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drabbles-of-writing · 3 years

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Coming Home

AO3

third owl fight attack! This one’s prompt was “Hunter and Luz being siblings”, and I kinda ran with it

Summary: Saying that Hunter was worried for Luz would be an overstatement. He wasn't worried, he was just...vaguely curious. He knew that she'd take some time in the human realm, to be with her mother, but...well, it'd been almost two weeks, and nobody had heard a single thing from her. So, really, breaking and entering was an entirely reasonable reaction.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Now, Hunter knew, on some level, that Luz would be in the human realm for a while.

To be fair, he hadn’t had much time to think about it, what with everything going on. There was the Grimwalker revelation, which was also a kind-of clone revelation, and Luz offering an outstretched hand, and sitting on the ground in the human realm with the portal flickering and pulsing angrily, the dust settling as he held his uncles broken mask in his hands--

He’d been more than a little preoccupied, to say the least.

And Luz had gone through the portal the second it had all finally calmed, when there was nothing left to fight, with goodbyes he couldn’t remember. He wasn’t sure exactly when, everything had gone pretty numb by that point.

He just knew that after the first two days, when he was finally dragged out of his miserable wallowing in ditches by a very exasperated palisman and Owl Lady, Luz wasn’t there.

The others noticed her absence and the slight hole she left, he knew they did, but they never really commented on it. What with Bonesborough falling apart in a literal and metaphorical sense, everyone was kinda busy trying to patch all of it up. Like dealing with that one demon who kept talking about ancient magic, who was apparently the small rat demon's dad. And making sure Kikimora stopped escaping prison for five minutes. And dealing with the other Coven Heads. And apparently there was some people mad that the old wild witch ways were coming back--

Nobody really had the time to wonder about Luz off in the human realm, seeing her mother again.

And for the first week, he didn’t worry. He had an existential crisis and bothersome witches to avoid like the plague. His days were spent distracting himself by making everyone's lives miserable, since they kept insisting on holding him captive in the Owl House instead of letting him decompose in the woods for some reason. And honestly, Luz knew way too many people, because he’d stopped bothering to keep track of everyone by the fourth hour of being in that house.

After he realized trying to run for it or annoying everyone into kicking him out wouldn’t work, he mostly hid in the dark corners where nobody would see him for hours at a time. Used to be for days, but apparently the Owl Lady was just as nocturnal as him, and they’d run into each other early in the morning when trying to grab a snack.

He had Rascal for company, at least. Say what you will about the little guy, but he was as loyal as he was stubborn.

But, after the first week, Hunter was starting to really notice a severe lack of annoying humans running around.

Apparently, so was the others, because he was noticing a few of them beginning to get a little antsy. He would’ve brushed it off, but he could hear a distinct influx of mutterings that sounded like ‘Luz’ and ‘portal’ and ‘human realm’ from his hiding places, when they thought no one else was around.

It was almost halfway through the second week before he knew it, and that was far too long for Luz to be away without so much as a note.

And she was probably fine, he reasoned. But Luz being away without even a call was suspicious enough, two was downright concerning.

By then, Hunter was somewhat starting to recognize the faces that filtered in and out of the Owl House, and he began to plan.

Somehow, he managed to wait until he saw a girl with familiar purple hair step in through the doorway, speaking words he didn’t bother to listen to as she sat on the couch he was hiding under.

Rascal had, of course, chosen to perch himself on the head of a chair across the room, where barely anyone would care to notice him.

She was talking to some small illusionist he saw earlier (he may recognize faces, but names were a whole other matter. He’d never had to memorize names unless they were important to Belos, and if they weren’t, they were irrelevant. He should probably work on remembering their names), something about buildings and repairs or something, it wasn’t his problem. When the illusionist stepped away, off towards the kitchen to grab something, Hunter decided to poke his head out from underneath the couch.

“So what's the word on-- ow!” He yelped, jerking back under the couch when he got a foot kicked into his nose.

“Titan, don’t do that, you prick!” Amity snapped, inching a little further to the left as Hunter peeked out only one eye from under the couch this time, giving his best spiteful glare. “Why are you even down there?”

“Because nobody bothers me,” Hunter growled, holding his nose as he began to wiggle out. “Everyone’s so clingy in this house, it’s maddening.”

“Do you actually mean clingy, or are you referring to basic kindness?” Amity raised a brow, narrowing her eyes as he stood and brushed himself off from the dust bunnies that gathered under the couch.

“Irrelevant. Why hasn’t the human returned yet?” He demanded, leaning against the arm of the couch as Amity sat at the other end, giving a reasonable distance between them.

“Luz?” Amity blinked, clearly taken aback by the question.

“Yes, is there another, different human that you have to bring up every five minutes I should know about?” Hunter snapped, and got a curled lip and bared teeth from Amity in response.

“What, getting bored of the rest of us?” Amity snarked, crossing her arms.

“Don’t flatter yourself, barely any of you were entertaining to begin with.” Hunter huffed. “Now do you know why the human is avoiding us or not?”

“Avoiding?” Amity frowned. “Luz’s not avoiding us, she’s just visiting her mom.”

“With radio silence for almost two weeks,” Hunter said, doing his best to stamp down his impatience.

He really would have rathered asking the Owl Lady about this, but he’d learned from the last time he tried that she’d twist any conversation regarding Luz to be about him, so the next logical best bet would have to be her incessant, chattery, girlfriend. Titan, Luz had the weirdest tastes.

“She’s been away from her mom for four months.” Amity said, rolling her eyes like this was some concept he wasn't understanding. “She’s not gonna see her for a day and then come right back.”

“But still!” Hunter threw his hands in the air, ignoring Rascal’s minorly concerned chirp from across the room. “You think someone like Luz would go without contact for almost two weeks? She would’ve at least popped in to say hello, or go on some ramble about what’s going on in the human realm. She’d feel guilty about leaving you guys to repair everything on your own by the second hour.”

“It’s just...taking her a minute,” Amity said, and that was the first small crack in her resolve he saw. Had she not seen him at his lowest the first time they spoke, he would’ve been proud of the fact he could chip away at her far easier than she could at him. “Luz wouldn’t avoid anyone out of the blue, that’s not like her.”

And he knew she was right on that, as infuriating it was to admit it. Luz wouldn’t abandon people, she’d be more likely to keel over on the spot from spontaneously growing a bile sac. And perhaps a part of him was being a little over dramatic, but there was just this little twist in his chest that curled tighter when he considered going back to hiding in empty rooms and letting everything continue on, waiting to see if anything would change rather than making it change.

“Besides,” Amity continued. “As Luz’s girlfriend, I think that I would know if--”

“Oh Titan, just forget it.” Hunter groaned, tugging on his ears as he stepped away from the couch. “Whatever, you’re useless about this, anyway. If you don’t know when she’s coming back, and the Owl Lady doesn’t know, then nobody will.”

Amity stayed silent for a moment as Hunter stormed off towards the doorway that led to the staircase, Rascal flying off his perch to land on his shoulder with soft, almost melodic chirrups.

He contemplated if he could steal something from one of the spare rooms up there. Everyone was fluctuating between them the last few days, but they often left their stuff in there for him to take. It was fun watching them get so riled up about their missing junk.

“We,” Amity started, and Hunter paused in the doorway, one ear pricked. “We were planning on going into the human realm,” She admitted, voice quiet. “If we didn’t hear anything from Luz by the end of this week.”

Hunter turned around then, noting Amity had one hand bunched up on her leg, fisting the hem of her shirt and rubbing her fingers between it in a nervous tick. She avoided his gaze, and he saw, for just the briefest of moments, the uncertainty spilling off of her, possibly having been doing so for far longer than when he’d noticed the same signs from everyone else.

“Well,” He said, and she looked up at him then, and the vulnerability was gone in a snap, replaced by a curious, slightly accusatory, expression. It unnerved him how familiar it looked. “By all means, don’t go telling me about your super secret rescue missions, not like I’d want to join.” He muttered.

“Count it a blessing that I told you at all,” Amity hissed, ears flicking back. “Maybe if you promise to be nice, we’ll let you come along.” She taunted.

“Maybe if you people hadn’t kidnapped me, I wouldn’t be causing so many problems.” Hunter growled back through gritted teeth, breaking eye contact for only a moment when Rascal lightly bit and tugged on his ear, trying to urge him away.

“Like you need an excuse--”

“Uh, am-am I interrupting?”

The two turned their heads, realizing that the small illusionist, he’d figure out the kids name later, was standing in the living room again, a box of juice in his hands as his eyes flicked between them.

“No, Golden Boy was just leaving.” Amity waved him off, leaning back against the couch.

“You weren’t even clever with that one, Blight.” Hunter sneered, rolling his eyes as he turned to leave.

“Wittebane.”

“Call me that again and I’m ripping your teeth out.” Hunter threatened, pointing a finger at her as he backed out of the room.

“No name,” Amity amended, sticking her tongue out at him.

“You are on thin ice.”

That night, Hunter was opening the window in Luz’s old room.

His escape attempts had never really worked before, the weird tube demon in the front door took his job of keeping him contained very seriously. Everyone else just liked watching the show and tapping in when needed.

However, he also knew, from the mutterings that Luz had told him in those few snatches of time in the days that they had talked before everything went wrong (or right, depending on who you asked), that she’d snuck out through her window multiple times without the demon realizing. Apparently she had bribed him once or twice, and now he barely reacted to the sound of her window opening, sort of like a reflex.

He’d meant to use it for his next escape attempt, just to see if it’d work for him, to run for the hills if it worked, but desperate times called for desperate measures. He’d be damned if they left him out of nabbing Luz from the human realm.

So Hunter tugged his cloak tighter across his shoulders, despite it being torn in many places, he had yet to rid it completely, and slowly opened Luz’s window.

He waited, tense, Rascal just as silent from within his hood. When there wasn’t the sound of a piercing voice after a few seconds, he cautiously poked his head out.

Nothing.

Either the bird really had grown to have no reaction to Luz’s window opening, or he was just as tired as everyone else. Or off eating bugs, that was plausible.

He slowly edged out, only having a moment to peer down at the ground below until he swung out of the window, hands gripping the windowsill as he edged himself down.

He hung in the air for a moment before releasing the windowsill, dropping to the ground below in a crouch. The perks of the Emperor’s Coven were few and far between, but hey, living there had made him an expert at being quiet.

He darted around the Owl House, crouching so as to avoid being seen through the first-floor windows, because there was always someone awake, no matter the hour. The portal to the human realm had been moved not too far away, but far enough that it couldn’t be, you know, automatically seen by anyone approaching the building.

He spared one last glance towards the house before he booked it off towards the woods, already mentally cursing himself for wearing a white cloak in the middle of the night. Why did he think that was a good idea, why did he think that was a good idea--

He made it to the cover of trees, somehow, without anyone sounding the alarm. He ducked behind a tree, catching his breath for a moment as he waited for shouting to arise.

Upon realizing he was in the clear, he pumped a fist in the air with a soft “yes!” and got an encouraging whistle from Rascal, who he gave a quick scratch on the head to.

He then hurried a bit further into the trees, soon faced with branches, vines, and bushes all stretched out across the beginning of a slope before him.

He reached out, grabbing one of the vines and yanking it aside, revealing the structure of the portal to the human realm, its soft humming mostly muffled by everything covering it. He ran his hand down the exterior of it for a second before pushing more vines aside, allowing a small enough space for him to crawl through.

He’d been to the human realm before, technically. Belos’s wrath had only just begun to reach into the human realm before he had managed to be stopped, and Hunter had a few moments out there, feeling the grass and seeing the trees. They really were green, and he couldn’t help but see it all and know with certainty that there was no magic within any of it. Hollow. It was a feeling he was familiar with.

But this time was different, and he inhaled for a moment before giving Rascal what he hoped was his best determined look.

“Alright,” He said. “Let’s see what’s been keeping her.”

He spent about half an hour in the woods of the human realm until he managed to find Luz’s house.

She’d never really said where she lived, just that it was the closest house to the forest. Nothing about directions, so he spent his time wandering about trying to find a house that wasn’t falling apart.

Rascal gave up and eventually flew off at some point, returning about five minutes later, chittering loudly and pulling on his hood. Hunter knew better to argue, and had followed until he came across a house that actually looked lived in, as opposed to the one he’d appeared in.

“If you led me to a random person's house, I will throw you into the sea.” Hunter warned, only getting a cheery whistle in return as he walked around the house.

He eventually found a window on the first floor, and pushing on it, was delighted to find that it was unlocked. He opened it, hoisting himself inside as Rascal darted in.

He realized the window was right over a kitchen sink, and lightly stepped a foot onto the counter beside it. He slowly swung himself inside, not even bothering to shut the window behind him as he dropped to the floor. He might need that escape route later.

Rascal was off exploring without a second thought, so he allowed himself to stalk throughout the kitchen, eyes flickering over photos and magnets stuck to the fridge. He saw ones that looked like letters, colors, and even saw a photo of a woman and a young, crazy-looking child.

He peeked around corners as he darted through the house, cracking open doors before continuing through hallways. One of the doors he opened looked like a bedroom, but he saw something with a scaly tail poking out, so he let that room be. The human realm was bound to have its own oddities.

The other bedroom he saw did have a person sleeping in it, but she didn’t look like Luz, much too old, so he quietly shut that door again and tried a different one.

He opened the last one, at the end of the hallway, already preparing to snap back that Rascal had brought him to the wrong house, when he took in the bedroom.

He only needed to see it for half a second to see the immediate resemblance to the mess that was Luz’s room in the Owl House. He slipped inside, leaving the door open just a crack in case Rascal showed up.

He crouched, eyeing the posters along the walls, shelves full of random junk, books strewn across the room. The figure sleeping in the bed was practically twisted backwards, blankets already halfway on the floor. He approached it, slowly standing up as he loomed over them, searching their face.

“Oh thank the Titan,” Hunter breathed, stepping back as he pressed a hand to his chest. That was Luz, for sure.

She stirred, slightly, hand twitching as she mumbled incoherently in her sleep. At least she wasn’t actually kidnapped or something, he reasoned.

“Hey, human,” He said, a little louder, but enough that he hoped the others down the hallway wouldn’t hear, shoving at her shoulder. “Wakey wakey.”

Luz mumbled in her sleep again, one eye barely cracking open before she turned over and tried to bury further under her covers.

Hunter grabbed her leg poking out from the blankets and yanked her off.

Luz’s yelp was cut off as he smothered the blankets over her, pausing as she fumbled around trying to get it off, ears pricked as he waited to see if anyone had heard.

“I’m awake, Vee, I’m awake--” Luz pulled the blanket off her head, her glare almost immediately replaced with shock.

“Hey,” Hunter grinned, flashing fangs. “Miss me?”

“Hunter?” Luz exclaimed, before immediately covering her mouth with her hands, eyes darting towards her door like she expected someone to be there.

“Oh don’t sound so surprised.” Hunter scoffed, rolling his eyes. “You oughta step up your game if you think you can escape me in another dimension.”

“What are you doing here?” Luz whisper-yelled, scrambling to her feet as she looked wildly around her room. “Did-did the others come?” She asked, giving him such a scared look he was a little put off by it.

“No? I mean, they will be, I just got ahead of the curve.” Hunter shrugged off her odd reactions. “Made sure I got to you before they did, didn’t feel like being left behind on the ‘let’s drag Luz back kicking and screaming’ plan.”

“Oh no, oh no,” Luz shook her head, one hand on her head as she began to pace. “Are-are the others looking for me?”

“Will be by the end of this week,” Hunter said, watching her curiously. “Why? This a bad time or something?”

“Yes! Yes, this is a terrible time!” Luz exclaimed, barely managing to keep her voice down as she whirled towards him.

“Did you get grounded?” Hunter narrowed his eyes. “Because if so, let me just say, I know about fifteen different ways to lessen the extent of the grounding, and twice as many ways to sneak out, this place isn’t even all that fortified--”

“No! Well, I mean, I kind of am,” Luz winced. “But that’s not--you can’t--you need to go.” Luz said, gesturing back towards the door. “You can’t be here.”

“Do you need a body disposed of? Because I also know a lot of ways to--”

“I’m touched, but no.” Luz gave him a withering look. “Don’t even wanna know why you know that. You have to leave.” She insisted, beginning to shove him towards the door.

“Aw, but I came all this way to see you,” Hunter whined in a dramatic tease, slowly leaning back, therefore putting more strain on Luz as she tried to push him out. “You don’t want to see me?”

“Believe me, I’m very happy to see you’re okay,” Luz assured through gritted teeth, offering the smallest of smiles. “And I’ll bother you later. But now is not the time.”

Rascal took that moment to poke in through the crack in the doorway, landing on a shelf and eyeing the two with what felt like judgement. Hunter promptly dropped all his weight on Luz, nearly crushing her.

“Damn,” He whistled when Luz’s knees refused to buckle. “You got some muscle hiding under those skinny bones?”

“That, and you weigh as much as a half-filled sack of lumpy potatoes.” Luz muttered, already pushing back up to her full height as she took Hunter with her.

“You’re impossible.” Hunter huffed, standing back up onto his feet and snickering as Luz stumbled with the lack of weight. “Seriously, what’s the hold up? Are you getting bored with us already?”

“No, first of all, I’d never do that.” Luz pointed a finger at him. “And I’m offended you thought I ever would be.”

“It’s a reasonable assumption.”

“It’s not. And second of all, I’m serious, you cannot be here.” Luz stressed, grabbing his shoulders, a movement that instinctively caused him to flinch, just the tiniest bit. “If my mom sees you here, she’s going to freak--”

“Luz?” A groggy voice called, and Luz stiffened so quickly with such terror crossing her face that Hunter tensed as well. “Creí haber escuchado algo, are you--?”

Hunter saw the door to Luz’s room open, and immediately threw an arm out in front of Luz, giving a quick whistle that Rascal had learned to recognize by now. In a flash, he was holding his staff in his other hand, Luz pushed behind him as he pointed his staff towards the figure in the doorway, ears pressed back and fangs bared in a low, warning growl.

The person froze, eyes going wide, one hand still clutching the door handle.

He recognized it as the older woman he saw in one of the bedrooms, hair still mussied from sleep, the glasses on her face smudged from someone having grabbed them clumsily. The sleep had vanished from her eyes the moment she saw him, a faintly glowing staff pointed only a foot away from her.

“Hunter, Hunter, no, stop!” Luz was quick to grab Hunter’s arm after barely a second of tense silence, shoving the staff down. “She’s my mom, she’s safe!”

Hunter paused at that. Granted, his experience with biological family (as biological as Belos could be) wasn’t the best, but he had heard a few stories, here and there, about Luz’s mom. And Luz would go into a Slitherbeast den for anyone who asked nicely, but hey, he still thought that if someone was willing to fight Emperor Belos for them, they had to be something special.

“Oh, sorry.” He said, all hostility evaporating as he drew his staff back, holding it at his side. “Reflexes.”

“Luz,” The woman said, slowly, and Hunter was so instantly reminded of when the adults dealing with him were trying so hard to not lose their shit that he halfway raised his arm to shield Luz again. “Por qué hay un chico extraño en tu habitación?”

“Puedo explicarlo!” Luz was quick to exclaim, clutching Hunter’s arm, and he looked blankly between them. He’d heard of other languages in the Isles before, often ones spoken by demons, but this was a new one on him.

“Oh estoy segura de que lo harás!” The woman snapped back, hands on her hips now, not bothering to keep her voice low.

“What’s she saying?” Hunter whispered to Luz, eyes still darting between the two. “Is this a ‘we’re about to start fighting’ situation or a ‘you’re grounded for life’ situation?”

“No te puedo creer.” Luz's mom grumbled, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Okay, so, uh,” Luz clasped her hands together. “I promise, mami, this is not what it looks like.”

“What does it look like?” Hunter blinked, giving Luz a concerned expression now. “It doesn't look like I’m a robber, right? Because this place has nothing near worth stealing.”

“Please stop talking,” Luz hissed out of the corner of her mouth, never taking her eyes off her mother. “Mami, this is, uh,” She faltered for a moment. “This is Hunter.”

Her mother cracked open an eye from where she was rubbing the bridge of her nose, sending such a seething glare that both kids shuttered.

“You know what,” Hunter said, letting Rascal transform out of a staff and back into his usual self, letting the bird land on his shoulder as he clapped his hands together. “I can see that you're busy, so I think I’ll just be--why is she staring at me like that?”

The woman was staring at him now, well, Rascal, eyes locked on the cardinal on his shoulder like it had suddenly grown five heads. He flicked an ear in confusion, turning to Luz to ask what her mom’s problem was, only to see Luz immediately face-palm.

“Estoy atascado con un idiota,” Luz mumbled under her breath, and Hunter could pretty easily guess what the last word had meant, and bristled at it.

“Hey--”

“Okay, so, Hunter,” Luz kept her hands pressed together, using them both to point towards him. “Thank you for the visit, really, but I think we’re done here.”

“We,” Luz’s mom finally managed to speak, and Luz cringed with a sheepish smile. “Are going to have a talk.” She growled, though it lacked any of the reverberating sounds an actual growl would have. He always wondered how humans ever got the last hit of their point across without growls or clicks or hisses. He realized now that tone had a lot to do with it.

“And that includes you, young man.” The woman added, turning her glare towards Hunter, and he wouldn’t be ashamed to admit he wilted a bit under it. She could’ve disintegrated Kikimora on the spot with a look like that.

“Yes, ma’am.” Hunter ducked his head, and ignored the quiet snickers from Luz that she quickly tried to smother.

The woman stepped to the side, allowing the two of them to shuffle out of the room. Luz went out first, giving Hunter an expression that was somehow both ‘sorry’ and ‘I told you so’ and boy did he want to punch it.

Hunter hurried out after her, one hand cupped over Rascal protectively, unable to fight back the urge to hide him from everyone and everything new, that he’d be broken in half the second anyone got close.

As he passed her, he knew she was staring at him with a far sharper gaze than she had Luz. He glanced out the corner of his eye, and she was staring at his ears, at Rascal, and just as he stepped into the hallway, her eyes narrowed in on the scar along the side of his face.

He’d had people stare at his scars before, it wasn’t new. Scars weren’t uncommon in the Boiling Isles, but ones as big and prominent as his were generally expected of witches far older than him, far more known for their battles and their victories.

He growled in the back of his throat, briefly twitching his lip to flash a fang. It was near-instinctive at this point, a quiet reminder of who he was, of who shadowed over him, and that it was impolite to stare, to mind your own business.

Luz’s mom jerked back at it, a far stronger reaction than the ones he was used to getting. He was used to a quick aversion of the eyes, hurrying to turn their heads the other way, a simple glance to elsewhere in the room. She stared at him with even more apprehension and worry than before, like she was confronted with a wild animal in her home.

His ears pressed down and he hurried off down the hallway, almost stepping on Luz’s heels from how close he walked behind her.

He noticed an eye peeking out of a room up ahead, and Luz gave a weak, almost teasing, salute to whoever was inside. He saw a flash of scales and what might've been a pitying look until they slipped out of view.

Luz stood off to the side as she exited the hallway, and Hunter stood next to her. He gave her a questioning look, one she nearly missed from how much she was staring at her feet. He nudged her shoulder, gaining her attention, and Luz gave a weak, nervous smile.

Alright, so he was definitely missing something here with his woman.

“Kitchen table,” Luz’s mom said, pointing, and the two obeyed. Hunter had no real reason to, he knew this. She was human, he could just leave, and she wouldn’t be able to stop him. But she was important to Luz, clearly, and he knew, tragically, that he’d feel guilty if he left Luz alone.

Luz sat in one of the chairs at the round table, and Hunter took the one next to her. Her mother eyed them for a moment before taking the one across from them.

“Can I just say, that I did not invite Hunter here--”

“Oh, so that’s how it's gonna be?” Hunter whirled his head to her. “Throwing me under the bus? Sorry I wanted to check in.”

“I am telling it as the truth.” Luz insisted, glaring at him. “Would you rather I tell her that I purposefully invited you here at,” She turned towards the wall, squinting at a clock hanging there. “Two twenty-three? Why did you come here so late?” She demanded.

“Technically, it’s early.” Hunter corrected.

“I’m actually going to punch your teeth out.”

Rascal cheeped from his shoulder, and Hunter nodded sagely like he had said something. Rascal could talk to him, of course, in words that only he could hear, but he often didn’t. And the best part was that he could never prove to anyone that Rascal wasn’t shit-talking them.

“Enough, both of you . ” Luz’s mother said firmly, hands placed on the table that had them both straightening to attention. “Luz,” She turned to her daughter, rubbing her temple with one hand as she gestured with the other towards Hunter. “Explain him, please.”

“Like, life story, or why he’s here, or what he is, or--”

“Just please tell me he’s not from where I think he’s from.”

“Oh,” Luz glanced between Hunter and her mother, gears turning in her head. “He’s...not?”

“Dios ayúdame,” Her mother groaned.

“You told me to say he wasn’t! Actually,” Luz frowned as she turned to Hunter. “Do you count as someone from the demon realm, biologically? I don’t know how that whole, er, Grimwalker thing worked, like are you a direct clone, or--”

“I’m gonna stop you right there, because I’ve been avoiding dealing with that whole situation for the past two weeks, and I’m not about to start now.” Hunter raised a hand to cut her off.

“You…” Luz narrowed her eyes at him. “You need a therapist, dude.”

“You’re the fifth person to say that in the last week.”

“Why,” Luz’s mother cut in again, silencing their conversation. “Is there a demon boy in my house?”

“I’m a witch,” Hunter corrected.

“Don’t you count as, like, half a--”

“What did I just say, Luz?”

“Right,” Luz snapped her mouth shut. “Uh, so, I’m assuming he broke in--”

Hunter groaned, gripping his head in his hands as he slouched over the table. Rascal chittered gently as he hopped off his shoulder and onto the table, nudging his arm.

“--but he wasn’t going to cause any trouble!” Luz added quickly, seeing her mothers expression continue to sour. “He just-he wanted to make sure I was alright.”

The woman eyed the two of them for a moment, and Hunter refused to look up and meet her gaze.

“Hunter, is it?” The woman said slowly, cautious, suspicious, but not accusatory.

“Yes, ma’am.” Hunter sighed, relenting to lift his head, messy hair hanging in his face.

“How old are you, exactly?”

“Mami…”

“Sixteen, ma’am.” He mumbled, resting his cheek in his hand.

“And…” She hesitated for a moment. “How old is that in witch years…?”

“...sixteen?” Hunter gave her a perplexed look.

“They age the same as us.” Luz assured, and her mother seemed to relax just a bit.

“Gracias a Dios por eso,” Her mother mumbled. “Alright, and how did you get in?”

“Window,” He tilted his head off towards the one in question, still open over the sink.

“Of course,” The woman muttered under her breath. “The one time I didn’t lock it. Okay, now what is that?” She gestured towards Rascal on his shoulder, and he raised his hand to let the palisman hop onto his hand.

“My palisman,” He said, settling the bird down on the table, but keeping him a far enough distance from Luz’s mom that she wouldn’t be able to grab him. “I call him Rascal. Which reminds me,” He nudged Luz’s shoulder. “Where do you keep those seeds you have for your palisman? She keeps screaming at everyone and the Owl Lady doesn’t know how to make her shut up.”

“Is she okay?” Luz straightened.

“Yeah, little jays fine, she’s just being a pain in the ass.” Hunter grimaced.

“Watch your language, young man.” Luz’s mom leveled a finger at him, and he eyed it for a moment. “Now what do you mean ‘Luz’s pailsman?’ What in the world is a palisman?”

“Oh, uh, nothing! Nothing important, really. Just, like, staff things.” Luz said quickly, and Hunter and Rascal shared a look. Luz loved her palisman, as bratty as she was. And he knew from experience that Luz didn’t think of palismans as ‘nothing important.’

He drew a hand around Rascal and scooted him a little closer towards himself.

“Okay, okay,” Luz’s mother inhaled a steadying breath, as though to keep her cool. “And you are breaking into my house, early in the morning, to see my daughter.”

“Really just to make sure she didn’t, like, get kidnapped on the way up here.” Hunter shrugged. “Everyone's worried about her, so I took one for the team, and all that.”

“Everyone?” Her mother frowned.

“Her...friends?” Hunter gave Luz a sideways look, and she avoided his gaze.

“Mija, you have friends in the demon realm?” Luz’s mom balked, with the tone of someone who didn’t quite believe it, who almost felt as though they were being tricked.

“I told you a bit about them…” Luz mumbled, shifting uncomfortably.

“You,” Her mother chuckled, shaking her head, the first sign of anything lighter than what they’d had so far. “You really can’t help but be friendly to everyone, huh?”

“It’s how she got stuck with me, it’s a real problem.” Hunter said, and got an elbow jabbed into him for his troubles, wheezing as he clutched his side.

“Well, you certainly are an...interesting acquaintance,” Her mother said slowly, eyeing him, and he barely resisted the urge to briefly flash sharpened teeth when her gaze lingered on the scar across his face again. “And you showed up, by breaking in...just to check in on Luz?”

“Yeah?” Hunter managed to cough out, cracking open an eye to give the woman a confused look compared to her suspicious, searching one. “Why else?”

“...alright.” She said, and her gaze went back to her daughter. “I wasn’t aware that there would be... situations where the demon realm followed you back.”

“Neither did I, really.” Luz was quick to assure, hands raised. “Hunter of all people being worried about me is the most confusing and touching thing that’s happened so far.”

“I was not worried.” Hunter whirled to her. “I only came here because everyone else was, and they were going to leave me out of the rescue party.”

“Rescue party?” Luz’s mother startled, and he should really learn her name.

“Aha, he doesn't mean that.” Luz waved her hands quickly.

“I do?” Hunter narrowed his eyes. “The others were planning on busting out of the portal to come find you by the end of this week. I didn’t want to be left out, so I broke in ahead of time.”

“There are demons coming here?” The woman exclaimed, jumping to her feet.

“Pretty sure the little rat dog is the only demon coming along.” Hunter corrected. “The others are witches.”

“You know his name is King.” Luz grumbled.

“Yeah, but it's way more fun to call him a rat.”

“Luz, cariño, are we going to have more witches breaking in?” Her mother stressed, stepping away from the table and already beginning to pace.

“Not-not when Hunter gets back to them!” Luz said, also standing. “He can tell them to hold off, that I’m fine, and all that.”

“And deal with them getting all pissy I broke out?” Hunter demanded, scooping Rascal up in his hands as he, too, stood. “Hell no, either they hear from me with you there, or I don’t tell them shit.”

“Watch it,” Luz’s mother warned him again, this time only giving a quick glare. “And Luz is not going back there.”

“Then you have two to twenty witches, plus one demon, knocking on your door.” Hunter shrugged. “What’s the big deal?”

“Luz, what did you get into while you were in the demon realm?” Her mother groaned, rubbing her temples.

“I mean, you didn’t ask a lot... ” Luz tried, hovering about two feet from her mom.

“You have two to twenty magical demon people ready to break into our home to make sure you’re okay,” Her mother said, turning towards her daughter. “You didn’t...you didn’t tell me you had friends there.”

“I feel like I just said this,” Hunter squinted. “I told you Luz has friends in the Boiling Isles, isn’t that expected? She makes friends with everyone.”

Luz rubbed her arm and looked down at the ground, and her mother’s mouth twitched downwards for a brief moment. He felt like he was missing something.

“Are all of your friends like him?” Her mother said after a moment, gesturing with a hand off towards Hunter.

“I resent what that implies,” Hunter huffed, ears pressed down as he tucked Rascal between his neck and cloak.

“I mean, personality wise? No, he’s the biggest brat of them all.” Luz assured, and Hunter visibly took offence. “Well, Matt was also a brat, but he’s a friend of a friend, and I think he’s calmer now.”

“They are annoying, though.” Hunter piped up, and prided on barely reacting under Luz’s seething glare.

“Well they can’t come here, your first friend has already caused enough trouble.” Her mother said firmly, and Hunter rolled his eyes at that.

“Please, breaking and entering is tame for me.” Hunter scoffed, and got an even more worried, and possibly judging, look from the woman.

“You're not helping.” Luz whispered, immediately turning back to her mother. “I’m sure we can figure this whole thing out. I can probably get Hunter to tell them to calm them down without me having to go back, Rascal can bully him into it, he likes me.”

“That’s a low blow, human!” Hunter hissed, a low, drawn-out sound that had the woman tensing and Luz only rolling her eyes. “I do so much for you, and this is the thanks I get?” He ignored Rascal’s gleeful chitters that sounded suspiciously like laughter.

“We’re even on that front and you know it.”

“Debatable,”

“This is serious, Luz.” Her mother said, and Luz’s mouth clicked shut. “Christ,” She sighed. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d made friends in the demon realm?”

“You didn’t ask…?” Luz said slowly.

“I don’t see what the big deal is,” Hunter said, leaning against the island counter. “I drag Luz back, she hangs for a day or two to calm everyone down, and she comes right back to have quality family time, or whatever you guys call it, until you’re all finished.”

“Absolutely not,” Her mother said instantly. “Luz will not go anywhere near that portal.”

“It’s not gonna blow up, it’s stable.” Hunter raised a brow, not noticing Luz freezing up.

“Luz is not going back to that demon realm,” She insisted, and he was sure she would be growling if she could. “Listen, could you please just tell the other witches to stay back? I don’t want any trouble from that realm coming through here.”

“Ouch,” Hunter said dryly, twitching an ear as he crossed his arms. “Why’s this got you in a tizzy? I came here to bring back Luz anyway, why is this an issue?”

Luz and her mother met eyes for a brief second, and Hunter knew then he was missing something, because it felt like a conversation passed between their eyes and Luz ducked her head again, ashamed.

“Luz,” Her mother spoke in soft tones, though she was rubbing at her face. “You didn’t tell your friends--”

“I was going to--”

“Luz, honey, you can’t omit details from people--”

“I know, I swear I was just busy trying to see you--”

Hunter set Rascal down on the island counter and gestured towards him. The palisman fluffed his wings before proceeding to peck incessantly on the counter, making a loud clinking noise. It got both humans mingling words to come to a stop as they both turned towards him.

“Hi, sorry to interrupt, but I’m still here.” Hunter said, scratching his bird's head to get him to cease once he had their full attention. “What am I missing?” He asked, pointing between the two.

“I apologize Luz hadn’t informed you earlier,” Her mother started, and Luz gripped her arms and looked away from them both, shoulders hunched. “But she won’t be going back to the demon realm.”

He stared. He blinked once, twice. He could see Rascal staring too, just barely in his line of sight.

“Come again?”

“Luz had been trapped there for so long,” Her mother went on. “And-and she was surrounded by demons and rain that scalded skin and-and Vee told me of Emperor’s and experiments,”

Hunter flinched at that, ears pressing flat as he turned his head to the side.

“It’s clearly not a safe place,” She continued, and her eyes dropped to his notched ear. “And...there’s much to catch up on, to talk about.” She said, in a polite tone that told him not to press that particular matter. “Surely, you can explain this to them?”

Hunter stayed silent for a moment, aware of Luz peeking at him with guilt across her features. He didn’t meet it, he knew he’d get more riled up if he did.

“Yeah, so,” Hunter said calmly, clasping his hands together. “That’s not happening.”

“Excuse me?” Her mother reeled back a bit.

“Listen, Miss...what are your last names again?” He asked Luz, though he still didn’t let himself fully look at her.

“Noceda,” She said, sounding confused now.

“Ms. Noceda,” He continued. “I can speak from personal experience when I tell you that the Emperor and any experiments he had are far beyond gone,” He said, bitterness dripping from his words. “And I-- we have your daughter to thank for that.”

Her mother startled for a moment, opening her mouth to speak, but he plowed on.

“Half the things that made the Isles dangerous, including the very reason your daughter was late coming home, are either burnt to a crisp or in the ground.” He said, holding her gaze. “And I can tell you this, with one hundred percent sincerity, that if I go back and tell Luz’s friends that she won’t ever be coming back, you’ll have witches and demons in numbers nearing the thirties knocking on your front door.”

“Is that a threat?” The woman managed to get out first.

“With all due respect, Ms. Noceda, it’s a promise.”

“Thank you, Hunter.” Luz was suddenly at his side, seizing his arm in a grip that felt like he was losing circulation. “That’s enough,” She said, giving him a warning look. “I think she gets the message.”

“Luz, what in the world is he talking about?” Her mother asked, eyes back to her child.

“It-it’s a long story, but he’s right about the Emperor!” Luz added quickly. “He’s...he’s gone, and-and I don’t think he’s coming back.”

“He won’t.” Hunter said, and left it at that.

“Luz, cariño, I’m sure we could work something out with your friends.” Her mother assured. “I’m glad a man like Vee had described is gone, but I’m sure they would understand.”

“That her mom won’t let her come back?” Hunter scoffed, and Luz tugged forcefully on his arm.

“Hunter,” She hissed, and he looked at her then, and saw the fear practically radiating off her. He wondered if it was something she’d picked up from Amity or vice versa, to be brimming with emotions, but leaving them largely unnoticed until someone actually focused.

“Look, I…” Luz hesitated for a moment. “I promised that I’d stay with her…” She mumbled, and the last piece clicked in his mind.

Luz had promised she’d stay, to a likely terrified mother, and Luz was never one to skimp out on promises. She either kept them or agonized over trying. And it’d make sense why she wouldn’t want to tell anyone, she promised she’d leave forever, and no plans or compromises from the residents of the Owl House could sate a mother worried for her daughter.

Also made sense why she wanted him to leave. Her mom did not seem to like the place, and him being there had to be somewhat breaking the little ‘promise’ of interacting with someone from the demon realm at all.

“Oh,” He said, instead of all that, ears pricking slightly.

“I’m sorry to have it all sprung on you without warning,” He heard her mother saying, though he wasn’t looking at her much in that moment, but she sounded genuine. “But the demon realm doesn’t necessarily seem to be...the safest of places.”

“It’s not,” Hunter confirmed, slowly straightening to face the woman again. “But hey,” He shrugged, feeling Luz letting up her grip on his arm. “It’s home.”

Her eyes dropped to his scar again, just for a moment, and he didn’t bother to hide his eye roll this time.

“Trust me, I’m an outlier in how deadly the place actually is.” He muttered. “These,” He gestured broadly to his face, not quite feeling the satisfaction he assumed he’d feel when he saw her wince. “Were caused by something outside the Boiling Isles, something that never should have been there in the first place. He’s gone now.” He rumbled a growl. “We made sure of it.”

She looked apologetic, and he’d give her that. But she shook her head with a sigh all the same.

“I’m sorry, truly, but Luz and I agreed, it’s not safe. I’m glad she could make friends there, I really am,” She said, and he wondered what kind of friends Luz had had in the past, because she said the word ‘friends’ like it could have five different meanings. “But it’s not safe for her.”

“And?” Hunter threw a hand out in a broad gesture. “It was never completely safe, no place is. You gonna look me in the eyes and tell me Luz would never sneak back out? I’m giving her another week at best.”

“Hunter!”

“Look, I’m really just trying to wrap this whole complication up,” Hunter sighed unsympathetically, aware of Rascal chirping and head-butting his arm. “Unfortunately, I know you, and I know you’d rather wallow in a chasm for eternity than never go back to the Isles. And as entertaining as watching a whole drama unfold would be when your mom would eventually find out, I really don't want to deal with that headache.” He grumbled.

Luz looked to her mother then, and her mother looked back. Luz’s hand was still clutched in his sleeve, watching her mother worriedly as she met her confused gaze.

“Luz?” Her mother said slowly, and Luz fiddled with Hunter’s sleeve.

“Mami, I...look, I didn’t...my friends, they...I don’t…”

“Hi, sorry, can-can I butt-in?”

The three whirled around, Hunter automatically putting an arm in front of Luz and taking a step back at the sight.

A basilisk lay in the doorway to the kitchen, tail curled somewhere out of sight. It was a young one, about the size of Luz. That’d work, he’d taken on bigger before, not like he had any magic for a basilisk to steal--

“Vee,” Luz’s mother breathed. “What are you doing up?”

And of course she was someone they knew. Amazing, wonderful, he loved being out of the loop that there was a basilisk casually within the house, that wasn’t unnerving at all.

“You guys aren’t very quiet,” The basilisk--Vee--shrugged as she slithered in, and Hunter took another step back, his arm in front of Luz causing her to be pushed back as well. “Hey there, uh, new guy.” She offered a small, shy wave to Hunter, and he eyed her before hesitantly returning it.

“Vee, I think you should go back to bed, we were discussing--”

“I know, I heard.” Vee brushed off Luz’s mom. “I actually have an idea for, y’know, this predicament. No offence, but I can't really sleep with you guys arguing.” She said, the wringing of her clawed hands the only sign she was nervous, stopping only when she was between them, with Luz and Hunter on one side, Ms. Noceda on the other.

“Should I be worried about this?” Hunter whispered to Luz.

“Nah, she’s cool.” Luz whispered back.

“What if, and hear me out...we all sleep on this,” Vee said, palms pressed together. “We think it over during the night, and when it's actually light out, we talk about Luz wanting to go back to the Isles and the rules that would have to be put in place. And also nobody breaks in.” She tacked on quickly.

“So you do want to go back?” Luz’s mother turned to her, and he saw the hurt and shock in her eyes.

“I…” Luz looked like she had a ‘no,’ at the back of her throat, and he truly did believe she would’ve said all her mom wanted to say. But he nudged her side, and she looked up at him, and clearly he was doing something with his face, because the empty assurances died out.

“Y-yeah, I do.” She mumbled, looking back to her mom. “I...really, really want to see them again, back in their realm.”

And he avoided looking at Ms. Noceda’s face, because the shock and pain increased significantly.

“Well, I, for one,” He said, ducking around Luz. “Agree with the lizard's plan. Sleep on it, talk in the morning with Ms. Noceda, yadda yadda, all that fun stuff.”

“Camila is fine,” The woman murmured, sounding a little dazed.

“Lizard?” Vee hissed, tongue flickering out as she narrowed her eyes on him.

“Right, sorry, snake fits better.” Hunter said before he could stop himself.

“You have permission to beat him up.” Luz said casually, ignoring Hunter’s indignant shout of “traitor!”

“I, yes, yes,” Luz’s mother--Camila--sighed, stepping back and bracing herself against the kitchen counter. “Tonight has been...a hectic one. It’s far too late to be talking about things like this.”

“Does this mean I can go?” Hunter asked, pointing with his thumb behind him. “Preferably without alerting everyone that I snuck out?”

“I don’t know how you got past Hooty,” Luz sighed, tilting her head and beginning to walk towards the front door with a quick, affirming glance with her mother that both had barely managed to make, Hunter immediately following.

“I escaped through your window.” Hunter said simply, and he noted Camila looking up slightly at that, until Vee approached her, murmuring in soft words he knew better than to try and eavesdrop on.

“Of course you did,” Luz grumbled, opening the front door and practically shoving Hunter outside.

“Alright, alright, I get it, I’m leaving--”

Luz stepped out onto the front porch with him, leaving the front door open just a crack, enough so that she could be seen through it, and in turn could see Camila and Vee talking back by the kitchen.

“Am I going to get a personal lecture?” Hunter asked cautiously, crossing his arms as his ears flicked down. “Look, in my defense, you didn’t exactly explain a lot of things to me--”

Luz lunged, and he stepped back and raised his hands defensively. Instead of a mean left hook he was expecting, he got arms wrapped around his sides, squeezing the air out of him.

Hunter wheezed, and would’ve doubled over if Luz wasn’t in the way. She didn’t let up on her hug, and after a moment of trying to get his thoughts in order, he slowly drew his arms around Luz, chin tucked against her head pressed into his chest.

“I’m glad you're okay,” Luz muffled into his shirt, and Hunter may have clung on a little tighter, aware of Rascal watching this all from his shoulder.

“Feel like you said this already.” He managed to get out.

“I know, I just wanted you to know I meant it.”

And if Hunter tilted his head down to press his face into Luz’s hair then, she didn’t say anything.

“Good to see you still kickin’, too.” He mumbled.

“Miss me?” Luz teased, throwing his words back at him as she pulled her head back slightly, and Hunter quickly did the same to look down at her.

“Hardly,” He huffed, clearing his throat to hide how it cracked halfway through. “I just didn’t want everyone leaving me out of all the fun.”

“Uh huh,” Luz raised a brow. “So you just happened to drop by to make sure I was alright on the one night you actually managed to escape the Owl House without being caught?”

“...listen--”

Luz laughed, and Hunter sputtered over his words. He growled and pushed her back and off him, knowing his face was flushing as he turned away and crossed his arms. Luz’s laughter didn’t stop at that, and Rascal sounded like he was laughing, too.

His ears drooped down and he half-heartedly bared teeth, in what may have been an attempt to hide a smile.

“You’re such a massive pain, you know that?” He growled.

“I do,” Luz grinned, laughter calming down to giggles. “I learned from the best.”

“That, you did. That Owl Lady couldn’t be more overbearing if she tried.” Hunter muttered.

“She’s got a bit of an empty nest syndrome, you get used to it.” Luz lightly nudged his shoulder. “It’s her way of welcoming you to the family.”

And he didn’t even have the time to process that whole sentence, because Rascal was fluttering onto Luz’s shoulder, cheeping as Luz raised a hand to scratch at his head.

“Make sure they know not to worry too much, okay?” She continued, looking up at him. “I’ll try and sort this out.”

“Does that mean you’re coming back soon?” Hunter paused, tilting his head. And maybe there was a tone of hopefulness in his tone, maybe.

Luz hesitated for a moment, frowning slightly in thought. She looked back towards the front door, though he couldn’t see if Camila or Vee were anywhere near it, what with the angle being off and Luz blocking most of it. He wondered if they could hear their conversation.

“I think so,” She said, quieter this time as she turned back to him with a small smile. “I... hope so.”

“So do I, they’ll be insufferable without you.” Hunter teased. “Have fun thinking up how to explain to them your apparent promise.”

“Don’t remind me,” Luz groaned, throwing her head back. “Look, it was a panicked situation, and I didn’t want her any more scared than she--”

“Save it,” Hunter said, not unkindly, raising a hand to silence her. “I’ve made worse spur-of-the-moment decisions. Contrary to popular belief, I know you well enough that you’d never stay away for long. You have a habit of being a people-pleaser.”

Luz relaxed, and raised her hand to let Rascal hop onto it. She offered him back to Hunter, and he took the bird into his hands.

“Still, I’m sorry.” She said, wringing her hands together. “For all of this.”

“If all goes well, you’ll get to tell them that yourself.” He said, and attempted a smile.

“Hopefully,” Luz said, glancing back towards the door. “So, that means you’re willing to tell them what happened?” She asked, a pleading note to her voice.

“As in, I tell them that I broke out of the Owl House in the middle of the night, escaped to the human realm, found you when I knew they were going to do the same thing, and then came back to the demon realm without you, just to tell them you’ll probably be back soon, but I don’t know when?” Hunter said, ears lowering more and more as he spoke, raising a brow.

“...yes?” Luz tried, hands clasped behind her back as she looked up at him with wide, puppy-dog eyes.

“...I don’t know why I put up with you.” Hunter groaned, relenting as his shoulders slumped, letting Rascal fly up onto his shoulder.

“Because you care about me,” Luz teased in a singsong tone, her relief immediate.

“Unfortunately,” He muttered unthinkingly, before the words processed in his head. He tensed right after, eyes locked on the wall behind Luz.

She looked surprised for about half a second before she practically lit up, beaming excitedly at him.

“Anyway,” He said quickly, voice higher than normal, knowing he was flushed up to his ears. “I should be off before your mom gets even more pissed at me.” He said, sharply turning on his heel.

Rascal was most definitely laughing at him now, and he pulled up his hood before shoving the bird into it, silencing him. He leapt down the stairs leading up to the porch, instead of walking down them like a normal person.

“Well, in her defense, you did break in.” Luz reminded, though there was a certain giddiness to her tone as she watched him leave.

“Like you haven’t done it!” Hunter scoffed behind him, beginning to hurry back towards the forest, head ducked low.

“Yes, but we don’t need to tell her that!” Luz hissed, voice notably quieter as she fearfully glanced back.

“No promises!” He called back, a grin forming as he picked up the pace. “Call it compensation for throwing me to the wolves!”

“Wh--Hunter!” Luz squawked indignantly.

He turned on his heel for just a moment, giving Luz a mocking salute before ducking between the trees of the forest, cackling as Luz’s calls of “don’t you dare!” faded behind him.

“Alright, Rascal, prepare yourself.” He said, hearing his palisman chitter from within his hood, with a hint of annoyance to it. “We’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”

155 notes · View notes

doctenwho · 3 years

Text

Gestures and Evasion

Hello! Welcome to a new DT fic! My deepest apologies that it’s been so long, and thank you so much for waiting so patiently! Life’s been a bit of a rollercoaster recently, and I’ve needed a bit to recuperate, but I’m back again!

This prompt didn’t have a specific character mentioned, but luckily, since it wasn’t anonymous, I was able to shoot pistachoz a DM and they’ve confirmed it’s a Tenth Doctor request! :D

Warning: None, I don’t think?

Word Count: 3,514

Summary: Check out the prompt above! :)

(Gif doesn’t belong to me, credit to the creator! :D)

The Doctor doesn’t really remember the first small act he’d committed to try and get his companion to notice him. To notice him on a... well, on a more personal level?

It’s a general memory, nothing pinpointed, but he knows it happened long ago.

It was something small—mundane. (Y/N) had more or less brushed the gesture off with a light laugh and a smile that made his hearts hammer away in his chest, but (Y/N) had really seen if for what it had been.

It wasn’t very often that the Doctor had these sort of feeling about anything, but there was just something special about (Y/N). Something he couldn’t put his finger on.

He’d been trying for just about as long as the companion had been travelling with him to send little messages, or gestures in hopes that maybe (Y/N) would see what he was doing for what it was instead of brushing it off like she tended to do.

If he’s honest, he’s never really had this kind of problem before. He’s had many companions, and more often than not, those companions tend to want more from him than he’s willing to allow himself to give. Rose, and Martha—Jack, even—they were all looking for more from him, and being what he is, and what he does, it’s not that simple to reciprocate feelings.

They’ll all age and eventually die, whereas he’ll just move on to his next bout of regeneration with a broken heart he’ll have to try his hardest to keep under wraps.

The Doctor knows that maybe (Y/N) showing such little interest in him is almost a good thing. Less heartbreak down the road when (Y/N) decides not to accompany him any longer, or, worse, when old age takes (Y/N) away like every other human before her. It’s inevitable, and he really should have a stronger hold on human life compared to TimeLord life, but the loss always knocks him down for a while.

It should be a good thing, but he just can’t seem to bring himself around to believing that it’s a good thing. Not when every time (Y/N) brushes off a gesture he’s thought over, and put time and effort into, it fills his hearts with an unfamiliar pain he hasn’t felt since losing his family and Gallifrey alike.

It had taken him a while to notice he was even trying to win (Y/N) in a sort of courtship way. And it had taken even longer to realize he’d been doing it for about as long as he’d known (Y/N). It hadn’t seemed like it at the time, but looking back now, he can see how all the little comments and gestures were more than just friendly.

But she’d been brushing his attempts off since early in their travels. Shooting him a smile, but turning away when anything too even the slightest romantic turn. Avoiding his eyes when he stared fondly, or laughing it off when a compliment slipped past his lips.

He really didn’t understand it.

He could see the Gallifreyan romantic gestures confusing (Y/N), but the few earth gestures he’d picked up barely stirred anymore of a reaction than the Gallifreyan ones. He didn’t know where he was going wrong—how it was all being perceived the way it was. The wrong way. He wasn’t getting the reactions he wanted and... well, it hurt.

Both his pride, and his hearts.

It had started small with flowers—or, a flower. They were on a foreign planet, but he knew giving small gifts like a flower was one of the human gestures. So, he’d searched around while his companion was busy exploring, and located the loveliest flower he could find. It was mixtures of blues and purples; native to the planet but incredibly rare considering they only bloomed twice a year, for no longer that three days at a time.

The flower had a sweet smell; one similar to those of sweets from earth. For a while, before he’d remembered Earth didn’t have this specific species of flower, nor were they advanced enough in space travel to find one, he’d assumed they’d used the attractive scent of the flower as a marketing technique to sell their sweets.

The sugary smell Earth sweets had would always come second to the scent of this specific flower.

The exchange had been short, and less than pleasurable if the Doctor’s honest. He’d found (Y/N) sitting on the ground, just taking the calming atmosphere of the planet. His heart stuttered in his chest before he finally took those last few steps towards her, where he settled at her side and cleared his throat to gain her attention.

He’d held the flower out, rambling out facts as (Y/N) took the flower into her hands. She gave it a sniff, and fiddled with the stem and petals for a second before smiling down at it. She stared down at it, before looking back at him with an appreciative smile. He’d thought he’d won her over, but instead, she settled the flower on the ground beside her.

His hearts had cracked as his companion’s hand fell away from the flower, leaving it on the ground as she returned her attention to the world around her. He’d swallowed thickly before sitting himself beside her, not bothering to mention the fact his gesture had gone unnoticed.

It was the same ordeal when he’d ordered (Y/N) a space delicacy from one of his favorite planets, where his companion had taken the treat into her hands and tasted it without a second thought. Smiling down at the treat, before shooting him light smile as she licked her lips.

He didn’t know why he’d been expecting—hoping for—anything more than the usual ‘Thank you’ he always received when he did something out of the ordinary for his companion, but the mumbled words had filled his with a sense of sadness.

It was silly.

But he kept trying.

The gestures just kept coming. It was barely a forethought anymore. An unconscious effort to try and win over his companion—seeking this relationship (Y/N) quite obviously didn’t want. It was a sad downward spiral, but he really couldn’t imagine not trying to woo her. He’d been at it for so long, not trying sounded foreign.

He tried just about anything he could to get any sort of reaction. Any hint that his companion knew what he was trying to do. Any acknowledgment that she understood that he was trying. He’d prefer blatant rejection to this... whatever this evasive attitude (Y/N) was expressing.

Dinner in the stars.

Unique gifts from distant planets.

Various treats and snacks from wherever they happened to be.

He even tried to learn more about human things on earth. How humans went about stuff like this, and how it all differed from his Gallifreyan roots. Human courting was quite the oddity.

He didn’t talk to many humans who weren’t his companions, or people he’d saved in some way or another, but the man who ran one of the shops had taken some time to educate him, but the Doctor had come out of that conversation more confused than he’d gone in.

But on the bright side, (Y/N) had enjoyed the bag of sweets he’d awkwardly bought to stand at the register and chat with the friendly shopkeeper.

He was still at a loss. Nothing seemed to be working. Nothing wooed his companion. He didn’t understand—couldn't see how not one single thing he’d tried had gotten (Y/N)’s attention.

But he still had one more thing up his sleeve.

“Where are we going?” (Y/N) asked cautiously from the seat in the console room. The Doctor was doing his usual laps around the TARDIS console to what should be six TimeLord’s jobs simultaneously. He’d gotten good at it over the years, but there was still, occasionally, some rough kickbacks when he couldn’t be everywhere at once.

“It’s a surprise,” the man shot his companion a grin, pulling a lever. At this point, (Y/N) should be used to the surprises. He never got the kinds of reactions he was looking for, but he was still hoping that... maybe sometime he would. That something he planned would be the special one that could win his companion over.

(Y/N) didn’t reply, but continued to watch the Doctor how around the TARDIS like a madman.

They weren’t far from the next greatest surprise the man had planned. They’d been travelling a little under an hour, and (Y/N) had only joined him in the console room ten-ish minutes prior, but he’d still refused to tell her where they were heading.

(Y/N) was still quiet when the Doctor stabilized his space and time machine, checking everything twice before finally tugging his companion up by the hand and leading her towards the doors.

He threw the doors open, grinning widely as he gazed around. Just as promised.

It was a phenomenon really. A collection of heart shaped carbon monoxide ice chunks. No one was quite sure how they’d been formed, or whether someone had carved the hearts and left them to float in this tiny orbital pull in the middle of nowhere.

It was a sight few saw—the Doctor had only heard of this place from chatter on a nearby planet, but he had to admit it was just as beautiful as he’d imagined. The ice glistened as the light casted from the TARDIS hit it, making them twinkle just as brightly as the stars in the background.

It was about as romantic as you could get.

“Woah,” (Y/N) gaped at his side, and the Doctor turned to look, smile slowly lighting up his face as he watched his companion’s eyes travel from heart to heart. “What... what is this?”

“It’s carbon monoxide ice,” the Doctor informed softly, the smile on his face widening as his hearts thrummed in his chest. His companion had an astonished look on her face, eyes wide with childlike curiosity. “Like that of Mars in your solar system. No one’s really sure how they take shape but... well, they’re quite the sight.”

“It’s beautiful,” (Y/N) breathed out, almost like her breath was taken away by the sight.

The Doctor had been told by many, had seen for himself as beauty takes away people’s breath. He’d been there too, once or twice with his current companion.

He barely even caught his words as they left his mouth—his heart speaking before his brain had a chance to filter his words, “Like you.”

That was his moment of error, the Doctor noticed.

He frowned to himself as his companion slowly pulled themself away, shying away from his side and retreating back into the TARDIS with one last lingering glance at the ice. The Doctor’s hearts froze within his chest, as he watched uncertainly—unsure just how he’d managed to mess this one up as well.

“It’s late,” (Y/N) muttered softly before leaving the Doctor alone in the TARDIS doorway, the man’s gaze locked on one lone heart with a barely noticeable crack down the center. It wouldn’t be long before the orbit around them pulled the frail pieces apart, severing the heart into two.

The TimeLord forced a breath, squeezing his eyes shut for just a moment as he resided completely with the cracked heart.

He didn’t understand.

The clumps of frozen carbon monoxide made his hearts hurt the longer he stared, so he was quick to follow on his companion’s footsteps, spinning on his heels and shuffling back inside, making sure to shut the doors behind him.

He wanted to flee this place, this failed attempt, but he couldn’t bring himself around to flying the TARDIS at the moment. He didn’t have the energy too. Like expected, (Y/N) had disappeared into the TARDIS, so the Doctor plopped heavily down on the seat.

Maybe it was time to accept the fact that his companion did not reciprocate his feelings. That he was barking up the wrong tree. He’d thought that they were... but maybe he was wrong.

The Doctor stared up at the TARDIS ceiling, his space and time machine giving a little hum as if she could feel his worries and mood. His hand patted the back of his seat halfheartedly as a promise that he was okay.

It had never been this hard with any other companion. There was just something so special about (Y/N). Something he wanted to get closer too, even though he knew he’d end up hurt in the end. Something he wasn’t sure he’d ever get now.

Maybe it was time to settle this once and for all. His gestures were overlooked, or, maybe even ignored. As much as it hurt to admit, (Y/N) didn’t seem very enthused with anything he’d done. Maybe it was the human not understanding what he was trying to do—but humans tended to like words.

The Doctor from (Y/N) in her room, perched on the edge of her bed. (Y/N)’s attention raised when the Doctor announced his arrival with a sturdy knock on the slivered-open door. The knock pushed the door in enough for the Doctor to poke his head in.

“Do you, uh, have a moment?” He asked cautiously, almost ready for the rejection he’d been living with for the better part of travelling with (Y/N). He’d grown used to it, but it still tugged at his heart strings. She’d never deny him conversation, but he could still see and feel her pulling away from him.

“Of course,” (Y/N) sat up a little more, giving the Doctor her full attention. “What’s the matter?”

He hadn’t thought this far ahead, the Doctor realizes as he shifts from foot to foot in (Y/N)’s doorway, mind vacant of any thoughts. (Y/N) tilted her head at the Doctor’s odd silence, studying him from her spot, “Doctor...? Are you okay?”

“Yes,” the man cleared his throat. Then did so a second time before continuing, “I wanted to, uhm, know what you thought about the, uh,” he gestured broadly behind him, hoping his companion could piece his question together.

“The ice hearts?”

It was a good thing his companion was so clever.

“Yes, the hearts.” The Doctor nods, fingers tapping awkwardly against his side. “Did you... did you like them?”

“They were beautiful,” (Y/N) repeated once again, fidgeting with her own fingers, “it was a bit unexpected, but... yeah, I did. Thanks for showing me them.”

The man gave a nod, but didn’t voice anything. If he thought his voice would’ve come out naturally instead of the anxious waver he was sure would be there, he definitely would’ve replied with a soft ‘My pleasure,’ because it really was his pleasure to introduce (Y/N) to the beauty of the galaxy.

There was an unsettling moment of silence where neither really knew what to say.

It was the Doctor who broke it, staring at his shoes as he finally allowed the words he’d been stewing over out, “do you... not like me, (Y/N)?”

“What?” the surprise was prominent. The word rang out for a second before the Doctor lifted his gaze to settled on (Y/N)’s shocked, tense frame. Her muscles were stiff, body sitting up straighter and more alert than she had been when he’d first asked to talk. “I like you plenty,” (Y/N) assured quickly, “what gave you the idea I didn’t?”

There was a list, really. He could count things off on his fingers, but he wasn't here to be petty. The man bit his lip, leaning against the doorframe to support his weight. He honestly just wanted to know why (Y/N) was so evasive every time he so much as tried to woo her.

“You... well, uh, you never seem to care,” he made sure to word it carefully, “I... I’m not sure if you even notice, or ignore it, or what. I just, I need you to be honest with me. Why haven’t you... reciprocated any feelings?”

“I’m not sure what you mean, Doctor,” (Y/N)’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and one ankle crossed over the other as she leaned forwards in interest.

“Since I met you,” the Doctor swallowed, “I’ve been... I don’t know how to say it but, trying to court you, I suppose? That’s not really something humans do, but it is something TimeLords do. It’s just that... every attempt I’ve made... every try I’ve made to do something cute, or romantic, you brush it off. You’re evasive, and... I’d just like to know if that’s because you don’t reciprocate my feelings. If you don’t feel the same, we can just put this all behind us.”

“It’s not like that,” (Y/N)’s voice was quiet, a near whisper, “please don’t think it’s because I don’t like you. I do, Doctor. I just... I wasn’t sure.”

“Weren’t sure?” The man furrowed his eyebrows, “sure about what?”

“I didn’t want to risk our friendship. I noticed everything, the flower you gave me, the sweets. All the dinners, and the... the dates. Today with the ice hearts even. I didn’t know how to admit I liked you when there was a chance you didn’t like me back the same way. I don’t know what I’d do if I ruined this.”

“But the gestures and dates?” the Doctor frowned, finally stepping into (Y/N)’s room and sitting on the edge of her bed beside her. He’d thought he was being obvious.

“Very obvious,” his companion let out a little laugh, “and I should’ve known, but I was scared. You’re the best thing that’s happened to me. This adventure is a once in a lifetime opportunity, and I didn’t want to compromise that by admitting my feelings.”

He could understand that, a bit. “So... you do like me too?”

“Of course,” (Y/N)’s smile was soft, “a lot, Doctor. I just... didn’t know how to reciprocate it without there being a possibility that everything could fall through, and we’d ruin our relationship in the process. I know you were offering it, but I was nervous. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” the Doctor chastised quietly. He paused for a second before speaking again, “I’m having a hard time believing this is real,” he admitted with a tilt of his head, “you really acknowledged it all? I... never noticed.”

“Yeah,” (Y/N) smiled softly, “and I have proof it wasn’t all in vain, Doctor.” (Y/N) stood up from her spot on the bed, and moved towards her book shelf. It housed a few books, and some trinkets she’d found on their travels and liked. She continued speaking as she searched through the books, “I really enjoyed everything you put together for me since I met you. I wasn’t sure you were really doing it all to be romantic at first but... the hearts today really summed that up for me.”

The man watched as she tugged on one of the book’s spines, pulling it from the shelve and holding it in her hands for a second before she waving to retake her seat. She started flipping through the pages, so the Doctor leaned over her shoulder to watch.

“Here,” she stopped on a page towards the middle of the book. The Doctor refrained from gaping as his companion carefully pulled that singular flower he’d given her all that time ago from the book. The room was instantly filled with that sweet, alluring scent and his hand shook as he took the pressed flower into his fingers by the delicate stem.

“I thought you left this,” he admitted softly, studying the vibrant colours that had stayed even after being pressed into the book. He hadn’t noticed her bringing the flower back. Had really thought she’d left it on that planet and ignored the gesture entirely.

“I couldn’t,” his companion sighed, “it was selfish, even if I didn’t want to ruin what we had, I wanted to keep it to remember the moment. To remember you, even if we did at some point part ways.”

“You’re brilliant,” the Doctor breathed out, finally passing the flower back like it was as precious as a crown jewel or something. “So incredibly brilliant, (Y/N).”

(Y/N)’s cheeks flushed and she ducked her head away from his gaze, but it was different than the usual brushing away of his gestures. Something was different now.

They hadn’t cleared it all up, that was for sure. He still had questions, and she still had doubts. They didn’t quite understand each other yet, but it hadn’t all been in vain like he’d thought. She’d seen it all. Acknowledged it, even if not to him. His hearts swelled as he smiled lightly.

There was still a lot they needed to discuss, but for right now, the Doctor just wanted to spend a bit of time with his companion—without all the hassle of their rightful doubts and insecurities.

“Do you think we could... spend a little while longer looking out at the frozen carbon monoxide outside before we leave? It really is quite pretty, and... maybe we can talk about this more later?”

“I’d... love that, Doctor.”

“Good. Uh, great,” he cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. His companion giggled at him, but he didn’t mind in the slightest, “allons-y, (Y/N).”

<><><><>

Once again, sorry this took so long! I’m hoping to keep this momentum going and keep getting out the requests in waiting! I hope you all liked this fic, it was a bunch of fun to write! I thoroughly enjoyed creating the frozen carbon monoxide hearts, so I hope you all liked that as well!

As always, feel free to prompt me again if this wasn’t what you were looking for (though it might take a while to get around to it if you do!) and thanks once more for requesting. Hoping everyone had a good morning/day/night!

#Tenth Doctor #tenth doctor x reader #tenth doctor x you #ten #10th doctor #10th doctor x reader #10th doctor x you #10 #doctor who #doctor who 2005 #TARDIS #writing prompt #writing requests #reader insert #fanfiction #fanfic

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galactic-magick · 3 years

Text

As Long As I’m With You: Agnes/Agatha Harkness x Reader

Request: Hi, can you please do where Agnes (a villain) saves fem reader's life because she has feelings for her? In the end they end up together // also took some ideas from this request

Summary: You’re accused of witchcraft in your village, and a mysterious beautiful witch comes to your aid.

Words: 2200+

Warnings: fem reader, Agatha is low key evil so she hurts some people, a swear word, reader has an angsty past

Author’s Notes: This can be read as either a standalone fic or as a prequel to my other fic “Spell Practice.” I took quite a lot of creative liberty with this, hopefully that’s alright. Also disclaimer I am in no way a history expert so even though this is set in like the 1500s-1600s it’s probably very inaccurate, but it’s fanfic so anything goes right?

Taglist: @nyx-aira @midnight-lestrange @thestrangeundoing @thegayances @sleep-deprived-athlete @dr-robotnik-said-hella @fallingfor-fics @p-nymph @thelanawinterrs @sunproud (if your tag didn’t work it might be bc your blog isn’t searchable so make sure that’s on so you’re notified of future fics!)

You had no idea how much your life would change when you left your house that day.

It started out with a simple run to the market and the garden to get what you needed for supper that night, a job that almost always falls to you. You don’t necessarily mind getting away from your family and talking to some people in town, but it’s clear that your family doesn’t want you in the house as much as possible either.

It’s gotten to the point where they’re just looking for a reason to get rid of you. You’re a disappointment, after all. You refuse to marry in order to help your family’s status, even though you’ve gotten a couple offers. You counter your parent’s rules and ideas every chance you get, no matter how much they tell you you’re crazy. They belittle you constantly, saying your dreams are worth nothing and you’ll have to be dependent on them forever if you never submit to the role in society you’re supposed to.

Obviously bullying you out of their lives wasn’t working, so they’ve moved on to spreading rumors about you and setting you up for crimes. None have worked yet, of course, but every day you fear they’ll get too close.

Until you get burned at the stake, though, they’ve given you basically every responsibility of the house. You do all the shopping, cooking, and farming, as well as taking care of your younger siblings. You wonder what they’d do without you, despite how much they seem to want you gone.

As you’re buying a few crops and eggs from your neighbors, you swear you see something move. You turn around and see a little boy floating in the air, screaming.

You drop everything in your arms and reach up to him, trying to grab him and help him down, but he keeps flailing, and his screams start to feel directed at you.

“Hey! It’s okay! Let me help you!” you hold your hand up, speaking as calmly as you can. “I’m not going to hurt you,”

“WITCH!” a man yells as he sees you. “SHE’S A WITCH!”

Everyone around turns and watches you.

“No! No! I’m not the one doing this! I’m trying to help!”

“Let him down and maybe we’ll wait to kill you til tomorrow!” someone else demands.

A couple people march towards you to grab you, and all you can think to do is start running.

You race out of the center of town into the trees, and about five men chase after you. You keep going until it feels like your legs are going to give out and you can barely breathe, but they keep coming.

“Please! Please stop! It wasn’t me I swear!” you cry. “I don’t know what was happening!”

“Shut up, girl,” one grunts. “Your father always said there was something wrong with you, makes sense that you’re a witch!”

“What’s so wrong about witches?” a female voice calls.

You and the men spin around, trying to figure out where it came from.

Before you can blink there’s purple smoke surrounding you, and the men are thrown against the trees. They’re knocked unconscious instantly, but you remain standing and untouched.

“Who are you?” you ask, your voice quivering.

“Don’t be afraid, my dear,” the smoke starts to fade and you can make out her silhouette, then eventually her face. “I’m here to help you,”

She’s beautiful. You’ve never seen someone that immediately feels so friendly, so different in all the best ways.

“It’s alright to stare, I know I’m quite a sight,” she laughs. “I’m Agatha,”

“I’m Y/N,”

“Ah, yes, I’m pretty sure I’ve heard of you,” she smiles. “Everyone in the village can barely stand you,”

“Thanks…?” you’re not sure how to respond, especially after all that just happened. “Wait, if you live in my village, why have I never seen you? And how come you’ve never gotten caught using magic?”

“Memory spells, of course,” she shrugs. “Now, let’s get you somewhere safe, alright?”

You nod, and she wraps an arm around you. She takes you deep into the forest until you reach a small house, the glimmer of the fire peering through the windows.

You settle down on a chair while she makes some tea and food. She offers you a blanket and hands you the cup and plate, sitting down across from you.

“So how long have you been practicing magic?” she asks.

“Oh…I…well actually I don’t know how to use any magic,”

“Really? Why were the witch hunters after you then?”

“I was set up, I think,” you say. “There was a little boy floating in the air, and since I was near him they thought it was me. But I wasn’t doing anything,”

“Well,” Agatha sips her tea. “Sometimes magic can manifest itself subconsciously. Maybe you were doing it but didn’t realize it. It’s quite common,”

“But…how would I have magical powers? I’ve never learned it from anywhere,”

“Some people are just born with the gift,” she grins.

You exhale, thinking over what she said. Could it be true? You’ve been a witch all your life without even knowing it?

That night, Agatha conjures another bed for you to sleep in. But even though she made it as comfortable as she possibly could, you can’t get a wink of sleep.

You lift off the blanket and wrap it tightly around you, getting up slowly and quietly. You walk outside and sit against a tree, looking up at the stars.

You’re sure your family has heard the news by now. Their disappointment of a daughter is finally gone, accused of witchcraft. It seems that the foreseeable future will be spent with Agatha, the only safe person you have.

You wonder just how much she already knows about you. She mentioned she’s heard people gossiping about you all the time in town, yet she still saved you after hearing all those negative things.

Why is that?

“Can’t sleep?”

You jump at her voice, and she chuckles a bit at your reaction.

“Sorry,” you sigh. “I just have a lot to think about from today, I guess,”

“No worries,” she sits down beside you. “So do I,”

“Agatha,” you say. “Why did you save me?”

“Us witches have to stick together. I saw you were in trouble, so I saved you,”

“But you knew, didn’t you? You’ve known I was a witch long before this, didn’t you?”

“I had my suspicions,” she agrees. “Whenever I heard people talk about you, I figured you weren’t like everyone else. But I didn’t know for sure until today,”

“I wish you had taken me before,” you huff, a few tears falling down your cheeks. “It’s been so bad, Agatha, feeling worthless just because you’re different, everyone hates you…”

She pulls you into her shoulder, letting you cry into it, “I know, dear, I know,”

It takes you a while to come to terms with your potential powers, but as soon as you’re ready Agatha begins to teach you how to use them. You spend your days studying her spell books and practicing simple spells, most of which you fail at.

She encourages you as much as possible, explaining to you that magic is not something you can learn overnight, sometimes not even over years. She tells you that she’s actually thousands of years old (a surprise to you due to her stunning looks) and she’s been practicing for much of that time, and there’s still some spells she hasn’t mastered.

Your impatience still gets the better of you most days, though. You can’t imagine waiting several centuries to get something to work, if you get it to work at all.

One day you’re sitting at the table, trying out a simple transfiguration spell. You wave your hand repeatedly at a potato, hoping to turn it into an apple. It doesn’t even wobble, not even a single spark, but you’ve been sitting here for hours and don’t want to give up just yet.

You nearly fall asleep from exhaustion when all of a sudden it happens. It works.

There’s an apple in front of you. Not a potato, an apple.

“Holy shit!” you scream. “Agatha! I did it!”

You run over to her and point at your small accomplishment.

“Look at you go, darling!” she smiles, hugging you. “At this rate you’ll be changing rocks into cats before you’re 200!”

You laugh, “Oh come on, this is literally just one of the beginner spells,”

“So what? That’s where everybody starts,”

You break out in giddy excitement again, jumping up and down a bit and looking back and forth just to make sure your creation is still there.

Without thinking, you kiss Agatha quickly on the lips.

She stares at you, mouth open.

Before you can apologize, she grabs your face and kisses you hard. She’s everything you’d imagined and more, soft and warm but with a spark you can’t ignore.

When you finally break apart, her hands linger, brushing across your features and in your hair, “I’ve been waiting to do that,”

Things change after that, but in only the best ways.

Agatha isn’t just your mentor anymore, the only friend who came to your aid.

She’s your everything now, a soulmate, your home.

You tell her all about your life, and she tells you all about hers. As she has significantly more stories to tell, you’ll fall asleep many nights to her whispering all the legends she lived through that no one else knows are true.

She makes you laugh every day, and makes sure you always know how much she cares about you. There’s only so much you can do in your hidden home in the woods, but with magic the possibilities are endless and she’s never short of romantic ideas.

Tonight you find yourself lying your head in her lap while she plays with your hair, close to the fire so you can watch the little shows she creates with the flames.

“What about love?” you ask.

“What about it?”

“Out of all the stories you’ve told me, you’ve never mentioned being in love before,”

“Well,” she sighs. “That’s because I haven’t been,”

“Why not?”

“It’s just never appealed to me,” she says. “Until I met you,”

“Oh,” you grin, looking up at her.

She leans down to kiss you, but you’re broken apart by a loud noise outside.

You shoot up, looking at Agatha in pure panic. Your heart races as the noise gets louder and louder, eventually leading to shouting and knocks at the door.

“WE FOUND YOU!” a booming voice yells.

“Aggie?” you whisper. Everything crumbles around you. Your perfect, happy life, now about to be stolen from you. You have no idea how they found you, if you are about to be dead, if you’ll be able to defend yourself at all.

She kisses you and stands up, “Stay here. I’ll take care of it,”

With a fling of her fingers the door flies open, and the torches the townspeople are holding are burnt out. She smirks, purple smoke covering the area as she goes through them one by one, some just throwing to the side and others suffering a painful death.

She turns their own weapons against them, their own people against them, and makes them regret everything they’ve ever done.

When she returns to you, you’re still in so much shock and panic you couldn’t tell exactly what she was doing.

“Did you…kill all of them?”

“They got what they deserved for threatening us,” she says nonchalantly. “But we’re not safe here anymore. It’s time to find somewhere new,”

“Okay,” you nod as she pulls you against her. “As long as I’m with you,”

“I’ll always protect you, even when you learn enough to protect yourself,” she kisses your forehead. “Always and forever,”

APPROXIMATELY FOUR CENTURIES LATER

“I’m back, darling!” Agatha calls, shutting the door behind her.

“How’d it go?” you run to her, grabbing her hands.

“Splendid, that poor Wanda already loves her new neighbor!”

“Wow,” you giggle. “You know I must say, this whole living in a sitcom thing isn’t that bad, you look gorgeous in that 50s dress,”

“Oh darling, somehow after all this time you still flatter me,” she pretends to fan herself. “I have to go back over real quick, alright? Gotta give her this spicy magazine,” she holds her hand up in the air and magically forms one in her grasp.

“Ah! Be sure to get some ideas to use on me when you get back,” she laugh.

“Oh I will honey,” she winks, kissing you before going out the door.

You settle on the couch, looking around at your home. Out of all the places you’ve moved to together, this was by far the weirdest. There’s no color, and everyone besides you and Agatha and Wanda are under some kind of mind control.

You never imagined that day all those years ago would bring you here, spending your life with a beautiful witch and being her partner in all things, even sinister ones. But you wouldn’t have it any other way, and you know this strange town will only bring you more opportunities to practice your magic and help Agatha with her plans.

#agatha harkness #wandavision #agatha harkness x reader #agnes x reader #wandavision spoilers #wandavision x reader

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marshmurmurs · 3 years

Note

hey. hey psst. grian & purpled friends au is a banger. you um, you got any more? mayhaps?

Ok so you're gonna have to bear with me for aa few moments since this au is made by someone who hasn't watched Evo in a hot second and someone who I believe hasn't yet finished watching it, so we are mostly working off of fanon and my terrible memory for Watcher stuff

With that said, you've heard of Watcher!Grian, now get ready for Watcher!Purpled too :D

So you’re probably wondering how in the world we got here. It started with Peggy mentioning that Purpled got a clean view of both Tommy’s duel with Dream and Phil taking out Wil. That’s enough for me to start the Watcher propaganda babey!!!

“They watch but cannot be seen”

I'm pretty sure I yoinked this quote from a sign that showed up in some Watcher thing at some point. Purpled sure does watch. I also believe he has done some messing around with replay mod to see inside the prison or something? So yeah, Watcher boy be looking. And the “cannot be seen” part? He’s constantly falling into the background, almost forgotten, and maybe it's in his very nature.

Grian and Purp were both Watchers, though their time as Watchers only briefly overlapped. Purpled was already a Watcher during Evo times, having been picked up by the Watchers while traveling the void in his spaceship. They had promised him he would become something greater than himself, he would be part of something important, he would have a legacy. Purpled went along with them, at first, it wasn’t like he really had anything better to be doing. Besides, the magic and wings he got out of the deal were pretty cool.

It was when the Watchers started looking to recruit Grian that Purpled started to question why he was there. That legacy they promised him, he wasn't sure if they ever delivered on that. If anything, it was the Watchers that were benefiting off of him. The Evolutionists were the only people who were confident in their existence, and even then, they only knew of the group as a whole. They had no idea how many of them there were or of any of the individuals within. He doesn’t think that was ever what he wanted out of joining the Watchers... He wasn’t actually sure what he had wanted out of them.

Purpled noticed the Watchers focusing their attention on Grian, he saw how they worked to break down his will to rebel. Sure, he had joined them, but it wasn't like he had been told all their rules upfront. Naturally the guy who had continuously tested the limits of their patience when they had been some unknown power wouldn’t stop that just because he was one of them now. Grian would push the limits of what he was allowed to do, finding loopholes, dancing around the rules, and even outright breaking them at times. The two interacted a few times and Purpled liked the guy well enough. He liked him enough to break the rules himself and not report Grian when he caught him breaking some rules, he even pointed out a few spots in the rules where the phrasing could be exploited. Still, he recognized the opportunity Grian’s presence provided him. Purpled was no longer the newest Watcher, no longer constantly under their gaze. He could just leave, and if he was smart about it, he could get away and have plenty of time before anyone noticed.

So he did. With a final o7 to Grian, Purpled left. Their final encounter within the Watchers domain went something like this:

Purpled: Hey do you want some advice?

Grian: Sure

Purpled: *walks away never to be seen again within the Watcher’s domain*

It was only later that Grian realized what the advice was, long after he began sneaking out, began testing the limits of what he could do. It was long after he figured out that an eye couldn't really look within itself and he could use the very powers the Watchers had given him to hide himself from them, long after he'd made his own domain, long after he'd slipped away to a land he created specifically to stay out of their sight and reach that he realized what the advice was. Purpled had left. His advice was to leave. Grian had—albeit unknowingly—followed that advice.

Purpled had taken a much different method to getting away. Instead of making himself untraceable, he hid in plain sight. He went to Hypixel and made a name for himself playing Bedwars. With each game he won, with each game he clutched, he amassed supporters. Players, believers and doubters alike, began to bet on the outcome of his matches. Purpled had made himself seen. He knew the Watchers knew he was there, but that was the point. They couldn’t reach him, not without breaking their own rules, at least. Unlike the two Players turned Watchers, the original Watchers cared deeply for and were bound by their rules. Even if they had tried anything, Purpled managed to create his own legacy, making for himself what they never could. Beyond that, he'd found friends, he'd built a community, surrounded himself with people who would look for him and make themselves a problem for the Watchers if they tried to make him go back. They were forced to sit by and do nothing as he continuously broke their most important rule.

Purpled didn't need the Watchers, he never did.

Grian didn't really know how he felt about the Watchers. He didn't think he hated them, not really. The Watchers had given him a taste of true freedom then immediately began to restrain him. They'd given him wings and the power to create worlds in mere seconds, something which would not only take a regular Admin a much longer time, it would require a significant amount of preparation. He was given the world at his fingertips but was limited by the long list of rules the Watchers enforced. He doesn't regret joining them—he wouldn't give up his wings for the world—but they just weren't enough. The more they tried to make him fit their mold of a perfect little Watcher, the more sure of that he became.

It was almost funny, the Watchers had become stricter in order to prevent another Purpled situation. They were trying to ensure Grian wouldn’t leave them too, but in doing so, they had given him reason to. He was a bit curious though, he wondered what Purpled was up to now. Grian hadn’t gotten news about him since he’d left the Watchers.

So Grian went to Hypixel, he wanted to see if he could track down Purpled. He knew the other was there, judging by the leaderboards, but he couldn’t seem to catch him around the hub. He managed to track down gamblers betting on Purpled's victories. Grian followed that lead, tailing the person who was updating them on the results of Purpled's matches. Somehow that person continued to find intel without Grian catching where Purpled was. It made no sense, and if he was being honest with himself, it had long since reached the point of being frustrating. Eventually, after an infuriating amount of dead ends Grian decided he may as well play a few games before calling it a day and heading home. He tried a few solo matches of bedwars and while PvP wasn't really his thing, he had to admit throwing fireballs at people was pretty fun.

Grian finding Purpled wasn't even intentional on his part. At that point he wasn’t even actively looking or playing the game properly. He’d simply started building houses after politely asking people to leave him alone with varying levels of success. After a few games, he received a friend request from the person who had won the last match with a message inviting him to join them for some doubles. Grian accepted after a moment of thought, they seemed polite enough. They had left him for last when it would’ve been way easier and much more convenient to just continue their clockwise sweep.

It didn’t take Grian long to realize that his new companion was nicked, though to be fair, he was too. It’s not that he particularly cared when someone was nicked, but his curiosity was getting the better of him. There was something about this person, the way they held themself, the general energy around them, something that just felt so familiar. Try as he might, though, Grian couldn’t quite figure out what it was.

It was when he noticed the absolute confidence and ease in which his companion threw themself into the void that Grian finally gave in to his curiosity. Players usually avoid the void, and even if they did jump into it for strategic purposes, he's never seen anyone

recover as fast as his companion did. While they ran off to go stab someone who was getting too close to their area for comfort, Grian tried to look past their disguise. He was met with resistance, surprisingly. Usually looking past a Player being nicked was no issue. He pushed harder, it was more than just curiosity at this point, he needed to know who this was, why they were able to resist him. Somehow the results were worse this time. Grian realized with increasing bewilderment that he could no longer even see his companion. His teammate was just gone, there one moment and gone the next.

Grian blinked away the purple in his eyes, focusing on his surroundings. There were no new bridges leading away, his teammate was still in the game, and they hadn't died. Where could they have gone? He continued to scan the island when he was suddenly hit with the overwhelming sense of being watched. There, standing beside him was his teammate, eyes glowing the same purple Grian's had moments before.

"Something wrong, Grian?"

It all clicked for him then. His nicked companion was the guy he had been looking for the entire time, he’d only just now decided to reveal himself. Of course Grian’s Watcher abilities hadn’t helped, Purpled had way more power here than he did. He was just a guest in the other’s domain, he never had a chance of finding him if he hadn’t wanted to be found.

“Y’know, you could have been a lot clearer.”

“Rule 7. Besides, you figured it out, didn’t you?”

Once they reunited, the two realized they still got along well. They agreed to keep in contact, and they did. Grian would sometimes hop onto Hypixel to join Purpled for a few games—always nicked, they didn’t want the Watchers to realize they were in contact— and other times he'd drag him off to a creative world to challenge him to a game of build swap or various flying courses he’d created. The two often swapped tips and tricks for things they were good at. Grian would give Purpled lessons on building, block palettes, and flying (he argued the other only ever really using his wings while voiding didn’t count). In exchange, Purple would try to give him advice on various things he’d picked up from playing bedwars: block clutches, speedbridging, and general PvP.

When Purpled was invited onto the DreamSMP, he was fairly excited. He loved what he had going on with Hypixel and his friends there, but part of him had always wanted this. Ever since he was with the Watchers, overlooking everything on Evo and worlds before that, part of him had wished to be on the other side of things. This desire only grew stronger as he heard the tales of what Grian got up to on Hermitcraft.

The Dream SMP was nothing like he expected it to be. It turned out to be a hardcore world, only 3 “lives” allowed per player. There were also seemingly infinite respawns, though, which made no sense. He wasn’t sure which was more annoying: the unclear respawn rules or the fact that he was never told about them before he agreed to join.

Besides that, there was also some entity with a great amount of power, even more than the admin himself. Purpled had noticed their presence fairly quickly upon joining and he was immediately on edge. He had no information on the being, their power, their motives, nothing. And that felt dangerous. Purpled had unintentionally ended up falling back into old habits from working with the Watchers as he tried to establish himself in this world. He claimed land for his own, carving out his own domain within that of the unknown god while trying to avoid catching their attention. Eventually, once he was comfortable enough within the world, he began trying to reach out, trying to get involved in the things that were happening. He heard there was a war brewing, and if he learned anything from Grian, things were about to get really fun.

They didn’t.

His attempts to involve himself mostly failed, so he went back to doing what he had before. He claimed more and more land and continued watching over events from the sidelines. Things got serious, conflicts got personal, and unless he was directly pulled in by someone he considered a friend, Purpled just watched.

Anyway my excuse for whatever is going on with their designs is that Watchers can control how they are perceived. This is my city and I want them to have cool wings. Also Peggy was supposed to be my impulse control but the memo got lost in the mail and she never got it, so she enabled me instead. Now we have both funky dragon/parrot vibes on Grian and vague alien/phantom/vex vibes on Purpled

#ask #mcyt #grian #purpled bedwars #dreamsmp #hermitcraft #marsh tries #says marsh #writing is pain #gonna go play mc now to cope #au hours #ill come up with an actual name for this au at some point #but that is not now

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boonki · 3 years

Note

“You look absolutely horrible.” For the prompts!

OKAY I KNOW YOU ASKED THIS LIKE THREE HUNDRED YEARS AGO i am so sorry ive had to work a ton lately and have just been so tired, i havent written at all recently

BUT

here you go!! some nice sleepy vibes from yours truly at 2:20 am, apologies if there are any mistakes

_______

The only light on in their shared kitchen space is above the sink, drowning the space in a burnt orange color, like the warm glow of a fire. As he stumbles into the room, Obi-wan nearly misses Anakin sitting at the table, fiddling with droid parts, back curled over and head drooped to study a piece of machine in his hands. How he’s even able to see is far beyond Obi-wan, but he’s learned to let it go throughout the years.

Obi-wan turns the knob on the stove and shuffles the kettle to check for water, startling Anakin out of his meditative state.

“Oh, Obi-wan.” Anakin looks up at him and squints, exhaustion forming neat lines around the corners of his eyes. “I didn’t know you were awake.”

Before reaching up to the cabinet for a well-loved mug, Obi-wan catches how pale Anakin is, how dark purple blooms around his eyes like bruises, how he seems to shrink into himself. Obi-wan has seen Anakin look tired before, especially when he was younger and put so much pressure on himself to perfect his schoolwork, but this is on the particularly bad end of things. Anakin’s hair is greasy, the long curls pushed back and tucked behind his ears, and the small blanket draped around his shoulders does nothing to hide the fact that Anakin is still wearing the same shirt from two days ago. He looks absolutely horrible.

“You look absolutely horrible,” Obi-wan says, the mug settling on the countertop with a clink. “Have you even tried to sleep?”

Anakin frowns. “Hey, you don’t look much better. We’re both awake at what,” his head swivels around as he looks for a clock, and finding none, guesses, “four in the morning? What’s your excuse, old man?”

Obi-wan hums noncommittally at that, amusement assuaging the growing worry nagging at his chest. He pulls a tea bag out of the flimsy cardboard box left out on the counter, and rips the packaging open, letting the sachet dangle into the cup. He lets the silence linger.

With a softer tone, Anakin tries again. “You can’t sleep either?”

Obi-wan pours the boiling water into the mug, watching the color turn into a deep shade of purple, and he gently bounces the bag up and down, encouraging it to steep. “I think you’ll find, my dear padawan, that I’ve evolved past the need for sleep.”

Anakin’s eyebrows flatten, and he snorts. “I’ll make sure to pass that along to Cody, I’m sure he’ll agree with you.”

A smile tugs at Obi-wan’s mouth. “No, I,” he pauses, taking a breath, “I keep waking up. Figured a cup of tea would help.”

All of the mirth vanishes from Anakin’s face, leaving only unadulterated worry. Obi-wan looks down at his tea. They both know a euphemism for nightmares when they hear one by now, considering they’ve created half of them on their own. Fighting a gruesome, bloody, and endless war will do that to a person. Fighting a gruesome, bloody, and endless war where a good portion of the deaths are on your hands, on your conscience, even more so.

The air is still between them, but dense with emotion. Obi-wan rarely admits his nightmares to anyone, and by the myriad of expressions racing through Anakin’s features, he can tell Anakin is struggling with the right response.

Obi-wan sips his tea.

“Sometimes, I,” Anakin starts, clearing his throat, “I wish I knew them better, my men who died. I see them in my dreams.” He’s staring down at his hands, either as a distraction or remembering the blood he’s washed off. The droid parts sit motionlessly beneath them.

Obi-wan leans back on the counter, holding the steaming mug up to his chin. “So do I,” he nearly whispers, grateful for Anakin’s admission, his attempt to empathize with Obi-wan. He wants to say more, wants to sit down and let out the demons haunting his dreams, but he’s afraid that they’d rip all his bandages on the way out and tear him apart completely. It’s easier, he thinks, to keep it all inside, contained, controlled. But in the dim and molten light of the kitchen, with his face hidden in the shadows, he wants to be vulnerable. He also wants Anakin to get some rest.

“Do you want to come sleep with me?” Obi-wan asks, eyes darting up to Anakin’s face.

Anakin’s eyes go wide, and he straightens up in his seat. “What?”

He suddenly realizes what he’s said, and he can feel his ears burn. “No, not like that.” He dips the tea bag in and out of the mug, and Anakin relaxes a bit, though still wary, looking somehow disappointed. “When you were a youngling, you used to crawl into bed with me when you couldn’t sleep. You thought I never noticed.”

“You remember that?”

Obi-wan smiles to himself, gazing wistfully down into his mug. “Of course, dear one. You weren’t the only one who slept better.”

Anakin’s eyebrows are knitted together, his lips parted. “Oh.” He looks thoughtful. “Sure, then. Your room?”

Warmth floods Obi-wan’s chest in anticipation, not at all feeling guilty about his careful manipulation. He knows Anakin could never turn down helping others, it’s in his nature.

Anakin’s little droid project is completely forgotten as Anakin stares at him for an answer.

“Considering I don’t quite feel like tripping over half an engine, yes, my room.” Obi-wan takes one final sip of his tea and sets it by the sink, treading over the cold floor back into his room.

With a scoot of his chair, and loud, heavy footsteps, Anakin follows, sliding Obi-wan’s door shut behind him, leaving the pair in complete darkness. Obi-wan is still in his sleep shirt and shorts from before, so he slips into bed, pulling back the covers for Anakin to join him. He hears the soft thump of clothing dropping to the floor and then a dip in the mattress next to him.

Obi-wan lays on his back, as he assumes does Anakin.

Then there’s a shuffle as Anakin readjusts, and with a slight startle, Obi-wan feels a bare arm rest against his chest, a face in his neck, a leg thrown over his. It’s odd, but rather nice. Obi-wan doesn’t remember the last time he felt so safe.

“Is this okay?” Anakin mumbles into the crook of his neck, blowing hot air over his collarbones.

“Yes.” Obi-wan faintly wonders if Anakin can feel his heartbeat.

“What were your nightmares about?”

Obi-wan considers this. Blood, so much blood, headless bodies strewn over a hopeless landscape, their heads coming to life and blaming their deaths on him, his call, his decisions. Qui-gon, standing in the flames, yelling at him to be better, to have saved him, saved his men, to save Anakin. Stillness, as he stands utterly alone and deserted, everyone finalizing realizing they were better off without him, because he is worthless, unlovable, tainted-

“The war.” Obi-wan answers, his voice cracking. “And you?”

When no reply comes, Obi-wan wraps his arm around Anakin’s back, tracing his spine, the flesh warm and smooth underneath his fingertips. Anakin’s breaths come slow and even, and his hand twitches once.

Already asleep, then.

Obi-wan bites a lip to keep from chuckling. Maybe this is the trick to get him to sleep. He rests his cheek against his hair, presses a light kiss to the top of his head.

“I dream of losing you, dear one,” he whispers out to no one, letting the honesty linger in the darkness above them. He trusts the nighttime to keep his secrets.

When they both wake up in the morning, Obi-wan is sure there will be some level of embarrassment from cuddling, from cracking open their hard exteriors to each other. They’ll probably be sent out to the frontlines and never speak of this again.

He feels the sturdy muscles of Anakin’s sides, the dip of his waist and rise of his hips.

For now, Obi-wan holds him, keeps him safe from the torment of his own brain, and lets him get some much needed sleep.

___

Light billows out from underneath the door when Obi-wan wakes, morning having come and gone long ago.

Anakin has curled further into him, practically seeping into his bones. There’s a leg thrown over his waist, face completely smooshed in his neck, and his arm drapes over his chest, Anakin’s palm cupping the side of his face. Delicate snores come from Anakin’s nose, and Obi-wan’s neck is hot from Anakin’s breath. Obi-wan’s hand is settled in the small of Anakin’s back, the other arm thrown up above Obi-wan’s head.

A languid grin finds its home on Obi-wan’s face, sleep tugging at his edges. He hasn’t felt so well rested in years.

Not wanting to wake Anakin, Obi-wan flutters shut his eyes, and lets himself drift back off, soaking in the feeling of love and security that pool together in his heart.

He can feel Anakin breathing steadily on top of him, peacefully.

The war will have to wait.

#boonki writes #obikin #obiwan #obiwan kenobi #anakin skywalker #anakin #star wars #prompts #ask #sonda walkin #i hope this makes sense #i wrote this at 2 am whats good #fanfic #hurt/comfort #sleep deprivation #obiwan & anakin #obi-wan/Anakin #THEY JUST NEED SOME FUKIN SLEEP DUDE #let them cuddle

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supergraphicultramoderngirl · 3 years

Text

sweet like the thunder on my tongue

pairing: willex

word count: 2786

tw for light swearing

It tumbles out of his mouth before he could even think about it: “But I don’t have any powers.”

Caleb smirks. “And who told you that?”

or, in which willie realizes his true strength.

taglist is in the reblogs, fic is under the cut!

—————

“Willie?”

The skater’s head pops up, cutting off the conversation he was having to look over at his boss.

“Can I see you for a moment? In my office?” Caleb gestures toward the stairwell.

Wordlessly, Willie follows him, only growing concerned when they walk right past the office and towards another room at the end of the hall which he’d never paid any mind to before. Was that door even there before? “Caleb, what’s going on?”

Caleb opened the door to the room and ushered him inside-- well, more shoved, but who is Willie to talk back to him right now-- while all Willie could do was look around and wait for Caleb to say something. The room was dark-- pitch black, actually, and he couldn’t see anything inside. He could now barely see his own hands, if not for the single hanging light above Caleb’s head as he stood in the hallway still, blocking the doorframe. With a wave of his fingers, Caleb pushed Willie down into some kind of, apparently, vantablack chair, metal clamps fastening around his wrists as soon as he reached the seat. Caleb leaned against the doorframe, seemingly inspecting his nails. “You’ve betrayed me, William.”

Willie steels himself, squeezing his eyelids shut, and replies, “I, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His efforts to cover his tracks were pitiful, to be completely honest. He wasn’t sure how much energy he had left at that point; before he’d met the band— before he’d met Alex— he thought that the best thing about the afterlife was that he could do what he wanted for as long as he wanted, day in and day out, as long as he came back to the club to do the shows. But now, his entire perspective has been shaken up, and he’s honestly gotten sick of doing the same things every single day. Why should he go see the same sights he’s seen since 1983 when he could be screaming in a museum, or stealing an entire fucking bus, or anything that can actually make a connection between him and another person?

Except, now he can’t even do that anymore. His connections are gone. They all crossed over (except for Julie, who never saw him in the first place), and he was left to his own devices, again. Willie isn’t sure what else there is for him to do, and in all transparency, if he hasn’t figured out his unfinished business yet, he doubts he ever will. Caleb putting him out of his misery now would probably just save him a lot of trouble.

“Don’t be coy,” Caleb jabs at him, standing up straight. “After all I’ve done for you? I gave you a place to stay, food to eat, things to do, and this is how you repay me? You help my recruits escape?”

Willie sighs, the helplessness beginning to overwhelm him. “What does it matter, anyway? They’ve crossed over, you don’t have competition anymore, right?”

“William, the boys are still out there. And they’ve lost their stamps.” Willie freezes. They lost their stamps? Alex is alive— or, at least, as alive as he can be? “Regardless, I have never been worried about competition. Those boys have power, power that could rival my own. I can’t just have that out there in the world, where it could fall into the wrong hands, now, can I?” Caleb sneers, a sickenly sweet smirk on his face.

Furrowing his brows, Willie rushes out in reply, “They’re playing in a pop rock band, they’re practically harmless, what could they even—”

“You don’t get it, do you?” Caleb interrupts, his icy eyes boring into Willie’s own.

Willie shuts his mouth and swallows his nerves. And maybe his pride.

Caleb leans forward, his hands gripping the arms of the chair. “I can’t have anyone’s power rival my own. That would steal away my precious audience, my empire that I’ve built over the last hundred years. Every ghost in my club would otherwise be a threat to me, had they not signed away their powers when they sold me their souls. With their powers under my possession, I have full reign over any paranormal capabilities that this world could possibly hold.” He stands back up. “I’ve kept my enemies close, you could say.”

It tumbles out of his mouth before he could even think about it: “But I don’t have any powers.”

Caleb smirks. “And who told you that?”

Willie was looking right at him. He feels no need to answer, and even if he wanted to, his mouth is going dry and there’s a lump in his throat preventing him from doing anything other than remaining still.

“Don’t get your hopes up about the boys still being here, William,” Caleb says after a moment. “They won’t be when you get out.” He slams the door, leaving Willie in the room, with nothing but dark, dark, dark, alone.

***

“Alright, where’s our first stop?” Luke asks as Julie shrugs her backpack over her shoulder and takes a sip from her water bottle. She and the boys were walking down Sunset Boulevard, her with Airpods in so she could talk to the boys without getting odd looks from others. Julie was planning a sleepover with Flynn for the following night, and the boys jumped at the chance to help her run errands, since hanging out in the studio was getting a little boring.

“Can we stop for pizza? I know we can’t eat it, but at least I can smell it!” Reggie pleads, using his puppy dog eyes.

“Reg, that face only works on Luke and Alex. You can smell it tomorrow night when she’s over, yeah?” Julie jokes. “I was thinking—”

A dark, purple smoke appears in front of them, causing them to stumble and still themselves, the boys’ faces all paling once they realize who’s in front of them.

Caleb smiles, sickeningly sweet. “Hello, boys. And you must be Julie.”

***

He has powers.

Willie has powers, and he hadn’t known this entire fucking time.

This guy, who was supposed to be Willie’s mentor for the past, who knows, thirty-ish years now, who he had once looked up to, who had taken him in has his own, who had given him a way to keep track of time again, who somehow knew he had powers that he couldn’t manage on his own, did all of it for his own advantage. He used him to gain more power and control, while making Willie think he cared. Thirty fucking years.

Right now, he’s trapped in this room, yeah, but Willie feels more suffocated by the hurt and confusion surrounding him more than anything else. He can’t stand that Alex and the boys are probably out there right now, about to be destroyed by Caleb, because of him, again. He hates that nearly all of his afterlife has just been a giant fucking lie. And with these stupid new-but-not-really powers, he doesn’t even know where to start. So, he does what he knows best.

Willie screams.

He cries a bit too, but mostly he screams until his voice grows hoarse.

Ever since he passed away, he’s always loved the feeling that grows in his chest when he screams, knowing that he can just take up so much space without anyone (or at least, anyone important) hearing. It hurts sometimes, obviously, but really it just feels like lightning forming in his veins, sparking against his the walls of his skin, ready to burst through.

He doesn’t notice until he takes a gasp for air that this time, it actually has.

Willie gasps again, this time in shock. It’s a bright, brilliant green, wires of light darting across his fingertips and palms. He doesn’t know what to do with it.

Willie squeezes his eyes shut and makes two fists, willing the stinging of the lightning to go away by distracting himself with the stinging of his own fingernails. He realizes then that he’s created light, that he’s given himself a way out, so he reopens his hands and holds them out, looking for the door that Caleb had previously slammed. He spots it and moves to get up, almost forgetting about his arm braces. He curses under his breath, and begins to rack his brain for a way out of them, the green still dancing around his arms.

He screams again.

***

They’d been cornered into an alleyway, which was probably best for any bystander’s sanity, anyway, but it meant that they were trapped by Caleb. Again.

“What do you want with us?” Luke had asked when Caleb first appeared, walking in front of Julie with a guarding arm.

Caleb had sighed in reply, taking a step forward, “Oh, I’ve decided I don’t need you three anymore. You’re not of any use to me, not without your lifer by your side. Without a life source, you’re about as powerful as any other regular ghost. I just need her.”

Luke stood fully in front of Julie then, Reggie and Alex flanking him to protect her. “You will never get to her,” Alex had chimed in, ice in his tone.

“Bold statement from someone who still chooses to hide behind his friends.” Alex had looked down at his shoes in shame, face turning red. “Oh, don’t worry, we all know you’re not brave enough to take me on by yourself,” Caleb chuckled to himself. “Besides, you boys seem to have forgotten how powerful I am— or can we do without the reminder?” Caleb added, lifting his hand as a wisp of purple smoke curled around it.

Now, after putting up a decent fight, they stand against the building as dark purple webs tangle over them, effectively pinning them down. Julie strains against them as they burn into her skin, pointedly not looking at Caleb who is inches away. Caleb puts a finger to her chin, causing her to look into his eyes. Julie sucks on her teeth, willing herself not to cry any more than she already has. “Quite a shame that such talent, such heart has to go to waste,” Caleb says, before his hand begins to glow in a manner that Julie knows could only lead to her demise.

He’s interrupted, however, by a slew of car alarms going off. Caleb swivels his head to look over at the main road, now realizing that it’s… empty?

Almost moving to walk over, Caleb hesitates just enough for the webs’ strength to weaken, and the boys poof out of their hold. They immediately begin trying to pull the web of magic off of Julie, succeeding in doing so once they notice that Caleb’s attention is no longer on them. He’s in the road now, staring down the horizon line.

“He’s distracted now, let’s poof to the studio to buy some time,” Reggie says, but Luke quickly counters, “Julie can’t poof. We would have to go back down the road, anyway.”

While Luke and Reggie are trying to figure out what to do, Julie’s eyes stray over to Alex, who is now peering around the corner of the building, eyebrows furrowed. He suddenly runs over to the road, and Julie calls after him. The three run to catch up to Alex and stand in terror just a few feet behind Caleb, who is still seemingly frozen in place.

They feel it before they can see it.

The hair on their arms and the backs of their necks begin to stand on end, a quiet humming in the atmosphere causing an adrenaline rush kind of energy around them. The humming thrums into a pulse, concentrating around what Caleb must’ve been looking at; a sharp, sparking green light floating in the air down the road. It grows bigger and bigger, until a silhouette suddenly appears in its place, looking at the ground. “Hey, Caleb!”

Alex’s heart stops when he realizes who it is.

Willie looks up from the ground and begins to make his way over, thunderous step by thunderous step. His eyes shine fully in bright green, almost like the lightning inside of him was leaking out. He reaches forward and a beam of crackling light shoots forward, splitting and clasping itself around Caleb’s wrists in constraint. With rumbling intensity, Willie continues, “You lied to me. You’ve been lying to me my entire afterlife, pretending to care. Every time you stamped someone, you told me it was because they would be dangerous otherwise, that you were just ‘protecting the ghost world’, and then you turn and do it to my friends. You’ve hurt me, you’ve hurt the people I care about, and it doesn’t even matter to you. I don’t even want to know the number of other ghosts you’ve screwed over like you have us.” Willie heaves in a breath, his arm beginning to shake as Caleb tries to overpower him with his own powers. “I can’t let you do this anymore.”

Caleb grits through his teeth, “You don’t get much of a say, William, I own you.”

“Not anymore.” Willie screams again, causing the beam shooting out of his palm to reinforce itself, the sparks around Caleb’s wrists slowly crawling around his skin until it looked like his veins were filled with light. “You aren’t strong enough to beat me, William, I know you more than you know yourself. You can’t do this,” Caleb tries, but Willie just screams louder, drowning him out.

The screams nearly shake the air, causing Julie to lean on Luke for support, with Reggie resting a hand on her shoulder. Alex wants to reach out, to do something, but he knows there’s nothing he really can do to help. He knew Willie was one of a kind, it was obvious from every interaction they’d had up to that point, but he never expected him to be that powerful. It was terrifying, if he was being honest. And Alex didn’t want to be scared of him, especially while he was literally putting his life on the line for them, but it was almost as if Willie was losing control.

Wait.

A small, dwindling purple smoke emits from Caleb’s palms, encircling the cuffs on his wrists, and the green light inside of him dims. Willie is panting in between his screams, running out of energy. Inhaling sharply, Alex doesn’t think twice before bolting over to him, ignoring the protests from his friends.

Alex stands behind him and grips his hands onto Willie’s shoulders, focusing all of his energy into his fingertips, just like he had on that day in the museum. And, just like that day, he screams with Willie, hoping and praying to a god he no longer believes in that it helps, that it works.

It does.

The lightning bursts out at a rapid speed, nearly enveloping Caleb, almost as if it was tearing him apart, atom by atom. It grows brighter, and brighter, and brighter, until—

He’s gone. Small ashes lie in the spot where Caleb once stood, now dissipated into thin air.

Willie collapses to the ground in exhaustion and Alex grasps onto him, as if he’ll disappear himself if he lets go. After a brief moment, Willie takes a sharp breath, wincing in a burning, stinging type of pain, and lets out a breath of relief once it goes away. He knows exactly what that was, he could feel it; his soul was finally back in his body.

Willie looks down at his wrist. The familiar stamp from the Hollywood Ghost Club is still there, however it no longer has its signature purple sheen. It’s black and faded now, like a thirty-year-old tattoo he’s come to regret.

“Are you okay?” Alex asks, pulling away, his face the picture of worry. Willie notices then that Julie, Luke, and Reggie are knelt next to him, too, their own expressions almost as bad as Alex’s.

Willie smiles a sad smile. It’s a weak thing, but it’s genuine. “You’re still here.”

Recognition washes over Alex’s face, and he softly lifts his hand to Willie’s chin. “Of course I am. I told you, I’d follow you anywhere, yeah?”

Willie chuckles and ducks his head. “Yeah, well, somehow, you did.”

Alex lightly pulls on his chin so he can look him in the eye, a burning intensity present there that Willie hasn’t seen in, well, thirty years. “We can explain that later, okay? I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Willie does a small nod. “I will be.”

Alex pulls him back into a tight hug, and Willie sinks into his arms. He knows they’ll both ask questions later; all that matters right now is that they’re there, that they’ve got each other.

And now, they always will.

#sweet like the thunder on my tongue fic #mari writes #willex #willie jatp #alex mercer #jatp #julie and the phantoms #willex fic #jatp fic

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catboygretzky · 3 years

Note

best stucky fic recs pwease

Okay, disclaimer, these are all like five+ years old (which is the best Stucky era, imo) and definitely not the only ones I enjoy; these are just a few in my bookmarks on ao3.

In no particular order besides the order I bookmarked them and under a read more because there's a shit ton of them (really, it's a lot):

- hold me until we crumble; Not Rated, 23k

“Sam told me you were watching Antiques Roadshow,” Natasha says, shaking out her hair. “I assumed it was a national emergency.”

- despite the threatening sky and shuddering earth (they remained); Explicit, 72k

“They really didn’t want the mask to come off.” Hill thumbed through the scans, and pulled out a film that she then handed over to Sam, face mostly expressionless but for the flat line of her pursed lips.

Sam accepted the film and held it up to the light, angling so both he and Steve could see it, squinting at the outline of the Winter Soldier’s skull, and the blips of unnatural white that showed up, God, in his brain, not to mention about half his teeth, plus the mask, with its thin protrusions—

“Those are pins,” Steve realized. He looked over at Hill. “The mask—it’s nailed to his face.”

Hill’s face was as unmoved as ever. “Like I said. They really didn’t want it coming off.”

- family means no one gets left behind or forgotten; Teen, 11k

“Why did you think I wouldn’t like you for being gay?” Steve asks gently.

“You’re Captain America.” Eli’s got his teeth clenched and is resolutely looking ahead. “You stand for truth and justice and the American way. You stand for American morals. You stand for…” he shrugs awkwardly. “Not people like me.”

Steve blows the air out of his cheeks slowly, trying to figure out how to keep the anger out of his voice so Eli doesn’t think it’s at him.

Or, Steve comes to terms with his new world, and gains some children in the process.

- Mistake on the Part of Nature; Teen, 1.3k

Steve takes in Bucky's betrayed look and Sam's confusion, follows Sam's gaze to the pile of mangled fruit in the trash can. Sudden comprehension fills his face.

"Oh," he says. "Bucky found out about bananas."

In which an American icon is mourned. But probably not the one you're thinking of.

- Swear Jar; Teen, 1.5k

Bucky isn't the only troll in the future.

Steve has a Swear Jar and he makes the Avengers pay up every time they cuss.

- Barnes & Rogers and the Goddamn Truth; Not Rated, 19k

There are three well-known facts at Shield High:

1. The history teacher Mr. Barnes is a stone-cold terror, and it’s not even because he only has one arm. 2. The other history teacher, Mr. Rogers, is a mysterious enigma, and it’s something to do with the body of a Greek God and contradicting stories of his past. (They’re all rumours, anyway.) 3. Mr Barnes and Mr Rogers hate each other.

Bucky wouldn’t have it any other way.

- perfectly right wrong number; Teen, 32k

It all starts because Steve is too dumb to handle his smartphone.

A wrong number AU in which Bucky Barnes doesn't enter Steve's life (meaning: Bucky wasn't born until the eighties, but Steve is still Captain America) until Steve accidentally dials the wrong number. Wherein there is a lot of texting, some advice via Natasha and Darcy, a bit of pining, and a first date in an amusement park. Oh, and on top of being a disabled veteran, Bucky is a professional catwalker. Literally.

- The power of the right shirt (a.k.a. God bless America); Teen, 1.2k

"He just…" Phil trails off, mouth gaping. He is staring at the field outside the house, eyes glazed.

Clint sighs. "Yeah, he just ripped a log in two with his bare hands."

- To fill it up with something; Teen, 21k

A fateful encounter with Dr. Strange leaves the Winter Soldier transformed, and Bucky Barnes reunites with Steve Rogers in a most unexpected way.

“Steve brings the puppy inside, into the apartment that doesn't quite feel like home no matter how much he's been trying. He isn't used to being alone. Before the war, he always had Bucky, and his mother until her death. During the war, Bucky was there, too—and the rest of the Howlers, of course—but Bucky always meant home. (And well, maybe Steve's already got a name for the puppy in mind)."

- build it bigger than the sun; Teen, 10k

“Yeah, because nothing says heteronormative like living in Dupont Circle for two years and wearing skin-tight shirts to hit on hot airmen when you go running in the morning.”

“Look, I know you’re being sarcastic but I really don’t get how no one picked up on that.”

Steve and Bucky try to work out their relationship. The Avengers keep getting in the way.

- Memories Circle (Like Birds of Prey), Teen, 32k

Everything seems to be going right, Steve's fighting with his Commandos, they've saving lives-- until Steve falls from a train, is taken prisoner, and turned into the Winter Soldier. Meanwhile, Bucky takes up Steve's mantle as Captain America, and thanks to Zola's experiments, he gets dropped into a whole new time, only to cross paths with a Steve who doesn't know who he is anymore.

Essentially, the events of CA:TFA, mild mentioning of Avengers, and CA:TWS but with Steve as the Winter Soldier and Bucky as Captain America

- The Gentleness That Comes; Mature, 9k

Steve Rogers never really views the things he had to do to get by before the War with any sort of shame or embarrassment. People ask him for his opinions on modern issues in interviews, but Steve has gotten good at talking around those types of questions. Fury insists that there's no way to answer them without casting a shadow of controversy across the reputation of the Avengers, and that's the last thing Steve wants.

But then a sex tape is released featuring Tony Stark in bed with another man, and Steve can't stay quiet any longer.

- salt for the sea; Mature, 7.5k

Natasha comes home with intel regarding the fate of the Winter Soldier; Steve leaves to go and avenge Bucky Barnes.

“It's a list of everyone who was involved in his death, and a rough timeline of everything that happened beforehand,” she tells him.

“And the notebook?”

“I explained what they did,” Natasha says, “The blank pages are for you to explain what you do to them.”

- Lone Cat and Samurai; Teen, 8.4k

"We lost Kitten America sir!" Junior Agent blurted out. Then turned an unlovely shade of purple. "I mean, Captain America. Who’s a kitten. Because magic. Sir."

- Waiting To Prove You're Not Alone; Explicit, 41k

Months after he woke up on the banks of the Potomac, when a reporter mistakenly assumes Steve would disapprove of homosexuality being as accepted as it is in the modern day, Steve accidentally snaps and unleashes his real opinion on the matter... and with that, a secret he's hidden for over eighty years.

When that secret comes looking for him in New York, Steve can only hope that he can get a second chance at saving his best friend, even if it means keeping his heart in check.

“Yeah, back in my day it wasn't tolerated, and because of that I knew from the minute I figured it out, that I’d never get to tell my best friend that I loved him, and sure enough, he died without knowing that I’d been in love with him for a decade."

- I'm Not Sick (But I'm Not Well); Mature, 30k

Steve Rogers doesn’t meet Bucky Barnes in the 1930’s. Instead, Steve meets him April 17th, 2012.

Well…sort of meets him.

In actuality, Bucky had almost hit him with his truck.

Or: The fic where millennial Bucky Barnes nearly runs over a freshly thawed national treasure, and what Steve Rogers did to adjust to modern NYC during those two weeks before the events of The Avengers.

- pure as the driven slush; Explicit, 11k

He should have worked it out sooner. But then, Steve always was a sneaky little bastard—had to have been, just to survive this long.

For the SteveBucky Fest prompt, "Steve is quite experienced while Bucky's never gone beyond second base with anyone".

- Let's Be Exposed and Unprotected, Explicit, 5k

Bucky’s pretty sure he should be into getting fucked through the floor while walls explode around him like in that Mr and Mrs Smith movie that Clint loves. But he likes it like this. He likes being on his back with Steve looming above him, big and naked, blocking out the rest of the world.

- Man of Steel; Explicit, 6.7k

It’s like Steve looked at his metal arm and thought ‘Challenge Accepted.’

- 5 Times Steve Got Arrested and 1 Time They All Did; Teen, 4.9k

What it says, 5 times Steve Rogers ended up in jail (with and without Bucky) + 1 time all of the Avengers got arrested with him.

- the best of you; Teen, 16k

Bucky is on a mission when he gets the call.

They tell him that Steve has been compromised.

[The story wherein Hydra captures Steve to create a new weapon. Bucky, alongside the rest of the Avengers, come together and work through the fallout.]

- pull apart the dark; Teen, 79k

Steve's unending faith in his best friend was beginning to look less like hope and more like fantasy. When they'd caught the Soldier – in a fire fight that still gave Sam nightmares – the only thing the man seemed to recall was how to hit exactly where it hurt.

Four months later, Barnes still refused to speak English. Refused to heed anything but Steve's voice.

So, all in all, it was not a great time for Hydra to attack New York. All in all, Sam really wished they'd just killed him, instead of turning Captain America into a baby.

- Not Another Supersoldier Fantasy; Explicit, 8.9k

Bucky finds a popular sex toy modeled on Captain America's own anatomy. Well, isn't this just perfect? Because even after all this time, he still hasn’t seen Steve’s supersoldier cock. But apparently in this day and age anyone with $29.95 can get a decent replica. The unfairness of this is of galactic proportions.

- the blood of the covenant; Teen, 7.5k

Steve has a "thing" for hot water.

Or, Sam Wilson adopts Steve Rogers.

- Mighty like Love, Mighty like Sorrow; Teen, 19k

After freeing himself from the Russians' mind control, Bucky is left at loose ends, drifting through the decades. Still, he's in no hurry to take up Nick Fury's offer to once again fight the good fight -- especially not when Fury has the nerve to put some imposter in his best friend's old suit and send him out to fight against Chitauri.

- Read Me Like a Book; Gen, 1.5k

In which Bucky accidentally becomes a book collector, because when the universe gives you a million biographies about your boyfriend, you go bookcase shopping. And then he finds out about The Grenade Incident, and the boys actually talk about it like actual adults. (Somewhere, Sam sheds a proud tear.)

- the broadest stroke of color; Gen, 16k

Sarah Rogers always loved Steve's hands.

"Your hands will do a lifetime's work," she'd say. "Remember to do the work you can for those you love."

Almost a century later, Steve does just that.

[The story wherein Steve draws comics for Bucky to help him recover his memory. Through a series of events, the issues are leaked, and Steve finds himself reviving the Captain America comics. He still isn't sure how that happened.]

- If You're Loved By Someone (You're Never Rejected); Teen, 9.4k

You’re fifteen when you realize why you stare at Bucky’s lips more than normal when he laughs and when he says your name. You lean into his shoulder when you walk next to him and when you’re sick you don’t fight off his soft hands. You tease him, he teases back and being around him is so easy you forget what it was like to live without him. You can’t remember life pre-Bucky and it scares you.

- Unusual Weather; Explicit, 8.7k

Bucky’s been at the Avengers Tower for three weeks before he finally gives in to Steve’s gentle coaxing and Stark’s cheerful waving of fistfuls of circuits, and lets them scan the arm.

It doesn’t go well.

- this city bleeds its aching heart; Explicit, 35k

The one where Steve and Bucky pose as a happily married couple while on a mission for SHIELD, to catch an international arms dealer hiding in a suburban neighbourhood.

- Good Boy; Explicit, 13k

Bucky is still adjusting to life with the Avengers, and Steve is willing to do whatever it takes to make him feel comfortable. Increasingly, though, what seems to make him comfortable is strangely intimate.

Surprise, Steve! You're a gentle dom and Bucky wants to be your pretty pet!

- Brooklyn; Teen, 8.8k

"Captain America, what's your stance on gay marriage?"

Everyone knows that, by now. Everyone but Bucky.

#told you it was long as shit #fic rec #stucky #mcu #what do people have tagged #fsdjghk whatever

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princessofgayskull · 4 years

Text

our secret moments, in your crowded room

a catradora drabble, with some glow on the side.

summary: Adora contemplates the before and after of the war when Catra pulls her into a closet from some alone time.

Adora never really let herself think about what would come after war was over. It wasn’t like she wasn’t aware that other people did; Glimmer and Bow had bucket lists of places to see, legendary people they wanted to meet, exotic meals they’d only heard tales of that they wanted to try when they weren’t checking bow tension or practicing purple arrays that had to be flawless on the battlefield. But for her best friends, as for most of the Princess Alliance, it was a “when” the war was over. Adora carried the mantle of She Ra and the debilitating guilt and anxiety that came with the responsibility (and served to exasperate her own), so it was always an “if” the war was over. If the Rebellion had one won it. If the grand sacrifice to come at the end wasn’t at Adora’s own hands.

In the rarer quiet moments they were all spared Adora would try to reach past the if for the when. She would close her eyes and picture the beginning after the end. Never could her mind form a full image. A pain would surround her heart and then that pain would spread as if it were an infection throughout her entire body, begging her to stop picturing a life she might not even get to see. A pain Adora couldn’t put a name to until Entrapta established that communication line on Mara’s ship and the first voice she heard was Catra’s, calling out her name like it was a shot in the dark.

Adora never thought about the end of the war, the after the war, what would come after her destiny was finally fulfilled and she could rest. Because she couldn’t just keep making promises she couldn’t keep only to have them shatter. One after the other.

And so when the “after” does come, and Catra is pulling her gently by the hand into a broom closet, Adora isn’t thinking either. Her thoughts that go around in circles can’t do the end of the war justice: the healing of Etheria, the chains of magic broken, the girl she loved for so many more years than she hasn’t waking up in the same bed, purring when she opens her eyes and Adora is right there. Adora tries to focus on where she is right now, her brain broken by the strength and intensity that Catra uses to push her against the wall, her mismatched irises glowing even in the dark. Her knee comes between Adora’s legs, the sound of her claws retracting hits Adora’s ears as Catra’s hands fly into her hair and Adora finishes what she’s started when she caresses Catra’s jaw and meets her lips.

They’re in a broom closet in the kitchen of Bright Moon’s castle disturbing dust as they move together, Catra’s lips exploring Adora’s jaw like uncharted territory she intends to claim. They’ve been caught in these secret moments before, and somewhere in the back of Adora’s melting mind she knows this is not a safe hiding place.

She laughs, “We’re gonna get caught, Catra.”

“I don’t care,” murmurs Catra against her neck, her purring vibrating through Adora’s whole body, “I have you all to myself. Sparkles and Arrow Boy can have you back when I’m done with you.”

It’s hard to argue with her. It’s really hard to argue with her when they haven’t had time together to be alone in six days (what? Adora wasn’t counting, what are you talking about?) and Adora wants this just as badly as Catra does. She wants to indulge this selfishness, wants to have the normalcy of making out with her girlfriend in a closet, the thrill of sneaking around electrifying every touch.

They’ve got places to be; post war meetings, the council for rebuilding Etheria, Perfuma’s yoga class. But Adora has been the planet’s and the princess’ responsible hero for way too long with way too little reward. And right now, she doesn’t want to worry about the hickeys she’s going to be hiding from curious, authoritative eyes later on. This is Adora’s after, and right now she wants to hear Catra say in that breathless voice that she’s actually a really good kisser. She wants to kiss her girlfriend until they’re out of breath and drunk off each other.

So she does.

“So then my dad and I were thinking about going up to Mystacor, but just for the weekend, since I am the queen and all.”

“Well, you guys do deserve some time off. You and your dad have been working harder than almost anyone in Bright Moon. I think you should go Glimmer.”

“Aww, thanks Bow. I appreciate you saying that.”

Adora’s eyes fly open, her intense concentration broken by the sound of the other half of the Best Friend Squad entering the kitchen. She sees Catra’s ears perk up, then flatten in annoyance as she realizes why Adora has stopped kissing her. Claws sliding down from the bottom of Adora’s skull to underneath her chin, Catra lets out an inaudible sigh as she breaks away from Adora, her nose twitching.

It’s everything Adora can do to stay completely still. Catra’s lips on hers, her fingers exploring her toned torso, have undone her and with her girlfriend’s chest still pressed against hers, those warrior instincts and a soldier’s composure have long left Adora to fend for herself. Her gaze flies to the left of her and then to the right; the wall Catra has her pushed up against is lined with brooms and mops and Adora’s elbow is inches away next to a slanted mop handle.

Catra runs her knuckles under her nose. Adora sucks in a breath. They just have to make it a few minutes, Bow and Glimmer usually move along as long as they’re not alerted to any- BANG!

The mop hits the floor.

“What was that?”

Throwing her head back, Catra makes a face that has a counter argument on Adora’s tongue immediately- seriously, she didn’t even move! And maybe if Catra’s whole body wasn’t up against hers Adora would be able to control the way she was shaking- but she keeps herself silent. Somehow. They don’t let go of each other.

“Is that- did you make a really tiny bow and arrow set and you’ve just been carrying it around?” they hear Glimmer ask Bow and Catra stifles a snicker.

“Well, now that we’re not at war anymore I don’t need to carry my actual bow and quiver around, so, yeah. Fortune favors the prepared.”

“Uh, it’s fortune favors the brave, Bow.”

“It is?”

The familiar sound of Glimmer’s hands forming an array hits Adora’s ears. “Let’s just open the door.”

Catra and Adora exchange a panicked look, knowing that for this to look innocent they have to abandon this position in the next three seconds, but in the dark Adora’s not sure how- and where- to move away from her girlfriend. They’re tangled limbs and popped collars and messy hair, and there’s no way to fix that in the dwindling seconds. Again, Adora’s elbow hits something in her effort to at least try, and before she can think the word slips from her mouth, “Ow!”

“Uh, Adora is that you?”

A weighted pause passes before,

“No.”

It’s not like Adora meant to say anything. In hindsight it’s nothing but clear that the smart move would’ve been to force her lips together and pray Bow and Glimmer walked away. But in her unraveled state Adora is not one for thinking through her actions, or her words, and that’s one hundred percent on Catra for reducing her to this condition.

“Did you seriously just say ‘no?’” Catra, nose wiggling, mouths at her with wide eyes. The irritation and disbelief is obvious, readable even in the low light. Adora rolls her eyes because they were going to get caught anyway and she did try to warn Catra of that very fact before her girlfriend started doing amazing things with her tongue.

“What’re you doing in there, Adora?” Bow prods again.

“Uh…” Adora tries to summon some depth in her voice in hopes what she’s saying will be more believable, “I’m uh, I’m looking for stuff to clean with? I made a mess back in my room when I was… making my bed?”

Catra sends her a look, swatting the back of Adora’s with her tail. Adora, against all odds, swallows the giggle rising in her throat. Disheveled and disgruntled, this is the cutest state Adora’s seen her girlfriend since the mission on Krytis.

“Making your bed?” Glimmer repeats back, her disbelief made obvious by her tone. “Since when do you have to make your bed Adora? It’s like, a cot and a pillow!”

“Is Catra in there with you?”

Knowing Bow would as that next, Adora is prepared this time around. “Nope! It’s just me!”

“Then why is the door closed?”

“I uh, I just like it that way!”

There. That had to be convincing, right? Except when Adora looks down to turn the tables on Catra, smugness written in her expression, Catra’s hands are falling from Adora’s hips and she’s sucking in a bracing breath. Tears form in the corner of her eyes as Catra brings her hands to cover her mouth.

Oh no, is all Adora can think.

“Achoo!”

The sound of Catra’s “completely normal sneeze” fills up the tiny broom closet they’ve squeezed themselves into and if it hadn’t completely blown their cover Adora would’ve sworn the sight of her girlfriend in that second sent her slipping farther into love. She lets herself laugh- under her breath- even when Catra’s tail starts wapping her again.

The door flies open and suddenly they way they’re still pressed together is illuminated in the light of Bow and Glimmer’s newfound righteous attitude. “Busted!” Glimmer practically sings.

“Yeah, yeah,” Catra brushes her off, her hand coming up Adora’s back, “you caught us. You happy now?”

“More like confused.” started Bow.

“Why are you guys in this closet?” finished Glimmer.

“I dunno, it just happened.” Adora smiled, placing her chin on top of Catra’s head, taking guilty pleasure in the way her ears brushed against her cheeks.

“Okay,”

“Wait,” Glimmer throws Adora a glare, “aren’t you supposed to be meeting with Scorpia and Huntara about the deconstruction of the Fright Zone right now, Adora?”

“Yeah, and Catra, isn’t Perfuma’s yoga class happening right now?” asked Bow.

“We just wanted a break,” Catra groaned. Adora nodded in agreement, running her fingers against the low of Catra’s back. Although Bow and Glimmer had no qualms (and complete success) in ruining their moment, Adora’s train of thought was fuzzy and far away. The warmth in her chest- and on it, too- kept Adora back in the seconds before when it was just them, and it was just the feeling and not the thinking. No, she didn’t have any animosity towards her friends but she was, in the back of her mind, willing them to postpone their teasing for another time.

“And maybe something else?” Glimmer didn’t hold back in her unabashed hinting and Catra turned a clawed finger on her in the blink of an eye.

“If you say anything about us ditching, to anyone so help me Sparkles, and I will tell all of your dads what I caught you and Rainbow up to during the intermission of DT’s last one-actor garbage play!”

Pride and love lapped at Adora’s heart, and as she hugged her girlfriend closer she added “I bet Castaspella would also love to hear all about it, too.”

“Okay,” Bow was a blushing mess as he threw his hands up, “ that’s enough with the threats!”

“You told Adora, Catra?” Glimmer’s jaw dropped in betrayal.

“Yeah, duh.”

“There was a lot of detail,” Adora snickered against Catra’s head.

“You know what,” Glimmer’s hands formed into fists and those fists were glowing pink before she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, “maybe we should just leave them alone, Bow.”

“I’m starting to think that’s for the best.” the archer sighed in defeat.

“But you better be at the post war council meeting tonight! Both of you! And Adora!” Glimmer stopped herself from storming away, turning on her heel to add one more thing.

“Yes?” Adora paused, waiting for the next part of Glimmer’s demand.

“Wear a concealer that actually matches the color of your neck this time.”

“Ha ha-” Catra started to tease, only for her nose to betray her again, “Achoo!”

“Still the cutest sneeze in the world-”

“Get out, Bow!”

Catra didn’t even wait for him to do as she’d asked. Taking this frustrating situation into her own hands, Adora’s girlfriend reached out and slammed the door in their retreating faces, leaving them in the dark once more. Alone, and together, once more. Those glowing irises met up with Adora’s as Catra cradled her face, and just like that Adora let go of any thought or feeling that wasn’t Catra. As long as she made sure to make nice with Bow and Glimmer later, she saw no fault in justifying drawing this secret moment out just a little longer.

“Next time, I’ll make sure to have Melog.” Catra whispered into the crook of her neck.

“Uh,” Adora scoffed with the widest smile on her face, “Melog is not gonna stop you from sneezing.”

Catra’s turned her head up to glare at her, “Then pick a better closet, moron!”

“You picked this closet!”

“Ughhh, shut up, Adora!” sighing, Catra threw her head back and though she knew she might be pushing it, Adora couldn’t resist it.

“You wanna make me? I mean, unless we need to leave because the dust in here is making you sneeze-” but Adora didn’t finish her offer. Her sentence was caught off by the sudden presence of Catra’s lips back on hers and Adora sighed, leaning into the kiss in full.

Before the war ended, these were the moments Adora’s imagination was so far from being able to conjure. This, the taste of Catra’s lips and the feel of her tongue, was not the sweetness of victory Adora pictured when she tried to force herself beyond her own mental barriers. In some capacity, she wondered as Catra’s hand traveled back up her neck and into her hair, that if she had known back in the before, that this was after, if she would’ve come so close to giving up if Catra had not pulled her back up and out of the darkness before it could completely consume her.

There was no telling how the before would’ve changed if Adora had been granted more glimpses of the after. It was pointless to waste this moment lost in those thoughts when Adora could lose herself in this embrace of love and trust and intimacy. All these feelings that had taught Adora why people started wars in the first place, and why they fought so hard to win them. So that they could have an after just like this one.

Adora could not go back and change the way she’d fought in the past, but she could fight to keep what she had now. And between the demands of She Ra and rebuilding and the need for her to be in ten places at once, Adora’s number one priority was right here in her arms.

Lifting Catra’s chin up with her finger, Adora pulled away from her and smiled. “Hey,” she whispered, “I love you.”

“Hmm, dummy,” Catra returned her expression, so much warmth and love in her eyes. Adora never wanted to let go. “I love you, too.”

reblogs > likes

#catradora #she ra and the princesses of power #spop #spoilers #catra x adora #adora #catra #see! i *can* write short things!#my writing #i'll do another part of this if you guys want-with melog #and from catra's pov #also if you want i'll put it on ao3 #reblogs > likes #spop spoilers

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bluejayblueskies · 3 years

Text

for tma fantasy week prompt 7: legend

Jon’s foot slips on a tree root, and he nearly falls before he manages to catch himself on a tree, the rough bark cutting into the palm of his hand. He mutters a curse and checks to make sure he hasn’t dropped any items from his basket. The mushrooms and herbs seem to be in order, and Jon carefully tucks a delicate white flower back into place before starting forward again.

That’s what he gets for foraging at night, he supposes. But the flowers he’s looking for bloom in a very specific time frame, and if he doesn’t pick them then, they’ll lose their medicinal quality. So, Jon grits his teeth and slows his pace slightly, taking more care with where he places his feet lest he end up actually hurting himself or—gods forbid—losing some of his supplies. He needs those flowers; most of his medicines rely on the little purple blossoms clustered near the shore of the lake, and he’s the only one who makes them. So, he spends most of his nights in the woods and most of his days fighting off exhaustion. The bags under his eyes have reached rather impressive proportions.

It’s not his fault everyone else is too scared to venture into the woods at night. Putting so much stock in a local legend, in what is essentially a child’s tale, is ridiculous, and Jon will have no part of it.

He’s heard the legend before, of course, so many times that the words have begun to grate on his ears like sandpaper. According to legend, there had once been a man who lived in the very center of the forest. He lived alone, isolated and hidden away in the trees, with only the flora and fauna for company. But it had never bothered him, and he had spent his time painting the forest in yellows and purples and blues, spreading wildflowers all the way to the edges of the wood and carving paths in the earth for creeks and streams to flow. (This was the part that annoyed Jon the most; a man living alone in the woods he could believe, but that? Ridiculous.)

The man had grown comfortable being alone. He’d loved it. And then, one day, another came to the center of the wood, looking to build a home there. The stranger stepped on the flowers the man had carefully cultivated and scared away the birds and disrupted the gentle silence of the trees and the leaves with boisterous words. So, from within the forest, the man summoned a great fog, thick and heavy as it rolled over the ground and through the trees, and swallowed the stranger whole. And then the man was alone again.

Something something legend says he still lives in the woods, something something only comes out at night, something something people sometimes see fog peeking through the trees when they get too close, whatever. It’s all nonsense. Jon knows it is, because he’s been visiting the forest at night for months and he’s never seen anything but a few startled rabbits and a plethora of moths.

They’d even named the place after him. Blackwood Forest. Jon had always disliked the name—it felt rather repetitive for it to contain both wood and forest, and there had almost certainly never been a man called Blackwood living in this forest.

Jon is crouched by the lake, halfway through collecting that night’s quota of flowers, when he realizes with a start that he can’t see his hands clearly anymore. They’re hazy before him, like he’s viewing them through warped glass, and when he looks up and over the lake, he’s met with only grey, stagnant and flat and unmoving as it surrounds him.

Jon stands, gripping his basket tightly. He can barely see its contents; they’re smudged by the fog, turned greyscale and desaturated. His own skin looks sickly, like all the color has been drawn out of it.

“Hello?” he says, his voice too-loud in the stillness that surrounds him, and if it shakes a bit he pretends it doesn’t because he’s not scared. There’s no ghostly specter of a man planning to trap him in fog forever. It’s a temperate night; fog is to be expected. There’s nothing supernatural about a bit of fog.

Then, a voice drifts out of the fog, and Jon nearly drops his basket in shock.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” it says. The words reverberate through the fog, echoing over and over again until they trail away into nothing.

What? Indignance wipes away Jon’s surprise in the span of a breath, and he snaps back, “I can go where I very well please, thank you. I’ve been coming here for months, and I’m not going to stop just because you tell me to.”

Gods, he’s talking to fog. This is a new low for him.

There’s a moment of silence before Jon swears he hears the fog sigh. It’s almost absurd enough to make him laugh. “Still, you… you should leave.”

Jon scoffs and decides to entertain, just for a moment, the notion that he’s speaking to the man everyone’s convinced is haunting these woods. “What, can’t you just threaten to steal me away? To hold me captive in the fog forever? Apparently, it’s what you do.”

It’s quiet for a long while—long enough that Jon begins to shift impatiently and consider how long it might take him to navigate out of the forest without being able to see the route in front of him. Then, so quietly Jon can barely hear it, the voice says, “It’s not.”

If Jon didn’t know any better, he’d think that whatever’s hiding in the fog sounds sad. “What?”

The fog clusters a bit heavier around Jon, tickling at his skin and leaving behind a fine mist of water, before retreating suddenly, leaving the ground and the trees bare around him, illuminated by the moon above. And, not five feet away, stands a man, his edges blurred and every part of him an icy white, from the curls that spill down his shoulders to his skin to the cloak he has wrapped tightly around him (though, when Jon looks closer, he thinks that might actually be fog, thick and clinging to the man’s skin). The man is looking at a point just behind Jon’s shoulder, avoiding his eyes. “It’s not,” he repeats. “I- I don’t want to hurt anyone. I haven’t hurt anyone.” He lets out a humorless laugh. “Who’s there to hurt? Nobody comes here anymore.”

Well. Jon still doesn’t believe in legends, but this is hardly a legend anymore, is it, with the man in question stood there in front of him? A bit warier, Jon says, “So then… what do you want?”

The man looks at Jon then—really looks at him—and a shiver runs through Jon’s body like he’s just stuck his hand in ice water. “I… I don’t really know?” He hugs his cloak tighter to him, the fog shifting as he does so, and continues, “I… I suppose we could… we could talk?”

“Talk,” Jon repeats flatly. “I hardly see why the fog was necessary, then.”

A few tendrils of fog snake out from the man, reaching toward Jon, before the man seems to notice, and they retreat back into the fabric of his cloak. More sharply than Jon expects, the man says, “I’m a bit out of practice, okay? Like, a few decades out of practice. I think I’m allowed a bit of leeway.”

Maybe Jon’s imagining things, but he thinks, just for a moment, that he sees a flash of color—a wisp of tawny brown lacing through the man’s hair. When he blinks, though, it’s vanished, and so he puts it out of mind. “And what did you want to talk about?”

The man pauses at that, wrings his hands together. “Anything?” he says finally with a small shrug. “Like, er… what do you use the viccolas for?”

“The what?”

The man gestures toward Jon’s basket. “The viccolas? They’re one of my favorite flowers here—a shame they only bloom at night, really—and I used to use them in my tea, to- to help with the pain. I, er. I used to be quite ill before I…” The man trails off and makes a small, distressed noise.

“Died?” Jon suggests helpfully.

“What?” The man’s head snaps up to look at him, eyes wide with surprise, and there it is again—that small flash of color, just for a moment, this time along the side of the man’s face, a light peach almost indistinguishable from the pale white surrounding it but there all the same. “No, I- I’m not a ghost! Why- why would you think that?”

“To be fair, you do look like one.”

The man makes a frustrated noise. “I- I suppose, but that’s- that’s not what happened! I’m still alive, I’m just not—”

The man cuts off again, sharper this time. When he speaks again, his voice is choked, as if with tears. “I’m just not human anymore, I don’t think.”

Well, Jon could have told him that much. It’s really rather obvious. Still, he doesn’t think that would be well received. So, instead, he says, “I use the flowers for medicines. Nobody else comes into these woods at night, but I’ve never been afraid of- well, of you, I suppose.”

He wants to ask the man if he’d created the flowers. If he’d painted them by the lake like the legends say. But that would be ridiculous, and Jon’s not keen on indulging his own childish sense of curiosity.

“Oh,” the man says quietly. “So, then, you… you’ll keep coming back for them?”

Jon frowns. “Yes, of course. Some of the people I help would die without the medicine I give them.” His expression turns wary again. “So I would suggest you not try to stop me.”

“No, no, of course not,” the man says quickly, looking rather horrified at the thought. Which does put Jon’s mind at peace a little. “I… I suppose I just thought that maybe we- we could talk again? Er, whenever you come back, that is.” He lets out a small, bitten-off laugh. “I promise I won’t surround you with fog this time?”

“Yes, that would be preferable.”

The man’s eyes brighten at that, his irises lit briefly with a flash of baby blue. “Is- is that a yes?”

He looks so excited at the prospect of another conversation with Jon—one that will surely feel just as much like pulling teeth as this one, though that could just be Jon’s poor interpersonal skills. And unlike what some people might think, Jon is not heartless. Besides, he can’t deny that he’s curious about the man who lives at the center of the Blackwood Forest.

“All right,” Jon says with a small nod. “I’ll be back this time next week.”

The lips that smile back at him are rosy red. “G- great! Er, sorry, I- I realize I never actually asked… what’s your name?”

After a pause during which Jon briefly entertains the notion of giving out a false name, he says, “Jon. You can call me Jon.”

“Jon,” the man says, as if testing its weight upon his tongue. “I’m- I’m Martin. Er, Martin Blackwood.”

Right. A bit of truth in the legends after all, then.

Jon leaves with his flowers, and Martin fades back into the fog that hangs over the lake’s surface. And when Jon returns the next week, they talk. And the next, and the next, until it becomes routine. Until it becomes something Jon looks forward to. Until he spends most nights in the woods, sat next to the lake and unraveling every facet of a man whose life is so much more than has been spelled out on paper.

And when the flashes of color begin to resolve into vibrant skin and hair and eyes and Martin begins to cry, Jon wraps his arms around a man who’s become solid once more and finds him warm.

#tma #tma fic #the magnus archives #tmafantasyweek #jonmartin #my fic #my writing #and that's it! ending the week with my most self-indulgent jmart yet #ft. skeptic jon and not-a-ghost martin

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lunacellestia · 3 years

Text

M!Drider x F! Reader

*No specified appearance, just a fem! Reader*

You sighed and ran your hand down your face.

It seemed that time wasn't on your side for the third time this week.

Not only had you slept through your alarm, but you've also managed to completely forget your appointment from yesterday, only now realizing due to a missed call from the doctors.

"I'm just not in it today am I?" You groaned and put your things into your bag.

Your eyes glanced towards the calendar, before scowling and tearing your gaze.

On it was the circled day of your date, only your date hasn't showed.

"Canceled. Canceled my ass. You always cancel on me."

You had began to get fed up with your so called 'date' as they always seemed to have some sort of excuse on why they couldn't come out.

"I'm so sorry, I slept through my alarm. You know how it is."

"We had a date today..? I'm sorry.. I had to go and run some errands. I swear I'll make it up to you."

"I... Can't make it today."

Truthfully, you should've probably gave up on this date after the third excuse, but you held out hope.

Now though, it was dwindling by the thread and you weren't so sure you could keep up with the constant back and forth anymore.

"Screw this! I'll just.. Text them and tell them not to worry about it anymore. And that's it's not working out. Yeah!"

You see, you had met your date on a dating app, and in hindsight, maybe you got some flags during this moment, but you decided to brush it off.

You hadn't been on a date for awhile, so you decided to give it a shot.

It couldn't be so bad right? Just a small little thing with someone that could potentially change your life.

Your hands gripped your phone as you angrilly typed your message, your brows furrowed and your face pouty.

If anyone else could see you, they'd think you were positively adorable.

'Hey... Look. So I don't think this is going to workout you know? You've bailed on so many dates so.. I think we should just stop here. Sorry for wasting your time. It's just better this way.'

You eyed the text for a moment before pressing send and letting out a sigh of relief, your phone dropping on the bed as you slipped on your shoes.

A vibration and tune immediately followed as your eyes shot back towards your device.

Could it be him? No.. He couldn't even show up for a date, why would it be him?

'Hey! Please don't give up on us yet. I'm sorry I've bailed so many times.'

'... Can we meet up today? I just.. Didn't want you to see me like this. I got scared you wouldn't like me.'

'I totally understand if you don't want to though, I won't hold it against you! I hope we can at least still be friends?'

You read the messages and nibbled on your lip, thinking for a minute.

'Are you sure you actually want to meet up today? I have some things to do and I don't want to waste my time.'

'Yes! I swear it'll be for real this time. Just.. Give me a chance?'

'Fine. I'll give you one last chance. 5:30 work for you?'

'Its perfect. We'll meet at that new restaurant that's exclusive towards everyone.. That cool?'

You smiled a bit and smacked your head a bit. Giving in this easily isn't what you wanted, but you did fall for their sweet charm.

'Yeah that works. I'll see you there.'

'Thank you! Uh, I mean cool! See you there! :)'

You set your phone down once again and rested your head against the wall.

"Now I have to find something decent to wear. Ugh. Fine! For love it is!"

Errands complete, you made your way to the restaurant at around 5:20.

10 minutes early and you'd be able to touch yourself up or calm your nerves if need be.

You excused yourself as you went past two orcs, standing and laughing about a concert they'd been too.

You sat and tapped your fingers on the table, remembering exactly how you came across your date all that time ago.

'Huh, this profile doesn't seem too bad.' You thought as you laid in bed and double tapped.

"Its a match!" The voice said happily as you chuckled bit.

The app had it's own tune when it came to getting matches, almost as if cupid themselves was apart of it.

You went to the chat to send them a quick message, but stopped as you seen bubbles on your end, appearing then disappearing.

They seemed to be nervous maybe? Your thoughts were confirmed when they finally sent a quick message.

'Hey! ... I couldn't help but see your name and think it was so pretty... Is that weird? That's weird isn't it. Fuck I already typed that can't take it back. Uh.. I'm Erkat. Weird name I know.. At least that's what I get from people. This is long. Anyways hi.. Lol.'

Taking some time to read over the message and smile a bit, you quickly hit them up for a response.

'Hey. No need to be nervous or anything Erkat, I think your name is pretty cool. I'm glad we matched. You look pretty nice from your picture.'

And you weren't lying either.

Though you could only see his face, half of it you should say, he was very handsome.

His eyes were hazel, well, at least one was from you could see, and his hair had been short yet styled a bit, a dark green with some pretty highlights to add on to it.

You could spot the hint of a lip piercing, but nothing too concrete.

'You think so? Thanks lol, maybe you can see the full thing sometime.'

'Getting confident huh? I'd love to! You seem cute.'

'Just a bit :). You're cute too. I like that thing you did.'

'Thing? What thing.'

'You know! The thing!'

'???'

'It's something special to you. Maybe you just can't see it but its in a lot of your pictures. Anyways, let's get to know more about each other?'

And you agreed, you both told each other little facts here and there about yourself;

Telling each other whether you worked, were in school, did both or even just relaxed whenever you could.

You learned he had actually graduated recently from university, being there a little longer than he thought he would.

'How old are you?'

'Gasp! You never ask a person their age!'

'Haha, I thought that was just a lady thing with us. Okay. A secret then? Maybe I'll find out one day.'

'Maybe ;)'

Your heart seemed to beat a little faster with every new text you got in the following weeks.

He was sweet, kind and loveable.

A little shy but also a goofball that you could find yourself being around more often than not.

It was just when he began to bail out on your dates that you began thinking differently of him, even the slightest bit.

"H-hello." You heard as you broke out of your thoughts and looked back towards your surroundings.

"Yes?" You asked, looking at the person.

Their face was downcast, and eyes lingered on their hoodie, trying to see them.

Their head lifted as you went wide eyed.

"Erkat...?" You whispered in surprise and stood up.

What you didn't see in the picture, was that on the other half of his face were two extra set of eyes, each below each other, all hazel and gleaming.

He covered his face and looked towards the window as you took in more of him.

And boy, was there more of him.

His arms, four of them, three at his sides and the other having his hand across his face.

His mouth, housed cute little.. Fangs? You weren't exactly sure.

As you looked him over more, you seen that his lower half wasn't that of a human at all, but that of a spider.

Purple bottom with purple legs to follow, each, shifting and making a small bit of noise as he shifted.

You weren't exactly sure how many there were, because before you could think, you blurted:

"You really kept how hot you were away from me huh? All this time I thought you were just playing with me, but you didn't want to show me how hot you were."

"W-what?" He asked quickly facing you and dropping his hand.

He noticed your pout and felt his eyes widen.

"You goofball! This is what you were nervous about?? You're so hot its not fair!"

"H-hey ... Don't say that-"

"But its true! Damn.. If I knew you looked like this I would've dressed better!" You groaned and slunk into your seat.

He had no words for you, only silence gracing his lips as he tried to process this.

You gave him a reassuring smile nevertheless and shook your head.

"I really think you're gorgeous. You didn't have to be nervous. I am surprised but, pleasantly."

He swallowed and tapped six of his finger's together, nervously glancing from you to the table.

"You.. You really mean that?"

"I do."

"You're.. Prettier in person too you know?" He asked as you smiled

"Thank you."

"Like.. Really pretty. One of the prettiest girls I've ever seen. I mean.. Wow."

You laughed a bit and rested your hands on the table.

"Well, can this prettiest girl recommend some great things for you to eat today?"

"Yes please." He nodded.

"Great, come a little closer Erkat. Promise I won't bite." You winked.

#exophilia #monsterlover #monstergirlfriend #monsterboyfriend

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averykedavra · 4 years

Text

Push My Luck

What’s this? Me posting a prompt pic on the same day as the prompt? Inconceivable! But analogince is The Best Ever, so I managed to do it! It’s enemies to lovers Ultimate, guys. You’re missing out.

(Tagging @tsshipmonth2020! Title from Don’t You Go by All Time Low. You can find this fic on Ao3 here!)

Prompt: Pick your favorite Soulmate AU and write about it! I picked an AU where you receive a black mark where your soulmate first touches you, that turns colorful when they do.

Pairing: Platonic Analogince

Words: 6561

Warnings: death mention, swearing, arguing, insecurity, a very brief fight scene with one (1) punch, crying, a bit of anxiety

Virgil, as a rule, doesn’t take risks.

The world is a big scary place. Lots of ways to get kidnapped or mugged or threatened just by leaving the house. So he tends to do the bare minimum. He doesn’t speak up in class. He doesn’t talk to other kids. He doesn’t mention his soulmates or the fact that he hasn’t met them yet. When the guidance counselor asks him for the seventh time what his career goals are, he just shrugs.

Life is easier if he keeps stuff close to his chest. If he stays out of everyone’s way. If he gives people less of a reason to hurt him. Life is smoother if he hides and life is calmer if he’s quiet.

Life is safer if he lives and lets live.

And today he broke that rule, so is it any surprise that everything went to shit?

He didn’t even mean to. He’d heard the yelling and looked closer, just out of curiosity, and to know if he should start running. It wasn’t anything big. Logan and Roman were arguing in one corner of the hallway. They’d been giving each other dirty looks all through class, so it was no surprise. Virgil didn’t know what their problem was, but whatever. Not a big deal.

Then it actually sank in.

Roman and Logan were fighting.

Roman and Logan.

Roman? Yeah, sure. He wasn’t a great student, and sometimes he got a little passionate about stuff. Or a lot too passionate. He looked angrier than Virgil had really seen him, his hands flying around and his eyes narrowed, but still, it seemed pretty normal.

Logan, on the other hand--Logan was an honor roll student. Top of the class, probably gonna be valedictorian and go to Harvard and take over the world someday. He wasn’t the worst ever, but he was definitely stuck up, and he followed the rules like his life depended on it. Virgil had barely seen him raise his voice before.

And he was yelling.

Virgil couldn’t even make out the words, but he recognized several swears. Logan was ranting and his hands were balled by his sides and he was ignoring all the people staring at them. He looked like a bowstring, drawn taut and ready to fire.

What the hell had Roman said?

Virgil had inched closer, keeping several people between him and the argument. But he’s fucking short, a fact that perpetually annoys him, so he was forced to find an open spot pretty close to Logan and Roman.

They were inches from each other, face red. Virgil’s heart pounded in his ears as Roman’s voice pitched up. Fuck. He shouldn’t have come here--arguing was no fun to watch, and his breathing was already growing strained. Ugh, couldn’t they just stop? Logan was supposed to be responsible, right? And there should be teachers around.

Virgil tried to muscle his way back through the crowd, but nobody let him pass. Everyone was too focused on watching Logan and Roman tear each other apart.

He really hates this school sometimes.

So Virgil was stuck there, tapping on his leg and trying not to panic, hoping against hope that they’d shut up--Logan had called Roman a nasty name and Roman had fired back with something Virgil didn’t fully catch, but it sounded like a threat--Logan had tensed--

And Virgil knew.

In that moment, seconds before it all went to shit, he knew. He saw Logan draw tight, a bowstring, and he knew in an instant that this was gonna blow in Roman’s face.

Admittedly, though, he didn’t expect what actually happened.

He didn’t expect Logan to step forward and punch Roman.

In the shoulder. His fist hit Roman square in the fucking shoulder, and Roman stumbled back. It looked like it hurt. It sounded like it hurt, a dull thump that echoed through Virgil’s bones.

Suddenly, the entire hallway was silent.

Roman bent over and rubbed at his shoulder, grimacing. Logan just stood there, hand pulled to his chest, eyes wide.

Logan hadn’t meant to. Virgil could tell. He opened his mouth, probably to apologize, maybe to ask if Roman was okay--

“The hell?” Roman yelled, straightening. “Why the fuck did you do that? What’s wrong with you?”

Great. Goddammit, Roman, couldn’t you have shut your big mouth for two seconds?

To Logan’s credit, he didn’t immediately fire back. But the apologetic look on his face did harden. “I didn’t--”

“Fuck, that hurts, ow.” Roman gave his shoulder a final wounded glance, like he was mad at it for betraying him. “Christ. Specs, you’re an asshole.”

“I didn’t mean to--”

“You fucking hit me!” Roman yelled. And there it was. There was what Virgil was afraid of--the moment Roman snapped, stepping forward and raising a hand.

Virgil doesn’t remember his thought process. It was probably something like fuck fuck fuck.

But one part of him must have been like fuck no. Fuck no, they were not gonna have a fistfight with Virgil trapped watching them.

Without thinking, Virgil dove between them. He grabbed Roman’s wrist. He pressed a hand to Logan’s chest. And he yelled “Fucking stop, jeez, will you quit it?”

Silence so terrible it almost ripped Virgil open.

Both Logan and Roman were staring at him. Strangers. Strangers he’d barely talked to in his life. Who he’d just ran in the middle of, and what if they yelled at him, what if he got hurt or got in trouble, and the whole fucking hallway was watching, what was Virgil thinking--

Roman didn’t pull his hand away. Logan didn’t move. It was like Virgil had frozen everyone in place.

“Stop,” Virgil repeated, his voice shaky, “or I swear I’ll pull the fucking fire alarm to get you guys to shut up.”

His skin was tingling. He wanted to run, but he couldn’t unglue his feet from the ground. Eyes bore into him and Roman and Logan were still silent.

Roman whipped his hand away first. He cradled his wrist to his chest as if he’d been burnt. Logan just stepped away and left Virgil with one hand extended in open air.

The silence stretched on again.

Virgil felt, suddenly, that he’d fucked up. Deeply and fully. He felt--wrong. No, not wrong. But different, like he’d been skewed off his axis, like something was fundamentally off.

Logan was dead silent. Roman was staring at his wrist. He looked from it back to Virgil, and Virgil caught a flash of purple.

Oh, shit, had he hurt Roman? Good fucking job, Virgil, deescalation by further violence.

“Sorry,” Virgil stammered out. “Um, is your wrist okay?”

Roman just stared at him like he’d sprouted two heads.

Virgil glanced at Logan. Logan was also looking at Virgil, but more like Virgil had been diagnosed with a terrible contagious disease.

Okay, he’d expected backlash. He hadn’t expected whatever this was.

“What?” Virgil demanded.

Roman held up his wrist. A purple smudge where Virgil’s hand had been--a bruise, fuck--

Except, no.

It was a deep, shimmering purple, ridged like Virgil’s hand had been covered in paint when it touched Roman.

Virgil looked down just to make sure his hands hadn’t been covered in paint.

What.

The.

Fuck?

One palm was covered in red ink, the other in blue. And before today, they’d been black, because that was his soulmark. He’d sworn they hadn’t changed. But here they were, practically glowing, deep colors pooling in his palms--

Where he’d touched Roman and Logan.

Fuck.

Virgil slowly looked up. Roman had pulled up his sleeve and was staring at a blue splodge on his shoulder. Logan was still cradling his hand, and now, Virgil could see red on the knuckles.

“No,” Virgil blurted out. “Fuck no.”

He didn’t even feel guilty about it. Because no. No, these couldn’t be his soulmates, he must have touched someone else--

“You’re--” Roman shook his head. “Come on. You?”

Logan just stood there, clutching his hand, looking like someone had pulled the world out from under him.

Virgil’s words had dried up in his throat.

And that was when the teachers arrived.

And to make a long lecture short, Virgil is now in detention, seated at a desk between Logan and Roman like they wanted him to keep them apart. He’d tried to say he was just trying to break up the fight, but all the spectators had mysteriously vanished when the teachers showed up, so now he’s here. Drawing circles on his desk and sneaking glances at his soulmates.

His soulmates.

It wouldn’t even be so bad if it was Logan. Logan’s a little bit uptight but he’s smart, whip-smart, the kind of smart that leaves Virgil in the dust. He’s got a firm voice and knows all sorts of words and doesn’t hesitate to raise his hand. He’s in the debate club, and Virgil went to one of their meetings for Jan’s sake--and damn. He remembers seeing Logan on fire, eyes gleaming, making up arguments on the spot and making them sound concise as if he’d practiced them for days. Logan’s a tutor--he helps other students. He works okay in groups. He’s a little socially awkward, and Virgil doesn’t think he has many friends. But neither does Virgil, so it’s fine.

It wouldn’t even be so bad if it was Roman. Roman’s a little bit dramatic but he’s passionate, fiery, so certain that everything he says is worth listening to. He loves to do voices. He talks with his hands and lets them fly around like butterflies, wiggling his shoulders and beaming like just being here is the best thing to happen in the whole entire world. He’s a theater kid. Virgil got dragged to one of those plays once. Roman’s a good actor--Virgil hates to admit it, but he didn’t realize the main character was Roman until halfway through. They didn’t even give him a new haircut or anything. Roman just...stepped into someone else’s skin.

It wouldn’t be so bad if it was one of them.

But it’s both. Red and blue, smeared on Virgil’s hands, invisible when he touches them like they’re stuck beneath his skin.

Both of them.

Logan and Roman.

Who just tried to fight each other.

Shit, why does the universe hate Virgil?

He groans and lets his hands fall to his sides. He glances at Roman, who is twirling a pen in his hands and pointedly staring at the ceiling. He glances at Logan, who is pointedly doing his homework, jaw clenched.

Virgil sits in the middle of them and has no fucking clue what to do.

The best option? Stay put. Shut up. Do what he’s always done. He’s lucky he only got detention, and he’ll still probably be grounded for this--he shouldn’t push his luck.

He runs a hand along the colors, remembering all the weeks and months and years they were pure black. He always wondered how he’d meet his soulmate. Who they’d be. How he’d manage to touch them with both palms first.

Now he’s found them.

And they fucking hate each other, and probably Virgil too.

And they’re sitting with him in silence, and the detention room is empty because the teacher left to file a report on them, and the door is locked but the windows are open and wind blows across Virgil, smelling like old leaves and asphalt and exhaust.

He should be going home. But he’s stuck here for another hour with two people who hate each other. And he’s been jammed between them, a peacemaker, a bridge.

Virgil isn’t good with peace.

But he’s not good with very much, so--why not try?

What does he have to lose, except for his afternoon and his life and his grades and his shaky reputation and the tolerance of the two people meant for him?

“So,” Virgil says slowly, and lets the word ring through the room. “We’re...soulmates?”

Roman glances at him, appears to decide it’s not worth it, and looks away. Logan just keeps scribbling on his homework assignment, but Virgil notices his pencil skids on the paper for a microscopic second.

And they fall into silence again.

Well, good job, nice try, time to give up--except fuck no. They don’t get to ignore him. Not after they got him in detention.

“Yo,” Virgil almost yells, clapping his hands. “Fucking talk to me.”

“And they say I’m the dramatic one,” Roman mutters, but he looks at Virgil, so that’s a start.

Logan, however, just groans and opens up his backpack. He pulls out some earbuds and plugs them into his phone.

“Hey, hey, no.” Virgil waves a hand at him. “Get those away from you. We’ve gotta talk about this.”

Logan mutters something that might be “Don’t think there’s anything to talk about.” But he doesn’t put in his earbuds, so that’s a start.

And Virgil takes a deep breath and he isn’t fully panicking yet. So that’s a start.

“We’re soulmates,” he says again, because maybe they haven’t fully grasped that.

“Unfortunately,” Logan agrees.

“Don’t remind me,” Roman groans, lolling back in his chair and letting his hair flop over his eyes.

“Fine, I get it, you hate me, I hate you, cry me a fucking river.” Virgil sighs. “But...like, shouldn’t we at least try? To talk about this? Soulmates are, like--a big deal?”

“The biggest of deals!” Roman declares automatically, like he’s made this speech a million times before. “Hearts and souls intertwined, chosen by fate to be each other’s companion, in love before knowing of love itself.”

Logan rolls his eyes.

“But,” Roman admits, his hand falling, “I must say that I didn’t expect--um, this.”

“Join the club,” Virgil mutters. “Well, sorry to ruin it for you.”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Logan says, giving Roman a look.

Roman gasps and straightens in his chair. “How dare you! You were the one who--”

“Guys! Guys!” Virgil holds up his hands. “Please don’t kill each other, that’d be traumatizing.”

Roman gives Logan a sneer before turning away. “I suppose it would be unchivalrous to wound the bitch, not that that stopped him.”

“Chivalry is an outdated concept,” Logan snaps back, but he’s not actively trying to rip Roman a new asshole, so that’s a start.

Virgil takes another deep breath.

“So,” he says slowly. “We’re soulmates. What do we do now?”

“Preferably nothing,” Logan says. “I have homework to finish.”

“You’re doing homework in detention?” Roman shakes his head. “You’re such a nerd, it’s almost too much sometimes.”

“What else am I supposed to do?” Logan asks. “Lounge about for an hour?”

“Beats me, I don’t want to be here.” Roman checks the clock and winces. “I’m missing theater practice.”

“You’re a theater kid,” Logan says, rolling his eyes. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Well, at least I have passion for something, instead of being dry as dirt--”

“Guys!” Virgil yells.

Roman huffs and Logan turns back to his homework.

Ugh.

“Guys,” Virgil repeats, “can’t you have one civil conversation?”

“He hit me!” Roman whines.

“He’s an imbecile!” Logan says at the same time.

They turn to glare at each other over Virgil’s head. Virgil’s now beginning to understand why they hate each other so much--they get on his fucking nerves.

“Then apologize,” Virgil grinds out. “Say sorry and move on so we can actually figure out what to do.”

“Apologize?” Roman repeats like Virgil’s asked him to dance the tarantella.

“Yes.” Virgil leans back and folds his arms. “Fucking do it. Now.”

Logan gives Roman a long look. “Er...how is your shoulder?”

“It hurts,” Roman says.

Logan lets out a quick breath. “Ah. Well...I am...I should not have hit you.”

“Duh, Bill Nye the Science Tie, of course you shouldn’t have.” Roman rolls his eyes. “Kinda-apology kinda-accepted, I guess.”

“Your turn,” Virgil says.

“Ugh, do I have to? I wasn’t the one who caused injury!”

Virgil gives him his best do it or I will cut you glare.

“Fine.” Roman sighs loudly. “I...Logan. Today, I made you angry. I do that quite a bit. And you retaliated with violence, like a stupid caveman.”

Logan looks about to throw his pencil at Roman’s face.

“But,” Roman says hastily, “I should not have provoked you. It was very unprincely of me to be so cruel. So...I apologize. I guess.”

“Then I forgive you,” Logan says shortly. “I guess.”

“So we’re all good,” Virgil says. “I guess?”

From the looks on Logan and Roman’s faces, things are certainly not all good.

But what the hell. It’s a start.

“Great.” Virgil spreads his hands. “Now--what the fuck do we do?”

“We’re in detention,” Logan points out. “We cannot reasonably do anything.”

“We’re in detention,” Roman agrees, sounding like this is the greatest injustice he’s ever faced. “My moms are going to be really mad.”

“Tell me about it,” Virgil groans, because he’s realizing that yeah, his parents are gonna be pissed. “I’ll be grounded for like a month, thanks a lot.”

“I didn’t do anything!” Roman declares. “You were the one who decided to run into the fray!”

“Yeah, to stop you two from killing each other.”

“And why did you care?” Logan asks. It’s a sharp question, sharper than Virgil knows what to do with, and Roman’s own annoyed gaze falters.

“Because--” Virgil catches himself. He doesn’t actually have an answer. Not a real one. He just...did it. “Fighting would get you guys in trouble.”

Logan looks away, and Virgil feels like he’s said something wrong.

“Well, so much for that, Hot Topic,” Roman complains. “We’re all languishing together in this penitentiary.”

Virgil smirks. “Aw, you think I’m hot?”

Roman wrinkles his nose.

“Keep it down,” Logan mutters, bent over his homework again. “I’m studying for my trig test and if I fail, it’s your fault.”

“As if,” Roman says, and Virgil catches a hint of bitterness in the words. “You’ll get an A triple-plus no matter if you study or not.”

Logan sighs wearily. “They don’t give A triple-pluses, Roman.”

“A double-plus, then!” Roman waves his hand. “I wouldn’t know, I don’t get them like you do!”

“Is that supposed to be an insult?” Logan blinks. “Are you accusing me of cheating?”

“I don’t know, are you being accused of cheating?”

“That doesn’t even make any sense--”

“Guys!” Virgil yells. “I am so tired of being the taskmaster here--can we focus?”

“On what?” Roman snaps. “The fact that we’re soulmates? I’d rather not!”

“Soulmates don’t mean anything,” Logan says, slamming his binder closed with a snap. “They’re useless platitudes. Virgil, we don’t have anything else to talk about, so please be quiet and let me work.”

“Useless platitudes?” Roman somehow manages to look even more offended. “Do you have any sense of romance? Whimsy? Fate?”

“Fate is a human construct,” Logan says. “And soulmates have no bearing on reality.”

“Uh, my wrist is purple right now?” Roman waves it up and down. “I didn’t dip it in grape juice, did I?”

“I’m not saying they’re not real,” Logan says, spreading his own hand with red smeared on the knuckles like blood. “I’m saying they don’t matter.”

“Of course they matter!” Roman folds his arms. “Soulmates are the epitome of human connection, they’re someone you’re fated to be with--”

“If that’s the case,” Logan interrupts, “then why am I soulmates with you?”

Roman opens his mouth and closes it again.

“And me,” Virgil adds. “I exist.”

“And Virgil,” Logan says.

Roman gives Virgil a disappointed look. “Cute, but doesn’t make up for my other soulmate punching me.”

“I said I was sorry!”

“No, you didn’t!” Roman rolls his eyes and slouches further in his seat. “I shouldn’t have expected anything, you’re like allergic to emotions--”

“I’m not--”

“Guys!” Virgil groans. “You know what? Fine! I’ll fucking give up! Go sit in silence, I guess!”

“Wonderful,” Logan says.

“Fantastic,” Roman says.

So they sit in silence.

And Virgil could-should-wants to leave it there.

But he’s come so far already. And he’s not gonna give up. Not now.

These are his fucking soulmates, and they already hate him, so why not push his luck?

“We’re soulmates,” Virgil says slowly. “That’s not--that’s not gonna go away.”

“What do you expect me to do about it?” Roman asks.

“I don’t know, accept it?” Virgil holds up his palms. “Soulmates may be bullshit. But they’re not bullshit to literally all of society. We’re gonna get questions. Lots of them.”

Logan nods, and for the first time, Virgil thinks he’s actually listening.

“I could make something up,” Roman says, but his voice is thin.

“No, Virgil has a point.” Logan rubs at his own knuckles. “Besides, half the school saw our little debacle earlier, so doubtless rumors are already spreading.”

“Great,” Virgil mutters. “Exactly what I needed. Attention.”

“It’ll be alright,” Logan says hesitantly. It’s so out-of-character for him and so different than everything else he’s said that Virgil almost chokes on thin air. “Doubtless they will forget in a few days, even if at first things are overwhelming.”

“Besides, nobody cares about you, anyway.” Roman winces under Logan’s incredulous look. “What? Nobody does! He’s, like, a freaking shadow demon--I didn’t know his name until two weeks ago!”

“Wow, thanks,” Virgil says. “Way to make a guy feel special.”

“And I hate to say it,” Roman adds, rubbing at his neck, “but those first few days? People will be on us. So many questions. They’ll want to know what happened.”

“Well...” Virgil summons his courage. “What did happen? I didn’t even hear what you guys were arguing about.”

Logan shifts in his chair and Roman looks uncomfortable.

“It was one of those snowball things,” Roman says, waving a hand. “Y’know?”

Virgil stares at him and waits for him to explain.

“Small stuff turns to big stuff.” Roman bites his lip. “I dunno, I made a comment during class, Specs got on my case about it, and it all just kind of escalated into a big huge mess.”

“What comment?” Virgil asks.

“Don’t even remember.” Roman shrugs. “I think Logan misused infinitesimal. He thought it meant really big but it actually means really small--”

“It has the word infinite in it!” Logan complains. “It is a misleading word!”

“Wait.” Virgil holds up his hands. “You got into a fistfight over one fucking word?”

“I wasn’t the one who tailed me after class to complain about it!” Roman defends. “And I wasn’t the one who made it a fistfight!”

“Jeez, L,” Virgil says, wincing, “that sounds pretty rough. Why’d you get so mad?”

Logan tightens his grip on his pencil. “Roman said, and I quote, ‘Seriously? Infinitesimal means really small! I thought you were the smart guy, why'd you make such a stupid mistake?’”

Logan’s voice dips in the middle and almost cracks at the end. It’s left there, fraying and tight, and fuck, Logan’s hurt. He’s pressing everything into himself, Virgil can tell, and he’s upset.

Virgil repeats the words in his head. They’re not too bad, really--but they also seem to have hit a giant nerve.

“Okay,” he says lightly, trying not to sound as lost as he is, “yeah, nevermind, Lo. I do kinda get why you were mad now.”

Roman shifts. “I--okay. Thinking back, it was not the most...constructive choice of words. But in my defense, he took it way too seriously!”

“Well, you were the one who lashed out like a little bratty baby!”

“You were the one who freaking punched me!”

“Guys! Fucking come on!” Virgil sighs. “Could either of you contribute, like, an ounce of constructive criticism?”

“I will if he does,” Roman says, and he’s half-pouting now. It’s fucking irritating in a way that bubbles up in Virgil’s chest and sets fire to his bloodstream. But Logan’s not any better, staring Roman down like he’s completely ready to go for round two.

“Constructively,” says Logan, “your comment was out of line.”

“Constructively,” Roman fires back, “shut your fucking mouth.”

“You’re throwing a tantrum. I do not engage with tantrum-throwers--”

“Oh, like you didn’t blow up at me?” Roman sneers. “Or would you say your temper is...infinitesimal?”

“You make one mistake!” Logan yells. “And this is what happens!”

Roman rolls his eyes.

“Why did you feel the need to point it out?” Logan throws up his hands. “What possessed you to announce, in front of the entire class, that I failed? I understand that you want to make a mockery of my mistake, but you could have had the decency to keep it to yourself!”

“Wh--” Roman splutters. “Mockery of your--I just made a joke! It was a joke, C-3P0!”

“Yeah.” Virgil looks at Logan and bites his lip. “I dunno, that kind of...sounds like a you problem?”

“It’s a me problem that he--”

“You made one mistake!” Roman stares at him. “You made one singular mistake, I teased you about it, and it’s not a big deal!”

Logan slams his hand on the desk. “It’s a big deal to me!”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t afford to make mistakes!”

Roman reels back like he's been slapped. “Well, if you get that pissy about one little screwup, why aren’t you upset that you fucking punched me?”

“I didn’t--” Logan presses his hand to his chest. “Roman, I--”

“Forget it.” Roman turns away. “Just forget it, I guess.”

Logan stares at him.

“I didn’t--” Roman swallows, staring at the floor. “I didn’t realize what I said. I say stuff without thinking sometimes, blurt stuff out--and I guess I was just--” He curls into himself a bit. “You’re smart, and you always know stuff, and I’m--I’m not. So I guess I--got excited that I could finally correct you. That you were...human.” He takes a deep breath. “And now my reputation is cemented as problem child, I might get kicked out of the play, and my parents are going to yell at me for eternity, so yay! Fabulous. Everything is bitterly jittery and not very glittery, and I, for one, would like to stop talking to you.”

Logan looks like he’s been slapped in the face. Roman huffs out a small, sharp laugh and starts playing with his pencil, looking like he’s holding back tears.

“Breathe,” Virgil murmurs. Roman glances at him quickly and takes a breath. Virgil gives him a little smile, and he thinks, for a second, he gets one in return.

“I’m sorry,” Logan says quietly. “For punching you.”

“Well, that just fixes everything, doesn’t it?” Roman glares at Logan with red-rimmed eyes. “I thought I told you to leave me alone.”

“Right.” Logan turns away. “Right.”

Roman sniffs once and is silent.

Logan slowly puts his binder away and lays his head on his desk, covering it with his hands. Virgil sees a flash of red on his knuckles. Somewhere on his chest is Virgil’s handprint, thick and purple.

They’re soulmates.

Virgil wonders if that’s why they can hurt each other so easily--they were made for each other’s hearts and know exactly how to break them.

He wonders if he’s fucked up by even trying to get those two to talk. Roman is crying. Roman is pressing a hand to his mouth and crying, and Logan has a hand fisted in his hair like he wants to tug it loose.

Virgil bites his lip, reaches out, and slowly pulls Logan’s hand away from his hair. Logan lets it drop limp to his side. Virgil scoots away and sits on his chair, drawing tornadoes on his desk, noticing idly that the teacher never came back. She just left them here, alone, and the air smells like exhaust and wet because it’s started raining. Virgil hadn’t noticed. It’s raining and the sky is iron-grey and he just really wants to go home.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers to the desk. “If I just made things worse, I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Roman says, his voice brittle. Virgil glances at him. He’s wiping tears away and attempting to smile. “You were the only one working at it, so it’s no wonder it fell apart.”

Logan is silent. Virgil expected nothing else.

These are his soulmates, and they hate each other and hate him, and he feels like he’s going to cry.

Logan shifts on the desk. He’s still covering his head with one hand like he can disappear through sheer force of will. Virgil stares at the red on his knuckles. Soulmates. Soulmates and here they are, a bunch of juniors in detention, broken beyond fixing.

He doesn’t even know why he tried.

He should have known better.

“Why did you try and stop us?”

Virgil jerks his head around. Logan’s still curled up on his desk. His voice is whisper-quiet.

“What?” Virgil asks.

“Why did you try to stop us from fighting?” Logan's hand curls on the desk. “I’d just hurt Roman, I deserved whatever he decided to do, why did you try to stop us?”

Virgil gapes at Logan. Roman’s quiet too, and when Virgil looks at him, he nods. He wants to know the answer.

So does Virgil, if Virgil’s being honest.

He takes a deep, shuddering breath.

“You were freaking me out,” he says simply. “I wanted you to stop yelling, because I was afraid I’d get hurt.”

Roman looks away.

“And...and after that--” Virgil clutches the sleeve of his hoodie. “I dunno. You’re--you’re my soulmates, and--everyone says soulmates are supposed to get you. Be your friends, or whatever. I--” He curls tighter into himself, running a hand along the cold chair beneath him. “Let’s not make this any more emo than it has to be, but--friends. Those sounded...pretty cool to me, I guess.”

He chances a look up. Roman is watching him carefully. Logan is still a pile of hair and hands and shirt on the desk.

“I don’t...” Roman’s voice wavers, and he swallows. “I...I can understand that.”

Virgil stares at his hands.

“I’m sorry,” Logan says weakly.

“I know,” Virgil says. “So does Roman.”

“No, I’m really--” Logan pushes himself off the desk and turns to them. “I know, I know you don’t want to hear it, and I get that, but--Roman, I didn’t mean any of what I said. I promise. I was just--”

“A jerk?” Roman asks, but the jab falls flat, and Logan doesn’t even seem fazed.

“Yes,” he agrees. “I was.”

“You said it, not me,” Roman says.

“You also said it,” Virgil points out.

Roman gives him a glare.

“I was a jerk.” Logan cups one hand around his arm and begins to hug himself, looking at the blackboard instead of Virgil or Roman. Someone left a half-finished equation on there, and the chalk dust spells out all the faded problems before. Virgil catches snippets of dozens of different handwritings, none of them fully erased.

“You gonna continue?” Roman asks, his mouth lifting in a smile. “We don’t have all day.”

“I...” Logan chews on his lip. “I suppose I was...angry. I don’t like being wrong.”

“Nobody does,” Virgil says. “That’s normal.

“I just--” Logan takes a deep breath. “People always assume I’m just gifted. That I haven’t fought to have the grades I do. It’s completely illogical, since intelligence isn’t something you’re born with. I’ve tried my hardest to be where I am. And if I slip up, I’ll fail, and I’ll be right back at the bottom again!” He takes another deep breath, reaches down, and pulls out his binder. “I’m...I’m going to study now, if that’s alright. Feel free to talk.”

Roman and Virgil give each other a look. Then Virgil realizes he’s communicating wordlessly with a guy he hates.

Well, he doesn’t hate them. They hate each other.

Except right now, neither of them are glaring at each other.

It doesn’t erase much. The words are still there, etched in chalk and unable to be removed. But it’s a start.

And Virgil decides to push his luck just a little bit more.

“How do you feel,” he says slowly, “about us being soulmates?”

“How do you think?” Roman asks, his voice immediately souring. “I think we all made it pretty clear.”

“No, I mean--” Virgil waves a hand. “Yeah. We...we don’t like each other much. And we’ve clearly all got a lot of shit to work through. But--how do you feel about the idea? The, I dunno, possibility? That maybe one day...we wouldn’t have to hate each other anymore?”

“Sure,” Roman says. “That’ll happen. We’ll all just become best buds.”

“Roman,” Logan snaps. “You can say you don’t like me, you know.”

“That’s not--” Roman pauses. “I wasn’t--I was thinking you wouldn’t like me. Actually.”

“What?” Logan blurts out. “Why on earth not?”

“Um, ‘cause we fought? I called you names?” Roman waves a hand at himself. “That wasn’t exactly soulmate behavior.”

“I hit you!”

“Only once!” Roman folds his arms. “And you’re...you’re smart, and stuff. You deserve--yeah.”

Logan stares at Roman for a very long time. “What can I do?”

“What?” Roman asks.

“What can I do?” Logan repeats. “How can I...begin to make things up to you?”

“You don’t have to--” Roman laughs a bit, but it fades away. “You’re serious?”

“Yes.” Logan nods. “I wronged you, and I want to make it right.”

“Oh.” Roman gives Logan a bit of a smile. “Um, thanks?”

“No problem. Now, how can I assist you...to make up for mistakes one might have made prior?”

“That aren’t a big deal,” Virgil reminds him, “and that you’re going to be better than, okay?”

“Right,” Logan says, and he looks so relieved--it’s like he’s an entirely different person than the one in the hallway.

Then again, Virgil met his soulmates and immediately yelled at them. They probably all have hidden depths.

“Well,” Roman says slowly, a smirk spreading across his face, “if it’s anything, I wouldn’t mind infinite access to all of your notes--”

“No,” Logan says.

“Worth a shot.” Roman groans and collapses dramatically onto his desk. “Now I’ll fail my test. Thanks a lot, Specs, you’re a real pal.”

“I could--” Logan pauses, but Roman doesn’t interrupt. “I could...tutor you? If you wished?”

“What?” Roman snorts. “Better men than you have tried and failed."

“I’m serious.” Logan points to hs chest. “Always am. I wear a necktie.”

“You wear a necktie,” Roman agrees, “and it’s fucking incredible.”

“I’m trying to help and you’re making fun of me!”

“No, it’s--” Roman shifts. “I think--you pull off the necktie. So it’s fine.”

“Oh.” Logan blinks for a few times. “Regardless. I would like to offer my tutoring services.”

“And like I said, don’t bother.” Roman sinks a bit. “I’m no good at school stuff.”

“I highly doubt that,” Logan says. “Most likely, your education experience has been lacking. But you’ve shown creativity before--mainly in the inventive insults you’ve thrown at me--and I think in a one-on-one environment, you could flourish much more.” Logan pauses. “If--if you’d like, of course.”

Roman watches Logan for a few seconds. “You know what? I might just take you up on that. Er...thanks.”

“No problem.” Logan adjusts his glasses. “I know it can’t begin to make up for everything, but I think it would be...a good starting place?”

“Yeah.” Roman shrugs. “And that’s kind of all we need.”

“Thank you,” Logan says. “And, of course, Virgil.”

Virgil jumps. He’s been just sitting here, kind of smiling, glad they’re finally getting along but feeling kind of like a third wheel. He should have figured his soulmates would like each other better--

“Virgil!” Roman declares. “Our dashing prince who rescued us from the jaws of hate and malice! A thousand thanks to thee!”

“Um--” Virgil blinks. “You’re...welcome?”

“You did wonderfully,” Logan says, smiling a little smile at Virgil that makes Virgil ‘s face burn. “You went above and beyond what was expected.”

“How can our relationship fail with such a tireless helper at the wheel?” Roman asks.

“Relationship?” Virgil repeats. “Uh, dude, don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“Virgil’s right,” Logan says. “Again. A, we are not in any sort of relationship. And B, any such partnership would come to naught if we only relied on Virgil’s expert advice and did no work of our own.”

“Yeah, good point.” Virgil nods. “I am not doing this again, sorry. Get a real fucking therapist, please.”

Roman nods and has the grace to look sheepish. Logan smiles at Virgil again. Fuck, a smile that cute should be illegal, Virgil’s going to perish. He’s going to die right here in this classroom and never make it out of detention.

“So...work.” Roman shifts. “Tutoring?”

“Tutoring.” Logan pauses. “And...perhaps exchanging numbers?”

“Forward,” Virgil says. “Buy me dinner first.”

“I can if you’d wish--”

“It’s an expression,” Roman says almost fondly. “But of course, I will gladly share my phone number.”

“Great, we can make a group chat.” Virgil grabs his phone. “And I get to make it, too, so I can name it whatever I want.”

“Oh no,” Logan says.

“Oh, yes.” Virgil smirks. “You’re my soulmates, you know. You’re stuck with me.”

“Falsehood.” Logan shakes his head. “I’m glad you’re my soulmate. You too, Roman.”

“What?” Roman looks about to cry again. “Really? I--well, you two are...prickly. But...I like you. You challenge me on my bullshit--not that I’m often bullshit-y, of course. It’s...it’s nice. To have you guys.”

Virgil looks between them. “You’re both assholes and I’m still mad that you got me detention. But--if you’re willing to give this a shot...so am I.”

“Take a leap of faith,” Roman agrees.

“Take a risk,” Logan says.

“Push my luck.” Virgil smiles. “If you’d like.”

Roman smiles back. “I would like nothing more.”

“Phone numbers?” Logan offers. “Then...perhaps we could arrange an outside-of-school meeting? We can think of it as a second chance to get to know each other?”

“Nah.” Virgil shakes his head and holds up his palms. “We already did. Don’t think we can change our first meeting, L.”

“Fair,” Roman says, rubbing at the purple on his wrist.

“But maybe that’s okay?” Virgil ventures. “It’s not perfect, but--it did get us here, in the end. Hating each other slightly less.”

“Speak for yourself,” Roman says, but he’s grinning. And even Logan is relaxing in his chair.

The rain thrums outside the window, the air smells like chalk and wet trees, and Virgil is starting to wonder if taking risks might be worth it after all.

If they lead to this--two smiling faces, close to him, and a world of possibility before them.

The future has always scared Virgil. Today, though, he’s looking forward to it. A future with them. A future where they could be friends. They’re not close yet, they’re not all good just yet, but they’re willing to try. All of them.

And that’s a start.

“No fighting, though?” Virgil asks. “Promise me that, at least. I’m done playing mediator.”

“I promise,” Roman says.

Logan nods.

There’s half an hour left of detention. But they spend it together, and Virgil’s shocked at how quickly time flies when he’s got people to talk to.

Possible-friends. Future-friends. And maybe Virgil will mess it up, and maybe he won’t, and right now things are...good. Things are good. Things are looking up. Things won’t be perfect, and things can’t be erased, but they can try.

Virgil rubs his colorful palms and smiles.

Life is safer when he lives and lets live. Life was safer when his palms were black.

But life is more beautiful, more colorful, when he lets himself live it.

General taglist (ask to be included or removed!):

@the17thmeatball

@most-likely-fandom

@csi-baker-street-babes

@caffeinated-cryptid

@thefivecalls

@ollyollyoxinfree

@the-gay-is-back

@dramaticsnakes

@stoicpanther

Taglist from @the-taglist-repository:

@katelynn-a-fan @dwbh888 @royal-stormcloud @intruxiety @brain-deadx0 @the-grounded-raven @grouptalekindnesssoul @the-hoely-bleach @anvil527up @fanficloverinthesun @dragonwithproblems @snowdice @locked-prism @nonasficcollection @enby-phoenix @idont-freaking-know @sign-from-god-complex @hitmewiththatfanart33 @aceawkwardunicorn @starlight-era @just-your-typical-trans-guy @potatsanderssides @demoniccheese83 @thatgaydemigodnerd @arya-skywalker @rainbowbowtie @lookingforaplacetosleep @k1ngtok1 @locked-prism @callboxkat @supernovainthenightsky @evoodo123 @hekking-happy-nonsense @cottonwoolsocks

#virgil sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #sanders sides #analogince #prinxiety #logince #analogical #soulmate au #high school au #sanders sides fic #averywrites #is this me projecting my frustrations with the education system #and being classified as a gifted child #maaayyybeeee #you can't prove anything okay

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worldsover · 3 years

Text

Dal Segno ft. Chuu

length ✦ 3570

genres ✧ music making; oral fixation; facefuck; subby!Chuu

✦✧✦✧✦✧

Composition is only fifty percent of the process, you've heard, but it's closer to ten for you. For the importance of a solid melody and chord progression with the right instruments and singer, a song becomes less than the sum of its parts with bad mixing because all that effort goes to waste when you can’t hear something, or when something is too loud, or when a certain je ne sais quoi is wrong. But you do know. You don't have to be a chef to be a food critic but it certainly helps. Avoid muddling the lows as it waters down the soup. Carve space in the highs to prevent too much salt from killing the taste buds. Have at most five sounds at a time or else the flavors clash. Focus on these basic techniques to guide you as repetition wears down your mind. Funny. Repetition legitimizes especially in music yet here you are fatigued by repetition as though you weren't down four cups of black coffee. Repetition legitimizes. “From the sign,” the translation reads. Notation, simply instructing a musician to return to a certain point in a piece. You recognize it as an intro song you wrote years ago.

Glass and foam separate the undersized room. Cheap ramen and dampness in the hot air contribute to the odor. You would keep the fan on, if it were worth the extra time filtering out faint noise from recordings. The only scent that keeps you sane is a slight strawberry flavor lingering in the room. Jiwoo. Your muse. A large clock holds both of its hands near one with the lack of natural light muddling whether it’s AM or PM. Studios were always underground man-caves whether they were discount rooms or the signature workspace of the biggest producers. Here you are in the former. Look down at the Macbook and all the wires, sliders, and knobs. Deep breath. “Take 63,” you say into the cheap control room microphone.

“Not good enough.”

“Again.”

“One more.”

Look up. Jiwoo sucks on a grape lollipop. You stare. Watching her fixated on getting all flavor out of the purple sweet derails your flow state. See, work had a rhythm. Listen, volume up, hotkey to copy this clip, volume down. The obvious innuendo sends you offbeat. That perky butt bending over to get a notebook filled with lyrics entrenches the folds of your brain. She didn’t have to wear that skirt. You’ve seen that skirt already and you wish she weren’t wearing it. Oh, you really wish she weren’t wearing that skirt. Guilt sets in. You’re a trusted coworker, she, a naive girl. It takes a while to find your groove again. Your stare has yet to cease until she finally returns the eye contact with candy still in mouth. Her pink tongue laps to secure all the sugar and red pillows engulf the ever-shrinking circle. Pop. Anyone else and it would be calculated action.

“Oppa." Her voice resounds in your monitor headphones. "I don’t know if these harmonies really make sense. Why did you write the second voice to cross down below the main line? Plus it goes so low."

“To be fair, you wrote both of those melodies and you said you wanted them in the same song. Tell me anywhere else they’d work.”

“Ugh, let’s figure this out later. Next song.“

Dozens of takes later and Jiwoo’s frustration causes her to make mistakes. Sometimes she even tries to start singing with the sucker in her mouth. For the character she plays, you know she’s a professional and that she can be better. Yet hours later, she still could not get the vocal runs right. Incomplete songs bloat your project folder: "Jiwoo - Mania", "Jiwoo - Look Closer", "Jiwoo - Untitled Idea 21". Just a small side project that the company approved during another ample period of break time between comebacks. That’s why the director didn’t even let you use the company’s facilities, instead opting to rent out this cheap closet of a studio. At least no one would be mad about the amount of time you spent recording together.

You shift seats from the leather office chair to the white lovechair, the only two pieces of furniture that fit comfortably in the room. Jiwoo follows suit and leaves the recording booth, really more of a phone booth in square footage, while she huffs and puffs on her candy.

“I’m tired, oppa,” she says.

“Me too, Jiwoo. May I remind you that I’m not getting paid extra for this. Are you gonna focus or what?” your voice just a few cents down, just a bit harsher.

“I, I’m sorry.” A lick anyway. Her meek tone disappears, “Ya! You know how good your royalties are gonna be. Sole producer and all that. Plus, here you are still doing all this work for me." Why were you working so hard on this? "You know, if you just taught me how to use Ableton-”

“Then I’d be out of a job.”

Jiwoo frowns, “Wow, selfish much? You could’ve joined me as a trainee.”

“Nah, no way. Fish dance better.”

“Shut up, oppa. You would’ve easily made it with your, um, musical talent.” She clamps down on the lollipop with her mouth.

“You good? What was that?”

“Let’s," she stands promptly, "get back to recording.”

Crack. Jiwoo bites down on the lollipop and throws the stick in the trash. In ten minutes, she nails the verse she spent hours trying to get right. It'd be really nice to know what catalyzed that rally. You'd ask but driving Jiwoo back to her dorm is quiet as usual.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

Make a good impression on someone, anyone, on your first day as a mixing engineer. That’s why you returned to the Blockberry Creative building with an extra bar of Melona in hand. A simple bribery. Light beamed down between two skyscrapers on a short girl with long hair and strands of bangs adorning her forehead. She stood outside the lobby, introducing herself to every passerby. You had to pinch her cheeks, the intrusive thought screamed.

She scurried up to you. “Hi! I’m Kim Jiwoo and I’m going to become an idol!”

Ah, a trainee. You already knew she was destined to become one. Well, not literally, you weren’t in charge of that. But her overflowing charm was impossible to ignore. You had to tease her though, “Are you sure?”

“Hey! What would you know about that, mister?” she said.

You bit down on your mango. “Mister? First of all, I’m only a high school senior,” her lips rounded in surprise, “And second, I’m your new audio guy, and I know for a fact they’re debuting you girls in order of talent.”

“Woooow. Well, I’ll have you know, I have a great voice!” She certainly spoke lyrically. “Wait a minute, I didn’t know they hired people that young.” You pointed at her. “Okay, I’m in high school too. But that’s different, idols start this age.”

“I guess. I’ve been making music ever since I was a kid, and they liked what I had,” you said and Jiwoo nodded in understanding.

She fluttered her eyebrows. “Sooo, is that mango ice cream for me? Oppa?” A little surprised she already called you that, but it sounded right.

“No, I have this unopened strawberry-” Jiwoo snatched the half-eaten cold treat from your hand, and started licking it. Trouble she would be.

You spent many recording sessions together, alone after all the other members left. She cozied up to you because her little musical snippets had to become full-fledged tracks and you helped her out every time.

Something changed over the years however. Your interactions became colder. It felt like you were the only one who she would respond to in a deeper voice. Jiwoo wouldn't pepper you with silly acts or mess around. Maybe she took you more seriously which is how you managed to make more songs together regardless. Then, you stood idly by and watched her debut. Who didn't love her? But when she was with you, you missed the playfulness, the ice cream and her riffing over your playful guitar strums. It turned less of a hobby and more of a job though you never regretted any second with Jiwoo regardless.

Under the Earth's largest natural satellite, you shared a simple meal in black bean noodles. She was still in her hippie outfit from the comeback, and you handed her your jacket since it was cold. You realized, there was something else there that you were too inexperienced to notice. Your bodies' radiation replace the chill in the air, a bubble with just the two of you eating on the grass in a park near your dorm. A cliche slurping on one noodle and Jiwoo pulled away. In embarrassment, like a damn anime character, she hiccuped. Good thing you didn't close your eyes when you leaned in.

“Wanna make an album together?” Jiwoo says.

“Sure.”

You threw away the noodles’ package and escorted her home. That was all you expected anyway. Fine.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

“That’s enough!”

Three goddamn weeks. It's been three goddamn weeks and you've barely made any progress.

Barge into the booth, slam the door shut and raise your tone, just below a shout, “I've had it up to here! You know how many of my songs have been mashed together in some unholy quest for your perfection? Just one unknown something is missing and either you start complaining or we move on to the next."

She backs up from the mic to the insulated wall but you continue, paying no heed to her, as you spout your piece to the artificially cold air, "You know how much time I’ve spent outside working on these songs? These are songs I’ve saved up over years. And you trash them like they’re nothing. How do you even manage to record LOONA tracks?”

Regret sinks in. This was your passion project as much as hers. Was it frustration from the recordings? Weeks of the same routine and it took until now for you to give in to your temper.

"It wouldn't even be that bad! If you could just one time, you could be cute or cheerful again with me, or,” Fuck. So stupid. You don’t have to take your friendships for granted like this. You’re lucky enough she treats you as much. “Hold on. Wait, I'm-"

Examine her face. It’s not sour and she hasn’t stormed out or even slapped you.

“No, no. You don’t have to say it. I’m. I’m sorry oppa.” She looks down. “I'm the one messing up after all." Her heartbeat a harsh snare drum. "And you. You're. Different. Looking at you always made me feel some, something funny. Not funny but? Ugh. I wish I could explain it.”

You hold in your confusion.

She blabbers on, “Like, are. Are you mad? I promise you, I,” A nervous breath, ”I like you. Okay?"

Your confusion grows like the length of your silence.

"I’m just acting how I really am with you. Do you want to maybe, I don't know, like," her voice decrescendos, "Um. Punish me?”

Your heart, your brain are deprived of blood as it all rushes down. Did you hear that right? Not an apology, not retribution, but a call to punishment? Misinterpreting her, the consequences would be dire but that damned demure tone for such an erotic request. Was Jiwoo the exact type of slut constructed in your mind? The one that made you feel sinful for even imagining. No, no, there's no way.

Too late. Jiwoo must have noticed the absurd bulge now. It had to be these Adidas pants today. Fuck it. Life can’t be lived fully without risk. Hopefully, the same switch turned in her mind. You remove all ire from your face and say in earnest, “Do you like games?"

She lights up a little. You sigh relieved.

"Let’s try…”, you say, ”Strip recording.” She lights up a little more, so you go on, ”If I mess up anything, the mix, the composition, the arrangement, I’ll take off a piece of clothing. Your choice. And every time you mess up-”

Jiwoo unbuttons her denim shorts and brings them down her tight legs.

“D- did I say now?”

However, with her resolve steeled, she continues pulling them. "So what? I did mess up, right?" she says coquettish. Deliberate the turn she makes when she bows down to remove the shorts from her legs, Jiwoo reveals a hint of her innie pussy on that same little ass that ran through your mind earlier. A small trace of her thighs glistens, the only thing reflecting the single lightbulb’s glow in the microphone’s abode. She turns back to face you. "Please. Punish me."

Step closer until Jiwoo backs up to the soundproofing. She’s an eighth note away from your face, flashing her beady eyes and a coy smile, ”Where's your underwear?" A little drop spills out onto the floor, "And why are you so wet, Jiwoo-ah?”

Red on her cheeks, like she only now realized her dishevelment in front of you. “You just… Something about you snapping at me. I don’t get it either. I knew you'd do it, some day, I wanted you to," she mumbles in her best efforts to answer you.

“Have you ever worn underwear to the recordings?”

Those efforts continue to fail.

"Oh, Kim Jiwoo. What do I do with you?" One of your hands grabs her cheek. The other crawls down her back to grab her cheek.

“Oppa… Do I have to say it?”

“I want to hear every." Smack. "Word." Smack. She slips a moan.

“Can you," she says, "can you use my mouth?”

You disguise your long pause as thought, teasing the bare skin of her ass with your exploratory fingers to bide time, but it's an expression of your shock. The interruption helps you come up with a more suitable punishment however.

“How about this then. Every time you mess up, you have to give me a blowjob. Call?”

“Call!” Once more, unprompted, she kneels down in front of you and claws away your track pants. You roll with the punches.

"Oppaa," with an pronounced pop and in a sing-songy rhythm, "I've always wanted to know, if your dick-" It certainly didn't need Jiwoo's dainty hands pulling on your boxers, as it would've sprang out on its own with how like diamond your cock is getting.

"Fuuuck," the first profanity you ever hear her utter, she lilts. "Please. Oppa. Fuck my face?"

After all she said, she could still surprise you. Bring your hips forward and just as you would've her pussy, tease Jiwoo’s lips with the head of your dick. She parts them open, starved, anxious.

Hold her by the chin. "Wait."

She freezes at the command. Again, like foreplay, rub her lips with that head making them turn redder and more plump. You sweep aside her bangs to see her begging eyes. More importantly, slide your dick up to her nude forehead to slap as a first act of retribution. “A-ah!” Jiwoo stutters as you slap her face with your manhood again and again. Bring your cock back down and she's already a mess without you even having entered her mouth. A little drool from her shut lips gently massages your balls while a bit of precum drools from your slit to meet those lips.

Jiwoo mumbles as best as she can with you holding her jaw shut and your dick on her lips, "Please. Please. Shove your dick in me. I need you in my mouth."

You squint your rough eyes to command her.

Muffled still, "Oppa. Please. I. I need to taste you. You just, you're so thick and you're so long and cock is perfect and please I just-" Loosen the grip on her chin to let her envelop the entire tip with her warm lips. "Mmmmm..." the moan resonates a saw wave and your stern resolve fades away on your first entrance into her face but it returns as her teeth rub against you. She quickly readjusts her jaw but it takes multiple attempts of you pulling out and her sucking you back until only silken lips hold your cock's head. Finally. A focused glint in her eyes. She endeavours to keep your tip in her mouth as long as possible.

You were mad at her earlier, weren't you?

Recall this anger and press yourself into her with all your hips' strength, working against the force of her lip's airtight suction. Saliva leaks to betray the seal. Jiwoo's prying tongue explores the underside of your cock but you reach an impasse while she's not even halfway down the shaft. You shove your dick deeper but to no avail and tears roll down her eyes joining the fluids coating her lips. Thus you exit back out. And back in you go to repeat and repeat and slowly increase your rate, becoming rough sex with her diligent mouth. All the positions you’ve imagined fucking her little pussy, you picture using her throat instead. Even in this compact studio, the couch, chair and desk would provide ample support for you to use her in many ways. The dirty thoughts inspire your speed right now. She slurps and gulps at every quick plunge but you realize her moans and rumbles aren't just incoherent reactions. You decelerate.

“Ah, ahhh, ahhhhhh… Ah’ve ahways- Hmph.” She slurs as she tries her hardest to communicate while her airway is blocked.

She slides up your cock to catch some air, “Thought about it- Mmm.”

“Your dick in my mouth and it’s just so pew, fect- Ahhh.” Jiwoo's lips let go gently then her tongue sticks out to lick up your cock and she shows off a trail of spit leading to your tip. A less patient man would’ve jerked himself off right there to grant her eyes and open mouth's unison request to feed on your cum.

Instead you retort, “You think you’ve earned it? Not even halfway down. Going nowhere, just like our recording sessions, huh?”

“Shut up!”

“Oof.” You’re already weak in the knees so Jiwoo's one handed shove sends your tailbone to the floor. Since you’re still dazed by her confounding strength, she takes initiative and kowtows her head into your lap to crawl down your cock with her tiny lips. Fondling your balls, Jiwoo starts from the furthest point she could muster on your shaft up to your cock head. Her tongue follows back and she starts playing under your tip to swirl that tongue around the most sensitive parts until it explores your slit. You buckle and groan. Jiwoo sucks and spits and sucks while she circles only the most minimal twisting motion of her lips on your head. This is the Jiwoo you know. Relentless. Only now your load is her magnus opus.

Her right hand strays downwards and her face on your dick blocks a full view but you can tell that hand is working as intensely as her mouth. As she strokes herself with more vigor, she starts humming a satisfied melody on your tip. In kind, your subtle grunts turn into full-bodied moans. You're a single measure away from your coda so you reach down and pull her off your cock by grabbing her neck.

You glare into her. “Desperate little girl, aren't you?”

Her breath is stilted and she's nearly shaking. “Please…” she sobs, ”You, you want it as bad as I do right?” Of course. “Won't you just cum for me?” Not now. Not when you have putty in your hands.

“You're making a mess. You can't take me all the way down. And I see that it’s not just your saliva coating the floor.” Point to the spot where she kneels, her drool joins a stain growing ever larger with a strand of juice from her pussy flowing as you continue to berate her. Then you point to her hand. Ha. “Were you playing with yourself using my pencil?”

“No… Wait!”

You back off. “Your top’s a mess too. Anyone can tell I just fucked your face.” You take off your black hoodie and give it to her. “I’ll see you tomorrow for our next session.”

“Wait, we didn’t book tomorrow, did we? Also, you can’t just leave me like this! Oppa!”

"I said, I'll see you tomorrow. I have to go,“ you remind her, ”Ha Rin’s picking you up. And give me back that pencil.”

She hands it to you, unable to meet your eyes despite hers lusting over your cock. You'll definitely use the alluring musk on it for later to save you from your self-induced blue balls. Exit the booth. Of course she barely waits to use your hoodie the same way since she doesn’t notice you lingering in the room. Instead of hiding the grey long sleeve that soaks her neck, your used sweatshirt covers Jiwoo’s face as her fingers make the mess on the floor larger.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

AFF, AO3

Swear to god I’m not just writing the cutest idols to write for. I mean maybe I am but also this answer from @nsfwtwicecatcher and all the subsequent pictures that I found of Chuu pouting inspired me. Also, this was a longer piece but I kept spinning my tires on it and decided to split it up, so look out for more.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

Fermata, the aforementioned sequel

#kpop smut #loona smut #male reader #reader insert #title tracks

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