eyelids. His chest is rising up and down, the blanket barely covering his naked torso.

"Open up, already, Sakura, don't keep me waiting!" The blue eyed man shouts desperately. He is ready to barge into Kakashi's room if his friend does not show signs of waking up anytime soon. Sasuke has obviously left the building since his room is empty, no sign of him found anywhere when the blond barged into his room.

His options are limited here, and he thought since Sakura usually wakes up early, she would be the one to keep him company until they meet up with Kakashi.

Sakura is about to have a quarter life crisis here. She cannot believe she woke up to this. First, she felt annoyed at being woken up so abruptly, and now, as she stares at Sasuke's good looking side profile, she feels like someone is trying to torture her.

Then, in flash, her memory floods back and Sakura remembers exactly what went down last night. More specifically, how Sasuke went down on her.

Her loins burn and her core aches in a gratifying sense.

"Oh my god," Sakura whispers, trying to keep her voice down. In any other circumstances, she would be shouting. The woman puts her palms upon her heated cheeks, gaping at her lover who seems to be clueless as to what is going on.

"Okay fine," Naruto announces dejectedly, his voice a tad lower this time. With one last look at the door, the young man finally leaves.

Sakura lets out a breath she did not realize she was holding in. Sasuke seems to be wide awake, although his attitude leaves no room for discussion. He is still quite sleepy, and Naruto's wake up call was not the best to start the day with.

"Finally," The man besides her mutters. Sakura pokes his arm, curious to see his reaction to their predicament.

He looks at her from the corner of his eye, processing everything in. When his stare softens, Sakura greets him breathlessly. "Good morning, Sasuke-kun."

She gazes at him lovingly, remembering how his words left searing marks on her heart, how his lips felt against her skin, making her his.

"Morning," he mumbles and turns to his side, bringing her lithe form close in an intimate hug. Sakura fits herself into his embrace instantly when she realizes what his intentions are.

The couple snuggles silently for a while, their soft exhalations the only sound in the room. The birds are lightly chirping outside, creating a nice cicada in the quiet morning.

"The idiot can be quite a hassle in the morning," Sasuke murmurs suddenly as if commenting about the weather.

He pulls her closer, basking in her scent. His gentle touch, a huge contrast to his past self who was selfish and harsh. She is making him kind again, bringing forth the child like innocence he used to have. The man sighs against her, his heartbeat calm and his mind clear from any insidious thoughts.

The only thing important in his life is in front of him, right in his arms.

Sakura laughs, a beautiful sound and it rings inside him like a bell signaling happiness.

"Yes, always," Sakura responds, a teasing smile on her lips. "But he is our idiot and I wouldn't trade him for the world."

"Sure," Sasuke sneers, mirth somewhere hidden in there.

"Should we..?" Sakura suddenly asks, the implications clear. She gazes up at him seriously, awaiting for his opinion, making sure he is comfortable with all this.

"Let them figure it out on their own," Sasuke says, his eyes sincere. "Besides it will be funnier that way," the black haired man smirks, enjoying immensely the possibility of Kakashi and especially Naruto struggling.

"Hm, fine," Sakura smiles, her eyes glinting evilly. He is becoming a bad influence to her, but she will not lie and pretend that she will not be enjoying torturing those two – their funny comments about her beloved Sasuke-kun had teased her far enough.

Having decided that, the couple gets up and starts preparing for their day. Sasuke collects last night's clothes and wears them again. He bids Sakura a soft kiss goodbye on the forehead and heads to his room to finish up getting ready. Sakura blushes and stares at this retreating back fondly, a huge grin forming on her lips.

When he is out of the room, Sakura punches the bed in excitement, letting out a muffled cry, "Shannaro!".

Half an hour later, all members of Team seven meet up at the hotel lobby. Naruto's reaction is instant, proclaiming how he is going punch Sasuke's lights out for disappearing. The man explains, cool and collected, how it was none of the blond's business where he went. This arises some suspicions and some raised eyebrows as to where Sasuke could have went.

Sakura is trying to be subtle, really, but she is having too much fun. She giggles every now and then, throwing fleeting glances at her lover who is avoiding answering any questions about his whereabouts, probing the curious men even further to try and understand what could have possibly went down between the full of tension – not yet or so they thought – couple.

"I am going to find out what what is going on here and when I do, I will never let you guys leave it down," Naruto swears – an oath he is bound to regret really, really soon...

#sasusaku #sakura haruno #sasuke uchiha #sasusaku fanfiction #sasusaku fanfic #ssfanfiction #ssfanfic #ssfic #vasoula writes #this whole ordeal took weeks my bro #i tried my best #i proud of this

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writer1 · 3 years

Text

Fear of the unknown

Chapter 8

You and Rex comm Anakin after getting him some pain killers, telling him the situation. He arrived shortly after, already apologizing.

"Rex, I'm so sorry. If I had realized that there was a full moon tonight I would have had you stay on the Resolute."

"It's f- fine General. It isn't your fault, besides the mission comes first." Rex is clutching his stomach and breathing hard, it breaks your heart to see him in so much pain.

"It's not fine Rex, you're off duty until the full moon is over, I'll see if the queen will let you stay in the palace." Rex's eyes go wide at that, you can tell that he's going to fight Anakin on it.

"You don't need to do that General, I can stay in the tents like my brothers."

"Rex, Anakin's right, look at you. Your going to need somewhere comfortable to transform if you're already in this much pain." Rex sighs, finally giving in.

"Fine, if you insist." You chuckle, it's just like Rex to try to act strong. You can tell though that he's happy not to have to be in a tent while he transforms.

"I'll contact the queen right now, you just relax Rex. I'll take care of everything." You both nod and you look at Rex, you put your hand on his shoulder, you can feel him shaking. This is worse than you thought.

"Do you need anything Rex." Rex shakes his head, the painkillers that you got him before did nothing.

"I don't think so cyare. Those painkillers you gave me did nothing, I don't think anything's going to help." You feel so bad for him, he doesn't deserve to be in this much pain. You see Anakin walking over to you, you're hopeful that the queen will let Rex sleep in the palace.

"The queen will allow Rex and you to stay in the palace, she already told me where your room is so follow me." You and Rex both follow Anakin into the palace, you holding Rex's hand tightly. You arrive at a room, as soon as Anakin presses in the keypad and opens the door, Rex walks over and pretty much falls into the bed.

"By the way Rex, the queen said that she hopes you feel better."

'T-thats nice. Tell her thanks for me." Rex tells him from the bed, not even looking at Anakin. You can tell from the way Rex is acting that it feels better to be off his feet.

"Thanks Anakin, comm us if anything happens okay." Anakin nods.

"Of course, y/n. Make sure Rex rests, ok."

"Don't worry, I will." Anakin leaves and you the door closes behind him, leaving you and Rex alone. You walk over to the bed, Rex is laying there curled up in pain.

"Rex, you should get your armor off sweetheart. It'll hurt even more if you transform with it on." Rex mumbles something unintelligible then sits up and starts taking off his armor slowly, you helping him.

Once all his armor is off Rex takes off his shirt to make the transformation easier, when you're putting his armor on the floor next to the bed you feel Rex grab your waist and pull you into the bed.

"Rex, sweetie. What are you doing." You're about to chuckle when he whimpers in pain, pulling you against his chest.

"It hurts cyare. Want to cuddle." You answer him by wrapping your arms around him and running your finger through the buzzed hair on the back of his head.

You grab your datapad off the side table beside the bed, it's hard to do with Rex cuddling you but you manage it, checking the time. The moon should be up in about an hour, so Rex has a little while to go. Poor Rex is still whimpering in pain, which is so unlike him.

"Shhh, it's okay Rex, it's going to be okay." Rex just whimpers as you rub his head, he's covered in sweat and you can see a tiny bit of fur starting to grow on his arms. You and him lay there like that, you rubbing his head and whispering soothing words in his ear, and him laying there in pain. The pain thankfully isn't getting any worse, staying at relatively the same level.

You check the datapad and realize that the hour is up, Rex is transforming albeit slower than usual, it takes about 3 minutes for him to fully transform. He's still in pain, even though he's transformed.

You brush your hand through his fur, and hear his whimpers start to die down a little. He hugs you close, pushing his snout into your hair. You keep brushing your fingers through his fur, you can tell that he's absolutely exhausted from everything. The only reason he isn't sleeping right now is because of the pain.

It takes a few hours of brushing your hand through his fur and comforting him to finally get him to fall asleep. You wait a little while before falling asleep yourself, just in case he woke up, not wanting him to be alone in this state. You do finally let sleep over take you, listening Rex's breathing.

×××

You wake up to sunlight pouring through the window, Rex's arms are still wrapped around you. He's still a werewolf and you turn over and nuzzle into his chest, feeling fur brush your face. You try to go back to sleep when you feel Rex move, starting to also wake up. He opens his eyes and looks at you. You hear him whimper a little.

"Hey sweetheart, how are you feeling."

"I'm feeling a tiny better, but it still hurts. And I'm pretty sure that I won't be able to transform." You smile comfortingly and brush the fur on Rex's face, and he leans into your fingers, he's tense with pain and you hope that it'll go away soon.

You move up in the bed and kiss his forehead, you feel so bad that Rex has to go through this, but at least now you can be prepared for next time this happens.

"I wish that I could kiss you right now, cyare." You chuckle, even when he's in pain he's still sweet to you. You kiss his forehead again when you hear your comm go off, you stand up and grab it off the table, Rex whines at the loss of you touch, still laying in bed. You wonder what's wrong, Anakin said that he would only comm you if something was wrong.

"Anakin, what is it?" You hear his voice come over the comm.

"Is Rex transformed back to human yet?" You're confused, why would Anakin ask that? You look towards Rex, who's just as confused as you.

"No, he's actually still in pain, although it's not as much. It must be some left over affects of the full moon. Why?" You hear Anakin sigh.

"Y/n, the Council has intel that grievous is on Naboo, and they sent the 212th for back up." Oh no! That means Cody is here, and you know that Cody and Rex are close.

"Cody's asking for Rex. What am I supposed to tell him." You think for a few seconds and decide that you and Rex need to talk it over.

"Just give us a few minutes to think, ok, Anakin."

"Ok, comm me back when you figure it out." You look towards Rex, he looks scared, and you understand why. Cody still has no idea about Rex being a werewolf.

"Do you think you can transform Rex?" He closes his eyes to concentrate but whimpers loudly immediately.

"I can't cyare, I'm already aching all over but when I try to transform it increases tenfold." You try to think of a solution, but nothing comes to mind that will work, Rex can't transform and he's still in pain do he should probably rest.

"So what should we do." Rex sigh's.

"I want Cody, please." You nod, leaving the room to go get Cody. You just hope that he won't freak out to much.

Taglist: @captainrexisboo @tobitofunction @pentaghasm @ohmsjedi @pro-fangirls-unsocial-life @ellie1366 @marine-captain-deku @reimet @commanderrivercc-3628

#star wars clone wars #captain rex #captain rex and reader #werewolf clones au #werewolf rex au #were rex #wererex #wererex x reader #rex x reader #captain rex x reader #werewolf clone wars au #Werewolf rex au #werewolf rex x reader #my writing

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katiebruce · 3 years

Text

adios, amigo.

Well, 2020. What is there to say that hasn’t already been said, tweeted or Instagram-ed a thousand and two times about you? I’ll save us all the generic stuff—“unprecedented,” “nightmarish,” “absurd”—yes, 2020 was all of those things, but on a deeper, more personal level, there is so much more I have to say that doesn’t fit quite into those clichés.

So, this will be my attempt to document and reflect upon one of the strangest years I’ve encountered in my thirty-one years on this planet. Buckle up, buttercup.

Like many others before me have frequently observed, the way I spend my New Year’s Eve has always set the tone for the year to come, and boy, was this year a picture-perfect example of exactly that. Because I had to work on January first, I spent my New Year’s Eve at home watching a depressing movie with T, quietly kissing on the cold back patio as fireworks went off in the distance. I remember feeling both happy and sad about this evening (a duality that was a major theme for me for the fifty-two weeks to come, if only I had known). I was sad not to be celebrating my favorite holiday and even remember telling T that I didn’t want the year to come to be one I spent not going out, staying home, and becoming reclusive as I finished up the stressful process of finishing my MFA thesis in the course of ten (or, what I thought would be ten) short months.

But on the other hand, being held in T’s arms, I remembered feeling so happy that I could have this little quiet holiday—something that felt so private and personal—so entirely our own. It really set the tone for our relationship for the year, and for the obstacles we not only overcame together but dominated, one right after the next.

January was cold, snowy, and full of flight cancellations, which I remember to be something worth celebration at the time. I stayed home and snuggled my way into Aquarius season, the time for me and my brethren to shine, feeling positive that I had lived my thirtieth year to one of great satisfaction and maximum travels taken. (If only I had known then that that late-January El Paso layover where my crew and I walked across the border into Juarez to eat street tacos and laugh over Mezcal would be one of the only times I would leave the country for the year, well, I might have taken a few shots of tequila and really enjoyed my stay abroad just a bit longer).

February came, and with it, the promise of friends. My darling Kristopher, as always, flew to Chicago on the day of (also the day I completed and passed my eighth recurrent [!]) and, thanks to my other darling baby, Nicole, scored tickets to one of the highly coveted format reunion tour shows happening in March* for me, her, and my momma.

(*It did not, in fact, take place in March).

I turned thirty-one in the way I’ve come accustomed too—surrounded by my favorite people (this year at Dorians—a jazz club to end all jazz clubs) too drunk and too smiley to even coherently remember the evening properly. As much fun as I remember having, I told T that I thought it was my last year to host some sort of birthday gathering, and to hold me to it come next year. (He did very well—a few weeks later, after spotting an ad in a discarded newspaper for the Chicago tour of Moulin Rouge happening on my birthday weekend, we bought tickets and I sat peacefully with the fact that one of my new year (or, new age) resolutions was so quickly and poignantly adapted).

By this time, I was already deep in the throes of my first thesis writing course, meaning that I was pretty stressed out all of the time and surely a misery to be around (sorry to those of you who were). Basically, in three semesters’ time, I was expected to draft, edit, and rewrite a fully formed novel (70,000+ words) and the idea of accomplishing such a feat felt like a ton of bricks being carried on my shoulders. I had at least four mental breakdowns in the beginning of the year (again, we all know what lays ahead for the year, I know—but at the time, this seemed like an unbearable amount of stress for one person to have to carry. The joke is not lost on me).

In the coming weeks, things began to get even weirder. Covid scares began sprouting up in cities all around us, and as the government asked people to stay at home, airline ticket prices became massively reduced, so more people began traveling. I mean, this shit was like spring break on acid—it was hugely stressful, and though the threat of the pandemic had yet to reach Chicago, I felt more and more at risk with each passing day as careless amounts of people cashed in on what they thought was the deal of a lifetime.

By the time March reached its midpoint, I, like so many others, was terrified. We had no PPE at work—literally nothing. No gloves, masks, or even hand wipes. Cleaning the aircraft still wasn’t considered a “no-go” item, as far as regulatory practices go. I remember watching the news on my layovers only to keep myself up at night wondering if the virus was going to take hold of me or anyone around me, and if so, how long until they would recover, or perhaps wouldn’t.

St. Patrick’s Day came, and after fighting about whether or not to go out with friends (we didn’t—and for the record, T and I rarely fight—but this was, after all, his first St. Patrick’s Day as a Chicagoan—so his resentment was more than justified) we saw a matinee movie (Onward) and while in the theater, read about how Chicago restaurants, as a precaution, were shutting down the next day due to rising concerns about the spread of the virus. We reacted by grabbing drinks & lunch at one of our favorite neighborhood eateries and tipping the waitstaff more heavily than I think I’ve ever tipped anyone in my life (not mentioning this to brag, or whatever—just remembering what it was like to feel utterly helpless and unsure of what to do or what was to come—we had to find our positivity in some way, and on that day, this was how we saw fit, and it helped).

Then it all sort of happened at once—Lauren’s store was closed with no impending reopening date. The grocery stores (and I swear to god, I will never forget this) became a madhouse—people taking things out of other people’s carts when they weren’t looking. I remember going into Mariano’s with T and insisiting we tie bandanas around our faces for safety, feeling like a goddamn bank robber about to make a heist. But there was nothing left to even take. Frantically, we got what we could and got out of there, and I went home to have a full-fledged panic attack about the state of the world we were currently living in and what we were going to do if things didn’t turn around quickly.

As if overnight, everyone cancelled their airline tickets. It was for the better, and though it put my job in serious jeopardy, I was in massive support of it but still felt an eerie sadness looming around the countless empty airports, airplanes, hotels and city streets. There were times when my crew and I were the only guests in a place—times when I had zero passengers on a revenue flight. And then came the mass flight cancellations—and I mean mass. Everyday became a battle of anxiety as to what was going to happen to my job in the next twenty-four hours, and then cooing my stressed-out thoughts to sleep, only to relive the anxiety with every phone buzz waiting to find out if I had lost my job overnight. By mid-spring, I was hugely considering dropping out for a period of time, just due to the stress of it all, but thanks to support from my friends, family and T, I chose to stick it out and roll with as many punches as I could until I was finally knocked-out.

Quarantines were happening all around me, and without the ability to travel or the (former) grueling expectations of maintaining a social life, I started to reconnect with myself in ways that felt both organic and new, yet much like returning home after a long time away. Lauren taught me to knit, and we celebrated her birthday on the floor of our apartment in an Indian-food induced daze renting Emma and making thousands of tiny knots onto needles that would eventually become blankets. We took walks, did puzzles, and Lauren drove me to and from the airport on the rare occasion that I actually had a flight to work, as the CTA had, unfortunately, become a cesspool of targeted attacks on flight crew members (seriously) because they were often the only person in any given train car.

A rare glimpse of optimism then presented itself via two different opportunities: a chance to take a ninety-day leave from work, and a job offer in the form of editing a book for publication. I said yes to both and hoped that I would be able to take a step back and deal with the crumbling world around me easier with both of these opportunities now on my horizon.

This period of the year (May-July) started off swimmingly. Knitting, reading, and even smoking weed for the first time in nearly a decade (I took two hits and spent the rest of the evening sinking into the couch painfully aware of how bad I am at breathing and worrying that I might stop at any given moment). I fell in love with yoga and felt myself loosening up parts of my body and my mind that had been twisted into a series of knots for god only knows how long. I spent days reading in the sun, baking bread like everyone else in the world, and learning to make my own pies. Things were going really well, and I was even ahead in school, now on track to graduate in August—when things started getting heated.

I’m not going to go on a rant about race, although I very much could, but I will say this—the fact that we are still in a race war in this country in the year 2020 (and even now, a few days into 2021) makes me so sick to my stomach I don’t know what to do. Every injustice that passes by us, overshadowed by the next untimely death or wrongdoing makes me angry in ways that I cannot even fathom putting into words. It burns the color red that is so hot and so vibrant that I can see it soaking through my eyelids even when I squeeze them shut. This country lost a lot of love from me this year, and even more respect. There are not only things we can do better—there are things we must change. And honestly, most days, I don’t think most of the country is ready to not only admit that but to also work for. And that not only sickens me, but depresses the living hell out of me. I feel so stunted all of the time when I picture a world so at peace with its own injustice. It’s just so unfair.

I watched as the world was (rightfully, although woefully) destroyed around me. My neighborhood turned into a desolate, looted shadow of itself—one where Lauren and I could sit on our back patio safely until dusk, when the crime and gunfire became so rabid that on occasions, we sat in the living room in total darkness, listening only to the radio, afraid to let anybody at street level see that we were, indeed, at home. The opportunists that took advantage of the message of this movement made me numb to such a large demographic of the population, and I found myself crying myself to sleep enough times that I thought it might be time to leave the warzone that had become Chicago for a little while as escape down to Florida. So, we packed our bags and left. It is not lost on me that so many did not have this option, and for so many minorities, just simply existing during this time was enough to cause assault. I know I am fortunate—I carry it like lead in my pockets every day.

While in Florida, the first retailers began to reopen and I found myself waiting in an hour-long line to buy soaps and hand sanitizers, and to get a glimpse of what this “new normal” might look like when things started picking back up again. Like many, it was jarring to see empty tables, capacity limits on items, cashiers behind plexiglass sheets shouting to be heard over both the physical barrier and the cloth one strung across their faces.

By the time T & I arrived home, Lauren was already making plans to reopen her store “safely” and I felt sorry for her. How could anything be safe when nothing had changed? Why were companies acting as if business could go on like before—even though nothing had gotten better?

My final months of my MFA were just ahead of me, and I had one month remaining free from work to finish my first full-length novel, and I all I really remember is stress stress stress.

And then Andrew, being Andrew, offered a glimmer of hope, in the form of a drive-in concert celebrating fifteen years of Everything in Transit in southern California, a mere matter of hours from where Nicole had been working. It took a matter of two or maybe three text messages to confirm that we would be attending, and once the ticket was purchased I practically packed my bags and headed off to visit her and try and make light of my heart.

As suspected, the trip was magical. Being around Nicole, per usual, was magical. My heart felt so fully aligned seeing a little piece of her story and getting to experience her way of life once more—drunken hot springs and all their glory. There truly are few things in my life I love more than sitting in the passenger’s seat as Nicole drives us all over the country, and experiencing it again felt so right and so perfect that I honestly thought it was one of the happiest experiences of my life. Because I had requested so, she drove me all the way to Venice Beach the day of the concert so we could see where the infamous album cover was taken. We ate cbd gummies and listened to jack’s and ate in-n-out burger like our lives depended on it. When the concert began, it was eerie, yet hopeful to see all the new protocols of something that had become so familiar to me in my former life. Drinks were ordered through an app and delivered, as was merch, and clapping was replaced by the exuberant honking of car horns. We streamed the sound through the radio and laid the in the back of Nicole’s converted SUV as we cried and sang along to the songs that made everything, even just for one night, feel like it was all going to be okay again. We ended the evening marking ourselves with our first stick and poke tattoos—hers a sun to my moon, positioned to kiss one another when we stand next to each other on our preferred selfie side (lol). I left worried about how long it might be before I could feel her warm embrace again, the embrace of one of the truest friends I’ll ever know, but also recognizing that we were lucky to have had such an experience at all during such an insane year and feeling eternally grateful for its memory.

The last weeks of what I referred to as my Rumspringa were ahead of me, and one sunny afternoon I wrote the final pages of my novel. In a mad rush to edit, revise and complete my portfolio for official review, I never really sat with myself and what I had accomplished or congratulated myself; I wrote a book in seven months’ time, and even though I am unhappy with it (more on that later) there’s no denying that I actually did it. I did it, and nobody can ever take that away from me; it’s an accomplishment I will forever have, and it’s all my own. And I need to remind myself of that. I need to let myself feel proud.

I was back to work in September and taking a huge pay cut, though working the same hours. It was stressful, but once I found out my portfolio had been accepted and I, indeed, would be receiving my MFA I felt a bit at peace for a while. I had let my hair grow long all summer, and all but stopped wearing make-up (mascara makes me feel entirely dolled up now). I felt in an odd way free—almost bare.

The fall came and went fairly quickly—the weekends alone at home and grocery-store-only outings feeling more and more like normalcy. It had been such a tough, trying year, that it suddenly felt nice to just stand still for a bit. So, I did.

In a brief amount of time, I watched (safely) as friends got married, got sick, got older and fell in love. I watched, with great anxiety, as our country voted in the most important election of our lives so far and took the deepest breath I’d ever taken as I watched that man face defeat—although he’s yet to swallow it. I watched as ex-lovers had babies, got engaged and never really stopped to think twice about any of it. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: the safety (and not in a lame, “safety-net” sort of way) of having T in my life has turned me into someone who not only craves quiet time at home, but really also sort of fell right damn into it very easily, though unexpectedly. I’ve heard the saying so many times before, but you really don’t realize everything is different once you find the right fit because that place feels like it’s always been home. I am grateful to not only have that now and moving forward, but most certainly throughout the trying, unstable times of 2020. In fact, I don’t know how I would have survived without it.

The holidays always creep up on me, and after being dealt a shitty hand from work (don’t even get me started, I’m still fuming) they came that much quicker. T & I were lucky enough to spend the holidays back home in the swamp, visiting my parents and his Dad. The time went by fast but was relaxing, fun, and reenergizing. We spent New Year’s Eve playing giant Jenga and yard Yahtzee with my parents in the cool, tropical winter of Florida. It was nice. We got tired right around 11, so we laid in bed until midnight talking, staying awake just long enough to share our new year’s kiss. It felt right—a proper send off to such a strange and unusual year. I was exctly where I needed to be—wrapped up in a blanket of T’s embrace, comfy in a bed in my childhood bedroom.

So now, here it is: 2021—the supposed upgrade to 2020, or so everybody secretly hopes. So now, as I sit here, drinking a warm, soy-chai latte (homemade!) I find myself having great difficulty setting an intention for the days ahead of me. I feel so beaten and bruised and physically fatigued for no reason but the experiences of 2020 and the courses they ran all over my life. I’m feeling reflective of having finished yet another year of my life (and my Saturn return! Halleluj!) and finding it hard to be anything but fatigued. I guess it’s from the year that’s just finished—more so than any other year it physically pained me at times to be alive at times. I’m missing so many of my friends who I haven’t been able to see for extended months at a time now. I am craving a sense of normalcy, of safety, so that I can feel better about making plans, but as for right now I just don’t have it. I am quietly trying to make subtle changes within myself and how I react to the world around me, but just like the start of this new year, that process is a slow one.

One of my resolutions (though I’m growing to hate that word more and more with each passing year) is to get back to writing. I had a good, albeit stressful, thing going while still in school, and after finishing my novel and receiving feedback, I couldn’t shake the feeling of absolute failure. It’s still there—it’s really hard to try and celebrate an accomplishment when you don’t feel like your work was good enough to warrant anything at all—especially not a fine arts degree. I never said I was a fiction writer—I just wanted to get better at writing fiction—so I need to remember that and allow myself to veer away from that for a while, to work on something new. Something I’ve been saying I’m not ready to write for many years now, something that when I now say that is just a plain old lie: My memoir. I’m ready to close the chapter in my life where I am a flight attendant, so the timing feels more than perfect.

I learned so much about what I want to do within my career and what sort of boundaries I don’t want to place on myself—and I’m trying, I really am. T gifted me with my own pottery wheel for Christmas and we are going to set it up this weekend and I am so excited to get my hands muddy and start creating. Until this year, I didn’t realize how much I needed a creative outlet other than writing—I had been depending on it for too long, my little cup felt bone dry. So, I’m excited to see where this new hobby takes me and how it influences my ability to return to the blank page—quite literally.

I know this year will not be the quick fix that so many are hopeful for—I think quite the opposite, actually. But here are some things I know for sure will happen: I will move out of my apartment and in with T. We will then, immediately get a dog and a new apartment. This, alone, feels like enough to fill the pages of the blank year ahead of us. I will go long periods of time without seeing my loved ones, and without traveling (bleak as this lifestyle may be). I will write, even when it’s hard to. I will publish something—I’m at work submitting pieces as we speak, and though the process is slow, I can tell this is my opportunity—I am ready t fight for it. I will turn 32, and the numerology of my life will seem more aligned. I will spend my birthday at home, alone, because of course Moulin Rouge has now been cancelled (I’m fine with it). I will learn more about myself the more I use my hands to create, to plant, to sculpt, to mold. I will love with fervor. I will smile more, because it’s actually healthier for you, even though my black heart hates to admit it. If I’m lucky, maybe I’ll get to attend a live concert, though I realize this might be wishful thinking at this point. I will do mushrooms and giggle with the colors. I will cry. I will hurt and I will cause harm. But through it all, I will persevere. Because if 2020 taught me anything, it’s that I am capable of regenerating into new versions of myself that I didn’t even have the time to dream up. I can adapt to whatever is thrown at me, though it will often times feel impossible. I can, and will, create. I can be reborn (as many times as I’d like to, too).

So, thanks, 2020, for teaching me more about myself than any other period of five years has ever taught me. I definitely feel like I’ve been through the ringer a couple of times, yet I find myself still standing day after day. It must be the way a domino feels, standing up, time after time, knowing that something right in front of you is about to knock you down. But instead of thinking about what I’m bringing down with me, I’m thinking of the entire collective as a whole—we are all experiencing this together. And maybe, just maybe, on the other side, there’s a kid with a smile waiting to do it all over again. And that’s perhaps where the beauty lays: we have to tear everything down in order to do better, be better, make change. Nobody likes to catch fire, but everyone loves rising from the ashes. We’ll all get to where we’re headed, one way or another. And eventually, I hope, we’ll see that the other side is better than we could have ever dreamt of.

I hope that 2021 is a bridge that brings us from destruction to creation. I hope the journey is long, so we all appreciate the outcome.

I love you all and wish you warmth and wellness into this year and beyond.

Happy new year—honor the circumstances you have around you and let them help you grow.

#me #personal

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benditlikepress · 4 years

Text

@thatcaithness requested "tiva and mcgee having a goofball moment and the newbies being like wtf" which is just my drug I miss them so much 😢

When Ellie walked into the bullpen that morning, flagged by Nick and McGee, she wasn’t expecting the carnage she found.

McGee’s desk had been turned upside down – papers and files strewn across the floor, drawers open, and noises coming from underneath the vacant space where his chair should be.

“I told you, I don’t remember-”

“When I get my hands on him…”

The familiar voices broke through the sound, and were confirmed further when Ellie turned the corner to find a young girl sitting behind Gibbs’ desk swinging her legs.

“Albatross, albatross!” She suddenly shouted when she noticed their presence, and Ellie heard the crash of someone’s head on the underside of McGee’s desk. Tony’s head soon appeared, being rubbed by his hand, and Ziva’s followed shortly behind.

McGee, throughout all of this, had stood frozen in shock.

"Uh - guys? What the hell are you.."

"Probie." Tony sat up further, looking startled. "It's too late. Run.”

"I thought I was picking you up at the airport?"

"Uncle Tim!" McGee was interrupted when Tali suddenly came careering into him and wrapped herself around him.

"Hey! How are you?"

"Good. Ima’s very angry with you."

"Yeah, apparently. What's going on?"

"You were supposed to pick us up at the airport, yes. Until we were sat in Charles de Gaulle and Tony remembered that the photograph that is missing from a certain collection may have accidentally got left behind when he left NCIS. A photograph, as it turns out, that you were supposed to send in the mail."

"I never sent the photograph." The colour drained from McGee's face.

"I called Jimmy and got him to come and pick us up so we could beat you here. Just tell me where it is and nobody has to get hurt."

“What photograph? What’s going on?” Nick looked around in confusion, checking Ellie for confirmation that she also had no idea what the hell was happening. Before Ellie could say anything they were interrupted by Tali jumping in front of them. "Um. Hello."

"Hello."

"Who are you?"

"Nick Torres, this is Tali DiNozzo."

"Oh, Tali. Good to meet you." Nick raised a fist and Tali met it with her own.

"You are daddy's younger model."

"Excuse me?"

"Sorry, that is an.. inside joke. Come here, Tali." Ziva escorted Tali away from Nick and back towards McGee’s desk. “I cannot find it anywhere. Just tell me where it is.”

"What’s all this about? What photograph?” Ellie eventually asked, watching McGee sweat.

"McGee has a photo of me in his desk. A photo he knows was supposed to have been destroyed in the 2000s, I might add."

“Ziva, I swear I haven’t touched it. I completely forgot. It’s wherever Tony left it.”

Ziva turned to Tony with a look of accusation. “Well?”

“I – I can’t remember. They were probably in the bottom drawer.”

“With the rest of your dirty collection, yes?”

"The less said about the GSMs you used to keep in your desk the better, huh?"

"You're both disgusting."

"You're gonna take the moral high ground when you've got photos of my girlfriend in a bikini in your drawer, Probie?"

“What?! That’s – I mean, I do. But I forgot I did!”

“Um, what’s going on?” Ellie turned around at the sound of Kasie’s voice, file in hand and confusion on her face.

“I have no idea.”

“Hey Ziva. And I guess the guy crawling around on the floor is Tony?”

“Good to meet you.” He lifted his head over the desk briefly. Kasie’s expression echoed Nick’s as she turned back to look at Ellie, as though she’d have any more insight into the dynamics of whatever was happening.

Gibbs walked into the office holding a coffee cup in one hand and a short cup with a straw in the other. He put the drink down in front of Tali while watching the scene in front of him with a blank expression.

"Boss, Tony and Ziva.." McGee began in a fearful, childish voice that sounded like habit, before stopping himself. Ziva approached him, staring him in the eye. She stayed still for a moment, before stepping back resolutely.

"You are lying."

"I swear. Your senses must be off." McGee stumbled over the words. "I haven't touched those photos."

"Hmm. We will see."

Ziva disappeared under the desk again, her hands appearing either side of the underside of one of the drawers.

"You know he has a digital copy, right?"

"I know. But that is different. I remember you and I have had a conversation about this before, have we not?"

"Yes! And I listened!"

“OK, I’m just gonna… leave.. whatever this is. This is for you, Gibbs.” Kasie placed the files in his hand and walked back to the elevator. Ellie almost wished she could follow as the watched the three of them bickering.

"Aha!" Ziva hopped to her feet, holding a folded creased photograph in her hand. “It was behind the bottom drawer.”

"Oh yeah, that's right. I think it fell back down there once."

"Ha, see? Told you I was telling the truth."

"Damn, McGee got you? That's gotta hurt."

"I am just a little out of practice, that is all. Did you not wonder why your bottom drawer did not open properly? It has been years."

"I figured the less questions I asked about Tony's domain the better."

Ziva hummed. "I suppose that’s feasible."

“Apology accepted.”

As Ziva let out a sarcastic “sorry”, Ellie realised how different she could be to the person portrayed in her diaries and the woman Ellie had met last fall (though, to tell the truth, she’d never seen any of them quite like this). It was obvious for anyone to see why she and Tony were such a good match.

"That's you? Damn." Ellie turned to look at Nick, who had picked the offending photograph up off the desk, in unison with Tony and Ziva. "Hey man, don't look at me. I'm not the one who kept it in his desk drawer for years."

Ellie hit him on the arm to encourage him to not get involved in the bickering that was about to start up again, and turned her attention to Tali who was watching the group with similar bemusement.

“Y’know, Tali, you probably don’t remember but me and you met when you were very young. My name’s Ellie.”

“Do you work here?”

“Yep. I sit at that desk right there.”

“Did you help ima come home?”

“That’s right.”

Tali flung an arm around Ellie’s waist. After recovering from the surprise she stroked her back a little, and as quickly as she had done it Tali dis-attached herself and ran around McGee’s desk to join her parents who were now doing sudden hugging of their own, swarming McGee.

"Mwah. It is good to see you."

"The hell is going on with these people?" Nick whispered with alarmed amusement.

"I wish I knew."

Ellie and Nick both went to sit down at their desks, watching the three former colleagues begin to straighten out the desk. Tony lifted Tali onto the surface and she moved the papers up there back into piles. They chatted as they worked, folding files and re-organising stationery and catching up. Ziva stopped at a family photograph and they were laughing now, whatever was happening before apparently just an everyday occurrence.

Once McGee’s desk was done Tony and Ziva got Tali to pack up her things and get ready to leave.

“We will see you for dinner, McGee, yes?”

“You seriously came to the building just for that photograph?”

“And to remind you I know everything.” Ziva tapped McGee lightly on the cheek as she walked past him. “See you tonight.”

“Thanks for your support.” McGee said to Tony as he and Tali approached him.

“You’re kidding, right? You got off lightly. She’s always a soft touch with you. Come on, T. Hotel time.” Tali hopped off towards Ziva, dragging Tony along behind her.

McGee watched them until they boarded the elevator and then turned back to the bullpen with a sigh.

"How long was it the three of you worked together?"

"7, 8 years?"

"Man. Poor Gibbs."

"I- no, that's fair enough." McGee sat back down at his desk and surveyed it with a frown. He pulled out his top drawer slowly and looked inside it before shutting it again. As he went to touch his mouse, he stopped himself, hand hovering in mid-air. "Can you guys smell superglue?"

"What?"

"No, nothing. Nothing. I'm.. being paranoid."

#ncis #tiva #ziva david #tony dinozzo #tim mcgee #tiva fanfiction

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angelsswirl · 3 years

Text

Petrichor

Nine

Notes: I highly recommend you listen to What If by SafetySuit either before reading or while reading because it fits this chapter so perfectly it took me half an hour to choose which lyrics to use.

"If it makes you sad at me, then it's all my fault and let me fix it please."

"You know your problems won't go away if you hide from them, right?" Lisa asked without looking up from her magazine.

"You know Tiger Beat is a child's magazine, right?" You asked without looking up from your spot on the floor.

Lisa closed the magazine loudly. She huffed and crossed her arms, "As soon as this baby gets out of me, I'm kicking your ass."

"Then who's going to feed Jennie while you're in the hospital recovering from your injuries?"

"I can feed myself, thank you very much."

"I'm not sure you know your left from your right sometimes."

"You're mean when you're scared and upset." Jennie's nose scrunched up. She is not afraid to admit her feelings were a bit hurt. She knew her left from her right, but she was definitely lying about being able to feed herself. She can't cook to save her life.

"I'm not scared or upset."

"You're a pathological liar, too."

"Ladies, ladies you're all pretty! Now, will you shut your traps. My blood pressure is spiking because all of your damn yapping."

"Sorry, mom." Everyone apologized. Even Kameron, who hadn't even been in the original conversation.

All five of you were packed into the medium sized hospital room, save for George whom had to return to work that day.

You sat the closest to your mother, Jennie and Lisa sharing the small cushioned bench built under the window. Kameron sat in an extra plastic chair directly under the suspended 19 inch television, his laptop on his lap currently being used to hack into the hospital's wifi.

"Y/N, apologize for calling Jennie stupid." Maria admonished as she fiddled with the television remote. The buttons were huge, that wasn't the problem. The problem was that the hospital seemed to have only two working channels. Fox News and...oh, the other one just lost signal. Just Fox News.

Maria opted for turning off the television.

"I rather not." You answered plainly. Your knees were tucked under your chin and you still stared at that spot on the linoleum floor.

Maria swatted your thigh.

"Y/N Ariel Y/LN."

You just grumbled.

"Your middle name is 'Ariel'? Like the mermaid?" Jennie started to laugh loudly. She immediately stopped upon the shoe hitting her square in the gut.

"No. Not like the mermaid, Knothead." You gestured for Jennie to give back your shoe. Jennie did so with a scowl.

"Why is she being so mean?" Lisa pouted.

Maria huffed, "Her heat's about to start. So, she's grumpy. Also, she got herself into a unforgiving situation and it's all starting to unravel in front of her." Maria looked as though she had even more explanation to give but thought better of it.

You eyed your mother suspiciously, "How'd you know all that?"

"Mother's intuition."

Lisa's eyes squinted in determination, "Time for 'Operation: Just Pick One! Damn!'."

Everyone nodded along in agreement except for you.

"I've got the Pros and Cons T-Table pulled up!" Kameron gestured to his laptop. Lisa gave him a thumbs up.

You stared at your omega brother, "What do you know about any of this?"

"Oh, Lali and I talk once a week about you because you don't tell us anything. We were going to stage an intervention within the coming week if all of this hadn't happened." He said as though it was obvious.

You just rolled your eyes. Your brother knowing your business was the least of your problems at this point.

"Okay, but if we're going to have this conversation, Jennie has to leave."

"What? Why?"

"Because you're an alpha and you wouldn't get it."

"Try me."

"...Fine."

Lisa clapped excitedly, "Yay! It's finally happening. Kam, make sure you share the spreadsheet with your mom and I." She pulled her MacBook air out of large handbag and then delicately placed Maria's laptop on her overbed table.

Kameron nodded just as excitedly. Maria also nodded appreciatively as the group got their data together.

You wondered when your life got this out of hand.

At least Jennie looked just as lost as you.

"Um, babe? Is all of this necessary? I think you're scaring-"

"Shhhhhh, honey," Lisa blindly pressed a few fingers against Jennie's lips, "I know exactly what I'm doing."

"...ok..." Jennie looked to you with a mildly frightened look on her face. She shook her head slowly as if to say 'I tried. I am so sorry for what you're about to go through."

"Okay. First question! Who have you thought of more recently?" Kameron asked as he typed furiously on his HP.

"I'm not sure what any of this is going to help."

"Answer the question!" Kameron urged.

"God! I'm thinking about them both constantly, but I guess, Rosé because I spoke to her last."

Kameron nodded resolutely and continued to type.

"Next question, if they were both drowning, and you could only save one, who would you save?" Lisa asked, her eyes narrowing intensely at her best friend.

"Jennie, do you feel like this is a trap? Because I feel like this is a trap!" You inquired. You scooted your chair further away from everybody.

Jennie slowly pulled her arm from behind her wife, she then scooted away from her and to the opposite end of the bench, "Yes. This feels exactly like a trap."

"Okay, you don't have to answer that one." Maria glared at Lisa who just shrugged.

"How about this one? Who do you miss the most?"

You threw your hands in the air in exasperation, "Lali asked me that months ago! Don't you think if it was that simple I wouldn't be in this situation right now?! I miss both of them because they won't fucking talk to me! And I don't blame them. I wouldn't want to talk to me either." You sat back into your chair with a watery sigh.

"Can I give it a try?" Jennie raised her hand sheepishly, "Without all the spreadsheets and interrogations." She directed the second part at three specific people.

The three specific people all reluctantly closed their laptops.

"Everyone else is, so why not?"

"Well, first. I think you need to lay off yourself a bit. Yeah, you put yourself and them into a sucky situation, so what? Get over that. There's no going back to change anything, so why wallow in it? Relax and forgive yourself." Jennie spoke softly, her forearms resting against her thighs as she leaned forward.

Your shoulders sagged just enough to let Jennie know she was getting through to you.

"I'm sure you know what traits you value in a partner, and I'm not going to ask you what those traits are because I'm sure Lisa would start to log your answers again. Besides, it's none of our business." Lisa glared at Jennie.

"You just have to apply those traits. Organize your morals which you have clearly been fast and loose with lately. Ask yourself questions like 'Are you really ready to be a family woman? A mother?' And 'Are you okay with your mate having her work really high on her priorities list?' Think about what you want. Think about what you need. Think about who would be the best alpha for you. And then when you have all those answers to all those questions and you're all thinked out. Stop thinking and just go talk to her." Jennie smiled softly as you nodded slowly.

Lisa stared at her wife, her mouth wide opened, "I have absolutely no idea why, but that was the sexiest thing you have ever done." Jennie blushed heavily.

"Yeah, Jen. When did you get to be so smart?" You teased.

"I have a B.S. in Biochemistry from NYU." Jennie deadpanned.

"Yeah but you're a lounge singer. It's not like you're doing anything with it."

"Alright, you got me there."

"Knock, knock. Hello, Mrs. Y/LN. Your discharge papers are ready." The doctor explained as she stood at the door, not wanting to intrude.

"Oh thank God! I was going to jump out the window if it had been another hour."

"Mom!"

"What? You would've too. Now shut up and help me into my clothes."

You did as told.

~•~

Once you were sure your mother was settled at her home with your father. You went back to yours.

You sat heavily on your couch.

Jennie said to think. So, that's what you were going to do.

In the back of your mind, you knew who it was supposed to be the minute Jennie finished talking.

Sometimes, you just need to be told to get over yourself and put things into perspective.

But you chugged on anyway.

If only to double, triple check.

Some thoughts involve Jennie's suggested quandaries and others you came up with all by yourself.

It's about 5 minutes in that you're already noticing a very clear pattern. The same name keeps coming up. Amid 'Yes' and 'Nos' and 'We're just going to have to work on thats'.

It hit you so harshly you're not even sure why this was a struggle to begin with. The revelation just about sucks all the nagging anxiety and subsequent energy out of your brain. This must have been the "thinked out" part Jennie was talking about.

That meant the next step was to stop thinking.

It's easier said than done, but you managed.

The last step.

Just go talk to her.

You nodded with finality.

You were going to do just that, but first you needed to fix something.

~•~

"I'm sorry." You said. You may be done feeling sorry for yourself, but that didn't mean you couldn't feel sorry for others.

"For what?"

"It-I can't keep doing this to you. It's not fair."

"I-I understand, I guess."

"I shouldn't have led you on. Made you think-"

"It's okay, Y/N. It really is. But I'm going to need some time before we can get back to normal if I can ever do that, with you again."

"I get it. I'll see you...later?"

You don't get an answer. Just a pained look and then a sort of wobbly shrug.

You have a feeling that's all you'll get from her for a while. And surprisingly, you're a little more okay with that then you thought you would be.

~•~

Notes: One more chapter left...

#jesssica's fanfic #blackpink fanfic #blackpink #jisoo fanfic #jisoo x reader #petrichor #rose fanfic #rose x reader #abo

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carolyncaves · 4 years

Text

Oh, it’s happening - WWX goes to Gusu: Part 4. 10171 words, continued underlying vague mental illness from WWX, angry wedding planner JC, elder sibling appreciation hours now including JYL as well as LXC, shotgun-wedding-related drama, wedding resolution, Yunmeng sibling feelings and fluff, gratuitous Wangxian

part one | part two | part three | also on ao3

When Wei Wuxian woke, full bright light filled the jingshi and his body ached with too much sleep. It was late. Lan Zhan’s five-in-the-morning wasn’t even in the picture. For all he knew, it could be after noon.

It was, he discovered slowly and hazily, just after lunchtime. Lan Zhan had ordered him something and was going to wake him if he didn’t wake on his own soon.

He would have thought he might feel better, finally getting a powerful dose of the rest he’d lately been deprived of. Instead he just felt a different sort of unwell. But it faded to the background as he ate his lunch and worked some life back into his limbs.

It came to him distantly, nearly halfway through the meal, that he was married. Not quite, but at the same time more than he’d need a lifetime to process and believe. He should be doting on Lan Zhan. Being happy with him, and letting Lan Zhan – always so grim, so restrained – be happy in return. A husband had a number of duties, really, and Wei Wuxian had fulfilled none of them. He’d laid in bed for twelve hours and was now being dully led through the necessary task of eating as if he were a child.

Some portion of this train of thought must have shown on his face, because Lan Zhan said, “No talking during meals.” This prompted Wei Wuxian to actually look at him, and he looked frowny. “Unless …” Lan Zhan bit himself off mid-thought, as if realizing he himself was breaking the rule, and then after a brief vacillation was apparently unable to restrain himself. “Unless you have regrets.”

Did Lan Zhan think it was possible Wei Wuxian was sorry they were married? Was that the most likely explanation he could conjure for whatever dissatisfaction had touched Wei Wuxian’s face? The snort escaped before Wei Wuxian could contain it. “Lan Zhan. The only regret I could possibly have is that I am so unworthy of you.” He waved his hand, trying to banish Lan Zhan’s deepening dismay. “But for whatever reason, you want this with me regardless, and for that I will be grateful and as worthily unworthy as possible all my life. It’s too late for you now, Lan Zhan, you’re stuck with me!”

Relief. The softening of Lan Zhan’s face at that statement was relief. Wei Wuxian wanted to give him all the water in Yunmeng. He settled for asking if Lan Zhan had eaten his fill, and serving him a little more when he didn’t say yes, as if this wasn’t Lan Zhan’s house and every morsel of this meal wasn’t his to begin with.

It was all right, though. This next part would be where Wei Wuxian got to give something to Lan Zhan, hopefully over and over again for the rest of their lives.

The relief fell away too fast, and Lan Zhan parted his lips once more. But he didn’t actually speak – he simply closed them and turned back to his meal. It was as if he’d decided whatever was still bothering him wasn’t worth breaking the rule of silence for. Only Wei Wuxian’s worries measured that high.

“Lan Zhan, what about you, though? Do you have regrets?”

Lan Zhan’s bowl hit the table hard. “Never.”

Wei Wuxian allowed himself to drink in the powerful balm of his certainty for one moment before smiling and pushing back. “Lan Zhan, I’m think at some point in your life you’re going to have a regret, however small.”

Lan Zhan looked unhappy at Wei Wuxian. “Never this.” He looked unhappier at the table. “But.”

Wei Wuxian wasn’t even bothered by the dull ache of that drop. “But what? You have to tell me, since I’m your husband.”

Lan Zhan shook his head, and of course Wei Wuxian was joking anyway, but he did answer. “You were promised two weeks. I forgot myself, in my eagerness.” He hung his head, all beautiful and ashamed. “You should still have them, if you want them.”

Wei Wuxian had in fact been carefully ignoring that he was going to have to go back to Lotus Pier today. Their marriage was actually a fabulous excuse, a very distracting conceit, to keep him from having to think about having to conduct himself like a person again in front of Jiang Cheng and Shijie and Lotus Pier and the cultivation world, to leave this delicate bubble of quiet and rest.

A heavy dread stirred low in his belly, and he smothered it down – a dance so familiar he couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed it had been absent for several days. It would be better this time, though. He would be better at talking, better at being, better at ignoring the dark pit at his center and getting on with the things he had to do – and as well, Lan Zhan would be there. Lan Zhan had done this thing so he would always be there. Wei Wuxian’s heart bloomed, or rather felt some feeling that was wonderful even though it hurt, and he said, “Lan Zhan, do you not think the rest of my life is a great deal more than two weeks?”

Lan Zhan looked up at him.

“I don’t have any idea why you want to do this. I still think you must be mad – are you sure you haven’t been tying your headband too tight? Maybe your fifteen layers of robes are too constricting and you haven’t been getting enough air. Nevertheless, you have to understand that it’s everything. Do you think I wouldn’t do anything to make it happen? For you to have what you want, and for me to have you?”

Lan Zhan was staring at him, leaning forward, as if the small tea table between them was an intolerable barrier – and then apparently it was, because he moved, gathered his robes and shuffled around it until he was right beside him and he could pull Wei Wuxian into a slow, firm embrace.

“You should still have them, if you want them,” Lan Zhan repeated – not like he actually thought he could convince Wei Wuxian, more like he wanted to make sure he knew he really did have the option.

“Please, Lan Zhan, I have to get you all tied up before you come to your senses. I’d be willing to leave for Lotus Pier this instant, except we’re in the middle of a meal and I’m sure there’s a Lan principle about that.”

“Mm,” Lan Zhan said. He released him but sat very close next to him, the same way he had for Wei Wuxian’s first meal after he arrived here those few days ago.

Wei Wuxian reach across for his bowl and set it in front of him. It occurred to him this was going to be Lan Zhan’s last meal in his jingshi – at least like this, with him living here and not visiting as a guest.

“Of course, if you’d rather linger, we can,” Wei Wuxian said. “This is your home, Lan Zhan. I’m not trying to drag you away from it.”

Lan Zhan was quiet for a moment, like he was building up to a confession, and Wei Wuxian was ready for him to ask for a few days. But then he said, “I’ve already prepared,” and moved the edge of his sleeve aside to reveal a qiankun pouch. “There are disciples waiting to pack the remainder of my belongings and send them after us. Once we’ve departed.”

The gentle, happy flush on Lan Zhan’s cheeks and ears made Wei Wuxian feel like the insane one.

They finished their meal together, and Wei Wuxian laughed at him, and perhaps also got teary-eyed and clung to his husband (he was going to say it counted). When Lan Zhan escorted him from the jingshi and along the walkways of Cloud Recesses, it was in mutual triumph.

Lan Xichen was actually standing around in front of the hanshi as if he were waiting for them.

For a moment, Wei Wuxian felt ashamed himself – for being the reason all this upheaval was necessary in the first place, and for sleeping so long and making Zewu Jun wait. But he looked so pleasant, and not irritated at all – he was certainly well-suited to his position as sect leader. Wei Wuxian forced himself to smile as well as he said, “How are you doing on this beautiful day, Zewu Jun?”

“I am content.” He looked vaguely puzzled at Wei Wuxian – who wasn’t even sure himself why he’d chosen the title instead familial address. Maybe it was that now, in the light of day and without their red robes and dizzy urgency, it seemed ridiculous to presume Lan Xichen would recognize him as his family. But Lan Xichen replied, “And yourself, Dixu?”

Wei Wuxian was sure some measure of his thrill at being invited to address Lan Xichen in that way seeped through in his grin. “I’m plenty more than content, Da-baizi.” And what a miracle it was, for both him and Lan Zhan, that the good and lofty Lan Xichen was against all reason in favor of him.

“Xiongzhang,” Lan Zhan said, with a slight bow. “I will miss you, Shufu, and Cloud Recesses, and I know I am meant to cry, but I am not very sad.”

Lan Xichen’s responding smile overflowed like the most silver moon. “I’m glad, Wangji. I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

These two exchanges, right on each other’s heels, connected a sticky and muddy pathway in Wei Wuxian’s mind – the possibility that Lan Xichen’s approval was somehow related to Lan Zhan’s quiet desperate joy. That inexplicably he, Wei Wuxian, might somehow truly add happiness to Lan Zhan’s life.

He would have to try very hard. He would have to be diligent, and careful, and true. There was something precious in his hands, and he’d dropped everything he’d ever been asked to hold, but … not this. Please, let him not drop this.

“Let’s go, then,” he said suddenly, before he could second-guess himself. “If you’re both ready, of course, esteemed Twin Jades – take out your swords and let’s depart.”

Lan Zhan immediately abandoned his fond gaze at Lan Xichen to squint at Wei Wuxian. “We will walk to Caiyi town and go by boat.”

“Lan Zhan, a boat would take forever! Of course we’ll fly.” The fear – the exposed horror of being high in the air on someone else’s sword, the memory of the plunge – was already stirring in his belly, but he disregarded it.

Lan Zhan assembled his response for a long time. “You would suffer,” he said finally. “That is counter to the purpose of this.”

“Lan Zhan, it’s one little sword flight. It could hardly be called suffering – believe me. How could we not go as quickly as possible to Lotus Pier? We’re, you’re …” Lan Zhan was married out of his own family and was not yet married into Wei Wuxian’s. That couldn’t stand.

“I am fine,” Lan Zhan said obstinately.

“So am I, Lan Zhan! Believe me, it would be very nice if we had been betrothed for years and now finally I had sent a luxurious palanquin for you on Yunmeng Jiang’s grandest boat and you could be borne to Lotus Pier in luxury, but we’re far beyond that. You can’t rush us through your half and expect me to let us amble around aimlessly for mine. Come on – you can hold me close on Bichen, and we’ll be there before you know it.”

Lan Zhan looked like he wanted to argue further – but luckily he also wanted to be married to Wei Wuxian.

Lan Zhan wore his regular Lan headband on his forehead – they still had to negotiate the betrothal with Jiang Cheng, so he could hardly show up in conspicuous wedding adornments – but Wei Wuxian took the red one and tied it around Lan Zhan’s wrist, where it would be hidden by his sleeve. It wasn’t a fine silk veil, but it would have to do. Then Lan Zhan drew Bichen and took Wei Wuxian onto its blade.

As they climbed into the sky, the terror began to shriek in Wei Wuxian’s chest – but he’d meant what he said. A single flight was nothing for Lan Zhan. The Burial Mounds was not waiting at the end of it.

Lan Zhan would not drop him. Lan Zhan would return him safely to the ground.

///

Wei Ying did not speak a word after they left the ground, and within a quarter of an hour he was curled stiff and catatonic into Lan Wangji’s chest. Lan Wangji felt himself going wild with concern and fury – at Wei Ying, paradoxically, for advocating for something that would so clearly harm him, and more rationally at himself for giving in. This had been his first test at caring for Wei Ying in his new capacity as his spouse, and he had failed it. He would have to learn from this. He would do better. Perhaps he should land the sword now and insist they complete the journey on foot.

But they were already well beyond Caiyi town, which would have been the most reasonable place to get a boat. It seemed unthinkable to turn back, to force Wei Ying to retread any of the terrain he’d covered at such high cost.

Lan Wangji looked at Xichen. He flew with Wei Ying to Cloud Recesses, and would have witnessed the extent of this fear. Could he not have warned him?

Xichen inclined his head in apology. When he spoke aloud, it was to Wei Ying directly. “Dixu, I feel I must express my gratitude to you. You and I both know Wangji has extended himself greatly on this matter out of a true and unselfish devotion, and as the one who allowed him to do so, I will be quite anxious until he is safely ensconced on the other side of it. I hope neither of you will find anguish in your care for one another, in small things or in large ones, so I regret you are doing so now; nevertheless, it does comfort me to know his commitment is returned in full measure.”

Wei Ying made a quiet noise in the back of his throat, and his hand gripped more tightly at the front of Lan Wangji’s robes – but they were passing over a mountain that dropped off precipitously, so it might have been a coincidence.

Lan Wangji held him and tried to feel loved. He did, he supposed, after some thought. Wei Ying was miserable, so there was no joy in it.

///

Wei Wuxian would have vowed he would never ride on a sword again, but that was likely to be impossible. He was a cultivator, whatever his method, and associated with cultivators who used them. He would probably have to ride on swords regularly. Perhaps even recreationally, because how could he deny Lan Zhan the easiest way to visit his family and his childhood home?

Wei Wuxian instead vowed to invent a talisman that would blank his mind and senses. He could stand unthinking and unfeeling in Lan Zhan’s arms and make whatever journey he had to. It would be substantially the same as this, except perhaps without the sickening, drenching fear that by the end of the journey consumed every inch of his limbs.

Wei Wuxian supposed they landed before the gates of Lotus Pier and Lan Zhan guided him to step off Bichen, but only because he eventually realized he was standing on the wood of the boardwalk and Lan Xichen was conferring with a servant at the door.

Lan Zhan still had his arm around him, and his low voice vibrated soothingly in his ear. Wei Wuxian leaned into him. After a moment, Lan Zhan shrouded him in a more intimate embrace.

“Jiang-zongzhu and Jiang-guniang do not know we are wed,” he murmured in Wei Wuxian’s ear – likely an argument for them separating and holding more space between them – but he didn’t eject Wei Wuxian from the shelter of his arms. His too-many robes were comfortable padding. He, Lan Zhan, was the safest place to be.

“There is really no need for Jiang-zongzhu to receive us formally,” Lan Xichen was saying. “I believe Wei-gongzi” – it was interesting hearing the distant title fall from Lan Xichen’s lips, after earlier, hearing the familial one – “was going to speak with him about a personal matter.”

“Jiang-zongzhu was very clear,” the disciple said nervously. “He will receive you all in Sword Hall immediately.” His anxiousness was uncharacteristic, from all Wei Wuxian knew of him. He would only expect it if something were wrong.

He had only been gone for a few days. How could anything be wrong?

Wei Wuxian extracted himself from Lan Zhan’s hold, and they crossed the courtyard of Lotus Pier as if they were their own instead of each other’s.

Jiang Cheng had the flint-cut face that meant he was mad.

Wei Wuxian had not even been here. How could Jiang Cheng still have found a reason to be angry at him? Was he still upset that he’d left at all? That seemed unfair – it had already happened, and they’d discussed it at the time. Wei Wuxian did not know if the accumulated weight of all his past sins and mistakes was something he could bear.

Shijie stood at Jiang Cheng’s side looking a little wilted, and Wei Wuxian hoped that was only the summer heat. She wouldn’t meet his eyes. Jiang Cheng’s eyes raked over each of them in turn – Lan Xichen, Lan Zhan, Wei Wuxian himself.

It would be better for Shijie to be upset with him than for her to be unwell. If that was what was happening, Wei Wuxian would gladly accept those terms.

Jiang Cheng gestured at the tables that lined the room – they had been set, ominous in a way Wei Wuxian had not expected. Wei Wuxian took his place beside Shijie’s at the front of the hall, though Shijie did not come join him. Lan Zhan sat on his other side instead of across the aisle with his brother. Hopefully that wouldn’t be too conspicuous, since Wei Wuxian could hardly call attention to it by shoeing him away. They were known to be close. Wei Wuxian had gone to Cloud Recesses to be with him.

“I thought I told you to be carrying your sword when you returned,” Jiang Cheng opened, and his voice was acid and ice. “Though you’re back so quickly, I can’t help but wonder why you even left.”

Suibian was all the way back in Gusu, in the sword rack in Lan Zhan’s jingshi. It belonged there, after all, in Lan possession. Wei Wuxian had given it over to Lan Xichen, an elder member of Lan Zhan’s family. Lan Zhan had accepted it and offered his open hand in return. A more treasured return gift Wei Wuxian couldn’t imagine.

“I suppose we should feel blessed that Lan-er-gongzi has been relieved of his pressing duties to his sect. Mere days ago, he was so bound by them he could not have dreamed of visiting Yunmeng.”

His vitriol was bizarre. It meant something, certainly, but Wei Wuxian could not even begin to imagine what.

“How kind of you to return Wei Wuxian to my keeping early, Lan-zongzhu, after I let you take him from me temporarily as a favor. How fortunate he’ll be able to resume his post, and my A-jie won’t have to keep handling all his duties.”

Lan Zhan bristled and tensed to rise. Wei Wuxian clenched his fingers around his arm. They were not yet married by Yunmeng Jiang’s reckoning.

“Jiang-zongzhu,” Lan Xichen tried.

“A-Xian,” Shijie said, the first thing she’d spoken, and it was very much a warning.

“Jiang Cheng, let’s talk privately for a second,” Wei Wuxian finally got out. “I have something I really need to discuss with you.”

But Jiang Cheng was staring claws and daggers at Lan Zhan – at Lan Zhan’s wrist. “Is that red I see under your sleeve, Lan-er-gongzi? I thought you only wore mourning colors.”

Lan Xichen opened his mouth, but didn’t speak. He seemed to be warring between defensiveness of Lan Zhan and nervousness of Jiang Cheng’s mood.

Wei Wuxian tried to step in. “What do you mean, Jiang Cheng? Lan Zhan can wear what he likes, can’t he? I mean it, let’s go outside for a moment while the Lans get served some tea.”

“Lan-er-gongzi, raise your sleeve,” Jiang Cheng seethed, and that was when Wei Wuxian understood beyond any doubt that Jiang Cheng knew somehow and it was not good.

Searching for any information, he looked to Shijie again, and this time he finally was met with her eyes. They looked back at him with such sadness someone might as well have plunged a sword into his chest.

He had done something terrible. He couldn’t quite understand how – the thing he’d done was something that had made him feel more free and hopeful that he had in almost longer than he could remember – but he’d set out from Lotus Pier to try to drag the tattered scraps of himself more together so he could help Shijie and Jiang Cheng better again, and instead he had managed to cause them further grief.

Lan Zhan slid back his sleeve, revealing the red-and-gold ribbon.

“So it’s true,” Jiang Cheng choked out, eyes going wider with fury. “It’s true. You and Wei Wuxian are married.”

“Did you send disciples after him?” Lan Zhan asked frigidly. “Spy on the Lan sect?”

“We didn’t need spies! Zewu Jun sent a small army of disciples to Caiyi town yesterday, scouring the streets to find red fabric and auspicious decorations and any wedding clothes that might fit two young masters on immediate notice. They were shouting it up and down the canals. My sister heard it from her handmaidens, who heard it on Yunmeng’s docks in the evening. The very last people between Yunmeng and Gusu to know there was a wedding being held in Cloud Recesses yesterday were the two of us!” The spots of color on Jiang Cheng’s cheekbones had blossomed from faint impressions to full angry blooms. “Then, of course, we turned to the spies – what choice did we have? You had spirited Wei Wuxian away from us mere days before, apparently on false pretenses. For all I knew, you were forcing him into vows with a minor Lan disciple or bartering him over to some worthless Jin subordinate in a bid to remove him from Yunmeng Jiang. But no – from the spies we learn that gossip among the junior Lans indicates Lan-er-gongzi and Wei Wuxian were seen weeping in one another’s tender embrace the night he arrived at Cloud Recesses! Which makes it seem as though he and you were conspiring against me right to my face that day, so you could take him away from here and carry out some secret wedding neither I nor my A-jie knew anything about. We tried to tell ourselves there had been some mistake, some other conclusion to draw that we were missing, but we received word this morning confirming their tea ceremony last night!”

“Jiang-zongzhu, there has been a grave misunderstanding,” Lan Xichen said.

“Then Wei Wuxian is not married to Lan Wangji, and all that I have heard otherwise is in error?”

“He is not,” Lan Wangji intoned, before Wei Wuxian or even Lan Xichen could respond. “Wei Ying is not married to me. Yet. But I am indeed married to him. Xiongzhang means there was no deceit.”

“No deceit? How could he have left here three days ago to pass a short visit with Lan Wangji and come back married to him, without any premeditation?”

“Wei-gongzi and I truly had no ulterior motives when we left Lotus Pier that afternoon. Wei-gongzi and Wangji spontaneously decided they wanted to wed.”

“And they also spontaneously decided to do it immediately and in secret, and without my permission? And you along with them? Why, Lan-zongzhu, so you could carry his amulet off to Gusu for yourself? What do you take me for?”

“Wei Ying will not come to Cloud Recesses,” Lan Wangji corrected. “I will join the Wei Ying in the Jiang sect at Lotus Pier.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be a secret,” Wei Wuxian said to Jiang Cheng, to Shijie’s stunned gaze, begging them to believe him. “It was only to save time. So we didn’t have to travel back if you agreed.”

“That’s why we’re here now, Jiang-zongzhu, with minimal delay – to negotiate the betrothal with the Jiang sect.”

“To save time?” There was a pause. Jiang Cheng was visibly rocked when he finally decided they were telling the truth. It didn’t seem to calm him. “To save time? Wei Wuxian! And what if I don’t agree? What position do you put me in now?”

“It’s my fault, Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian said, because whatever else it was, it was surely that. “Shijie.” Did she believe him? “It all happened suddenly, and I thought …” Wei Wuxian looked for the rest of that sentence, but it wasn’t there. What had he thought? The inside of his mind was the same thick grey as the air in the Burial Mounds. Maybe he hadn’t thought at all.

Lan Zhan’s arm appeared around his shoulders. “Jiang-zongzhu, the responsibility is mine,” Lan Zhan said, close by his ear. “I pressured Wei Ying to perform the ceremony before we came here.” Wei Wuxian tried to shake his head.

“In that case, how dare you, Lan-er-gongzi – but do you really claim Wei Wuxian should have allowed himself to be swayed? Since when would he not stick up for his own family?”

“Wei Ying is … tired,” Lan Zhan said. Wei Wuxian’s own mouth was still stuffed with cloth.

“Tired? In what way does ‘tired’ justify this?”

“Jiang-zongzhu,” Lan Xichen interjected, “the fault in this case truly lies with me, and I owe you, Jiang-guniang, and the Jiang sect my deepest apologies. Their only crime was to be eager in their affections, which I believe are deep and true. I, as sect leader, should never have allowed them to rush into this without negotiating your approval.”

“That’s right – you shouldn’t have! And you, Lan Wangji, you, you … But Wei Wuxian. Lan-er-gongzi says he will join you in the Jiang sect – not that he has my leave to do so – but it really seems as if you decided to go off and make decisions with him and the Lan sect, and never mind us one bit!”

“That’s not true,” Wei Wuxian intoned, prayed. “Jiang Cheng, it’s not true, I …”

“It is true!” Jiang Cheng snapped. “He wears red for you, and neither I or A-jie are involved.” He launched himself from the carved lotus throne. Shijie startled, but didn’t move or stop him. “If the Jiang sect means so little to you, don’t pretend to seek my permission. If you really feel so little respect for it and for my family, there was no need for you to return!” Jiang Cheng had to struggle with his cape for a moment, but he subdued it and stormed out of the hall.

Wei Wuxian stared after him. Every word he knew he’d never say sat on his tongue, heavier than lead or gold. It rendered him dumb.

///

Lan Xichen had not even considered the gossip.

He had indeed broadcast what was happening at Cloud Recesses; he had not even instructed the disciples to be circumspect. He had known they would travel to Lotus Pier immediately afterward, to close the circle with the Jiang sect. It had never occurred to him that news travelled on winds faster than any sail.

Wei Wuxian looked dazed, like he’d been struck. Or like he’d just been passed down a terrible sentence.

Wangji rose swiftly to his feet.

“Wangji,” Lan Xichen said, but he ignored him completely. Wangji strode with rigid purpose after Jiang Cheng.

Jiang Yanli had looked pained when they arrived, which turned tentatively relieved when it appeared the Jiangs’ worst fears were unfounded, then increasingly dismayed at Jiang Cheng’s escalating fury. Now she watched Wangji’s egress with true panic. “A-Xian.” She darted from her position on the dais to Wei Wuxian’s side, shaking his shoulder. “A-Xian, you have to go after them. You can’t let them argue.” He wasn’t rousing himself fast enough, and she dragged him to his feet.

Lan Xichen made to rise also, but she said, “No! Ahem, Lan-zongzhu. Please allow us to handle this within the Jiang sect.”

Her request was flawlessly polite and reasonable and she was halfway out the door with her shidi when she said it, so Lan Xichen reluctantly sank back into his seat, alone in the Jiang’s Sword Hall. He had, perhaps, done all he could do for now.

If Jiang Cheng could not be mollified, if this marriage had been ruined by their impulsive preemption, Lan Xichen will have done far too much.

///

Jiang Yanli dragged A-Xian along the walkways of Lotus Pier. He was too limp, sluggish and slow, and they could not afford that now. A-Cheng had not had too great a head-start, but he would be quick from his ire, and Lan Wangji was certain to find him before they would.

He did. When she and A-Xian rounded the pavilion, they stood facing each other on the uncovered platform before the ancestral temple. A-Cheng had obviously been heading there, to seek privacy, feel his anger and move through it, but Lan Wangji had stopped him on the boardwalk, and A-Cheng was bristling the way Zidian might.

“Lan-er-gongzi,” Jiang Yanli called out. It was vital that a wedge not be driven between them. For the time being A-Cheng was just momentarily upset. The thing he was most upset about, A-Xian’s apparent betrayal, was not true. But if he and Lan Wangji said things that could not be unsaid … A-Cheng could be as stubborn as their father and as venomous about it as their mother. The thought made her want to cry. A real fight now could sour the chances of A-Cheng relenting forever. “Please, Lan-er-gongzi, if you would go back to the hall. Let us discuss this matter as a family.”

“Yes, Lan-er-gongzi,” A-Cheng sneered. “Despite your unsanctioned tea ceremony, Wei Wuxian’s family matters do not concern you.”

Lan Wangji did not back away. He stood rigid and unyielding, his hand iron-tight around his cold white Bichen.

“Lan-er-gongzi,” Jiang Yanli repeated, almost desperately. She shook her didi. “A-Xian, say something.”

Lan Wangji fell to his knees.

Jiang Yanli felt her feet lurch to a stop, a few paces away from them. This tugged A-Xian still as well, and he swayed back beside her. A-Cheng gaped – there was no other word for it. “Lan Wangji … You …”

“Jiang-zongzhu. This cultivator begs you to allow him to marry Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji set the luminous Bichen down on the weathered wood of the boardwalk. He circled his arms, straightened them, and bowed all the way to the ground at A-Cheng’s feet.

“Lan Zhan,” A-Xian croaked, which made A-Cheng’s gaze snap up at him. He stared back and forth between them in bewilderment – at Lan Wangji, in supplication at his feet, and over his head at A-Xian, who stood limp and hollow in the crook of Jiang Yanli’s arm.

“Wei Wuxian?” A-Cheng asked, in a very small voice.

“This cultivator understands the disrespect shown to the Jiang sect by our premature ceremony,” Lan Wangji continued. “This cultivator knows how and why it transpired. This cultivator begs Jiang-zongzhu to lay it at his feet alone.”

“Wei Wuxian?” A-Cheng asked again.

“This cultivator will accept any punishment Jiang-zongzhu would administer. This cultivator will do anything if Jiang-zongzhu will allow him to marry Wei Ying.”

“Lan Zhan ...”

“Stop!” A-Cheng’s voice was high and thin, like only his anger was keeping him from bursting into tears. “What is the meaning of this? Why is Wei Wuxian tired? Why is Lan-er-gongzi on his knees in front of me? Why did you want to save time? What’s happening?”

“Wei Ying was injured during his time in the Burial Mounds,” Lan Wangji said, and Jiang Yanli felt A-Xian jerk in her arms at the mention – the two combined sending a shiver of horror down her spine.

She’d known in some ways that A-Xian was different when he reemerged from his disappearance. She had … only suspected about the Burial Mounds. She had been afraid to think about it precisely, the what or how or why. She had been afraid to ask too often or look too closely. She had not wanted to make things harder for A-Xian. She had been giving him time and space, and waiting for him to go back to the way he belonged.

Now Lan Wangji was kneeling at A-Cheng’s feet over it, and she forced herself to consider – shamefully, for the first time – whether that might not ever happen.

“He is my counterpart, and I would give him my support. Please, Jiang-zongzhu, permit this marriage. I wish to stand always at his side with the Jiang sect.

“He was injured? He came back months ago. Wei Wuxian, what’s he talking about?”

“Jiang Cheng, he’s making too much of nothing, I’m fine, just fine, I …” But A-Xian had rarely been less fine in his life. That had been clear all along.

“A-Xian,” she murmured, stroking his arm gently. She was careful to avoid the touch of his Chenqing, the powerful and dark thing he now carried with him always, but she tried to lend him comfort regardless.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” A-Cheng asked him. “Why did you run off to Gusu to get Lan-er-gongzi to marry you instead of telling me you were hurt?”

“I didn’t go there to marry him,” A-Xian said. “It was just to visit. And then he asked, and I knew, and I …”

“Jiang-zongzhu, I care for Wei Ying. Please allow me to marry him.”

“Well, does he care for you? Wei Wuxian, you don’t have to do this for some desperate reason. You could just ask me for help. You could always have just asked me for help!”

Jiang Yanli thought of the thing A-Cheng had told her last night – they had been pacing the floor sleepless while, as it turned out, a great distance away A-Xian was getting married. He’d told her of how he’d made the choice to leave her to A-Xian’s care after the fall of Lotus Pier, how he’d given himself up to the Wen soldiers so they could get away. How A-Xian had let him down by going back for him instead of taking care of her, just like he was letting them down now by abandoning them in favor of Gusu Lan. She’d heard the underneath-story – the story of how he would do anything for his lifelong brother, and he couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t do the same in return – at least the way A-Cheng saw it. She looked at A-Cheng now. His face was flushed, and his eyes were bright. He was fighting back tears because A-Xian had kept all these things to himself. Because A-Xian had gotten married without them.

She also thought of A-Xian, and how his whole life the thing he’d been told was to always, always help them. He was her didi, not her shidi, and she had tried to live it so thoroughly he would believe it even if she had never really able to speak the words – not as able as she should’ve been, not as able as was right. But she glimpsed, at moments like this, how impossible it was for him to see himself as their equal. She knew he used his dark new power, the one that put a worrying terror in Lan-er-gongzi’s eyes, to protect them – and she felt uneasily responsible. She believed he would carve off pieces of himself, just like A-Cheng would, if he were asked to, only he would never feel entitled to anything in return.

Had it even occurred to him A-Cheng would be upset? Not because it flaunted his authority as A-Xian’s sect leader, but because he would want to be involved?

A-Xian stepped out of her grip – his hand trailing down her arm and squeezing her fingers, a silent ‘thank you’ – and went over to stand next to Lan Wangji. “Jiang Cheng.” He sank to his knees, head high and tilted back, tiredly. “Jiang-zongzhu. I will always return to the Jiang sect. I would never abandon my duty to protect and serve it. I … you … it means very much to me.”

Jiang Yanli pressed her hand to her chest, to both capture and restrain the feeling of those words. A-Cheng’s mouth had opened slightly, a silent plea for help. He was so silly, so dear, unable to bear hearing the thing he most wanted to know.

“I do care for Hanguang Jun, very much. Somehow, miraculously, he is willing to join our family and be with me always, and there are few things in the world I could ever want more. So please, forgive my disrespect, and I beg you to allow me to marry him.” Then he also began the gesture to bow at A-Cheng’s feet.

A-Cheng grabbed him by the arm before he could get that far, physically preventing him. “What do you think you’re doing?” he seethed wetly. “Both of you, get up off the ground and stop embarrassing yourselves. Two of the greatest heroes of the Sunshot Campaign, acting like maidens who’ve read too many love poems.” He practically hauled A-Xian to his feet. “I can’t believe I wish you were drunk,” he muttered, and gave him a shove. It was surely meant to be affectionate, but A-Cheng’s emotions were high and A-Xian staggered back.

Jiang Yanli reached one of A-Xian’s elbows and Lan Wangji surged up and caught the other, and together they prevented him from falling. She sensed Lan Wangji move in unison with her to stare pointedly at A-Cheng.

For his part, A-Cheng looked a little startled. He stared closely at A-Xian. “You’ll let him take care of you, then, won’t you? You’ll let all of us take care of you?” He scowled in desperate worry. “Is it that flute?”

A-Xian was paying no heed as he continued, stuck in growing elation at the first of A-Cheng’s statements. “You mean …”

“Of course! You can get married to the most stuck-up Lan alive if you want to. Bring as many illustrious spouses and concubines into the Jiang sect as you please. If you regret it and come whining to me later, see if I care.”

A-Xian sagged against Lan Wangji. “Just the one will do.” His eyes tracked over to Jiang Yanli, and he grinned. “Shijie, I’m getting married! Though maybe I should apologize. You really should have been first.”

That wasn’t why he might have needed to apologize, but Jiang Yanli would not hold ill will over that. She felt her own gaze draw up to Lan-er-gongzi’s face. He returned it steadfastly. His arm was circled protectively around A-Xian, strong and sure, and he would not easily let him go.

“There’s no need to apologize,” Jiang Yanli said, letting her relief spread a smile across her face. “I’m so happy for you, A-Xian – and you as well, Lan-er-gongzi.”

He nodded at her respectfully. He was quiet and perhaps odd, but for all A-Cheng’s scorn, she’d never found him objectionable. He was good, polite. He would be a fine person to have as a brother-in-law.

He already was, in some ways. “Shall we call for tea now, then, if you two are in such a terrible hurry?”

“Yes,” A-Xian said, his somewhat-husband nodding in agreement.

“No!” A-Cheng exclaimed. “You think is the Lan sect, and you can just drape some red bunting around your shoulders and call it a wedding? This is Yunmeng Jiang. We have some self-respect.”

///

Jiang Cheng made them wait three entire weeks to finish get married.

Lan Zhan was outraged – but where Lan Zhan had been able to sway Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren, since when it came down to it they loved him and wanted their dour young Lan Wangji to be happy, Jiang Cheng did not care one bit about Lan Zhan, so he dug his heels in and would not budge one single inch.

He did ostensibly care about Wei Wuxian, but that didn't seem to matter either.

“We need time to have robes made, time to decorate, time to plan the banquet.” He spoke as if Wei Wuxian was a five-year-old shidi who didn’t know his sword forms. “You’re lucky I don’t make you wait three months, so it would be after the Group Hunt and we could invite the other sects. As it is, we can’t upstage the Jin sect by holding a surprise event beforehand, not without insulting them, and I’m not about to jeopardize A-jie’s invitation from the peacock’s mother on your impulsive behalf.”

Wei Wuxian would never want that either, his low opinion of the peacock notwithstanding, but he also certainly wasn’t going to wait or make Lan Zhan wait three entire months. He tried to take the three weeks as the gift they were.

In fact, Wei Wuxian suspected they were more in deference to Lan Xichen’s uneasy heart than either his or Lan Zhan’s. Once everyone’s tempers had calmed, the two sect leaders had a very long, very sect-leadery conversation in which Lan Xichen once again expressed his apologies for any disrespect, and Jiang Cheng circuitously admitted he had probably gotten angrier than necessary considering everything that had happened had been done in good faith, and the Lan sect was a valued ally of the Jiang sect, and if for some reason Lan Xichen was willing to marry his younger brother to Wei Wuxian – which he clearly was – he himself was honored to welcome the Second Jade of Lan into the Jiang sect. In other words, he of course approved of the match, and he hoped he had not offended his new and powerful in-laws too terribly much with his outburst or the overt acknowledgement of the spies all the major sects had but pretended not to, please and thank you.

Lan Xichen was of course endlessly gracious about it. Perhaps this was simply due to relief that everything had worked out all right. Perhaps it was because he was Lan Xichen.

Once it was all settled, Jiang Cheng was deliriously happy for Wei Wuxian, in his own way that involved a lot of punching and shoving and rude words.

“How dare you, Wei Wuxian – we spent our whole childhoods planning the most extravagant wedding of the age for A-jie. How could you think I would ever let you do something slipshod for your own? Between you and Hanguang Jun, this should be an event the cultivation world talks about for generations, but you decide you can get married in front of me and the lotus stalks and that’s a grand enough wedding for Yunmeng Jiang?”

“We did that because Shijie is our beloved, beautiful, perfect sister!”

“Yes, and you’re a disaster – who even thought you’d get married at all? You’d need twice the pomp and grandeur for it to seem grand enough to be my head disciple’s wedding.”

Wei Wuxian had an emotional feeling when Jiang Cheng said that. He began to understand, possibly, where he had gotten things wrong.

Jiang Cheng kept haranguing him, but Shijie said something about it just once – “A-Xian, I wasn’t there to fix your hair, or help you decide to get married and prepare.”

“Shijie, you’ll be here this time, you’ll fix my hair when the day comes. That was mostly just Lan Zhan’s part, and he had his family there to help him.”

“You poured tea too, didn’t you? You made a promise to them. Weren’t you nervous?”

Wei Wuxian had been terrified. He remembered sitting in the jingshi, writing messy notes on Lan Zhan’s nice paper, trying to get his thoughts in order. When Lan Zhan had walked in, when he’d seen him, he’d decided everything was actually clear … but it would have helped, surely, to have Shijie there with him. Jiang Cheng too, even if he would’ve been intolerable about it.

“What I’m most nervous about is that Lan Qiren will decide he really can’t take it and come kidnap Lan Zhan back before I can secure him properly.”

Shijie smiled and laughed and consoled him over his agonizing wait, and made extra lotus and pork rib soup for Lan Zhan and Zewu Jun, and even helped Wei Wuxian evade Jiang Cheng’s extremely unnecessary sentries and sneak into Lan Zhan’s room at night.

That was an important balm, because being back at Lotus Pier was harder than Wei Wuxian would have thought, even with the blessed distraction of the wedding. Jiang Cheng wanted his help with everything – planning and preparing for the ceremony, Sect business, even picking what tea to serve the Lans at dinner in the evenings. This was probably an effort to make amends, for missing that Wei Wuxian was unwell, for needing Lan Xichen to come and whisk him away to compel him to acknowledge it. It was Jiang Cheng’s way of spending as much time with him as possible – but it was exhausting. Wei Wuxian tried to lean into and match his enthusiasm, but he was a tired person. His betrothal to Lan Zhan had not made a new golden core spring to being inside him, or made the seething darkness he’d replaced it with any less demanding.

So he poured all his energy into Jiang Cheng, and at the end of the day Shijie ferried him to his almost-husband’s side and he collapsed on the floor beside the tea table so Lan Zhan could pour him a drink, or lay with his head on Lan Zhan’s lap, or sat on the bed and meditated while Lan Zhan played him music – and even though beside that last thing this was objectively no different from relaxing or lying still in his own room, it was a thousand times better, because Lan Zhan knew he was tired and it was all right. He didn’t even seem to mind.

When one evening Wei Wuxian rubbed at his shoulder and called Jiang Cheng a barbarian, Lan Zhan looked very serious and told him he would come up with a way to stop it from happening. That doing so was, in fact, why he was here.

“Lan Zhan, you’re here because you enjoy my thrilling company, and also to kill low-level ghosts and monsters with your sword so I don’t have to use my cultivation all the time, not to defend me from my family. What can we say? ‘Jiang Cheng, please stop using your spiritual power to hit your shixiong and running him ragged with robe fittings, he’s a fragile man and can no longer take it’?”

“Yes,” Lan Zhan said. “We told them you were injured at the Burial Mounds. We can imply that is the reason. We cannot spread this story to other sects, because strategically you must not be made to appear weak, but among your family, it is a version of events that will let us do whatever we need to do.”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said, impressed. “You’re an esteemed Lan, and your brilliant solution is for us to simply lie?”

“Is it entirely a lie?” Lan Zhan asked severely, and Wei Wuxian was forced to admit it wasn’t.

They slept together, usually. Wei Wuxian lay with his head on Lan Zhan’s chest, listening to his heart beat. He curled around Lan Zhan possessively, running his fingers through his hair. He collapsed boneless on the bed while Lan Zhan got undressed, and was unconscious before he joined him.

Sometimes he made himself go back, sleep alone in his bachelor’s quarters. He felt like he should, for some reason – like he didn’t have the right to lie next to Lan Zhan at ease yet. Not without reservation, anyway.

He was unhappier that way. He thought Lan Zhan was, too. He didn’t like it, itched against it. Soon, soon.

Lan Xichen and Jiang Yanli took tea together nearly every afternoon. Sometimes they would invite one or all of the rest of them to join them, but more often they wouldn’t. A small part of Wei Wuxian hoped these intimate meetings would spark some romantic connection – he would much rather marry Shijie to the First Jade of Lan instead of some tasteless Jin. But probably that was a hopeless prospect. When he pretended to needle her about it (a clever ruse for actually needling her about it), she told him they were simply becoming fast friends over their shared experience being elder siblings to completely hopeless young men.

“That’s not a very nice way to talk about Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian joked back.

Shijie laughed at him. His heart was full.

“If that peacock isn’t as nice to you as Lan Zhan is to me, you can’t marry him,” Wei Wuxian told her.

“A-Xian, very few people could claim to be as devoted as your Lan-er-gongzi is to you,” she said, amused. “But I do take the two of you as an example – that rarely pure things can exist, and as a worthy ideal against which to measure my companionships.” She smiled. “It will only be ten more days now.”

“Jiang Cheng is torturing me! He’s abusing his power. Perhaps you should be Jiang-zongzhu.”

“So it’s mutiny, now,” Jiang Cheng said from the door. “The disrespect grows without cease.” He rolled his eyes so far back in his head Wei Wuxian wondered if he was looking for a nonexistent speck of kindness or mercy in his brain.

Wei Wuxian got properly finally married on a beautiful day. The air was muggy and thunderclouds rumbled over Yunmeng, but it was beautiful because Wei Wuxian put on fine, crisp red garments and went to the gates of Lotus Pier, and Lan Zhan – in ethereal robes and a red weimao – was there waiting for him. They stepped across the threshold of his home together and walked across the courtyard to the joyful din of firecrackers, and bowed in front of Jiang Cheng and Shijie, and bowed to heaven and earth and his ancestors at the Jiang ancestral shrine, and returned to Sword Hall to pour more tea, and then bowed – finally – to each other.

Then they had the greatest banquet of Wei Wuxian’s life. It wasn’t substantially different from other banquets he’d attended in terms of the refreshments or the guests – though Jiang Cheng had done an exceptional job on both, considering he only had twenty days and couldn’t invite anyone from the other sects. It was the greatest banquet of his life because Lan Zhan was sitting next to him in the most elegant crimson clothes, and the thing they were celebrating was that they could keep sitting next to each other forever.

Wei Wuxian was not required by tradition to cry, which Lan Zhan kept quietly reminding him, but he had to periodically wipe a tear off his cheek all the same.

When it grew late and it was time for them to leave their guests and retire, there were no petty guards between him and Lan Zhan. They could walk before every eye in the world to the same quarters, and no one alive could make an argument they should instead be apart. The bed and the room had been dressed in red and hung with symbols of happiness, and there were dates, oranges, lotus seeds, and wine laid out on the table.

Shijie had taken him aside and given him a gentle, private talk about wedding nights. When she’d brought it up, he’d asked her what she might possibly know about his and Lan Zhan’s wedding night, in a reflexive, panicked effort to either turn the situation toward the ridiculous or prevent the conversation entirely, and she’d replied very matter-of-factly that she’d asked Lan Xichen all about the considerations of other anatomies so she would be able to adequately advise him. This had been the most horrific revelation of Wei Wuxian’s life, on a list that included a number of quite horrific things, because it meant he now had to picture Zewu Jun and his Shijie – two luminous and pristine people – sitting at their tea table pragmatically discussing the explicit particulars of things that would be shredded into confetti if they were printed in a lewd book and presented to a younger Lan Wangji in the Lan Library Pavilion.

It was all for nothing, too, because nothing like that happened on Wei Wuxian’s and Lan Zhan’s wedding night. It wasn’t that Wei Wuxian had no interest in such things, either in general or with Lan Zhan (beautiful, lofty, his) in particular. It was just that they were both so relieved to be married they weren’t really worried about anything else. They sat very close together in their half-undone wedding clothes, and shared fruit, and drank wine (well, Wei Wuxian drank wine). Lan Zhan kept looking at him like he was shocked he hadn’t disappeared yet, and Wei Wuxian kept touching Lan Zhan’s hand, and arm, and knee, and hair, because he was right there and he could. Lan Zhan kissed him once, fast enough Wei Wuxian wasn’t entirely sure he hadn’t imagined it, and then they fell asleep in each other’s arms.

Wei Wuxian woke up the next morning, long after five, in that soft tangle of red sheets and red-and-gold robes and half-combed-out hair and a discarded weimao, and found himself gazing into Lan Zhan’s luminous eyes. He couldn’t imagine a more auspicious start.

Wei Wuxian spent the next few days showing Lan Zhan around his home. Jiang Cheng whined that he’d gotten used to Wei Wuxian’s assistance with things, and Shijie shushed him – which meant Wei Wuxian didn’t have to. He took Lan Zhan out on the lakes, they frolicked in the lagoons and pools (well, Wei Wuxian frolicked – Lan Zhan ‘enjoyed the natural beauty of Yunmeng’), and they visited the nearby townships and perused the towns.

Lan Zhan kept almost meeting him halfway and then drawing back. When their hands were close, their fingers would bump and then Lan Zhan would pull his own away. When they sat side by side in a small boat, Lan Zhan would put his arm around Wei Wuxian, shift even closer so they were almost very intimately embracing, then shift away so only his hand was on the small of Wei Wuxian’s back. It was a little maddening and very hard to read. Was Lan Zhan feeling out his own boundaries, or Wei Wuxian’s? Wei Wuxian didn’t know, and he was giving the situation a little time to run its course in case maybe he wouldn’t have to summon the energy or courage to confront it. They had all the time possible, after all. If Lan Zhan needed some, Wei Wuxian would not rush him.

On the fourth day, he had run through most of the things he thought Lan Zhan would particularly enjoy, so he took the excuse to show Lan Zhan his favorite wine house – halfway between the docks and Lotus Pier, near enough to easily walk even when pleasantly drunk but far enough Jiang Cheng might not bother walking that far to fetch him back to do real work. It was well into the afternoon, and he had no responsibilities except being with Lan Zhan, so it was a perfectly fine time to get into his cups – and Lan Zhan kept pouring for him with the most delightfully soft almost-smile, so he kept drinking with little reservation. By the time they left, he was warm all over and feeling very light, and when they reached Lotus Pier proper, he was swaying a little bit. Not because he couldn’t have righted himself if he absolutely had to – but because it was nice and he was having fun. Lan Zhan took his hand, then took his elbow, then released him entirely, then took his elbow again. And some combination of Wei Wuxian’s heart only being able to take so much of this treatment and the more uncertain pieces of his mind being anesthetized with baijiu made him say, “What’s the matter, Lan Zhan?”

This brought Lan Zhan to a halt. He hesitated. He let go of Wei Wuxian again and moved a terribly distant half-pace away.

“Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian peered at him.

He looked very worried. “Wei Ying. I am not sure what you want for us.”

“What do you mean? I want us for us.” If the problem was he was worried about Wei Wuxian’s feelings, well … “You can do whatever you want with me, Lan Zhan. I think you own me, soul and body.”

Lan Zhan stiffened, aggrieved. “Wei Ying. No.”

“I don’t mean it like that, not like I’m obligated! I just mean, you don’t have to hold back with me, Lan Zhan. You’re mine, and I’m yours. Anything you want, I’m going to want as well.”

“Not anything.”

“Sure anything. I can’t think of any things I wouldn’t want.”

“It’s only you who can’t think of them.” Lan Zhan was giving Wei Wuxian a very harrowed look. “There surely are things.”

“No one’s ever accused me a lack of imagination before, Lan Zhan. Why don’t you try me, if there’s something you’re worried about?”

Lan Zhan was at first very still, but after a moment, he drifted toward him like a moth to a flame – a destruction he couldn’t resist. He cupped one hand at the base of Wei Wuxian’s skull. He looked long at him, searching. He kissed his lips to Wei Wuxian’s – lightly, like he was afraid Wei Wuxian would bruise like old fruit. Lingering, like he didn’t think he was going to get another chance. Then he pulled back.

He looked at Wei Wuxian mournfully, as if to say, see? I told you.

Wei Wuxian felt a smile tug at his lips, even if it was rude to laugh at him for being honest and vulnerable. He curled his hands around Lan Zhan’s shoulders, reeling him back in so they were chest to chest. “We’ve done that before, Lan Zhan, of course I could think of it. Try again.”

Lan Zhan held Wei Wuxian. “Wei Ying,” he said, pained, imploring. Don’t toy with me. Don’t tease. I can’t take it. Then he kissed Wei Wuxian again, and it was not light.

Wei Wuxian unsealed his lips and tried to follow along. He’d done this once or twice, with random people he hadn’t really cared about, and he didn’t know what he was doing – but Lan Zhan probably didn’t either, and they only had to get good at kissing one person (each other) so anything other than what Lan Zhan was doing was irrelevant.

Right now Lan Zhan seemed to be trying to devour him, mouth and teeth and grasping fingers, and Wei Wuxian … Wei Wuxian would gladly be consumed. He slumped a little, hanging on to Lan Zhan’s steady shoulders. Lan Zhan held him up.

It broke off suddenly. Lan Zhan stared at him, eyes terrified, chest heaving. Was I right? Was I too much? Do you despise it?

Wei Wuxian held that precious face in his hands. Why was this person so foolish? “Now I’m supposed to ask you to try a third thing, to complete the pattern, but we’re in the middle of Lotus Pier and I’m almost positive whatever’s next would be indecent. More indecent, anyway.” If a servant had seen them kissing passionately like that, it would get around like wildfire, and Jiang Cheng would probably whip him with Zidian. “I expect we’ll be happier to have a bed for it anyway. Am I right?”

Lan Zhan shook his head, and Wei Wuxian felt the brief drop of disappointment, but then Lan Zhan leaned in again and kissed him a third time. This one was slow, like the first, but deep – even deeper than the second. It moved, and moved, and moved, and Lan Zhan’s hands were in his hair. Then he drew back just far enough to kiss his cheekbone. Once, twice, three times. Each one purposeful, worshipful, sure, and he held and maneuvered Wei Wuxian all the while. He kissed his hairline. Kissed his jaw. Down the side of his neck. Across his shoulder.

“Mm,” Lan Zhan hummed in satisfaction into the top of his sleeve, while Wei Wuxian tried to put his heart back into a box that now seemed too small for it. Then, “There are some things I think of that would require the bed.”

“Me, too,” Wei Wuxian breathed, and Lan Zhan nodded serenely.

part five

#mdzs #cql #the untamed #fanfiction #wangxian #there will be one more part which will deal with the baifeng mountain group hunt and jinlintai banquet aftermath #‘i can do this in 1-2 more parts’ she said #yeah 2 parts and only if one of them is 10k #writing is just ‘I played myself’ as a lifestyle #I highly recommend it #so with jc and jyl having heard the gossip from caiyi town abt the shotgun wedding #if we’re being real it would probably take a boat at least 2 or 3 days to get from gusu to yunmeng #so the speed of news transmission here is probably a l i t t l e dramatic #maybe they have magic boats #maybe laypeople have talismans they buy from sketchy street vendors they can use to send messages #maybe a rogue cultivator or some disciple knew the news from caiyi and happened to travel to yunmeng that day #it’s dramatic bc it’s for the drama please roll with me #again with the wedding and cultural disclaimer: i know nothing and this is probably all wrong #my fic #lxc #jyl #jc

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