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angelicyoongie · 3 years

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Christmas in abundance

— pairing: hybrid bts x human f!reader — genre: fluff! — word count: 4.5K — summary: If the boys wanted to play Secret Santa, who were you to deny them? Though maybe, just maybe, you should’ve thought twice before adding a penalty to the mix. — a/n: Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!! I hope you’ve all had a good and safe time. This Abundance christmas special does not have anything to do with the original story, so nothing that happens here will affect it. This is a little rough, ngl, but that’s what I get for not writing for a month lol. Either way, I hope you enjoy it!!

"I'm home!" You shake off the lingering cold with a shiver, the warmth in the house wrapping around you pleasantly as you shrug off your coat. You barely have time to slip out of your boots before a body crashes into yours, a pair of strong arms pulling your body flush against a firm chest.

"You're late," Hoseok whines. The dog hybrid tucks his face into your neck with a huff, nose skimming against your throat as he works to cover the myriad of scents on your skin with his own.

"Sorry, I got held up a work," You sigh. "The office wants to do Secret Santa this year, so we had to figure out who would gift who.”

“Secret Santa?” A puzzled expression crosses Hoseok’s face as he pulls back.

“Oh, it’s a pretty simple game many people like to play during the holidays! You draw a random name, buy that person a gift, and then try your best to keep it a secret that it’s you,” You say, a smile tugging at your lips at how adorably confused the dog hybrid looks. The golden tail behind his back halts its quick movement; Hoseok’s head tilting slightly as he takes in your explanation. His eyebrows furrow as he thinks, an emotion you can’t quite place flickering in his eyes before he suddenly breaks out into a big grin, “Can we do it too? It sounds like fun!”

“Of course!” You say. “Just ask the others if they want to do it to? It won’t be much of a game if it’s just us two.” You reach up to gently ruffle his hair, the dog hybrid nearly falling over himself as he tries to lean into your touch.

“I need to go freshen up, I’ll see you guys for dinner?” You let out a soft laugh as Hoseok nods into your palm, a pout forming on his lips as you pull away.

“I’ll go ask them,” He gives you a bright smile before you turn to hurry up the stairs, more than ready to get into some comfortable clothes. Hoseok watches you leave, his smile falling into a frown as you round the corner.

He quickly walks down the hallway, mouth set in firm line as he turns into the kitchen and says, “We have to be secretive Santa’s.” The room grows quiet as six pairs of eyes find Hoseok’s form in the doorway, their stares a mixture of apprehension and bewilderment at the sudden declaration from the dog hybrid.

“What?” Namjoon sputters.

“Are you okay, hyung?” Taehyung rushes forward to place his hand against Hoseok’s cheek, his fox ears pinned to his head in worry.

“Did you hit your head?” Yoongi leans against the counter with a faint smirk, his dark tail swishing playfully behind his back as Namjoon shoots him a sour look. Hoseok only gives Yoongi a huff in response before he gently removes Taehyung’s hands from his face, pressing a soft peck against his palm at the worried expression on his packmate’s face.

“I’m fine Tae,” Hoseok assures him. “Y/n told me about a game humans play during the holidays. They draw a random person and have to gift them something, and since she’s playing it with her co-workers, we obviously have to play it too. We have to give her the best gift.” Looks of understanding flashes across the other hybrids’ faces, and Namjoon lets out a hum of approval at his packmate’s quick thinking. They can’t have their courting be upstaged by a human.

“But it has to be a secret,” Hoseok’s words are met by a displeased hiss, Jimin narrowing his eyes at the dog hybrid. Yoongi places his hand at the back of Jimin's neck, giving him a comforting squeeze as he says, “Well, it doesn’t really matter who gives her the present, right? As long as whatever we give is better than what the human gives her.” Jimin looks like he wants to protest, but a quirk of Yoongi’s brow in his direction settles him quickly, the younger cat hybrid leaning against his alpha with a defeated pout.

“What about the rest of the presents?” Jeongguk’s soft voice takes them all by surprise, the bunny hybrid hardly ever speaking up when they’re all together in one room. Jeongguk keeps his eyes trained on Hoseok, trying his best to ignore how his body grows more and more tense for each second as the attention shifts to him.

“Uh, I guess the rest will just gift each other something?” Hoseok clears his throat, heat creeping up the back of his neck as he finds himself pinned under the bunny hybrid’s big questioning eyes.

“Boring,” Jimin mutters. As Yoongi’s gaze narrows at his packmate, Seokjin hurriedly adds, ”If it’ll make Y/n happy, then I’m in.”

“Me too,” Jeongguk murmurs.

“Me three!” Taehyung grins.

“Sure, we’re in too,” Yoongi waves them off, his hand still tight on the younger cat hybrid’s neck.

“Fine,” Jimin sighs. Namjoon rolls his eyes with a faint smile as Jimin’s tail betrays his indifference, the younger cat hybrid obviously excited at the prospect of receiving a gift judging by the excited flick the end of his tabby tail does. “So we’re all in then,” Namjoon says.

“Great!” Hoseok beams, “I’ll go tell Y/n.”

❅

You grab another box, wobbling slightly as you take your first step down the ladder. You can’t believe it’s almost Christmas already. The last weeks have passed by in a blur of important court cases, and aside from greeting the boys when you leave and come back home from work; you haven’t had any spare time to spend with them. You feel bad. Not only because you miss them, and you know they miss your company too, but also because this is your first Christmas together, and you had wanted to make December as magical as possible. But, thanks to all the late nights you pulled at the office earlier in the year, you’ve earned yourself some extra days off. So, while you might not have been able to make all of December an adventure for them, you’re going to try your hardest to make the next three days leading up to Christmas Eve as fun as possible.

“Hey Namjoon, can you help me with this?” You call out over the boxes stacked in your arms, gritting your teeth as you try to make it down the attic ladder in one piece. Maybe you only should’ve done one at the time, but where’s the fun in that? There’s nothing quite like the idea of falling and breaking a bone to really get the Christmas spirit pumping through your veins.

You let out a sigh of relief as heavy box on top is removed, but the sight that greets you over the cardboard wasn’t one you were ready for. The wolf hybrid has a sweet smile on his face, dimples on full display as he easily hefts the box under his arm. It’s just so domestic that it makes your heart skip a traitorous beat; almost making you miss the last step as you stumble down into the hallway.

“You okay?” Namjoon takes a step closer as he looks you up and down, his free hand reaching for your arm in case you feel unsteady on your feet.

“I’m fine!” You wince inwardly at the high pitch of your voice, plastering on a strained smile as you try to get a better grip at the decorations in your arms.

“Just, you know .. excited for Christmas!” You barrel past him before he can see the flush creeping up your neck. As you hurry down the stairs, you can’t help but mentally curse yourself for how just seeing Namjoon holding a box and looking cute manages to short-circuit your brain. How the hell are you supposed to survive seeing the rest of the boys decorating the whole house?

❅

“Yoongi, that’s not ..” You bite back a laugh as the cat hybrid ignores you, practically folding himself in half to make sure he fits inside the empty cardboard box. You watch as Yoongi gets up and sits back down, folding his limbs this way and that way until he’s happy with his position.

“What?” He glares in your direction when he notices your amused stare, his tail puffing up defensively as you shake your head.

“Nothing. It’s cute,” You giggle. You turn before you can see the faint flush in Yoongi’s cheeks, the cat hybrid sinking down lower in the box to hide how pleased he is at your comment. You open another box, pulling out the rather tiny assortment of tinsel and garlands you’ve saved over the last years. It might have taken up a lot of room in your old apartment, but you doubt it’ll be enough to decorate past the first floor in this house. You do have time to run to the store and get some more, but even just imagining the crowds doing all their last minute shopping makes you want to shudder. It’ll just have to do this year.

“Hyung, I need those,” You hear a soft grumble from the couch as Jeongguk pushes Seokjin away from the nearly empty popcorn bowl, the hamster hybrid making a discontent noise as it’s moved away from him. The popcorn and cranberry string is looking a little short considering how much you gave them earlier, but you quickly realize the problem when Seokjin turns in your direction. He’s storing his snacks.

The hamster hybrid’s cheeks are so puffed out you’re honestly surprised he can even close his mouth. You stifle your laughter as you turn your attention back to the tinsel, not wanting to make him feel uncomfortable. It’s honestly adorable, but you know the boys can get embarrassed over instincts they can’t control, so if it’s something as harmless as eating popcorn and taking up residence in a box, you’re more than happy to pretend you haven’t seen anything.

“Hobi, can you help me with this?” You call over the dog hybrid, gesturing to the tinsel. You’re sure it’ll go much faster putting it all on the tree if you’re two people doing it.

“Sure!” Hoseok grins.

“If you go stand on the other side of the tree, we can just pass it back and fourth,” The dog hybrid easily follows your instructions, and you’ve already gotten the tinsel wrapped around the tree a few times before it abruptly stops. You frown, giving it a few tugs in case it got caught on the wrong branch, but it’s not moving. You peak around the tree, confused as to why it’s stuck when you have so much length left, but the reason becomes apparent when you find Hoseok’s hand tightly wrapped around the glittery garland.

“Hobi?” You give it a small tug, and the dog hybrid only smiles sheepishly in response as he immediately tugs back.

“Sorry,” Hoseok whines as he pulls his hand back again, the golden ears on top of his head drooping. “I didn’t let go of the tinsel before you pulled and ..” Ah. You let the garland go slack in your hands, and the dog hybrid only stares at the glitter for a few seconds before his grip loosens as well. His instincts thought you were playing tug of war. “Sorry,” He repeats.

“Hobi, it’s fine! I really don’t mind. Maybe we can play some actual tug of war later if you want to shift?” You offer.

“Really?” You can see the uncertainty still lingering in Hoseok’s eyes, but the tail behind his back can’t help but do a few excited wags.

“Of course. We can go outside the moment we finish decorating,” You grin. Hoseok’s face lights up, his eyebrows furrowing in concentration as he gently nudges you out of the way, taking the tinsel out of your hands. You don’t think you’ve ever seen someone decorate a tree that fast, the dog hybrid practically vibrating with excitement as he shoves a container of ornaments into Jimin and Taehyung’s hands.

“Hurry, hurry,” Hoseok mutters as he throws a look at Namjoon, confirming that the alpha is stringing lights above the window like he's supposed to.

“Right,” You smile, grabbing the closest ornaments to hang them on the tree. You let your eyes drift around the room as you place the first ornament, your chest almost feeling like it’s going to burst with fondness as you see all the hybrids look so focused on their different tasks. It’s moments like this where it’s easy to forget all the arguments and nasty behaviours that have transpired between the packs. You’re not gullible enough to believe that it’ll just be smooth sailing from here on out, but can you always hope. That’s what Christmas is for, after all.

❅

“Okay! Is everyone ready?” You say, taking your place on the floor in front of the pile of Secret Santa gifts. You honestly feel like you’re going to roll away on the floor if you happen to topple over, your belly full and sated with all the delicious Christmas foods you’ve eaten over the last hours. Jeongguk and Jimin are the first ones to reach your side, each taking up the space next to you as the others settle down in a circle. You’ve been collecting gifts from all over the house, trying your best to keep the whole game as anonymous as possible. You’re about to reach out for the first gift when you remember something you used to do with friends when you were younger, something that make the game a little more exciting.

“Boys, how do you feel about adding a punishment to the game?” Jimin and Hoseok both sit up a little straighter at your words, all the hybrids snapping to attention. The three alphas all share a look, a weird glint in them you haven’t seen before.

“Punishment?” Jeongguk stiffens as the air in the room grows heavier. Maybe that was a poor choice of words.

“Oh no, I meant like a .. penalty? Like if the receiver can figure out who their gift is from, then the giver has to do a penalty?” You say, placing a comforting hand on the bunny hybrid’s knee.

“A penalty is fine,” Jeongguk says, beginning to relax under your touch, “but what would it be?”

“How about the receiver decide the punishment?” Taehyung offers, a lazy smirk on his face as he leans back on his hands, “Wouldn’t that be fair?” You know the fox hybrid always tries to win by whatever means necessary, and that it usually spells trouble for you, but it’s Christmas Eve, so if there was ever a day to indulge Taehyung, this would be it.

“Sure. I don’t mind if the others are okay with it,” You shrug. There’s immediately a small chorus of agreement, and you take that as the go to give out the first present.

“First one is .. Seokjin!” The hamster hybrid takes the present from your hands cautiously, the room falling silent as he unwraps it. Hoseok snorts as he sees the item, the furrow between Seokjin’s eyes disappearing as soon as it shows up.

“Shampoo,” He announces.

“Well?” You prompt when the hamster hybrid places the item behind his back and out of sight, “Who do you think it’s from?” You swear you see the quick flicker of Seokjin’s gaze to Jimin, but it happens so fast you can’t be sure. The cat hybrid still has an easy smile on his face, and there’s nothing in his face that gives him away if he was the one behind Seokjin’s gift.

“I have no idea,” Seokjin shakes his head. “Let’s move on to the next one?”

“Sure,” You try to shake off weird feeling in your gut as you pick up the next gift. There’s no reason for them to pretend they don’t know who gifted them their presents, you must still be stressed after the intense week of work you had before your days off.

“Let’s see .. Namjoon!” The wolf hybrid gives you a bright smile as he takes his present, the grin never leaving his face as he rips through the paper. You notice the bunny hybrid stiffening next to you as Namjoon sees his present, his gray ears twitching slightly.

“A comb,” Namjoon waves it in the air quickly, the motion almost a blur as you only pick up the dark colour before he places it between his crossed legs. The wolf hybrid’s gaze scans quickly around the group before he shrugs, “No clue who it’s from though.”

Jeongguk lets out a small breath of air next to you, and when you think about it, didn’t that blur look similar to the comb the bunny hybrid uses for his ears? Before you can open your mouth to ask, Jimin hands you the next present with a sweet smile. Normally, that would put your worries at ease, but the lazy swishes of the tabby hybrid’s tail just makes you more suspicious. They’re definitely up to something.

The feeling only grows as you work through the presents. The boys casually hide their gifts before you can get a good look at them, and they somehow never know who the giver is, despite it being glaringly obvious whom it’s from with how the other hybrid perks up when their gift is unwrapped. You can’t figure out who gifted you the customized ink pen either, although Namjoon looked particularly proud when you couldn’t wipe the shocked smile off your face.

“This is just what I wanted!” You say. You think you might have mentioned it in passing a while back, but you never expected someone to actually remember it.

“Is it a better Secret Santa gift than the one you got at work?” Hoseok asks. The dog hybrid looks a little anxious, his canines digging into the soft flesh of his lips as his gaze shifts between your face and the gift in your hands.

“Of course it is! Soo-hyun got me an ugly Christmas mug she knew I would hate,” You snort, “There’s no way it could beat this!” You look down at the pen again, just missing the shared expression of relief that crosses the boys’ faces as you admire the sleek black and silver design.

“Anyway, let’s move on to the next gift!” You say. “It’s for .. Yoongi!” You hand the second to last gift to the cat hybrid, Yoongi’s sharp nails slicing through the paper with no trouble.

“A book, wonderful,” He smirks before he places it behind his back. You frown as you see the cover that is all too familiar, is that the book your aunt gifted you those years ago? The heavy atmosphere is back in the room as eight pairs of eyes shift to the last present on the floor. You swallow thickly, trying your best to school your features into something neutral. It’s your gift. And there’s no way you’re going to let him figure out it’s you, not when you were the one to come up with the penalty in the first place.

“Me!” Taehyung exclaims with a boxy grin as he picks up the last gift, his slender fingers carefully opening the paper. The fox hybrid lets out a delighted gasp as he uncovers the console games, his tail swishing wildly behind his back in excitement.

“Thank you Y/n!” Taehyung’s eyes sparkle as he meets your gaze, and the “You’re welcome!” tumbles out before you can stop it. You wince as something mischievous settles in Taehyung’s handsome features, the fox hybrid looking pleased with himself that you managed to slip up.

“How did you know it was me?” You groan.

“You have a tell,” Taehyung says.

You have? .. Crap. “What is it?”

“It’s a secret,” The fox hybrid smirks. Secret Santa was definitely not a hybrid game – the boys had come to realize that as soon as the first gift was handed out. The presents reek of the giver, but of course, that’s not something your human nose would be able to pick up.

“Fine,” You pout, tracing your finger over the pen in your lap, “What’s my penalty?”

The fox hybrid’s face grows serious as his gaze shifts around the room, searching for something to use as your punishment. You can’t help the way your stomach flips with nerves – or is it maybe excitement? – as you wait for him to figure it out. If it’s one thing you’ve come to learn, it’s that these boys are never predictable. Taehyung’s orange ears perk up as his eyes suddenly catch on an item, and Yoongi lets out a low hiss as he follows the fox hybrid’s line of sight. You barely have time to blink before Taehyung springs to his feet to grab your hand, dragging you along with him over to the living room entrance. You suck in a surprised breath as you find yourself standing directly underneath the mistletoe, Taehyung’s hand warm around yours as he gently pulls you a step closer.

“Only if you want to,” He says. Taehyung’s low murmur soothes the nerves prickling under your skin, the obvious fondness on his face easing your fears. The problem isn’t that you don’t want to, it’s that you do. And not just with Taehyung, but with all seven of them.

“It’s okay,” You hesitantly place your hand on Taehyung’s shoulder, the fox hybrid’s muscles jumping under your touch. You spare a glance back the rest of the boys when you notice just how silent the room has become, a flush creeping up your cheeks as you find all six of them staring at the both of you with an intensity you haven’t seen before. You quickly turn your attention back to Taehyung, the fox hybrid’s eyes fluttering shut as you begin to rise up at the tip of your toes.

You ground yourself in Taehyung’s firm grip around your hand, the fox hybrid’s warm breath spilling across your mouth as you lean in closer. Your aim is a little off, the lush dark lashes across Taehyung’s cheekbones distracting you enough that the kiss that was meant for his cheek, ends up at the corner of his mouth instead. When you pull back, you find Taehyung’s wide sparkling eyes already trained on your face, the fox hybrid gazing at your reverently for a few seconds before he dives down to bury his face in your neck.

“This is the best Christmas ever,” You let out a choked giggle at Taehyung’s words, stroking his back affectionately as he tries his best to rub your shared scent back on your skin.

“Me next,” You nearly jump out of your skin as you find Hoseok standing next to you, the rest of the boys lined up behind him with sheepish smiles.

“I thought this was supposed to be a penalty?” You quirk a brow, gently untangling yourself from Taehyung as the dog hybrid begins to move impatiently in place.

“Kissing Taehyung is just nice, it’s not a penalty unless you do it to all of us,” Hoseok whines. You catch Jeongguk nodding his head behind Yoongi’s shoulders, his long ears flopping from the force. Well, you think, what’s the harm?

“Fine,” You usher Taehyung over to the couch, turning back around to face Hoseok. “One mistletoe kiss coming right up.” The dog hybrid practically vibrates out of his skin when your lips touch his cheek, and he doesn’t waste any time mixing his scent like Taehyung had once you pull back.

You can see Namjoon’s silver tail wag behind his back as you place both hands on his shoulders, needing a little extra boost to reach his cheek. A dimple blooms where you delivered a soft peck, and Namjoon briefly touches his cheek against the top of your head before he joins his pack on the couch.

Jimin steps up next, placing his hands behind his back as he offers his cheek with a playful grin. “One penalty please,” He says.

“Of course,” You place your hand on Jimin’s jaw, holding him in place as you kiss his cheek. You catch the slight disappointment in the cat hybrid’s eyes as you pull back, but the gentle touch of your fingertips tracing his jaw is enough to wash it away. Taehyung might be the fox, but Jimin is by far the slyest when it comes to getting what he wants.

“Not yet,” You murmur, taking a step back. Jimin nods, his eyes filled with warm understanding as gently rubs his cheek against your shoulder before he lets Yoongi take his place. The alpha regards you with hooded eyes as you peck his cheek, a faint purr spilling from his chest as he rubs your mixed scent against the opposite shoulder. The soft fur on his ears tickle your throat, and the cat hybrid offers you a low thank you before he steps away.

“You okay?” Jeongguk’s cheeks are bright red as he takes Yoongi's place, but the bunny hybrid hurriedly nods in response. You can almost feel the jittery energy coursing through his body as you step closer, Jeongguk inhaling sharply as your lips make contact with his skin. The bunny hybrid shyly takes your hand in his, bringing it up to rub your wrist against his freshly kissed cheek. Jeongguk hurries off before you can say anything, his tail twitching rapidly behind his back as he joins the rest.

Seokjin has a fond look in his eyes as he steps closer. The hamster hybrid leans down slightly, just enough that his mouth graces you ear as he murmurs, ”You took your punishment well.” You feel plush lips against your cheek before Seokjin pulls back, a knowing smile spreading across his face as your fingers trace the spot he kissed. You stand there a little stunned as Seokjin joins Jeongguk on one of the couches, praying that the hamster hybrid didn’t notice the shiver that bolted down your spine at his words.

You awkwardly clear your throat as you realize they’re all waiting for you to join them, gesturing over to the TV as you say, “Do you want to watch a Christmas movie?”

You let the boys argue over which movie to watch, quickly putting on your old copy of Home Alone once they’ve decided. You squeeze into the spot between Yoongi and Namjoon on the couch, the two alphas shifting closer the moment you’re settled; their sides flush with yours as you press play on the movie.

As the minutes begin to trickle by, you catch yourself watching the boys more than the colourful screen, a pleasant and comforting warmth spreading through your body as they laugh and giggle at the funny moments. Truthfully, the seven hybrids fill a space you hadn’t even realized was empty. And now – sitting here in your cozy living room with lights twinkling all around, you don’t think there’s anything else you could ever want.

You already have it all right here.

#hybrid bts #hybrid!bts #hybrid au #bts x reader #ot7 x reader #bts poly au #bts fluff #hybrid jungkook #hybrid yoongi #hybrid jimin #hybrid hoseok #hybrid taehyung #hybrid namjoon #hybrid seokjin #bts au #bts fanfic #hybridbtsnetwork #abundance

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alolowrites · 4 years

Text

Cuddling Through the Seasons

Summary: Fatgum’s cuddles never go out of season

Author’s Note: This is my third story for the @bnhabookclub’s Hero Camp Bingo event. This was also a request from @bnha-homeroom (sorry it took so long!)

The prompt used was Cuddles and this is my first story for Fatgum. Hopefully I’ll do more stories for this guy because he’s deserves the best.

Enjoy!

Word Count: 1.6K+

Spring

High in the sky rests the glorious bright sun. It’s golden rays shine through the vibrant pink flowers blooming on every tree, emphasizing their natural beauty. Two birds playfully chase each other in between the branches, their lovely chirps in harmony with the soothing sounds of the gentle stream below—Mother Nature is simply a lady with many hidden talents.

Although the grass maintains a healthy green coat, it too is covered by fresh cherry blossom petals blown off the trees—it adds a beautiful pop to the land. Few people arrive and wander through the peaceful park. Some snap a couple of pictures on their phones, their bodies bent in odd angles to capture that perfect Instagram-worthy shot. Others silently take in the whole scenery with their eyes and save the mental image deep in their memory jar—that’s how you are enjoying today with Taishiro.

Both of you sit under a tree that is different from the others; it’s branches are abundant, and some hang charmingly over the water. A quick wind blows through the park, tugging the delicate petals until one slowly falls to the stream. Everything is serene, almost like an abstract landscape painting on display at an art museum.

Closing your eyes, you sink in deeper into Taishiro’s plump chest. A relaxed sigh escapes his lips as you enjoy your massive pillow. His large arms wrap around you like a snuggly safety belt—they are protective and warm. Your fingers affectionately glide up and down his sweater to the beat of the stream. You hum, “Everything is so beautiful.”

Taishiro leans back on the thick tree trunk and glances at you; he cheekily grins, “That’s ‘cause you’re here, darlin’. The cherry blossoms are a nice touch, though.”

You roll your eyes, “You’re such a cheesy guy, you know that?”

“Yeah, but that’s what you love ‘bout me.”

“That is very true,” you playfully tap his arm, smirking up at him. Another cherry blossom falls and lands on top of your head. Taishiro raises on hand to carefully pluck it off your hair and holds it high against the sunlight. The flower is so soft and just the right shade of pink. He thinks it’s perfect, just like you.

Taishiro shows the sakura petal to you, “Here’s a little present.”

Your heart swells, a tiny blush dusting your cheeks as you reach for the flower. You take a whiff of the sweet aroma and lean back against your living pillow. Squeezing the hero’s hand, you look up to flash him a faint smile, “Thank you.”

You never let go of the cherry blossom petal.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

Summer

Far in the distance lies the vast calm sea. Ocean waves creep steadily toward the fine white sand, kissing the land hello before returning outward. Light puffy clouds float along the peaceful cerulean sky, morphing into different images at the hands of your wild imagination. It’s a fun way to pass the time and relax the mind.

You inhale the fresh, natural air—it smells like freedom. The city’s chaotic and bustling streets are an afterthought. The prying eyes of paparazzi and other media hounds are thousands of miles away from your paradise home. The avalanche stress tied with Taishiro’s hero lifestyle vanishes when the two of you step on the warm sand.

“Whatcha’ thinkin’ about, darlin’?” His voice is loud but soothing at the same time. You feel the gigantic teddy bear stand behind you. It wasn’t long until Taishiro traps you into his loving embrace, giving you a quick squeeze. Your toes wiggle into the smooth sand as a sharp wind whistles by; the waves hear it and crash against the shoreline.

“How a place like this,” you nod toward the dancing water, “somehow exists. It’s almost as if I’m dreaming—” You yelp at the slight pinch, and Taishiro roars with laughter. You crane your neck up to glare at him, “What was that for?”

“Well you’re not dreamin’, that’s for sure.” You elbow into his stomach knowing entirely well it did not phase him at all. Taishiro retaliates by hugging you harder, enjoying the delightful squeals ringing into the semi-deserted beach. Other tourists linger around, but the land is so spacious that you barely see them. It’s easy to think you two are alone with all the privacy in the world, an idea that doesn’t exist back at home—a small price to pay while being a pro hero.

In a way, Taishiro is glad this moment is not a dream. It won’t fade away once he wakes up, but will stay in his memory for a long time. Just as you calm down, a mischievous grin crosses the hero’s lips, and his grip tightens around your waist. You had a bad feeling about this and clenched his hands, “Hey…what are you doing—”

“Hold on!”

“Don’t you dare!”

Your words fall on deaf ears as he effortlessly carries you in his arms and charges toward the sea that is waiting to greet you both.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

Autumn

Bright yellow lanterns glow above the narrow streets, gently swaying back and forth without a care in the world. Luscious pampas grass decorate the roofs, the creamy-white feathery plumes waving hello to everyone passing through the area. A chubby hand reaches upward; the baby is determined to grab the mesmerizing fluffy grass until something else catches their eye.

An elegant pyramid of tsukimi dango neatly sits on a black plate. There are fifteen white dumplings, each perfectly round and white as the precious moon gleaming tonight. A crowd grows around the delicious display, making it nearly impossible to squeeze through the sardine bodies. Fortunately, the group departs when they see Fatgum approaching with his hearty smile, and you follow closely behind—sometimes being a hero has its perks.

Taishiro greets everyone until a middle-aged man freaks out from his stall, “It’s an honor to meet you, Fatgum! Thank you for keeping our streets safe!”

“It’s no problem really—”

“Please take these dumplings! They’re on the house!”

Taishiro gives you a side-glance, and you shrug. Who were you to deny some free food, especially if they are those moon-like dumplings? You grab the plate from the man’s trembling hands and bow. The hero safely guides you away from the crowd and spots an empty grass field. Plopping down, you dramatically groan, “That was so much walking!”

“Sorry, darlin’! Guess I got a lil carried away,” he chuckles while scratching his forehead. Taishiro takes a seat behind you.

“I think that’s an understatement, but,” you gleefully raise the plate that barely reached his eyes, “we got free dumplings!”

“They do look good,” Taishiro hums and takes one round treat. You plop the tsukimi dango in your mouth, the rice flavor surprisingly strong, yet pleasing to your tastebuds—it’s a chewy delight. The pyramid crumbles in seconds, and you scoot back to rest your head against the gentle giant; out of instinct, he cradles you in his arms.

A chilly air blows by and makes you shiver despite wearing a cashmere sweater. Taishiro notices and shifts his posture to shield you from the cold—a small act that melts your heart every time. You gaze at the luminous moon until your eyes struggle to stay awake; it doesn’t help that Taishiro feels like all toasty like a fleece blanket.

It definitely was all that walking, and you yawn before dozing off in his arms.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

Winter

Snow showers rain down on your quiet neighborhood. The bare tree branches scoff at the fluffy cotton balls falling from the sky; they barely weighed more than a feather. An hour later, the branches are slouching under the heavyweight and weeping for mercy—but the snow never stops.

A thin white blanket hides the dull, gray streets and vibrant decorations flourish to their heart’s content. Tiny bells chime once Jack Frost blows a chilly wind down the sidewalks. Thick garlands covered in elegant ribbons stretch for miles on some apartment balconies. And others hung colorful Christmas lights that flicker to a very jolly tune.

In a way, the snow ties everything together to bring out the pleasant holiday mood—it’s simply magical. Two pairs of footsteps, one small like a mouse and the other the size of a giant, imprint themselves on the powdery sidewalk. You waddle toward the apartment with arms bundled around yourself; you’re craving for something warm. Any minute longer outside and your legs will permanently turn into icicles.

“O-open t-the do-or, p-please,” you chatter through your teeth while bouncing nonstop. Taishiro chuckles and you glare at him, making his grin widen more. You barge in once he unlocks the door and dust off the snow on your coat. Hasty footsteps rush to the kitchen so you could warm the teapot as quickly as possible.

Taishiro shakes his head—you quickly get cold. He relaxes on the couch, not bothering to change out of his Santa costume; if anything, the clothes are comfortable and roomy. You wander into the living room and shiver up a storm. A gloved hand beckons for you, “Come over here, darlin’.”

Shuffling toward the mellow hero, he pulls you on top of him. Without hesitation, his arm wraps around you to keep you steady. One ear sits above his chest, and you focus on the faint sound of his heartbeat. Not even the Santa costume could mask Taishiro’s alluring honeydew scent, which drives you crazy. You contently sigh, “You made so many kids smile today, hun.”

“I’m glad,” he answers while stroking your hair, “Those kids at the hospital deserve all the happiness in the world, ya’ know?”

“Yeah…” A finger lazily draws out imaginary lines along Taishiro’s red velvet coat. An involuntary shiver runs down his spine. Only your charming touches could make him react like this, and he savors them all. You raise your head and squirm closer to the hero’s face. With loving eyes, you whisper, “You make a fantastic Santa Claus.”

“Fantastic enough to get a kiss from Mrs. Claus?”

“Sure,” you giggle and pull down his fake white beard. As you plant a sweet kiss on his lips, you decide that you no longer needed that nice hot cup of tea.

Third prompt is crossed off. Which one will be next? Stay tune! Thank you for reading!

Previous prompt: Betrayal

Hero Camp Bingo Masterlist

#fatgum x reader #fat gum x reader #taishiro toyomitsu #bnha x reader #bnha imagines #bnhabookclub #hero camp bingo #cuddles #fluff

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arjuna-vallabha · 4 years

Photo

Durga puja by Ramachandra.

Before I begin , let me extend to everyone my heartfelt wishes for Navaratri and Sharadiya durgotsav . Most of us are completely unaware but Devi puja has already begun yesterday in many old aristrocract homes and ancient pujas of Bengal through ghat sthapan and ‘bodhan’ ritual . Yesterday was the auspicious Navami tithi of Krishna Paksha . The puja that spans from Krishna paksha Navami to the following Shukla paksha Navami is called Durgotsav . It was much later when Durgotsav started transforming itself from a king’s royal festival to common man’s celebration , that the elaborate 15 days long worship became obsolete and the shorter 5 day alternative ( puja starting from Shashti the 6th day of Navaratri ) became normative . In modern times , most pujas begin on shashthi tithi . Most Bengalis are unaware of the original Krishna Navami bodhan and 15 days durgotsav . But although the Krishna Navami tithi is forgotten , the tale of Ramachandra’s worship of Durga remains popular . Kavi Krittivasa’s Bengali Ramayan narrates the story where Shri Ram sees Goddess seated inside the royal chariot carrying Ravana in her lap ! Realising that he is blessed and protected by the goddess , Rama looses hope and starts to despair ! The devas panic and approach Brahma for a solution . Brahma asks Ramachandra to worship Chandika and earn her favour . As Krishnaa Navami and Pratipad was already past , Rama was advised by Brahma to do a ‘bodhan’ and begin worship on Shashti . Ramachandra began to arrange for the worship with great enthusiasm , assisted by the vanaras and his associates . Ramachandra himself sculpted a clay image of the goddess and sat down to awaken her through bodhan ritual in dusk . But even after three days of puja , devi did not appear. Vibhisana advised to Rama to worship Durga with 108 blue lotuses that are only found in a distant Devi daha lake . Courageous Hanuman brought back the 108 blue lotuses and Rama began to offer them one by one after 'sankalpa' . However Devi hid one lotus to test Rama’s sincerity . When that one lotus was nowhere to be found , heartbroken Ramachandra decided to offer one of his eyes to the goddess because people call him lotus eyed one . Just as he was about to gauge out his eye , Devi appeared and held Rama by hand and said – “ Stop stop o lord . You are the purna brahman. You need not do such a thing . It is only to make my puja popular in the universe that you decided to sport such a leela . I am leaving Ravana . You may go and vanquish the demon king . This story has been passed through generations in Bengal . However Krittivasa is not the creator of this story . The episode finds mention in many puranas and tantras a long time before poet Krittivasa . In Devi Bhagavat Purana VedaVyas says –-------- “ When the separation of Sita grew unbearable , Rama worshipped Bhagavati in Kishkindhya and through that act was enabled to defeat and kill the evil demon king and his accomplices . It was only through the mercy of Devi that Rama was able to return to Ayodhya and enjoy the throne . “ At another place the purana seys – “ In the holy land of Bharata , it was Raja Surath who first worshipped the great goddess . Later Shri Ram worshipped her for killing Ravana and that is how her puja became popular all over the three worlds .” Kalika Purana describes –------ “ In the olden times , Brahma awakened the great goddess in night to bestow benediction on Rama and kill evil Ravana . Thus awakened , the goddess entered Lanka and engaged Rama and Ravana in battle as she feasted on the blood and gore of the slain monkeys and rakshasas . She ensured that this battle lasts for one week . “ Brihaddharma Purana describes -------- “ Brahma said to the devas – ‘O all knowing devas . We ought to perform swastyayana for Rama’s victory . But nothing can be achieved without the grace of Bhagavati who must be awakened . “ Then Brahma and the devas began chanting hyms to devi who then appeared in form of a child and said – “ O Brahma and devas , im pleased with you all . Hear what I have to say to you . Tommorow at dusk perform bodhan and awaken me under the bilwa tree . Only then will your desires be fulfilled and Rama get his victory . “ The next day the devas and Brahma went to the bilwa tree in a remote region and saw the goddess in form of a small girl , sleeping peacefully on a leaf of that tree . She was shining like molten gold , her waist was thin and she wore new garlands . Her lips were full like bimba fruits and everything about her was auspicious . Then everyone began to sing hymns to her to awaken her from her sleep . Devi got up , blessed the devas and disappeared . In the lalita Trishati Stotram of Brahmanda Purana one verse says - " Lakshmanaagraja pujitaa " . Goddess who is worshipped by the elder brother of Lakshmana . This small utterance also harks back to the legend of Ramchandra's Durga puja . Krittivasa merely used the puranic tales and rearranged them in his own way . Ramachandra is inseperable from the culture of Durga puja in Bengal . Which is why one finds a painting of Ram durbar on the chaala chitra ( backdrop / prabhavali ) of the durga pratima . It is believed that after killing Mahiravana , Hanuman lifted the devi murti that he worshipped and had it brought to Bengal where he installed it in the sati peetha of Yogadya . Yogaadya is one of the 51 Sati peethas where body parts of sati's body fell after daksha yajna . Eeven today , during the days of Durga puja , Ramayana paath and Ramayana gaan is performed in the temple premises . The Valmiki Ramayana however does not have any mention of Durga puja . There Ram recites aditya stav before killing Ravana . However it must be understood that the legends of Ram finds numerous expression through numerous authors and narrators in each region of the subcontinent . Each version has its own religio-cultural merit . And that pluralism is verily the beauty of Hinduism ! Even the story of Lakshmana drawing the lakshamana rekha around Sita is not there in Valmiki Ramayana but has its origins in Krittivasa's Bengali Ramayana . But think how important the idea has become in modern indian culture ! The word bodhan means to awaken the ‘Bodha’ . The same bodha which made Siddhartha Gautama into the Buddha . Bodhan also means to awaken the devi within us . In the dusk of Shasthi as the darkness slowly creeps in and birds return to roost …….. when the slight autumnal nip in temperature and the fragrance of freshly bloomed shiuli flowers have clothed the earth in robes of festivity …...... the Bhattacharya sits under the bilwa tree beside the lamp , invoking the great goddess from her sleep ! As night descends on the surroundings , light begins to shine within our hearts ! Just like the saying of Bhagavan in Gita – “ What is night for ordinary jeevas is day for the gyani “ ! That verily is the essence of bodhan !! Breaking the stillness of the night , the auspicious chants of Bodhan mantra can be heard – “ aim , ravanasya vadhaarthaaya ramasyaanugraha cha , a-kaale brahmnaa bodho devyaastwayi kritah pura “

Painting and text by Halley Goswami, if you want to buy this painting or others of the genre go to: https://www.facebook.com/Halleysart

#Rama #Durga Puja #goddess #hindu architecture #Bengal

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memescomicswriting · 5 years

Text

The Man That Got Away

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: None

Summary: Leaving the most wonderful woman Bucky’s ever met was the biggest regret of his life and he never expected to see her again. But magic tends to have a mind of its own.

A/N: This is for #SherrysFallIntoYouChallenge ( @sherrybaby14 ) and yes I know “The Man that Got Away” was released in 1954 with A Star is Born (ft. Judy Garland and you should watch it), but we’re going to pretend it was released nine years earlier so this story makes sense. Okay? Okay. Also, I finished this in a caffeine haze so judge me.

My Masterlist

...

The street lamps of the city seemed to radiate a cheerful glow now that the war was over. Couples started roaming the streets again. It wasn't like the mayhem of victory, but the steady normalcy that existed before. It all seemed like a blurry dream to Bucky; familiar but odd. Foggy as the dream was, the city's air had alluring magic in the air tonight which pushed Bucky towards his destination. He hoped he was heading in the right direction. Steve hastily wrote the note and slipped it under Bucky's door during his morning jog. It listed the party, the address, and instructions on how to get there. Bucky hadn't attended many parties since his return home, but for Steve, he'd make an appearance. Besides, it was Halloween and for the new Shield group. If not now, then when? The bar was along a street with other bars and clubs in Brooklyn. Like the rest, it was decked for Halloween. The fuzzy illumination of the sign obscured the readability but Bucky made out the name Enchanted; how fitting for the season. Caricatures of witches, cats, ghosts, and ghouls decorated the outside. When he stepped in, it was just as seasoned. Jackolanterns lined the carpet entrance. The club's atmosphere was dimmed by lights covered in red and orange shades. Along with the fog and smoke, it created a mystic and romantic feel. The smell of smoke was thick but cut with the crisp scent of fall every time the door opened. This was the kind of place Bucky would take his dream girl; if he had her.

A hostess caught his attention and took his coat. On his request, she directed him to Steve, who was off chatting with Peggy and some men from the government agency. They were all friends, not bureaucrats. They faced away from the stage and the Bing Crosby cover artist who occupied the stage. The night's host came into the light, but Bucky paid no attention to entertainment. He quietly joined the group and after the hellos, pats on the back, and a hug from Steve, Bucky molded into the background of the group. The next singer was announced and the group began shifting and looking over as the host began chatting up the entertainer. They wanted to watch the performance so they slowly migrated away from the bar and to a booth with a view. The host raised his hand in the direction of the circular spotlight. "Ladies and gentlemen, please show your love to the bewitching Ms. Y/N!" Bucky's throat knotted. Outstepped the most gorgeous woman alive. She dawned a form-fitting black dress that could have come from the set of "I Married a Witch." Like Veronica Lake, it slinked over her body like water. Though it was long-sleeved and touched the floor, the fit and the cuts in the chest and leg left little to the imagination. When she moved, the fabric caught the light and moved on its own. It matched the headband that sported a small witches hat, fitting for the vixen. Her hair was curled in long waves which framed her face well. It brought out her sparkling eyes and bright red lips. She dripped magic even before she began to sing. Y/N was the femme fatal. The grand piano struck chords like lightening and the band followed. It was a dragging jazz symphony with independent saxophones. The band gave a condensed version of the melody before she began to sing. But oh, when she did Bucky was lost. *** Bucky was in a coma for a month following his fall. When he woke up, he heard Steve saved the East Coast. Along with the rest of the Hollowing Comandos, he was closing in on Berlin. The war would be over in weeks, but Bucky was missing all the action while stuck in his hospital bed. Three days after waking up, he was moved into a common room filled with fellow casualties. Granted, miraculously, all Bucky had was a rapidly healing but torn up arm. He insisted to the deaf ears of his doctors, that he was fine. He could be moved to processing so he could return to his buddies. The moment he felt he had the strength, he surged out of bed. He hadn't realized a month in a coma would leave his legs limp. He tumbled over and onto the floor; causing a small scene to all those around. The most beautiful woman rushed to his aid. She was dolled up in a dignified trench coat and khaki dress. It was governmental in look, but she wore no colors. Her makeup was done, unlike other female army officials. She had cherry red lips, that in spite of Bucky's foolishness, curled most fondly. Her hair was curled in the modern, starlit fashion. If he put her against the wall, she'd look like a pin-up. The British soldier she was previously conversing with was annoyed, and despite the obvious flush of embarrassment on Bucky's cheeks, he didn't regret the fool he made out of himself. Once her hands touched his chest and back in support, a jolt of electricity ran through his body. There was a tingling sensation creeping into his body from the spots her hands met his skin and it livened his body. He felt warm for the first time in weeks and without the need of help, but the eager acceptance of it, Bucky got up and sat down in his little nook. "What's the rush soldier?" She elegantly placed herself next to Bucky on his cot. He didn't know that sitting could be so gracefull, especially while supporting a goofy soldier. She held onto him until she was sure he was alright. "The war's not missing ya." Her voice was light but not too chipper. She was soft and alluring with a voice that dripped like running honey. Bucky huffed. She was clever and he had a difficult time with a clever woman. "I'm sure the war isn't, but my buddies might be." He bit the inside of his cheek, punishing himself for sounding so brash. "Aha, well America's finest has written some letters. Maybe if you weren't as stubborn as an ass, you'd notice them in your table drawer." She leaned over and snatched them. She handed them over with a wink and her hand brushed Bucky's. It was so soft but electric. Bucky opened his mouth to speak but quickly pinched his lips together. He already looked like a fool, he didn't need his words to confirm it, again. He turned over each envelope. There were three, all unopened, and all from Steve. "He's glad you're getting well." She patted his hand with the envelopes. Bucky blinked and shifted his glance to the mystery woman in front of him. "You know Steve?" She chuckled a melodic chuckle with her head tilted back. She acted like everything was so obvious, even a child could figure it out. It didn't make Bucky feel too confident and he blushed. "Oh love," She placed a gentle hand on his. "I'm a girl with a way about her." "Ain't that the damn truth." He thought to himself. With that, she stood up. Bucky followed the sway of her hips as she moved around his bed, habitually tidying it a bit. "Get some rest and catch up with Captain Rogers. You'll be back to your reckless choices in no time." The light her smile radiated dimmed the further she walked. Down the long line of cots, the specific charms of her faded, but she still lingered like a candle flame in the dark. She waved and joked with other men she passed. All their attitudes brightened as she passed; more so than they would for any other woman passing by. She was more than the nurses to them. Eventually, she was a blimp in the background but Bucky could see her stop at another soldier's bed. It was odd. The only females allowed around soldiers were nurses. He wasn't in a stateside infirmary, otherwise family could visit. Yet here was a goddess amongst a string of injured wolves, but she had no fear. She roamed the lines of cots like she owned the damn place. Bucky rolled his shoulders back thinking they were sore but to his surprise, they weren't nearly as bad as they'd been the day before. He chalked it up to the schoolboy rush he felt. Within minutes, that enchantress had her claim on Bucky's heart. *** Some couples swayed in dance. It was a good song to get close to a dame, but Bucky remained on the outside with Steve. Surprisingly, he wasn't out there with Peggy. They could hardly keep their hands to themselves these days. "And all because of the man that got away. No more his eager call. The writings on the wall..." Her voice was strained and pulling in the emphasis of her despair. Despite the pain, the song glossed over the crowd like a siren's melody. It pulled the couples closer and made the singles itch for someone to touch. A spell had been cast over the crowd. "Isn't she great?" Steve whispered in Bucky's ear, which made him jump from his enchantment. Steve snickered but continued. "She's Peggy's friend; known her since the start of the war. They've got a long backstory." Bucky nodded along with Steve but maintained his distant guard. "Yeah, she's someth'n man." *** The rolling hills of the Normandy hospital were breathtaking. He imagined if the roles were reversed, Steve might enjoy his stay. He could recover while drawing and painting the landscape. Instead, Bucky was trapped with little to do other than listen to grumbling Brits and Americans complain about being bedridden like him. Though they were seeking to be sent home, not back into the thick of it like him. He was called out of his solitude by an overly amused voice. "If your intent was hiding, you need to work on your hiding places." In a poof of fabric, the girl from a week ago sat down next to Bucky. She took to nature like she was a part of it. The sun gleamed off of her like the ancient statues he saw in Greece. Her fingers wove into the grass like tree roots. Her whole body relaxed. "If anything, I'm looking for a means of escape." He quipped, looking over her with a raised brow. She was the most curious creature he'd ever encountered, and he'd met a lot of women. "Now Sergent Barnes," She warned playfully. "The boys aren't that bad." Bucky snorted. "You're not stuck with them all day and night." Then he paused, frowning in thought. "How do you know who I am?" "I deliver your mail." As if on cue, she chucked another letter from Steve over to him. He carried on. "And how do you know Steve?" "Mutual friends." She replied as if it were just that obvious. "You know, girls aren't usually allowed in the infirmary with the soldiers." He teased, looking to stir a reaction. She nudged him with her shoulder. "Well, I'm not any girl." Then she looked around for any nearby person and leaned in like she was going to share top-secret information. "I'm a woman." Bucky's face deadpanned, looking straight at her. She combusted into a laughing fit and fell back onto the grass. It took her a minute to calm herself enough to prop her head upon her elbow. "You're impossible." Bucky huffed again. "Quite the contrary Sergent Barnes." She flashed him a Chesire grin. "I'm very easy if you just ask." He nearly choked on his own spit and she was sent into another laughing fit. "I can see why you're popular amongst the other soldiers." With her head back on the grass and gaze on the clouds, she sighed. "I'm popular because I'm a woman who's attention is on them and not their temperature or blood pressure. I see them and they appreciate it. I don't need to be so flamboyant with them to gain their attention." She turned her head to look up at him with thick lashes. Her hair draped over her chin and veiled her lips. All Bucky could think of for a moment was pushing her hair back and smoothing a finger over her lips. "So you do go out of your way for me?" He met her eyes and tilted his head in question. "I was asked to check in on you, but you don't exactly make it easy." She sighed, but her cheeks raised with a growing smile. "D'Steve ask you too?" His accent thickened with the idea of his Brooklyn pal. She began playing with the grass, continuing the conversation in her own little world with Bucky. "No, I've actually never had the pleasure of meeting Captain Rogers or corresponding with him. A mutual friend asked on his behalf. She was concerned about him." "Peggy?" He asked. She hummed a yes in response. He went on to ask."And how do you know Peggy?" "Peggy knows all the spies of course, and when I retired from my spying because I was no longer needed- thanks to your Captain, I turned my war efforts to helping the soldiers where I could." Then she shrugged, trying to conceal her disappointment. "I may not be allowed to fight, but I can give comfort." "Mmm.." Bucky thought on that. "So what? You travel around infirmaries and comfort the wounded?" "About that." She nodded her head in agreement. "Between stops, I'll do shows for nearby camps. That's what I did before I became a spy." Bucky was puzzled. She was a performer, but he didn't recognize her. At least, he didn't recognize her at first. Then it began to piece together. The lips and the trending fashion, her quirky cheerfulness, being a performer- she was Y/N, the ex-patriot Hollywood starlit. All the tabloids said she was lost to the war, but here she was in front of him. Bucky groaned at himself and his stupidity. "I'm an idiot." "Well yes," She said bluntly. "But I don't mind it. You make up for it in your good looks." His eyes shot wide and to her. No other dame he'd encountered been as forward as her. First, he thought it was her fame, but none of the tabloids talked about any other female celebrity's brazen attitude. "Beg your pardon?" He chocked on his words as they came out. "Called you handsome, soldier." Her brows peaked, but not in annoyance, but questioning. "What has the war taken away your ability to flirt with a woman?" "No." He quickly shook his head. "You're just something else. You're...wonderful." *** She crooned on. Every sentiment, she made eye contact with another person, pouring her emotions into them. "The man that won you has run off and undone you. That great beginning has seen the final inning. Don't know what happened. It's all a crazy game" Howard came up next to Bucky and patted him on the back. "God, isn't she the greatest performer that you've ever seen?" He straightened his tie up and smoothed over his suit. Bucky knew that attitude. Stark was looking to bag her. Bucky swallowed back his annoyance with the first drink he spotted. He wanted to ring Stark out for pursuing Y/N, but he had no justifiable reason to even stop Stark's advances. *** There was a town less than a mile away from the hospital. Even though it lacked many of the goods it had before wartime, Y/N always made her way back from the small but growing market with treats for the boys. For some it was cigarettes that didn't taste like government-issued cardboard, others bake goods, and some asked for little gifts or pressed flowers to send home to their girls or families. She went twice a week so everyone who needed or wanted something got it within two weeks. For Bucky, whatever he asked for, he got that day. Once he asked for playing cards because the decks belonging to the other soldiers were either incomplete or rigged. If he had to pass time, he might as well do it with something semi-entertaining. To his amazement, she came back that day with a beautifully printed deck of cards. "Where the hell did you swipe something as good as this?" Bucky went off without thought as he was caught up in the cards. "Not hell," Her signature Cheshire grin crept onto her face. This time, it was illuminated by the sunset dying on the horizon and the candle on Bucky's bedside table. Her eyes dazzled in the glow like they were lights themselves. "That's for sure. I have my ways. A little bit of magic." It was light-hearted, but Bucky's gaze shifted to her suspiciously. "You know..." He began. "My shoulder's gotten a lot better over the past few weeks. I'd say it's back to what it was before my fall and I have complete dexterity throughout my hand." "That's great Sarg." Her voice swayed like sweet garden charms. Maybe the bells from the town sounded off as well, but he could have sworn he heard layers to her voice. "That means the doctors are doing their job and all the rest I'm forcing you to get is working." "Yeah, maybe you're right. My sleeping has impr-" He caught himself as his train of thought moved without him. Suspicious, he eyed her but not out of mistrust but genuine curiosity. She was already a compilation of mystery and he was trying to solve one layer. "Ever since you came into my life, my health's improved. It's like you're a lucky charm or someth'n." He could have sworn he heard her say "or something," but her lips didn't move. She batted her lashes a few times and her smile shifted from cheeky to sincere. "I do think I've helped you get better, by kicking your sorry butt into gear so you'd listen to your doctors and rest." Bucky snorted at her suggestion. Man was she one powerful woman, and in all fairness, she had kicked his butt into shape despite himself. "Yeah, some magic your foot's got there. One powerful kick." She chuckled at his insinuation. Her hand landed on his knee and again a bolt of contagious electricity shot through him. Suddenly, he was laughing with her. "Oh Barnes, kicking boys like you around is what I do best." There was a mutually shared exchange of fondness between them that was magnetic. If there weren't so many prying eyes around he would have taken her into his arms there and kissed all the air out of her. He'd save that for later that night when they could sneak off to their own little corner of the world. Then she shook her head and pulled herself out of the moment. Her throat cleared and it pulled Bucky back to the world around them. "I'm gonna go drop off the other goodies. When I get back, I'll kick your butt again, but in poker." Bucky grinned as he already began shuffling the cards through his fingers. "I'd like that." He smiled up at her an eager smile. *** "Good riddance, goodbye. Every trick of his you're on to, but, fools will be fools. And where's he gone to?" She cried out. Pain and agony morphed into bitter confusion but no one other than Bucky seemed to notice the song was more than a song. It was a release. He noticed Peggy shift her eyes to him. Maybe she saw it for what it was aswell. Yet, in her eyes, pure confusion turned into confused acceptance. She could see Bucky's attachment. He shrugged her off as he was pulled back into the song. He could swear there was something otherworldly to it. Knowing Y/N, maybe there was. What was clear, was the distress in the performance. There was a call to it of "Someone notices me. Someone really notice me." *** Immediately following the war, Y/N was sent to DC. Peggy, Steve, Stark, and other war leaders were called to DC. Bucky, being healthy enough to travel could follow Y/N and join Steve with the other Howling Commandos. Y/N acquired one of the few passenger planes running from Europe to the US. She preferred that over traveling with a bunch of caged up soldiers who hadn't seen a woman in months. Bucky traveled with her and they arrived in DC together a day before the meetings began. They had private time together in Normandy, but nothing like the freedom of DC. They didn't have to sneak out and sneak around officers to be alone. In DC, they can walk down the street holding hands and go out to dinner. They were a magical fifteen hours and Bucky knew it was all too good to be true. A telegram arrived at Bucky's hotel room the night before the meetings. The army rerouted a post intended for Europe to Bucky. The original letter was addressed to one of his camps from many months prior. Steve moved the Commandos around so it was normal to receive letters later than the stationed boys. This was nearly three months late. He read the emotionless typewriter font despite the confusion and then, despite the denial. He hadn't seen Dot since the holiday relieve Steve was able to acquire for him. He wanted to assure his Ma that he was alright. Unsurprisingly, he saw Dot; or rather, Dot found him. Upon hearing of his stay over, Dot appeared on his doorstep. And well... he was a man after all and he hadn't seen a dame that spoke English in over a year. So yeah, they slept together. Now Dot was pregnant, with his child. Bucky's gaze shifted to Y/N who patiently got herself ready for bed while waiting on Bucky to join her. She had her second stocking midway down her leg and even though she was undoing herself for the night, the intimacy of it all was the sexiest thing Bucky had ever seen. He was entirely and happily bewitched by her. But it was because he loved her, that he had to break her heart. God knows he didn't want to. He wanted to burn the letter and never think about Dot again. He hadn't thought of Dot since the second he laid eyes on Y/N, but his mom would box his ears in and Steve would kill him for leaving a child without a father. "Y/N?" He cooed softly from his place by the door. "Hmm?" She replied from her place at the vanity. She peered up at him through thick lashes, bent over, taking care of her stockings. The slight actions were mesmerizing. Bucky's throat croaked with the hard gulp he made at the sight, but it pulled him out of the moment. "Y/N sweetie." He strode over to the bed's edge by the vanity and plopped down. Noticing that something was off, mainly that Bucky hadn't pounced her yet, her confused eyes searched and landed on the telegram. "What's wrong?" Her brows knitted together as her concerned gaze met Bucky's somber eyes. "I received a well-delayed message from New York." His hand scratched the growing locks near his neck that Y/N loved to toy with so much. There would be no sweet sentiments now. Suddenly, Bucky popped up and began quickly pacing the floor. "I just, I don't understand. It was one time and I was so careful. In all the letters nothing is mentioned...even ends things!" He swiftly turns back to Y/N, exasperated. "But this one, the one that comes late, that's the kicker!" He dramatically huffs and collapses on the bed. Y/N crawled up next to him and sat on her knees facing him. She looked over him worried and pulled his head into her lap. "James," Her voice was smooth and hushed. A wave of focussing calm washed over Bucky. "what's the matter?" "Dot's pregnant." He admitted blatantly. When Y/N's hands retracted and she began to move away, Bucky propped himself up to catch her. "I'm so sorry Y/N. I'm so, so sorry to do this to you. If I had known I never would have..." She shot him a wicked warning of a glance and he shut up. "Never would have started something with me. I know your character Bucky. You're not like that. It's why I allowed myself to grow fond of you." Fond. Not love, but fond. Already she began detaching herself and it scared Bucky. Desperately, he clasped her hands in his. He was upright now and kneeling with Y/N. "Say the word and I won't go. I won't leave you and we can run away from our responsibilities. We can go out west for your career and I'll never step foot in Brooklyn again." Her hands slipped from his grasp and against his best efforts, he couldn't chase after her as she left the bed. "We both know that if I let you do that, you'll hate yourself for the rest of your life. I can't let that happen." Quickly, she began stuffing her stockings and the other attachments she had taken off in her bag. She had her own room with the rest of her things. "The pain'll be worth it though," He declared meekly. "If I got you." His eyes were tear-filled as were Y/N's. He was a man pleading on his knees for his sugar girl, dynamite, enchantress to stay. She dashed back to him and for an instant Bucky had hope. Her soft lips planted on his forehead like they were imparting a seal to send away. He knew then that it was over. "And my pain will be worth it if you keep your soul." She then pulled away and wiped the tear streams from her cheeks. "You're going to go home and live a wonderful life Bucky. You may be afraid and angry at first but that'll all change when you meet your child. Yes, it'll hurt but you'll find someone else who makes you just as happy if not more. And everything will be magical again." She leaned over and gave his lips the sweetest kiss; filled with passion, love, and starlight. With only mere seconds of touch, he was out of breath. "This," She whispered against his lips. "I promise." Bucky couldn't fight for her as she walked out. He was frozen in place and forced to watch the most amazing creature walk out of his life. Once the door closed, he pounced. Able to free his limbs from their slumber spell he darted out the door but Y/N was nowhere to be seen. He spent a few hours pleading and pounding on her door. Eventually, security gave him the option of going back to his room or being kicked out. He chose his room. He had hoped Y/N would still participate in the post-war meetings, but as he suspected, she was gone. When he broke the news to Steve, he was uncharacteristically silent. Though the conversation was between the two men, word got back to Peggy. Knowing Steve, he probably blabbed without any pressure. He couldn't keep a damn thing from that woman. For the rest of DC Peggy did everything but smile in Bucky's direction. Hell, if she wasn't surrounded by higher-ranking officials she may have shot him. He did deserve it. *** Bucky shook himself out of the fog of memories when Steve elbowed him in the ribs. "Straighten up Buck and be a gentleman. Peggy's com'n back with her friend." "Gentlemen," Peggy nodded to Steve, Bucky, and Howard who all clumped together in a semicircle. "I'd like you to meet the best spy the Allies I had." Outstepped Y/N from behind Peggy. Before Y/N could speak, Howard jumped at the chance to take her hand. "Miss Y/N, after hearing all about you it's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Howard Stark, the best contractor the Allies had. What a coincidence to have to of the best assets to the Allies in one room." After a kiss, Howard allowed Y/N to take her hand back. Only Bucky could see the sparkle of amusement in Y/N's eye that masked her desire to burst into a laughing fit at Howard's antics. "Yes, it's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Stark. And Steve!" Her attention enthusiastically shifted to Steve. "I'm so glad to finally meet you after the storm Peg's talked up about you." Steve side-eyed Peggy as slyly as he could. "Is that so? And what has she said? She's a mystery to me some days and I'd love a few clues." Peggy blushed and after playfully swatting him, linked their arms together. Y/N's smirk was feline as she shifted her focus to Peggy and then back to Steve. "That you're the sweetest and most handsome idiot this side of the Atlantic. Steve's jaw dropped in astonishment as the rest of the group burst into chuckles, snorts, and giggles. Before Steve could give a retort or anyone else comment, Y/N shifted her attention to Bucky. "Hello Sarg," Her rich voice washed over Bucky's ears like another melody. She was poised with one hand on her hip and leg bent. "It's good to see you again." Steve's jaw closed and he cocked his head to the side. "You know'r Bucky?" It was directed towards Bucky but his gaze was fixed on Y/N. Peggy frowned up at Steve. He was the biggest idiot this side of the Atlantic. "Yeah," Bucky nodded slowly in agreement. However, he was too transfixed with Y/N to turn in Steve's direction. " Y/N delivered mail to all the boys in my hospital. She did a bang-up job at keeping all our spirits up." "Some were easier than others." Y/N fondly grinned while talking to Steve. "Your pal overhear was a difficult nut to crack." "I wasn't exactly the happiest patient until I had something more important than getting back to my pals." He nodded in agreement. Noticing that he had no chance of getting anywhere and feeling coerced into silence for long enough, Howard interjected. "Well, I'm going to go get a drink." "I think I'm in the mood for a Manhattan." Peggy seconded the drink idea and nudged Steve along. Bucky and Y/N could hear Steve grumble. "But you already got a Brooklyn." As he was dragged away. The exit wasn't all too smooth. Y/N's and Bucky's attention slowly drifted back together. "How's it been soldier?" "Y/N-" Bucky began to plead but she stopped him. "How's the baby?" She followed up. "Baby?" Bucky's thoughts were lost for a minute in Y/N but he was suddenly hurled to the reason why they were parted. "Oh, the baby! He's fine, healthy, and better yet with his parents." Y/N gave him a quizzical look so he continued. "Dot and her husband have a house on Statin Island. They're there with the baby." "Bucky," She warned. "You didn't?" "I have blue eyes, Dot has blue eyes, and the baby has brown eyes. As cute as the kid is, he's not mine." Bucky shrugged nonchalantly like the entire ordeal hadn't ruined his life. "Dot slept with another officer right before I returned home. Some Italian commander and he's a good guy, and when she called him up with the news he came and took my place." For the first time since he met Y/N, she was silent from a lack of words. A million thoughts raced across her face. The disbelief lasted the longest, then a wave of anger that calmed into acceptance. "I need a drink." She blurted out. "A strong one." She mumbled to herself as she strode away from Bucky and to the nearest bar. "Gin tonic. Light on the tonic." She nodded to the nearest bartender who nodded in response. Bucky snuck up behind her. "Make it two." He stood behind one of the bar stools and his arm draped across the gap Y/N was standing in and rested on the other stool. She was trapped by him. Y/N narrowed her eyes in a disapproving manner but Bucky didn't allow it to crawl under his skin. "What?" He asked casually. "Bucky," She warned. "We shouldn't be doing this." Her arms folded over her chest and though it was meant to show her caveat, it didn't help with how it pressed her breasts up. "What?" He questioned again with pretend naiveness. "Two old friends getting a drink?" "We're no friends." She quickly corrected. Bucky looked down with a suggestive smirk. "You're right, we're not." Y/N huffed in increasing annoyance. "God I wish I could turn you into a dog. It'd fit how you're acting." Bucky snorted. "You wouldn't." Then he took one over hands in his and his expression morphed into something sincere. "Even if I have a lot of begging to do." "Bucky..." Y/N began warning him but her resolve had weakened. "I know it's selfish to ask, because I hurt you so much, but do you think you could forgive me one day? I know it won't be today or even tomorrow, but hopefully one day you can see past how much of a punk I am and let me love you again." The club suddenly felt empty to Y/N. Despite the crowds pushing around it was just her and Bucky in the entire place. For someone who always knew what to say and when, her voice was locked away. Her head hung low from trying to conceal her expression. Bucky brought his free hand to cradle her chin between his large fingers. He tilted her chin up so he could look in her eyes. Now, he could clearly see the agonizing mix of emotions that were masked by the stage lights. "I can't have my heart broken again." Her eyes wouldn't meet his and he pleaded. "Y/N." He cooed and her eyes glanced over his before settling. "I won't hurt you ever again. It'll be you and me like it was always meant to be. No war, no baby, no interruptions. I promise." "How can I let my heart trust you again?" She wondered allowed. Her eyes sparkled in the dim lights of the club. Rays of color reflected off the tears in her eyes. "I don't know." He replied earnestly and honestly. "But I'm willing to do whatever you need so you can let me back in." Y/N reached up and stroked his cheek with the back of her hand. There was nearly no resolve left, and when he turned into her touch all of it was gone. She knew how to play with fire, but this was hellfire. Accepting his touch was scorching her to the bone but the thought of his love was an aching sweet relief. She wasn't certain who leaned into who and who initiated the kiss, but soon they were in a searing lip lock. They didn't need the roaming of hands or intertwining of limbs, yet, to feel the reverent passion held for one another. The kiss said it all. Eventually, Bucky parted from her. His lips were a swollen red from the kiss and his cheeks deeply flushed. Y/N however, looked as manicured as before. Her lipstick remained unsmudged despite the fearsome lovemaking. Bucky cleared his throat once he had enough air. "We... we-ah should go somewhere where we can talk." "Talk," Y/N smiled mischievously and pushed Bucky stumbling back so she could walk free from his trap. She snatched his beefy hand in her dainty one and pulled him along with her. "Sure, soldier. Let's go talk." Together, they made their way past prying eyes and to the coat check by the entrance. Bucky helped Y/N put on her dazzling designer number before he shrugged his on. He may be kiss whipped, but he was still a gentleman. Then they made their way out the exit of the club. The chill of the night air didn't seep into his bones anymore and Y/N appeared to thrive off of it. The autumn moon and the walloping gusts of wind softened around the couple just like magic. They were like any other couple walking down the illuminated street. They both were bundled up in layers except for their hands which were interlocked. The warmth that this generated radiated enough to keep them warm. Occasionally, Bucky would twirl her around in a little romantic dance or pull her flush against him and give her a quick peck on the lips that lingered into a full-blown kiss. "You know I could have taken us home. My rides flying around here somewhere." Turning from Bucky's embrace, Y/N searched the night sky for a dark outline. With a booming whistle, a broom came soaring down from the sky and into Y/N's outstretched hand. Bucky's chest erupted into a booming laugh and it reverberated against Y/N. At seeing her confusion, he kissed her nose and twirled her out of his hold and back into a walking position. "Not tonight dear, let's enjoy the leisurely stroll in your witching weather." Bucky didn't have to look at Y/N to know the secretive smile which she tried to hide with the press of her lips. He did catch the smooth movements of her fingers that were quickly followed by a gust of wind wrapping them up and pushing them together for a kiss once again.

...

Happy Halloween!

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monstersandmaw · 5 years

Text

Modern orc boy x female reader (nsfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

So this idea came up a few days ago, namely that a big boy in a grey suit was spotted, and it sparked the idea for an orc in a suit. I cannot resist an orc in a suit, and wrote this! He was given the name Dragh by the person who sent in the original ask, and I have their permission to post it and tag them now! So, @slashersheadcannoandimagines I hope you enjoy your idea in a story!

This one hasn’t been previewed on my Patreon, unlike literally all other big stories that get posted on here, because it’s for/inspired by someone on here. I realise it’s also been a while since I’ve posted anything. I’ve been in creative hibernation for a while, but I’m slowly emerging. Anyway, here’s 4.5k words of tattooed orc boy, running a sophisticated vineyard! Featuring satyr bestie, a half-orc half-sister, a blue-haired tiefling, a centaur, and a lilac-skinned goblin, all of whom I need to write stories of their own for one day!

___

“So… my friend runs this gorgeous vineyard out in the country, and they do wine tastings and stuff…”

“Yes,” you said slowly, drawing out the vowel and feeling the slow stretch of a smile creep across your lips and light up the corners of your eyes. Tam was always up for an evening of boozing, and honestly, you weren’t exactly one to say no to fun either.

The satyr grinned, knowing he’d got your attention already. “Well, this friend of mine just so happens to be a really big orc…”

You cocked an eyebrow sky wards and folded your arms. “Male orc, by any chance?”

“How did you guess?” Tam grinned cheekily, his curly, nut brown hair quivering as he laughed and shook his head. His thick, knobbly horns curled tightly around his elongated ears, chunky as ram’s horns, and his hooves danced in amusement.

Currently he was wearing little more than a soft grey hoodie, his caprine lower half bare, the end of the hoodie just crinkling up over the white flash of his tail, and though you were a little more covered up, you were dressed in similarly casual clothes, lounging on your sofa with a glass of wine in your hand at the end of a working week.

“So, just why are you telling me about this massive male orc who runs a vineyard?” you asked, letting the pale liquid swirl around the glass in your hand.

Tam chuckled and spoke more normally again, leaning back against the sofa cushions and tucking his relatively big hooves up beside him. “Dragh had some kind of fancy hen party booked in for tomorrow, but they cancelled on him last minute. He’d got everything prepped and ready to go, but the wedding is called off, and they cancelled. They lost their deposit, and instead of just cutting his losses there, he’s invited a small group of us over to enjoy it all instead.”

“That’s very nice of him,” you said, frowning.

“Yeah, well, that’s Dragh,” Tam snorted. “He’s always been one to treat his friends…”

“How come you’ve never introduced me before?” you asked. “I mean, we’ve been best friends since Uni, and you’re only now thinking of taking me along - obviously with the intention of setting me up with this orc, I might add - after all this time?”

Tam’s pretty face split into a wicked grin. “You never asked if I knew any handsome orc boys!” he laughed. “Besides, I thought I was your one and only…”

“Tam,” you said seriously. “You are about as gay as I am straight.”

He took a sip of his wine and then mimed stabbing himself through the heart. “Alas, woe is me,” he mock-wailed. “I am consigned once again to the role of gay best friend…”

You simply raised your eyebrow at him again and took a deep draw of your wine.

“Honestly, it never really came up. Anyway, you were with Tomas for so long…” he said, his gaze flickering towards you at the mention of your ex. “I know him through a friend. You know, Seymour?”

“Tiefling, long blue hair, more graceful than God?”

“That’s the one and only,” he said, starting to speak even more quickly than usual as his excitement mounted. “I’ll tell him you said that. Anyway, yeah, I know Dragh through Seymour, who actually knows Dragh’s half-sister better than he knows Dragh himself, and now you’ll know him through me. You are coming with me tomorrow, right?”

“Am I invited?” you asked.

“I’m inviting you…”

“Does he know?”

“Sweetheart, if anyone deserves a day of boozing in a fancy vineyard, it’s you,” he said, tossing you a meaningful glance. Your last relationship had ended badly, well over three months ago, and you still found yourself lamenting the large, minotaur-sized gap in your life, but you’d moved on as best you could. It hadn’t been right, and both of you had seen it coming. Still, that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt to end things.

The next morning you picked Tam and Seymour up and drove them about an hour out into the countryside. Rolling, south-facing hills were sparsely dotted with farmhouses, and as the summer sun climbed, you began to relax a little, leaving the stress of the city behind.

Seymour was tall and almost silent, but he allowed Tam to natter away at him in the back seat while you wound the window down and inhaled great lungfuls of the fresh air. Yes, it was nice to be out of the city. Perhaps you did need a change of scene after all. Dammit, Tam was always right…

You’d picked your nicest summer dress, though you remained perhaps a little self conscious about the curve of your hips and the extra weight you’d put on around the middle in the last six months or so. Taking a deep breath, you decided that you weren’t going to let even that dampen your mood, and as you drew up at the main stone gates of the old vineyard, you caught sight of an engraved slate sign set into the warm, golden stone wall of the vineyard. Garlanded at the base with summer meadow flowers, it read: Three Oaks Vineyard, and through the wide mouth of the entrance gateposts, visible on the hill opposite at the end of the snaking, downward sloping drive, you could see the three ancient oaks that gave the land its name.

“It’s gorgeous here,” you murmured as you drew up five minutes later in the gravel courtyard behind the old farmhouse buildings and cut the engine.

“Yup,” Tam giggled, slithering out and shaking the stiffness out of his compact muscles after being crammed in the back of the car for over an hour. Seymour sighed and stretched, rolling his neck out, his long, cobalt blue hair falling down his back in a thick ponytail. They both had hoofed feet, which was less common for tieflings, though Seymour’s legs were more like those of a deer than Tam’s chunky goat legs, and Seymour’s long tail, leonine hung behind him in a graceful curve like a cat’s, as though balancing him perfectly.

You admired your two lovely friends for just a moment before the door to what was clearly the reception area opened and a half-orc stepped out of the former storage and cellars building, and beamed broadly at the three of you.

“Seymour!” she said, spreading her muscular arms wide. She wore a form-fitting, but not obscenely tight, pencil skirt and a pale, loose-fitting, sleeveless blouse that showed off her gorgeous, strong figure just perfectly. Her skin was a pale, almost apple green, and you saw as she approached that she had a smattering of darker green freckles across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. Her plum coloured lipstick set her other minimal makeup off perfectly, and she threw her arms around the elegant tiefling and drew him into a warm, familiar embrace. “So good to see you. I’m so glad you came.”

He turned and waved a hand to introduce you first, and then he turned back to face her and added, “Shell, I believe you already know Tam.”

“Yeah, we’ve met once or twice,” she said. “How are you?”

“Oh, I’m good,” Tam said. “Listen, thanks for letting us take over this failed hen-do or whatever…”

She laughed. “Dragh’s been wanting to do something with just a few friends for a while - this turned out to be the perfect opportunity.”

“So who else is coming?” Tam asked as you all followed her towards the main building, an old French style farmhouse in crumbling sandstone, with sage green shutters flung wide to let in the summer light.

“Maya said she would come,” she said, holding the modern glass door open for you all to file inside. “And Fern too.”

“Perfect,” Tam said, though you knew neither of the names. Seeing this, Tam added with a glance back over his shoulder to you, “Maya is Shell’s girlfriend,” he explained. “A big-ass beautiful centaur, and Fern is a friend of hers, I think?”

The half-orc nodded, but if she said anything after that, you lost it in the white noise that filled your brain at the sight of the orc that was standing in the reception room beyond.

He wore a pale, silver-grey suit, and a white shirt beneath, unbuttoned just enough to be casual without being obscene, and the tattooed black feathers which you could just glimpse beneath his collar made you want to see the full extent of the artwork immediately. His black hair, perhaps unusually for an orc, was buzzed close above his thick, tapering ears, and cut relatively short over the top, though with enough length to create a soft wave that was just begging to have fingers run through it. There was an attractive flash of white that ran from the middle of his widow’s peak and was swept back over his head as well. He was certainly unusual looking in all the best ways.

He smiled as you entered, and approached you with his enormous hand extended. “Welcome,” he smiled. “I’m so glad you all came.”

You shook his hand - though it might have been more accurate to have said that his hand engulfed yours and you watched it disappear while trying not to let yourself groan aloud. His skin was a deeper olive green than his half-sister’s, but there was a similarity to them about the eyes, namely the warm brown colour and the little crinkle at the corner that hinted at mischief and a cracking-good sense of humour. You introduced yourself and said you hoped he didn’t mind you tagging along.

“Mind?” he chuckled, “Quite the contrary, I assure you,” he said. He had a rich, deep, warm bass voice, and a slight, lyrical accent you couldn’t quite place. “Come through, all of you. I’ve got some welcome drinks and nibbles prepared for you already.”

“A man after my own heart,” Tam grinned, elbowing you in the ribs.

The back of the farmhouse had been converted into a beautiful, glass and steel space. The small, intimate restaurant area had perhaps only four or five tables, and a wall of glass overlooked the sloping lawns of the garden and the vineyard beyond. Your feet faltered as you saw the gorgeous scenery beyond, stuffed full of verdant plants, and while the others headed over to the bar, which was made of a huge, vintage wine barrel and a stunning slab of polished heartwood, you stepped over to the window and gazed out, entranced.

A quiet footstep beside you preceded the appearance of the hulking form of Dragh in the periphery of your vision, and you jumped softly and laughed.

“Sorry,” he chuckled. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Here,” and he held out a glass of sparkling wine in an elegant flute, explaining a little about what it was. He gently chinked his glass against yours, and said quietly, “I’m glad you came along.”

“It’s so beautiful here,” you murmured, and he nodded. “How long have you had the place?”

He took a deep breath and smiled, his conker-brown eyes drifting off towards the sunny horizon. “A long time now,” he said. “I inherited it from parents when I was just eighteen. You can imagine how well a big city orc doing a business degree at university took that…”

You cocked an eyebrow, not wanting to make assumptions.

“Yeah, not well,” he chuckled. “Luckily Shell is older and wiser than me, and I gave her half of the shares of the place, and she took care of it for me til I finished studying. I’ve been working here with her ever since.”

“You’ve clearly put a lot of heart into the place,” you said. Your eyes snagged on a few buildings at the edge of the vineyard, and you nodded at them. “What’s down there?”

He smiled. “Shell’s idea - we needed to diversify a little, so we’ve got guest accommodation too. We do bed and breakfast from Fridays to Mondays.”

“Wow, what a place to stay,” you smiled.

“I’ll show you the cottages on the tour of the grounds in a minute. Come,” he said, stepping back and placing his hand lightly on your back, his huge palm resting politely between your shoulder blades and making you shiver at the warmth of it.

You headed over to the beautiful array of canapes and chatted with the others for a while, but honestly, it was Dragh who held your attention most. You found, interestingly, that his eyes often found their way to your face, and when they did, you found your cheeks heating, but all he would do would be to offer you a gorgeous smile, and continue his conversation politely. Damn though, his shoulders looked incredible in that silvery grey suit, and you could tell his biceps beneath were as solid as stone.

It was only when you realised he was looking at you again, and that everyone else has gone quiet, that you knew you’d zoned out and missed something. “I’m sorry,” you blushed, “I was miles away. What’d I miss?”

Dragh chuckled kindly, eyes twinkling. “I suggested a tour; you ready?”

You nodded, humiliated at your absentminded behaviour, and followed everyone else out into the dry heat of the summer day. Dragh walked beside you as he took you to the various parts of the vineyard, showing you the vines growing, the grapes almost ready for harvesting, and telling you stories of protecting them from late frosts with the help of a local witch in the middle of the night.

You never tired of his beautiful voice and his gentle gestures, and while Seymour and Tam wandered off with Shell to greet the others, you stayed with Dragh in the lower vineyards.

“Let me show you the cottages,” he said. “We redid them not long ago, and I’m really proud of them.”

“Sure, lead the way,” you smiled.

They were indeed gorgeous, with modern, cosy furnishings and white-washed yet warm interiors. Compact log burners promised heat in winter, and the thick stone walls provided welcome shelter from the strong summer sun outside. “I can see why you love them,” you said.

“If you want to stay after today,” he said, “You’re more than welcome. I know said he Seymour was going to drive you back, but if you like, you could stay here and I could drive you tomorrow…”

“Really? But… I… I couldn’t afford to -”

“No,” he laughed, “I wouldn’t ask you to pay for it!” he snorted. “No, I’m offering it to you. My gift.”

“Why?” you blurted, which only made him rumble that deep-chested laugh again.

“Can’t you tell?”

You flushed and he offered you a quiet smile.

“But if it’s too much, I’ll back off. I can be a bit much, I know, but… I like you, and if you go back tonight, I might not get another chance…”

“Chance to what?”

“Flirt with you,” he grinned, his tusks flashing.

“Oh,” and then you began to giggle. “I’m sorry,” you said when he started to look first confused, and then a little hurt. “No, I’m sorry, I’m just… out of practice, clearly. I broke up with my boyfriend about three months ago, and we were together for four years, so… I’m rusty. I’m sorry. I’d like that.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” he said, still smiling. “C’mon. You came here to taste wine, not listen to me bumble my way through flirting with you.”

He steered you back up to the main house, where you all spent the remainder of the afternoon lounging around, laughing, chatting, tasting small glasses of incredible wines, and nibbling local cheeses and handmade snacks. Maya joined you with Shell mid-way through the afternoon, her large, fetlocked hooves clopping on the patio as she moved about. Fern turned out to be a waif of a goblin, with thin limbs, pale lilac skin, and enormous ears and eyes. He grinned cheekily at you though and you liked him instantly.

But it was Dragh who held your attention the most. As the sun began to set, Shell started up a barbecue, and you ate and talked until you felt your eyelids beginning to get heavy. Seymour and Tam said they were going to head back, and asked if you were ready to go, but you blushed and said that Dragh had offered you a bed for the night in one of the cottages.

“Oh did he now?” Tam chuckled quietly as you stood at the edge of the ring of firelight on the patio, the central fire pit casting flickering shadows around the gathered group of mellow friends, new and old. “Good.” The short satyr gave you a hug and tugged Seymour away once they’d said their goodnights.

Maya and Shell slipped away not long after, with Fern practically vanishing into the dusk at their heels, leaving just you and Dragh alone.

“Did you have a good time?” he asked as he checked that the barbecue coals were cool enough to leave.

“I did, thank you.”

“Not too much to drink?” he asked, casting you a sideways glance.

You shook your head. “You paced it perfectly,” you smiled. “And that elderflower cordial that Maya brought was beautiful.”

“She brought it for Seymour because he doesn’t drink, and she didn’t want him to feel left out.”

“I was surprised that he came along when I found out he’s t-total…”

Dragh shrugged and then laughed, “There is more to this place than the wine, you know…?”

You tilted your head up, exposing your neck as you gazed at the summer stars above you, and hummed softly. “Mmm, so I see,” you said.

When you looked back at him, he was staring fixedly at your throat. “Gods,” he murmured. “You’re so beautiful…”

Your lips hitched into a nervous smile, and he set down the wineglass he’d been holding in one hand, and rose gracefully to come and tower over you. He leaned in close, giving you every opportunity to back away or ask him to stop, but when you did nothing but gaze up into his endlessly warm eyes, he closed the distance between you and pressed a kiss to your lips.

He tasted of wine, but then again so did you, and he slid his fingers around to the back of your neck and cupped your head as he kissed you, his eyelids fluttering shut. His lips were firm and confident, but the kiss ended all too soon as he pulled himself upright. He held out his hand to you, and you slid eagerly enough off the wall where you’d been perched, letting him pull you to your feet.

He walked you back down the slope towards the cottage, and at the door he hesitated. He was still wearing that beautiful suit, and you licked your lips as you stepped over the threshold and turned back to face him. “You coming in?” you asked, and he waited just long enough for you to smile again before following you inside.

Dragh nudged you gently against the wall as he kissed you again, his hands roving over your body, savouring the softness of you and moaning beneath the kisses. He shifted his attention and began to kiss down your neck, his tusks digging in almost painfully as he mouthed gently at you.

His hips rocked against yours and you felt how hard he was getting the longer he lavished attention on you. His breath left his lungs in uneven rasps, and he set his hands on your hips and drew back a little to look at you. His pupils were blown wide and he stared at you with glassy eyes. “Tell me you want this,” he growled. “If you don’t want it, I’ll stop, but if I keep going much longer, I might not be able to…” His ears shifted slightly, not being as expressive as a goblin or elf’s, but still showing a little of his uncertainty.

You reached your hand for his rough, if shaven, jawline and caressed his cheek with your thumb. He purred another growl into the quiet space between you, his eyes rolling closed with a groan.

“I want this,” you whispered.

He lost no time in herding you into the bedroom and pressing you down into the bed. He sloughed off his jacket and tossed it over a chair, and you felt the breath leave your chest at the sight of his taut body beneath. Muscles strained attractively against the fabric of his shirt, and as he smiled almost shyly at you, he began to unbutton the shirt. Frustrated, he pulled it over his head, and you gasped audibly when you saw the tattoos beneath.

A massive gryphon stretched from his left pec, over his shoulder, and its inky wings came to rest halfway down his forearms.

“Wow,” you murmured, and he smiled.

“You like it?”

“Yeah. It must have hurt like a bitch though,” you said, glimpsing the ink on his waist too where the gryphon’s taloned hind feet finished. “Turn around?” you asked, and he did, looking back at you over his colossal shoulder, watching you admiring him.

“That’s a sight I could get used to,” he rumbled softly.

“What?” you asked, shuffling up the bed as he turned back around and came to lie down beside you, trailing his fingertips up your leg and making you shiver with a touch light as a spider’s shadow.

Dragh smiled, a slow, lazy, adoring smile, and you bit your lip. “I could get used to you looking at me like that,” he clarified.

“I don’t think I would ever get used to the sight of you though,” you rasped. “You’re gorgeous.”

“Thanks,” he smiled, laughing a deep and genuine laugh. “I work hard…” he went on, kissing your shoulder almost affectionately. “Most folks think orcs are just born looking like this, and yeah,” he added, causally sliding his huge hand beneath the fabric of your dress and enveloping your entire thigh in his grasp, “We have it easier than most do, but…” he parted your legs with a gentle gesture, and you just lay back and let him, finding it hard to concentrate on what he was saying now. “But I do take care of myself.” He lowered his lips to your inner thigh and kissed you. “Let me take care of you now…?” he asked.

You gasped as his tusks dug into your thick thighs, and your head lolled backwards as pleasure swept over your whole body, sliding beneath your skin and setting every inch of you tingling. “Yes!” you whispered, breathing hard.

He had you naked in a matter of seconds, laying you back down tenderly and gazing at you until you nearly barked at him to stop staring. He leaned forwards and cupped your breast in his hand and kneaded it gently, moving his mouth to your nipple and kissing, sucking, and tugging on it until you were almost in tears from how good it felt.

Dragh ran both his hands down your body, leaving your nipples cold and overly sensitive in the cool air of the bedroom, and he sank his flat, orcish nose to your sex and nudged against your throbbing clit before lapping over you with his thick tongue. The sound that escaped him as he tasted you was like no sound you’d ever heard before, and as he returned his attentions to your wet folds, he made it again and again. He circled you and laved his tongue up and down over you until you were giddy and breathless, begging for more.

“Please,” you gasped.

“You want me inside you?” he asked, and you risked a glance down to see just how big he was as he sat up a moment. When you nodded, he grinned. “Gimme a second then.” You turned your head to watch as he drew out a condom and ripped into it. He rolled it slowly down his weeping, thick length, and you groaned as you watched him handling himself. He was huge, as most orcs apparently were, with a thick vein running along the length, and as he turned back to face you, he grinned. “Ready?”

An inarticulate grunt and a nod were all you could manage, but he smiled and lined himself up, rocking his hips teasingly back and forth to stretch you, rubbing the tip of his cock against your clit until you thought you might just come from that alone. Almost, but not quite.

“Please,” you hissed, and he smiled.

“You tell me to stop if I’m too much, ok?” he crooned, bracing one hand beside your head and sliding himself into you. He stretched you gloriously wide, but he didn’t know you’d been in a relationship with a minotaur before this, and were more than used to taking a big cock. Even so, the feel of him left you gasping. “Oh gods, you’re perfect,” he crooned suddenly as he sank all the way in, hilt deep. The girth of his cock stretched you until you thought you might break, but when you bucked upwards into him, he took it as a sign that you were ready, and he began to move his hips again.

He picked up a steady rhythm, growling and grunting with pleasure as his cock filled you and you clenched tightly around him. He shifted his thumb to your clit and stroked you in time with his thrusts, feeling you tightening around him with each pounding heartbeat, until you grabbed his muscular neck and came hard, waves of sparking pleasure sweeping through you.

You came so hard you drew his own orgasm from him, and he emptied into you a moment later with a bellow and a roar that left your ears ringing. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his consonants slurring, his eyelids heavy with pleasure as he tried to look at you through the daze of his orgasm. “Is this real?” he added a moment later.

You laughed, and he withdrew, rolling onto his back and sorting himself out while you lay there and let your eyes drift closed for a moment. Deep contentment washed through you, and you took a steadying breath. You felt him leave to slip into the bathroom, but were barely aware of him returning. The mattress dipped as he sat on the edge and laid his hand on your thigh. He murmured your name, and you opened your eyes groggily to see him sitting there, now wearing his tight, black boxer briefs again.

“You want me to go?” he asked in a whisper.

You shook your head, and he smiled, climbing into bed beside you and pulling the sheets over both of you.

You drifted off to sleep not long after that, with his body pressed tightly around yours.

___________________________

#orc #male orc #exophilia #orc x reader #male orc x female reader #female reader

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crazyzaika · 4 years

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Prophecy Unguided - Chapter 3

Sooo, it took a long time. I'm really sorry about that, but that's how it is when you have a writer's block. In itself I know where to go and I have already finished writing some scenes. I hope, however, that you will still be happy about this chapter.

And don't worry, this story will definitely end, no matter how long it takes. And for everyone who was looking forward to Jerza, here you definitely get Jerza

Greets Z <3

Chapter 3

Thousands of colourful ribbons decorated the garlands and columns on the large square covered with marble slabs. The corridor between the stone benches was festively decorated with flowers, music filled the warm air and the humming of the conversations and the chirping of the birds of the forest around the temple complex were still audible despite the music. The high witch priestess stood together with the bridesmaids and the witnesses under a magic canopy. Flowers formed a magical dome, butterflies fluttered from blossom to blossom, bees and bumble bees also tumbled around and literally played through the numerous blossoms.

Erza was nervous. And at the same time she was incredibly looking forward to this day. Her day. Finally they would connect, tie the bond of souls, start a family. She stepped out of the shade of the temple building into the sunlight onto the large festival square. The music changed and the conversations of the guests stopped. A tremble ran through her hands, but she closed her eyes for a moment, breathed in deeply. Her shoulders relaxed, she rolled them and the broad radiance on her features grew even wider. Her heartbeat began to race, accelerating with every step she took. Since her parents had fallen more than 200 years ago in the last great battle against the dark god Hades, she would walk this walk to the altar alone. And as much as it hurt her that her two circle sisters Levy and Lucy weren't here, she was happy that they finally held this ceremony. She had so longed for it. Jellal had always been hesitant, uncertain. He had already done many bad things in his life and it had taken her a lot of time and effort to take the old guilt from him. She walked safely along the long corridor decorated with flowers, birds escorting her, flying behind her and carrying the delicate veil of lace.

Her gaze glided over her mate. Her big love. He wore a floor-length white robe whose hem was embroidered with golden, blue and red tendrils, flowers and trees. His fingertips were dyed red, while hers had been dyed blue. Love shimmered in his dark soul mirrors and she stepped beside him, grabbing her dress so as not to stumble over the small stone step. Jellal took her hands as they stood in front of each other. The music finally fell silent and silence lay over the present witch society. Erza and looked up radiantly at Jellal, who returned the broad smile on her face. Then they looked at the high witch priestess who would marry them. She looked at them and waited patiently until she had her attention. She wore a black, floor-length robe, the hem of which was embroidered with countless silver tendrils. The wide trumpet sleeves reached down to the floor. Her skin shimmered golden and radiated pure magic. The white-blond hair and the bright turquoise irides also shimmered with magic.

"We have gathered here today to unite these two witch children, these two soul mates in the holy covenant of soul bonding before the ancient gods. If anyone knows a reason why these two should not be bound to each other, let them speak now, or be silent forever," she began. She held a thick book in her hands, but never looked down on the pages. Silence was spreading over the guests. No one raised any objections and the priestess nodded.

"Well then, since no one wants to separate these two, we'll start with -"

"HELP! HELP! HELP US," an elemental spirit rushed to the square and interrupted the priestess words. Erza's head whirled around, her eyes directed at the spirit that was disturbing the ceremony. Anger was boiling in her. How dare it be? Whispering rose among the guests. But when she saw which elemental spirit had just burst into the bonding ceremony and in what condition it was, she became ice-cold. A tremor ran through her body. A weakly shimmering fox stood trembling and with bleeding fur on the square. Golden and red blood dripped onto the marble plates and the smell of dark, impure magic, death, smoke and burnt flesh rose from his fur. The beast's eyes were wide open in panic and fear. This elemental spirit belonged to the northern temple. The temple where Lucy and Levy lived and practiced. She rushed, without hesitation, to the Elemental Spirit, feeling tears rising in her eyes. Fear crept up in her as she passed the meters to the trembling creature in seconds. With trembling hands, she sat down next to him on the floor, began to weave spells, channel her magic, and stroked through the bloody fur. Wordlessly, she cast healing spells. She was more versed in offensive magic and less in healing magic, so it took her a while and she needed more magic to heal his wounds.

"What Happened", Jellal knelt beside her on the ground, drawing healing runes in the air to support her. The fox sniffed, tears formed in his golden eyes, dripping on the stone floor.

"They ... gods have attacked us," he whimpered and you could see the fear in him. It surrounded him in a slightly black glimmer. Fearful and confused scraps of words penetrated Erza's ears and she felt her throat closing. Her heart beat anxiously against her ribs. If these assholes had done anything to their sisters!

"And then what? How many dead, wounded?" asked Jellal and Erza pressed her lips tightly together. She tried to soothe the spirit by stroking its fur, but her hands trembled even more than before.

"I ... Half of the witches in the temple are dead, the other half kidnapped," he said and his ears sank even deeper. Erza flinched sharply and a deep rumble rolled up Jellal's throat. He knew exactly what that meant and she could feel his magic boil up furiously inside him.

"Please tell me ... Levy and Lucy ... they are ...", her voice failed and the heart beat her painfully fast against the ribs. Fear clasped her heart, her soul, her magic. The elemental spirit leaned against Erza.

"They were alive, they were kidnapped and since Mistress Lucy had just finished meditating, she could not defend herself properly," he said and lowered the gaze shamefully to the floor. Erza understood why. Her fingers dug into his fur and she leaned her forehead against his.

"Shhh. It's not your fault. You rushed here knowing that you would get help here," she said and swallowed easily. A whimpering escaped the creature before it began to cry. Erza felt the fear in her release and was replaced by anger. Anger at the damage done to her family in the north, anger at the injury to this beautiful creature, and anger at the interruption of her marriage ceremony. This also explained why Lucy and Levy hadn't arrived yet. She carefully detached herself from the fox, rose. Her hands clenched to fists. Her gaze glided over the witches and sorcerers present. Silence lay over the company. There were about 500 war witches here. Erza whirled around and marched with rapid steps to the pedestal, where they had stood just a few minutes ago and actually wanted to be connected in love. Magic enveloped her and the floor-length white dress slowly disintegrated. The sweeping wide skirt disappeared. Erza summoned up her armor. A silver armour, which covered almost her entire body, offered ultimate protection, but was as light as a feather due to the numerous spells in the metal.

"My brothers and sisters! Again gods have dared to attack ours! So far we have always remained silent, either because we were too late or because they were outnumbered. But this time they have gone too far! They have Lucy from the house Heartfilia! They have stolen our blessed ones, our chosen ones! They have killed sisters and brothers in the north," she called and with every word the aura of her power continued to grow. The other warriors present rose and magic unfolded. Little by little they summoned up their war armour and rage filled the air. Jellal had also exchanged his festive robe for a deep black armour. Anger and murder were clearly written on his face.

" THEY SHOULD EXPERIENCE WHAT IT MEANS, TO MESS WITH THE PEOPLE OF THE WITCHES," she yelled, pulling out her sword from the scabbard. The air was filled with approving shouts and the sound of war horns. The ground vibrated under the thundering roar of the horns.

"THONA WHAHAR," she shouted and her call to war was answered by hundreds of voices.

Birds rose from the trees in shock. Erza set herself in motion, Jellal at her side. The witches of the south would go to war!

Lucy leaned against the stone balustrade. Her gaze glided over the wide inner courtyard, over the roughly hewn walls. The roar of low voices as well as the clang from colliding metals. The men of the southern dragon clan trained together. Either directly in close combat, or with weapons and light armour. Wind came up and despite the fact that it was a warm climate in which the dragons lived, cold shivers crept over her skin.

She was now at her dragon's castle for a good three days. Wind plucked her hair and her fingers cramped as she thought of Natsu. Her heartbeat accelerated and she bit her lower lip. Lucy felt her flaming redness creeping into her cheeks. She would lie if she said she didn't find him attractive. Quite the contrary. His nature, his smell, his warmth, these beautiful eyes. Everything attracted her magically. And yet she could not give in to him. Lost in thought she touched her lips and closed her eyes. Heat crept through her body like liquid lava. She sensed how heat clenched in her stomach, felt how everything in her seemed to contract. Feel the treacherous tingling between her thighs.

She swallowed slightly and bit her lower lip, shaking her head as she remembered her mate's hunger and longing for her. She knew perfectly well that dragons were very possessive, caring lovers. But she also knew what her mission was. Lucy wasn't stupid, she knew that Natsu would die if she gave in to him. If she would let her enter into the bond of souls with him. Only very few survived the death of their bonded soul mate. Her father had not recovered from her mother's death and had died of a broken heart. She did not want that for Natsu. And she wanted to spare herself the illusion of a love she was not allowed to have. Even if she longed to get closer to him. Her heart hurt at the thought and she could feel the whimpering of her soul. Lucy took a trembling breath and she felt the treacherous burning of unweeping tears in her eyes.

"Are you feeling all right?" A deep voice penetrated her ears and she jerked up, looking to the side. Ignia stood in the corridor, looking at her with a frowned forehead. Like most of the people here, he wore the typical clothes of the country. Pluder pants, fur-trimmed belts. Natsu often wore a vest, which was open. Ignia simply left that out. Countless magical tattoos adorned his skin. She lowered her eyes again to the warriors in the inner courtyard.

"It's all right," she said. She would certainly not cry in front of another dragon. She didn't even cry in front of Natsu.

"Well ... I smell that you're about to cry," Natsus's older brother grumbled and she stiffend convulsively. She somehow didn't like him. There was something intimidating about him and it always seemed like he was treating her like a little child. Or don't take her very seriously. She didn't know why. Silence spread between the two of them. Under no circumstances would she answer him to his last words.

"Do you still want anything from me, Prince Ignia? Or are you just here to make me feel tiny small?" she asked after a while when she couldn't stand this mood. The silence between them was oppressive, heavy. The smell of hot spices and smoke hung in the air. A smell that clearly came from Natsu's brother. She forced herself to look at him and stared with narrowed eyes at this dragon, which towered over her by a good two heads. Which was no wonder. All the dragons loosely towered over her by at least one head. Natsu was no exception. Even Ignias mate was no exception. Even if the slender, beautiful dragon only exceeded her by half a head.

His deep red soul mirrors lay on her and his eyes narrowed as a threatening growl rolled up his throat. His gaze became gloomy, the air between them seemed to charge with magic. Lucy became even more tense, but she didn't step back from him. He was about to say something, as two narrow arms snaked around his shoulders and two long, slender legs around his waist.

"Igy-chan, my darling", Miyuki, Ignias mate had apparently sneaked up on him again and jumped at him from behind. Lucy had already seen that several times that the dragoness liked to do such a thing. She had braided the long pastel pink hair to several narrow braids and finally tied them together to a high pony. Golden pearls and metal rings shimmered in the sunlight. The ruby red eyes shimmered full of love for Ignia. Lucy's lips twitched slightly as she suppressed the laughter that threatened to roll over her lips.

"What is it, woman?" he asked and his features became a little less threatening. It was always amazing how Miyuki worked on Ignia, or generally how a mate worked on her dragon. Because the dragon warriors here were rough, brutal. If you couldn't avoid them fast enough, you would get hurt. But in the face of their own mate, raging dragon warriors became tender, gentle lambs.

"You know you shouldn't get on Lucy's back. Leave her alone or you will sleep on the floor. Or in the barn by the horses, choose it", Miyuki seemed strict while she looked at her husband and Ignia sighed annoyed, put his head to his neck.

"My goodness, you're all annoying. Women," he growled and Miyuki laughed quietly. And then Lucy felt it. A wave of magic rolled through the land. Her eyes widened and her head jerked in the direction of the source. Her heartbeat speeded up, agitation and restlessness filled her senses. The narrow brows contracted. Could that be? Her breathing accelerated, cold shivers crept over her skin. She closed her eyes and concentrated, blinding the squabbling couple next to her out. She hummed a tone, laid her palms flat on the stone of the balustrade and sucked the air around her deep into her lungs. Magic flared up and she checked every presence within a 10 kilometre radius. Sweat beads stepped on her forehead and for a moment she was confused. She knew the people approaching them.

However, she also knew the kind of beings they were riding on. And they had only been bred for war purposes. Her eyes widdend in panic and Lucy stared in that direction. She swallowed. Erza was approaching. She loved her witch sister, but why was she prepared for war? She bit her lower lip and her gaze glided over the training warriors, over the servants doing their job, over a group of children playing with dogs and cats. She didn't know why Erza was moving equipped to war here, because the time had not yet come. But she knew one thing, if she came here with war intentions, then even the strong dragons would not be able to defend themselves against her. She had felt the anger of Erzas.

"Damned, dirty shit ...", she interrupted herself and anger flared up in her. She could not allow anything to happen to these people here and summoned up a light armour.

"Woa what ...", Ignia and Miyuki seemed startled by her sudden action. Lucy cast a floating spell and rose into the air, flew over to the outermost castle wall. Her heart was beating up to her neck. She knew that she was stronger in herself than Erza but in a long run? She stretched her arms to the side and activated a spell that she had woven into the walls while here. A protective barrier that would stop every spell, every curse. Magic filled the air, she felt how the dragons in the inner courtyard had stopped fighting and looked at her. Magic symbols filled the air and the magic of the barrier made it shimmer golden, forming a truly glowing dome over the castle. Wind came up and swirled her long hair. She could already see the army of the southern temple. And then the thundering roar of Erzas behemoth filled the air. The earth trembled, she heard the fearful screams of the children, the panic screams of the horses in the stables. Warriors rushed to the castle wall, armed, ready to fight.

"Who is that, Lucy?" Natsu's voice reached her ears, but she didn't look at him.

"This is Erza from the house of Belserion," she said. Her witch sister's army was now a good half a kilometre outside the gates of the Dragon Castle. With Erza at her head. She could feel the hatred and anger of the other witches and swallowed lightly. Her sister in spirit sat on a behemoth. A mighty creature that exceeded the 30 meter high castle wall by another 20 meters. It had a thick, hard shell of black scales. Sharp claws, which she estimated to be about 5 meters long. Huge fangs shimmered in the sunlight. Erza stood on the head of her war animal. And although this monster had huge, long horns, she didn't drown in her armour. Two horns bent around behemoth's head to protect it, reaching up to his mouth. Four more protruded backward and bent backward in varying lengths.

"GIVE US OUR CHOSEN ONE BACK, YOUR DEFORMED LIZARDS," Erza yelled.

"What the hell ..." Natsu began and blinked. Lucy scrutinized him out of the corner of his eye. She could feel the dragons around her getting angry at this insult. Dragons were proud persons. Warning growls filled the air as the warriors pulled out their weapons. She had no choice but to act.

"ERZA YOU STUPID TOAD! WHAT THE FUCKING HELL?" Lucy yelled back and silence sank over the impending battle. She floated a little higher, put her hands on her hips and looked at her witch sister.

"Lucy", Erza was confused, you could see her when she recognized her beloved witch sister.

"WHAT THE FUCK? DID ALL OF YOU GONE INSANE, OR WHAT?" Lucy yelled angrily. She summoned up a little ball of light and threw it to the bewildered Erza's head. Which didn't even fight back, got the energy ball to her head and fell on her butt.

"But you ...", began the still very confused Erza.

"WE HAVE AN ALLIANCE WITH THE DRAGONS, YOU STUPID IDIOTS! HOW DO YOU PLEASE COME TO THIS ABSOLUT IDIOTIC IDEA, TO MARCH HERE?" she shouted and her voice became louder and louder through magic.

Erza began "Uh...the gods have," but was immediately interrupted by Lucy.

"AH, THE GODS, YES? OFF YOU SADDLE YOUR IDIOTIC MORONS! EVERYONE, OR YOU LEARN TO KNOW ME FROM AN OTHER SIDE," Lucy screamed and magic pulsated around her. With astonishment all the dragon warriors watched as this small but impressive army of witches and magicians saddled off and how little children stared shamefaced on the ground while a raging Lucy floated in the air. Even the behemoth pressed himself to the ground. He had put his huge paws over his head and trembled slightly.

Natsu just watched the whole thing confused. He had clearly not expected that. Apart from the potential attack of the witches. Nobody had expected that either. But the fact that his mate, who was destined for him, just put the whole pack down and ended it with words was unbelievable. He felt his brother Zeref step beside him.

"And this is the one for you?" he asked quietly and Natsu nodded, looked to the side. His brother seemed amused and his mouth corners twitched slightly.

"Well then have fun, brother," he laughed and Natsu snorted slightly.

"Yes, thank you, asshole," he growled back. He was filled with admiration and awe as he watched Lucy fold the angry witches together. It was as if she was an angry mother who was scolding children's. That's what she looked like. An amused grin covered his lips.

#prophecyunguided #fairytailff #fairytailfanfic #fairytailfanfiction #fairytailau #nalu #naluff #gruvia #gruviaff #jerza #jerzaff #gajevy #gajevyff

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welllpthisishappening · 5 years

Text

Older Now, But Not Done Hoping (1/3)

Killian Jones has lost his festive spirit. It's been forcibly removed by corporate America and private developers and how much alcohol the customers at his bar drink every night. Although, he supposes, that means he's making a profit, but that also feels a little Scrooge-esque and he doesn't have time for visits from ghosts.

Because he's suddenly got a whole schedule in front of him, written out and planned by his roommate. To reclaim their mutual and collective festivity. Together. Oh, and he's in love with her. At Christmas. And all the time, really.

This is going to be great.

Rating: Teen Word Count: 8K’ish in this one AN: Oh hai there @xellewoods I’m your CSSS! It’s been my absolute delight getting to know you over the last few weeks and I had such a fun time writing this. I tried to fit as much as I could in and I hope it feels a bit like spending a few days in New York at Christmas. It did, however, get a bit more plot’y than I was expecting, so...here’s three chapters. THEY WERE ROOMMATES!

Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll.

“Swan, what the hell is on your head?”

Emma spins, eyes narrowing slightly which really only makes the whole thing more absurd because Killian can tell exactly what is on her head. Antlers. With what appears to be some kind of sparkly garland hanging off the top.

He rocks back on his heels when she continues to glare at him, ignoring the frustrated mumblings of the few customers sitting just inside the door of his bar. It’s their fault for sitting there anyway. Something about drafts and old buildings and they’re going to be out of business in several weeks anyway, so none of it really matters anyway.

Merry Christmas.

“I’ve been asking her the same question for the last forty-five minutes,” Will says. He flips a towel over his shoulder, widening his eyes meaningfully at Killian. “And trying to get her out from behind the bar. Where she’s not supposed to be. Behind the bar. Against the rules.” “That was subtle,” Killian mutters, finally moving away from the door and a slightly glazed looking man mumbles a vaguely sarcastic thank you his direction. “And, that’s not really that big of a deal.” Will rolls his eyes.

It’s almost less subtle than the other thing.

And, really, the whole thing is kind of stupid. Almost as stupid as trying to save his bar from developers who want to turn Astoria into some suburb and a retreat for all those Amazon workers who are coming to Long Island City and Killian barely heard any of it any of the times it’s been explained to him.

The only thing he knows is they want to take his bar and he’s not sure he’s got anything except his bar. And how much he absolutely wants to tell Emma Swan several things he absolutely cannot. Being in love with your best friend’s little sister, who also happens to be your roommate, is, it turns out, incredibly inconvenient.

Will would argue about the best friend part.

It doesn’t matter. The love part is what’s important and Killian has almost gotten used to the way his heart seems to hammer in his chest every single time he glances Emma’s direction, has been dealing with it for as long as he can remember or something that sounds far less dramatic than that, but today has been awful in a variety of different ways and several others he didn’t realize existed until he was experiencing them.

They want to figure something out before the end of the year. So the developer told him. Something about markets and stocks or whatever. Killian doesn’t care. All he knows is they’re trying to take his bar and it’s ruining December and he’s never been much for December anyway, but it’s been better in the last few years.

That may have something to do with spending those same Decembers with Emma, but that’s neither here nor there.

So, really, Killian just wants to drink as much of his own alcohol stock as possible until his eyes also get a little glazed, crawl into bed with the covers tugged underneath his chin and stop thinking about how soft Emma’s hair is every second he’s awake.

He shouldn’t know that. He hates that he knows that. He’s not sure what he would actually do if he didn’t know that.

The double negatives are confusing.

“Jones,” Will snaps, clearly not the first time he’s tried to get Killian’s attention. Maybe he doesn’t actually need anything to drink.

Emma is very clearly trying not to smile.

“Yeah, yeah,” Killian says. “Still here. And--” “--Ignoring me.” “Well, I mean if Swan’s been here for forty-five minutes, then that’s something you should be used to by now.”

Will throws the towel at him. Killian catches it – and he doesn’t try to glance at Emma to make sure she’s seen his incredible athletic talent, but that’s also just how his body works now and he finds he’s glancing at her more often than not. Will is going to do damage to his throat from sighing so much.

“That sounded a bit like an insult,” Emma murmurs, resting her elbows on the top of the bar. “And these are antlers. Have you never seen antlers before?” “Y’know I don’t know that I actually have in person, honestly.” “What? Really?” Killian shrugs. “When do you think I’m encountering reindeer in the middle of Queens, Swan?” “You haven’t been in Queens your whole life!” “That’s true,” Killian agrees, hooking his foot around the nearest empty stool and there are quite a lot of empty stools. This is the single most depressing day in the world. “Are you also under the impression that there are a lot of reindeer in Boston? They weren’t just patrolling the campus at BC, you know.” Emma narrows her eyes, a twist of her lips that is equal parts familiar and taunting. Killian has to take a deep breath to avoid doing something particularly stupid, pulling in far too much oxygen through his nose and Will slides a half-filled glass of something towards him.

“Subtle, right?” Will asks.

Killian flips him off. That seems like the best response because it’s been going on for far longer than it should – since Boston College and Emma coming to the city during his junior year and they didn’t really like each other at first, but that eventually evolved into something that was almost like quiet acceptance and she was going to Northeastern and around and then David started dating her best friend. Only to promptly fall in love.

Like. The truest of true love. Killian is certain Mary Margaret and David look at each other and rainbows appear and choirs sing and it’s all disgusting and over-the-top and he’s always so goddamn jealous of it, he feels like he could burst.

So he and Emma kept hanging out. They talked. They became, almost, friends.

But then he graduated and moved back home – an idea and a hope and the thought that maybe he and Will could do this that was, currently, blowing up in his face. At the time though, it didn’t matter. He had so much false hope he was practically radiating with it, confidence and certainty and a profit margin that didn’t make the bank flinch.

And time, as it’s apt to do, continued to move.

Emma graduated. And decided she wanted to move to New York – as a police officer. “I just want to do something good, you know,” she’d said, whispered into a phone several thousand miles away from the bar stool Killian was sitting on at the time.

He’d promised her she could. He was certain she could. And the words seemed to tumble out of him at that point, invitations and promises it was fine and it makes more sense, honestly and it did – they could get a good apartment together and he was tired of living in the piece of garbage studio off Steinway Street.

The last thing he expected was for Emma to agree.

Honestly, the whole thing is his own goddamn fault. A fact Will is quick to point out, at least, three times a week.

“Yeah, yeah, you’ve proved your point,” Emma grumbles. She has to lean forward to tug the glass out of Killian’s hand, downing half the drink in one quick gulp and shivering slightly. “God, what is that?” “I don’t know. I didn’t actually get a chance to drink any of it.” “Ok, that’s not--” “--Em, can you not critique my drinks until, like, at least, after we find out if we’re going out of business?" Will interrupts, and they should really all just get separate glasses. It doesn’t make any sense to keep sharing one drink.

That should be the subhead of their lives at this point.

Emma blinks, eyes snapping towards Killian and he tries not to actually wilt under her gaze. It doesn’t actually work. “What does that mean?” “You didn’t tell her?” Will shouts before Killian can answer, drawing the curious glances of several customers. One of them definitely shouts he should have told her from the booth at the front of the bar. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell her,” Will continues. “That’s--you tell Emma everything. Like it’s disgusting how close the two of you are.” Killian does his best to glare without making it obvious, but that proves an absolute impossibility Particularly when Emma is still staring at him.

“God, you’re an idiot,” Will mumbles. He fills up the shot glass again only to drink it himself.

Killian groans. “Am I ever going to get anything to drink? Shoddy service here. No wonder they want to change everything.” He hears her react. It’s the single worst thing in the world.

She doesn’t quite gasp, but Killian can hear Emma’s breath catch lightly in her throat and it takes every single ounce of something in him to open his eyes and look at her. She’s still staring, eyes wide and lips parted slightly, looking at him like he’s just told her the biggest lie in the universe.

Or like he’s head over heels in love with her.

He really hopes that’s not what she’d look like if he told her that.

“Swan--” Emma shakes her head, strands of hair snapping against her neck and the jut of her chin and he’s always been particularly fascinated with the curve of her right ear. He’s the biggest creep in the world, honestly.

“Well, that settles that, doesn’t it?”

Killian has no idea what’s going on. He jerks his head towards Will, a bemused expression his partner’s face. “At this point I just assumed you guys have some kind of code that you’ve never told me about.” “We don’t have a code,” Emma argues. She still hasn’t looked away from Killian. It’s unnerving in the same way it’s kind of comforting, steady and consistent and, he’d like to believe, almost confident. In him. “I mean, you know, not yet, at least.” He’s getting whiplash from this conversation. “I don’t--” Killian starts, running an anxious hand through his hair. “Swan, you’ve got to make your point, love.” Will sounds like he’s dying. That customer in the booth laughs so loudly Killian briefly worries about the paint on those particular sections of wall.

It’s not a thing, really. It’s just, kind of, sort of their thing and he’s been doing it for as long as he can remember. At first because it very clearly drove her insane, but then because it made this very specific shade of pink linger in her cheeks and then, sometimes, if he’s very lucky, it ends with her teeth digging into her lower lip and--

Killian suddenly feels very lucky.

Even if that developer was talking about drink concepts like that’s even a thing that makes sense.

“I don’t have to do anything,” Emma says. “Also you’re incredibly slow on the uptake today, you realize that?” Killian hums in confusion. “I don’t--” “--I know, I know, but...just, tell me what’s going on, ok?” He grits his teeth, not sure why he hasn’t told her already because she really does deserve to know and if this bar is his, then it’s also, at least, partially hers and it may only ever really feel like home because she’s there, but that also feels a little clingy and--

“Hey,” Emma mutters, interrupting whatever spiral Killian is drifting towards. Her fingers are cool when they wrap around his wrist, soft on his skin as her thumb traces a short line across his pulse point.

He swallows, a wad of emotion suddenly sitting in the back of his throat because this absolutely, positively was not supposed to happen this way.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” Emma continues. Her voice doesn’t shake, which is probably for the best because Killian feels as if he’s several different metaphorical leaves, and she doesn’t object when he twists his hand to lace her fingers through his. She squeezes back.

Will gags.

“Why are you home so early, Swan?” “That’s not the question I was hoping for.” “That’s the question you’re going to get.” “I hate you.” “No you don’t.” Emma scowls, shoulders slumping enough that her hair pools against the bar top. “That’s stupid,” she sighs. “Ok, you have to promise not to freak. Because nothing happened and nothing is going to happen, but you really can’t tell David. He’ll drive down here to make sure I’m ok and--” “Emma,” Killian snaps, and that’s even worse than any single nickname he could come up with. She sticks her tongue out.

Will laughs.

“This is not that big of a deal,” she promises, but the words practically fly out of her and that’s a tell. Killian arches an eyebrow. “You remember that sneaker guy we’ve been going after?” He hums. He doesn’t actually trust himself to say anything else.

Idiot.

“Well, we got a lead about him in Hollis today and that’s not really us, but, like I said, we’d been building this whole case and--” “--Focus, love.” Emma scrunches her nose, but she definitely squeezes his hand again. “Anyway. We got there and the guy was trying to break into this display with all those vintage sneakers. Literally millions of dollars just sitting there and, uh...it got a little hectic.” “Hectic,” Killian repeats. “How?” “It’s not a big deal.” Killian looks back at Will – expression turned stony and maybe they should put up some Christmas decorations or something. That’s not really their schtick. “Oh my God, don’t look at him,” Emma growls. “This is not his story.” “And yet I’m still waiting on you, Swan,” Killian points out.

She twists her lips, tongue flashing between them in a way that should be distracting. “You promised not to freak out,” she reminds him. He widens his eyes. “There was uh...some gunfire exchanged.”

Killian knocks the stool over.

It sounds like the entire bar has been knocked over.

The guy at the front jumps up and Will takes another shot, a low murmur of emotion and concern working its way across the entire space. Killian, for his part, feels like he’s frozen.

He’s standing, fingers still twisted up with Emma’s, but he’s not entirely sure he’s breathing, if the burning sensation in the general vicinity of his lungs is any indication. And everything seems to slam into him suddenly – almosts and could have beens and he’s got no idea what he would do if--

No.

That is a dangerous train of thought and one he can’t possibly afford. Emma hisses when he, apparently, squeezes her hand too tightly. Killian’s eyes widen again, his inhale so sharp it only serves to hurt his lungs even more and he’s not sure he’s ever moved that fast, all but sprinting around the back of the bar and cupping her face in his hands.

Emma doesn’t flinch, but she does stiffen slightly and he supposes that’s fair. He’s kind of looming over, fear and what ifs rolling off him in almost palpable waves. She has to shift to rest her palms flat on his chest, tugging lightly on the tie he’d put on for a guy he hadn’t even wanted to meet.

“If this is you not freaking out, then we need to reexamine your definition of the word,” Emma mumbles, drawing a shaky laugh out of Killian and he doesn’t think before pressing his lips to the crown of her hair.

God, her hair is so soft.

“It’s a phrase anyway, really,” Will reasons. He’s crouched down, grabbing rum that they don’t let any of the regulars ever drink and only save for occasions, but Killian figures almost going out of business and avoiding death are both reasonable reasons.

“That’s true,” he agrees. He has to take another deep breath before he can even consider moving, moving his hands to Emma’s shoulders and the bend of her elbows, not quite taking inventory, but drifting dangerously close to creep again.

She’s laughing. He can feel her moving against him.

“Are you ok?” Killian asks, but that only elicits more laughter and he’s not quite sure what to do with that. “Swan, c’mon, this is--” “--I know, I know, it is,” Emma interrupts. “And really, I’m not trying to downplay how absolutely terrifying the last, like, twelve hours of my life have been. But like...obviously I am ok. If I were bleeding out, do you think I’d be here antagonizing, Scarlet?”

“She brings up another very good point,” Will mutters. He slides two glasses of the expensive rum towards them.

“Oh my God, Emma,” Killian sighs. His eyes close of their own volition that time, something that feels like real and genuine exhaustion settling on his shoulders. Or, like, he’s entire life. It’s probably a metaphor.

She has to lean back against his forearm – he’s moved his arm at some point, he’s got no memory of that, but it’s wrapped around her waist and they’re very close and maybe have been very close and this is almost how it all started before and--

“Hey,” Emma mutters, tapping the pads of her fingers against his cheek. “Not even grazed. Justice was served and goodness prevailed, but I was, uh--well, getting shot at has a tendency to mess with your head a little bit and they more or less told me to get out of there.” “Did you put up a fight on that front?” “Nah, I wanted to come home.”

It’s not the first time he’s heard her say that very specific word. And it’s true, honestly. This is her home and his home and their home in some collective way that roommates share, but Killian only just realized his very God awful day had the potential to be the single worst day in the history of any day and he kisses her hair again.

It always smells like vanilla.

And kind of difficult to move against the reindeer antlers that are still on her head.

“I’m fine,” Emma promises. She twists again, moving so she can wrap her arms around Killian’s middle, pulling herself flush against her chest until there’s a considerable amount of her touching far too much of him. “Honestly. I’m just--don’t move for a sec, ok?” Killian nods. He’s not sure he could move if he tried.

And Will shakes his whole head when Killian glances at him, smile knowing and eyes almost amused when he crosses his arms.

“It’s idiotic,” Will mumbles. “The whole goddamn thing.” The guy at the front of the bar shouts something that may be an agreement.

Killian flips Will off. He doesn’t actually move his arms away from Emma.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on with you now?” she asks, tilting her head back.

That’s cheating. He’s not sure how, exactly, but Killian is positive he’ll figure it out sooner or later and probably after he stops staring directly at her eyes and the tilt of her lips and there’s a hint of pink on both of her cheeks that he’d like to imagine he helped put there.

He genuinely enjoys torturing himself.

“I promise, it’s not nearly that important, Swan,” Killian says, waving Will off when he makes a strangled sound at the blatantly obvious lie.

Emma lifts her eyebrows. “You want to try that again?” “I thought you were supposed to be off the clock, Detective.” “Justice never sleeps. Or something less lame than that. Oh my God, shut up, Scarlet.”

Will does not, in fact, shut up. His laugh gets louder and less restrained, doubling over on himself when the sound practically ricochets out of him.

It’s catching.

Killian’s own laugh doesn’t start loud, but he feels like it could maybe get there, body shaking against Emma’s and the slightly disbelieving look on her face is more than enough to inspire several thousand smiles. That’s the single lamest thought he’s ever had.

Bar none.

But then she’s exhaling softly and her hands are moving again, back on his chest until it feels like they’re restarting his vaguely cynical and only recently terrified heart, and her laugh is his single favorite sound in the entire world.

The three of them stand there for a moment – hysterical and ridiculous, with a half-filled bar gaping at them like crazy people and none of them have actually had any of the exceptionally expensive rum yet.

That feels important.

“Life threatening events make you very snippy, Em,” Will mutters eventually, dragging the back of his hand against his cheek.

She flips him off with both hands. Killian can’t possibly kiss her hair again. There are still, some, lines. “Seriously, shut up,” Emma hisses. “You are ruining my plan.” “Wait, what?” Killian asks, but Emma is already mumbling no no no under her breath.

“You have to tell me what happened with you first,” she says. “Those are the rules or turnabout or whatever.” “Where’d you get the antlers?” “Seriously, you are so bad at answering questions?” “Yes, that’s what the--shit, what’s that guy’s name?” Will shrugs. “Some kind of element. Potassium? Plutonium? Robert Plutonium?” “Robert Plutonium? Are you kidding me?” “You were the one who spent all day with him. And not to agree with Em on literally anything ever, but she’s not the only one interested in what the developer had to say.” Emma’s hands fall back to her sides. “A developer? What--what does that mean? How long have you been talking to a developer?” “Not long,” Killian says, but she’s staring at him like it’s the worst lie he’s ever told. “Honestly, love. Barely even more than a few weeks.” “A few weeks! And you didn’t mention it once?” “That was a bad move, Jones,” Will nods. He’s moved backwards, perched on the edge of a different counter with that same confident smile on his face that helped them get the first loan from the first bank all those years ago. Killian gapes at him. “I’m just saying,” Will continues. “Emma’s like you’re emotional guidepost. It’s genuinely been blowing my mind that you haven’t told her about this yet.” “There hasn’t been anything to tell,” Killian says, but that’s definitely a lie and it’s probably wrong to lie to a police officer who was fired upon that afternoon.

And his roommate. Who may really be the best best friend he’s got in the great, big hierarchy of best friends.

That he’s in love with.

Irrevocably. And completely. And several other adverbs.

Killian huffs, turning back towards an almost-patient looking Emma. She’s got her lips twisted again, a look she usually reserves for when he moves her shoes away from the door or critiques her dish-drying technique.

“Once more with feeling,” Emma whispers, a note of something that may be a genuine threat just on the edge of her voice.

Killian snaps his fingers. “Gold. The guys’ name is Gold. God, how did I forget that?” “I’d imagine you’ve got plenty of other things on your mind,” Will answers archly. “Also you’re incredibly old, so the memory loss is to be expected. And what did our dear Mr. Gold ask of us today?” “He’s buying up the rest of the block.” “Ah, shit.” “Those were essentially my sentiment exactly.” Emma makes a noise that sounds a bit like a growl and the general sense of frustration Killian can feel simmering in the pit of his stomach. Her eyes are hard when he looks at her – barely more than slits of green and he almost wouldn’t be surprised to find her hair emitting actual wavelengths of energy.

“A developer is trying to buy up your entire block?” she asks, a forced calmness to the question that makes Killian wince. He nods. “And he’s been talking to you for weeks? And you didn’t--you didn’t once think to mention that to me?” “It’s not--” “--Oh my God, if you tell me it’s not a big deal I will strangle you here. Right here. Behind your bar.” “This is why you’re not supposed to be behind the bar,” Will mutters, drawing a half-nervous laugh out of Killian and another pointed glare out of Emma.

“And,” he adds. “If you strangle me here, then the bar becomes a crime scene and I doubt Mr. Gold would want a crime scene in his vision for making Astoria great again.” Whatever noise Will makes is not human. “Did he actually use that phrase?” “Not in so many words, but the sentiment was there. There was several allusions to open floor concepts and natural lighting and--” “--Has he ever seen this bar?” Emma interrupts. “There is no natural light in here. It’s a cave.” “Wow, that is scathing, Swan.” “A very nice cave.” “Better.” She scoffs, taking a step away from him and he shouldn’t regret that as much as he does. Maybe that should be the actual subheadline of his life. “This guy wants to shut down the bar?” “Eh,” Killian and Will say at the same time.

“What does that mean?” “It means that he’s less interested in shutting down the bar and just kind of...bulldozing it,” Killian says, and the smile on his face hurts every single one of the muscles in his face. It’s that fake.

Emma’s mouth drops open.

“He told me today he’s basically got the whole block. The coffee place, the pita place, that hair salon’s been closed forever, so that was, like, the easiest thing he’s ever done. It’s just...us left.” “We’re the holdouts,” Will grins, like the whole thing is some great, big joke and not their entire lives. It’s easier to deal with that way.

“And how do you plan on continuing to hold out?” Emma asks.

Killian tilts his head. “That seems to suggest you think we’re going to do that.” “Are you not?” “Well, yeah, but--” “--See, this is why I was certain you guys had some kind of code,” Will interrupts. “She knows all your tricks, Jones. It’s a miracle we’ve been able to keep it a secret for so long.” “A Christmas miracle,” Emma corrects. Her smile isn’t quite as wide as it normally is, but it’s tugging at the edges of her mouth and Killian knows she’s trying to look confident for him. He resists the urge to kiss her. Again. At all times. “So, c’mon, tell me, what are you guys going to do? There’s got to be a plan.” “There’s not really,” Killian admits. “We’re more or less hinging all our hopes on finding some kind of his historical relevance to this building.” “Are you kidding me?” “I told you there wasn’t much of a plan.”

Emma shakes her head, tongue moving between her lips again and Killian can almost hear the metaphorical gears starting to turn. It doesn’t surprise him. She’s always been impossibly stubborn and when she sets her mind on something, there’s very little that will stop her from getting it.

Which is why the whole incident was so goddamn disappointing.

If she’d wanted it, she absolutely positively would have brought it up again and neither one of them have ever said anything and--he needs to stop. This is cruel and unusual and self-inflicted.

Her hair had felt so incredibly soft in between his fingers though. And there was that one sound – not quite a whimper, but something like giving in and accepting and wanting, pressed against the curve of his jaw when she’d pulled her head back and Killian would open sixteen-thousand bars only to sell every single one of them to some dick of a developer if it meant he got to hear Emma make that sound one more time.

They’d been very drunk, the five-year anniversary of the bar and more over-priced alcohol, stumbling up the stairs back into their apartment with fumbled keys and laughter and wandering hands. And neither one of them said anything even coming close to stop, just moved into each other’s space like they were falling into each other’s atmosphere and the whole thing had felt so incredibly normal.

That was probably the best and worst part. Equally. It felt like it was supposed to, like breathing or sharing the same space and that one, particular noise was going to haunt Killian even after he was dead, he was positive.

“That’s like...negative amounts of a plan,” Emma nods. “So what exactly are you going to do? Just keep dodging this guy until the end of time.” “Or the aliens attack,” Will adds.

“And if the aliens attack, then we’re hoping they’ll also just avoid this building and let us keep providing alcohol to the general populace,” Killian says. “Or the Doctor will show up and the aliens won’t actually be attacking. They’ll be nicer than we expected. Or--” “--God, how is there more?” Emma asks, but she’s almost laughing now too and Killian’s smile doesn’t feel as forced.

“The aliens will hear our distress call, know we’re barely staying above ground in the fight against modernism and they’ll just go attack Mr. Plutonium instead.” “I thought his name was Gold.” “I’m really feeling partial to Plutonium now.” “I don’t think that’s even on the Periodic Table. And Plutonium is more than this guy deserves. He should be like...tin or something.” Will lets out a low whistle, pouring something because, despite whatever the developer’s name is, they still do have a regular customer base and regulars and Killian genuinely doesn’t know what he’s going to do if this all gets tugged out from underneath him.

Maybe cry or something.

That seems kind of lame.

“Tin sounds almost insulting, Swan.” Emma nods again. “That’s totally the point. Do you--he really wants to buy the bar to tear it down?” “I see no reason why he’d lie to us. It’s a good amount of money too. Enough that we’d probably be able to figure out something without having to do it immediately, but…” “You guys are giant saps and you don’t want to sell your bar,” Emma says, more of that certainty and confidence.

“Yeah, exactly that.” “So it’s just been a complete and total shit day for all of us, hasn’t it?” “Exactly that,” Killian repeats. “Where’d you get your antlers, Swan?” “That really creepy party supply store right off the R-Train.” Killian’s answering laugh is far too loud to be acceptable in any sort of normal social environment, but he figures the rules are a little different in his own bar with the subject of his possible one-sided pining standing in front of him wearing goddamn reindeer antlers like a beacon of Christmas potential. “I think I’d like to get vaguely buzzed,” he announces, and Will shouts something that sounds a hell of a lot like finally.

He does, in fact, get slightly more than buzzed – a seemingly never-ending stream of glasses pushed Killian’s direction in between doing his actual job and acknowledging customers and Emma does, eventually, get back on the right side of the bar.

Technically.

Killian doesn’t ever really mind when she stands back there.

And it’s closing in on last call, his vision swimming just a little bit because it’s been a day and he’s probably a little dehydrated at this point when Will pushes on his shoulder. “God, what?” Killian asks sharply.

“You a little drunk?” Will counters.

“No, no, I’m--” “--Literally the world’s worst liar. Gold offered again? With the money?” Killian nods, wiping his hands absentmindedly on the front of his jeans. “He said we’re the only ones stopping him from, and I’m quoting here, making this official, so if we don’t come to terms sooner rather than later, we’ll be, you’re going to enjoy this, impeding progress.” “It’s like he’s reading from a script isn’t it?” “Honestly, I’m almost insulted by the distinct lack of creativity. I wonder if he gets his inspiration from Mr. Potter. Or the Grinch.” “I don’t like either of these examples,” Will says. “Because I think it makes me Uncle Billy and Max the dog respectively and I don’t know how to feel about that.”

“At least Uncle Billy actually makes sense, you know, name wise.” “Yeah, yeah, that’s generous of you.” He sighs, running a hand over his face and Killian isn’t sure he’s seen him look that exhausted since he spent three straight days trying to cram for a chemistry final during their sophomore year. If memory served, he hadn’t done all that great on that exam.

Killian hopes that’s not a sign.

“She was really freaked, you know,” Will says suddenly, jerking Killian’s attention back to the present and he realizes she’s not sitting on the stool anymore.

He scans the bar, only a few stragglers shrugging on coats and grumbling about the threat of overnight snow, a noise that feels like relief and sounds like something else entirely when his eyes land on her – curled up in a booth with her head on his balled-up jacket.

“That’s not subtle either,” Killian says.

“Yeah, I wasn’t trying to be. She was...I told her I didn’t know when you’d get back and she said she didn’t care, just wanted to be here when you did show and it took forever to finally get to give up what had that look on her face.” “And what look was that?” It’s a selfish question. It’s a needy question. Killian doesn't move his gaze away from Emma.

“Like she’d just watched her whole life flash in front of her eyes and realized she’d wasted a good amount of it not making out with her roommate,” Will says.

Killian has to bite his tongue to stop from dissolving into a puddle of several different emotions. “That’s a rather pointed opinion.” “It’s an obvious opinion. One several people share. Strangers on the street see you two together and immediately share that same opinion.” “C’mon, it’s not--” “--Why didn’t you tell her about this guy?” Killian turns his head. And that’s another mistake because Will is staring expectantly at him – brows lifted and one side of his mouth quirked up, a different towel than before draped over his shoulder. “I didn’t want her to worry,” Killian mutters. “I knew she was looking for that guy and it’s Christmas--there’s always more, you know, crime or whatever. Plus, we’ve got to go home in a couple weeks and…” “The fact that you just referred to Storybrooke, her hometown, as home and the place you’re going for Christmas gives me pause.” “I always go up there for Christmas.” He had – ever since he got assigned David Nolan as a roommate and David could not understand the concept of another human spending Christmas alone. So Killian had gone home with him, to Storybrooke, Maine, and met his mother and his little sister and everything had spiraled from there.

Driving back to Storybrooke with Emma is one of Killian’s favorite parts of Christmas now.

Will hums, and Killian wishes he’d do something with his face. “Right, right. So let me get this straight, you didn’t want to tell Emma that some asshole wants to buy our bar so he can single-handedly continue the gentrification of our neighborhood because you didn’t want to worry her when she’s got so much crime to fight before the two of you go to Maine to spend time with her family on a holiday that, at its core, is, like, the most family holiday ever?” “Don’t you think that’s Thanksgiving?” “No,” Will says easily. “And I think you looked like you’d seen several ghosts when she told you what happened today.” Killian’s stomach twists. “Yeah, well,” he reasons. “I…” “God, it’s so dumb. The whole thing is so incredibly dumb. Both of you.” “What?” Will doesn’t answer, just shakes his head and pushes Killian back towards the booth where Emma is still sleeping. “Take your very platonic roommate back to the apartment you share. Platonically. Where you can platonically tell her that you don’t know what you’d do if you lost her. Platonically.”

“You said that word so many times, I’m not even sure it has real meaning anymore,” Killian says, mostly so he can ignore the fluttering in his chest. Will totally knows that. As exhibited by the middle finger flashed his direction.

There’s no possible way Emma can be comfortable. It is, after all, a very old bar and very old booths and the wood can’t be very forgiving on her spine, but she doesn’t stir much when Killian walks forward – or when he winces at the sound his knee makes when he crouches by her head.

“Jesus,” he grumbles, reaching out a hand to brush a stray piece of hair away from her forehead before he can think better of it. “Swan.”

Nothing. No sound. No noise. She does move her head slightly though, like she’s trying to shift closer to his hand and there’s no way his internal organs can hold up to this for much longer.

“Swan,” Killian repeats. Still nothing. “Emma.” Her eyelids flutter. Figures.

“C’mon, love, it’s after last call. We’ve got to go home.” She opens her eyes, and for half a second it’s so goddamn endearing Killian is certain his entire soul has moved to some other plane because she looks at him like...everything and then some, lips curling up into a smile as she presses her cheek against his palm. She’s still got the antlers on her head.

“Did I fall asleep?” Killian hums. “Only for a little while, though. Probably didn’t mess up your sleeping patterns too much at all.” “Small miracles.” “Of the almost-Christmas variety.” “Is it weird that I fell asleep in your bar? That seems like it should be more weird.” “No, no, it’s cute.” “Cute?” “Cute,” Killian confirms, despite the rather loud alarm bells going off in his brain. This is suddenly dangerous and very thin ice. “And festive. Or something.”

Emma’s laugh is quiet, but his hand is still touching her and he can feel her breath on his skin. So, he’ll probably think about that until New Year’s. At least. “You going to walk me home?” “Would be rude otherwise. Scarlet knows how to lock doors.” “I don’t think it’s cute that you’re falling asleep in our bar, Em,” Will calls as she stands up, using Killian to keep her balance. That may be the only reason he doesn’t say anything to Will. “I think it’s a sign.” “Oh, yeah?” Emma asks. “Of what?” “I’m not at liberty to say.” She makes a face – all eyebrows and wide eyes, but she’s also leaning against Killian’s side and hasn’t actually objected to the arm around her shoulders, so maybe they’re all just going insane. Collectively.

Maybe Robert Gold won’t want to buy a building from crazy people.

“C’mon, love,” Killian says. “Let’s get out of here.”

Their apartment isn’t that far from the bar – only two blocks away, and they don’t move very quickly. It’s snowing, after all, but not quite frigid and the city-provided lights wrapped around the street lamps are almost enough to make Killian forget about all the bad lingering just on the outside of all of this.

And, really, he thinks that’s going to be it.

They walk the two blocks, Emma hands him her keys because she’s not always entirely coherent when she’s only just woken up, toeing out of her boots as soon as the door is closed behind her. And that should be it.

He’s got every intention of asking her if she’s alright again, but nothing more than that and--

“You know I never actually got to my part of the plan,” Emma says, which may be one of the last thing Killian expects her to say.

“What?” “My plan. I got distracted by gunshots and you not telling me stuff and me being kind of right when I was only half suggesting some asshole was trying to steal your bar.” “He’d give us money, Swan.” “It’s still stealing somehow.” “What’s your plan?” Emma takes a deep, the smile on her face moving in what feels like actual slow motion. “I want to reclaim our festivity.” “I don’t...I don’t understand.” “This is why I got the antlers. At first it was mostly because someone shot a gun at me today--” “--Fucking hell, Emma,” Killian groans, an exasperation in the words that doesn’t likely belong in any sort of platonic relationship. Especially one that’s discussing Christmas. But his lungs don’t seem to care and his ability to pull in oxygen is suddenly non-existent.

She winces. “If I make jokes about it, it’s a little bit easier.” “Please don’t make jokes about it.”

He hates that he sounds a bit like he’s begging, but he’s also a little more buzzed than he’d originally planned on being and only just realized that his jacket will probably smell like Emma’s hair for the next few weeks. At least.

Probably until Christmas.

There’s an odd poetry to it.

Of the torturous variety.

Emma nods, twisting her lip between her teeth and fisting her hands at her side. “No more jokes, I promise. Just--tourist attractions. And maybe some eggnog. When’s the last time you think you had eggnog?”

“I don’t know that I’ve had eggnog ever.” “How is that possible?” “Do you drink eggnog all the time?”

“Well, no, but that’s my point.” “This is the most roundabout way of getting there,” Killian says, if only because he knows it’ll get her to stop biting her lip. It does.

She smiles, stepping further into the apartment and sprawling on the couch. Killian doesn’t move, but then Emma’s crooking a finger towards him. It doesn’t take very long to walk after that, a few steps and his knee brushing hers when he sits down.

“Ok, so everything happened today and, well, I’ve got a good chunk of holiday time that I wasn’t going to take--” “--You are seriously the most stubborn human being on the planet, do you know that? Holiday time is meant to be taken off.” “I am never going to get to the plan if you keep interrupting me,” Emma says, but it comes out more like a sigh. They’ve moved a bit, slumping against cushions and blankets with Emma’s head resting on Killian’s shoulder. It’s more comfortable that way, he reasons. “Anyway,” she continues. “I have time and now, you know, they’re giving me some time and--” “--Swan!” “I can’t threaten to murder you in here. I like this apartment too much.” “That’s generous of you, love.” “‘Tis the season or whatever,” Emma grumbles, rapping her knuckles on his stomach. “The point I am desperately trying to make is that I’ve got some time off and we’ve got a whole city at our fingertips with a reputation for being particularly fun during Christmas. I think we should take advantage of that. Reclaim our festivity, as it were.” “And how do you propose we do that?”

“Well, we drink some goddamn eggnog first. But then we do all the stupid Christmas stuff in New York. A variety of trees and holiday markets and you know I’ve never been ice skating once in my life.” “It’s not that much fun,” Killian says. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Swan, but all of these things sound decidedly like tourist traps.” “Yes.” “Wow, that’s a much quicker agreement than I was anticipating.” “The tourists go there for reason. And I haven’t done them in forever. It could be fun.” “Or we could get trampled,” Killian counters. “Mad shoppers in the Bryant Park holiday market.” “I sincerely doubt that.”

Killian scoffs, considering the idea for a moment and, for half of that moment, it doesn’t seem that bad. Even with the threat of tourists and the possibility of making a complete fool of himself on some yet-to-be-determined skating rink.

Because, above all else, he really does enjoy spending time with Emma and it may be nice to remember that this time of year is, usually, nice. It may be nice to forget about Robert whatever his last name is for a few hours.

And he’s just about to agree, to promise that sounds good, Swan when she swings her legs over his, head tilted up to meet his eyes. He swallows back every word.

“I just…” Emma starts, scrunching her nose when she cuts herself off. “It started because I was feeling like shit and then I bought the stupid antlers, but then you weren’t at the bar and Scarlet wouldn’t give you up. I tried every interrogation technique I know.” “It’s because he’s not a normal human. That’s not a marker on your interrogation skills, love.”

“That’s generous. But I had half this plan and I was totally going to say something as soon as you got to the bar. Only then you got to the bar and were so annoyed, like, glowing with annoyance and I knew I was going to have to tell you about today and it all kind of snowballed and--” “--Was that a pun?” “Not intentionally.” “That’s impressive,” Killian murmurs. His fingers are moving. That’s weird. He can’t remember deciding to do that, but they’re dragging up the side of Emma’s arm and she hasn’t actually told him to stop.

“You’re on a compliment roll. Basically what I’m saying is it started as this very selfish thing that I was going to kind of drag you along with kicking and screaming, but if anyone deserves to have their festiveness restored than it’s you Mr. Ebenezer Grinch.” Killian chokes on the minimal amount of air in his lungs. “Ebenezer Grinch?” “Don’t forget the Mr. That’s important too.” “That doesn’t even make any sense.” “It does,” Emma objects. “I’m not entirely sure how, but I’m sure it does. So I want...I want to help. You and me. But mostly you now. I want to do something good. With us, I mean. Ah, no, that’s not what I mean. Not us us, just, like, you and me doing something together. As a unit. For Christmas. Oh God that sounds worse, doesn’t it?” “No.” “No?” “No,” Killian repeats. “If you’re going to make me drink eggnog though, you’re going to buy it, Swan. I’m not sure I’ll be able to drum up the courage.” It’s enough to get her to laugh again, head falling against his chest and Killian can feel her inhale deeply. “I’ve stolen so much of your alcohol stock over the years, it only seems fair we even it up at some point.” “This is definitely the way to do it.”

She makes a noise against his shirt, burrowing further against him. Maybe they can find spiked eggnog. Killian feels like he’s downed several gallons. “So that’s a plan, then? Operation: get festive is a go?” “Should we wear matching jackets?” “Don’t think I haven’t considered matching sweaters.” “That actually doesn’t surprise me,” Killian says, and it sounds like a far larger admission. “When did you want to go?” “Saturday?” “Saturday!” “Saturday.” “You want to go into the city on a Saturday in December? To tourist attractions?” “Part of the festivity is being around other people,” Emma reasons. “And we’ll go places besides the tourist attractions. I’m totally going to make a list.” “Of course you are. If I get run over by some family of five from Pennsylvania, all of them holding a variety of bags from Macy’s and several from those I Love NY stores in Midtown, not only am I going to hold you personally responsible, but I’m going to come back and haunt you for the rest of your life.”

Emma presses her lips together – clearly doing her best not to laugh in his face. Killian isn’t sure if he appreciates that or not. Until she brushes her lips over his cheek, so quick he’s nervous he just imagined it, but he can’t possibly have imagined the way his entire body seems to light up at it and then he’s far too busy trying to cope with Emma curled against his side to worry about anything else.

“This will be fun,” she promises. “Festive. Close your eyes, Jones.” “Swan, we own beds.” “Yeah and I don’t want to get up. So either you’re going to carry me to bed or you’re just going to move slightly and we can both fit almost comfortably on this couch.” “That’s insane.” “In case you haven’t noticed, that’s how today has been.” Emma takes a deep breath, the arm around Killian’s stomach tightening slightly. “I can move if you want though.” She doesn’t quite whisper the last few words, but it’s dangerously close – a hint of nerves that he doesn’t ever want her to feel around him. And, well, that decides that.

“No, Swan, it’s fine,” Killian says, maneuvering them until they’re both on their sides and it doesn’t take very long for either one of them to fall asleep.

With her hair in his face.

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan fic #captain swan ff #cs #secret santa fic #i've never done roommates before????#listen they're in love

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runmilder · 6 years

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Baldur’s Bane

AO3 link here

Chapters: 1 / 4 Fandom: DCU, DCU (Comics), Batman - All Media Types Rating: Mature Relationships: Tim Drake/Reader Tags: Mistletoe, vague sex pollen, happy holidays from Poison Ivy

Summary:

The Poetic Edda has one thing right: mistletoe is a pain. The batboys and their mistletoe machinations.

There is no worse time to live in the city than during the holiday season. Traffic is more congested than usual, public transit is overcrowded with both travelers and their purchases, and outings have to be plotted with more precision than most military operations. And if the cutthroat soccer moms in retail lines aren’t brutal enough, there’s always an uptick in criminal activity, Gotham’s villains cooking up more than just Christmas ham.

And speaking of Christmas ham—

“Where are you?”

Your grocery bags leave angry stripes on your arms as you manage to adjust your phone between your ear and shoulder. Not for the first time, you consider going hands-free. You’re sure your boyfriend would hook you up with something considerably higher tech than a Bluetooth, though, so you don’t mention your struggle.

“Sorry?” you say, lifting one overburdened arm to plug your other ear.

“Are you home?” Tim sounds out of breath. “Please tell me that’s the television I hear in the background.”

You look around at the holiday crowds in the shopping center. “Um. It’s the television?”

Tim mutters something unintelligible. It might be a curse. “Stay where you are. I’m coming to get you.”

You open your mouth to reply, any number of comments sitting on your tongue, but he’s already hung up. He always forgets the niceties when he’s stressed; you try not to take it personally. You also don’t bother to ask how he knows your location, instead staring down at the dark screen of your GPS-emitting phone with something akin to betrayal.

Hero-types. Honestly.

Though he instructed you to stay put, you’re sure Tim didn’t mean for you to stand in the middle of foot traffic, so you move off to the side. There’s a bench in sight of the complex’s garland-wrapped stairs and accompanying escalators, and you gratefully sit, bags splaying around you. Your arms protest the sudden return of circulation. Nothing in your immediate vicinity strikes you as alarming—other than the weirdly breathy rendition of Santa Baby playing over the loudspeakers—and you consider checking your news feed to see what has Tim in such a tizzy. Is it another mechanical Santa gone rogue? Are the roads being converted to ice rinks via freeze rays?

How soon does this food need to be refrigerated, anyway?

You have a Christmas potluck at work to prepare for, and then a few last-minute gifts to worry about purchasing before you can even think about settling back and enjoying the holidays. Just sitting here listening to increasingly bad covers of Christmas songs has you feeling antsy.

In your distraction, you almost don’t notice the creeping greenery.

There’s no shortage of people-watching to be done in the heart of Gotham, the city drawing people from all walks of life. You’re playing the old stand-by game, How Many Hero Shirts (twelve so far, and one shirtdress with bat symbol print,) and you can’t help but note that there’re a lot of handsy people out today. There’s a couple making out on the escalator, stumbling as their steps level out with the floor. Two others bump into a column near you, locked together in a passionate embrace. You’re starting to feel like a voyeur, actually, your eyes darting around to see more coat clad figures succumbing to… what? Holiday spirit? Where’s the sense of decorum?

Your eyes meet the scrunched gaze of a kid, probably eight or so, whose parents are getting a little too friendly nearby. Both of your expressions say the same thing: what the hell? Or, in his case, heck.

And then you see the mistletoe.

“Only in Gotham,” you mutter. There’s no one in hearing range (who isn’t otherwise engaged) to hear you let loose a string of colorful words, and you gather up your bags, heedless of Tim’s previous warning, and make toward the nearest exit. The greenery stretches along the walls and vaulted ceiling of the complex, spreading ever further even as you watch. The skylights are quickly being overtaken, the natural light choked out by waxy leaves. It’s unmistakably mistletoe, berries hanging in clumps of both red and white, although you’ve never heard of it growing as a vine. It’s beautiful… and ominous. Somehow, you don’t think the glimmering substance drifting off of the leaves like clouds of golden pollen is anything as innocuous as craft glitter.

Your nose itches, and you valiantly repress a sneeze.

There are other shoppers rushing past, and only some of them look aware of the possible danger. A pinch-mouthed woman with an oversized purse marches past, glaring at the living décor, and you realize that some of the pedestrians are just willfully ignorant. Apparently, some things are more important than Poison Ivy’s (because who else could it be?) newest gambit, although you can’t imagine what. Maybe Kirklands is having a sale.

A sudden tug scatters your thoughts of country chic bargains, and you’re dragged into an emergency exit hallway before you have a chance to protest.

“Sorry for the ambush, but we have to go.” It’s Tim. Of course it’s Tim.

You note that he’s in civilian clothes, eyes unmasked, and you open your mouth to question him, but he half-turns, looking around with suspicion, and you see a peek of red beneath his coat. Ah. You’d bet anything that if you checked his pockets right now, you’d find a domino mask.

“That’s awfully sloppy for you,” you tease, nodding to his outfit when he meets your gaze with a quizzical look of his own.

He looks down, then hastily buttons his coat.

“I didn’t exactly have time for a full costume change,” he says, mouth flat, but eyes crinkling up. He lifts your bags from bloodless fingers and jerks his head toward the glowing exit sign. You’d ask about the alarm on the door, but you’re almost certain that he came in this way.

“Are you going to or from an engagement?” You’re careful with your phrasing even when you think you’re alone; it never does to assume around here. Not when the walls have eyes and ears.

“I’m in the middle of an engagement,” he says, emphasis on “engagement.” He hoists the bags up higher, readjusting. “Did you buy rocks, by any chance?”

You trail behind, through the door and into a service alley. There’s a sleek car there, parked no-doubt illegally.

“They were on sale,” you say, rolling your eyes. “If you can’t handle them, I can take them off of your hands.”

The car’s tiny trunk pops open, the parcels quickly wedged inside. Tim turns with a tiny grin and a raised eyebrow. “I think I got it.”

“Baby.”

“Oh, are we doing pet names now?” His grin grows, widening to near shit-eating proportions. He leans against the rear bumper, keys spinning in his hand, and you want to wipe the self-satisfied look off his face.

Preferably with your face.

Something must show in your expression, because Tim’s smile flickers and he’s suddenly in your space, eyes shifting from warm to analytical. He reaches up and brushes your shoulder, and you glance in surprise to see a fine dusting of golden powder puff beneath his fingertips.

“Well,” you say, swallowing against the sudden tightness in your throat. “That’s… probably not good.”

Tim’s mouth is a hard line. “Nothing life threatening, but—” He rubs his fingers together, the dust dissipating. “I’m taking you home.”

You’re ushered into the low-sitting sports car, Tim sliding into the drivers seat a half second later. There’s no music to distract you from your growing anxiety, and no police scanner either. Tim, when you glance at him, looks distracted, though his eyes are on the road, and his driving smooth as he slips through traffic. Your eyes keep slipping to his mouth, and you berate yourself for it. You’re as bad as the shoppers in the—

Wait.

“Did Poison Ivy infect the city with sex pollen?”

Tim grimaces, eyes flicking to yours and then away. “”Sex pollen” is a bit of an overstatement. There’s certainly some kind of aphrodisiac element to the plants, but we don’t think it’s anything strong enough to break through preexisting reservations.”

“So people aren’t jumping each other in the street right now?” You look out of the window as if to check, but you’ve already passed the last of the spreading greenery. There were several blocks infested with it, though.

He looks uncomfortable. “I didn’t say that.”

“Shouldn’t you be out there?” Not that you aren’t thrilled to be out of the thick of it—who knows when the plants might start to choke their victims with something more than pollen—but your boyfriend is kind of an important person to the city.

“I was—actually, I was one of the first on sight.” He shifts in his seat, taking the turn into your apartment’s parking.

You stare at him.

“Are you—?” Realization dawns. “You weren’t wearing anything over your face.”

Tim parks the car, but leaves it idling. “…No.”

You lean over, turning his chin so that he’s looking you in the eye. His pupils are blown.

“Oh my god,” you say.

“Like I said, nothing life threatening.” He shifts in his seat again. “Just—uncomfortable.”

You almost laugh, but—no, that would be mean. And frankly, hypocritical, because you’re feeling “uncomfortable,” too.

You regard each other for several breaths.

“Well,” you say at the same time Tim says, “Do you—?”

You both stop, and then, with a mental shrug, you decide to just go for it.

Your seatbelt clicks open with a startlingly loud crack, and you let it sling back toward the window even as you duck under the low roof of the car and shimmy over the console. It’s not a car designed for spontaneous lap-sitting, but you think you can make do. Tim, quick on the uptake, slides the seat as far away from the wheel as it will go—not very—and immediately brackets your hips with his hands.

“We could just go insi—” he starts, but you cut him off with a press of your lips. He doesn’t protest after that.

The angle isn’t great, and there’s a little movement as Tim tries to lean the seat back, but you ignore the twinge in your neck and move your mouth against his, his lips softening into compliance. You curl your fingers over his shoulder, your other hand traveling up to grasp dark strands of hair, drawing a little sound from him when you tug. You draw back and he reels you back in, one kiss turning into a flurry of not-quite closed mouth kisses. You breathe a sigh against him, happy to have him here, regardless of the circumstances, and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, tongue sliding sweetly against yours.

You’re a little more frantic now, and a lot less reserved. The pace of your kisses quickens, your breaths coming in short pants. Beside you, the window is fogging. Tim’s hand slips beneath your shirt, palm like a brand over your spine. You shift, bringing your bodies closer, and your hips press into his, and oh—

“I think,” Tim rasps, breaking away with a gutted sound, “that we need to get out of this car before we get arrested for public indecency.”

You run your thumb over his lower lip, and he turns his head to nip at it.

“You want to do indecent things to me, Tim Drake?” You mean it to sound coy, but it sounds more like a plea.

Tim reaches behind you to open the door, his chest pressing against yours. Cold air rushes in, but that’s not what has you shivering.

“I have a list of indecent things I’d like to do to you,” he says in your ear. “Would you like to go alphabetically or chronologically?”

It’s probably the nerdiest dirty talk you’ve heard in your life, but you’re already clambering out, Tim hot on your heels.

“Oh!” you say, starting to turn. “The ham.”

Tim makes a sound not unlike a growl. “Forget the ham; you’re coming over for Christmas dinner.” His hand is on your lower back, already guiding you away.

You open your mouth to protest—it’s not for you, it’s for the potluck—but then his words sink in.

Coming over for—

Oh. He’s inviting you to the manor. With his family. Of superheroes.

You stumble up the stairs to your apartment in a sort of daze, but then you’re at the door, and Tim is commandeering your keys, bundling you inside, mouth on your neck, and then—

And then you don’t do much thinking at all.

#yeah tim #chicks dig lists #nothing gets us hotter #dork.#tim drake/reader #fanfiction #tim drake #batman fanfic #tim drake x reader #reader fic #dcu #my writing #runmild writes #christmas prompts #pov second person #gender-neutral reader

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gotta-save-your-ass-for-a-change · 7 years

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Who Would Have Thought?: Chapter 13

Chapter Title: Christmas Fandom: Shameless, Mickey/Ian Rating: M Summary: Merry Christmas. In June. Notes: I just realized my timeline put us in December. Therefore, surprise Christmas chapter. Also, I apologize for the delay. I know it’s been forever, but I’m back. Hope you enjoy!

Ao3 Link

Chapter One * Chapter Two * Chapter Three * Chapter Four * Chapter Five * Chapter Six * Chapter Seven * Chapter Eight * Chapter Nine * Chapter Ten * Chapter Eleven * Chapter Twelve * Chapter Thirteen * Chapter Fourteen * Chapter Fifteen

“Babe?!” Ian calls when he walks through the door. He sounds a touch panicked and Mickey’s not sure what to make of it.

“What, man? You okay?” Mickey questions, concerned, as he leans forward on the couch, eyes seeking Ian’s as Ian moves into the living room, shedding his jacket on the way.

“Christmas is in like two weeks,” Ian deadpans, as he watches Mickey expectantly. Ian’s on edge. It’s obvious from his demeanor, and Mickey’s wary, but unsure of what’s inspired his husband’s sudden frustration.

Mickey shakes his head in confusion, staring at Ian like he’s grown two heads. “So?”

“So?” Ian throws back at him in disbelief, eyes wide with desperation as he throws his hands up in frustration. “So what are we doing, Mickey?”

“What do you mean, what are we doing? Nothin’, man. We don’t need to celebrate that shit,” Mickey offers, and he’s attempting to calm Ian down, but it backfires, and from the look on Ian’s face, Mickey thinks Ian might be about to strangle him.

“Mickey!” Ian chastises, shaking his head in frustration. “We have a kid now. We can’t just not celebrate.”

“Why the fuck not, man? Yev’s not gonna know the difference,” Mickey shrugs, unconcerned and confused by Ian’s panic.

“Yes, he is, Mickey,” Ian argues, his voice a touch softer but no less frustrated. “He’s three. He’ll fucking remember. Svet, V, and Kev celebrate with the kids. We can’t just not. He’ll be devastated. We are not fucking up our first Christmas as an official family, Mickey.”

“Fuckin’ hell, Ian,” Mickey murmurs under his breath as he rolls his eyes. “Really? We just fuckin’ bought the kid a bunch of shit.”

“Well, then, we’re gonna have to go out and buy him a bunch more shit. We’re not fucking up Christmas for our kid, Mickey,” Ian sounds almost desperate, and Mickey’s becoming a little concerned at Ian’s irritation.

For a moment, Mickey searches Ian’s eyes—tries to figure out what exactly has his husband so riled up about a holiday they’ve never given a shit about before. He can’t quite figure it out, but he can see that Ian is genuinely upset, and he hates that he can’t understand Ian’s frustration. Mickey sighs a little, his eyes immediately softening, and he gestures for Ian to sit. It takes him a moment, but Ian finally moves forward, taking the spot next to Mickey. Mickey wastes no time in pulling Ian to him, and resting his husband against his chest, stroking gentle fingers through Ian’s hair. “Okay, love,” Mickey promises quietly, his tone calm and soothing as he presses a gentle kiss to Ian’s temple. “We’ll do it up for Christmas. That’s fine. I’m all for it if you are. But what’s going on, Ian? Why are you so on edge?”

It takes a moment, and Mickey almost thinks Ian’s not going to answer. But he finally does, after a deep, steadying breath. “I almost forgot about it, Mick.” Ian’s voice is shaky, and he’s obviously fighting with his own emotions to keep himself steady. “With everything, I haven’t been thinking about shit like this, and when I realized today, I just—fuck, Mickey, I don’t wanna mess this up for Yevgeny. I love him so fucking much, and I always have, but I basically fucking abandoned him after everything went down, and I was barely in his life for a year and a half because of my own fucking bullshit. It wasn’t fair to him. He lived two fucking doors down, and I couldn’t be bothered to take the time to go see him. I don’t want to let him down again, Mickey.”

Mickey nods his understanding, and smiles sadly at Ian as he wipes at the tears that have gathered in his husband’s eyes. “Ian, listen to me,” he offers, shifting until he can frame Ian’s face with his hands, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to Ian’s lips. “Yevgeny loves you. He’s our son, Ian. It doesn’t matter what happened in the past. We’re here now, and he loves you. A lot of shit happened back then. I was a shitty dad, too. But it’s different now, Ian. We’re different. We’re a family, sweetheart, and that’s all that matters now, okay?”

Ian takes a deep breath at that, nuzzling deeper into Mickey’s touch, savoring the comfort he finds in his husband’s arms. “Okay,” he murmurs, and Ian’s not sure he really believes it, but Mickey does, and for now, Ian thinks that’s enough.

“So, you guys make a plan for Christmas?” Fiona asks as she settles down beside Ian, sipping at a cup of coffee.

Mickey and Ian are visiting, mostly at the behest of Fiona, who’s been hounding them for days about stopping by the house, even with their recent visit. Ian’s pretty sure she’s feeling lonely with the mostly empty house, after so many years with the bustle of a handful of siblings and the revolving door of partners she’d become accustomed to.

“Yeah,” Ian admits with a little half smile. “We’re gonna have Yev Christmas Eve. He’s gonna sleep over, and we’ll do gifts Christmas Eve morning and make a day of it before we take him home after dinner. That way he can be with Jemma and Amy Christmas morning.”

“You okay with that?” Fiona asks gently, eyeing Ian carefully. “I know you were kind of worried about the whole thing.”

Ian tenses just a bit—he’s not even sure he’s fully comfortable talking with Mickey about that whole episode, much less Fiona. But Mickey feels him tense and sinks gentle fingers into Ian’s hair from where his arm rests around Ian on the back of the couch. Mickey’s touch soothes him near instantly, and Ian reaches out to give Mickey’s thigh a gentle squeeze in reassurance, tilting his head to smile softly at his husband. It still amazes Ian sometimes that they’re finally really here, together and happy and building a family. Knowing Mickey’s close and so in tune with Ian’s feelings is a constant relief.

“Yeah,” Ian assures. And he means it. “We’ll still get to have our Christmas with our son. Doesn’t really matter what day it all happens. And we’ll be here for dinner with you guys on Christmas, so it’s kind of a win-win, you know?”

Fiona nods with a smile. “Yeah. Makes sense. I’m glad you guys are gonna join for dinner. It’ll be nice to have the whole Gallagher clan together.”

If Mickey’s being honest, he had hated the idea of celebrating Christmas—even if only with the three of them. Especially if only with the three of them, really. Because Mickey has never been a part of a family who gave a shit about holidays, and the pressure of trying to somehow live up to all the hype to make their son happy is a lot for him. He knows Ian’s right—knows they need to develop traditions and routines as a family to make sure Yevgeny understands that they are a family, even if they’re all a little eccentric. Mickey wants Yev to be happy and to love the holidays and family time. He wants to make sure Yevgeny has hundreds of happy family memories to draw on for the rest of his life, and Mickey knows that starts here for the three of them.

But that doesn’t change the fact that Mickey doesn’t know how to do this right. All he has to go on are sappy Christmas movies and Ian’s ramblings, and if he’s being honest? He’s freaking the fuck out. Especially since Ian’s sent him to fucking Walmart for cheap decorations, and, apparently, shit to make Christmas cookies, and Mickey is fucking lost. He’s in the middle of a sea of red, green, and silver, and everything’s fucking sparkly, and Mickey is going to kill his husband when he gets home.

After about twenty minutes of staring at a wall full of shimmery plastic shit, Mickey feels like he’s losing his mind. So, in the hopes of getting some help, Mickey pulls out his phone and dials Ian’s number. Just as he’s about to send the call, though, Mickey feels a hand creep up his back, and he spins on his heels, instantly ready for an altercation.

When he spots the familiar shock of red hair and that infuriating fucking smirk, though, he softens immediately, giving Ian a gentle shove before leaning back into his husband’s touch. “The fuck you doin’ here, asshole? Thought you were working late?”

“Nah,” Ian smiles mischievously at that, giving Mickey’s hip a little squeeze, “just wanted to surprise you. Figured you might need a little help over here.”

“Fuck off,” Mickey scoffs, jostling Ian with a shoulder. “Was doin’ fine.”

“Really?” Ian teases, raising his eyebrows at Mickey’s empty cart. “You’ve been standing here looking confused for the last half hour.”

Mickey narrows his eyes and shakes his head incredulously. “I fuckin’ hate you.”

“Mmhmm,” Ian offers noncommittally, amusement playing in his tone as his eyes scan the shelves in front of him. After only a handful of moments, Ian settles on a couple of lengths of garland and tosses them into the cart before tugging the front of it to get Mickey moving with him. “Whatever you say, babe.”

In the end, though, it’s worth it. More than, in fact. Because Mickey has never seen Yevgeny happier.

And it’s not the gifts or the sweets or any of that, really. It’s the way the boy’s face lights up from his spot on Ian’s lap as they sit at the kitchen table decorating cookies and it’s the excitement in the boy’s eyes as they hang ornaments on the little tree and the way he babbles on and on about how happy he is to stay with his daddies.

In the end, it’s all the stuff they do as a family that makes it worthwhile. Mickey’s never had this before, but he’s really fucking glad he’s sharing it with his son.

That night, the three of them snuggle up on the couch and watch Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. Mickey can’t really see the appeal of the film, but Yevgeny spends most of the movie giggling at the characters and the music—to Mickey’s confusion, really, because frankly, most of the film is fucking depressing. But Yevgeny loves it and begs to watch it again, and Mickey tries to say no—tries to promise they’ll watch it again in the morning but that it’s time for bedtime tonight—but Yevgeny gets Ian in on the puppy dog eyes, and Mickey just can’t bring himself to stick to his guns. So instead, they end up watching another time through while Yev tries to babble along to the songs. Mickey can’t help but smile, leaning his head back on the couch and turning toward Ian, who’s already watching Mickey fondly.

For a moment, they hold one another’s gaze while Yev remains oblivious to the exchange. When Mickey mouths a quiet ‘love you’ to Ian, though, Ian leans toward Mickey, and Mickey meets him halfway for a kiss. They stay close for a moment, smiling at each other until Yevgeny notices and scolds them.

“Daddies!” Yev insists, throwing his hands up and rolling his eyes as he shakes his head in exasperation. “No kisses! Watch Rudolph!”

Ian and Mickey both laugh, and Ian murmurs “Okay, okay,” as he tickles Yevgeny’s sides gently. The boy giggles before snuggling into Ian’s chest and stretching his legs out over Mickey’s lap. Mickey’s pretty sure he’s never been more content.

When the movie finishes, they finally get Yevgeny up and headed to bed. He begs for a story, though, and digs out a Christmas book before handing it over to Mickey with a little pout. Mickey gives in almost immediately, and the three of them begin a new goodnight ritual as Yev drifts off to sleep.

By the time Yevgeny is finally down, though, it’s after 10pm, and Mickey’s exhausted.

“Christ, man,” Mickey complains as he glances at the clock. “It’s fuckin’ late.”

“Sure, grandpa,” Ian laughs as he tickles Mickey’s sides to brighten him up. “It’s not that late.”

“Late for the kid,” Mickey protests as he raises an eyebrow in Ian’s direction. “ You gotta learn to say no to him, man.”

“Oh, hush,” Ian teases playfully. “I wasn’t the only one in there. Besides, It’s our Christmas Eve. If there was ever a time to spoil him, it’s tonight.”

Mickey rolls his eyes a bit at that, but there’s a little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “We still have to do the presents,” he whines as he steps up close to Ian, wrapping his arms around his husband’s neck.

Ian shakes his head as he settles his hands at Mickey hips and leans down to give Mickey a peck on the lips. “You’re whinier than our three year old,” Ian laughs, before kissing Mickey again, just a little deeper this time. “It won’t take long to get everything set out, Mick. Plus, this means Yev will probably sleep a little later in the morning. You’ll get your sleep, you big baby. I promise.”

“You’re such a dick,” Mickey mocks, as he pokes Ian in the side to break his husband’s hold. “Now, come on. We’ve gotta get everything set up for morning.”

“Sure thing,” Ian agrees, as he allows Mickey to grab his hand and drag him down the hall toward their bedroom, where the gifts are safely tucked away.

In the morning, Mickey wakes to find Yevgeny tucked between himself and Ian. Yev is still fast asleep, and Mickey smiles softly, reaching out to stroke Yevgeny’s hair gently before he raises his eyes to Ian.

Ian’s lying on his side facing them both, head propped on his hand as he smiles back at Mickey. “Hey,” Ian whispers quietly, trying to avoid waking the slumbering toddler. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas to you, love,” Mickey answers softly, leaning forward to kiss Ian carefully. “When’d Yev show up?”

“About a half hour after you fell asleep, I think,” Ian admits, as he gazes down at their son. “I was almost out until he wandered in. He was really careful not to wake you, but he said he was too excited to sleep. I asked if cuddles would help, and he got all excited at the idea of sleeping in the big bed.”

Mickey lets out a little laugh at that. “He wasn’t scared, then?” Mickey asks curiously.

“Nah, don’t think so,” Ian assures. “Think he was too excited about Christmas morning to be scared.”

Mickey nods at that, a fond little smile playing on his lips. He and Ian fall into a comfortable quiet for a bit, as they watch Yevgeny sleep.

After a bit, the boy stirs slightly, nuzzling closer to Mickey as he opens sleepy eyes. “Daddy,” he asks groggily, “’s it time for Christmas yet?”

Mickey and Ian both smile at that, and Mickey leans a bit until he can press a little kiss to the top of Yevgeny’s head. “Yeah, little man,” Mickey agrees happily. “It’s time for Christmas.”

“What do say daddy and I make you some breakfast, and you can watch a little TV while we do?” Ian offers, reaching out to ruffle Yev’s hair.

“Rudolph!” Yevgeny insists excitedly, happy smile radiating up at his dads.

Mickey huffs out a surprised laugh at that and shakes his head fondly. “You and that reindeer,” he murmurs out, amused, as Ian lets out a little laugh of his own and Yevgeny shrieks in excitement as Mickey tickles the boy’s sides. “Yes, you can watch Rudolph while we make breakfast.”

“Thank you, daddy!” Yevgeny smiles up at Mickey, pushing his blonde hair out of his eyes and scooting out from under the covers and down the bed. “I set up!”

Ian and Mickey both laugh after him as Mickey shifts to lean against Ian, pressing his face into the crook of Ian’s neck and smiling against his husband’s skin.

Mickey’s not sure he’s ever been happier.

Once they’re up and out of bed, Mickey gets Yevgeny set up in front of his movie, still in his pajamas and wrapped in a cozy blanket. Right away, Ian starts in on breakfast for the three of them. When Mickey returns to the kitchen, Yevgeny is humming happily from the living room, and Ian has a pancake batter mixed up.

“Can you grab the strawberries and whipped cream, babe?” Ian requests of Mickey, still mixing the batter in his hand.

“You trying to give him a sugar high already?” Mickey teases popping the fridge to pull out the requested items.

“Ha ha,” Ian offers sarcastically, finishing with the batter and heating the griddle, “just slice ‘em for me, smart guy.”

Mickey laughs lightheartedly, setting to work washing and hulling the berries before slicing them up via his husband’s instructions. He’s not quite sure what Ian has up his sleeve, but he’s certainly not going to argue if Ian’s going to take care of the cooking.

Ian starts with a smaller pancake for Yev before pouring out a couple for each of them. Mickey takes his time plating each, making sure to set Yevgeny’s aside to let Ian work his magic. As Ian tends to Yev’s plate, Mickey busies himself brewing some coffee and pouring a glass of milk for Yev, sneaking a peak at Ian every now and then and smiling at his husband’s concentration.

A few minutes later, Ian announces that he’s finished, and Mickey sidles up beside him to check out Ian’s handiwork. Mickey smiles immediately as he takes in the little pancake version of Rudolph that sits in front of him. Ian’s used a couple of lengthwise slices of strawberry for the ears, a small, whole berry for the bright red nose, and a couple of pretzel nubs for the antlers. At some point Ian also must have dug out a little bag of chocolate chips, because there are little chocolate chips sitting atop a couple of tufts of whipped cream for the eyes.

“What do you think?” Ian asks, quirking an eyebrow and smiling back at Mickey proudly.

“You’re a fuckin’ dork, man,” Mickey shakes his head in amusement, “and I love ya for it.”

“No bad words, daddy!” Yevgeny scolds from the other room.

Mickey and Ian both laugh at that, a little surprised the boy was paying attention to anything except his movie.

“Sorry, Yev,” Mickey calls back, rolling his eyes at his smirking husband and giving Ian a playful little shove. “Time for breakfast, bud.”

Yevgeny pouts a bit, but he gets up to amble to the table. He brightens when Mickey tells him they can leave the movie on, and the moment Ian sets the plate in front of him, Yevgeny shrieks with joy.

“Rudolph!” he squeals—again—and Mickey and Ian just laugh, settling in beside their son. After a moment of admiring the pancake reindeer, Yevgeny smiles up at Ian and reaches over to pat his dad’s hand, murmuring a happy, “Thank you, daddy.”

Ian smiles genuinely. “You’re welcome, Yevy. Now eat up, so we can open presents.”

Once they’ve finished eating, Mickey clears the table while Ian scoops Yev up into his arms and carries him into the living room before plopping the toddler onto the couch to the boy’s delight. When Mickey joins them, he finds Yevgeny giggling uncontrollably as Ian tickles Yev’s side and scoots onto the couch next to the toddler. Mickey laughs, and Yevgeny’s giggles slowly die down as he sits himself up and leans happily against his dad’s side.

After a moment, the boy reaches out for Mickey, who sits down beside Yev, giving his son a moment to snuggle next to him before Mickey breaks in. “You gonna open your presents, kiddo?” Mickey asks giving Yev a little squeeze.

“Yes, please!” Yevgeny agrees, excitedly.

“Well, then, we better get down there, huh?” Mickey asks with a grin before swinging the boy down to the floor and following to sit beside him, nodding at Ian to follow them. Ian does, scooting around the coffee table to sit with his boys in front of the tree and grabbing his phone from his pocket on the way.

As Ian preps the camera, Mickey helps Yevgeny pass out the gifts. To make it easier on the toddler, they’d wrapped the gifts in specific paper for each of them. Mickey points out which paper goes to which person, and Yevgeny sets out making sure he’s cleared out everything under the tree. By the time he finishes, the boy is amazed at the pile of gifts in front of him and the few in front of each of his dads. He stops a minute in confusion scratching his forehead and scrunching up his brow.

“Where are all your presents?” Yevgeny asks curiously, watching Mickey and Ian expectantly.

Mickey gives a little laugh at that and pulls Yev into his lap. “Well,” Mickey begins, a little unsure, but careful to keep his voice confident, “Christmas presents are mostly for little ones like you, Yevy. Grown ups like daddy and I already have all we need to be happy, because we have each other and we have you.”

“But I happy, too, daddy,” Yevgeny insists.

“And we are so, so glad about that, Yevy,” Ian interjects, reaching out to squeeze Yev’s arm. “You’re such a good boy, though, that your daddies wanted to give you lots of presents. Is that okay?”

After a moment, Yevgeny nods thoughtfully. “'k,” he agrees after a moment.

“All right,” Mickey smiles, giving Yev another little squeeze. “What’d'ya say we open these up, then, huh?”

Yev nods in excitement then, immediately diving in to tear the paper off the first gift he can reach, leaving Mickey and Ian to laugh along as Ian films the whole thing.

By the time they drop Yevgeny off at home, Ian’s heart is hurting a bit. He knows it’s only fair for the boy to spend Christmas morning with his mom and sisters. It would be unfair to ask for anything else. But Ian loves spending time with their son more than anything, and he still feels like he has a lot of time to make up for.

So, despite himself, he finds a couple of tears slipping out when he and Mickey turn away to head home. Mickey notices immediately and wraps a comforting arm around Ian’s shoulders as they head down the street, pulling Ian gently against his side.

“I know, love,” Mickey soothes quietly, “but we’ll have him again in a few days. And we had a perfect little family Christmas together, hmm?”

“Yeah, Mick, I know,” Ian agrees with a little smile, “Just miss him, is all.”

Mickey nods, tugging Ian a little closer against the cold as they make their way home.

When they wander into the Gallagher house the next day, Ian and Mickey are greeted with friendly chatter and smiling faces. They manage to hug Fiona in greeting before dropping the bags of gifts they’ve brought by the tree and heading toward the kitchen where most of the family is milling around.

After a moment, they hear a bright little voice squeal in excitement. All they hear is the word “Daddies!” before they each have half an armful of an overexcited Yevgeny.

“Hey, little man!” Ian exclaims, his own excitement matching Yevgeny’s as he boosts the toddler up onto his hip and gives Yev a little kiss on the cheek. Yevgeny returns the affection before reaching out for Mickey. Ian passes Yev into Mickey’s arms, Mickey beaming brightly at the new turn of events, as Yevgeny greets his dad and begins chattering about his Christmas morning. Ian can’t help but notice that the boy is wearing the Christmas sweatshirt he and Mickey had left with Svet to leave under their tree for the toddler to open on Christmas morning, and his heart swells just a little more.

After watching Mickey and Yev for a moment, Ian raises his eyes to meet with Fiona’s. “What’s this all about?” he asks, a little apprehensive that Yev might only be staying for a short while.

Fiona shrugs with a little smile. “You seemed a little down about not spending Christmas day with Yevgeny. Talked to V and Kev, who talked to Svetlana. Didn’t take too much convincing to get them all here for dinner.”

Ian thinks he might have tears in his eyes as he wraps his sister up in a hug and squeezes her tight. “Thank you,” he murmurs into her hair before pulling back to watch his husband and their son, Mickey completely oblivious to everything other than their little boy.

“Don’t mention it,” Fiona insists as she smiles at her brother’s little family. “Merry Christmas, kiddo.”

#shameless fic #gallavich fic #gallavich #mickey/ian #mickey milkovich #ian gallagher #s7 #canon divergent #who would have thought #chapter thirteen #my writing

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