#he IS getting knocked up regardless eventually this is a magic setting. And maybe he should swap genitals when that happens...
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
zesty-alt · 10 months ago
Text
Trying to decide whether this subby knight oc should have a pussy that'll be gushing two seconds from a few touches to his thighs and a kiss on the neck or if he should have a huge dick that jumps to attention just as easily, an arousal that's plainer to see and impossible to hide, and heavy balls so full of cum that he's always leaving a huge mess everywhere. And he impregnates the polycule
I keep leaning towards option 2 and we can always just play with his prostate. Good talk me.
(At least one of his dom owners is transmasc)
2 notes · View notes
retrievablememories · 3 years ago
Text
love thy neighbor | kun (m)
Tumblr media
title: love thy neighbor pairing: kun x black reader genre: fluff, smut, neighbors to lovers request: “Hello again Rain! I hope you're doing well and I'm happy to see you're open for requests again. Your writing in general is a treat to look forward to. An idea for a fic I'd like to suggest is wayv kun/black oc where they're neighbors that secretly pine for another and do feel free get very nsfw lmao. TY!” word count: 5.7k warnings: alcohol use, protected sex, dirty talk, dry humping, riding a/n: i used a prompt from this list of ideas to help me create this fic.
i’m sorry, this fic could’ve theoretically been finished long ago but took me 3893 years because kun intimidates me (and i don’t know why) and that makes it hard to write for him l m f a o chile anyway...
--
Your neighbor might actually kill you one day—but only in the figurative sense.
Kun is too beautiful and kind for your sanity; he’s like one of those men out of a romantic novel who simply should not exist. In other words, the ideal guy. One who helps all the little old ladies in the building take their groceries up to their apartments, one who feeds all the stray cats that hang around the complex, one who helps new tenants move their things in without even being asked.
Your roommate Charlotte would probably be totally smitten over him just like you if she did not already have her own happy relationship with her girlfriend. But since she does, she has decided to spend her time instead teasing you about your crush on him and trying to persuade you into getting tangled up in a matchmaking mess.
“I’m sure he already has a girlfriend, I don’t know, trying to shoot my shot seems ridiculous,” you say to her, worrying the edge of your blanket in your hands. You toss and turn on the couch, flipping onto your stomach and sighing before shuffling onto your back again. “People like that can never stay single for long. Right? They get snapped up quick.”
“You’d know if you simply asked,” Charlotte points out. “Staring holes into his head won’t help you find out more about him.”
“I guess you’re right,” you say, your fingers stumbling over the blanket as it momentarily slips from your hands. Still, the idea of asking him if he’s dating anyone, whether discreetly or more openly, makes you nervous. You’ve talked to Kun several times before, even hung out with him at those friendly get-togethers your apartment building always holds to get the residents mingling, but you’re still anxious around him. It makes you feel silly, like you’re back in high school; but you aren’t quite sure what to do with those emotions or how to form them into something coherent. “Easy to say all that when you already have the person you want, though.”
“Oh, girl. Love is not easy, but that’s why you have to fucking work for it. AKA, go for what—or who—the hell you want and stop pining over him like some lost Juliet on our couch. It’s better than watching you flop around like a dying fish.”
You stand up from the couch abruptly, leaving your blanket to the side and glaring at her. “You don’t get it, ugh.”
“I get it! But you refuse to let me help—”
“Yes, because if I did, you’d say something completely ridiculous and tell him I’m madly in love with him or something.” You head to the bathroom to check yourself in the mirror.
Charlotte throws her hands up in surrender. “Hey, maybe. But that wouldn’t be a lie.”
“Really? I don’t think—”
“I think so. The way you talk about this guy, it’s definitely sounding a little like love to me.”
Once you’re satisfied, you come back in the main room and grab your keys, wanting to end this conversation before Charlotte sets a world record for how many times she can make you feel embarrassed. “Whatever you say. I’m gonna go to the corner store, so...speak now if you need something or forever hold your peace.”
“You can’t run from it,” Charlotte sing-songs, going back to reading her magazine. “And no, I don’t need anything.”
Once you get out your front door, it’s just your luck when you see Kun’s door is also open. You are not dressed for running into him, of all people; your “corner store” clothes being just a T-shirt, leggings, and slides. You freeze in place and momentarily think about unlocking your door and bolting back inside, which you realize is utterly ridiculous. By then, it’s too late; he’s already coming out his door and closing it behind him. 
He perks up when he sees you outside, smiling at you with those deep dimples that make your insides melt. “Hey Y/N, good to see you.”
“Kun! Uh—great to see you too.”
“Are you going out somewhere?” he asks. Inwardly, he feels a bit silly for asking because you clearly are, keys in hand and everything.
“Yeah, just to the store to get a few things.” You wave your hand, and you almost have the urge to lean on your doorframe to appear more calm and collected than you are. Which could potentially end up looking sillier than you intended. “How about you?”
“Going to see a friend,” he answers, and he brushes his hand through his hair in a way that’s completely casual but somehow modelesque at the same time. This is unbelievable, you think to yourself. “We haven’t met up in a while, so…”
“Oh yeah, it’s always nice to go out with old friends,” you say, smiling at the thought of it. Kun nods his agreement, and then has an abrupt, wild idea to ask if you’d like to go out somewhere sometime. Too busy warring with himself over whether he should take the dive, he doesn’t notice you heading towards the stairs already. “I hope you two have a good time!”
“Oh—thanks. Hope you enjoy your trip.” He chuckles, following you down the steps to get to his car. Well, that moment has passed. Sure, he could probably still ask you now if he was bold enough about it, but it feels too awkward to randomly ask someone out in the middle of a stairwell.
You wave bye to him once you both get in the parking lot. He watches you walk to your car with a wistful smile on his face. He wants to say more to you, but the timing isn’t right and it’s best not to hold you up right now. Plus, Hendery’s probably already waiting for him.
It would’ve provided you with a lot of relief if you knew Kun was facing a similar dilemma to you. He’d never had much problem talking to women he liked in the past, but something about you made him feel clumsy and hesitant. But just like with your inability to move forward, there’s no way for you to know his feelings without him saying anything about it—which he has been hesitating over for the longest. 
Maybe he was also still cowering from the embarrassment of the time he’d tried to show you a magic trick that didn’t quite work out, but it was a convenient excuse. At least for him, anyway.
One day he’d get the courage to tell you how he felt, but he didn’t think today was that day.
Some strong shots and a few hours at the club was exactly what you needed to unravel your nerves after a long week. You and a few others from your work had decided to go out that Saturday night as a group effort to unwind from dealing with your overbearing boss. “Just a couple shots” eventually turned into more than that, though, but you weren’t complaining. As long as it gave you the opportunity to discard all your issues for a while, you didn’t mind losing yourself a little.
However, your night of fun quickly dissolves into frustration when you realize you’ve lost your keys and have no way to get back into your apartment. You’re not even sure where they might’ve disappeared—in the club, or in the rideshare back to your apartment?
Charlotte is out of the city for the week visiting her long-distance girlfriend, so there’s no way you’re getting back in your apartment tonight. The main office won’t be open at this hour, either; it’s the weekend, and nobody will be there regardless until Monday. And you’re definitely not drunk enough or desperate enough to try to bust the door down.
Though it pains you to do so, you knock on Kun’s door, your head throbbing and dizzy. You feel bad about this. He won’t even be awake at this hour and might not answer, but you don’t know what other options you have. You aren’t familiar enough with your other neighbors to ask this of them. Especially not the old lady living on the other side of you who has a perpetually judgmental aura towards everyone in the apartment building. The only person she seems marginally approving of is none other than the man himself—Qian Kun.
It takes a good minute or two, but you hear the latch unlock, and Kun is suddenly standing in front of you, a look of concern on his sleepy face. He is adorable like this, in his pajamas and his hair mussed and his eyes foggy with sleep. He’s so cute it makes you want to cry—and so you do. 
But your tears are mostly because you’re very tipsy and tired and currently locked out of your very comfortable apartment.
This awakens Kun immediately. “Y/N? What’s wrong?” He gently pulls you into his apartment, his tone quiet but panicked as you put your face in your hands and cry. You just shake your head for a few moments, crying too much to say anything to him. When you don’t reply, he doesn't try to press you for answers; he just puts his arms around you, a bit carefully as if you’re made of some easily breakable material, and lets you wet his T-shirt with your tears.
Finally, when you’ve collected yourself some, you abruptly feel foolish for crying over something like this. He probably thinks someone’s died, and you’ve gotten him all worked up for practically nothing. “I-I’m locked out,” you sigh heavily, and he has enough politeness not to outwardly react to your alcohol breath with your close proximity. “And my roommate is gone…forever.”
His eyebrows lift. “Forever?”
“The whole week, Kun...but it feels like...f-forever.”
“Ah...I see. Is that why you were crying?”
You put your head back in your hands. “Just kill me.”
“Don’t feel bad about it,” Kun says, and there is a tiny lift to his mouth like he wants to smile at your dramatics. “It’s fine. You can stay here tonight.”
“Kun, thank you.” You’re still loosely embracing each other, and you squeeze your arms more tightly around him. Maybe it’s just a reason to rest your head on his chest again and hear his heart beating strong against your cheek, but you wouldn’t admit that. Wait, why is his heart beating so fast? “Thank youuu, I love you so much, this means the world to me.”
Kun’s mind catches on the words I love you so much, and he knows you’re just drunk and need to sleep it off and aren’t really thinking about what you’re saying, but he cannot help lingering there for a moment. He’s glad the front room is still dim from the single lamp he turned on, otherwise you might notice the flush growing on his cheeks. “I...it’s no problem. We should get you comfortable, then.”
As it turns out, get you comfortable means he lets you sleep in his bed while he takes the couch. In another context you’d protest, not wanting to kick him out of his own space, but you are simply too smashed to think about it. You’re seconds away from falling asleep where you stand now that the adrenaline of discovering you’re locked out has worn off. Kun has the idea to make you drink some ice cold water, though, which wakes you up enough to take a proper shower.
By the time you get out of the shower and are wearing his clothes—his clothes—you are feeling a little more sober. You also feel like you’re going to have another small meltdown over all this. “This” being: wearing Kun’s clothes and standing in his bedroom, which is decorated with all his interests and treasured belongings. There’s a small studio setup in one corner, which interests you, but you don’t investigate it any further.
Now you have another little problem, though; what are you gonna do about the pillows? You don’t have anything to cover your hair with, with all your scarves and bonnets in your own apartment. One night of sleeping on a cotton pillow wouldn’t kill you, but that doesn’t make it any less distasteful to think about.
Kun comes into the bedroom to check on you and sees you puzzling around, sitting on the bed and looking awkward. “What’s the matter?”
“Oh. It’s nothing really,” you rush out, unsure if you should tell him about a problem he likely won’t even understand. It must be at least 4:00 a.m. by now, meaning you both desperately need to get some sleep.
“You can tell me, I won’t bite.”
I wouldn’t mind if you did pops into your head, but you immediately try to ignore that thought and are silently grateful that you do not blush visibly.
“Uh, my hair.”
“Your hair?”
“Okay, I need to cover it at night so it won’t get all broken off or anything—sleeping on cotton does wonders for destroying moisture—but I don’t have anything here to use. I mean—it’s...not a huge deal though, I can deal with it for a night?” You’re rambling now. Kun just nods, taking in all this information like he’s listening to something very important and very interesting.
“So then, what would you do to stop that?”
“Wear a scarf, or a bonnet, or using a silk pillowcase works, too. But you probably don’t have any of that stuff, you don’t have to bother with it—”
“Well, let me see.” Kun disappears into his closet and you pause, wondering for a moment if he actually does have a bonnet or something in there. Which would probably be a little hilarious to you.
He comes back out with not a bonnet of a scarf or even a pillowcase, but one of his own shirts. It’s just the right material though, being a pretty purple silk.
“Oh—Kun.” At this point, there are several emotions all trying to come to the forefront, though you have no clue which one to settle on. “Your shirt? You really don’t have to. I could…”
“It’s just a shirt, Y/N. There are a lot more where that comes from...I don’t mind.” He chuckles.
You sigh bashfully but take the shirt from him. “Thank you, it’s really thoughtful of you.” You cover the pillow with his shirt, and it works perfectly.
“Anyway, if you need anything else, just tell me,” he says, lingering by the door.
“I will...thank you,” you say, your voice quiet as you give him a nervous smile. Only when he shuts the door and his footsteps fade away do you allow yourself to bunch the comforter in your fists and scream into it. Everything in here smells just like him, which is probably more than enough to fuel all of your Qian Kun-related daydreams for the next 8 months.
It doesn’t take long for you to drift off when you finally do lie down, and your mind is blissfully empty of anything throughout the night.
--
The next day takes a bit of settling into. You’re momentarily alarmed when you wake up faced with a strange room until you remember last night’s events and recall where you are. There is also the smell of food, good food, which is also sadly unfamiliar to you. Charlotte can’t cook to save either of your lives, so you know you’d never be waking up to the smell of a professional chef-approved breakfast if you were still in your apartment with her.
Walking out of Kun’s room, you see that he’s in the kitchen, halfway finished with cooking breakfast for the both of you. It’s more like brunch at this hour, but what does that matter.
You linger at the doorway for a moment, allowing yourself to imagine that this is what things would be like if you were dating. Getting this view everyday? Life cannot be this unfair.
Maybe not too much, though, since you are standing in his kitchen.
“Oh, good morning,” he greets you, breaking your reverie. “Did you sleep well?”
“Good morning. I slept great. Thanks again for, you know, the shirt, haha…”
He grins, and his dimples come out. “Sure thing. Go ahead and sit! Breakfast will be ready soon.”
It’s the best breakfast you’ve eaten since living with Charlotte; maybe some of the best food you’ve ever had. “I had no idea you could cook this well,” you say. “I mean. I guess I wouldn’t since I haven’t—you know, uh—eaten here before, but—it’s great.” It’s just your luck that your thoughts come out in this fumbling mini-rant, but Kun only laughs good-naturedly.
“Thank you, I’m truly glad you like it.”
You both continue eating breakfast while making light conversation. This just might be the longest conversation you’ve had with each other, and that knowledge seems surreal. You’re almost a little glad you lost your key. Almost.
“So...today is Sunday. And the leasing office still won’t be open until Monday.” Kun says this over the remnants of breakfast. He speaks in a measured tone, like he’s trying to ensure he says the right thing. Whatever that could possibly be. “And you told me your roommate won’t be back until Monday.”
To your credit, you hadn’t exactly accounted for this when you first came over to his place in your distressed state. That means another night spent in his apartment though, which becomes very obvious to you now. “Ah. Sorry, am I imposing?”
“What—no, I-I just wanted to make sure you knew you can stay here tonight, or—however long you need.”
Relief floods through you, and you briefly wonder why you even worried about it; as far as you know, he’s not the kind of person to just kick someone out. “Ohh, of course—that’s good to know. Thank you for all this!”
“You’re welcome.” You miss the smile he gives to your response as you’re busy drinking your juice, but it’s one filled with a certain affection.
--
It feels a bit awkward to just sit around in his apartment all day, with nothing to do and all your belongings still locked out of your reach in your own place, so Kun shows you the studio in the corner of his room. He’d talked about being into music before, but you’d never heard anything of his until now.
When he plays the keyboard for you, it’s to the tune of a beautiful self-composed song. You almost pinch yourself to remind yourself this isn’t a hallucination or a fever dream. A man this appealing really exists, and you’ve stayed the night in his apartment and eaten his breakfast. You give a small round of applause when he finishes.
“Wouldn’t it be cool if you became a famous singer or something? I’d come to all your concerts,” you say lightly, kicking your legs on the edge of his bed.
“All? Really, all?” He laughs.
“Yes, all. A voice and talent like that deserves all the attention.” You lean back on his bed, stretching your legs out. “But all your venues would probably be sold out. Hopefully you’d remember me from your lil’ ole apartment building. I’m sure you’d be living in a penthouse by then.”
Kun smiles bashfully at your compliments, waving his hands as if it’s too much. “Thank you. But I don’t think I could ever forget you.” His voice grows a bit softer. His expression is more genuine than you expect for a conversation that was so playful only seconds ago, and you find it hard to hold eye contact all of a sudden.
It is your turn to be bashful, and you shrug in an effort to seem natural. “Well, I’m flattered.” Despite your unaffected demeanor, you don’t think those words will leave your mind for a good while, even if you wonder about the meaning of them. 
--
Later that evening, Kun makes dinner and you watch TV together, flipping to whatever channels have dramas or movies playing.
You two eventually fall into another conversation when you can’t find anything good to watch—one that does not make you overly nervous for once. During a lull in the talking, that big question pops up into your mind, and you wince internally at how Charlotte would’ve already told you to make a move. You aren't sure how to do that without making him uncomfortable or seeming too sudden, but you decide to make an attempt.
You edge into it with, “So, um, your place looks pretty nice for one guy. It’s just you here, right?”
“Ah yeah, just me. Thanks, I do try my best.”
“Haha, I’m used to my guy friends all having super messy apartments until they get a girlfriend and she teaches them how to clean a stove for the first time…”
“Oh really? That’s a bit sad for them, isn’t it?” He chuckles. “I’m not dating anyone right now, so it’s all me.”
Just the information you were looking for. You try not to show your elation. “Why not?” you blurt out. Then you cringe because this might sound too invasive or even judgmental, but Kun only grins. “It’s just, it’s a little surprising. You’re such a generous person. You seem to care about everyone, even those poor stray kitties that stay outside the apartments all the time.”
He smiles timidly in response to receiving more of your compliments. “I guess it seems curious when you put it like that.” Just like when you’d drunkenly said I love you so much, there’s suddenly heat on the back of his neck that he hopes won’t turn into another blush that’ll expose him. “I don’t really know, I haven’t thought much about it; life’s weird like that.” He isn’t really sure how to answer that question in a way that won’t be too big of a hint that he’s interested in you, though he’s also not entirely sure why he’s still trying to hide it. Wouldn’t now be the perfect opportunity? When will you two have this much time together again? Still, you staying in his apartment for two days doesn’t mean you like him, and maybe he’s jumping the gun.
“That’s true. Guess that’s the same reason why I’ve been alone for a while now.” You shake your head.
“You?” Kun is equally surprised to know this about you.
You laugh incredulously. “Does that shock you or something?”
“I...well.” He rubs the back of his neck as he searches for the words. “I just thought...you’re very pretty, and you’re always really kind when we speak, so...”
“Oh?” Your face heats up at that.
“Yeah, I…think anyone would be lucky to be with you.”
“Oh.” Your body’s first instinct is to freeze with nervousness, but you know Charlotte would be kicking your ass in gear right now if she were somehow here. So, you decide to stop stressing about it and just do it. “Well...wouldn’t it be nice if we both had a way to fix our problems at the same time?”
Kun pauses for a moment before replying. “What do you suggest?” He knows what you are proposing—you can see in his eyes and his slight grin and his posture that he knows—but maybe he wants to hear you say it out loud.
“Hm, well…I don’t know, what do you think?” You lean a bit closer to him, raising your eyebrows and trying your best to look innocent and unassuming. His smile turns into something different with your increased proximity. Something a little more sly.
Mirroring your actions, he inches nearer to you until there’s little space left between. “Well, I think…” Kun tentatively closes the remaining gap between the two of you, the rest of his sentence left to linger as his soft lips envelop yours.
Maybe it’s corny to say it, but it definitely feels like one of those fairytale kisses with the fireworks going off and streamers popping; even though you’re sitting on his couch wearing his pajamas, some movie in the background you’ve long forgotten the plot of, empty dinner plates sitting on the coffee table in front of you.
You aren’t sure how you end up in his lap—who made the first move? Was it his hand on your back or your hands on his shoulders? You straddle him on the couch, your arms slipping around his shoulders and his hands on your back but assuredly traveling farther down your body.
Kun’s hands come to rest on your thighs, pulling the fabric of his shorts up a few inches higher. “I never thought I’d see you wearing my clothes,” he says lowly, grinning against your mouth.
“I also never thought I’d be sitting in your lap like this, but maybe sometimes dreams do come true,” you say jokingly, your lips rubbing against his skin as you slowly kiss his jaw.
You can’t see his expression, but his eyebrows shoot up at that. “Dreams, huh? You think about me often?” His voice pitches lower when he asks this, aroused by the thought of you imagining anything quite so lewd about him. You’ve definitely incriminated yourself now and won’t be able to wiggle out of it without an answer.
“...Maybe.”
“What do you think about me?” Kun grips your hips, which quickly turns into him grabbing your ass—tentatively at first to test the waters, and then firmly enough to grind you against his hardening cock. Sensing him solid and warm underneath you sends a shockwave down your spine, and the sensation heightens when his voice caresses your ear, all low and tense with arousal. “It’s just the two of us here. No one else has to know.”
“I think about your...lips. How you might kiss me. Or what you might say to me. And...your hands.” You pause there, a quiet breath whispering past your lips. “You have really big hands, you know.”
“My hands…” Kun places one on your chest, spreading his fingers across and touching your collarbone. The heel of his palm glides on the top of your breast, and just that touch is enough to get you more worked up. “Hmm. Actually, I’ll admit I’m pretty good with my hands.” He smirks, and he’s possibly the finest thing you’ve ever seen. “What else, Y/N?”
“I thought about how you’d touch me.” His hand slides between your breasts now, down your sternum, and to your stomach. “Maybe I’d invite you into my apartment when Charlotte wasn’t there. We’d watch some stupid movie and pretend to be into it, but we’re really just thinking about each other. You’d eventually end up slipping your hand up my skirt...and making me cum all over your fingers.”
You aren’t sure how you’re saying all this to Kun right now, the dude you have a major crush on, without bursting into flames.
His shaft rubbing against your clit even through your layers of clothes makes you sigh dreamily, pressing your forehead to his and gripping at his shoulders and biceps. His bangs are soft against your forehead, and your breath stutters when he moves to kiss the side of your neck. He has to know how hard your heart is beating right now.
“And then what?” His voice is barely a whisper, then.
“And then you’d fuck me, of course.” There’s a slight laugh in your voice at the ticklish feeling of his lips kissing your skin.
“And then I’d fuck you...hm,” he echoes. “Sure, I can do that.”
The promise of it entices you, and more heat pools between your legs, amplified by the fabric rubbing against your sensitive parts. His hand that’s still on your stomach travels under your shirt then, and your hips falter in your rhythm against him when his fingers brush across your nipple. He brings his lips to your other breast, lapping his tongue against your nipple over the fabric.
You soon come like this, his shaft grinding against your clit and his clothes rubbing against your skin, his hands on your ass and his lips traveling across your breasts. The orgasm is sudden and surprises you, but it’s good, and you convulse as the waves of pleasure course through you. You weaken and slump against him, with him still teasing your breasts with his mouth and hands. Pushing your face into his hair, you moan into the black strands until the quivering stops.
You’re breathless when you speak again. “You haven’t come yet.”
“I’d rather do that when I’m inside you,” he replies. You giggle quietly.
“...What are you waiting for, then?”
“Hold on.” Kun carefully maneuvers you off his lap, and you already want to complain at the lack of his touch. “I have to get a condom.”
“Hurry, or you’ll miss all the fun,” you say as you pull your shirt off with your back to him. You look back over your shoulder at him and grin mischievously.
“You’re such a tease…”
Kun goes into his room to fetch a condom, and when he returns he’s already pulling his shirt off, leaving it on the floor somewhere. You’re fully naked now, your legs pulled up to your chest and your chin resting on your knees as you sit on the couch. Kun’s eyes drop between your legs, your inner thighs still glistening from your previous orgasm, and he swipes his tongue across his lips at the sight of you, wet and ready for him.
Likewise, your eyes drop to the dark trail of hair leading into his pants and his bulge just below it, the way his sweatpants cling to his length, and your pussy throbs with the desire to be filled.
“Please, hurry.”
Kun doesn’t waste any time in getting the rest of his clothes off, shoving his pants and underwear done in one swift move and rolling the condom over his shaft. He climbs onto the couch, grabbing your legs and guiding them around his waist, and you giggle at his eager but gentle touch as you recline on the couch pillows behind you.
He grabs his dick and lines it up with you, then pushes it in slowly at first. The stretch makes your toes curl, but it is a good kind of stretch, the kind that fills you to the brim. Like the missing element you needed.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice husky from the pleasure.
“Fuck, please,” is your answer as you shift your hips and try to get him all the way inside quicker. Noticing your urgency, he slides the rest of the way in until your hips are flush against each other and starts thrusting into you. His length dragging across your walls feels much better than you could’ve imagined on any given night, and you clasp your legs tighter around him to get ever closer.
After a point, he pushes your legs up with his hands behind your knees so he can get a deeper angle, and you both moan at the difference in sensation and how much tighter you get around him.
There is no ignoring the messy wet noises of your bodies colliding due to the slickness of your previous orgasm and the new wetness he’s continually fucking out of you. Each thrust reaches deep inside you, deep enough to make you nearly sob, your hands fumbling over your breasts and your clit all the while.
“Kun, god yes please,” you whimper, rocking your hips into the rhythm of his own. You fucking him back makes him groan deeply, his bangs hanging off his forehead as he dips his head to watch himself slide in and out of you. You could not control the urge or the motion of your body even if you wanted to; you want all of him, as close as he can get.
“I don’t want this to end,” he moans, and he pulls out without a warning. You gasp at the sudden emptiness, and your discontent comes out in a full whine. You’d be more embarrassed about it if you weren’t currently consumed with desire, but you presently do not care.
Kun sits back on the couch and pulls you on top of him again. “Ride me,” he says. So you grasp the base of his cock, him grunting as you do, and you press the tip against your entrance before pushing it in. He watches himself slip inside of you while fully enraptured, one hand tight on your hip.
Once you are full with him again, you experimentally grind against him to see how it’ll feel in this new position, and your arms tremble as his pelvis stimulates your clit.
“Go ahead,” he whispers, grasping the nape of your neck and kissing you hard once more, “fuck yourself on me.”
So you keep grinding your clit on him like that, your limbs shaking from the stimulation and your walls fluttering around his cock. You can barely catch a complete breath from him kissing you hard enough to make your lips swell, and your head is so fogged with lust that all you can concentrate on is getting yourself off just like he told you to do.
“Kun…” You roll your head onto his shoulder, pressing your forehead into his skin, your body tiring as you get closer to reaching that high. You’re so close to coming, but you’re not sure if you have enough strength left to get there on your own. Kun notices the state you’re in and grasps your hips to pull them into his, effortlessly sliding himself into you while making sure your clit gets stimulated at the same time.
The new friction of his dick rubbing against your g-spot in this position is enough to have you finally coming and crying out against his neck.
You continue babbling nonsense against his neck as he keeps fucking you, searching for his own end. His hands are hot on your body as he moves you up and down his length.
His climax comes soon after yours, his dick pulsing and his pace slowing. Your back arches at the sensation of him throbbing inside you and releasing his cum into the condom. The way he groans in your ear has your stomach clenching.
For a few minutes after, you both sit quietly and do nothing but cling to one another as you come down from the pleasure.
“So, does this mean we’re together now…?” Kun asks hopefully, running his hands over your back as you lie against him.
You smile against his skin. “Obviously. But if you still want to convince me, we can go a couple more rounds…”
356 notes · View notes
Text
What If S1E4 Meta: The True “Heart”
The same way Stephen couldn’t let go of Christine in the fourth installment of What If...?, I haven’t been able to shake this episode off and out of my head since watching it. I’m pretty sure it’s put me through the grieving process. Lately, it’s been haunting me like a ghost, and while mentally revisiting it for the fourteen millionth time, I realized something BRUTAL that I just had to share ASAP!
Hear me out, homies. What if...
The running theme and title of the episode was Stephen Strange losing his “heart.” But although the setup and storyline seems to suggest the euphemism refers to Christine Palmer, it doesn’t! The “heart” of Stephen Strange is not the girl of his dreams he lost in that car accident, but the greater man he had gained.
OK LISTEN. Let me have a shot to show you what I see (even in shite quality, pardon my crappy screenshots). Let’s start with the DS1 recap, 'cuz I’m still not over the first movie, either, and it’s relevant.
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Like the watcher explained, after the devastating and tragic death of the love of his life, Stephen Strange began to look for answers. Not different from Stephen Strange of the sacred timeline, he was obsessed with reversing the great loss and trauma he’d endured. It was with the same perfectionism that made him a great surgeon, that Stephen sought the power to “find his own way back.”
... By any means necessary. 
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
They both discover that “power” they were searching for when they stumble upon time magic. However, Stephen is lectured that time magic is something that could risk the stability of the universe, and should never be done lightly and certainly never for the sake of one person over all others. Although harm is not his nature and Stephen doesn’t want to hurt anyone, he struggles to give up on his quest to heal his hands, or alternatively, to resurrect Christine. He was told a solution wasn’t out there, but found it in the Book of Cagliostro.
Despite every person that told him it couldn’t be done, Stephen can’t accept that. He won’t admit there’s nothing that can be done, there has to be something he can do. He’s conceited with the delusion he can alter his past to better his present. And he won’t be swayed of it.
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
But when the Ancient One fell, Stephen Strange rose to take her place and fend against the invading Dormammu. He saw for the first time the world that was so much bigger than him, that he could do so much good for, more than good only for himself. He saw the millions of lives that had not yet been lost to tragedy he could prevent and save from it, even if not what hardships had already been done and could not be undone in his own life. Things he could save, not fix.
And it wasn’t his own life he saved with that time magic in the end, but earth itself. And Stephen Strange became something much bigger than himself. No matter what he’d lost in that car accident, he learned there was still much more he could gain, regardless of what he’d lost. He didn’t need to fix his hands. They were still good.
Better than his brilliant mind, was his beautiful heart. 
His capacity for goodness, not greatness.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
And yet, for all the good he’d achieved and learned, on the two year anniversary of Christine’s death, Stephen can’t help but get sucked into his past, and in a moment of weakness, allow his grief power over him once more. He can’t stop reliving the past. He loops it over and over again, trying to reverse fate, trying to find a way to spare Christine and find that “miracle” that must exist to spare her.
The Ancient One has sensed his presence and meddling with the Eye of Agamotto, and warns Stephen that the path he had set himself on would lead him only to more pain. When Stephen refuses to be reasoned with, the Ancient One brandishes him with a single blow before he escapes into the past. He thinks she missed. She didn’t.
SHOT THROUGH THE HEART, AND YOU’RE TO BLAME! DARLING YOU GIVE LOVE A BAD NAME!
Tumblr media Tumblr media
But *ahem* seriously, notice how Stephen was struck mid center his chest, directly over his heart. It was in that moment that Stephen Strange lost his “heart,” as the Ancient One had knocked it out of him, just as she had knocked him out of his own oversized head when they first met. Theory: she cast a spell to separate Stephen’s heart from his mind, the two halves that make one complete man.  
Because even if Stephen Strange’s mind was still set on Christine Palmer, his heart had been changed, and there was still hope for it. And Stephen Strange’s heart had enough with “living in the past for one day,” and chose instead to share drinks with Wong.
Meanwhile, Stephen’s “mind” searched the Library of Cagliostro for a way to reverse an absolute point and save Christine. Eventually, he found the answer he was looking for. He needed more power, that could be obtained by otherworldly creatures. Now, harm is not in Stephen’s nature. On his first attempt, he actually tries asking “nicely,” and ends up getting ass kicked.
O’Bengh, the librarian of the books of Cagliostro, patches up his body and tries to warn Stephen. He may have lost his heart, but if he he keeps going at this rate, he was well on his way to losing his mind.
Tumblr media
But Stephen didn’t heed those words of warning. He distorted his body, darkened himself with every sacrifice he made for Christine’s sake. So caught up in the memory of Christine’s greatness, Stephen had forgotten he’d once had one of his own. Christine was all he saw. 
So obsessed with her, he lost himself.
When Strange returns to O’Bengh’s side, the librarian has aged and is dying. He reveals the passage of centuries Stephen has spent devoted to this madness. As someone Stephen thinks of as a friend passes away, Stephen can’t think to cherish these last moments or listen carefully to his final words. All he can think is to use his magic to spare O’Bengh, which O’Bengh refuses, trying one last time to reach through to Stephen before giving up and leaving hope to the “heart” to be strong enough to withstand and stop him.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
*Wink, wink, wink.* Do you see it now?
Now, onto the confrontation between heart and mind. Stephen’s mind can’t achieve anything if his heart isn’t in it, and I love the symbolism of that. He must get it on board first, unite on both fronts.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Stephen’s heart can recognize that this isn’t love, but the work of his broken mind lost in a delusion. And Stephen’s so far gone down the rabbit hole, he won’t even listen to his heart. Instead he ignores it, even burns the cloak of levitation... the very symbol of his finding something new that could uplift him after spending so long down on his knees in the past... and he burnt it to ash. When his heart won’t be persuaded, he resorts to trickery, attempting to con his heart with the same delusion that haunts his mind. It’s the same Christine that Stephen first was hung up imagining when he picked up the eye of the Agamotto and got himself into this mess, his trump card.
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
But again, the heart cannot be deceived. It knows Christine is dead, and it realizes the fantasy his mind is pursuing is not the same as the Christine they once knew and loved. More importantly, his heart remembers that there are other people who need him now, people that are not beyond saving. And the mind is done playing.
If his heart won’t come willing, then he’ll just have to beat it into submission until it can’t make a single sound of protest, and then swallow it whole. Stephen makes the ultimate sacrifice the Ancient One had tried so hard to prevent, and abandons that heart she saw so much potential in and inspired her to teach him.
This episode AMAZINGLY tackles the narcissism and arrogance that hides in specific shades of grief and depression. In believing our problems are greater than anyone else’s, that no one else could understand as Stephen insisted “they didn’t know her!” The selfishness that comes with refusing to see the world or those around you that still need you and choosing instead to chase the memory of the ones you’ve already lost, who are beyond saving. If we choose those delusions over our reality, in the end, we will lose everything, and the ones who will pay the price for your arrogance won’t be you, but the ones you loved. Even the memory of the one you loved, that you twisted to fit your mold. There’s a selfishness in seeing only the bad of what was rather than the good of what could come.
Tumblr media
Unless you want to end up alone inside a cold and empty shell, maybe it’s time to listen to your heart, and move on.
134 notes · View notes
pies-writes-and-more · 4 years ago
Note
Hey I have a request!! Can you write a scenario with Bokuto, Tsukishima, and Sugawara where reader has a LOT of moles/beauty marks? I have 5 on my face alone, 3 in a line on my neck and more. It makes me insecure because it looks weird. Anyways, thank you sooo much! I absolutely love your writing!!!
Warnings: potential swearing as usual, insecurities about beauty marks/moles
Characters: Bokuto Kōtarō, Sugawara Kōshi, Tsukishima Kei, all with a Gender Neutral Reader (let me know if you find something gendered so I can fix it!)
A/N: thank you for the request darling! Sorry for the long wait!! Hope this is what you had in mind :) Also, all of them are right: you are beautiful!
Haikyū Masterlist
Tumblr media
You didn’t understand why Bokuto seemed to only ever kiss your face exactly where you didn’t want him to.
You could stand in the mirror and point out things you didn’t like about yourself but your beauty marks were something you were self conscious about. You used to cover them up with light makeup every now and then but lately you hadn’t had the time or patience for it, so you just avoided looking at them.
But Bokuto, even after months of being together, seemed to somehow feel the opposite. He would press a kiss exactly on the moles on your face and when you were in private, he’d kiss the ones falling down your neck. He seemed so infatuated with them and you could never understand why.
One day he caught you trying to apply makeup again, finally sitting down and trying this new method that could cover up anything according to a makeup artist you’d seen on social media. His eyes wide and you could’ve sworn his hair drooped, “What’re you doing???” He screeched, immediately snatching your makeup from you.
“Bokuto!” You whined, huffing as you paused the YouTube video playing in front of you to pout up at him, “Give it back!”
He shook his head like a four year old, stomping his feet slightly, “Why’re you covering them?” He asked you, hands on his hips now.
There was no point avoiding the topic now. You sighed and glanced at yourself in the mirror, half of them covered and the other half just staring you in the face. “They’re ugly,” you whispered quietly, avoiding his eyes.
“Ugly?” Bokuto scoffed and sat down next to you, hugging his knees to his chest and setting your makeup down. “How could they be ugly?”
You had heard this before. All of your friends and family always went, “No Y/N, you’re perfect!” But it was always so fake. You knew they were just saying it to be nice.
But Bokuto just paused, watching you for a moment and handing you back your makeup. You blinked up at him in surprise, noting his small smile. “If it makes you feel better, go ahead. I want my love to always feel their best. But...” he let out a nervous sort of chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “I really like them,” he admitted sheepishly.
You knew he was being honest just because of the rosiness that was touching his cheeks. He squirmed in his spot, now avoiding your gaze. “Why?” You asked after a moment.
Bokuto straightened his posture for a moment before carefully choosing his words, “Someone once told me they were places your partner kissed you the most in your past lives. And...” he hesitated, cheeks glowing red now. “And I’d like to think I was with you in every one of our past lives so I want to keep kissing you there so you’ll love me in our next life too!” He blurted out quickly, rocking a little in his seated position.
You just stared at him. Sure you had heard of that little theory too, but you hadn’t ever had someone seriously retell it to you. But hearing it from him... you looked at yourself in your mirror again. It didn’t change how you felt about them. You still weren’t a huge fan. But hearing Bokuto genuinely love them... at least it lessened your insecurity about him hating them.
“I think you’re beautiful, Y/N,” Bokuto continued after a second, smiling at you and scooting closer to you. “If you need this makeup to help you see how beautiful you are, then go ahead! But I think you’re the most perfect human being out there!”
Your eyes teared up slightly, just hearing how sure he was. He smiled at you, pressing a kiss to your cheek before immediately looking through your makeup bag, “Can I try?” He asked excitedly, holding up a mascara tube and lipstick.
“You want to try wearing it or putting it on me?” You laughed, your face no longer feeling hot with embarrassment and shame.
“Both!” Bokuto grinned, begging you to teach him what each product was. He always knew just how to cheer you up, no matter what.
He knew you still disliked your marks, but Bokuto would continue to kiss them every chance he got unless you ever asked him to stop. He still wanted to recognize you in his next life, so even if those weren’t the marks you’d have, maybe he could give you some others you’d like more.
Tumblr media
Sugawara’s fingers always traced over the beauty marks on your face, beaming when he pointed out that you two were twins for having moles together. He always had a smile on when he talked about it, always spoke about it so proudly like it was a mark of status or beauty.
But unlike Sugawara, you weren’t all that proud of it and you didn’t just have one. You often just gave him a smile and switched the topic, and though you always loved the feeling of his fingers dancing along your skin, sometimes you’d pull away to do something or distract him with something else if you felt like he was touching your marks too much.
He hadn’t realized it before, but came to the realization that maybe you didn’t like your marks when he caught you editing a picture of the two of you, your fingers magically causing those little spots to just disappear.
“What’re you doing?” Sugawara frowned, hugging you from behind and peering from over your shoulder.
“Just editing that pic of us before I post it!” You told him happily - it was such a nice photo and with a few simple touches, it would be perfect.
Sugawara watched you for a little longer, confirming his suspicions before knocking you on the head with the side of his hand.
“Hey! Suga, what the hell?” You groaned, rubbing the top of your head slightly. “What was that for?”
“Stop erasing my baby!” He shouted at you loudly, making you laugh nervously at just how loud he was being.
“I’m not erasing your baby!” You insisted, shaking your hands in front of you. “Just... my marks.”
Sugawara’s frowned stayed on his face as firm as ever, “They’re a part of you. And I love all of you. I love every single inch of your skin, whether you have a mark or not. I love you because you’re not like a cookie cutter version of a person, you stand out in the most beautiful of ways. I want you to be different, I want you to draw all the attention so I can say that one is mine.”
You smiled a little at his words, hearing the conviction in his voice. But your eyes glanced sadly at the photo, just wishing you didn’t have them.
“Hey,” he spoke softer this time, touching your chin up to look at him, “If you really don’t like them, fine. We all have our insecurities after all. But please don’t tell yourself you’re less beautiful because of them.” His hand slipped your phone from your own, peering at your editing work. “You looked like a completely different person,” he admitted with a sort of sad smile. “Still beautiful. But different. I like the version I have here with me.”
Sugawara’s arms were suddenly wrapped around you in a rib-crushing hug, his voice telling you firmly all the things he loved about you and how much he wanted to scream to the world every single thing that made him crazy about you. Eventually you were practically unable to breathe in his arms as they just got tighter and tighter and the two of you fell on the floor laughing after wrestling for a bit.
The photo is eventually posted unedited like he wanted, and now when you look at it, you feel just a little bit more loved, regardless of your marks.
Tumblr media
Tsukishima knew even before you two were going out that you were self conscious of your marks. He didn’t think there was anything wrong with them, to be honest, they made your face that much more attractive, but you hated them so he always pretended like they weren’t there for your sake.
But he had caught you picking at one of them, as if absentmindedly thinking you could tear it off and everything would be okay.
His eyes narrowed as he realized what you were doing, reaching over to swat at your hands, and glaring at you from across the library table where two of you were supposed to be studying.
“If you start bleeding, I’m not taking care of you,” he scolded you, though you knew for a fact that he had started keeping bandaids in his bags for you cause sometimes you were that clumsy.
“Sorry,��� you responded sheepishly, folding your hands in front of you in an attempt to stop picking at them. Your eyes focused on the sheet of paper in front of you, but you weren’t able to actually pay attention to anything on it. It was like an itch you couldn’t get rid of, an obnoxious little bump in your otherwise relatively smooth skin. Why did it have to be there?
Tsukishima watched as your eyes stayed still on your homework, obviously not actually reading anything. He sighed and reached over again, poking at your nose, “If you think I’m going to let you destroy your grades and your perfect body, I’ll hit you harder than I have before,” he threatened. He meant to say it gentler, in a somewhat more supportive and comforting way but his words were still as harsh as ever.
You gave him another shy smile, trying not to show just how uncomfortable you were, “They just get annoying sometimes,” you told him after a moment when he didn’t immediately go back to his work. “I feel like if I could tear them all off... maybe I’d look better.”
Tsukishima’s nose scrunched up slightly in annoyance, tilting his head up so his eyes were glaring down at you, “Do you think I’m going to let anyone talk about my partner like that? Idiot, if I heard those words from anyone else I would have your head by now."
You laughed a little, thinking about how Tsukishima got upset if anyone even said something remotely mean about you (”The only one allowed to bully you is me, Y/N, forget anyone else’s opinions. They’re all beneath you anyways”), “I just feel so... spotted with them. I feel like everyone always looks at them and there’s so many of them I can’t even hide them all.”
Tsukishima listened, he really did. He didn’t wave you off like usual and tell you to forget your insecurities because you were definitely the most perfect person out there so you had nothing to be insecure about. He listened and then just sighed, leaning back in his seat slightly and watching you.
“I think you’re magnificent,” he stated quietly, his eyes dashing away from yours as a blush brushed over his cheeks and nose. “I don’t want you picking at them because you’re just going to hurt yourself and I don’t want you to hurt yourself.” He paused for a second and then finally met your eyes. “Yamaguchi used to hate his freckles, but it’s probably the thing that I notice the most about him. They fit him so well in a way that I can’t describe. He wouldn’t be the same without them, he’d just be... someone else. Without your marks, you’d be someone completely different. I’m in love with you and all of you.”
You watched him as Tsukishima actually told you his emotions and spilled his love for you, a smile gracing your lips eventually, “I love you too, Tsukishima,” you mumbled after he finished, playing with your fingers.
“You better. Now come over here and give me a kiss before we start studying again,” Tsukishima smirked a little and you just rolled your eyes. You were going to argue back that he could just lean over the table and kiss you but he refused so you ended up having to go over to him, where he just pulled you on your lap and placed a quick kiss on your lips then on all the marks on your face. “Now go study.”
Haikyuu taglist (let me know if you’d like to join!)
@al0ehas @aurumk @devilkittymusic @thisnoodlewritesao3 @satan-ruler-of-hells @trashy-simp @jeppiet @lucyheartfilias-wife @darkvadeeer @haikyuutothetop @wolfishwriting @livy384 @babyshoyo
378 notes · View notes
wrenhyperfixates · 4 years ago
Text
Not as Bad as You Think
Pairing: Loki x reader Summary: After a bad grade on a test, Peter is being very hard on himself. Loki helps you cheer him up. Warnings: none A/N: Enjoy :)
Permanent Tag List: @lucywrites02 @frostedgiant @lunarmoon8 @twhiddlestonsstuff @lokistan @lowkeyorlokificrecs @gaitwae @whatafuckingdumbass @castiels-majestic-wings @kozkaboi @cozy-the-overlord @birdgirl90 @myraiswack @mythicalgarlicknot @what-a-flammable-heart @marvelouslovely​
Tumblr media
Disclaimer: Gif not mine
“I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think,” you comforted Peter, patting his back.
“You’re right,” he replied, voice muffled by the pillow he was hiding his face in. “It’s probably worse.”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
The disgruntled teenager rolled over onto his back and gave you a look somewhere between annoyed and upset. He’d come home to the Tower saying he failed a big History test he’d had. Despite him saying he failed, you were pretty sure he was just over-exaggerating. The boy kept up a nearly perfect gpa and was an Avenger. It was no easy feat, and you knew how much pressure he put on himself to keep up his good grades. You wished he’d go a little easier on himself.
“Besides,” you continued when he said nothing, “even if it is bad, everyone’s allowed one not so great grade every once in a while. You’re still doing great, kid.”
“I guess,” he mumbled halfheartedly, smooshing his face against the pillow again.
You frowned. During the time Peter had been on the team, he’d become something of a little brother to you. You hated to see him down like this. It was easy to remember all the normal pressures of being a teen, and he had the pressures of being a superhero on top of that. Sometimes you wished he took a day just to be a kid. Though, when you said that, you meant more of him taking some time off to have fun, not stress about his grades.
“I know what will fix this,” you said with a smile.
“Cookies?” he said, peeking up at you again.
“Yup. And hot chocolate. How does that sound, Petey?”
“Well, I don’t know I deserve it,” he started before seeing the stern look on your face, telling him to ease up himself. “But yeah, I want some.”
You stood and ruffled his hair. “Coming right up.”
Taking your frustrations out on the cookie dough you were mixing and cocoa you were whisking, you tried to figure out a way to get Peter to enjoy his youth. You were so focused, you didn’t notice when Loki came in, and he was able to snag one of the freshly baked treats before you could smack his hand away.
“Naughty Loki. Those are for Peter,” you giggled, poking him in the side.
“And you can’t spare just this one for me, darling?”
“I suppose you can be my taste-tester,” you grinned, giving him a kiss before he could take another bite.
“Thank you, my love.” You smiled at your boyfriend as he polished off his treat and licked his lips in delight. He pulled you into a hug and rested his head on yours. “Delicious as always, darling.”
“Thank you, Loki, but I have to keep my eye on the hot chocolate.”
“Allow me to guess, that is for the spiderling, too?” he inquired, grabbing a mug out of the cabinet for you to pour the warm liquid into.
“Mhm,” you replied. “He had a bad day, and I was trying to cheer him up. Nothing was working, though, so I’m hoping these treats will.”
Loki knew how close you were with Peter, and he loved seeing your older sibling instincts take over, despite not actually being related to the boy. Admittedly, he was glad Thor didn’t act the way you did. If that was in his nature, Loki was sure the God of Thunder would be entirely overbearing. He had started acting a bit more brotherly recently, however, which was nice. Of course, all that just meant Loki wasn’t exactly the best equipped to help sibling problems.
Loki frowned as he wiped a few spilt drops of hot chocolate from the counter. Your brow was furrowed in concentration and thought, and he pulled you back to kiss the lines of worry away. He hated seeing you upset or distraught in any way. After all you’d done for him in showing him he was worthy for love, he never wanted you to experience a single bad emotion. He knew it was part of being human, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. And he could do everything in his power to keep those negative feelings at a minimum.
“Darling, why don’t you just take it easy. I will go take these things to the spiderling and have a chat to cheer him up,” he told you, rubbing up and down your arms. “I will take care of it.”
“I don’t know, Loki. Nothing I was saying was working. And I feel kinda bad to let you take care of this while I put my feet up.”
“Well then, allow me to handle this, and you can make me some of that delicious hot chocolate.”
“Fine.” You smiled at the way he was so concerned, not just for you, but for Peter, too. And of course you’d be more than happy to make him some cocoa, even if he was just suggesting that so you would take it a bit easier. “Just tell me if he’s still feeling down, alright?”
“We have a deal, darling. Leave it to me.”
And so, the trickster god found himself outside Peter’s door, trying to figure out what exactly to say to him. Before the drink could get cold, he just knocked and hoped the right words would come to him. Peter beckoned him in, and Loki walked inside, cookies and cocoa in hand.
“Oh, hey Loki,” Peter said, sounding sad. Though, he did perk up when he saw the snacks.
“Greetings, spiderling. I hear you are having some troubles. Perhaps I could help?”
“I dunno.” He took a cookie off the plate and dunked it into his drink. Then he offered Loki one, which he gladly accepted. “There’s not much that can be done. Unless...”
“Unless?”
“Can your magic turn back time?”
“Sadly, no,” he laughed. “But maybe you’d just like to talk about what it is that is plaguing you?”
“I guess,” he sighed. “I got a bad grade on a test. And I studied so, so hard. I thought I did way better, but I just didn’t. I’m supposed to be able to handle all the pressure and stress, but I just don’t think I can. I need to try harder, do better.”
“Come now, spiderling. From what I hear, you are doing wonderful in your classes.” Loki hesitantly pat the boy on his back. “There is only one life to live, and it is not very long. You should be enjoying each minute to its fullest.”
“Haven’t you resurrected like three times, though? And aren’t you thousands of years old?”
“Regardless,” Loki waved the comment off, “none of it is worth it if you are not enjoying life. You are doing wonderful, we could not be more proud of you. Just be proud of yourself and a little kinder to yourself, too.”
“You really think so?”
“I may be the God of Lies,” Loki chuckled, “but I assure you, I could not be more honest in this moment.”
“Well then, if I’m supposed to be doing stuff I enjoy, do you maybe want to do a movie marathon?”
“That sounds absolutely perfect. You may pick what we watch, too.”
“Yes!” he cheered. “I hardly ever get to pick!”
As Peter set off to grab pillows and blankets and set up the movie, after finishing his treats of course, Loki waltzed into the kitchen with a sly grin on his face. He walked up behind you and hugged you. You jumped a little at first, but quickly recognized the arms encircling your waist. You leaned back into his chest and smiled up at him.
“It went well, I take it,” you said.
“Indeed it did. In fact, we are having a movie marathon. You are, of course, welcome to join.”
You decided to take him up on that offer and handed him his hot chocolate. You made some popcorn, too, and put it into two bowls; one for Peter, and one for you and Loki to share. Peter sat on the floor by the TV where he’d set up the original Star Wars trilogy to play, and you and your boyfriend snuggled together on the couch. About halfway through the second movie, a thought occurred to you.
“Hey, Petey,” you said. “What grade exactly did you get on that test.”
“Oh, uh, that? Who cares,” he scoffed, though he’d gone bright red and wouldn’t meet your eye. “You wouldn’t want to hear about that.”
“Peter.”
“Fine,” he sighed. He ducked his head and mumbled his grade. “I got an 85.”
“Peter! That’s amazing!” You didn’t know whether to cheer for him or strangle him. You decided playfully hitting him with a pillow was the way to go.
“Loki! Help!” he laughed as he tried to block your attacks.
“Coming to your rescue, spiderling!”
The three of you ended up in a pillow fight, and eventually collapsed in a pile on the floor, out of breath from laughing. You smiled at your boys and realized that even if things were difficult sometimes, you always had each other’s backs. It was more than just Peter being like your little brother, or Loki being your boyfriend. You were a whole little family, and really, who could ask for more than that?
221 notes · View notes
olivia-anderson-fanfic · 3 years ago
Text
Into The Unknown, Part 6
First
Previous
Marinette woke up because of a whack to the face. So that was fun.
She blinked her eyes open and was met with a scowling, squirming baby.
She sighed and considered letting the baby squirm for a little so she could get another few minutes of sleep…
Oh. Right. He cried in the morning. An unfortunate thing to forget about.
She grumbled a quiet “fuck” as Damian started screaming.
“Tim, your turn.”
Tim grumbled incoherently and attempted to disappear in the plush mattress.
She considered kicking him to wake him up but decided against it. She was feeling nice that morning.
(Also, she figured that kicking a half-awake vigilante might end badly for her.)
She shrugged Tim’s arm off and then tumbled out of bed, baby securely wrapped in her arms. She laid flat on the ground, baby raised in the air above her like a less cute version of That One Scene from The Lion King. She squinted up at the screaming child, struggling to get her brain to function, and then sighed.
“Right, let’s get you all changed, huh? Clean diaper? Pretty new clothes? Will that calm you down?”
She really didn’t know why she was talking to him, she doubted the kid really understood what she was saying, but his wailing was starting to die down a little. She hoped it was because she was using her nice voice and not because he was straining his vocal cords.
She smoothed out his hair and then pushed herself to her feet.
After she had changed the kid’s diaper, she spread all of his clothes out on the floor in a loose circle (it kind of looked like an egg, but at least an attempt was made).
She set the baby down in the middle of the egg and stepped back.
He looked up at her, confused.
She motioned to the clothes. “Go ahead. Yakhtar.”
There was a few minutes where the baby continued looking at her, clearly expecting something but she had no clue what.
Then, finally, he looked around at the clothes.
He crawled over to a yellow shirt with a cartoon bee on it that she had paired with some black and white striped leggings and slapped it a few times. He babbled angrily at her.
… did that mean he wanted it or that it was out of the running?
… she was going to assume that he wanted it.
She picked up him with one arm and the outfit with the other -- something made very difficult by the fact that Damian was now slapping his little fists against her shoulder in an attempt to be let down -- and then started the process of getting the kid into the clothes.
“You know, he probably would have been fine with anything you picked.”
She glanced up from where she was trying to shove Damian’s pudgy little baby arm into a sleeve. Tim was sitting up in bed, legs crossed criss-cross applesauce and head propped on his hand. An amused smile played at his lips.
She rolled her eyes and looked back down at Damian so she could complete her grueling task. “Probably. But I’d just keep dressing him up in red and black and, apparently, he doesn’t want that.”
“Don’t know why. Red and black are objectively the best colors.”
“Totally,” she said.
Damian babbled angrily some more and attempted to punch her arm. She tried not to show on her face just how much it had hurt.
“I guess yellow is pretty okay,” Tim said, grinning.
“Eh. Yellow is like… the fifth best color. Green is where it’s at.”
Tim made a face. “Ew. Green?”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re not allowed to talk about what looks good. You had a completely brown suit for ages. Terrible, isn’t that right, Dami?”
Damian clearly had no idea what was going on, he was busy trying to help Marinette pull his pants up (he was accidentally pushing them down but it was the thought that counts… she was pretty sure, at least), but he nodded decisively.
Marinette turned her head away from Tim and Damian, lips pressed together thinly to keep her laughter under control, before she turned back and finished the kid’s outfit.
“See, Tim, even the baby agrees.”
Tim scoffed. “He agrees with everything you say.”
“Because I’m always right.” She leaned forward to nuzzle her nose against Damian’s with a bright smile. “I can already tell you’re going to be the best kid. Isn’t that right?”
Damian giggled.
~
Tim held the baby as they checked out at 10:55. Usually, he would try to be earlier, but… baby.
Yeah. That was all he needed to say about that.
(If you want to know: Damian had finally managed to succeed in his attempts to fall from a high place, effectively scaring the shit out of both of the teens who were taking care of him. They’d checked him over for any injuries -- it was more difficult than usual, they couldn’t tell him to clench and unclench his fists to make sure they weren’t broken. When they were sure he was okay they took a few moments to hug him and assure themselves that it was fine and that babies were flexible for this exact reason… unfortunately, this ended with the kid learning that falling from high places=hugs and was now, somehow, even more determined to do it.)
Marinette turned to him with a smile.
“Do you want to get the car or do you want to get the baby’s carseat?”
Tim thought for a minute before sighing. “Would you make fun of me if I picked out a stupid-looking carseat?”
“Absolutely.”
He rolled his eyes and handed off the baby like he was a baton in a very weird relay race. “No thanks. I’ll get the car.”
She grinned. “Probably a good idea. Right, see you.”
“Get some baby formula while you’re out.”
Marinette looked down at the kid, eyes wide. “Still?” Then she shrugged. “Sure, I guess.”
He tossed the bag of diapers and stuff to her and, with that, they started off in separate directions.
He picked up a rental car from Enterprise. They offered the ability to pay a little extra to leave the car at another location. He doubted that that was in place for things like moving across the country but he wasn’t about to complain.
But, when he picked up Marinette and Damian outside the door and caught sight of the carseat she’d gotten, he absolutely would complain.
“Spiderman?” He said.
“Technically, he’s ArachnidKid, here.”
He raised an unimpressed eyebrow at her.
She had the decency to look a little sheepish. “He screamed every time I tried to choose anything else.”
Tim sighed and knocked his head against the top of the steering wheel a few times before turning around.
“I’ll deal with the kid while you figure out the thing.”
… or, at least, that was the intention. It turns out that baby carseats are… difficult. They’d pulled into a spot and gave Damian his stuffed cow and a phone to distract him and they’d gotten to work. There were two adults and two magical beings trying to figure it out and not a single one of them had any idea what they were doing. The instructions made absolutely no sense, they may as well have been written in Greek -- except they all knew how to speak and read Greek because of magic. But this shit? Illegible. It was like the written version of baby language. No one knows what was going on, he was beginning to think that the people trying to give them instructions didn’t even know. Tikki was puzzling over the instructions despite this, Marinette was having a breakdown, Tim wanted to be back in his world so he could punch someone, Kaalki was in the process of being eaten by Damian. It was chaos.
~
They were on the road. Marinette lazed in the passenger seat, feet up on the dashboard as she half-listened to the audiobook Tim had put on -- something about a kid who stole lightning or something (she didn’t see the big deal, it wasn’t like it was hard or anything). Tikki and Kaalki were using her headphones to listen to music. Damian had fallen asleep and was now peacefully sucking on one of the horns of the cow plush.
(He’d, apparently, dubbed the plush ‘Cow’. It was a fitting name, she supposed.)
Tim glanced over at her. “If we get in a crash you’re going to fly through the windshield.”
She lifted the cheap heart-shaped sunglasses she’d bought on impulse while waiting for Tim to show up out of boredom. Just so he could see how unimpressed she was.
“Maybe you should drive well so I don’t have to worry.”
He sighed and rolled his eyes. She saw the speedometer drop a bit regardless.
~
They stopped for food pretty soon after they started on the road. Funny how quickly a day could go by, it was already noon.
They ended up at Carl's Sr., because that was what they had found first.
He bounced Damian on one knee absently. The kid wasn’t thirsty, it seemed, so they were just trying to keep him entertained while they ate. He didn’t know why they bothered, the kid was currently entertaining himself with nothing but a rubber duck.
Marinette nibbled the last of her sandwich. “I wonder if he can have fries.”
“Fy!” Said Damian, who had apparently learned that ‘he’ usually meant him.
“Well, he’s convinced me,” she said.
Tim rolled his eyes. “The book I read said that if you give him regular food he’ll realize ours is better and won’t go back to the baby stuff.”
“Good for him if he stops eating it. I got curious and tried it, it sucks.”
He shrugged a little. “He only needs to keep eating it for, I think, another year…?”
“Two whole years of that stuff? That’s evil. I’m giving him a fry.”
“Fy!” Said Damian again, this time slapping the table to punctuate the word.
Tim sighed and pulled out his phone to check that that was allowed. Apparently, despite the fact that kids can breast feed up to two years (or even longer), they can start with ‘table foods’ around a year. That made exactly zero sense to him but okay.
“... I guess that’s fine,” he said, eventually.
Marinette beamed and tore off a piece of her fry for Damian.
The baby was enlightened.
~
Despite the fact that they’d originally agreed to split the driving evenly, with long shifts so they could go straight to Gotham without any major setbacks, Marinette ended up doing most of it.
It turns out that Tim got car sick.
She didn’t say anything about it. He seemed embarrassed enough as it was, especially since Marinette and Damian were wholly unaffected.
It was… fine. She used the extra stops to get coffee each time. And, whenever it came time to feed or change Damian, she glared Tim into submission. It may not be entirely his fault that his stomach was protesting the car ride but it inconvenienced her so fuck him.
… she did feel a little bad, though, so she always held his hair out of his face and made sure to give him water so he was fully hydrated.
~
They arrived in Gotham and collapsed in the hotel bed pretty much the moment they could. They’d done hygiene stuff, of course, neither of them were eager to lay in their filth for the night after an almost day-long drive (there had been a lot of stops)… but once they had bathed and brushed their teeth? And cleaned up Damian? Straight to bed.
Tim had finished up first since his showers were quicker and he rested an arm around Damian to make sure he wouldn’t leave. He needn’t have worried, Damian was apparently just as happy as they were that they were in an actual bed again because he was in dreamland almost the second he’d touched it.
He closed his eyes and relaxed.
The bed dipped a little as Marinette crawled in and he let go of the kid so she could wrap around him per usual.
Tim hesitated here. He’d wrapped an arm around them before, sure, but that was different. That had mostly been a thing he’d done in his sleep.
After a few moments, Marinette sighed and scooted closer, tangling her legs with his.
He flushed red. “Uh?”
“It happens every night anyways, I’m resigned to my fate.”
He didn’t know whether to laugh or frown.
She opened her eyes a little and smiled. “Relax. Chat Noir is super touch starved, I’m used to platonically cuddling with people.”
He relaxed a little and hesitantly rested an arm around the pair.
Marinette nuzzled her face into Damian’s hair and closed her eyes again.
He smiled at the scene and started to close his eyes… but then Kaalki caught his gaze.
He gave a small puff of laughter.
“You know, I just remembered something.”
Marinette hummed to say she was listening.
“My power is the ability to create portals.”
“... god fucking damn it.”
~~~~~
Next
@nathleigh @peachmuses @unoriginalmess @hammalammadamdam @astrynyx @laurcad123 @927roses-and-stuff
97 notes · View notes
hex-obsession · 3 years ago
Text
Silver Lining - Two
word count- 2,259
content warning- language, angst, indirect s**cidal thought
____________________________________________
Crows cawing, your eyes open just enough to hazily make out the all too familiar color of your room.
“Early bird gets the worm, you know,” a familiar voice murmurs. Pushing off the wall to your right, your body slides diagonally over your bed, your head dangling off the side. Upside down, Cheryl is slumped against your door frame, arms and legs crossed. Brazen as usual, just the way you loved her. You held your own in most regards but Cheryl was always there when you least expected it and needed her most. You swear there were a halo atop that adorable shaggy blonde head of hers. And not one of those tacky event items either.
“Like I’d get anything any time of day with all the birds around here.” A tickling squeeze builds in your abdomen, branching up your neck to your cheeks which now had a telling pink glow.
“So you gonna talk to old lover boy yet or what?”
You jolt forward and whip around fast enough to make any killer miss a swing. Your response is unnecessary as she’s already smirking devilishly, aware of what she’s doing. She might have been your closest friend but that did not stop her from tormenting you, or anyone else that crossed her path. All in good fun and love, of course. It went without saying that you enjoyed it and she knew when it was, rarely, time to pack it up.
Raising her eyebrows, she leans back and throws her hands up. “I’m just saying, if you don’t, you might lose your chance. That’s all I’m saying,” quieter now.
You sighed. She was right. You weren’t the only one who took a liking to Leon. But, unlike you, Yun-Jin did not hide her feelings, from anyone for any reason, ever. Of course, everyone thought he was charismatic and most, undeniably handsome. That was common knowledge. You ran out of things to talk about in a place like this, and secrets were few and far between. There was no reason to hide here. This was your foreseeable future, together. There was no getting out, no changing things. Being open and sharing everything together made your day to day bearable. The connections you lost in your old lives left gaping holes, but together as one tightly knit, weird, fucked up family, you helped fill the voids. Some took longer than others to accept that fate, and there were some inevitable hiccups, but everyone came around eventually.
Anyone who wasn’t blind could see the attraction Yun-Jin had for the newest addition to your group. Placing her hands on him in conversation whenever she got the chance, laughing a little too hard at the things he said, biting her bottom lip and smiling at him when he talked. You’d even caught her pecking his cheek playfully here and there. He’d always smile and look away, as if it were a game. Leon always had a sultry attitude to him, a ladies' man no doubt. Subtly flirting with everyone was just commonplace for him. That was part of the reason you held back. Fearing you missed your chance and someone else had filled the role you longed to be in. Maybe it was your fear of rejection or abandonment, or not wanting to lose something this important in a world as cruel and bare this. You were subconsciously working hard to convince him you were only a friend. Which you were, definitely friends. Close even, given the circumstances. Trauma bonding does one hell of a number to the timeline of friendship. Still, you sensed zero difference in his behavior toward you versus the others. Which, admittedly, was quite the letdown. Nonetheless, you had nothing to lose by casually admitting your feelings for him. Keep it light and airy and there would be no reason for things to change on the chance he didn’t feel the same. After all, you surely weren’t the only one with a harmless little crush. That’s all it was. Right? So what if you constantly day-dream about him holding you so close he might consume you, kissing you with four times the passion the Notebook tried to capture, never leaving your side regardless of what the future held. His taste, his smell… what his cock would feel like ramming into your cervix. Your brain was one giant knot, constantly distracting you and there wasn’t a single thing you could do about it. Except tell him, but keep it simple.
By your calculations, it was November 18th. You’d been keeping track, not sure if it made things better or worse. Your third anniversary in this place was not far off. Despite being a literal nightmare, it had its perks. Your need for food was no more, as well as your other bodily needs. Sickness was a quickly forgotten annoyance of the past. You stayed in this eerily perfect state. Makeup never crusty, hair never oily and always smelling of your favorite fruit. The dirt and blood you’d acquire during trials magically disappeared upon return. You had a handful of outfits to rotate but there was no real need. Another upside, there were no severe temperatures here. Jackets, shorts, sandals, snow boots if you were Nea. You were always mostly comfortable. Even on Ormond where snow blanketed the ground, those gusts of wind should have sent chills right through you, but they didn’t. It felt like living in a dream or a, simulation. Just, where you’re hunted all day and night for the rest of your existence. At least death wasn’t permanent. Sometimes you’d wish it was, just to escape.
Several months have passed since Leon and Jill were introduced to your world. You had inside jokes and more close calls than you could both count. You were a damn good team and got along smoother than melted butter. What were you waiting for? You inhaled sharply and broke your stare out the window.
“I’m gonna do it.”
To no avail, your deep breaths failed to remedy the painful pounding in your chest, or the heat radiating from your face. Nevertheless, you marched out to the campfire to seek out Yun-Jin. As selfish as you wanted to be with Leon, she was your friend, and you held that in high regard. She was easy to spot in a crowd given her loud attire, but wasn’t around the fire. Which lead to your next realization; neither was Leon. Your throat tightened, heart still pounding. You set off a little too quickly to find her, or them. First stop was Ace’s shack. Judging based on appearances, you figured he would be one of the last people she associated with. Quite the opposite, they were dear friends. Not connected at the hip per se, like her and Claudette, but they related to one another's childhoods. Trauma bonding, can't beat it. To your dismay, the shack was empty, a seed of despair planting in your stomach. Maintaining the most convincing composure you could, you continue your search. Heading left down the line of shacks, robust laughter grows closer. You’d know that laugh anywhere. Cutting through the row, David and Felix are reclined under a tree. They were one of the few monogamous couples among you. The others being Nancy and Steve, and Adam and Zarina. You understood the allure of being romantically involved with more than one person, especially given your less-than-ideal situation, but it wasn’t for you.
“Hi y/n!” Felix shouted toward you.
Not wanting to stop and chat given your current objective, you flashed a cheeky smile and waved to them. Before they could get another word out, you dipped back behind the row of houses. Nerves getting the best of you, you parted your lips to breathe through your mouth. Every breath burned your lungs, realizing now all the times you brushed off your feelings have come back to haunt you. You should never have waited this long. At this point you would be more than willing, desperate, to share Leon. Refusing to let your anxiety get the best of you, you ball your fists and dig your nails into your palms to get a grip on yourself. There was one more place they could possibly be. A sliver of premature acceptance wedged itself into your train of thought as you trudged toward your own shack. Leon’s was adjacent to yours. Feeling foolish for not checking earlier, you round the corner to the opening. As much as you wish you could close your eyes, they were pinned open with anticipation. Looking up from your feet you were shocked to see an empty room before you. Relief and confusion replace your foreboding. Too much time had already been wasted, so you return to the campfire.
“Hey, have you seen Leon or Yun-Jin anywhere?” you, as calmly as possible, ask Élodie.
“They got pulled a little bit ago babe.” She was intently focused on Jane, her concentration not broken. “Which do you like more, up or down?” her gaze still fixated on Jane.
You have to either keep the courage you finally mustered until they get back or give yourself emotional whiplash by releasing until they do. You hesitate for a moment, but to hide your disappointment you quickly retort, “Up, definitely up. Gotta distract the killer with that beautiful face you know?”
“Like they're looking at her face and not that dumptruck ass!” Élodie howls. Jane facetiously puts her fingertips to her chin and looks upward, a façade of innocence no one here would ever buy. You can't help but giggle despite your inner turmoil.
“Well hey,” you add through chuckles, “when they're back can you please send her my way?”
“Sure thing babe,” Élodie assures, finally turning to meet your gaze.
A horrible nauseating mix of dismal, relieving, lewd thoughts of Leon swirl in your mind as you wait for Yun-Jin to step into the doorway. You knew you liked him but holy shit, where did this come from? The realization slapped you in the face. Try to blame infatuation all you want, not that you did, but it was so painfully evident now you were dumbfounded.
A soft knock jerked you out of your thoughts. “Hiya y/n, what's going on?”
Her delicate eyes effortlessly comforted you from across the room.
“I...” your eyes now glued to the floor beneath your feet, a reservoir of tears barely being held back, “I need to know how you feel about Leon.” Your nerves went haywire just uttering his name to her. An icy splash of chills surged from your head to your feet as your chest panged with dread.
“Well of course I like him,” her brow furrowed ever so slightly.
All that could escape your mouth was, “Oh.” Emptiness, despair replacing the jealous unease you felt before. Tears streamed down your cheeks uncontrollably, feelings that danced around menacingly finally coming to a head.
At the sight of your distress, she rushed to sit next to you. “Honey, what’s going on?” her voice barely above a whisper.
You were ashamed for breaking down in front of her, afraid of guilting her for something that was not her fault, and now terrified Leon might follow her here, only to find you undone over him. You jerk your head up to face her and blurt out, “Jinny I think I love him,” face sopping wet with untouched tears.
She raises her eyebrows and smiles at you. “Honey I have fun toying with him all in good nature but there’s no connection there.” Your heart thuds against your ribcage. “Sure, I’ll admit he’s attractive, who wouldn’t, but I have nowhere near the same feelings for him that you evidently do.” She uses both hands to cup your face and pushes as much wetness as she can aside with her thumbs. “Why didn’t you say something sooner? Not only to me but to him!” Despite being similar in age, she feels like a mother to you. Caring for a child, your own or not, will do that to you. That’s not a trait you lose over time.
“I’m so afraid,” you softly whimper, “of what he would say, what you would say.” You're picking at your cuticles, a habit you acquired during puberty as an outlet for your overwhelming feelings.
She wraps her arms around you, carefully as to not tarnish her jacket with tears, which would definitely stain the material. “I was just having a little fun, and from what I’ve gathered, he was more so allowing it than participating. You know I love you all to death but I’m not looking for anything like that, definitely not here.” She gives you a squeeze, and suddenly you can breathe again, the air around you no longer dense and difficult to swallow. “Honey, go get him.”
“Oh Jesus, let me fix myself a little first at least,” the sudden relief causing you to laugh involuntarily.
You were grateful disease and ailments didn’t exist outside of the trials, if they had you're sure you would've had an aneurysm from the stress you went through in a matter of an hour. Yun-Jin left you to your thoughts, which were now solely you and Leon together, doing anything and everything you could think of. The rest of the day you contemplated telling him, more so, how to. Thankfully you didn’t have any trials together, you were far too disorganized for that right now. “Tomorrow,” you promise yourself. Nothing like a clear head and a night’s rest to help you be your most collected, confident self.
____________________________________________
Silver Lining masterlist
75 notes · View notes
dotthings · 2 years ago
Text
Was happy to see the A18-49 demo went back up a bit on Kung Fu this week, probably due to all the markets knocked out by the Verizon-Nexstar mess being restored.
Been a while since I've talked about Kung Fu so I decided to take some notes on this week's ep. I used to tweet about Kung Fu a lot but since I'm not on twitter any more, I might start doing more episode reaction blogging here.
Season 3, episode 5 "The Harvest"
Pei-Ling and Xiao -- it's a common trope in heroic narratives like Kung Fu that the hero loses her mentor. It's not all that often she gets her mentor back. I'm really enjoying this arc about the resurrection of Pei-Ling, Nicky's mentor, and Pei-Ling's internal fight being possessed by Xaio.
There's quite a lot of symbolism about women being trapped in this ep. Xiao was locked in a mystically sealed cage and starved to death. Henry and Nicky research a way to free Pei-Ling that involves a candle from the Salem witch trials era, to expel Xiao from Pei-Ling, that involves a magical candle used to exorcise evil spirits from accused witches. Henry mentions the women were falsely accused, just to add another level to it. And Pei-Ling has a chain around her ankle in case Xiao takes over and becomes a danger.
Simon and Zhilan -- he gives her his sword, that was sweet. I know she killed him once but I kinda ship it. Zhilan having to watch Simon die again though, ouch. Even though the first time it was her fault.
Zhilan and Pei-Ling -- eventually the narrative of the two sisters intersect. Zhilan and Pei-Ling each fighting their enemy in a non-corporeal kind of place. The set design on this series is lovely. Both places are in black & white (Pei-Ling's mind battle with Xiao) or washed out gray (Zhilan's with the soul eater), with splashes of red. Turns out the soul taker and Xiao are linked and Xiao is feeding on the light of the souls, something both Henry and Pei-Ling see during the ritual. (Henry seems deeply shaken after, maybe because of his role as the compass, it affected him a certain way).
"My mind is like a cage...I thought the poison I felt was your anger. I know now it wasn't your anger. It was fear." Pei-Ling contains Xiao by shutting her in a mental cage. "My mind, my rules." (One of Kung Fu's EP's is Robert Berens who worked on SPN, and this put me in mind of Dean Winchester containing AU Michael in his mind--"I'm the cage.") It's not going to hold Xiao forever, but Pei-Ling (like Dean) has a strong will so it should hold for a while.
Jin -- Jin seems like he should be the politician and run for office since this guy he's working for seems a bit shady.
Althea and Evan solving crimes together for hire is fun. Althea Shen, PI.
Nicky and Henry -- so Nicky and Henry are very much broken up right now but when Nicky's worried about Pei-Ling, she turns to Henry. Only after Ryan suggests it. Nicky is trying to give Henry his space. But as soon as she's face to face with Henry, she shows her fear and vulnerability and it's clear she relies on him still. Just something about couples who break up and then at the first sign of trouble, draw together again and act protective and are there for each other. I realize this might not mean the romantic relationship is going to be restored or healed anytime soon necessarily, but the bond between Nicky and Henry is a strong tie regardless and I really enjoy them.
Zhilan and Pei-Ling --
Nicky and Bo -- there is nothing wrong with Bo except he's not Henry. I won't hold it against him. Bo was right to step back when Nicky seemed that distracted and every time he turns around, she seems to be running back to her ex, whose apartment she was living in while Henry was gone. But Nicky does seem to be into Bo and wants to make that work. We'll see where that winds up.
Mei-Li, Carrie, and Sebastian -- there's a rich small arc in this ep about privilege and culture told via the lens of food. I really like how this show gets written. Carrie (played by the wonderful Kim Rhodes), a white woman, giving lectures to Mei-Li and Sebastian about what can and can't count on the menu of a Chinese restaurant, for an "authenticity" that by Carrie's own words, is a corporate business consideration mandate. "For the brand." Carrie's corporate voice was insisting on a purity, but not an authentic one--it was a purity of brand based on marketing not the views of the two Asian people she works with. Carrie spoke over them. Sebastian rightfully calls Carrie out policing Sebastian's Filipino dish, although he cuts short of saying the blunt words we know were about to come out of his mouth. And I don't think he's wrong. Mei-Li works things out with Carrie more gently, and assures Sebastian's Filipino dish stays on the menu, then asks Sebastian to be more gentle with Carrie, who is a partner with them. There's a lot of layers there on different approaches, maybe different generational approaches too, in calling people on white privilege. I don't like that Carrie is snooping into Sebastian's background, although I think Carrie is a decent person. She is no doubt still concerned about "the brand" and the success of the restaurant and worried about Sebastian but I think she's going to have more of her assumptions disrupted. Should be interesting to see how Carrie and Mei-Li navigate each other, and how Mei-Li and Sebastian's friendship fits orbiting that.
2 notes · View notes
huffle-dork · 3 years ago
Text
Curiosity Killed the Cat: Chapter 10
What Swallows the Light 
Chapter 9: [x] Read from the beginning: [x]
(AN: IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG I HATE THAT WRITING IS SO HARD FOR ME RN AHHH I LOVE Y’ALL THANKS FOR STICKING WITH THIS- THE END IS NEAR!! LIkE MAYBE 3-4 MORE CHAPTERS!! EEEEE!!) 
The boys regrouped at Chase’s studio- exhausted and spent but determined to look for Marvin using any means necessary. Well… most of them.
Jackie was desperate- desperate to do anything but resort to Jameson’s suggestion… he was not ready to face Phantom again.
His limbs still ached from the abuse he suffered at the hand of the mad conman. But, he wasn’t scared. Superheroes don’t get scared.
Chase groaned loudly and flopped his weight onto the back of the couch. “Jackie, c’monnn! We’re getting nowhere with all this!” He gestures to the collection of trackers and electronic devices Jackie’s collected- all beeping or malfunctioning. “Marvin knows you too well man! He’s probably using some freaky magic shit to block himself!”
Jackie grumbled and refused to acknowledge Chase, stubbornly tapping on the tablet he was trying to program. When it refuses to work, he suddenly yells in frustration and throws the thing hard against the wall. It cracks through the surface- the screen shattered and sparking. The hero then grips his hair and suppresses an even louder yell.
Schneep and Jameson exchange worried looks with each other. The doctor tries to speak up,” Jackie-”
“Shut up! I know!” The hero hisses through clenched teeth. “I know this isn’t working! But there has to be something! Something we’re missing.. Something that doesn’t involve-!” He seems to choke slightly, swallowing thickly.
A static laced laugh breaks the tense silence as Anti- who’s splayed across one of the couches like a lazy cat- finally speaks. “Woowww Spandex- it’s so rare to see you so scared shitless-”
Jackie turns to shout at the glitch, his eyes burning with blue power. “Shut the fuck up, you lazy bitch! I ain’t scared-”
“Righttt and the refusal to just- go do the easy thing and see the guy who might actually have the answers to whiskers’ problem is…? What? A super secret strategy of yours? Stubbornness? Stupidity? You are good at that last one-”
Chase has to grab Jackie and hold him back as the hero almost throws himself at the glitch to strangle him. Anti laughs madly, the air around him fizzling with glitches and static.
“Someone’s gotta length your fuse big guy! Hate to see what’ll happen when you finally explode~” Anti’s eyes darken to pits. “Then again… maybe it’ll be fun to watch~!”
“Anti for the love of god- stop antagonizing him!” Jameson huffs in exasperation, making sure his speech slide appears in right in front of Anti’s face so he can’t ignore it. Anti simply laughs and pushes it away- but luckily he doesn’t push the hero anymore.
The others look to Jackie with sympathetic faces. The hero shoves Chase off him with his elbow before looking away, clearly conflicted.
Schneep coughs then carefully walks up to Jackie, using his quiet bedside manner voice, “Jackie… we all know you are… hesitant. About seeing Phantom again. But we also cannot waste our time… we do not know what Marvin could be doing to Jack right of now.” Jackie cringes slightly at this, anxiously starting to pick at the skin beneath his gloves. Schneep looks to his brother with kind and worried eyes. He steps closer and gently places a hand on his then whispers to him low. “It is okay to be scared, you know.” The doctor’s eyes shift to the lounging glitch and Jackie can see the spark of fear in his eyes. “We all understand… but- you cannot let your fears keep you from moving forward, yes?” He squeezes the older brother’s hand tighter, “We all need to work together to stop this… you will not face this alone. And we do not think lesser of you for it.”
Jackie is quiet for a beat- but slowly he nods. He meets Schneep’s eyes and smiles softly. “Thanks Hen…”
Then he sighs and squares his chest before addressing the rest of the room.
“Alright… time to go pay Phantom a visit.” 
The door to the tackily clad Phantom’s emporium opened effortlessly with a little bell. The egos all walk in-and are greeted with a dark and abandoned shop. 
“It’s awful dark in here…” Jameson comments, his speech slide adding a small burst of light. 
Chase squints and whistles under his breath, “Yeah- jesus… you’d think the guy could afford more lights in this creepy-as-fuck shop-”
He then shouts and suddenly falls to the floor.
There’s the sound of glitchy laughter from Jameson’s phone while Schneep digs out his and turns on the flashlight.
“Mein gott Chase- are you okay?”
There’s a groan as Chase pushes himself up and rubs at his head,” Y-Yeah- Yeah I’m okay- I  just stepped on something-”
Suddenly there’s the sound of muffled yelling that has all the boys turning to look at the floor. “N-No way…” Jackie gasps as he goes to inspect the object, then he brings it up for the other boys to see. It’s one of phantom’s crystal orbs- only it’s occupied by the con artist himself and his brother, Mare. Mare is kneeling, one hand knocking against the glass while the other cradles a pale and spent looking Phantom.
Schneep’s eyes widen, “wh- how… how did this happen?” He whispers in disbelief. Jameson is covering up his mouth. Chase is massaging his calf before he looks up and yells, “Woah!” 
Mare inside the orb scowls and knocks against the glass again. There’s a large crack on its side- like it might have been smashed against a corner of something. “Would you stop gawking and help us?!”
Jackie’s face falls slightly. Even if these guys were villains… this wasn’t right. So he nods and goes to try to smash the orb on the ground.
But quickly, Schneep yelps and goes to stop Jackie. “Wait!”
Jackie blinks in confusion and Schneep breathes before whispering to his brother, “Let’s… let's think this through, Jackieboy- if we free them now… we might not get the information we need.”
The doctor raises an eyebrow at Jackie and it slowly dawns on the hero. Jackie hisses back low to Henrik, “You want us to use their imprisonment to get info on Marvin?” His eyes glow slightly, “That’s not right, Schneep!”
Schneep pushes back against Jackie and whispers back, “If we do not- they will just poof away and will not get the info we need to save Marvin! Do you want to help him or not?!”
Jackie’s mouth opens and closes before he scowls and looks away. Schneep tries to hide a triumphant smirk. He then takes the orb from Jackie’s palm and holds it out before announcing, “We will release you… but only if you swear to tell us everything you know about what is happening to Marvin. If you do not and try to escape… we will treat you as the criminals you are and take the actions necessary to put you both back in jail.” Mare rolled his eyes, “Yeah yeah, stiff- whatever! Just get us out of here! My brother is fucking dying!”
Jackie and Schneep make eye contact before the doctor gives the okay. Jackie readies to smash the orb on the floor-But Jamie quickly stops him. He then signs, “Perhaps I can offer some assistance?”
The hero looks confused but he offers the ball to Jameson regardless. The gentleman smiles in appreciation then holds both his hands over the glass. He closes his eyes and focuses- teal light travels up the glass and coats the orb. Then, a flash of teal light rockets across to the empty space in the room and from the light forms Mare and Phantom in the same position they were in inside the orb.
Chase whistles, “Nice work J! ...now we won’t have to step on broken glass!”
Mare takes in a deep breath and looks over his extremely pale brother, who is breathing heavily and can barely keep open his dull eyes. He then shoots up to his feet and tries to make it to the back rooms of the shop.
Jackie beats him though and holds out his arms to stop him, his eyes flaring blue. “Where do you think you’re going?”
The dark ego bares his teeth ferally and pushes into Jackie’s face. “Out of my fucking way. Hero! You might not care but we were in there for a week! And those orbs absorb magic- it’s been sucking my brother dry for days! So- if you’ll excuse me I’m gonna get him something to make sure he’s alive for your fucking interrogation- is that okay with you?!”
The red hooded hero stands speechless and just steps aside, letting his arms fall as he nods. Mare doesn’t waste a second to rush past him.
There’s the sound of rustling and glass bottles hitting the floor before NateMare rushes back out and skids on his knees to be back by Phantom’s side. He cradles the other figment’s head and gently lowers a bright red glowing potion to his lips. The second the liquid meets his lips, Phantom’s eyes shoot open and glow red as he gasps. His back arches and he almost seems like he’s in pain but Mare just holds on tighter and dumps the rest of the potion into his mouth.
“I know…” He whispers, “Just- hold on, okay Phan? This will help, I promise…”
The other egos watch with bated breath.
Eventually the last drop falls into Phantom’s mouth and Mare takes the bottle away. Phantom pants like a man dehydrated finally offered a drink. His eyes burn red and for a second it seems like nothing happened. Then, the red blooms on his skin- in his veins, and travels across his body. The demon shudders and grits his teeth but as the magic flows, his pallor returning to normal. Finally, he sags in Mare’s grip and starts to breathe at a more regular pace. He weakly smiles up to his brother. They don’t exchange words, just simple nods but… it seems like Phantom was trying to say thank you. Phantom then turns and seems to remember they have company. He sighs and groans as he pushes himself up. He’s a bit unsteady but soon he’s standing tall again. He opens up his palm and from the ground, his staff comes rushing out and into his grip. He spins it then slams it to the ground to lean on. He eyes the company of Septic egos as he pushes back his hair.
“Forgive my… haggard appearance. Your brother… managed to do quite a number on me.”
“So, you know what happened to him? He was here?” Jackie asks eagerly. Phantom raises a hand to silence him.
“I will answer all your questions… but only if you let Mare go to rest. He does not have any answers for you and... He hasn’t been able to eat or drink since we were imprisoned… I did what I could but.. I survive on magic. He does not.”
The egos look at each other before nodding in understanding. Phantom nods to his brother, “Go. I’ll check up on you later.”
Mare seems hesitant to leave- but after a stern look from his brother he purses his lips but retreats to the back rooms regardless.
Jackie quickly pipes back up as soon as the curtains close behind him, “So- Marvin? He was here?”
Phantom nods, “Yes, he was here. He was the one who trapped us.” He then looks to Jackie and raises an eyebrow, “Said the act was… what you would call Justice.” He then shrugs and sighs, going to fall against one of the armchairs in the room. “Which I guess is fair-”
The hero’s gaze hardens as he hisses, “He doesn’t speak for me. I wouldn’t have done something like that.”
The red demon raises his head in slight surprise, then he smirks, “Oh~ I sense a bit of in-fighting?”
The air in the room gets tense as all the egos shuffle and cough. “Uh.. you could definitely say that-” Chase mutters.
Phantom hums and goes to lean forward in his chair, tapping his fingers against his orb. “...I already had my suspicions… and since you all are here for answers… why don’t you fill me in on what mischief my darling little apprentice has gotten himself into?”
“Don’t call him that-” A speech slide darts in front of Phantom’s vision followed by a serious looking Jameson. He frowns and pops up another slide once he’s gotten Phantom’s attention, “He is not yours. Not anymore.”
The demon blinks then chuckles and shakes his head, “I suppose you’re right, Jackson.”
Suddenly, the air turns electric as a groan of annoyance sounds from Jameson’s phone. Glitches fly out of his pocket and soon Anti’s fizzly form splays across one of the couches as he throws out his limbs in exasperation. “Jesus christ yall can blabber! Can we get on with this already?! Or need I remind you kitten whiskers literally has all our lives on the line?!”
Phantom jumps and somewhat curls up in his chair, trying to hide the fear in his eyes. “...w...what is he doing here?”
Anti blinks then grins wolfishly at Phantom, “Well hello to you too pretty boy- still not over our last encounter I see?” He laughs madly.
Jackie sighs then points to Anti with his thumb, “He’s the start of this whole thing. Plus… Marvin is targeting him.”
This peaks the con-man’s interest. He knits his eyebrows together and gathers his composure, leaning all his weight on his staff and linking his fingers. “...Enlighten me.”
The Septic egos then take their time to explain everything: Anti’s kidnapping of Marvin. The state of Jack. Marvin’s memory loss- his behavior after being rescued. How all that changed suddenly. His manipulation of Jameson. The book- the nighttime encounter in Jackie’s apartment. Jackie and Marvin’s fight. The criminals he killed. The veins and purple magic and eyes- the smoke that seemed to coat everything black. The hospital… how Marvin took Jack. Phantom listens intently. After they’re done he sighs and brushes back in his hair, looking towards the bookshelf behind him. “..it’s as I feared.”
He looks over the boys then stands up to address them, “... this time I am not the source of Marvin’s problem. In fact… I fear the problem may have sprouted from inside him.”
“What?” Henrik asks, “What does that mean?”
“Yeah- this… this doesn’t seem like Marvin’s magic at all! He.. he’s good! That’s how Jack made him- so how could this come from him?” Jackie shouts, looking angry.
Phantom holds up a hand to silence them. “I’m not saying this just happened randomly… but you must know this. Magic deals in absolutes.”
He then holds his hand over his orb and starts to dance his fingers in the air over it. White light comes from the orb and starts to dance in the air.
“In our world- Light magic is the prominent force. All magic stems from it. Because typically, magic is used to help or heal. Like… superpowers. They are a form of light magic. When magic first began… it was only used for good. However, humanity is selfish. And with selfishness comes the other side of magic… dark magic… black magic. Black magic is an invader- it was not made to exist here. But- through selfish desires and evil intentions it entered into our world. And… black magic is not like the light. It is constantly hungry- because it knows it does not belong here. It seeks to devour all sources of light and life. Even it’s users… it either devours them whole- or uses them to draw more people into darkness.”
Anti rolls his eyes, “Alright Merlin, thanks for the magic lesson. What’s all this bullshit gotta do with this?”
Phantom huffs and grips his staff, “I’m getting to that. But since you so kindly interrupted me, I’ll be blunt with you.” He points his staff at Anti. “You, glitch, are the catalyst for Marvin’s transformation.”
The glitch sputters, his form buzzing with static as he sits up, “What the fuck?! How is this my fault- I didn’t do anything to whisker’s magic! I’m not even magic myself!”
Phantom laughs and shakes his head, “All figments are filled with some form of magic. Or we wouldn’t exist.
But that’s besides the point for now. Remind me again, Anti, what is it you had Marvin do while in your capture?”
All the egos turn cold eyes on Anti. The glitch almost looks guilty as he crosses his arms and looks away from his audience. “I… forced him to put Jack to sleep.” Then he shakes his head and throws out his hands, “But that’s it! I didn’t touch him- I didn’t possess him or corrupt him or anything!”
Phantom nods and floats fingers through the white light still floating in the air. “Perhaps you didn’t… but you provided the spark.”
He opens his arms to the light, “Pretend if you will- this is Marvin’s core. His center of magic- his soul. Jackie mentioned earlier- your creator made Marvin to be good. So- that’s what his core is. A source of light magic.”
He then snaps and a pure black flame ignites on his fingertip. “Now- if I add a spark of black magic…” He lowers the black flame into the white light.
The light almost instantly begins to be eaten by the black. The black spears through the light like a hungry predator until all that’s left floating in the air in a bubble of black, sparking with purple power.
The septics watch with horror.
“...that’s... what's happening to Marvin?” Chase asks in a small voice.
“...it is a slower process but yes.” Phantom nods. He leans back into his chair and snaps the magic out of the air.
“Since Marvin’s core is good, any type of spell that goes against his nature could possibly change his entire magical alignment. What most likely happened is… whatever spell he used on Jack was enough to spark a dark magic takeover.”
“...But- Marvin has used darker magic before.” Jameson points out, “**Like when he’s been possessed by Antisepticeye- or… his last encounter with you. How come that didn’t trigger his magic to change?” **
Phantom hums with a smile, “A good question, Jackson. While under possession, Marvin’s magic is not entirely his own. When under my control- I fueled him with my own magic. It’s like… dye in water. It can leave the water stained sure- but eventually it will return to what it was because of the constant flow. Magic is fueled by the soul- so as long as Marvin is alive, his magic refuels itself. So even if it was changed momentarily by an outside source- it should go back to what his core was.”
“...the community-” Anti suddenly mumbles. Everyone looks to him with curiosity.
“...yes, Anti?” Phantom raises an eyebrow.
The glitch scowls then turns to face the other demon. “Jack’s community. Does that count as an outside source? Because I swear that Magician’s purpose has been flip-flopping around so much because they can’t make up their goddamn minds on what side he should be on. All this magic bullshit- does it really matter when Jack and the community has so much pull on our characters?”
The air is silent while the room takes in this information. Phantom smiles and leans back. “Hm- I can’t say for certain… though me and Mare are influenced by our community as well- each figments story is different. Me and Mare were made to be evil so… there’s not much we can do to change that.”
He then points his staff at some of the septics, partially Jameson and Schneep. “However- that is why I’ve found you septics so… fascinating. Even if Jack made you one way… the fandom can change you. Like how our beloved Doctor was once considered to be on the Glitch’s side… or how Mr. Jackson seemed to be free of corruption because of the fandom’s love… until it was revealed he was a puppet all along.”
Schneep nervously rubs his neck and looks away, shuddering at the memories from that time. “...that… I..I do remember… being changed by them. Forced to be someone else… until Jack set the record straight.”
Jamie is silent, playing with his hands and looking at the ground. His wrists hidden under his sleeves- his strings out of sight. Phantom smiles to himself, “That’s why I’ve always been so fascinated by my Magnificent… he’s so easily swayed. His alignment is so back and forth. He could be anything. He could become anyone.” 
“Okay so- why isn’t this they’re fault, magic man?” Anti suddenly sneers, “Why isn’t this debacle their fault?! They almost have as much power as Jack does! Why aren’t they responsible?”
Phantom scratches his chin and taps his specter thoughtfully, “...I don’t think we can rule out their influence entirely. But… Marvin hasn’t been the star of the show for a quite a long time, yes? So… a change this sudden could only be explained by new lore from Jack. and… since he’s asleep.” The demon looks pointedly at Anti and raises an eyebrow. Anti grumbles and folds his arms again, sinking into the couch.
Jackie sighs and sits down, holding out his hands, “Okay so- let’s recap… because Anti made Marvin put Jack to sleep- that magic he used started to change his core. It went from light magic to black magic because black magic is a greedy bastard- so it’s changing Marvin… which is why he… he did all the things he did… right?”
The red clad demon nods, “Correct. Since the magic is an invader… one could say it’s possessing your brother. But- it won’t take much for it to grab control and change him permanently. He was already starting… what he was doing to those thugs is classic black magic. Feeding off life forces helps to fuel the black magic even faster. There’s nothing more selfish or evil than taking a life. ...Marvin’s actions might not entirely be his own- this all could be the black magic working to take over Marvin’s core faster. Especially since he did not choose to use that magic that sparked this in the first place… It’s manipulating him.”
Jackie seems to light up slightly. He smiles to himself and whispers, “...i..I knew it- I knew this couldn’t be Marvin… not really.”
“So what can we do to stop this? To save him?” Chase brings up. “We gotta stop him before this thing eats him- or Jack!”
Phantom is quiet for a second before sighing, “...that.. I do not know.”
“What?!” Jackie exclaims as he jumps to his feet, eyes burning. “You- You know all of this but you don’t know how to save him?! What the fuck?!”
The demon just raises an eyebrow, “Hero. I collect souls to survive. My core thrives off dark magic. I may know how it works… but I don’t know how to stop the process.” He then sighs and looks around. “I can give you advice though… that book. He stole it from me. It is a source of black magic itself- and it reacts to the user. It will do anything in its power to keep Marvin reliant on its spells. It will only hasten his corruption so… try to keep it away from him. Seal it away… it can’t be destroyed except by the purest of light magic.
Also- beware him collecting a large group of people. The magic inside him is going to be looking for the largest amount of souls it can corrupt. And… if he succeeds…. It will be too late. Your brother will be consumed. And they’ll be no going back.”
The air grows heavy at this news and the others exchange worried glances. The con-man watches before rising to his feet. “I’ve given you all the information I can… I would use it quickly if you want to save Marvin. Every second wasted is him getting closer to being consumed.”
The others look at each other then nod. “Alright… thank you Phantom.”
“As promised… we will not bother you and Natemare.” Schneep adds, adjusting his coat as he gets to his feet. He gestures to the others and starts to head for the door. Anti watches from the couch, seeming to be deep in thought.
Before Jackie can join the others however, Phantom lightly grabs his wrist to stop him. The hero looks back with confusion. The dark magician looks… almost bashful. He opens and closes his mouth several times before whispering out in sincerity, “... I know there is a lot at stake but… please Jackieboy… save my Magnificent.”
Jackie balks at this- then slowly his eyes start to burn with anger. He throws Phantom’s hand off him and grabs the figment by his vest and throws him against one of the pillars making up the walls.
“Are you fucking serious?! Your magnificent?! He isn’t your property asshole! After all of this- after all he’s been through you still think you get to stand here and be selfish?! To think about how you’re going to use him next?! If you so much as breathe near him again I swear to god i’ll-!”
Phantom just sits there and takes it- looking Jackie in the face. Jackie pants and growls, pushing Phantom more up against the wall when words fail him. The demon winces then opens one eye to look at Jackie.
“Are you done? Can i say my piece now?”
Jackie bares his teeth, ‘What could you possibly have to say to that? Gonna manipulate me with your fucking smoke to make me think you were in the right all this time? That you were helping him? That you ever cared for him at all as an apprentice?!”
“I DID CARE!” Phantom suddenly shouts, pushing back in Jackie’s face and blasting out enough magic to get Jackie to let go. Jackie stumbles back and narrows his eyes at Phantom as the demon dusts himself off and straightens his vest.
“...or… I do care. ...I think-” He sighs and lowers his gaze to the hero. “...I’m not like you and your family, Jackie. I wasn’t made to be good. I was made to manipulate and to steal. To trick. So… of course that was my purpose when I first took your brother in all those years ago…
However, despite my nature… i believe I developed a… soft spot for him. I… didn’t know how to interpret those feelings. I thought it was a need to fully control him- to make him mine. But… even that wasn’t enough. I couldn’t understand.”
He then sighs and picks his specter off the ground, going to twist it thoughtfully between his fingers. “But… all that time spent in that orb… enduring the same thing I made him endure… I was able to think. ...to maybe realize it was more than that need of control. That… maybe- the very small part of me that’s human… maybe that part actually cared for him. ...like how I care for Mare.”
Jackie’s hard expression softens slightly, looking to Phantom in confusion. The demon doesn’t meet his eyes as he chuckles bitterly.
“...I fought it for a while but… he was different than my other cons. He was… the first one just like me. A fellow figment just...looking for a place in the world. Of course… my purpose had to be fulfilled… a creation can’t deny its reason for existing. But… for a while… I couldn’t. Not to him. Maybe that’s why it took me so many years to finally hunt him down…”
He shakes his head then ventures to his bookshelf, going to open a small ornate chest. He digs inside then pulls out a white object and holds it in his hands while turned away from Jackie, rubbing his fingers against the surface.
“You know… there’s one thing I know about light magic… why you heroes and goody-two-shoes always best us in the end.” He laughs and turns to Jackie, handing the item to him.
It’s a blank white cat mask.
Jackie’s eyes widen as he takes it and then he looks to Phantom, who’s smiling bitterly.
“...it’s your ability to be positive. To believe in each other. To have things and memories that… keep the darkness away. ...perhaps that can help you.”
The demon looks to the ceiling almost wistfully, “I know… anything involved with me is tainted now. And… Marvin will never want anything to do with me again. I’m.. okay with that. But… maybe that mask… can remind him of when magic was good to him. When his love for magic was pure and child-like… perhaps it can save him from the dark.”
Jackie is speechless once again. He looks down at the mask and rubs his thumb against the edge. He can imagine Marvin when he first met him- when he first took off his distrustful shell and started to open up. How happy and mischievous and carefree he was. Did he actually feel that way with Phantom once?
“...you really do care about him..” Jackie pipes up quietly. Phantom smiles and shrugs.
“...I can’t say for sure. But… i do hope you save him. Really…” He sighs and looks back to Jackie seriously, “If he survives… I will leave him be. I will not hunt him down again… I will consider all his debts paid.”
Jackie’s eyebrows raise in surprise. Then, he laughs slightly and puts the mask in his backpack. He straightens the straps and turns to go- but not before giving one last look to Phantom.
“Hey- maybe there’s a little light in you after all Phantom.”
Phantom snorts, “Don’t get mushy on me, hero. You’ll make me more sick than I already am.”
Jackie laughs and shrugs, “Fair enough. Well… thanks.”
“Just get out of here, Jackieboy- don’t waste what little time you have with pleasantries.” Phantom grumbles, going to head towards the back room. “And… good luck.”
The hero nods and grins before hurrying out of the store and back into daylight.
However, he’s quickly met with a panicking Schneep and Chase who are on him in a second.
“Jackie! Oh god- oh shit this is bad!” Chase whimpers.
“What? What happened? What’s wrong??”
Schneep meets Jackie’s eyes, his own filled with fear.
“...Anti has disappeared. And he took Jameson with him.”
“...son of a bitch-?!”
46 notes · View notes
saphirered · 3 years ago
Note
I absolutely love you're writing and would love just general headcanons for Yussa and his Bard SO. Please and thank you!
Sorry this took so long. Hope you like it! 😘
-
When Yussa first met you, or heard you he almost spilled the contents of his latest carefully planned, prepared and measured project. You made him jump and almost set him back weeks worth of work so when he found himself angrily looking out of the window where that angelic voice came from, it turned out it came right from below, in the square near the Tidepeak. He couldn’t deny you not only had a beautiful voice but knew out way around a lute and lyre too. The music had been beautiful but came at an inopportune moment, no matter what he did he couldn’t block out the sound.
When the music returned the next day during his reading it was very much pleasant. So pleasant he actually moved his chair over to the balcony so he could see you play from the square. Now with a better look, not only were you a great musician, you’re gorgeous at that too and he was not at all surprised to see the crowd gathered below watching you play and hanging onto every word of your song. He’d sent Wensforth to deliver you a generous reward for your entertainment. He’d seen the donations people left in a hat at your feet but deemed your skills rather undervalued. If you wanted to you could gather a crowd contesting those who attended the Ruby of the Sea’s performances, in his opinion.
Day after day, this nicely dressed goblin would bring you a most generous amount of coin that provided you not only a stay in a lavish inn, but also paid for all your daily expenses and then some. In the middle of your performance you couldn’t go after the goblin to thank him for his donation but on a particularly rainy day you were able to follow where he went; into the tower people had warned you of, the one without doors and only a balcony and some windows that seemed to move every day or even hour.
So after your performance you went knocking. Of course there was no door so you felt a little stupid knocking against the stone tower. When no answer came you just sat down at the base gently plucking away at the strings of your instrument. You’d wait to see if someone came home or left. It was nightfall when you saw someone on the balcony and you shouted up.
Little did you know this would be the beginning of something life changing. The Tidepeak would not be a place you’d distance yourself from and its master even less so. He’d ask you to play for him, revealing he had been sending you these generous donations. Yussa Errenis had offered you more than triple what he had given you for no more than an hour of musical entertainment once a week, more than you’d make in that same week alone so how could you refuse.
Those once a week for an hour extended to several times a week and long conversations after as not only were you an expert musician, you made for company just as good and for the first time in a long time Yussa realised he might not be as much of a solitary creature after all. He was simply lacking the company he needed and could appreciate. There was a mutual understanding and trust between you two, and a honesty he had not found anywhere else.
You let Yussa hear the new songs you’d been working on and pieces you were composing first before you played them in the open, and even left some of them just for his ears and realising this may just have made the stoic wizard blush like never before. You’d managed to break that attitude and while a man of manners and a head held high attitude, he wasn’t as cold nor distant with you. Though, not even you could tame that arrogance. Nor did you want to. There was something attracting about that.
You’re both smart enough people to know when an infatuation grows into something more and this is it. So you did what any reasonable adult would do; sat down and worked it out, communicated and figured out where you would stand in this. When the feeling turned out to be mutual it worked in both your favours as you could simply engage in that instead of keeping up an air of professionalism between musician and patron.
That did not mean your private concertos stopped. If anything they grew more frequent and if you weren’t on the road, had another place to perform or the weather was just simply bad, the door of the Tidepeak would be open to you day and night, and Yussa’s company at your side be that to listen to you play, you gently strumming away while he worked, or the two of you talked until the early hours of morning about your lives, your songs, his work or the hardships and frustrations you’d endured since you last met.
Physical affection would have to go slow. You might not be as opposed, it’s something Yussa needed to be eased into. Having lived alone and without the comforts of another for so long, he quickly got overwhelmed and needed a moment for himself. Never would you shame or judge him for that. You understood and that’s when he knew for sure he could see a future with you.
From that moment on, no more would you sleep in a tavern or an inn or wherever else you found suitable. You’d get your own space at the Tidepeak to do with as you pleased and while he had given you your own sitting room and balcony, you’d still most often found your way to his study even if just to sit there. Yussa wasn’t at all opposed to this as he rather enjoyed your company regardless of volume. He’d gotten used to it and would miss your presence when working.
Kisses were a rarity for the first few months and Yussa let you take the lead when it came to them but over time he grew more daring and eventually even came to initiate them of his own volition and without a feeling of needing to satisfy you but simply because he enjoyed them. You’d find yourself sitting on the couch, Yussa using you as a pillow while he read and he’d press a kiss against wherever was most convenient from his position. It never failed to make you smile and he’d do it just to see you smile, taking pride in getting such a gentle response.
Yussa is not a trusting person and that doesn’t mean he doesn’t trust you but old habits do die hard. Sleeping in the same space had been something he just couldn’t do, not even the meditative trance of his elvish blood. However, when you two fell asleep on the couch together, that made that easier. A bed was still a big no for sleeping purposes but the couch had become better and better and no longer would he lie awake while you slept.
Going out in public with Yussa may have been a bigger step in your relationship than physical intimacy of any kind. Yussa knew the opinions of the sharks around him and what lengths they would go to get into his good graces and he wanted to shield you from that, if not for your own sake then for his. But he couldn’t simply act like you didn’t exist and his changes in attitude came out of nowhere as those sharks also weren’t fools.
Attending a ball with Yussa was always something, you’d be stared down like the main show of the evening, or as if you just entered the room stark naked but you were very sure you weren’t. You’d be swarmed by people in a matter of moments, people wishing to hear the latest gossip and figure out your exact connection with the master of the Open Quay and during Yussa’d be internally screaming absolutely exasperated by these intruding annoyances and simpletons. Luckily he had your charm to save yourself and him. You’d deflected all advances, questions and unpleasant encounters like a protective shield with ease and grace and if those failed you a simple discrete spell to charm them into leaving you the hell alone was not out of the question. He couldn’t be more thankful. Maybe he should bring you along more often as you had proven to be his saving grace.
You may not be a politician nor were you schooled in his kind of magic. He may not be a musician nor was he particularly schooled in the ways of the bard’s colleges. None of that mattered because you were both willing to learn, showing an interest in the life of the other. Admittedly certain practices would never be the thing for the other but that didn’t matter because you could still appreciate the other’s love for it.
At the end of the day you were happy and would be happy, be that because you wrote a new song or Yussa cracked the code to a spell of his own making, you for scoring an invitation to play at some famous place in front of some renowned individuals, or him for making way in his practices and helping a group of curious individuals end a threat looming over this world. You were content with your wildly different lives and happy a song and an annoyance began it all.
30 notes · View notes
moonbeamsung · 4 years ago
Text
Winter Nights & City Lights
Tumblr media
Because nothing says ‘Christmas’ like spending the big day (and not to mention the whole holiday season) in the Big Apple living with your high school friend-turned-roommate, Mark Lee.
member: mark (featuring johnny)
au: roommate!mark x gn!reader, college roommate au, christmas au, ‘the gift of the magi’ au/inspired
word count: 9.5k
genre: fluff, angst, slice of life
warnings: profanity, underage drinking, hangovers, insecurities, mentions of food and drink, money issues, embarrassing moments
author’s note: This fic is close to becoming my favorite that I’ve ever written. It’s also almost twice as long as I planned, not to mention that tumblr crashed right as I tried to post it so here I am, two hours later. Overall I had a blast writing it and I hope you enjoy reading it! Please let me know what you think, too! :,) Happy holidays! <3
taglist: @astroboy-lele​ @kisshim​ @radiorenjun​
network tags: @kpopscape​ @neo-constellations​ @starryktown​ @culture-cafe​ @dreamlab-nct​
Tumblr media
“That parade was so cool! I mean, did you see the size of all those balloons? They were huge! I’ve never seen so many people all in one place before,” Mark chatters away like an excited child as you navigate through the crowd that always seems to grow bigger year after year, gathered along the curbs of the New York streets to watch the famed Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.
“How are you not more excited about this?” He questions, and you stifle an amused giggle. “I’ve lived in the city for over a year, Mark. I’ve seen a thing or two.”
“Oh, right. I knew that.” The cold air only accentuates the blush on his face as he remembers that particular detail about you. It isn’t often that it’s demonstrated, however, considering you spend so much time cooped up inside of your shared apartment cramming in university work and studying. There are hardly any opportunities during the year to take in the sights of the concrete jungle you live in the very heart of, but luckily, one of your long-awaited breaks is coming up soon.
Thoughts of Christmas vacation are the only things keeping you going, along with countless cups of steaming hot coffee, as you prepare for exams in just a few weeks, weeks that seem to go by in a flurry of snow.
There’s less than three days left until your first one, but you’re nothing short of drained after pulling so many all-nighters, and you need a break. A breath of fresh air seems like just the cure for your burnout, so you slam your textbook shut and lethargically drag yourself off of the soft comforter you’ve been sitting on for the past two hours. You grimace at the deep imprint left behind.
Trudging through the living area, you knock softly on Mark’s bedroom door. A tired “Come in” sounds from the other side, and you push it open, immediately noticing his disheveled state. Eyes heavy with fatigue and lacking their usual sparkle of youthful innocence, he blinks back at you, “What’s up?”
“You look like you need a break just as much as I do,” you insist. His already-open mouth widens a bit more, “But... our first exam is on Monday, we can’t just—”
“Mark, come on, you’re one of the smartest people in our class. If anyone’s going to pass, it’s you.”
He huffs, “Maybe you have a point.”
“I do have a point, and you know it. A little walk in the park never hurt anyone, right?”
Mark rubs his eyes with the back of his hand, fingers raking through his dark locks before he musters up enough strength to push himself off of his bed and into a standing position.
“I’ll get my jacket.”
Central Park is a sight to behold on its own all year round, but something about the Christmas season makes it even more magical. You and Mark step at the same pace, your paths lined by metal benches blanketed in fresh snow. Even through the many layers of warmth you’re both wearing, the chilly air still nips at your skin. It’s Mark’s first time experiencing the holidays in New York City, and you’re determined to show him everything this real-life winter wonderland has to offer.
The story of how you two came to be roommates in the first place is an extremely lucky one. You met in high school, and had been part of the same group of friends along with six younger boys. Both Canadian, you’d been hoping to get into the same New York college since what felt like forever. The day that you received your acceptance letters in the mail was full of joy and celebration, but not even a week later, Mark got an unexpected scholarship to a local but prestigious university not far from where you lived that he simply couldn’t pass up.
Parting ways after graduation, you had thought you might never see each other again until you got a call from him. It was the day after your last exam of the spring semester in college and you were sitting on your two-person couch, feeling rather lonely. The number seemed too familiar, too good to be true, and scrambling to pick up the phone as it blared throughout your fairly small apartment, you answered with a shaky voice. Mark’s recognizable tone met your ears, and a wide smile met your face. Though he couldn’t see it, he could hear the happiness in your words.
As it turned out, his college had given him the opportunity to transfer to yours for the remainder of his four years, as their programs were closely linked and on similar levels. Graciously, he had accepted, and wanted you to be the first to know.
“So, uh... are you living with anyone?”
The question he dreaded asking more than anything else. Call him cliché, but he had the biggest crush on you in high school, much to his dismay and to the rest of his friends’ excitement. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to like you, but he feared that college could tear a potential relationship apart, regardless of whether or not you went to the same one.
As a result of this, he had never acted on his emotions. But he’s older now, and wiser, which leads him to believe that maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to maintain one, should he ever gain enough courage to ask you out.
“No, actually, I have my own apartment.”
Silence.
“...Are you looking for somewhere to stay?”
“Yes! Yes,” he replied a little too quickly, eager to accept what would hopefully be an invitation from you. He wasn’t disappointed.
“Well, my place isn’t the biggest, but you can live with me if you want to. Plus, we could split the rent between us!”
You’ve always liked Mark. He’s hardworking, kind, and humble, maybe a little too much of all these things for his own good. Even back in high school, you spent endless nights and very early mornings on the phone with him, trying to convince him to go to bed after he refused to stop studying. To reassure him that he did the right thing by ending that friendship, or to insist that he tell the teacher no one worked on the group project, so he did everything himself. You’ve been his shoulder to cry on for years, you’ve seen a side of him that he’s never been brave enough to show anyone else because they expect so much of him.
Mark knows he’s blessed to have had a picture-perfect childhood, a good family, and an education that was rigorous yet rewarding enough to prepare him for his next chapter in life. The pressures that came with being so lucky just got to him sometimes, and they made four years of high school seem more like fourteen.
You, on the other hand, didn’t quite have all the same luxuries that he did, but you still managed. He’s been there for you plenty of times, too. In your opinion, though, he’s the much more vulnerable one of the two of you, mainly to his cumbersome insecurities and shortcomings, however rare those shortcomings may be.
So in your mind, Mark Lee deserves the entire world and then some. The least you can do is share your apartment with him, either until he finds what you’re sure would be a much more desirable place to live, or if he wants to stay with you indefinitely.
What you don’t realize, and will eventually struggle to admit to yourself, is that your admiration for his perseverance and endless generosity is teetering rather precariously on the edge of blossoming into something more than just platonic.
“Sounds good, then. Thanks so much!” He had exclaimed, the sound of his pure excitement and gratefulness bringing a wave of heat to your face, and you were glad he wasn’t there in front of you to see it.
You talked a little bit more for the next few minutes, catching up and enjoying a lighthearted conversation about what you had both been up to. These sessions on the phone began to occur more and more frequently, turning into weekly, and soon daily, affairs. Mark planned to move in a couple weeks before school started again, giving himself some time to settle in and adapt to urban life in general. The calls became a highlight of your summer vacation, and every day without fail, you found yourself waiting to hear the unique ringtone you had set his contact to.
Less than twelve hours before Mark was scheduled to arrive at New York’s largest airport, you were on the phone with him just like always. The clock in your apartment chimed eleven o’clock, and as reluctant as you were to hang up, you knew you should turn in for the night. After all, the sooner you went to sleep, the sooner the morning would come. The morning you would meet him at the airport.
“So I’ll see you tomorrow?” His voice was hopeful. Slightly unsteady, but hopeful all the same.
“I guess so. What time does your plane land, again?” You confirmed the time you had scribbled down onto a neon yellow sticky note a few days earlier as he repeated the short string of numbers, nodding to no one in particular. Why did you feel so nervous? It’s just Mark, you had told yourself.
“Have a safe flight!”
He bade you goodnight in return, accidentally throwing in a “sweet dreams” before he could stop himself. When you put your phones down, you were both too busy trying to calm your racing pulses, however, so it didn’t matter. Mark collapsed onto his bed, hand bumping his duffel bag and heaving a sigh. You sank down into the couch cushion, closing your eyes and leaning your head against the back of the furniture. Neither of you could find the strength to stand in those moments, scared that your legs would give in from the unsteadiness of your nerves, your hearts, your emotions.
A singular worry occupied both of your minds from that point on until you greeted him in the JFK airport terminal the next morning, shy smiles on your faces: is it dangerous to enter into the impending situation of living together? Are you really ready to be in such constant close proximity to the object of your affections, however oblivious you might be to them?
Before his brain could talk his heart out of it, Mark had wrapped you in a tight hug, extra thankful for the welcome since you were all he had here, in the city. You wouldn’t have missed his arrival for the world, and you told him so. You also wouldn’t have missed the chance to make him flush a deep but adorable shade of red, reaching from his rounded cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears.
In your long-term rental car, you drove him back to your apartment, enjoying the quiet sounds of surprise and amazement that spilled from his lips, generated by the city’s sights. As you passed underneath towering skyscrapers, navigated bustling avenues, and caught glimpses of world-renowned landmarks that you both had seen only in the movies when you were younger, you just knew Mark’s eyes held their signature sparkle, despite your inability to see the dark brown orbs glimmer with wonder. You kept yours on the road ahead.
His first day was spent unpacking his suitcases and bags full of possessions, one of which was his most prized: an acoustic guitar.
It had been a gift from his parents when he finished the eighth grade, and all throughout high school, he had turned to music as an escape whenever he needed it. As any new musician does, Mark had played around with chords, experimenting and seeing what sounded good, and before you knew it he had composed a song. Another one followed, then another, and by the end of his freshman year he had written enough to fill an entire album if he so wished.
The guitar had heard every note, every lyric, carried every melody from his heart into the world. It had grown to be a part of him, a worldly sliver of his soul in the form of a simple musical instrument that could convey every hope and every dream, every concern or every frustration. Every love confession. Though that wasn’t saying much, since he only had eyes for you. You didn’t know it, but one of those songs was about you. For you.
You and Mark’s circle of friends tried to set you two up one day in the school’s band room after hours, with the excuse that the second-youngest of the group, Chenle, had forgotten his piano sheet music in there. They sent you to retrieve it, which you only agreed to do after being persuaded by the boy’s intimidating but still lovable pout.
With no sheet music in sight, your eyes landed instead on a diligent Mark that appeared to be the only sign of life in the room, plucking away at the strings as the sun set outside. You had sat with him for a while, neglecting your task and listening to him strum gracefully, softly murmuring lyrics that sounded like your name at one point. You didn’t think much of it, though, not making the connection behind the rest of the words coming out of his mouth and accompanying the chords. His love song was left unacknowledged by the subject of it themselves, and that was both the first and last time he ever attempted to confess to you.
He wondered if now that you were sharing an apartment, he would let something slip by accident. What would he do then?
University had other plans, though, and his fears were temporarily relieved. So fortunately and unfortunately, you were so occupied with schoolwork that trying to balance dating, or even mere thoughts of doing so, with all of your other responsibilities would have been exhausting, not to mention impossible.
Snapping out of your memory-induced daze, you realize that you nearly wandered off the path into a deep snowbank, only aware of this fact because Mark catches you by the wrist and pulls you back toward him to walk at his side. His fingers stay curled around your forearm as you approach a famous bridge, stepping to the side and gazing down at the icy waters below, calm and rippling with the chilly breeze.
“What do you want for Christmas?”
You honestly haven’t thought about it yet, so you can’t give Mark a definite answer. The same goes for him, both of you leaning against the brick railing in a comfortable silence.
In Mark’s mind though, he knows what he wants to give you: something to complement your own equivalent of his guitar, a large collection of handwritten letters and notes from your childhood and school days. Sentimental by nature, you had saved every colorful post-it note one of your friends would slip through the narrow slats of your locker, every birthday card received over the years, every thoughtful postcard from someone’s vacation.
Your favorites are undoubtedly the always-awkward Christmas cards that your friends’ families consistently mail out each December, by far the most humorous parts of your growing collection. You always found yourself chuckling at the pictures displayed on the front. Eyes bright with mirth, you would observe their forced smiles and arms slung carelessly over siblings’ shoulders, their eyes flickering between the camera and something going on behind it, probably the family pet getting into trouble across the yard. You pitied the photographers, surely beyond frustrated as they would try to get everyone to stand still for more than five measly seconds. Mouths were clamped shut and for a brief moment, the air was void of complaints of how itchy someone’s sweater was.
Then the camera would snap, capturing an image that was simply “good enough.” They’d plaster it on the card and in a few days, it would magically appear in the mailboxes of relatives and close friends. Grandparents would overlook the uncomfortable expressions and focus instead on how fast the kids were growing up. You didn’t blame them. Even in four years’ worth of cards, so much could change. In between fits of laughter, you’d stare in awe at the way your friends grew into their features, only becoming more handsome with time and some growing so tall that they even towered over their fathers. You always kept the letters they included, too, detailing the highlights of the year that was soon to come to an end by the time they dropped it into a nearby mailbox.
And like he could read your mind, Mark makes an offhand comment right then and there. “My folks texted me the other day to ask for our address. You know, for the Christmas card.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah,” he laughs. “Shame I couldn’t be there for the family photos this year.”
“Is it really a shame, though?” You prod, tilting your head a bit at the boy. “You always told me you couldn’t stand waiting around for the so-called ‘right lighting’ and all that.”
“Well, I couldn’t, but now that I’m not there I wish I could go back to those days. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, you know?”
“Right,” you sigh, thinking about how the same saying could easily apply to the way you felt about Mark all throughout your first year of university.
You have a box, made of a dark mahogany wood and lined with elegant golden trim, where you keep all of these letters, these handwritten memories and souvenirs from some of the happiest moments in your life. A gift from a past Christmas, your family had your initials engraved onto the front in a loopy cursive font, making it truly unique and utterly irreplaceable. And, you’ll soon come to realize, valuable.
Mark remembers it well, remembers the many times you’ve shown him its contents, remembers how his eyes sometimes land on the delicate container resting beneath the windowsill in your room, sunlight catching the accents. He knows how much those letters mean to you, and he also knows how much you love returning the favor.
That’s why he wants to give you the tools you need to do just that, and to do it well.
You’ve always been one for writing thank-you notes for any and every gift you receive, your parents having ingrained the habit in you since you were very young. Slowly, crayons turned into pencils and lead became ink. To this day you remain unfazed by the increasing amount of yellowing papers residing in the letter box, but the words imprinted on them never quite fade, strong enough to withstand the test of time.
Too many times in high school Mark would find you, hunched over your dining room table in frustration with a stack of letters beside your arm that you deemed “failed” because your handwriting was bad, or something of the sort. Usually it was the other way around, him being the one in need of comfort, but on those days your roles were reversed.
He had always wondered why you didn’t have fancier supplies that were more suited to your task, but he supposes now that maybe it simply wasn’t an option for you and your family. So a stationery set seems like the perfect gift for you this year.
On a similar note, you’ve already decided what you’re getting him: a guitar case. You happened upon a sleek leather one while browsing the website of a popular music store, coincidentally with a location not too far from your apartment.
Now it’s no longer a question of what to get the other, but how. As university students living on your own, money is scarce. Unknowingly, you both contemplate this concern as you walk side by side, returning to the start of the path that you set out on at least a half hour ago.
This stroll of yours was supposed to clear your minds, but why are they racing even more than before?
There’s no time to worry now, though, and for the next week, your thoughts are forced to shift back to the topic of school and midterms and all your academic endeavors.
Your exam week is over before you know it, and the two of you return to your apartment after the last one only to collapse onto your respective beds, beyond exhausted.
The dreary Friday afternoon clearly calls for a nap, but unbeknownst to you, Mark decides to seize the opportunity that has so conveniently presented itself to him: a chance for him to go out and buy your gift without suspicion. He drops his backpack on the carpet next to his dresser and sighs, wondering if what he’s about to do will be worth it. But it’s you, of course it’ll be worth it.
Thus, his next move is done with a heavy heart. He’s been forced by a lack of funds to come to a decision about your gift, and a difficult one at that. The only thing he can think of doing to even come close to affording a nice stationery set is to sell some things in exchange for cash. Namely, the most valuable item he owns: his beloved guitar. He doesn’t really want to, but deep down he knows that a true friendship warrants the occasional sacrifice. He’s done some research on a nearby pawn shop, and however sketchy those kinds of places may seem, it’s his only feasible option at the moment, with just a week left until Christmas Day.
After making sure you’re fast asleep, he not-so-stealthily slips out of your shared flat, his actions far from silent but even so, you don’t wake up. Mark winces at the unintended high volume of pulling the front door shut behind him, sticking his hand into his jeans pocket and relaxing when he feels his keys at the bottom of the fabric compartment. Guitar strung over his shoulder by the flimsy, fraying strap, he sets off.
With his phone in hand and directions to the pawn shop displayed on the screen, he strides through the lobby of the apartment building and pushes the revolving door, stepping onto the busy sidewalk and into the cold winter air. Shoppers crowd the pavement with hands full of department store tote bags, crinkling loudly as they pass by one another. Shoulders knock together and heels click against the concrete, just some of the many sounds of the city that Mark is still growing used to hearing.
A few blocks and several wrong turns later, he finds himself on a quieter street, standing in front of the shop. It’s dimly lit inside and looks almost abandoned, the letters painted on the window chipped and faded from the wear and weather of past years. A soft bell rings when he lets himself in, searching for some sort of employee.
From behind a cluttered shelf a tall man emerges, the shabby name tag pinned to his vest reading “Johnny.” Well, he’s not some shifty-eyed, balding man wearing a muscle shirt stained with grease. New York continues to be full of surprises.
His dark hair looks neat, the jacket he’s wearing free of any wrinkles and face young but chiseled, high cheekbones prominent.
“How can I help you today?” Johnny booms, stepping behind the counter and absentmindedly sifting through some loose change in bottom of the cash register.
Mark gulps, “I’d like to sell something.” Still not entirely sure he wants to do this, he instinctively tugs on the strap resting atop the fabric of his wool jacket.
“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” Johnny assures with a small laugh. “What did you have in mind?”
Taking a deep breath, Mark slides the guitar off his shoulder and holds it near his chest for a moment, before extending his arms out towards the counter.
“A guitar, huh? We don’t see many of these,” the tall man comments. “Are you sure? It seems pretty valuable to you in more ways than one.”
Mark’s fingertips trace the strings for the last time and he decides to just get it over with, before he can change his mind. His hands are shaky as he gently places the instrument down on the counter in front of Johnny, taking a step back once he’s done so. “I don’t have much of a choice. I need the money to buy a gift for my… uh, my friend.”
Johnny raises an eyebrow, “Just a friend? Or a special someone?”
“They are special,” Mark confirms, noncommittal to either title that Johnny suggested.
“They must be if you’re willing to give up something like this for them. Okay, that’ll be…”
Johnny tells him what the guitar is worth, matching the amount with a stack of cash and a few old coins, rusty but still holding their value.
Despite the pain of letting something so meaningful go, a bit of joy creeps into Mark’s heart as he realizes that now he can give you a gift that will hopefully become just as meaningful to you as his guitar was to him.
He thanks Johnny and bids him goodbye, step lighter than when he entered, much to his surprise.
It’s the next day when you and Mark find yourselves getting into the Christmas spirit for the first time this season. After he had returned yesterday, you were still out cold on your bed, so he chose to follow your example and do the same. The both of you had slept the rest of the day and almost the entirety of the following morning away, waking up just before noon.
With a sudden burst of energy you spring up from the sheets, overtaken by your excitement for the nearing holiday as you dig out the artificial Christmas tree you had bought last year from your closet. Sure, it may seem lazy of you, but let’s face it: there was no easy way to find a real one in New York City, let alone lug it down the streets, through an elevator and down a narrow hallway to a door it wouldn’t even fit through.
Mark hears the loud rustling of various decorations as he begins to stir, leisurely getting out of bed and checking one of his dresser drawers to make sure he hadn’t merely dreamed up his shopping adventure of the previous evening. There the stationery set sits, tucked safely at the back of the wooden cabinet.
The bookstore he stopped at on his way back last night had many different options to choose from, so he made sure to get one that both matched your box of letters and reminded him of you, with its color scheme and style. A surge of pride brings a smile to his features, pleased with his choice, and he pushes the drawer shut before joining you in the living area.
Your knees brush as he sits down next to you to help unpack the large but manageable box, taking out the tiers of the tree to eventually stack on top of one another. Working more quickly than usual (and probably necessary, there are six days left after all), you assign Mark to stringing the lights across your small balcony while you finish setting up the tree. You knew you shouldn’t have let him do it alone, though, because when you look over at his progress you find more lights wrapped around his body than the metal railing.
“Do you need a hand?” You question, holding back a laugh at the way the cord restricts his arm movements to the point where he can’t even reach for the handle on the sliding door.
From outside he opens his mouth to reply, but pauses, looking down at himself and the mess he’s made of the lights before meeting your eyes once more. His voice is muffled by the glass, but you hear him shout playfully, “I’m the tree now! We don’t need that one.” He tries to gesture to the one you’re currently decorating, but fails, and this time you aren’t able to contain your amusement.
“Let me help you,” you offer, joining him on the balcony and helping him untangle himself from the glowing strands. “Thanks,” Mark replies, sheepishly rubbing at the back of his neck. With your combined efforts, you manage to thread the string of lights through the railing with little to no mishaps, and both of you continue decking out the apartment with other seasonal items for the next several hours.
At some point during the afternoon one of you decided to connect their phone to a speaker and play some music, all Christmas songs of course. As the classic version of “Jingle Bell Rock” begins to blare throughout the living room, Mark abandons his task momentarily to walk over to you. He extends a hand down to you, sitting on the floor, and you accept the invitation to stand up with a questioning look.
“Dance with me?”
It’s hardly a platonic request, Mark realizes once the words leave his lips, but even so you don’t shy away, glancing down at your feet with a slight trace of bashfulness in the action.
He intertwines your fingers somewhat loosely, placing his non-dominant hand on your waist and beginning to sway, slowly at first but then his movements become more exaggerated, shoulders tilting dramatically to one side after the other and straying from the rhythm of the music. You join Mark in drawing out the jesting movements, losing yourself in laughter and leaning forward to bury your face in his shoulder, the heat of your breath hitting his skin through the thin t-shirt he’s wearing. In one last attempt to keep the joyful smile on your face, he steps back a bit and holds your wrist above your head to twirl you in a circle.
The electric guitar in the song fades as you collapse onto the carpet, recovering from your fit of giggles. The sun has begun to sink in the sky, you can tell by the gold and orange glow that your apartment becomes bathed in as it sets, inching closer to the horizon and eventually becoming hidden by tall skyscrapers in the distance.
Satisfied with your progress so far, you both decide to call it a day, though in truth there aren’t many decorations left to put out. A few stray ornaments and some garlands remain, still packed up in boxes that you would need help reaching. You’re also eager to get your mind off of the way your heart was palpitating as you danced with Mark, your roommate and friend but nothing more, nothing less. You have enough to worry about at the moment, not wanting to add potential feelings for the boy into the mix. Shit, you think, you still need to buy his gift.
“What should we watch?” Mark asks, scrolling through the list of movie choices on the TV screen.
“I don’t really care, anything’s fine.”
His finger presses a button on the remote to select a film at random, the intro playing as you scan the refrigerator shelves for a frozen meal. Hopefully it’s not one of those cheesy holiday romances.
Settling down on the couch a few minutes later, you with the warmed-up container in your lap and Mark holding a cup of ramen noodles, both of you fall into a comfortable chatter about the movie. Thank god it’s a comedy.
Occasionally you find yourself diverting your attention from the harsh display and directing it over to the panes of floor-to-ceiling windows, where you watch more and more lights flicker on in the distance, illuminating the urban landscape as night falls. The view is breathtaking, but so is the way your face softly glows with their warmth, even from blocks away. Not that Mark would ever tell you that, of course.
“I’m going out!” Mark hears shuffling from outside his bedroom the next morning, your voice instantly bringing him to his senses. Curious, he shoots out of bed and flings the door open to find you, one arm stuck through the sleeve of your coat and the other buried in a bag, but it’s not the one you usually bring when you leave the flat. Eyes wide and panicked at the boy’s unexpected appearance, you clutch it to your chest with a visible amount of difficulty, Mark notices.
“Where are you off to?” He squints at the brightness of the living room, the early morning light pouring in through the glass on the far wall.
“...Maybe I can’t tell you,” you respond with a huff, slinging the heavy bag over your shoulder and pulling the rest of your coat on.
“What do you mean, you can’t—oh.”
“Nice going, genius,” you shake your head, feigning disappointment. “It’s not like it’s Christmas this week or anything.”
“My bad, sorry.” Mark winces and rakes a hand through his bedhead, abashed.
“I’ll be back soon, okay?”
With that, you step into the hallway and offer a parting smile over your shoulder, shutting the front door behind you.
At least your being out of the apartment gives Mark time to wrap your gift. All he has to do is figure out how.
Johnny gets a familiar feeling when he sees you enter the pawn shop, fumbling with your things and reluctantly gazing at whatever’s in the tote you’re holding. Are you also about to make an exchange you could potentially regret?
“One second,” you excuse yourself as you step up to the counter, placing the heavy bag down and removing the large item from inside: your letter box, minus its contents. Of course you would never get rid of those, but despite the letters and notes being so special to you, the box they were always kept in is also a significant part of your attachment and the memories you hold dear.
With a thud you set it down, Johnny glancing between the hesitation on your face and the wooden container on the counter in front of him. “Let me guess, you want to exchange this for cash?”
“Yes, sir, that’s exactly what I—” You pause, biting your tongue. “Hold on… Look, I know this is a pawn shop and that’s what people do here, but how are you so sure?”
Johnny’s gut tells him he shouldn’t give away the fact that a boy wearing the very same expression and with the same sense of purpose and determination was in here just two days earlier. So he corrects his mistake with a simple “Lucky guess” and a hearty chuckle.
Without Johnny even asking, you tell him that you’re also looking for some extra cash in order to afford a gift for your “friend,” and you say the word with so much conviction and certainty that it’s almost laughable. The information given to Johnny helps him fully connect the dots in his mind, realizing that each of you are the one the other talked about.
Before handing you the money, Johnny tears off a sheet of paper from a nearby notepad and asks you to fill out your information, most importantly your address. He has to lie a bit, saying it’s for contact purposes, but his heart is in the right place nonetheless. Just in case something goes south (and the sinking feeling in his stomach tells him that it will somehow), doing so gives him an option, even if he doesn’t know what that option might be yet.
“Thank you, Johnny, and Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas!” He returns your wish cheerfully as you push the door open to leave.
“Good luck finding a gift for your ‘friend,’ too.”
You feel heat rise to your cheeks when you see his teasing use of air quotes, but still smile.
On your way back to the apartment Mark texts you and asks you to check the mail, saying he forgot to do so yesterday. When you arrive in the lobby and make your way over to the cluster of mailboxes, you’re instantly shocked to find a large cardboard box shoved into the small cubby with your and Mark’s name on it. You’re already struggling to carry the guitar case you bought for him, so you decide to make a second trip later.
A few moments after stepping out of the elevator, you knock on the door to your apartment, hoping with all your might that Mark won’t actually open it and instead just answer with a “Come in” as he always does. Your wish is, thankfully, granted, but it’s quickly followed by “Wait, wait, wait!” As it happens, he just finished wrapping your gift and needs another minute or two to tuck it away somewhere until the big day arrives. “Can you stay out there until I say?”
“Sure,” you reply, “but I’m going to have to ask you to do the same.”
“How about I stay in my room while you come in and do… whatever you need to?”
“Sounds good.”
With his door closed, Mark hears the front one open and shut as you enter. Trying not to make any noise that would give away the size of the item you just bought, you finally settle for hiding the leather case underneath your bed, concealed by the drapery attached to its frame that hovers just above the floor.
Mark had hastily placed the now-wrapped (though not elegantly so) stationery set back into his dresser, so he’s already out of his room by the time you leave yours. “Any letters or packages?” He questions when he sees you.
“Oh, right!” You snap your fingers, “We do have a package but my hands were full, so I’ll bring it up right now.”
“Eggnog?”
While the box had looked fairly ordinary from the outside, upon opening it and glancing at the return address you learned it was actually anything but that. Mark’s and your parents had sent a holiday care package of sorts, including both of your families’ Christmas cards and a carton of eggnog, along with some small gifts that are meant to be saved for the morning of the 25th. Also mixed in are a few small decorations (not that you need more), some baking supplies complete with a copy of the recipe for the cookies you make every year, and a soft pair of mittens for each of you. He hopes you don’t realize that one of the items is a sprig of mistletoe.
“You don’t like eggnog?” You ask, stunned. Mark shrugs, “I don’t really care for milk but it’s the thought that counts, I guess.”
That evening you and Mark take another stroll, this time choosing to stay on the streets and admire the festively adorned buildings and shops as you pass by them. Admiring Christmas lights at this time of year is nothing new to you and Mark. In fact, when you lived in Canada you would do the same thing. The only difference is that back then, it involved driving through quiet suburban neighborhoods and not ambling through crowded city streets and alleyways on foot.
Snowflakes begin to cascade from the heavens as you make your way back around to the block where you live. Mark sticks his tongue out to catch one of the small crystals, and it immediately melts in his mouth, eliciting a high-pitched laugh from the boy. Snow is also something you both are more than used to by now, having grown up with white Christmases all your lives. It makes you wonder if the holiday season would be the same without it.
“You know what we should do?” Mark turns to you just as you’re about to enter the apartment building again. “Go ice skating at Rockefeller Center.”
“Mark, c’mon, you know stuff like that is overpriced. And besides, I can’t skate to save my life. Remember—”
“That time in sophomore year? You bet I do,” he laughs as he remembers how you clumsily fell not even two seconds after stepping onto the ice with your skates, and then refused to let go of the railing for the rest of the day. The elevator whirs to life, climbing floor after floor with ease.
“Hey,” you offer, “we can still go and watch people skate, I’m sure there’s some place to sit.”
“And we can look at the Christmas tree, too,” Mark adds, eyes brightening at the idea.
“Right. I forget you haven’t seen it in person before.” The cabin doors open with a ding and you step out, your eyes landing on the door to your apartment a few yards away.
When you turn on the TV, Mark becomes mesmerized by the movie that’s playing, since it takes place in NYC and he recognizes so many places from actually being there. He scrambles to remove his jacket and beanie, plopping down onto the couch once they’re safely hooked on the coat rack.
Watching him, you sigh. Would anything really change if you were dating? Assuming your feelings were returned, of course, but you can’t imagine that your relationship would differ much. You certainly wouldn’t go on extravagant dates, or buy expensive gifts for each other, but that’s not what love is about, anyway. With the exception of a few extra hugs and the addition of kisses, along with more forms of physical affection in general (actually, scratch that, Mark’s always been awkward with those kinds of things), you’d still be by each other’s side just like always.
As you sit down next to him and feel an arm wrap around your shoulder, you don’t shrug it off, instead embracing the warm and fuzzy feeling in your heart that you can’t blame on the holiday season this time.
Mark’s glad, too. He’s been working up the courage to do that all day.
Late that night, you quietly tiptoe into the living area, retrieving an old box from your move-in last year that will fit his gift perfectly, and won’t give away what’s inside. Your hands fold and tape the wrapping paper with care, tying a neat ribbon once you’re done. Sure, you had to give up something that meant a lot to you in order to afford Mark’s present, but the gains outweigh the losses. You find comfort in imagining the way his face will surely light up with pure joy on Christmas morning, drifting off to sleep with ease once you’ve hidden the rectangular parcel back underneath your bed.
A few days pass and soon it’s the 23rd, and you join Mark at the railing of the ice rink, of course on the side with solid ground. “Ice is solid ground,” Mark had corrected, but you stood firm in your words. “More like slippery ground, if you ask me.”
Luckily you had been allowed to stand here for free, because god only knows what small, simple thing someone would be charged for in New York. It’s happened to you before, and you’re not even a tourist.
Mark’s dark eyes gaze up at the 75-foot-tall tree in wonder, pupils dilating and reflecting the tens of thousands of bright lights strung through the dark green branches. They seem to sparkle with sheer amazement. Just then someone skates a little too close to the section of railing you’re leaning on, startling Mark out of his LED-induced daze and putting the most adorable look of surprise on his face.
His focus shifts to the people on the ice, wearing sweaters and jackets of every color imaginable, and the sight is still as beautiful as the looming Christmas tree above. He notices some couples, holding onto one another or skating hand-in-hand, and it makes him wonder if that could be you two someday, at a future Christmas, or if it’s an idea absurd enough for an alternate reality.
Mark sees you shiver out of the corner of his eye, and it’s his cue to suggest returning home for the evening. In a very cliché and boyfriend-esque gesture he offers you his jacket, but you decline, insisting that it’s not far and assuring him that you’ll be okay.
Back in your heated flat, you twist open the lid of the eggnog carton and pour a small glass for yourself. “Are you sure you don’t want some?” You call out to Mark from the kitchen, snatching one of the cookies you made the other day and finding a paper plate for the thin shortbread wafer, lined with elegant white icing and dusted with sprinkles.
“I already told you, I don’t like eggnog!”
“Have you even tried it before?” Mark grumbles at your nagging. You really sound like his mom right now.
“No…”
You appear at the other end of the couch, holding out a small cup with just a sip or two of eggnog in it. “Try it. You never know.”
He knows you won’t leave until you see him lift it to his lips for yourself, so he does. Immediately the sweet drink overwhelms his taste buds, and also leaves a slight sting on his tongue.
“What’s in this stuff?” He coughs, nose scrunching a bit from the strong taste. Surprisingly, though, he doesn’t hate it. Following you back to the kitchen, Mark pours a full glass this time, already gulping it down.
“Uh,” you scan the ingredients on the back of the carton once he sets it down on the counter, “milk, cream, sugar, eggs…”
“...whiskey? What the hell?”
“It has alcohol,” Mark slurs, his giggling interrupted by a hiccup. Having never drank before, he’s undeniably a lightweight, and even a little bit can get him wasted almost instantly.
“Mom and Dad must have mixed something up, because they definitely didn’t mean to send us alcoholic eggnog.”
Sure enough, back home in Canada your parents are wondering why they only have the kid-friendly stuff in their fridge.
Mark latches on to you, arm curling lazily around your waist. Great, he’s one of those people that gets clingy when they’re drunk. “Try some,” he whines, nuzzling into your shoulder a little.
“Are you crazy?”
“No one will know,” he laughs, hiccuping again. Giving in to his adorably drunken pout, you take one sip from your original glass but no more, an unpleasant buzz taking over your whole mouth.
Not looking forward to finding a hangover cure on Christmas Eve of all days, you pray that you’ll stay sober enough to take care of the tipsy boy, who’s currently pressing his face into the back of your neck and—shit, did he just kiss you there? You really don’t need this right now.
“Mark, you’re drunk, okay? Stop it,” you caution.
“But I love you,” he murmurs, warm breath fanning your skin, and you want to kick yourself for almost saying it back. Does he even mean it, though? Alcohol makes people say crazy things, things they don’t mean, so you shouldn’t get your hopes up. You unhook his arm from your torso and turn around to push against his chest, frustrated. “Let’s get you to bed.”
He seems to have just remembered something, because he ignores you and instead goes over to where the care package was still sitting, digging into the bottom and pulling out something you hadn’t noticed before. “Look,” Mark declares in a nasal voice, “mistletoe.”
You exasperatedly hang your head, desperate to slam it into the nearest wall. With much difficulty, you eventually manage to get him tucked underneath the blanket, leaving a glass of water on his nightstand for when he wakes up. “Get some sleep,” you say simply.
He tells you goodnight with a fond mumble of your name as you shut the bedroom door behind you. Rubbing your eyes, you yawn before turning off the lights and heading to bed yourself, trying to block out the events that had just taken place.
Your head aches when you wake up the next morning, and you feel like garbage, so you can only imagine how much worse Mark must be doing. Quickly chugging a water bottle, you reluctantly go to knock on his door, hearing a pained groan once you enter. He’s sitting up, chin resting in one hand and the other anchored onto the heavy comforter covering his legs.
“How are you feeling?” The obvious question with an even more obvious answer makes Mark wince. “Awful.”
“Sorry.” It’s silent for a moment, Mark pressing three fingers to his throbbing forehead and you staring aimlessly at the wall. “I knew that eggnog was a bad idea.”
“You were the one that told me to try it!”
“I didn't know it had alcohol in it!”
You sigh, dejected. Something tells Mark that your head isn’t the only thing hurting.
“Hey, I know that look. What’s wrong?” He prods, voice soft and gentle and altogether unlike how it had been last night. You meet his eyes for a moment, about to speak but biting your lip at the last second. Mark’s brain puts two and two together at your expression.
“Oh god, did I say something? Do something?”
“Yeah, actually,” you reply in a huff. “First you kissed my neck, then you told me you loved me, and then you held up a clump of mistletoe and implied that we should kiss underneath it.”
His memories of the previous evening are all a blur, so he truly would have no idea what happened if you hadn’t just said something. Mark knows he screwed up, bad.
You tense when you feel him place his hand over yours, but you don’t snatch it away. After collecting his thoughts, Mark clears his throat.
“Look, I… I know that’s not the best way for you to find out how someone feels about you. But I’m completely sober, and I can tell you that I meant what I said last night.”
“You promise?”
“Promise,” Mark replies.
“...Can you say it again, then?”
He blushes, “That I…?”
You nod, the corners of your lips lifting into a small smile.
“I love you,” Mark tells you for the second time in the last 24 hours, but this time you know you can believe him. The pain of your hangover goes away for a moment as he takes your jaw in his hands and connects your lips, just barely retaining the buzz of the alcohol but not enough to bother you. Slowly you kiss him back, sinking down onto the mattress beside him.
Mark pulls away for air a few seconds later, thumb grazing your cheek lovingly. “Does this mean we’re—”
“Dating? If you want it to, then sure,” your finger traces swirly shapes on the small of his back while you assure him that neither of you need to rush into anything if you aren’t ready.
“I don’t want things to change, though.”
“Who said they have to? I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and we’re already pretty close, you know? Making it ‘official’ doesn’t necessarily mean ‘different,’ so...”
Mark hums in agreement, “You’re right. Okay, I can live with that.”
“And I can’t live another second without food. I’m making breakfast,” you quip, reverting back to the usual banter between you and him.
“I’ll cook the eggs,” Mark insists as you both make your way out of his bedroom and into the kitchen.
“You absolutely will not!”
The night before Christmas had started out unlike any that you’d ever experienced before, with you confronting your now-boyfriend about a drunken love confession the previous day. But now, it’s ending just like every year, with you cozy and curled up in front of the television as the last few segments of the news play.
It’s the coldest Christmas Eve in years. You learned this after the meteorologist had informed viewers of the record only a few minutes earlier, inadvertently planting an idea in Mark’s mind.
Right as you’re about to turn in for the night, setting a plate of decorated cookies and a glass of milk down on the end table (as is tradition in your families, no matter how old you are), Mark holds out his arms like a child might. “Can we…?” He asks in a quiet voice, nervous to finish his sentence.
“Huh?”
The boy inhales sharply, “It’s freezing. Do you wanna sleep in my bed tonight?” His cheeks flush a deep red that’s almost the color of Christmas itself.
You’re slightly taken aback, and then you remember it’s just Mark. “Sure, why not,” you answer with a light shrug and a smile on your face.
“But no funny business,” you inform him as you climb under the sheets together, instantly happy with your choice to join him because double the people means double the body heat. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Mark replies, pecking your lips. His wrist finds the warm skin of your neck and you flinch away.
“Your hands are cold!” He just snickers at your whining.
The two of you fall asleep more quickly than you ever have on Christmas Eve, usually overcome with nerves and excitement, but now, as two college-aged kids, you’re comfortable and not rushing the morning’s arrival at all, content in each other’s arms for the moment.
You feel like you’re 10 years old again as you rush into the living room at 8am the next day, the bright, early morning sky lighting up your entire apartment. At the base of your Christmas tree sits a humble amount of presents, composed of the two that you bought for each other plus the half-dozen small ones from your parents.
You hand Mark one of the cookies from the end table and grab one for yourself, taking a bite of the sweet treat as you sit down and motioning for him to do the same.
“Open yours first,” you say eagerly, referring to your gift for him. Mark shakes his head and points to what he got you, “No, you go first.”
“Fine, we’ll open them at the same time.” Mark nods, satisfied with the compromise and handing you both the packages.
“On three. One, two…”
The final number barely leaves your lips before you both begin tearing into the paper excitedly, Mark reaching for the flaps on the box and you unfolding the tissue paper.
When you each see what the other gifted you with, it’s completely silent, save for the TV playing a Christmas Day special in the background.
He gazes blankly at you, licking his lips as his eyes dart between the guitar case and your expression.
“I appreciate the gift, but I…” Mark pauses, unsure how to tell you this.
You don’t say a word, raising your eyebrows as a signal for him to continue.
“I sold my guitar to pay for your gift,” he breathes.
“You what? Mark, that guitar means everything to you! Why would you do that?”
“Because you’re worth it, of course!”
“Well, I did the same thing,” you break the news with an unamused expression. “I sold my letter box to pay for that case.”
His eyes become impossibly wider at that, nearly bulging out of their sockets. “Are you serious?”
“Dead serious.”
You groan and lie down on the floor, beyond discouraged. “Let me guess, the pawn shop on 23rd?”
“Yep.”
“Hey, wait a minute.” An idea hits Mark like a rush of cold air. “Maybe we can work out a deal or something.”
“Meaning?”
“We go back and see if we can trade in our new gifts for enough money to get our old things back.”
“One, I doubt it’s that easy, and two, pretty much everything is closed on Christmas Day.” You’re half tempted to laugh because of how ironic this situation is.
Mark sighs, “I guess that makes sense.”
“We can still try, though.”
Sure enough, the pawn shop is dark, even more so than usual, and the door doesn’t budge. A sign taped to the window from the inside confirms your fear: Closed on Christmas. Gloved hands pressed onto the glass, you and Mark admit your defeat. You had been bested by the giving spirit of the holiday season, almost too generous for your own good.
But it’s the message that the day itself stands for after all, for putting aside material value and doing something out of the kindness of your heart just to make someone else happy. That’s what it’s all about, and you and Mark had personally experienced it this year.
So you’re surprised to find two boxes leaning on the wall beside the door to your apartment the next morning, shapes oddly familiar. Could it be?
Just hours earlier, the hallway surveillance cameras caught a tall man striding down the corridor, carrying those exact packages under his arms. In the video he pulls out a scrap of paper and a pen from his coat pocket, scribbling a short message before tucking it underneath the ribbon of the larger parcel and leaving the building just as quickly as he came.
You and Mark’s only clue as to who had returned your items is a messy ‘J’ at the end of the note attached to the box containing his guitar. Exchanging knowing glances, you both grin, squeezing your intertwined hands with the same name in mind.
...So what if Johnny had to take a bit of money out of his own paycheck to cover the cost of the items? Besides, it’s Christmas. And his boss never has to know.
224 notes · View notes
mediocreauthor · 4 years ago
Text
NANA Week, Day 4: Fireworks @7daysofnana 
They celebrate their first Hanami since Nana left.
She will come. She will come, she repeats herself as she puts Nana’s kimono neatly on the bed. She prepared cow meat sukiyaki, she might be hungry, after all. She takes out strawberry glasses Nana gifted her two years ago. It seems like centuries ago, when their relationship was being put to a test. 
When Nana, no, she is Hachi now. 
I am Hachi since Nana named me.
When Hachi thought she was going through the hardest time of her life. But it was okay, it was all okay because Nana, even though not right beside her, was still here. 
She dusts Nana’s guitar; she may want to play it. Maybe she will hand it to Nobu, while she sings with her sultry, magical voice. Just like she did when she climbed on their table, holding a cell phone. When she enchanted her. She glances at Ren, he is fast asleep on the bed. His little face looks angelic. ***
Her entire body is on fire. She is going to die!  She can’t form coherent sentences to describe her pain, it is too late for an epidural, Fujiko-chan says. She wants to clog her. A hand squeezes hers, she can feel the cold metal of Nana’s ring. “You can do this Hachiko. I am right here with you, you can do this.”
She should wonder where the hell Takumi is, but when Nobu’s hand gently rakes through her hair, she can’t even remember his face. Her daughter is coming. She has waited so long for this. Her baby, the one she sacrificed so much for will be here any moment. The hand holding her loosens and she turns her hand in panic. 
“Nana please don’t leave me!” She can’t recognize her own voice, it sounds ragged and hoarse. Her ears buzz. She sees her other half’s beautiful face through tears, Nana looks surprised for a second, Hachi can’t understand why, obviously she can’t do this without her.
But then she cradles her from behind and kisses her sweaty hair. “I am not going anywhere.”
*** She hears a faint knock on the door. Her chests clenches with anticipation, she missed her people.
Your people.
Swinging the door open with a bright smile, Hachi greets Yasu and Miu. They are both in kimonos as she requested. “Welcome, welcome!” her tone is barely above a whisper. “Ren is napping.” Yasu smiles, heading to the room. He really loves Ren so dearly, just like his best friend would. 
“I can’t wait to be an uncle.”
She will not cry today. She will welcome Nana with a big smile. 
Miu asks how she’s been, they dive into an idle chat. She is the only one who asks how Takumi is too. The rest don’t acknowledge his existence, she doesn’t blame them. She herself wants to forget it sometimes. 
“You have prepared so much. We should have come earlier to help.” Miu begins setting up the table. 
“Oh, that’s okay. I went a bit extra for Nana, I want everything to be perfect for her. Just like our first Hanabi.” 
Miu looks at her with an emotion she knows all too well, it’s on Junko’s, Kyosuke’s, Takumi’s face every time she talks about Nana’s return. She pays them no mind, they don’t know Nana. 
“I heard it rained so much that year.” She comments. Hachi giggles and turns her back to Miu, washing tomatoes that Jun gave her. 
“These tomatoes are good. Where did you buy them?”
God, shut the fuck up. 
She spends the rest of time going over minor details, mixes bath salts to create Nana’s favourite smell (it reminds him of Ren), she folds her bedtime clothes, tastes every dish thrice, turns on the ventilator, Nana would appreciate the breeze. Climbing up seven floors does things to your body temperature. 
Nobu and Shin’s arrival wakes Ren up, her son seeks her with his little grabby hands, once again filling her heart with affection. Shin bursts into the room immediately, his face lit up with a smile. Hachi kisses his cheeks, he hugs her tightly. 
“Hello mama. Why did you make my brother cry?”
“I didn’t make him cry! You guys' arrival woke him up.” Hachi pouts but gives Ren to Shin regardless. 
“We are sorry for that.”
Her stomach clenches and she faces Nobu, he looks at her with a sincerity she doesn’t deserve. He coos at Ren, tickling his chin. “Hello little buddy. Sorry we woke you up.” Ren stops crying in favor of chomping on Nobu’s finger.
“He is teething.” Hachi explains. Nobu studies him lovingly. “You're all grown up now, Ren.”
***
“It’s a boy!” Fujiko-chan declares. 
What? She sees her baby’s face covered in blood and something gross, bellowing. A nurse approaches, taking him away. She wants to reach but her arms feel like chunks of metal. 
“No it’s a girl… I really thought he was a girl.” 
Her eyes meet Nobu’s, tears matching one another. “You did it Hachi.” 
Nurse gives her his son, he is heartbreakingly small, but his warmth comforts her. She looks for a sign, a resemblance of Nobu but this little creature weirdly just reminds him of Shin. Nana walks toward the door, panic envelopes her for a second, but she looks back and says “I will let others know.”
Nobu drapes his arm over her shoulder, they stare, baby stares back. His irises are light brown, filled with curiosity. Hachi gently grazes her finger over his cheek and she can swear he smiles but she is probably high on adrenaline. “Welcome, my love.” She takes in a long breath. “I wanted to name him Satsuki. You know, like- like Ren picked. I really wanted to-” A hiccup crawls over her throat. She can feel Nobu’s fingers on her chin, he looks like he’s about to say something, but kisses her instead, almost reverently. 
They seperate, so much unfinished hanging between the short distance. Nobu rests his forehead against hers.
“How about Ren?”
***
They sit down to eat, she would prefer if they waited for Nana but starving her guests doesn’t scream hospitality either. Misato- Mai, damn it- has arrived, she smiles ever so politely at her. 
“These are so delicious, Hachiko-san. You shouldn’t have gone into all this trouble.”
“Abuh!” Ren protests when Yasu confiscates the chopstick he almost stabbed himself in the eye with. 
“Of course I should have! Nana can arrive any moment now.” Her friends look at each other, mentally communicating, eventually Shin sighs and puts his bowl down. 
“Hachi,” he begins. “Nana may not come today.” She immediately understands from the guilty faces that avoid her gaze that they have rehearsed this conversation. She lets rage take over.
“We always celebrate Hanami together, Nana knows this. She will remember.”
“That was before she left Hachi. I don’t think Nana wants to see us right now.” Nobu at least sounds demure. 
“We don’t know where she even is yet.” Miu adds. 
We don’t know if she is alive, is left unsaid.
“She knows where we are! Isn’t it enough?” Her high voice startles Ren, he picks up the tension right away, eyes getting glossy. Yasu gives him his glasses. 
“We just don’t want you to be disappointed wh- if she doesn’t show up.”
 I am not a fucking child. 
“How dare you give up on her?” She knows it’s unfair. She knows that Yasu spent all his life savings on a private investigator. She is aware the police precinct is sick of Mai’s calls. She knows Nobu stops by Ren’s warehouse every morning, hoping his friend would open the door.
 “If you think Nana actually forgot about us and started a new life in god knows where, were you even her friends?” Her tone is filled with disdain, she hates herself. 
They have the nerve to look dejected, Hachi just continues. “She is just healing. She’s been through so much. She needs a break, she will come back.” She glances at her hands, noticing they didn’t have nail polish. “She will come back.” Hachi weakly repeats. 
“Of course she will.” She perks up, Yasu is confidently smiling at her. “Healing takes time. It might be too early for her, this year. But one day, we will be all sitting at this table together. Don’t worry, Nana.” “Guh!” Ren shakes his head as if he knows what Yasu is talking about, maybe he does. 
Maybe it’s Ren who knows.
Shame creeps up on her, “I am sorry.” she murmurs. “I am so sorry. I just… I thought if I believed enough, it would come true.”
Small explosion noises are heard and the light of the fireworks fills the sky. Ren gets antsy on Yasu’s lap and reaches for her. She holds her son, watches how fireworks reflect on his big, astonished eyes. 
She thinks of Nana’s warm smile by the river, how the small firework Hachi was holding illuminated her face, she remembers Ren (as if she ever forgets), showing the word Satsuki proudly.
***
She remembers Nana’s eyes, wandering around the room, unable to focus on anything. Her movements are jittery, her cheeks are hollow- has she lost weight since the last time she saw her? They lay quietly in the dark room. 
“Hachi, do you want to go to the beach?” She is about to drift off to sleep, her voice is muffled by the pillow. It’s the middle of the night. “I can’t leave Ren alone, can we go tomorrow?” 
Nana’s breath hitches. “Sure, tomorrow.” Her voice is so small. Hachi barely hears the last sentence as sleep takes over her. She should have realized. 
“I want to see the sea.”
***
Ren’s little hand wipes her wet cheeks, he licks it in wonder. She quietly sobs, burying herself in his hair. She sees the untouched strawberry glasses from the corner of her eyes, they taunt her.
Next year, she tells herself. 
27 notes · View notes
pondermoniums · 4 years ago
Text
Howl for Me, Baby (prologue)
Hello. It me. With another Harringrove wip lol featuring my favorite things:
Witch!Steve. Werewolf!Billy. Soulmate dynamics. Read on ao3 ~
!! This was inspired by @swearwolfcola ‘s art of the boys <3
My favorites of theirs are here, here, and here <3
• • • • •
In Steve’s defense…it was a windy night.
And the spell may have gone catastrophically wrong, but who’s keeping track?
The point is, he flew into the sky on his mother’s broom—Bloom-Ridge Optimum Occult Mechanics—and the witching hour fog only grew thicker. The world beneath him shimmered ever so slightly, the blanket of fog reflecting the moonlight the same way snow does. He flew lower than he should have, tripped over the top of a tree, and the next he knew, the universe threw him a bone by somersaulting his landing in a lush, untrimmed field.
Gotta love Hawkins. All wide open fields and watering holes.
Except a wolf caught the bone. Steve didn’t realize he was on a pack’s running grounds until he groaned in the equally sharp and soft wheat field. Groaning and talking to himself as he climbed to his feet, he meant to brush gold and green pieces off his jeans—but was promptly knocked right back onto his ass.
“Agh-oh!” he coughed, officially hard on breathing…as a large paw stepped onto his sternum. He tried and failed to put words together; he could only grab at the fur-covered leg that was wet with dew and mud. He croaked, “I…crashed. That’s—all!”
The wolf wasn’t growling. Compared to the night around them, the wolf’s only sounds were breathing and the rustle of fur. Which could be the only reason why Steve did not melt into the earth or explode in violent sparks of magic when the wolf dragged a warm and soft tongue all the way up his neck, from clavicle to jaw.
Steve had never seen a normal wolf, but Weres were large. All long legs and strong bodies. Meant for running and charging down prey. The tongue felt like it covered the whole front of his throat as it laved up his windpipe, the cold and wet nose contrasting hot breath as it pushed his jaw up.
And it was a Were, because the eyes were blue. Steve couldn’t be sure when he picked up on that detail. Somewhere between his watery eyes, magically boosted night vision, and adrenaline-fueled panic, but gods, he needed to breathe—
Much like Steve had been knocked off his feet, something collided with the wolf. Steve sucked in air, as much as he could while rolling over to lunge for his broom. Whatever had run into the wolf, Steve only saw the tumbling bodies in his periphery. Grabbing the broom, he swung it in between his legs with intimate familiarity while simultaneously stepping onto the foot peg at the broom’s base.
His mother would screech at seeing him soar perpendicularly to the earth, but he wanted to get the hell out of here. So up he went, clutching the broom handle close to his body until he felt safe enough to angle himself, and eventually level out. He only glanced back at the field once, but the fog already separated him from the—he assumed—multiple wolves.
Steve shook his head, or as much as he could from where his cheek pressed against the lacquered wood. “Not my problem. Fuck, it’s cold up here.”
* * *
In Billy’s defense, anything falling from the sky would be a shock.
Especially a wolf’s mate.
He would’ve been inclined to laugh his head off at the idiot landing ungracefully in the field with tree branches in tow—if it weren’t for his heart feeling like a stone turning to flesh. Like the blood in his veins had never moved, and now the ice was cracking into slush, sharply pushing through his limbs.
First impressions…after the initial landing…were dark hair and lean limbs. Moon and stars knew, his heart would move for his mate regardless of body type. But the movement of wide shoulders as he got up from the wheat… Billy had moved before he meant to. His default setting tended to be aggressive, and he outright knocked the poor man onto his back where Billy could really look at him.
And he just couldn’t help himself. Dark hair both wind blown and wet; a little bit stringy from the clouds. Cheeks red from the cold. Large eyes blown wide at the pupil like a cat. Billy didn’t have a lot of time to scrutinize his features because in the very center was a glorious column of shiny, sweaty neck. For whatever reason, the sweater his mate—mate! Mine mine…—had stretched around the collar to allow him to see the polo underneath. The collar points were pulled wide, the button within having come undone or never been buttoned in the first place…
Billy licked the open space there, all the way up to the underside of his jaw. He tasted his mate’s sweat and skin…neutral sweet and sour salt. Delicious and his. All his—
The unique agony of having the wind knocked out of the lungs crashed into him. A mixture of needs flashed through his mind—air, mate, defend, mate, attack, air—but overall self-preservation won out. All of the other needs were unattainable if he couldn’t stand on his own paws, so that is where he focused—
Only for his alpha to charge again, barreling into him. He used her momentum to go down and roll, kicking her off and rising to his feet this time.
MOVE!
His eyes found his mate in a similar state, forcing air into his lungs while managing the flying thing—
Teeth closed around his rear leg. Billy whirled around, snarling louder than he ever intended against his alpha. Like he was ready to fight her. And win.
The sound tore out of him as well as smacked him right in the face. Thoughts warred inside him as his wolf’s voice wined aloud.
Mom, I’m sorry… Let go!
And she replied, You have to let him go, baby.
No—I can’t—I won’t, he growled again. Softer, this time, but his eyes were blue flames.
His alpha did not relent. Soon she would pierce through his fur and skin, if he let her. You have his scent. Maybe next time try for an introduction instead of eating him.
Next time, next time, next time, next time…echoed through his brain.
Next time he would certainly devour him.
Although, for some reason, it was not until the following day that it occurred to Billy that his mate was a witch.
88 notes · View notes
elisaphoenix13 · 4 years ago
Text
Once Upon A Summer (Ch.1)
This first chapter is for @chocopiggy (thanks for the commission, and hope it's to your liking)! This actually won't be connected to the Mama Bear AU, but Stephen will always be a mom in my heart. 😂
It all started because of an alert that Tony received from Friday. It wasn't one that told him that Peter was in danger...just that something had happened with his suit. Maybe a malfunction? Friday couldn't tell him either but she made sure to let him know that the teen was safe. When Tony checked Peter's location, his eyebrow shot up.
"What the hell is he doing out of Queens?" He mumbles to himself.
When the little dot shows no signs of moving, Tony walks over to his balcony and suits up to go check on the teen. Peter never really left Queens and if he did, it was to visit Tony. Well...until now that is. Peter now permanently resided in the tower penthouse with Tony and now the roles were kind of switched. He patrolled on the way to Queens, stayed there for a few hours, and then made his way back to the tower. Then again, Greenwich Village wasn't really out of the way. Maybe Peter followed a perp in that direction and...got lost.
Tony was even more confused when he landed in front of a building that he knew housed a couple of sorcerers he only really knew about. He never actually met them but he supposed now was as good a time as any if his tracker was accurate. He stepped forward and knocked on the door, and the door opened to let him in.
"Great. Place is haunted." Tony says as he walks in.
"It took you long enough." A voice says and he looks to the side to find one of the sorcerers.
He was the first thing Tony noticed because press photos didn't do Stephen Strange justice. He was much more attractive in person and Tony could feel butterflies in his chest. Not his stomach, because that would just mean he was nervous, but his chest...it warmed. It had a tingly feeling that was nice and unconcerning for a change. Stephen's eyes were beautiful and it was even more attractive to see him make butterflies fly around...a baby? A baby wearing the Ironspider suit…
"What did you do to my kid?!" Tony accuses immediately.
"Not me. Another sorcerer." Stephen dispels the butterflies he had been keeping baby Peter occupied with. "He was caught in a crossfire of spells and this happened."
"The enemy tried to turn you into a baby?" Tony asks.
"I have no idea. Possibly. Or he was hit with a different spell that affected him differently."
Stephen carefully picks up Peter, who looked to be about six months old, and carries him over to Tony. He wasn't sure what to do with a baby, but he took him regardless and Peter cooed as he reached for Tony's sunglasses.
"Why haven't you changed him back?"
"This is something that needs to wear off on its own." Stephen replies with a sigh.
"How long will that take?" Tony asks suspiciously.
"Anywhere from weeks to months."
Tony balks. "What?! No! I'm in no way qualified to take care of a baby. At least for that long! You're a better option Doc."
"I'm a neurologist Stark. Not a pediatrician."
"I'm sure you've made the rounds though." Tony says and moves his head back a little to keep Peter away from his sunglasses. "This is partially your fault."
"He'll be fine." Stephen huffs.
"What if there are some magical side effects?" Tony counters. "That's apparently your area of expertise and you have to help until he's back to normal. I swear if he grows a tail-"
"He's not going to grow a tail."
Tony could practically see the thoughts running through Stephen's head and he watched as the sorcerer finally sighed. They both knew Tony was right and that Stephen had to take some kind of responsibility for what happened. If some magical side effect came up, Stephen would be the one to deal with it, and he kind of was a better choice to take care of a baby. Tony was willing to do what he could, but there was very little he knew about babies.
"Alright. I'll check in every day." Stephen acquiesces. "Fortunately it seems his powers are dormant so neither of us will need to pry an infant from the ceiling." He points at the baby. "He's been diapered and fed but he'll likely be hungry again soon. I'd get baby supplies if I were you."
"Guess we're going shopping, Doc."
"...we?"
"Who's the medical doctor here?" Tony huffs. "I know less than you do about child rearing. I'm not sure what to feed him or anything like that!"
Stephen answers with another sigh and nods. With some magic, he changes into some normal clothes and walks over to the front door. It was enough of an answer for Tony and he followed Stephen out of the Sanctum and to the nearest store that sold baby items. From food to furniture. Which happened to be a Target. To Tony's relief, Peter was old enough to sit up by himself so he could sit in the shopping cart and Tony's arms could get a break. Stephen simply led the way to the furniture items first and both men looked at the collection apprehensively.
"Am I the only one who feels like we stepped in some strange land?" Tony jokes.
"Good to know it's not just me." Stephen mumbles. "I may have worked with babies before but that doesn't mean I know what half of this stuff is."
"Bare essentials then." Tony grins and grabs a set of plastic keys that they walk by and he hands them to Peter. "Here you go kid."
Peter babbles as he accepts the keys, immediately stuffing them into his mouth, and both Stephen and Tony watch as some drool drips from the baby's mouth.
"Bibs." They say in unison.
"Oh, you know what those are?" Stephen asks immediately after and Tony rolls his eyes.
"Oh very funny wizard."
"Sorcerer...and it's Stephen."
Tony smirks. "I know. I like watching your eyebrow twitch when I call you wizard though."
"You would." The younger man scoffs.
"So what's the bare minimum I need? Crib?" Tony asks, changing the subject.
Stephen shrugs. "I suppose you could buy a portable changing pad to change him on instead of getting a table."
Tony winces. Right. Peter wasn't currently potty trained anymore and the thought of changing him made him a little uncomfortable. He didn't know how to change a diaper in the first place and he didn't raise Peter from birth. His kid was just a temporary baby…
"It's going to have to happen eventually." Stephen says, as if reading his mind.
Maybe he was.
"Maybe a playpen too. It's portable and it can keep him out of trouble if you have to take your eyes off of him to make dinner." Stephen continues.
"That's definitely coming." Tony says as he grabs the box to throw in the cart.
Stephen, meanwhile, stands in front of Peter and gently sticks his thumb in the baby's mouth. Peter babbles around the sorcerer's finger and Tony watches curiously as Stephen gently opens his mouth. It was clear the doctor was looking for something, but before he could ask, Stephen removed his finger, earning an audible protest from the mini human. When it became clear that Peter wasn't getting the finger back, he turned his attention back to his plastic keys as Stephen grabbed another toy off the rack.
"He's at the age where his teeth are coming in." Stephen finally explains. "You can put this in the freezer and also get some teething gel to numb his gums. You might be in for some long nights."
"Not like I have a regular sleeping schedule anyway." Tony bemoans.
"If you're lucky, a little gel before bedtime should do the trick."
They finish up in the baby department by grabbing some bibs, toys, burping cloths, bottles, and even a sippy cup before heading to the area of the store with the food and diapers. Stephen showed him what size diaper Peter would need, the cereal and fruit purees he could try feeding him, and also grabbed formula. It was still important at his age since it had the nutrients a baby needed. Once they finished by grabbing some wipes, they had to go back to the previous baby section because they realized they had forgotten to grab clothes. Onesies, pajamas, tiny shirts and tiny pants...Tony couldn't decide whether to freak out, tear up, or laugh when he saw the socks because it was a reminder that Peter was currently tiny and fragile and was relying solely on Tony (and Stephen) to survive.
He considered buying bubble wrap.
"I can't believe I'm going to say this...but kids are expensive." Tony remarks as they wait in line.
"Incredibly. People do it multiple times too."
"They can't be trusted." Tony jokes. "Anybody who puts themselves through that over and over again are closet sadists."
"You're an idiot." Stephen rolls his eyes as Tony unloads the cart onto the belt.
The cashier, and even a few nearby customers, gave them both a curious glance but nothing more was said. Probably because it was him buying baby stuff and was accompanied by another man. Fortunately they were in a day and age where for the most part, people didn't bat an eye when they saw a child with a same gender couple. Of course, Tony decided that he was going to have fun with it and looked over at Stephen who had grabbed a magazine to flick through.
"Honey, can you grab the keys from-" The billionaire is promptly interrupted when Stephen rolls up the magazine and smacks Tony with it before tossing it on the belt as well.
Peter found it hilarious and laughed which made Stephen smile and Tony to get that fuzzy feeling in his chest again.
"You can pay for that too since I had to resort to ruining it." Stephen huffs and gently takes the keys from Peter.
It was a quick ordeal. Peter had the super strength that every baby seemed to have when they didn't want something taken from them, and when Stephen finally won, his lower lip wobbled dangerously. The doctor held out the toy so it could be scanned without the cashier having to touch the drool covered keys, and then given back to Peter before his fussing could turn into full blown crying. Stephen may have some experience with children but it was like he was made to be a parent.
It kind of turned Tony on.
Which was weird? Sort of. He appreciated both men and women, and he and Pepper broke it off for the final time a while ago so it wasn't like he was in a relationship. But he barely knew Stephen. All he knew was what the tabloids had of him on his work, his car accident that ended his career, and then his supposed disappearance. Tony only knew about Stephen's new "career" because of chance. They very briefly fought together when Stephen had a mystical threat to take care of and Tony had been in the area, but everything happened so quickly that he didn't get a proper look at the sorcerer or a proper conversation.
Tony didn't mind looking at all.
"Do you mind?" Stephen suddenly asks, holding up a chocolate bar.
Tony motions to the belt. "Not at all."
"We should get water too. I didn't feed Peter so I'm sure he's getting hungry." Stephen says as he places the chocolate on the belt and grabs a couple of water bottles from the small fridge nearby.
"Oh, yeah. Good idea. I don't think those keys will keep him occupied much longer."
It didn't take long for the items to get scanned and for Tony to pay, but when they got outside, he realized his predicament. He flew to Greenwich Village in his suit. He couldn't fly back with a baby and all of the items he suddenly accrued. But then Stephen directed him to the side of the store where they would be out of sight and opened a portal. To his kitchen at the tower from the looks of it. Tony was a little uncomfortable with the idea of using magic to get home, but it was efficient and he didn't want to be caught in the middle of New York with a baby in the dark. The sun had nearly set.
So he takes a deep breath and gets the purchases through the portal as Stephen carefully pulls Peter out of the cart and walks through the portal. Tony had the mind to return the cart to a nearby corral before following the sorcerer through, and he watches as Stephen looks around the penthouse as the portal closes behind Tony.
"A playpen was a good idea." Stephen finally says. "This isn't exactly a baby friendly environment."
"I should probably set that up." Tony says. "I have a feeling holding him doesn't feel too good on your hands."
"Let me make him a bottle first."
Stephen hands Peter to Tony and digs through the bags on the counter to fish out the needed items to make him a bottle. Tony made sure to watch closely and listen to the amounts Stephen said to feed Peter and soon enough, the sorcerer took the baby back and sat on the couch with him where he handed Peter the bottle. He fortunately didn't have any trouble holding it himself and was able to drink from it while Stephen held him on one of his legs and Tony set up the playpen and the crib. The latter he was told to set up in his bedroom.
When he finished (to his enormous relief, there were some things he never cared to put together again), he exited his room to find the tv on a child friendly cartoon and Peter bouncing happily on Stephen's knee while he watched the pretty colors fly across the screen. What was surprising was seeing the younger man looking so content as he wipes Peter's mouth with one of the burping cloths. No irritation. No expressions to betray that he hated every second of this. In fact, Tony was pretty sure Stephen was enjoying it.
"Want to stay for dinner?" Tony blurts out and Stephen's head snaps up in surprise. He recovers quickly and shakes his head.
"I have things I need to do. Thank you though." Stephen gets up with Peter and holds him out for Tony to take. "I'll come by tomorrow."
"Alright," Tony replies, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice. "See you then."
"Good night."
And he was gone through another portal. Just like that.
"Bud…" Peter looks at him and Tony smirks. "I think you're going to end up being my little wingman."
46 notes · View notes
icollectyoursins · 4 years ago
Text
Kitsune!Kakyoin nsfw
Anon asked for “ I can only think of Kitsune Kakyoin-... Oooh, spicy for Kakyoin.”
Yesss. Little bit of trickery, little bit of cute fluffy tails? We love that. Writing this game me so much serotonin. It also took a lot of words and time, so I hope you enjoy.
I learned a lot about kitsunes while writing this, but the things that come into play are tails and human forms/magic/”paranormal abilities.” From what I’ve read, they only have 9 tails if they’re over 1,000. They gain 1 tail after 100 years which is around the same time that they get their ✨magic✨. Though there are some sources that say they get their abilities after 50, I’m going with the typical 100. That being said, Kakyoin has 2 tails, making him 200ish. The more you know!
Also, I am aware his name is Noriaki, but I’m used to the sub anime where last names come first, so that’s how I wrote it. Also, everyone called him Kakyoin and that’s what I’m used to.
Your family had always warned you about the trickster who lived in the woods by your town. Your friends, however, thought it would be funny to try and mess with said trickster spirit which, after a mess of rituals and a little bit of drinking on your friend’s side, you got lost. Suddenly, you find yourself face to face with a rather handsome trickster, who is willing to help, for a price.
Have a character, but no idea? Prompt list here!
Looking for more? Master post here!
WARNINGS: “dream” sex, light stalking, grandma’s talking about things that live in the woods that can probably kill you, deals with things you probably shouldn’t make deals with, sexy deals, claws, making out, marking/hickies, nipple play, cunnilingus, fingering, marking with teeth, knotting, breeding, creampie.
Word Count: 3121
     The soft ground littered with leaves and branches crunches beneath your feet. The air was starting to cool as the night approached. Damn it. Where the hell were your friends? You had come out here for a little fun, maybe some spooky stories, maybe a round of truth or dare, but things got a little out of hand and suddenly, you were being dared to walk through the woods in the middle of the night to try to find the so-called trickster spirit, the Kitsune.
     None of your friends believed in it, but you did. A few years ago, you saw him standing at the edge of the forest, deep violet eyes staring into your soul as you walked by him. His red hair curled around his face, framing it. He was wearing a long green coat with matching pants, two long tails swishing behind him. The contrast of his red fur on the green of the forest was beautiful. You wanted to go to him then, touch his face and hold him. Thank god your friends stopped you, nudging out of your fantasy. But then came the dreams.
     Dreams of him crawling into your bed oh, so sweetly, curling himself around you and kissing every mark on your body. Dreams of him rolling you over, trailing his lips across your shoulder, down your sternum, down your stomach until he met with your sweet honey pot, already wet and waiting for him. He'd fill you until you thought you were going to burst. Over and over again, he’d mark you skin lightly, claws digging into your flesh. He was always gentle with you, careful, but there was something in his eyes that read dangerous. He would always reassure you, regardless of that stare.
     Such sweet dreams he gave you and yet you were afraid. You had overheard your grandmother talking about what the trickster would do if he caught you. You would be his slave. Just a little puppet for him to capture more people with. You would never feel his touch again. The body would ache and burn, screaming in pain until he gave you even the smallest of caresses, then he would leave again. The pain would be worse than before until finally, when he never came back, you would die of natural causes or kill yourself. He seduces his victims, gives them a taste of what they want, then leaves them in the woods, searching for him until they died. You would never go into the woods again.
     Until now. Here you were, completing some kind of stupid prophecy, hoping you wouldn't see him again. You would just turn around, find your friends again and that would be the end of it. Though, you couldn't deny the little tingle; that tiny sliver of hope that he would show up. That he would smile and take you into his arms, vowing to never leave you. Ugh, you needed to get laid. This was just your horniness talking. Right?
     You rested against a tree, catching your breath. You had been walking for longer than you anticipated. What did they even dare you with, anyway? A walk in the woods seemed kind of lame.
     */CRACK/*
     A loud snap over your shoulder made you turn around quickly. Your eyes scanned the tree line for anything dangerous. There was nothing, but that didn’t start your heart from pounding. If anything, it made it worse. Maybe a walk in the woods wasn’t lame after all. You checked your phone. It was almost dead and your friends made no effort to make sure you were okay.
     Unbeknownst to you, there was something there. Well, someone. A certain trickster who had been waiting for this day since he saw you. His name was Kakyoin Noriaki, not that you would know that, but he would tell you eventually. He knew about every “dream” you had about him, knew every inch of your body, every freckle. But, late night visits weren’t enough for him anymore. He wanted you to be his. Actually his, not just a feast for when he felt lonely.
     Everything was ready for you. He had gotten your favourite teas, coffees, drinks. The decor was suited to your tastes and colours. All he was missing was you. There were many days leading up to this where he would sit in his bed, imagining your weight next to him and your warmth. It all made him feel so lonely, yet so... satisfied. How could you say no to this?
     Of course, the final decision would be up to you but he wasn’t going to make it easy. Charm would do most of the work gaining your trust, but some magic wouldn’t hurt, right? 
     You strode around the forest, completely unaware of what he has set up. After all, it was his idea to dare you to go for a walk through your fear. Mimicking your friend’s voice was easy and everyone else was inebriated enough to agree. All he had to do was wait for you to get a little closer to his den and he’d reveal himself to you.
     You continued to walk aimlessly, hoping you would be able to find your way back by sheer luck. The light was starting to fade and it was getting colder. You swore, if your friends didn’t find you before you froze to death it would be the last time they ever-
     A small log cabin that you are fairly sure had never been there before broke you from your thoughts. A plume of smoke billowed from the chimney. Please, let who ever lived here be nice enough to let you in. You approached the door, tentatively knocking on it. There was shuffling on the other side, then it was opened. The person was tall, slender with red hair framing their face...
     You couldn’t believe your eyes. It was him! Really him! So many emotions flooded your senses. Should you run or go in? Would baring the cold be safer than a night with your sweet trickster? Does he know about the dreams? No, he couldn’t!
     “Is everything alright?” His voice rang through your ears pleasantly. 
     “Yeah, yeah uh... I’m fine,” you stuttered, taking in a breath to calm yourself.
     “Would you like to come in? It’s freezing out there.” His smooth voice had you weak. You nodded your head, carefully walking in. The smell of the house made you dizzy in the best way possible. A sweet, rich fragrance filled your nose, your favourite scent, actually. You didn’t notice, but he was watching your reactions, making sure you liked everything he had done for you. He found himself staring at you too long, entranced by your beauty. “Would you like a blanket or something to warm you up? A drink, perhaps?”
     You turned around, holding your arms to keep you warm. “Yes, please, thank you.” He smiled at you, walking to what you assume was the bedroom, returning with a large, fuzzy blanket which he then wrapped around you. Then, he went to work preparing you some hot chocolate.
     “My name is Kakyoin Noriaki, thought most call me Kakyoin,” he says next to your shoulder, handing you the mug. You’re lead to a very comfortable couch that you just melted into. You weren’t even aware of Kakyoin wrapping the blanket around you more as he sat next to you or the way he leaned in a little too close to you. 
     “I’m (Y/N),” you said, taking a small sip of the hot chocolate. You looked around the room. It wasn’t very big. Kitchen in one corner, living room in another, bathroom, bedroom. The basics. All of the decor matched with what your idea of your dream house was. Cozy. Maybe you should ask where he got everything from.
     “Why are you here?” He asked. “I don’t usually get visitors, pardon my suspicion. Did something happen? Are you lost?”
     “Yeah, uh,” you thought for a minute, trying to word this in a way that wouldn’t be offensive. “My friends thought it would be funny to dare me to walk into the woods.”
     His face scrunched up in false confusion, not that you noticed. “Why would they do that?”
     “I’m uh... afraid of them.”
     Kakyoin was quiet for a minute. That’s not what he wanted to hear, though he sort of understood why. He didn’t want you to be afraid, he wanted you to be safe. With him. No one else. Just him. “Why?”
     “It’s a... long story.” He hummed in response, not wanting to push you further despite knowing why you were so afraid. After a few minutes of warming up, he spoke up again, as gently as he could be.
     “May I... touch you?” You shot him a shocked look. What did he mean touch you? “Your hair looks so soft.”
     “Oh, um, sure. I guess?” Just your hair, that was fine, right? He hasn’t given you a reason to not trust him and you couldn’t deny that those dreams you had made you want him in the most carnal way possible. His fingers delicately brushed through your hair in a way that was almost soothing to you. You sighed, relaxing into his touch. His heart skipped a beat. You were so close.
     “(Y/N)... I know where your friends are.” You turned to look at him, surprised. “I can lead you to them, but... I have a request.” Kakyoin took the mug from your hands and then grabbed your hands softly, looking you in the eyes. “Stay with me. For one night. Stay here for one night and then you can leave.”
     You go to protest, but are stopped. “I know how much you dream about me, (Y/N) and I will admit that I often dream about you in the same way. Don’t try to deny it. Look at me, please.” You did, staring into his soft blue/violet eyes, finding yourself drawn into them, enraptured by their beauty. The next words he says are slow and soothing. “I do not wish to hurt you or hold you against your will. I only want one night. You may leave when you wish.” If you wish, he thought.
     Your body moves on it’s own, leaning into him, faces getting closer and closer until finally, you were able to touch his lips. Or, you would have, if he hadn’t lifted a clawed finger to your mouth, holding you there. You had half a mind to question if you had noticed claws before, but didn’t really care. As much as he wanted to kiss you, he needed your words; your permission. He slid his hand to your cheek, cupping it sweetly.
     “I want to hear you say yes, (Y/N),” he whispers, low and soft. He hadn’t even realized that he’d dropped his magic keeping his form relatively human. Red ears peek out from his hair and his tails unfurled from under his green top. It was hard for him to hold back a low growl as you leaned into his touch, cheeks growing hot. So, so close.
     “Yes,” you said dreamily. “Yeah, I’ll stay with you, Kakyoin.” He let out a needy sigh. Finally, yes. Instantly, he pulled you into an aggressive kiss, teeth biting at your lower lip, then smothering you. You slowly lied down as he crawled over you. You noticed his ears then, reaching a hand up to touch them. They flicked at the feeling, but soon he was leaning into your hand, breathing heavily; needy.
     His eyes locked with yours, then he dove in for a kiss, easily slipping his tongue into your mouth, exploring the new area. You moaned, lightly sucking on the smooth appendage. Sharp claws dug into the cushions to keep from harming you. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer until his body was pressed against yours. Still caught up in the kiss, he ground his hips into you relishing in the way you moan around his tongue. 
     Kakyoin breaks the kiss, moving towards your neck and marking you with deep purple marks down your neck. You arch up into him, crying out. The feel of his lips on your pulse drives your lust into over drive, matching his thrusts with your clothed sex. He growls, sharp canines grazing where your shoulder meets your neck.
     “I need you,” his voice is strained, clearly holding back. 
     You kiss his cheek then whisper: “Then, take me, Kakyoin.”
     That was his tipping point. In an instant, his claws were ripping your clothes starting with the top and under garment. He discards the torn cloth, replacing it with his hands, moulding over your mounts, squeezing and pinching your nipples. You could feel him getting harder, as if he wasn’t already hard enough. You were shocked that there was more to it, but it was not entirely unwelcome. You’re drawn out of your fantasizing when his tongue flicked your nipple, then his warm mouth wrapping around it. 
     “Ah!~” You clawed your hands through his hair which he seemed to like because his sucking became more enthusiastic. You tit was thoroughly bruised when he was finished, pulling off with a loud pop before moving onto the next one. Meanwhile, one of his hands was moving towards your lower half, nimbly tearing a line down, then tossing that away, breaking away from your breast for a moment then returning again.
     Kakyoin’s fingers dipped into your already soaked labia, feeling their way up and down your sweet entrance. You rocked your hips into them, encouraging him to do more. He pulled his lips away from your nipple again, making eye contact with you while making his way down to your folds. His eyes rolled back into his head as his tongue flicked out to taste your slick. He had waited so long for this, having only his memories of pleasing you to keep him sated, but now he finally had you. And he was going to milk you for every drop you had.
     Lips wrapped around your clit as his finger teased your entrance, just barely entering you. He alternated between sucking your clit and leaving long, hard licks along your whole slit. Eyes flicked to yours again as he delved his tongue into you, relishing the way you keened, hips jerking up, wanting him to go deeper. Had he been in a different mood, he would have denied you that, but all he wanted was to devour you. 
     Over and over again, he dove his tongue into you adding his fingers which gently dipped into you. You could feel your orgasm growing closer, movements becoming less and less controlled. Kakyoin watched with adoration as your face grew more red contorting with pleasure. Your voice was gradually getting higher in pitch until you finally let out a high cry with your release hips lifting off the couch as you gushed onto his face and cushions. 
     He came up with, surprisingly, an even hungrier stare than before. Something feral flickered in him as he threw off his clothes, jumping back onto your body, attacking your neck more with his teeth. You couldn’t help arching into him again as he dug his canines into your shoulder, marking you. His member pulsed between your legs. You reached a hand down to stroke making him gasp and groan. He couldn’t wait anymore.
     Without moving his head, the tip of his cock caught your entrance. He waited until you had taken a breath to prepare yourself, then crashed his pelvis into yours, filling you in one thrust. The feeling left your breathless, mouth hanging slack with ecstasy. 
     “I missed this,” he thought aloud, not even noticing he’d said anything. You did though and you were confused.
     “What?” You said groggily. 
     “Nothing, don’t worry about it.” With that he started to get into a rhythm which made you forget everything, just completely head over heels with lust. You voice started climbing again, getting higher with each time his tip his the furthest part of your cunt. Kakyoin’s lips continued to attack your neck, being sure to leave dark marks that would last for weeks. He grunted with each hard thrust. 
     You couldn’t do anything other than hold on while he brought you closer to your second release. There was something growing at the base of his cock, pushing against your entrance. He growled in your ear: “~nnn gonna knot you. Aaahmmm~ need to breed you.”
     Knot? Uh, what? You screamed as he pressed the bulb into your pussy slowly. The protrusion made your orgasm wash over you quicker than anticipated making you gush over his cock again. He leaned back, watching your face, checking in to make sure you were okay. When it became too much for you, he pulled back, letting you breathe, then trying again. He got further in this time, then pulled back. 
     The process repeated until you were sufficiently stretched open for him. With one final sweet kiss on your forehead, he pushed his entire knot inside you. Even with all the prep, nothing prepared you for the full feeling he left. He gave a few small, desperate thrusts and then came, loose, spilling his seed inside you leaving you feeling hot, warm and utterly used. 
     The world around you was fuzzy as he kissed your face, slowly bringing you back to consciousness. His knot was still inside you, feeling larger than before. Kakyoin wrapped his arms around you, then pulled you up with him so you were sitting on his lap. He rubbed your back, soothing you. Every minute movement either one of you made pushed his bulge around making you whimper. 
     “Do you want to leave, (Y/N)?” He asked, knowing full well that his mark, pooling with his magic, would confuse your mind into staying with him more than having you feel better than ever before. Like he said, if you really didn’t want to stay, the magic couldn’t stop you from leaving, but it would act as more of a nudge towards his desired outcome.
     “Uunhh~ No, I’ll stayyyaaahh!~” His hips gently gyrated into you a few more times causing you to brokenly scream. 
     “Good, I’m glad.” He kissed your temple, silently pleased with himself. Kakyoin felt you slowly falling to sleep on his chest. You could take all the time to rest now, he had all the time in the world to make sure you were full of his pups if this session hadn’t worked. He chuckled quietly to himself. The dreams of you swelling with his offspring would finally be real. His cock twitched again. Hopefully you would be ready for more rounds after you woke up from this one. He was nowhere near done tonight.
147 notes · View notes
whenihaveyouromione · 4 years ago
Text
When I Have You - Chapter 33
Read on Fanfiction.net or ao3 if you’d prefer!
Feel free to follow the Instagram account for this story - whenihaveyou.romione
-------
Chapter 33
Ron looked despairingly into the Gringotts bank account he and Hermione had set up when they’d moved in together. It had been easier that way — paying all the funds as one, such as rent for the flat and withdrawing Galleons when they were going out. At the time, earning his own money and now on a level playing field with Hermione, he’d been okay about it. But now… well, now was more challenging. 
Money was going into it on a weekly basis, but money was also coming out every time he took the payment for the ring out. And someone like Hermione, who was good at keeping track of all that kind of stuff, would eventually notice. Surprisingly, she hadn’t yet. Or, if she had, she hadn’t said anything. Perhaps she thought he was just using it to buy other things for himself and didn’t think anything of it. 
That was good in a way, but it bothered him, too. As the weeks wore on, as everyone was still talking about Percy and Audrey’s wedding, he was beginning to think this whole plan had been the wrong plan. He should have just gone with what he could afford and gotten it over with. What did a ring really matter in the scheme of things? Hermione didn’t care about that kind of stuff. She would have agreed to marry him regardless of what he offered in return. He knew that, and yet… he’d let his desire to do it ‘right’ take over. And it had been very, very wrong.
He frowned. That was what came with growing up poor, he realised. He finally had the money to buy something nice and so he went all out. 
And now look where he was. With a debt to pay and nothing to show for it in return — not even the ability to call Hermione his fiance. 
“How much this week, Mr Weasley?” the goblin asked, snapping Ron from his thoughts.
Ron looked down at the goblin, then back into the vault. “Er, ten I suppose. As usual.”
“And send eight of it via owl to Hogsmeade?” the goblin continued.
“Yes,” Ron said. 
The goblin gathered ten Galleons from the vault and stuck eight into a small bag. She passed the other two to Ron. He placed them into his pocket. 
“Is that all?” the goblin then asked.
Ron nodded. “Thanks,” he said, and he watched as the goblin closed the door. It was a small vault compared to the Lestrange one they’d broken into once, or even Harry’s, but it still contained more gold than the Weasley family ever had. 
And it was theirs. 
He and Hermione were doing alright, he supposed. Maybe just not good enough to be taking ten Galleons a week out of it without one of them noticing. 
“The money will be sent via owl this evening, Mr Weasley,” the goblin said. “As per usual.”
“Thanks,” Ron said again, and he jumped back into the cart that would take him back to the surface. Their vault wasn’t too far underground, but it was still a decent journey back to the entrance. And no matter how short it was, it was unpleasant. 
Once he reached it, climbing out of the cart, Ron had to stop for a moment for his eyes to readjust to the light. 
There were a few hours of daylight left, which meant that the shops in Diagon Alley were still open. He had a few Galleons to spare, so he may as well make the most of spending some of it. At least he would have an excuse if Hermione found out about the money this week. 
He strolled past the goblin guards, some of them wishing him a good evening. Ever since the war had ended, he found them far more pleasant than he ever remembered them being, which was surprising considering he’d contributed to the near destruction of the place. Perhaps it was his new outlook on magical creatures thanks to Hermione, or perhaps the goblins were much happier now that their lives weren’t being threatened every day. He couldn’t really tell, but either way, he didn’t hate the visit to the bank as much as he once had. 
Tucked into a little corner near the entrance via the Leaky Cauldron was a florist. From the front door to the back of the shop, the tiny space was decorated in so many bouquets and bunches and designs that Ron had difficulty even entering. 
And the moment he did, he was greeted by a young woman who reminded him very much of Madam Rosmerta in her younger days. But she spoke with the mystical voice of Professor Trelawney, which really ruined her good looks for Ron. 
“Can I help you?” she asked, smiling.
“Yes, I want the biggest bouquet, or whatever you have, for two Galleons. The nicest ones, too.”
“Of course,” the woman said, and she swept to the back of her shop, disappearing amongst the flowers. 
“Is it for someone you love or someone you wish to scare?” she asked.
Ron stared for a moment. Then shaking his head, said, “My girlfriend.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
Ron stared for another moment, opened his mouth, closed it, and then said, “Something nice.”
“Of course.” The woman then swept in and out of vines, elaborate chain bouquets, picking this, plucking that. Ron decided he was safest waiting at the counter. Last time he’d been in here, this woman hadn’t been there. In fact, on the multiple occasions he’d thought to buy Hermione flowers, they had been put together by a kind, normal witch.
After about five minutes, she came to the counter where she laid a bunch of unrecognisable flowers on a bunch of red paper. With her wand, she cut a piece of white ribbon and then waved her wand again. The flowers were immediately bunched and wrapped, and then tied. 
“Two Galleons, Sir,” the woman said. 
Ron dug into his pocket and passed over two Galleons.
“Have a good day, Sir.”
“Thanks,” Ron replied. “Er, you too.” He left quickly, hurrying down Diagon Alley with the flowers clutched in his hand to the entrance to their flat. Hermione would be home from work by now.
He made his way up the stairs with an aroma of smells making the short journey pleasant. Those who lived in the neighbouring flats always cooked something nice and it made his stomach growl in anticipation. Unless they went to the Burrow for dinner, he and Hermione didn’t eat as well as the neighbours ever did.
He used his wand to unlock the door and was immediately greeted by Hermione’s beaming face right in front of him. She was so close, he was forced to take a step back through the door. 
“I was beginning to wonder where you’d gotten to,” she said, and her eyes fell on the bunch of flowers still in Ron’s hands.
He passed them to her. “I got you these. I thought you might like them.”
Hermione accepted the flowers with a small smile on her face. She then looked back up at him. "What are these for?"
"Because I love you, and I wanted to," Ron said. "Though, the lady in the shop today was really odd. Probably won't be going back if she's there."
"They're beautiful," Hermione said, and then placed them on the table, almost discarding them. Ron might have been upset had he not bought them for her because he was feeling guilty to begin with.
Instead, he said, "What's got you in a good mood?"
"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, though there was no hiding her apparent excitement over something. 
"Well, you almost knocked me over when I came in, and you just threw those flowers to the side like they were nothing. You seem happy about something, and I don't think it's just because I came home."
Hermione watched him for a moment, as if contemplating something. A smile still played on her lips, though her expression had turned serious.
"Out with it!" Ron demanded. "Did you get made Minister for Magic or something?"
"Of course not," Hermione said, and she led him over to the breakfast table. "I just… I have a proposal for you."
"A what?" Ron asked, his head snapping to her as she all but pushed him into the chair.
"A proposition. An idea. A thought. Whatever you want to call it." Hermione sat in the opposite chair, though Ron now watched her warily.
He didn't think she meant the word proposal literally, but it was all that was on his mind these days. He couldn't really see what else she might have meant. Had he waited too long? Was she becoming frustrated with not getting married? After their unexpected talk at Percy's wedding, had she decided to take matters into her own hands? 
"Well?" Ron asked after she didn't speak. "What do you want to say?"
"I've been thinking," Hermione began, "ever since we talked about it at Percy's wedding."
Dammit. 
"What about that?" Ron asked, feeling his chest tighten a little. If she got too far into things, maybe he should just blurt it out over top of her. He wanted to do it. 
"Big decisions," Hermione said. "The next step. I have been thinking about the first one."
"Oh?"
"Why don't we get a house together?"
Ron paused. His eyes scanned the flat they were sitting in, with the bedroom off to the side, the living space, the kitchen… he looked back at her, not sure whether he felt relieved or disappointed that she hadn't suggested marriage. 
"But… we have a house." It was a dumb comment, because he knew what she meant, but…
"Not one that's ours," Hermione said. "Not one we've bought, not one with a garden, lots of rooms… not one for the future."
The future.
The words sounded good to his ears. A confirmation that everything he was doing, everything he had planned, really was worth it. Even if he had to wait a little bit longer, they still had a future. A long future, he hoped.  
“I’ve been thinking about it a lot,” Hermione continued, and she seemed delightfully happy that Ron couldn’t help but smile. “Even before we discussed it a few weeks back. This place is cramped — even for the two of us — and… well, I really like the idea of planning the future with you, and I think this is a good first step.”
“A big decision,” Ron said. 
“But a smaller, big decision.”
They were silent for a moment. The idea of living in a bigger place with Hermione was greatly appealing. They’d always known that this flat wouldn’t be forever, and if he was being honest, he’d always imagined getting a place somewhere secluded, somewhere in the middle of nowhere. A bit like the Burrow or Shell Cottage. 
They could do magic freely without the risk of Muggles seeing, and, well… it would be a good place to raise children, and he was extremely confident that that was one of the things Hermione was alluding to when she spoke of the future.  
“What do you think?” Hermione asked. “I know it’s convenient here — it’s close to everything, but we can Apparate, Floo, all that kind of stuff. Wherever we live, we’d arrange connections to everywhere important via the fireplace.”
“Yeah…” Ron said. “That would be nice.” He smiled at her, suddenly feeling delusionally happy. He loved living with Hermione. Waking up next to her everyday, or stumbling into the kitchen on weekends after she’d already been up for an hour, seeing her messy, unbrushed hair, in her pyjamas… cuddling her at night before they fell asleep…
There was nothing more calming than knowing she was always there.
It seemed like the next step, naturally.
“Let’s do it!” he said after a moment. “A house of our own. One we can add our own touches to.”
Hermione’s smile widened. “This is so exciting!” She then flushed, sheepishly taking out her wand. “I’ve, um… been looking already. Just a little bit.” And before them appeared some newspapers — reminding Ron from when he was back in Grimmauld Place and they were looking for this flat. 
Ron liked the sense of normalcy to it all. Three years ago, he had been convinced they’d all be dead, so to be sitting at a table talking about something as simple as a house was the best feeling. 
“You wouldn’t be the Hermione I know and love if you hadn’t already researched  this,” Ron said, drawing some of the newspapers towards him. He paused at the first one, his smile faltering for the first time. 
“What?” Hermione asked. “I know it’s in a Muggle area, but I thought —”
Ron shook his head. “It’s not that. Wherever you go, I go. It’s just...” It hadn’t occurred to him until he saw the large number in the advertisement. This was going to cost money. Money he was already spending on an engagement ring. 
“We can afford it,” Hermione said gently, seeming to understand his hesitation. “It’s alright.”
Ron looked up from the paper to her. Why was it that whenever he thought something wasn’t going to work, he could just look at her and it didn’t matter anymore? 
Wherever you go, I go. 
“It’s going to be tough until training’s finished,” Ron said. 
“But we can manage. I’ve done the calculations. It’s okay.”
Ron nodded, and Hermione reached out to grab his hands. He squeezed hers tightly. “Then let’s do this,” he said.
How could he say no? Even if it meant he had to take another look at the ring repayments to ensure that they really could afford it. And what if he couldn’t? What was he supposed to say to Hermione then?
She smiled at him again and suddenly, his decision was easy. Who needed to be married? He had everything he wanted sitting at the table with him. 
And it was just about to get a million times better with their first big decision. 
10 notes · View notes