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sweetbillwriting · 2 years

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Just You & I (Epilogue)

Description: This is a fiction with an AU Bill Skarsgård inspired by the real actor in a fictional story. The girlfriend and the daughter is nameless characters.

Warnings: 18+, cheating, talk about religion and religious values.

Notes: Here is the ending of the story about Bill and Tiana. I really loved writing this and I hope you will continue to read my work. 🤍

Gothenburg was cold and rainy the day Bill rented a car and traveled there. It was March but no signs of spring were showing. Just dirty piles of snow on the street corners. He wasn't so bewildered in Gothenburg. He had filmed there a couple times, partied there when he was in his twenties but he had never really experienced the city. He would never share that with anyone, a guy from Stockholm saying he never experienced Gothenburg was too cliche. To his relief he wouldn't need to drive to some obscure place. The avenue was easy to find.

After searching for a parking spot for a long time he found one just as he started to become really irritated. He looked at himself in the rearview mirror. His hair was a bit grown out because of an upcoming role but he combed it back the best he could with his fingers. His skin was a bit golden with a touch of pink on his nose and cheeks after his and Tiana's two weeks in India. He looked healthy and he felt pleased with his appearance.

The restaurant he was going to sat in the middle of the avenue and welcomed him with the scent of barbecue. It was inspired by the fifties and retro Italian restaurants. He was placed at a table in a corner of the restaurant, the waiter first placed him at a table at the window but he declined. It was obvious the waiter recognized him and maybe turned on the charm a bit extra for the Hollywood actor.

Bill waited at the table and nursed an alcoholic free beer. He looked at the pictures of vintage Hollywood actors on the walls. This wasn't the place he would have picked but he didn't feel he could say no to Tiana's oldest brother. What he had heard about Karim was that he didn't like bullshit. Hard to impress but fair. Tiana had also said he was really funny and a real teddy bear when you got to know him. Bill wondered if he would see that side of the brother.

He recognized Karim at once. Just as Tiana was he short but he compensated with big arms and broad shoulders hidden behind an olive green button up. He was well groomed with a beard and a sharp side part. And like Tiana he was blessed with beautiful facial features. He looked at Bill and nodded a bit and draped his coat over the chair’s backrest and then sat down eye to eye with Bill. Karim was intimidating and sitting down Bill mostly looked like a pretty little boy in Karim's eyes.

"Thank you for meeting me," Bill said with an exhalation. Karim nodded again and then turned to the waiter.

"Give me a lager on draft and the bacon burger. Sweet potato fries, please."

Bill looked at Karim with big eyes.

"What? Can't a Muslim eat bacon?" Karim looked him straight in the eyes then smiled big. Bill laughed a bit nervously.

"I’d like the same but with regular fries please." Said Bill to the waiter who nodded with an obliging smile.

"I will stop eating pork when Ramadan comes. I shouldn't eat the shit but when you have started…" said Karim and took hold of his beer once the waiter put it down. Bill did the same and took a heavy sip.

"The same with alcohol. Mostly because of the tummy you know? Or maybe you don't," he looked at Bill's slender form. He wore a long sleeved polo shirt in navy blue that hugged his flat chest and stomach.

Bill smirked.

"I actually do. It came with age."

"Hm? Come on, it doesn't look like you eat bacon burgers that often."

"No, not right now, no…"

Karim nodded.

"Right, the actor… How's that workin' for you?"

Bill felt his nerves come back. It felt like a trick question.

"Ehh… Well… Good I guess? I do some other things too."

Karim nodded.

"You have a daughter, right? Does that work?"

Bill licked his lips and took a sip of his beer.

"Right now it does. Me and her mother make it work."

He had his daughter every other week but they agreed to switch if needed. He had always been away for much longer times from her because of work and it was just the same now. Hopefully he would also be able to get some time to go home if he had bigger projects. He was glad he had come so far in his career that he could ask for such things.

Their burgers arrived at the table and they continued to small talk while eating.

"So... You want to marry my sister," Karim suddenly asked. Bill tried to chew his food the fastest he could and then wash it down with his beer.

"Yeah. I… I really love her. So much," said Bill sincerely and looked toward Karim, meeting his eyes. "... I've read about converting and I think that would work… I mean, I would do anything to get this to work."

Karim nodded.

"Yeah you should do that, you have slept with her." Karim looked Bill straight in the eyes. Bill felt the need to look away but he didn't think Karim would appreciate that.

"... I'm sorry for that. But I promise I will treat her well. As my… wife.”

The word felt foreign to Bill.

Gustaf laughed loudly, along with his girlfriend and Eija.

"You are not worthy of her. But if you do convert and marry her… I think our parents maybe won't kill you. But you must make her wear a niqab or at least hijab… And… I think my father would want to be the one that circumcises you ...."

"Karim is such s fucking king! He says all of this with a straight face?" Gustaf said and adjusted the cap on his head. Bill laughed and nodded.

"I was this fucking close to peeing my pants!" Bill held up his thumb and forefinger.

Bill had never told that story to them because he wanted them to meet Karim first. They sat in the grass outside of their mother's house in the archipelago. Gustaf's daughter sat in the middle of the blankets and played with various toys. Bill stretched out his legs. It was June but it had already become really hot and sunny so he was just dressed in a pair of denim shorts, chopped over the knee and a loose fit tank top. But it wasn't the outfit someone would react about, except for the gold band around his left ring finger.

"But what happened after that?" Eija asked.

"He just started to laugh. He said that he was impressed that I contacted him to ask for his sister's hand."

Karim was impressed. He hadn't expected that Bill would do that. When he had imagined Bill in his head he saw a vain hollywood dream boy. A guy that just wanted to crawl up between his little sister's leg. After Bill had contacted him he started to wonder if he maybe had the wrong assumptions about him and he started to google. The face he found was the pretty boy he had expected with skin pale as snow. But behind the doll face seem to be an intelligent and honest man with strong integrity. Suddenly he was interested to meet him but he also started to think about how he would warm up their parents to Tiana marrying a godless man. Lucky for Bill he had other things that could make them rethink. He would be able to give Tiana economic safety and they already knew he could give them grandchildren. His father had become much more liberal with age.

"But why did her parents say yes?" Gustaf asked. Bill smiled a bit.

"I am quite charming."

"Not that charming," joked Eija.

"...But I really think they actually just liked me. And I can afford the biggest wedding. I have fucking rent a castle!"

"Who doesn't like a big party?" Said Eija.

Bill smiled and looked to his left when he heard his daughter's voice. She came out from the house together with Tiana. Both of them were dressed in powdery summer dresses. It was never hard for his daughter to accept Tiana. She was probably too young to really understand and she and Tiana had become fast best friends. Bill always got warm seeing them together.

He stood up and went to meet them. Tiana smiled at him and held up her hand to cover her eyes from the sun. The diamond on her ring finger sparkled in the sun.

"Grammy has sooo many cookies!" Said his daughter and held up her hands.

"Yeah? But they are just for grownups." Bill teased and ruffled her hair.

"No, Bill, I've already eaten them all!" Shouted Valter from inside the house.

"Noo…! Vallie!!" Shouted the girl back and ran in to her uncle.

Bill smiled and then dragged Tiana closer to his body.

"Wiiifiie..." He said low and kissed her cheek and neck. Tiana laughed and put her arms around Bill's neck.

"I'm not your wife. Yet."

"Oh but soon. So so soon."

Bill had always thought he had commitment issues, that he wanted to keep things private but with Tiana he hadn't felt that way at all. On his mother's kitchen table laid the magazine with him and Tiana on the cover, looking at each other with teasing smiles. He wanted to scream out his love for her from the rooftops, an interview with them both about their wedding plans was a small thing. Maybe he should have thought about his ex’s feelings but it was hard when everything had a pink glow ever since he got Tiana's parents blessing to marry her. His ex had also begun to date a commercial director so he felt like it couldn't be so bad. She hadn't said anything about it other than a simple congratulation.

Everything was easy with Tiana and he looked forward to becoming her husband and one day having children with her.

Tiana let Bill lift her up so they could kiss. He was everything she could ever want and she was so happy her family saw her happiness as more important than the religious values. And he was a great man, everyone saw it. Together they had done something awful but it was hard to regret it when they saw what they got from it.

#bill skarsgård #bill skarsgard #writing #fan fiction #fiction #story #bill skarsgård writing

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sydflow · 1 year

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You're following ME?????? HELLO????? 😭

This is the nameless-potato-corner guy, by the way, and I just wanted to tell you that I've been reading your stories too on my other-OTHER account.

I'm sorry I have to send this anonymously, I wanted to keep my main blog private— and I just realized that I can't use my 2nd account/other blogs under my main blog to send tubmlr asks. (I honestly don't know how this app works tbhf). But yeah, it's just wholesome to see you on my list :^)

Loved your writings too btw!

Hello! I also barley know how this app works ;(

BUT I love your writing! And thanks so much for reading my workzz! 🥰 As a fellow Twice fanfic writer I’ll always support an equal!

@nameless-potato-corner

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ryujin-pov · 1 year

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Author's Note:

Hi everyone! First of all I wanted to thank everyone who have been supporting this blog and finding this somewhat wholesome and stress relieving at some point.

This blog have grown and experienced so much since its launch.

Since the main goal of this blog, aside from giving everyone the "feel" of being able to have a conversation with Ryujin, I have decided to expand the connections and purpose of this blog's goal.

I made a story-writing account that covers more than just ITZY's Ryujin, in terms of Fan–Idol interaction.

If you want to see my writings about Kpop idols, you may also check out: @nameless-potato-corner

Until then, 🌼 RYUJIN 🌼 will stay here and chat with you.

🍬🍬🍬

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twistedmusings · 3 years

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How the dorm leaders react when they catch you kissing someone from their dorm [Part 2]

A/N: AND HERE IT IS! Oh my god I still can't believe I managed to get this done! I actually stayed on task! Honestly these three were probably my favourite from the original post, I've had far too much fun writing these bois.

And what can I say? Playfully flirty MC is a good MC u wu

Warnings: Heavy smooching, possessive talk, and the reader just really pushing the dorm leader's buttons~

Part 1 here!

“How dare you...?”

Vil was more than happy to be coming back to Pomefiore with all the stuff that had happened today. Classes were more annoying than usual, he had to chase Leona down to tell him to get his work done and there had been some problems in the modeling studio that caused the lights to be brighter than usual and now he had a headache that only a nap could fix.

Thing was, if he wanted to keep his schedule as tight as possible he would need to stay awake for...another 6 hours.

One good thing was waiting for him though. Rook had greeted him at the entrance and let him know that the Ramshackle prefect was in the dorm today as per his request.

Good.

This would keep him awake. He remembers promising you a lesson in proper skincare in order to remedy whatever you did once you woke up in the morning. Deep in the back of his head he remembers you telling him that you just splash cold water on your face but he preferred to think that you at least put some sort of moisturizer. Maybe.

He rushes to his room to freshen up and makes sure that he has the materials he needs. Vil had decided that his own brand of face cleansing products would be a good start for your skin. The tingles in his fingertips went ignored as he thought of you thinking about him in the morning. It wasn’t that sort of thing at all, he reminded himself. Dorm leaders were supposed to help each other out, despite how often they were at each other’s throats, and he was just fulfilling his role not just as a dorm leader but as a...friend.

Vil takes one last look at the mirror and makes his way down the row of rooms in Pomefiore to reach the Lounge, only to stop when he sees you being pulled into one of the many rooms by what was clearly a Pomefiore’s students hand.

Wait what?

It’s almost alarming how quickly he approaches the door and puts his foot in it, choosing to stay quiet as he sees that the two people in the room didn’t even bother to wonder why the door hadn’t closed all the way. The student was pressing kisses against your lips in small intervals, choosing instead to talk as you run your hands up the expensive purple robe and taking in the little designs.

“I had a new lip scrub I wanted you to try out.”

“Really? Then why aren’t we in the bathroom?"

“That’s rather forward for a dorm leader. Is everyone in Ramshackle this daring?”

Vil couldn’t even pinpoint the student’s name. That was your first offense. The only thing he remembers about him is the man’s caramel brown hair and how it contrasted beautifully against his dark skin. After that, nothing could pop into his head that would make that student even remotely interesting for you to be hanging off of him like that! Of all the people to be with, it just had to be a nameless potato, didn’t it?

The hairs at the back of his head stand up as the potato hands you what he believes to be the best lip scrub in the business, which only makes the alarms in Vil’s head go off even louder. That brand wasn’t even known for doing lip scrubs! In fact, they once put out a three in one shampoo/conditioner and the fact that the student even had that brand in the dorms and you just blatantly accepting it was your second offense.

And as much as he wanted to focus on that being the thing that truly bothered him, he felt the alarms deafening him as he saw the potato’s hands wrap around your waist as he kissed you again, your lips parting to let him inside.

He shouldn’t be looking at this, he should be leaving and just leave you to your own devices. The lesson wasn’t important, you weren’t that important to him--

Amethyst eyes widen when you tilt your head as the student starts kissing down your neck, already choosing one spot to make his own as he licks and nips at the skin while you dig your fingers into his robe.

Vil didn’t really know how to describe the sudden surge of energy that caused him to fling the door open and grab the student by the back of his robe and pull him backwards, eyes glaring at you the entire time as you whisper his name, as if suddenly remembering that you had a previous engagement before this whole ‘sticking your tongue down a Pomefiore student’s throat’’ business.

“Prefect. My room. Now.”

You put your hands up and walk out of the room without looking at him, Vil letting go of the student’s robes and walking out after you. He didn’t even need to tell him that he was in trouble, the student would realize it soon enough once Rook delivered the chores that needed to be done by tonight.

A list only that student would be getting instead of the entire dorm.

Vil closes the door of his room and turns the lock rather harshly, looking back at you sitting at the edge of his bed still staring at the window. You weren’t trying to defend yourself, you weren’t even looking at him.

“I hate to be kept waiting, Prefect. Not just that, it is extremely rude to keep someone waiting just so you can fraternize with someone in my dorm.”

No answer. He grabs his desk chair and sits down so he can face you directly.

“What made you go and pick that potato?”

“Why would that be any of your business Vil-senpai?”

It was very much his business, if you asked him. He would have been okay if it was Epel or even Rook that you had picked to make out with but he wasn’t just going to stand around and watch as one of the student’s whose name he didn’t even know threw all of his work out of the window! So he asked the question again, this time getting a chuckle as an answer which only served to upset him even more.

“Out of anyone in my dorm you could have picked, you had to go with someone who offers you such a low quality brand of lip scrub?”

“That is your problem with this? What he offered me? Me and him just started hanging out, we know nothing about each other! I just wanted to change that.”

His headache was coming back again.

Vil put hard work into everything he did. That was his work ethic and people be damned if they thought it was too much. Maybe they couldn’t handle it but they still respected it, respected his craft and the work he put into it.

So why do you, of all of his recent projects, disrespect him so blatantly?

It was clear you weren’t ready yet, Vil wasn’t done working with you yet. After doing something like this, and right inside his dorm, he knew that you had just taken all of the careful brushes and strokes he had decorated your canvas with…

And burnt it right in front of his eyes.

Which is why he didn’t necessarily feel any guilt when he grabbed your cheeks and pulled his own lipstick out of his back pocket, ignoring your protests.

“Quiet.”

He applies the shade quickly and before you have any chance to protest, pushes his lips against yours.

The kiss is anything but sweet. It’s almost punishing. Vil was reminding you that you were a work in progress. He still had so much left to teach you, so much left to work with you and if you kept rushing things you were going to make him mad. Once he was done with you, you could go about your pitiful little life and kiss whoever you wanted and he wouldn’t even bat an eyelash.

A hand grasps at his wrists as you press his palms on your cheeks, your tongue gently pressing against his lips so you could slip inside--

Nevermind. This sort of impatient kissing would also have to go.

He pulls away and pushes you onto the mattress, your eyes hazy with eagerness and confusion as Vil removes his jacket and gloves and leans down to trap you below him.

“Were you this greedy with him? Did he also get this treatment from you? No, don’t answer. I fear I’ll only get angrier if you do. Now be an obedient little potato and stay still, the first thing I’ll fix is that messy kissing of yours.”

“ :( “

Snacks runs had to be the most annoying and heart pounding of his usual daily life quests. If waking up was a struggle enough, especially when no special loot such as new anime or manga was available, it was hard to complete such basic tasks without some sort of incentive.

Although Idia guessed that not dying of starvation was enough of an incentive.

He walks down the corridor of his own dorm, humming a quiet tune to himself as he looks down at all the snacks he had acquired. Which, score! They even had a limited edition chip flavor that came with the card of one of his favourite idols! It took everything in his power to not just spend all of his money on more than one bag but he had such a good day today that he knew his gacha pull luck just had to be good.

The door to a room behind him opens, Idia quickly picking up his pace and hiding behind a corner as he looks at who it could be. He isn't against anyone in his dorm but...he didn't have the means to engage in any conversation that wasn't about his current FPS game or Gakemo so--

"Thank you for the help! I thought my phone was beyond repair!"

His hands tighten around the chips pressed tight to his chest, eyes wide in surprise as he sees you stepping out of the room.

Of all people...why were you here so late?

The student laughs as he scratches the back of his head, handing you back your phone and looking away.

“No--No problem! I...I honestly didn’t think you would come to me for help. I integrated the newest magical technology on it as well as voice activated features and a--a brand new messaging app that sends messages faster!”

Idia clicked his tongue as he heard the student speak. Look at him showing off. You didn’t know that he was taking advantage of your naive mind! You didn’t know anything about magic so, of course, all those features would sound fancy!

When it was literally taking your phone and just downloading some fancy new apps on it!

Yet there you were, marveling down at it as if you had just gotten the latest version.

Well maybe he shouldn’t complain too much, even from here he could see your smile. A part of him worried that all this luck he was suddenly getting would affect the luck he would get on his chip bag but...you were worth it.

Such a rare event shouldn’t be left unnoticed.

Maybe...maybe if he stayed here you could walk by and he could open up the ‘bumping into each other late at night’ event?

“So how can I repay you? Do you need anything done?”

Idia tunes back into the conversation as he frowns, looking back at the two of you as the student looks at every single corner of the ceiling instead of looking at you.

Payment? The guy had just downloaded a couple of apps that wasn’t good enough reason to offer some sort of payment. He frowns and taps his foot impatiently as the guy stutters out a few excuses before finally giving you an answer.

“A ki--A kiss? Would that be alright?”

The Ignihyde dorm leader almost falls down as he hears that, retreating further into his corner as he glared daggers at the guy who had just dared to ask for such a bold request.

A k--kis--kiss? A kiss...from you?

This guy was starting to piss him off! He should just be content staring at you! You were a SSR character all on your own! That guy should be happy he even got to talk to you at all and shouldn’t ask for more than he was given! He already rolled for such a life changing event why would he even want more!

His eyes soften when he sees you mull it over. It was okay, you could reject him. Such a guy wouldn’t even be worthy of a kiss from you so you so all you had to do was say no! Go on, [Y/N], just reject hi--

Idia can feel his heart breaking as his muscles stop working, dropping all of his stuff on the floor with a thud as the sound echoes. Yet it went ignored, the other two people in the hallway too busy with their own activities.

When...when had you even kissed him? Idia only remembers you putting your phone away and the moment he blinked you had already pressed your lips against that other guy--!

He should be leaving, why isn’t he moving?

The student’s hand goes to your waist as you deepen it, his face turning a deep shade of red as you pull away and tap his lips.

“Was that your first kiss?”

“...y--yes..”

You were smiling and giving him such a rare, almost ultimately rare item and Idia didn’t know how long he could stare until he combusted.

So all he could do was turn around…

And run as fast as he could.

He ignored the familiar voice calling out his name, footsteps quickly following him as he started to run out of breath.

Making a poor otaku like him run, even now you were still being so cruel to him!

Idia’s door slides open as he bursts inside, ready to bury himself in his bed and never come out again--!

Only to stop when he hears you hiss in pain.

Blue eyes turn around to see your foot jammed into his doorway, not allowing the electric door to slide closed. A part of him wants to immediately go to you and ask if you were alright but he stops himself as the image of your kiss flashes through his mind again.

“[Y/N]-shi! W--What--!”

You rub at your foot and sigh, walking in with a confused look as Idia presses his back against his bookshelf. He knew it. If a SSR character could be brought to real life, this is the sort of power they would have over him.

The kind of aura you were emitting was enough for him to want to get on his knees, but he chose to remain strong.

“I was calling out to you…didn’t you hear me?”

Idia turns his head and looks at the floor, the pain still raw and emotionally taxing than what he was used to. Disappointment was one thing but heartbreak was a complete other monster!

“Shouldn’t--Shouldn’t you be with your boyfriend?”

He spits the word out, annoyed that a guy from his dorm could unlock...no...could get someone like you. You were open to every single activity Idia gave you, you gave him good feedback and didn’t get scared when you two disagreed on something. Every manga he gave you, you read and every anime he told you to watch, you would watch it.

You were receptive, you were attentive, you were what Idia wanted in a real life friend!

He hadn’t dared hope for more!

That still didn’t mean he couldn’t fantasize when he was all by himself.

“Boyfriend…?”

You tilt your head in confusion before chuckling as you realized what had happened.

“Oh so you saw that.”

Is that all you were going to say?! You had just taken his heart and crushed it into tiny little pieces and you were just going to talk about what a pervert he was being!

Someone just KO him now, like right now!

“Yes...I saw. So what? You were just ki-kissi--doing that thing from everyone to see! So you should just go back to him instead of bullying me in my own room!”

Please just leave, he wanted to cry in peace.

Yet you stubbornly remain, just like the first time he met you.

“Idia I don’t know what crazy assumptions you are making but that guy isn’t my boyfriend.”

You put up one finger.

“He fixed my phone…”

Another one follows after.

“And he asked for a kiss for payment. Simple as that. You shouldn’t act like you caught us doing something major. It was just a kis---”

Large hands land on your shoulders as Idia now stands in front of you, head hung low as he mutters something to himself.

“Just a kiss….just a kiss.”

You jump as he gets close to your face, eyes staring at you pleadingly as he cupped your face.

“JUST A KISS? DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHAT YOU ARE? AN EXTRA RARE CHARACTER SUCH AS YOURSELF SHOULDN’T BE GIVING OUT SUCH RARE ITEMS LIKE THAT!”

He shakes you back and forth.

“IF YOUR KISS WAS JUST NORMAL THEN EVEN I...I COULD--”

Idia’s eyes fall on your lips, the rush of adrenaline mixed in with his built up desire for you all culminating in two choices popping up in his head. And for the first time, he knew that hesitation was not an option.

So he dives in.

His lips met yours roughly, not really moving them or anything but just pressing them against you. You put your hands gently on his chest but he takes it as a protest, which only causes him to push them onto yours even more.

This was...disastrous.

He had never kissed anyone before. How in the world did he think that he would be able to kiss you? Ah, maybe this was a dream? Right! He had just dreamed all of this up and you didn’t really force your way into his room to confront him!

His hair flares up when you cup his face, pushing him away slightly and tilting him in such a way that your lips would meet in a much softer fashion. He looks down and sees you closing your eyes, following in your footsteps and melting inside your kiss.

You both pull away slowly, Idia opening his eyes and blushing when he sees you licking your lips and sending him a teasing grin.

A rare sight...made only for him.

“I feel like I just spent all my stamina on this one event...so I don’t want to go unrewarded. Can we go further? I want to go further. What option do I have to pick for you to do that again, [Y/N]?”

“Don’t touch them.”

“YOUNG MASTER! WHERE ARE YOU!”

Malleus sighs as he looks on at the Diasmonia students gathered around the outskirts of the school, smiling as he sees Sebek directing them each and every way. Sebek really didn’t give up, did he? One of his classes had been canceled and he was eager to see the gargoyles around Ramshackle in a much better light but he figured Sebek would cause up a stir when he didn’t find him in his classroom.

As much as he appreciated him, Sebek didn’t have to walk him to every single class.

He sighs and goes deeper into the woods behind Ramshackle, the small broken path there leading him down a familiar terrain.

This is where he usually walked with you, after all.

Seeing this place in bright light was so very different. Instead of it being illuminated by his lights, the sun peeked out from over the trees and provided a sunny trail instead of the usual moonlight. He took a deep breath as he breathed in the smell of flowers all around, all of them growing wildly around him and defying any human to try and tame them.

His fingers trace some of the thorns he found on some of them, the flowers attracted to his touch and moving closer to his hands as a small vine wrapped around his finger.

All with his magic’s help after all.

This was his safe space. Malleus would come here during his first and second year and lose himself in the wilderness. In here no one would fear him. Here every single thing was responsive to his touches and even dared to touch back. Some of the wild rose bushes also reminded him of him, Malleus adding a bit more thorns around the flowers as in to emulate the very home he missed.

In this lonely place, he flourished.

But it wasn’t so lonely now, was it?

His third year had brought one big surprise. A human. A child of man who did not know who he was or what he was capable of. They looked at him as if he was just any other stranger roaming around their dorm and not the next ruler of the Valley of Thorns.

And Malleus, being the very curious person he is, found himself pulled to your inattentiveness.

He had dropped many hints that he was eager to get to know you more, relishing in the fact that you two were starting to get closer. And while he had hoped to keep his identity a secret a bit longer, he found it almost unbearable for you to not know who he was.

If you were so open with who you were, then he should show you the same kind of respect.

How wonderful that you were now on a first name basis with each other.

Malleus could walk over to Ramshackle dorm now and knock on your door without hesitation, smiling as he sees your excitement at just what places you two would discover in the dead of night.

Bummer you couldn’t be with him now.

He had seen you come out of your dorm and ask Sebek if he needed any help, to which the fae replied rather rudely that no human could ever track down his young master, so he was a bit reluctant to discover any more places without you by his side.

These walks were something you two did together, after all.

So he remained at this spot, touching everything and anything that would strike his fancy while going deeper and deeper into a small clearing you two had found. A large tree decorated its middle, the leaves falling gently upon the ground as the sun shone down on the large pond that provided this part of the forest with the water it needed to balance out the sun’s gentle rays.

“Shhhh, don’t make too much noise.”

Malleus stops as he hears your voice, his head immediately turning towards the sound as he hears rustling behind him. He smiles and turns to where he thought you were coming from only to be struck by a sudden idea--and immediately hiding among the trees and bushes so you couldn’t see him.

Would you be surprised to find him here?

He hoped so. Malleus had the habit of appearing to you suddenly so this wouldn’t be breaking any traditions between you two. If he played his cards right, you might join him on a walk all the way to the edge of the island.

“Prefect do you know where you are going?”

“I do! I’ve been here so many times. Now come on!”

Another person’s voice. No...he had heard that voice before.

Malleus retreats back into his hiding spot as he sees you rush by, holding by the hand a Diasmonia student as he rushes to follow you. You smile and turn around, still holding his hand while the other looked on in amazement at where you had led him.

“Prefect...this is…”

“Like it? Me and Malleus found it a while ago. This is how we know we are close to the edge of the forest.”

The Diasmonia dorm leader smiles as he watches you show the student around, pointing out different sights and sounds as the other watched on in amazement. That student probably had never gone anywhere this secret and while Malleus was glad you were showing off the place you two shared…

There was a feeling deep inside his chest that flared up angrily as he caught the student looking at you more than his surroundings.

Green eyes watch as the student’s hand clenches and unclenches, seemingly working up the courage to do something as you continue speaking. Which was rather rude, in Malleus’s opinion. You were explaining some wonderful things about the flora here and he was just staring at you without engaging in the conversation.

And how did you two know each other? Malleus had never mentioned you in Diasmonia except to Silver and Lilia, had he known you before him?

Malleus hands grip the tree bark tighter as the student takes your hand, stopping your explanation as he gets you to focus your attention on him.

What--?

“I’ve been eager to find some time alone with you.”

The student clears his throat before pulling you by the hand gently, your surprised look turning into one of playfulness as you follow along with his movements. He leads you to the edge of the pond, spinning you around as you allow him to position you in such a way that you are now closer to him than before.

Which only makes the angry feeling in Malleus’s gut flare up even more.

“Have you now? What for?”

An answer Malleus wanted to know as well.

Blushing, the student smiles and leads you into a dance with no music which only served to make you laugh and make Malleus’s fingers dig deep into the wood of the poor tree.

In the dragon fae’s eyes, you two are dancing for hours without caring about who was around. Why had he even brought you here? This student was part of Sebek’s surveillance crew and yet here he was not doing his job. But he wasn’t the one who brought you here…

You were.

Your actions were lost on Malleus as the dance finishes up, the student dipping you low before bringing you up.

“So you brought me here to dance? Who knew Diasmonia students were so charming.”

Malleus didn’t like the way you were smiling, nor how your hands rested on the student’s shoulders. He hadn’t seen this side of you before, you were playing along with this student and his motives.

Had you always been so playful? Malleus had only seen you during the night and whenever you two spoke it was a conversation worthy of two friends sharing experiences together.

But not this...never this…

“Well, not just a dance. I’ve wanted to state my intentions outright.”

The tree starts to crack slowly as Malleus can feel more thorns growing out of the rose bushes around him.

“Ever since you arrived, you have been an enigma to me. You are always so helpful even to those who do not seek your aid. Even now, you didn’t have to help me search for our Young Master."

He wasn’t searching for anyone, he was too close to you for Malleus’s liking and he needed to learn how to respect your boundaries.

“Yet you still offered me your help...and I…I want to...”

The student was leaning closer as his hands slid down to your waist, Malleus staring as you started to tilt your head as you placed your hands on his chest while his lips were dead set on meeting yours--!

Your face is tilted up as cold lips meet yours, your mouth opening in a surprised gasp as the hold the student had on you was no longer shy and timid but angry and possessive. These lips were pulling you in closer and closer, greedily eating each and every sound you were making as the air was slowly stolen from your lungs.

A string of saliva is left hanging as you two separate, your eyes fluttering open as you think of something to say to such a ravishing kiss.

Only for them to open wide in surprise as you see who you had really kissed.

“Malleus!?”

You turn to look behind the fae’s back, the Diasmonia student looking at his Young Master in mild panic and surprise while Malleus presses you close against his chest, clearly hiding you from view.

Right before the student even had a chance to taste your lips, Malleus had rushed out of his hiding place and pulled him away by the collar of his shirt.

For a dragon to watch on as something that was his was so close to be taken away, the surprise must have gotten to him.

“Go tell Sebek to head back to Diasmonia and call off his search. I will be there by nightfall.”

The student tries to stutter out a response but Malleus glares back as he keeps you pressed firmly against him.

“Now.”

You watch the student leave in a hurry, following the broken path you had led him in with. Your eyes peek up to look at Malleus but the dorm leader waits until the sound of footsteps is long gone before tilting your face up again and leaning down to press his lips against yours in another rough and dominating kiss.

Hands push you forward as your back collides with the huge tree in the clearing, Malleus making sure that the back of your head meets the bark gently as his lips never parted from yours. You wrap your arms around him as best as you could and let out an involuntary squeak when the fae decides to pick you up so that you could pull him in even closer.

He is the one to pull away first, hands firmly on your bottom as you wrap your legs around his waist to support yourself.

“Malleus--”

The fae presses another kiss to your lips, effectively silencing you so that all your attention would be on him.

“Don’t ever bring someone else into this place, child of man. Do I make myself clear? This place is our haven and I will not have someone else come steal both it and you away from me. Well, even if you don’t understand, I’ll make sure to explain it to you thoroughly. Now...kiss me again.”

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twst x reader #twst mc #vil schoenheit #idia shroud #malleus draconia #vil x reader #idia x reader #malleus x reader #twst headcanons #twst imagines #vil schoenheit x reader #idia shroud x reader #malleus draconia x reader #//TO THE PEOPLE WHO ASKED ME ABOUT THIS A LOT!#//THIS IS FOR YOU!

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phati-sari · 3 years

Text

Arshi FF: Tere Bin - Chapter 8

Read from the beginning | Chapter 7

Chapter 8: Ranjha (listen while reading)

Khushi

“What was he doing here?”

Khushi answered without turning, her head resting on the window sill as she studied the moon. “I don’t know.”

It’d taken a long time to escape to the room she shared with her sister after they’d first stepped through the doors. First, Amma had asked about the hospital visit, making Khushi recite everything the Doctor Sahib had said while Bua-ji interrupted often to ask questions. Babu-ji had soon taken over, asking to see the paperwork Khushi had collected and asking a few questions of his own. Still full from the gol gappe, Khushi had nibbled on some puri under Jiji’s watchful gaze while the family considered the payment plan the clinic had laid out.

Luckily, no one had asked exactly how she’d gotten home.

“You were in his car, Khushi.” Jiji came to stand next to her, her tone coloured with disapproval.

“The auto broke down. He was driving past.”

“He, of all the people in Lucknow and Delhi, just happened to be driving by? At the exact moment your auto broke down?”

An odd defensiveness flared in her chest, words popping out of her mouth before she’d thought them through.

“What can I say, Jiji? My phone’s battery was dead, it was dark. He offered to drop me home.”

Jiji reached out to touch her shoulder. “Did he fight with you again?”

No, he bought me gol gappe.

“No more than usual,” Khushi tried to smile at her sister. “I’m fine. Really. He drove me home. That’s all.”

Though she looked unconvinced, Jiji stepped away with a nod to ready herself for bed. Khushi waited until she was alone to snatch her bag from where it hung on a hook. Her searching fingers found the business card he’d offered.

“Well, it’s just that you like arguing so much, and we argue so often … I think we should keep in touch.”

At the time, she’d been so startled that she’d simply taken the card and slid from the car without answering. Jiji, fortunately, had been too busy scowling at him through the windows to notice as she’d slipped it into her bag.

The card was thick, the surface almost velvety to the touch. It sported a bright red logo in the top corner and announced his name in crisp black letters — ARNAV SINGH RAIZADA. Khushi shook her head to clear the unbidden memory of correcting his name on hundreds of letters.

The writing on the card included a number she recognised for the reception desk at the head offices and an email address that his managers monitored. But he’d scrawled another number untidily along one side with a black pen.

His personal number, Khushi realised with a jolt.

It felt strangely intimate, though logic reminded her that she’d had the same number saved in her phone before he’d broken it on the storeroom floor.

Why is he still in Lucknow?

On the heels of this thought came another: Why should I care?!

Her mind was suddenly awhirl with memories — raised voices and shouted words, a fall from his window, the broken door to the storeroom. His airs about money and power. The terror of the guesthouse.

Khushi ripped the business card in half, her breath coming in rapid pants, and then tore it into even smaller pieces. Tears stung in her eyes. She scrunched the pieces into her palm as Jiji returned to the room.

“Make sure you wake up early tomorrow,” her sister draped her towel near the window. “We’re going to the temple.”

“Okay.”

Waiting until Jiji was occupied with something in the cupboard, Khushi returned the ruined card to her bag. In the bathroom, she brushed her teeth and washed her face before studying her reflection. Her pulse was a chaotic drumbeat in her body, her thoughts a wild tangle. And underneath it all was something that thrilled and scared her at the same time, something that had followed her to Lucknow.

#####

“Everything leads back to him,” Jiji had groaned, rolling on her side on the bed they shared. “Just go to sleep quietly.”

It had been a week since they’d returned to Lucknow, and Khushi had been comparing the price of potatoes between Lucknow and Delhi. Or at least, that was how the conversation had started. She couldn’t remember how they’d gotten to talking about that Laad Governor.

“You’re right Jiji. We’re in Lucknow now and we’ll soon forget that we ever went to Delhi. Or that we met such cruel, haughty people. Although … Anjali-ji had such sweetness in her. It’s a shame that we had to leave without saying goodbye to her. At least we met one nice person in Delhi. Oh … and Nani-ji. Maybe two nice people. And Aakash-ji, I suppose, though —”

“— Khushi! Are you going to count out every member of his family? Your mind is like a compass that’s always stuck on him!”

“And why wouldn’t it be?” Khushi had asked hotly. “He sent me there to do some meaningless task, knowing the place was about to collapse.”

“I know. You’ll never have to see him again, Khushi. You resigned from that awful job, you gave him an earful, and now you’re here and he’s there.”

The words should have elated her, but they only left her feeling strangely hollow.

#####

That hollowness sat heavily inside her as Khushi joined her sister in their bed a few minutes later, sliding between the covers with a sigh.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Jiji’s voice was soft in the dimness.

“Yes.”

“You barely ate dinner.”

“I’m not hungry.”

A short silence, in which Khushi’s mind unhelpfully replayed the way she’d fallen into his arms yet again.

Oh Devi Maiyya, couldn’t you find another place to make me slip? You mustn’t have liked the offering I left you this morning.

“I’m glad we came back to Babu-ji,” Jiji said softly. “I can’t imagine being away from home at a time like this.”

“The doctors said that as long as he rests properly and takes his medicines, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“He isn’t resting nearly enough, even with both of us at the shop.”

Khushi nodded her agreement, “He’s worried about the bills.”

“Bua-ji and Amma are talking about selling some jewellery. I thought I’d give them my bangles.”

“I have bangles we can sell too.”

It took a while for Jiji’s breathing to fall into the deep, slow rhythm of sleep. Khushi lay awake, her thoughts chasing each other in ever-tightening spirals.

The night of the photoshoot. The softness of her pallu as it slipped. The scorch of his gaze as it roved over her body and left her feeling singed. The electricity between them on Teej, every touch a bolt of lightning. The weight of him pressing into her in the storeroom.

She flushed, skin prickling and warmth blooming in secret places.

Stop it, Khushi. A handful of gol gappe is all it takes for you to forget his cruelty?

She turned onto her side with a huff. Sometimes it felt as though her life had been split into Before and After, as though falling at the fashion show had created an entirely new Khushi Kumari Gupta. A Khushi who was strangely compelled towards him, a Khushi who’d come dangerously close to swooning in his arms today. A Khushi who wanted something she had no name for.

“I didn’t know the situation at the guesthouse was that bad!”

“Do you really think I would’ve sent you there if I’d known? Is that what you think of me?”

For the first time, she allowed herself to entertain the idea that he hadn’t sent her there on purpose.

So what if he hadn’t? I was still trapped there for an entire day. He was wrong.

But the thought was impossible to dislodge now that it’d wormed into her mind. Having assumed he’d wanted to argue every time he’d approached her, she now considered whether he might have been trying to explain. She saw their interactions in a new light. The sweets, the cheque.

Did he feel guilty? Was he trying to say sorry?

She eventually fell into an uneasy sleep, tormented in her dreams by his eyes, his voice, the memory of his touch. She woke just before dawn, breathless and damp with sweat, the sheets tangled with her legs. Flinging them off, Khushi sat up in bed. Her sister made a questioning noise.

“Sleep, Jiji. It’s not time to wake up yet.”

A nameless storm raged in her chest, making it hard to breathe. She squeezed her eyes shut.

I should hate him.

A lurch in her tummy.

But I don’t.

Padding slowly over to her bag, she fished out the pieces of the business card one by one. There was a roll of tape amongst the paper and pens scattered on the table in the corner. Khushi glanced back at her sister as she sat. It took a few minutes to line up the jagged edges, to press the tape along them with trembling fingers until she could read his name again.

He’d set down a challenge. She wouldn’t back down.

********

Thanks for reading :) I know some of you may be disappointed with the level of introspection in this chapter and where I chose to end it. Tere Bin is Arnav’s story, one where he has to work out what he wants and how to get it while Khushi is in Lucknow. While I intend to dip into Khushi’s point of view where the story demands it (and I feel that her presence greatly improved Chapters 6 and 7), it will focus heavily on Arnav. I am not intentionally writing something to annoy or disappoint readers. I’m trying to do something very specific with this story, and like all experiments, I’m learning as I go :)

#ipkknd #iss pyaar ko kya naam doon #ff: tere bin #iwrotethis #arshi ff #arshi #ipkknd ff #mine

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shig-a-shig-ah · 3 years

Text

CHAPTER SIX ━ PRURIENCE

» pairing: shigaraki tomura x fem!reader

» story summary: working as a waitress in a villain bar means you meet all sorts of shady people. But when a random encounter piques your interest in a nameless stranger, a casual hookup turns into more than you bargained for.

» chapter cw: canonical injuries, blood, light masochism. 18+, minors DNI.

» tag: @awkward-confused @chaos-night @potatoes-is-are-food

» read the full chapter on ao3

Like my stuff? You can support me on Ko-fi.

[ Excerpt ]

It's a few minutes after 2 AM when Tomura emerges in the alley behind your bar, butterfly bandages and clumsily-taped gauze more-or-less holding his shoulder together. Small blooms of red had seeped through the dressing almost the moment he'd finished, probably unavoidable given the haste with which he'd worked, but it's good enough for now and that's what matters: any longer and he would have had to try catching up to you on your walk home, or shown up at your apartment, neither of which he's exactly sure are okay.

He's only just caught you; you're mere steps from turning the corner onto the main street when Kurogiri's warp gate closes behind him, but you're here and that means he can breath his first sigh of relief all night. The sound of it, or maybe of his sneakers scuffing against the pavement, has you whirling around, eyes wide and lips parted in an alarmed expression that Tomura can't help but find kind of cute, even if it is fleeting—you relax as soon as you see it's only him.

That relief is cute too, if he's being honest. There aren't many people who would be visibly glad to meet him in a dark alley, but here you are, practically beaming at the sight of him. It's a look that has his dick half-hard already, and that's made all the more appealing by the little uniform you always wear—that tiny skirt with its two rows of buttons down the front, and that dress shirt that's just a little too tight to be decent. He can never tell if your boss is a pervert who requires it to fit like that, or if you'd purposefully bought it to cling to you so provocatively, but he likes it either way, has fantasized more than once about ripping it clean off you.

It really is a shame you seem to value your clothes.

Your eyes widen again in surprise when he stalks towards you, shoving you right up against the brick wall, his fingertips already digging into the plump flesh of your ass as he catches your lips with his own. Fuck, he can't ever get over how soft you are and how good you taste, ad before he knows it, he's seeking out the cleft between your thighs, cupping his hand over your mound and groaning in satisfaction when you grind against his palm, unabashedly searching for more friction.

He wonders if you would let him fuck you right here. It's a tempting thought—your legs wrapped around his waist, your gasps muffled against his neck and your face red and embarrassed while you struggle to be quiet, to not draw attention.

He's halfway to trying it, doing his best to guide one of your legs over his hip, but his good hand is still marveling at the dampness of your underwear, and all that attempt to coax your thigh around him does is bring a painful reminder of the dramatic split in his shoulder. He sucks in a sharp breath through clenched teeth even as his cock twitches in his pants.

You pull back abruptly, brows knitting together. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." He's worked up is what he is, and the way his dick and his shoulder are now throbbing in sync is doing nothing to help, that new rush of endorphins sending his head spinning. He thinks he might actually explode if he's not inside you soon, so what he needs is for you to cooperate, not waste your breath on questions that don't matter.

But instead you frown, still shifting to separate yourself from him, and Tomura has to bite at the inside of his cheek to contain his frustration as your concerned expression deepens. His throat is itchy again too, but he's not actually aware that he's scratching at it until you pull his arm away. For half a second he's confused by the way you're staring at his hand, and then he belatedly realizes his fingertips are tinged red.

"Are you sure you're good?" You meet his eyes when you ask, your face serious. There's something insistent in your voice, too—an edge not dissimilar to the one you get sometimes when discussing your Quirk—and for a moment, Tomura actually hesitates.

He mostly appreciates that you don't pry, and he certainly doesn't give a fuck whether you know anything about him—that seems to matter little to either of you—but in these rare instances when you stop acting so nonchalant about everything, he finds himself reconsidering his own indifference. Because in moments like these, there's always a hint of intensity that makes you seem almost...

Interesting.

But then his erection twitches again, and Tomura's reminded that he didn't come here to talk.

"I said I'm fine," he grumbles, grabbing at your wrist with four careful fingers and tugging you impatiently out of the alley. "Now c'mon."

Keep reading on AO3

#shigaraki x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x you #tomura shigaraki x you #shigaraki smut #shigaraki fanfic #shigaraki #tomura shigaraki #bnha shigaraki #mha shigaraki #bnha smut #bnha x reader #mha x reader #reader insert #bnha reader insert #long fic #AtBI

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the-incorporeal-sandwich · 2 years

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In honor of Nov. 2, 2021:

The man with thirteen years of hell and a silver tongue meekly pleads with his father, "I don't want to play with him, he's the weird neighbor kid." The Angel of Death chuckles and replies, "don't worry mate, it'll be fine." There is a half-enderman teenager dancing on the roof of the Arctic Anarchist Commune potato farm as Swedish "anime" music blasts from an unknown source.

It is the night of the Red Banquet. The dapper demon at the head of the table gives a long, well-crafted speech of reformation and forgiveness, then toasts to the slaughter of his gathered guests. The crimson-clothed crowd of creatures and godlings look around in confusion, then fear and dawning horror, then burning rage as a firey wall of death and betrayal encloses them on all sides. A sacrifice is chosen by the red-minded slaves of a nameless, eons-old entity. Hidden up in the rafters forged by a world of brimstone and blood-stained vines, the Sleepwalker of Secrets is Caramelldansing.

The hall is long and dark, echoing with the whispered pleas of two soulbound young boys facing their tormentor. As the deadly Puppeteer readies his blade for the young president's final blow, in steps the deadliest mercenary in the land. In a flurry of hell-forged steels and violet sulphur, the entire land turns aginst its tyrannical master. And as the now-shattered, bloodstained mask is led away by He Who Was Born In Fire and the future Warden, he turns to look one last time at the two young victors. But his eyes instead land on a silent, chimeric figure in the corner of the vast Prison of Attachments. And the Dreamer of the Hunt stares incredulously as the boy who will one day be known as Lethe performs the world's strangest ritual, summoning from everywhere and nowhere an otherworldly tune never before captured on the kingdom's coveted vinyls.

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gusu-emilu · 3 years

Text

Ship: Wei Wuxian / Wen Ning

Summary: Wei Wuxian gives Wen Ning a heartbeat, but not in the way either of them expected.

Rated T, No Warnings Apply

Poorly-concealed Wen Ning character study

Emotional hurt/comfort

Burial Mounds settlement days

Pining, cuddling, and homoerotic necromancy

First kiss

Demisexual vibes

Guest appearance from A-Yuan

Ch. 2/2, 6k (12k total), read on AO3 above or on Tumblr below

Wei Wuxian gives a low, melodic laugh. “What I want, but can’t have? More potatoes. Do me a favor and beg your jiejie about that for me.”

Unsurprising that Wei Wuxian would deflect the question. “If you don’t want to tell me, that’s okay.” Nervousness and guilt twitches in Wen Ning’s fingers. “I—I shouldn’t—”

He’s doing this all wrong. He should let Wei Wuxian ease into sharing what is troubling him, the way Wei Wuxian eases him into new experiments, not stumble around so bluntly with his words.

But Wei Wuxian doesn’t seem bothered. He looks down from the sky at Wen Ning. “How about you tell me a few things too?” He removes his arm from around Wen Ning’s waist and leans away, stretching, then rests his hand beneath his head. “The heart of a demonic cultivator is black and evil and, most importantly, elusive.” He smirks, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “You’ll have to trade for it.”

Wen Ning knits his brow. “Your heart isn’t evil. It sounds nice, and feels nice, like you—” He stops himself, immediately wishing he hadn’t spoken, and wishing he could sink into the earth.

Wei Wuxian laughs again, sounding a bit surprised. “Is that so? Well, why didn’t you say that earlier?”

With one arm wrapped beneath Wen Ning, he pulls him closer for him to lay his head on Wei Wuxian’s shoulder. Wen Ning remains stiff, unsure if he should hold Wei Wuxian again—he just revealed too much, didn’t he? Wei Wuxian must feel uncomfortable...

But Wei Wuxian tugs a bit more, until Wen Ning can’t help it and awkwardly curls into Wei Wuxian. He welcomes the warmth from his body, even as he feels he shouldn’t accept this invitation.

“Since it's you,” Wei Wuxian says, “you won’t have to trade as much. But first…” He sucks in his upper lip, tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth the way he does when he’s leaning over his notes and thinking through a design plan.

He takes Wen Ning’s hand and guides it so his fingers touch the opening of Wei Wuxian’s robes.

“Is this okay?” he asks.

Slightly confused as to what is happening, Wen Ning nods.

Wei Wuxian’s fingers wrap around tighter as he slides both of their hands under his robes.

“W-Wei-gongzi—”

He continues to slowly guide Wen Ning until he feels Wei Wuxian’s bare chest, heartbeat meeting his palm.

Anxiety crawls into Wen Ning’s throat as Wei Wuxian’s heartbeat quickens under his cold touch.

He is a corpse.

His chances of dying during the Sunshot Campaign were only slightly less than his clansmen on the front lines. He could have been nothing more than another Wen struck down in war and raised from the dead by Wei Wuxian, a nameless, mindless weapon, reanimated to fight his own people, cast aside once no longer useful. He has a consciousness, but the state of his body is no different from another fierce corpse.

What if, deep down, he reminds Wei Wuxian of every snarling, bloodthirsty corpse he called forth, reminds him of how he used them to kill thousands during the war? What if he reminds Wei Wuxian of the three months he spent fighting for his life in the Burial Mounds?

If something Wei Wuxian wants, but can’t have, is for Wen Ning not to touch him—he would never say it.

“But—but—isn’t it cold?” Wen Ning asks.

Wei Wuxian shrugs. “It is.” He doesn’t sound the slightest bothered. “I’m going to freeze out here in the woods, and it’ll be all your fault.”

Worry takes over Wen Ning’s expression as he starts to pull away. Wei Wuxian just laughs and presses down on his hand, trapping him.

“I like it, okay?” he says. “How could I feel cold? You’re the warmest person I know.”

Unable to express how those words burrow into him, blooming into gratitude and relief and yet still not fully settling the anxiety, Wen Ning curls closer, resting his head on Wei Wuxian’s shoulder. He lets in the comfort of the warmth of Wei Wuxian’s body and the heat of his chest below Wen Ning’s hand, counting his heartbeats to steady his mind.

“You next,” Wei Wuxian says. “We’re taking turns. Tell me something you want but can’t have.”

Wen Ning quickly realizes what a challenging question this is. To find something meaningful to share that will not make Wei Wuxian feel sad or guilty.

“I…I want to learn to sew,” Wen Ning mumbles.

“Really!” Wei Wuxian shifts under him, sounding genuinely surprised.

“I know how, kind of, for just—just something useful. But not how to make something pretty. My clan didn’t teach that to boys.”

“Let’s have Granny teach you, then!”

“I don’t know…my hands are so clumsy now.”

Detailed handiwork requires all his focus. Despite how it soothes him, even helping Jiejie make medicine saps his mental energy. He can easily carry everyone’s heavy loads and take on the roughest labor in the fields, some of his favorite ways to help, but he has traded for it with the little delicacy he once had.

Wei Wuxian strokes Wen Ning’s wrist under his robes. “It’ll just take practice. You’re still getting used to your strength.”

“I...I guess so.”

“You’ve made this much progress, haven’t you? You used to barely be able to hold a teacup. Learning to sew would help you adjust to your strength more. Plus, Granny wants to spend more time with you.”

“She does?”

“Yeah! A-Yuan always keeps her busy lately. You’re much less of a headache than him.” Wei Wuxian clicks his tongue. “Such a demanding child. Always wanting to run off somewhere, eat more snacks, shout whatever he feels…”

A smile tugs at Wen Ning’s lips. “I think I know who he learned that from.”

“Hey!” Wei Wuxian knocks on the back of Wen Ning’s head. “You’re not allowed to tease me.”

“…I think I know who I learned that from.”

Wei Wuxian laughs, his chest shaking under Wen Ning’s hand. The sensation fills Wen Ning with happiness, hearing Wei Wuxian’s laughter, feeling his joy vibrate through his body. Wen Ning wishes he were better at making jokes so he could feel this again and again.

“Alright, alright, go easy on me,” Wei Wuxian says. “And by the way, you can learn to sew. That doesn’t count as something you can’t have. But I’ll take it.”

“Then it’s your turn.”

They exchange small wishes back and forth, mostly about landmarks they miss from their hometown or little opportunities that had already passed. Half of Wei Wuxian’s wishes are about other people—for Uncle Four to stop snoring when they sit around the campfire, for Jiejie to get her medical texts published, for Jiang Wanyin to get a sense of humor.

Wen Ning begins to wonder if Wei Wuxian is intentionally steering the conversation away from himself.

Maybe if Wen Ning shares more, Wei Wuxian will too. If he doesn’t reveal something deeper, how will Wei Wuxian feel comfortable to reveal something serious in return?

Once Wen Ning allows it, deeper needs bubble up inside him and beg for his voice.

I want to go back to the beginning of the war and protect my family.

I want to taste and feel and breathe again.

I want you…

“I want to attend a real archery competition,” he says instead.

“You’re not missing much. It wouldn’t be a competition. You’d beat everyone there!”

Wen Ning tries to protest, but Wei Wuxian shushes him. Finally, Wei Wuxian relents and lets him speak. “You know I was never good at doing archery in front of other people. Not like you—you're even able to swordfight with an audience.”

Wei Wuxian scoffs. “You mean I used to be able to swordfight. And besides, the whole point is to have an audience. If you don’t carry your sword when everyone is looking, someone will scold you,” he says, sounding bitter.

Not for the first time, Wen Ning realizes he touched upon a sore topic only when it’s too late.

He tries to fill in the pieces of Wei Wuxian’s words. Usually when Wei Wuxian mentions someone scolding him, he means Hanguang-Jun. Wen Ning has heard the stories about him on the nights Wei Wuxian had drank too much. Despite how they are drawn to each other, and look out for each other, Wei Wuxian remains convinced that all Hanguang-Jun wants is to reprimand him for demonic cultivation.

Or at least he pretends he’s convinced of this. It must be difficult to hide the core transfer from a man who keeps offering to guide him to the right path, to heal him.

Wen Ning hadn’t realized how much the core transfer would alienate Wei Wuxian from the other cultivators.

Wei Wuxian shifts onto his back, facing directly up toward the belt of stars behind dark silhouettes of trees, seeming lost in thought. “Have you ever kissed anyone?” he suddenly asks.

Wen Ning’s entire body stiffens. “No.”

How did they get to this topic?

“That’s a pity. So many ladies who missed out on that chance.” Wei Wuxian sighs, then grins. “Well, it doesn’t matter. I don’t think either of us are going to be courting ladies anytime soon.”

“L-Ladies?” Wen Ning echoes with a mix of surprise and alarm. Then he realizes what his reaction might imply, and grows quiet, wishing he could suck the words back into himself.

Wei Wuxian is quiet for a few moments. “Don’t tell me the Ghost General is afraid of girls.”

“I’m—I’m not—I just…I was…”

“Haven’t you ever liked a girl?” Wei Wuxian’s voice is teasing, but there’s an undercurrent of hesitancy.

Attraction has always been complicated for Wen Ning. He had been never sure if what he felt was admiration, a desire to become friends, or a simple appreciation for beauty. Wen Ning might wonder if he's a cutsleeve, but it’s hard to know when he has only fallen for a single person in his entire life.

“I like them, just not…not…”

“Not that way,” Wei Wuxian suggests.

“…Right.”

“Hm.” Crickets chirp in the forest, as if suggesting ideas to Wei Wuxian as he thinks. “Then…boys?”

“Not—not every boy.” Not anyone who isn’t you.

The admission sends a wave of dread through Wen Ning. His clan would’ve never allowed him to be a cutsleeve. Never mind having feelings for the person who helped destroy them.

“Huh.” Wei Wuxian rubs his thumb over Wen Ning’s hand where it still rests on Wei Wuxian’s chest under his robes. “I had no idea.”

This game to share their wishes might have been a bad idea. How did Wen Ning end up revealing so much about himself, while he still hasn’t been offered a burden to lift from Wei Wuxian’s shoulders?

Wen Ning does something with his throat reminiscent of swallowing and musters up the courage to say, “I was actually surprised because…” then trails off, losing the boldness as quickly as it came.

What use is this? Even if he coaxes Wei Wuxian into talking about Hanguang-Jun, what can Wen Ning do to fix the situation? He isn’t even sure of precisely what Wei Wuxian and Hanguang-Jun have between them.

But maybe just talking about it will make Wei Wuxian feel better, the way Wen Ning had felt better by telling Jiejie about the times he had been bullied. He couldn’t undo the damage of those memories, but he had felt better sharing them.

Yet, what right does Wen Ning have to know about Wei Wuxian’s feelings?

Wei Wuxian waits, and when Wen Ning doesn’t continue, he begins lightly tapping the back of Wen Ning’s hand. “Because what?”

“I just didn’t expect you to want to kiss a lady.”

“How can you be so sure?” Wei Wuxian asks playfully. “You know, the whole world thinks I have a harem of dead brides up here. I’m truly insatiable, Wen Ning.”

“I already know you’re not who people say you are.”

Wei Wuxian gives a satisfied hum. “Neither are you.”

“Maybe…maybe you’ll still have a chance,” Wen Ning says.

Wei Wuxian lets out a surprised laugh. “A chance for what? Someone to kiss this old man? I think you’d have a better chance.”

Wen Ning pulls away from Wei Wuxian. “Me? Why?”

“Look at yourself! You’re beautiful!”

It takes Wen Ning several moments to process that, as his dead heart tries to race and his bloodless veins try to rush heat into his face. “Nobody would kiss me.” He curls back into Wei Wuxian’s shoulder before he can catch a glimpse of the expression on his face. “I’m dead.” I’m something that would crawl out of the earth and scare people to death.

“You don’t act like it.” Wei Wuxian stretches out and relaxes, as if this conversation is not nerve-wracking at all. “You’re very alive. In fact, you’ll live longer than me.”

That hits Wen Ning like a blow to the stomach, squeezing out air he doesn’t even need.

He will outlive Wei Wuxian. Outlive Uncle, Jiejie, A-Yuan—

What will he do when he no longer has them?

He tries to set the thought aside. There’s no use mourning what has not passed.

But somehow, he had never realized this. That his death is a type of immortality.

Wei Wuxian seems to notice that what he’d said had made Wen Ning uncomfortable. “I’m not that easy to kill off, though. The Burial Mounds couldn’t kill me the first time, and they won’t do it again!” But the words ring empty.

Wen Ning knows that Wei Wuxian expects to die in the Burial Mounds.

How much time do they truly have? It’s a miracle that none of the Dafan Wen have died yet—even the soil they farm holds the dust of corpses. Perhaps none of them can be said to be truly alive anyway.

He focuses on Wei Wuxian’s heartbeat against his hand.

He wishes for the thrum to never stop, to always be able to return here and put his hand to Wei Wuxian’s heart and know for sure that he’s alive. Like the way he had checked on Jiejie after her meetings with Wen Ruohan to be sure he hadn’t harmed her.

Maybe that’s part of the reason he likes Wei Wuxian’s heartbeat so much. It’s evidence that Wei Wuxian is alive—steady, warm, alive against his palm.

Maybe some of Wei Wuxian’s heart runs on the resentful energy that has kept him standing since he was thrown into the Burial Mounds. Maybe some of the same blackness that’s in Wen Ning’s veins coils through his.

He pulls Wei Wuxian closer. “I will sooner die a second time than let you outlive me,” he says into the groove of Wei Wuxian’s neck. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Wei Wuxian cups Wen Ning’s face to look him in the eyes, his gaze warm but steely. “You’ve done so much for me already.”

Unsure of what to say, Wen Ning lets Wei Wuxian hold his chin in his hand.

Wei Wuxian’s lips curve into the faintest smile. “It’s my turn to protect you now.”

“Gongzi…I would still…still do anything to—"

“I know you would.” Wei Wuxian sighs. He tucks a strand of Wen Ning’s hair behind his ear. “I’m sorry. You have blood on your hands because of me.”

Chenqing’s breathy melody rises unbidden in Wen Ning’s mind, snakes between him and Wei Wuxian, as if the night breeze is playing the dizi to remind them of its presence. Wen Ning knows it lies secure in Wei Wuxian’s belt. Chenqing never leaves Wei Wuxian’s side.

Wen Ning has killed with Chenqing’s melody in his ear. Killed with his bare hands. Killed with rage summoned by beautiful songs of revenge.

He was never supposed to kill. Only heal.

But Wen Ning is an angry person. He has been angry since he was a child, since his father died, since his spirit was snatched and distorted, since he was abused by his clansmen, since his family was persecuted. He had buried all that anger under layers of timidity, where it was meant to never be disturbed.

But for Wei Wuxian, Wen Ning can be angry.

He can save his rage for when Wei Wuxian calls for it to be released, let him channel it and shape it into vengeance for his family, into a way for the people he loves to live a few more days.

He trusts Wei Wuxian with his anger, in a way he has never trusted himself.

“It’s true that I have blood on my hands,” Wen Ning says, “but it was for you and my family. Could we have escaped the Jin camp another way?”

Wei Wuxian doesn’t reply. Wen Ning looks down at the fold of Wei Wuxian’s loose collar where his hand is still settled beneath the fabric, where he feels the barely perceptible rise and fall of Wei Wuxian’s breath.

“I don’t want that blood on my family’s hands,” Wen Ning continues. “They were lucky enough not to fight in the war. They shouldn’t have to kill now that the war is over. I…I was able to take that burden for them.”

For once, I was able to carry a burden rather than become a burden. Please don’t take that away from me now.

Wei Wuxian is silent for several moments. Finally, all he says is, “How much do you remember from that night?”

Wen Ning thinks, tries to recall his resurrection like he has so many times, but like always, the images slip through his fingers like every dulled sensation he can no longer feel.

“I just remember it being dark. And that I was angry.”

Wei Wuxian just nods at him, then turns his face back up toward the sky. “Wen Ning…What else do you want, but can’t have?”

“You’re supposed to tell me that for yourself.”

“I want to hear more about you first.”

“I don’t want to outlive you,” comes out of Wen Ning’s mouth before he can think about it. Something about his tone, the way his voice shakes, makes him vaguely sure this is the closest he’s ever come to confessing.

Wei Wuxian’s breath becomes shallower. He looks at Wen Ning once more, a gaze that travels down Wen Ning’s spine, tingling. Sorrow flashes in Wei Wuxian’s eyes before they brighten as he smirks.

“Do you really have so little faith in me?” he jokes. “Didn’t I just say I’m not that easy to get rid of? You’re stuck with me forever! Besides, if I don’t terrorize the world long enough to buy A-Yuan everything he wants, how powerful am I really?”

Wen Ning can’t tell if Wei Wuxian’s bantering is genuine or if he’s just trying to lighten the mood, but either way, it lifts his spirits.

He gives a small smile. “You’re right.”

“Of course I am!” Wei Wuxian says, feigning indignance. “I’m not going to give up on everybody just like that. Uncle Four and I have so many wines left to taste. How can I let him down? And what about your jiejie? It’ll take me at least ten lives to convince her that my crop choices are better than hers, and I won’t back down until I’ve won that debate.”

Wen Ning laughs.

“And as for you…” Wei Wuxian pokes Wen Ning in the center of his chest. “Well, I have to complain to eternity about you doubting my power, so there’s that. I also have to make sure you learn to sew, and that you sew a hundred presents for me.”

”That’s a lot.”

“That’s the point.”

“Don’t worry, I can do it.”

Wei Wuxian nods, trying to look so serious that he looks a bit silly. “I’ll be waiting. And also…” His smirk returns. “I need to make sure you get your first kiss.”

Wen Ning feels a little tug inside his chest. “Why—Why me? What about you?”

“Hm. Good point.” Wei Wuxian looks away, as if thinking, then says, “We can just worry about each other’s first kiss. Then everything is accounted for.”

“That…that works. Although…” Wen Ning trails off. Then it hits him that Wei Wuxian means he hasn't kissed anyone either. Wen Ning supposes it makes sense, but it still surprises him.

“What is it?” Wei Wuxian asks.

“You’d give me that responsibility? To make sure that someday you…get your…” Wen Ning stops once more, too embarrassed to continue.

“Gladly.”

Wen Ning should be happy at this answer, at the warmth and certainty in Wei Wuxian’s voice, but instead he feels a pang of disappointment. How is he supposed to feel about this? It’s like he is entrusted to carry one end of a precious ribbon over a great distance, a ribbon he would wear with pride, but in the end he must tie it around someone else’s wrist.

“Too much responsibility?” Wei Wuxian asks playfully. He cocks an eyebrow. “Do you really think it’ll be so hard for me to get a kiss?”

“N-No, not at all,” Wen Ning answers, a bit too quickly.

Wei Wuxian just looks at him for a moment. “There’s actually an easy solution here. Then you won’t have to worry about helping out this hopeless case with romance,” he says, pointing at himself.

Something flutters inside Wen Ning. “What is it?”

“We could…ah…we could just do it now.”

The fluttering inside Wen Ning suddenly feels more like a bird trying to take flight.

Wen Ning wants to ask what Wei Wuxian means, because surely it isn’t what it sounds like. Wants to hear the truth so he can cut off his budding imagination, but he can barely form words.

It’s difficult to tell in the moonlight, but Wen Ning thinks he sees a faint pinkness spread across Wei Wuxian’s cheeks. Wei Wuxian’s chest is hot, his heart thrumming under Wen Ning’s fingers.

“N-Now?” is all Wen Ning can manage to say.

“Only if you want to,” Wei Wuxian rushes to say. He laughs nervously.

Wen Ning knows his own feelings. Knows that if Wei Wuxian has summoned him, he can’t say no—not with mind, not with body. But as for Wei Wuxian's feelings...

“Do you want to?” Wen Ning asks.

He expects the question to change something in Wei Wuxian’s expression, but whatever Wei Wuxian truly thinks remains trapped behind his eyes.

“I think it would be nice,” is all he says, his voice soft and fond.

Wen Ning’s stagnant nerves feel almost as alive as when resentful energy is coursing through him.

“I—I…Okay.”

Wei Wuxian swallows. Wen Ning can’t stop his gaze from following Wei Wuxian’s throat, until he’s looking down at where Wei Wuxian’s upper chest is exposed and his hand disappears under red zhongyi. Wei Wuxian’s heart is beating hard enough for both of them.

I’m lonely, it whispers. I’m so lonely…

He sees Wei Wuxian’s throat moving and only then registers that he’s speaking. “It’s alright. Relax…” Wei Wuxian murmurs. Cups the side of Wen Ning’s face. “Can you close your eyes for me?”

Wen Ning’s view of Wei Wuxian blurs as he closes his eyes, until he’s left with only the impression of the heat and solidness of Wei Wuxian’s body pressed against his. He has a distant thought to count Wei Wuxian’s heartbeats as he waits, but finds himself unable to count. He waits longer, the impossibility of their situation rooting deeper and deeper in his thoughts until he wonders if Wei Wuxian has changed his mind.

Then a quivering warmth against his lips.

Wen Ning can only just sense the way their lips glide softly against each other, but he could be content with that forever.

As if Wei Wuxian has suddenly realized something, his hand trails down Wen Ning’s neck and finds the collar of his robes, gripping it. They kiss harder, more passionately. This, Wen Ning can truly feel.

Wei Wuxian has gripped his collar before. Once in Lotus Pier as it was burning, once in Yiling when Wen Ning brought him there to hide. Both had been expressions of distrust.

Is this an expression of trust instead?

Other than Wei Wuxian himself, perhaps what Wen Ning has wanted most is his trust.

Now he has both.

By his side, in his arms.

Pressed to his lips...

* * *

With Wei Wuxian asleep and curled into his shoulder, Wen Ning looks up at the stars. From this spot, he can see the moon through the trees. It’s a bright half-moon. Not round enough to be full, not whittled enough to be a smiling sliver. Just a white circle cut clean in half.

Overcome by the closest he can come to drowsiness, Wen Ning’s mind wanders, past memories with Wei Wuxian blending into teenage fantasies blending into the moment they kissed.

Wei Wuxian has never been someone who hesitates.

Did he hesitate before kissing Wen Ning?

Did he ask Wen Ning to close his eyes so he wouldn’t see the moments of indecision in his face before he leaned in?

It reminds Wen Ning of the way he will never know what Wei Wuxian looked like before he put his lips to Chenqing, the way he will never know what Wei Wuxian thought before bringing him back into the world.

The time waiting for Wei Wuxian’s lips to meet his had felt like ages, but maybe it was only a second. Maybe, even for Wen Ning, he has never hesitated.

But maybe it doesn’t matter. Everything Wei Wuxian begins, he throws himself into whole-heartedly. If he had hesitated, Wen Ning had not felt it, had not seen it.

“We can do this again,” Wei Wuxian had said. “As long as you want to…”

Wen Ning tries to find constellations in the stars scattered across the dark cobalt sky. Trees cover parts of the constellations, their branches swaying gently in the night breeze but never parting enough to reveal everything. Wen Ning connects what dots of light remain, forming new constellations in his mind.

He counts Wei Wuxian’s sleeping heartbeats.

* * *

“I’m ready.”

The blood pool is to his back, and Wei Wuxian stands in front of him, eyes reflecting specks of amber light from candles stationed around the Demon Subdue Palace, their arrangement perhaps the only semblance of organization in the cave.

But despite the copious amounts of candles, something about this cave sucks away their orange glow. Like the darkness stretches out fingers to dampen the string of lights like dampening the vibrations of a guqin cord. Wen Ning isn’t sure where all the light goes. Maybe into the blood pool. Maybe into Wei Wuxian’s demonic cultivation devices.

Today Wei Wuxian seems bright enough to make up for the cave’s hungry darkness. There’s a levity in the way he shuffles through the talismans in his hands. A spring in his steps as he paces around Wen Ning to place talismans on him, his steps bouncy despite how his joints must creak with stiffness.

It’s so much like Wei Wuxian. Always at his happiest when about to help someone.

Wen Ning tries to soak in the feeling of Wei Wuxian’s nimble fingers pressing the talismans onto his robes, but it’s a quick, light sensation. Just when he thinks he's starting to feel it more fully, Wei Wuxian finishes, drumming his fingers along Wen Ning’s shoulder as he slips around to stand in front of him again.

“I’m just about ready, too,” Wei Wuxian says.

He strokes his chin, looking Wen Ning up and down approvingly. Wen Ning knows it’s merely for the placement of the talismans, but his helpless mind imagines that the approval is of him, of his cracked skin and deadweight body. The fondness in Wei Wuxian’s eyes reminds him of that night in the forest, and his body tries to shiver, clinging to a reflex that barely responds.

“Now, the last addition.” Wei Wuxian flits away and returns as quickly as he left, holding out a stone tablet with red fulu writing, perhaps the same tablet that started this entire project. “Press this against your chest. Try to align its pulse with where your heart is.”

Wen Ning can easily find the exact location of his heart without a pulse to guide him—if he couldn’t do that by now, Jiejie would surely make him copy every medical text all over again. But with his dull hands, finding the exact source of the pulse of resentful energy in the tablet is another matter. He can sense something, but not where it comes from.

He takes his best guess, and holds the center of the tablet over his heart. Wei Wuxian seems to notice his unsureness, and checks the position of the tablet, the dance of his fingers on Wen Ning’s hand and robes like a fleeting breath.

“This should be enough,” Wei Wuxian says. “The problem before was that just conducting resentful energy through the tablet wasn’t holistic enough…the spiritual energy in these talismans, and the energy from xue in the blood pool behind you, should help to mimic a living heart more closely.”

Wen Ning nods. Guilt still nips at him, telling him not to let Wei Wuxian continue his experiments. But life with Wei Wuxian is nothing if not continual surrender.

Wei Wuxian brings Chenqing to his lips and begins to play. There’s a brief flash of red in his eyes before he closes them. Tendrils of resentful energy snake around him, like a black spiderweb being spun in the air. The dark wisps begin to reach for Wen Ning.

Chenqing’s song is constantly changing, but held together by a steady rhythm. The melody brushes against Wen Ning, shaping him, like water eroding rocks. On the back of his neck, he feels thick, warm energy from the blood pool, muggy and oppressive on his skin.

The red lettering on the talismans begins to glow. The tablet pulses harder against his chest, reaching inside him, tugging him taut from the center like pulling a needle through a stitch.

Pressure claws at his throat, a phantom sensation of choking. He closes his eyes and gasps for air he doesn’t need.

Every time Wei Wuxian experiments on him, he wonders if it’s anything similar to what it felt like to be resurrected by him. If the fear and strangely blissful pain throttling through his nerves is what he woke up to. It’s a thought he returns to over and over, like a ritual for something sacred.

The dizi song fades, and Wen Ning notices that he has been making low growling noises in the back of his throat. The last sound escapes him, resonant with almost a pleading tone, and he opens his eyes.

The red glow in Wei Wuxian’s eyes hasn’t quite faded. His fingers are still positioned over Chenqing. “Feel anything?”

Wen Ning takes a moment to shake himself out of his daze, then removes the tablet and presses his hand against his heart.

Nothing.

He feels the groove of his neck, slides his hand under his robes and feels his bare chest, touches his neck again.

He considers lying and saying that he does feel a pulse, but Wei Wuxian slips a hand under his robes and steals his voice out of his mouth. Wei Wuxian remains completely still, his brow knit. Then his eyes light up.

“It worked! I feel it!” He grabs Wen Ning’s hand and guides it to where his own had just lay. “Here, feel, it’s right here. It worked!”

Wen Ning thinks he can feel a faint fluttering under his fingers. He can’t tell if the pulse is weak or his own sense of touch is too dull to capture it, but what matters is it’s there—a sliver of life inside him, another resurrection at Wei Wuxian’s fingertips.

“Wei-gongzi, thank—”

Wei Wuxian shushes him and wraps his arms around him, pressing his ear to Wen Ning’s chest. If his were a true living heart, Wen Ning is sure his heartbeat would turn into something more like firecrackers. He considers resting his hands on Wei Wuxian’s shoulders, but that might seem like he’s trying to push Wei Wuxian away, so he hangs his arms limply at his sides, wondering how he should even react.

“Sounds nice,” Wei Wuxian says. “Strong and steady yet mellow. Quite fitting.”

“Th-thank you.”

“Told you I could do it!” Wei Wuxian pulls away and pats his chest, then holds his hand there, grinning. “I’m not sure how long it’ll last. Maybe only a few hours or a few days, and I’ll have to restart it, but that’s not bad! Your, ah…” His smile doesn’t disappear, but it fades a bit, tightening. “The way you died…that stake…it damaged your organs. So you might need a little more help to keep your heart running.”

Something inside Wen Ning lurches at the mention of his death. If the agony of dying with a Spirit-Attraction Flag pierced through his chest was what allowed him to be with Wei Wuxian again, to finally have the strength to protect his family and live with them for a few more months, then the nausea brought forth by the memory is worth it. It was all worth it.

“That’s okay,” Wen Ning says. “You don’t need to restart it another time. Just this once is enough.”

Wei Wuxian shakes his head at him. Then he knits his brow, as if a thought just arrested him. “You can’t feel it though?”

“I can.”

“But how much?”

“Enough.”

Wei Wuxian steps back and crosses his arms, Chenqing’s red tassel swinging slightly, as if waving at Wen Ning. He cocks an eyebrow. “Then we’ll just have to get your heart rate up.”

Wen Ning is not sure if he likes that idea, but it sounds reasonable. He thinks of the way his heart raced when training with his clan, when attempting an archery shot while others were watching, when building his arm strength like Jiejie told him to so he wouldn’t be bullied as easily. He doesn’t quite miss those moments, but he does miss being able to feel them fully.

“Okay,” Wen Ning says, and drops to the ground to do a rapid set of push-ups.

“Not like that!” Wei Wuxian says through a surprised laugh.

Wen Ning stops at the top of a push-up and looks up. “What should I do instead?”

“Stand up.” Wei Wuxian waves lazily, gesturing for him to stand, so Wen Ning rises to his feet. Wei Wuxian combs Wen Ning’s hair with his fingers, putting it back into place. “Physical exertion is too easy for you now, that’s not going to work.”

Wen Ning lets out a tiny “Oh.” The entire situation is beginning to feel much too embarrassing, like the first few times Wei Wuxian had insisted on experimenting on him.

“Resentful energy is much more responsive to emotions than it is to the movement of your body,” Wei Wuxian explains.

A black wisp rises from Chenqing. Wei Wuxian holds a finger over the dizi, and the nebulous tendril of resentful energy snakes around his finger, as if caressing him. He twirls his finger in the air, stroking the black coil, and shoots a satisfied glance at Wen Ning.

Wen Ning finds himself oddly…affected by the sight. A warm, hungry buzz grows inside him, more imagination than any real bodily response, but stimulating all the same. The knowledge that what runs through his veins is resentful energy, the same energy as that black sliver coiled around Wei Wuxian’s finger, does nothing to calm him.

“What…what emotion do I need to feel?”

Wei Wuxian smiles. To Wen Ning’s surprise, the smile is gentle and caring, perhaps even rueful, rather than sharp with mischief. The smile he gives before he is about to reshape Wen Ning.

“Just hold still,” Wei Wuxian says.

He cups Wen Ning’s chin. The resentful energy in his hand disperses and swirls around them, framing their faces.

Wei Wuxian leans in and kisses him. Wen Ning’s heart leaps up through his chest.

Their lips glide against each other for longer than he had expected. The warm buzz inside him spreads to his fingertips when Wei Wuxian’s tongue enters his mouth for the briefest moment, then buzzes stronger when he longs to feel it again.

Wei Wuxian pulls away. He lets go of Wen Ning’s chin, resting his hand on his shoulder instead. “Did it work?”

Wen Ning’s pulse is practically thrumming in his ears by now. He’s grateful that he doesn’t have real blood, because his face would be flushed.

“It worked,” Wen Ning manages to stammer out.

“Xian-gege!” A small voice calls from outside the cave.

Wei Wuxian widens his eyes and exchanges glances with Wen Ning, his face reddening. Stifling a laugh, he folds his hands behind his back and takes a step away from Wen Ning. “Who’s there?”

A-Yuan comes tottering inside, moving a bit too fast and making Wen Ning tense his muscles in preparation to stop him from falling over. He latches onto Wei Wuxian’s leg and looks up at him with round eyes.

“Do you have official business for me?” Wei Wuxian asks.

“Qing-jiejie says one of the special lanterns went out.”

Wei Wuxian had created red lanterns to light the paths of their settlement and also divert hungry spirits from entering their homes, drawing them like moths to a flame to be discarded every morning. The only problem is that one of them is inconveniently placed and falls over quite often.

Wei Wuxian tilts his head. “And who knocked it over this time?”

A-Yuan looks away. “Qing-jiejie says it’s a secret.”

“I can’t fix the lantern if I don’t know who knocked it over,” he lies. “It might be important.”

Looking a bit distressed, A-Yuan taps his fingers together, then breaks into a grin.

“Was it Qing-jiejie?” Wei Wuxian asks.

A-Yuan giggles and runs over to Wen Ning, hugging his leg instead.

Wei Wuxian crosses his arms and clicks his tongue. He looks over at Wen Ning. “I can’t believe your jiejie has been destroying my work. We’re really going to have to scold her for this one.”

Feeling a bit sorry for the teasing his sister is about to endure, Wen Ning picks up A-Yuan and sits the boy on his shoulders. They head out of the cave and toward the troublesome pathway.

“You know,” Wei Wuxian says, “physical exertion could still help you feel your pulse, if you do enough.”

“Like what?”

“Mm…maybe running?”

Wen Ning considers it for a moment. “I think you just don’t want me to be around to side with my jiejie.”

Wei Wuxian shoots him a look of mock offense. “Wen Qionglin! How could you accuse me of such ulterior motives?”

“I would never accuse you,” Wen Ning says sincerely, in case Wei Wuxian actually did take his words to heart.

Wei Wuxian shakes his head and waves a hand. “Well, go on. Try it out.”

Wen Ning nods. He tilts his head to speak up to where A-Yuan sits on his shoulders. “A-Yuan, do you want to go for a ride?”

“Yes!”

“Ning-gege gives the best rides, doesn’t he?” Wei Wuxian claps him on the shoulder.

Wen Ning feels A-Yuan drumming on the top of his head, which he assumes means a “yes.” He carefully lowers A-Yuan from his shoulders for a piggy-back ride. Just as he’s about to set off, Wei Wuxian takes his wrist.

“Come back to the cave after. I still have a few tricks I want to try.” Wei Wuxian shows a sliver of a smile, like there’s a joke in his words.

Wen Ning wonders if this is already one of the tricks, as his heart rate climbs up once more. “Okay.”

Wei Wuxian breaks into a full smile, then whirls around and strides down the path toward the lantern. “Wen Qing! What did you do? You no longer have authority to order me to buy turnip seeds if you act like this!”

Wen Ning can faintly hear Jiejie snap back in response, her tone sharper than her typical sternness. She sounds more intimidating when she's embarrassed.

Fondness swells inside Wen Ning. For Wei Wuxian and Jiejie, for A-Yuan with his tiny hands on his shoulders.

Theirs is a life on stolen time, counted in heartbeats.

But together, they can make it last.

* * *

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this fic, come visit me on AO3!

#ningxian #mdzsnet #theuntameddaily #wen ning #wei wuxian #mdzs #cql #the untamed #mdzs fanfic #cql fanfic #the untamed fanfic #mdzs fanfiction #cql fanfiction #the untamed fanfiction #emilu creations #emilu fics

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ghostykapi · 1 year

Note

any fic recs?? anything works but jihyo, chaeng or sana centric would be lovely.

i cried reading cranberry juice on ao3. amazing fic that highlights all the members’ characters. cried the most for jihyo and tzuyu

for twit filo au area however i strongly recommend the songs i wrote about you. taglish au. has a sequel. makes me cry everytime i read it

here in tumblr i recommend these amazing writers for their work. they make amazing stories that make you stare at the ceiling and cry

@melpomene-writes @lovinhyo @yungchaeng @serpendity-stuff @fortheloveofshasha @idontknowwaffles @darlinggtwice @happilychaengs @posies4rosie @nameless-potato-corner

#asks #anon #there r more but i forgor the usernames 😭😭😭

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anika-ann · 3 years

Text

Attached: Words We Don’t Mean

(...and Those We Do)

Type: series, modern-college-professor Steve AU… aka the wrong attachment AU ;)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 7950 👀

Summary: Your parents decide to visit for Thanksgiving, which alone is a trial.

The fact that they haven’t met Steve yet and they have no clue who he is… yeah, you better brace yourself for a storm.

A/N: Attached: Words We Don’t Mean (and Those We Do) is a one-shot to the Attached series. Technically, you can read it as a standalone.

A/N: In the Stockings fic, I mentioned that no one in their household talked about (last) Thanksgiving. Here’s why. Also: I named the parents Paul and Jane, it’s enough of a mess to work around with nameless reader; if that offends you, sorry, feel free to move on from this fic.

Warnings: angst, parents-daughter fight, mention of sexual relationhips and of using one’s body to earn money (negative view), mild flashback, emotional H/C, swearing, sprinkles of fluff and Disney

Story masterlist

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

“Sweetheart, please, sit down for just a second,” Steve requested gently; however, there was no mistaking the drop of amusement in his voice.

You hummed in acknowledgement of his words and continued scrubbing the bathtub clean.

Everything had to be perfect. Had to be. You bought the tinniest of the giant turkeys yesterday – just so you wouldn’t have to eat leftovers for a month –, ingredients for the stuffing, potatoes and cranberry sauce. Your mum had promised to stop by somewhere to get four slices of a pumpkin pie. But cooking was on your list later today; first you needed to make sure that the apartment would shine with cleanness.

Not that you considered yourself a neat freak, thank you very much… maybe occasionally. And Steve? Yeah, he was more of a neat freak than you were and now he was telling you to rest and take it easy? Uh-huh, nope.

Nope, because… your parents -- gosh, your parents.

“Honey-“

Your head snapped to him as he bounced off of the doorframe, soft steps leading him right to you.

“Did you just call me honey?” you asked incredulously.

Not that you didn’t like it, it was just-- you were Steve’s sweetheart, his babygirl, his good girl… now honey? That was new and frankly, it might have freaked you out a bit.

Also, your heart skipped a frantic beat upon looking at him.

Damn, you forgot again about what he had done yesterday and it always startled you to see him like that. Too unusual – not bad-looking by any means, just… unusual.

Steve chuckled as he crouched to you, dropping a kiss to the top of your head and cupping your mildly sweaty cheek. He grimaced a bit at your surprised tone.

“Not a fan?”

“I mean, yeah, sure, hun, it’s just that… it’s a bit ominous, the change.”

One corner of his lips rose at your choice of a petname. “That’s because you’re freaking out and I need you to calm down a bit, sweetheart.”

Your eyebrows shot up and you scoffed, rather offended. Mostly because he was right – but also because he was being a damn hypocrite.

“Oh, am I? Me? Did I spend about an hour in front of the mirror yesterday, trying and almost failing to solve the dilemma whether I should or shouldn’t shave off my beard?”

Steve’s face turned entirely sour at your snarky remark.

“Don’t be mean, it’s a valid concern to-- I don’t want them to hate me,” he murmured and dropped his gaze in shame along with his hand, seemingly shrinking into himself, his insecurity returning.

You sighed and mentally cursed yourself for bringing it up again.

You dropped the brush to the tub with a thud and lost one of your gloves, wiping the ew feeling onto your old sweats before you tried to smoothen the worried wrinkle between his eyebrows.

“They’re gonna love you, Steve,” you assured him again, letting you fingers travel over his clean-shaved jaw, lightly pulling at his cheek to make him smile again. “I miss the beard, not gonna lie, but you do have an extremely sweet boy-next-door look now, you are my handsome, funny, smart as hell guy, who’s somehow all grown up and has life stuff figured out and you’re making me happy. You’re the epitome of the guy a girl wants to bring home to meet her parents.”

Despite slightly panting from exertion, you took care to sound as convincing as possible, pushing away your own worries for a bit.

Steve was your perfect guy, perfection incarnated; you weren’t worried about him not making an impression… except for the fact that Steve did have a few years on you and worked at the uni and—well.

Yet, you couldn’t but dread the moment your parents realized that you were everything but perfect since they let you loose on the world. You had never been the daughter to show off like the epitome of everything good and wholesome, but you always tried your best to please them…. Now though? Darting your professor? Even if he wasn’t exactly your professor?

Yeah, you didn’t think that a spotless apartment could make up for that, but it helped to ease your anxiety when you kept lying to yourself that it just might.

Steve grasped your palm in his, planting a tiny kiss there – a gesture to warm your heart, always – his lips once again curled up a fraction as his gaze met yours, his mesmerizing blues kind and hopeful.

“You really think so?”

“Of course.”

And with the way he was looking at you – you finally figured it out. Just a fleeting thought and an answer to an unspoken question you had been failing to grasp at since yesterday; it escaped your lips before you could stop yourself.

“Gosh, you look like a Disney prince!”

Steve’s eyes went comically wide, laughter erupting from his throat and he pulled you to him in one swift motion, falling on his ass with you in his arms in the process and nearly getting crushed by you. Clearly, he did not care one bit as he shook with laughter, kissing your nose, your cheeks and finally your lips despite your protests that you were gross.

“That’s golden! Oh babygirl, you’re the-”

“Tell me I’m Cinderella, I dare you,” you grumbled, but Steve just shook his head and kissed you breathless, fingers of one hand curled around your nape to guide you closer, to breathe you in, while his other hand stayed wrapped around your waist.

You tried your best not to touch him with your gloved hand, having it ridiculously stretched out to nowhere in order not to spot his clothes, but your free hand clutched at his t-shirt with enthusiasm.

His lips left yours only when the world started spinning and your mind turned blank besides the thought of Steve’s mouth being on yours and how much you loved it when he stole all the breath from your lungs – and how much you always missed him when he withdrew.

You stared at him, dumbstruck, as he watched you like you were the eighth wonder of the world, your messy self in baggy clothes, your heart growing three times its size, your insides positively tingly from the heated make-out session.

Steve was smiling again too at last, brushing your nose with his and planting one last soft kiss on your lips.

“Okay, babygirl, now hand over the brush.”

You had to blink several times, your oh so lazy brain taking its time to realize what he said. Huh? Also, did he just said it as if he was asking you were a robber holding a hostage on gunpoint and he was asking you to lay down your weapon?

The thought made you internally snort.

“Why?” you demanded, suspicious.

“Because I’m taking over.”

You instantly shook your head. “No-“

“Yes. I promise I’ll make sure it’s spotless-“

Okay, yeah, that was one of our arguments against him doing the clean-up. However, there was one more. “But you still have papers to grade and lessons to prepare!”

“And you want to cook too and then we’ll have to clean up the kitchen. And you’ll want to take a shower and and and. Papers can wait. Gimme the brush.”

“You make it sound like it’s a weapon of mass destruction… or I am,” you muttered, but you kissed his cheek – such a strange feeling, you truly missed the sensation of his beard scraping your lips – and climbed out of his lap with a meek and cautious thank you. He cackled at your antics, but quickly fished out a new pair of gloves from the bathroom drawer and started working.

You swallowed your smart remark about him being the Cinderella now. Mostly because his gesture was one of the sweetest things and really – seeing Steve scrubbing the bathtub might not be the sexiest thing in the world… but it kinda was.

It pulled at your heartstrings as you imagined that this might be how it would always be; you and Steve, settling together, taking care of the household, then cuddling on the couch—the domesticity you hadn’t always been sure you craved.

Now you were certain of it; but to get to that, you had to survive your parents’ visit first.

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

You had somewhat stayed in touch with your parents, mostly with your mum; you two had been calling on a so-so regular basis, sometimes with video, and both her and your father were obviously aware that you had a boyfriend (gee, that sounded kinda trivial, a boyfriend). In fact, Steve played a huge role in them deciding to purchase their plane tickets… besides wanting to see New York City… and you.

The thing was… you had managed to keep Steve’s identity secret so far; you never used a videocall when he was around, so your mum only had heard his voice, sweet and polite in the most Steve fashion possible, you sort-of danced around his age and his job. Yeah, you found it strange as well that you kept it up so long, a divine intervention even; or maybe your mum simply had a good idea of your dirty secret all along and purposely didn’t probe.

Now, with your parents in the apartment, your dad’s eyes more on Steve than on you (your mum’s eyes wandered too, you noticed, but she had enough decency to show you she missed you first), you felt dread fill every cell in your body. Your heart was pounding in your chest with too much ferocity, your temples pulsing, your palms uncharacteristically sweaty and if it wasn’t for Steve’s warm hand on your lower back, its weight oh so comforting, you might spontaneously combust because of your nerves.

You were suddenly entirely grateful that Steve had shaved off his beard, was giving less of a an incredibly hot (and still very young, thank you very much) professor vibe and looked--- well, kinda like he could be your classmate.

But of course, of course the subject came up. Inevitably, after the small talk about your parents’ flight, about how their job was going and if they picked up a new hobby (…or heard some gossip), you and Steve became the centre of attention.

First, things went smoothly enough; you talked a bit about school, about Penny and some of your classmates and professors, about your part-time job. Steve had been subtly drawing small comforting circles on your thigh whenever he wasn’t eating and he in fact succeeded in lowering your heartbeat so much that you might appear even calm.

And then it oh so predictably went to shit.

Because apparently, your materialistic father had to ask Steve what he was studying and what his plan for his future career was.

“I actually finished my studies,” Steve admitted in an admirably dispassionate manner.

Meanwhile, your own heart started racing again, sending you to the verge of a cardiac arrest; your father’s eyes narrowed slightly, but a hint of a smile played in the corners of his lips in effort to remain polite… for now.

“Oh? Was that recently?”

You deflected that question by bringing up the pie and snatching Steve with you to bring it to the table since you two were the hosts.

The question forgotten, your mum – god bless her, she had caught up enough to know you did not want to discuss Steve’s age, even if it wasn’t that bad – asked about Steve’s field of study.

“History, minoring in pedagogics.”

“Oh? So you are a history teacher?” your dad chimed in and you swallowed as Steve confirmed that claim, walking straight into a death trap. You had seen it coming, you had, but you still winced when your father’s icy tone cut the almost festive atmosphere. “And it wouldn’t be that you’re more of a university professor, would it?”

His hand balled into a fist on the table, your mother’s lightly covering it as she whispered his name; the gesture of comfort, a silent plea for him to stay calm, didn’t quite work.

Steve, to his benefit, looked only a bit sheepish, meeting your dad’s eye with bravery worth of the Disney prince you had called him earlier that day. Also, with the same honesty… why hadn’t you agreed on lying to them again?

“It would, sir.”

“Oh. I don’t suppose then that it is a coincidence that you two met in school?” your dad continued and you sighed, your breathing progressively turning into a more and more of a difficult task with the anticipation of a storm.

“It is not, sir,” Steve replied calmly and you honestly didn’t know whether you should kiss him or punch him, unsure if his attitude made your father madder or not. “However-“

Your father’s gaze snapped to you, sharp and enraged; you felt yourself sink into your chair involuntarily, your mind travelling years back to the moments when he wasn’t pleased with you at all, yelled and sputtered words tasting of venom.

“Do you have any explanation for this inappropriate joke?” you father hissed, not caring he interrupted whatever Steve was about to say to your defence.

Your chest grew heavy, edges of your vision blurring subtly; your eyes burned and suddenly, you weren’t only remembering. You were reliving a memory, feeling like your child-self, like your teenage-self, being scolded for every imperfection; and there had been generous amount of those as you had been growing up.

Steve’s hand somehow slid under the table again, squeezing yours, a gentle wave of attempted comfort washing over you.

But it took one glance at him and you understood that silent support was not the only goal of his when he sought your touch.

His jaw was set tight, his grip a little too strong; he was trying to maintain composure, while not at all impressed with the tone your father was speaking with you.

Yet, Steve’s gesture did provide you with something you hadn’t had whenever you faced your father before; strength and true support, the essential reminder that you had done nothing wrong.

“Dad, this is not a joke,” you said, your voice shaking only slightly as you squeezed Steve’s hand back, “Steve and I are dating. Yes, he is teaching at the same college I study, but-“

A fist hit the table, causing the remaining tableware clank with the force behind the blow and you winced in fright, all muscles tensing in an instant.

“There is no ‘but’ applicable in this case!” your father spitted out, the anger in his voice making your guts twist, the sting in your eyes intensifying. “We help you to pay for school so you could study, not sleep around!”

Several things happened at once; your mother admonished your father, a level-headed whisper of his name. Your voice, too quiet as always when your father reprimanded you, tried to protest, to defend yourself. And Steve’s patience ran out, his outrage at your father’s demeanour showing.

“Paul-“

“That’s not what’s-“

“Don’t talk to her like that!“

“You keep your mouth shut now,” you father snapped at Steve, pointing a finger at him accusingly before turning his rage towards you again, the deep disappointment in his eyes somehow more hurtful than the anger. “Is it that bad with your grades that you have to—to--- Jesus Christ.“

The world stopped for several frantic beats of your heart, everything else in standstill. Multiple sharp breaths were drawn in, but you didn’t think either of them was yours.

Your father’s unfinished sentence echoed in your ears as if from a terrible distance and just like that—just like that, you were thrown several months back to the days before your graduation.

Rogers’ whore

Bet she’ll get the highest score

The icy feeling that froze your bones and crystalized the blood in your veins made for a stark contrast to the few hot tears you were distantly aware of that were running down your cheeks.

Many had thought of you that you were a set of holes to fill for the professor in exchange for passing an exam or two, which was disgusting, deeply insulting and obviously wrong. But those people didn’t know you- they weren’t your blood.

Your own father was now seconds from calling you a whore. The dinner turned into a stone in your stomach as the verbal punch knocked all air from your lungs.

“Paul!” you heard a swift reproach, quickly followed by Steve’s voice, dangerously low in a threat. “I’m sorry, what did you just imply about her?”

“You zip it-“

“Paul!”

It felt like a fucking elephant stomped on your chest, the spiral of pity and despair, mocking voices swirling wildly, tossing you around with a quickening speed as the circles got smaller and smaller, as if you were circling down the drain, your breaths coming shorter and shorter too-

And yet your father still continued, ignorant to all warnings and your inner turmoil.

“That’s over, my dear. I refuse to support such disgusting thing. And you, I don’t see how it’s possible that you still have your job-“

“DAD!” a loud cry cut off the monologue and it took you a moment to realize that it was you who just snapped and yelled, despite the unmistakable addressing.

Your father stared at you in mute shock as you dared to interrupt him; and frankly, with the world spinning, your stomach twisted and your chest constricted with anxiety, you were shocked by your actions too.

It was the fact that he doubted Steve’s position at the uni, flashed through your mind, the way he insulted the man you loved and who deserved all the good things. Or maybe it was his fucking attitude towards Steve and you in general and you just finally reached your limit. You weren’t sure; but shit, this ended now.

The silence that fell on the room granted you a few moments to breathe and calm your frantic mind.

“He is not using me like some f-“ -fuckdoll- “-fling or whatever. And he’s not even my professor, he’s-“

“Like it matters!” you father snapped from his trance, spitting the words, a vein on his temple visibly popping up as he rose to his feet swiftly, nearly sending the chair flying to the ground.

You stared up at him, the coil of despair and rage in your gut burning hot as he literally looked down on you.

You hadn’t been ready for this. You hadn’t been ready for your father to despise you for being in a relationship with a great man, to judge you so harshly without being able to listen for a damn second.

“It DOES. But even if he was-“ you tried to explain again, losing patience and the ground under your feet too as Steve’s hand started practically crushing the bones of yours.

You could physically feel Steve trying to hold back and slowly succumb to his not so nice emotions no doubt swirling in him just like in you.

“How can you not see that’s he’s only looking to get his---” your father gestured wildly towards Steve and rather low and you could hear Steve’s teeth grinding at the implication. Your blood reached the boiling point. How dared he to- “-that he’s only seeking a physical thing-“

“That’s not what this is. I love your daughter-“ Steve emphasized, expression fiery, voice surprisingly measured for a man who you believed was one moment from punching your father.

“Sure you do, son, until something with long legs and tall heels walks by-“

Steve’s chair scrapped against the floor and you quickly laid a palm over his chest to stop him from jumping to his feet and succumb to his righteous anger.

“Steve-“ you whispered soothingly, seeing the light tremble to his hands, tendons dancing under his shirt with the effort to hold back.

“Paul, that’s enough,” your mother interjected, grabbing her husband’s wrist to keep him back as well.

“I do love your daughter, I respect her and I fully intend-“

Steve closed his eyes as he inhaled shakily to compose himself. In the very back of your mind, you spared a single thought to what he was going to say before he shook his head and looked your father dead in the eye again.

“-I am serious about her and I want to and will be with her as long as she’ll have me.”

You had two full seconds to sink into the gentle sentiment behind his words, to cherish how much he did respect your choices and strangely, how he still doubted he could be enough for you, before your father scoffed dismissively.

“Well, I hope you are serious, because if she comes crawling back in few weeks, the door and the account will be closed.” He shot you one disdainful look that made your heart stop before twisting his arm from your mother’s hold and stepping away from the table. “We’re leaving.”

Your eyes slipped shut, a fresh wave of hot tears painting your cheeks, all strength leaving your body, darkness enveloping your mind.

He was cutting you off. He was going to disown you no doubt; that much of a disappointment you were to him.

Your own father hated you.

Dull ringing filled your ears, muffling your mother’s low voice.

“I’m so sorry for his behaviour.” She sounded truly regretful, her voice quivering a bit, you thought. “I’ll talk to him about what he said. Thank you for the dinner, baby. It was nice to meet you, Steve, truly.”

“You too, ma’am,” Steve responded firmly, his voice the only solid thing in the room. “I’ll—I’ll walk you out.”

“That’s not necessary, Steve. But thank you. I’ll call you, sweetheart.”

A low whisper about a promise fell from her lips next as she brushed your shoulder, but you couldn’t hope to understand what she was saying, the buzz of blood in your ears growing louder.

And then you knew she was gone along with your father. You knew because a warm hand touched yours, another gently wiping way the endless waterfall of your tears and then you were pulled to your feet and practically dragged to the couch in Steve’s protective embrace.

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

You wouldn’t be able to tell how long you were drenching Steve’s shirt in tears, sobbing into his chest as he held you firmly and yet tenderly, whispering sweet nothings, words of comfort empty and yet so meaningful.

You couldn’t tell how long it took for the tremble subdue, for the sobs to turn into sniffles and then die out entirely.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m so so sorry,” Steve whispered to your hair, caressing your scalp, your back the next, dropping a kiss to the top of your head.

“I know,” you creaked back, gripping the fabric of his shirt for one last time before you gathered your breath and courage to face him; you had to. You might be a mess, but it was vital that he heard you say this: “It’s not your fault.”

You withdrew slightly, meeting his eyes, so big and regretful, a bit watery as if he was the one crying. The corners of his lips, apparently having been turned down the whole time, twitched, his whole face twisting in a grimace; little sad, little defiant, but he didn’t protest even though you were certain that he wanted to.

Perhaps it was a testimony of how well you two fit, how your thoughts worked on the same wavelengths; you understood what he must have been thinking. If you were dating literally anybody else, this wouldn’t have happened.

So you had to assure him that you didn’t blame him; even if he did so himself. You didn’t have the energy to be angry with him for such thing. Mostly because that in a way, there was a tiny bit of truth in him thinking so.

“Don’t do that to yourself. I chose you. Yes, this relationship is on both of us… but we knew the risks and went for it anyway. And—it’s worth it, it’s just… fuck, this is so fucked up. I’m in such a mess now,” you whispered, your voice breaking as fresh tears burned in your eyes.

Steve’s fingers were quick to dry your cheeks, gently stroking, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

“We are, babygirl. We’re in this together. What’s mine is yours,” Steve said, determined. You couldn’t find yourself sharing his optimism, but his eyes locked onto yours, serious as his words. “We’ll figure it out. Find ways of saving more. Hell, if it comes to that, I’ll try to find a job that pays better-”

Your palms landed on his chest, pushing away, putting some distance between you; his hand dropped from your face.

Say WHAT?

“Absolutely not!” you protested instantly, sobering from your despair and letting indignation take over, ignoring entirely the voice in your head sweetly nudging you with the idea of what Steve was willing to give up for you. “I’ll drop off college before I let you give up being a professor, Steve-- you are made-“

“Not an option, sweetheart,” he shot back instantly, expression turning strict. “You leaving college is off the table.”

Mentally, you threw your hands up in the air, growing confused and frustrated by the minute.

“Why? How is that different from you finding a new job, giving up something you worked for so hard?”

“The difference is,” Steve raised his voice slightly, speaking slowly as if he wanted you to remember every word, “-that the chances are that I could come back at some point, that I might only lose a few years. You dropping off, on the other hand, would affect your whole future.”

The same exasperation you felt burned in his eyes now and you gulped, realization hitting you that… yeah, okay, that was a good point. But you hated it anyway.

“…okay, that’s a fair point. But I rather work three jobs and didn’t sleep at all than seeing you leave the university.”

“And work yourself to the ground? I don’t think so, babygirl,” Steve shook his head, just a smidge of patronizing which stung more than you would expect.

Obviously, he was presenting you with more of a feasible option, but you had a feeling that the primal instinct to be the provider played a role in his attitude too – and at any given moment besides this one you would like that; you were completely fine with him wanting to ensure you were secured, taking the larger portion of the burden on his shoulders.

Except now it reminded you of your father in the worst possible way despite knowing that the sentiment was nothing but sweet, no malice in his intentions. It chased tears into your eyes.

Steve’s expression instantly melted, panic flashing in his eyes as he must have figured out that this was not the right thing to say… or not the right way.

His hands were quick to frame you face, tender but unwavering, forcing you to look him straight in the eye.

“Hey, hey, no. It’s just… we’ll work it out, somehow, okay? We can even move out and share an apartment with someone else if we need to. Though you’re forgetting I used to pay this rent and bills on my own.”

Your lower lip quivered, your heart fluttering in fondness for this incredible man, your chest constricted at the idea of taking anything away from him, even if it was comfort. God, the distance he was willing to walk…

“You were living on school cafeteria food and ramen,” you mumbled, corners of your lips twitching upwards for the shortest moment.

Steve’s smile, on the other hand, was almost blinding, tight-lipped but honest, thumbs sweeping at the tears that appeared yet again.

“See, another possibility to save money. Don’t cry, my pretty girl…” he pleaded lowly, kissing your nose before shaking his head lightly. “Or cry if you need to. I’m here, sweetheart, okay? Whatever you need.”

Shit, your heart couldn’t hope to contain this amount of love-

How could anyone ever doubt Steve was the right man for you? The best man? The most wonderful loving human being? How did your father think he was just looking for a mindless fuck?

“I love you,” you whispered hoarsely, smiling through your tears. “Fuck my father. He can’t bully me into being his perfect daughter by cutting me off, can’t make me behave. There’s nothing wrong with me loving you.”

“Or me loving you.”

There was no questioning his honesty; it was written all over his features, his irises bright with emotion. And yet, you worried your teeth over your lower lip, insecurity, your old friend, crawling into your head.

“You do, really? Even with my asshole of a dad?”

You didn’t mean it. Entirely. Though momentarily, your dad was being an asshole, not for the first time.

“Yeah, sweetheart. You’re my everything,” Steve promised, releasing your face in order to tuck messy loose strands of your hair behind your ears.

“That’s the sweetest thing to say, but you can’t exactly sell me to put food to your mouth-“ Oh. Even though… maybe that would be an option? “Well, technically-“

All the gentle warmth radiating from Steve’s expression turned ice cold, smile dropping so fast it startled you.

“Don’t you even-“

“Hey, why not, I mean how much do you think-“

“Stop that right now!” Steve’s voice cut you off, razor sharp voice as if cutting into your skin.

You flinched at the mental blow on instinct, air stuck in your throat, muscles in your back straightening enough to inflict a sharp pounding in your head.

Steve closed his eyes, inhaling and exhaling painstakingly slow, as if he got punched in his gut too. His fists on your sides clenched and unclenched, Adam’s apple bobbing. When he looked at you again, it was obvious he realized he had scared you – and that he regretted not keeping his anger in check.

“I’m sorry, babygirl, I didn’t mean for it to come out this harsh.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, focusing on nothing but your breathing and keeping yourself from sobbing again as you were reminded of your father’s yelling. With each long second, you could see Steve’s face twisting and his body sinking into the couch in shame.

Well. As much as you hated him snapping at you, you had to give it to him – it sobered you up. Frankly, you didn’t blame him for being so harsh.

But you were also aware that Steve was a painfully kind and gentle soul and he never wanted to be rough with you… well, except under certain very consensual special circumstances.

“I know,” you forced an unconvincing smile, laying your palm on his cheek, affection Steve was quick to lean into with a sigh – probably both relieved and content. “I’m sorry for talking stupid.”

He covered your hand with his, carefully manipulating it so he could brush his lips over your palm.

“You’re not, not really. Our heads are a mess, rightfully so. I know people still do that, some purely by choice, but—I don’t want that for you, ever. That’s the same level on a will-never-happen scale like you not continuing your masters. Not an option for me. You’re my girl and if someone’s gonna change their habits, it’s gonna be me first.”

The surge of affection at his words filled your stomach with butterflies, wrapping around you like the softest and warmest comforter.

Great, now you wanted to cry for a whole different reason.

“I don’t deserve you,” spilled from your lips before you could think twice. Steve’s sweet smile made its return.

“Other way around, babygirl. Other way around…. Now how does a bath and a bed sound?”

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Steve hadn’t planned on you and him having a bath when making the suggestion. He found a bath-bomb even and few candles so the light wouldn’t have to be on and hurt your previously teary eyes.

But then you looked at him with wide eyes, pleading and so vulnerable, a single look so heartfelt that it would make the devil’s black heart break and the angels weep – and he was done for, sinking into the bath with you even if the bathtub was not meant for more than one person, especially when one of them was of Steve’s built.

He couldn’t tell you no. Less so after the shitstorm the dinner had turned into.

Yes, Steve’s own emotions were running high, anger, disappointment and self-hatred he knew he couldn’t confess to, certainly not at the moment, but you. You were the priority here because he had a feeling that no matter how overwhelmed he felt, he had nothing on you.

The ceramics of the tub was hard against his back and against his knees at the side, but you fit into his arms and between his legs so perfectly and contentedly that he wouldn’t dare to complain. Head in the crook of his neck, your back to his chest, you melted into him, eyes closed, fingers absently and yet affectionately running over his forearms above water, sometimes along his calves.

You didn’t talk much, mostly repeating that it wasn’t his fault, that you loved him – something he found himself echoing every time – and it slipped through your lips too that while you would never change the fact that you picked him… you were sorry for being a disappointment to your father.

At that, something in Steve’s chest cracked and he swore to himself – that he would never ever be the cause of you feeling like a disappointment. And why would he – you were his perfect girl, his best girl. As much as he regretted that he indirectly did have a hand in making you feel like this now, he wouldn’t change who you were to each other and who you were had he had the chance. Never.

What he could do was to hold you tighter after your admission and whisper more sweet nonsense that made perfect sense to him to your ear.

By the time the water got cold, you were practically asleep, completely groggy, pliant. Somehow, you both climbed from the tub without sustaining any injury. He might have been holding you upright a bit as you both brushed your teeth and pulled on a pyjama.

You fell asleep almost instantly, face hidden in Steve’s chest, few stray tears dampening his sleepshirt as you mumbled one more love confession into the fabric.

“I love you, Steve... I’m sorry… you have to put up with such bullshit…” Your words slurred but Steve didn’t need to hear them to understand what you were saying.

He dropped a kiss to the top of your head, pulling you closer to his side, ignoring the sting of guilt in his gut.

“I love you too, sweetheart,” he whispered, earning a hum that might have been a sign of contentment… or you being entirely drained. “Let’s go to sleep now. Clearer head in the morning.”

Another hum and then nothing but your deep slow breathing, the last remnants of tension leaving your body.

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Steve didn’t think he would follow you to the dreamland anytime soon, too agitated, thoughts swirling wildly in his head, but he caught himself snapping back to consciousness at some point, unsure when he fell asleep – and what woke him up.

An intrusive buzzing on your nightstand provided him with the answer, your phone lit up.

Steve spared you one glance as you stirred only to nuzzle deeper into his frame, sighing.

As carefully as he could so he wouldn’t wake you, he stretched over you and checked who was calling.

Blood crystalized in his veins, heart sent into frenzy as he read a simple short word.

Mom.

He squeezed the side button, silencing the vibration as he pondered what to do; and yet, even as his heart jumped to his throat – as if he was a teenager about to face his girlfriend’s parents after he took her virginity – he had already made a decision, accepting the call as you sank into the cushions without him as a pillow.

He slipped from the room as silently and quickly as possible, announcing himself before you mother could say something not meant for his ears.

“Oh. Hello, Steve,” your mother greeted him, clearly surprised – but much to Steve’s relief, not angry.

He could do this, he could talk to your mother even with the lump in his throat; could have been much worse. Could have been your father and Steve wasn’t so sure if he would manage him. For one, he would hate to be reminded, once again, of what the numerous hate letters had told him about being a total perv; for two, Steve feared he might exchange words with your father that couldn’t have been taken back and would seal the damage done to the relationship with your parents .

“I’m sorry, ma’am. She fell asleep and—I can wake her, of course, but-“ He stumbled over his words and was immensely grateful when your mother saved him from his misery; more se when she said what she did.

“-but she had a rough night. We all did. I’m okay to talk to you, Steve.”

“Alright… how can I help, ma’am?”

“Tell me how bad she is, Steve? She stopped crying before she falling asleep?” the woman on the other side asked softly, causing Steve’s heart to squeeze in a painful memory of his own kind mother, God bless her soul.

And perhaps it was that very memory that encouraged him to speak openly, the genuine worry of a mother who cared deeply for her child, her heart full of love.

How such woman could end up with such an asshole and stay with him was beyond Steve’s understanding, but he certainly wasn’t in position to judge the choices of the women in your family – after all, he was your choice and there was a long line of people who looked at the two with disdain.

“For a while,” Steve admitted with a sigh, his gaze automatically flickering towards the bedroom. “She’s—she feels like she disappointed you in a way, she’s scared of the what’s next, but she’s angry too, because she doesn’t think she did anything wrong by being with me.”

And Steve thought the same… to a point. Didn’t matter that sometimes he would find himself in a dark place where he simply awaited the moment you’d change your mind and left him; for someone your age, with better looks, someone smarted, someone funnier, someone who didn’t have to shave off his beard just so your parents made it through the front door without yelling.

Such gloomy images always left him more desperate than he was comfortable admitting and with searing jealousy in his gut.

He needed you. Yes, he’d survive if you left – but he was certain that you’d take his heart with him, leaving him unable to fall in love ever again… or to feel whole, for that matter.

“She wouldn’t leave you to get her financial support back, Steve,” sounded gently on the other end of the line and Steve’s heart skipped a beat in alarm, brief wonder if he had said any of his latest thoughts out loud.

He supposed he didn’t – your mother was just too intuitive, just like his used to be. He gulped against his dry throat, suddenly guilty for – in a way – forcing you to leave them.

“…I suppose not… I’m sorry if-- it was never my intention to steal your daughter from you, but I’m- I’m not gonna pretend I mind that she would rather be with me than had her money.”

“This is not your doing, Steve, don’t you think I don’t know that,” she continued, a subtle smile in her voice, Steve thought. “And it’s good that she’s willing to make this choice. We wouldn’t want the bride to get cold feet, after all.”

Steve’s heart stopped altogether, he was sure of it. Colour him mortified.

How the hell—but- she couldn’t--- he hadn’t proposed yet and he- what?

His stomach twisted in a tight knot. He couldn’t but ask, voice barely above whisper.

“…how did you know?”

“You stopped yourself mid-sentence, Steve. And as cliché as it sounds, you had fire in your eyes, defending my daughter. It is clear to me that you are serious about her, that you love her, and from the little I heard about you, you are the kind of man who would put a ring on it to seal the deal.”

You mother was definitely smiling now and Steve found himself doing the same, even if the lift of his lips turned sour.

“I would have asked for parents’ blessings, but…”

“I give it,” she was quick to assure him and Steve’s breath hitched, his chest puffing with pride, filling with endless relief and joy. Your mother approved of him. Even knowing who he was, how old he was, how—she was willing to give him her blessing! “You seem like a good man, Steve.”

Steve was both embarrassed and ridiculously proud when he realized he was blinking against tears gathering in his eyes, enormous weight falling from his shoulders.

“That, uhm—that means a lot, truly,” he choked out, swiftly clearing his throat, the embarrassment definitely winning now. He had to get it together before he gave out how weak he could be in front of your mother… she had given her blessing; she could easily take it back.

“I like you, Steve. You’re a good blend of an old-fashioned and modern man. Don’t mess it up and keep my daughter happy.”

“I will try my best, ma’am,” he declared in an instant, meaning every word.

A sigh sounded from the speaker. “That’s all I ask for… now the less happy reason to call. I talked to Paul, but he… I’m sorry, Steve, as for now, he still isn’t fond of you.” That didn’t surprise Steve, but it hurt nonetheless. Then again, he was grateful that your mother tried to put in a good word for him; that meant a lot too. “He only agreed to pay for three more months.”

Steve’s free hand balled into fist, the other clutching the phone considerably tighter as hot surge of anger flooded his veins.

Three more payments. As if the relationship with your family was a damn job contract and this was the notice period.

Steve was sure he was going to be sick.

“Thank you. That’s… we appreciate it,” he managed to grit through his teeth, trying his damnest to remember that he wasn’t mad at the sweet woman – only at her husband.

“You really are a good man, Steve. You’re good for her. I’m glad she found you.”

Steve would once again be entirely joyful at being at least your mother’s favour, but he heard you call out his name from the bedroom, low, hoarse and utterly confused and all he could focus on was the idea of you, red-rimmed eyes and messy hair and still adorable, looking for him in the dark room with a pout to your lips.

“Steve?” your mother called out unsurely and Steve snapped from his reverie.

“Sorry, uhm, she’s awake-- do you want me to hand you over or-“ he blurted out swiftly, hoping the answer would be no as he couldn’t wait to crawl back to bed with you.

“No, just tell her I called. I believe you two have things to talk about. Take care of my daughter, Steve. I’ll be in touch.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Jane, Steve,” she offered kindly just as Steve heard the soft patting on your fluffy socks on the floor.

“Yes, Jane,” he corrected himself then, unable to contain the satisfaction as he tested the name on his tongue. “Thank you, really. Goodnight.”

He ended the call as you emerged from the bedroom, squinting to the low light, your eyes instantly finding him – he automatically smiled for you, unsubtly splaying his arms wide. You didn’t hesitate, aiming straight into his embrace even if it was at snail pace.

It was funny and strange and wonderful how Steve still loved simply holding you, his heart calmer the moment he found you melting into his frame. Christ, he loved you… and clearly, your mother noticed; he was so obvious, that-

“You were gone,” you muttered into his chest discontentedly, nuzzling into him and Steve automatically cradled you to him tighter.

“Sorry, sweetheart. How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” you admitted bluntly, propping your chin on his torso to look up at him, eyes growing wide and surprisingly soft with emotion. “More so because I was talking stupid and crying into your shirt instead of comforting you after my dad accused you of the things that--- those things that aren’t right.”

Steve felt the painful nudge to his consciousness, because he knew there always would be some truth to ‘those’ words; but you were here to dilute the pain and make it all better. Your care for his well-being served like a shield for the sticks and stones for now at least, when you were the priority. You had it worse at the moment, no matter what his former colleague had accused him of in those hate letters – and now your father.

“Hey, no. Don’t worry about me now.”

You gazed into his eyes, pushing on your tiptoes to peck his lips and the small gesture of affection was like a balm to his soul, much like your words.

“But I do. Always. I love you, Steve… I’m sorry we can’t catch a break… but we’ll… somehow, we’ll push through, right?” you whispered, hopeful and wistfully determined and Steve could only nod, feeling the corners of his lips rising.

“Absolutely, sweetheart. You’re my girl.”

“And you’re my guy. My prince charming,” you hummed, cradling his unusually smooth cheek, irises full of wonder, the sensation was as foreign to you as it was to him. But it was your babble that made him chuckle, the nickname that seemed to catch on; you were too cute for words. “Guess I am Cinderella after all and somehow you accidentally fell in love with me.”

“Damn right I did,” he confirmed, brushing your forehead with his lips before tugging you back to the bedroom. “Not all that glitters is gold.”

“True. Though you might have some glitter from the bathbomb on you.”

“Cheeky girl.”

He didn’t bother pretending to be offended or grumpy; he was simply too happy to see some of your snarky teasing side making its return, that was always a good sign.

“I try… but really, are you okay?”

Steve didn’t respond at first, climbing to the bed, manoeuvring you to his arms where you belonged and fit so naturally. Only when the lights were out and you were both comfortable, he replied, truthfully.

“I will be. I have you. Plus, your mum seems to be okay with me.”

More than okay, apparently.

Steve’s heart fluttered with a bit of nerves as his mind wandered to the ring he kept in the very room you fell asleep every night.

“As she should,” you hummed, sounding very pleased. “She has a nose for good people. And you’re the best.”

“After you at least.”

“Best man, then,” you argued playfully and Steve was perfectly content to have you think that. It would play in his favour when he would finally find the courage to sink to one knee in front of you.

“Well, I’m certainly a lucky one… I have the best woman.”

“Uh-huh. Sure you do. Love you,” you whispered, kissing his chest over the fabric of his sleepshirt and sighing blissfully. “Goodnight, Steve.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart. I love you too.”

If you only knew how much…

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

S.R.masterlist

Attached masterlist

Stockings (next in timeline)

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Wink wink. I once again stretched this quite a bit, but hopefully you reached this very end without skipping something ;)

Thank you for reading and extra thanks if you happen to like, reblog and/or comment. Stay safe and happy!

(Also, to American friends: I hope you'll have better Thanksgiving than this ;) )

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lilithbasically · 2 years

Note

sorry this is late! didn't see ur response because im on anon lol

one fresh bakukiri comfort hot out of the oven from potato soup anon cafe! (have never been in a poly relationship sorry if things are off) idk wtf happened i put too many slices

"It's been a long day, for lack of better words. Your two partners had been at work at the agency all day leaving you alone with your thoughts and the ever cooling potato soup you made in the early afternoon. Now sinking into your plush couch, surrounded by throw pillows, blanket over your shoulders, a nameless movie on the tv, and tepid soup in your lap staring into space.

Your rapidly spiralling thoughts are interrupted by your dog scrambling up from its bed and racing towards the front door. You glance over your shoulder when you hear the locks turning, and are met with the sight of a head of red hair coming through the front door. You involuntarily smile a little at the sight of Eijirou having to duck a little for the ridiculously tall doorway and him excitedly opening his arms for your dog. Katsuki trails behind him relatively quickly, lightly slamming the door behind him and kicking off his boots next to the door.

"Hey baby!" Kirishima shouts from the entryway, giving you a glance and wink. "Hi Eiji." you respond laughing a little, reaching towards the coffee table to put your bowl down. Kirishima is distracted by the dog, but Bakugou immediately notices the sad tone in your voice and whips his head up from where he was placing his gauntlets down.

"Hey angel." Katsuki is suddenly behind you, bent over the back of the couch, kissing the top of your head. You turn your head a little so you can look him in his eyes and kiss the corner of his mouth. "Hey Katsu-" He cuts you off kissing you directly on your lips. The kiss lasts a little longer than you were prepared for, Katsuki grabbing the back of your head and pulling you deeper into him. He pulls back with a smirk, crimson eyes flicking all over your face, "If you're going to kiss me at least do it forreal idiot." You smile a little more.

Kirishima walks out of your shared bedroom in his comfy clothes and sits down next to you, pulling you into his lap. "What's up sweetheart?", he asks while rubbing your back where he knows you were slouching, "Kujo told me you were sad all day." You snort. "The dog told you that?" you pinch his cheek. "Yeah," he bites at your hand. "So why did Kujo say you were sad?"

You sigh and rest your head on his chest, rubbing at Eijirou's scalp softly. You start explaining your day and how you feel, your red-headed lover rubbing the top of your thigh and your blondie yelling his thoughts from the bedroom while he changed. While you were talking, Bakugou had sat next to Eiji and placed your legs in his lap, massaging your calves. When your recollection of your day came back to the moment you were currently in, you threw your head back and groaned. Katsuki quickly pulls you in between the two of them, laughing when you squeak and thrash a little.

You sit up ready to playfight with him, but your thoughts are intercepted by Bakugou kissing your cheek and Kiri kissing your temple. "Do you feel a little better now baby?" Eiji asks, kissing your ear softly. "Yeah," you mumble out, distracted by your two lovers chaste kisses all over you, "it helped."

Katsuki rubs circles into your neck, easing the tension there. "All those thoughts really did a number on ya didn't they angel?"

Before you can respond, Kiri speaks again, "No matter what that brain of yours says about you, know that we always love you so," he kisses you, "so-", again, "so-", a kiss on your nose, "so-", on your eyelid, "So much." You kiss right below Eiji's lips.

"And we're so fuckin proud-" Katsuki almost growls into your jaw, making you try to wiggle away from the tickling feeling, "of you. Another day with you is a good day in my books angel."

"Now it's time to make our sweet, precious angel baby's brain go a little dumb isn't it Eiji?" You squeal as Katsuki throws you over his shoulder."

sorry that's so much. hope you feel better mamas

M’gonna FUCKIN CRY HOLD THE FUCKIN PHONE

I loved this and it legit made me tear up but it simultaneously made me feel better so thank you. Like actually, fucking thank you 🖤 You’re too sweet bby

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nukyster-blog · 3 years

Text

Changing Course Chapter 29) Bird of nightmare

.-.-.

“I am the youngest offspring of Ragnar Lothbrok, the most famous Viking who ever lived,” Ivar spoke, pressing the back of his head against the board that separated the boxes. After his disgraceful meltdown, he felt the need to overcompensate and in all honesty, his royal blood seemed like his last resort.

Piglet paused her knitting, she’d been trying to patch the destroyed potato sacks together, giving him a long bug-eyed look that she eventually broke off to continue her work.

Ivar couldn’t tell if she believed him or not, but she wasn’t mocking him yet, so he continued: “he was a king, a legend. And I was destined to be at his side, to die, by his side-” he paused and let out a long deep sign, “-but I failed to do so. It displeased the Gods, so now I’m here. With you, enslaved and ruled out of dying with dignity. Which means I will either die an unworthy death, or of old age, which I highly doubt. Doesn’t matter though, both won’t grant me access to Valhalla. Which means I will never see my father, nor my brothers and mother, again.”

In the shimmer of twilight, it was hard to see, but Piglet’s eyes slowly welled up with tears and although she furiously rubbed her face, it was evident she’d been touched by his revelation.

It again brought Ivar back to the great puzzle that was Piglet, the still nameless slave maiden who time after time surprised him with the tricks up her sleeves.

But before Ivar could reminisce about Piglet’s past, the maiden jolted up and dropped the bags.

“UTSTOTT!” She exclaimed, and hastily started to move her hands through the blanket of hay. Ivar could feel the color drain from his face and cursed himself for not thinking about the tiny white raven sooner.

Piglet hurried to pick up her broom and started sweeping the shed, while Ivar scanned every inch of his box with his eyes and hands. He checked everywhere, inside his trough, underneath the loose planks of the floorboard, and clenched his jaw when he noticed all the ripped pieces of potato bag. What if, during his fit of rage, he’d ripped off the hatchling’s wings as easily as he’d destroyed the tough fabric?

“Seek upstairs!” Ivar ordered with a voice that skipped a few beats, when Piglet returned empty handed from her search.

What if he stomped it? What if he killed it?

Ivar swept away hay and scraped his palms over the sandy floor until his box was empty.

“He vanished”, Piglet mumbled sorrowfully, as her search upstairs had been fruitless as well, “maybe you scared him off and he escaped?”

Ivar threw her an annoyed glance and motioned to the door, “we’re locked up, he’s small, but not small enough to pass through the door’s lock!”

Ivar shoved his trough aside, turned over a bucket that lay in reach and checked the floorboards again all while Piglet pushed and pulled herself through cattle.

A soft caw made both of them freeze, the sound was almost inaudible and sounded from far, far away. But it was there, dull and muffled, as if there was a thick wall in between them.

Ivar covered his ears, trying to locate the side the sound was coming from. A caw echoed from the attic, but the moment Ivar wanted to scold Piglet for being such a lousy seeker, the sound stopped and traveled downstairs, over the boxes and ended underneath Ivar’s floorboard.

Ivar’s mouth dropped; because that featherless chick could in no way possible travel so fast on his own. He’d seen it wobble through the shed, there was no way those naked feathers could carry his weight.

Piglet must have realised that too, because the slave maiden glanced around the corner of Ivar’s box with huge eyes, shock written all over her face.

Ivar didn’t know what held him back and eventually decided it could not be fright when he pulled up the plank of the floorboard. Expecting Utstott to be seated on top of his humble treasury; woodcarvings, nails, the knife and sling, Ivar’s face went completely blank when the baby bird wasn’t there.

A caw came from up close and Piglet let out a petrified shriek, hastily moving down at Ivar’s side. Casting anxious skyward glances, she pinched Ivar’s shoulder and huddled close to him.

“Voodoo!” she whimpered and cried out when a high pitched caw blared right over their heads. Ivar froze and could feel the tiny hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He recalled his first weeks inside the shed; how he’d battled fever and the mare riding his chest. He also recalled vividly how he’d witnessed his father being devoured by a flock of ravens.

When he regained strength, he simply brushed it off as feverish dreams intensified by the mare. Yet, during the feverish days, he’d been staring into the shadows, petrified to register tarred feathers and beaks inside the darkness of the shed.

A gust of cold night’s air made the pair duck their heads down, instinctively Ivar shoved Piglet down to the floor and reached for the knife, although he highly doubted it would do any damage.

The cawing continued and it started to frighten the animals inside, for they could sense the unnatural atmosphere.

To make matters worse, Piglet’s body went completely limp, only to abruptly shoot into a series of spasms.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me”, Ivar hissed through his teeth and hastily dragged the young woman onto her side so she wouldn’t choke on her own tongue. Her eyes were all white while her limbs convulsed in quick and odd motions.

Piglet’s unconsciousness made Ivar feel utterly alone and exposed. Raising the knife in his fist, he held his breath- all while holding onto Piglet’s chin to prevent her from banging her face into the floor.

Another caw cackled through the shed; it didn’t come from one side, no- it seemed to twirl in circles.

It was then and there that Ivar realised he could either whimper as a coward or face the unknown abomination hiding inside the shadows.

“SHOW YOURSELF!” Ivar roared, rising up to his knees and puffing his chest out.

‘What are the odds of survival?’ Ivar asked himself. He was in chains, crippled, and his only ally lay in a seizure down on the floor.

As an answer, the cawing evaporated and all went quiet inside the shed, aside from the soft frightened noises of the animals.

Ivar’s eyes darted through the room, scanning all shadows and dark corners. Surely, this couldn’t be the end of it?

A small beak appeared from around the corner of his box, causing Ivar to withdraw and land on his arse. To keep a slice of his dignity, he struggled back onto his knees and watched the tiny hatchling hop over Piglet’s makeshift line. There was a bit of smugness in his strutt as he blinked a couple of times; one eye glazed and milky white, the other a vibrant blue.

“What are you?” Ivar whispered, pulling Piglet close and keeping the knife raised above his head.

Utstott tilted his head, puffing up his humble feathers as he hopped toward Ivar. Like a half naked, fluffy ball, Utstott inched closer and closer. For some reason, Ivar sensed that the bird knew he’d be able to kill it, yet that didn’t stop him. Utstott didn’t fear Ivar.

Inch for inch, Ivar lowered the knife until he placed it down onto the floor and reached his hand out to the hatchling.

Contentment seemed to beam from the tiny creature as it seated itself into the palm of Ivar’s hand.

“What are you?”, Ivar wondered, calmer this time as he watched the bird peck at its own feathers, “what are you?”.

.-.-.

Piglet and Ivar did not see eye to eye; the slave maiden was convinced Utstott was ‘black magic’, an evil creature summoned from Jahannam, a place of blazing fire and the final destination of sinners.

Despite Piglet’s conviction, Ivar still couldn't put his finger on what Utstott actually was, and decided to keep him.

Utstott sided with Ivar, with a raspy caw the bird sat on his shoulder and refused to leave that spot.

“Fine”, Piglet eventually settled, “but you lock it up!”

So, Ivar forced a deeply insulted Utstott inside a crate and placed his trough on top of it. He highly doubted the bird would remain inside of the makeshift cage, but it calmed Piglet’s fear.

Another day of scrubbing started and with that, rain started to pour down. Usually the task was pointless, now it was simply a joke. Ivar spent the first few hours of dawn soaking wet; his hair became one with his face, wetly draping over his bone structure. Muddy water splashed up everytime someone hastily passed him, hurried to find shelter inside.

Oh, but Ivar continued his pointless task, gritting his teeth as the Giant watched him from the doorway. The large man stood with crossed arms, contently watching his slave from up high and dry.

Another dreadful and overall wet day ended and Ivar’s knees soaked the hay as he was returned to his shackles. The moment the Giant left, Ivar plucked at the cuff of his tunic and hastily peeled it off; he wasn’t cold per se, spring had been kind to him today. But removing the soaked fabric from his skin felt like a blessing.

Piglet silently picked up his clothes and hung them out. Throwing a few blankets to his side, she paced around the shed for a few moments before casually mentioning:

“I think Utstott died”, as she watched how Ivar’s face fell, she quickly added: “he didn’t make any sound all day”.

Ivar’s eyes shot to the crate and he crawled toward it, picking it up, he shook the wooden box. He didn’t hear the sound of Utstott’s aggravated caws, nor did he hear a tiny limp body toss and turn.

“He vanished again”, Ivar explained as he showed Piglet the empty crate, “see?”.

“By Allah…”, Piglet’s voice faded as she stared in shock at the emptiness inside the crate. She faltered down onto her knees and started a prayer: “Bismillaahir-Rahmaanir-Raheem . Qul 'a'oothu birabbin-naas . Malikin-naas . 'Ilaahin-naas . Min sharril-waswaasil-khannaas. Allathee yuwaswisu fee sudoorin-naas. Minal-jinnati wannaas”.

Ivar simply rolled his eyes and pulled the blankets up around his shoulders: “don’t be such a wimp Piglet, he did not do anything harmful to us”.

“That’s easy for you to say!” Piglet snapped through her prayer, “you’re Viking, you’re religion is an interplay of wickedness and bloodshed. The place you call ‘hell’ is a simple wasteland for the weak. My version of hell is an endless circle of pain and suffering and I will not put my soul on the line for your demonic bird!”.

Perfectly on cue, Utstott came teettering from underneath Piglets skirts, causing the slave maiden to scream bloody murder. Jumping onto the tips of her toes, she tried to kick the little hatchling.

Utstott managed to avoid Piglet’s toes and quickly ran toward Ivar for safety. He made one final jump, flapped his little wings, and landed onto Ivar’s lap.

“Hamar! Idiot! Thick-head!” Piglet cursed him, as Ivar clapped his hands and started laughing. “You’re damming yourself! I won’t be a part of this!”

Ivar continued laughing and shook his head as Piglet barged up the stairs to the attic. Petting the tiny bird, he watched Utstott puff up his feathers and close his beady eyes in content. Later that night, Piglet eventually moved to Ivar’s side, instead of remaining upstairs. The fear of the danger that lingered outside of the walls of their shed victored over the fear she held for the little white raven.

.-.-.

A/N: For those of you who’d like to be refreshed, I highly suggest you re-read chapter 5; ‘Eaten Alive’, that’s the chapter where Ivar’s fever gets the best of him and he sees his father being devoured by ravens.

Hope you enjoyed this chapter and I’m very curious how you feel about Utstott.

Xoxox Nukyster

The kickass beta: @sarahh-jane The tagged ones:@youbloodymadgenius @xbellaxcarolinax @saldelys @shannygoatgruff@pieces-by-me@apenas-mais-uma-pessoa@readsalot73@lauraan182 @conaionaru@sarahh-jane@peachybonelessIf you’d liked to be tagged, please let me know:)

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missroserose · 3 years

Text

the neon light's on me tonight

part 1 | part 2

or read on AO3

here I am, back on this bullshit again. it's like y'all's enthusiasm is addictive, or something. <3

And yes, three chapters means it's playlist time.

(Thanks as always to @anarchist-billy for being the best beta. <3)

The January nighttime air is a shock, whiskey vapors and cigarette smoke and beer fumes cleared from Billy’s lungs in one bracing breath. Something about the cold is soothingly familiar—it mirrors the gnawing emptiness deep in his gut, soothes the constant itch beneath his skin. He takes another lungful, can practically feel the ice crystals forming inside his lungs.

Billy’s not drunk, not really—though not for lack of trying. He shotgunned each beer and downed every shot somebody bought him, but the buzzing is still there, energy scrabbling in circles like the lyrics of that Ratt song playing on the bar’s jukebox. Between that and the icy fingers that creep under his collar and inside the corners of his leather jacket, what little comforting haze had dropped between him and the world is cleared away within moments.

Still. It’ll be better soon enough. He struts out the door, boots crunching on the gravel, gives an extra little swing to his hips for the sake of the man following him. The weather is the perfect excuse for a quickie—it’s too goddamn cold even to stay out for a cigarette. No names, no awkward small talk. Just long enough to get off in the almost-dark beneath the bar’s window signs. Long enough to feel gravel beneath his knees, to taste bitter salt at the back of his throat. Long enough to quench the restlessness that vibrates through him, long enough to find his center, to keep up his front of self-preservation—

A pair of headlights clicks on, flooding the darkened space between the lot and the roadhouse where they’re standing. Billy mutters a curse and throws up a hand to shield his eyes, wondering what kind of clueless asshole—and then something clicks in his mind as the door opens. Even before the figure emerges, even before it stands silhouetted in its Members Only jacket (in this weather?) and that ridiculous hair and that fucking nailed baseball bat—well, Billy knows who it has to be. Knows what he has to say.

“Am I dreaming or is that you, Harrington?”

But Steve doesn’t do the expected thing. Doesn’t give the reply that by now might as well be their secret code for come kick my ass, or pound it, could go either way. Instead, he walks towards Billy, knuckles tight around the grip of the bat.

“Who the hell is this?” The question could’ve come from either of them—Steve, standing in front of him, or the nameless man behind him—a little taller, maybe, a little older, a little less hair product. But the slightly-nasal tenor is the same, the fancy clothes, the flicker of assessing glance. Like they only make one model of closeted queer in Indiana. Or maybe it’s just the only one Billy likes.

Fast cars. Cigarettes. Pretty rich boys. Billy always seems to love the things that could destroy him.

“Aw, that’s sweet,” the man behind Billy says—Billy’s fairly sure it’s him this time, can practically feel the disdain emanating from behind him as the man looks over Steve. “Your boyfriend drove all the way out here to defend your honor?”

“He ain’t my boyfriend.” He isn’t, not even sort of—Harrington’s been avoiding him, after their last encounter, and for the sake of his own safety Billy had decided to take the hint. He takes a step forward, grabs Steve by the lapels, gives him a shove. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Steve returns the favor, shoves Billy back. “I need your help, jackass,” he says. He tilts his chin up and to the right, moving his gaze over to Billy’s companion. “You realize he isn’t even eighteen?”

Billy’s punch lands right on Steve’s jaw. It’s a bolt from the blue—no windup, no warning, just a swing and a connection, hard enough that Steve stumbles back. Billy turns, already pasting on his most charming smile, opens his mouth, ready to spin some shit to repair the damage—

It’s too late. The guy has his hands up, is backing away. “Thanks, but no thanks. This is way too much drama for me.” And with that he’s turning, going back—hair metal guitar solo spilling out briefly as the door opens, then shuts, leaving them out in the cold.

Billy stands for a moment. Savors the heat that fills him—something like anger, something like lust, something completely different from both—whatever, it’s enough to drown out the buzzing, to give the scrabbling energy a much-needed outlet. He turns back, smile still in place, eyes bright with coiled menace.

“God, Hargrove. You’re such an asshole.” Steve’s standing by the car, holding a hand to his jaw, split lip oozing blood; the nail bat leans against the bumper next to him.

“Born and bred, baby.” Billy watches Steve, waits to see which way this is gonna fall. If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll get in his car and drive right the hell away. If he cares what’s good for Billy, he’ll man up and throw a punch in return—but he doesn’t, of course he doesn’t, because when has Steve Harrington ever been smart? He only straightens. Sneers a little.

“Look, do you want to help the kids out or not? We could use some backup on this.”

“Oh, is that what’s going on?” Billy can’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice—of all the pathetic, weak-ass excuses for his erstwhile hookup to cockblock him at the one fucking homo bar in the county—he stalks towards Steve. “You drop me like a hot potato, not so much as a Christmas card, then one day you just decide to ruin my night because something came along that your little midnight chess club couldn’t handle?” Billy waits for the sidewise slide of the eyes, the backing down, the slinking away—all the shit Steve’s been pulling on him since November, that leaves Billy fuming. But something tonight is changed, charged; Steve’s eyes narrow, and something in his eyes looks—delighted, almost. As if he’s missed this fire as much as Billy has, as if the pit yawns in his gut the same way it does in Billy’s.

Billy feels his heartbeat kick up a notch, feels the buzzing under his skin tune itself, become a humming, harmonizing with whatever electricity always seems to fill the space between them. A power chord, the fifth to Steve’s tonic.

Oh fuck yes. The King is out to play tonight.

“You wanted to know what’s going on in this town.” Steve’s hands find Billy’s hips, fingers curling in his belt loops. “Now’s your chance, Hargrove. If you’re not too chicken.” He gives a sort of half-smile, pulls him forward, pulls their crotches flush against each other, and goddamn if Steve isn’t halfway hard and getting harder. Goddamn if Billy isn’t right there with him. “Or would you rather just go at each other right here in the parking lot? Your call—”

“ksssssh—eve, you there? Code re—kssssh—can’t find—over—”

Steve doesn’t take his eyes from Billy, but something in his expression changes—goes from seductive to steely. He reaches back, grabs something from a belt clip—it’s one of those fucking walkie-talkies the kids are always using. He uses his teeth to raise the antenna, brings it to his mouth. “This is Steve. What’s your position?”

The static hisses, breaking up the words—they must be right at the edge of its range. “kssssh—odog—got Max—chasing—towards you—”

Billy feels his heart give a jump, much less pleasantly this time. “What’s going on with Max?”

Steve steps back, his face grim. “I don’t know, but if Dustin didn’t get after me for not saying ‘over’, it’s bad.” He hits the button on the walkie. “Do not engage. Repeat, do not engage. I’m on my way. Over and out.” A pause as he clips the walkie back on his belt, looks up to Billy’s face. “Look, I’ve got to go. I could use your help. But you should know.” His expression changes again, steel giving way to a—hollowness, almost. Hauntedness, at a depth Billy wouldn’t have credited him with even a few minutes ago. “Once you’re in, there’s no going back.”

He should be worried about Max. Billy can feel it, practically etched into his forebrain. Out of sheer self-preservation alone—if something’s happened to her, Neil will have his hide regardless of whether or not he was supposed to be watching out for her.

He should laugh this off. Billy can feel it, deep in his gut. The idea that this boy from podunk nowhere has something life-changing to show him is patently absurd. He should throw another punch, maybe two, rough Harrington up a little. Teach him not to mess with his personal life. It’d let the energy out another way—less satisfying, maybe, but just as sure. Billy realizes he’s starting to shiver, deep against his bones—soon enough it’ll take over his whole body, leave him visibly trembling. Thinks, for a moment, about the heat that he and Steve always seem to bring out in each other. Remembers the way it roars through his veins, his muscles, drowning out everything, until the world is pure and breathless and beautiful—

“Just tell me one thing, Harrington.” He steps back, squares his shoulders. Squelches the shivers that’re threatening to work their way up his spine. “Whatever it is that we’re chasing—can we burn it?”

A smile slowly grows over Steve’s face. A kingly sort of smile. And Billy has to fight the sudden urge to drop to his knees right the fuck there in the parking lot.

Luckily, Steve moves. Grabs his bat, crosses to the trunk. Pops it. Reaches in, and pulls out something long—Billy only sees it in shadow until Steve tosses it to him, until he catches it by reflex, feels the uneven weight, sees the dinged red paint on the head. An axe.

“Get in,” Steve says, opening the driver’s side door. “We’re gonna start ourselves a fire.”

#harringrove #my writing #billy hargrove #steve harrington #stranger things #too young to fall in love

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