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twogyuu · 1 year

Text

Nameless

Pairing: Wonwoo x fem!reader

Synopsis: Perhaps you were both fonder of one another than you thought - it only took one night in the city founded on two forbidden lovers for the two of you to realize.

Alternatively, Romeo and Juliet, but make it ATLA :P

Genre: Fluff, crack, some angst, atla!au, Of Flames and Fate!couple, firebender!wonwoo (he bends blue fire!!!), bounty hunter!wonwoo, former general!wonwoo, waterbender!reader, southern water tribe princess!reader, earthbender!jeonghan, old man!jeonghan (jeonghan is oc’s caretaker), my cabbages guy!mingyu, they’re in Omashu

Warnings: Mentions of war/weapons/violence, profanity, food, injury with a cabbage cart, one sexual innuendo at the end, unedited (I wrote most of this at like 3AM 😭💀 I will go back and fix this so it flows better some day–)

WC: ~6k

A/N: For my biggest firebender!wonwoo agenda supporter, @wisteria-woo . She be knew from the beginning ✊

Loosely inspired by ATLA, Love Between Fairy and Devil, and Hotarubi no Mori e.

original drabble || when the sun kissed the moon

. . . .

The screen door slid open abruptly, the bright light of the morning sun spilling into the small room, taking Wonwoo by surprise. A basket of damp clothes in hand, you grumpily pushed past Wonwoo, without a care for the firebender. You bumped his shoulder roughly on your way inside, though it was hard to tell if it was purposeful or out of ignorance. The young man watched you curiously for a moment as you lugged the heavy hamper towards the backdoor.

He figured you must’ve gone to the Common to do laundry at the fountain today and were just making your way back to hang the clothes in the courtyard of the hostel. Wonwoo did find it strange, however; you usually never went to town on your own without him (Jeonghan’s rules – not that he always wanted to nor did he mind these days) and as of late, he had been attempting to be more helpful – washing clothes being one of them.

That said, it was clear to him that you were bitter today – and Wonwoo had an inkling as to why.

Rushing to your side as you stepped over the threshold and onto the porch, he lifted the basket from the bottom to take some of the weight off your shoulders. Immediately, you stopped in your tracks and shot him a scowl.

“Can I help?” he offered you a small smile.

You only scoffed, though not refusing his help. You let go of your side, Wonwoo nearly stumbling forward with the additional weight.

Quietly, the two of you picked the damp clothing and flung them over the free space along one of the wires towards the end of the courtyard. Despite pretending to be interested in the worn beige blanket he had just pinned up, Wonwoo watched you carefully out of the corner of his eye. You were rather efficient today; like a robot only programmed to move from the drying line to the basket, furiously shaking out the clothes and blankets and clipping them to the wire. Your usual gentle and bright expression was replaced with a hardened look, the space between your brows creased. It worried Wonwoo that if you kept scowling for that long, your face might get stuck like that.

Admittedly, it wasn’t a cute look on you.

Silence ensued – only the slight breeze rustling the leaves of the tree overhanging the hostel and the occasional chirp of spring birds in the distance. The hostel was empty for the most part – the innkeeper and his wife were busy at the front calculating last night’s profits and cooking lunch. Most travelers had already taken off in the early hours of dawn and the few guests who extended their stay seemed to have business elsewhere during the day.

When enough was enough, Wonwoo parted an opening past what he thought was Jeonghan’s trousers and one of your overshirts, invading your side of the barrier.

“Can you at least acknowledge my existence?” Wonwoo asked.

Face still stoic, you slumped your shoulders and let out a long, heavy breath.

“Good morning, Wonwoo,” you said monotonously before marching off to your chore.

“You’re still upset,” he noted.

“And what’s it to you, bounty hunter?” you shot back.

“It’s just a silly festival –”

“Stop.”

Your face hardened as you continued to stare at him. As the seconds pass, the corner of your lips downturned into a tight frown, the rage from yesterday clearly still fresh in your heart.

“It’ll be fun!” you tried, leaning over the table, nearly knocking over your bowl of soup. It was fortunate Jeonghan was sitting next to you, the elder earthbender having impeccable reflexes for his age. His hand flew up immediately to slide the bowl back towards the center, sending you a warning look.

While entering Omashu today, Wonwoo had noted the decorations going up around town. The marketplace was bustling, with several merchants selling rich fabric, gold-encrusted pendants, and treats – a rare sight for such exquisite and exclusive items to be sold in such a place. In particular, Wonwoo had noticed the massive array of animal masks hanging in various stalls, some clearly representing animals in the surrounding area, others more artistic and painted with bright shades of blues and reds.

When he had asked about it, Jeonghan had explained the city was preparing for the Festival of the Badger Moles: an annual celebration of the birth of earthbending. Traditionally, people wore masks of the badger mole, but for the sake of festivities, within recent decades it has extended to other animals as well – mostly worn by children. There would be steam carts, live music, dancing, and goods being sold.

To you, however, the Festival of the Badger Moles was merely a legend Jeonghan would tell you stories about for the both of you were never in Omashu whenever it happened. With the nature of Jeonghan’s profession as a freelance welder, the two of you moved around frequently. This would be the first time you were in the city during the festivities and you were eager to experience it.

Though . . . that came Jeonghan’s condition that Wonwoo had to go with you.

“I don’t know, Y/N,” Wonwoo shrank back at your suggestion.

“Why not?” you pouted. “It’ll be a nice break from . . . everything. Time to breathe.”

“It’s . . . dangerous to be around a person like me,” Wonwoo tried to explain.

“You’re with us, right now?” you frowned, not quite understanding where he was coming from.

“No,” Wonwoo huffed in frustration. “Like out in public – in the masses. If you forgot,” he peered around to check for any listening ears and leaned in closer, lowering his volume. “I’m a bounty hunter, discarded son of the Fire Nation general . . . I’m a wanted man.”

You sat back on your heels, finally starting to understand – though, there was a tinge of selfishness in you that night.

“We’ll be wearing masks?” you tried.

Wonwoo only shook his head firmly. “It’s not safe – for me and you.”

You nodded in disappointment, though moments later turning to Jeonghan excitedly, a new compromise on the tip of your tongue.

“No,” Jeonghan shot you down before you could even try. His tone was harsh, but his expression was serene as he sipped on his soup.

“But–”

“My condition was that you’d go with Wonwoo, but Wonwoo doesn’t want to go,” Jeonghan laid out his rationale. “End of discussion.”

“Y/N,” Wonwoo tried. He took a step closer to you, but you took another one back.

“It might just be a silly festival to you, but it’s important to me,” you muttered. You inhaled sharply and squeezed your eyes shut, shaking your head to clear your thoughts. “I don’t expect anyone to understand, but it’s whatever,” you waved him off. “I know, Wonwoo – I understand. I’m just . . . upset at the situation, not at you.”

Wonwoo’s footing stuttered again as he extended a hand towards you. He was quick to stop in his tracks, his long fingers curling into a fist. His arm hung in the air a moment longer before he drew it to his side, muttering a quiet apology.

“I just need some space for now,” you mumbled, taking your leave.

There it was again: the sudden urge to chase after you and pull you into an embrace and comfort you. The look of disappointment etching into your features made his heart ache because he knew none of this was your fault, yet you silently suffered the brunt of it. You were kind and carefree – admittedly a little naive at times, but your intentions were good. It was unfortunate out of all people, it had to be you. He only complicated the situation.

Wonwoo wasn’t sure when he grew soft for you, but before he knew it, he was.

However, he knew better than to grow attached.

You were the hidden daughter of the Southern Water Tribe Chief.

He was the renounced son of the Fire Nation General – without a country and title. He was basically demoted to a righteous nomad at best.

At least, nomads had a group of people to call home.

Your lives weren’t supposed to cross; they were meant to run in parallel. Only this once where you needed one another would fate allow it for what seemed like a second in the infinite stream of time.

. . . .

You couldn’t sleep well that night.

You tossed and turned, the mat suddenly seemingly too thin and your mid-back ached from the floor boards. The early summer breeze whistled too loudly through the slits of the walls and did nothing to calm the sweltering heat of your room. It especially didn’t help that you could hear the festivities from the city – the occasional outburst of giggles of groups of girls passing by the inn, sparklers crackling in the distance.

Giving into every little thing making you miserable tonight, you threw off your covers and pushed yourself up in bed and leaned against the wall between yours and Wonwoo and Jeonghan’s room. You twisted the base of your lamp, the flame inside flicking on instantly as you let out a long breath and rested your head up against the wall.

It could’ve been you out there tonight.

Alas, society had bigger plans for you, in which you couldn’t even enjoy the simple pleasures of life.

It wasn’t always like this.

In fact, it was only a few weeks ago when life was still simple: metalworker Jeonghan and his clumsy kid apprentice against the world – or more precisely, most of the Earth Nation. There just happened to be a quiet, but emotional, young man who followed the two of you around for a bit.

You had yet to see the world.

Though it was mundane, on days like this, you preferred it that way.

There was no title of “chief’s long-lost daughter” or “princess” hanging over your head like a market sign painted red; no need to second guess everything you said or did in fear of revealing who you were. You kept your lips sealed and your thoughts locked away in your heart.

The scariest part?

A heavy thud outside your window startled you from your late night musing – it almost sounded like someone threw a sack of potatoes on the wooden porch leading into your quarters. Your thoughts and unanswered questions long forgotten, you spun around to face the screen door and reached for your dagger in the wool knapsack at the foot of your bed.

A silhouette of a man crouched on his knees fanned across your screen door. Jeonghan was always cautious. From a young age, he trained you for moments like this – “surprises” he called them, but not the good kind. How to attack, signals to send if he wasn’t there, where to meet him if they parted ways, etc.

Though you knew it was for your own safety, not until recently, did it occur to you that it was because Jeonghan’s mission was to keep you alive as the Southern Water Tribe chief’s daughter. You begged to differ, but some viewed your life more worthy of gold than others.

Just as you were about to knock against the wall to signal to Wonwoo and Jeonghan, the figure moved swiftly. The door slid open, his figure a blur. You blinked and Wonwoo was in front of you, one finger against his thin lips, and the other resting atop yours that was wrapped around the dagger.

“Wonwoo?” you whispered, your heart sank. Relieved, you sat back on your heels.

“Keep quiet,” he replied. He turned slightly to the room next door.

“You scared me!”

He smiled sheepishly. Realizing just how close the two of you were, he shuffled back to create some space.

“Sorry.”

“What are you doing here?” you asked, eyes scanning his figure. His hair was matted against forehead, his usual form-fitting faded red suit and threadbare brown cloak traded for something a little more . . . familiar. “In Jeonghan’s clothes?”

You stared at him incredulously, the pitch of your voice going up with the end of the question.

Wonwoo peered down at his (or rather Jeonghan’s) outfit, a beige undershirt and loose green vest, and tugged at the front.

“Looks classy, doesn’t it?” he asked cheesily.

You scoffed and looked away.

“I don’t want to waste any time since it’s already late so I’ll cut to it,” Wonwoo stood up, his long legs stretching high above you. Extending a hand in your direction, he tilted his head coyly and smirked. “Wanna go to town with me? For a silly festival?”

. . . .

Despite the festival being half over, Wonwoo had insisted on both of you wearing masks – for safety of your collective identities, of course, not for childish celebratory reasons.

What would society think of the Southern Water Tribe princess running wild with the former lieutenant general of the Fire Nation military?

With the few coins in your silk pouch, you had hastily bought two at the first stall along the dirt road that came into view as you arrived in town: a white fox antelope one with red whiskers for him and a classic brown black badger mole one for you.

Admittedly, however, it was probably a bad decision on Wonwoo’s part as you were impossible to keep track of. The design of your mask was rather unoriginal – it seemed as if every other person was wearing the same one. Not to mention, the straps of his own were thin and slippery, the knot undoing itself in the all the commotion of trying to keep up with you.

You happily bounced from stall to stall in the marketplace, refusing to buy anything since you only had a few coins left, but mouth watering over steam buns and your eyes were wide with desire at colorful silk fabrics – the dye a rare deep shade of green. Over the drums and shouts, He thought he heard you muttering something about it being nice for making a new coat for Jeonghan.

It was cute, but tiresome. Wonwoo wasn’t sure how you had so much energy at such hours of the night. Then again, you had been waiting for this moment your entire life it seemed.

You had taken off again and disappeared into the crowd, just as Wonwoo felt his fox antelope mask slipping off for what felt like the tenth time in the last hour. Annoyed, he pulled it off, holding it by the tails of the ties and ran in the same general direction he had seen you go. He whipped his head back and forth, keeping his eyes peeled for any signs of you. The streak of white in your hair that framed your face was hard to miss most days, but you had tucked it all into a bun and again, that damn badger mole mask.

He grew anxious the longer he couldn’t find you. Each minute that passed meant another meter between him and you. Each meter made it harder to protect you if anything happened. Indeed you were supposedly destined to be a power waterbender, but currently, you were a very bad one. Your powers had been suppressed until recently and even then, you lacked the right scrolls and a competent instructor to harness your abilities to your best potential. Jeonghan shouting, "It's okay – just try again!" was rather not ideal.

Just as he was about to lose it, heat coursing down his arms, threatening to set the square aflame to just clear a way to find you, someone's hands wrap around his wrist. Wonwoo wondered just what beggar had the audacity to bother him now when he was busy.

Turning around furiously, a short but impactful (and loud) lecture prepared on the tip of his tongue, he was met with a person in a badger mole mask. This couldn’t quell his worry nonetheless – he had a fifty-fifty chance it could’ve been you or some annoying kid who lost their parents.

“Wonwoo?” the familiar sound of your voice echoed through the mask. You lifted it to get a better look at him. The sight of your plush lips, immediately bringing him relief. “Why aren’t you – oh!”

The firebender quickly pulled you into a tight hug. His eyes fluttered shut as he let out a breath against the exposed skin between your shoulder and your neck. Goosebumps rose along your spine at the gesture and you stiffened, too stunned to speak. Wonwoo never initiated skinship with you, let alone attempted to get close to you physically and emotionally. During dinner, he always made a point to sit across the table. If you were camping out in the forest, you both slept on either side of Jeonghan. When conversations got too deep into his past, his replies grew curt or he’d politely ask you to change the subject.

When walking up to him earlier, he seemed frazzled . . . maybe he was claustrophobic? Slowly and awkwardly, you raised a hand to pat his back in an effort to comfort him. You tried to look at him to get a better gauge of his mood to no avail.

“Hey,” you said softly in his ear. “You okay?”

Immediately, Wonwoo separated from you and pulled his arms back to his side. That seemed to have been effective enough to stun him back into reality. You noted how his fox antelope mask is sitting in his hand rather than on his face.

“Wonwoo?” you tried again. You took a step towards him.

For the third time tonight, Wonwoo took you by surprise again. He reached for your hand, slipping his fingers in between your own and giving you a tight squeeze. His touch full of affection and reassurance, but his surly expression suggested otherwise.

“Don’t do that again,” he said harshly. He was quick to change his tone when he noticed the frown forming on your face, however. “Just . . . running off and around. I don’t want to hold you back tonight, but I just need to be able to be close to you in case anything happens. Okay?”

You nodded, mumbling a small apology.

“I-I’m sorry for startling you,” Wonwoo stuttered in reply. He wasn’t used to apologizing, let alone for something so seemingly miniscule. “I was just . . . worried.”

It was out of concern, duty, and promise to Jeonghan, yet there was something about the way he held your hand and the tone of his voice that made your heart skip a beat when it shouldn’t have. Your face grew warm realizing he was still holding your hand. You wondered if he could feel the slick of your sweat forming on your palms.

A beat passed with bated breaths, the moment seemed to last an hour though it was fleeting for the life of the party that surrounded the both of you.

Realizing that he was still holding on, you quickly found an excuse to pull your hand away from him. It was nerve-wracking and not good for your heart.

“Let me help you with your mask,” you announced. You peered up at him briefly, offering him a tight smile, then reaching down to take it from him.

Wonwoo complied, nodding slowly and leaned over so you would have better access to his face. You didn’t expect him to come so close; you shrank back on instinct, eyes instantly flying to his lips sitting fingers-width away from yours. You silently scolded yourself for having such a reaction – letting your mind go there. Unconsciously pulling your bottom lip in between your teeth, you lifted the mask to his face, making sure the parts aligned with his face. Your hands reached behind and twisted the strings together. Without much choice, your fingers carded through his hair as you tied off the bow, the tips of his hairs at the nape of his neck grazing against your skin.

“Done,” you announced as you tightened the knot.

He whispered a soft ‘thank you’ and stood up straight again. He reached over and pulled down your badger mole mask over your face. Though you couldn’t see his eyes through his mask, you’d like to imagine his eyes were narrowed in concentration as he adjusted it to better fit your face.

“Shall we?” Wonwoo extended his hand once more.

Your eyes flickered to his hand and then back to him; silently wondering if he was sure about all this hand holding thing.

As if he read your mind, he chuckled heartily and grabbed your hand. He didn’t say anything else; Wonwoo just turned around and gave you a sight tug, urging you to start walking next to him. Your footing stuttered a bit, knocking into his back slightly. You were quick to straighten yourself out and regain your footing to walk properly again.

This wasn’t the night at the Festival of the Badger Moles you were expecting – it was better (though you’d never voice that aloud).

. . . .

“You should wear this one,” Wonwoo said, gently shaking your interlocked hands.

You spun around from the display you were looking at to see him holding a gold encrusted pin with a jade crystal at the end. It was simple, but elegant. He handed it over to you, the accessory much heavier than you expected as you turned it in your palm.

You shook your head. “It’s nice, but I can’t.” You handed it back to him to place it back where he got it from.

“Why not?” he asked.

“It looks expensive,” you chortled. You leaned over and gestured for him to come closer. In a hushed voice you mumbled, “Let alone, would it make sense for a water tribe girl to be wearing a treasured piece from the Earth Kingdom?”

“Nonsense,” Wonwoo insisted. He lifted the pin into the air and admired it himself, a fleeting thought in his mind of how nice it would look in your hair. “You’re basically an Earth Kingdom citizen with how long you’ve lived with Jeonghan.”

“No,” you waved him off. You were growing uncomfortable, your eyes darting to find another attraction to attend to. You spotted a cart of steam buns and took a few steps away from Wonwoo. “C’mon, let’s go get some food.”

Wonwoo pulled you back and slipped the pin into your bun. He was glad you secured the fox antelope mask well. For once, he didn’t have to hold back the stupid grin on his face that seemed to only be reserved for you. He could only imagine how nicely it complimented your complexion. The decoration was subtle, but when the flames of the torch crackled when the heat became too much, the jade glowed prettily and illuminated the gold handle.

He wondered what it would look like under his blue flame.

“Wear it for me then?” Wonwoo asked.

As the minutes ticked by, the longer your hands were interlocked, the deeper you went into the city, the more your masks didn’t seem to be for the sake of privacy and safety, but to shield the feelings that painted both of your faces that neither of you could hold back that night.

Surprise, embarrassment, nervousness, happiness . . . what did these feelings mean altogether?

His words were apparent, yet seemingly cryptic. Each simple gesture and small request felt exponential.

By no means was he getting on one knee and asking you to marry him, but wearing a hairpin by his request felt burdensome – a promise that couldn’t be kept.

Once you left here, you weren’t simply a girl who roamed the Earth Kingdom anymore, but the Southern Water Tribe princess.

When you didn’t reply, Wonwoo plucked it out of your hair and handed it to the stall owner. He pulled out a few coins to pay for it.

“Wonwoo!” you exclaimed, a hand outstretched to stop the exchange from happening. The elderly woman running the shop halted and looked from Wonwoo to you, then to Wonwoo again.

“It’s okay, I’d like to buy it,” Wonwoo explained. When the woman handed it back, Wonwoo perched it in your hair again. “At least for tonight, wear it. It makes it easier to keep track of you.”

Your shoulders slumped over, your heart slowing down for the first time tonight.

So . . . it wasn’t out of affection. Bold of you to think it was.

“I’ll give it back at the end of the night,” you muttered awkwardly.

“No need,” he chirped as you crossed the street.

“But–”

“Consider it a souvenir,” he explained matter-of-factly, though little did you know there was a gentle smile dancing on his lips behind the mask. “A keepsake from a firebender you once knew.”

It was only in the Earth Kingdom where Wonwoo and you could exist just as you are and together after all.

Simply, a firebender and a waterbender.

. . . .

You were a waterbender by birth, but an earthbender by heart.

Wonwoo came to this conclusion as he stood to the side and watched you dance happily with the little boy in the town square. Stepping to the beat of the drums, you held onto the skirt of your tunic and placed your palm gently against the little boy and the two of you stepped counterclockwise. Though there was a lightness to your step, the way you moved your limbs were stiff and poignant, contrary to the fluidity of other waterbenders he has met.

Had he met you under different circumstances, he would’ve never guessed you were one. It must’ve been from years of watching and combat training with Jeonghan, he figured.

As the symbols clanged together, announcing the end of song, you bid the little boy goodbye. Giggling, you ran over to Wonwoo and took him by the crook of his arm and dragged him towards the center.

“Join me,” you told him.

“Y/N, I can’t – I don’t know this routine,” Wonwoo protested. He pulled his arm back, though you didn’t let go.

“It’s simple,” you declared, “I’ll teach you.”

Wonwoo stood stiff and unmoving, pausing. The drum master began to beat his mallet against the canvas of the instrument again, announcing the next song again. You didn’t seem to be in a rush, however. You pulled him closer to the edge of the dance floor, undoing the knot of your mask and pulling it off to reveal shining, hopeful eyes.

“Never heard of a firebender who can’t dance,” you teased.

His eyebrow quirked, shocked that you even remembered.

“If earthbending is about listening to your opponent, firebending is like dancing with the enemy,” Wonwoo explained as he stood next to you, angrily staring at the river – as if you stared hard enough, you could lift a droplet. It was shortly after Jeonghan had revealed the truth of your identity. Though there was still an element of disbelief, part of you wanted to put his word to the test.

“Don’t you have anything you could compare waterbending to?” Wonwoo asked.

“Not when I’ve never met another waterbender,” you grumbled.

“Is that a challenge, princess?” Wonwoo asked in a low voice.

You smirked and took two steps back. Following the other women in the crowd, you curtsied towards Wonwoo and extended a hand for him to take.

And he accepted.

Facing the opposite direction, you stepped in line with him. “Just follow my lead.”

The two of you circled around each other, following the rhythm of the song.

Two steps away, then three steps toward each other. You reached for Wonwoo’s hand, gently settling it in the small of your back in preparation for a spin.

Like a light of a flame, however, the firebender seemed to have other plans.

He pulled you close until your chests were flushed. He leaned in, trying to better see you through the slits of the mask. It was a full moon tonight – he could see the pearl-like orb reflecting off the corners of your own eyes. There was confusion, perhaps fear as well, that glistened in your wide gaze.

Wonwoo didn’t like the way the mask limited his view. Without a thought, he tugged one end of the bow you secured earlier and the mask clattered to the concrete beside the both of you. A sense of satisfaction filled his chest, knowing that tonight, there was nothing in between him and you.

His eyes traced along the bridge of your nose and rested on your plush lips that were held agape. Reaching up, he slowly traced your bottom lip with his thumb, then tapering off to the corner and following the curve of your cheeks.

He smiled – they were warm like his own.

Wonwoo felt the press of your hand against his chest, your throat bobbing up as you swallowed harshly.

“It’s your turn to spin,” you stammered.

He didn’t seem to be listening, mesmerized by something else – or rather someone, though you didn’t want to admit it to yourself. Wonwoo wasn’t holding on very tightly to you; rather, it was more of you who let yourself stay within his embrace, unwavering. When the flute reached its climactic note, you pushed him roughly and stepped away.

He was supposed to twirl in the opposite direction, but his position was less than optimal for the move. His feet stumbled over one another and he sailed backwards as he started losing his center of gravity.

The music ceased as everyone watched on in terror.

There was a sickening crack of a crate, but thankfully, the landing was cushioned. Wonwoo wasn't sure by what, but it was better than landing on the concrete.

"My cabbages!" a husky voice shrieked behind him. It was followed by a string of cursing. Wonwoo could make out the sound of your laughter nearby.

He peeled open his eyes to find himself amidst a pile of wood and well, cabbages.

That would make sense. Cabbage were dense enough to hold his weight, but still soft enough to land a blow.

Wonwoo was rubbing the back of his neck when you suddenly came jogging over and grabbed his wrist.

"Run!" you hissed at him. A grin graced your face, tears from laughter steaming in the corner of your eyes.

For the first time in a long time, Wonwoo was happy.

. . . .

“Try it – they’re tasty,” you explained. You handed him the skewer with the last candied fruit.

He stared at it suspiciously to tease you, before peering up at you again.

“Try,” you giggled, pushing his hand towards his mouth.

After the cabbage cart accident, the two of you had decided to call it a night, purchasing some late night snacks at the edge of the festival and seeking refuge on a hill that oversaw the city. Though the celebration had come to an end, neither of you wanted to go back to the hostel just yet, hoping to hold onto the last few pieces of freedom and whatever was blooming between him and you.

Since then the teasing and the laughter hadn’t stopped; Wonwoo even found himself chuckling along every now and then. The jokes cracked weren’t even funny, perhaps it was the sugar from all the candied fruit you bought, but at some point neither of you really knew what you were laughing about.

Without knowing it, you both were running on giddiness, and just maybe, love.

If Wonwoo could describe it, it was that same fluttery happiness and breathtaking feeling he had when he was seven and had a crush on his friend. She was a blurry memory, he couldn’t even remember what she looked like, but the emotions associated with her were timeless.

“Thank you.”

Wonwoo looked up to find you settling against the root of the tree next to him. You let out a long breath and rested your head against his shoulder. As if it was already second nature, Wonwoo shifted to better accommodate you and lifted his arm to wrap around your shoulder. You snuggled into his hold, molding yourself into his side.

“Thank you,” Wonwoo replied. He pressed his lips into your temple. You tensed at the act, though quick to relax, eyes fluttering shut.

“What are you thanking me for?” you mumbled. “You’re the one who snuck me out.”

Wonwoo hummed softly and looked off into the distance. The torches and lanterns around Omashu made it glow gold, reminding him of the hairpin in your bun. The mailing system was even lined with colorful fabric, he could see. If he was quiet enough, he could still hear the lingering slivers of children shouting and hearty laughters in the distance.

“Just . . . because,” Wonwoo replied. He paused. “I’m happy.”

He felt you snaking your arms around his waist, hands clasping together at his hip.

“Can we just stay like this for a while?” you asked, lazily. “Happy?”

Closing his own eyes, he gave your shoulder a squeeze of reassurance. He relaxed against the tree and huffed.

“Just for a little while.”

. . . .

Bonus:

“A little while” turned into the rest of the evening into the early morning.

You woke first with sun shining through the leaves of the oak tree hanging overhead and blinding your sleepy vision. As you returned to reality, the birds chirping and shouts from the marketplace entering your ears, you slowly started to realize your current predicament.

Wonwoo and you snuck out.

Wonwoo and you spent the whole night together.

Wonwoo and you fell asleep on the hill.

Wonwoo and you didn’t go home.

Jeonghan.

The two of you were so screwed.

“Wonwoo!” you shook the said male, “Wonwoo! Wake up!”

He groaned, raising his limbs to stretch over his head, though his eyes remained sealed shut.

“Wonwoo, we have to go,” you urged, “Jeonghan’s gonna murder us!”

It seemed as if the elderly earthbender’s named held some sort of deadly edge to it as Wonwoo’s eyes shot open and he too began scrambling.

“Not a word about this to Jeonghan,” you warned him as you laced your hands together and took off in a run. “I’m never hearing the end of it if he knew I spent the night with you.”

“You say it like it’s a bad thing?” Wonwoo teased.

“Jeon Wonwoo!”

. . . .

“So,” Jeonghan stroked his beard. He paced back and forth in his and Wonwoo’s quarters while the two of you kneeled before him in apology. “You’re telling me that you woke up at the crack of dawn to go to town for soup ingredients, but you forgot your money pouch?”

“Yes,” you replied curtly. You nodded once, keeping your eyes trained on the floorboard.

“Interesting,” Jeonghan noted and turned to Wonwoo. “You don’t have anything to add, Mr. General?”

“I do not, sir,” Wonwoo answered.

Jeonghan whipped out his wooden cane and pointed it in between your eyes. You startled, though you remained in your kneeling position. In the corner of your eye, you could see that Wonwoo was looking on anxiously. Jeonghan never resorted to corporal punishment with you . . . he wouldn’t now right?

Jeonghan extended his cane a little further and poked at your hip, causing a jingling sound.

Not of bells that decorated your outfit, but rather . . . coins.

“Your pouch is full of money here,” Jeonghan said matter-of-factly.

“Uh, she didn’t have enough,” Wonwoo added.

Jeonghan cocked an eyebrow at the younger man and walked over, poking his hip as well. “And you didn’t think of lending her some? Also, why are you wearing my clothes? I admit, my sense of fashion is impeccable, but flame boy, this doesn’t really suit you.”

The both of you were running out of excuses as Jeonghan waited for a response. Per usual, it didn’t take much for you to crack under Jeonghan’s pressure – even when it was your idea to lie to him that Wonwoo and you went to town in the morning.

“I’m sorry, Jeonghan!” you exclaimed. Your forehead was planted on the ground now. “Wonwoo and I went to the festival without telling you and then we fell asleep on the way home and are just coming home now. I’m sorry!”

There was a long pause before Jeonghan answered, or rather, he laughed at you.

Slowly, you sat up, confused. Wonwoo looked equally as puzzled.

The old man was hacking up a cough now, clutching his stomach in humor.

“D-did I miss something?” you sank back on your heels.

“No, silly girl!” Jeonghan managed to say in between breaths. He did his best to quell his laugh, though his shoulders still bounced happily. Wiping the corners of his eyes, he continued, “I told you were allowed to go if Wonwoo agreed to go with you, didn’t I? I was just pulling at your leg when I made you kneel.”

“Yoon Jeonghan,” you growled, preparing to launch yourself at the old man.

Just as he was about to step out of the room, Jeonghan quickly added, “That said, neither of you are still allowed to sleep with each other as long as I am alive. I’ve never been a third wheel in my life and I’m certainly not starting now.”

"Hey!"

"Yah!"

#wonwoo x reader #wonwoo fluff #wonwoo angst #wonwoo scenarios #seventeen x reader #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #seventeen scenarios

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aidansloth · 4 months

Text

Coffee and Chamomile

Summary: Hitoshi can’t sleep (again) so he decides to get up and make himself some good-ass coffee ‘cause he’s smart. When he reaches the common room, he realizes he’s not the only one who wanted a hot beverage.

Warnings/Things to keep in mind: slight hurt/comfort, swearing, suggested low self-esteem on Shinsou’s side and some dirty jokes because they’re teens. And adorably cute. Reader is referred to as they/them or ‘you’, this takes place in the dorms and Shinsou is part of Class 1-A (or 2-A, whatever you want). Also I don’t remember perfectly the layout of the dorms so pretend. I’m not up to date with the episodes (stuck on season 4) so please no spoilers! Last disclaimer: this is KIND OF self-indulgent and I’m autistic so if you think the reader is acting weird, that’s why.

Words: 2.3k

Posted this on AO3 too! You can find it here.

2:38am

Hitoshi turned in his sheets, covers uncomfortably sticking to his form as he sank his face into the scrunched-up pillow.

3:04am

An exasperated groan escaped his lips, half suffocated by the cushion; his arms wide around the mattress and his breathing deep and empty.

3:29am

That’s it. He’s getting up and making himself some damn coffee or whatever the others left in that poor kitchen. His sheets are hurled carelessly as his feet instinctively find their place in his cat-shaped slippers. Trying not to make too much noise (an act he had mastered by now) he opened the door and made his way to the common room. His phone, used as a make-shift torch guided him across the corridors; as he got closer and closer he noticed light becoming brighter, when he finally reached his destination the realization dawned on him. Someone else was up.

He quickly turned his phone-torch off before turning the corner, to find one of his new classmates dancing (or whatever that was) with their back turned to him, hands busy with what looked like a cup of tea.

It wasn’t long since he joined the Hero Course but he was starting to remember some names and whatever faces he didn't remember from the Sports Festival. Unfortunately, he wasn’t that good with names. No one talks to him anyways, why should he care?

While he did recognize you from behind he did not remember your name. You were nice to him, he thought. Nicer than the rest at least. That Denki guy seemed nice too- a bit too intense though. You lent him a pencil- or was it a tissue? No mind that, what was he gonna do now? Leave? No, you’ll turn around and notice him and think he was spying on you. Did you even want company? You seemed pretty busy. On the other hand it’s his common room too- but has he been there long enough to intrude on your private moment like that? He might not be here to make friends or be nice but that doesn’t mean he has to be an ass.

That’s when he realized you hadn’t noticed him yet. Ah. So aware of their surroundings for a hero.

He decided that grunting awkwardly was the best course of action. Bummer, you were wearing earphones. He tried a louder cough, but you only noticed him once you found yourself face to face with him. A loud curse left your lips and your hands instantly slammed against them as instinct. Hitoshi’s eyebrows raised and he pressed his lips together to suppress a chuckle. Good thing you placed your tea down earlier. Their eyes were now staring straight into his.

“Ehm- hi.” You licked your lips, saliva suddenly missing.

“Hi.” He managed to grunt out. Now this was awkward. He watched your eyes dart back and forward before settling back on him. He really wanted to say something, anything to get this uncomfortable feeling out but that little voice at the back of his head held him back.

“You here to make yourself some tea too?”

His mouth opened slightly, the careless innocence of the question taking him aback. Still, no words came out. He nodded. He actually wanted coffee but he didn’t think himself able to explain that through words now.

“Cool. I boiled extra water accidentally. What kind of tea did you want?” Your smile looked so genuine and again, careless. Like you didn’t think he was dangerous. Out of habit he was about to nod again but stopped in time to force some words out.

“Is there carcade?”

“Yep!” You were definitely too chipper for this hour in the morning. He tried not to think too much about the fact that you answered his question with no hesitation. He watched as you moved your hands swiftly along the mugs and tea bags, your movements rhythmic, like you do this a lot. In no time your teas were ready, so you placed yours in front of your stool and in front of his. Not that he sat down yet, no. His eyes were too busy watching you. The tea caught his attention quickly enough. Sitting down his hands snaked around the mug, his hoodie sleeves just a bit too long.

A string of silence hung.

“I guess we’re both awake for the same reason.” Hitoshi was glad his voice was back, though the ever-lingering anxiety stayed. He actually didn’t know why they were up but he thought this was a decent conversation starter. His gaze was too occupied marveling at the tea to notice your tilted head and dog-like expression.

“You’re writing fanfiction too?”

Well, he certainly wasn’t expecting that.

“Ehm- no- no I’m not.” Suddenly he felt weird and sorry he wasn’t writing fanfiction. His classmate nodded understandingly while taking another sip off their mug. Looking back at the kitchen island he felt particularly stupid for not noticing the laptop with an open Google Document page open. There was a small beat of awkward silence before the next sentence.

“Then why are you up?”

Ah. There it is. What was he supposed to respond now? Oh yeah, basically I have insomnia, meaning I get no hours of sleep and I do manage to miraculously fall asleep I’m awoken by nightmares and now, as our new guest of honor, the gracious sounds of the guys’ snoring which breaks the laws of time and space by getting across all those walls!

“Just- stuff.”

He thanked every god in the universe that they didn’t ask anything surrounding his very weird and suspicious answer but opted for a simple nod and a ‘cool’. Clinging his fingertips against the mug he realized he should try to keep the conversation going as well; you probably thought he didn’t want to talk to you with all his dry answers. His grip tightened and his teeth sank into his bottom lip.

“What- what is the fanfiction about?” He swore he never saw someone’s eyes light up faster, their lips immediately stretched into a painfully wide smile.

“Basically, you know ‘Lord of the Rings’, right? The fantasy book? There are these two characters, a dwarf and an elf. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, these two races have a really tough history which led to prejudice and hate on both sides. But for this certain world-saving quest they have to interact with each other, trust each other, you know? For the first quarter, maybe, of the quest they don’t get along very well. I mean, not trying to kill each other or anything, but petty threats and jokes are thrown around. At a certain point in their journey they have to take a break in this elven kingdom and by the end of it they are the best of friends! Now, I ship these two characters together, so, I’m writing a specific fanfic that takes place during their pause there and since Tolkien didn’t really go into detail with what they were doing during that time I have lots of creative freedom,”

Hitoshi’s lips pressed together as he watched them gesticulate their way through what could only be defined as a speech; his half-open eyes never left theirs while his chin rested on his hand. His eyes lingered from one feature of their face to another, still listening of course: he was good at that. Though his eyes may have lingered a moment too long on their lips.

“-not even mentioning their relationship later on at the end of ‘The Return of the King’, commenting on Minas Tirith’s architecture like a bunch of housewives! Really, in the middle of a war ‘This place needs more trees!’-” Their face dropped and Hitoshi’s heart with it. Did they notice him staring too much? He did that, didn’t he? Fuck. He made them uncomfortable-

“I’m sorry. I’m boring you.” They say huffing out a half-regretful chuckle. It nearly tricks him.

He stared just a little bit longer before talking.

“You’re not.”

He watched as their lips turned into an awkward smile, like they thought he only said it to be nice. The silence slowly crawled back. Hitoshi didn’t know what sudden urge slapped him in the face enough to have the courage to speak, but he did.

“Your voice is relaxing.” Good job asshole, now they think you’re a creep. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from your surprised one, which quickly turned into one of joy. And now he was blushing. Might as well dig my own grave with that one. Fingers tapped on mugs. Their mouths opened once, closed and then opened again.

“Do you mind if I- we move to the couch? I hate stools.”

“Sure- yeah.”

And moved to the couch they did. Fanfiction-writing long forgotten, they placed their teas on the small table in front of them; Hitoshi was surprised when they got blankets for the both of them and instinctively covered him too but he wasn’t about to complain about it. For a little while they sat in comfortable silence, only sounds of breathing and sips were heard. Just for a little while though. Until he noticed they kept yawning and their head dropping a bit every couple of seconds. His eyebrows scrunched up.

“You tired?”

“Meh, just a bit.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“Why are you up? I mean, we’re not that busy right now with school, you could write during the day and not in the middle of the night. Unless you can’t sleep but it doesn’t look like you can’t.”

“Well-” They huffed out a smile. “-it’s not exactly about having time. It’s a bit more complicated. Like-” They exhaled again, squeezing their eyes shut and then reopening them. “There aren’t enough hours during the day to- to be. The whole day feels like a dread and the only thing I look forward to is those hours in the night where I can do anything I want without that senseless guilt. The night is the only time I feel free to be.”

Hitoshi stayed silent for a moment, elaborating every word meticulously.

“That’s- that’s-”

“Sad? Pathetic? Depressing?”

He chuckled. “I mean- a bit.” Their soft laughter mixed together. “What I meant to say was, that’s- relatable.” A simple shared look was enough to fill the silence between them.

“So, why are you up?” Before Hitoshi could excuse himself again they stopped him.

“Don’t you dare say ‘just stuff’ again to me, I just gave you a tear-ripping, punch-to-the-face, gut-wrenching speech.” With their index finger pointing at him he let out a soft laugh, though his eyes lost a bit of their shine for a second when he started speaking.

“I have insomnia.”

“Ah. So you got up to make yourself chamomile or something?”

“Well, I wanted to make myself some coffee.”

“Coffee?”

“Coffee.”

“And you let me make you tea, why?”

Hitoshi adjusted himself quickly and cleared his throat. “You looked happy.” He felt their eyes stare through his soul, he felt naked.

“Is this helping?” God thank you for changing the subject.

“Is what helping?”

“Talking.” He thought for a moment.

“Maybe. I’m not sure. Don’t usually talk to people.”

They smiled. “I noticed.” He grinned.

“Are you going to go back to sleep then? Well, not sleep- you get it.”

“Don’t know. This couch is very comfortable.”

“Oh yeah?” You said, raising your eyebrows with a shit-eating grin. A wide grin grew on his face and he let out a laugh.

“Yeah.” You nodded again.

“You know, I won’t get offended if you want to go back to sleep- or to your fanfiction.” He said.

You shook their head. “I’m fine here.”

He gulped, praying that the low light won’t show his blushing cheeks. Their conversation went on for another half an hour at least, Hitoshi couldn’t tell honestly. Their teas finished and mugs cold, they got up (mostly because they realized the time). Cups in the sink, they began talking again once Hitoshi yawned.

You chuckled. “Is my voice that relaxing?”

“Incredibly so.” He grinned seeing them laugh again. He cleared his throat.

“So, you going to sleep?” Hitoshi watched them as their shoulders dropped.

“Yeah- yeah, is that okay? I don’t mean to leave you alone but-”

“Yes- yes it’s fine don’t worry about me, I won’t die,” he grinned, his hands in his pockets “sleep, you need it.”

“Oh, and you don’t?”

“No, I’m like Batman.”

“Are you implying he doesn’t sleep because he calls himself Batman?- He’s not even- He doesn’t have super powers like that, you are aware-” Their soon-to-be ramble was interrupted by his laughter.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m not mocking, promise.” He bit his inside cheek, clenching and unclenching his fists in nervousness. “I just- like how passionate you are.”

“About Batman?”

“About Batman.” They looked at each other for a second before you nodded.

“Alright… Well, I’m off to bed. Nice slippers by the way.” Hitoshi grinned like a lovesick boy at your comment.

He nodded smiling and moved away a bit from the entrance of the corridor to let you pass. They smiled and wished each other a good night. It only took a few steps before you stopped and whipped around.

“Wait!” You ran and before he knew it they had plunged into him, his torso wrapped nicely within their arms. His body froze at first but quickly came back and wrapped his own arms around their frame. Hitoshi could feel his muscles relax. It wasn’t long before they moved away leaving an empty feeling in both of them.

“Goodnight!” They said and Hitoshi swore that was the sweetest smile he had ever had the luck of witnessing.

“Good- goodnight.”

As if he was able to sleep after that.

Thank you for reading! Constructive criticism/advice is welcomed.

#shinsou x reader #shinsou hitoshi #shinsou hitoshi x reader #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #i love him soso much #first time writing for hitoshi #hope you like it!#wrote this instead of sleeping #hitoshi shinso x reader

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gothlcsan · 7 months

Text

라이즈 ; FOOD PLAY

PAIRING non idol riize , reader (no gender specified)

GENRE 18+ , slight smut , fluff

SYNOPSIS you mention bringing food play into the bedroom, these are their reactions

WORD COUNT 983

WARNINGS food play, kissing, fluff, mentions of puppy play, food in general, making out, oral fixation, i ♡ sub!sohee

♫ strawberry skies - kid travis

a/n day six of kinktober! not proofread, just little thoughts that flooded my mind so i hope you enjoy nonetheless! ♡ please consider liking and reblogging if you enjoy! (´⌣`ʃƪ)

shotaro his latest obsession has been the snack, sponge crunch. you’ve watched him get into the car and then run all the way back into the house just to grab a baggie of them, telling him he needed an intervention. however he’s bent on making you understand the obsession because in his words, “they’re life changing.” one night he sits you down telling you that he will make you love them (which you didn’t dislike, you just loved to see shotaro passionately explain his snack to you) letting him bring them up to your lips hand feeding you one by one. jokingly you tell him you still don’t see the hype, his bottom lip stuck out in a pout before his eyes light up, bringing one to rest between his lips bringing it up to your own. it surprised you, staring at it before taking the hint to take it into your own mouth, humming at the taste as he placed a hand on the back of your neck to steal a chocolate covered kiss. now, this, this is something you could understand the hype for; climbing onto his lap letting him pass chocolates into your mouth the sweet flavor mixing heavenly with his tongue swiping across yours stealing a taste.

eunseok you mention one evening that you’d like to try food play, eunseok pretending to be oblivious (to tease you) asking why you’d want to play with your food instead of eating it. groaning you explain what you meant him asking if pasta was a contender for this activity making you want to strangle your boyfriend. he makes it up to you by buying you candies and letting you place some into his mouth before kissing him; bent over in laughter as he asked again.. “can we try this with pasta?”

seunghan loves, loves, loves those biscuit snacks filled with chocolate in them. every year for his birthday you’d get him various kinds, his favourite being the chocolate filled koalas. the two of you never verbally introduced the idea of food play in the bedroom, simply one day making out softly while sharing the snack, chocolate intoxicating the both of you. it quickly becomes a habit, you or seunghan bringing a snack towards the other, the other person stealing it from in between your lips eating it before kissing, the sweet taste on each others lips and tongue making it easy to get lost in each other for a few hours.

wonbin there's not many sweets he likes, preferring salty over sweet. he also doesn’t enjoy having sticky things against his skin from sensory overload. however, he will consider doing anything at least once with you wanting to respect your wishes and needs as you do the same for him. he carefully placed jellied gummies onto your body doing your best not to giggle at how cute he looked fully concentrated on placing them down. his lips brush against your skin making you shiver, the tip of his tongue dragging up your skin as he hooks the gummy into his mouth. he’s so handsome making your head spin as he finished the gummies quickly, kissing and leaving love bites all over you making your brain fall fuzzy.

sungchan your boyfriend loves salty food, a dilemma that left you sitting on your bed pondering on how you’d bring up the idea of food play in the bedroom. he walks into the bedroom, sitting down next to you asking if you’re alright since you were spaced out not replying to him moments ago. you nod, placing your hands balled up in your lap asking if you could ask him something. concern covers his face instantly reassuring you that you could ask anything. you blush profusely explaining your question, the wide smile on his face making your skin cover itself with goosebumps. sungchan offers the idea of the sea salt chocolate you two had in the kitchen, blushing once more as he pressed a kiss on your forehead telling you to get comfortable as he warms it up.

anton such a foodie, loves his sweets. food play being introduced into the bedroom because he’s trying to eat some ice cream but you will not leave him alone! pressing kisses against his lips telling him he tastes so sweet trying to climb into his lap, giggling apologetically as it gets onto your thigh. usually he’d be annoyed by someone interrupting him while eating but he’s genuinely so adorned with you that he lets it slide.. loosely. he pushes you onto your back, kissing up and down your thighs before going to the left one to lick the ice cream from it, loving the way you shiver and gasp underneath him. you’re so receptive, so unbelievably sensitive to his touches and it turns him on so much knowing he can get you going after only a few touches.

sohee he’s so endearing, his pretty eyes widening when you bring up the probability of bringing food into the bedroom; clarifying you meant sexually. sohee reminds you of cute, pretty things, placing a small bowl of strawberries next to his lap, his eyes fixated on the can of whipped topping. he’s so puppy coded the way he cocks his head to the side letting you move him as you pleased, carrying a strawberry to his lips, telling him to open wide. the feeling of his tongue brushing against your fingers causes you to shiver, watching him slowly eat the strawberry. you all but nearly pass away as he grabs your wrist, sticking your whipped topping covered fingers into his mouth, sucking on the digits until they were cleaned nicely. pressing your thumb against his tongue cooing as his pretty lips latching around it humming at the sensation. he’s just so endearing you can’t help but cover him in strawberries and cream, kissing and licking him clean until he cums untouched.

#riize imagines #riize #riize smut #sub sohee #gothlcsan #kinktober #smut #kpop smut #riize x reader #fiction #riize smau

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bigdumbbambieyes · 10 months

Text

It’s confusing, for half a second, when Billy watches the Beamer pull into the parking lot at school on Monday morning and he doesn’t see Steve driving it.

Upon closer look though, it is Steve, but his self-acclaimed signature ‘look’ is gone.

Where once a crown of thick, messy-yet-perfectly-styled brown hair sat is now…a buzzcut.

And honestly, it is startling. Billy had seen Steve only 12 hours ago and had ruffled that head of hair just to annoy the pretty boy. Steve had pushed him away and flipped him off with a smile, his dark eyes simmering with affection.

But now that smile is gone, along with that hair, as Steve gets out of his car and makes his way towards Billy, his face pensive.

Always careful to keep his face neutral, Billy gives Steve a little nod once he’s close enough, muttering his usual morning greeting, “Hey, pretty boy—”

“—you don’t have to lie, Billy,” Steve interrupts with a huff once he’s in front of him, “I know it’s terrible.”

Billy lifts a brow, used to Steve’s flares of bitchiness, and hums, “I barely said anything.”

The way Steve stares at him with wide, unwavering eyes says a lot. It says ‘it’s a big change and I’m scared and unsure please be gentle with me’.

At least, that’s how Billy interprets it.

And he wants to pull Steve in, wants to run his palm over that short hair and press a long kiss to those worry-bitten lips.

But, he can’t, not now.

His rips his gaze from Steve’s and focuses on his hair - or lack thereof - and considers it for a moment. Or, longer than a moment, because the expression on Steve’s face turns sour pretty quickly as his defences rise.

“If you hate it, just fucking say it—”

“Jesus, Stevie, I don’t fucking hate it,” Billy laughs quietly in disbelief with a grin, “I’m just looking, alright?”

Steve shuts his mouth but still looks rather miserable, frowning and running his hand over his head, avoiding Billy’s gaze now.

Steve’s not shy. He’s never shy. Not when they’re going at it in the backseat of his car or when they’re showering together in the Harrington’s fancy bathroom. Steve always meets him head-on. He never falters.

But, this change has him unsteady on his feet, and Billy hates it.

“It’s different,” he finally admits, watches Steve flick his eyes back to him, “But, it’s a good different. If you…wanted a change, you certainly got it. You still got a pretty face and I…well, y’know.”

“No,” Steve furrowed his brows, “I don’t know.”

Billy glances around the parking lot, making sure no one is around before stepping even closer and whispering, “I still like you.”

That makes Steve’s cheeks colour pink. Billy wants to take a bite out of him, he’s so fucking adorable.

Steve reaches out, pretends to push him away but his hand lingers on Billy’s chest as he gives the blond a shy smile, muttering, “Shut up, I can’t stand you.”

“Mhm, sure, that must be why you hang around me so much,” Billy smirks, unable to help the way he flirts with the other boy even now, because it’s Steve. Hair or no hair, Billy fucking adores him.

The bell rings, signalling that they’re officially late for class, but Billy doesn’t care and neither does Steve, not when they have matching dumb smiles and soft eyes for each other.

“What even happened anyway?” Billy murmurs, reaches up to brush his hands over Steve’s head but gives him a look of ‘can I?’ because this is new and Steve’s sensitive about it.

But, desperate for touch, Steve nods and so Billy touches him, smoothes his palm along Steve’s short hair, all the way from his hairline to the nape of his neck. Like he’s petting him and Steve’s all but purring, the tension melting from his shoulders as he explains with quiet embarrassment, “I, um…had an accident.”

“What, you got gum in your hair and cut off too much?” Billy hums playfully, smoothing his thumb along the side of Steve’s neck.

“No,” Steve huffs, leaning into the touch, looking down at the ground again as he mutters, “I…I got my hair stuck in the hairdryer last night after my shower and my mom had to cut it. A lot was missing so I, uh…just shaved it. Because fuck it.”

God, Billy wants to drive over that stupid fucking hairdryer for putting such a sad look on his boy’s face.

“That fucking sucks,” Billy frowns, giving the nape of Steve’s neck a gentle squeeze, “Bet that wasn’t easy for you.” Because Steve took pride in his hair, loved it, and Billy had adored it, too - but not as much as he adored Steve. He could live with watching Steve’s hair grow over the next few months, easily. But Steve might not feel the same.

The pretty boy shrugs, because it’s whatever at this point, over and done with. “Good thing you’re not with me for my good looks,” he jokes, but his voice is still sad, still…fearful.

Like he expects Billy to drop him over this. Like this is some big fucking deal that’ll break them apart.

And, listen. Billy understands that looking good is important. They both primp and preen themselves in front of their mirrors, both take pride in their appearance, so there’s a lot of pressure to upkeep. Billy would have a fucking meltdown if he had to shave his head, so.

Billy levels the other with a look, something a little more serious as he says, “I’m not with you just for your hair or your pretty face, Steve. I hope you know that.”

Steve stares at him for a moment, saying nothing. But, eventually he nods, because yeah he knows that now, but there’s still hesitancy in those dark eyes. Something that words in a parking lot won’t fix. Billy will have to get Steve alone and kiss him stupid until the pretty boy believes him.

During lunch, Billy decides.

“Let’s go for a drive at lunch,” he murmurs, code for ‘let’s go make out in your car somewhere’, “Okay? Then I’ll tell you everything else I like about you other than just your face and hair.”

Steve brightens at the mention of ‘going for a drive’ because a soft smile appears on his face as he asks a hopeful, “Really?”

“Yeah,” Billy nods, finally pulling his hand away, his hot palm cooling in the spring breeze, “But I’m only telling you once, so you better listen.”

A soft chuckle leaves Steve and he nods in understanding, mumbling, “Yeah, yeah…” but he looks relieved. And that’s enough for Billy, for now.

“C’mon,” he says, motioning towards the school with a tilt of his head before giving Steve a playful look, “Unless you wanna go now?”

Steve rolls his eyes with a smile and shoves him towards the building, following close enough that their shoulders bump and hands brush.

Billy can last until lunch. Surely.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #idk what this is but i wrote it!!! jdbfkf #this was inspired by joe keery’s buzzcut from a few months ago #steve has been freed from his shackles of perfect hair but the freedom is scary #so here comes billy trying his best to console #bc steve has emotions too!! even if he usually stuffs them way down inside himself!!#anyways enjoy and goodnight kfnfk #bambiwrites

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 2 months

Text

I've been dreaming of the Loyalist of Clubs.

There are so many regrets born out of ignorance. So many bonds lost to time.

He wishes he could have done more then.

How does a moment last forever? How can a story never die?

“Wh-What’s happening, Trey?”

The question comes from the boy huddled on the guest bed. He’s smallish and demure, like a rose bud yet to bloom. His eyes and cheeks are the same color as his hair—red, from crying.

Trey awkwardly peels himself away from the door. Even shut, shouting is audible from beyond it.

“HE KIDNAPPED MY SON!! Bring him back this instant, or I’ll call the authorities!”

“Ma’am, please calm down. They’re children—”

Trey pictures Mrs. Rosehearts as a balloon, bright red and inflated with hot air. The more she screams, the more air leaks put of her twisted mouth. She shrinks and shrinks until she poofs out of existence.

It doesn’t feel right to stand, so he sits on the bed beside his friend. The frame groans from their combined weights, light as they are.

“… I’m not sure,” Trey admits. “I saw you upset and grabbed your hand and ran. I didn’t want you to be stuck in that situation anymore.”

He pats a pillow. Attempts to comfort his friend.

“You can stay here.” Forever, if you want. But he doesn’t say that, only hopes it in his heart. The solution is so simple in his kid mind. “At least until your mom isn’t mad anymore.”

“Is that… allowed?”

“Sure it is. My parents won’t mind—er, probably. They like having new people over. We’ll pretend it’s a normal sleepover.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s when you sleep over at another person’s house—that’s where the name comes from. You stay up late, watch movies, play games, eat snacks, and then fall asleep together.”

Riddle’s eyes widen. “That sounds like breaking so many rules,” he says nervously.

“Those are the rules for sleepovers. The point is to have fun.”

“Fun…” Riddle nibbles on his lip, drawing his knees closer to his torso. He hugs his legs, collapsing into himself with a sniff. “I-I don’t know—I don’t like not knowing. I’m scared, Trey. Mama is so angry with me. I’m not supposed to…”

“It’s okay to not know. No one knows everything.”

“Mama does. Everyone says so. That’s why she’s always right.”

“That’s not true. I know she’s wrong about this—about us, and about Che’nya.” He grabs Riddle’s clammy hand and squeezes. “She can’t keep us three from being friends.”

“We are…?”

“Yup.” Trey pokes him, then points to himself, “We’re friends. And friends stick up for each other, watch each other’s backs.”

Riddle hesitates. “Is that… the rule?”

“You can think of it like that if you want. But I didn’t do any of this because of some rule, I did it because I wanted to help you somehow, any way I can."

"B-But we're just kids. What can we do?"

Trey worriedly glances at the door--the adults' voices haven't quieted at all--then at Riddle and the stress deeply etched into his round face. This isn't a good place for him right now either.

"We could... go over to Che'nya's. He and his grandpa will be happy to see us, and we can all have that sleepover.”

Riddle looks bewildered at the mere suggestion. "We're going to leave?"

"Shouldn't be too hard. We've already played hooky before," Trey says, tugging him up and off the bed by the arm. "Besides, a walk can help take your mind off of things."

We can be ourselves. We can forget our worries. Everything can be as it was.

Riddle’s eyes are wide with alarm. His knees wobble, and Trey catches him.

“It’ll be fine! I’ll be with you all the way—so if we get yelled at, we can be yelled at together. You won’t be alone.”

Not ever again.

Riddle responds in a shaky mew. His cheeks are wet from crying, and his words trembling—but his trust is firm. “O-Okay… I believe in you. Let’s go. Let’s go see Che’nya.”

Trey smiles reassuringly. “Alright, we’ll escape through the window. It’s a classic. You know how to do it safely by now, right?”

“Yes…!”

The two boys scramble to the bedroom window, undoing its latch and sliding it up. Trey leads the charge, easily clearing the sill. He looks back, urging Riddle to follow.

The threshold is daunting, less the boundary between inside and out and more like the bridge to a world unknown. When Riddle charges at the open window, he expects to smack into the wall. To fall, to fail.

The ground rumbles,

Splintering, fissures appearing.

“You got this!!” Trey cheers from the other side.

Riddle vaults too early and slips.

Panic shoots through him like a bolt of lightning.

Something erupts from out of the floor, racing under the boy to break his fall. Riddle lands on a thick, cushy stalk, leaves twisting around it. Above him, a giant head of petals--blue, bell-shaped, and ringing.

Bluebell.

Another flower sprouts by the boy's feet, bearing a crimson mouth--two lips, pulled back in a laugh. "Frolic, rejoice," says the Tulip. "Be free.”

“Free, free,” a patch of tiny, shrinking violets choruses.

“To dance around the posies and spin daisy chains and search for four leaf clovers.”

“We’ll lift you up when you’re down.”

Plants are poking out from every inch of the guest room, making their own quips and banter. Trey should be startled, but instead he laughs and waves for Riddle.

He waves back shyly, then gasps. His feet find something squishy yet solid under them.

Mushrooms with flat caps, a whole flight of them, in ascending height. The boy clumsily crosses them, each step sending up a cloud of fat, lazy spores. Riddle sneezes, nearly careening off the side—but a wall of snapping dragons or sly gloves in foxes closes in, surprisingly gentle as they support him.

He hops over the sill with ease.

And the flowers follow.

It’s a rainbow come alive, color sprawling over the roads and knitting rooftops with new lattice designs. Some designs dare to go higher and flashier: beanstalks that pierce the clouds, fruit clusters so heavy they bend and droop, petals dripping with jewels. Even the air is more jubilant, filled with shimmering particles--pollen?

Sunshine opens on Riddle’s face.

“Whaaaa~ So pretty!!”

“Isn’t it?” Trey’s grin is so wide his teeth ache. “We should hurry and get Che’nya so he can see this too.”

“It’s going to take so long to wade through all of this.”

“Fine by me." Trey grabs his friend's hand. It feels so small in his, and he thinks of a seed in need of water and light. "We can take our time to stop and smell the roses!”

His other hand reaches out and finds the stem of a large passing dandelion tuft. It forms an umbrella from its fuzzy white tendrils, the perfect shape for sailing on the wind.

Whoosh.

Trey and Riddle squeal as they're whisked off.

Up, up, and away, where their troubles can't chase them.

#twisted wonderland #twst #Trey Clover #Riddle Rosehearts #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst imagines #twisted wonderland imagines #twst scenarios #twisted wonderland scenarios #twst anni #twst anniversary #twisted wonderland anniversary #twisted wonderland anni #twst countdown #twisted wonderland countdown #I’ve been Dreaming…#book 1 spoilers

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pandenewie · 11 months

Text

14 - Real Men Clean Bathrooms

Prev | Masterlist | Next

AN: I’m back !! I will be back to my regular posting schedule from now on :))

WARNING: She's a little suggestive...

Jungwon has been called Wonnie most of his life… by his older sister, his parents, and his older friends when they’re trying to tease him… even the lady next door whenever he walks her dog or takes out her trash. Despite hearing the nickname from so many people, nothing will come close to the gentle flutter his heart feels whenever it slips past Y/n’s lips.

“Wonnie!” Y/n calls for what seems like the tenth time, poking his dimple to get his attention. A small habit they’ve started recently. Jungwon finally snaps out of his thoughts, remembering that Y/n is, in fact, standing right in front of him. “Oh, sorry uh… what were you saying again?” Jungwon asks sheepishly. He really didn’t mean to space out, it’s just that spending more than a minute in Y/n’s presence causes him to lose his train of thought.

“Mr Kim told me to talk to you. I’ve got detention again and he said I need to use that time to help out around the school or something.” Y/n shrugs. Jungwon can’t help the downturn of his mouth at the mention of yet another detention. They’ve been getting those a lot lately. “Um… I’ll have to check what the council is currently working on. It’s probably just cleaning desks and picking up litter though.” Jungwon says, grabbing his laptop out of his bag to check the minutes from the last council meeting.

Y/n leans over curiously, watching as he taps away on the laptop. “Is there anything you wanna do in particular?” He asks, scrolling through the list of volunteer work for the council. Y/n pretends to think for a moment, tapping a finger against their chin for added effect. “I’ll do whatever you’re doing.”

If Jungwon wasn't already blushing, he certainly is now. "Um… I'm just cleaning out the out-of-order bathrooms… making sure they're ready to be renovated. It's pretty boring." Jungwon mumbles. It does sound boring… but Y/n's eyes light up nonetheless.

"You mean our spot?" They ask excitedly, causing Jungwon's eyebrows to furrow. "Our spot?" He asks. Since when did they have a spot? That feels like something he would definitely remember. "It’s where we skipped class together, don't tell me you forgot already?" Y/n pouts. Of course, he didn't forget! He could probably remember every interaction he's ever had with Y/n. He just assumed that Y/n didn't… or at the least, never thought about it.

"I mean… you can clean with me if you want. It's a pretty big job though. Hence why the other council members are doing easier stuff."

That made Y/n angrier than expected. Of course, Jungwon would get stuck doing the most difficult task by himself, while the rest of the council runs around picking up rubbish. God, if Y/n could name another member, they would definitely be going in their death note.

"I'll stick with you." Y/n says, surprising even themself with how genuine the words sound. Jungwon seems surprised too, his eyes widening slightly as the tip of his ears turn a pinkish red. He mumbles a quiet thanks before quickly typing Y/n's name next to his on the task sheet.

"Was this place always such a dump?" Y/n asks, looking around the small room in disgust. There's graffiti all over the walls and mirrors and the floors are covered in rubbish and drywall. Even one of the toilet stalls has had the door ripped off its hinges.

"Believe it or not, this is the better of the two." Jungwon sighs. "I'm pretty sure the girl’s bathroom has rats." He adds, causing Y/n's face to screw up at the thought.

The bathrooms certainly didn't look like this when the two were last in here. That was only a few weeks ago.

"How did it even get this bad?" Y/n asks, pulling a pen out of their pocket and walking towards the discarded stall door. Jungwon watches curiously as they crouch down, scribbling something on the piece of metal.

"Because people do things like that." Jungwon sighs, trying to ignore the fluttering feeling developing in his stomach at the "Jungwon and Y/n were here" outlined in a heart.

Jungwon actually starts to get to work as Y/n continues to look around. After a few minutes, they let out a small gasp - gaining Jungwon's attention once more.

"Omg, I forgot about this!" Y/n exclaims, pulling Jungwon towards the scribbles on the wall. He looks at Y/n confused so they elaborate. "It's a list of everyone who hooked up here." This doesn't help. "In the bathroom?" Jungwon asks, his nose scrunching in disgust. "You'd be surprised. It's a pretty common make out spot." Y/n smirks, making sure to send Jungwon a playful wink in the process.

"Have you made out with someone here?" Jungwon asks, the question coming out a little louder and more urgent than he expected. Y/n can't help the smirk that spreads across their face. They place their hand under their chin, tapping repeatedly as they pretend to think. "Once or twice? I don't know… check the list." Y/n teases.

Jungwon doesn't want to look at the list - scared of what names he'll see engraved next to Y/n's. Scared of what feelings will come over him once he puts a face to the people who have been with Y/n. People he can only dream of being. But his restraint is limited and before he knows it, he finds his eyes quickly scanning the scratchy list of names.

It's not that bad. At least that's what Jungwon tries to tell himself. There's a handful of names written alongside Y/n's - mainly those who have already graduated, with a few from their current year level. It's not that bad. But Jungwon can't stop the bubbling feeling of jealousy that begins to form in the pit of his stomach.

"Find your answer?" Y/n asks in a teasing manner, despite their attention now being placed on picking up rubbish. Jungwon hums quietly, his eyes scanning the list once more before he gets back to work. "You're on there a lot." He mumbles, earning a scoff from Y/n. "You're slut-shaming me?" Jungwon stiffens for a moment but relaxes once more when he sees that Y/n is joking. "More like judging your hook up spot."

This comment causes Y/n to gasp in feigned offence. "Excuse me? How dare you judge the fine art of bathroom make outs?" Jungwon laughs slightly at this. "I'd hardly call kissing in the corner of a trash-filled bathroom a fine art." He gestures around the room to prove his point.

"That is exactly how I know you've never kissed in here." Y/n jokes, causing Jungwon to sheepishly rub the back of his neck. "Why do you say that?" He asks, laughing awkwardly. "Well, first of all, your name’s not on the list." Y/n points out. Jungwon goes to mumble something about it being the destruction of property but is quickly interrupted. “Secondly, you've been blushing this entire conversation.” Y/n continues, taking the chance to quickly poke Jungwon's dimple. "And thirdly, you don't just kiss in the corner. That's where the spiders are. The basin is much more comfortable."

Jungwon struggles to hide his shock as he chokes on his saliva. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t the basin. “Need a demonstration?” Y/n asks, smirking. Before Jungwon can even comprehend a response (at least one that wouldn’t result in him embarrassing himself) Y/n is already pushing the remaining trash and drywall off the basin and onto the floor. Jungwon watches in half shock, half amusement as Y/n lifts themself up onto the now clear basin.

“So whoever you’re making out with would sit here. You’ve just gotta be careful of the tap because let me tell you, hitting your tailbone on that hurts like a bitch.” Jungwon’s not sure when this turned into a walk-through but he watches carefully anyway as Y/n playfully smiles at him.

Jungwon loves their smile - even though most times he’s seen it has been when they’re teasing him. He still loves the way it sits proudly on their face, the way their eyes shimmer and crinkle the wider the grin spreads. He also loves the smile that they show when they don’t think he’s looking. The genuine one, given only to those close enough to deserve it. Jungwon hopes to one day be one of those people.

Amidst his trance, Y/n decides to begin the next part of their tutorial. They quickly reach out to grab Jungwon by the collar of his shirt, pulling him in so that he’s standing between their legs. Being caught off guard, Jungwon presses his hands tightly against the basin on either side of Y/n, catching himself in order to not fall completely on top of them.

“This is where you would stand.” Y/n says innocently as if the position they are now in isn’t entirely suggestive. Jungwon is stunned. Being this close to Y/n brings back all the memories from the library - the way their warm skin felt beneath his cautious touch. Jungwon needs to stop this, for his own sanity.

“We should keep cleaning.” Jungwon mumbles, avoiding eye contact in fear that Y/n’s eyes could convince him to stay. Convince him to do things he most definitely shouldn’t be doing. “I’m just helping, Wonnie. It’s educational.” Y/n pouts, bringing their hands to rest gently on top of Jungwon's. The sudden touch causes his eyes to shoot up to meet Y/n’s.

His first mistake.

Now that they know Jungwon’s attention is fully on them, Y/n continues with their “lesson”. “There’s a lot of different places you could put your hands, depending on what you’re feeling. Most common would be my hips.” Y/n states, bringing Jungwon’s hands to follow their words. “You could also press a hand against the mirror behind me if you need the support.” The add. Jungwon stays silent, the only sound being that of his breathing - which is growing heavier by the minute.

“Any questions so far?” Y/n asks, holding Jungwon’s hands firmly against their hips. Jungwon doesn’t know what to say - doesn’t want to speak in fear of ruining the mood. But in classic Jungwon fashion, he can feel himself responding to Y/n’s question before he can even think. “What if you fall in the sink?”

His second mistake.

Y/n stifles a laugh, which causes Jungwon to blush slightly with embarrassment. “I’d hope you would catch me.” Y/n whispers, bringing one of their hands up to gently push at Jungwon’s chest. “But I would also hold onto you, that way if I do slip, you’ll be able to hold me up…” Y/n trails off, wrapping their arms securely around Jungwon’s neck. They make sure to gently play with some of the hair there, earning a slight but definitely noticeable shudder from Jungwon. “And all that would be left to do is kiss.” Y/n mumbles, blatantly staring at Jungwon’s lips.

The two are silent for a second as the reality of the situation begins to set in. Y/n glances back up at Jungwon’s eyes, smiling cheekily at him. Jungwon’s eyes ever so slightly flicker down to Y/n’s lips. A move so quick, that if Y/n weren’t looking directly into his eyes, they most likely would have missed it. But with the close proximity of their faces and Y/n’s apparent love for eye contact, the tiny glimpse does not go unnoticed.

His third mistake.

Jungwon continues to make a few more decisions that could be considered mistakes. Such as the mistake of leaning in as Y/n brings their lips closer to his. The mistake of tightening his grip on Y/n’s hips as they pull him closer to their body, adjusting the angle so their lips lock together just right. The mistake of opening his mouth when Y/n’s tongue gently brushes against his bottom lip. And many, many more.

Kissing Y/n is something Jungwon thought he could only ever dream of doing. But as Y/n’s hand tugs gently on his hair - bringing him even closer into their hold and pulling him into yet another kiss, it finally starts to sink in exactly what he’s doing.

Jungwon should be overjoyed. But an over-looming feeling of confusion starts to wash over him, the longer his lips stay intertwined with Y/n’s. In his experiences, people kiss him because they see him as more than a friend. With Y/n, he can’t even tell if they see him as a friend. In a few weeks, they’d gone from absolutely hating his guts, to kissing him in an abandoned bathroom. The sudden switch up makes Jungwon feel like he’s got whiplash.

A sudden commotion of people in the halls causes Jungwon to quickly pull away from Y/n’s lips. The teachers are talking about him - likely wandering the halls in an attempt to track him down and ask for some help. He mentally battles with himself on what to do. Getting caught making out in the bathrooms by teachers is embarrassing for any student, let alone Jungwon. It’d do wonders to his reputation - not in a good way. But on the other hand, he will likely never get the chance to be this close to Y/n again.

Y/n can practically see the dilemma on his face and reaches forward to gently peck his lips. “Go do your job, Prez.” They whisper, reaching up to poke his cheek once more. Jungwon gulps, mumbling a quick apology before stepping away from Y/n completely.

That’s how Y/n finds themself sitting alone in the abandoned bathrooms - the feeling of Jungwon still fresh on their lips despite him being gone for almost 10 minutes now. Jungwon’s not the only one feeling confused, as they sit there wondering what the hell just happened. Kissing him was certainly not part of the original plan. But they suppose if it’ll help with convincing Jungwon to change the dress code… there’s nothing wrong with getting something extra along the way.

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smells-like-mettaton · 11 months

Text

Rating: G Summary: Sans treks through the laughterless Ruins to bring Toriel a donut. She has other worries on her mind. (Soriel, Exiled Queen Ending) Word Count: 2449

XXX

Sans is nothing if not a creature of habit. Routine means Not Thinking and Not Thinking means he can pretend everything’s okay for a little longer.

QC’s bakery is closed. The sheet of paper tacked to the door says her sister caught some kind of bug (metaphorical, unfortunately, or else he’d ask for tips). So no Cinnamon Bunnies he’d planned on gifting Toriel to make up for accidentally sleep-shortcutting into her bedroom last night.

(That better not become a habit. For someone who snores so hard, she’s quick to jump awake, fireballs in hands. She wouldn’t hit him on purpose, and bone’s not particularly flammable, but still.)

Habit. He’s not been on the other side of the door long enough to build new ones, yet, though he will. He has before. Not the first time his life’s up and uprooted like a grinning Vegetoid, and at least this time there are familiar places to backtrack to.

Too bad they’re not open.

He sighs, watching the artificial sunlight filter through the golden storefront window, before shortcutting out of the closed shop.

By habit, he almost ends up at Grillby’s before yanking himself back to the Ruins. Can’t throw those dogs a bone. They’ll have too many questions about the Ex-Queen—geez, even about him—and whatever he says’ll end up back to Undyne and he’s not ready for that.

Ruins. The Ruins are safe, for all that they’re unfamiliar. Papyrus would’ve loved exploring the place, with all its rusted traps and spikes.

He shuts his eyesockets for a moment. No habit to keep him on autopilot here. What was he doing again?

Treats. That’s right. Something loaded with sugar that Toriel won’t have to bake herself. Conveniently, his off-kilter shortcut landed him in the room with the bowl of candy… but pilfering the sweets she’d left out for the Froggits and Whimsuns just to give them back to her is too lazy of an apology, even for him.

Speak of the devils. A pair of Froggits and one shaking Whimsun hop-and-flutter through the door. The moth-like monster bursts into tears at the sight of him, fleeing back into the hall.

“Huh. That’s a first.” His grin tightens. “Normally pals wait to cry until after the joke.”

“Ribbit, ribbit,” one Froggit’s face-mouth croaks.

“(Joke?)” the mouth hidden in the shadows of its belly translates. Different from the Final Froggits Sans is used to, whose two mouths tend to speak in harmonizing tandem. “(I don’t understand.)”

Man. Tough crowd.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it.” He shrugs his hands into his hoodie pockets. “Not everyone’s got a funny bone.”

Not even a groan at that. Just a couple of low, cricket-like croaks.

How has Toriel survived so long with this kind of audience? He can feel the humor leaking out his humerus already.

The Froggits are still staring at him. Warily.

“You know anywhere to get some grub around here?” he finally asks, because the silence is threatening to suffocate him and shortcutting around still-mostly-uncharted territory is a great way to spring one of those centuries-old traps. Just walking until he finds something is out of the question, of course. The Ruins are huge, and his legs aren’t.

“Ribbit…” “(Grub…?)”

Right. They’ve been stuck here as long as Toriel, with even less contact with the outside world.

“Food,” he translates. Though Toriel would probably appreciate literal grubs, too, considering her bug-hunting hobby.

“Ribbitttttt.” “(Ohhh. Spider bake sale. Go out and make a left, then keep going until you reach the end of the hall.)”

He has no idea how far that is, so. Walking. Fun.

“‘Preciate it.”

His slippers scuff across the lavender stone, and he can feel all four pairs of eyes follow him out. Normally he only minds stairs, not stares. But for some reason it makes his vertebrae shiver.

Maybe it was just that Whimsun. The sudden crying, before he could even get a word out… he’s not used to that.

He’s not used to silence. He’s used to laughter and warmth and explosions and booming cries of “SANS PICK UP YOUR SOCK!” He’s used to being at the beating heart of wherever he is—lab or town or bar or, or. Maybe no one needs him, but they like him and want him and he wants them and he never realized how much being alone sucks.

And this is how Toriel’s been living. For centuries.

Maybe she likes it this way, he rationalizes, but he’s heard the excitement in her voice every time he arrived at the door, the faintest longing whisper any time he mentioned his brother or friends. He doesn’t know her at all, and he knows her too well to believe that.

The thoughts buzz in his skull up until his foot plunges through a false veneer of stone.

Normally, he has a healthy respect for puzzles, for all that they’re not really his heritage to claim. Today, as he lands face-down in a leafpile, all he can muster is a flat annoyance.

Maybe he could shortcut back to Toriel’s house and restart from there. But ironically, he doesn’t have a good enough sense of direction to find the bakesale from that angle. If he even can now that he’s fallen a layer deeper underground…

The leaves are pretty comfy. It’s tempting to just lie here. It’s what his old habits want.

Fortunately—unfortunately?—something chomps down on his ankle.

“Contains Vitamin D,” a Vegetoid says, its voice muffled by the tibia in its mouth.

“Huh. So this’s where the jokers’ve been hiding.” Sans grunts and kicks the sentient vegetable away. “No wonder I didn’t Cal-cium before.”

Cal-see-’em. It’s horrible. He’d bet twenty G he can get Toriel to shoot milk out her nose with it.

“Plants Can’t Joke Dummy,” the Vegetoid deadpans despite the grin still carved into its face.

Eh, he can’t begrudge it the grin. He knows how having a one-note facial expression goes. Couldn’t it have at least given him a pity “heh,” though?

“Nah, Dummy’s in a different room,” he glibs despite knowing it won’t get him any results.

“Eat Your Greens,” it replies unrelatedly as he checks the puzzle explanation on the sign and treks back up the stairs.

Ugh. Stares and stairs. They really should just close the curtain on him today.

This time, he pays more attention to the terrain, and makes it to the bake sale with only a few more awkward encounters.

(He hadn’t meant to pick on Loox. He doesn’t pull out the eye trick for just anyone. It isn’t his fault the optical monster had chosen to interpret it as an insult rather than a flashy display of solidarity.)

He blinks at the bake sale prices on the signs. Only seven G for a donut here? Maybe that’s a reasonable price, but Muffet’s Hotland stand was as much of a ripoff as his fried snow. When the Froggit mentioned spiders, he’d expected to have to haggle or barter his way into some baked goods—which was always a good time, with Muffet. She understood the art of a good deal and if she swindled him a bit too much, at least it was going to charity.

Of course, Muffet isn’t here anyway. He doesn’t know what kind of bargaining these spiders would be up for, if any—and considering his track record today, dropping fourteen G in the web is probably his safest bet.

Some spiders crawl down and silently hand him two donuts.

“Pleasure doin’ business with ya,” he says. Habit.

His words echo off of the enclosing walls, topple down like a cave-in. With ya, with ya, with ya.

Somehow, he hates that even more than the silence.

XXX

Routine is like habit’s second cousin. Close enough to crash family reunions, distant enough to flake out when you need it most.

There’s no routine to coming home, ‘nuts in hand, only to find Toriel sobbing in her armchair.

“Uh,” he grunts, too caught off guard to even curse.

Toriel doesn’t cry. She didn’t cry when she saw Asgore’s dust, or when Undyne threatened her at spearpoint, or when she stumbled back over the Ruins threshold, blank stare glazing over her mahogany eyes. And Sans—well, he can’t cry, no ducts to pump out saltwater with, so he doesn’t—doesn’t know what to do.

Now that’s an understatement.

“Spider ‘nut?” he offers weakly, because food never made anything worse.

A wheeze cuts through her sob. She shakes her head, but waves him over.

Mixed messages, here.

“I was gonna get ya a cinnabun,” he approaches with soft steps, “but QC was closed today.”

Toriel wipes her face. Her hands are shaking; her claws leave thin trails in the fur above her brow.

“Of course. Of course, that’s all it was.” Her laugh cracks over the words.

“Huh?” Another step closer.

He wishes he weren’t holding donuts; he’d like to take her hands, pull them away from her face before her claws decide they want to dig in any deeper. He’s not sure that’d be welcome, anyway, after the scare he gave her last night.

“Ap…apologies,” she murmurs. “I… s-so pathetic…”

“Hey.” His browbone scrunches a little. “Not sure what you’re goin’ on about, but I won’t judge. There’s do-nuthin’ to be ashamed of.”

After all of today’s failures, he almost expects it to fall flat, but this is Toriel he’s talking to. A wet bleat interrupts her tears—and boy, that’s a lot of snot. He’s impressed.

“O-oh dear…” She stares down at her slimy hands.

He shuffles the donuts to the dining table so his hands are free, then shrugs out of his hoodie.

“Here.” He offers it to her, and she blinks down at him sharply.

“What—no, Sans—”

“‘S due for a wash anyway.”

He drapes the hoodie over her hands before she can protest any further. Too late, he hopes she wasn’t protesting because she wanted something cleaner to wipe her hands on. Oh well.

“...Thank you.” She clutches the garment tightly.

Something squeezes in his ribcage. They’re both staring, and trying to pretend they’re not, and the fireplace is cold so the only thing he can hear is her still-somewhat-congested breathing.

“You, uh. Want me to give you some space…?” he finally asks.

“No,” her answer is quicker and firmer than he expected. “No, please. Stay.”

He nods. Then, hoping he’s not pushing his luck, he hauls himself up onto the arm of her broad chair. His legs hang off the side, his back pressed to her shoulder.

“Now ya won’t have to break your neck lookin’ down at me,” he rationalizes away the touch.

“How thoughtful.” She smiles with a wet snort.

Her hands tangle deeper into his crumpled hoodie. Her claws are retracted now, though. He’s pretty sure she won’t poke any holes in it. Not that he’d mind if she did.

“I… thought you…” she inhales a shaky breath, “I thought you had left.”

“Yeah, I went out to get snacks and—oh.” He blinks. “You thought I—why?”

She’d thought he left. For good. Not even that he was gone, which could’ve implied she thought a stray Froggit offed him for one of his bad jokes. That he could’ve understood. But left, on purpose?

Nope. Not happening. She’d have to throw him out the doors and recast the seal if she wanted to get rid of him.

“I—I nearly hurt you last night…” she trails off, brows furrowed.

“Yeah, ‘cause I sleepwalked into your room.” Sleepwalked? Sleptwalked? Technically it was sleep-shortcutted, so. Whatever. “That’s, uh, what the apology ‘nuts were for.”

Stupid walking with his stupid legs. He must’ve taken even longer than he’d thought if Toriel had thought he wasn’t coming back.

“Of course. Of course.” Another weak laugh. “I have been falling apart over nothing…”

“I’ll leave a note next time,” he says lightly, but he means it.

He knew he meant a lot to her, but this—geez, this scares him. And thrills him, in a messed-up way that sends guilt itching at his collarbones. Someone does still want him, and that someone happens to be the funniest, sweetest, most incredible monster in the Underground. Staying with her was the easiest decision he’s ever made.

The thing is, where he stays is rarely his decision. Not with his luck. If anything happens to him, and she thinks he left by choice—

He just. Won’t think about that. Honestly, he may look as tough as wet cardboard, but he’s not gonna fall down to any Froggit or Loox.

(And if any twist of fate tries to drop him somewhere new again—he’ll fight and claw with all the determination he doesn’t have. He’ll try.)

(It’s the best he can do.)

He burrows his hand into the hoodie with hers, because the joke he has in mind doesn’t work without touching her palm. That’s the only reason.

“Tori. I’m sticking with you.”

She looks up, and her hand twitches. Still sticky.

“Snot like you can get rid of me that easy,” he says, in case the first quip was too subtle.

And there it is again, that laugh he lov—likes.

(Cherishes. Adores. Wants to bottle and put on everything like ketchup.)

“Thank you, Sans. I am… sorry you had to see me like that,” Toriel says, having mostly recovered. He can’t feel her shoulder trembling against his back anymore.

“Hey, like I said. No judgment here.” He shifts, bumping his shoulder against hers with a grin. “What’re friends for?”

After a blink, a warm smile spreads across her face, uncovering the two sharp teeth poking down from her upper lip.

“They are for worrying me silly, apparently.”

He’s about to apologize when she cups the side of his face, hand still sticky. Her thumb brushes the curve of his cheekbone.

“Also, for making me laugh, and smile, and apologizing for things that are not his fault, and being kinder than I remembered was possible.”

“Uh-uh…” he blushes, warm and blue under her touch. His brain is short-circuiting a little, and it shows in the embarrassingly flimsy joke he comes up. “I know you are, but what am I?”

She laughs anyway. She always does. It’s enough to make up for every silent Froggit and Whimsun and Loox in the Underground.

“You are awfully handsome in that shade of blue,” she answers, and his brain’s short-circuit goes into full power outage—

Only to explode like Gyftmas lights when she presses her lips to the side of his skull, her protruding teeth scraping slightly in a way that makes him shiver.

That’s something he could stand to make a habit.

#sans #toriel #soriel #utdr #fic tag #tali writes

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akumastrife · 4 months

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'I didn't wish for snow (but it's better with you)' // Les Mis - Snowed In

Rating: Teen (language) Pairing: E/R, BahorelFeuilly, Courferre, Eponine/Cosette/Marius, Montparnasse/Jehan, Joly/Bossuet/Musichetta Fandom: Les Mis Word Count: 4k It was Sunday. Sundays were for meeting with L'ABC for the cause of the season. This Sunday was thwarted by approximately two feet of cold, white bullshit. {ALSO ON AO3} (Yes, this was something I started Dec 2022 for my Holiday Fic Advent Challenge. Yes, it could've easily been 40k. But I'm practicing restraint and trying to be more realistic with my abilities, and hey! better late than never.)

Grantaire glanced up from pouring himself another cup of mulled wine, and smiled softly despite himself. “E, darling,” he teased, “I don’t think they’re going to make it.”

“We always meet on Sundays,” Enjolras muttered. He crossed his arms, shifting, and didn’t move from the window. A golden sentinel. Grantaire let himself look while Enjolras sulked. Just for another moment or two.

Grantaire sighed, but humored him by coming over to stand beside him.

Outside, the world was a blur of fast falling snow, drifts building high on the sidewalks and encroaching on the streets. “We’re supposed to get another ten inches at least.”

And then snorted, a joke primed on his lips—

—let it pass at the withering look Enjolras shot him, pressing his smile into a thin seam and shaking his head, eyes wide in faux innocence.

“I think everyone’s snowed in. Or out, depending on where they are. Face it, Étoile, just you and me today. Probably tomorrow. As long as it takes to be shoveled out.”

“Horrors,” Enjolras mused, but the corner of his mouth flickered and betrayed him. He sighed, long and tortured, and took the mug from Grantaire’s hand, sipping it with a pleased hum. “This is the best batch so far.”

“More orange,” Grantaire agreed. He took Enjolras’ elbow and tugged lightly. “Come on, away from the window. Let’s watch a trashy, disgustingly heterosexual hallmark movie, and you can tell me everything wrong with it.”

“I do enjoy that. Be better if Courfeyrac was here, though.”

“Everything’s better with Courf,” Grantaire agreed indulgently. “Maybe we should invite him into the bedroom next time.”

Enjolras hummed in general agreement, because he wasn’t listening, already texting Courfeyrac.

Grantaire laughed to himself and turned on the tv, pulling Enjolras down by his belt loops.

Across town, the door to the cafe blew open on a gust of wind, a swirl of snow, and what appeared to be an honest-to-god Yeti.

And then, upon a second and much longer look, it was only some fool caked in snow from trying to carry out a normal day in this very-abnormal Sunday Blizzard.

“Look like you could use something to warm up with,” Feuilly called across the lobby. He abandoned his broom to slip back behind the counter and tighten his apron strings. At least if he was stuck here for capitalism’s ever-grinding-machine, he’d get a tip out of it.

“Witch’s Tits, it’s a mess out there,” the yeti grunted.

Oh.

Oh, that was his fool.

“What on earth are you doing out in the storm!” Feuilly snapped, putting down the paper cup and coming out into the lobby once again. This time with a dishtowel for Bahorel’s… snowy everything.

Bahorel, the idiot, just smiled at him, shaking himself off like a dog and beat his snow crusted hat on the back of a chair. “Coming to pick you up.”

“My shift doesn’t end for another two hours,” Feuilly reminded him, much less frightening that he’d intended. It was a sweet, if stupid, gesture. He tossed the towel at him so he could properly fold his arms and pretend not be exasperatedly charmed. “It’s messy out there, you said so yourself.”

“Whole city’s shutting down.” Something muffled under the towel. And then Bahorel reappeared with a grin. “Figured even your bosses would have to comply.”

“You figured wrong.”

Bahorel’s glee melted away with the snow in his locs.

Feuilly frowned, but sighed anyway and reached to rub warmth into Bahorel’s cheeks. “But I suppose it’s sweet you came anyway. How was campus?”

“Oh, same as same. Showed my face at the study group, passed out some of Enj’s fliers since I was already there. Tried to duck out early but none of the buses are running with everything.”

Feuilly nodded as he listened, drifting back behind the counter to make Bahorel something warm to drink. Habit and comfort, hands working mechanically as he made something off menu, listening to Bahorel’s animated story-telling just like when they were at home. Only the empty cafe and its softly humming appliances were their captive audience, instead of all his plants and their cat.

“Sorry, wait,” he interrupted, “did you just say you taught a class? Who’s class? What class runs on a Sunday? Aren’t there, I don’t know, laws about that?”

Bahorel sat at a stool, crossing his arms on the counter. “Well, you see, as I was saying, I was trying to leave campus but I came across a classroom in which there was no teacher and a dozen students talking about the fifteen-minute rule.”

“Baz…”

“So, I thought, what the hell, I’m already here, might as well do something. Marched in, said they’d sent a Sub, and got to teaching.”

Feuilly pressed a hand to his mouth, choking back laughter. “You? You barely go to classes, and now you’re teaching them? What was it?”

“Ancient Roman Law.”

“There’s a historical law class… on Sundays?” Feuilly slid a mug across the counter to him, leaning on it himself.

“Oh, don’t know what class it was, but that’s what I taught.”

Feuilly sputtered, coughed, and then couldn’t help the peal of genuine laughter. “You’re terrible. Those poor undergrads are going to think it’ll be on the test!” He leaned to hit Bahorel’s shoulder hard.

Bahorel only flinched so much as to protect him mug from tipping, and grinned, cheeks flushed with cold and joy, eyes twinkling. “Ah, it’ll be good for them. If they thought I was a real teacher, that’s on them.”

“Wait, if the buses aren’t running, how’d you get here?”

“I walked,” Bahorel said, eyebrows raised in the pointed obviously.

Feuilly hit him again. “Then how did you think you were going to ‘pick me up’ with no transportation?”

“I admit, I hadn’t thought that far. It was more about the gesture, really.”

“Here’s a gesture for you,” Feuilly said, and flipped him off. “What if we’re stuck here all night?”

“Could be romantic.”

Feuilly rolled his eyes. “That’d break so many food service regulations. Absolutely not.”

“You’re no fun.”

“Well then I suppose it’s good you’re fun enough for the both of us,” Feuilly sighed, and gave into that cheeky grin by leaning across the counter for a kiss.

“Looks like that’s the last of everyone,” Cosette said, wiping her hands down her powder blue apron and looking around. The food drive had been busy, but not like years previous, and she was dismayed to realize it was because how much snow was falling and more than likely no one not at the shelter itself could get there.

“We should start cleaning up and get out of here,” Eponine said, handing her a rag, “before we get stuck here too. R’s been texting, he and his golden candlestick are stuck at the apartment. Proper lovebirds,” with an insincere sneer.

Cosette giggled.

Gavroche wriggled between a wall and the trash cans, breathing hard and face flushed with cold.

“What’s wrong with you?” Eponine asked, as Cosette brushed snow from his hat, face, and shirt collar.

“Marius’ car’s stuck,” he said, muffled behind Cosette’s hands. “He went off to get help.”

“Oh dear.”

“He’ll be dead in a ditch before dawn,” Eponine said.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Cosette said, but even she couldn’t sound as optimistic as she’d like. “We’ll clean up and see if anyone needs anything else, and maybe by the time we’re ready to leave, it won’t be on homemade snowshoes.”

It didn’t take too long, all in all. The cooks and kitchen helpers mostly had everything wrapped up and ready for deliveries (that likely wouldn’t happen with the weather) while Gavroche flitted around throwing more festive decorations up on any ledge or wall that seemed too depressing.

Eponine changed over laundry and passed out more blankets, and smiled too fond when she found Cosette sat on the floor with a little girl, hand-mending her doll’s dress.

“This is very pretty,” Cosette praised. “I love this color of green. And it’ll hide my stitches beautifully.”

“Did you do that?” the girl asked, pointing and poking at the sprig of forget-me-nots embroidered on her apron strap.

“I did, would your doll like some too?”

The little girl nodded and Eponine smoothed a hand over Cosette’s hair, sitting down beside her to rest her feet for the first time all day.

Cosette had embroidered not only flowers but a tiny bird on the girl’s own sleeve by the time her phone chimed in her pocket.

“Grab that, love?” she asked, hands busy and thread caught in her mouth as she finished.

Eponine slid out her phone and snorted at the ID, before answering it, getting to her feet and looking towards the door. “Is this the man who’s kidnapped my boyfriend? We don’t have any money for ransom, you know.”

Marius’ breath hitched down the line in surprise before laughing softly. He sounded winded, and a little giddy, but mostly probably all right. “Car’s stuck in the snow, I’m sorry, and the buses aren’t running, but I’ve come with a chariot for the ladies none the less.”

“So gallant,” she drawled, glancing down at Cosette’s curious expression, and rolling her eyes in answer. She reached down to help her up. “We’ll be right out, it better be warm, Pontmercy.”

“I’ve done my best.”

She gathered their bags, her little brother, and her girlfriend’s porcelain hand, taking all of it out front of the shelter.

“You’ve got to be shitting me.”

“Oh my,” Cosette echoed, entirely charmed and fluttery because she was actually a Victorian Lady born in the wrong year.

“That’s so cool!” Gavroche exclaimed, and bounded through the snow to clamber up into the sleigh next to Marius. “The horses are real?”

“Yes,” Marius laughed, looking hopefully to the girls. “Called in a favor at the country club. We’ve got them until midnight.”

“They’re beautiful,” Cosette sighed, struggling through the snow to come up beside the pair of chestnut brown horses, patting their necks and down their harnesses, all lined in shining bells. The sleigh was massive, varnished wood, and utterly unbelievable.

“You rich fuck,” Eponine said. “We’re taking this and delivering the rest of the meals to everyone who couldn’t make it.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Marius said. He leaned out of the sleigh for their bags, and set them in the deep back end. “Plenty of room, go get the baskets.”

Cosette climbed into the sleigh and grabbed his face in her mittened hands, kissing him soundly and laughing bright like the sleigh’s bells. “You’re a dream. Absolutely wonderful.”

“I’d hoped you’d like it,” he admitted, spreading a fur blanket over her. Glanced to Eponine. “Both of you. The roads are mostly empty, we’ll finish the rounds in no time.”

“Unbelievable,” Eponine said, but she couldn’t help smiling after all.

Courfeyrac pouted and slid lower in his chair.

All of it was so commonplace, Combeferre didn’t even bother to look up.

“E and R are having a movie night,” Courfeyrac said, thrusting his phone across the table for Combeferre’s perusal. “You said the weather was going to cancel the meeting.”

“Hence, they’re not having a meeting,” Combeferre said, flipping a page in his book.

“Ferre, I don’t think I can study anymore. Every time I read something it just spills out of my ears like spaghetti. I would like to watch movies.”

Combeferre sighed, but pushed his current book back a little and checked the time. Used Courfeyrac’s phone because it was still under his nose, and then took it rather abruptly.

It was… much later than he expected. He’d planned on getting there early, cramming as much as inhumanly possible, and then beat it out of the library before the storm hit in earnest and they were forced to make a bed and campfire from books (only the damaged ones, of course, headed for the bin anyway.)

Instead, he’d spent the whole day at this tiny table in a cramped corner, surrounded by too many empty coffee cups, and Courfeyrac. The very sweet Courfeyrac who hadn’t complained once while sitting with him for six hours.

“Is that really the time? Gracious, Courf, I’m so sorry,” as he jumped up and began organizing his papers and books in earnest.

Courfeyrac’s fluttering fingers appeared under his nose, slowing his hands physically and helping. “Ferre, settle, it’s alright. Really. I needed it too. And I’m only mildly wasting away from starvation, really, easy enough to fix.”

Combeferre frowned, but when he looked up Courfeyrac was smiling at him, not a hint of malice, just fond exhaustion. He was owed that, Combeferre supposed.

“I’ll make it up to you.”

Courfeyrac smiled wider and winked at him, standing to gather his own possessions.

Predictably, Combeferre blushed, but that wasn’t new, either. “I just have to return these to the reference desk, and then we can go.”

“Excellent.”

There wasn’t anyone at the reference desk, so they just stacked their various tomes behind the lip on the counter.

There wasn’t… anyone anywhere, really. The halls were quiet, the computers all idly bouncing around the city logo screen-savers.

Descending the main, winding staircase found no one else. Not a giggle or shriek from the children’s area, not any sulking teens in the lounge, not even late afternoon stragglers in line at the coffee cart.

“Ferre…”

Combeferre knew. It hit him all at once with a creeping sort of icy dread that matched the horror on his face reflected in a frost-coated window.

He pulled on the main doors. Once. Twice.

Several more times in quick, panicked succession.

“They’ve locked us in,” he whispered.

“We’re going to die in here,” Courfeyrac whimpered. “What are we supposed to do? Ferre? I don’t have any cash for the vending machines. Do we break a window—”

“No!”

“-call the fire department? Go upstairs and see if they have any vintage porn on VHS?”

Combeferre yanked on one of his curls quickly. “All your ideas are terrible.”

“I don’t hear you coming up with any. This is your natural habitat.”

“Let me think.”

Courfeyrac quieted obediently, even if he pressed his face to the doors and whimpered to the outside world at large.

Even they did manage to get the doors unlocked, or find a particularly forgotten and unsecured window, the snow was already thigh high with no signs of stopping. They’d be lost in a winter wasteland before they made it to the main road.

“Well, I think there’s really only one thing for it.”

“Hmm?”

“We have to call the Mayor.”

Courfeyrac squawked.

Snow continued to fall thick and heavy outside the wall of foggy windows. Jehan stood on the warm side of it, and watched the activity of an unfamiliar airport. An unfamiliar city.

They picked up their carry-on bags and moved against the stream of people up to one of the service desks.

“This isn’t my city,” they blurted before the attendant was able to even to fully focus on them. “I don’t know where this is, but I’m not supposed to be here.”

It was a fraught several minutes of back and forth, arguing with the attendant that yes, they understood how unusual this was; yes, this should’ve never been able to happen; yes, it was possibly up to them to cover the cost of their appropriate return home, if there were even any seats available, which there weren’t; yes—

A well-manicured hand studded in rings appeared on the counter next to them, distracting both into silence.

“I don’t mean to eavesdrop,” a smooth and melodious voice said. And then what followed was the most beautiful, possibly vampiric, gentleman Jehan had ever seen. “But you seem to be in a spot of distress.”

“I am,” Jehan said immediately, eyes only for this… this… specimen.

They were being ridiculous, like some damsel on a romance novel cover.

But they were also a million miles from home (give or take a few), stranded, and being smiled at by a gorgeous model of sharp gothic refinement.

The airlines attendant said something, but it was lost in the muffled background.

Montparnasse, as he introduced himself, was there on business. What business, he was coyly avoiding mentioning, and every time Jehan tried to circle back around to it, there was another bit of pretty flattery to distract them, another kind question about their travels, and their desire to just go home.

“I’ve always wanted to visit,” Montparnasse said, like it was nothing. Like the concept of changing a plane ticket when there were none to be had, was only a matter of whimsy.

A man all in black edged into their field of vision. Montparnasse glanced over lazily, quirked a smile, and waved him away.

“Do you know him?”

“Friend of a friend. Now, let’s see about if anyone’s wanting to switch flights.”

Jehan couldn’t fathom that being possible at all. The airport was packed, the weather was getting nastier, flights were being canceled left and right. Everyone just wanted to get home. What could Montparnasse possibly have to convince anyone like that?

“You’re so sweet,” Musichetta crooned, gently mopping up the bloody cut at Bossuet’s temple. “A sweet fool.”

“Your fool, at least,” Bossuet said dreamily, beaming up at her. “Sorry I got hurt.”

“Ah, ah,” she said, “what did I say about sorrys?”

“Don’t apologize for what you didn’t do,” Joly said, smiling tight as he focused on the open box of medical supplies. “That’s another quarter for the jar. Why were you trying to shovel? The way it’s coming down, by the time you finished, you’d be right back at the start.”

“I didn’t want you slipping on the ice,” Bossuet said. His smile faltered only until his eyes were able to focus long enough to slip to Joly. Enough to catch Joly wrestling back a fond sigh.

“Ah, so you decided to slip for me.”

“Happy to. I would slip every day so you wouldn’t.”

“Idiot,” Joly sighed, threading a needle. “We should take you to the clinic. Clearly you’ve hit your head too hard, talking like that.”

“Can’t, in this weather,” Musichetta mused. She kissed Bossuet’s head softly, cradling him close to her chest. “You’ll have to do, doc.”

“Only a student,” Joly reminded her, as he always did. “This will sting,” he warned.

“M’used to it.” Bossuet closed his eyes, relaxing into Musichetta and humming at the lovely way she rubbed his head and his chest, fingernails drawing light designs.

Bossuet simmered in it, drifting in the warmth of touch and care, the comforting sting of antiseptic, the soft chatter of his two favorite people, the jingle of bells—

Bells?

“Do I have a concussion?”

“Likely,” Joly said. He still picked up a flashlight to flash in Bossuet’s eyes.

“Do I hear bells? Am I dying? Why are there bells?”

“Bells, what do you—Oh, oh my, there’s bells?”

She stood in a flurry of skirts and hair and Bossuet nearly fell back on his head at the sudden shock of cold at his back.

“It’s Eponine and her boys,” Musichetta said in delight, throwing the front door open wider. “They have a sleigh.”

“Like Santa?” Bossuet asked.

Joly laughed.

“We’re here to pick you up!” Cosette called from the street.

Bossuet couldn’t wait for his ears to stop ringing so he could say hi to Marius.

“Good,” Musichetta said, “we can stop by the clinic on the way.”

“Bossuet?” Cosette asked.

“Isss allll about me,” Bossuet sang cheerfully.

Joly’s cool fingers tugged the end of the suture knot, playing carefully over the perfect little line of stitches. “Hmm, you’ll live.”

“Nice. Can I have a kiss?”

“Hmm.”

“Chetta always kisses me better.”

“That’s because she has healing kisses,” Joly said gravely. He finished wiping Bossuet’s cut and finally leaned back for his cane to push himself up. “You sit there a moment, get yourself settled. Chetta and I will get our stuff for the evening.”

“Bring the heated blanket. We might get stuck there.”

Joly leaned down to kiss Bossuet’s head after all. “So foolish, and yet so smart. I’ll get it. And some painkillers.”

Enjolras had only just gotten his perfect hand into Grantaire’s pants when there was a great and sudden clatter on their little apartment porch.

“The door—”

“Probably buglers,” Grantaire mumbled, tugging Enjolras back into another kiss. “They’ll find their own way in.”

Enjolras pushed away and up, and was across the room before Grantaire could think of anything fun and interesting to keep him. He groaned and flopped back against the back of the couch, limbs akimbo and feeling very pathetic.

“Have we missed it?” Combeferre asked, over several voices all exclaiming at once.

“Did you get the baskets?”

“Oh, here’s more blankets.”

“Do you think we should just stay here? Surely everything will be closed tomorrow.”

“Did you—oh thank fuck, here’s all the leftovers from Feuilly’s.”

It made Grantaire smile, eyes closed, at the ceiling despite himself. Their friends. All here after all. Against all odds.

“How’s the weather out there?” he called.

“Fucking atrocious,” Bahorel said, alongside the sounds of beating snow off his gloves. Possibly against someone’s shoulder, by the following squawk. “We’d been here earlier but Freckles insisted on finishing his shift, and then we helped pull out… I don’t know how many cars.”

“With what?” And then wheezed with a curse, all of Gavroche’s not-insubstantial weight body-slammed into his stomach.

“Marius got us a sleigh! With horses and everything!” Gavroche said.

“Great,” Grantaire croaked. “Your knee is eviscerating me.”

Gavroche giggled and scrambled down, darting off to assault someone else.

Grantaire didn’t care as long as he could breathe.

“You look like a bad morning after,” Eponine said, sliding her fingers through his hair, tugging a few snags out. “Slut.”

“Was trying. No thanks to you. There’s mulled wine in the kitchen. Suppose I should make more, if the Brady Bunch is here.”

“I have to go find a place to, uh, park the horses?” Marius said, and ducked back outside.

“I didn’t know if you’d make it,” Enjolras was saying, voice bright and deeply awed. When Grantaire looked, he was holding Combeferre by the shoulders, gazing into his eyes like they were on a TV special.

“Of course we did,” Combeferre said. “It’s Sunday. The Revolution waits for no one, and certainly not snow.”

“We’ve done our good deeds for the day,” Courfeyrac said, pushing bodily between them and taking Enjolras’ face in his hands. “I heard you were watching movies. I want to watch bad hallmark movies and drink about them. Please, E, I’ve been studying all day and then being good all the way here. Please,” he whined.

“Oh, this is a good cheese.”

Grantaire popped up out of the couch and over it towards the kitchen. “Stay away from my fancy cheese! I was supposed to be wooing Enj before you all crashed.”

Feuilly slanted a flat look at him. Pointedly put the cheese back in the fridge and took out a box of leftover pizza instead. “I will return the coffee I brought you, then.”

“Wait—no, no, wait—”

“Oh, Grantaire,” Cosette admonished sweetly, hand on his arm as she floated by. “It would be such a lovely spread. Let me and Feuilly throw something together, and I’ll buy you even better cheese next week.” She held out her pinky finger, smiling as sweet as any angel he didn’t believe in.

Who was Grantaire to deny a pinky promise? Who was Grantaire to deny Cosette?

The door hit the wall and Jehan, standing square in the opening, flinched. “Sorry! Wind’s picking up. But we made it!”

“Jehan!” Joly called from the armchair. Looked like he would’ve gotten up if he wasn’t weighed down by several people.

“I thought you were stranded?” Musichetta asked. “How did you make it home?”

“Terrible spot of bad luck,” Bossuet sympathized.

“We?” Enjolras set about counting heads, but no—

“You,” Eponine breathed, frozen in the hall, a mug in each hand.

The man behind Jehan ducked into the small entryway, brushing snow from his black hair with his black leather gloves. “Thank you for allowing me to crash your evening plans.”

“Everyone, this is M—”

“Jehan!” Eponine screeched, her pallor of surprise flooding with purpling anger. “You brought the mafia home with you!”

“Huh?” Jehan turned, peering up at his companion. “Don’t be ridiculous, ‘Ponine, he’s not…”

Montparnasse smiled, somehow smoothly confident and sheepish at once. “I didn’t think it was first date appropriate.”

“Was-was this a date?”

Grantaire swore, dragging both hands down his face. “Might as well. Why not. Baz, get out more wine, it’s going to be a weird holiday.”

#les mis #les amis #enjolras #enjoltaire #grantaire #bahorel #feuilly #bahorelfeuilly #courfeyrac #combferre #courferre #eponine #cosette #marius pontmercy #jolybossuetmusichetta #jehan/montparnasse #my writing #there's too many amis omg

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spaceman-earthgirl · 2 years

Text

Supercorptober 2022 Day 5: Orange

ao3 fic link. series link.

“Can I tell you a joke?” Esme asks, the little alien basically vibrating with excitement as she does.

There’s no way Lena could ever say no to her, not with those wide, hopeful eyes and a grin that reminds her of Kara.

“Of course, you can, sweetie.”

“Okay.” Esme clasps her little hands together, face taking on a more serious expression. “Knock, knock.”

Lena smiles. “Who’s there?”

“Red.”

“Red who?”

“Knock, knock,” Esme repeats, a small smile making its way onto her face.

“Who’s there?” Lena asks again. This is going to be a bad joke, she can feel it.

“Red.”

“Red who?”

“Knock, knock,” Esme starts again, getting more and more excited with each word.

If it were anyone else, Lena would’ve rolled her eyes at the joke by now, or let’s be honest, Kara is the only one who tells her bad jokes, and while she’d roll her eyes, she’d listen until the end, just to see the beaming smile on Kara’s face when she said the punchline.

It’s the exact same thing with Esme.

“Who’s there?”

“Orange,” Esme grins, and even though Lena doesn’t know what’s coming, she grins too.

“Orange who?” Lena asks.

“Orange you glad I didn’t say red!” As soon as the words are out of Esme’s mouth, the little girl dissolves into laughter.

Lena would do anything for this little girl.

And she was right, that was a terrible joke.

“Did you like my joke?” Esme asks, voice quieter, once her laughter has died down.

“I did,” Lena smiles, but only because it made Esme smile. “I think Aunt Kara would like that joke too, have you told her?”

“She told it to me!” Esme exclaims.

Lena looks across the room and meets Kara’s eyes, finds her girlfriend already watching them with a smile. “Of course, she did.”

Lena’s not sure if Kara was listening to them, or just happened to look over right before she did, but Kara makes her way towards them. Lena’s question is answered with Kara’s next words.

“Have you been stealing my jokes?” Kara asks, arms going around Esme’s waist, picking the little girl up, tickling her until she’s breathless with laughter.

“Aunt Kara!” Esme manages to say through her giggles.

“Yes, Esme?” Kara asks, looking the picture of innocence as she deposits her niece back on the ground.

“Do you have any more jokes?” Esme asks once she’s righted herself.

“Hmm…” Kara pretends to think, when Lena knows for a fact Kara has dozens. Lena doesn’t entirely get it, the jokes aren’t funny at all, but the way Kara says them, the way she lights up when she tells them, the way Kara beams at the punchline, has made Lena seek them out herself too, remember jokes she’s heard in passing, all so she can tell Kara, just to make her girlfriend smile.

“I’ve got one,” Lena cuts in.

Esme turns to look at her, eyes wide. Kara raises her eyebrow, intrigued too.

“What? I can be funny,” Lena adds under the looks from them both.

“Of course, you can be,” Kara says, leaning into Lena’s side, pressing a kiss to the side of Lena’s temple as she does. Lena will take the kiss, even if Kara’s tone sounds slightly patronising.

“What’s your joke?” Esme asks, rapt attention now solely on Lena.

“What is a balloon’s least favourite type of music?” Lena asks. She pauses for a moment after the question, can tell Kara is trying to think of an answer while Esme just waits patiently for the punchline. Her joke is dumb but she knows her audience, knows they’ll both like it.

“Pop.”

As expected, Esme breaks down in giggles again while Kara grins.

“Aunt Lena, can I go and tell Nia?” Esme asks waiting for Lena’s slightly stunned nod, Lena’s breath suddenly stuck in her throat. Esme races off across the room, intent on talking to Nia.

“She called me ‘Aunt Lena’,” Lena breathes, eyes still on Esme.

“Because you are,” Kara simply replies, stepping into her personal space again now that they’re alone, arms snaking around Lena’s waist to pull her close, drawing Lena’s attention back to Kara.

“Technically I’m not,” Lena says, because it’s true, she’s not, even if they do treat her like family. And this is the first time Esme has ever called her that.

“Not yet,” Kara amends, which makes Lena’s breath catch for a different reason. “But one day you will be. Officially.”

“You want to marry me?” Lena asks, eyes wide.

Kara rolls her eyes with a smile, fingers squeezing Lena’s sides. “Lena, we’ve talked about this before, you know I want to marry you.”

“I know,” Lena smiles. “It’s just nice to hear you say it.”

It still is a surprise that Kara wants to marry her, still makes her wonder how she got so lucky that Kara loves her too. But she knows Kara does love her, knows one day she wants to get married, knows she wants to spend the rest of her life with Lena, and that makes Lena happy beyond words, because she feels the exact same way.

Kara shakes her head with a fond smile before she tilts forward, warm lips pressing against Lena’s. Lena melts into the contact, into the familiarity and warmth of Kara’s kiss.

A small body crashes into their legs, breaking them apart.

Lena looks down, finds Esme’s arms wrapped around them both, her little head tilted back to look up at them. “Nia liked your joke, do you have any more?”

Lena (only somewhat reluctantly) relinquishes her hold on Kara. She takes a seat on the couch, and pats the empty space beside her. “I have a few, want to hear some more?”

Esme nods excitedly, taking the seat beside Lena. She shuffles close, little body now pressed to Lena’s side, Kara taking the seat on the other side of Esme.

This is the family she never thought she’d have, and with Esme laughing beside her, and Kara watching them both fondly, Lena’s never felt happier.

#supergirl #supercorp #kara danvers #lena luthor #esme #supercorp fanficc #supercorptober2022

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moodymisty · 1 year

Text

Tree in Bloom - Ch 1

Chapter 2

Author's Note: Am I planning a full multichapter fic for a game that has been blueballing us on a sequel for years? Yes. Will I regret it? Perhaps. Hotel? Trivago.

Summary: Even after humanity has just been resurrected, Strife still finds himself using Jones. It's easier; Until you find him out of his façade. (Taking place days after Death revives humanity, you wade through a world still infested by demons, while Strife struggles with growing attached to someone.)

Relationships: Eventual Strife/Fem!Reader

Story Wide Warnings: Canon typical violence, Friends to lovers, Teratophilia, Strife being an emotionally stunted jokster and pouter, Eventual smut maybe, Strife is clingy, One or two OCs to fill things out at times, Shooting guns,

Ao3 Mirror

“Where do we even start?”

You can hear a few people talking somewhere out of view, and you find yourself looking upward curiously to see if you can spot anyone on the suspended platforms hanging above you. No one up high, so they’re probably somewhere on the same level as the forge.

“We’ll figure it out. I mean more and more people are coming to the tree, so we have way more manpower than before.”

The distant chatter is unimportant to your ears, leaving you to let it leave your focus as you continue to work on your little project. There isn’t really much interesting happening in the tree for once, as most of the Makers are off either repairing their own equipment, or attempting to wrangle some pesky, recently revived humans. You don’t envy what they’re feeling, not in the slightest after having been through it yourself. But beside those technically post-apocalyptic duties, Nothing of note.

Until you finally hear “Hey Jones.”, Somewhere off to the side, which makes your head suddenly jolt upwards.

It’s from an unfamiliar man who’s leaning against one of the chiseled pillars of the forge, minding his own business. One of the new people; You remember he was part of a group of three that managed to make their way to the tree. The Maker’s little nest up here is getting quite full. But it’s the name he said that made your body raise upward with acute interest, before you quickly settle back down.

Geez; Just act normal for once, will you?

That inner voice in your head is always trying to help you keep your cool, as you notice him walk finally into your view. He stops walking as you speak up, halfway in the process of getting up as you say:

“Oh, hey Jones!”

You’ve left your little puzzle box project to the side, instead walking over to him. Judging by the way he was walking however, you assume he’s on his way to leave the tree.

“Heading out?” Even though you pretty well know the answer you ask anyways, watching him nod.

“Need to make sure there ain’t any demons close by. Seen them circling around the base of the tree.” There’s a bit of dirt stuck against one of your nails that you nervously pick at as you respond.

“Don’t you think the Maker’s work is enough? It’s been working so far, at least.” Jones turns around and takes a look towards the direction of the Maker’s Forge, seeing one of them trying to shoo away a some humans that are far too curious for their own good.

“Call it peace of mind. And I want to help them out where I can.” You can’t fault him on that; The Makers have done so much for you all, you can’t help but feel an immense sense of gratitude for them.

“Well, be careful. It’s been getting dark earlier now,” You can’t help but crack a tiny smile. “I know I wouldn’t want to be stuck out there in the dark.”

You’re more than sure Jones can handle himself, but he hasn’t been the only one that’s noticed more demons circling around the tree lately. It wouldn’t be impossible that they’d overwhelm him if he wasn’t paying perfect attention.

He’s only human, after all.

“I’ll be sure to be. You still need someone to help fix that, uh-” He flounders for a moment, until you fish him up.

“The puzzle box?” He suddenly nods affirmatively, almost as if pretending he had known the whole time. “Yeah, the puzzle box.” You’d love if he would help you with it; If only so to have some quality time together.

The smile you had towards him slowly fades as he nods goodbye and moves to leave, passing by one of the Makers and out of the tree. They don’t bother trying to warn him like you did, as much as they might want to. The Makers have always been protective, however they’ve learned to loosen up with Jones; As it’s largely pointless to try and warn him anyways.

He seems to march by the beat of his own drum, and in a quiet way, seems to almost have a reckless disregard for his own life. Though he always come back in one piece.

You sigh.

Maybe working on the puzzle box you’d recently found some more will keep you occupied. Some of the parts still don’t move right, and the more you work on it the more you might think it’s a lost cause. The wood is chipped in some places and warped from water in others, but despite the damage it’s still in one piece.

It’s been something nice to occupy yourself, as well as a thing to touch that reminds you of a time before, everything.

Damaged, but still holding on.

Your sleeping spot is tucked away in a far corner of the tree, and beside it lays the small assortment of tools you’ve been using to try and pry pieces of the box away, without breaking it. You’ve gotten close a few times, especially when once a piece popped off and flung across the tree, leaving you to scramble to try and not lose it. It’s proven to be a nice little project, in your downtime. Even if there’s still more than a small list of things left to fix on it.

It’s harder to keep focus on it this time however; As you find yourself freezing and glancing upward every ten or so minutes, watching as the sky outside slowly becomes darker and darker with still no sign of Jones returning.

You don’t know why you’re so focused on him this time. He always seems to come back just fine. But he’s been a close friend and part of you just can’t help but worry, after so much time. Hell, he’s the one that taught you how to shoot, once he found you and brought you back to the tree. After, everything.

Thankfully, someone’s voice sounds in your ear before you have much of a chance to go down the path thinking about the apocalypse, and the now current state of the world. Or realm, as the Makers call it.

“Still working on that cube?” Looking up and seeing someone standing there, you smile and nod while still holding onto your pet project. You don’t quite remember her name yet, she’s one of the other two that came with the man that greeted Jones earlier.

“You know,” She gives a joking smirk. “I knew someone before the Apocalypse that was like, wicked good at solving those things. Never figured out how he did it.”

“Really?” You smile up at her, the tool still partly jammed in one of the seams. She nods, but turns her head away from you when someone yells her name. She ends up scurrying off to find them, leaving you alone again.

You attempt to get back to working on the cube once she’s gone, but this time you just, can’t. Any attempt to actually pull it apart is just stopped by, something. Like there’s an invisible force keeping you from doing it.

Sighing, you dump the cube aside along with the tools in a gesture of defeat, and look up.

It’s completely dark now; The stars and moon are the main source of light, other than a few small patches of light from fires lit along the tree. If Jones isn’t back yet, you find yourself worried about what might’ve happened.

It’s been, hours. Far longer than usual.

The tree is huge and winding, even someone like him could get lost or ambushed.

You decide after no small amount of deliberation that you can cast aside your better judgment, at least what little of it you have, and go take a look. Making sure the puzzle box is safe you get up and adjust your belt, double checking to make sure your pistol is still there. It’s more of a self soothing gesture, than anything.

As you walk through the tree you see multiple people asleep on their rolls, or at least preparing to. The tree is getting busy, with the Makers finding so many people. Though so many are still scattered across Haven, you have trouble thinking about just how long it’ll take. Any significant effort is impeded by demons and fallen angels as well, leaving many humans still stranded in abandoned buildings and sewers.

Ugh, I don’t even want to think about another sewer.

Not eager to relive any memories of trudging through wafts of waste in order to get away from swarms of demons, you stuff your hands in your pockets, and walk past the Maker’s forge.

Eyes straight forward, you look out the large entrance of the tree as you walk towards it. It’s so dark out there, you can only see because of the light of the stars and the glow of various torches lining the path down the tree.

If I just look like I belong and I know what I’m doing, they’ll never notice. Works every time.

Taking a deep breath and walking straight forward on a line, you attempt to ghost your way past the few still awake beings in the tree. You get almost enough of the way that you can begin to see just how high the tree is in comparison to the ground below, before-

“Aye. And where do you think yer goin?”

A loud voice makes you stop in your tracks, eyes set on the entrance of the tree. When you turn, you see the only Maker you’d dread seeing right about now; Eunan, standing with his arms crossed, and eyebrows raised.

“Ye ain’t going on out there.”

Turning on a single heel, you try and avoid letting your face wrinkle up in annoyance anymore than it already is.

“And if I want to?” The metal on various parts of Eunan’s outfit clank against each other as he moves closer, and you have to look up at him more. When he sighs, the longer parts of his braided beard move along with his mustache.

“And what do you wan’ out there in the black of night?”

He waits for you to speak for a moment, raising his eyebrows with an impatient expression when you don’t instantly speak up. You had a reason to dread him being the one that caught you trying to sneak out; It’s like trying to convince a brick wall of something.

“I was going to go check on Jones.”

Eunan sighs, his lips parting and showing off one of his fangs.

“Lass, I’m sure the bloke is fine. He can handle himself right. He’s done it before.”

Eunan isn’t wrong, but there’s something stewing in your gut that just feels, off. It’s been longer than usual, and you know you won’t be able to rest your head until he’s back.

“I know, I just want to be sure. It’s been awhile.” Your eyes look away, as you attempt not to roll them while he’s watching. “S’not like you can yell at me for being a little worried.” You’re notably not pleased with the way he’s looking at you like a disgruntled parent, as you refuse to budge on this. The Maker sighs, his mouth twitching as he tries to censor what he might actually want to say.

“Alright, we can go in-” “No it’s fine; I can go alone. I don’t need a babysitter.”

Eunan quickly attempts to fight back but after some sort of inner monologue, he finally acquiesces with a heavy sigh. After doing so he unfolds his arms and leans down, pointing a finger out until it almost presses against your chest.

“Be. Careful. Don’t do anything stupid, ye hear?”

He emphasizes each word with a point of your finger, until your much smaller hand pushes it away gently. He lets you do so, despite being legions stronger.

“I won’t, I won’t- I promise. I just want to make sure Jones is ok. I’ll come back as soon as I can.” While it does next to nothing to actually soothe the Maker, it’ll at least make him slightly less likely to cuss you out once you return and he’s had time to think about this interaction.

Hopefully.

Granted the Makers have cussed out many of the human residents for stupider things; Like climbing the outward branches of the tree for fun. You were one of said humans, of course.

Sticking your hands deep into your pockets you walk out of the large opening of the tree, stepping onto the large flat area of trunk that turns into a path beginning downward. The path down the tree is actually split into many different gargantuan branches, winding away from the main trunk through various buildings and down to the street below. It can be a maze if you don’t know how to navigate it properly, especially when you step off the tree and into one of the many buildings it weaves through.

But you don’t have a particular destination in mind, as you have zero idea where Jones could’ve gone in the first place after he’d left the tree.

There’s so many paths to take, he could be on the city streets, or anywhere in the buildings.

It’s that indecision that ends up making you aimlessly meander slowly down the tree, up until the branch you’re on begins to thin and weave through a large apartment building. Or at least what you think at one point was an apartment building.

Around this point there is no more torches providing light, so it is very quickly becoming darker with only the night sky to illuminate. A small part of you considers possibly turning around, and maybe getting some sort of light, until you hear a noise different from the rest.

As usual you can hear the howl of demons still in the ruins surrounding the base of the tree. But through them all you hear one yelp- a shaking, frightened call. For your own peace of mind you have to look, the sound getting closer before a sound of a gunshot, and the noise all suddenly goes silent.

That has to be Jones, you think; And quickly rush down what’s left of the decrepit hall and turn the corner.

The demon falls to the ground with a wet, lifeless flop- coagulating blood seeping from the gaping wound in it’s chest.

That one had gotten too close. Far too close.

Even with the Makers’ help, even with him patrolling around at night picking any demon he sees off, they still keep slipping closer and closer to the tree. Even through the magic, and the giant roots that wind themselves through years of human architecture, they know what’s up here. Knowing the apocalypse has been halted hasn’t dissuaded them in the slightest.

Like chickens in a hen house, circled by wolves.

Though the hen house already has a wolf inside of it; Even if they don’t quite know it.

A soft trail of smoke rises from the chamber of Mercy, freshly fired and ready to unleash however much more he asks of it.

But nothing else remains for him to do so; They all lay dead in the buildings and streets surrounding the tree. He’s got rid of them for now, but so many more will soon follow. To see glimmers of humanity returning is no doubt a good sign for the realms, but in a way, Death did little more than ring the dinner bell once again.

He never thought Death would actually do it; The rotting bastard.

They are called the endless legions of Hell for a reason. With the apocalypse over they still come, still throwing themselves at anything and everything, mostly to satiate their own mental or physical appetites. And thanks to Fury’s efforts, many of them lack a firm leader to guide them. It makes them easy, uncoordinated prey for Strife.

But even if it’s all over; He still finds himself using Jones.

It’s… Easier.

Humans aren’t scared of Jones, the same way they are of him. The real him.

You, aren’t scared of Jones.

From the first moment he had decided to help humanity all those years ago, Strife had sworn he would never get attached. He never does; Strife for an uncountable number of years has mastered the ability to separate his feelings from anything he does. It’s what made him so good at killing anything and everything; Put a bullet into the back of something’s head and walk away. Shove it down deeper with the rest of them.

But of course he ended up getting attached this time; Someone so much as gives him a hint of genuine kindness and he’s attached to them like glue.

Strife lets out a ‘tch’, bumping one of the demon corpses away from him with the toe of his boot.

He’s never given a shit about what people think of him. Not Death, not War or Fury; Or any other Nephilim when they were still alive. The Angels and Demons? Strife scoffs at the idea of taking any of the unmutterable things they’ve said to him to heart.

But he gives a shit about you. He knows how you look at all the demons swarming the realm, your realm, and in some way, he sees himself in them.

He is half demon after all. Angel as well, and what have the angels done but scorch the ground where they landed? Many of them now ended up fallen, stumbling around the realm with the same lack of regard as the demons they were originally killing.

Strife grits his teeth at the idea of you seeing him, edges and sharp fangs.

He gives his helmet a firm bonk with a single knuckle.

“Ugh.”

Every demon he’s come across so far lays dead- and for tonight, he thinks the tree is safe. With a giant hole in the building he’s in, it allows enough light in to illuminate the scene enough for him to easily see, while the wind blows heavy enough wind to make the tattered remains of his scarf wave. It’s the only think making noise in his ears, as the demon chatter has now been replaced with a permeable silence.

The wind keeps howling, until he hears something else. The wind almost carries it away because of how quiet it is, though he recognizes it enough that it stays with him.

A voice; A familiar one.

“Jones?”

Strife freezes.

Only after what feels like an eternity does he turn his head to look over his shoulder, and sees a distinctly human silhouette standing in the hall of the broken down building behind him.

No; No no no…

The dim moon only serves to shine more light onto the shocked expression on your face; Having followed Jones, but are now face to face with a monster. One that has blood splattered in small patches on his armor, droplets still sliding down the front of his boots.

His eyes glow like amber, shining against the metal of his inhuman mask. The gun he holds in his hand dwarfs the one that you have hidden in your belt, his shoulders casting a sharp shadow on most of the tiny hall. Given his height, he dwarfs almost the entire area around him.

Strife is frozen in time; Watching you with a shocked expression safely hidden behind his mask.

Why her! why did she have to see! Out of every human in that Creator-damned tree why’d it have to be-

He needs to speak. He has to say something before you really do think he’s a demon; One that’s killed Jones somewhere out of view and left his body cold.

“Hey… Why are y-”

The moment his body moves, going to put Mercy in it’s holster, you flinch; Stepping backwards.

Right; You won’t recognize this voice, his actual voice. The person you’ve been speaking to is Jones.

Not a Nephilim. Not a Horsemen, who’s brother is the very being who is part responsible for you falling into Strife’s life.

“Where’s, where is Jones.”

One sharp, gauntlet covered hand reaches outward, out of a fruitless attempt to soothe. You stand frozen in place, until he says your name. It gets a very noticeable reaction, head raising upward as your eyes widen.

But he can’t get any other words out, because the moment you see the barrel of his gun lower enough that he would have to raise it to shoot in your direction, you turn heel and run. He’s surprised it takes as long as it does for you to finally bolt, racing along down the tree branches like Hell itself is on your heels.

Leaving Strife standing in the ruins alone, a pool of fresh demon blood licking at the toe of his boot.

He can only watch as you run until you’re quickly out of view, tripping and stumbling down the wide but steeply declining branches. The way the talon tips of his gauntlets dig so hard into the metal palms it makes them creak, attempting to hold fast against his growing anger before he suddenly lets it all out with a resounding:

“DAMMIT!”

Strife kicks the closest thing to him, which turns out to be the remnants of a half erect wall. It crumbles, standing no chance against his strength in it’s shoddy state. And once the dust settles Strife is still furious; Furious that he messed up and now you’ve seen him.

You saw him like, this.

Strife has to let out a heavy, stiff sigh to avoid wanting to destroy something again, and harder. He has no idea what to do now and he hates it more than anything, not having the answer or the words to say. And even if he did, you aren’t here to say them to. You ran back to the Makers, all the way up the-

Strife suddenly jolts upright from his distracted slouch as if lightning had struck him.

You didn’t run up the tree, you ran down! Any demons that had hidden from him will surely come out at the sight of a lone human, no matter how well armed you might be. That gun of yours is meant to pick off Duskwings and scavengers, not packs of demons prowling around for anything to slice to ribbons. Strife was going to deal with them next, before you’d interrupted him.

Mercy still stays firmly gripped in his hand, as Strife begins to race down to street level.

He has a good idea where to start looking for you, and soon enough after finds the corpse of whatever demon you’d thrown enough shots into to kill it. Shortly thereafter, he sees you.

He spots you attempting to climb some sort of ladder against the side of a building, however it’s so rusted and ruined that it shakes as if about to fall. And it does, the metal peels away from the side of the building and you tumble a good meter or two, grunting with effort.

Strife in his attempt to make sure you’re not hurt forgets that you were running from him, and startles you to your feet once his boots come into view. In that split second, he tries to calm his tongue enough that he doesn’t say something phenomenally stupid.

Ok just- Lets, lets just not scare her off again.

#I hope a few people enjoy my little Darksiders pet project <3 #strife x reader #darksiders x reader #Strife/Reader #Darksiders #Strife #reader insert #mywriting #Darksiders/Reader

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nghtwngs · 2 years

Note

heyy can you pls write something with this prompt? “i’m tired of having to pretend we hate each other.” where marc spector and the reader are kind of “lovers to enemies” but not really since they’re still in love with each other? tysm

pairing: marc spector x reader, steven grant x reader (one-sided)

genre: angst, fluff, lovers to enemies, exes to lovers, hurt/comfort

word count: 1.2k

warnings: talk of death, swearing, use of pet names (baby, honey)

Being around Marc these past few days have been like walking on eggshells. You’ve both been tiptoeing around each other, conveniently missing each other’s presence by just a few moments. It’s a weird adjustment, considering how you used to go out of your way to cling onto the other for a few extra seconds. To kiss for a little longer.

That feels like forever ago.

Now, you can’t go a minute without finding something to argue over. Directions, precautions, escape plans. It hurts—because you never liked to fight with him, but it also hits a little too close to home. To a childhood listening to the same petty arguments, many of which that ended in loud screaming matches. You never liked to be loud. And you couldn’t even scream if you tried.

You feel like you have to hold your breath around Marc now, afraid that he’d tell you you’re breathing wrong or something. Sometimes, seeing him triggers memories of late nights and early mornings where the sun has just come up, and he holds you so tightly that you almost aren’t able to breathe, but you never cared because it meant he was still there. Still alive.

What puts you even more on edge than Marc is his job. It’s like he just can’t escape danger, and you think that nothing scares you more than him not coming back.

It’s a few too many coincidences that tip Steven off—a sudden interest in finding a snack or a long trip to the restroom right when the other shows. Plus, the thick tension that suffocates all parties (including the alters and Khonshu) that Steven is not a fan of. It’s weird enough to not be fronting, but watching Marc and you interact is something he’d wish upon no one.

Trying to get Marc to reconcile with you is, unsurprisingly, difficult. He’s not exactly been subtle with it either, but all he gets is Marc telling him to ‘fuck off and mind your own business’. Although, Steven would argue that it is his business since they share a body, and him and Jake have to watch all of it. And Steven cares for you like he cares for Marc. Well, maybe in a different way that sours Marc’s mood.

But can’t he see that you’ve always been his? Steven thinks it’s as clear as day what you feel for Marc, what you’ve always felt for him. Even if you’re at odds now, an act that makes the hurt lessen. It’s clear that it hasn’t, if the longing looks and faraway eyes remembering a better time were any indication.

It’s after a job gone wrong that shit really hits the fan. Marc is quiet, disturbingly so, knuckles beginning to turn a color they shouldn’t as he grips onto the steering wheel. It’s dark now, the sun having set hours ago, but the wrinkle in his forehead is still very visible. Not a good sign. You’d thought he’d at least bring up what had just happened. It was a close call. Like two seconds and a few inches, you’d be coming home in a body bag close. But you think even coming back in that would’ve been a luxury.

You want to say something, anything, but the words don’t come to you easily. Never have. And it’s just so much harder now that there’s an invisible wall between you. You think it might set him off even more. He’s sitting right next to you, but you can’t help but feel like he’s still a million miles away. You pretend to stare out the window at the stars that scatter around the sky, but really, your eyes have been stuck on his reflection the entire time.

A rather tense hour passes before Marc even makes a sound. His voice is gravelly from lack of use. He sounds exhausted. You don’t think either of you have slept in days.

“I’m tired of pretending we hate each other.”

You swallow thickly, voice low and strained. “Who said that we’re pretending?”

He takes a sharp breath, head facing you with a question so earnest that it makes your heart ache. “Do you think really I hate you?”

You feel dumb when you answer, “Yeah—no? Maybe?”

Really dumb. Your throat is so dry, it hurts. Like you’ve just swallowed a spoonful of cinnamon. You’ve never really thought about it. Whether it’s because it never crossed your mind, or was too painful to think is unknown.

“Why are you—you’ve always been so stubborn. I’ve never hated you.” The wrinkle between his eyebrows softens, and his voice goes quiet. Like he’s talking to himself more than he is you. “Oh, baby, I could never hate you.”

The pet name makes your heart swell. You don’t realize how much you miss hearing it until it slides off his tongue like it’s always been lingering there. You huff, blinking back the tears that prick your eyes. “Well, that makes two of us.”

He exhales. “You know, I thought you were—“

“Yeah.” You breathe. You don’t let him finish because you don’t really want to think about it any further. “I did too.”

“Fuck, baby, I don’t—I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you.”

Your hand reaches over with a hesitance that wasn’t there before. It hovers above his knee, palm facing up. Marc’s hand lets go of the steering wheel, tentatively lacing his fingers with yours. His hands feel exactly the same. Warm. His skin is rough and calloused from the years of handling weapons. And you just laugh, light and airy and obnoxious. Marc looks at you like you’ve gone mad which is probably true, but you think that nothing has ever been clearer.

“What’s so funny?”

It takes a few moments for your laughter to die down. You squeeze his hand. “We’re both just so stupid. So fucking stupid. We’ve been at each other’s throats the entire week. Avoiding each other like children—man, I literally told Steven the other day that I was going out to get licorice.

“I hate licorice,” you snort while Marc mutters, “You hate licorice.”

You’re surprised he remembers that about you.

You chuckle. “Where the fuck would I even find licorice near your building? I can’t believe that was the first thing I thought of.” You bring your hands up to your face, resting your cheek against the back of his hand. Your eyes shut at the contact. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too, honey.”

You’re tired, and things you’d normally never admit out loud flow from your lips with ease. “I really like it when you call me that.”

“Honey?”

“Honey, baby, sweetheart—all of it. I like it when you say my name too.”

He calls you by your name, and you don’t think you’ll ever get over the way he says it. He says it like it’s his favorite thing to say. You’ve never been more happy to know it’s cause it’s yours. It hits you even more when he strings an ‘I love you’ after. It sounds so familiar and welcoming that it makes you want to cry. It’s like coming back home when you’ve been gone for too long. Maybe Marc has always been home, and you’ve just been homesick.

“I love you too. And… I’ve always been yours. I hope you know that.”

#marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #moon knight x reader #marc spector imagine #steven grant imagine #moon knight imagine

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winter-literature · 7 months

Text

LCWEEK2023 - DAY SIX

A Shiguang FanFiction

Prompt: Memories

Summary: Some people watch movies when they’re sick; Lu Guang prefers to watch memories of his favourite moments.

Rating: Teen and Up

“Go, work, I’ll be fine.” Lu Guang’s squeaked.

“Do you have enough tea?” Cheng Xiaoshi lifted the thermos on the table by the couch that Lu Guang was currently taking residence upon.

Eyeing the bottle, Lu Guang nodded, inciting another round of coughs.

“Did you take your cough medicine yet?” Cheng Xiaoshi grabbed the bottle, hovering it beside Lu Guang just in case.

“Yes,” Lu Guang responded nasally. “I’m fine - go work so we don’t go broke.”

“Text me if you need anything.” Cheng Xiaoshi pointed at Lu Guang’s phone (which Cheng Xiaoshi made sure was plugged in).

“I’m fine.” Lu Guang smiled, pushing at Cheng Xiaoshi’s leg.

“Fine, I’ll go, I’ll go!” Cheng Xiaoshi threw his hands in the air, pretending to be offended. “Oh - first!”

“Nooo leave me alone!” Lu Guang rasped, but ended with a chuckle as Cheng Xiaoshi bolted full speed towards him.

“I love you.” Cheng Xiaoshi peppered Lu Guang’s face with kisses.

“CHENG XIAOSHI! WHERE ARE YOU?” Qiao Ling yelled from the bottom of the stairs.

With one final kiss, Cheng Xiaoshi raced downstairs.

Even the amused chuckle was sore against Lu Guang’s throat. Thankfully, his boyfriend had stuffed at least three pots of tea into an oversized thermos for him.

There was a bottle of honey on the table, but his teacup was already prepared with a thin layer on the bottom. Smirking, Lu Guang poured the tea into his cup. Cheng Xiaoshi always went above and beyond whenever Lu Guang was sick, it was really adorably obscene.

Sipping on his tea, he waited for the sounds of casual conversation to fall into full swing. Whenever he was sick, he always had a routine. Most of them were all compiled by Cheng Xiaoshi, such as: wear a special pair of jammies, get bundled up on the couch in a soft blanket, take medicine, drink soup, and drink tea. The only part of his list that Cheng Xiaoshi didn’t have an active part in was a secret, a guilty pleasure that Lu Guang hid away from him.

Some people enjoy watching tv when they’re sick, Lu Guang enjoys revisiting some of his favorite memories.

Satisfied with the depth of conversation below, Lu Guang rested his hand on the floor as his head peered under the couch, looking for the missing board. The dark blue edge of the cover stuck out from its hiding place. Smirking, Lu pulled the book out from under the couch.

Lu Guang knew he didn’t get sick often, the layer of dust on his book was empirical proof. Taking one of the tissues, Lu Guang carefully wiped it off (trying his best to avoid a coughing fit).

The book itself was nothing special, hence why Lu Guang carried no qualms in cutting out the center of half the pages. Though he’s certain Cheng Xiaoshi would adore knowing this was a part of Lu Guang’s routine, the secret made it slightly more tantalizing. As well as the fact that Cheng Xiaoshi has little control to not dive into a photo when he sees a good memory, and these were his favorites.

Adjusting in his seat, Lu Guang flipped through pictures, deciding which one to start with.

“Why are you taking a picture of me?” Lu Guang leaned over the counter, pulling up his bangs straight.

“Because you look so cute when you’re trying to concentrate!” Cheng Xiaoshi snorted, sliding his phone back into his pocket.

“Shut up.” Lu Guang dabbed the brush into the dye bowl.

“Ugh, that stuff reeks.” Cheng Xiaoshi pinched his nose at the sharp scent of ammonia.

“You don’t have to be here for this, you know?” Lu Guang sighed, tapping the brush against the edge of the bowl.

“Can I help?” Cheng Xiaoshi bent over, needing to get a closer view of the pale blue concoction.

“You want to bleach my hair?” Lu Guang watched Cheng Xiaoshi’s reflection in the mirror. The huge smile that spread across his face was mildly concerning.

“Can I?”

“… can you?” Lu Guang lifted a brow towards him.

“Let me try, what’s the worst that can happen?”

“I’m going to be very upset if I end up bald.”

“What? Hair dye can do that?” Cheng Xiaoshi’s eyes boggled at the threatening cream.

Swishing the idea around in his head, Lu Guang decided to give in. Setting the brush back in its bowl, Lu Guang pinched the gloves off his hands and passed them to Cheng Xiaoshi.

Nervous exhilaration pulsed through Cheng Xiaoshi’s veins as he accepted the gloves. “Sit on the bath mat.” Cheng Xiaoshi instructed as he sat on top of the toilet.

Exhaling, Lu Guang slowly followed directions.

“What? You don’t trust me?” Cheng Xiaoshi chided, knowing full well that, at this moment, Lu Guang did not, in fact, trust him.

“Just get on with it.” Lu Guang crossed his legs on the floor in between Cheng Xiaoshi’s feet.

As a viewer, there were several aspects of Cheng Xiaoshi’s emotions that Lu Guang adored. Easter eggs of moments he never fully appreciated until looking back. Such as Cheng Xiaoshi’s nervous energy as he sectioned out Lu Guang’s hair. So nervous, in fact, that he kept swiping away sweat from his brow. But Cheng Xiaoshi was determined to prove his worth, because he wanted Lu Guang to ask him to do it next time.

“Okay, now what?” Cheng Xiaoshi tapped the thick layer of mud textured hair with his glove.

“Now put on the shower cap.” Lu Guang pointed to the box.

“A shower cap? Oh I’m going to have to get a picture of that.” Cheng Xiaoshi joked as he snapped the cap over Lu Guang’s head.

“The day you do that is the day you die.” The lack of inflection in Lu Guang’s statement warned Cheng Xiaoshi from testing that theory.

“Fine, what now?” Cheng Xiaoshi poked at the cap.

“Now we set a timer and wait.” Lu Guang opened up his phone, starting the countdown.

“What do you want to do while we wait?” The heels of Cheng Xiaoshi’s feet bounced along the floor.

Another interesting aspect, seeing through Cheng Xiaoshi’s eyes, was understanding him on a different level. Comprehending that it was all but physically impossible for him to stay still. That his mind and body were always running a million miles a minute.

“I like to read a book.” Lu Guang rolled his chin along his chest.

“Boring.” Cheng Xiaoshi retorted, poking at the nape of Lu Guang’s neck.

“Hey! Take the gloves off!”

“Oh shit, sorry!” Cheng Xiaoshi turned the gloves inside out and tossed them into the trash can.

“Why don’t you start prepping dinner and I’ll clean this stuff up?” Lu Guang proposed.

Agreeing, Cheng Xiaoshi fled to the kitchen, putting together the ingredients for their noodles.

…

“Is dinner ready yet?” Qiao Ling pranced into the kitchen.

“Who said you were invited?” Cheng Xiaoshi chided, his attention still on the wok before him.

“But it just smells so good Cheng Xiaoshi!” Qiao Ling responded, setting the table for three.

“It does smell good.” Lu Guang wrapped his arms around Cheng Xiaoshi’s waist, his damp hair tickling the back of Cheng Xiaoshi’s neck and shoulders.

“Fine, fine, go sit your ass down.”

Chuckling, Lu Guang made his way to the table with Qiao Ling. Cheng Xiaoshi didn’t listen particularly close to their conversation, but he noticed when they abruptly stopped talking. They both stared at him with their mouths slightly agape.

“What? You haven’t even tried it yet.” Cheng Xiaoshi started portioning out the bowls as Qiao Ling burst into a hysterical laughter. “What?”

Not receiving an answer, Cheng Xiaoshi returned to the kitchen, leaving the wok on the stove to cool off. When he turned around again he noticed that not only had Qiao Ling nearly fell out of her chair, but Lu Guang’s face was red from holding in a laugh.

“WHAT?” Cheng Xiaoshi’s chest started to laugh along with them, still unsure as to why.

Unable to hold it in, Lu Guang let out a low rumble of a laugh, dropping his head to the table.

“You - haha - you guys are so - so cute!” Qiao Ling forced between laughs.

Was it because of the hug Lu Guang had given him while he was cooking? That was pretty normal in the upstairs realm, wasn’t it?

After half a minute passed, Qiao Ling wiped away her tears of joy. “So, you helped Lu Guang bleach his hair hey?”

“Huh? How did you know?” Cheng Xiaoshi scrunched his face, looking back and forth between the pair.

“I think - it’s a good - look,” Lu Guang stifled a laugh between words, holding his hand over his lips.

Dread hitting him like a freight train, Cheng Xiaoshi ran towards the bathroom. Steam filled the window with an old message of ‘I love you’ printed on the mirror. Huffing, Cheng Xiaoshi wiped the mirror clean.

“NOOO!” He shouted, the front of his hair speckled in different shades of yellow and white. “I LOOK LIKE A CHEETAH!”

In the kitchen, the chair scraped against the hardwood as Qiao Ling fell to the floor laughing.

Snickering, Lu Guang set the photo down and sipped at his tea. No one had given Cheng Xiaoshi the idea to color the bleached parts black for over a week. He thought he’d be stuck with it until it grew out.

Pouring himself another cup of tea, Lu Guang started looking into the next photo.

Determined, Cheng Xiaoshi scraped the furniture across the floor. Normally, Lu Guang would use the excuse of their ‘Landlady’ being upset about damages; but, since Qiao Ling was shoving the table, he lost his last excuse.

“I’ll just watch.” Lu Guang sighed, sitting on the relocated chair. Ever since Cheng Xiaoshi had discovered Tik Tok, he’d obsessed over learning countless dances.

With a mischevious smirk, Qiao Ling blasted the radio. A familiar female voice blasted through the speakers.

Fiddling his fingers, Lu Guang attempted to hide the twitch of his eyebrow. She’d caught him bopping around while listening to this song, his ear buds slightly too loud. She knew his weakness.

“Come on, Lu Guang, it’s easy!” Cheng Xiaoshi started trying out the new dance move, starting with his hands in the air down to his hips.

Chuckling, Lu Guang watched the flick of Cheng Xiaoshi’s hips. How he moved with such ease was mesmerizing.

“You’re doing it wrong!” Qiao Ling readjusted his hands slightly as they moved, quickly falling into a synchronized pair.

Each beat they hit together, the bigger Cheng Xiaoshi’s grin grew.

“You two look ridiculous.” Lu Guang announced with a flat voice and a giant smirk.

“You’re just jealous!” Cheng Xiaoshi added a few extra ‘pops’ in Lu Guang’s direction.

“Lu Guang, look, start with your arms up here.” Qiao Ling started directing him, even though he was still sitting on the chair.

Leering at her, Lu Guang allowed her to treat him as a marionette.

“Get his hips, Cheng Xiaoshi!” Qiao Ling giggled, moving his hands in a roller motion.

Obeying, Cheng Xiaoshi slid on his knees towards the chair. Gripping his fingers through a belt loop on either hip, he poorly manoeuvred Lu Guang to the beat of the song.

It was difficult to maintain a straight face as his best friends fervently attempted to puppet him into a dance.

“See?” Qiao Ling held her hands out, ending her demonstration of the dance move.

Rolling his eyes, Lu Guang slapped his palms on either arm of the chair. “Alright, start the song over.”

Still with his knees on the ground, Cheng Xiaoshi drummed against the floor in elation.

“You’re like a dog wagging his tail.” Lu Guang snorted, pushing himself off the chair.

Lu Guang did not have anywhere near the same coordination as either of them. His long lanky limbs moved off beat and flung much more than intended.

“Here, watch my hips.” Qiao Ling focused on flicking her hips.

Awkwardly, Lu Guang replicated the snapping of her body to the sounds of Cheng Xiaoshi roaring laughter.

After at least half an hour, they finally set up the camera. Still nervous to miss a beat, Lu Guang eyed the other two as his body repeated the new sequence he’d learned.

“Got it!” Qiao Ling hopped in excitement, running over to double check the footage.

Had anyone told Lu Guang this is where he’d be now, he wouldn’t have believed them. Dancing, of course, was something he’d never imagined himself doing. Dancing under the stars, in a warm room, with a family who loved him, seemed like an ever greater myth. A sense of safety and warmth flowed through Lu Guang’s veins. He had to wait longer than most, but he finally found his home.

“Watcha thinking about?” Cheng Xiaoshi nuzzled his nose into Lu Guang’s cheek.

“How absurd that video is.” Lu Guang playfully lied.

“You love it.” Cheng Xiaoshi snickered, pecking at Lu Guang’s face.

“Ewwwwwww!” Qiao Ling feigned disgust. “Stop reminding me how single I am!”

Lu Guang felt Cheng Xiaoshi’s silent laugh as warm breaths against his skin. “Get better, my love.” Cheng Xiaoshi planted a wet kiss on Lu Guang’s jaw.

Before Lu Guang could question Cheng Xiaoshi’s declaration, Cheng Xiaoshi was already pushing off, joining Qiao Ling with the video review.

Lu Guang pinched the photo away from himself as he let out a cough. The dry air ripped at his swollen skin. Regaining composure, he studied the photo again.

He’d taken a photo of Cheng Xiaoshi taking a photo of him. They both had their Polaroids out and Cheng Xiaoshi thought it would be cute.

Very suspicious…. Lu Guang shook the photo. He was nearly certain that Cheng Xiaoshi had not originally whispered anything in his ear that night.

Returning the photos to their hiding place, Lu Guang surrendered to sleep. He’d save more photos for later.

Once he could properly breath again, Lu Guang set his photo book on the table, waiting for Cheng Xiaoshi to come in. Sitting with his forearms against his knees, he waited to ambush Cheng Xiaoshi.

Distracted, Cheng Xiaoshi stumbled into the room, still finishing whatever was in his mouth.

“Oh, Lu Guang? Are you feeling better?” Cheng Xiaoshi mouthed around his food.

“Recognize this book?” Lu Guang tapped at his ‘secret illness photo box’.

“Aweh!” Cheng Xiaoshi’s shoulders slumped. “Which picture finally gave it away?”

“What?” Lu Guang’s voice fell out before he could stop it. There were over twenty pictures in this box. How many had Cheng Xiaoshi played in?

“Oh, I mean, you found that one.” Cheng Xiaoshi attempted to paint an innocent face over his curling smirk.

“Cheng Xiaoshi…” Lu Guang dropped his face in his hands. What could he even say? It wasn’t as if he was truly mad. Part of him was mildly embarrassed that he’d truly thought he’d kept his box of sentimentally a secret this whole time. But knowing how much effort Cheng Xiaoshi would have needed to go through to cross reference photos to jump in the days he had was nauseatingly adorable.

Cold hands rubbed against Lu Guang’s forehead.

“You still feel a bit hot.” Concerned golden eyes scanned over him. “Lay back down, I’ll make you another tea.” Cheng Xiaoshi grabbed the empty thermos off the ground.

Sniffling, Lu Guang reached for the tissue box. Maybe Cheng Xiaoshi was right, he still wasn’t quite ready for confrontation or coherent thought yet. Throwing the soiled tissue in the bin beside the couch, Lu Guang re-wrapped himself in the blanket. He wasn’t sure how, but nearly everything soft and comforting in their house smelt like Cheng Xiaoshi. Maybe it was a psychological reaction to associate comfort with Cheng Xiaoshi.

Setting down the tea, Cheng Xiaoshi cracked open the jar of vapo rub. Fingering out a glob, he motioned at Lu Guang to unbutton his pajama shirt.

Lu Guang hissed as the cold goo reached his chest, inciting another round of raspy coughs.

Undeterred, Cheng Xiaoshi rubbed in the rest of the medicine. Sticking his finger in the jar again, he dabbed a small amount under Lu Guang’s nostrils. Lu Guang’s eyes shut at his touch, a slight moan released at the soothing of his broken skin.

“You know…” Cheng Xiaoshi trailed as he closed the jar and wiped his fingers. “I have a few photos of cherished memories… I can give you some duplicates… if you’d like…”

Nodding, Lu Guang squirmed around the couch to place his head on Cheng Xiaoshi’s lap. Out of breath from the slight movement, Lu Guang’s voice rasped. “I’d like that.”

Sinking into the couch, Cheng Xiaoshi adjusted to make it as easy as possible for Lu Guang to cuddle into him.

“No jumping - though.” Lu Guang coughed out the shortened sentence.

“Of course not.” The tips of Cheng Xiaoshi’s fingers rolled Lu Guang’s bangs from his face. Switching to a whisper, he added “Can’t do it twice.”

Drained, Lu Guang responded with a disapproving grunt before his body went limp against Cheng Xiaoshi.

“I’ll put my favourite memories in for next time.” Cheng Xiaoshi bent in half to kiss Lu Guang’s sweat beaded hair. “I love you… sleep well…”

Satisfied as Lu Guang’s breaths turned to snores, Cheng Xiaoshi pulled out his video game console. He’d stay with Lu Guang on the couch for as long as he’d let him.

Author’s note:

I originally wanted to write more memories, but unfortunately time constraints took me down 😭

Also, the song they danced to was from the chibi/day in the life series. The dance move I was attempting to describe:

#lcweek2023 #tooth rotting fluff #shiguang #shiguang fan fiction #link click #link click fandom #link click fan fiction #Cheng Xiaoshi #Lu Guang #cheng xiaoshi x lu guang #fanfiction #a03 #a03 fanfiction #fluff

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detective-giggles · 1 year

Text

TWP word of the day prompt: Apology

Another double fill- today’s TWP word and “trapped in an elevator” from my @911bingo.

The one in which circumstances make TK formally apologize to Carlos for bringing Lou home. Thanks to @noxsoulmate for letting me talk this one out and figuring out how to finish it. I mean, we planned this weeks ago and I’m just getting around to finishing it, but I’m still within both deadlines!

💜💜💜💜

“Thanks for coming with me, babe.” TK presses the button for the elevator with one hand, and Lou, tucked safely in a plastic container, is in TK’s other hand. Carlos sighs and takes a step back, away from the offending lizard.

“Did you have to make the holes so big?” Carlos asks.

TK laughs. “He needs air!”

“And mealworms,” Carlos rolls his eyes.

“Got those too!” TK pats his pocket. “He’ll get a feast before we set him free.”

“At least they’re not in my kitchen anymore,” Carlos mutters.

The elevator doors open, and TK steps inside. Carlos debates on taking the stairs; he needs his cardio for today anyway (anything to keep him away from the lizard) but sighs again and joins his boyfriend in the elevator. If he stands a little too far over to the side, he’s grateful that TK pretends not to notice. He’s holding the container up to eye level and taps at the side.

“That lid is on tight, right?” Carlos asks. “So if you drop it or something, it’s not going to pop off for him to run away?”

“Why would I drop-” The elevator goes dark as it jolts to a stop. Carlos grabs the bar to steady himself and reaches for TK with the other hand.

“Are you okay?” TK asks.

Carlos nods, although he knows TK can’t see him in the dark car. “What just happened?” Carlos asks.

TK grabs his phone out of his pocket and turns on the flashlight. “I think the power is out.”

“The what is what?” If there’s anything that makes him feel safer in this predicament, it’s that his boyfriend used to be a firefighter. If there’s anything that makes him feel less than safe, it’s the flesh-eating reptile in his boyfriend’s hand.

He watches as TK presses at some of the buttons, and none light up. He hits the emergency call button and nothing happens.

“What do we do?”

“Have a seat. We’ll probably be waiting here a while.” TK shuts off the flashlight and presses a few buttons. “I’ll call it in.”

“Have a seat?”

“I’ll call it in,” TK repeats. “But we’re not going to be high on the priority list. The power will come back on soon. I hope.”

“Not high on- the Fire Captain’s son isn’t high on a priority list?”

“Carlos, relax. I didn’t say they wouldn’t come.”

Carlos eases himself onto the dirty floor and leans against the wall. TK paces around the small space while he talks to the 911 operator, giving them their address and details and what floors he thinks they’re stuck between.

He and Carlos compare the percentage of battery left on their phones, and then TK joins Carlos on the floor, bumping their shoulders together and setting the container on his lap.

“Hey, could you, like, scoot the lizard over there?” Carlos asks.

“What?”

“The lizard. Over there. Away from me. Please?”

“Okay,” TK turns on his flashlight and sets Lou on the floor. Carlos shudders and watches as TK puts his hand on top of the container and slides him to the corner, as far from Carlos as he can be.

“Is that better?” TK asks with a hint of amusement in his voice.

“It’s looking at me,” Carlos says.

TK makes an exaggerated point to press the button on his phone, and the elevator is immediately bathed in darkness. “Better?”

“I’m not sure.”

They sit for a while in silence. “Why do you hate him?”

“Hmmm?”

“Lou,” TK says. “You seem to really hate him. Why?”

Carlos sighs. “I was the butt of a joke that was funny to everyone except me, apparently.” TK is silent for a moment, and Carlos continues. “I was camping with some kids in my class. We were…junior high, so 13 or 14? Anyway, someone had beer. I wasn’t gonna rat them out, but I didn't want to drink with them, so I just went to bed early,” Carlos pauses, grateful for the darkness. “I woke up a while later when something crawled across my face. They had thrown some lizards in my tent.”

TK lets out a horrified gasp. “Kids that age are terrible,” he murmurs. Carlos can hear movement coming from beside him, and then TK says, “I’m gonna grab your hand.” Carlos snorts, but he’s thankful for the warning; he probably would have jumped out of his skin if TK’s hand had brushed his.

“No one wants the cop’s kid hanging around at that age,” Carlos says. “I get it. But-”

“It was a cruel thing to do,” TK finishes. “I’m sorry, Carlos.”

“It is what it is. I mean, I’m sure I participated in a practical joke or two when I was young, but this was different.”

“I’m sorry I brought Lou home without checking with you first,” TK says softly. “But, Carlos, I really wish you had told me sooner. You can tell me anything.”

“I know; I’m sorry. I thought he’d be okay in the tank.”

“And then he got loose.”

“And then he got loose,” Carlos echoes. TK squeezes his hand and rests his head on Carlos’ shoulder.

The lights flicker and stay on, and the elevator begins descending again. “Oh, thank god,” Carlos mutters. They both stand up and TK wraps his arms around Carlos, burying his face in Carlos’ neck.

“I am really sorry,” TK says. “I promise not to bring any more animals into the loft without checking with you first.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that.”

The doors open and Carlos steps out, happy to be on the ground again. TK picks Lou up and pauses outside the elevator. “You don’t have to come with us. You can go back up to the apartment and Lou and I can catch an Uber to the Greenbelt.”

Carlos pouts and rolls his eyes. “Are you kidding? I want to go and make sure the little bugger doesn’t follow you home.”

They wander toward the Camaro hand-in-hand. “You know, I don’t think his sense of direction is that good.”

Carlos snorts. “I don’t know about that. He really liked your desk lamp.”

taglist: @plaidbooks @tarlosweeklyprompts

#tarlos #twpmarchdailyword #lou the lizard!#hurt/comfort #trapped in an elevator #heart to heart talk #911 ls fic

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florianniss · 10 months

Text

Trouble with Angels

It works. They believe him. Makes his dad’s lame ass excuse of working late instead of going to his game and his mom’s sudden migraine totally worth it.

Steve gets into the car on Saturday morning and drives to town. He walks into the video rental place feeling confident he’s going to nail it. He does, of course, and the manager gets him set on the schedule working weekends.

It sucks kinda, because he’s losing his only free days. But, like Robin said, at least he isn’t stuck at home with his parents.

Steve notices the initials ‘RB’ on most of the weekends he’s assigned to, which he sincerely hopes means he’ll be working with her. He knows shit about movies, never has time to go to the theater. He’s always at practice, or a game, or –

That’s when he’s slammed sideways with a scathingly brilliant idea, one Hayley Mills would be proud of.

He hasn’t thought it through, not really. But he’s here now and there’s no going back, because he’s made his decision. The parking lot is full, providing good cover as Steve plots the best way to break in.

Kids come and go through two entrances, the front, and the side. The doors don’t seem to be locked, which is a good thing. All he has to do it just pretend he lives there and –

Someone comes out, alone, and Steve has this moment of absolute kismet as he recognizes who it is.

“Dustin!” he calls out, plan tucked safely under his arm, heart pounding wildly in his chest.

The seventh grader looks over as Steve strides across the lot, breaks into the biggest shit-eating grin, and opens his arms wide.

“Hair-ington,” and Steve just knows how he’s spelling it. They do their fist bump, baseball bat greeting, and then Dustin hugs the literal stuffing out of him,

“How are you, buddy?” Steve wheezes, thinking the kid has grown in both height and strength.

“Better now that you’ve stopped being a dickhead.”

Steve steps back, nods his head in agreement. “Yeah, I know. I just haven’t had time to say hi yet.”

“Whatever,” and Dustin is already over it. “Man, that was a good game, huh? I didn’t see the whole thing, but I heard all about it!”

Steve thinks Dustin hasn’t changed much after all from that kid he used to babysit during the summer. He kinda misses his nerdy jokes and brainy games. But there’s no time for that; Steve is on a mission.

“Hey, can you get me inside? There’s someone I need to –” What does Steve need to do, really?

“What?” Dustin laughs. “Get you inside? Dude, the doors aren’t guarded by some Sentinel of Doom. Just go in.”

Steve blinks and wonders if maybe Eddie was telling him a tale, and then reality sinks its fist into his gut. They’re only not allowing Eddie visitors.

“Cool,” Steve says, covering it up with a smile. “Can you do me a favor and show me where Eddie Munson’s room is?”

Dustin’s face morphs from one of surprised happiness to utter awe. “You know Eddie Munson? ”

“Uh, yeah?”

Dustin tackles him with yet another hug. “Can you get me his autograph?”

Steve’s this close to losing it, laughing and making the kid who worships him feel like garbage. But he drops the videos and both spill out of their protective cases onto the sidewalk.

“Hey!” Dustin shouts, like a hamster on a wheel, and changes the subject. “I wanted to see Space Camp! But my mom wouldn’t let us go to anything PG this summer.”

Steve just picked whatever off the shelf, hadn’t even paid attention. He looks at the rating on the other movie and gets this spine-tingling idea.

He takes the case and hands the other one over; it’s rated PG-13. “Here. Use this to hide it. Don’t let them catch you watching it, though. I need that back on Monday morning, or I’ll lose the job I just got at the Video store. You hear me?”

Dustin takes it like he’s being handed the Holy Grail. “Thanks! I will, I promise.”

Steve follows him inside the unlocked side entrance and feels his knees go a little funny, exciting. All this breaking the law is strangely exhilarating.

Dustin stops outside a closed door and presses his ear to it. “He’s definitely in there. Thanks for the movie! See you later.” And he turns and hauls ass, presumably to his room where he’ll be hunkering down to revel in his treasure.

Steve takes a deep breath and prepares to knock, but the music coming from inside is loud and he wonders if Eddie will even hear it.

He turns the knob and slowly opens the door.

Eddie’s there, all right, seated at the edge of a bed with his head hanging low. He’s wearing a ball cap with headphones on top, listening to something pretty heavy, as loud as it will go. There’s no indication he even notices Steve entering, but Steve sees there’s something wrong. And he doesn’t want to startle his friend.

With the door closed, Steve steals inside and sits cross-legged on the floor before Eddie. He’s rocking back and forth, drumming his fingers against his thighs. Like he’s trying to get lost in the music, like he’s trying to forget.

He notices Steve and stands with a jerk, tossing his headphones and Walkman onto the bed behind him, a look of horror on his face.

“What are you doing here?” he shouts, upset. Steve scrambles to his feet and regrets his life choices for a split second, until he realizes Eddie is hurting.

“Came to see you, dumbass. You didn’t show at the dance, and I was worried.”

The terror and pain completely deflate and Eddie bows his head. “Oh.”

Steve feels awkward now that he’s here. Eddie’s response to his surprise doesn’t feel right.

“I — I brought you —“

And that’s when Steve sees it, really sees it. “Oh, my god. The bastards did it!”

His hair. They cut his fucking hair. His beautiful, luxurious long hair.

Eddie pulls the cap low over his eyes and shrugs. “‘S no big deal.”

But Steve knows it is, rips the hat off Eddie’s head and feels eruptive anger building inside. “What the fuck, dude?”

It’s all one length to his chin, like they just took the knot at the back and chopped it off.

Eddie tries to take the hat back, but Steve won’t let him. He’s pissed. “Fucking bastards!”

Eddie looks up and his eyes are — what are they? Not sad, definitely not angry. They’re meek and shy and, god damn, it’s Bambi standing in front of him.

Steve melts and all the disgust and hatred for the people who did this does too. He takes a deep breath and feels like the world’s biggest cad. “I – it’s not that bad.”

“Fuck you,” Eddie spits, without anger. The sides of his hair hide his face, almost the same length now as his bangs.

Something inside Steve hurts. “No, really. It just needs a little product.”

Eddie snorts. “And what, you can fix it?”

Steve gets another one of those twinges of regret, and he knows precisely what to do. “Sure do. You got anything?”

Eddie looks at him like he’s lost his fucking marbles, and then he realizes Steve isn’t playing around. “Serious?”

Steve nods fervently, looks around the bareness of the room. Sees the closet, slightly open, clothes spilling out. The dresser is in the same condition, heaped high with Eddie’s various jean jackets. There isn’t any bathroom, but there’s a towel slung over the only chair at a desk that clearly isn’t used for studying.

“Here,” Steve says, snatching the towel and slapping it around Eddie’s shoulders. “Go wash.”

Eddie blinks exactly like a deer in the headlights, and Steve pushes him toward the door. “Go.”

His friend moves hesitantly, looking back over his shoulder and gladly taking the cap as Steve hands it back. He moves slowly down the hallway, presumably to the showers, and Steve returns to the room to sit on the bed where Eddie had been.

The room is trashed, and not just in the usual way. It’s as if someone purposefully dumped everything out and threw it against the wall. Steve imagines Eddie, in a fit of rage over his haircut, taking it out on inanimate objects, and it makes him angry too.

Then he thinks of Eddie sitting in this very spot, consoling himself with music. Hiding from the world, from Steve; the real reason he didn’t show up at the dance. And Steve feels lousy.

Eddie returns with his head wrapped in the turban towel as he had done at the beach. He closes the door and avoids Steve’s eyes.

“Product?” Steve asks, his resolve wavering now that Eddie’s standing there, looking meek.

“Yeah,” he says and opens his closet. There’s stuff hanging up, so he didn’t completely gut the joint, and as he digs in the mess and comes up with a fucking bucket, Steve feels a surge of pride.

He’s got good stuff; Prell shampoo and some fancy conditioner, Dep hair gel and fucking Aqua Net hair spray. There’s a big-toothed comb and a black pick, and those little black scrunchies that Eddie uses so religiously.

Used religiously.

Eddie sits on the floor with his back to the bed, and Steve takes the towel off to get a good look at what’s left of Eddie’s hair.

It’s curly, curlier than normal. Freshly washed, smelling clean and looking good enough to fucking eat, Steve’s stomach does a little dance as he realizes he’s going to get to finally touch Eddie’s hair.

Steve goes for the big comb and contemplates where to begin when Eddie opens his mouth and blows Steve’s mind. “Don’t be gentle. I can take it.”

There’s a moment where he whites out and remembers a porno mag he saw once at a friend’s house. A guy, his hand fisted in some chick’s long, curly blonde hair, with his massive dick in her mouth and fucking her throat with what looked like reckless abandon. Her eyes were watering and she was drooling, and –

Fuck. Steve’s gone hard with Eddie sitting between his legs.

Steve’s gentle because he can’t help it; it’s a religious experience, combing Eddie’s hair. He starts at the top by his temple, leaning forward and not caring that his shirt is getting wet. That Eddie rests his elbows on Steve’s knees. That they’re in Eddie’s room and he shouldn’t be here, and they could get in a load of trouble.

The first time the teeth catch and Eddie’s neck snaps back, Steve feels a little closer to god. “Sorry.”

“‘S’OK.”

With the tangles sorted, Steve unscrews the lid of the gel and works its stickiness between his palms. He smooths the sides back, then runs his fingers through it. He reloads the gel and does the top, and then the back, scrunching up the curls and thinking he’s died and gone to heaven.

But when Eddie’s neck goes slack and he’s practically asleep in Steve’s lap, and he can’t use any more gel or it will get too heavy, but he doesn’t want to stop –

“OK. Done. And, uh, I brought a movie,” Steve tries, finishing by smoothing the stray hairs behind Eddie’s ears, being careful not to catch the earrings he’s never fucking noticed before now. “Haven’t seen it yet.”

“Oh?” Eddie’s answer is a little delayed, like he’s drunk, like he’s fucked out on MJ and can’t be bothered to care. “Which one?”

Steve’s painfully hard inside his jeans, and he so wants Eddie to lean back a little further and press into his zipper. “Uh, Big Trouble in Little China?”

“That’s a good one,” Eddie purrs, taking in a deep breath and relaxing even more into Steve’s lap. He’s literally millimeters from touching Steve’s dick.

“W - what? You’ve seen it?”

Eddie chuckles, actually chuckles. It vibrates up his back and Steve can feel it where his knees are digging into Eddie’s ribs.

“Yeah, I mean. All summer long I snuck into the movie theater, watched from behind the curtains. I think I saw everything that was worth seeing.”

Steve’s Big Plan suddenly isn’t as great as it seemed, and as Eddie leans forward to get to his feet, there’s a blank emptiness inside his chest.

“Be right back,” he says, striding across the room and throwing the closet wide. There’s a mirror, and Eddie turns his head so Steve can see his reflection too.

Damn, he’s fucking hot. Like Ralph Macchio hot.

“Shit,” Eddie rasps, admiring Steve’s handiwork with disbelief. “Not bad.”

Steve is having a full-on sexual crisis.

Eddie rummages through the closet again and comes out with a VCR hefted against his chest, cables dangling like massive spider legs. He turns with the world’s biggest smile and Steve’s heart does this fluttery thing.

“Stole this from the RA. They’ve been looking for it for weeks, haven’t figured out where it went.” Eddie laughs softly, evilly. “Nobody without a machine in their room can watch anything.”

He sets it on the desk that isn’t being used for anything but a small TV and snakes through the cords. Steve wipes the quickly drying gel from his hands on the still-wet towel to keep from imagining things by staring at Eddie’s ass.

“You stick it in, I’ll get the door.”

If Eddie hears Steve’s squeak, he doesn’t show it. He busies himself by dragging the bookshelf that looks like someone knocked over in front of the door. And Steve realizes something else.

“There’s no lock?”

“Nope,” Eddie straightens up and makes a move to flip his hair, realizes it is no longer there, and grabs the video off the floor. He tosses it to Steve like he didn’t just reveal the saddest damn thing in the world. “Don’t trust me not to lock myself in, I guess.”

Eddie sits on the floor again facing the TV and watches Steve struggle to get the tape out of the case. He keeps his mouth shut, though, doesn’t tease Steve when he fumbles and puts it in backward, waits quietly as Steve fast-forwards over the previews.

They sit side by side propped up against the bed, Steve on the closet side so he can hide inside if anyone comes.

Steve barely watches the movie. He’s too busy watching Eddie rub his thumb over his own knee, too invested in how Eddie smells, how his voice sounds when he tells Steve, “Oh, this is a good part.”

They take a pee break halfway through. Eddie makes sure the hallway is clear, the bathroom is empty. He waits outside while Steve does his best to not touch himself; it’s painful, so painful.

But Eddie is his friend, and Steve is not fucking this thing up.

Just as predicted, the RA shows up and knocks on Eddie’s door.

“Just a second,” he shouts, slamming the ball cap on his head, backward, while Steve scrambles up on the floor. He hides in the closet, bumping his knee on the doorframe. Eddie shoves a load of clothes on top to cover him up and closes the door.

Steve holds his breath against the sharp waves of pain as whoever it is talking in a muffled voice to Eddie, praying they don’t check inside. It strikes him as funny, hiding in the closet, a space that smells entirely like Eddie, a whirlwind of a tornado of Eddie’s possessions dumped on top of him. The metaphor for his life is fucking complete.

Eddie’s smiling as he helps Steve come out of the closet.

“I think I’ve found my new favorite thing to do,” he grins, yanking off his cap and tossing it to the floor. “Wanna come by tomorrow and do it again?”

Steve allows himself to be pulled from the space, collapses back on the floor next to Eddie. They’re a little closer this time, in proximity and in friendship. And Steve knows what he’s going to be doing every weekend after work for the rest of the year.

“Just make sure you bring a movie I haven’t seen next time, OK?”

Chapter 4 on AO3

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #highschool au #stranger things #chapter 4 #florianniss

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