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idy-ll-ique · 3 years

Text

Things I Like About You.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Genre: Fluff, fluff, fluff

Warnings: mentions of nightmares

Requested: nope

Summary: Bucky makes a list of 18 things that he likes about Y/N, starting with her voice.

Author's Note: Hiya peeps! idk how this idea came to me but I decided to proceed with it anyway lmao. enjoy!

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The first thing he liked about her was her voice. Just smooth, soft, a little raspy but it made his heart flutter as he walked to the communal area with Steve, his best friend. As they neared the room her voice became louder, turned more melodic. Singing, she was singing a song. A wave of pleasure washed over him when he heard her but he concealed it easily.

The second thing he liked about her was her face. When he and Steve walked into the communal area her back was to them, and she was still singing. For a minute they just listened as Y/N hit all the notes correctly; only then did Steve cut her off by clearing his throat. She whirled around and his breath caught in his lungs.

She had the most gorgeous eyes he had ever seen on anyone. They were simply perfect and when they narrowed as she smiled widely, he was done for. Her nose was perfect, her pretty lips were perfect, her teeth were perfect, her hair was perfect and literally everything else about her was just perfect. "Hi Steve, Mr Barnes!" She greeted them enthusiastically.

That was the third thing he liked about her, her personality. She was not too loud, not too quiet, not too brazen, not too prude… simply marvellous. "Hey, Y/N! You can call him Bucky, you know." She glanced at him and his eyes went wide on their own accord as he nodded, agreeing with Steve. Then she gave him another smile.

Oh boy, I'm in trouble. "Fine, Bucky. It's very nice to meet you." She held her hand out and that was the fourth thing he liked about her; the feel of her skin. Just like her voice, her skin was smooth and buttery, so soft that for a moment, he almost didn't want to blemish her beautiful skin by touching her. But he still gingerly took her hand, shaking it.

He did not trust his voice; he knew that if he tried to speak, he'd just squeak out some nonsense. Where is my 40s charm?! Just when you need it… He gave her a polite nod as they shook hands and Steve sighed on his right. "Sorry, it takes him a while to, you know, speak in front of the others…" Y/N waved him off easily.

"I understand, Steve. Let him take his time, no rush." She gave him another smile and this time, he found himself smiling back. "Your smile is wonderful," she told him, which caused his smile to widen involuntarily. "So is yours," he rasped and there it was: the fifth thing he liked about her. Her blush. She went red and rubbed the back of her neck.

"Thank you, Bucky." He had never liked his name more. "Well, now that you two have been introduced, I guess I can go. Think you can take it from here, Buck?" He nodded but the truth was that no, no he couldn't take it. Alone with her? What if he did something embarrassing and drove her off? "Shall we sit?"

She gestured to the couches and he nodded, both of them sitting next to each other. The sixth thing he liked about her, her posture. Back straight, ankles crossed, hands folded neatly on her lap, she looked like a Royal. There were no words spoken in the first five minutes but Y/N didn't get up, she knew it always took him some time. She'd be there for him.

"You sing wonderfully," he blurted out and she turned to look at him with the smile he was quickly getting obsessed with. I'm gonna have to make her smile more often. "Oh, thank you so much!" He gave her a smile of his own and looked down at his lap. "How are you doing today?" He looked back up. "I'm doing well, you?" She nodded and giggled.

"Sorry, didn't know what else to ask." The seventh thing he liked about her, her giggle. Her laugh, in general. "It's okay, darling," he grinned lazily and watched as she blushed again at the nickname. Maybe he won't embarrass himself after all. "So, are you new on the team?" he asked her and she shook her head.

"I'm not on the team, actually. I'm just good friends with the Avengers, I don't fight. I own a bakery down the street," she told him and he hummed. "A bakery? Sounds just as sweet as you," he flirted easily and watched how she went red again. "You're too flattering," she mumbled and he shook his head. "You deserve it."

"I was actually wondering when I'd get to meet you, but Steve told me I'd have to wait before you were ready," she blurted out, suddenly nervous. He cleared his throat and looked away. "Sorry." She placed a hand on his shoulder and his head snapped towards her, making her drop her hand. But he gently took it and returned it to his shoulder, giving her a shy smile.

"Hey, no, don't apologize. I have a PhD in Psychology, you know, I know you needed time. I was willing to wait longer," she told him and he felt his heart flutter. Mama, I found my wife. "You have a PhD and yet you opened a bakery?" She flushed deeper. "I just like baking. I have had my bakery before I even started my first year at the university."

"That's wonderful. So, uh, the Avengers, they visit often?"

"Yes, oh my God! After every damn mission. Steve and Sam were there the last time, yesterday, when they came back. Finished two dozen of my muffins, had to bake more in the middle of the night to restock." The eighth thing he liked about her, the way she complained, how her nose scrunched and she pulled a face.

He couldn't help but laugh. "They do have a sweet tooth," he pointed out and there it was; the ninth thing he liked about her— her pout. "Still! I lost a lot of sleep," she huffed. "I'd like to visit your bakery too, doll. Have an address?" She immediately reached into the pocket of her jeans, pulling out a slightly crumpled business card.

"Oh, shit, I'm sorry!" she hissed, noticing the state her card was in but he didn't care in the least. I'm going to keep this paper with me till the end of my life. "It's not a problem at all, doll." Then he examined the card, smirking at the name of the bakery. "The Sweet Spot, huh? Wonder where yours is," he spoke effortlessly, eyes still on the card.

He heard a choking noise and turned to see Y/N laughing behind her hands, barely able to contain herself. "Aren't you just smooth, Barnes," she replied evenly and all he wanted to do at the moment was haul her over his shoulder, take her to his bedroom and never leave. "I was known to be quite charming in the 40s," he winked and she giggled more.

"I would've loved to see that." Soon, she checked her watch and clicked her tongue, standing up. "My bakery opens in 15 minutes, I have to go. It was nice to meet you, Bucky." She simply stood there, fidgeting and that worried him. "Doll?" Her eyes met his. "Sorry, um, I was thinking… should I hug him or shake his hand? Probably should've—"

Without another word he pulled her in his arms and the tenth thing he liked about her? Her hugs. She easily slid her arms around his torso, pressed her face into his chest— being shorter than him— and squeezed. His vibranium hand cradled her head and the flesh one went around her shoulder, returning the squeeze.

The hug was longer than necessary, not that either of them complained. When she pulled away, both of them exchanged huge smiles. He felt lighter and happier than he had in years, even though he was attending therapy now. "Bye, Bucky! See you later!" Oh see you later alright, he visited the bakery just an hour later.

---

A sharp knock on the door to her apartment startled her. She checked the time; it was 2 am. Dread filled her entire body as she slowly made her way to the living room, peeking out of the peephole. The dread washed away entirely as she opened the door and swiftly pulled the man inside, shutting the door behind him.

"Bucky?"

"I needed you," he spoke hoarsely. Y/N noticed the dark circles under his eyes, his bloodshot eyes, his tousled hair and his dirty clothes. He had been gone on a mission for the past 5 months; they met 7 months ago. 5 months? Who has a mission that long? The Avengers, that's who. Bucky and Y/N had bonded quite well in the small amount of time.

There were many more things he realized he liked about her; her dancing, her cooking, her apartment, the smell of her laundry detergent, her caring nature, her jokes, her— "Bucky? Bubba, did you hear me?" He blinked a few times and offered her a sheepish smile, shaking his head. "I said, take a bath. I'll leave you some clothes outside."

He agreed instantly and went to her bathroom, hopping in for a quick wash. He cleaned himself with her body wash; it smelled like lavender that calmed him. He had missed her a lot. On the way back home all he could think about was her. He wanted— no, he needed to hold her as he slept to ensure he didn't wake up screaming.

After the shower as he put on the clothes she left for him, he realized something. Walking into the only bedroom in the apartment he saw her looking up from her phone. "Yes, Buck?" He hadn't permitted Sam to call him that, even though he had known the man longer than he had Y/N. "Are these Steve's clothes?"

She went pink and stammered. Bucky's brows furrowed. "Are you dating Steve?" he blurted out and her eyes went wide. "No, I've never dated Steve. It's just that… one time he was on a mission and he needed some place to hide and live for a few days. He lived with me. He left his bag behind and I kept the clothes, for situations like these."

He could tell she was telling the truth. The seventeenth thing he liked about her was her honesty. "Oh, okay." Suddenly a smirk came over her face, which made him nervous. "Were you jealous, Barnes?" It was his turn to blush and he went 10 shades darker than she had. "I— I mean, I— I wasn't, I— I was—" he stammered and she laughed.

"I was kidding! Get in the bed, we're going to sleep." He felt nervous again. "I, um, actually had a… favour, if it's not much, uh, if you don't agree I'll take the couch I promise, but I—" She shushed him. "Spit it out." He exhaled. "Can I… maybe… snuggle with you? While we sleep? Please?" He sounded so soft that all Y/N wanted to do was tell him how much she liked him and cuddle him to death.

"Of course! If it makes you feel better, sure, we can do that. Get in." He took off his t-shirt, hurriedly explaining that he couldn't sleep in them but she brushed him off. He got into the bed next to her and tentatively held his hand out, grinning to himself when she snuggled into his side with a soft sigh.

"You're so warm. It's perfect," she breathed out. Bucky never wanted to let go. "Goodnight, doll," he whispered and pressed a soft kiss to her head as both of them drifted off to dreamland. Bucky dreamt of her. The seventeen things he liked about her as of yet, with many more to come. Like maybe the way she tasted.

The way she would feel under him, around him… He gulped and rid himself of the thoughts; he didn't want a boner right now. You've known this woman for 7 months! Calm down, horny. That night, he slept like a baby, his firm hold on Y/N never wavering. Somewhere during the night her face had pushed itself in the crook of his neck, not that he cared.

One of his hands had landed on her butt while the other cradled her head again. Not that she cared. The next morning, Y/N was the first one up. She tried to get up from the bed but Bucky whined, actually whined underneath her. "Don't go." She giggled and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. "I need to use the bathroom."

Blinking a bit at the unexpected kiss (not that it wasn't welcome), it took him a few minutes to process her words. He let her go then, falling back asleep. He was tired; if he could, he wouldn't wake up for another 2 weeks. Y/N smiled softly when she came out of the bathroom, he looked so peaceful. Let him stay a while longer. She went to make herself some breakfast.

15 minutes into the process Bucky showed up, wrapping his arms around her from behind.

He buried his face in the side of her neck, leaving tiny kisses. "I thought you'd like to sleep longer," Y/N offered, one hand squeezing his arm. "It wasn't the same without you." She giggled as he pulled away, giving him another kiss on the cheek. "You sure know how to flatter women," she snorted and he grinned.

"Not just any woman, you in particular," he winked, sitting down at the dining table as Y/N brought over 2 plates of pancakes. "Consider me impressed, James," she teased back. "When does the bakery close?" he questioned as they both ate. "5 pm, why?" "I'm taking you out on a date," he said confidently.

"What time?"

"6:30?"

"Cool."

After they finished eating, they cleaned up for the day and left her apartment. Bucky offered to drop her to her bakery and she readily agreed, both of them walking down the street hand-in-hand. "I've been wanting to ask you out ever since we met," he confessed and she turned to him. "So have I," she chuckled and he looked at her, another grin forming on his face.

Soon, they reached the bakery and stood outside, simply staring at each other. "So, uh, I guess I'll—" The rest of the sentence caught in her throat as Bucky leaned forward and kissed her deeply. He couldn't hold himself back any longer. Y/N kissed back, smiling when he pulled away. "Can't wait for 6:30," she whispered.

"Neither can I."

And as he walked back towards the Compound, he thought about her, the eighteenth thing he liked about her (her kisses) and the many more things he was sure he was going to like about her in the upcoming months.

---

A/N: Leave a like if you enjoyed, thanks for reading!

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thefanbasewhore · 3 years

Note

Can you do a soulmate Stucky x reader? I feel like you would write that so well, especially how you portrayed bucky in "are you mad at me" was so soft. The soulmate version would be so cute

Summary || Bucky and Steve meet their soulmate, which they had no idea existed.

Warning/content || fluff, a small explicit scene, fighting. Soulmate AU.

Paring || Bucky Barnes x reader x Steve rogers

I got a little carried away, but enjoy ❤️ not edited or beta read but I'm sleepy 😴

Bucky and Steve have had each other from the moment they have met. Imaging their surprise, being two little boys from Brooklyn seeing colors, something the two agreed to hide, pending the time period.

It was different now, a different time. They were accepted and while both of them loved each other, so very much, especially through the mind control, fighting each other, then for each other. They always knew something was missing.

A color, maybe even two, three. A part of them missing but they both collectively came to the conclusion that it was just that. Some missing colors, it happens sometimes.

It happens when they least expect it.

After Thanos, after Tony finally deciding to leave that kind of life behind, buying a small two bedroom house on the outskirts of the city. A home to grow old in, be together for the first time since before the war started but only one thing prevented that.

The house was a disaster, gutted to the foundations, no running water, green moss outside covered the whole house, the lawn completely out of control. For Bucky it was a hard no, it was a dump but the moment Steve fluttered those ridiculously long lashes, how could he say no?

So here they are, sweating on this 90 degree day, putting up new dry wall with no air-conditioning.

"What color should it be?" Steve asks, glancing to his dark haired lover, taking notice of his now shirtless appearance. Bucky let out a sigh, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

"Maybe we should get all of the walls up first."

Steve clicks his tongue, "I like the color green, like a nice pastel mint green."

"Whatever you want, honey." Bucky wasn't too picky, besides whatever made Steve happy, made him happy.

"Hello?" A sweet, feminine voice came from the kitchen. The doors left open because of the heat, there was nothing much in here anyways.

Steve pulls away from his task, pulling his shirt over his head to wipe his forehead with it. "Come in, we are in the kitchen."

Bucky wasn't too alarmed, Steve had told him previously that he hired a someone to make up the yard, nothing too fancy but the both of them were completely clueless when it came to plants, or gardens period.

"Quite a project you have going on here, Mr. Rogers." No doubt taking in the half gutted house along the way. While they have never met, they spoke on the phone briefly about his wants.

"You have no idea, Hun."

The woman looks around the kitchen first, noticing the freshly painted cabinet, the smell a dead giveaway, half eaten burgers thrown to the side on a small, make shift table with barely enough room to fit.

At first glance towards the man she notices the sharp jawline, defined but soft feature of the blonde as she greets him with a smile which soon drops in confusion as small dots of color appear. Stormy blue eyes with a full beard, Steve's mouth dropping agape as he notices the splirts of color - the missing colors for 106 years finally appear.

Bucky notices the tension in the room, shifting his attention from the wall to Steve, noticing how intensely he's staring, Bucky follows the line of vision and meets sweet eyes.

She's hit with another line of color, different from Steve's but now there's no more gray hue, bright yellows and blues. The outside is suddenly so bright and Bucky mouth drops.

This cannot be happening.

They sit there and stare for what seems like hours.

"I - ugh.." she starts, "What is happening?"

***

Sometimes life just throws curve balls, like finding out that your soulmate or in this cause soulmates are two, one hundred year old super soldiers who have already been in love with each other for over a decade.

The pull is already strong, nature intended for these souls to be together until death due part and honestly Bucky could feel it. With Steve he was used to the urge of wanting to have him close, kiss him every free minute he has but with the woman in front of him, it's new.

He doesn't even know her name, watches the way she nervously flickers from Steve's gaze to his own. She's beautiful.

Strong but delicate features, the curve of her nose is cute, cupid lips are so full... kissable. He can't stop staring, even with Steve and her in the mist of conversation. The make shift table cleared of all prior mess, Buck and Steve have to share a chair, which is quite comical, seeing two giant supersoldier try to share a small, old, dinning room seat.

Bucky's metal fingers twitch, metal plate click and whirl to life as he tights to urge to map her face out with his fingers. His heart is beating so fast, filled with so much... Love? Joy?

No matter how much Steve and Bucky try to hide it.. deep down they always knew, something was missing and in this case, someone.

"You're beautiful." The words catch both her and Steve off guard, Bucky blushes red something terrible but the sweet smile defuses the fire.

Well until she says something back, "You are too."

His whole face is hot and Steve reaches over to affectionately rub the back of his shoulder. Of course Steve was calm, he always is.

He handles things with lots of thought and understanding, while Buck is more hot headed, acts on the moment.

***

"It doesn't feel right." Bucky comments, watching from the window to insure she safely gets into the car. Steve sighs, by the time they're done talking darkness has filled the house. Steve affectionately squeezes the brunette's bicep, pressing a kiss to his hair.

"I know Bucky. This is a lot for her, for us. She needs to take time and reflect on this. She'll come to us when she's ready."

Bucky knows nothing then her name, and love for plants but chews at his bottom lip nervously. She's too far, the bond pulls at his heart strings. Now bonded forever. "What if she never comes back?"

"She will."

***

A few days pass, the kitchen is finally done, new appliances, new china and kitchen fully stocked. Steve is making something for Dinner - it smells amazing while Bucky starts painting the walls of the lifeless living room.

It's bare, not even something to sit on but no doubt with the stamina of two super soldiers it will be done by next week.

The knock on the front door is unexpected, but Bucky replies quickly. "I got it, Stevie!"

He expects some older, much wrinkly neighbor to be complaining about the noise of the nail gone or something this late at night. His mouth drops, a little shocked at the sight of her.

A very formal sitting dress, long and black, dips into a sweetheart neckline, the valley of her breasts easily visible. Hair is thrown into a neat updo, sexy and sleek.

Bucky clears his throat. "Hi." He squeaks out, feeling like a total idiot as he watches her nervously shift her weight from one heel to the other.

"Hi, I was in the area. A wedding for one my clients, thought I'd come say hello." Bucky wants to shake his head in disbelief that something so beautiful, just like Steve is made for him.

The universe sculpted and made two beautiful, breath taking human beings to be his and it's overwhelming. She's so pretty it's alarming.

It was a good excuse, the truth but not the real reason she stopped by. How could she tell them that they have been on her mind none stop? It physically hurts to be away for so long.

"Who is it, Buck?" Steve mumbles, interrupting the thick tension between the two.

"Come in, doll." Bucky's helps her with the jacket that lays over his shoulders, mentioning his head towards the direction of the kitchen, where his other lover is.

Steve is stunned none the less, he at least expected a few more days. Also, feeling much like Bucky, amazed by the radiating beauty.

He decides to play it cool, dimples forming with a breath taking smile. "Do you like spaghetti?"

Hours pass, time moves so fast with conversation, and adding wine to the mix surely didn't help.

The trio once again in the kitchen, but this time each have a chair, a new, more comfortable dinning set.

"You got this done fast. It's beautiful." She comments, "Colors are beautiful, I guess I have you two to thank for that."

Bucky shifts in his seat, the glass of wine is useless but still finds himself sipping from it. Her eyes are red, watery with a slight buzz.

"Do you feel it?" The question has both Bucky and Steve look at each other, watching her teary eyes as she presses a hand to sooth the ache in her chest. "It hurts, it hurts to be away. All week."

"It's normal." Steve answers just above a whisper, his next words make Bucky's bottom lip quiver. "I felt it every day for the last 5 years, Bucky was gone."

Bucky had never thought about it - there hasn't been enough time to. It's only been a month later since the return and it never occurred to him what Steve has gone through.

"Steve.." He starts, tears kiss his waterline as his fingers run through the blonde's hair. "I'm sorry sweetheart, I didn't know, I -."

"Couldn't prevent it Buck. It happened but you're here now and.." Steve turns his attention towards the girl, tears slip past her eyelids. It's for Steve, for Bucky.. all the pain and suffering they've been through. "Hey, don't cry, it's alright beautiful."

It's feels right, despite barely knowing the man, nothing feel more right then being pulled into his chest as a large metal hand comforts her in a different way, rubbing the loose strands of hair as he murmurs. "We've got you now, you're our other half."

***

Months have past from that day. The house is finally done, everything they could have imagined with the additional of an extra tooth brush in the cup that sits on the bathroom sink, a pile of fuzzy blankets at the bottom of the bed and a five year old chocolate lab. Steve didn't mind much, he's always loved dogs, Bucky on the other hand...

"Alright, alright, Maverick." Bucky huffs, grocery bags in hand as the dog excitedly nuzzles his legs, following him throughout the house like it wasn't only an hour ago he's seen him. Once putting the bags down, hears the whine, big brown eyes staring up at him. Bucky sighs, dropping to a knee before petting the pup's head. "Alright you mutt, don't tell anyone about this."

"Too late, pal." Bucky jumps, hearing the amusement in Steve's voice, followed by the giggle of the woman that peers out from behind him. Wrapping her arms around Steve before testing her head against his shoulder.

"Caught you red handed, you love Mav." Bucky grumbles at her words, feeling two smaller hands wrap around his waist as a head falls into his chest. He presses a soft kiss into her hair before taking in the blonde that barely fits through the doorway he leans against.

Bucky's free hand reaches out, mentioning him closer but as she's soon finds herself in the middle of a super soldier sandwich. "Hi, baby." Bucky presses a kiss to the blonde's lips.

"Hi, pal."

***

"It's only one mission. That's it, we will be in and out." Steve promises, not liking the way his girls face twist into a worried expression.

Heavy eyes, lower lip sticking out to pout. "What if something happens? If you get hurt? Or if they find you, Bucky?"

"I told you, Hydra is gone, honey." Bucky's large hands sooth over her tight shoulders, pressing soft kisses to the back of her upper traps.

"No. You still have nightmares at least three times a week. This can't be good for you. And you." She turns her attention back towards Steve, "Barely sleep four hours a night. You carry the fault on your shoulders, you don't need anymore. I don't want you two to go."

"We don't have a choice. They were my family once, I owe this to them." Steve didn't miss the way her lips moves to form a snarl, not sparing another glance as she makes a b-line for the stairs.

Bucky sighs, leaning against the wall. "She's going to be mad at us." Rubbing his chest with hopes to ease the burn.

The bond pulls at their hearts, a slow, painful punishment for their actions.

They return two weeks later, tired, just wanting to see their girl. The moment they walk into the house they look at each other with will wild eyes, heart pumping as they fear the worse. The dog, the annoying wiggling tail that would bark is one where to be found, something is wrong.

It's alarming. "Where is that freaking mutt?"

Steve calls her name, but there is no answer. Bucky and him are searching the house, ascending the stairs, opening the bedroom door with a deep sigh of relief.

The stupid dog takes up half of the bed, but is cuddled into his owner. Arm draped around the ball of fur, amount as long as her.

The dog lifts his head, a little tail waggle as Steve stretches his ears, lowering to his knees and laying his top half over the bed to press loud, audible kisses to his ears. "Good boy, protecting our girl while we are gone."

When morning comes she notices the dog is still pressed against her, licking small stripes against her cheeks. "Have to go out, buddy?"

She barely makes it five steps before tripping over two rather large bodies, sleeping on a makeshift bed on the floor. Bucky groans and Steve's eyes flicker open.

"Why are you on the floor?"

"Wanted you to sleep pretty girl. Mav was taking up all the room and you looked like an angel." Bucky hums in agreement despite his eyes being closed.

"Mmm, well it's all free now." It's short, simple but the sarcastic tone has Bucky's eyes flickering to meet his boyfriend's. They both sigh, staring up at the ceiling, knowing it's going to be a long day.

And it is. She's does whatever she can to get away from them, only answers with short replies to the point Bucky can't take it anymore.

"Sweetheart," Bucky tries again but she doesn't acknowledge him, eyes stayed glued to the book. He gets fed up, metal plates click as artificial appendages run over the binding and pull it from her grasp.

"Give it back, James."

He cringes at the name, a displeased frown wears his face. "No, you have to talk to us."

"No."

"You're bring a brat." Bucky starts, watching her expression change from annoyed to anger, wrinkles of frustration pinch between her eyebrows.

"Buck - don't say that to her." Steve comments, it's his fault, he's the one who said yes without confiding in her first.

"She is, it's over with now. She has no right to be this mad."

"No right?" Her chest fills with emotion as a humourless chuckle causes both men to stiffen. "No right? Huh Buck? I sat here for two full weeks, no communication, nothing while the two of you are out there fighting God knows what after you swore, promised you would always be with me. Don't promise me forever if you're just going to throw yourself in danger! You're going to die and leave me, or worse! Both of you will."

No one says a word, only watch as her chest rises and falls with deep, heavy pants despite the tears that rolls past her eyes lashes.

"Honey, I'm sorry -."

"I don't want to hear it James, and you." She turns towards Steve, fire in her soul. "I thought you would understand, more then him, considering it has happened to you."

She leaves the room without another word, Buck turns towards Steve, watching the way he fights the tears that gather. The pain of loosing Bucky is still so fresh, "She's right Buck, we fucked up."

"I know, I know." He mumbles into Steve's shoulder, pulling him close.

***

"You're so good to me, sweet girl." Bucky moans as she shifts her hips against him, the blunt end of his cock hitting the spot inside her that makes her squeal for more.

Large hands squeeze her hips as Steve leans over to find his boyfriend's lips, kissing him through the gasps and whines of their girl's name as she circles her hips around Bucky.

Steve's hands pull at his hair, lips trailing from his lips, down his cheeks before nipping at his jaw.

"How does he feel honey?"

"So good, Stevie." For a second he's in a trance, watching the way her face contours with pleasure and the pain of her third orgasm well on its way.

Steve lays next to Buck, hand wrapping around his own heaviness between his legs as he stokes it, switching between her face of pleasure to Bucky's, who bites his lip to suppress a moan.

It's short lived as hips stutter against her own, coating her walls with his warm cum.

Steve barely gives her time to recover, positioning her on his hands and knees before hovering over her ear and nibbling on it. "My turn, honey."

***

Her hands nervously shake, the kitchen table is all set up, dinner is ready but at the moment she doesn't have an appetite.

Between this morning sickness, the overall change her body is under going, food makes her sick. The opening of the front door makes her sit up straight, sucking in a deep breath.

Two voices conversationing in the hall, "I thought I said for you to lock the door when we leave." Buck is clearly annoyed, it's been a long day but Steve rubs his shoulders, mumbling something incoherent.

Upon entering the kitchen, they both grow worried. Face drained of color, red blotchy eyes with shaky hands.

"Hey, hey." Steve drops to his knees in front of her seat in an instant, hands curling around her wrist as worried steel blue eyes follow his stance, reaching over to stroke her cheek. "What is it? What happened?"

"I'm pregnant." She pauses, "I'm scared, I'm scared. What if someone comes for you? How are we supposed to raise a baby? What if it has the serum, will it ever be safe?"

The questions fill Bucky with dread, how much though put into every sentence, every word is like a new hit of pain to his body but he stays strong. For his girl, he leans forward, wiping the tears away from discolored cheeks. "Everything is going to be fine babydoll, you're going to be fine, our baby is going to be fine."

#bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky fluff #fatws bucky #bucky x y/n #bucky fic #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers #steve x bucky #steve x reader #stucky x you #stucky x y/n #stucky x reader #stucky

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inkskinned · 5 years

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When the honey showed up, we all just took it inside. That was one of the things about it - it was always a little warm, always in the same simple jar and the nice plaid bow. Handmade-like. Most of us put it in our pantries or in the back of our cabinets, some put it in the fridge. we just thought to ourselves: gee, what a wonderful present.

I don’t know how long it took before we all had one. For a while, the most that would happen was two-minute feel-good op ed pieces in local newspapers. People would run little letters to the editor to find out the “culprit”. Sometimes there were faux-serious “investigations” when that parent freaked out about the possibility of drugs in honey. Most of the time, it ended quickly. After all, it was a nice gift from a neighbor, and it was yours. that was another thing. A house could be 122 people, and we’d all find our own jar on the doorstep, one at a time. we would know when it was ours and when it wasn’t, no matter how alike they looked. nobody ate it, at first. It was yours, and you wouldn’t eat it, and you couldn’t eat another person’s. it just wasn’t done. and the thing is - in that imaginary house, of 122 people? we’d all buy other honey. it was both there and took up space - but none of us thought of it as actually existing. we’d put down our storebought honey right next to it and think - why did i buy another? i’ve wanted to try this one for a while. and then the thought would simply be out of our head, because this is our third bag of baby carrots we have bought to let spoil again.

it was that one person who mentioned it on youtube. actually i think it was a vimeo “urban legends” series. some person with 6 followers who deleted like instantly. but then 6 people said something similar: everyone they knew had this one specific honey story. and then 12. and then all of a sudden we all woke up to “#honeyonthedoorstep” globally trending. we all posted our pictures of our honey and called each other liars and got into discourse fights with vegans and people without a sweet tooth. In 24 hours, it was running the media. 9-at-night serious news anchors leaned over to each other and said “now john, did you hear about this?” and despite their disbelief, they’d admit: i got the honey too. I think somewhere in march. maybe around the 5th. but i never ate it or thought anything of it. i just thought - what a nice gift.

By the end of the week, there were YouTube challenges and instagram memes and a netflix miniseries in the works. Lots of people tried to eat their honey, and most who “succeeded” were deemed a hoax - but truth be told? it’s not good tv to watch someone pick up honey and say “actually it’s not ready” or something similar and just decide to go do something else. i tried once, winedrunk and thinking i could be famous because it’s just honey. and i remember thinking that exact thing - it’s not ready. i realized i needed to go do dishes, this was stupid and kind of cringey.

and people freaked out, of course. outside of the jokes were parents who were asking if their children would get a jar one day, if this was a one-time thing. there were so many conspiracy theories the government finally had to say something (not that any of us were actually listening), there were massive hunts to find “the team of honey dispatchers”, there were plenty of false confessions, there were rallies to destroy the things. i don’t know if anyone actually did, because in the end? it was just a jar of honey, and it was yours, and it would be a shame to throw it at the floor just because the internet told you so. I moved three times that year - grad school, job, other better job. i always took mine with me. it wasn’t a real choice, it was just... like taking a plate that belonged to your grandmother, or carrying a song stuck in your head. it was just something that was going to come with, but it bore no special attention. and then back into the pantry it went.

two weeks later? we all just... moved on from talking about honey. it was in some memes, it was in BuzzFeed’s “top 5 weirdest stories (that are actually true)”, it was going to be the central plot of books and horror movies. but it wasn’t interesting, not really, anymore. it was like saying “all people need food”. it was just true, and not really changing. every consecutive conspiracy video got less likes, and by the end of the year, it was old enough to be a staple in bad stand-up comedy and in coming-of-age children’s shows.

nobody believed the first ones who ate it. the most traction that those posts got were from friends and family who barely remembered the whole fad. we all just figured it was a weird annual resurgence kind of thing.

but then people were definitely, absolutely, 100% eating their honey. i think i heard about one of my coworkers first. i didn’t know her; she was in another department. she told everyone it was very similar to “normal” honey. just a little tarter than she’d expected.

twitter was in an uproar. the honey was sweet to some. spicy to others. horrible, bitter, like a thousand stingers. it was perfect, it tasted like summer. most people said: it’s just honey, and absolutely regular.

those of us who weren’t ready were biting our fingernails for a while, going to our pantries, wondering - what the fuck do i mean it’s not ready? but it wasn’t ready.

like i said, it’s warm, always. But you just... know. one day you realize you really want honey on toast. or honey on tea, honey on a banana, just... honey. i remember opening it, but it didn’t feel like any more interesting than going to the cabinet for honey ever feels. i pour mine, usually, skipping a spoon because i’m usually too lazy. i was already in the middle of my meal before i realized - this is the honey. it’s not just a normal breakfast, it’s the breakfast, holy shit.

mine is just, you know. honey. it has a little hint of spice and sweet to it, which i actually quite like. it reminds me of this red pepper jelly my family used to get, and it makes me happy. but in the end? it’s honey. i don’t feel like i’m connected to a seventh realm. it’s good on oatmeal and bad in coffee no matter what some of you will tell me.

it’s just, you know. once you get your jar, and it’s ready, you have a little honey roughly every 24ish hours. it’s nothing absurd. it’s just honey, i mean - it’s like saying “you’re alive, so at some point, you should probably eat.” Most of us, it hasn’t really changed our schedules. it doesn’t seem to ever run out, which is good, because we’re always forgetting to check to see if we need more before we go shopping. for most of us? you don’t die if you miss a few days, even a few weeks, you don’t go crazy trying to get it back. sure, there’s weirdass cultists who worship it, but most of us just seem to think - it’s nice to have, and it’s okay to want this thing.

now, there’s some stuff out there, you know, about what it all “means”. and honestly, we all notice things. i’m not the only one who has seen that good people tend to think their honey tastes good and eat it normally. bad people tend to eat their honey frequently but hate every second of the eating. there are plenty who will snort and say “i’m a good person and i think it tastes like dirt” and plenty who will say “i’m a shit person and i think it tastes like the summer i finally kissed her”. and i don’t know, not the way i knew if it was ready, but it feels like a simple thing amidst all the messy. and it’s probably helpful that i think mine is, like most people’s, just a nice in-the-middle. i mean, the other day i heard it asked like a star sign - what’s your honey like?

there’s this one thing, though, you know. i choose to believe, because it might make me secretly happy. it’s like believing in nessie. i know realistically it’s probably just hearsay. but there’s this underground rumbling that, over time, the honey changes. just a little, every day, unnoticeable to most of us who go to work and do our best by others but still sometimes steal toilet paper. there’s these stories of people who made it rich by selling out their friends, who stole patents, who argue that others should charge for insulin - that they liked the honey, at first, but over time, it’s gone rotten. and similarly, every so often, there’s these stories of people who were normal “regular” honey people, who helped someone out of the bottom. who chose to be just a little bit better than they were the day before. who had moments of decisive kindness that changed them. they all say the same thing: since then, the honey has been amazing, and they work to keep it that way.

my grandmother and my mother were never surprised. they have this saying about bees and their secrets. my mother said to me: we have always had these tiny angels. they’re just giving us each a taste of the world we are making.

my grandmother later tells me, while watering the flowers, almost the exact same thing: they will haunt us when they go, because they keep books in their combs. and they see us giants, and no matter who we lie to? the world of bees will know.

#spilled ink #prose #short story #honey #i originally wrote this in my car while binge eating doritos happy mardi gras style #but then tumblr deleted it lmao bc i walked between 2 wifi connections #so if it sucks its bc i had to half-remember a good version

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myelocin · 4 years

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the truth in vulnerability | miya a.

synopsis: your husband has a habit of crying, ever since he laid himself bare to you. your daughter, on the other hand just liked to poke fun for it at times. atsumu never minds, and you know that, though.

characters: miya atsumu, you, your daughter

genre: fluff, domestic!au, parenting!au

wc: 1300+

a/n: welp i lost my shit at this r we surprised.

if somebody told miya atsumu that he’d be married before thirty with a sassy daughter that has him saying yes to her every whim without any sense of hesitation from his part, he’d laugh them off and compliment them maybe at their brave attempt at a joke.

but of course, because life was interesting like that—here he is, at twenty eight years old, waking up with his two girls in his life that bring him all the joys of the world with just their smile. the girls in question, of course, being you—his wife—and your four year old daughter whose giggle greets him right by the door everyday he comes home.

atsumu thinks that this must be the kind of love people fight wars for. the love he found in you, even as years had come and passed, still feels like day one. it’s still you, he thinks to himself. because no one else has come close to making his heart skip all those beats he thinks it probably shouldn’t be skipping.

you’re the face he greets every morning, the lips he kisses that tastes like your favorite flavored coffee without fail, and the eyes that watch him with a specific sort of tenderness atsumu just knows he can spot from even a mile away.

so throughout the years, because your hand was always outstretched, he has no shame in taking it.

vulnerability wasn’t so daunting with you, he thinks. the formerly impossible is the frankly the daily scenario he lives nowadays.

and to think that he used to cry in isolation because of it before, atsumu laughs to himself. there was a certain level of intimacy, he thinks he’s learned to feel when it came to you. the first time he let himself go, it was after a lost game.

you sat next to him in the car, the both of you in silence and frankly a little unsure of which direction to steer the conversation in. the situation—it being shit—is here to stay, atsumu thinks. the fact of the matter that he lost and a second chance being in the horizon for him were low. and it’s frustrating, because loss is frustrating for that; his reality and the truth he tries so hard to push down was that he cared too goddamn much about the loss.

but because vulnerability was a stranger to him then, he chose not to cry. instead, he tapped at the steering wheel and messed with the settings on the gps for a seemingly infinite number of times before it was you who snapped and told him to quit being a fucking child and just cry if you’re so goddamn frustrated.

and like that hairline crack on the damn finally spreading, he breaks. he knew the cracks have been there this whole time, building up from the moment he missed his serve to the very last second where he couldn’t even receive the fucking ball.

“switch seats with me,” he hears you say and atsumu’s surprised that his shoulders didn’t flinch even if your demand did come out of the blue.

on the ride home, he watched the burnt orange sky roll past him slowly, eyes a little stung with tears, voice still sort of scratchy from crying, and body heavy and spent after realizing that he’s carried the weight of his world this whole time.

but he recalls the look on your face from that afternoon as clear as day. he remembers the feel of your eyes as you checked on him at every red light; the feel of your hand squeezing his still a comfort to his heart up till this very day.

because, atsumu thinks, to cry in front of another wasn’t a show of vulnerability or weakness.

it was a show of trust.

so ever since then, he ceased to hold back and just cried.

at your yes and “i do,” the two lines on the pregnancy test he rushed to the pharmacy for when it was eight in the morning and he was already thirty minutes late to work that day, and at the day he met his daughter.

because trust, is what he wants to win from her at some point in her life too. atsumu thinks that even as he cries in front of his daughter, from her little achievements to the big. the yucky boys that tried to touch the braids her mommy did for her, and her kindergarten graduate picture where she beamed with a smile that looked like yours and his despite one tooth still missing on the left side of the upper row.

you, atsumu thinks, is what gave him life and showed him the lessons he’s been denying himself of all those years ago. your daughter, on the other hand was what ignited the passion in him to go forth and show others life too.

and because atsumu is as much of a sap as osamu used to tease him for, he keeps the little memories in the forms of photographs and home videos.

her first word, your first smile on april 16th, the first time she stood on her own two little feet and walked towards you. atsumu thinks you can hear him sniffle from behind the camera in every video—but he doesn’t really care, truth be told.

because who wouldn’t? who wouldn’t cry if you had life’s greatest literally in front of you and yours?

“daddy why crying?” you hear your daughter ask out of the blue.

it’s a little over 9pm, an hour already past her bedtime, but the three of you are buckled in the car at the mcdonald’s parking lot a few minutes away from home instead. atsumu has a faraway look on his face, and the slight tremble of his lip gives away the fact that he’s probably on the brink of tears—again.

you snort, but choose to stay quiet. your daughter, seated in the back is wearing the queen elsa’s party dress your husband had bought for her just a few hours ago at the mall earlier. she could have cried for him then, insisting to change right then and there so the whole world could know she was a princess.

you, of course, said yes, but when she raised her little hands and demanded for her daddy—her king—to escort her and open the door to the car, you could already tell that some waterworks were to be expected tonight.

but it came a little early, you think to yourself, because the second she covered atsumu’s mouth at the counter as you ordered earlier and sounded out her orders of “chiccy nuggy and choccy milk,” atsumu’s first tear of the night streaked down his cheeks in the car that night.

“daddy isn’t crying,” he’s quick to tell her though, and your daughter hums in a way that tells him she isn’t exactly convinced.

“it okay to cry, though,” you hear her pipe from the back, followed by an exaggerated slurp of her chocolate milk.

“yeah, listen to your daughter,” you laugh.

atsumu shoots you an exasperated look through teary eyes, but it only fuels your laughter. just like that you’re struck with the thought that in this life, and in this now, you’ve never felt a love as grand and as nurturing as this. atsumu, next to you, takes out the tissues he’s been keeping in the car now and blows his nose, waving your daughter off who giggles in the back because of it.

“mommy take a videeeoooooo, daddy looks funny,” you hear her again, and you throw your head back and laugh a bit.

you know the memory on your phone is probably filled by now, but one more captured moment can’t hurt, right?

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selfindulgentfanfiction · 3 years

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What Can I Do? (William One Shot)

WARNING: CONTAINS MINOR SPOILERS OF LOVE UNHOLYC. Please be advised reading if you have not completed at least one route past day 7. I based this off of one of William’s side stories called “A Smiling Master and a Heartbroken Butler”. It isn’t relevant enough to the side story to be a spoiler for it.

Fandom: Love Unholyc Character(s): William and MC (unnamed and gender neutral) NSFW: No Description: Slight AU where even after spending 7 days with Sol, Leo, and Hi, MC still chooses William to be their partner for their Coming of Age ceremony. However, due to William losing his adult body during the day, he distances himself from MC and refuses the second time to be their partner.

“Master?” William knocked on MC’s door 3 times before opening the door. They always scolded him for not knocking, so William was doing as he was ordered; knocking. However, he never nailed the timing on when he should enter. MC was lucky he knocked in the first place, he humored.

William wasn’t expected for the sight in front of him.

The room was empty. No master in sight. Not only were they no where to be found, but the room was mysteriously picked up. All of MC’s dirty clothes were in the hamper and their gaming desk was free of any and all debris or food.

It wasn’t clean by any means, but it was suspiciously clean for his master.

William knew that MC was in their home 360 out of 365 days a year, but he felt panic swell in his chest. He was concerned for his master’s safety, but the thought of her with those humans made him feel even more insecure.

William’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out swiftly and almost dropped it. He cursed to himself before reading a message from his master.

MC: LIAM! MC: I’ll be home later. I have some things to do. MC: I know you haven’t been speaking to me much since you had to reverse time, but I understand.

William felt a tightness in his stomach at that. He didn’t know that MC noticed his distance, but even more so, he didn’t expect them to understand.

MC: Anyway, I picked everything up in my room. I ate before I left as well and I’ll eat before I get home, so don’t worry about making me anything. MC: I even braided my own hair today! You should be proud! (^-^) MC: Anyway, there’s no need to do anything today. Just take it easy, okay?~ MC: Oh, that’s an order from your master, by the way.

William stiffened. What was this? Why has his master done this? They’ve never done this before. William had so many questions that his head began to spin.

Then, he caught a glance of his reflection in the mirror. William clenched his fist at the sight in front of him.

The young boy in the mirror glowered back at William. He didn’t regret turning back time to save his master from Eater. He would do it a thousand more times. There was no price he wouldn’t pay for his master. He can’t help but wish that he paid any other price other than this one.

He was hundreds of years old, but during the day, he’s stuck in the body of his younger self. He also sacrificed half of his power when he turned back time. Due to his smaller stature, doing chores during the day was more difficult than ever. Keeping up with his master and a mansion in the state of his body was difficult work and often resulted in William cleaning well into the early hours of the morning. He would rest for a couple of hours before waking up to prepare MC’s breakfast. He complained out loud about how hard work has been, but he hadn’t expected his master to notice.

William looked around MC’s room. It was full of random items, all items he’d bought for them. He didn’t mind spoiling them. His master was unmatched as an Unholyc even if they didn’t realize it, managing to attract three partners on their first try for their Coming of Age ceremony. Out of all of the things they could be doing, his master plays games. He doesn’t think this is a bad thing. William’s brow furrowed at the memory of the humans. Leo, Sol, and Hi irritated him more than he could put into words.

William closed his eyes. He found the humans to be ungrateful and troublesome. He remembers how he came to be in charge of the 3 dogs.

-The day MC found their humans-

“Master, get up.” William pulled the comforter of the bed back to reveal a sleepy master, fighting him tooth and nail on getting out of bed.

“No!” MC fought, refusing to open their eyes. They rolled onto their side with a huff.

“You have to find a partner for your Coming of Age ceremony. Or, did you already forget? I swear, master. It’s like you intentionally stress me out.” William sighed. “Please, master. It’s time for breakfast and then the car will be ready for you.”

MC sniffled. Even though they weren’t facing William, he could tell they were frowning. “Why do I have to find a partner?” MC asks quietly. Their voice was laced with sleep and something else that William couldn’t place.

William did his best to hide the annoyance in his tone. “You have to in order to complete your ceremony. You have to have a ceremony to become a full fledged Unholyc. Do we need to have this lesson again?” William teased. He knew his master did not want to have that lesson again, but sometimes getting a rise out of them made them rise out of bed.

MC suddenly turned to face William. Their face was flushed and tears pricked the corners of their eyes. William’s eyes widened at them.

They looked angry at him.

“Why? Why do I need to go find a partner? Can’t Liam be my partner?” MC asked, brow furrowed.

Liam was completely taken aback by his master’s sudden boldness. He managed to open his mouth anyway.

“If my master commands it, I will be.”

MC’s face fell. “I see. Forget I said anything, then.” They got out of bed, refusing to meet William’s eye. “I’ll get ready. Please get out so I can change.”

William studied his master’s back before exiting, softly shutting the door behind him. He stood outside of their door for a few moments, gathering himself. He didn’t appreciate his master playing with his emotions like that. He didn’t want to hold out false hope of one day ending up with his master for eternity.

He didn’t want to be like that stupid butler of Shallotte’s, Pierce.

William sighed to himself. They probably only said that because they were too lazy to leave, and William was the easiest option for them since he lived with them already.

MC requested to eat in their room before they went to find their partner. William scolded them for eating meals in their room, however, it was just to mask how sore his chest felt. Truth be told, he didn’t want his master to find a partner. He wanted to be the only one to channel acme into them. He wanted to be their partner for her ceremony, and for their lives.

He wouldn’t admit this, however. He was fine being their butler forever, as long as he could remain by MC’s side.

No matter what, he just wants to be by their side. He won’t be selfish with his relationship with his master. He would only be selfish with being by their side. He told himself to never wish for more and kept the romantic feelings he had for his master buried as far as he could.

MC returned from their hunt for a partner with not only one, but three.

Not only three, but three humans.

William’s blood burned. Not only would be have to share his master, he would have to share them with three humans?

After they excused themselves to MC’s room, William quickly shut the door behind them. He couldn’t watch them channeling their acme into his master.

William’s gaze fell upon MC’s dresser. Before he had to reverse time, this had been where MC placed the gift he gave them on the day of their Coming of Age ceremony.

Even after spending 7 days with those humans, his master still chose him. After all of the hoops they jumped through for those humans, his master still chose him.

Liam sat on MC’s bed before curling himself up in her sheets. When he turned back time and realized what happened to his body, he couldn’t be their partner this time around. One of the humans would have to do it.

He couldn’t protect them like that anymore. He couldn’t provide for them in that way anymore.

Is that why they left today? Is that why they cleaned up after themselves? Were they preparing themselves for a life without William in it?

That must be why she chose the same three humans when he turned back time. They were choosing someone else they could spend eternity with.

-Coming of Age Ceremony-

Sol, Leo, and Hi held a gift out to MC. MC eyed all of them with surprise before tilting their head to the side. “For me?” They asked. All three of the men nodded.

“It’s your special day, my dear.” Leo piped up. “How could we not spoil you today? Especially with how cute you look!” Hi added. “After all you’ve done for us, it’s the least we could do for you, MC.” Sol finished.

William held a hand out in front of his master.

“You can only choose one gift today. Due to it being the day of your ceremony, you must choose the gift from whoever you want your partner to be for your ceremony. Choose one and make it quick.” William explained.

MC bit the inside of their cheek. They looked troubled. They were nervously fidgeting with their hands and shifting back and forth.

“Master.” William spoke up. “Just choose the one from whomever you like the best.”

“But-” MC started before stopping again. “How do I choose only one?”

“What does your heart say, master?” William asked them.

MC looked at William with tinted cheeks. “D- Did you get me a gift, Liam?”

William’s eyes widened along with the eyes of all three humans.

“I....” William trailed off. MC stared at them, urging him to continue. “....Did. I did get you a gift. However, it was a while back ago, since we’ve been waiting many years for this ceremony and all-”

“Please, can I have it?” MC cut him off. “I- I want you to be my partner. But only if you want to be my partner!” MC started fumbling over their words. “I didn’t want to order you to be my partner. I wanted you to want to be my partner.” They added softly. William barely picked up the last part. William began his ascent up the staircase.

“Excuse me for a moment.” He said over his shoulder.

William went to his room before grabbing the carefully wrapped gift. He’d gotten this for MC long ago and would re-wrap it every so often so that it still looked new. He didn’t think he would ever be giving this to them. He wasn’t going to hold back or allow MC to change their mind a second time.

William felt foolish. If he’d have just said yes to MC a week ago, he never would have had to deal with those humans. He never would have had to share his master with anyone. He wanted to make them happy over everything else, though. He didn’t know if they would be happy being his partner or if they were just scared to go find a new one.

Either way, he should have kept his mouth shut.

Descending back down the stairs, William gently took his master’s hand and led them away from the commotion and into the hallway. MC’s face was flushed and William couldn’t hold back his smile.

“Master,” William started, taking their hand in his. “In order for me to be your partner, we must first be under contract.”

MC’s eyes widened. They must have just come to this realization. “Oh!” They exclaim. “Is it okay to do it this late into my ceremony?”

“Considering all of the steps you’ve messed up this week, breaking one more rule shouldn’t make a difference. You know the magic words, master.” William guided MC to a chaise in the hallway and knelt down in front of them. “Bind me with a contract.”

After MC recited the magic words, William felt his entire body flooding with acme. Even though he’s a few hundred years old, this feeling was new. Acme was coursing through his veins as he gazed upon his master. He’s always loved his master without question, but this feeling was different than anything he’s felt before.

Lust. Protective. Adoration. Fear. Yearning. Love.

He understood why those humans would sacrifice themselves for his master after knowing them a short time. The admiration he was feeling toward his master was almost unbearable.

William took MC’s hand in his before planting a kiss on the back of their hand. When his lips met their skin, he began to let his acme pour from him.

“I, William, accept this contract to be MC’s partner.” He verbally signed his contract with his master before placing his lips back on their hand.

He was trying to hold back the best he could, but several years of pent up one-sided love was flowing out of him at an unstoppable speed. MC moaned, burying their face into their shoulder to muffle the sounds. William trailed his lips up MC’s arm, allowing his acme to pour into them with each kiss.

Wrist.

Forearm.

Bicep.

With one final kiss to the shoulder, William forces himself to pull back. His master’s face was flushed, mouth open as they were panting. William leaned up and placed his forehead onto MC’s.

“Liam.” They whined his name. It was music to his ears.

“Yes, master. I am here.”

“Liam?” MC gently shook William’s shoulder. He was sleep in their bed, glasses still on his face and hair disheveled. William’s eyes opened and fixed on the room around him. It was dark outside and he had grown into his adult body when he was napping.

“Master,” William called out to them softly. “What else can I do?”

MC’s eyebrows knitted together as they sat next to William on their bed. “What do you mean?”

William couldn’t help himself. He wrapped his arms around their waist and buried his face into their side.

“What else can I do so that you’ll want me to stay?” He asked them. He felt his chest swelling with each passing second, waiting for them to tell him to leave their room, waiting for them to yell at him in disgust.

However, to William’s surprise, MC smiled softly at him.

“Did you spend your entire day off in here?” They asked him softly, smoothing his hair down with their fingers. William’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment at the contact but he forced himself to look MC in the eye before nodding. When he snapped out of his daze, his eyes narrowed.

“Day off?” He questioned. He raised his eyebrows at them when he finally registered what they were saying.

“Yes, your day off. What did you think today was? I told you to relax!” They scold him playfully, poking him in the side with their finger.

“So, you were trying to give me a break?” William attempted to get clarification. He was just wallowing in self pity all day for potentially nothing.

MC sighed at him. “I know how hard it’s been adjusting to your body. You’ve looked after me for so long now, and I’m sorry I haven’t been looking after you as well.”

William felt a lump develop in his throat. He tried to swallow.

“You don’t have to do that, master.” William stated. “It’s my job to look after you.”

“True, but it’s my job as someone who loves you to notice when you’re struggling and take some of the burden off.” MC stated back. William’s eyes widened at his master, staring at them with a mix of wonder and admiration for a moment before composing himself.

“I know you’re holding back because of the circumstances, but I will always love you.” MC continued. “I’m going to work hard this week to try and help you get your body back. We will find a way. Then, I want Liam to be my partner again.”

William’s grip tightened on his master.

“I will always be master’s butler. So please, never stop needing me.” He mumbled into their side. “I love you, MC. Let me stay by your side.”

MC rubbed his back affectionately. “And master will always be Liam’s master.”

#love unholyc #love unholyc william #love unholyc fanfiction #love unholyc fluff #love unholyc one shot #william x mc #william x reader #william fluff #william love unholyc

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archonanqi · 4 years

Text

fragile as dust / 12 - smile

a/n: Please let me know if you’d like to be added to a taglist for this story. Thank you all for the kind comments! ;-; @fishyfish-y @writingmi @just-some-stars @kawaiitinybunny @juhlydrawsblog @cherryvane @kaenyas @loadingrat

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ch 11 | dreameater

For a minute or so, you stared at the dragon’s tooth. Reached out to touch it, every scratch and indentation on its smooth surface exactly the same as you remembered. You ran your finger around the blackened, charred ring around it, remembering how you had plunged the tooth into the blazing shield of fire, how the Abyss Mage had screamed.

You winced at the memory of the past… day? Two days? You weren’t sure how long you had slept, and each time you tried to call upon any memories, your head hurt terribly.

“Zhongli,” you barely managed to whisper.

As though he had been waiting just outside your room, the door swung open almost immediately. Zhongli strode in, though the relief you felt at his presence was quickly overshadowed by the fear of what you’d done, of how he might punish you for it. “Hansi,” he said, voice carefully composed as always, but you had known him just long enough to pick out a slightly different note of— worry? “You slept for two days.”

“Oh no, I missed work,” you deadpanned, desperate to dredge even the smallest of smiles from Zhongli. Zhongli’s frown didn’t even quaver. The very idea of Zhongli being annoyed at you sent chills down your spine. Just then, a memory came back to you, and suddenly, you were desperate for something else. “OH— work… Xiangling—!” You tried to throw back the covers to stand up, but the sudden movement sent hot and cold chills through your veins and almost sent you retching over the side of the bed.

“When you mentioned Qingxin,” Zhongli said. “I knew at once that she wasn’t bringing you to Cuijie. That girl knows the flora and fauna of Liyue almost better than I.” You remembered his slight unease the morning you left, that odd exchange that you thought nothing more of.

Of course, Zhongli would have known the whole time; how foolish of you to think you could keep anything from his calculating gaze.

“But what reason would she have had to lie?” Zhongli continued, “and so, though I did not want to intrude upon your expedition, I paid Jueyun Karst a visit with Chef Mao when you two did not return. We found her halfway up the mountain.”

“Is she— is she okay now?” You could barely bear to hear the answer, “I need to go and see her.”

“I don’t believe you’ll be able to go anywhere in your current state,” These were stronger words than you’d ever heard Zhongli utter at you, and it finally snapped you out of your haze of panic. Blinking the sleep from your eyes, you noticed his stiff posture, his slightly furrowed brow, and felt a pang of guilt. You had acknowledged that he might worry over your disappearance, but not to such a degree.

“If it puts you at ease,” Zhongli started, “I visited Xiangling this morning. Dr. Baizhu personally saw to her, and she is well on her way to recovery. She was similarly distraught about you, and she mentioned that you tried to hold off the monster on your own for her sake. Is this true?”

You nodded.

“Admirable,” Zhongli said, and you noted that his voice had not lost its edge, “if not extremely rash. You could not have known what a powerful artifact the tooth was, though it is partly my fault for not explaining it to you. If I had not shown up when I did—”

You blurted the first thing you were sure of. “I’m sorry for putting you in danger.”

Zhongli let out an audible breath, and shook his head. When he next spoke, his voice was tinged in disbelief. “To think that after everything, that’s your takeaway from this? What you and Xiangling did was incredibly dangerous. I believe that I’ve made more than clear to you, how dangerous Jueyun Karst is to mortals.”

“I’m sorry,” you said again, the guilt rearing its head in the pits of your stomach..

Sighing softly, Zhongli held your gaze. “Though, I also miscalculated. Xiangling would have been able to handle no less than a Mitachurl; perhaps even a Lawachurl, but these intelligent creatures — Abyss Mages? It’s quite troubling that they’ve begun to appear in Liyue, so soon after Rex Lapis’ departure.”

“Did you kill it?” You couldn’t help but ask, though you already knew the answer.

Zhongli fixed his unflinching gaze on you. “Yes.”

You had already held the evidence of its death in your hands — there was no way the creature had given up the dragon’s tooth without a fight — but still, the truth was like a slap to the face. You had scarcely been able to escape from it with your life, and yet Zhongli... You glanced him up and down. Zhongli didn’t look so much as shaken from the confrontation.

“It was a hazard to Liyue. And it had threatened you,” he added, taking your awe for confusion. “Similar monsters have been growing in rank and number… Even the Adepti are on high guard, it seems, if Mountain— if one of them has started trapping civilians. Though Xiangling can fight, I’m afraid that the situation may be too much for you to handle right now. I would ask that you limit your ventures to Liyue Harbor—”

You couldn’t stand the heavy tension of the room, couldn’t bear the thought that Zhongli might be angry at you. He had made no move to approach you, standing his usual, respectable distance away from your bedside, but anger— anger always meant someone got hurt, and usually, it was you.

Quickly, you opened your mouth to swear that yes, yes of course, anything you want, I’ll never leave again, but Zhongli held up his hand to stop you. “Think carefully before making any promises to me. Are you content with staying within the harbor for the rest of your life, Hansi?”

You hesitated. He was right. Going on ingredient hunts and seeing the beautiful mountains of Liyue had been the time of your life. You wanted to go further, wider. To see every bit that the world had to offer. And more than anything, you wanted to do it— with Zhongli.

“I will ask you one last time, then,” Zhongli said, “ do you wish to learn how to fight ?”

You couldn’t help but glance at the drawer where your Vision was, quickly dragging your gaze back to him and hoping he had not noticed. You swallowed. Yes, yes , you did. And what better teacher for your Geo Vision than Zhongli?

He had just saved your life. The least you could do was trust him with it.

Before you could respond, you were interrupted by a loud rapping at the front door.

“Just a moment, please,” Zhongli called in response. When he turned back, his expression had softened. “I… may have been too harsh. I hope you can understand that my words are borne only from concern for your well-being. How are you feeling?”

Like you had just been hit over the head with a large wooden pole, but the last thing you wanted to do was worry Zhongli more. “A lot better than two nights ago,” you smiled, hoping to ease his concern, but it came out a little more like a grimace.

“I see. You had quite a fever last night, so I requested a home visit from Bubu Pharmacy. It looks like they’re finally here. Please wait a moment.” It seemed as though Zhongli was back to his usual self, sweeping out of the room in all his regal valor. You heard him open the front door and greet whomever was there. A doctor? You grimaced at the thought of some strange man touching your body. But for Zhongli’s peace of mind, you would endure.

Finally, Zhongli returned. You looked around for the doctor— then down. A young girl, whose brow reached around Zhongli’s knees, wobbled in, holding a basket that seemed to weigh more than herself. Under her little hat was tucked a paper talisman; the kind you’d find plastered on the dead.

“Hello. Qiqi is a zombie,” she said by way of introduction. “Nice to meet you.”

—-

You stared at her, then Zhongli, wondering why he had just let a literal child wander into his house.

At the bewilderment on your face, Zhongli stepped in to explain. “Qiqi is from Bubu Pharmacy. She is indeed a zombie, though her story is perhaps one better told another time. Rest assured that she is more than qualified to treat any mortal illness. Qiqi, this is whom I was telling you about. I believe she might have a fever—”

“This room is cold,” Qiqi murmured, siddling closer to your bedside. She dug around in her basket and produced a waterskin. “Good for Qiqi, not good for a fever. Please close the window and fill this with hot water.”

“Of course,” Zhongli nodded, rushing to comply. After he left, Qiqi merely continued like she had not just ordered Zhongli around in his own house. The way she peered at you was so intent that it made you squirm, and each time she put her hand against your skin, it was so cold that you could barely resist, out of politeness, the urge to jump.

“How did you get sick.” Qiqi asked. For a moment, her voice was so monotone that you hadn’t realized it was a question. You scrambled to answer, cheeks flushing warm.

“I was… climbing a tall mountain and got caught in the rain.”

“Hmm,” she said, “not good. Bring an umbrella next time.”

“I will,” you promised quickly, watching as she produced a large wad of paper from her basket — how many things did she have in there? — and began scribbling, just as Zhongli returned with a filled waterskin and a glass of warm water. The warmth of the glass against your skin was heavenly, and you quietly sipped the drink while waiting for Qiqi to finish her writing.

“Mr. Zhongli,” she said, tugging at his sleeve for his attention. Zhongli all but bent down to meet her at eye level. “Mr. Zhongli’s wife will be okay.”

It was all you could do to keep the water inside your mouth when you choked.

“Hansi is my friend,” Zhongli corrected, gently.

Qiqi peered up at Zhongli, then at you — wrapped in what were clearly three layers of his clothing — then back at Zhongli. “Mr. Zhongli’s friend will be okay,” she amended, rifling so furiously through her papers that you were worried she would tear the pages. “She must rest for...three days. And eat wet things.” The girl squinted more closely at her notebook. “Hm. No. I meant, drink more fluids,” she amended, going right back to her scribbling. You peeked at it, but couldn’t understand a word she had written — was she drawing a flower?

Finally, she ripped the page off with surprising gusto and handed it to Zhongli, who had to once again bend down to reach her little hands. “Here is a prescription for huang’lian medicine. For the fever.” The little girl said, thumbing through her pages. “I can also prescribe Windwheel Aster syrup. But Windwheel Asters can only be found in… Mondstadt... It can cost a lot.”

“How much?”

Qiqi went completely still as she thought about it. It was a little unnerving. At last, she reached a conclusion. “One million mora.”

To your horror, Zhongli nodded. “That is acceptable,” he said. “Please give us three bottles.” You didn’t even know what to begin to say to that — you knew already that he was hopeless when it came to haggling, but three million mora was an unthinkable amount. And more ridiculously, spent on someone like you? Before you could protest, Qiqi shook her head.

“No. I will not charge Mr. Zhongli so much. Three thousand mora will be fine.”

“Won’t you get into trouble with Dr. Baizhu, my dear Qiqi?” Zhongli asked.

“Hm. I don’t care what Baizhu says,” Qiqi frowned, “Mr. Zhongli has helped me many times.”

“Well then, I will accept your offer of generosity. On behalf of Wangsheng Funeral’s accountants, thank you, Qiqi.”

“I will also prescribe... gu’fen . It will help her wrist recover faster... Oh, no.” Qiqi sighed so heavily her little body shook. “Never mind. We are out of bones.”

“ Gu’fen - powdered bones?” Zhongli asked. “What kind do you need?”

“Geovishap will work best, although hatchlings will also be okay.”

“Very well,” Zhongli said, heading for the door without a moment’s hesitation. “Please give me a few minutes.”

“Two will be enough,” Qiqi called after him, barely lifting her gaze from her notebook.

You heard the front door open and shut. “Did he—” you glanced at Qiqi, then out the window, where the unmistakable silhouette of Zhongli was striding off towards the mountains north of the harbor. You knew what Geovishaps were, Zhongli had told you of their story: descendants of the King of Dragons that had long been sealed beneath the earth by Rex Lapis. “Did Mr. Zhongli just leave to go hunt vishap bones? Is he safe?”

“Yes. He is strong,” Qiqi stated matter-of-factly. “Mr. Zhongli could not fulfill his contract… for Cocomilk… So Mr. Zhongli helps when Qiqi gather herbs... in Jueyun Karst.”

Cocomilk? Zhongli had… fudged a contract? You wanted to ask her to elaborate, but another tidbit of information caught your attention. It was undeniable, then, that Zhongli could come and go safely within Jueyun Karst. You shuddered as you remembered how overwhelmingly powerful the Adepti had been. How could Zhongli willingly set foot in there, and how can he do so unharmed? A distant memory arose, something about him… karst crawlers… protection?

Qiqi was tapping on your leg for attention, so you quickly shook yourself free of your ponderings. You could revisit them later. “Sorry. Yes, Qiqi?”

“I asked,” Qiqi said, “do you need contraceptive medicine? I can prescribe...”

“ What ?”

“Please do not be alarmed,” Qiqi said calmly, severely misunderstanding your almost-scream. “This is part of life. As a pharmacist of Bubu Pharmacy, I am able to prescribe—”

“No,” you said quickly, very quickly, “No, we really are just friends.” The word tasted sweet on your tongue. Friend — Zhongli’s friend.

“Hm, okay,” Qiqi responded, blinking upwards at you with clear magenta eyes, and though there was no inflection in her tone, you could almost hear the incredulity. “Where did you get these injuries?”

You debated lying, but she was looking up at you with such seriousness that you couldn’t find it in yourself to. “Mount Hulao,” you admit with a hint of remorse. “I went there with a friend… we both got badly hurt. It was a bad idea. I don’t remember much, other than that.”

“Baizhu was called to treat Miss Xiangling yesterday. She was your friend?” Qiqi thoughtfully waited for you to nod. “You were… also sealed in the amber? It can cause memory loss. Sweetflower tea will help... with the headaches.”

You wanted to ask how she knew about the headaches, how she knew about the amber, but the look in her eyes was answer enough. For the adepti to harm such a small child— in the pits of your stomach, you felt such a hot surge of anger that you surprised yourself. Qiqi’s small hands rested on yours, her big, earnest eyes staring right into you.

“Hmm,” she repeated, “not good. Bring Mr. Zhongli next time.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle. “I will,” you promised once more, jokingly. “Though I’m not sure how I’ll fit all that muscle into my backpack—” You trailed off at the inquisitive look on Qiqi’s face. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Just friends,” she commented shortly.

“We are just friends!” you cried, stopping yourself quickly as you heard the front door swing open. A few minutes, just as Zhongli had promised. And slung over his back was a sizable sack, bulging with what you knew were dozens of bones.

“Two was enough,” Qiqi murmured as Zhongli placed the sack before her. There was no way the girl was lugging that back to the pharmacy , you thought, just as Qiqi carefully lifted it with one hand. By the Archons, what were they feeding the pharmacists at Bubu?

“I thought it would be best to err on the safe side,” Zhongli replied, “please do put any leftovers to good use at the pharmacy. And also,” he said, pulling out a vibrant strand of violetgrass from his coat, “this is for you, my dear Qiqi.”

Qiqi’s expression did not waver, but you thought that she looked just a little pleased as Zhongli tucked the flowers into her hat.

“Okay.” Qiqi said, handing Zhongli the last pieces of paper from her notebook. “Please come and collect your prescriptions tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you, Qiqi,” Zhongli answered, helping to hold the door open as the girl wobbled her way back out as unsteadily as when she came. “Have a good evening.” When he returned to stand by your bedside, you carefully eyed him. There was a smear of dirt on his left sleeve, but otherwise, it looked like he had just returned from a walk at the harbor — not from battle.

“Are you hurt, Mr. Zhongli?” You asked.

“Hmm?” He blinked, then absently said, “ah. The Geovishaps? Not at all. They are quite easy to combat, once you learn of their weaknesses.” You wondered how many he’d fought; how many things he had killed in his life, that fighting ferocious monsters was barely an ordeal of note for him.

More importantly, he had done it for you. Had been willing to pay three million Mora for your well-being. You found yourself blinking back tears once again; you would not let anyone see you cry.

“Thank you, Mr. Zhongli.” You said, and you hoped that he would understand all that you meant by it.

“Of course, Hansi. Though, before I forget, I do have a question,” he said, reaching into his coat and producing a chunk of Cor Lapis, “when I found you at Mount Hulao, you were gripping this like your life depended on it. Is this what you went there for? Why?”

Oh. The flush in your cheeks burned red hot, and you scrambled for a lie — any lie. Nothing came to mind. Finally, under his scrutinizing gaze, you withered and told him the foolish truth with slumped shoulders: “it was meant to be a gift for you, Mr. Zhongli. It’s probably… it’s probably nothing compared to the one from your friend.” You could barely lift your head to look him in the eye, and you were vaguely aware that you had begun to ramble. “But it’s the only one I could find. I ended up causing you more trouble in the end, I’m sorry.”

“Goodness,” Zhongli said, his voice thick with emotion for the first time that you’d heard. You glanced at him in surprise, but his face betrayed nothing as always.

Zhongli held the Cor Lapis up to the light, looking at it carefully. After a terribly long pause, his gaze fell back on you. “This is one of the clearest, most luminous pieces of Lapis I’ve seen in my life. Thank you for going to such lengths to get me this, Hansi.”

Your relief at his lack of anger and your pride at his praise was nothing, absolutely nothing compared to the way your heart fluttered warmly at the bright smile on his face.

“Though of course, I would have appreciated such a precious gift regardless.” Zhongli continued, walking to the door. “Now, I must ask that you rest for a little while, as per Qiqi’s orders. Will you be alright alone? Please call my name if you need anything at all—”

You were only half-listening. It wasn’t fair, how his smile could wrench the air right out of your lungs.

—-

A memory:

“There it is again, that infamous frown,” the young woman waved her hands, her billowing sleeves whipping about in the howling gales of Qingyun Peak. “Why do you never smile, Morax?”

“What is there to smile about?” he asked truthfully, because he had long since stopped trying to decipher her odd mannerisms. Below them, underneath the clouds, the war raged on.

“What is there to—?” She exhaled in exaggerated exasperation, throwing her arms out to the wind. “The birds in the trees! The clouds in the sky! It didn’t rain today for the first time in weeks, so we made it all the way up here to watch the sunset! Do none of these things mean anything to you?”

“Yet when night falls, we will once again have to fight.” His fingers twitched around empty space, every moment he wasn’t holding his polearm — at her request — almost painful. He detested being in this form, but it was cold in the mountains, and his adepti form would do little to help him with temperature regulation. “We should return soon. I hear that Osial has been rallying his forces for another attack, and we were barely able to fend off the last one.”

She sighed, and he knew that meant he had disappointed her — though he did not know how.

“Morax,” she breathed, barely audible over the wind. “What will it take to make you smile? Tell me, and I’ll do it. A contract. That’s the only kind of thing you understand, right?”

That, he did. “When the war is over,” he answered. She was leaning precariously over the edge of the cliff, and it brought about some strange, foreign feeling deep in his gut — something different to the wounds and scars he was used to. “And our people are safe from the threat of strife and war.”

A brief pause. She showed no sign of getting down from where she was standing, and in fact, had gotten on her tiptoes. “You might fall,” he warned.

“You promise? You promise that once the war is over, you’ll try to smile more?”

“You have my word,” he swore. He did not understand her intentions even a little, but promises? Those he knew better than life itself. Something so trivial as a smile seemed scarcely worthy of a contract. But it seemed important to her, and so he would honor it. “You should step away from the edge. You might fall,” he repeated.

“Oh, but you’ll catch me, won’t you?” Her pale hair whipped about in the wind, framing a wide, bright grin. There was a twinkle in her eye that he, unfortunately, knew all too well.

“Guizhong, don’t—“ he said, rushing forward, but it was too late. She tipped backwards, disappearing into the clouds below, just as his arms closed around empty wind. Muttering a series of ancient curses he thanked the heavens that Ganyu wasn’t here to hear, he leapt after her.

The transformation always hurt a little, though after meeting Guizhong (and her incomprehensible insistence that he stay in human form when in front of human children) he changed forms so often that he barely even noticed anymore. He relished the sting as lithic claws, scales and fangs tore their way out of his deplorably soft human flesh— and then, he was free to rip through the clouds and wind. Frightening and powerful, as he should be.

As he had to be.

It was not hard to locate Guizhong, especially not with the way she’d gleefully screamed all the way down. He angled himself right under her, bracing for the impact, and she landed squarely on his back with an exhilarated squeak.

“Wasn’t that fun, Morax?” She clambered up towards his head as they tore through the skies. He could feel each of her warm fingers gripping his horns tightly. “No? Still no smile?”

“What?” He growled. “You could have died.”

“You wouldn’t have let that happen,” she waved it off, “though you did let me hit a few more trees than necessary on the way down, didn’t you?”

He didn’t dignify that with an answer.

“Fine,” he could hear the pout in her voice. “When the war ends, I want to see a huuuuge smile from you, alright?”

“I already gave you my word.”

There was silence for a moment.

“Well, that is, if I’m there to see it,” she laughed lightly. “Not everyone is as big and strong and scary as you, Morax.”

There it was again, that feeling — a dull blade that pressed deep into his lungs, his stomach, his heart. Fear? No. The God of War and Contracts did not know fear.

“Of course you will. We will both be there to see this to its end.”

—-

At the end of the war, when he finally felt the searing power of the divine settle within him, Morax stood alone.

Mountains of bodies, bones picked clean by birds and sinew laid to claim by beasts, surrounded him for as far as the eye could see.

Guizhong was not among them, for she had been killed years and years ago.

He felt his lip curl into — something. It fell a little short of a smile.

—-

Outside of your room, Zhongli leaned his head against the cool wood of the doorframe, and steadied his breathing. Carefully, he placed back into his coat the Cor Lapis that you had gotten him; that you had almost died trying to get him.

How ironic, that even after exactly three thousand, seven hundred and twelve years, two months and eighteen days, he still found himself scrambling to protect someone who seemed to lack all sense of self preservation, and who surprised him to no end.

Guizhong had not been strong enough to fend off those who sought to claim her life, but you could be — if only you’d show him what you were hiding in the drawers by your bed. He could feel its resonance, each time he entered your room — the Vision he had given you; a reminder of the strength that you could use, to fight back, to protect yourself.

Guizhong had not been strong enough.

A breath in, a breath out. Zhongli closed his eyes.

He would not make the same mistake again.

#zhongli #zhongli x reader #zhongli fanfic #genshin #genshin fanfic #fragile as dust #my writing #anqi writes

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hale-13 · 3 years

Text

Conditioned

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 16 - Touch Starved

“Can I take a shower?” Peter blurted out, shifting uncomfortably. He felt gross from the dried sweat and the bloody residue that was left on his scalp and around his hair line felt the intense need to get cleaned - broken arm be damned.

Words: 2084, Chapters: 1/1 (Complete), Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Helen Cho

TW: Literally None - Just Fluff

Read on AO3 or below the line break.

“Well Peter, I see no reason why you should have to stay here any longer as long as you promise to actually rest and allow yourself to heal,” Helen said firmly but with a smile toward him and Peter nearly sagged with obvious relief.

“Oh thank god,” he said he’d, already struggling in his attempts to climb out of the MedBay bed he had been sentenced to since the day before with some help from Tony. He flinched a little as he tweaked his sore arms, moving the wrong way, but trying to keep his muscles as relaxed as possible to prevent any further damage. His recovery is going to be annoying enough as it is without making it worse.

In his most recent fight against the Shocker the night before, he had caught a direct hit on his right arm which had successfully and cleaning broken his radius and ulna in two. In his haste to get away and then catch himself on a poorly shot strand of webbing he had dislocated his left shoulder. The pain had been so stunning he had barely been able to finish webbing up Shocker and get away before the police showed up.

It probably didn’t do much to help the injuries when he had swung back to the Tower but he had been numb and delirious by that point so he probably wasn’t really thinking straight. He does remember Tony not being super impressed with him when he nearly passed out as soon as he landed.

“I’m serious about resting,” Dr. Cho warned him as she helped him settle his, still sore and recently reduced, arm into a sling. “You need to take it easy for at least another few days or you’ll risk re-injury and possibly surgery.”

“Oh that shouldn’t be a problem,” Tony said breezily. “I have no problem cuffing him to a bed if I have to.”

“Mr. Stark,” Peter whined, trying to stand and balance without using either of his arms – it was much harder than he thought it would be – and already trying to edge toward the door. Tony just quirked up an eyebrow at him.

“Your aunt, definitely against her better judgement and with an amazing amount of misplaced trust, is letting you stay here with me so you don’t get into any more trouble during your convalescence so if you could just work with me for a couple of days here that would be much appreciated,” he told Peter very pointedly with a final wave at Helen as he herded Peter toward the elevator at the end of the hall.

Peter just rolled his eyes at his mentors dramatics but allowed himself to be directed – to tell the absolute truth, his arms still hurt pretty badly and he wasn’t really looking forward to his oral painkillers (that made him sleepy and emotional) and his anti-inflammatories (that made him into a right bastard if he was being honest) and trying to convince Tony that he didn’t need either. He wasn’t super confident about his success rate with that. “Can I take a shower?” He blurted out, shifting uncomfortably. He felt gross from the dried sweat and the bloody residue that was left on his scalp and around his hair line.

“You know that you can’t get your cast wet,” Tony reminded him holding up a hand when Peter opened his mouth to interrupt. “I mean, I suppose I can wrap it in a bag or something if you really want to shower that bad.”

“Yes please,” Peter eagerly agreed. Ever since the Bite all of his senses had been more sensitive but none more so than his sense of smell and he wasn’t a particularly big fan of the fact that he could currently smell himself. It made his skin crawl and was completely disgusting.

“Alright then,” Tony nodded. “Shower first and then a movie marathon slash prescribed nap directly after. Do we have a deal then Mr. Parker?”

“Only if we can get pizza for dinner later,” Peter bartered as the elevator opened up on Tony’s floor of the compound. “With pineapple this time,” he continued with a wrinkled nose, “the olives you got last time were disgusting!”

“You have astonishingly terrible taste but yes fine. Pizza later.” Tony nodded, herding both of them into the kitchen with a single-minded determination. The Wal-Mart and cling wrap cast protection apparatus Mr. Stark rigged together left a fair amount to be desired in the looks department but was completely functional when it came to water-proofing which was good enough for Peter.

It took some skill to slip away from his mentor but Peter was soon slipping into his room, struggling to get out of the sling on his own and finally succeeding. It made him wince from the extra pain it caused but it didn’t overshadow the relief of doing it on his own. He knew his limits from previous dislocations and knew that it was crucial to not overdue it while the joint was healing or he risked the chance of re-injury and, as Dr. Cho had reminded him earlier, surgery.

With a grimace, Peter rested that arm across his stomach and used his bagged up right arm to pull his shirt over his head. He was barely able to manage it when it pulled at his sore muscles and broken bones. Maybe he should use a button down or zippered hoodie instead.

Thanks to FRIDAY (bless her seriously), the water of his shower was already running and warmed up to his preferred setting of skin melting and he was quick to turn his back into the spray and luxuriate under it for an extended time. The high pressured water felt amazing on his back and shoulders, loosening up the knots and clenched muscles and providing relief.

“You doing okay in there kid? You drown yet?” Tony asked, knocking on the door and indiscernible amount of time later and knocking Peter out of his stupor.

“I’m good!” Peter called back, hurriedly reaching out for his body wash and cloth painfully and cleaning himself up to the best of his – limited – ability. By the time he was ready to wash his hair and hairline he felt exhausted and achy despite the excellent water pressure and all the good work it and the heat had done to relieve the pain in his shoulder and back. “Fuck,” he cursed, trying to lift his arm above chest level and spectacularly failing, finding himself unable to without making his muscles seize.

Peter was pretty bendy due to his powers so he attempted a couple different contortions to reach his head before just flat out giving up, turning off the water and taking his towel off the heated towel rack installed in the bathroom (rich people – seriously). It took longer than Peter cared to admit, but he was able to dry and dress himself in sweats and a zippered hoodie. He was even able to shuck the bag off his cast with little struggle so he was feeling pretty decent when he ventured into the living room with his hair sopping wet and dripping onto his shoulders since he wasn’t able to adequately dry it. Whatever. It would dry on its own eventually.

“And what’s all this supposed to be?” Tony asked, glancing up from his phone and wrinkling his nose but not moving from where he was leaned against the counter in the kitchen. “Why are you dripping all over my floor?”

Peter fought off a blush and tried to hunch his shoulders, stopping when it hurt. “I couldn’t reach up to get my hair,” he grumbled, failing to completely push down his blush.

“I guess that explains all the blood still caked in there,” Tony hummed, leaning over to move the dampened curls around to look at the blood still matting some of his hair together and crusting up around his scalp. “Well that’s pretty easily remedied. Welcome to the salon Underoos,” Tony said, pulling over one of the barstools and setting it in front of the kitchen sink, gesturing for Peter to sit.

“Uh… what?” Peter questioned, brows furrowing in confusion.

“I’ll wash your hair for you,” Tony clarified, looking pointedly between Peter and the stool again. “Just sit down while I go and grab some things!” And, with that, he took off in the direction of the bedrooms and associated en suites.

Peter, still pretty confused but (mostly) trusting his mentor, sat down unsteadily on the stool just as Tony came back around the corner with an armful of towels, shampoo and conditioner bottles along with a wide-toothed comb and an expensive looking hair dryer. He triumphantly arranged everything on the counter next to the deep sink and wrapped one of the towels around Peter’s neck. “Lean back buddy,” Tony said, using a finger to push on the center of Peter’s forehead until he gave in and let himself be pushed back to lean back with his head in the sink.

Doing his best to ignore the weirdness of it all (weirdness was pretty common around Tony Stark after all), Peter closed his eyes and crossed his arms across his stomach as the water turned on. He tensed up a little when he felt fingers start dragging through his hair but was quick to relax and release the tension in his body under the careful massage of his mentor’s hands through his hair and the warm water cascading across his scalp. He let out a little hum of contentment.

Tony let out a soft chuckle, squirting a healthy dollop of the shampoo into his hands and lathering it up before applying it to Peter’s hair, working through the snarls and tangles with care and scrubbing the leftover blood out of the curls. Peter went nearly boneless under his ministrations and Tony would definitely be lying if he said he didn’t milk the washing and conditioning portion at least a little bit. He knew that Peter had to be feeling pretty miserable and it settled something buried deep inside him to provide just a little extra comfort.

All too soon, though, he had rinsed out the last of the conditioner leaving Peter’s hair clean and dripping as he turned off the water. Peter made no move to get up or to open his eyes, breathing deeply and seemingly on the very verge of sleep, so Tony grabbed one of the towels and started to wring the extra water out of the kid’s hair, running the towel through it cautiously. “Just need you to sit up for a second here kiddo okay? Then you can nap, scout’s honor.”

Peter grunted and grumbled but did slit his eyes open and let Tony help him sit up, swaying back and forth and little on the stool and Tony ran the towel through his hair a couple more times to really get rid of the water as much as possible. He dropped the towel on the counter in exchange for the comb and the hair dryer. He ran the comb through the mess a few times before starting the hair dryer up. Peter practically melted as the warmed air fluffed up his curls. It didn’t take long to dry at all and, by the time he was done, Peter was listing forward nearly into Tony’s chest.

“Couch or bed buddy?” Tony asked with a fond smile, running his hands through Peter’s warmed and clean hair.

“Couch,” Peter muttered, leaning into his petting and making Tony’s chest warm up. This kid… god. He ended up supporting most of Peter’s weight but was able to quickly get him lying face down on the supple cushions with his head pillowed on one of the throw pillows resting on Tony’s lap, the ratty fleece blanket Tony kept draped over they back of the couch draped over him and a heating pad resting across his healing shoulder.

“Let’s start a Star Wars marathon FRI. Volume at thirty percent,” FRIDAY was quiet as she dimmed the lights and started the movie, the familiar logo and music making Peter relax even further into the couch, completely gone. As the opening theme ended and the camera panned to the shots of Leia’s ship, he felt Mr. Stark’s hand rest on his back, digging into the knotted muscles of his back.

It maybe wasn’t ideal to mess up his arms so much but, Peter thought, he couldn’t think of a better way to spend his recovery.

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump16 #Prompt: Touch Starved #irondad #spider man #Summer of Whump 2021

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binniedeactivated · 4 years

Text

The King’s Princess. ||soobin 💦

╰─▸🖤❝ @[𝒃𝒖𝒈𝒔𝒃𝒊𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒚𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒈.. ] ✎𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: ��𝒐𝒐𝒃𝒊𝒏 𝒙 𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒌!𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍 ✎ 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: 𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒃𝒃𝒍𝒆,𝒔𝒎𝒖𝒕¡ ✎ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕; 2.3𝒌

[@𝒃𝒖𝒈𝒔𝒃𝒊𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒆] 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒈𝒆𝒅 𝒐𝒇𝒇…

-ˏˋ🖋“𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅𝒏'𝒕 𝒃𝒆 𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒆𝒓, 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒉𝒆?”. ˎˊ-

“we don’t want to hear it anymore soobin. you’re going to be arranged with someone rich, sweet, skinny and pretty. and that’ll be the end of it”. her sweet yet sassy tone flared among the walls of the house, voice fluttering with beauty yet her tongue was sharper than razor blades. As the Queen it was her every right to be. A frown flickered at her vibrant red lips and her bright brown eyes burned holes into her son’s face.

“mother I just think things should be different”. soobin argued back, shifting his food to multiple sides of his platinum plate. they were all having their nightly feast at the lengthy dinner table, the butlers coming back and forth with servings and refills for drinks. his father straightened his hankerchief in a serious manner, dabbing the corner of his lips like so.

“you cannot always get what you want soobin”. he reminds in his usual monotone.

“that’s for damn sure”. yeonjun muttered just before picking up the wine glass to sip from. he always hated how his younger brother acted when it came to the monarch. almost as if the world revolved around him and him only.

soobin shoots his brother a frustrating look, “no one is talking to you hyung”.

“don’t talk to your older brother like that”. his mother quickly reprimanded. “why don’t you be more like him anyway? even your younger brothers have more self control than you”.

soobin glances at a silent Beomgyu, taehyun, and kai and rolls his eyes. their suits hugging their smaller frames in a way that made them look much more sophisticated than the average teenagers. he hated when she said that. hated it to the fullest. he always had a pocketed feeling that she favored his brothers more than him anyway.

always the pocketed feeling that she wished the second born son was never required to inherit the throne.

almost as if she’d rather have yeonjun take his place instead.

soobin breathes, “I just don’t understand why I can’t just become king and participate in arranged marriage after. I don’t need a wife in order to be king”.

his father glares at him in the midst of his chews of his roasted chicken, “and what are you without a woman by your side soobin? you cannot make all decisions on your own. A woman can see and detect things that most men can’t. without that intuition what would that make of you?”.

“i can make wise decisions without a woman”.

and with that not only did his parents scoff but sparks of laughter was passed around the whole table. soobin just wanted to throw a plate at both of the youngers for even participating in this mess.

“what are the both of you laughing at?”. he addresses clutching his fork in his balled fist.

“hyung you can barely even wake up on your own for school in the morning. what makes you think you can make decisions without a woman?”. taehyun replies matter-of-factly, using his butter knife to gently slice his chicken.

“what does that have to do with anything?”.

“it means you’re not fit to be king. I don’t even know why the inheritance is on you in the first place”. yeonjun snarls.

“because I’m the second born, smart ass”. soobin snarls back.

“you shouldn’t have been born at all”. yeonjun retorts with his whole heart.

“boys that’s enough! yeonjun apologize to your brother”. their mother interrupts angrily.

yeonjun dramatically turns his body around and flashes soobin a fake smile. if soobin didn’t already have a reputation to his name he’d smack the smile off his face. yeonjun cross his legs and places his folded hands atop of his knee.

“i’m sorry that I hate your fucking guts choi soobin”.

“alright! everyone go to your rooms. dinner is over”. their father announced with his loud and obnoxious voice bellowing through the hallways.

“father we weren’t even fighting”. kai whines, referring to him taehyun and beomgyu.

“I don’t care. everyone to their rooms until I say other wise”.

the five boys stood up, each of them sucking their teeth with the exception of kai who annoyingly threw his napkin in the middle of his plate. taehyun rolls his eyes, “thanks a lot yeonjun hyung”.

“shut up”. yeonjun grumbles.

and just like that they parted ways. angry. annoyed. not wanting to speak to each other again, and this was how most of their days went. one of them ruining it for all of them and making them go against each other. soobin being the one most impacted this time, being criticized by his parents about being king and then having his older brother say he isn’t fit to be anything and that he shouldn’t have even been born.

it was normal to say things you didn’t mean when you were angry.

but it was even more normal for the truth to slip out when you were under a fit of rage.

and that’s just what soobin thought about yeonjun’s statement. yeonjun was admitting his truth.

unlocking his door to his room soobin opens the door and throws his suit jacket down on the floor next to his door. he kicks his shoes off in front of the wall, completely disregarding his closet which he could’ve entered had he took the chance to walk further in his room but he didn’t. he was much too frustrated to do anything. he stumbled along his shining marble floors to get under his cardinal colored satin sheets underneath his diamond chandelier.

but he wasn’t expecting company.

with his closet door open there was a girl, slightly bent over, reaching inside his closet to be, what it looked like, organizing his shoes. judging from her outfit--being a skin tight crimson flavored dress with a white apron decorating the front--she was clearly a maid.

soobin could stare at her luscious thick brown thighs for the entirety of the day, but he’d rather not be the perv here. instead he cleared his throat. startled she turned around not even noticing his arrival. she quickly got up off of her knees and bowed graciously. soobin couldn’t stop his eyes from skimming her physique. she was quite thicker than anything he was used to. and her beauty distracted him like a deer in headlights. brown almond shaped eyes, corpulent lips coated with gloss and flawless skin worth dying for. her hair was middle parted and sleek, curly and black stopping only a little past her shoulders. she hadn’t spoken yet but soobin knew just by how straight and white her teeth looked, her smile was going to kill him the most.

“are you a new hire?”. soobin spoke softly. she nods,

“my school tuition needs to be paid. this was the only job open. today is my first day, I was assigned your room. am I bothering you? I can finish later”. she says, the sound of her voice to soobin’s ear was like chocolate to a sweet tooth’s tongue. he wanted more of it and he couldn’t help himself.

“you’re not a bother at all. I’m just surprised my parents didn’t tell me. what’s your name anyways?”.

“indigo”.

and she was just as beautiful as the color, soobin thought.

“I’m choi so--”.

“choi soobin”. she interrupts with a head nod, “I know. everyone knows you”. she informed with a small smile, a dimple pushing into her left cheek. soobin’s heart could just burst.

“oh yeah? are they good things? or bad?”. soobin quizzes, folding his arms with a slight grin. she laughs with sweetness dripping from her lips equivalent to that of honey.

“we all know you’re the second eldest. we know you’re handsome and we all know you’re a spoiled brat”. at this point soobin didn’t know if he was more attracted to her beauty or boldness. maids were never permitted to have more than a 5 second conversation with anyone of royalty. hell, barely even a look in the eye.

“a spoiled brat? I am not. that’s actually quite embarrassing”. soobin admitted with his cheeks turning red. she stands at the tips of her toes and whisks her thumb against his cheeks. any normal human being would know that this wasn’t the way to get rid of a cheek tint but to soobin’s surprise it worked. her hands felt like home against his skin.

“don’t worry. we know you can’t help it. being rich and inheriting the king’s throne has it’s perks huh?”.

“being rich has it’s perks. having your whole family think you’re not fit to be king doesn’t”.

“prove yourself to them”.

soobin scoffs, “yeah and they’ll just laugh in my face again. I don’t even know who they’re thinking about arranging me with. probably someone whose just as bitchy as everyone else in this monarch”. he says, not even realizing he was venting to her.

“god you’re really stressed choi soobin”. she utters mainly referring to the slight vein crawling up his neck.

he peers down at her, “yeah, I am”. the communication between their eyes becoming invincible. a smirk flickered at the corner of her lips and soobin pushes his body closer to hers.

“and if you’d like to help me with that, you’re more than welcomed to”.

she ghosted her lips over his, “but is it permitted?”.

“I don’t care if it isn’t”.

“rebellious boy aren’t you?”. she grinned. soobin smiles, “only a little bit”.

“I guess it all depends on how you want to be helped”.

he grins with secrets in his eyes, “I won’t tell”,

her gloss glistens in chandelier’s glare. “ hm. how do I know that?”.

“get on your knees for me and you’ll see”.

she mutters a small hmph before lowering herself sluggishly, her eyes painstakingly mounting up into soobin’s until she was touching the ground. soobin gifts her a haughty, unflinching stare.

“like this?”. she utters with big innocent eyes. god--she was sexy. and she was well aware of that, soobin could tell.

“seems like you’re asking questions you already know the answers to”. soobin breathes while she drums her fingers on his belt before unfastening it like so. a poignant smirk pierced her cheeks seeing soobin’s length. she tugged his briefs down and let his veiny cock spring free.

“it seems like you’re trying to do things that you know you can’t do”. she replies, wrapping her hands around the base of his dick. soobin tenses before he answers.

“like what?”.

she positions the plushed, throbbing head onto her lips, “like domming me”.

she made those her last words before she sunk his length into her mouth, making sure to hide her teeth and wrap her tongue around it’s shaft. soobin felt his heart race at the feeling of her tepid tongue around the places he was sensitive most.

she hums against his length while a fervid, lewd moan withdrew from her lips. it was careful, yet so erotic that she almost could’ve been mistaken for a pornstar. soobin’s knees turned into jelly at the sound of them. the squelching noises of her saliva filled tongue seeped through the air in the most sinful way. this couldn’t have been her first time.

soobin’s dick was throbbing so hard in her mouth it became too overbearing to withstand.

“f-fuck”. he exhaled desperately, sitting down urgently on the edge of his nearby bed. he watches her plump lips roll off the tip diligently with a protracted spit string to follow. she jerks him off, twisting her hand up to his tip before dragging it back down again.

“is this what you do?”. she questions seductively, and soobin was groaning so much underneath his breath he didn’t even think he had the ability to answer her. “shit--what do y-you mean?”.

“get maids assigned to your room so they can suck you off?”.

soobin sits his head back between his shoulders closing his eyes in the utmost ineffable bliss. “n-no. no I haven’t”. he stutters, just as much as his hips.

she arranges her lips to layer a line of spit along his length and smears it around with her thrusting hand. she taps the tip against her tongue before taking him in whole again, pushing it much deeper into her throat this time. she sucks everything she could reach prior to purposeful gagging, reaping the fruit of her efforts all over his lap. she twirls her tongue around it, lapping her mess in trail from the skin of his lap to the base of his dick.

“fuck you’re so fucking good at this”. soobin glares at her in a lustful daze.

“am I?”. she teases, kissing her way to the beloved tip again. soobin thought looked even sexier with her thighs spreading wider since she was on her knees, the both of them begging to inch their way out of her tight dress.

“fuck yes”.

“will I get a raise for this?”. she snarkily asks with the head of his dick filling her cheeks. soobin’s hips bucks up into her mouth again. the veins in his neck were even more prominent than before just from him forcing down his needy groans. he nods frantically.

“y-yes you can get whatever you want”. he exhales again with oceans of pleasure wreaking havoc in his torso. “I’m about to fucking cum”. she jerks him off once more at an even faster pace, biting the plump juicy lips that soobin wanted to suck off her face.

his hips sputter once more and she immediately sticks two fingers in his mouth while his hot cum darted from his tip. his sheer broken moans vibrated her fingers until he was finished.

she climbs up his lap now straddling him. her relentless eyes met his weary ones, “if we’re going to keep doing this, promise me that I will be the only one making you cum like this”.

soobin nods his head trying to assure her as best as he could. “I p-promise”. she then wraps his hand around his neck,

“you promise what?”.

“I promise you’ll be the only one making me cum like this, princess”.

#soobin smut #txt smut #soobin drabble #txt #txt imagines #txt drabble #drabble #kpop #soobin #choi soobin

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heyitsani · 3 years

Text

A Dream Ripping at the Seams

@damianwayneweek fic Reverse Robins

Word Count: 5024

Rating: Teen and up

Warnings: Referenced past child abuse, canonical character death mentioned

Pairing: None

Summary: He had planned the whole thing out. The moment he had seen the notes in Richard’s file on the computer, he had known he needed to get him out of there and away from Batman as soon as possible. He refused to lose another brother.

Saving Richard because he failed to save Todd was his only priority.

Notes: Guess what! IT’S MY BIRTHDAY! And it also happens to be Reverse Robins day for Damian Wayne week! So to celebrate, I wrote this fic to give to all of you lovely people. But especially those in the RR Discord who are always willing to encourage me to run with an idea that comes up last minute.

Also, this fic ends abruptly and that’s the point. I might continue it, I might not. But it’s supposed to feel sudden and full of questions.

To clear up confusion: Dick was 10 when adopted, Jason died when he was 15 and Dick 11, Dick is 12 (nearly 13) when the story starts, and 13 when it ends.

You can also read it on AO3 here

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Damian waited until he had the opportunity to get Richard away from the manor for the afternoon before he approached the subject with the boy. He hadn’t been certain he would need to, at first, but the longer Richard was in the house with his father the more he saw the signs he had seen with Jason. And that meant he needed to act.

So he had asked Richard if he wanted Damian to pick him up from school one Friday in February so they could go for ice cream before dinner. Richard had, unsurprisingly, agreed enthusiastically like Damian had known he would. With the kid’s sweet tooth, he never turned down things like ice cream. Especially since it wasn’t something the circus really got much of apparently. Traveling in trailers didn’t allow for too many luxuries like freezers.

“Richard,” Damian started once they were seated on a bench in a local park, not far from a playground that the child was eyeing. When the sapphire eyes turned on him, Damian took a deep breath and looked directly at him. “I know you have figured out what Father and the rest of us do in the night.” Richard nodded, smiling as he licked his cone. “Has Father approached you about training yet?”

The boy nodded again, and Damian pressed his lips together. Twelve years old. Twelve. None of them had been that young outside of himself, but his situation was different. Being born into the League of Assassins made for a different upbringing. “Is that bad?”

Shaking his head, Damian made sure his face was neutral before speaking again. “No, but I have concerns.” The boy blinked at him, but remained silent as though he was waiting for his brother to tell him what it was he was concerned about. “You do not know of my childhood, but it was far from…pleasant. I was raised in a place called Nanda Parbat that trains people to be the kind of people Batman fights against.”

“But you were a kid?” Richard sounded confused; ice cream forgotten as he tried to sort through what Damian was saying. And what he wasn’t saying. “Why would you train a kid like that?”

“Because that was the way things were done there.”

“Then they were done wrong.”

Damian let out a soft laugh, corner of his mouth raising just slightly at the thought of this twelve-year-old child telling him that he had been raised wrong. “Be that as it may, you are correct that I was a kid and that should not have been my childhood.”

Richard hummed and went back to his ice cream, looking out at a pair of dogs playing in the grass. Damian observed him as he watched the dogs, wondering what he was thinking. He wasn’t sure how to ask the boy to do what exactly he was thinking, but he just hoped Richard would go along with it. That he would agree to leave because this was not the life he should be living.

“Dami?” Richard looked back to him, and Damian raised his eyebrows. “You don’t want me to train with Batman.” Damian shook his head. “Ever?”

And wasn’t that the real question?

Damian wasn’t sure if he wanted Richard, the purest of them all, to be exposed to how ugly the world was the same way the rest of them had been. It would ruin him. It would steal the innocence that Damian found himself desperately wanting to protect. It would tear out everything good in him and leave him a shell.

“Never,” he admitted quietly. Richard dropped his gaze again and chewed on his lower lip. “I want you to understand why. My childhood aside, I do not want to see what happened to Todd happen to you. I do not want you to lose yourself the way I have seen Drake do. I do not want you to realize the ugly truths of the world long before your time the way Cain or Brown have. I want to protect you from all of that.”

With brows drawn down, Richard looked at him again. He was looking at Damian with that look, the one he had seen Cain look at him with too many times to count. The look that penetrated all the walls and shields he had put around his mind and heart.

“You want me to leave.”

“I want to take you away from here and hide us both until you are able to stand your own against Father on the subject,” he quickly corrected, not wanting Richard to think he wasn’t welcome in the Wayne family. “I want to protect you from a fate I wish we all could have been protected from.”

Richard took a lick of his ice cream and Damian waited, worried the boy would tell him no and then tell his father everything Damian had planned. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

Richard nodded. “Okay.”

And Damian released his held breath, relief washing over him. He could save one of them, the best of them. He could do one right thing in his life, a life filled with so many wrong things.

“We leave in a week.” Richard’s eyes turned determined, and he gave a firm nod before looking over toward the playground again.

“Can I play after my ice cream is finished?” Damian laughed and nodded, too relieved to deny him anything.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Who is she?” Richard asked, tugging on the black chuba Damian had selected for himself the moment they had touched down in Tibet. The weather was fairly cool, and he hadn’t thought to purchase the proper wears before he had put his plan into motion. But thankfully he had anticipated needing to switch enough money into Yuan to get them by for the first couple of months. It had made purchasing weather friendly clothing for himself and Richard much easier.

Looking down at Richard, Damian frowned and followed his eyeline to the familiar statue that stood at the top of the mountain, guarding over Nanda Parbat. “She is Ruma Kushna,” he told Richard, who couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from the beautiful stone statue. He couldn’t blame the kid, he had been fascinated with the goddess when he had been younger. She had been formidable and even his grandfather had spoken highly of the goddess. “She watches over all of those in Nanda Parbat.”

Richard frowned and looked away from the statue, blue eyes skittering over the various people wandering around the market they were making their way through in an attempt to find lodging. “She is not kind then,” the boy said, looking up at Damian with a fierce look.

“What makes you say that?”

Richard shrugged and looked away, curiosity stealing the boy’s attention once more. But Damian couldn’t forget that look for stubborn protectiveness that had covered Richard’s face in the moment. It had been breathtaking if he were honest. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked at him like that when they weren’t preparing to fight him for one reason or another.

Pausing at a stall with various spices that smelled familiar and distant at the same time, Damian gave the older woman a friendly smile. “Tashi delek,” he greeted her, giving a small bow of his head. “My son and I are looking for lodging, do you know of anyone with vacancies in their home that would spare space for us? We are willing to pay.”

The woman seemed to consider him closely, glancing from him to Richard and then back again. He knew his excuse of Richard being his son was flimsy when someone considered their age difference, but it was the story he needed to stick to for the time being. He couldn’t risk someone looking too deeply into their relation if they thought they were merely brothers. And Damian would be drawn and quartered before someone took Richard from him and returned him to Bruce.

“I have a spare sleeping quarter if you could spare your strength,” the woman finally replied, kindness heavy in her old eyes.

“Tuchi che!” Richard exclaimed, smiling brightly at the woman who almost looked surprised at his enthusiasm. Damian struggled to hold back a smile of his own as he gave the woman a firm nod, silently agreeing to her terms.

“I am Damian and this is Richard. We are grateful for your hospitality.” The woman chuckled and waved them off, telling them to scout the market for anything they might need since their packs were small and probably did not hold much out of the bare necessities. “What should we call you?”

The woman’s smile warmed, and she leaned back. “I am Amala,” she responded. “Now go find you both some clothing that is not of the city but of the mountain.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You are al Ghul,” Amala stated as she handed over the cup of tea. Damian froze, eyes wide as he looked at the woman who still looked at him with that same kindness she had since that first meeting almost four months ago. But he couldn’t figure out how she could possibly look at him that way if she knew who his family was. “The League is well known in our village, as small as we may be. They look after their own on the mountain. But there were whispers of the Heir refusing to return and the Demon Head demanding justice.”

Looking down at his teacup, cradled in both hands to warm his palms from the cool night air coming in from under the door, he sighed before glancing back toward the corner where Richard was sleeping. Confirming Amala’s words would put them both in danger of being discovered. He had picked this village because it meant they were right under his grandfather and mother’s noses. They would never look for him here.

But if he lied, he risked having to run with Richard again. And the child was finally settling nicely in the village. He had made friends with some of the other children and he was catching up on his studies. The last thing Damian wanted to do was uproot him yet again. His life had been disrupted enough since the death of his parents.

“I am he,” Damian admitted, looking back to Amala. The woman smiled knowingly before pressing a finger to her lips in a ‘shhhh’ motion and Damian let out a sigh of relief. “How did you figure it out?”

The woman shrugged. “You have your mother’s eyes,” she said, as if that was enough to give it all away. “And your mother used to bring you down here as a babe, just learning to walk the mountain. I recognized you the moment you approached my stall at market.”

“Has anyone else?”

“Not that I have heard.”

But that didn’t mean they hadn’t. If someone told his mother or even one of the footmen, Damian would need to pick Richard up and run. He wouldn’t have a choice. He probably should do it now before anyone had the chance to come after them.

“Thank you, for trusting us then.”

Amala waved a hand. “I could see in your eyes that you were running from something. That you were protecting your son from something.” Damian held back the cringe at the word son, knowing she had to have figured out that Richard wasn’t his. “You are safe in my home. I will not bring harm upon you. No matter if it is from up the mountain or from far away.”

Damian swallowed, bowing his head against the onslaught of emotion that hit him from her words. “Thank you,” he whispered, unable to look at her just yet. “Protecting him is all I am after.” He looked over at Richard again and blinked away the tears. “It is my only goal.”

“And that is what makes you a good father,” she said softly, “blood or not.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Baba!” Richard called out; voice distorted as it came into the house from outside where he had been helping plant some new seedlings. “Dami!” That made Damian pause. It had been a while since Richard had called him by his name, out of habit or fear Damian couldn’t be sure which. But it made a small sense of panic arise in his chest and had him dropping the piece he had been sketching and immediately run out the front door.

He froze when he saw a man kneeling in front of Richard, black cloak and hood pulled over his head, hiding his face from Damian but not from Richard. But when the man looked up, Damian felt his stomach drop.

“No,” he whispered, hurrying forward and pushing Richard behind him as he glared at Timothy Drake, his father’s second eldest but first adopted child. “You are not welcome here, Drake,” he said lowly, English rusty from lack of use since coming to Tibet.

Drake held up his hands and took a step back, but Damian held tighter onto Richard who tried to move out from behind his legs. “I am not here to cause trouble, Damian,” Drake offered. And Damian knew him well enough to know the man was being honest. But it didn’t mean he could let his guard down. “He doesn’t know I’m here. He doesn’t know I found you.”

“Trackers.”

“Rerouted.”

Taking a deep breath, Damian glanced around before giving Drake a nod and herding Richard into the house, knowing Drake would following them. “Richard, go work on your schooling.” Richard looked up at him, frowning at the order, before glancing over at Drake. “Now, Richard.” And though Damian knew the child didn’t want to, Richard walked away with a pout to the table where his schoolwork sat waiting. “How did you find us?”

“It wasn’t easy, you covered your tracks better than any of us expected,” Drake said, eyes watching Richard as he took his seat and began writing in the notebook. Damian could tell he was curious, but Damian needed answers before Drake got his own. “I looked at footage we had searched through a million times and got lucky.”

“And Father doesn’t know? I’m meant to believe you simply didn’t tell him? You?”

“He thinks I’m off world with the Titans.”

“That doesn’t answer why you didn’t tell him.”

Drake seemed to consider his answer for a moment before shrugging both his shoulders. “Dick didn’t seem to be in distress in the footage I found. He looked like he wanted to be with you.”

“I explained it to him before we left. He agreed to come with me on his own.”

“Why did you take him?”

A familiar anger built in his core and Damian had to push it down with a few deep breaths before he could answer Drake without yelling. “Because I would not let him sacrifice Richard the same way he sacrificed all of us. Because since losing Todd, he has lost sight of the true mission and we have become nothing but soldiers to him. I would die before I let that man turn Richard another glass case bearing a bloodied suit of armor,” he growled, fists clenched tightly.

Drake watched him with those eyes, the ones Damian had always hated because it always felt like he was a risk and Drake was calculating how dangerous he was in any given moment. As if Drake was just like his father, with a file of ways to put an end to Damian because part of him was too dangerous to be trusted.

“Your secret is safe with me,” Drake finally said, looking back to Richard with a nod. “I didn’t believe you could have taken him for anything other than his own good.” The cool blue eyes looked back to Damian and had lost some of the calculating look. “B won’t stop though, Damian. He’s desperate to find you both even though it’s been over six months. I don’t know how long until he realizes that you hid both of you in plain sight of the League. Does Ra’s or Talia know you’re here?”

“Not that they have revealed to me,” Damian admitted. “Our patron, she knows of my heritage and has sworn an oath of secrecy. But she is League loyal due to their protection.”

Damian watched Drake fully take in the appearance of the home they were in, the simple nature of it all and Damian couldn’t help but wonder what the man thought of him now. What did he think of the haughty Wayne heir who had loved to shove that fact in every ones faces, telling them that he was the heir to one of the richest men in the world. That he was heir to Batman, the Dark Knight. The Damian standing in front of Drake was far from that person as Damian could probably get.

“This has not only saved him,” Drake finally said, looking directly at Damian. There was no lie that Damian could see and though he wanted to deny what his brother said, his eyes glanced over to Richard and knew it was the truth. He was not who he had been before they had left Gotham. He had been losing himself in his own grief and it was only the deep seeded fear of losing yet another family member that forced him to pull out of it and take action.

But he couldn’t admit that to Drake, could he? “I wouldn’t lose him the way we lost Todd. I did what I had to do. He never would have listened.”

“No, he wouldn’t have.”

“And has anything changed?” Drake frowned; eyebrows furrowed. And that was enough of an answer for Damian. “He’s just become obsessed with finding us instead.”

Drake nodded. “It’s been bad enough that Superman watches Gotham from afar to keep B from doing something he might regret.” And Damian knew, yet again, that he had made the right choice in getting Richard away from that. “Can I give you a burner that only I know about?” Damian’s eyes snapped back to Drake, having drifted back to Richard yet again. “I want to be able to give you a heads up if he comes your way. It might not be much of one, but maybe enough for you to get a head start.”

It wasn’t a bad idea, having that option, but Damian also knew it might give his father access to the pair of them without Drake even knowing. But Drake did know technology more than anyone else in the family. Perhaps it was a risk he could take.

“All right,” Damian relented, giving a nod. Drake’s features looked relieved, to the point where Damian wondered if he had made the wrong decision. But he could work on the device later and see if it had been bugged or tampered with in any way.

Drake dug into his small pack and pulled out a small phone, probably a prototype that Wayne Tech had decided wasn’t worth the trouble. He quickly showed Damian how to turn it on and use the basic features before it was turned off yet again and Damian was tucking it into the pocket of his pants.

“I need to go, I can’t reroute much longer. But if you need anything, please call me. I have your back.” Damian gave a nod before watching Drake walk over to Richard and kneel down to talk quietly with the teen. He didn’t bother listening in, knowing Richard would tell him what was said later, but he did watch. He watched Richard listen and nod, responding with his own words before reaching out and hugging the man around the neck.

When Drake stood and turned to leave, Damian was fairly certain he saw a sheen of tears in his eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Damian knew something was different the instant he walked into the small house, even if he couldn’t immediately tell what. It caused him to stop short in the doorway, Richard smacking into him because he had been too absorbed in the book of mathematics one of the men of the village had shared with him.

“Baba, what…?” The child complained but Damian’s eyes focused on the figure in the corner of the room instead, not answering.

“Mother.”

The woman moved forward, like a serpent seeking prey, into the light with a smirk on her face. “Son,” she greeted, eyes looking over his ragged appearance from his day of labor with a hint of distain before stopping on Richard. “You really do have too much of your father in you.”

Rolling his eyes, Damian shuffled Richard into the house and nudged him toward their sleeping corner. And though he didn’t think his mother meant them harm, he still kept his body between the two of them and coiled his muscles to prepare for a fight.

“What are you doing here? How did you even know?”

“Oh please, Damian,” Talia sighed and came closer before lounging in one of the chairs near the fireplace. “Do you honestly think we weren’t aware the moment you landed in Tibet? That we weren’t tracking you from the very start? You have forgotten your roots.”

Damian narrowed his eyes. “Then why did you wait so long to approach me?”

“Because we did not need you.” That made Damian tense further. The League needing him would lead to nothing good, he knew that deep in his core. “I have something in Nanda Parbat that requires your attention before it can be dealt with. And no,” she held up a hand to stop his question, “it is not your father. But it does have a link to him.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Damian couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He couldn’t trust his own eyes in that moment. It wasn’t possible. Was it? No, he had seen the body. He had been there as the coffin had been lowered into the plot and covered with dirt. He had laid his hand on the tombstone and apologized for not being able to get to him in time.

But that was definitely Jason Todd in front of him.

“How is this possible?” Damian asked, glad he had put Richard in his old rooms while he handled this. Richard had known Todd for only a year before he had died. This was not something Damian wanted to expose the teen to before he knew what the point of all of this was.

“We are not certain. We can’t even say how long he has been like this. He has been dead for nearly 18 months and we have had him here for the past six.” Damian frowned, walking closer to Todd, trying to catch the teen’s eye. “He is alive and everything is in working order, but it is as though death stole his soul.”

“Of course it did! He died!” Damian snapped, looking back at his mother who stood a ways back watching but looked bored. “We buried him. We…” Breathing heavily through his nose, Damian looked back to Todd and shook his head. They had mourned him. And now he was there, living and breathing but lifeless. Everything that had made him Jason Todd seemed to have been stripped away. “What do you intend to do with him?”

His mother’s heels clicked on the marble floor as she moved closer and stopped once she reached the pair. He watched a slender hand reach out and pet the side of Jason’s face. Annoyed, Damian’s hand shot out and grabbed his mother’s wrist to stop the obscene gesture. “What do you intend to do with him,” he growled, gripping her wrist tightly and turning to fully face her. He narrowed his eyes and stared her down, not willing to let her brush him off. She had brought him here for a reason.

“We will put him in the Pit, of course,” she said, unaffected by the grip he had on her or the look on his face. “We just wanted to see if a familiar face might wake him up first.”

“Mother,” Damian gasped, releasing her and stepping back. “We do not put innocents in the Pit. It is not done.”

Talia raised a brow and Damian glowered. “There is no ‘we’, Damian. You made your choice.”

“You cannot do that to him. He had anger before his death. He was murdered brutally. These are all things the League has always avoided in resurrections.” Damian looked over at Jason’s empty eyes and frowned, shaking his head. “You cannot sentence him to that Madness. He is a child.”

“He is no more a child than any of you were. My Beloved has only had one true child in his home and you stole him away in fear of him turning your precious Richard into the same monster each of you fight off daily.” Talia tilted her head, considering him. “You most of all, my son.”

“You created the monster long before he got his hands on it.”

A slender shoulder rose and fell gracefully. “Perhaps, but you have Demon blood in your veins and you have always been destined for so much more than this charade of a life you have taken up.”

Damian clenched his jaw and looked away from his mother, unable to deny her words. He knew this farce he and Richard had been living would not sustain them forever, but he knew it was what the teen needed at the moment. If he returned Richard to Gotham, his father would rip the child away from him and Damian would lose him to the fight he desperately wanted to protect Richard from. The Bat would get into his head and Damian would lose.

No, returning to Gotham would never be an option until Richard was old enough to stand on his own.

“You could remain here. Take up your title again and we could train and teach the boy to be the very best.” Damian immediately shook his head. That wasn’t any better than the fate that awaited them in Gotham. “It is only a matter of time before he finds you. He will exhaust all resources and then call upon me. He will come to Nanda Parbat and hear the tinkling laughter that reminds him so much of the boy his own son had stolen away from him. He will follow the sound to a yard where a teen with black hair and sapphire eyes kneels in the dirt, pulling weeds from around the plants that have just begun to sprout.

“He will watch in wonder at the change a year, perhaps two years, has made in the boy. And then he will see the man who is responsible for the heartache and fear he experienced over that time, standing in the window watching the teen just as he had been. And he will take him back. He will threaten them both with everything in his itinerary until there is no choice but to return.”

“And then he will ruin him,” Damian whispered, closing his eyes because he knew his mother was right. It was the fear that kept him up each and every night. His father would never stop searching and he would eventually get desperate enough to turn to Ra’s for help. And he would come himself to plead his case because otherwise Ra’s would laugh in his face and behead whoever was foolish enough to come in his stead.

Opening his eyes, he stared into the familiar one watching him closely. “You win.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Damian hated that his mother insisted on Richard being in the room with them when Todd was placed in the Pit, but he wasn’t in any position to argue. He just hoped that nothing happened that would require him to use the sword strapped to his back in order to keep Richard safe. The last thing he wanted was for the teen to see that side of him, the side that would require him to take up arms against another of his brothers.

But Richard stood just behind him, stubborn look on his face as he watched Todd over near the Pit. The green glow of the waters within gave the room an ethrial look but made Jason look sickly. With that blank look on his face, Damian felt his heart ache for the boy he remembered. He had tried harder with Todd than he had with Drake, but it didn’t mean he was the best of brothers. He hoped the teen knew he had tried.

But emotions had never been his forte.

Thankfully, he was doing even better with Richard than he had with any of the others. The teen had taught him much more than he ever thought possibly while he had taught the boy what little he had to offer outside of self-defense. Which, he had taught him as well. Just not to the same effect that training to be a Cape would have done.

“Are you ready to witness true magic, Richard?” Damian frowned over at his mother when she entered the room and moved over to stand with the two of them. He looked back and down toward the teen, who he found watching his mother with narrowed, untrusting eyes. Good boy.

Damian had made sure that he always questioned his surroundings and stayed wary of those he didn’t know. Apparently, Talia al Ghul fell in that category.

The woman simply quirked an eyebrow at him before she walked over to where the footmen were getting ready to move Todd to the platform. Reaching out, Damian tugged Richard closer to him in hopes to shield him from the coming disaster. His mother might be certain this was a good idea, surely for her own gain, but he knew this was not something that should be done. But as good of a fighter Damian was, he could not take on the entire League. And he would need to do just that if he wanted to get Todd out of there before he was manipulated and twisted into a shadow of the teen he had been.

“Let us begin,” Ra’s said as he took his place on the opposite side of the Pit.

#damianwayneweek2021 #damian wayne #dick grayson #reverse robins #anikah writes #happy birthday to me

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dwellordream · 3 years

Text

dish duty

freeform for @wayhavensummer as I really wanted to write a water fight

T Rating (for passionate kissing and general tomfoolery) Felix x Detective Esme Kingston, 2000 words

“I wish you were a breakfast in bed kind of person,” Felix complains, though not very passionately, as he finishes what seems like his fourth stack of chocolate chip pancakes.

Esme considers herself a very controlled individual. She dresses neatly and conservatively, her home and office are impeccably organized, and she’s a vegetarian who eats, generally, a very healthy and balanced diet.

However. On the weekends, and especially with Felix’s recent influence, that goes somewhat out the window. Not all the way, but close enough to the edge. No, these are not organic whole wheat dark chocolate chip pancakes. They are the unhealthy kind chock full of additives and preservatives that children adore. But as Tina once said, everything we eat is bioengineered, right?

Felix doesn’t need to eat; well, he doesn’t need to eat a normal human’s diet, unhealthy or healthy, it doesn’t matter. But he likes to, and he has a keen sweet tooth. He claims his taste buds aren’t dulled compared to the rest of Unit Bravo because he was born as he is now, and so he has no memory or experience of eating food as a human to compare it with.

Nothing is lacking for him, because he never had it to begin with. And unlike Mason, ‘loud’ flavors or various textures don’t irk him, so Felix is pretty much willing to try anything, no matter how sweet, spicy, or sour. And especially if it involves chocolate.

“Breakfast in bed on a day like this is a terrible idea,” Esme points out as she gets up to clear her small kitchen table.

It’s not as hot out as it was yesterday, but it’s already very warm for ten o’clock in the morning- they slept in embarrassingly late- and she can tell that by midday it will be unbearable, which is why they have plans to go to an art exhibit in the city.

Esme enjoys long drives and would rather wait out today in air conditioning than suffer through it in her sweltering flat. And Felix is always willing to go to just about anything; it’s all new to him, so why not?

Worst case scenario, he doesn’t like it, and even when Felix isn’t enjoying something, Esme still enjoys him, because rather than sulk or brood he simply strikes up a running commentary on what he thinks they should be doing instead.

Yes, sometimes it’s irritating, but often she has to fight to hide the smiles he strives to coax out of her. She once took him to a lecture at a university and halfway through had to stop looking at him because he found a way to make her grin with just his eyes- the rest of his face was totally stoic.

He worked her up so much she had to excuse herself to get a drink of water, just so she didn’t burst out laughing in the middle of the professor’s droning slide-show. Felix, of course, followed her out into the hall and cornered her in an alcove, where they were sharply reprimanded by a passing janitor a few minutes later, who mistook them for two wild students who couldn’t wait to get back to their dormitory.

A year ago, the thought of this encounter, and of a morning like today, eating syrupy pancakes and lounging around in her pyjamas this late in the day, would have horrified and appalled Esme. But it is very hard to feel guilty or ashamed of anything that happens between her and Felix. Initially that frightened her, that being with him was so… easy. Nothing was ever supposed to be easy, or it wasn’t worth the effort. That had always been her motto.

But now…

“What are you doing?” she sighs, as she watches Felix stack far too many dishes on the palm of one hand, like a particularly adventurous waiter.

“Scoot,” he waves his free hand at her, showing off that he doesn’t even need both to hold them. “You’re in front of the sink.”

Esme shakes her head and steps aside as Felix deposits the rest of their dirty dishes inside the sudsy sink, which she’d just finished filling up with water.

This flat came with a small dishwater but it works terribly and Esme lived alone for so long and used so few dishes that it made more sense to just hand wash them immediately after eating. Felix thinks this is terribly boring but she refuses to have an insect infestation by leaving dirty dishes out for that long.

“I can wash them,” he says now, to her surprise. “You have to go get ready.”

“So do you,” she points out dryly. Yes, she feels oddly exposed in just a camisole and boy shorts, but he’s just in his boxers. She’s doing a very good job of not gawking at him like a schoolgirl.

Felix is not built the way Ava is, with powerful muscles and the stature of a workhorse or, as Mason would put it, a brick shithouse- but nor tall and willowy like Nat or lean and sinewed like Mason. Rather, he is toned and compact- she doesn’t know how else to describe it.

He’s a few inches taller than her, not much wider, and certainly isn’t bulging with muscles or in possession of washboard abs. But the sight of the smooth dark skin of his toned stomach and chest and the way he moves, almost like an acrobat, like he were ready to pitch forward into action at any moment, propelling himself with his arms or legs- gives her a strange combination of desire and envy. He would be an incredible gymnast and he is a beautiful dancer, moving gracefully to any rhythm without having ever heard it before.

In contrast, she feels thin and pallid and wretched- she’s petite and lacks much in the way of fat or muscle- she’s not athletic in the least, her belly forms a small pouch when she slouches, her skinny arms strain and tremble when she lugs heavy boxes of case files in and out of her office, she runs awkwardly and can’t dance to save her life, despite several years of ballet and a ballroom class in uni.

She’d like to be pragmatic and explain it’s just about feeling useful and capable of defending herself, but the truth is she’s vain and self conscious all at once. In her head, she is sleek and hard and beautiful, carved from crystal and not pasty flesh. Compared to Felix, she often feels like a melting snowman.

Felix is busy recounting her entire getting ready routine; Esme rolls her eyes and huffs but waits patiently until he’s done.

“Anyways, I just have to shower,” he shrugs.

“You’re my guest,” says Esme, “I’m not going to leave you to clean up while I powder my nose-,”

“I’m your guest?” he lays a hand on his chest in mock offense, and then his grin turns impish. “Your guest? That stings, Ez. Do all your guests come over late at night-,”

“Felix,” she warns, though her lips are twitching-

“And you sashay over the door and pull it open like, Hello, stranger-,”

“I didn’t say that!”

“No, it was cute!”

“It wasn’t supposed to be cute, you said you wanted me to surprise you, so-,”

“So I was very surprised,” he insists, and then catches her off guard by grabbing her by the hips and pulling her close.

Esme wriggles ineffectively- she’s not really trying to get away, which he knows- and then groans when he crushes her against his chest. He’s not a big man but he gives very big hugs, and she’d be lying if she said the weight and pressure wasn’t reassure, like a heavy quilt bundled around her. But… it’s hot. And he runs hot, too.

She says as much, into his chest, and then, to her alarm, hears him laugh, reach over, scoop up some soapy water with his hand, and drizzle it down her head.

Esme shrieks and rips away from him- Felix’s gold eyes are huge in his face, she can tell he’s torn between delight at his own daring and worry that he pushed her too far and she’s truly infuriated- but instead she touches at her damp hair in shock, then snatches up a wet rag from the counter and flings it at him. It hits him directly in the face; he yelps and bats it away, and she darts back, snickering.

“Oh, so you want a bath instead?” He raises his eyebrows at her.

“No, no, no,” Esme is saying, but the laughter leaking out between her protests says otherwise. “You started it-,”

“Yeah, so I’ll finish it. Come here, Ezza, let me wash you off- you have suds in your hair-,” he feints a lunge at her and she shrieks again, like a giddy teenager, then clamps her hand over her mouth, worrying the neighbors might hear.

Felix has no such concerns, and makes another grab for her- he secures her wrist and she slips on the tiled floor- he takes advantage of this to scoop her up, and flings her over his shoulder, which is barely broad enough for her thrashing torso to fit.

“Oh my God, what are you doing- Felix!” she shouts when he pins her there with one arm, grabs a cup with the other, and dumps water down her back. It’s barely cold but she yelps all the same- he sets her back down, triumphant that now her camisole is drenched and clinging to her, and she darts around him and hits him with a sponge, spraying more soap suds all over his bare chest.

“Wow,” he says. “Wow. That’s weak- that’s a really weak move, Detective, where is your tactical brilliance- okay, pretend I’m a Trapper, what do you do-,” he grabs at her arms to pin them but she successfully ducks out of his reach and hurls the sponge at him as he gives chase out of the kitchen.

“Don’t get water on the floors! I just mopped!”

“You’re the one who took it here!”

She leaps into the bathroom, breathless and trembling with adrenaline and laughter, and tries to slam the door shut in his face, but she never stood a chance of outrunning him- even if they were both human, she wouldn’t have. Still, she notes how careful he is, in the moment, not to crowd her in the confined space, worried about knocking her into the hard porcelain sink or toilet, and he waits until she steps back into the shower, cornered.

His hand hovers near the spout.

“Don’t you dare,” Esme warns.

He turns it on, and cold water cascades down full force onto her, soaking her to the skin. But before she can even flail or sputter, he’s stepped in beside her, wrapping himself around her, the contrast of his warm skin and the cold water making her cling to him all the more.

He kisses her lips, and she tastes soap for an instant, making her grimace, but then he’s moved onto her neck, lips tugging and pulling at the skin there, and she digs her fingers into his shoulder blades as she kisses his jaw in return, dragging her teeth across the corner of his lips.

When he heaves her up so he is half holding her, one hand under her thigh, the other leg stationary, she surges against him until his back is against the tiled wall and they are both directly under the flow of water. Then she gropes at the dial and shuts it off; it extinguishes to a trickle, causing beads to flow down their upturned faces.

She’s panting- he’s not as breathless, but jittery and shivering all over, and not from the cold water.

“Felix,” Esme whispers, and pecks him on the lips again as he reluctantly releases her.

“Yeah?” His pupils are languidly dilating, like a golden bloom.

“You did say you would do the dishes…”

He heaves with silent laughter, and then mouths something at the ceiling. “You’re killing me.”

“I know,” she smiles. “But you started it.”

Out of kindness, she takes a very quick cold shower, so she can help him dry off, too.

#felix hauville #esme kingston #wayhaven summer #the wayhaven chronicles #one shot

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boymeetsweevil · 3 years

Text

SS7 - KTH, FANTASY!AU, 3623w

The sun was high in the sky when Taehyung met her for the first time. He was feeling the effects of the heat under his cloak and took some time to squat under the shade of a large, drooping tree.

Losing his chaperone was starting to seem like a bad decision as he rubbed at his growling stomach. He wasn’t certain that he could remember the last time he was hungry for this long. Normally, in the palace, he would have eaten at least a snack by now while the kitchen staff prepared lunch for him and his mother. But with only the palace towers visible against the northern mountains, he knew he wouldn’t get back until at least dinner time. Maybe longer.

He dozed off to fight the hunger pangs briefly only to be woken by the sound rustling. The stories about ferocious wolves he sometimes read from his chaperone's library came flooding back to him. He still wasn’t old enough or far enough in training to carry a sword like the knights at the palace did, so there was no way to defend himself against an attack. Did wolves even like the taste of princes, he wondered with watery eyes.

The rustling grew louder and he began to cry in earnest. He didn’t know much about wolves, but he did know that at some point his chaperone tried to teach him about the wildlife in the kingdom’s terrain. If only he’d listened instead of doodling on the margins of his parchment. Taehyung dropped his head to whisper a silent prayer to the gods like he sometimes heard the maids do over his bed when he got chills in the winter.

If he made it out of this, he promised to study harder, stay with his chaperone, and stop playing tricks on the palace seamstress.

A twig snapped and he screamed a high and childish sound. Then from the bushes emerged not a wolf, but another child.

Instantly he could tell the child was clearly not from any of the allying kingdoms. There was no gold woven into her cloak or lacework on the bodice of her gown, nor were there any pearls or smaller jewels sewn into the hem of her skirts. Instead the girl before him stood with a dirty face and a thin, greying frock with a dusty looking apron tied to her front. It reminded him of something some of the servant girls in the palace might wear. And then he thought of home and how far he was from it.

And then he started to cry again.

“You’ve got some funny clothes,” the girl mumbled almost to herself as she approached. “What you cryin' for?”

Taehyung couldn’t do much else but give a wet cough and keep crying in response.

“M’hungryyy,” he managed between heaving sobs.

“Oh, why didn’t you say so?”

The girl reached out and grabbed at Taehyung’s arm, quickly at first and then softer a second time to marvel at the smooth silk of his sleeve. He would have balked at the sudden intrusion, but the crying made his throat sore and he was still whimpering too much to say anything.

He let the other child pull him down some invisible path, ducking under low hanging branches and pushing through high weeds until they reached a small clearing with a gently babbling brook running through it.

“Water!”

Taehyung chucked himself to the ground and pulled off his leather gloves to cup the cool water in his hands. The girl watched off to the side as he drank until he was no longer feeling like he was being baked alive in his velvet trousers. When he stood, she stared at the dirt clinging to the knees of his pants.

“Wait here,” she said before turning on her heel and disappearing further into the surrounding shrubbery.

Taehyung almost panicked but she returned not a few minutes later with her apron gathered awkwardly in her two hands.

“Why are you holding it like that?”

“I’ve got you something.” The smile she gave him was so large it made her eyes small. She was missing a front tooth, just like him. She must have 7 birthdays as well.

Taehyung found himself trying to peek into the makeshift basket of her apron.

“No peeking! Sit first, then I’ll show you.”

Taehyung bristled. “You can’t tell me what to do! I’m the prin—”

“Are you hungry or not?”

With that, he pursed his lips and mulled over his options before settling back down on the ground. Once he was seated, the girl sat down as well. As soon as she was low enough, Taehyung could see exactly what she was hiding. In her apron lay dozens of wild strawberries, each one glistening like a large ruby in the afternoon sun. He realized then that the material of her apron was darkened with what must be water from the brook that she used to wash the berries first.

“These are my favorite,” he looked back up at her in shock. “How did you know,” he asked sincerely.

“I dunno. I just knew they were there. Sometimes I eat them when I’m out here and we've no bread in the house.”

“What? Why wouldn’t you have any bread?” Taehyung chuckles at the ridiculous thought and scoops up a handful of berries. “Just ask the cook to bake you some.”

“What cook? You mean my Ma?”

“Why on earth would your mother make the bread?”

“Well, who else is gonna make it? She says I’m too young yet to put the loaf the fire by myself.”

Taehyung couldn’t find fault with the girl’s logic when she put it that way, though he also couldn’t quite wrap his head around the idea of his own mother in the kitchen. The few times she’d tried to go in, the cooks promptly chased her out. He’d have to ask when he got home.

“Oh!" He chirped, cheeks slightly grubby with berries. "Do you know how to get back to the palace?”

“The palace,” the girl asked while chewing on a strawberry of her own. “I don’t think so. I’ve never been there, I thought only adults went to the palace.”

“I live there.”

“No, you don’t! Only the king and his family live at the palace.”

“The king is my father, so of course I live there.”

The girl was silent again. She stared for a long time at Taehyung’s clean, neat brown hair, his un-tattered clothes, his delicate beaded shoes. She still wasn't sure he was telling the truth until she saw his hands.

“Woah! You really are from the palace!”

She reached out for the hand nearest to her but he yanked it back fearfully.

“Just let me see your hand. I want to see something.”

“No!”

Taehyung gulped and brough his hand to his chest. He knew he wasn’t supposed to take his gloves off outside of the palace, but he was so excited to see fresh water and food that he took them off and forgot to put them back on. The girl stood up and let the remaining berries fall to the ground, leaving small blood-red stains on her apron. If he didn’t fend her off, he’d have to deal with the burning and the splotches again.

“I just want to see really quick. I won’t do anything bad.”

“If you touch me, my skin will get sick,” he parroted the dialogue he heard from the town herbalist told him, nearly 3 suns ago.

“Really?”

He was about to explain more but the girl ambushed him by tackling him to the ground. The air in his lungs was knocked out and he could only lay there at first to get his bearings back. With the sleeve of his silk shirt rucked up, the girl grabbed his bare wrist delicately and peered at his hand. The skin of his palm was free of calluses or scars, smooth and soft. His nails were clean with no soot or soil wedged underneath. Just like her Ma had told her. He truly was a prince.

Taehyung yanked his wrist back and clutched it once more, waiting for the pain to start. But as the seconds passed, his skin remained free of the prickly fire that would raise underneath when his mother used to stroke his cheek or the herbalist would check his pulse.

“What are you,” he breathed with wide eyes up her.

“What?”

“I mean, why doesn’t my skin burn?”

“Does it really burn? I thought you were just pretending,” she blinked in surprise.

Taehyung was about to grab at the girl himself this time, but a call rang through the forest.

“Your Majesty! Taehyung, your grace! Are you here?”

The voice of his chaperone, Namjoon, should have been a welcome sound. But now that he was no longer tired, overheated, or hungry, Taehyung didn’t really feel like going home as badly as he had. In fact, he wanted to spend more time with his new friend. Happiness bubbled inside him at the thought. He could finally have a friend to play with now that he was cured. He could finally get rid of his stuffy gloves and hooded cloaks and go on adventures with someone.

“Who’s Taehyung?”

“Me! I’m Taehyung.” He puffed out his chest proudly. “I’m the first in line to the throne. So I’ll be king one day.”

“Oh. Alright.”

Taehyung pointed a chubby finger in the direction of the sound. “That’s my chaperone, Namjoon. Come on, I’ll let you meet him. He’s nice and he knows everything.”

He grabbed at the girl’s hand first this time. He marveled at the simple warmth he felt, a sensation he hadn’t felt for years without a fiery blaze accompanying it soon after. He smiled down at his fingers intertwined with hers.

“Namjoon, I’m here!”

“Don’t move,” Namjoon's disembodied voice called.

The sound of twigs snapping and flora brushing continued for a few more minutes before a young man of 21 came stumbling through. He nearly fell over a distended tree root while making his way over, but as soon as he righted himself he came charging at Taehyung. Realizing that he had sent his chaperone into a rage, Taehyung ran to hide behind his new friend, still clutching her hand.

“I’ve been looking for you for hours, Kim Taehyung. Do you hear me? Hours!”

“I’m sorry!”

“And now I see that you’ve managed to drag some poor child into your mischief as well.” Namjoon peered down his nose at the two children in front of him when he saw Taehyung’s bare hand nestled in the little girl’s hand.

“What are you doing—where are your gloves?”

Namjoon turned to search the forest floor for the handcrafted leather gloves that always traveled with the prince when he left his chambers or received company. He spotted the deep red garments strewn about nearby and dove for them.

“Put these back on,” he hissed before reaching out and yanking the young prince over to his side. Taehyung whined a little but let Namjoon mandhandle him away from his friend.

“How long have you been touching? Do you feel fit to ride on my horse?”

“Namjoon—”

“I’m afraid we’re too far from the palace to prevent the sickness this time, your majesty. You may faint on the ride back.”

“No, you don’t understand—”

“How many times do I have to tell you that you need to keep your gloves if you’re going to be free of the sickness?”

Namjoon looked into Taehyung’s face openly, clearly dreading seeing the little prince in pain.

“But I’m cured, Namjoon! We touched hands before—a long time ago—and I didn’t feel a thing. Look!”

Taehyung held out his arm and showed the smooth, clear skin there. Namjoon looked angry still but turned to the little girl.

“Is this true?”

She averted her eyes and curtsied like her mother had shown her to do in front of important people. Judging by this chaperone Namjoon’s clothing, he might be a prince as well.

“Yes, your Majesty.”

“Oh, I’m not—”

“Huh?” Taehyung looked up at his guardian before letting a giggle spill from between his lips. “He’s not royal, he’s just my chaperone.”

“What’s a chaperone?”

“It’s the person that follows you around when you leave the grounds or when you have to visit another palace’s prince or princess. Don’t you have one?”

Namjoon shushed Taehyung before the small girl could answer. Of course she didn’t have a chaperone, but Taehyung wouldn't have known that.

“Taehyung, your Majesty, we really must be going back to the palace. I fear that the queen may worry herself ill if we do not return soon.”

“And what of my friend?”

Namjoon didn’t have the heart to tell Taehyung that there was no way he could bring a common child back to the palace to play. Nor did he have the heart to explain why in front of the common child herself.

“There...is no room on my horse this time. Perhaps you’ll meet again when you finally make your debut in the village.”

Taehyung’s eyes grew wide at what was supposed to be Namjoon’s reassuring statement. He’d heard from his advisors enough times that he wouldn’t be debuting in the town until his 18th birthday, nearly Namjoon’s age. That would be ages from now, he knew. Which meant that he’d have to endure playing alone and wearing itchy layers and gloves and cloaks for another 11 birthdays.

“But—but I don’t want to leave her,” Taehyung sniffled as Namjoon hefted him up onto his hip. Namjoon ignored the beginning of the tears in favor of looking back down at the girl in front of him.

“Do you know how to get home from here, child?”

“Yes...sir.”

“Good.” He reached for a small animal skin pouch tied to his opposite hip and untied its leather drawstrings. The pouched jingled when he passed it to her and weighed heavy in her hands. “Hide this in your apron and don’t take it out until you get inside your home. Understood?”

The small girl chanced a look at Taehyung, whose lip was quivering with the silent dribble of frustrated tears, before nodding.

Namjoon turned and began making his way back to the horse he had tied nearby. Taehyung whipped his head around and dug his little hands into the hood of Namjoon’s deep blue cloak.

“I don’t want to leave, Namjoon.” Taehyung’s voice was watery but rang loud through the trees. “I want to stay with my friend. I’m going to stay with my friend!”

It was an empty promise, but the young girl still locked eyes with him and even gave a little wave as she watched the prince and his chaperone disappear into the tree line.

3 weeks later you woke from your slumber to the grey-blue of early morning. Judging by the sky’s hue, you were certain you should be allowed at least a few more hours of sleep. But, at your mother’s request, you rose from your bed.

You wanted to complain about it not being fair, but you were too sleepy to think up a good complaint. So you let your mother drag a wet rag along your face and hands, and silently marveled when she put you in your good dress. You watched with sleepy eyes as she pocketed the small bag of gold coins you brought home nearly a month ago.

“Where we goin', Ma?” You asked after leaving the baker’s with a warm chunk of fresh bread in one hand and a hunk of cheese your mother bought in the other.

“To the palace,” she replied with furrowed brows. Almost like she couldn't believe it herself.

“Why?”

“The King has asked for all the families with daughters to pay him a visit.”

The King was a mysterious entity to you. You knew that you were supposed to be grateful to him, according to your mother. But you also knew that every year your mother would become frantic and take on as many jobs as she could to pay taxes to that same King. Without a father to help earn money for the household, you were convinced your mother worked harder than anyone in the town. Your hand found a nearby pleat in her long skirt when you were done eating and you walked a bit closer to her.

When you reached the castle, there was a long line. There hadn’t been many people in town earlier in the morning when you left home but you understood why then. Every family with a daughter was lined up before the palace doors. You didn’t even realize there were so many people in the kingdom.

Your mother stood in line while you stepped to the side to get a better view of all the daughters being escorted. Some girls you recognized as girls you played with on days when you finished your chores early. Other girls you’d never seen before. You weren’t sure what you were all there for, but you knew it must have been serious.

Despite the winding line ahead of you, it still wasn't noon when there were only a few families left between you and the palace entrance. Whatever the King wanted you there for, it was quick. Families that were ahead of you entered in, ushered by stern looking guards, and left almost as quickly as they came. Some parents left looking deeply relieved but others looked disgruntled at having to spend so much of the day in line only to be dismissed by the King so quickly.

Your mother stroked your hair gently as you neared the palace gates. It was something she did to calm herself down. Knowing that much, your heartbeat jumped into your throat when the guards finally ushered you in.

The palace’s high stone walls seemed to swallow you up as the daylight left and only torches lit the way down a long passage. The first hall you entered was much brighter than the hallway thanks to the windows lining the walls that looked onto the mountains. Two families ahead of you stood before a group of palace staff and a man in a large, ornate chair. The King, you realized. To his right, in a smaller chair, sat a young boy. He looked familiar and as you moved up in line, you recalled the prince you ran into weeks before. The hand you had bunched in your mother’s skirts tightened when you realized he was telling the truth and you had tackled a real prince.

“Come forward and let his Majesty see the girl,” called one of the guards.

Your mother bowed deeply before the King before pulling you forward and pushing you into a similar bow. The two of you stepped forward with your heads lowered. The same guard stepped forward then and laid a heavy hand between your shoulder blades to bring your closer to the King.

“Father’s name?” The King addressed you, eyes bored and looking through you. You turned back to your mother with nervous eyes.

“Her father fell ill when she was only a few moons old, your Majesty,” your mother called.

“They reside in the Western quadrant, your Majesty. Near the grain fields.” Another guard off to the side read off a long scroll. “The woman does sartorial tasks for coin.”

“I see.” The King then turned to his son beside him. “Taehyung, my boy. Is this she?”

The boy hopped off his perch and approached the place where you stood. Your mother had drawn your cloak's hood up to protect you from the early morning chill, but you kept it up because it felt safer while entering the palace. Taehyung didn’t make any move to pull the hood back, but crouched low enough to peer at you with a discerning look pinching his small features. As soon as he saw you, his eyes lit up.

“It’s you! It’s really you!”

“Thank the gods,” the King sighed. “Send the rest back, then. Let us finish this.”

At once the guards not holding you and your mother in place moved from their posts to guide the two families behind you back through the hallway. There was a low murmur running through the adults of the retreating families and some of the lingering court members.

“Do you know how to read?” Taehyung turned to you suddenly as the palace staff began milling around busily.

“N-no. Ma says it costs too much to attend the school for girls in the South.”

“That’s okay. You can come to my lessons with me.”

He reached out a gloved hand and tried to pull you away, but a guard leaned down to let him know that the King still had some words to exchange with you and your mother. You tried to stay quiet while the adults discussed something about you and your mother becoming part of the palace staff and moving into a house behind the palace. At some point your mother cried a little bit, but it didn’t seem like the times when she cried because you had to skip supper multiple days in a row.

Eventually Taehyung managed to get the guards to let you go outside. In a secluded part of the palace gardens he threw off his stuffy extra layers and gloves and took you by the hand with a gigantic grin. You quickly forgot about the heavy mood that radiated off your mother from earlier and made you match her quick breathing. Taehyung scooped up a tiny frog from a pond he led you to and deposited the creature into your hands, palms brushing and bell-like giggles leaving him.

And so it began.

A/N: I really want to continue this, but idk if i will/how so this is being put in the SS collection until further notice.

#networkbangtan #btscreatorscorner #bts scenarios #taehyung fanfic #95line.net #kimtaehyung.net #bts imagines #bts fanfic #bangtan scenarios #bangtan fanfic #bangtan imagines #taehyung scenarios #taehyung imagine

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red-archivist · 4 years

Text

Vertex, Apex

MARTIN So… are we going to talk about it, or…?

ARCHIVIST When we get back to London. I don’t – I think we all need some time to think. ~

okay i know i have a safehouse fic to update but i started thinking about the boys properly apologising to each other after their fight and this came out - read it under the cut or on ao3!

As soon as they sit down to talk, Basira falls asleep.

The cloaking effect of the tunnels has allowed exhaustion to exist again and she slumps backwards mid-sentence. It’s only the bulk of her backpack that stops her head from slamming on the hard stone and Martin rushes forward to put her in the recovery position.

He is only able to fret for a second before Jon reminds him that this is the first chance her body has gotten since the Change to rest.

“Will she be alright?” Georgie asks from behind him.

Jon looks Basira over. Rather, he looks at her, straining against the muting tunnels for an answer.

“She’ll be alright in a couple of hours -or what passes for hours down here,” He helps Martin take her bag off her back, “She’ll be more annoyed with herself than anything else, when she wakes.”

“So Basira needs a nap,” Melanie grumbles, “What now?”

“We wait. I want us all to talk together,” Jon stands slowly, “And frankly, we could use a rest as well.”

Melanie snorts disapprovingly but Martin can hear her heart isn’t in it. She is too worn-down to muster any real anger. Guilt eats at the edges of his mind.

He heaves himself upright as Georgie passes Jon a brown bottle.

“Want one?” She asks him, holding out another.

When he shakes his head, she pops off the lid herself and takes a swig before passing it to Melanie to sip from. Jon gropes for his hand and leads him out of the little room without a word, down the corridor to another quiet dusty space.

“What are we doing?” Martin whispers as Jon plops down on the ground.

“I need a break,” He mutters, “Ankle is still at me.”

He opens his beer and takes a long drink, wrinkling his nose at the taste.

Martin slips off his bag and sits beside him. A sharp twinge lances up his side and he winces. He shattered his pelvis jumping off the cliff and even though he knows it has already healed, there is still a phantom tenderness in his hips.

Side-by-side, they sit in silence as Jon slowly drinks.

The room they have found themselves in is bare apart from some broken shelves and a thin sheet of fabric on the floor. It is crumpled in the vague shape of a body. Martin idly wonders which of the cult members slept here. His thoughts stray down that avenue. Someone might have been here when they were taken; ripped out of their rest by a cyclopean wraith or living camera. Would they be put back in the domains they were rescued from? Or just thrown into the guts of ever-vigilant London to feed its Master?

A shudder rolls down his spine.

He catches Jon watching him from the corner of his eye. When he swallows his mouthful of beer, Martin can see the slim column of his neck move.

“You want to know?” Jon asks suddenly, nodding at the blanket.

It takes Martin a moment to realise what he means.

Jon knows exactly what happened to the cult. He probably knew the instant Georgie told them they had been taken. All the fear, shock, and pain of the attack has been planted straight into his head and he can never forget it.

Martin screws his eyes shut and shakes his head.

“I don’t.”

His voice doesn’t shake but it’s a close thing. Every time he thinks he has seen the worst of what the end of the world has to offer, something proves him wrong. He knew the tunnels weren’t exactly safe, but they had felt like it. Even if the people down here had coped in strange ways, they had been free. The little spark of hope Martin keeps cradled close to his chest had flared brightly knowing that.

He draws his legs up, resting his chin on his knees.

With a shrug, Jon drains the beer bottle and puts it down. As soon as his hands are free, he crosses his arms and leans into Martin’s side. In the cold of the tunnels, his body heat feels like a brand.

He shuffles a bit, making himself comfortable and Martin wonders if he would be allowed put his arm around him to bring him closer.

Before he can ask, Jon sighs.

“I’m ready to talk about it,” He says, “If you are.”

He almost wishes he had asked about the cult’s abduction. Hearing about other people’s torture would have spared him his own.

Martin has known this was coming ever since he felt Jon’s footsteps echo through Annabelle’s web. He might have already accepted Martin’s reasoning for following her to Hilltop Road but they both know that’s not the only thing they need to talk about.

Jon has been patient with him. If he said he still wasn’t ready, he might get away with it. He indulges in the fantasy of not having to have a difficult conversation for a moment, before letting it go with a sigh. Once Basira wakes up, he knows they won’t have a chance to talk like this for a long time. All he can hope is that this won’t be the last time.

“Okay,” He says.

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

Jon sits upright and Martin immediately misses his warmth. He turns so that he is facing Martin directly, clearing his throat.

“First and foremost,” Jon stares him dead in the eyes, “I’m sorry.”

Martin freezes.

“I shouldn’t have said what I did back in the Panopticon,” Jon continues, heedless, “I wasn’t thinking straight, I was just… panicking a bit. But I took that out on you and that wasn’t right. I’m sorry.”

His tone is remorseful, but his gaze is fierce. It’s hard to keep looking at him.

“Jon…”

“I know… I know replacing Jonah isn’t an option. Giving the Eye what it wants and just changing around who gets tortured isn’t right. I should never have suggested it. I’m sorry for that too.”

Martin’s breath is caught in his lungs. His stomach lurches with a sudden nausea.

Jon drops his gaze and takes a deep breath as if he is bracing for something.

“Now. I have a question. I don’t want to compel the answer out of you, so I need you to be honest with me.”

“…Of course.”

Martin expects him to stare again. Instead, Jon keeps his eyes down and wraps his arms tighter around his waist. He licks his lips nervously.

“Do you trust me?”

He practically whispers the words.

Pain lances through Martin like a spike.

His first instinct is to sputter indignantly, to tell him yes of course he trusts him, to ask how Jon could even think such a silly question.

Before the Panopticon, that might have even been the truth.

Martin hadn’t even consider that it wasn’t until Jon spoke.

True to his word, there is no compulsion in Jon’s question. It still feels like the answer is being pulled out of him like a rotten tooth. A festering, painful infection that hurts to poke at. His heart aches when he thinks about what his answer is.

Jon squirms in place.

“Martin?”

“Give me- Give me a moment.”

Jon nods stiffly.

He should look at him when he says this. That would be the decent thing to do.

He doesn’t.

“I… I want to trust you.”

“…But?” Jon’s voice is brittle.

“But I-,” The words stick in his throat, “I don’t think I… Not e-entirely?”

The tunnels don’t echo. They swallow noise and as soon as Martin finishes talking, a heavy silence falls, the weight of his words bearing down on his shoulders.

“…I see,” Jon says without inflection.

Martin is immediately struck by his own words. He hadn’t really felt them before they were spoken but, in his gut, he knows they are true. There is a part of him that doesn’t trust Jon and he hates himself for it.

Jon has been through enough without yet another person doubting him, nevermind the man who loves him. You aren’t supposed to distrust the people you love, Martin is sure.

It’s difficult to keep his breathing steady. He risks a glance at Jon’s face, an ache building in his chest.

Jon still won’t look at him. His gaze is fixed firmly on the ground and devastation is written all over his face. He keeps his arms wound tightly around himself and hunches his shoulders as if making himself smaller will protect him. The worst thing, however, is that he doesn’t seem surprised.

Martin feels like a monster.

All his breath leaves him as he rushes to justify himself.

“It’s not-! It’s not y-you exactly, it’s-” He waves a hand vaguely towards the ceiling, “It’s the Eye, it has this hold on you and I’m just so scared you’re going to be lost to it and-”

“I haven’t so far,” Jon mumbles, his lip twisting in a slight sneer.

“You didn’t see your face up there! What happened to Jonah-! You wanted that! I saw it!”

“So what if I did!”

Jon whips his head up to glare at him.

“Is that what you want to hear?” He hisses, “That I was envious! Because I was, alright? I was. This whole- Ugh, this whole journey I have been trying so hard to not give in to Beholding. It’s been calling me here all this time to take my place with it. And yes, there is a part of me that wants that. It would be so easy to give in. To stop caring about this world and other people and my own pain.”

Jon’s hands dig into his own sides, claw-like, as he bares his teeth.

“And what did I do? What did I do when was staring directly at the Eye? Tell me, Martin, since you apparently saw it all.”

Martin can feel his whole body shaking.

“I walked away,” Jon plows on, “I walked away from it. Yes, I was considering it, but I still left that room. I made that choice, I am still making that choice. As soon as I was able to calm down, I knew I wouldn’t do it. I was going to find you and apologise and figure out another way. That’s what I did.”

“I-I know, Jon,” Martin stutters, “I know you’re trying, I can see that, I was just worried about you. Between that and the smiting-”

“That was your idea!” Jon cries.

“I know, I know-!”

“I did that for you! Because you asked me to do something, and that was all I could-!” Jon presses a hand to his chest, “And I’m the one who wanted to stop it, because- because… yes, yes, I did enjoy it. And I hated that I did. I couldn’t- I couldn’t be that anymore.”

Jon’s anger leaves him quickly, swiftly replaced by something that looks like grief. He is shaking too now. One hand creases his shirt where it is twisted up in it. He looks at Martin with wide eyes.

“W-What do I have to do?” To Martin’s horror, there are tears in his voice, “What do I have to do for you to trust me? Say it, say it, I’ll try to do it, please, p-please… I can’t, I can’t lost you because of- please…”

His eyes are bright and damp. Martin feels his heart being slowly ripped to shreds.

Temptation from his god did not make Jon cry. A full-fledged avatar of the Web did not make him beg. Martin has managed to do both. Jon looks like a single word from Martin could shatter him. He hates the power he holds over him.

Martin shuts his eyes for a moment and tries to control his breathing. He wants to say this right.

“Jon,” The man flinches at the sound of his own name, “I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“I need to apologise properly,” Martin insists, “I’m sorry for what I said to you. I shouldn’t have compared you to Jonah. I shouldn’t have yelled. I’m so sorry, Jon.”

Jon stares at him, incredulous.

“I need to take responsibility for the things I did. Because, y-yeah, I did egg you on a bit without… without really thinking about it. I’m sorry.”

Jon looks away.

“…I’m sorry for walking off with Annabelle. I’m sorry I didn’t trust you. I… I promise to try. To do better- To trust you more.”

“I-” Jon bites off his own words. He leans towards Martin then sways back, unsure.

Martin isn’t certain if he is allowed, but he holds his arms out to Jon slightly. Jon’s shoulders hitch in an aborted sob and he throws himself at Martin. He wraps his arms around his waist like an octopus and buries his face in his shoulder.

“Oh! Oh, Jon…”

Martin holds him close, one arm braced around his back, the other cradling his head.

“I’m sorry,” He apologises into Jon’s hair, pressing his face into the top of his head.

“Enough, enough,” Jon dismisses him weakly, “I just- I was so scared Martin. When I heard Cane had you- Our last conversation was an argument and I never would have forgiven myself if that-”

He cuts himself off and Martin knows he is trying to stop himself from crying.

“Me too. I- I knew I was in the wrong the second you walked away. I was so scared, and I lashed out and- Ugh. I feel so bloody stupid.”

Jon shushes him, rubs a hand down his back.

They stay like that for a while. Holding each other and catching their breaths. Martin feels Jon’s heartbeat settle into an even rhythm again. It seems astounding to him in this moment how he could have ever walked away from him. There is nowhere he wants to be more than in Jon’s embrace.

With a sniffle, Jon leans back slightly and holds both of Martin’s hands in his own.

“You, ah, you said you’ll try to trust me?”

“I will, I swear.”

“Mm. Y-You remember how before we went up to the Panopticon? You, uh, you called me ‘humanity’s only hope’?”

Martin winces.

“Yeah… I’m sorry for that too.”

“Yes…b-because I- I can’t be that, Martin. I need you to help me. I need us to be a team. No matter what happens next, I need us to do it together. And… we need to trust each other.”

“We will,” Martin lifts one of Jon’s hands and kisses it firmly, “I’ve decided.”

“You’ve decided?”

“Yup. No more doubt, no more fighting. We’re all in this now, and whatever the next step is, we all take it.”

Jon’s smile is weak.

“Okay.”

“Okay!”

Martin pulls him in for another hug.

“Thank you,” Jon mumbles in his ear.

“Thank you,” Martin shoots right back, “For giving me another chance.”

“Isn’t that my line?”

“Hush.”

Martin kisses him on the mouth. Jon tastes like stale beer and he relishes it.

The thought of what is to come is overwhelming. Martin knows the only way he will get through is with Jon by his side. Something in his heart still quails at the idea of entrusting the world to him. Martin swears on his own life that if it ever rears its ugly head again, he won’t let it guide his hand. He will choose to trust Jon, to talk with him and not let his temper control him.

Jon kisses back, melting into his arms, and Martin privately marvels at how easily Jon seems to have forgiven him.

Jon has shown his faith in him time and time again. Holding him close, Martin makes a silent promise to try and be worthy of it.

#jonmartin #the magnus archives #tma #tma spoilers #tma 198 #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #tma fanfiction #TMA fic

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himikiyo · 3 years

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cityscapes turn to dust // himikiyo week day 1

Himikiyo Week Day 1: Folklore + Magic

“Trying to defy death, hmm? You’re choosing to take the hard road just as I did. If I don’t have enough time left to change your mind, all I can do is wish you luck.”

Korekiyo's actions taking care of their sister catch up to them.

Read on AO3, DRA, or under the cut

They had to travel light these days. With the city so ravaged, it was common to pick up and leave at a moment’s notice, and there was only so much Himiko could carry. Kiyo was much stronger than her of course, but even the essentials weighed a fair bit. Most of her possessions, along with theirs, remained at their house, still locked up tight for the time being. Someone determined enough would still be able to break in, but she tried not to think about that.

Material possessions weren’t as important as a life anyway.

Despite traveling light though, Korekiyo seemed to be getting weaker. She told them they just needed rest, but they both knew that wasn’t it. The last time they visited their sister, she put up a fight. Perhaps she knew what was coming, and recognized the sickle in their hand. Either way, she bit them again. Maybe that was the final exposure their body could take after holding out so long.

Their arm was wreathed in broken veins, a sickly purplish crown centered on the bite mark. The imprint of each and every tooth was still clearly visible over a week later whenever she checked under the bandages. She picked her opportunities carefully, when they were half asleep or in a particularly good mood. That way, she hoped, they wouldn’t be quite so upset about how cold it was to remove any layers.

She checked every night to make sure they were still breathing. It was getting harder to tell.

---

People still tried to avoid saying the word zombie. Euphemisms were used: infected, changed. Sometimes there was no more than an indirect reference, like the grandmother who told her that “some of them” drove her out of her home. Maybe it was a foolish desire, since this elderly woman had clearly done well enough for herself to escape that, but Himiko wanted to help her.

“Why don’t you stay with us?” she asked. “Just for a little while. We don’t have much, but it’d be safer than traveling alone.”

“Thank you, dear,” the woman replied, adjusting her shawl. “But I like my chances. I’ve made it this far. If you’ll accept some advice from an old woman...” She trailed off momentarily, casting a meaningful glance at Kiyo. “You may want to consider striking out on your own too. There’s something not right about that one.”

“They’ve just been a little sick lately. Once we find somewhere safe to get medicine, they’ll be fine.” The lie tasted bitter on her tongue, but she couldn’t stand saying anything else. Without Korekiyo, she was sure she’d be long since dead.

“Sick? Or changing? Sometimes the hardest lesson to learn is when there’s nothing more to be done.”

“No, that’s not—” She broke off, swiping miserably at her eyes. Kiyo still sat in the corner. Wearing three sweaters to fight a mild early autumn chill, they gave off the impression of an especially gangly marshmallow. It seemed like they were oblivious to the conversation, but Himiko knew better. They always observed more than people gave them credit for.

“Don’t let your friend suffer, dear.” After pressing a small, paper-wrapped package into her hands, the grandmother left. Himiko watched until she vanished from view, hoping she arrived safely to wherever she was headed.

---

“So,” Kiyo said some time later. “When are you planning to kill me? She gave you everything you need to do it, didn’t she?”

“What? No, I’d never. You know I’d never do something like that.” Perched on the edge of the couch they were laying on, she combed a hand through their hair. It helped her fight the urge to rest it on their forehead and see how much their temperature had dropped.

“Yet you encouraged me that putting my sister out of her misery was the right thing to do.”

“That’s different. She wasn’t herself anymore.” As always, she bit back the part about how even with her full mental faculties, that would have been what she deserved.

“Any day now, you might come to find that I am not myself anymore either. Then I will no longer be able to cooperate with your attempts to do it painlessly.”

“That won’t happen,” she argued, fingers involuntarily tightening in their hair for just a moment. “If it was going to happen, it would have already. That was, what, the fifth time she bit you or something? It’s like you told me that first day I found out the truth. You’re immune.”

“Immune.” They scoffed, face contorting into something between a grimace and a scowl. “That was never anything but a lie I allowed myself to believe. I’m not immune. I’m dying.”

“No, you’re not,” Himiko mumbled. She inched closer to them on the couch, laying her head on their bony shoulder. Through sweaters and blankets, it almost felt soft. “I won’t let you.”

“Trying to defy death, hmm? You’re choosing to take the hard road just as I did. If I don’t have enough time left to change your mind, all I can do is wish you luck.” Numb fingers tugged their mask down to press a kiss to her forehead. The old, scarred-over bite wound on their neck was taking on the same purplish hue as their arm.

---

She woke up the next morning with her head resting on their chest. She couldn’t hear a heartbeat.

Shinguuji Korekiyo was dead.

After she came to that realization but before she could figure out what she should do about it, they stirred, feebly trying to shove the blankets off.

“Too hot,” they mumbled, rolling over (or trying to — the attempt wasn’t very successful with half her weight still on them).

“Kiyo?” It had been weeks since they had anything temperature-related to say that wasn’t complaining of being too cold. Not to mention the bigger issue of their lack of vital signs. Straightening up fully, Himiko leaned over them to meet their eyes. They were groggy and unfocused, but they clearly seemed to recognize her.

“What? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I guess I have in a way,” she responded, choking out a shaky laugh. “You.”

They sat up slowly, giving her a perplexed look. Did they not even realize what was going on? Surely they had to feel different. She reached out and laid a hand on their chest, just to be certain. Was she so exhausted that she just missed it before? After flexing their wrist, stretching their arm — stiff, maybe from the lack of blood flow? — they overlapped her hand with their own.

“I see. I didn’t imagine becoming a zombie would feel so pleasant.”

“Pleasant? How can you be so calm?”

“I actually feel better than I have in quite some time,” they admitted. “It’s rather comfortable. I do seem to have a certain degree of numbness, but it’s a worthwhile exchange to be free from all the recent pain and discomfort I’ve experienced. Considering my mind seems to be intact, at least as much as I can tell from my own biased perspective, death might not be so bad. If nothing else, it gives me something new to study.”

“Oh. Well, I’m glad you’re feeling better, but I don’t know if it’s normal to accept something like this so quickly.”

She was forgetting, of course, that Kiyo had never quite been normal.

---

Over time, it became clear that them saying they had “a certain degree of numbness” was a bit of an understatement. If she happened to touch them when they weren’t looking, they only seemed to notice about half the time. Their pain tolerance, already high, had increased to such an extent that it was very possible for them to sustain serious injuries without noticing. Thankfully, it didn’t seem like they were in any danger of dying again.

They were still capable of healing, just at a slower rate than a living person. The bite wounds were gradually becoming less evident, flesh repairing itself in defiance of the laws of biology.

That didn’t save her from the unpleasantness of acting as their doctor.

Her first lesson in zombie surgery was a jarring one. The glass shards embedded in their leg likely could have been avoided if they had as much feeling as they used to, but there was no point in agonizing over could have beens. The good news was that they barely seemed affected, glancing down at the heavy wounds with little more than bemused intrigue.

“Ah. I thought something stung a bit. We should probably take a moment to deal with this,” they said smoothly.

“Um, yeah, probably. It really doesn’t hurt? You’re bleeding a lot. What if you run out or something? We don’t exactly know all about how this whole zombie thing works.”

“It’s alright,” Kiyo said. “I think. If I can heal from injuries, it follows that I must still be capable of regenerating my blood supply. However, leaving broken glass there could cause problems. You should remove it.”

“Me? Why?”

“You should get used to tending to my wounds just in case there comes a time when I’m unable to do so myself.”

---

She got plenty of practice. Most of their injuries were minor, but she dutifully took care of each one nevertheless. When she really thought about it, sometimes she wondered if they acted a little carelessly on purpose just to give her experience. They’d always teetered dangerously on the edge of masochism, and now there was the added temptation of learning more about zombie physiology to boot.

Sure enough though, that time Kiyo mentioned did come eventually. So far, it seemed nearly impossible for them to die again, but that didn’t do much to diminish the dread that flowed through her when she saw the exposed muscle and bone of their arm, flayed open like so many of the other shambling zombies they’d seen over the past several weeks.

They grimaced when she started to clean up the wound. It was barely a flicker of pain, but even that was significant considering how much they were able to get through without batting an eye.

“Apologies, dear,” they murmured. “Continue.”

“Sorry. Kind of weird how quickly this has become normal.” She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to their lips before continuing.

Pulling the edges of the wound together and stitching it up nice and securely...She wasn’t the neatest with her sewing, but she was getting better, and Kiyo always insisted they didn’t mind.

“Beautiful work, my love,” they praised, smiling down at their rather Frankenstein-esque arm. “That’s much better already.”

Himiko just smiled, wrapping the arm up again in their usual bandages.

“I’ll always be here to sew you back again. For now, we should probably both get some rest.” They were only a day away from the village of their hopes.

#himikiyoweek2021 #himikiyoweek #himikiyo #korekiyo shinguji #himiko yumeno #danganronpa #dr #drv3 #m

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mytardisisparked · 4 years

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Is there any fics out there where Obi-Wan/Satine gets their heartbroken by the other? I haven’t seen any for it, and I’m really in the mood for one of them to get their heartbroken for some reason besides what obviously happens

Well, I’d say the majority of Obitine fics that aren’t a fix-it fic where Satine asks Obi-Wan to stay or they end up getting together somehow are fics where they get their hearts broken, but I’m guessing you are looking for something where they are older? I can’t think of any fics that fit that description right now so allow me to fill that gap for you.

-------

“Dance with me.”

She turned to find him standing there, hand extended and an amiable smile on his lips. She really shouldn’t have accepted, but the night was drawing to a close and the crowds were dwindling so she took his hand before she could give it a second thought.

Within seconds, they were twirling across the dance floor, faces far closer than they should have been.

They didn’t speak as they stepped in time, choosing instead to savor the way their feet moved together perfectly. Years of debating one another had left the Jedi Master and the duchess attuned to each other in such a way that made dancing look easy and natural. They didn’t realize it, but thirty seconds into the dance, everyone else moved off the dance floor and stood back to watch them in awe.

Their breath quickened as the music changed paced and their steps changed with it. Twirls and dips became faster and faster. Their feet hardly touched the floor as they spun and glided as fast as they could. Finally, the music let out one last high note, and the duchess and the Jedi snapped to a stop, noses nearly touching as they breathed the same air.

They barely heard the room erupt in applause.

Without a word, Obi-Wan stepped back, keeping one of Satine’s hands in his, and tugged her gently towards a dark hallway.

They stood in the shadows for a moment, facing each other. Satine’s pulse quickened as, ever so slowly, Obi-Wan’s hand slipped up to faintly touch her cheek. Her eyes fluttered closed, savoring the touch of a lover she had not known for nearly two decades. The hand finally cupped her cheek fully and she leaned into the touch, practically melting. She opened her eyes again to find Obi-Wan looking back at her with a question in his own. To respond, she tilted her head up and leaned forward invitingly.

Satine had always found that the great poets of old were lacking in their descriptions of kisses. There were simply no words that were numerous or powerful enough to describe how much kissing Obi-Wan Kenobi felt like home; every time their lips met she became absolutely certain that their souls were connected, their hearts were intertwined permanently, and there was nothing that could disconnect such a powerful bond. Kissing Obi-Wan Kenobi felt like receiving oxygen for the first time, her lungs heaving with the delicious taste of air she couldn’t live without. It felt like exploding in a ball of fantastic light. It felt like being pulled apart at the seams. It felt like burning.

It felt like something that was going to destroy her.

Suddenly, the rest of the world came crashing in around her, and Satine stepped back, ending all points of contact between them. She looked down at the floor so as to make this as painless as possible, but she had already seen Obi-Wan’s confused and hurt expression. He didn’t attempt to pull her back to him (she knew he never would, he was achingly polite), but his hands lingered in the space where she had once stood as if to try and feel her ghost.

“I’m sorry, Master Jedi, I should not have done that.” She ignored the hot sting of tears behind her eyes because, really, she should be over this childhood romance by now and duchesses of Mandalore don’t fraternize with unattachable Jedi knights.

“Satine-”

“No, it’s alright Obi-Wan, it was cruel of me to-” Her voice broke, the mask of the duchess cracking to reveal Satine beneath it. “I can’t do this,” she said, voice barely a whisper.

Obi-Wan’s hands fall to his sides with a sense of finality. “I would have left, you know.” She finally managed to pull her gaze up to look into his hurt face. “If you had asked, I would have left the Jedi Order for you.”

She had long suspected such a truth, but its admission feels like a knife to the heart anyway. “And that is exactly why I never asked.”

Now it was his turn to look like he had been stabbed. “What?”

She raised her chin, the little glimmer of outrage in his eyes is enough to spark her most protective shield: defiance. “I never asked you to leave because I knew you would say yes, I knew you would stay and I couldn’t let you do that. I couldn’t let you ruin your life and deprive the Jedi Order of so fine a member.”

Obi-Wan huffed. “I am perfectly capable of making my own decisions, Satine. My life is mine to ruin how I please.”

“And in the course of ruining yours you would have ruined mine as well.” Satine snapped. “If I had let you stay you would have been the only thing that mattered and that would not have been able to stand.” She sighed and stepped back again, needing more distance. “This is the very reason we can’t do this now; this, us, is like a gravity well and if we get sucked in we will never come back to our duties.”

“So maybe we forsake our duties.”

Satine’s eyes flashed back up to his. His words were bold, but his eyes tell her that he knew the truth; they cannot be together or their worlds would fall apart.

So instead of fighting him tooth and nail, Satine simply smiled sadly. “No, Obi-Wan. We can’t.”

The finality of her statement is enough to keep him from protesting further. Instead, he straightened and closed his eyes, siphoning away the tears that had been there a moment ago. When he opens his eyes, the warm man who had kissed her moments before was gone, replaced by the cool, procedural face of the general.

“My apologies, Your Grace, for my impropriety.”

His voice was cold enough to freeze her heart and shatter it.

With a small bow, he left her in the dark hallway, devoid of anything but her thoughts and quiet sobs. This was for the best, she knew, but that didn’t mean that every step Obi-Wan took away from her wasn’t like ripping herself apart from the inside out.

#Obitine #Obi-Wan #Satine #no beta read we die like men #star wars #the clone wars

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