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fics-n-stuff · 3 years

Text

A Nice Christmas

Thanks to @gayhistorynerd for the prompt, see here (I kind of deviated from it a little maybe a lot but the story still stemmed from this prompt)

Pairing: Wilhelm × Simon

Summary: Wilhelm may have denied being in the sex tape, but that doesn't mean that the world has forgotten. The Christmas break proves to be difficult for both Simon and Wilhelm, one suffering from ongoing harassment and the other feeling completely isolated, and they find that they can't help but be drawn back to each other.

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: This took me so long to write because I got writer's block right after I started it. This doesn't have a super happy ending because I wanted to try and keep it pretty realistic, but it is pretty sweet and wholesome.

Taglist: @probablyprocrastinatingrightnow @rika90 @angelwilhelm

Wilhelm had never felt more alone than he did being home for Christmas break. He spent as much time as was physically possible holed up in his bedroom, not wanting to see or talk to anyone, especially not his mother. He hadn’t turned his phone on for three days, he had bitten his nails down to the nailbeds and he hardly had any appetite. The ache in his chest was constant and unyielding.

He lay in the dark most of the time, his curtains closed throughout the day and only sometimes opened at night to let the moonlight in. Besides that, he didn’t have much idea of how time was passing.

He did know that it was Christmas eve though. And it must be the morning because nobody had come to drag him out of his bedroom to join the celebrations. A cursory peek around the curtain confirmed that, as Wilhelm saw that the sun hadn’t even fully risen yet.

A deep breath settled the stone in his stomach, and he reached for his phone with a shaky hand.

When the device turned on it immediately started going crazy with notifications, and Wilhelm felt his heart rate increase with every buzz.

5 messages from August

Ignore.

10 messages from Mamma

Ignore.

2 missed calls from Felice

Wilhelm paused in swiping away the notifications. Felice had called him twice and sent him three messages. He clicked on the message notification, sitting back against the wall and holding in a breath without realising it.

Felice: Hey Wille, how are you feeling being home?

Felice: I just wanted to check in but I can’t get a hold of you, I hope you’re doing alright

Felice: You probably don’t want to talk but you can call or text me whenever you do

Wilhelm sighed. Of all the people that he thought that he could depend on, Felice was the only one that he still had. He swallowed the lump in his throat and called her back.

It rang for a while before she answered, and he’d almost decided to hang up the call when it stopped ringing.

“Wille, good morning.” Felice greeted, cheerful but clearly tired. “Merry Christmas.”

“Yeah, merry Christmas Felice.” Wilhelm replied feebly. His voice was hoarse from disuse.

“Are you alright? Do you want to talk about something?”

“Uhm, I- I don’t know, I just... I don’t know.” He stuttered, wrapping his free arm around himself.

“Okay, well, what are your plans for today?”

“I’m not sure, I haven’t really been talking to anyone. What, uh, what are your plans?”

“Oh, you know, just the usual. We’ll watch Kalle Anka's Jul and play some games before dinner, then we’ll open presents.” She explained. The tinny sound of her voice through the phone was actually quite calming.

“What about for the rest of the break?”

“Um, I’m going to New York to see Maddie for New Year, so that’ll be fun. And I’m going back to Bjärstad on Boxing Day to see Sara. I’m gonna stay there just for one night.”

“So you’ve been talking to Sara a lot then?” Wilhelm questioned, moving to bite at his almost non-existent nails.

“Yeah, of course.”

“Has she said anything about Simon? Do you know if he’s alright?” His words came out more rushed than he had intended. Clearly, he was more eager for some sort of information on Simon than he had thought.

“Um, she hasn’t said much but I think he’s pretty okay.” Felice replied, but it was followed by a small sigh that let Wilhelm know that there was more to the story. “Sara says that things have mostly gone back to normal, but Simon goes out a lot less and she’s had to make her Instagram private. I think they’ve had a few people show up at their house.”

Wilhelm swallowed hard, a feeling of guilt crawling under his skin. Simon’s Instagram account had been private ever since the video had been leaked, so it seemed that now people had found Sara’s too. They had attention on them that they had never signed up for, and Wilhelm knew that it was his fault and he felt terrible for that.

“Okay.” He replied shakily. There was a short silence before Felice spoke again.

“How are you, Wilhelm? Really?” She asked.

“Lonely.” He answered. “Listen, I have to go. I need to take a shower before someone comes demanding that I take part in the Christmas celebrations.”

“Alright well, call me back whenever, okay?”

“Yeah, okay. Bye, Felice.”

“Bye, Wille. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.”

Wilhelm ran a hand over his face, letting out a groan of frustration and sadness. Why couldn’t he just be a normal kid?

He stared down at his phone in his lap, gnawing at the nail of his right thumb in contemplation. With a shaking breath and trembling fingers, he picked it back up, opened his conversation with Simon and typed a short message. He dropped his phone in mild panic as soon as he hit send, and rubbed his hand over his chest as he took a deep, steadying breath.

+ + +

“Simon, wake up. Rosh and Ayub will be here soon.” Sara’s voice stirred Simon from his sleep and he rolled over to look at her. She was already dressed.

“What time is it?” He asked with a yawn.

“Nine o’clock. Get up and come help with breakfast.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m getting up.”

Sara rolled her eyes and left the room, and Simon reached out to his bedside table blindly until his hand landed on his phone. He squinted at the screen as he sat up, faltering when he saw the notification on the screen.

Wilhelm: Merry Christmas Simon

He felt his heart race as he stared at the screen, only snapping out of it when he heard Sara shouting at him from downstairs. He blinked, dropped his phone and set about getting dressed.

Every Christmas eve since they were ten, Simon, Sara, Rosh and Ayub would have breakfast together and then go for a long walk. It was tradition for them at this point, but Simon found himself unable to feel excited for it this year. It was all well and good to pretend like life was going on as normal, but it was hard not to feel uncomfortable when people stared at him everywhere he went.

Rosh and Ayub arrived just as he and Sara were finishing up making breakfast, and they exchanged Christmas well-wishes as they sat down to eat.

“You’re being real quiet over there, Simme. You alright?” Ayub asked after a while, and Simon realised that he’d been completely zoned out.

“Sorry, just thinking.”

“About Wilhelm?” Sara questioned. Simon pushed a bite of food into his mouth and shrugged.

“You have to move on, Simon.” Rosh said. “I know you care about him but he’s not worth all the trouble that he comes with.”

“I know. That’s why I ended things.” He replied. “It still sucks though.”

“You’ll get over him eventually.” Sara told him, putting a comforting hand on his for a few seconds before going back to her food. Simon smiled slightly.

He didn’t tell them about the text.

Despite all of that, he was in high spirits when they set out for their walk, happily joking and laughing with his friends, and they made it half an hour before he heard the first comment.

“That’s the guy from the sex tape.” Muttered a girl to her friend as they passed, and Simon felt the smile fall from his face.

“Just ignore them.” Sara told him, wrapping an arm around one of his. He nodded, but it had gotten to him. For the rest of their walk from that point, Simon felt like every person that they passed was looking at him and judging him.

They walked both Rosh and Ayub back to their houses before heading back to theirs just a bit past noon. They had almost gotten home when they were approached by a group of teenagers probably slightly younger than them.

“Are you the guy from that viral sex tape?” One of the boys asked unabashedly, the group coming right up in front of Simon and Sara and blocking their path.

“Uh, I don’t want to talk about that.” Simon replied stiffly, still trying to be polite.

“Oh my god, it is him!” A girl exclaimed.

“Was it actually the crown prince in the video?” Another chimed. Simon felt lightheaded.

“He already said that it wasn’t.” He deflected, trying to sidestep the group.

“Yeah, but there’s a lot of people that don’t actually believe him.” The girl laughed; actually laughed, as if this hadn’t been an earth shattering event for Simon.

“If it wasn’t Prince Wilhelm then who was it in the video?” A boy asked, and that was when Simon spotted the phone filming him and his stomach dropped.

“I’m not discussing my sex life with a bunch of strangers.” He scoffed in disbelief, shouldering his way past the group with Sara close behind him. “Please leave me alone.”

“You could just tell us if it was actually the prince or not.” One of them pressed, the group now following after Simon. “If it wasn’t him then you don’t have anything to hide.”

“Oh my god, did the royal family pay you off? Did they make you sign an NDA!?”

“Were you, like, boyfriends? Or was it just a hookup?”

Simon kept walking, keeping his head down and not answering any of the questions being hurled at him. He could sense that Sara was just as tense beside him. The group followed them for a full block before Simon finally lost his cool and came to a dead stop, turning to face them.

“I’m not going to answer your questions. The fact that you’re following me is not going to make me answer your questions. I’ve had my privacy majorly invaded once already and now you’re invading it again. I’m trying to enjoy Christmas with my sister and you’re chasing me with a camera, I’m sick of people harassing me.” He fumed, making sure to meet the eye of every one of them at some point. “Whatever you choose to believe is not my problem. It doesn’t matter whether you think that the crown prince is telling the truth or you choose to make up some type of theory, I deserve my privacy.”

He didn’t wait for any type of response before he turned around and walked away, thankful to find that they weren’t going to follow him anymore.

“You handled that well.” Sara said quietly once they had turned the next corner. Simon didn’t reply.

When they got home, he went straight upstairs without a word. He slammed his bedroom door shut and buried his face in his pillow, unable to hold the tears back any longer.

By that same evening, the video was viral.

+ + +

I bet that girl was right and the royal family made him sign an NDA

If he didn’t want people to think it was the prince he would have just said that it wasn’t so either the prince was lying or this guy is seeking attention

He’s literally a kid why can’t people just leave him alone??

I don’t care if it was the prince in the tape or not, this guy is hot

The way he said that people are making up theories makes me think that it actually wasn’t the prince in the video

I feel bad for this guy, getting followed around like that must suck

Wilhelm scrolled through the captions and comments on the seemingly endless posts of the video of Simon, feeling like somebody had a vice grip on his heart.

The first time he saw the video had been right after Christmas Eve dinner. He’d had a full blown panic attack and locked himself in the bathroom for half an hour. When he came out, his mother had tried to talk to him about the politics of the situation and he had immediately retreated into his bedroom once again. He missed Erik desperately.

He hadn’t been able to sleep, he'd only gotten about three hours of broken, fitful sleep all night, and now he couldn’t pry himself away from his phone. He knew that it was bad for him, he knew that it was making him feel terrible, but he wanted to know what people were saying.

He had been hesitant to text Simon, especially since he hadn’t received a reply to the merry Christmas text that he had sent in the morning, but in the end he mustered the courage to reach out. He had asked how Simon was doing and apologised for getting him into this situation. He wasn’t surprised when no answer came.

Christmas day was proving to be probably the worst day of Christmas break for Wilhelm. His chest felt like it was bursting open and like it was an empty chasm at the same time. He didn’t eat breakfast or lunch, he didn’t respond to the knocks that came at his door. He felt like he was trapped in a glass box and someone was shaking it.

Wilhelm didn’t know how long he had been scrolling through multiple different social media platforms when his phone buzzed in his hand and an incoming call appeared on the screen. He faltered, sitting up and almost dropping his phone, when he saw that it was Simon. He ran a nervous hand through his hair as he raised the phone to his ear.

“Simon?” He croaked.

“Hi, Wilhelm.” The reply came through the phone, and Wilhelm felt his shoulders relax at the sound of Simon’s voice.

“Hi. H-how are you.” He fumbled, and Simon sighed on the other end.

“I’m okay, I guess. As okay as I can be after... well, you know.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry for putting you in this situation.”

“This wasn’t your fault, Wille.” Simon muttered. “I just wish things were different.”

“Why, um... why did you call?” Wilhelm asked. There was a short stretch of silence that rung in his ears before Simon answered.

“I just wanted to hear your voice, I guess.” He confessed, and Wilhelm couldn’t help the soft smile that pulled at his lips. “Honestly, I was kind of surprised that you didn’t delete my number or something.”

“Why would I have done that?”

“I don’t know, I guess I just thought that you weren’t supposed to have any ties with me since you said that it wasn’t you in the video.” Wilhelm winced at that.

“It's not like my contacts list is available to the public.” He replied, trying to keep his tone light. “I’m not gonna let that kind of thing get in my head again.”

“Is your mum mad?” Simon asked, and now it was Wilhelm’s turn to sigh.

“I’m not sure, I kind of shut myself in my room so that I wouldn’t have to deal with her.” He answered tiredly. “How is your family?”

“Uh, shaken. Sara’s off in her own world with her sketchbooks and mamá can’t go for more than an hour without checking on us both, but we’re handling it.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologise.”

There was a silence again. Wilhelm ran his hand across his leg, back and forth in a soothing motion, not sure what he should say but not wanting the conversation to finish. In the end, Simon spoke first.

“Did you mean it, what you said before you left for the break?” He asked softly.

“Yeah, I did.” Wilhelm answered without hesitation. “I know it wasn’t a good time to say it, and you probably didn’t want to hear it, but I just had to say it out loud. At least once.”

Silence again. Wilhelm heard Simon sigh, and pursed his lips nervously.

“I miss you.” Simon said.

“I miss you too.” Wilhelm replied with a nervous yet relieved chuckle. “I miss you a lot.”

Another pause.

“Where do we go from here, Wille?” Simon whispered.

“I don’t know.” Wilhelm mumbled. “But I... I want to fix this. Or at least just try to fix it. You don’t deserve to be harassed like this, and it’s my fault and I feel terrible.”

“It’s not your fault.” Simon reassured with a sigh. “It was everything else. We still didn’t do anything wrong, and that includes you.”

“No, I did. I promised we would be in this together and I broke that promise.”

“I understand why you did it. And I’m not mad at you. Honestly, having thought about it, you probably made the best decision for my sake too. I mean, I’m getting harassed enough as it is already. I can’t imagine what it would be like if you had told the truth.”

“I’m still sorry anyway.” Wilhelm said softly, and Simon chuckled. “So, um, Felice told me she was visiting Bjärstad tomorrow.”

“Yeah, her and Sara have gotten close. It’s nice, you know, that Sara’s made friends. And Felice is cool.”

“Yeah, she’s great.”

There was silence again, and Wilhelm bit at his nails thinking that Simon was done with the conversation.

“Are you alright, Wille?” Simon asked after a while. “I know this is your first Christmas without Erik, and I guess things with your mum might be a little... well, I just hope you’re okay.”

Wilhelm swallowed. He could lie, pretend he was fine and wave away Simon’s concerns, but he knew the lie probably wouldn’t hold up. Or he could tell the truth and admit how painfully lonely he was, how much he hated being home because the palace felt empty without Erik and how much he longed to be with Simon with every fibre of his being.

“I’m coping.” He sighed, settling for a middle ground of vagueness. “It’s lonely here. The ceilings feel too high.”

“Have you had stuff to do?”

“No, not really. I haven’t really been in the mood for Christmas, but I guess none of us are particularly festive this year anyway.”

“Would you - I mean, if you would even be allowed to, but maybe if you could – would you want to come down here for a day?” Simon asked, and Wilhelm could just picture him fidgeting nervously as he stumbled over his words. The image brought a smile to his face.

“Yeah, I’d like that.” He answered softly. “I’ll try and convince my parents.”

+ + +

Going to Simon’s house had been an absolute no go with his parents. “Just too risky” his mother had said. However, with enough persistence, he managed to wear them down to a compromise.

That was how he ended up in a car on his way back to Hillerska the day after Boxing Day. While Simon’s house had been absolutely off the table, it would be easy enough to get back to Hillerska without being seen. The only people who were there during the break were security and the people who came to take care of the horses.

He had been worried at first that the inconvenience of it would make Simon not want to bother, but when he texted to ask if it was okay he had been met with a quick agreement.

A security guard unlocked the door for him when they arrived, sworn to secrecy of course, and he headed up to his room to wait. He didn’t realise he was biting his nails until there was a knock at the door and he was knocked out of his anxious thoughts.

The door opened slowly, and Wilhelm felt like all of the air was knocked out of his body when he saw Simon step inside, dressed in his beloved purple hoodie under the coat that he took off and draped over the back of a chair that was within reach. The door clicked shut behind him, and silence hung in the air.

“Hey.” Simon greeted finally, and Wilhelm took a deep breath as if he was just remembering how to breathe at all.

“Hey.” He echoed. “How are you?”

“Better.” Simon nodded. “Did you get into a fight with your parents?”

“Yeah, kinda.” Wilhelm muttered. “It’s fine though.”

Simon crossed the room and took a seat beside Wilhelm on the edge of the bed, a good few inches of space between them. It felt like miles.

“You look tired.” Simon commented.

“I’ve been having a hard time sleeping.” Wilhelm replied weakly, eyes downcast, fidgeting with his hands. “I get that way sometimes. It’s fine.”

“Is it?”

He looked over to find Simon watching him, and he practically crumbled under his gaze. He took a very unsteady breath and shook his head.

“No, it sucks.” He mumbled. His hand drifted back up to his mouth and he gnawed on the nail of his thumb nervously.

“Wille, you’re bleeding.” Simon said, gently grabbing his wrist and pulling his hand away from his mouth. Wilhelm looked down at his thumb and saw a bit of blood pooling in the side of the nailbed, becoming aware of the taste of it on his tongue.

“Oh, I didn’t notice.”

“How much have you been biting your nails?” Simon questioned, pulling Wilhelm’s hand towards him to get a look at them. Every nail was jagged and uneven, bitten down to stubs. The skin around them had been bitten at too.

“I don’t know, I do it without realising.” Wilhelm shrugged. “Probably a lot.” He resisted the urge to curl his fingers around Simon’s hand and blinked back the tears that threatened to fall.

“You shouldn’t have to bottle everything in, you’re destroying yourself.” Simon murmured.

“I don’t have anyone to talk to.” Wilhelm’s voice broke halfway through his sentence, a single tear managing to fight its way from his eye. “I used to be able to talk to Erik about at least some of it but now he’s gone and I don’t have anyone, and sometimes it feels like the ground is falling out from under me and I just don’t know what to do.”

He didn’t notice that he was hyperventilating until Simon pulled him into his arms. Wilhelm’s chest was tight, rising and falling rapidly against Simon’s body. Simon's arms were wrapped around him tightly, and Wilhelm was suddenly overwhelmed with how much he had been craving a hug as his hands grasped at the back of Simon’s hoodie and he hid his face in the crook of Simon’s neck.

Wilhelm had always been told not to cry. Ever since he was a child, whenever he began to cry he was told to stop. The seed had planted itself in him when he was very young, but the fear of letting himself cry didn’t truly grow until he once saw an article in a tabloid. He was barely eleven and he had fallen and hurt himself at an event. He had hardly cried, just a few tears and red cheeks, but the tabloid had had plenty to say about it. He hadn’t let himself properly cry since, except for when Erik died. Even then, he had waited until he was completely alone before he let his weakness show. But now, with Simon, he felt an overwhelming need to let his tears fall.

“I’m so sorry.” He whispered into Simon’s shoulder. He could feel the tears coming out of his eyes but they weren’t falling down his face, instead absorbing into the fabric of Simon’s hoodie.

“It’s okay.” Simon soothed, a hand moving up to stroke over the Wilhelm’s hair.

“I never wanted any of this. I never wanted to be a prince.”

“I know.”

“I just wanted to feel normal. Just for once.” Wilhelm said through his tears. “You made me feel normal.”

Simon furrowed his eyebrows, sympathetic. He loosened his hold on Wilhelm and leaned back, sliding the hand that was on the back of Wilhelm’s head forward to rest against his cheek.

“You made me feel normal too.” He replied softly. “At school I was a social outcast because I’m not rich, and at home I have to take care of my mom and Sara. When I was with you, I didn’t feel like I had to take care of anyone or watch where I was stepping. Well, except that one night.” Wilhelm huffed a slight laugh at the comment, lifting a hand to wipe the tears off of his cheeks. “I’ve never seen you cry before.” Simon commented.

“I’m not supposed to.” Wilhelm replied with an awkward chuckle, his head tipping forward in embarrassment. Simon sighed through his nose and lightly touched his forehead to Wilhelm’s.

“You have to cry sometimes, Wille. Everyone cries.”

“I’m not supposed to be everyone.”

“Okay, but sometimes you need to stop worrying about what you’re supposed to be.” Simon told him. “I know you know that.”

Wilhelm took a deep breath. This close to Simon’s face, he could feel his breathing too. He wanted to kiss him, but he didn’t know if that would be okay. He nodded slightly, covering Simon’s hand on his cheek with his own.

“Yeah.” He breathed.

When Simon leaned forward and connected their lips Wilhelm responded automatically, though it took his brain a few seconds to catch up. Once his brain did catch up, his hand took hold of the back of Simon’s neck and pulled him impossibly closer, holding onto this moment like it was his last. Maybe it would be the last time he got to kiss Simon; he couldn’t know. He hoped it wouldn’t be.

“Thanks for coming to see me.” Simon said when they broke apart.

“Thanks for wanting to see me at all.” Wilhelm replied. “I really missed you.”

Simon hummed, a faint smile playing at his lips. He watched Wilhelm for a few moments before kicking off his shoes.

“Come here.” He said, shuffling over the bed towards the wall. Wilhelm followed suit and allowed himself to be guided down to a lying position, Simon’s chest against his back and arm around his waist. “You need to sleep.”

“It’s the middle of the day.” Wilhelm protested, weak as the protest may have been.

“People have naps all the time, and you know that you need it.” Simon said firmly, adjusting the pillow under his head with his free arm and finding Wilhelm's hand to hold in the other. “It doesn’t have to be for long, okay?”

“Okay.” Wilhelm nodded, feeling suddenly very relaxed. He took a deep breath settling into the comfort and warmth of Simon’s body around his as his eyes fell shut. “This is nice.” He mumbled after a while.

“Yeah.” Simon agreed softly. “Go to sleep, Wille.”

It wasn’t long until he felt Wilhelm’s breathing change, signifying that he had fallen asleep. He smiled, fondly but with an edge of sadness to it, and pressed a light kiss to Wilhelm’s shoulder before closing his own eyes. They would deal with the rest of the world when they woke up.

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doitwritenow · 3 years

Note

Supreme Super family gets sucked up into WandaVision(let's imagine Tony's alive in this or is from the multiverse). Ironstrange think they're married with a high school kid. Tony is a science teacher, strange is town doctor, and peter is a regular kid. No memories of they're real life. Rhody, Pepper, and Aunt May and Morgan could be added to this too if you wanted.

OHHO! Sorry it took me so long to reply to this; I had to finish the show, for one thing, and then my brain started going all sorts of places with the prompt... and well. I have on heck of a ramble coming, so buckle up!

(Also, spoilers through the series, so watch out!)

— — —

It starts with a question on Vision’s job application.

That’s all. So simple, so innocuous, so innocent. Vision is casually recording information that he doesn’t yet realize he can’t remember, and he arrives at a line that asks his family history. It’s nothing complex, left on the application only because Wanda’s subconscious had glossed over the question. So does Vision’s, as a result. But he wants this job. They want to fit in, and so they answer the question truthfully.

Vision writes ‘Stark’, unaware. ‘Tony Stark.’

And pop. Just like that.

On the edge of Westview, there suddenly is and has always been a small, well-kept mechanic’s shop. It’s run by an aging man with a bright mind and a brighter smile. He’s lived here since he came back from the war, but no one knows for how long. And he has no memory—no memory at all—of what came before.

Of the round scar in the center of his chest.

He doesn’t need to know. No one needs to know; he’s just a side character, after all. Just the answer to a line on a job application.

Just so that something, anything, about Vision’s life here isn’t a lie.

Yeah, so Tony gets manifested within the Hex—but because he’s one of Wanda’s creations and not someone being mind-controlled, he is able to exist with agency within Westview. He has no reason, however, to believe anything is amiss; he’s been resurrected only to play a character, and his memories and surface-level motivations only extend to the limits of that character.

But Wanda has other regret. Wanda has other anger and understanding and forgiveness and gratefulness, and she knew Tony Stark, once.

She knew his worst nightmare—and it’s easy to craft a soul from that, really.

(But it’s fine, of course it’s fine. Tony has no reason to pull down the walls of that hidden spirit. He’s content in his role, just like Vision. So it’s fine.

… Right?)

Agatha stands at the base of a towering barrier with her hands on her hips. One side of her mouth is quirked up into a considering, scheming smile, and her magic probes out around her curiously. This is the source of the power she’d felt; she’s sure of it. The spell work… the instinctual, unconscious spell work is so intense she can almost taste it.

How is it possible? What’s the secret?

Agatha must know. And besides; this is the most interesting thing that’s happened to her since the seventeenth century.

She’s about to reach out, about to cross into the heart of the magic, when she hears it. A footstep. Quiet and dark and making no attempt at stealth.

Agatha grips her magic. “Who’s there?” she demands.

Someone steps out of the trees. A human, Agatha thinks, though you can never be sure nowadays. He wears a hood of green and his hands are dark where they hang at his sides.

“Witch,” the figure declares.

Agatha raises an eyebrow. “Can I help you?”

“Yes,” says Karl Mordo. “I rather think you can.”

Okay, cut to New York. Stephen Strange is exhausted, wrung dry trying to keep the edges of the universe from deteriorating now that the stabilization factors of the Infinity Stones have been destroyed. One task runs into the next, one morning into the night. One future into all the others.

But Stephen likes the work; it keeps his mind in one place. He’s always alert these days. Always listening.

So when someone calls out to him from New Jersey, he can hear.

It’s Mordo luring him in, of course, but he doesn’t know that yet. After Dormammu, and certainly after all those futures, Stephen has too much experience for Mordo to hope to get the better of. The old Master is still dedicated to his ‘too many sorcerers’ shebangerang, though, so he’s employed help. Maybe he can kill two birds with one stone. Two world-threateningly powerful magic users with one stone.

Stephen follows the call, because of course he does. It sounds like a call for help; what else is he supposed to do? The kelpie situation in the Thames can wait. Wong waves him off, tells him to be careful without much hope of Stephen listening, and takes over the Sanctum for the few hours Stephen intends to be gone.

(It’s not for a few hours.)

But there’s someone else we should mention before we see what Westview has planned for Stephen. See, a certain spider-kid has just had his identity outed, and his only allies once called themselves Nick Fury and Maria Hill.

Nick Fury and Maria Hill, Peter discovers, are not Nick Fury and Maria Hill.

“You’re aliens?” Peter demands, his hands warding the space in front of him.

Of course they’re aliens, part of him sighs. Of course. Why wouldn’t one more thing just go crazy in his life? Why let him remember what ‘normal’ even felt like? Why the hell not?

“Er, yes,” says not-Fury. “My name is Talos. But we do still want to help you.”

Helping Peter doesn’t go according to plan. See, the Skrull try to approach SWORD for Monica Rambaeu’s help regarding the kid who saved their lives, but Monica has disappeared.

Talos only turns around for two seconds. Really, it’s only a moment. But when he turns back, Peter Parker has disappeared, too.

“Woah.”

Stephen stops, a hand coming up to shield his third eye as he squints into the absolute maelstrom of power swirling in a hexagonal wall in front of him. It doesn’t feel like the Order’s magic—not like something of the Mystic Arts. It’s something far more human and gritty. Stephen’s perception can’t extend through it. He frowns.

He takes a step forward, the Cloak swirling around his ankles, and begins to stitch his mental walls into place. His wards are strong, even unconsciously.

That’s probably what saves him, in all honesty.

Two strong, human hands plant themselves in the small of Stephen’s back and shove him into the barrier. Stephen opens his mouth to yell, raises his hands to cast a spell— but blue and red are surrounding him now. Devouring him, now. They lick at his mind, slamming against unbreakable walls.

But they are unbreakable too.

Stephen disappears.

(Mordo used a portal to get behind him and knock him into the Hex, btw.)

It’s those hasty mental walls that keep Stephen from being completely consumed into the Westview spells. He is not fully mind-controlled, nor is he left half-animated and frozen like most people near Ellis Avenue. But there is one main rule of Wanda Maximoff’s Westview, and that, Stephen can’t escape completely.

‘No one remembers outside.’

Stephen doesn’t. In fact, he doesn’t remember anything at all.

Tony Stark finds the man lying on the side of the road. He’s just finished dropping his kid Peter off at the Westview high school (it hasn’t occurred to him that it’s weird how he never sees the boy’s classmates. Or that Peter never seems to have stories from school. Or that the kid is always waiting in the exact same place that Tony dropped him off at whenever Tony comes to pick him up. Tony has no reason to think too hard; he’s just a side character—right?).

“Uh, hi?” Tony pauses, the car puffing it’s irritation when he stops it too quickly. He cranks down the window and leans out.

The man blinks, slowly, at the sky. He sits up hesitantly, like he hasn’t noticed Tony, and rubs his hand across his face. He pulls it away after a moment and frowns at it. Tony wonders why he looks so confused—it’s not like there’s anything wrong with the man’s hand. No scars or anything.

“Hi, sir,” Tony says again. “Are you alright?”

The man jumps. He looks over at Tony—and there’s something weird about his eyes. Something… really weird. (Color, says a voice in the back of his mind that he hasn’t heard for a very, very long time. That’s color.)

“Who are you?” Tony asks. He parks the car completely now.

The man looks down at his hands again. “I’m—” he begins. He’s frowning again.

“Come on now,” Tony encourages. “How hard can it be?”

The man tugs at the scarf around his neck—and it must be windier than Tony thought, because the edges of it are swaying as if of their own accord— and swallows.

“I don’t know,” he says.

So of course Tony brings Stephen back with him. He prods at the man until Stephen manages to blurt out ‘Doctor Stephen Strange’ for no reason either of them can remember. But it makes Stephen relax, a little, to have it on his tongue.

Tony catches Stephen staring at him after that. A lot. When he asks him why, Stephen has no clear answer; just a vague “you remind me of someone.” For Stephen’s part, all he knows is that seeing Tony gives him an indistinct sense of relief. Like he’d been missing someone deeply, and has now found it again.

Still. He can’t quite put his finger on it. Just like he can’t quite put his finger on why his hands don’t hurt when he tries to write…

Vision visits Tony, sometimes, whenever he remembers, or whenever someone in the town mentions the old mechanic. He brings Wanda. They have fun, but Vision always goes home feeling slightly baffled. And Tony always feels like something hurts, deep in the center of his chest.

Vision likes his adopted younger brother. (And Peter gets along just fine with the twins, too, when they come along, so Wanda doesn’t change anything about it). But when the man with the bright eyes stares at him with just a bit too much calculation on his face, Vision starts to be reminded of… things. Of suspicions. Of Geraldine and how she had no home and no history. And he doesn’t quite look Wanda in the eye that dinner.

“What do you do?” Wanda asks, her voice a little hard, a little suspicious. Vision tries not to wince. Whatever it is she’s not telling him, this man at his father’s dinner table reminds her of it.

Tony flips his fork, balancing it like one might a wrench. “Stephen’s a doctor,” he says.

Wanda’s face flickers. “That’s funny,” she says blankly. “Because no one in this town ever needs one.”

For a while, Tony Stark didn’t see anything amiss here. He was created, was consistent, was emptily and vaguely pleased. But Tony Stark is Tony Stark, whatever character he’s been told to play. Tony Stark wants to help people.

And this man, this strange doctor with the eyes that would sometimes go blank for long minutes and the tears that would stain sharp cheeks for a reason he claimed not to remember, needs help.

So Tony Stark begins to scratch at Wanda’s walls.

“What do you mean he’s here?”

“I mean your little plan didn’t work,” Agatha says. She stands on the edge of Westview, speaking through a mirror of magic to the man outside. She’s liking this sorcerer less and less the more she works with him—but he has been rather helpful so far, so she continues to put up with him.

“Does he remember?”

“No,” Agatha says. “The dad that Wanda made up for Vision has taken him in. It’s kind of adorable, actually.”

“Hm.” Mordo’s mouth twists. “You’ll finish the job?”

Agatha shrugs nonchalantly. “Sure. When I get around to it.”

“You don’t want to wait. Deal with Strange now, before he remembers how to be a threat.”

Agatha laughs. It’s brittle, fully conveying her hostility. “Ha, my good sorcerer, listen. Unless you want to come in here and do the job yourself, you’ll let me handle this my way.”

Agatha’s way involves getting to the bottom of things, of course. And that’s rather convenient… because Vision has begun to try to do the same thing.

— — — —

Okay that’s all I have for now? The other bits are still solidifying in my mind, and it’s basically all Horrible Angst. I hope this scratches a little of the itch of your ask, though! Feel free, anyone, to add onto this if you’d like! I really enjoyed the show, and I think it has some really awesome AU potential.

Thanks for the ask!!!

#ask me anything #prompt #fanfic #ironstrange #stephen strange #tony stark #peter parker #wandavision #wandavision au #wandavision spoilers #supreme family #supreme family fanfic #ironstrange fanfic

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shesawriter39049 · 3 years

Text

|PRIVATE SHOW|M|

Pairing: Taehyung X Reader

SMUT/LIGHT ANGST

About-Just a casual lunch outing where Tae’s trying to do his job and your trying to get him off under the table with your shoe...nothing new!

OR- Tae and yourself are grabbing lunch at 71 Above, after checking out the last couple of venues for the company's end of the year Holiday party. While at said restaurant, it becomes a humbling reminder that the most important people in your life are essentially a secret...cute!

WC:5k

WARNINGS: Public sex -ish( A foot-job under the table) dirty talk, teasing, light edging, frontage (kinda), overstimulation, Tae comes in his YSL leather pants, mentions of Oral (Male receiving), Tae is somewhat submissive, whilst also being a little shit. “Baby boy/Good boy” Kink

DNA Era Tae meets 2020 Tae

Tae is her baby and also her Executive Assistant

He just wants to hold her hand tbh

NOTE: This is a stand alone smut drabble within my OT7 poly universe called “7 DEEP”. Short AU SUMMARY: Your husband Namjoon and yourself run a successful Adult Film Entertainment Company called “Onyx” with your 5 best friends from college who you also happen to be in an open relationship with! P.S. If you’re new here Kookie joins the party a little later….

_________________________________________________________

“So” Musing over your cocktail glass “Thoughts on the last place?”

Eyeing the man sitting across from you intently who’s clearly in the holiday spirit. Dressed in a deep red silk button-down, apparently, he’s taken a page out of Jimin’s book considering it’s barely buttoned, to begin with! Honestly, he’d be better off not even wearing one at all at this rate.

Smoky silver locks messily styled out of his face showcasing those bushy yet sculpted brows of his. One of your favorite past times has become watching Tae become more confident as he grows into himself. No longer finding the need to hide behind his long shaggy bangs, though you can’t; lie, you do kinda miss him looking like the puppy he truly is deep down. However this, version of Tae just hits different, your baby boy looks like a whole ass man and you’ll never get over it!

God the things you endlessly wanna do to him…..even after all these years....

You watch Tae sigh almost miserably over a mouthful of lobster mac which seems completely out of place considering the way the dish in question smells…“Honestly?”

Offering a curt nod, encouraging him to continue as you welcome yourself to his plate! The amount of cheese that’s trickling from your fork is actually disrespectful!

“It was cute, I liked how big the lot is, and more importantly how spaced out the spots are! You know how rich people get about people being too close to the damn cars!” Rolling his eyes as if he in he’s excluded from that category and you can’t help but scoff.

“Tae you technically are one of those people at this point. Just like...yesterday actually, you almost ripped Jackson’s balls off for bumping into your rearview mirror but carry on.” Flicking your fork in his direction, ignoring the sharp glare he sent your way in the process.

This time around I think both of his eyes managed to roll in different directions, again, Jimin’s wearing off on him! “Anyway, yeah, I don’t know, I liked the space, the exposed brick beams in the ceiling was cool. Kinda gave it a homey vibe which is fitting….”

You could hear it hanging off his tongue, he sounds very, “meh” about it, so you opt fil in the blank. “Butttt??”

“Butttt, I -It felt like...like I was forcing myself to like it…” Slouching down into his seat, features a little uneasy, as if him not liking the venue was a direct insult to the owner personally! You on the other hand you let out a bated breath that you weren’t even aware was being held, eyes wide shining with relief.

“Oh thank fuck” Hand slamming down absently along the table, “I thought it was just me, and I felt like such an ass too because-”

“They were so sweet” Came in unison, both of you almost cooing as you said it! Hands placed dramatically over your heart as you reclined against your chair.

“So sweet,” Tae parroted in a light pout,”I mean they were literally wearing matching loafers Y/n. Matching” Idly jading a fork into his side salad in a way that’s borderline concerning actually, a tad bit aggressive over there!

” But it just-I don’t know, I guess will always think like those broke college kids at heart” Flashing you a brief glowing smile that you can’t help but return, humming in agreeance.

“Which isn’t a bad thing, per say, the mentality definitely keeps us humbled! But there’s time and place for that attitude and honestly I just wasn’t feelin it! At least not in comparison to the others we’ve seen, it wasn’t fighting the vibe were going for. Regardless of how good the offer is” Shrugging over another mouth full of food and you there’s not much else for you to say because that was your consensus exactly.

Basically, once the two of you showed up, the cute little husband and wife duo offered you a deal which would essentially consist of them renting you the space for next to nothing. In exchange, they’d want you to post a couple of ads via your company and personal social media accounts as promo. Your initial thought outside of just thinking they were utterly adorable was how much money you’d save...but as Tae said, thankfully that’s not really a concern anymore, if you wanted you can get it!

Easily…discounts and barters aside, just a flick of the wrist and it’s yours!

“True, also can we just take a moment to talk about how aesthetically pleasing the Valentine was though?” Tossing your head back with a dramatic groan “I mean fuck you already know the way I feel about industrial spaces, the high, glass ceiling, all the greenery..” Eyes rolling to the back of your head with a slight moan…as you envision the space. Especially how moody and sexy the overall venue would look with thousands of lights cascading from the glass ceilings.

Clearly the venue was doing ....a lot for you right now!

Brow cocked at the blatant...enthusiasm surrounding the location in question “Mmm, well that’s something...interesting to add to the kink list, just when I thought I’d explored every avenue, but apparently not.” Voice low, teasing, head cocked to the side, a shit eating grin plastered along his lips, as he swirls his tongue along the tip of his straw in a way that’s……

“ I guess we’re adding “industrial spaces” to the list. Noted.” Smirking around his drink like the little shit he is!

Right, you may or may not have crossed your legs at the sudden drawl laced within his delivery but not before, kicking his shin with the tip of your heel, “You little shit” Rolling your eyes at the way he dramatically rubs the side of his leg, hitting you with straight puppy dog eyes as he pouts over at you as if you actually caused serious damage!.

Leaning forward a little so you don't have to try as hard to whisper, the notion has your breast essentially sitting on top of the table. Not that they weren’t already on full display in your dress or anything. Hand slipping beneath the table, landing on his kneecap. “What? Suddenly you don’t like a little pain?” Tone blatantly teasing whilst ghosting your nails agonizingly slow up his inner thigh, and his entire body goes rigid at the sensation. Tae’s always been extremely...

“God, your still so sensetive....” You weren’t intending for that to come out in the form of a moan but considering the one that fell from his lips in return...you ain’t mad about it! 100% dialed in to the way his eyes are fluttering, jaw tight, trying his damndest to play it cool, especially once the waitress makes eye contact silently asking if the two of you need anything. “Takes so little Hmm?”’

Flashing him a quick smile, waving her off for the time being, far too focused on another task to entertain anyone else right now! Only stopping your ministrations once your fingers land right beneath his balls.

“This place is very well lit, I like the hue, it’s casting a good soft-light, especially the way it’s bouncing off your complexion...” Eyes cascading against the ceiling, tone casual, until your eyes drop....

“You’d look so fuckin good, coming for me right now...” The words purr off your tongue, flashing him a cheeky little wink, and poor Taehyung chokes on his martini!

“You know how much you love being watched...I could have you making a mess all over yourself and no one would even know. ” Not even trying to hide the smirk playing on your lips when you can already feel the tension in the room rise. “My own little private show...” Eyes wicked as your fingers wander a little higher, gently pressing your palm down around his dick. Rubbing tauntingly, the touch isn't enough through the thick leather, however it does instantly make his length swell in the confines of his pants! We all know this….underwear is nonexistent in Tae’s world! “Kinda brings me back to our college days...” Teeth sinking into your bottom lip at the mere memory...you getting Tae off whilst in the lecture hall full of 300 plus students.

Regardless of the deer in headlights look flashing across his face his legs still spread apart, hips bucking forward because well as we just said...baby boy loves being watched. This however, prompts you to once again change positions, now digging your nails into the back of his thighs before letting the tips of your fingers tickle free. Coly bringing them back above surface to take another languid sip of your drink, tossing a strand of hair over your shoulder.

Ya know, I can’t say you’re surprised by his reaction, baby boy can dish it but sure can’t take it, neck and chest flushing to rival his shirt! Banging on his sternum in an attempt to reroute the liquor burning his lungs.

“Jesus-fuc-Y/n!” You have the nerve to hum inquisitively, only this time for his sanity he humors you! “Can you like not go from asulting me to-” Looking over his shoulder before dropping his voice down to a whisper “Stroking my dick, and offering to get me off under the table, all in the span of a nanosecond!?” The plea hissed through clenched teeth but the complaint was half hearted at most! Well aware his dicks already throbbing in his pants at the thought alone! “Fuck me” Sucking in a harsh breath, as he raked his fingers through his scalp.

“Well…” Tonguing at your inner cheek, eyes fluttering away as if you were in deep thought… “In my defense you kinda started it, bringing up my kink list like I don’t own a whole ass porn company!” Propping your chin on your palm, gaze locked and loaded “Like I wasn’t thinking about tainting that sweet innocent couple by letting them watch as I dropped to my knees, letting you fuc-”

“Y/n!” He actually attempts to sound almost applauded, like he doesn’t love how absolutely filthy your mouth is. However there’s a silent little “please” playing on his tongue, no matter how threatening he tried to sound.

You giggled, straight up giggled, reclining in your seat, amused, and somewhat satisfied so you let him be, for the time being anyway. Though you may have eaten your angel hair pasta in a very obscene manner, every now and then you’d sinfully suck the noodles through your overly glossed lips! However, if he dared to clock you on it you’d just simply note that it was your way of not messing up your makeup….

The two of you finish your lunch in comfortable silence, making small talk here and there, a mixture of work and bullshit until Tae’s phone goes off with a couple text notifications.

A low hum rattling in the back of his throat as he eyes the message from Hoseok. Subconsciously Tae reaches across the table, intertwining your fingers before bringing your knuckles up to his lips. Grazing them with his lips casually as he scrolls through his phone.

“Alright baby, so, I have a list ready, we have a couple brands that wanna work with us for the party. Seoks already narrowed it down to the ones that are actually worth discussing however-“

Honestly, it took both of you a minute to even realize what was going on, the skinship was second nature at this point. It wasn’t until his thumb grazed over your wedding band that the notion even resonated! Tae and yourself were a good two drinks in, feelin all warm and fuzzy and got caught up in the moment! Temporarily forgetting that you were in the middle of a restaurant in Downtown LA! Forgetting that the Kim currently caressing your knuckles and calling you baby is not the one you're technically married to! It may seem minor in retrospect, but you’ve always tried to stop yourselves from getting comfortable, with being comfortable in certain locations if that makes sense! You slip up one to many times and the next thing you know it happening in the office or on the red carpet!

Taehyung’s eyes grow almost comically wide, straight panic flashes over those big brown orbs of his and your heart sinks as you watch his head whip around, checking to make sure no one caught the interaction. It was almost painful how quickly he disconnected from you as his entire face dropped and no, just no!

“Hey...hey no it’s fine, it’s like 2 in the afternoon on a Tuesday! Not to mention we’re tucked in a booth in the corner ,we’re good, nobody heard or saw you…” Voice calm and quiet, trying to come off comforting, flashing him a weary smile. Reaching across the table to thumb at his palm, and it would be a lie to say you didn't also check over your shoulder before hand as well’

A dry almost bitter chuckle leaves his throat as he flinches away, tossing the fork down on his plate sliding it halfway across the table indicating he is more than done eating. Flicking the bridge of his nose with his index finger, jaw twitching, “Yeah, lucky me huh? I actually got to hold your hand for all of two seconds before we realized I’m techionally not allowed to do that unless were in fuckin I don’t know Alaska!”

He’s agitated, and with every right to be, even if he is being a little dramatic. Thankfully he’s keeping his voice low, but you can feel how tight his throat is, the amount of grit laced within his tenor has your eyes bugging out of there socket.

“Bab- “ It was a reflex, whenever he’s upset it’s just what falls from your lips, and he gives you a look, almost as if to say “How fucking dare you” ! The level of hurt the pet name just rendered within his eyes is-

Eyes sharp, brows furrowed “Noo, nooo, we literally just went through this. That’s not the way it works for us in this kinda setting” Flailing his arms around to reference the restaurant. “Wrong Kim” Well damn. “So it's Tae in public remember!?” Brow quirked accusingly, he’s abating this entire situation, almost like he wants you to snap, a second away from whisper yelling! “ Or maybe I should say Taehyung, hell just use my full government while your at it. Let’s make it real impersonal, Mr. Kim maybe?” Head cocked to the side as if he’s being genuine and not a total smartass right now.

You-he’s ...hurt, and you get that, hell you respect that, but Lunch at 71 Above is not the time or place for this conversation. You’re trying to approach this on a more rational level, however the condescending delivery is making it hard, and your only human. Eyes rolling to the back of your head before you can even catch yourself and that little gesture seems to be what officially set him off!

You can physically see the tension within his face... “I’m gonna go get some air, I might actually call a Uber or somethin,.” The words trailed off his lips low in mumbled but clear enough to be heard because that’s ultimately what he wanted to begin with.

There was something in his eyes you couldn’t read, a combination of anger/hurt mixed another emotion you can’t quite pinpoint! But whatever it is, you fuckin hated it! Throat running painfully dry as watch him slide his chair out and even though realistically you know at max he’s headed home...Still the gesture alone is gut wrenching because you know this runs deeper than just this situation!

“Tae” His name leaves your throat as more of a warning, reaching up to take an almost possessive grip on his wrist. Fingertips landing on the edge of his Cartier bracelet, the one you're both wearing actually, same arm and all!

A deep labored breath shutters from his chest at the contact, thighs feelin like a newborn fawn, gaze hesitantly meeting yours. “Tae, baby” Daring to use the endearment again regardless of your current surroundings “Sit back down so I can order us dessert and we can discuss whatever you want...just-please” The ending whisked off your tongue so faint your almost wondering if he even heard you!

Taehyung narrows his eyes, teeth clenched, tongue nudging his inner cheek! “I’m not really in the mood for cake right now Y/n. To be honest I just wanna leave” You know he’s aiming for dry but instead he lands somewhere around defeated , which makes it even worse. You’re both well aware this is not truly about cake, it’s about his constant need to run away from shit!

Sliding your fingers down his wrist, interlocking your fingers, giving them a firm squeeze. Eyes locked with his “Then you can get whatever you want, but I need you to just be here right now, I really, really need you to sit here, and just breathe through this with me.”

He’s know what your really asking is for him not to run away for once!

A faint little “Whatever” Leaves his lips and then he’s dead silent, silent as he slides his chair out, remaining as such for what feels like hours, and it has your heart beating painfully hard against your ribcage. It’s almost like he’s not even here, eyes fixated on some random painting on the opposite side of the restaurant, chewing at his inner cheek until....

“I’m sorry…” He admits after a baited breath, stroking your palm with his thumb gently, you can see him working over his thought’s in his head before speaking. ”I can’t - fuck I never know when I’m going to get all in my feels with shit like this, sometimes it just sucks harder than others I guess” The curt little shrug that leaves his shoulders let’s you know how uncomfortable he is, Tae’s overall persona suddenly seems mounds smaller in this moment. Anxiously stroking the back of his own neck “But....I shouldn't have come at you like that! That was fucked on my behalf and for that I’m truly am sorry ! This isn't all on you, or Joon we all-”Gazing over his shoulder before continuing “There’s just- there’s a lot, we have families and it’s just, I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that, ...”

Dropping his voice a little lower “I just fuckin love you” There’s a timid smile playing on his lips “and if the offer still stands I would really fuckin like chocolate cake…”

You actually snort, that’s your first instinct because only Tae, but the plus is it lightens the mood immensely! The sudden outburst triggers that full boxy grin to come into play and god your so damn enamored by this man it’s actually sad. Bringing his knuckles up to your mouth, grazing them past your lips like he did yours moments prior. “I love you too, and chocolate cake sounds fuckin amazing, and liquor, we need new drinks, actually we need an entire bottle! ” You laugh and then so does Tae, suddenly your holding hands and laughing together and everything else just seems so miniscule in the moment.

~~~~~

So, here’s the thing...being a CEO of one of the top Adult film entertainment companies is not on the same level as like..I don’t know….

Owning a high-end clothing company, or being a reality star or something. Your field is praised just as highly as it is tabooed, so with that being said, it’s not like your the top topic on E-news, or on Business Digest. You still have a strong sense of normality, point blank you’re not that important. It’s not as common for outsiders to know the high rollers within the porn industry the way it is in other fields!

However there's another avenue to factor in where the 7 of you are concerned, and that’s the world of social media, and that’s a completely different world entirely! One that’s heavily intertwined in your state in particular, living playing, and working in LA….I mean let’s get real, shit not normal here, by any means!

You’re a 26-year-old wealthy CEO, that goes to work in a Ferrari, cute little bodycons, Louboutin's, and Chanel bags! Your executive assistant is Tae for fucks sake, he looks like a model his damn self , on the surface your life is an aesthetically pleasing wet dream. An influencer without even trying for the title, if your 2.7 million followers are at all telling! So in the public eye, especially when out in Downtown LA..you try to be discreet.

Just last week Jimin was hanging all over you while walking through Saks and one of your mutual followers stopped to ask for a picture. Again this isn’t a daily occurrence, you’re not comparing yourself to Rhianna, but it’s why you do move with a slight air of caution when in your city! You literally live in a place where people become famous for running into walls, nevertheless owning their own business!

The world knows you’re married to Namjoon, and to be honest there’s numerous reasons the other aspect of your dynamic stays hidden! More than just the obvious….

However there’s been rumors circulating over the years, or at least now that Hollywood’s decided you hold some relevance! Ones pertaining your your sexuality, typically the tabloids assuming it, insulating your swingers, or that Namjoon’s bi. A Lot of these narratives circle back from your college days though, old classmates trying to slip tea to the media. Stories of when you could go to a party and it didn’t matter if you were sandwiched between Namjoon and Yoongi at the same damn time! Not to mention the dark side of social media where nothing ever truly dies, so yeah there are some questionable photos floating around. Luckily nothing recent enough to truly add fuel to the fire but you know deep down it’s only a matter of time!

One could argue it adds allure to the overall dynamic, especially considering your line of work, and maybe it wouldn’t matter if the boys were just casual thirds...but they’re not! They’re so much more than that and that’s what makes this hard, because well in laymen’s terms...people just fucking suck! So as heartbreaking as it is, where your other boys are concerned, in the public eye at least your “relationship” holds a strong air of mystery!

It’s the little things ya know? Like now for example, the fact that he could've easily gotten a foot job under the table but has to walk on eggshells about holding your hand at times! Shit just sucks sometimes, there’s no other way around it!

~~~~~~~

The two of you don’t really talk much until the dessert comes, more drinks and a bottle is in fact ordered as well! The silence felt a little more bearable this time around, busying yourselves on your phones. A very minor but significant change, is the fact that you still haven’t let go of his hand, even once the waitress returns. The simple notion has his entire dementor shifting! Fingers still tightly bound together and your chest flutters seeing the way he flushes almost bashfully at such minor PDA! Like the two of you didn’t hook up in the back of a club in London two months ago! Like you literally weren’t palming him under the table! Yet here he is blushing at openly holding your hand!

So fuckin cute!

Eventually two pieces of molten chocolate crepe cake gets brought over and holy fuck! Both moaning in unison as the pastry hits the table...

“Oh my goddd, we have to take a piece home for Jin, the like...convince him to learn how to make it!” You watch Tae’s eyes roll to the back of his head as he laces his lips around the fork! Groaning out in agreeance once the mixtures of pure sin hit his tongue.

“K...now back to , these sponsors...” Prompting over a mouth full of cake, not that you wouldn’t love to sit here and chill all day but you do have a 4pm conference call!

You watch as Tae glances down at your intertwined fingers, and his fork....realizing ones gotta go so he can pick up his phone and you physically coo back at him, melting into your set once he opts to drop the fork instead of your hand. Purposely avoiding your glance once he noticed the look on your face, nose scrunched and all!

“Right, so Uber reached out, more specifically Uber Luxxe, looking to send us 4 cars of our choice in exchange for a couple post. Spread out between IG, Twitter and Snap, I’m personally all for this one. The contract doesn’t seem excessive and I like that the post won’t feel forced! I mean realistically we were going to hire a driving service regardless! However something to also consider is our lack of filter when drinking! I mean...”Flailing his phone between the two of you as if to give an example, obviously referencing the little slip up moments prior. At least he can joke about it a little “So realistically, would we feel more comfortable with a private car service where there’s a contract involved as opposed to just some random?”

Tae just went full EA, out of nowhere and honestly ...

You blinked at him, almost dazed, fork halfway to his mouth because, what?! . “You sound so professional right now, it’s so fuckin hot.”

Tae choked on nothing but straight air before blushing profusely. “Baby-I mean-Y-“

You didn’t even flinch, continuing, unperturbed. “Nah, actually I think I’m in the mood to be baby right now!” Eying him wickedly “Your jaw just gets really tight, and your voice gets all low and raspy! It happens during meetings too, it’s really fuckin sexy! Reminds me of the way you sound when your lips are pressed into the side of my neck when we fuck.” It's just the casualness of it all, you sound like your ordering another appetizer and Tae’s about to choke on his dessert.

The grip he has on your hand is almost painful right now, “But don’t mind me, I’m just sitting here writing out my next script in my head, carry on. What rental service did you have in mind? Or did someone already reach out as well?”

It’s the way you just went from talking about Tae, being balls deep to sponsorships all in the span of a comma! In the words of your best friend you are pure chaos.....

Tae groans head hanging in defeat and your lips curl into a smirk, brow quirked in his direction.

“It’s the way I hate it here sometimes...” Snatching his hand away to jab his fork into the neglected pastry.

“Ah huh” You roll your eyes crossing your arms over your chest before leaning back. “Right, again let’s not act like you didin’t start this, both here and at the venue.” Leaning over the table again licking your lips “Don’t act like you weren’t eye fucking me the entire time, or the way you’d accidentally brush against me as we walked through the building. You’ve been practically begging for it all day.”

Tae just stares back at you, mind momentarily blank, stomach shifting into knots, letting the fork drop from those delicate fingers of his! Mouth opening and closing like a fish straight outta water...

“Did you think about it too? The acoustics in that place were fuckin insane, the way it would just echo through as you made me cum would just- fuck” You continued adding that lethal little purr back into your voice! “Or even better the way you’d sound, you don’t even know how bad I wanted to drop-“

“Y/n”

“Baby.” Phrasing the word borderline as a threat “Would you have liked that baby boy?” Cocking your head to the side, tongue teasing your bottom lip “Me on my knees for you looking up at you all pretty, letting you hold my hair and fuck my throat until you came straight into my mouth?”

Speaking of mouths' your just straight fuckin-mayhem ...and it’s making Taehyung’s brain feel like it’s melting through his ears! But god should we be surprised though?

It’s never taken much with you....

You’ve always been just what he needs and a little bit more than he can take all in one! You haven’t even touched him yet and he feels a moan creeping up his throat! Especially as he watches you swirl the tip of your tongue over the whipped cream on the edge of your fork, sucking it between your overly glossed lips in the most obscene manner.

Eyes locked and loaded, a second away from drooling, “Fuck, yeah,” He stutters breath hitching on his lungs, heat coursing through his skin. Tae’s veins literally feel like they’re on fire, subtly trying to shift in his seat to readjust himself! Glancing subconsciously out of his peripheral, the restaurant still chill and half empty. The waitress on the opposite end of the room attending to another couple!

“You always look so damn good with my cock down your throat, and my cum on your tounge. God, especially when I wrap my hand around your throat and I can feel you swallowing down around my-” Your tongue’s swirling all over this damn fork, and he can feel every flick your tongue against his dick, and it’s just...fuck! Not to mention once you accidently spilled some whipped cream on your lips, which you took your time licking off as well. “Jesus-Fuck, Y/n!!” Taehyung’s voice is dripping with arousal, and you already know he’s leaking all over the place.

“Yeah?” Humming around the form before setting it to the side “ You like the way I look when I’m chocking on your cock?” These questions are all rhetorical, your an ass “Or how about when I get a little messy because I can’t fit it all in my mouth?” Your eyes darken, words coming out over low gasps of air, almost as if your just as aroused as he is and that’s because you are!

“Your always such a good boy for me, so helpful too holding my hair back, guiding my mouth until you hit the back of my throat...holding me in place until I gag. You know how much I love when you get rough with me ..” Tae feels the sole of your red buttons tease up his thigh, shifting between his legs. The transition was so damn smooth it catches him off guard, instinctively wanting to push away but instead...

“You’d be loud for me too wouldn’t you? Show them how good you look falling apart for me, how good you look when you come down my throat....The way your eyes roll-”

“Holy-fuck Baby” Aggressively running his palms over his face until it’s matching his shirt “Please don’t do this to me right, now, if your gonna give it to me then fuckin let me have it but I cant-.”

You can’t help but smile back at him, so fond it almost seems out of place in the moment. “I’ll give you whatever you want Tae...you know this. You just gotta promise you’ll be good for me, we can’t draw-”

“I’m always good” He damn near growled at you, eyes daring you to say otherwise and well, who were you to deny Tae of what he wants!?Gently pressing your foot at the base of his cock, a satisfied smirk playing on your lips upon feeling that your boys already fully hard.

It’s the way the two of you are just casually in one of LA’s boujeiest restaurants and your deadass about to give him a foot job in Louboutin’s! Yup, your life had turned into a porno, you’ve officially made it!

“Kay, so back to that list of sponsors, first off I completely agree, as much as I love our contact at Uber I’d prefer an actual car service for something like that.” Here you go again the queen of the switch up, you’re back to discussing work yet there’s still a slight moan in your tenor. Breathy and light and Tae feels like all the airs being sucked from his lungs.

Tae shifts, spreading his thighs even further, shuddering out a bated breath as you point your toe, dragging it up and down! It’s a peep-toe so that alone allows you a little more flexibility! Pressure intentionally light so it’s just enough to have him on the brink of begging! But instead of doing so, he picks up his phone, hands shaky and all and continue doing his job as requested!

“Right..” Clearing his throat not sure why he currently sounds like he’s going through puberty again but K... “I’ll let Hobi know, maybe we can do something we’re we use them while planning this party or something! Since you vetoed a party planner will have a lot more running around to do! Realistically outside of Joon and Jin we all have coupes anyway...so it’s not like we can carry much!”

Mmm, always the innovator, even when all the blood and airs being rushed to his dick! You feel him try and slide forward, chasing after the stimulation.

“Ohhh, I really like that, and like you said it still feels somewhat organic because realistically our cars aren’t efficient for something like that” You press down harder against his cock almost as a reward “Good boy, what’s next?” Nodding towards his phone and it takes every ounce of self control he had to swallow down the moan laying on his tongue.

Eyes struggling to stay ajar as you continuously rub your foot up and down his length. Now applying more prominent pressure with the ball of your feet! Movement stealth from the waist up so you don’t draw attraction to yourself.

“Tae Tae” The nickname falls from your lips singsong like, and far too innocent for the demon seed you are. “Next?”

He doesn't even know what to really do except follow instructions, so he just nods, scrolling through his phone. “There was also a couple brands wanted to oh fuck-“ Gasping as you pick up your pace, damn near dropping his phone into the plate beneath him.

Face splitting into an amused grin, a hint of something wicked playing on your lips. Eyes gleaming with mischief, you watch those long, delicate fingers flex, clearly struggling this time around to bite back the moan like he needs to! Hands shaking as your continue working him at a merciless pace. Rubbing faster, harder, utilizing the rounded point on the head of your heel to press right against what your assuming is Tae’s tip by the way he shudders. Thighs shaking as he grips the edge of the table for dear life!

“Oh my godddd” Tae manages to just mouth the words as opposed to screaming them the way he desperately wants too. Tugging on his own scalp, trying to just do something to get himself busy!

“You fuckin love this....” It’s not even a question, more of a consensus!

Your eyes haven’t left his once, watching intently as you swirl your tongue around the straw before taking a sip. Moaning around it because well ya know, the drinks just that damn good apparently.

God his skin feels like it’s on fire, every stroke of your foot has him feeling like he’s coming undone!

He’s trying to focus, on his surroundings, this damn list everything but he can’t he just fucking can’t! Thankfully it’s you, and he trust you with everything he has, so his subconscious is somewhat at ease with all of this because he knows you got him!

“Yeah,fuck yeah you already know you can do anything to me” He states plainly, the most stable his voice has sounded in god knows when “Whatever you want” Gaze heavy through hooded lashes, looking straight at you with steady sinful eyes.

“Mmm, and always want it don’t you baby? Always...:”

He bites back a moan nodding, and then his phone rings, of course his phone fucking rings and it’s coming from the office because why the fuck not?!

“Answer” The command was simple, clearly no room for debate and hs eyes go wide,

“Baby” Complaining with a hint of a whine in his voice and when you don’t seem to give a damn....

“Yeah?”Jaw tight, nostrils flared as he picks up the phone. Adrenaline flies through his veins, pressure building in his gut as you relentlessly keep your pace intact! Pressing harder and deeper into all the right places until he’s coughing around Moans to try and cover it up!

Dropping his head slightly, propping it on his elbow as he squeezes the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “ Welp, That's where it would be so if you don’t see any were out, email me a list and I’ll make a Amazon-“

Taehyung’s chest heaves painfully tight, breathing becoming more erratic with every stroke and yes clearly there’s a strong voyeurism kink within this man! So as crazy as it may sound , the combination of the restaurant, and this phone call ?!

Yeah, he’s not gonna last!

Slouching down completely against the back of the booth, thighs spreading to full capacity. Fingers tangled in his Smokey locks holding his bangs out of his face. Eyes shut , jaw tight, neck slightly reclined, though to the naked eye he’d just appear to be on a very unpleasant phone call! When in all actually he’s finally just letting himself fall apart beneath your touch!

Eyes fluttering open just enough to glance down at you in a way that had you feeling like you could come right with him. Your gaze is Just as heavy as his, lips darting out to wet your lips though your throats suddenly what’s running dry!

Tae’s lips part slightly, though he’s falling apart he’s giving it right back to you. Hitting you with those sinfully needy fuck me eyes! The same ones you see when your riding and edging him until he’s coming tenfold! His breathing comes stagnate every time your foot moves and Tae finds himself gnawing down on his bottom lip to stifle the moans sliding up his chest! You can tell who's on the other end now, it’s the new secretary Alanna, and she legitimately is still getting her footing! Which is the only reason Tae is even entertaining the call, well one of the reasons!

You notice Tae’s breathing is starting to even out a little almost as if he’s gained some of his self control back and we don’t support that in this household. So you proceed to dig your foot right into the head of his cock and he straight wheezes! Body jerking off the wall and all ...

“No, I’m, fuck-“ There’s a moan that finally falls freely off his tongue that only barley seems acceptable because he in fact just choked! Voice coming out what feels like a octave lower and huskier , poor Alanna! “Yeah i'm good sorry , food just went down the wrong pipe.” He can barely think straight but he knows he needs to close this up “Hey look will be back within the hour and will sort it out then alright?”

I don’t even think he even waited for her to respond before hanging up and literally throwing his phone across the table! Gucci case and all.

“Everything okay? ?” Voice low and teasing, he knows you're technically asking about the office but your timing sucks ass!

“Fuck you” Falls off his lips in a barley audible moan, so consumed as his orgasm builds in the pit of his stomach! Eyes still struggling to stay open mouth, mouth falling slack, if your were in your right mind you’d tell him to pull it together alittle! Now that he’s off the phone, he either looks like he’s getting a foot job, or like he’s high on meth! Neither are appealing to the GP! God, he must look utterly ridiculous right now, thankfully he’s shifted against the booth so he’s facing a wall as opposed to other guest!

“Mm, my pretty baby’s close yeah?” Watching how heavily his throat bobs as he swallows, Tae’s leaking precum all over the damn place, so, close hips gently rocking into your foot as discreetly as possible, growing more desperate by the second. Fuck he needs to come, he needs to!

“Yeah baby please don’t- fuck” God he sounds so good, so needy and pliant and fuck!

“I got you...” At that you actually kick your shoe off, moving back to press down even harder, rubbing and rubbing forcing Tae to attempt to grab his drink in attempts to muzzle himself. However his hands are shaking too hard and he almost knocks it over!

“God baby I’m-“

“Be a good boy for me”

And he is, coming with a shuddering breath, under the steady pressure of your foot as his release tears through his veins. Dropping his to the table as subtly as possible(Hell maybe people will think he’s tipsy or not feeling well), thighs shaking, chest heaving painfully hard. He’s not completely silently but he does a lot better than expected, a low groan manages to slip past his lips.

“Good boy” The praise rolls off your tongue and goes straight to his dick, as if he needed anymore stimulation there. Another faint whimper falls off his lips until he’s drooling all over the table. Not even realizing initially, that his hips were still grinding into you until he’s hissing from oversensitivity! The force of his orgasm has Taehyung drawing straight blanks, hearing nothing but white nose rustling in the background!

Also, I don’t know what that says about Tae as a person but he’s not even remotely humiliated! The only thing that he’s about to regret once his mind's less foggy is how absolutely drenched his YSL leather pants are!

So busy trying to get his breathing back in check as he comes down from his high, he completely missed the way you’d signaled to the server. Calmly asking for her to add 8 more slices of cake to go, and bring the bill over!

His face is flushed, his pants feel gross as hell but above everything else he feels so damn good! Reaching down to still your foot, gently massaging the top as his eyes finally flutter open! Vision still a little hazy as he looks back at you with a dazed smile, and your gazing back at him with so much fondness that the first thing that slurs off his lips in a whisper is....

“I fuckin love you!”

Flashing him a wink in return as you make eye contact with your servers whose letting you know she’ll be over in a moment. Keeping your foot stationary for a moment, enjoying the well deserved foot massage. Occasionally flexing your toes to “accidentally brush against his dick. Giggling around your drink every time he'd hiss and jerk away!

This entire lunch situation was a damn mess, and high key reckless but, the blissed out smile written all over his face is more than worth it. Where just ugh...not gonna tell the boys about this!

“Love you too Tae”

~~~~~~~~~

Everything from that moment on kind of feels like a blur honestly, up until the two of you sliding into your car and before you can even get yourself settled he’s on you! Yanking you out of your seat and into his lap before you can even put your seatbelt on which obviously is not ideal this is a sports car after all but you don’t dare complain! Taehyung’s far from shy with his wants, griping the back of your neck, sliding his fingers through your hair as he presses your lips together! He doesn’t try to ease you into it either It’s hard, hungry, desperate and overtly needy! Forcing both of you to huff out a staggered breath through your nose to even keep up! You breathe him in, and he breathes you out, it’s all open mouthed, and heady, an obscene amount of moans rolling off your tongues. Reclining your jaw, giving him free reign to explore your mouth. Tongue rolling against your slick and languid with years of finesse between the two of you. No matter how hard he’s kissing you it still doesn’t feel rushed, its deep, borderline sensual actually!

Tae pulls back just enough to nip at your bottom lip, dragging his across your jaw and down the side of your neck! Licking sucking and biting, along your skin, moaning at the way you arch and grind your hips into every touch! The two of you carry on like that until there’s suddenly something thumbing in the back of your throat!

“Hey..” There's a slight sternness within your voice that has him instantly trying to snap out of his postcoital haze. Stroking the hinge of his jaw “You know, how much I love you right? And if, we need to all sit down a re-”

Cutting you off with the smooth glide of his lips pulling you into a kiss that’s a slower, less needy, there’s no ulterior motive, Tae just wants to feel you “Nah, I don't wanna change anything sometimes- I just want-”

“I know...” Because you do, pressing your forehead to his, not even kissing just letting your breaths melt as one. Massaging his scalp gently, he already looks like he’s a second away from passing out! Pondering if maybe the two of you should switch places...

“Promise you’ll let me take care of you later” Tae nuzzles against the side of your face like a puppy wanting his ears scratched! Believe it or not he wasn’t always such a selfless lover, not until he found you guys! Now it’s almost like his orgasms feel incomplete if he’s the only one coming once it’s all said and done!

“You can do whatever you want to me Tae, you know this.” Placing a couple lingering kisses on those pouty lips of his before hesitantly shuffling into the passengers seat. Transfixed on the way he slips back into his lane, fixing his hair, pulling out his oversized cat eye frames to rest on the bridge of his nose. One hand on the wheel the other finding there home on your thigh. Noting the slight discomfort as he shifts in his seat, no doubt due to the fact that well, he just came in his pants.

“How about..” Leaning over to place a open mouth kiss right beneath is ear, digging your nails into his thigh until he moans. “ I clean you up a little on the drive, and we pit stop at mine, and we drop you off first so you can shower and chill. Then me and Joon will come back and crawl into bed with you after were done for the day..”

“Am I being given the rest of the day off Mrs. Kim?” You can already hear the smirk in his voice without even looking...

“Yes Mr. Kim that would be correct....” Already working the zipper before he can even respond because you already know how this is about to pan out...

___________________

Hi my babies, first off IDK where this came from, I also wouldn’t consider it my best, but it was the first thing I’ve written in like 6 months which felt good. This was supposed to be up back in December I had a couple holiday prompts for the series that I never got around to completing ! But If you enjoyed show this some love and come talk to me!

Love always,

Rocki

#taehyung #taehyung smut #taehyung x reader #kim taehung #kim taehyung smut #bts #bts smut #bts x reader #kim taehyung x reader #kpop #kpop smut

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paradife-loft · 3 years

Text

In the blood orange sky

Well. Does anybody remember a couple months ago when I made this post? Because apparently I’ve been thinking about it a fair bit.

And also thinking about... maybe doing a thing? A thing that involves writing various vignettes as I’m moved to, very low pressure, but all in the same continuity, about sequences of various events that are related to one another and a central premise...? So kind of maybe like a “multi-chapter fic” as they call them, but y’know. No particular goals for “finishing” something, or requiring they be in chronological order or any other strict structure binding them together. Just exploring things for fun, and I’ll see where it goes!

But yes, so, I have written a bit this week that I think does what I would like for a first portion of something like this, and... here it is!

1.4k words, Xiyao, post-canon, dark-ish mystery/intrigue/character and relationship exploration I guess?; warnings for injury and general unpleasant body stuff, and also unpleasant mental health stuff, and also discussed off-screen (mass) murder.

When he comes to this time, he is sitting - propped up in the gentle rays of early sun against something he can vaguely identify as soft, with enough give to cradle his shoulders. That alone is a departure from each time previous… and Jin Guangyao supposes he ought to be thankful he continues to wake up at all; that his condition upon doing so this one time at least is no longer face-down, body practically smeared into the dirt.

An unpleasant prickling in one of his legs prompts him to open his eyes again, lift his head from where it’d fallen back against a pillow. His neck throbs with the motion. He sees a pair of hands - familiar enough that the distortions between his sight now and his memories cannot help but unsettle him - moving steadily with needle and thread through a deep rent in his left calf.

Ah. That would explain that particular discomfort, then.

Viewing the sight on top of feeling the muted, distant sensation it evokes, gives him the perverse and contrarian instinct to kick out and abort the effort of cleaning him up as it’s only partway done - but he recognises well enough that it would be a waste, and even now he isn’t so far gone as that. And he doesn’t want his leg to remain ruined. And to repair it himself now would be… possible, but far more difficult.

All arguments he has to pull out in front of his mind’s eye, like a text one might recite, to convince himself not to protest this time; but he does hold himself still, does remain for the time being a silent, compliant patient.

(Not entirely still, he must admit: his eyes follow the tiny shifts in those hands, trying to reconcile the absence of both manicured care, and the unique pattern of callused ridges he had memorised once upon a time. And yet more important, more incorrect when compared to the state he is familiar with: Lan Xichen has never known how to sew.)

(And yet. And yet.)

He presses his lips together as Xichen approaches the completion of the task, drawing the words he resents needing to speak up like pitchers of water from a drying well. They crowd his tongue, sour the inside of his mouth.

"I take it you found me quickly this time, after your target was done with me?"

Lan Xichen starts when he hears his voice, head jumping up and eyes round. Jin Guangyao had not taken him to be so absorbed that he hadn't even noticed him waking, but -

(He should have, perhaps.)

Xichen's expression hardens into something resigned after that, the dam holding back a great dredged mass of displeasure. Pain and anger in a hundred or more shades, silt and loam and sand.

"You tore apart the gravesites of three prominent clans, scattering the bones, and then did the same with the bodies of their living families when they came to drive out the robbers who defiled their ancestors' remains. The entire village has been terrified since last night. The news was not difficult to follow."

Jin Guangyao resists the urge to close his eyes, staring down the spray of blood to his face with the same dispassion he once used to with regularity. He is out of practise, however: he can't stop the reflexive flinch in his mouth, or his one remaining hand. It curls stiffly in the blankets pushed to one side of the bed pallet.

It’s not that he hadn't expected something along these lines, from the moment he’d woken up and taken in his surroundings. He hadn’t particularly relished the anticipation of hearing it, and so allowed himself a few moments watching Lan Xichen work in silence before disturbing him, it’s true - but he regrets the pain and exhaustion on Xichen's face and in the set of his shoulders and limbs more than he cares to spend his sympathy on another (inevitable) group of dead strangers.

He glances down at the long column of stitches holding the greying flesh of his leg together around the bone, and wonders which hapless, doomed villager from this new feat of resentful destruction had managed to inflict the injury.

"So it didn't require all that much searching, then. Nobody was angry with you, stealing away with the corpse that had killed all those people instead of burning it?"

"Not enough to express it to me. I imagine it helped that I spent several hours in the interim helping right the disturbed graves, and set wards around several of the neighboring houses," Xichen replies. Stress still lines his eyes, flickering more prominent like a candle flame as he speaks. Reconstructing the sequence of events implied, Jin Guangyao feels a twinge of - something - surprise, or hurt? he can't quite say - that Xichen had apparently seen fit this time to seal him away and then leave him, presumably alone, for some significant time afterward, while he tended to the village. Even though it was presumably an effective distraction, not to mention well-deserved.

"I was intending on returning this afternoon, to add more wards to some of the other houses, and suppress any other spirits roused in the process,” Xichen adds. Half an afterthought, half an explanation.

The emotion, whatever it is, crystallizes into a spike of irritation. "Temporary wards aren't going to be enough to turn away a determined corpse-raiser of this strength if he has unfinished vendettas against anybody left there," replies Jin Guangyao, snappish.

Lan Xichen’s lips thin. "I would still prefer to comfort some of their fears, however unrealistically, in the time before the problem has been solved, than leave them with no help or explanation at all after such a loss."

Jin Guangyao knows this. Agrees with it, even; it had been one of many principles they shared in the nighthunts they used to investigate. If Lan Xichen is frustrated at having to reiterate such a thing to him specifically, rather than in general, it doesn't show amidst everything else on his face.

He does stand though, turning away from the bed, tucking the medical supplies he’d been using back into their pouch and going to check on an iron kettle perched over a fire.

“Where are we?” Jin Guangyao asks, preferring the abrupt change of subject to a continuation of the prior topic. Xichen glances back at him - not for long.

“The abandoned house of one of the walking corpses I suppressed a few months ago,” he replies. He pours hot water into a skin, tying it off, and then another steaming portion into a tea pot - drab by Gusu Lan standards, but still likely worth more than the entire roof they’re under. “Don’t get up on that leg yet; you’ll split it open.”

Silence clouds between them, as Jin Guangyao stops shifting his way toward the edge of the bed pallet and lets the leg stretch out in front of him, holding back his weight against his arm. His fingers itch.

He’s asked Lan Xichen before, how long he’s been living like this, although not in those terms; and Lan Xichen has responded only with obvious deflections, despite giving perfectly cogent answers to less savory questions, such as how he’s managed to take a room at an inn with a resentment-spilling corpse in tow. There are many people in need with no one else to turn to throughout the countryside. A simple glamour works well enough when neither the inkeep nor other patrons are cultivators. Spending nights at the house left abandoned after a prior nighthunt certainly sidesteps the minor inconveniences of the latter, but leaves him even less sanguine about the former.

Would you rather neither of you were here at all, and in all likelihood even more people were dead? his own mind poses snidely, while he sits and watches Lan Xichen putting the hot compress over his lower leg, manually drawing up the blood in his body toward the region. He sips the cup of medicinal brew pressed into his hands, despite strong doubt in its capacity to do anything now for him in particular.

When he can acutely feel the spiritual energy circulating through his through him - pushed by Xichen’s intent and core, urging tissue to repair itself in the same way it would in a living body - Jin Guangyao finally admits the need to push on the issue of what they both have surely understood by now.

“I need to come with when you leave,” he says. He doesn’t make it a suggestion.

Lan Xichen closes his eyes, and Jin Guangyao’s still heart seems to squeeze like a vise. Go back to Gusu! he wants to yell; fuck the villagers, and fuck whatever further bloody deaths he won’t be conscious enough to care about causing.

Lan Xichen only nods, like it pains him. “Yes. I suppose you do.”

#oh my LORD I am GOING to have a fucking fit over trying to post/format this :))))))#the post editor kept refreshing when I resized the window to check things AND WOULDN'T LET ME PROPERLY COPYPASTE EVERYTHING #I just wanted to look into the html bc it was giving me weird formatting stuff but noooooo ?new post editor? didn't want to let me do that??#anyway I have. written up the intro part to this post like 3 times now and I am. SO DONE :''''')#*kicks website* ANywAY......#that time James wrote fic #no good things for the poor sad cultivators #Jin Guangyao #Lan Xichen #xiyao #....I never know whether to call something 'angst' if there's not... on-screen angsting but the characters are definitely Going Through It #(apparently my solution is to just call it dark? I guess? is that the correct solution? IDK!! :D)#......ao3 will happen later probably when there's more than 1 part to this

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superbataddicted · 4 years

Text

Writer’s Month 2020 (Day 15)

Day 15 Prompt: Coffee Shop AU

Pairing: Kal-El/Bruce Wayne, Superbat

Warning: Angst with a Hopeful Ending. Definitely very AU.

He had always been known as the Barista and no one knew his actual name, not even he himself.

His quaint little coffee shop, tucked in a nondescript alley, could only be found by a selected group of clientele. For the coffee he served was no ordinary drink. They were speciality blends catered to the dead and dying. It was the one last cup to savour the love they once had before moving on to whichever afterlife that awaited them.

The Barista never tire nor did he needed rest. He was always in his shop, bustling behind a counter that had only seating for one. He never spoke for he always knew the names of his clients when they stepped in. The same goes too for the coffee to be prepared – the Barista knowing exactly the taste his clients were seeking.

However, one morning, a man stepped into his shop and the Barista was stunned to find that he knew nothing. No name came to mind and no hints were given as to the love the taller man had in his life.

This was unprecedented and the Barista frowned in consternation.

Upon laying eyes on the Barista, the man brightened up and he quickened his steps. Hands gripping the edge of the countertop, the man spoke eagerly.

“Some coffee for Bruce Wayne, please.”

Jolting in surprise, a buzzing flicker filled the Barista’s head, just like a TV having poor reception. He shivered at the weird feel of it, unease settling in.

Who was this strange man with a curl of hair against his forehead?

He seemed to know something that the Barista didn’t. And disconcerted by the intensity of the man’s gaze, the Barista shifted a step back.

Just then, information came flooding in and the Barista smiled in relief. Glad to be back in familiar territory – making coffee – the Barista began crafting a unique blend for the man called Bruce Wayne.

First, he added a spoonful of Arabica to bring out the delicate complexity of Mr Wayne’s approach to love. He then mixed in some dark roast for Mr Wayne loved with such strength and spicy heat. As a final touch, the Barista added a pinch of Liberica beans to demonstrate the intensity that Mr Wayne’s brought into his love.

Before long, the deep aroma of coffee filled the air and the Barista forgot about his uneasiness as he worked on crafting the best brew.

Placing the completed drink before the man, the Barista took a step back. There was an upward tilt to his lips for the disturbing man would soon be out of his hair.

However, unlike those who had come before, the man did not touch the espresso cup. He merely stood there, eyes never leaving the Barista.

The seconds stretched into minutes and the Barista grew impatient. The espresso was losing its temperature and that would not do.

“You should drink it, sir,” the Barista finally spoke, the sound of his own voice startling him. He hadn’t intended to speak but his tongue had slipped, blurting out what was on his mind.

The man shook his head, “I can’t drink what isn’t made for me.”

That had the Barista tilting his head quizzically. His brewing process was never wrong and that cup was exactly tailored to Mr Wayne’s taste.

“There’s no mistake and you’ve made it right,” The man, seeming to know what was on his mind, replied.

“The thing is...I’m not Bruce Wayne. You are.”

The Barista stiffened, feeling as if he had been plunge into a lake in midwinter. He was the Barista and he had no name nor past nor history. So how could that be!

“Can you feel it?” the man continued, eyes taking on a feverish gleam, “The compulsion to drink what has been made in your name?”

And the Barista was suddenly very thirsty for the coffee before him.

“No...”

He denied, face turning pale. He tried to back away but his hand was already moving on its own accord reaching for that porcelain cup.

“No!”

He cried again, heart pounding and ears ringing. He had seen this happen to those who feared to face the love they once had. And try as they might, there was no escaping, him included.

Against his will, his hand lifted the cup to his lips, as steady as a rock despite the panic the Barista was feeling. His lips parted and the cup tilted, and the dark coffee slipped into his mouth and was all swallowed down.

The memories came flooding back, relentless and unstoppable. Bruce cried out, mixed emotions lifting his spirits yet tearing his heart into shreds. There were pain and anger and joy and fear, and he was being swept away, out-of-control.

Then he was being embraced. Bruce clung to that pair of strong arms until the storm within had blown over and he could finally hear the man speaking.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you died. I thought you had left me, had abandoned me.”

Eyes wet, Bruce buried his face in the crook of the man’s neck, breathing deep the familiar scent of his lover.

“Kal, Kal, Kal...” Bruce whispered feverishly, “God, how I missed you, Kal!”

He surged forward, kissing Kal, rough and hungry and desperate. Kal returned the favour with equal fervour, and hands tugged at clothes, slipping beneath to feel bare skin, Then Kal suddenly pulled back and Bruce groaned at the loss of his touch.

“Listen to me!” Kal cupped Bruce’s face, voice urgent, “I don’t have much time and I came here only to tell you...forget me, Bruce. Forget the love we have and move on, Bruce!”

“What!?!” Bruce stared in bewilderment, pain constricting his chest.

How could Kal say this to him! How could Kal after he had waited so long to meet him again!

Wrenching Kal’s hands from him, Bruce turned around, a bitter sour taste in his throat. He felt so stupid, choosing to be the Barista just because he wanted to reunite with his lover one day.

Before he could stalk away, Kal had grabbed him, forcing him to meet his gaze.

“I destroyed a world,” Kal spoke, voice hoarse and despaired, “Without you, I grew hateful and millions died because of me.”

Kal’s eyes widened at the remembered horrors he had unleashed and Bruce’s heart ached at the sight of his tormented lover. Unable to stop himself, he reached a hand out to caress Clark’s cheek.

“What did you do, Kal?”

Returning his focus to Bruce, Kal shook his head, eyes bleak.

“I don’t want you waiting for me anymore. You shouldn’t be here! You did no wrong and you should be alive and well and happy, not in limbo like this!”

Sucking in a deep breath, Kal straightened up, face serious.

“I don’t know how long it will take to repay my sins and I don’t want you waiting anymore. So I say this with all my heart and soul. I want you to move on, Bruce. Forget everything and live happily.”

Letting go of Bruce’s shoulders, Kal made a move to leave but Bruce grasped his hand, refusing to let go.

“What if I don’t want to!” Bruce hissed, face determined, “What if I’m willing to wait!”

“But I don’t...”

“It’s my feelings and I get to decide, not you!”

“Bruce...please!”

Eyes full of love, Bruce cupped Kal’s face, “What’s the point of being alive if you’re not there. What’s the point, if I’m not going to have you anymore.”

And Kal fell silent, torn yet uplifted by Bruce’s words. Guilt-stricken yet grateful, he leaned in and kissed Bruce again.

“Thank you and I love you.”

The Barista blinked, staring in puzzlement at his raised hands which was cupping empty air. A ticklish sensation distracted him and he touched his face, eyes widening in amazement to find tears slipping down his cheeks.

Why in the world was he crying?

He was the Barista, impartial and emotionless. And he couldn’t comprehend why the tears wouldn’t stop, and why he was smiling despite the heavy sadness in his heart.

(Like the tattoo artist/flower shop AU prompt, this one kept growing and throwing so many ideas at me. The gist of it is Bruce and Kal were lovers and Bruce was murdered, his death disguised as a disappearance. But Bruce didn’t want to move on and he decided to wait for Kal. And Kal, being a kryptonian, didn’t die until many many years later. And you only learn the truth of your whole life upon death - the good, the bad, the ugly.)

(Day 16 Prompt: History)

#writersmonth2020 #writersmonth #superbat #writer: batzmaru65 #clark kent x bruce wayne #Kal El #angst

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boxoftheskyking · 4 years

Text

Okay this little fic (that ended up way longer than intended) is called I Had a Daydream of a Time Post-Censorship and then imagined a sequel to the series and then was like But they did all of canon and then imagined what episode I would like SO

---

He does still love life on the road, even after three years. Sure, he’s feeling his age a bit more, wishing for a soft bed and a bath after only one night sleeping rough. Maybe depending more on his talismans instead of the direct combat he’d itched for as a kid. Maybe his breaks at Cloud Recesses are getting longer, closer together, but he’s invested in the disciples now and Lan Zhan likes it when he’s around.

Lan Zhan understands him, though, the need to move, the search for something. Wei Wuxian suspects he’s slightly envious of the freedom. He has been nothing but admirable as Chief Cultivator, but Wei Wuxian knows that the constant squabbling grates on his nerves, the need for decorum in all situations gets constricting in ways he’d never admit. Well, he’d never admit to anyone but Wei Wuxian.

I do miss talking over my ideas with you, Lan Zhan, he continues his letter, chewing on the end of his pen. Tomorrow I head to Moling to deal with a restless spirit. It’s an unusual case; the locals say it’s possessed a number of their young women. I wonder if they aren’t simply cursed with headstrong daughters! With my luck, I’ll end up pissing off all the parents and talking the girls into running off together to find a great adventure. You know I’m a romantic at heart.

I’d best wrap up now and leave time for a bath. It may be the last time I’ll be clean for a while. If only possession didn’t lead to so much projectile... everything.

Give my love to A-Yuan, and keep some for yourself,

Wei Ying

His cheeks feel a bit warm as he seals the letter, but he’s certain it’s just the extra jug of wine he’d brought up to his room. He loves the road, but it’s cold and lonely, and he takes comfort where he can.

---

Lan Wangji is very near his wits’ end. The Yao and Ouyang clans are at it again, shouting over each other in his meeting room with no regard for the multiple Lan Sect rules they’re trampling over. He himself hasn’t said a word in at least twenty minutes, leading him to wonder why they needed to drag him in for this argument at all.

“Clan Leader Yao, Clan Leader Ouyang,” he says, trying to stay as calm as possible. This becomes even more difficult as he is forced to repeat himself to be heard. “It is time that we all break for dinner. I recommend that you each take your meals separately, take some time this evening to meditate, and we can reconvene in the morning.”

The men look unsatisfied—Lan Wangji is quite sure they have fuel enough to continue for several more hours—but his tone leaves no room for disagreement. They bow with unison “Your Excellency’s” and make their way out of the pavilion.

Lan Wangji is more grateful than ever that he’s due to eat dinner with his brother. He’s found that simply sharing a raised eyebrow with Lan Xichen over the annoyances of clan politics does wonders for his spirits. Of course, a full debrief with Wei Ying, complete with colorful insults and overdramatic plans for vengeance, is better still. But Wei Ying only left a month ago and won’t be back for a while yet.

He understands why. He understands so, so well. Every dream he’s had for the past month has been of open sky, lightly-traveled roads, an elbow leaning so casually on his shoulder as he looks out over the countryside. But, as usual, he’s gotten himself tied up in layers of responsibility and commitment and can’t see a way out. What he wouldn’t give to be Wei Ying, just for one day. To make the choices he would make, to blow everything up and leave it all in ashes behind him.

That’s not exactly fair. Wei Ying is not a destructive force. Wei Ying grows lotus blossoms on a mountain of corpses.

He meets Lan Xichen at the jingshi, prompt as ever. His brother gives him a small smile with something knowing behind it, but the food arrives before Lan Wangji can ask. They eat in companionable silence, Lan Wangji allowing one audible sigh to express his feelings towards the day in general. Lan Xichen replies with an understanding hum, and Lan Wangji already feels better.

When the dishes are cleared and the tea is poured, Lan Xichen hands a stack of paper to him.

“A few messages came today. And a letter you will be eager to read.”

He shouldn’t be so eager. He definitely should wait until his brother has left before opening it, but he can hardly help himself. Lan Xichen looks only amused, anyway, and not offended at all. It’s another bit of Wei Ying’s influence, Lan Wangji’s newly relaxed feeling around his brother.

Moling, the letter says. Possession, restless spirit.

And keep some for yourself, it says. Lan Wangji’s ears feel warm.

“Where is Young Master Wei?” Lan Xichen asks, oh so casually.

“Heading to Moling, spirit possession.”

“Hmm.” Lan Xichen takes a long sip of his tea. “It’s not far, Moling.”

Lan Wangji stills. “No, I suppose not.”

Lan Xichen says nothing, but the silence suddenly feels very loud. Lan Wangji knows his brother well enough to see a progression of thoughts cross his face. For a moment he’s sure that he’ll speak again, but then he settles back, whatever it was remaining unsaid.

“Would you like me to play for you, brother?” Lan Wangji offers. It’s been something of a tradition since Lan Xichen came out of seclusion. Lan Wangji knows he hasn’t touched his own guqin, but he’s grateful to be able to offer some comfort with his own.

“Please,” Lan Xichen says, and shuts his eyes.

---

The spirit possession is very real. Wei Wuxian regrets his flippant comments about headstrong daughters after meeting with the third family, huddled worriedly around the young woman whose eyes are vacant, cheeks hollowed, fingers bandaged from where the spirit forced her to rip out her own fingernails with her teeth. Wei Wuxian has hope that she will recover, that she’ll heal and reanimate, but there’s no easy fix for a situation like this. The more he’s travelled and studied and learned, the more he’s lived as man who can’t depend on a strong reserve of spiritual power, the more he has come to understand that some wounds to the mind and spirit can only heal with time. Time, love, patience. What would my life have been with just a bit more of each, he thinks to himself, not bitterly. He can look back on his decisions without regret, but sometimes he thinks of the boy he’d been and wishes he could visit him, just once. He’s not sure what wisdom he’d impart, but he’d say something.

He arranges to visit the currently-possessed girl in the house her family has fled. He can see on her parents’ faces the grief of leaving their beloved daughter to the mercy of something dark and violent, and he sees so much that is familiar in the glare of her older brother. To see his sister in pain and to be powerless to help. He claps the boy on the shoulder and orders them to an inn for the night.

He gets about two steps into the house before the girl lunges at him, screaming, nails tearing at his face. He manages to tie her with Binding and hold her with a few simple talismans. It’s a tricky thing, possession, because you don’t want to damage the host more than you can help.

“Liu HoTing,” he says, as gently as possible. “I’m here to help you.”

She snarls at him, and he flinches when he feels a spray of spit against his face. So many fluids with possession.

“I’m going to help you,” he says again, “but you need to help me. I know you’re in there, and I need you to fight. You’re a strong young woman, and your parents and brother are waiting for you.”

The girls falls still for a moment, something familiar flickering behind her eyes, but then the spirit takes over again, snapping her head violently from side to side.

“Hey! Cut it out. Come on now, pick on someone your own size.” It’s a ridiculous thing to say, as the girl isn’t that much smaller than him. He pulls out Chenqing and plays a quick, lilting melody. There are more straightforward tunes that will work just as well, but he can’t help a little extra flair. He hopes that the Liu HoTing who is still conscious inside can take some comfort in a happier melody.

Expelling the spirit is ... exactly as he expected. Along with black smoke and blood, he gets a glimpse of the dinner the Liu family had last night. He sighs, but muscles up a smile anyway as he releases the Binding and catches the girl before she hits the ground. He removes his talismans and slaps her face, gently. When she opens her eyes, she looks past him, breath coming lightly.

“A-Ting,” he murmurs. “Soon you’ll be able to rest, but I need you to be strong right now. I need you to run. Can you do that? Run to your family.” She only blinks up at him, but when he sets her on her feet, she manages to stand. He can feel the resentful energy gathering in the corner of the room and half-carries her to the door. “Run!” he hisses, and waits until she takes a few staggering steps before slamming the door and throwing on a few sealing talismans.

“Okay,” he says, twirling Chenqing in his fingers and facing the growing darkness. “Let’s see what you are.”

---

He’s not sure what goes wrong. One moment he’s got the spirit cornered, playing a melody for sending it to rest. The next, he’s coming to with a jerk and a flash of pain to find his fist full of his own hair, pulled out bloody at the roots.

“Ah, fuck,” he manages before the spirit takes over again, throwing him forward and slamming his head into the low table. He manages to keep ahold of scraps of his consciousness, though it would be nice to miss the immediate nausea and the ringing in his ears. He gets upright and manages two strong notes on Chenqing before the spirit casts it into the corner. He gets a moment to his own mind but wastes it on a harsh laugh as he imagines what he looks like from outside, jerking and flailing like a puppet with a drunken operator.

When he comes to again, he’s holding a knife. It’s not his; the spirit must have found it in the house. He deflects the slash intended for his throat up across his jaw. “Not my beautiful face,” he grits out, forcing the knife into the wood of the door. He whistles an interval of banishment and feels the spirit lift slightly, but it slams back into him, constricting his lungs. He fights for his consciousness, but feels the darkness pulling at his mind, feels the darkness inside him rising up to meet it.

No. This is my mind. This is my body. He’s not a scared kid anymore, voices singing to him from the Amulet at his waist.

Despite everything, his confidence, his skill, the darkness rises like water. He feels the handle of the knife in his hand, and lets his eyes close. He whistles again, but can’t think of the right notes, the right power. Everything is swirling darkness, nausea.

YOU ARE NOTHING, the spirit suddenly speaks in his mind. LITTLE HERO. SO ALONE. NO HOME.

This is my mind, he insists, but a question mark rises up in the dark.

SO ALONE. It laughs and he feels it spill over his tongue.

No. Lan Zhan is— Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan.

A familiar melody rises up inside of him, and he manages to let it out, breath wavering but the tone still true. Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan.

It’s not enough. The knife sinks in to the hilt, blood spilling from his gut over his fingers. The melody falters, ends.

“Lan Zhan,” he gasps out. “I’m sorry.”

“Wei Ying!”

The door at his back shudders and he sinks down to the ground.

“I’m sorry.”

Flashes.

Lan Zhan’s face, eyes wide, lips moving.

“Lan Zhan,” he coughs. “Are you dead? Don’t be dead, Lan Zhan, you—”

Darkness.

“—not again, Wei Ying, you will not, you will not, please, please, please, don’t—”

Pressure. Heat. Wind.

Nothing.

The innkeeper is very accommodating. Lan Wangji eventually needs to insist on no more food, no more tea, no more extra blankets for Wei Ying.

“I’m sorry, Young Master. The demon, it took my niece. We’re so grateful, we’re just—”

“I understand,” Lan Wangji interrupts, rudely, drawing on every ounce of decorum he’s built up in three years as Chief Cultivator to incline his head in apology. “I would be best if I could focus on his healing.”

“Of course. Sorry, sorry.” She manages to bow the entire way out of the room, and probably down the hall as well.

In reality, there’s very little he can do at this point. The town healer did the best she could, and Lan Wangji supplemented as much as his limited ability allows. He manages to play a few healing songs on his guqin, but he’s not sure how effective it will be on a body with little spiritual power. After a while, he can’t stand to be away from the bed any longer. He traces Wei Ying’s jaw where the rough bandage mars the delicate line of it. He’s allowed this much. For healing.

And keep some for yourself.

He looks down at himself, white robes half-soaked in blood. The spirit didn’t rest easily, dissipating in a burning burst of energy, so his sleeves are charred as well. Now that the innkeeper has left for the night, he supposes it makes sense to change. He knows Wei Ying will likely be out for a few more hours, maybe until daylight, but it still feels strangely vulnerable to strip down in the same room. They’ve lodged together on the road, but that was years ago now. However many hours Wei Ying spends in the jingshi with him at Cloud Recesses, he always sleeps and bathes in the guest’s quarters. Lan Wangji hates it, but he hasn’t figured out the right way to— What? Ask him what?

He sighs and folds the ruined robes over and over in his hands, running his fingers over the drying stain. He remembers the moment, nearly twenty years ago now in Nightless City, stripping off his robe to bind his bleeding arm. But that had been his own blood, and Wei Ying had died. Now it’s the opposite.

He doesn’t realize he’s weeping until his hands blur before his eyes. This he is allowed. He has a few hours before Wei Ying wakes.

---

When Wei Ying does wake, it’s with a gasp and a roll half off the bed.

“Lan Zhan!” he cries out, reaching blindly out in front of him, and Lan Wangji barely manages to grab him from his position keeping vigil next to the bed.

“Wei Ying! Wei Ying, be still. Lay back. It’s alright.”

“The spirit, the girl, she—” he grabs and Lan Wangji’s arms but looks past him frantically.

“It’s over. She’ll be fine. The spirit is eliminated. Please don’t move, Wei Ying, you’re hurt.”

Wei Ying allows himself to be guided back down on the bed, looking around the room and finally feeling at the bandage on his abdomen, the one on his jaw.

“Lan Zhan,” he breathes, finally looking up at him. “You’re here.”

Lan Wangji perches on the edge of the bed, letting his arms be held a little longer.

“Yes.”

“How did you— How?”

“You wrote to me. Said you were coming to Moling and I— And then I heard you whistling, I heard the song and I—”

“Saved me. As usual,” Wei Ying grins and flinches when it pulls at his jaw. “How did you know I’d be in trouble? How do you always know?”

“I don’t always. I— Got lucky. Your sealing talismans are very good. I had to blast down a wall to get in.”

“Ah, the poor Lius. I suppose I owe them a new house.”

“You don’t owe anyone anything.”

Wei Ying smiles at him and tries to sit up. “Can you— The cushions, I want to look at you.”

Lan Wangji’s stomach flips and lightens and he reaches around to arrange the cushions under Wei Ying’s back.

“Such accommodation!” Wei Ying laughs. “A person could get used to this.”

“You don’t need to get stabbed to be treated nicely, you know.”

“Lan Zhan, ah! You’re teasing me.”

He’s really not, but he smiles anyway. Wei Ying is alive, he feels like he could smile for hours.

Wei Ying’s breath catches, and Lan Wangji quickly looks him over, wishing he could ease the pain.

“You came to Moling,” Wei Ying says after a moment. “Why? Has something happened?”

Lan Wangji thinks for a moment. All of his instincts tell him to deflect, avoid. It’s nothing. And errand. Chief Cultivator business. I received an urgent message and then broke all laws of time to come find you.

But he’s felt Wei Ying’s blood over his fingers, held his body together. He’s lost him once already, and the overwhelming fear he’d felt makes everything else seem... far less frightening.

“I came to meet you.” It’s worth the admission for the sunrise smile over Wei Ying’s face. He has an infinite number of smiles, but this is Lan Wangji’s favorite. The one that says Lan Wangji has surprised and delighted him, has brought him joy. He could be banished to a dark cave, cut off from the sky until the end of his days, but if he had that smile he’d have all the warmth and light he needs to survive.

“I’m not—” he’s not sure how to continue. There’s so much to say, but at the same time it’s so simple. “Lan Xichen will take over my duties as Chief Cultivator.”

Wei Ying’s eyebrows fly upwards. “What happened? Lan Zhan, it shouldn’t matter that he outranks you, you are the greatest—”

“I asked him to.” Here he goes again, interrupting. Wei Ying falls silent and stares at him, very, very still.

“I asked him to. Because I— hate it.”

Wei Ying grins again, then laughs. “Lan Zhan!”

“I hate it, it’s horrible. Everyone is— I hate it.”

Wei Ying’s laughter bubbles up around him like a spring—not a cold one, pleasantly warm and intoxicating. He shakes Lan Wangji’s arms, throwing his head back against the cushions. “Lan Zhan! Hanguang Jun, look at you! Doing what you want! Letting go of responsibility! I’m so proud I could cry.”

Lan Wangji feels his face heat, but he lets himself smile again.

“Look at you,” Wei Ying says again, so softly and fondly it nearly stops Lan Wangji’s heart. “You look happy.”

“I am happy,” he says. “Wei Ying is alive.”

Wei Ying waves a hand. “This is nothing. I would have figured something out.”

Lan Wangji is about to protest, but he feels Wei Ying’s other hand slide down to grab his own, tightly. Thank you, it feels like. “Of course you would have,” he says, and Wei Ying grins up at him.

“So what are you going to do now?”

Lan Wangji stares at him. Is it not obvious? Is he not— Would he not be welcome? He starts to rise, to pull away.

“Wait, no, why? Where are you going? Don’t go.”

He pauses in an awkward half-crouch. “I thought— When you wrote to me, you said you...” You’ve already lost him once. He steels himself and sits back down. “I would stay with Wei Ying. If he will have me.”

Wei Ying sucks in a breath and sits up as much as he can. “With me? Where?”

“Wherever. One the road. In Cloud Recesses. At Lotus Pier. Anywhere.”

Wei Ying’s eyes flicker over his face, wide and searching. “With me?”

Lan Wangji nods. “If you—”

“Of course! Lan Zhan, of course I— That’s all I want. How can you ask—?”

He hasn’t realized how nervous he’d been until the relief pours over him like bathwater. He’s smiling again, he’s sure, and Wei Ying is laughing, and nothing in the world exists that could stop him from kissing that laughter.

Wei Ying’s breath stutters, but he doesn’t pull away. Lan Wangji is amazed that this doesn’t feel like a risk. Perhaps he should be worried that he lacks skill, experience, but he doesn’t care. Wei Ying’s hands come up to frame his face and he lets himself sink forward, deeper, lighter, all things at once.

When Wei Ying tries to rise to meet him, he cries out.

“Careful! Careful, Wei Ying, ah, don’t push.”

“But I want to! I want everything, Lan Zhan, I want—”

“I know.” He thinks if he smiles much more his face might stick this way, and he’d hardly mind. “I know, Wei Ying, but we have time.”

“Time, ha! Damn all the spirits in Heaven and Hell.” He sinks back into the cushions, trying to even out his breathing but breaking into delighted laughter and pulling Lan Wangji’s hands in to his chest.

“We have all the time in the world,” Lan Wangji murmurs, kissing his jaw, his cheek, his eyebrow.

“How do you know?” Wei Ying’s voice is a delicate thing, his fingers twisting tighter.

“The world owes us,” Lan Wangji says, with more certainty than he’s ever felt before. “After everything, after all we’ve done and fought and given. It owes us this.”

END OF EPISODE

#assorted writings #the untamed #cql #listen i stayed up until 3am to write this #fluff

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kpopchangedme · 4 years

Text

Im Jaebeom | Pregnancy!au [M]

Jaebeom read so many baby-related books he's forgotten how to enjoy some simple pleasures... (Oh, and you are obviously cranky and hormonal but he knows better than to tell you that!)

Protagonists: Im Jaebeom & You

Word Count: 2.4k

Genre: NSFW - Newly Weds - Romance - Angst - Pregnancy - Pregnancy sex- Smut || [Drabble 2k]

Prompts: “I can’t help the fact that I’m so goddamn moody all the freaking time” + “Should have gotten a puppy.” [Anon]

Lyly's note: Is this sexy pregnancy!au worthy of Things I Wish I Knew or what? lol. Pregnant ladies, go get some! ;)

GOT7 | M.list

You let out a loud swear, stepping on a phone charger someone has somehow abandoned in the middle of the living room. It freaking hurts, like a tiny torture device, tore the sensitive skin of your foot. Of course, when you sit on the couch to examine it, it looks perfectly fine.

“Should've gotten a damn puppy,” You curse again under your breath, unreasonably livid.

Instantly, the guilty party's head pops out of the doorframe to his office. “Honey!” Jaebeom considers you from head to toe in outrage, “The Shrimp has ears.”

That's his thing now that the third-semester started; obsessing about auditory development and what the baby is able to hear. Swears, news coverage of dramatic events and loud quarrels are strictly prohibited. He plays music whenever he has the chance, boasting about how you are growing a music whiz.

Ever since he read his first damn pregnancy book, Jaebeom turned into a helicopter daddy-to-be, always hovering to make sure you are doing everything right. At the end of the third prenatal visit, he decided on moving his whole studio at home to work and mommysit – as he calls it.

By the time he was done with the fourth pregnancy book, you felt like nothing but an incubator to his spawn. That's not exactly what you wished your first year of life together would feel like. But then again, you didn't plan on getting pregnant on your honeymoon, the first time you two ditched contraception. It happened very fast. Everyone called it a blessing and you did too for a while, you were elated. Right until you started to lose your hair and struggle with acne like a damn teenager… Now it varies daily, you are either excited or scared shitless, in high spirits or easily irritable, you can't tell before it shifts. Overbearing, Jaebeom has gotten better than yourself at reading your daily disposition.

When you glare at him, he straightens worryingly in the doorframe, partly to blame for your current mood. “Don't look at me!” You snap in exasperation, still rubbing the sole of your aching foot. “Can you stop looking at me like that?”

He risks taking a few steps in your general direction, expertly assessing the situation, “Like what?”

"Like I’m a ticking bomb; like I'm gonna start yelling at you any second!” Freezing in the middle of the place, he presses his tongue to his cheek. You are almost shouting, but he knows better than to point that out.

“I’m not,” Jaebeom comes to sit by you guardedly. He makes sure not to maintain eye contact for too long, as though you're a dangerous fickle animal. "Did you hurt yourself?"

You hiss threateningly at the question but he still reaches for your perpetually bloated foot. Gently, he massages it, flashing you a dumb innocent smile. Still sullen, you at least allow him to do that much.

Fine, you do not completely hate having your man work from home.

“I can’t help the fact that I’m so goddamn moody all the freaking time...”

“Moody?” You cross your arms over your chest and Jaebeom chuckles, shaking his head. “You're the living definition of serene honey... You're the best. I love you.”

“Shuddup.” Groaning at the fake compliment, you offer your second foot after a minute of pampering, slightly appeased. “Stop trying so hard, it turns me into a cliché bitch.” You don't miss Jaebeom’s grimace at the word, but he isn't brave enough to correct you again. “Tell you what, if the baby's first word is a swear... I’ll do everything you ask of me for a year.”

"Everything? A whole year?” Raising his eyebrows suggestively, Jaebeom leans in for a lengthy kiss. “You know I can't say no to a promise like that. I would abuse that power, I’m quite imaginative.” You laugh against his mouth, sliding your arms around his neck for him to linger a little longer. Your hub has one hell of a gift, he can always change your mood, even on the worst days. That being said, you're always in the mood for some sexy time with him lately. You just have limited positions and flexibility. “I might teach the Shrimp your favourite cusses just to win that privilege.”

“You wouldn't dare.”

Laughing, Jaebeom sits back but you follow, managing to climb him without difficulty. It's clear he has started something with his massage, stirred your desire. “I’m not done,” he warns pointlessly, not talking about you, "I'm working hard." He points his chin to the studio, but you don't climb down. There's no way he believes you will let him go back to his office right now.

“Very hard yeah,” chuckling, you pull at the collar of his shirt, “Mister Producer.” He breaks the kiss to get rid of the piece of clothing himself, eager to entertain your favourable disposition. Some sacrifices are harder to make than others, and taking a break from work for quick sex is a no brainer. Your hands roam his shoulders, even after all this time you still can't get enough. “Did you save it?” Nudging your nose to his, you pull away to throw your loose gown over your head.

Jaebeom groans, already expertly unhooking your bra, “Of course I saved, but I’ll need to get back to it...” His mouth explores your neck and you throw your head back, savouring every single one of his kisses. “Feeling better?” He hums, lightly sucking your skin and you moan. Fine, having your man work from home is the best damn thing that ever happened to you. At your natural response, Jaebeom cups your swollen breasts, thumbs rubbing circles on your areolas.

“Shit.” Instantly, he shushes in disapproval making you laugh. You lean into him as much as your 29 weeks belly allows. “I can't help myself, I'm too sensitive.”

“I can see that baby,” Jaebeom marvels as his constant stroking of your nipples makes your thighs jerk. “I read third-semester’ orgasms are incredibly intense...” You rise to your knees to slide his fleece jogger pants down, smoothly freeing his erection. These darn books sure reveal some useful information sometimes… “What do you think?”

“Oh, how would I possibly know that?” He stops altogether, freezing under you at the joke. Barely two days prior, you finished twice before he did – very expressively – but still, he hesitates. For a man as skilled as he is, it sure is easy to make him question himself. Jaebeom is contemplating his life, a dubious look on his face when you take his cock in your palm. His eyes shut, goosebumps spreading on his body at your touch. Smirking, you stroke him leisurely, “I guess you’ll have to keep working hard so we can find out.” You say that but really, you’ve been so hypersensitive lately, he could make you reach your high without even trying.

“You know...” Opening his eyes lazily, Jaebeom frowns; “I'm not sure how I feel… About the Shrimp is hearing all our sexy talk...” It's your turn to stop everything.

Oh no, he did not just say that… Not after all the stuff he put you through!

“I swear to God, Im fucking Jaebeom! I let you have your way until now; I gave up caffeine, cheese and fish…” Suddenly livid, you start checking things off of your fingers. “You are worried of dumb stuff you read about despite the doctor's best opinion... So, I let you hire a cleaning service; I stopped driving myself around and dyeing my hair; I allowed you to post our ultrasounds all over your socials; I didn't say anything when you sent the cats away to your mom's…” His mouth is open in awe as you angrily go on. He's clearly racking his brain to find out what he said wrong. Him and his stupid pregnancy obsessions. “But this... This is where I draw the fucking line Jaebeom. If you stop making love to me because it creeps you out... Honest to God, I will murder you. I don't care what the baby hears. The doctor said it was safe. I want sex, I need sex. Give me sex, or I'll destroy you.”

“Honey,” Jaebeom bites his lips, struggling to conceal his amusement, “I wasn’t saying we should stop. It doesn't bother me like that...” His right palm rubs your lower back in repetition to ease you. “I was just wond–”

“I don't care what you wonder about,” you interrupt, still down, “just do me.”

Before Jaebeom can fully laugh at you flaring over nothing again, you're kissing him roughly, intended on getting your way. Wriggling under you to get to a better angle, he doesn't seem too affected, simply enjoying the hormonal rollercoaster ride. One of the actual perks of your pregnancy is being in the mood quickly and it's more than just your desire, it's physical too. Something that is undeniable when his hand finds its way between your legs. You're ready for him already, wet and messy. Though you rock into his palm briefly, there's only one thing on your mind right this instant.

You don't want to wait any longer to feel him inside you. You use Jaebeom's shoulder as a fulcrum to position yourself, raising on your knees and he helps, holding his cock as you gradually sink down. Once you're sitting back on him on the couch, filled, you pause, dropping your forehead to his. Eye to eye, out of focus, Jaebeom pecks your lips tenderly. His hands caress your belly on their way to the side of your thighs. That's enough to make you soft all over again. The power that man holds over you knows no limit. Careful, you rise, rocking your hips forward to add friction before sliding back down. This lazy back and forth goes on for a while and every time you fall down and your ass meets his thighs with a clap, you feel like breaking.

“Okay?” Jaebeom mumbles, using his strength to firmly guide you upwards. You're thankful for his help because you're heavy and tired. You nod, letting out a weird throaty sound when he fills you up once more.

Jaebeom chuckles, entertained by your acute senses and unusual reactions. Sliding on the large couch to lay, he makes sure you follow closely, riding him. From this position, he can take better control, raising his hips to slam into you. You coo when he does, hovering above to let him have his way. You're already too taken by so little. There's a gentle thud in your belly at the shift of position but Jaebeom doesn't seem to feel the baby stir, awakened by your unrest. Thank God, because the last thing you want right now is for him to stop or slow down. It's not something abnormal or new at all, but now that the baby's movements are getting more noticeable from the outside, you wouldn't be surprised if it messed up with Jaebeom's sexy groove. In the dark, he picks a swift pace, thrusting faster but lighter, making sure to stretch this moment for as long as you both can.

Yet, you're shaky and unfocused, unable to calm yourself. Way too fast, you come undone, overwhelmed by the friction and pleasure. Ecstatic, you drop on your hands, on all fours, as your intense orgasm washes through you. Aware you're peaking already, Jaebeom maintains his rhythm, breathlessly laughing at your shortage of stamina. Sure, he was right, pregnancy orgasms are amazing but they also come almost unannounced and are ridiculously exhausting.

Losing the smile, Jaebeom frowns in concentration, probably trying to finish too. After a whole minute, you're still being carried by your own paroxysm, core quavering when his hips halt altogether. Sighing deeply, he cums in spurts inside you, letting go probably more hastily than he would have wanted to. He's a team player. He knows you won't be able to handle him for long after oversensitivity hits you.

Afterwards, you both stay like that for a moment – as one – trying to repossess yourselves. Some days, it's like you're an entirely different person. Food doesn't taste the same, you yell at your caring husband over nothing and your orgasms are absurdly drawn-out.

“Hey,” Jaebeom speaks up after an eternity and you take it as a cue to pull away, letting him fall out of you, “that was very quick. Are you alright, was it good?” Typical of him lately, being so overly concerned, you snort. Reaching for the tissue box on the coffee table, he offers them up so you can clean yourself. Still overpowered, you nod, laying back naked on the couch to do so.

What a sight it must be, a stranded whale in the middle of his living room.

Jaebeom doesn't seem to see that though. Transfixed, he positions himself to comfortably kiss and hold your heavy belly. His fingers linger, tracing patterns over the stretched skin. “What about you Shrimp?” He asks mouth pressed to the bump, tickling. “How are you doing?” Sure enough, the baby rolls, following the sound of his familiar reassuring voice.

“We definitely woke her up”, you announce casually, grabbing one of his hands to position it better. Now that it's over, hopefully, he won't mind or get weirded out by that idea. “And you’ll need another nickname, we're both getting huge.”

“Sorry,” Jaebeom apologizes with adoration when there's a more obvious kick. To him, his baby girl's tumbling never gets old. To you neither, but it's a different sensation entirely. Whispering in confidence, he adds, “You'll always be a shrimp to me." At the words, you can't help the flutters you feel, not from the baby. When he looks up this time, Jaebeom doesn't seem as apprehensive of your reaction. You're on the magical post-coital cloud of happiness, together. “What?” If it could, your heart would physically expand from emotion at the sight, swelling with unconditional love. As an only answer, you run a hand through his locks and he cutely grins. “Shrimp, I think we're safe for now. I don't think mommy wants to murder daddy anymore...”

“Daddy needs to get over himself,” you dramatically roll your eyes, smiling, “he knows mommy loves him, no matter what…”

GOT7 | M.list

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pax-2735 · 4 years

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GoT Fanfic: And if you howl (3/9)

Notes:

As always, I own nothing but the mistakes.

This was originally written for the Jonsa Festival over on Tumblr. The prompts were anonymous so I have no idea who came up with this... but if it was you please let me know, I'd love to gift this fic to you.

Also, if you’d like to read the first two parts you can find them here.

The second time - anger

She’s still tired when she opens her eyes the next day, and there’s a rebellious streak in her that wishes she could remain in bed all day, lingering among her warm furs, but the sunlight streaming through her window and painting her chambers in a play of shadows are proof enough she has already wasted several hours of the day and she reluctantly rises.

She carries with her duties as faithfully as ever, long, tedious meetings with high lords and ladies alike, prominent discussions about trade agreements with the south and the state of their stored provisions, as winter is still harsh and relentlessly holding the land. There are always matters that demand her attention, endless disputes that need soothing.

She supposes she cannot truly be blamed if her attention wanes from time to time, her mind drowning out the constant chatter to fly across frozen plains and snowed forests, beyond the wall and into a wildling camp.

And when night comes, and she stands in the exact same spot as she stood the night before, closing her eyes and imagining rough hands stroking coarse white fur, she tries not to be too disappointed when nothing happens.

As days go by though, Sansa begins to grow increasingly frustrated. There is an important trade agreement with Dorne that doesn’t seem to be advancing, with unreasonable demands from both sides growing more unreasonable with each passing hour, and she’s starting to feel more and more like Old Nan trying to appease bickering children than she does a queen. Her patience is wearing thin and she wishes she could just slam the door in their faces like a petulant child and leave them to it.

She longs for some peace and quiet. She longs for some freedom from duty and responsibility.

Her short spam spent inside Ghost’s mind is long gone, the memory of it feeling more like a fading dream with each passing day, one she struggles to remember fully but can feel slipping away like the snowflakes she used to try and catch with her hands as a little girl.

She has tried, more times than she cares to admit, to slip back into the direwolf’s mind. But she doesn’t know how to, though, and so far all her attempts have come to naught. It’s not like she can ask the maester for help with this – the look of disbelief and shock she’s certain would grace the man’s solemn features is enough to make her smile ruefully. Maybe she will ask him, she thinks wickedly, just for the sake of it.

Of course, the more obvious choice is Bran – her little brother knows all there is to know about warging, she has seen him do it on more than one occasion – but she’s loathe to reach out to him on this, to put words on a quill and send out ravens on such a topic, on what she feels is essentially spying on Jon.

The door of the meeting room where she still sits with the southern emissaries sweeps open suddenly and startles her out of her thoughts before a young boy sweeps inside the hall. His hair is disheveled, brown locks sticking to his forehead as if he had just run all the way here, a look of excitement shinning in his dark eyes.

“Apologies,” he pants out, looking sheepishly at the lords before his eyes settle on her and he walks across the room with determined steps, “Your Grace, there’s been a raven, from King’s Landing. It has the royal seal.” He remembers himself then, and drops into a clumsy bow under the reproachful eyes of the lords.

She smiles at the boy as she takes the rolled up parchment with steady hands. She fails to see what could be so exciting about a raven from her brother, even though she wonders at it as well. But it does offer the perfect opportunity to shirk this dull meeting, so she doesn’t hesitate to rise from her chair. There’s a rushed scraping of seats as the assembled lords scramble to their feet but she pays them little notice.

Part of her wishes she could just walk out without a word – and yes, slam the door forcefully on her way out – but years of instilled courtesies still ring in her head. They are her armor, a distant voice whispers, and she feels her insides twist. “If you will forgive me, I feel I must see to this at once.” She doesn’t wait for them to answer, and only faintly hears their mumbled agreements.

She makes her way to the godswood before dismissing the guards that have hurried behind her after her hasty departure. The ground is thick with snow, her boots crunching against the icy pathways. The pond is frozen solid, covered with a fresh layer of ice glinting in the rapidly fading sun, its edges marked by fallen red leaves from the massive weirwood. Her gloved fingers caress the wood slowly around the carved face, its red eyes seemingly boring into her.

Bran’s quill is slightly rumpled by her grasping fingers and she stares at the wax seal depicting a raven with open wings. She makes quick work of breaking it and reads the message in slightly blurred ink.

Focus your attention. Be a wolf. With love, the three-eyed raven.

“What?” Her voice comes out far louder and harsher than intended and a crow startles in the tree, its indignant squawks breaking the stillness as he flies across the sky in search of quieter perching. What is that supposed to mean? She tilts her head upward and closes her eyes, taking deep, measured breaths and allowing her frustration to dwindle away slowly. Bran’s messages may be cryptic, she smirks, but he wouldn’t have bothered with it unless it meant something.

Her mind flies back to Jon and Ghost and the precious night she has spent with them. Could this be what he means? She has been focusing on it, far more than she ought to, but it has gotten her nowhere. Perhaps Bran means to warn her against it, against spending her nights chasing a flight of fancy that will never amount to anything. Or perhaps it is something else entirely. It’s hard to tell with Bran nowadays.

She sits against the massive tree, her back against its white trunk, and lets her mind wander to happier times. Her father used to sit in this very spot, a lifetime ago, his hands polishing Ice as he enjoyed a few precious moments of respite from his duties. Her mother would come here then, to speak with him, to gently coax him back until they would walk back to the keep, arm in arm and a smile on their faces.

She thinks back on the night she ventured across the Wall under the guise of a direwolf, and the happiness she had felt then. It had been confusing at first, Ghost’s heightened senses overwhelming her completely, the fragmented presence of the direwolf’s mind nudging inside his skull against her own. But then everything else had been drowned by Jon and her efforts to try and recapture that feeling had proven both consuming and pointless thus far.

Be a wolf.

Her focus changes suddenly, and her mind wanders to Ghost and what it felt like to truly be him, instead of someone else trapped in a foreign body. His coarse white fur keeping her warm against the chilling winds, his red eyes and one ear, so much sharper than her own, his massive paws carving their way against the snow covered grounds. She feels a sudden awareness of her surroundings, her earing and her smelling sharper somehow, as she recalls how everything felt so much more powerful when she was a wolf.

She hears a rhythmic thumping to her side, with whispering voices carrying over the rustling leaves, and she jerks her eyes open ready to snap at whoever has seen fit to disturb her here. It takes her only a fleeting moment to realize she’s no longer in the godswood.

She’s lying on the ground, the softly falling snowflakes teasing her whiskers, and she licks them in an attempt to ease the itching. Her paws feel the cold but her body is unbothered by it, the coarse fur keeping her warm and cozy. She instantly recognizes the clearing and she twists slightly to look at the small cabin directly behind her.

She’s back, and there’s a giddiness building inside her chest at the realization, something soft and bubbly that makes its way across her body until she’s so excited she could scream. Was it really this easy? Her snout turns up, facing the endless blue sky as she playfully tries to bite at the falling snow. The movement makes her fall backwards and she yelps, startled, before she lets herself fall back against the frozen blanket and giving it a few playful rolls.

It’s been years since she’s felt like this, careless and free, and she longs to enjoy it for however long it lasts.

The thumping stops abruptly and she hears a chuckle that startles her out of her playful roll in the snow. Jon is standing a few feet away, an axe in his hand and a smile on his lips. “You’re in good spirits.”

She leaps to her feet, shaking the excess snow from her fur before she quickly makes her way to him, bounding around him and nudging his legs, in a show of undivided affection. He’s still smiling as he crouches down to run his fingers through her fur, giving her a tender pat on the head. “You’re acting like you’re a pup again.” She snaps her teeth playfully at him before she nudges him again. She’s still learning her own strength though and he topples back, landing on his arse with a bark of laughter.

She circles around him as she waits for him to get up, sniffing curiously at him as she goes. His laughter dies down eventually but he still doesn’t move as she comes back to a stop in front of him.

“So this is how it’s going to be, is it?” He shakes his head reproachfully at her. “Alright, just remember this was your doing.” There’s a mischievous glint in his smile as he starts picking up handfuls of snow and she takes two steps back, her tail waggling as she keeps her eyes on his hands.

Surely, he wouldn’t dare…

But surely he does, as he lifts his hand with a triumphant smile and a carefully rounded snowball and throws it up into an arch. Her red eyes follow with rapt attention as it flies across the air before it explodes against her head. She startles back and hears him laughing again as she starts to shake herself furiously, trying to get rid of the ice that stubbornly clings to her fur.

His hands are already busy making another snowball when she looks back at him, and her head tilts to the side, red eyes glinting in the sun as she ponders her options. Ladies don’t enter snowball fights and it’s been years since she’s been in one, but the notion is almost foreign to her in this moment. The more immediate concern is the distinct lack of hands, and the fact that her paws cannot compete with him.

The wind swishes in front of her and she jumps back a mere moment before another snowball lands right in front of her. He chuckles and she narrows her eyes at him, her plan already formed. Her upper body drops against the snow, her tail dancing back and forth as she tries to distract him, before she lunges forth.

It’s graceful, the way she lands in front of him with a soft thump before quickly twisting around. She thinks she would blush if she could, as she feels her tail thumping against his face before his hands start moving against it, trying to bat it away. He’s still chuckling, completely unaware of his impending fate, when she buries her paws into the snow and begins to dig.

The crunch of the snow against her nails is a crescendo of sound as she digs faster and faster, spurred on by the sound of his laughter echoing across the clearing. She takes a huff of breath, tilts her head back to look at him to see him covered in white before she turns back around to dig some more.

“Alright, alright, enough! You win.” His words are practically muffled by laughter and snow but his hands land on both sides of her tail and she stops abruptly. Her tongue is lolling to the side but she attributes it to the effort and certainly not to the way his fingers spear through her fur before he gives a gentle push to her behind.

His laughter dies down and she hears a rumbling from his chest before silence seems to settle over them. Sansa sits down primly in front of him, back straight and lone ear pointed up, and suddenly their eyes lock. There’s a softness in his gaze as he stares at her that seems to tear at her insides and she trembles.

Jon shakes his head warily before he rises to his feet, his eyes sweeping around in a warrior’s stance before stopping to look intently towards the edge of the trees. Sansa looks too, her body suddenly tense and alert. She can’t see or hear anything, though, nothing besides the wind as it rustles through the leaves and the occasional cracking sound as one of the giant trees bends and shakes under the heavy weight of snow. She looks back at Jon, cocking her head.

Jon’s eyes have a faraway look as he keeps his gaze steadily looking ahead. He seems as though he’s lost somewhere in the recesses of his mind and it takes Sansa but a few moments to realize he’s looking south.

Winterfell. He’s looking towards home.

She steps forward and nudges her snout softly against his leg, trying to ease some of the tension that seems to have settled over his shoulders and waits for the inevitable ear rub, but it never comes. Instead he keeps his hands to his sides, his eyes trained forward.

“I can’t go back,” he sighs. “I can never go back.”

There’s a resignation in his tone that sparks a sudden sense of anger within Sansa, and she feels the fur at her neck bristling as she bares her teeth in rage. Because he can. He should be there. He doesn’t get to look longingly back, as if something precious was taken from him. She had tried to bring him back. He should be there. He could be there if he really wanted to.

If he wanted to.

The thought is hardly new and yet too much at the same time and she takes two steps back, pulls away from him. The sudden movement seems to snap Jon out of his daze and he looks at her bared teeth in astonishment. “Ghost? What’s wrong boy?”

He takes a cautious step towards her, his hand stretched out in front of him with his palm up, trying to soothe her, but right now Sansa is too mad to care. She bares her teeth again, letting out a low snarl and he stops stunned. “Ghost. It’s me.”

She takes a few more steps back, trying to put some distance between them, trying to control this anger that seems to own her and she sees his eyes suddenly cloud with hurt. “So you’re just gonna turn on me too, is that it? Leave me as well?”

I’m not the one that’s left, she wants to scream at him.

He huffs out an annoyed breath, a hand coming out to rub over his face in a gesture she’s so familiar with that her heart aches at the sight and, for a moment, it’s as though they’re back to their old ways, arguing and bickering with a carelessness borne out of the certainty of the bond they shared.

But it’s not the same, she reminds herself. Things have changed. Their tentative trust has been broken and the bonds tying them together have changed and shattered. She fears he may never forgive her. She doesn’t know if she has forgiven him.

Her mind is screaming and suddenly Sansa is running, her powerful wolf body carrying her over snow covered grounds and into the deep woods that surround the dwelling, with only the wind rushing by her coat, the crunching of ice beneath her paws and the desperate sound of Jon calling her name.

#jonsa #jonsa fanfiction #jon snow x sansa stark #works-by-pax #got fanfic #jon snow #sansa stark #warging

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chyrstis · 4 years

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WIP...Saturday?

Tagged by @nightwingshero, and thank you so much for it! I’m with you 100% on each of these days really starting to bleed into one another by the way, so any day’s totally a wip posting day.

I really wanted to tackle this last night, but that was mostly Fanzine work, so here’s something that’s not exactly top secret. So, instead of one let’s go for two wips, just for fun.

Tagging: @finefeatheredgamer @amistrio @shallow-gravy @outranks @englass @sneaky-apostate @geronimo-11 @narcis-the-monk @guileandgall @seedlingsinner @unclefungusthegoat @naromoreau and @stvnningstrike but no obligation or pressure intended at all. <3

First, another piece from the ‘let’s trap John fic that’s honestly starting to haunt me by this point, because I really want to post this sequence in full. And also finally get around to writing more of it iin general, darn it

-----

“A dead woman can’t atone for her actions. She can only regret the lost opportunity for change.”

“Is that so?”

“But one that was given – no, granted - a second chance? Oh, the possibilities are endless, because what else could that moment have been? An intervention? A higher power of the most divine stepping in to save you, and deciding…not now? Not in this way, surely, because this is not her time. Not yet.”

Oh, Jesus.

“…That this was meant to be? Fated to be? Maybe it was.”

John chuckled, and she hated how she could feel that too. Every word as he lowered his tone to a whisper right against the shell of her ear.

“For you to come to me. This moment. Right here, right now, to be saved, even if it was only in body. But the spirit may follow if it is willing, and it would be foolish to turn away now. To try to hide, when we both know full well what’s waiting, coming closer and closer by the day.”

The heat of the blast, fire enveloping everything in its path – and Joseph holding his arms up and out towards it, embracing it -

“And once it arrives, there’ll be no denying it then. No more second chances to give, only for you to throw them away.”

---

And I swear I’ll finish this I won’t ask for much companion fic sometime tomorrow, or bust. I’d say tonight, but it’s inching along, and the two scenes I have left to tackle are giving me more trouble than I’d like.

---

John set down the fork and knife, and folded his hands together.

“Let me explain how an evening with Charlemagne goes. There is a task. One I set out to complete, and if it is work at the boathouse, we work at the boathouse. However, some weeks another task requires my attention, and if the help is available, an invitation is made, accepted, and implemented. He’s generally prompt, but after he arrives, fifteen to twenty minutes will be lost simply guiding him towards the task in question. He’ll stop, point out the sky, the nearby trees, if I’ve left a specific tool nearby, if there’s another skunk in the area, or Affirmation, even. Anything. There’s not a single topic where he’ll be left without a word or opinion to share, and I’ll be left to listen to all of them. Each and every one without fail every single time.“

As of right now, he could come up with at least four instances of this. That it was already that high was absurd, but that was beside the point.

John had a reserve of stories to share, barely touching on the ones he’d hear when Charlemagne wasn’t trying to con him into setting off that damned fish.

That he’d done so twice already was infuriating, but not as much as when he would hum the tune to him for the next ten to fifteen minutes after that. Whistle it loudly whenever John would step close enough to inspect his work, only to make him immediately search for the most minute problem with it.

Hissing at him to ‘try again’ wasn’t the perfect revenge, but it was satisfying enough to move on from. At least until the next would inevitably pop up.

#chy takes a stab at memes #wip #on the upside my fanzine story's pretty much done?#it just needs a few more edits and it's good to go #but here's hoping the first wip will start cooperating with me soon #b/c right now I just think I'm nervous about making it exist

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skyflicker · 4 years

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polaris (amasai week day four)

hello :DDD i want to say that i succeeded in writing fluff, but, uh, it’s kinda a little more hurt/comfort than i intended it to be so.... anyways, here’s day four of @amasaiweek2020 hosted by @storyflight and @toxicisnotapineapple and the prompt was stars/late and i chose stars!

Starlight slants down the poles of the small yacht, sliding off the tall billowing ivory sails and almost seems to fall into the sea. The small sparkly lamps adorn the sky, splashes of iridescent silver among miles and miles of open canvas of velvety sapphire, and they shimmer, ever so lightly, ethereal and ghost-like, on the calm surface of the mirror-like ocean that occasionally lets ripples swirl over it, seemingly reflecting the serenity in Shuichi’s heart.

There isn’t a single sight of land for miles, only sea and sky for as long as one could see. There’s a thin layer of mist coating the water surface, constantly attempting to touch and let its frost spread over the sea, hovering and spinning and twirling in its graceful dance as it blurs the line between object and reflection, never stopping once in its euphoric pirouettes. Shuichi feels his heart leap and twirl along with the mist, the butterflies in his stomach joining in on this erratic gyration, as he watches the performance the mist gives. It’s as if a gossamer veil of snow hangs over the sea, letting the starlight trickle through to create small shimmery sparks fading in and out of the fog shrouding the waters. He can’t help but sigh in astonishment at the scene before him, the scene that seems so unreal, so otherworldly, that it might as well be a hyperrealistic painting, an artist’s portrayal of their wonderland.

Shuichi’s never seen this many stars at once before this trip. It isn’t all that surprising, considering he lives in Tokyo- Tokyo with its roaring speakers and chatter all day long, its countless neon signs and streetlamps that light up the night, loud, bright, exuberant Tokyo- but there’s something about the night sky that even though he’s seen it every night for three weeks, it still manages to render him speechless, to leave him in complete awe every time. In Japan, back at home, the most he can see from his balcony through the thick charcoal fog that coats the city permanently is a star or two spluttering weakly as it coughs and chokes on the immense light pollution. But here, standing at the stern of the boat, everything is laid out, in the widest canvas he’s ever seen. It’s all so clear, so bright, and so perfect.

Perfect, because he isn’t alone on this trip. Perfect, because he has his best friend along with him to guide his way. He spins around to look back at the ship, where, up on the balcony of the small second floor, where Rantaro is pulling at the ropes of the sails (the yacht has an engine, but they prefer not to use it, and they don’t need to anyway with the strong winds here) which almost seem to fly in his hands. He handles them with ease and familiarity, as if he knows every single inch of the bonds pulling at the fluttering triangular fabric, knows every knot and all the spaces he should control with.

The green-haired boy notices him staring up, and smiles at him. Shuichi’s heart melts at the sight of his smile- it’s so warm and soothing, reminding him of sweet sunshine that engulfed him in a tight embrace on summer afternoons, sipping warm coffee in their local cozy coffee shop with the soft sunlight gently streaming from the window and shining over him and his best friend. It’s such a contrast to the wind, the harsh, cold, unforgiving wind that pierced at Shuichi’s back with a thousand deadly cold ice-rimmed daggers, that chilled him to the bone and sent shivers down his spine.

Shuichi takes one last look at the stern of the yacht, and makes his way to the staircase that leads to the second floor. The yacht isn’t exactly big, but it’s obviously well loved, and expensive (not that that was surprising in the least- Rantaro’s family is extremely rich, after all). It’s an off-white, and designed in a minimalistic way, with a room below deck containing exactly thirteen beds in total (Rantaro doesn’t go down there, never even shows Shuichi around that floor or opens the trapdoor that leads downstairs, which is completely understandable), soft alabaster coloured cushioned chairs littered all around the starboard (Shuichi counts exactly fifteen; he doesn’t ask about it, though. He has enough tact to know that Rantaro doesn’t like to think about it), a lavish master bedroom which they sleep in, and a second floor above the master bedroom that holds a sofa and a coffee table, and a balcony on either side to control the sails.

He’s greeted with the smell of vodka when he enters the second floor. Rantaro’s sitting on the wooden floorboards on the other side of the balcony (that is, the side without the sails and ropes), gazing out at the scenery around them, a couple of small bottles of said alcohol lying around him, two or three emptied and rolling around the ground. Shuichi calls his name, and he turns, smiling at Shuichi.

Rantaro leans on him once he sits down beside the boy, and Shuichi immediately reddens and prays that Rantaro can’t hear his heart racing at a million miles an hour. He can smell the vodka on the other’s breath, and he says “You know you’re not supposed to drink, right? You’re way underage.”

The boy pouts. “I’m fifteen!” he protests, his words slurring together ever so slightly. Shuichi laughs, trying to ignore how lightheaded and nervous he feels, as his best friend grabs onto his arm, and there’s barely any space between the two. He can feel his cheeks turning a rosy colour, his heart racing wildly, threatening to pump out of his body. Rantaro’s just so adorable when he’s drunk.

“The legal drinking age where we are is twenty,” Shuichi reminds the younger boy, who pouts again and nuzzles against Shuichi. He freezes in shock and anxiety takes over him completely for a second, what is happening why is he doing this ohmygoshwhatisgoingon- then he tries his best to soothe his nervousness, prevent his face from blushing even more (if that was even possible, that is- Shuichi can’t see himself, but he’s pretty certain he’s as red as a tomato right now), and shyly wraps his arm around the other boy.

They sit in the silence for a while, just enjoying each other’s company, and Shuichi feels so relaxed as he leans against Rantaro’s head (which is still on his shoulder) and they gaze up at the sky, at the countless stars spread over. Shuichi feels so small, so insignificant, as he looks at the Milky Way, at the wide galaxy that he is but a tiny part of. Expendable, to most of the world. The thought makes him slightly sad, but he can’t find it in himself to feel actually sad, not with his crush right there beside him, not with the tranquility the world is offering him right now.

He likes the quiet, cherishes every bit of it. His friends, lovely as they all are, are a loud and rambunctious bunch when they’re together, and he enjoys himself immensely when he’s with them- it takes his worries off his mind when their energy and cheerfulness surround him and cheer him up so effortlessly, helps him relax when he’s tense and tired- but he also enjoys the solitude, enjoys the calm and relishes the silence, the silence that helps him think and lets him live in a world inside his mind where everything is perfect and peaceful and right. It’s also why he likes being alone, it’s not as overwhelming as being around a lot of loud spirited people, and he can have his own space and his own thoughts, have a place where he can slow down a little in the hectic daily life of living in Tokyo, but he also loves having company and a shoulder to lean on when he’s thinking.

Rantaro’s often the person he shares such precious moments of serenity with, being someone who also loves the quiet, and he feels comfortable with his best friend- there’s just something special about sharing these pockets of breathing space with him, there’s just, this connection between the when they do, one that allows a small insight into the other’s brain, allows Shuichi to know what Rantaro is thinking and vice versa. It’s comfortable, and relieving, having someone to share in his joy and pain.

“The stars are really pretty,” he says softly.

Rantaro smiles. “Do you know any of the constellations?”

Shuichi shakes his head, “I was raised in the city, remember?” he lets a vague shadow of a smile slip on his face.

His best friend leans back, until he’s lying on the floor, and Shuichi follows. The sky, from this perspective, seems endless, surrounding him in a half dome shape. “That one is the little dipper,” Rantaro points at a group of stars. “The one there? At the end? That’s Polaris, the north star. I’m no Kaito and no astronomy expert, but to me, if you can find the little dipper, if you can find Polaris, you can find your way anywhere.” Rantaro smiles as his gaze softens. “It’s like the star that guides me.”

“You’re my Polaris,” Shuichi whispers faintly, and Rantaro turns in surprise to look at him, and his cheeks are red, and Shuichi smiles shyly. “I’d follow you anywhere willingly. You light my path.”

Rantaro goes even redder, and seems to be rendered speechless, and they return to that comfortable silence, but Shuichi is smiling as he looks up at the night,

“It should happen any minute now,” Rantaro suddenly speaks up, and Shuichi is, for a second, thrown completely off guard. He wasn’t aware that Rantaro had plans.

“What should happen-” Shuichi starts in complete confusion, but is cut off as Rantaro smiles cheekily and the sky, to his surprise, begins to change.

Shuichi stares in utter wonder as soft shades of coral and amethyst start to move across the sky, shifting in folds of smooth silk, as if someone brushed a stroke of watercolour across the canvas that is the night sky. Faint folds of emerald gradually glow brighter and brighter, as viridescent colours appear, overlapping over one another.

And all of a sudden, the sky explodes into colour. The lights on the sky seem to dance and they skirt around and over one another, glowing so brightly and yet they meld ever so softly into one another, and it’s absolutely magical. It coats the boat and the sails and everything in sheens of ever-changing pinks and violets and blues and greens, and it looks so surreal, like a scene out of a fairytale, a picture out of a dream. The lights twirl and spin in their elegant dance of happiness as they flit in and out of the mist and reflect everywhere. Shuichi can’t help but stare, jaw on the floor as he watches the sky, entirely mesmerized by the beauty of the aurora borealis.

“Did you plan this?” he asks Rantaro, but is unable to remove his eyes from the folds of fluttering silk almost flying across the sky. Rantaro laughs, a sweet tintinnabulation in the cool night air, but Shuichi notices a slight tinge in it, as if there’s something bothering him. He chooses not to comment on it, though- Rantaro will tell him when he’s ready, there’s no need to rush his troubled best friend. Nevertheless, his heart swells with delight as he receives the confirmation.

Shuichi turns to Rantaro, and the stars and sky are reflected in the younger boy’s eyes as Shuichi gazes into them in absolute delight. “Thank you… how can I ever thank you enough? This is wonderful- it’s- it’s so beautiful....” Not quite as beautiful as you are, but it comes quite close, he privately adds silently.

Rantaro smiles back at him, blinking, and Shuichi remembers (and feels ashamed to have forgotten at all, but the aurora captured his whole mind) that his best friend is drunk, and he’s a lightweight. But Rantaro’s always been quite law-abiding… Why would he suddenly get himself drunk?

Rantaro’s staring out at the horizon, and Shuichi follows his gaze. Above him, the stars shine and the aurora swirls around them, and Shuichi fervently hopes that it’ll bring Rantaro some peace of mind, that it’ll soothe him just a little bit.

They continue in silence for a while more, until Rantaro speaks again, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

“She reacted just like you did,” he mumbles almost incoherently, and Shuichi almost doesn’t catch his words.

“One of your sisters?” Shuichi speaks as softly as possible.

Rantaro sighs, letting a bitter smile grace his lips, and Shuichi can see the grief, still fresh in his lemongrass eyes. “Shu, do you know what Inori means?”

Shuichi shakes his head. Inori, he recalls, is Rantaro’s second youngest sister, the girl they’re on this journey to look for. She was lost in Finland when she was only five, four years ago. (They’re currently skirting around the seas near Iceland, but they’ll be there in two days, so he’s not surprised Rantaro’s thinking about her.)

Rantaro continues, “It means ‘prayer’.” He laughs bitterly. “Inori loved her name. She was so small, but she knew how to comfort people well, and she cared so much for everyone. She had me pray with her every night that peace would run in the family, that we’d all be happy, every day. Not once did she pray for herself at all. It was always ‘Minori this’ or ‘Shiori that’, or Yuki, or Ena, or Rina and Riku and Amaka and-” he breaks off, and awkwardly, Shuichi puts both his arms around his best friend as the green-haired boy buries his face in him. Rantaro’s not crying, at least he doesn’t seem to be, but Shuichi can tell how distraught he is.

He hates it, the helplessness he feels, his inability to help, and it’s almost as if he’s cursed as he watches his friend suffer from his own wrath, and he wishes to the stars above that they could comfort Rantaro, or let them switch places, because, gosh, he doesn’t want to see Rantaro suffer at all. He wants nothing more to help, to be able to do more than hug him tightly and hold him, but this is all he can do, and he hates it.

The younger boy inhales. “It’s her birthday today,” he whispers. “Four years ago, today, we saw the northern lights here too. She was so surprised and awestruck and you just, I’m sorry-” reminded me of her, Shuichi finishes for him in his mind. He feels so guilty, but he knows apologizing would just make Rantaro feel worse, so he doesn’t.

Rantaro pulls away, rubbing at his eyes, and gives Shuichi a smile- a smile that doesn’t quite reach his gorgeous lemongrass eyes. He stands up, and Shuichi follows, as they walk over to the handrail and Rantaro leans on it, smiling faintly as he looks at the sea.

Shuichi watches him as he swipes away the tears brimming at his eyes, and Rantaro notices him staring. His best friend smiles at him again, and starts to turn back to the sea and sky and horizon in front of them, but he spins back to face Shuichi and all of a sudden, before Shuichi can react, the boy’s lips are on his.

Shuichi is too shocked to react at first, but soon he comes to his senses and kisses back as Rantaro wraps his hands around him tightly. His lips taste vaguely of vodka, but Shuichi is no stranger to alcohol, and doesn’t really mind. He feels so surreal, like what he’s experiencing right now is a dream and he could wake up any second, and he feels his heart pumping out of his chest and his stomach doing somersaults. The world seems to stop spinning and to Shuichi, everything feels completely right. This is where he was meant to be from the beginning.

After a while, though, Shuichi breaks away reluctantly. He can’t take advantage of Rantaro, his best friend, like this, not when he’s drunk and upset over his sister, not when he knows Rantaro did that out of desperation, out of his need for an anchor. He’d never like me. Not like how I love him.

“You’re drunk,” he says, as gently as he can, “we can’t do something you’ll regret later on.”

In the starlight, Rantaro looks beautiful, and yet so far away. “I won’t regret it,” he says weakly.

Shuichi is forced to look away as he murmurs, “You will.” No one in their right mind wouldn’t. “Come on, we can discuss it in the morning, alright? It’s late, you should sleep. It makes you feel better.”

Rantaro nods, and soon he disappears down the stairs, leaving Shuichi alone, alone with the stars and the lights, and he touches his lips where they met Rantaro’s, and smiles in giddiness.

He’s not so naive as to think that Rantaro would like him back at all, not when he’s so irrational and anxious and annoying all the time. He knows, with dread pounding in his stomach, that it won’t ever happen again.

But maybe, just maybe, just for tonight, he can let this fantasy become reality.

Maybe, just for tonight, he can smile, and believe that one day, his best friend will like him back.

#danganronpa #danganronpa v3 #danganronpa fanfiction #rantaro amami #shuichi saihara #rantaro x shuichi #amasai #amasai week 2020

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violetsmoak · 5 years

Text

Appetence [1/?]

AO3 Link:https://archiveofourown.org/works/20251420/chapters/47997634

Blanket Disclaimer

Summary: Red Robin is investigating the disappearance of a friend and stumbles into a spot of supernatural trouble. He doesn't expect to be saved by Jason Todd, miraculously alive five years after his death and now with the inexplicable ability to commune with the dead. Meanwhile, when Jason returned to Gotham he meant to maintain a low profile and not get involved with Bat business. That was before he found out how hot his Replacement is.

Rating: PG-13 (rating may change later)

JayTimBingo Prompts This Chapter: #cemetery #haunting #relics

Canon-Compliance: Alternate Universe; Jason still died but was not found by Talia when he was resurrected. All other events mostly follow the same chronology as New Earth continuity, with mentions made to events in New 52

Author’s Note(s): My attention span was really terrible today and I couldn't focus on either of my two other fics even though the next chapters of both are completely planned out. So I'm posting the start of the third (and final) story that I'm doing for the JayTimWeek/Month challenge. Also, I'm really excited about this one. I spent more time planning this than either of the other two and I can't wait to hear what you guys think!I've got work stuff to do tomorrow so there may not be anything updated until Friday.

Beta Reader: I’ll get back to you on that.

________________________________________________________________

The Bat-Signal cuts through the dark and hazy clouds lingering above Gotham City, and for a split-second, Jason Todd has the urge to drop everything and race for the roof of the GCPD Headquarters. It’s hard to ignore the nervous jump of excitement in his stomach, the phantom sensation of a domino mask on his face and the heavy drag of a cape at his shoulders.

Which makes no sense, since it’s been at least five years since I even wore that shit.

Taking a drag of his cigarette, the smoke mixing with the familiar summer smog, Jason turns his back on Gotham’s literal beacon of hope and steels himself against nocturnal threats of his own. The city is for the caped crew—because apparently, the Bat has a posse now, he thinks with only a hint of a bitter sneer—and Jason has been fighting in a different arena for quite some time now.

He takes a final drag of the cigarette, and then grinds it beneath his boots, and shoves his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. It’s a weathered and worn thing that reminds him of one Willis Todd wore in one of the few memories Jason has of him that doesn’t involve alcohol or fists. He thinks it’s less pretentious looking than a trench coat and probably gives off fewer ‘creepy motherfucker’ vibes like the sartorial choices of certain other people. It’s also less likely to snag on things when he needs to make a quick exit while digging up graves.

Yeah, it’s a thing in his line of work.

Gotham Cemetery is a sprawling necropolis, as dark and forbidding now as it was the night he dug himself out of his own grave. Half a decade of Gotham-style tender, loving negligence has left the somber green hills overgrown and the majority of the old tombstones fallen or rotting.

You’d think in a city with the highest homicide rate in the country, the mayor would spring for better maintenance. Then again, it’s Gotham. The dead don’t pay taxes, so fuck ‘em.

Which…enough said.

Gotham and the world think Jason Todd-Wayne is dead and has been for five years now; in a way, it’s the truth. He’s no longer anything like the boy that was beaten to death by a psychotic clown, no longer the shrimp who fastidiously dyed his hair black and jumped into someone else’s cape and pixie boots just so he didn’t have to be his own screwup self anymore. He outgrew wanting to be Dick a long time ago, outgrew wanting to be Bruce, too, and embraced a whole new other set of skills to put him apart from them.

Most occultists and even homo magi need to put conscious effort and intent into calling up or even seeing a spirit. Ever since Jason died and then mysteriously got better, the dead appear to him as blatantly and a solid as the living.

John told him he was a fool to come back here.

“Someone with your gifts, they’ll drive you bloody mad,” his mentor warned him when he left London. “And I ain’t talking about the dead ones, neither.”

“You’re just saying that because Batman wouldn’t hold your hand that one time,” Jason retorted, shrugging off the concern. He is Gotham born and bred, his blood is in those streets, and he has always wanted to come home, even if it wasn’t necessarily to a stately manor or its inhabitants.

He clenches his fists.

Inhabitants that wasted no time in replacing him after he died. Jason was rotting away in fucking Arkham, and Bruce was shoving another kid into the tights.

If it didn’t involve seeing him, I would hunt him down and break his jaw.

He surveys the graveyard proper. The everyday observer considers cemeteries to be places of peace and eternal rest; quiet, if a little bit spooky. To Jason, they’re as gruesome as any major battlefield.

Spirits pack the way before him; some of them look relatively normal if dated by their clothes; many others are disfigured and bloody from whatever killed them, whether natural or unnatural. They clamor and crowd, eternally shouting to be heard, or screaming as they relive their deaths in their own personal purgatories.

In the beginning, that din almost drove Jason insane. Bruce’s teachings kept him rational as long as it could in the months after he woke up, and then John’s training helped him temper his own awareness further. By now, he can function almost normally, automatically filtering the voices out as he goes about his daily business; it’s only in places like this, where the dead outnumber the living, where it’s harder.

Jason reaches up, adjusting the noise filters in his ears—mechanical devices that need regular winding but are still more reliable than anything running on electricity of batteries. They’re like steampunk hearing aids, only instead of magnifying sound, they drown out the constant moan of the ghosts when he can’t do it himself. Just one of many methods of protection he’s learned over the years. Some are physical, like the prayer beads wrapped around his wrist or the bottle of holy water in his pocket; others—spells and symbols and mantras—are carved all over his body in tattoos and blood writing. Anything to keep the otherworld away.

“Personal space is a key to a medium’s sanity,” John told him once. “That and a good bottle of single malt scotch.”

Jason ignores the moss-covered path that winds through the larger and more prominent mausoleums. He deliberately doesn’t search out the one in the distance bearing the Wayne crest—

(Still remembers the feel of his fingernails splitting against the wood of the coffin, choking on clumps of soil and insects.)

—and instead seeks a small structure much farther away. It’s in the furthest part of the cemetery, the shabby section almost hidden by overgrown willows. Half of the name above the doorway is obscured by vines, but it’s easy for him to make out the name etched into the stone with bold letters.

HAYWOOD.

According to the public record, Sheila Haywood’s body was returned to Gotham at the same time as Jason Todd’s. Bruce paid for her funeral and internment, which was just as well since she had no other family, and then she was promptly forgotten about.

By everyone except Jason, it seems.

It took some doing and a few weeks tracking down everyone that had worked at the same refugee camp as his mother, but he’d finally managed to collect what possessions she left behind. A colleague of hers had put them aside when there appeared to be nothing of actual monetary value in them.

A gold coin, small bone carvings of stylized animals, dainty trinkets of garnets, amber and lapis lazuli, a compact mirror, some seashells, a decorative fan, quartz paperweight, and a brightly colored feather. There was a picture of Willis in there, too, young and almost Jason’s double. No picture of Jason, though, but he hadn’t expected it.

He kept the picture but left the rest in the small wooden box, which he now removes from his messenger bag and sets down in front of the stone bearing his mother’s name. He follows that with various tools and ingredients. Black candles arranged in a star shape around the box, a chalice, a jar of detritus—teff seeds, driftwood and soil, all from the place where she died—that he sprinkles around in a circle, a handful of smooth obsidian stones to mark a pentagram joining the candles, the dagger John gave him for his last birthday, vials of oil and holy water.

Murmuring a few protection oaths, he shrugs off his jacket, leaving his arms bare, and then digs out a pack of matches to light the candles; flickering shadows dance across the mausoleum walls. He takes up the chalice to combine the water and oil, and then reaches for the dagger.

Hate this part.

Training to ignore pain doesn’t mean it goes away, and he grits his teeth a little as he draws his blade across his forearm, not deep enough to nick anything vital, but enough that the blood runs easily into the chalice. Without bothering to bandage the wound, Jason holds up the chalice in front of him and centers himself.

“Phantasma inrequietum, te voco,” he intones. “Eloguiorum mei audi: Sheila Haywood, te nominas!“ The stagnant air in the mausoleum starts to pick up. “In nominee creatricis, te impero, hic locum decede.” Hand over the top of the chalice, he swirls the liquid within, and then tips it into the open keepsake box. “Per sanguinem hominis et per sanguinem filii tui, non remane et apage! ”He strikes a match and lobs it into the box, not even flinching as the whole thing flares into flame; he intends to watch it until it burns to nothing.

“That’s not going to work, you know.”

“Jesus fuck!” Jason explodes, whirling to the right and glaring at the interrupter. “What did I say about sneaking up on me? Or just—showing up around me in general?”

The apparition in front of him doesn’t look impressed.

Sheila is still beautiful—or, at least, the side of her body that isn’t covered with third-degree burns and sections of pulverized bone—and still sharp. Cold, untouchable and self-interested.

But unlike the way she was before, she’s all-too present in Jason’s life now.

“Goddamn it,” he snarls, and against every lesson John has ever given him, lashes out and knocks the candles and detritus hard enough to send it skidding across the floor. “What the hell. I’ve done everything. You had last rites, your body was cremated, I just torched the things that had any value to you, why the hell won’t you just move on?”

“You’re asking the wrong questions,” Sheila replies, as always.

Jason scowls. “And of course, you can’t just tell me.”

She gazes at him balefully, and he runs a frustrated hand through his hair.

“Sheila, we’ve been over this. You can’t stay here. One, you know spirits that stick around past their time go Dark Side, and I really don’t want to have to exorcise your spectral ass. Two, it’s fucking creepy for a twenty-year-old guy to be followed around by his mother wherever he goes. What the hell is keeping you here? What more do you want from me?”

“Your forgiveness,” she tells him patiently.

“I already forgave you. Years ago.”

“You still call me Sheila.”

“That’s your name.”

“I’m your mother.”

“Who sold me out and got me murdered.”

“See? You haven’t forgiven me.”

“I have. I’m just stating a fact, Jesus…”

“Apparently the cosmic balance doesn’t agree enough to let me move on,” the ghost says dryly. “And to think, I used to be an atheist.”

“This is total bullshit,” Jason snaps, grabbing his jacket and stalking out of the mausoleum in frustration.

Three years of this mediumship crap, and neither he nor John have ever been able to figure out why the ghost of Jason’s dead mother won’t stop haunting him. Wards and sutras that keep even the nastiest spirits away from Jason don’t even phase her, and she’s inexplicably coherent.

And persistent.

As Jason stalks back through the cemetery, he can sense her in his periphery, gliding along beside him, unconcerned with his irritation.

“Can you just…stay away from me? Like you did in the beginning?” he grumbles.

“You were just learning how to communicate without going insane. I wasn’t about to disrupt that.”

“How considerate of you.”

“I try.”

“Look, I’ve had enough of the ghost-stalker thing for today. I went out of my way for this, you know. I didn’t even want to come back here. And now I’m back to the fucking drawing board.”

“It may not have been a waste of a trip,” she replies and vanishes.

“Oh, you can fuck off when it’s convenient for you,” he grumbles, though he already senses what she was speaking of.

Several yards away, a small boy, maybe eight, is clinging forlornly to an angel headstone. Translucent tears stream down his cheeks, but every now and again his face shifts, like a television caught between two channels, and his mouth widens into an unnatural smile.

Jason could have gone the rest of his life without seeing that smile again.

Still, he sighs and heads toward the kid.

“Hey,” he says, keeping his voice low and maintaining a safe distance from the boy, whose head whips up to stare at Jason in sudden fear.

“Who are you?” he asks, voice thick with tears.

“I’m Jason. You okay, kid?”

“I can’t find my mom,” the boy murmurs, wiping at his face. “I keep going looking, but I forget the way home. And then…I always end up back here.”

He sounds on the verge of tears again; it’s something Jason can understand.

With the puzzling exception of Sheila, who appears to come and go as she pleases, most ghosts are stuck in certain patterns and paths when they die, frozen in an infinite loop until they break themselves out of it or until some arbitrary higher power decides they’ve suffered enough. And for some reason, Jason can break them out of it.

“You could always try again,” he suggests. “I think you’ll manage it this time.”

The boy shudders. “There’s scary people here.”

No arguing with that.

“I know. I see them, too.” Jason glances at the headstone, scanning the name and dates. “Your name’s Cole?”

“Yeah.”

“If you’re missing, there are probably people looking for you. They might have posted something online about it. I’ll check it out, but it could take a bit.” He holds up his phone, glad to see it’s at full charge and bars; that’s hit or miss around so many ghosts. “Can you hang around here until I’m done?”

The boy nods, silent, face flicking back and forth between sadness and the unnatural smile.

Fucking Joker…

Jason does a quick search of the kid’s name, pulling up obituaries in the Gotham Gazette in the past year. It doesn’t take long for an article to pop up concerning the Joker’s latest escape and a list of the dead.

He narrows his eyes, startling the kid.

“It’s fine,” he lies. “The internet is just really slow.”

“Or our phone is really bad,” Cole tells him with the blunt honesty of a kid that grew up constantly surrounded by functional technology.

“Everyone’s a critic…”

Another quick search for the parents, phone lists and social media, and he’s got an address. Crime Alley, of course. He brings it up on his map and enables a view of the street, holding the phone out to the boy. “Is this your house?”

Relief settles and settles over his face. “Yeah.”

“What if I helped you find your way home?”

Cole makes a suspicious face. “I’m not supposed to go anywhere with strangers.”

“Which is really smart. But you see, I’m not really a stranger.”

“Oh yeah? Why not?”

“Well, I’ll let you in on a secret.” Jason bends down, conspiratorial, and Cole’s eyes gleam the way any kid gets when hearing a secret. “When I was a little older than you…I was Robin.”

The boy gapes. “Like…Batman and Robin?”

“Exactly.”

“No way!”

“Way,” Jason smirks, crossing his arms. “And I’ll tell you all about it on the way to your house. Including the time that I stole the wheels off the Batmobile.”

“No way!”

Despite his scandalized disbelief, the kid is obviously hooked.

Jason’s heart clenches a bit at the open curiosity on Cole’s face, the reality hitting him that this boy will never have a chance to do anything mischievous or fun ever again.

From one dead boy to another, this sucks…

As he leads him out of the cemetery, Jason starts to tell the little ghost about his life. He edits out the less pleasant bits, like dying and returning to life half brain dead with the ability to see and hear ghosts.

He figures a good story is the least he can do for the boy.

⁂⁂⁂

Next Chapter

#jaytimweek2019 #jaytimweek #jaytim #jaytimbingo2019 #fanfic #jaytim fic #jason todd #tim drake #prompt: supernatural #romance #drama #mystery #angst #cemetery #haunting #relics

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wickedsingularity · 5 years

Text

Mittens [Part 1]

wickedsingularity’s Christmas Stories 2018 Masterlist

Fandom: MCU Pairings/characters: Steve Rogers x reader (but not really), all Avengers pre AOU Words: 4297 Warnings: Fluff, bad flirting, too much knitting, kissing

Prompt/summary: Thor wants to try Secret Santa for Christmas. Someone has something special in mind for Steve, and makes damn sure she picks his name.

Mittens Part 2 >>

"I have an idea." Thor came trampling into the kitchen, slamming Mjølnir down on the counter. He shook snow out of his blond hair, the soppy flakes landing on the counter.

"Honestly, Thor," I chastised, sweeping my arm across the surface and wiping the snow away with my pyjama arm.

"My apologies. But I have an idea. Where are the others?"

"Exercising," Clint answered with a yawn. "Too awake in the morning for their own good."

Clint, Tony and I were always the ones having a late breakfast. Natasha, Bruce and Steve were always up way before the crack of dawn, putting the rest of us to shame.

"What's your idea, Point Break?" Tony asked, filling the coffee pot with freshly brewed coffee.

"Jane and I watched a movie last night, and there was this concept called Secret Santa." Thor almost bounced on his feet as he spoke, clearly very excited about his idea. "I would like to try it."

"I'm game." Tony refilled the coffee cup Clint had been holding out ever since Tony starting brewing a fresh batch.

"Me too," I said. I had never been part of Secret Santa before and thought it could be a fun thing to boost the Christmas spirit around the compound.

Thor looked around, grinning. "Barton?"

"Sure. Could be fun."

And so it was that the Avengers were going to do Secret Santa. Clint and Thor took it upon themselves to arrange it, and three weeks before Christmas all of us were gathering in the common area to pick names. I was sitting in my favourite seat, taking in the decorated room while waiting for the stragglers Steve and Bruce. I had just gotten home from a week-long mission and had only seen Pepper getting the boys to bring out all the boxes of decorations before I left.

It was beautiful, to say the least.

There was a giant tree in front of the floor to ceiling windows, packed with stylish and colourful ornaments and warm white lights. Poinsettias scattered around the room. Garlands across the edge of the bar and along the bannisters. Wreaths that matched the tree on every other window pane. The decorative cushions on the couch and chairs were exchanged with large plush snowmen or stylized Christmas trees. A few strategically placed mistletoe.

"Enjoying the view?" Someone suddenly stood in front of me and I looked up.

"Steve! Hi! Yeah, Pepper's done a great job."

"How was the mission?" He sat down next to me on the couch.

"It's all in the report."

"That bad?"

I just grunted and he chuckled.

"Okay, now that we're all here," Clint began, "it's time to get this started."

Thor stepped up with a small glass bowl filled with slips of paper. "Barton has relayed the rules for me and we have adapted them for us. You will each pull a name from this bowl –"

"No using powers or assassin abilities or other sneaky skills to pick an easy name!" Clint interrupted.

"Certainly not! And you will have to find a gift you think they will enjoy and mark it with their name only. We'll open them together on Christmas morning and guess who they're from. Don't tell anyone who you picked!"

"Everyone understands the rules?" Clint asked.

"It's not rocket science, Hawkeye. Yes, we understand," Natasha said impatiently, blowing him a raspberry. She was first in line and Thor approached her, holding out the bowl. She looked at Clint as she reached inside and started rummaging around.

"No assassin abilities!" Clint reminded her.

She didn't reply but kept staring at him as she grabbed a piece of paper, pulled it out. She read the name quickly before crumpling the paper in her hand.

Steve was up next. "If we pick our own name?"

"Put it back in and try again," Thor explained.

Steve nodded and reached inside and was quick to pull out. He held his hand close to his face and unfolded the paper. "We're good."

Then it was my turn. No powers they said. I could feel Clint's gaze burning into me as Thor held out the bowl. But I'd gotten an idea during my mission, and pulled on a thread of the energy running through my veins as I raised my hand towards the bowl. I trusted my instincts completely and let my fingers slip around a certain piece of paper, ignoring all the others. Withdrawing my hand, I felt the paper was comfortably warm in my hand, letting me know it was the right one. Feigning ignorance, I opened it just enough to see the name, shielding it in my hands.

Steve

"No powers?" Thor enquired.

I looked up, straight into his stormy blue eyes. "No powers." Good thing I was a good liar. He nodded and moved on to Tony and then Bruce and Clint, until he grabbed the remaining name for himself.

The entire room got very quiet. Only the faint car honk or siren outside was heard. Everyone kept a firm hold on the piece of paper in their hands, and the tension could be cut with a knife. Something that was supposed to be fun and exciting, suddenly felt like it became deadly serious.

"I'm going to go... get started on this," Natasha said, rising slowly from her seat and walking backwards towards the exit. The rest of us got up to go our separate ways too, and Natasha almost ran from the room.

"Did you get a good name?" Steve asked as we were walking out.

"Yeah, pretty happy with it. Already know what I'm getting them," I replied, giving him a wink before hurrying off, accompanied by Tony's laughter.

Safe and alone in my room, I immediately went to pull out a box full of yarn and knitting supplies from under the bed. I pulled out a half-finished pair of socks that was in there and laid them on the bed, along with a couple balls of yarn to finish them up. Then I sat down on the floor and looked through the heaps of unused skeins. Holding a few up and judging the colour combinations and the softness of the yarn. Finally settling on a few shades of blue, I tossed them onto the bed too and pushed the box under the bed again.

Yeah, I used my powers and cheated to pick Steve's name from the bowl. Ever since I met him, I noticed that he never wore mittens or gloves during winter. I knew his body temperature was a lot warmer because of his increased metabolism and he probably didn't need to cover his hands other than those sinfully delicious fingerless gloves he used for practicality during missions. But having been brought up by parents who wrapped me up in scarves and hats and mittens and thermal underwear and all kinds of warm clothes during harsh winters, I felt he needed at least one pair of good mittens for everyday use. I wanted him to be comfortable.

And of course, I had a huge crush on the man and hadn't yet figured out if or how I should act on it. I had a feeling he wasn't completely uninterested in me and thought this would be a good opportunity to test the waters.

The next couple of days I worked on finishing the pair of socks first. I spent so much time in the common areas and in meetings and briefings and they were all used to me bringing my knitting with me, even on missions. If I wanted to finish Steve's present before Christmas, I had to knit whenever I could, and I didn't want anyone to suspect that I was making presents. Once the big and fluffy socks were finished, I pulled them on and they were now my new favourite pair of snuggly socks to wear at home.

Steve's mittens were up next. I got some questions about who they were for when I first started them, and I just said I was knitting for charity. No one questioned that, as I often did knit for the local shelters and various organisations every winter.

One rare and quiet evening, I was sitting in my usual seat in the living room. Tony and Bruce were up in the lab, the faint sound of Christmassy rock coming from up there. Steve and Thor were pouring over papers and tablets, trying to find out where we might look for the sceptre next. Natasha was flipping through the channels, her legs in my lap and I rested my arms on them while I worked away at the first blue shaded mitten. Clint was sitting on the floor in front of Nat and me, grilling marshmallows on a log candle on the table.

"Hey, boys," I said, getting their attention. "Hold up a hand please!"

"What for?" Clint asked, but held up his hand anyway.

"Just want to make sure it's a decent manly sized mitten before I bind off." I held the knitting up against all three hands. It could fit them all, so I was good to go. "Thanks! Such big strong hands you all got." I winked at them, and Natasha snickered.

As I got back to the knitting and started binding off, Clint set down his stick with a half-eaten marshmallow on and grabbed the skein I was currently using. "It's so soft," he said, rubbing it against his cheek. "Can I convince you to give them to me, rather than charity?"

"This pair, not on your life. It goes where it's intended. But I'd be happy to knit a pair especially for you. Purple?"

"Yes, please! You're the best!" He leaned his head back and made a kissy face.

There was a small cough from Steve. I turned to look at him with a raised eyebrow, but he just grabbed a tablet again and moved his finger in a hasty motion over the screen.

Having a finished mitten to use as a template, I quickly started on the second one during a meeting the next day, earning an amused shake of the head from Steve as he led the meeting. I finished it that same evening and hid the pair safely in my closet and in the morning, I headed out to find some purple yarn for Clint. His pair took a fair few days to finish, I had too many other things to do, and Steve sent me and Natasha on a recon mission, having possibly found the location of the sceptre.

It was just a couple of days left before Christmas when I decided to make Steve a second pair. I still witnessed him walking in and out of the tower in the chilly, biting winter wind, and it was just the incentive I needed to make a second pair that he could alternate with. I used red yarn this time.

I was sitting by the bar one evening knitting away and keeping Tony company as he stocked up on alcohol for the holidays. Steve wandered in with his hair all wet from clearly having just showered. He sat down next to me and glanced at the knitting several times as we talked. He'd seen me doing this many times before, and I'd even knitted a cover for his shield on a dare once, but he seemed very interested in it all of a sudden.

"How many pairs have you knitted for charity this month?" he asked suddenly.

"Just three," I replied. I had felt guilty for saying I was doing it for charity and not actually having anything to give away, I had squeezed in a few projects in between everything else I'd made. "And two hats and a scarf. Haven't had time for more than that. You've given me too much work, Captain." I winked and swear I saw him blush lightly.

"I've asked her to make me a pair of socks since I've worn out the pair she got me last year," Tony said. "But she just tells me she doesn't have time." He feigned deeply insulted.

"If you're nice, you'll get some for New Year's." I winked at him and he winked back.

That strange coughing sound came from Steve again, drawing my attention back to him. "It's nice that you're doing this for charity every year," he said, a small smile on his lips, the kind that made my heart skip a beat.

"Yes, well..." I shrugged, looking back down at my work. "I like knitting, it relaxes me. And there's only so much I can drown friends and family in, so why not do something useful with it."

"You should ask her to knit you something, Capsicle," Tony suggested before disappearing down behind the bar to tear open another box of some expensive wine. "Maybe a cock-warmer?" He stood up again, a bottle of wine in each hand. "That's a thing, right?"

I felt my face go hot for a moment and glanced at Steve, who was definitely blushing now. "That's a thing, yeah. I know how to make one. Don't ask me why, but I do."

"You can't say that and not expect me to ask!"

"I don't kiss and tell." Figuring that was my cue to leave before being interrogated, I winked at Steve, slid off the barstool and sauntered out, a red skein tucked safely under my arm.

Christmas morning finally arrived. It was all so perfectly fairy-tale like when I walked into the common area in my snowman pyjamas and those big fluffy socks I had made for myself. We'd gotten a light snowfall during the night, it was dark and the skies were clear for now, allowing us to see a small handful of stars through the light pollution from the city. Most of the Avengers were there already, but looking very tired after Pepper's gigantic Christmas dinner the night before.

I flopped down in my usual seat, pulling my feet up under me and greeting everyone with a "Merry Christmas". A few greeted tiredly in reply. It had really been a gigantic dinner, and it had gotten pretty late and there had been a tad too much alcohol for some.

The last stragglers finally came in, our honorary Avengers and guests for the holidays, Sam and Rhodey, followed by Steve. The latter sat down next to me and laid a hand on my knee briefly, wishing me Merry Christmas.

"Thank you for dinner last night, Pepper," Rhodey said, grabbing the last available seat on the couch.

"You're welcome, James," Pepper replied. She had just emerged from the bar with a pot of steaming hot chocolate and began pouring it into the mugs set out on the coffee table. "I'm glad everyone had a chance to attend this year."

"Shall we get started?" Thor asked, being almost the only one without a hangover and awake enough to feel eager. He had always been fascinated with Midgardian holiday traditions, so it was no surprise that he was already moving towards the Christmas tree to begin handing out presents.

We started with the Secret Santa presents first. We all went in turn, everyone curious about what everyone had gotten.

Bruce got a new lab coat with the muscles of the Hulk printed on them, he claimed to be insulted, but he did put it on and wore it the rest of the morning. He thought it might be from Tony, but turned out Clint had special ordered it for him. Natasha got two shiny, golden daggers with a very obvious Asgardian design, which she seemed to already cherish. Tony got a signed AC/DC box set that he handled as if it would break if anyone breathed on it. Bruce said he thought he'd never use his superhero status for "personal gain" but anyone could see that whatever bad karma Bruce thought he'd get, was cancelled out by how happy Tony was. Clint got a gift basket with a whole variety of coffee beans and chocolate bites to go with each type of bean, and after guessing correctly that Natasha had given it to him, she just said he hoped it meant he would be awake enough to be on time for training after this.

Then it was Steve's turn. He poked and prodded the badly wrapped gift for a bit, then unwrapped it so slowly and carefully I thought I would explode. When the two pairs of red and blue mittens were revealed, he just looked at them for what felt like an hour.

"Weren't the present supposed to be secret until unwrapped?" Bruce asked.

"It was," Thor said.

"No one knew who they were really for," I said, swallowing my nerves, afraid that Steve didn't like them.

But then his fingers moved over the top mitten as if caressing it, before looking up at me with slight confusion in his bright blue eyes.

I tried not to let him see how anxious I was. "I've noticed you never wear anything on your hands when you're out and about, and I know you probably don't need it. But... it's cold, and I just thought..." I shrugged.

"I love them," he said quietly. "Thank you."

I breathed out, stomach doing a somersault. "Oh good."

The room got very quiet and I was just staring at Steve's hand still testing the softness of the yarn.

"You turn," Thor said, nudging me from his seat on my other side.

"Right, right. Sorry." I felt a blush creep up my face, but I pretended like nothing and began untying the red ribbon on the really big black box decorated with silver snowflakes. There were now only two people left whose gifts hadn't been opened, Tony and Steve. My heart started hammering a violent tattoo in my chest as I came to the realisation that Steve might have picked me. I lifted the lid and found a huge cookie jar inside, filled to the brim with Rocky Road. "Oh my God, I love Rocky Road!" I exclaimed and looked first at Tony, whose face was blank, then Steve, who shrugged.

"They're homemade," Tony then said. "But I didn't make them, they're safe! Pepper knows a guy."

"How did you know these are my favourite at Christmas?"

Tony smirked as only he could. "I have my sources."

"Thanks, Tony." I opened the lid and grabbed a bite, it was delicious, and probably not good for me at all.

Thor was the last one, and Steve had gotten him a big heavy book about all kinds of Christmas traditions from all over the world, and Thor was over the moon.

"Now that your little game is over, can the rest of us open our presents?" Sam asked, fingers already digging into the wrapping paper on the soft looking present in his lap.

Chaos ensued and there were crumpled wrapping paper and curly ribbon and forgotten labels all over the place in a matter of minutes, all hangovers temporarily cured, everyone acting like children. I hadn't gotten a big haul, but I got a bunch more yarn, a new pair of combat gloves, a calendar book I had been drooling over, and a big snow globe with Santa and his sleigh inside.

Once things began calming down, I drank the rest of my hot chocolate, and then piled my presents in my arms and stood up. "I'm going to go put this away before breakfast," I said.

"Yeah, me too," Natasha said and quickly gathered her own pile and followed me out. Safely out of earshot, she caught up and nudged me with her shoulder. "Nicely done with Steve's present."

"What do you mean?" I asked quickly, not looking at her.

"Nothing. Just... Nicely done. Clever."

I didn't say anything until I reached my door. Then I turned to her and grinned. "Thanks."

I opened the door, carefully balancing the presents in my arms, Natasha was already down the hall. But then she called out. "You didn't use your powers, did you?"

"You're the spy, you tell me," I replied and slipped inside, closing the door quickly behind me. I wasn't sure, but she may have laughed.

Just a few minutes later, there was a knock on my door. I was on the floor in front of the bed, trying to make room in my box for all the new yarn, the jar of Rocky Road next to me. "Open the door for me, JARVIS?"

"Yes, ma'am."

The door swung open, but I didn't look up to see who it was.

"You're going to ruin your breakfast if you keep eating that." Steve was standing by the foot of the bed, arms crossed, but an amused look on his face. I had just stuffed my face with another bite of Rocky Road.

"Schteve!" I exclaimed, chewing quickly and swallowing.

He bent down and stole a piece from the jar, then sat down on the bed. "Mmm, they're delicious."

"Worth ruining breakfast for?"

"I don't know about that. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, you want to do it right."

"Oh, what do you know, Rogers." I blew him a raspberry and went back to stuffing skeins into the box and there was a slightly awkward silence for a bit.

But then Steve spoke. "Uhm, the mittens," he began.

My head snapped up, a skein clutched in each hand. "You didn't like them?"

"I love them, I really do. They're so soft and so beautiful and... Well." He grinned a bit. "But... I just got to ask... Because..." I dropped the yarn into the box. A light red tinge crept up his face and he seemed very interested in my desk chair. "I thought one was supposed to keep it a secret. And I... I don't know. Never mind." He suddenly stood up and strode towards the door.

But, without allowing myself to think, I pulled on the energy inside me and was up and slipped between him and the door before he could reach the handle. "Stop," I said, laying a hand on his chest, but dropping it quickly. "I cheated," I admitted.

"Cheated?" Steve frowned down at me.

"I used my powers to choose your name for Secret Santa."

"Why?"

Now it was my turn to blush and stumble over my words. I looked down at his shoes. "I wanted to. I wanted to... I don't know... I thought it'd be a way to show you... To see if..." I sighed. I was a badass avenger, I had strong powers, I could face aliens and monsters and unbelievable evil, but this goddamn man was tongue-tying me just by being alive. Just because he had those beautiful blue eyes I could stare at forever, because he had that soft blond hair I wanted to bury my hands in. Because he was so warm and kind and had that huge golden heart that made his smile look like the sun. Because he was so tall and strong and I always felt safe in his presence, but still couldn't get my words out right. "I kinda have feelings for you," I said finally, still looking at his shoes.

"So you cheated and chose my name and knitted me mittens?"

I still didn't look at him, sure I would see rejection in his eyes. But then his fingers were on my chin and made me move my head up. I still couldn't see what his expression was because I kept my gaze downward, but it didn't matter, because his lips captured mine and I couldn't open my eyes if I wanted to.

His lips were even softer than I had imagined, somewhere in the back of my mind I recognized the lingering taste of hot chocolate on him, but my stomach was doing all kinds of flips and jumps and I couldn't focus on much of anything except how his lips felt.

All too soon though, he broke the kiss but leaned his forehead against mine, warm breath wafting over me, hand falling to my shoulder. "I wish I could knit," he whispered.

It was so far from anything I had expected, that I pulled back and frowned at him, but he just grinned, slowly opening his eyes. "Okay. I could... teach you?"

Steve slid one arm around my waist to pull me flush against him and moved his hand up to cradle my face. "If we're going to communicate with knitted clothes, I should make you two pairs of mittens too."

It took a few seconds for the meaning of his words to sink in. But then my stomach began doing even more acrobatics. "We can use words," I said breathlessly.

Steve closed the gap between us again. My eyes fluttered closed, but he didn't kiss me. Instead, his lips were close enough so I could sense them. "I kinda have feelings for you too," he said and I felt the words against my lips. "And I told Tony you love Rocky Road."

"Oh," was all I could get out before he was on me, warm and sweet. I stumbled back half a step and was then trapped between Steve and the door. This kiss was so much more, tongues wrestling with each other, lips melding together, and I could definitely taste the hot chocolate on him now, the Rocky Road too. My hands went up around his neck, tugging lightly on the short hairs there. Steve pressed me against the door and the room was suddenly too hot, was the sun inside?

Loud shouting, the sound of running and then squealing out in the hall broke our moment and we pulled apart breathlessly. I couldn't help the giggle that left me.

"Breakfast?" Steve asked.

"Yes, please."

Mittens Part 2 >>

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inevitably-johnlocked · 6 years

Note

What are some of the most tear-jerking Johnlock fics you've ever read? (Excluding Alone on the Water)

Oooh, I think I got something perfect for you here, Nonny. I finally have a reason to post this list XD

MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH / HEAVY-ANGST

The Sidewalk by politewarning (K, 956 w. || Post-TRF, Angst, Friendship, Sherlock’s Birthday) – Standing on the sidewalk outside the hospital on the 6th of January to have a one-sided conversation with his dead friend was not something John had intended to make into a ritual.

Sherlock’s Mind Palace by Valkyrie Of The Dead (K+, 1,091 w. || Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Deaths, Self Reflection) – Sherlock needs to change his mind-palace once again. He had hoped he wouldn’t, he had thought he wouldn’t, because they were invincible, weren’t they?

Friends Protect People by ArwendeImladris (T, 1,145 w. || Angst, Reverse-TRF, Friendship, Tragedy, Ambiguous Ending) – Friends protect people. John protects Sherlock.

The Simple Separation Will Not Come Between Us by The Circus (T, 1,278 w. || Hurt/Comfort, MCD, Violence, Heavy Angst, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Prose) – The choice is simple. Real, and No John. Or Not Real, and John. For a prompt that says ‘John dies and Sherlock loses himself in his Mind Palace’

Yorkshire Gold by Tammany Tiger (K, 1,467 w. || Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Angst, Open Ending, Grief) – Mycroft may not mourn Sherlock’s death-but even if he knows his brother lives, he’s not without his own grief. It ain’t easy being The British Government. But at least he’s got good help. Set between the Fall and the Return.

Left In The Ashes by zoltargirl (T, 1,497 w. || Angst, MCD, Angry Sherlock, Brutal Violence) – Rage is a unique quality in all human beings. In Sherlock Holmes, it’s terrifying.

By the Graveside by CraftyLion (K, 1,505 w. || Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Death) – But what if Sherlock never really survived The Fall? What if the Sherlock in the graveyard was merely a spirit, forlornly watching his friend from the Other Realm?

A Long Way To Home by PeaceLoveAndCheese (T, 1,568 w. || Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Reunion Fic) – Human emotions are tiring, troublesome things. And Sherlock wants to be known as anything but that. No matter how hard you try though, you’re only human. And it’s been a long year.

Ten Minutes by PrettyArbitrary (K+, 1,660 w. || Angst, Friendship, MCD, Unhappy Ending) – In ten minutes Sherlock will live in a world with no John in it. Ten minutes is how long they have for everything. Warnings: there are no happy endings here.

Take My Hand, Knot Your Fingers Through Mine by patster223 (K+, 2,003 w. || H/C & Friendship)- Love this one so much. Sherlock and John get into a cab accident, and Sherlock just NEEDS to be near John. It’s angsty and bittersweet. I love this one.

Only Human by BlackBandit111 (K+, 2,179 w. || Tragedy, Major Character Death, Sally POV) – Sally Donovan didn’t think she’d ever see Sherlock cry.

The Deafening Silence by occasionally-maybe-never (T, 2,238 w. || Angst, Major Character Death, Post-TRF) – ‘Sherlock hopes fiercely that John can hear him, as sometimes coma patients can. He knows that John will understand, that his admission of love isn’t a grand, sweeping romantic statement, but simply an expression of truth.’ When Mycroft retrieves Sherlock to bring him home, it’s not to John having dinner, but to John on his death bed.

Thief by KendylGirl (M, 2,430 w. || Rev. Reich., Heavy Angst, Regret, Grief / Mourning, Pining Sherlock, Implied Drug Use, Self-Flagellation) – John has been gone for four months, and Sherlock is not dealing well with it. When he finds a personal item of John’s, the situation reaches a crisis. Part 3 of When to Let Go

The Battersea Bridge by pininglock (M, 2,585 w. || MCD, Angst, Grief, Unhappy Ending) – A life without John Watson isn’t a life worth living.

You Paid Me Well In Memories by Ballykissangel - (K+, 3,149 w. || Heavy Angst, Hurt, Comfort, Grief) – It’s Sherlock’s birthday and John is not doing well. No matter how hard he’s tried to keep on living, he knows he is going to give up soon and he isn’t going to make it. Today is his last and only chance to visit Sherlock’s grave to talk and give him his gifts: His dog tags, a book full of notes and memories and the meaning of love as Sherlock watches on in grief.

Too Late by SJBHasADayPass (T, 3,390 w. || Angst, Suicide, Tragedy, Major Character Death, First Person POV) – Six months after the Fall, John is finding it difficult without Sherlock, and Sherlock is finding it just as painful.

Nursery Rhymes by macrauchenia (T, 4,064 w. || Angst, Suspense, MCD, Unhappy Ending) – “Hickory dickery dock. Sherlock’s against the clock. When the wick is gone, so will be John. Hickory dickery dock.” - John is in a struggle for his life in a warehouse rigged to blow by Moriarty.

Sink Like a Stone by pennydreadful (T, 4,348 w. | Angst / Dark, Cuddling/Snuggling) – After defeating Moriarty at the pool, life isn’t quite the same around 221B Baker Street…it’s more peaceful. And stranger.

London’s Ghost by JustlikeWater (K+, 5,642 w. || Tragedy, H/C, Angst, Post-TRF AU, Sherlock POV) – “Today, it’s been weeks since Sherlock died. Other times, years. He doesn’t know for sure, though. Time passes differently for the dead”

I’ll Be Fine by whitchry9 (T, 6,473 w. || Hurt / Comfort, John Whump, Friendship, MCD, Heavy Angst) – John says he’ll be fine, and Sherlock believes him. Until he can’t any more. And it’s awfully hard to forgive John for lying about something big like that, even if he didn’t mean to. Not using warnings because spoilers, but there are some.

Second Waltz by Atiki (T, 6,685 w. || MCD, Angst, Fluff, Cancer) – “The night I died, you wished I could wait for you.”

Not Alone by taliapaxton (K+, 7,034 w. || Angst, Friendship, MCD, Euthanasia) – Alone on the Water from Sherlock’s point of view. Inspired by the wonderful fiction, “Alone on the Water”

Goodbye, John by XxMildredxX (T, 7,154 w. || MCD, Angst, Self Reflection, Bittersweet Ending) – John finds it very difficult to tell Sherlock of his diagnosis, but it seems Sherlock has deduced it himself. As John says goodbye, he and Sherlock struggle with the feelings that this brings on them, and how Sherlock will go on when John has gone.

It’s Natural To Be Afraid by Jenn1984 (T, 7,283 w. || Tragedy, Angst, MCD) - Refusing to accept the obvious, Sherlock searches for what he believes truly happened the night his world was shattered.

Drowning in Darkness by chappysmom (T, 7,575 w. || Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapped John, Post-TRF Hiatus / Reunion, John Whump, Angst with Happy Ending, Depressed John, Background Case Fic) – He couldn’t decide if it was a relief or a curse that he’d been left completely, absolutely alone. You couldn’t fight darkness with your fists, and no matter how strong your will-power, it could be beaten down by the constant monotony of nothingness. Nobody needed John.

Alone On the Water by Mad_Lori (G, 7,725 w. || MCD, UST/URT, Angst, Euthanasia, Love Confessions) – Sherlock Holmes never expected to live a long life, but he never imagined that it would end like this.

On the Steadfast Approach of an Oncoming Darkness by 2bee (T, 7,772 w. || Apocalypse, Minor Character Death, Sort of Parentlock) – The world is ending. Not fast, but slowly, like falling asleep with a fever.

When Evening Falls So Hard by Ballykissangel (K+, 8,251 || Heavy Angst, Hurt, Comfort, No Slash) – All the kings horses, all the kings men couldn’t put John Watson and Sherlock Holmes back together again. Post reichenbach prequel to We Might Not Make It Home. Returning Sherlock never dreamed they would end like this, he never thought he would be watching a shattered John standing on the roof edge of Barts leaving a death note as Sherlock begs him not to jump.

Galapogos by anchors (E, 8,460 w. || Hurt/Comfort, Angst, 5 and 1, John Whump) – Somewhere in the depths of the universe, and somewhere in the middle of Sherlock’s chest, a star goes into supernova.

In The End by whitchry9 (K+, 9,677 w. || Memento Fusion || Amnesia, Growing Old, Hurt / Comfort, Friendship, Heavy Angst) – When a brain injury leaves Sherlock unable to make new memories, John wonders how Sherlock will cope, and what it will mean for The Work and their life. Because after all, how can you live if you can’t feel time passing?

We Might Not Make It Home by Ballykissangel (K+, 10,702 || Angst, Hurt/Comfort, No Slash) – A few months later they are on a case that has gone horribly wrong They find themselves gravely wounded and locked in a cellar Holding onto to each other and trying their best to stay alive Sherlock can’t bring himself to say another goodbye to his dying friend and John can’t find the will to live anymore and just wants to stop hurting. Sequel to When Evening Falls So Hard.

Where the Sun Never Shines by teahigh (T, 11,634 w. || PTSD, Nightmares, H/C, Post-TRF, Implied Sex) – John is a mess. Sherlock can’t fix him, but he tries. That’s good enough, John thinks.

Software Malfunction by tiger_in_the_flightdeck (E, 16,679 w. || Android Sherlock, Love Story, Unhappy Ending, Angst) – “You think I can’t love you? Just because you’re made with metal, and detailed programming?” The doctor propped himself on his elbow, and looked down at it. “I am nothing but blood and bone, and tissue. Things just managed get mashed together in a manner that made me like this. Just like you were put together to make you how you are. When I kiss you-” he did so, briefly, to prove his point. Then more deeply, and lingering, because he could. “When I touch you, or smile at you, does it make you feel different from when others have done it in the past?”

Six Months by dreamergirl090 (T, 16,978 w, Angst, Friendship, Major Character Death) – John doesn’t show up to a crime scene. Lestrade wonders if John and Sherlock had a row. Molly knows it’s more complicated than that. This is a beautifully painful fic about John and Sherlock finding each other at the end.

Sherlock’s Head, John’s Heart by Altego (T, 17,252 w. || Tragedy, Heavy Angst, Heavy Bromance, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Mary is Nice, Friendship) – After Mary dies, John tries to cope, and Sherlock blames himself but tries to make John understand how important John is in his life.

Checkmate to a Castled King by LaSuen (T, 18,290 w. || Friendship, Hurt / Comfort, Sick Sherlock, Heavy Angst) - John dies. Or at least everyone thinks he does.

The dying Doctor by marylouleach (T, 21,168 w. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, John Whump) – Doctor Watson is gunned down in a dark alley after work, Sherlock wont rest until he finds the man responsible. Guilt riddles him when he realizes he could have prevented this.

When to Let Go by KendylGirl (M, 22,109 w. || Friends to Lovers, Reverse Reichenbach, Sacrifice, Forgiveness, Angst, Love, Implied Drug Use) – What if it were John who had to die to thwart Moriarty’s plans? John’s supposed death shatters Sherlock, and when he returns, it will challenge the pair to forge a path of forgiveness, to peace, and to find a way back to each other. Part 1 of When to Let Go

You Have Drawn Red From My Hands by J_Baillier (T, 67,085 w. || Three Garridebs, Heavy John Whump, Hurt / Comfort, Pining, Heavy Angst, Case Fic/Adventure, Slow Burn, Sick Fic, Injury, Guilt & Depression, Just Talk Already Please, Medical Realism, PTSD) – John getting injured leads Sherlock on a path of guilt and revelations.

Not Broken, Just Bent by Schmiezi (E, 87,585 w. || Pining, Love Confessions, Torture, Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Villain!Mary, Suicidal Ideations, Main Character Death, Sherlock POV, Eventual Happy Ending) – “For a second, I allow myself to remember teaching John how to waltz. There is a special room in my mind palace for it. A big one, with a proper parquet dance floor. For a second, I go there. I remember holding him, closer than the World Dance Council asks for, excusing it with the fact that we are training for a wedding, not for a competition. For a second, I feel his hand on mine again, smell his sweat, hear the song we used. For a second, I allow myself to love him deeply. For a second, only a second, that love reflects on my face.” Fix-it for S3, starting at the end of TSoT. Evil Mary.

If you want something softer but still tearful:

Pining Sherlock [MOBILE FRIENDLY VERSION]

John Realizes How Important Sherlock is To Him

John Marries and Sherlock Admits his Feelings

Kidnapping, Hostage, & Stalking

John During the Hiatus

Angst With a Happy Ending

Letters from Sherlock After the Fall

Angsty Fluff

Hope you enjoy!

#steph replies #death fics #johnlock fic recs #angst fics #major character death #my fic recs #Anonymous

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minuete-blog · 5 years

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Philes’ Xmas Advent Calendar Prompt Day 25: Christmas Day

🎄 Merry Christmas!!!🎄

The very last advent prompt story is finally here. It is the first and only multichapter I’ve drafted for a series on AO3. Thank you to all who traveled through this journey of various degrees of angst (there were only 5 stories?) to the early msr fluff. Special thanks to @only-txf-fanart for the Advent Calendar Prompts. My writing muse came back in time to participate.

🎁 For those of you who haven't read the series, it can be found here. 🎁

❤️For those who just want to read the subtle romance that blossomed from this advent calendar series, read in this order: I’m Offering You The World, Last Minute, The RomCom Gift, and Christmas Offering. ❤️

Tagging @today-in-fic @txf-prompt-box

Christmas Offering

Chapter 1. Movie Missed

Scully feels warm and cozy as she sinks deeper into the couch. She hears Mulder calling her from a distance, strands of hair being swept away from her face with a gossamer touch. She hums in defiance, wraps the afghan blanket more securely around her.

“That won’t do.” She hears Mulder chuckle. She furrows her eyebrows and manages to crack open her eyes making out a blurry image of Mulder kneeling on the ground, his chin resting on the crook of his right elbow upon the couch, facing her at eye-level. He smiles softly.

“Hey there, Scully. The movie just ended.”

“What?” She asks confused, disoriented as she sits up, her hair plastered on the left side of her face. Pouting a little, still groggy from sleep, she remembers what happened. “I missed the movie?” Mulder nods and gets up off the ground to run his fingers along her left cheek and loosen the strands of hair stuck to her face. She thinks she felt a featherlight kiss on her left temple.

“Come on. Go freshen up. I’ll have coffee ready for you before you head out.”

“Mmkay,” she mumbles and untangles herself from the blanket. A few minutes later, she re-emerges from the bathroom looking somewhat awake and decent, her hair looking more windswept than bedhead. She can smell the pot of coffee brewing in the kitchen as she sits down on the couch to put on her boots. Mulder reappears in the living room, and hands Scully the travel mug he just gifted her a couple hours ago filled with coffee. She offers her thanks as he walks her to the door. She turns around.

“Mulder, are you sure you don’t want to come to my mom’s? You’re always welcomed.” He shakes his head.

“Nah, I’m good, Scully. I won’t be the best company considering how tired I feel.”

“Well, what are you going to do the rest of the day?”

“Once you leave, I intend to fully pass out since I hadn’t slept yet. I’ll be okay, Scully.” She frowns a little, looking up at him from behind her shoulder as she opens the door. Mulder leans against the door frame as she exits. “I kept you long enough away from your family. I need to be nice and share.” Scully gives him a small smile.

“Merry Christmas, Mulder.”

“Merry Christmas, Scully.”

Chapter 2. Scully Christmas Gathering

Scully arrives at her mom’s home on time with 15 minutes to spare despite the fresh snowfall. She gulps down the last of the coffee in her travel mug before stepping out into the cold, and retrieves the large shopping bags containing the presents in the trunk and backseat of her car. Just when she reaches the front door, it suddenly opens revealing a man standing nearly six feet with ruddy brown hair and dark green eyes clad in a burgundy plaid shirt and jeans.

“Charlie?!” Scully exclaimed surprised and excited to see her little brother. She drops the bags and gives him a huge hug. He laughs.

“Hey, Sis.”

“That’s it?! A ‘hey, sis’ after years of not hearing from you, and you decide to show up on Christmas Day?!” She playfully punches him in the arm.

“Hey, now! You get photos of my whereabouts. They’re a small fortune, you know.” Scully rolls her eyes at him, though she’s not the least bit irritated by his remark. Her free-spirited brother found his true calling as a freelance photographer right after college, landing assignments every so often from travel guide magazine publishers.

“Those don’t count. You’re not even in them.”

“Yeah, but I took them.”

“I still can’t believe you’re here.”

“I know. Mom’s pissed at me right now for not telling her I’m in town. She’s upset that I won’t have any presents to unwrap. Come on, let me help you out.” Charlie reaches for the bags and brings them inside as Scully follows him to the tree. The house smells like holiday spices from the mulled spiced cider their mom prepared in the kitchen the night before. The living room looked picturesque with a roaring fireplace, complete with hung stockings and a fully decorated tree with all the ornaments handmade and collected over the years. She notices Melissa’s stocking with her favorite horse sleigh ornament hanging on the mantle. Scully smiles a small bittersweet smile as she heads over to the tree to place the gifts underneath. She sees a light flash from the corner of her eye.

“Charlie, really?” She turns to him only to be greeted with another flash of light.

“I’m creating memories, Dana. Just go about doing what you’re doing and pretend I’m not here.” She scoffs.

“Don’t worry, Dana. I’ll be turning off the flash once daylight breaks.” Scully hears footsteps coming down the stairs and sees their mom in cozy, festive flannel pajamas and a fluffy robe. Their mom smiles at the two of them beside the tree.

“I see you two are catching up. I’ll make some coffee. I already woke up Bill and Tara. They’re getting Matthew ready. The King’s Mass is held at 9 this morning. That should give us more than enough time to unwrap presents and get ready.” Their mom looked at them amused by their dubious expressions. Both Scully siblings seemed to have forgotten about the Christmas Day mass they hated attending as children. Bill hosted Christmas last year, and Scully’s previous holiday seasons had been overshadowed with life-altering events. Their mom shakes her head smiling as she heads to the kitchen.

“Shit! Crap! Sorry for cussing on Baby Jesus’ birthday. I totally forgot all about The King’s Mass. This is probably why I subconsciously avoided visiting during Christmas season,” Charlie murmured to Scully, “I guess I’ll have to don on some khakis.” He glances over at Scully, “and you look like you’re a government agent. Shouldn’t you dress in something more festive?” Scully shrugs.

“I packed an overnight bag, but I didn’t account for Mass this morning. I’ll be fine. I’m sure Tara or Mom bought me a nice scarf or something this year for me to throw on.”

Within the next couple of hours, the Scully family festivities went underway filled with chatter, coffee, spiced cider, cinnamon buns, and Christmas music playing in the background. Matthew is the main star as he wobbly walks to his Nana, allows Auntie Dana to hold him, and pats the shiny boxes that keep coming his way. Charlie stays in the background taking photographs. The adults exchange presents, with mostly Tara and their mom oohing and ahhing over presents they unwrap. Scully merely grins and offers her thanks until she opens a box from Tara that housed a royal blue blouse tunic with a scoop neckline. She gasps in amazement; she hears a click and shutter from Charlie’s camera.

“Looks like you have your festive outfit,” he says. Scully admits to her family that she plans to wear the tunic for mass as her family breaks out in laughter. She excuses herself to quickly change.

As Bill, Tara, and their mom get ready for mass, Scully tidies up the living room while Charlie entertains Matthew. “So what’s up with Fox? Why doesn’t he join us?” Scully looks at Charlie in surprise.

“He goes by Mulder and he doesn’t celebrate Christmas.” Charlie hums.

“I’ve been taking photos this whole morning, Dana. You’re here, but you’re not here. It shows.”

“I just have a lot on my mind.” Charlie shakes his head as he lets Matthew study his camera.

“No, you have this far-off look in your eyes. A restlessness about you. I recognize that look anywhere.”

“What are you trying to say, Charlie?” He purses his lips and shrugs, their conversation ending as they hear the rest of the family returning downstairs.

Bill rented an SUV that could transport all of them to the church, but Charlie insists that they take two cars.

“I wanna catch up with Dana!” Charlie announces as he runs to the passenger side door.

“Really, Charlie? I’m tired of driving,” Scully whines, but she walks to the driver’s side and unlocks her car.

Chapter 3. The King’s Mass

The Kings’ Mass at St. Mary’s Church was full of generational families much like the Scully clan. Their mom waved at many of the churchgoing ladies, offering well wishes and season’s greetings as she led them to her usual pew. Tara, Matthew, and Bill sat in the row first, followed by their mom, Scully, then Charlie. The service started with the usual procession of the pew boys, then the priest, Father Bennett, and the deacons. They had a larger than usual choir having some of the Sunday School children participating in today’s service. Just when the priest welcomed everyone to the church and encouraged all to greet their fellow brothers and sisters, Charlie turns to Scully and says, “I think you should head back home after service.”

“What?” she hissed through a fake grin as she waves at a family two pews ahead.

“You heard me, Sis. Just go.” Scully gives him a look as she sits down waiting to listen to the choir sing before the liturgy. Charlie pesters her again when they stand up to recite the hymns from the church bulletin. He causes enough commotion for their mom to give them a pointed look. Scully glances at her apologetically.

“You two are worse than Matthew,” she whispers leaning back for the two to see Matthew passed out in Bill’s arms. They sit back down again for the sermon after a deacon recited Isaiah 9:6 where Father Bennett spoke in detail of the miraculous birth of their Lord and Savior, symbolizing hope and love to mankind, but not without the struggles and sacrifice that Joseph and Mary had to endure to travel to Bethlehem.

“...so let us be reminded of His enduring love for us as we celebrate his arrival with loved ones. To not forget the road traveled for all of us to be here in this room. Let us honor his arrival with a giving spirit, full of compassion and empathy towards our fellow man,” Father Bennett concluded, “Now, as we begin communion, let us feel His loving spirit surround us.”

“Now’s your chance, Dana,” Charlie says as the pew rows were systematically dispersing to line up for communion, “Just make a break for it. You heard what Father Bennett said ‘celebrate with loved ones.’”

“I am celebrating with loved ones!” she responds a little too loudly as they stand at the ready for the church volunteer to beckon them to get in line.

“Mom, can you talk some sense into Dana, please?” Charlie says turning around giving their mom a knowing look, “I know you saw what I saw this morning. You can’t deny it.” She sighs in resignation, lips pressed together.

“Dana, I’m glad we got to spend time with you this morning, but Charlie’s right-- a part of you isn’t with us, it’s someplace else.” She gives Scully a fierce hug. “We’ll see you later this week. Charlie is staying for a couple more days before he flies out to the Netherlands. Now, go. You have some matters to attend to.” Scully’s eyes turn glassy as she manages not to cry. She smiles against her mom’s shoulder and gives her a quick peck on the cheek. She mouths and waves goodbye to Bill and Tara who each had a curious expression on their faces. Charlie gives her a quick hug and waves goodbye to her as he stands aside to let her out of the pew. She can hear Bill asking their mom where she’s going, and her mom answering that she has to attend to matters of love. Scully walks out of the church with one destination in mind.

Chapter 4. Give vs. Offer

It seems that no one left Hegal Place as Scully had to park a block away nearby a liquor store. She quickly runs into the store and purchases some items for the day. The afternoon weather is nippy, but tolerable with a heavy coat she had placed in the back of her car as she briskly walks on the sidewalk, being careful not to slip. She doesn’t know whether Mulder is at his place or not; it didn’t occur to her to give him a call during her trip. The early snowfall that morning had covered all the parked cars, making it difficult to identify which car is his. She finally arrives at his building, promptly taking off the heavy coat from the extreme temperature change. She knows her hair looks unkempt again from the weather as she takes the elevator up to the fourth floor. She can’t decide whether her heart was rapidly beating from the brisk walk or the notion that Mulder might not be home. Scully raps on the door sharply, causing the “2” in “42” to be slightly askew. To her relief, she hears muffled footsteps behind the door. The door cracks open revealing a disheveled Mulder dressed in sweatpants and a white t-shirt. He braces himself against the door frame with his right forearm as he rubs his eyes. His left hand still on the doorknob.

“Scully? What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be with your family?” he asks in a gravelly voice, eyes squinting from the hallway light. She realizes she must have woken him up from his sleep. His eyes come into focus, and she can see him take in her appearance. “Is this how you usually dress at family gatherings? Maybe I should accompany you next time you go.” She feels a blush forming on her cheeks.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about the movie this entire morning,” she says, averting her gaze away from Mulder’s form, staring down at her boots. “It’s been bothering me, how Sandra Bullock’s character is in love with what looks like a huge asshole.” She looks up at him slightly flustered, “And Mulder! Even if I had watched ‘While You Were Sleeping’, I wouldn’t have caught on with the line you misquoted. The character’s mom gave her dad the world, which by the way is not a snow globe but a regular globe. So, I can only deduce that the actual line is ‘I give you the world’ not ‘I offer you the world.’” Mulder looks amused.

“To be fair, Scully, I only watched the movie once on cable. I thought I got the gist of the phrase, especially when paired with the snow globe I grabbed at Grand Rapids to show you. It appears much later in the movie by the way.”

“But ‘give,’ and ‘offer’ are two very different words, Mulder,” she continues, “Their meaning is completely different in context. ‘I give’ means that there are no strings attached to this phrase, no conditions set in place, while ‘I offer’ allows the other party a chance to accept or decline the option.” Scully knows she’s rambling, but she can’t stop herself. She holds up the plastic bag in her hands.

“For instance, I’m offering you this bag full of items I purchased at the corner liquor store. It contains components to make delicious hot chocolate—you still owe me hot chocolate, Mulder--”

“Of all the things to begrudge me for, it’s hot chocolate?”

“Hot chocolate, milk, whipped cream, chocolate sprinkles, marshmallows, and peppermint sticks. And since it’s around lunch time, I even purchased some gourmet frozen dinners because I know the state of your fridge and pantry, Mulder. A man can’t suffice on sunflower seeds alone.” Mulder’s grinning at this point. He unbraces himself from the door frame and reaches for the bag, but Scully holds it away from him.

“Mulder, this is an offer. Offers usually come with conditions from the party presenting it.”

“State your conditions then, Scully.” He drawls as he leans against the door frame crossing his arms.

“I want you to be the one to prepare hot chocolate for the both of us. I also want to finish watching the movie. I want to see how Sandra Bullock’s character goes from thinking she’s in love with an asshole to falling in love with Bill Pullman’s character.”

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Mulder’s eyes shone brightly as he stared at her intently. Her eyes slightly widened at his question. He straightens himself up and fully opens the door. He motions with his head as he says, “Get in here, Scully.”

She exhales a breath as she crosses the threshold. Mulder murmurs, “I was thinking about you all morning too” as he closes the door behind her.

#my fic #hooray #it’s finished #advent calendar prompt #day 25 #Christmas Day #romcom trope #msr #kinda

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aitaikimochi · 6 years

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Boku No Hero Academia Light Novel Vol. 3 “Another U.A. Quest” Official Fantasy AU Story

The Boku No Hero Academia Vol. 3 Light novel comes with a long chapter that is based off of the popularity poll art and the Season 2 Ending 2 sequence featuring the characters in a fantasy setting. The story is probably one of many since it does not end and seems to set the stage for an epic continuation! One of the most notable things to highlight from this story is that Kirishima is officially revealed to be Bakugou’s dragon who has committed to serving under Bakugou since he lost a duel against him. I translated the entire chapter from the light novel, so please enjoy this epic prologue~

Once upon a time, the world was ruled by a fearsome devil. For a long time he oppressed the humans and even robbed them of their wills, and thus continued his exploitations as he saw fit.

However, within this long period of despair, a brave group of people sought out to put an end to this long period of despair. These men and women were called heroes who believed in the defeat of the evil ruler. Among the bravest of them all was a mighty warried named All Might, who overthrew the ruler and brought peace back to the world.

Many people longed to become one of these heroes. And so, our story begins with a young man from the country side named Izuku. He was of course a huge fan of All Might.

Izuku: Mother! I will become All Might’s disciple!

Izuku’s Mom: What? Please be careful then!

Izuku then set off triumphantly from his house as his mother waved goodbye. His mother knew that it was meaningless to try to stop his passionate determination.

While strolling in the forest, he stumbled upon a doll with the appearance of All Might. That night, he had a dream about All Might.

All Might: Young man! Even you can be a hero!

After hearing that, Izuku became even more determined to finall meet All Might.

Although he was heading down the correct path that lead to the town where All Might was in, he for some reason got lost.

He stepped foot into an unfamiliar village. While distraught here in the village, he was approached by a young girl named Ochako and a man who was clad in armor named Tenya. When the two of them heard of Izuku’s determination to meet All Might, a clouded look passed over their faces.

Ochako: All Might has been missing for quite some time now.

Izuku: What? What is the meaning of this?

There was a rumor that there was something in the Tual Region that was able to cause heroes to disappear. It seems that All Might became caught up in this mess.

Tenya, who comes from generations of knights in his family, decided to investigate this matter, and the witch Ochako was hired to assist his family. Izuku then joined the two in this journey.

However, the Tual region was extremely far. The three of them soon found themselves with the last remnants of their food supply.

Izuku: Hm that’s strange. I could have sworn that we had way enough food for this trip.

Tenya: Ah, I am so sorry. It’s because I kept dividing the portions we had.

Izuku: No, that’s not it. I made sure to prepare enough for even the toughest of times, so our supply should have been fine but…Ochako-kun, your cheeks seem a bit stuffed…?

Ochako: I…am so sorry! Using magic really takes a lot out of you!!

Izuku: I see, so you need to replenish your magic by eating, right?

Ochako: But even if you gave me more to eat right now, I would not be able to restore the magic so quickly.

Ochako’s family were at their wit’s end with finances, and Ochako wanted to help out their situation. She told Izuku that she was very sorry about this. Still, she had no power on an empty stomach. As the three of them walked onward languidly, they came across a tree full of ripe fruit. They were truly blessed to find such a place, and the three of them filled their stomachs with the fruit.

Tenya: Wow, this is delicious!

Izuku: It’s chewy and tastes of soybean powder drizzled with molasses!

Ochako: I believe that this would be called a type of raw soy tea. I would love to have my father and mother try this as well.

As the three of them proceeded to take more of the fruit, a knight wearing an emblem of a flame came to them and shouted, “So you were the ones who were eating Lord Endeavor’s special fruit? Those who consume the fruit will be executed!”

All three of them cried out and ran for their lives. However, the knight was fast on their pursuit and cornered them. Just then, a young man came upon the sight.

Knight: “Master Shouto! Even if you are the son of Lord Endeavor, I will not forgive you for sidestepping on his policies!

Shouto: Silence! Leave us at once.

The knight took his command and left the three alone with the young man. They thanked him for saving them.

The young man then spat on the floor, grimacing.

Shouto: I was not trying to save you three. I just wanted to prove something to my wretched father.

It seemed that Shouto was the son of the infamous tyrannious high ruler Endeavor of these lands. The tree from which the three ate the fruit was native to only these lands, making it extremely rare. It was an item that Lord Endeavor treasured.

Shouto: My horrible father loved that treasured tree so much that he threw away his love for my mother. If he loves that tree so much then he should have just gotten married with the tree instead of my mother! As I am the heir to be the ruler of this land, I shall put an end to these foolish “kuzummochi*” trees. I will never follow in his footsteps!

As he finished speaking, he spat once more on the ground, disgusted at his father and determined to take revenge. Izuki and the others took pity on him.

Izuku: You know…we were actually just in the middle of searching for All Might and all the lost heroes. Perhaps if you are interested, you may join us…?

Shouto: I shall accompany you.

As long as he was able to leave the grip of Endeavor, he made a prompt decision. The journey then became that of four instead of three.

Although the four of them were on their way to the Tual Region, they once again became lost in their path. They found themselves surrounded by jagged cliffs with a large volcano that looked like it was about to erupt.

Izuku: Ochako-kun! Is there something you can do with that magic of yours?

Ochako: I’ll try! Merameramera―ramen! I call forth the spirit of the flames! Create a path for us!

As she murmured her spell, she waved her wand and pointed in the direction that she wanted the path to be made.

Ochako: It’s this way!

Shouto: Is that magic?

Shouto looked on doubtfully but followed the rest towards the direction that the wand was pointing to. As they headed in the direction, their path was blocked by a burst of flame! Someone shouted, “Who goes there? Who dares step foot in the lands in which Lord Katsuki resides in?!”

There on top of a fire breathing dragon stood an intimidating young man adorned with a cape lined with fur and baring his chest, with a smug look on his face.

Katsuki: You dare cross my path? Do you really intend to overthrow ME?!

Shoto: Even a dragon obeys his commands! We cannot go forth! We must head back.

As he said that, Katsuki signaled to the dragon and immediately blocked the path that Izuku and the others were attempting to retreat to.

Katsuki: Try and defeat me if you want to go down this path!

He challenged them with a surging passion to fight as he laughed.

Katsuki: Seems like you still wanna fight, eh?

As Shoto took on his battle stance, Izuku then looked on carefully at the scene unfolding before him and realized something.

Izuku: Wait a minute…aren’t you THE Kacchan who used to live next me ages ago?

Katsuki: What the hell? Are you that bastard, Deku?

Izuku: This is so nostalgic! Is your mother well?

Katsuki: Oh we’re doing so well, you little imbecile!

It seems as if long ago, Izuku and Katsuki were neighbors in their village. Tenya them breathed a sigh of relief.

Izuku: Well then, since you do know Izuku from your childhood, would you be so kind and please step aside from our path?

Katsuki: And just who the hell do you think you’re talking to? Deku! This is the perfect chance. I have always wanted to completely obliterate you!

Izuku: Why are you like this, Kacchan?

Katsuki: You bastard, have you forgotten what you have done yourself?

Izuku then grew quiet in front of Katsuki and tilted his head, deep in thought. He muttered:

Izuku: Perhaps you are referring to the time when you did something wrong and tried to put the blame on me but was found out by your mother? Or was it that one time when we went into the cave to explore, and you fell very ungracefully in front of everyone? Or are you referring to the time when you received a very ornate treasure right before you moved but I then accidentally dropped it and it shattered?

Katsuki: All of it, you shitty bastard! That’s it. I will duel you now! No one dare interfere!

Suddenly, a great fire burst behind Katsuki and propelled him forward. This was the start of their duel.

Tenya: It seems like even childhood friends have various problems…

Just as the legends say, the dragon breathed fire as it cheered on Katsuki. Meanwhile, Ochako and the others watched the fight attentively.

As the fight progressed, there was a sudden rumble from the volcano nearby, and Izuku and Katsuki then started the fight with all their power.

As it turns out, the winds of victory were favorable for the offensive Katsuki, and the Goddes of Victory shined upon him.

Katsuki: Aha! I am the victor after all!

Katsuki looked down at the cowering figure of Izuku as he smirked. He turned to Ochako and the others and shouted:

Katsuki: Now, all of you will become my servants!

Ochako: What? We never agreed upon those terms!

Katsuki: The victor decides the shots, round face!

Tenya, troubled, then interrupted by saying:

Tenya: Although you are the victor to this match, we are in the middle of heading towards the Tual Region to search for All Might as well as the other missing heroes.

Katsuki: What the hell are you blabbering about?

Tenya then heatedly explained the situation that they were in. As Katsuki listend to his words, a thought crossed his mind and he said:

Katsuki: I shall join you in your quest. If someone is out there killing heroes, that must mean they’re pretty damn strong. I want to fight whoever is capable of such things and come out the victor in that!

Everyone else exclaimed in disbelief.

Izuku: Umm…it’s okay if you tag along with us, but if that dragon also joins us then that’ll be a little…

The dragon listened carefully as soon as he said those words and suddenly morphed into the appearance of a young man. As the others cried out in surprise, there stood before them a young man with red hair who was smiling.

Kirishima: Me? I’m half dragon half human! The name’s Eijirou. It’s not going to be a problem if I come along looking like this, right? Anyway, let’s get along!

Eijirou, brimming with courage and bright personality, seemed to have lost against a one on one duel to Katsuki and ended up becoming his servant as a result.

The six individuals then continued on their journey together.

They crossed through treacherous lands and had many close calls before they finally reached the region of Tual. Although the city should have been bustling with life, there were few others in the region.

Katsuki: Hey, where the hell are the bad guys? There’s no one here!

Izuku: It seems that we must gather more information before we are able to determine our next move.

They headed to the nearby tavern in hopes of gathering more information on the whereabouts of the missing heroes. The name of the tavern was the “Dancing Tadpole.”

The owner of the tavern was a girl who had a very cute face that quite resembled that of a frog. She said to them, “Welcome to the tavern! This is the first time we were blessed with so many visitors! Please call me Tsuyu.”

There were only two other patrons, a girl with very sharp eyes and another man who was wearing a dark hood. Tenya and the others tried to explain the situation of the missing heroes to them, but Tsuyu just tilted her head, perplexed. He then pressed on explaining that at some points, all of the heroes just disappeared without a trace.

Tsuyu: Hmm…

Tsuyu listened on as they continued the story.

Tsuyu: In either case, although it may be true that the heroes were disappearing in this region, I believe that you should still look for more information.

Eijirou: Well then, guess we should eat!

Much time passed since the six adventurers were able to have a full meal, so they enjoyed themselves to the fullest. They ate all the delicious food and had seconds, even third or fourth or more helpings to satisfy their stomachs.

Ochako: Thank you so much for the meal, Tsuyu-chan! Please give us the bill.

Tsuyu: That will be 30,000 tual, please!

Tenya then took out his bag to take out his money but suddenly froze in shock.

Ochako: What’s wrong, Tenya-kun?

Tenya: My money is gone! It seems like it fell out through a small hole in the bag.

Izuku: Oh no! The string to my wallet as well as my bag has also unraveled!

Tenya: I’m so sorry everyone, but please lend me some money!

As Tenya pleaded to the rest of the party, everyone was froze.

Ochako: I only have 500 tual.

Katsuki: I do not surround myself with such materialistic things.

Eijirou: Sorry, me too! I’m just a dragon!

Izuku: Your wallet is my wallet.

They all turned to Shouto, the son of a Lord ruler of a land, as their last hope.

Shouto: I am sorry. I left in such a spur of the moment that I too, forgot my wallet.

With their hopes destroyed, they were in a pinch. Tsuyu gazed upon them without flinching, waiting for them to pay their dues.

Katsuki then took out something out of Izuku’s bag, which was the All Might doll he had kept all this time!

Katsuki: Then let’s just sell this All Might doll! It’s sure to bring in some easy money!

Izuku: Wait no! Of course not! Give it back!

As Izuku tried while trying to pry the doll away, Ever since the day he came across the doll, he was able to see All Might in his dreams and gave him strength, telling him that even he too, can become a hero. That with a strong heart, he can truly become―!

Izuku then grabbed the doll and shoved in back inside his bag. To Izuku, that was not just a doll. It was a precious item that gave him confidence in himself.

Katsuki: You bastard, this isn’t the time to be saying crap like that!

Izuku: This is something I will not give into!

As Katsuki and Izuku quarrelled over the doll, the hooded man stood and placed money on his table and thanked Tsuyu for the meal. The woman with the sharp eyes followed him outand suddenly, a cry was heard from outside!

Izuku: What was that!?

The group was then greeted by a fearsome beast with red glowing eyes, stomping over at least 14 different stores. This was not a normal monster as its back had large black wings.

Izuku: Is this…the Evil Demon? Why is it here?

As Izuku tried to formulate a plan, Shouto said to him:

Shouto: Izuku, think about this later!

The demon then followed the group. However, because they had gone through many hardships on the way here, they were trained in endurance and strenght and was able to easily overcome the enemy.

Katsuki: What? You call this a foe? What a waste!

Eijiro: Hey, calm down now…

Katsuki kept barking insults at the fallen beast while Eijirou tried to soothe his rage.

Ochako: Hey, just a thought but can we eat these things?

Tenya: I don’t think you should. You’ll probably get a really bad stomach ache, Ochako-kun.

The woman with the sharp eyes looked on to them and approached them. She said, “Hey you. You’re pretty strong.”

As a gesture of thanks for destroying the evil monster terrorizing the town, Tsuyu did not charge them for their meal and even let them stay at the tavern one night for free.

The six of them then proceeded to bathe in the bathhouse and soon retired to their bedrooms.

The woman with the sharp eyes was named Kyouka, and she arrived in this town a few days prior to the group and was staying in this tavern alone. She approached Ochako’s room and wanted to talk.

Ochako: So, what do you do for a living? I’ve been hired as a witch!

Kyouka: I was also scouted as of late…

As the two made conversation, Kyouka seemed to be hiding something and not properly answering Ochako’s questions.

Ochako: I see! Being scouted really is hard. So what kind of job were you hired for?

Kyouka: Oh well..that’s uh…

Ochako: Are you some sort of spy from your own kingdom?

Kyouka: What? How did you find out?

Kyouka was taken aback at how accurate Ochako’s guess was. She indeed was appointed by the ruler of her land to be a spy to see what was happening to these missing heroes. She was sent to warn those around the nearby lands of the dangers that this might cause.

Seeing as their goals were aligned, Kyouka finally was able to speak freely with Izuku and the others as well.

Kyouka: I believe that the reason why the heroes are disappearing can be attributed to the Evil Demon.

Tenya: The Evil Demon? You mean the person who All Might overthrew?

Kyouka: It seems like the corpse of the Evil Demon that should have remained in the lowest depths of the Earth has been missing.

Ochako: No way…

Kyouka: The monster just now was proof.

As Ochako gasped, Izuku grimaced.

Izuku: So even though he alone wanted to dominate the entire lands, he just tried to get rid of all who opposed him while we just glanced away. Further, the heroes are not just disappearing in this area. It seems like it will be difficult to find the heroes who have not yet disappeared.

Izuku and the others gulped.

If there are no heroes in the present and the Evil Demon were to return…

The tales of the Evil Demon’s dominace of the lands only reached the ears of those who were born in the time of peace as just bedtime stories. It was hard to believe that such a thing would ever happen again. The air in the room suddenly became very thick.

The door then opened, and the scruffy looking man from before stepped through. He asked, “Who was the one who defeated that monster out back?”

Without caring much about how suspicious he looked, the man took off his hood and revealed his face to Tenya and the others. Izuku then exclaimed:

Izuku: The man with the unruly hair, who always has eye bags around his tired eyes and wraps a scarf around his neck…are you the hero Aizawa?

Aizawa: Huh? Who are you?

Izuku then pressed on.

Izuku: Since you apparently are never seen anywhere, I assumed that you did not even exist. However I can’t believe that such a rare hero is standing here in front of me! I can’t believe I am able to actually finally meet a real hero!

As Izuku muttered to himself, Aizawa laughed.

Aizawa: The Evil Demon’s hideout is very well barricaded. If his magic is to reach these lands then we must act in haste. I shall proceed alone. You must notify the rest of the lands about this. Please reach out to the nearby countries and ask for their cooperation and understanding of this.

As Aizawa said this, Izuku and the others stood up. Even indoors, Katsuki looked like he was fully ready and motivated.

Katsuki: I’m going to defeat that crappy Evil Demon!

Tenya: We have all gathered together for this one mission. Well then everyone, let us continue our journey tonight!

Tenya’s voice reached everyone and they all stood up. Before Izuku left, Aizawa grabbed him by the shoulder.

Aizawa: Let me see that All Might doll. It might hold a clue.

Izuku: If…if that’s the case leave it to me! If it’s about All Might, I know everything from his measurements to even his favorite tree!

As Izuku continued in one breath and with glittering eyes, Aizawa let out a small sigh.

Aizawa: Okay, I get it. Then come with me.

As the two of them went into the forest, Kyouka decided to follow their trail.

Izuku: Has Hero Aizawa ever worked together with All Might? What is he like? Is he different from what the stories say of him?

Izuku listened as Aizawa explained the various things he went through with All Might. Aizawa then looked at Izuku who seemed to deflate for some reason. He let out a sigh and said:

Izuku: I’m sorry!

He then pulled out the All Might doll from his bag and examined it closely under the moonlight.

Izuku: I know it’s just a doll and I haven’t changed much but I still…

Aizawa: Well that’s that!

Izuku: What?

Aizawa then let out a huge laugh, which made Izuku slightly uneasy. As he looked up, Aizawa did not change.

Aizawa: Let me see that doll again.

Izuku: Ah, sure thing!

Izuku handed the doll to Aizawa and when he did, a strong thought passed through his head. It was a voice that called out to him, “Young man, do not give me to him!!”

Izuku: What was that?

Aizawa: What’s wrong? Hurry and give it to me.

Izuku: But…But I…

The voice that resonated in his head contradicted his body’s actions as he stood frozen. Aizawa then glanced at him with narrowed eyes and grew cold.

Aizawa: Don’t make fun of us adults. Although I might not look like the part, I actually hate merciless destruction. I wasn’t going to do anything but…just hand that over to me.

Izuku: I…!

Aizawa’s eyes turned red, and Izuku ran for his life. At that moment, Aizawa’s scarf came to life and wrapped around Izuku, grounding him. Izuku tried to struggle but it kept on getting tighter.

Aizawa: Why do you run? Aren’t I the hero that you so praise?

Izuku: Even if you were, why are you doing this?

Aizawa: Well then, give me that doll.

Izuku: No!! I won’t!

Aizawa used the scarf to take the doll. Izuku looked on as Aizawa suddenly had a very satisfied look on his face.

Izuku: Why do you care about the doll so much? Wait a minute, is Hero Aizawa also a huge fan of All Might? Why didn’t you tell me that earlier??

Aizawa: You’ve got it all wrong.

Aizawa scowled and looked down at Izuku.

Aizawa: You mentioned that All Might came to you in a dream and told you that even you too can become a hero. The birth of a hero huh, well then I’ll just have to crush it now!

Izuku: No!!!

Aizawa’s scarf continued to wrap tightly around Izuku, constricting him. However, suddenly a great flame burst through right at that moment.

Ochako: Are you all right, Izuku-kun?

Izuku: Everyone!

Tenya and the others made it in the nick of time! Tsuyu was there too, and Eijirou was in the form of a great dragon. Izuku scrambled to the others.

Izuku: I thought you were all going to notify the rest of the kingdom!

Kyouka then turned towards Aizawa, who looked very annoyed.

Kyouka: I knew you always seemed very suspicious. Aizawa should have actually disappeared quite some time ago, so why are you here? You’re an imposter, aren’t you?

Aizawa: Well that’s too bad, ‘cause I’m the real deal. I was reborn and brought back to life in this form.

As Aizawa spoke, he conjured up an army of monsters and evil beings that surrounded Tenya and the others.

Aizawa: If only you listened like good little children and left to warn the neighboring kingdoms. Well if we’re going to do this, then we might as well do it well. Let’s be rational, shall we?

Aizawa let out an evil laugh and reverted back to his demon form. The monster was even larger than the Dragon Eijirou. Even with eight fighters, this enemy seemed too strong.

Izuku: Uwaaaaa!!!

Tenya: Guhh!!

Shouto: Haa!

Tenya, Shouto, and Izuku drew out their swords and dashed forward towards the enemy.

Nearby, Katsuki also knocked out enemies left and right as he shouted.

Katsuki: Come at me!

Eijirou then breathed fire onto all the enemies around them, imeidately obliterating most of the monsters.

Kyouka brought out a small dagger to fight, and Tsuyu used her tongue to knock out the enemies. Ochako was surprised.

Ochako: Tsuyu-chan, your tongue is amazing!

Tsuyu: Oh not at all! I used to be in a circus, so it’s a trait that runs in my heritage.

Ochako: I can’t lose to these monsters as well!

Since Ochako ate her fill earlier, she was teeming with energy. She called forth the spirits’ powers and directed her attack towards the enemies, easily defeating many of them.

After the group had attacked most of the monsters, all that was left was Aizawa himself.

Aizawa: You have such power yet you undervalue them so. Well, I’ll just ask anyway. Join me and lend me your strength.

Izuku: Never!

Tenya: Never in a million years!

Aizawa laughed at them and suddenly struck out with his long nails.

Aizawa: Of course not. Then join forces and try to stop me!

Everyone prepared their stances and charged forward, shouting.

As they tried their best to defeat them, he remained unscathed. Nothing they could do would even land a single hit on him, and after trying numerous times, the result was still the same.

Aizawa: What’s wrong? You’re giving up?

Izuku and the others could not even respond as they were too tired out and barely able to stand.

Aizawa: Well then, shall we put an end to this?

Aizawa approached them with no expression, planning to step on them as he drew nearer. As he raised his foot, Izuku and the others stood their ground. However, as he lowered his foot, he suddeny stopped.

Aizawa: Ah, that reminds me. Remember you thought that I was All Might’s fan and thus wanted to have his doll? Well you’re completely wrong! That doll is actually All Might himself, cursed and imprisoned in the body of a doll. It was unfortunate though, that a bird came swooping in one day and brought that doll far away. I have been looking for it ever since.

When Izuku heard these words, a mysterious voice entered his mind and said, “Young man! If you love this land of peace as much as I do, then we can become one!”

Izuku: All Might…

Aizawa: Anyway, let’s end this.

As Aizawa proceeded to stomp down on them, Izuku suddenly evaded his attack, surprising everyone.

Izuku drew his sword at Aizawa and out from it grew a large flame. Out from the flame came the spirit of All Might!

All Might: I will not let you win. I will protect this land of peace!

Aizawa: What…what did you say?? Noo!!!

Izuku and All Might together combined their powers and drew their energy into the sword. They thrust the sword into Aizawa, and he fell. His body slowly started to shrink and returned to his former human self.

All Might’s power then returned to the inside of the doll as well.

Izuku: What?? All Might! I did not think that I would meet you as…a doll?

Izuku held the doll and started muttering to himself as he had a conversation with All Might in his head.

All Might: My boy, now’s not the time for small talk. Look at Aizawa-kun. He was cursed by the Evil Demon and turned into that form.

Izuku: Oh, that’s right!

Izuku and the others carefully approached him. He then opened his eyes.

Aizawa: Eh? What happened? Who are you?

They then proceeded to explain to Aizawa what had transpired up until now, and all he could do was apologize.

Since All Might and Aizawa were both affected, the rest of the missing heroes perhaps also suffered from similar spells, losing all their memories and turning into a servant of evil. In order for them to return to their original selves, they would have to defeat the root of the evil.

Tenya: So you’re saying that there is a possibility that the heroes that are still out there could have been turned into enemies that we will have to fight in order to save, correct?

Tenya took a deep gulp. It seemed like the world was still in danger, and this was just the beginning.

Katsuki then let out a burst of strong laughter.

Katsuki: That’s perfect! It’s boring if there aren’t any strong bad guys out there to fight!

Eijirou: Well if you are going, then I too shall follow! Let’s rid the world of the malice once and for all!

Tenya: Of course I will also come along with you. Ochako-kun, please come as well!

Ochako: Yes! Let’s talk about reimbursements later!

Izuku: I will also come with you guys! We need to free All Might from this curse! How about Shouto-kun…?

Shouto: I will go. I will not return to my father’s side.

Kyouka: I’ll tag along too. I can probably help gather information for you.

Tsuyu: I’ll come too. If there’s no peace in these lands, then my shop would probably be out of business!

Aizawa: Well it’s fine and dandy if you want to go and fight, but do you even know the whereabouts of the Evil Demon?

The group then grew silent and Aizawa let out a sigh.

Aizawa: I guess it’ll be dangerous if it’s just a bunch of kids. I’ll come too.

Izuku and the others cried out in joy that they were able to recruit a reliable ally in their journey.

Aizawa: Why do I for some reason feel like I suddenly became a teacher or something?

He lets out another sigh of defeat.

Izuku was brimming with excitement as he spoke with the All Might doll.

Izuku: If I am to save you from this curse, then please let me become your disciple!

All Might: What are you even speaking of, my boy? You are already my disciple! I’m counting on you from here on out!

As the voice in his head spoke to him, Izuku smile grew wide.

Izuku: Ye…Yes Sir, All Might, sir! I will do my best! When this curse has been lifted, please give me your autograph!

The ten of them then set off on their new journey. The day draws closer when they are able to finally defeat the Evil Demon…perhaps.

—–

T/N: I CANNOT BELIEVE THAT DRAGON!KIRISHIMA IS NOW AN OFFICIAL THING AND HE FOLLOWS BAKUGOU TO THE ENDS OF THE EARTH AND IS SO LOYAL TO HIM UGH. THE FEELS… If anyone wants the original Japanese text, please DM me, and I’ll send you the .zip file! I also translated this really quickly without properly editing, so if anyone notices grammar mistakes, please lmk! Feel free to use my translations and please credit if you can ^_^ Scream about this with me on Twitter!

#boku no hero academia #midoriya izuku #bakugou katsuki #kirshima eijirou #kiribaku #todoroki shouto #my translations #i just can't #FREAKING #DRAGON KIRISHIMA #I JUST;lsakdjfalskdjf #OTP #CRYING FOREVER #YES #GOOD #aitaikuji

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