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thollandneedy · 2 months ago

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hiii can you make something inspired by the video of tom protecting zendaya from the paparazzi

Worthy- Peter Parker

A/n: Peter being protective, ugh (give it to meeeeee). Btw, thank you for the request babe 🥰

Warnings: Mentions of death, swearing, mentions of vomit, anxiety attack symptoms and aggressive approach

Don’t forget to share, like, comment and leave your ideas here

Bellah’s Masterlist 🪻

It was no surprise to anyone that Peter Parker was dating Tony Stark's daughter, but it was the first time they had appeared publicly at an event together. After some catastrophes caused by the Avengers after their last mission in Berlin, in order to redeem the act of motivating violence towards young people, Stark decided to hold an event to fund social support groups.

Y/n was used to having the eyes of the media, mainly because of her beauty, but Peter hated the media. As well as distorting many of Spider-Man's actions, calling him irresponsible and selfish, there would always be people who would point out the slightest of his mistakes in order to get 'likes'. The girl, on the other hand, had several controversies involving her name, but she never let that get to her. Her father had taught her to always ignore people who spoke badly and pointed out mistakes, because if they were strong enough, they would talk in person rather than hide behind a screen in a dark room with a deplorable life.

“Aren't you nervous?” Peter asks, finishing lacing up his black shoes.

“No. I just didn't want anyone coming up to me asking me about my sexuality again because I said in an interview that I'd kiss Madison Beer.” Y/n says, looking at herself in the mirror as she finishes fixing the pair of earrings on her ear.

“What if they ask me something? What do I say?” The brunette gets up from the cream recliner at the end of the king-size bed in his girlfriend's room, heading towards her.

“Just be yourself, love.” The girl turns to her boyfriend, who places his warm hands on her waist, pulling her close in one smooth movement. The girl opens an affectionate smile, allowing her pink lips to meet Peter's. “And don't get involved in any controversy. It's not enough that people suspect you of being Spider-Man. My father will kill you if anything happens, especially during the party.”

“You look beautiful, you know that?” The older man commented, looking at the girl from head to toe with a sideways smile. The dress was tailored, with long sleeves that were almost transparent and her body shaped by the wine velvet until it dragged on the floor with a small neckline, but one that emphasized her breasts.

“I know it.” Y/n laughs, making Peter roll his eyes and walk away.

Two knocks on the white door are heard, drawing the attention of the young couple who head towards where the sound was coming from, then open the door. The image of Pepper in a black dress comes into view, apparently impatient with how long they were taking in the room. The blonde put both hands on her waist, saying:

“Really? 10 minutes to put on an earring and get your bag, Y/n?”

“We're ready.” Peter defends. “Come on, sweetheart.” The dark-haired man in the black suit and gray tie holds out his hand to the younger woman.

“But my bag.” Y/n turns her body to the side, looking out of the corner of her eye for her bag, which had mysteriously disappeared.

“This one?” Peter holds out his other hand with the handle of the white bag positioned on the tip of his index finger, drawing a surprised smile from the girl.

“Come on, you two.” Pepper warns, stepping into the middle of the couple and closing the door behind them.

(…)

“How many minutes until we arrive?” Y/n asks the driver, at the same time as his eyes are focused on his cell phone camera so that his gloss doesn't get smudged in the photos that will be taken later.

“Less than 5” he replies, looking at her through the rearview mirror.

“Do you want me to go out holding your hand or do we go out one at a time?” The brunette asks, swinging his legs as a way of relieving the anxiety trapped in his chest.

“Relax, Pete. Let me go out alone first. I know some of my followers will want to take pictures with me since I told them I'd be at the event.” Y/n says, closing the transparent gloss and putting it in her handbag. “I don't want the same thing to happen that happened in January.”

“You turned down photos because you had a viral infection and put your organs out in the back of the car in that KFC bowl” Peter reminds her, placing one of his free hands on the girl's back.

“And they still called me an unsympathetic diva,” Y/n mentions, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes to catalyze the feeling of discontent after remembering the hate the media threw at her.

“We're here, Miss Stark,” the driver warns, opening the automatic door and showing the group of fans and paparazzi who were waiting for the couple at the entrance to the event.

Peter got out of the vehicle, being called by several people and blinded by the flashes of the paparazzi who insisted on putting their cameras in his face. The men with their caps back and big cameras asked

“Are you really Spider-Man?”

“Does Stark approve of your relationship even though you're poor?”

“Is it true that Stark Enterprises is related to the death of your parents?”

Peter clenches his jaw, takes a deep breath to himself, and walks past the men with his face closed as he hears these questions. Y/n, on the other hand, got out of the car with a smile on her face like a princess. The girl put her hair back and got out of the car without the protection of the security guards who were at the door of the event. The group of followers who were waiting at the railing to take a picture with the youngest girl held out their cell phones so that she could take a picture with them. Y/n waved to the fans who were a little further back, allowing them to be noticed too. The girl took the cell phones, snapped the photos and thanked them with a smile, and this was the key to the paparazzi taking advantage of the situation to punch her with questions and photos that were too close.

“Are you dating Peter Parker out of pity?” One of the men asks.

“I'm not,” she replies, as she takes pictures with the people clinging to the low railing.

Peter stands in the doorway, watching from afar how his girlfriend will react. Thanks to his powers, he could hear Y/n's heart and sense when she was threatening to have an anxiety attack. Her mouth might lie with a smile, but her eyes would never lie about her being. The brunette turned on his heel as soon as he heard the first question, turning back the way he had come.

“Do you regret realizing that what happened in Berlin wasn't deliberate? The damage was done by your father's group. People died.” Another says.

The group of photographers was getting too close.

“I have no regrets. That's why my father is promoting the event. To help those who are hurt.” She replies, finishing taking the last photo.

As soon as she lowers her head so that she can go to meet Peter, she is cornered. Several white lights take over her vision, and she finds herself dazed by so much movement. Her frightened eyes searched for Peter, but she couldn't find him. Everything around her was getting too hot from the sweaty bodies that were increasingly trying to get in touch with the girl in the red dress.

“Your father killed innocent people.”

“We already knew she'd be just like her selfish father. She's just a good girl in disguise.”

“Did you cheat on your boyfriend with actor Drew Starkey at your best friend's party in Los Angeles last month?”

“She looks like she'd do that.”

Peter stepped into the middle of the paparazzi, pushing them hard with the sides of his body, throwing his cameras to the ground every time he saw one of them being placed in his girlfriend's face. The older man seemed to have fire in his eyes, even capable of burning someone with his fury. The girl's heart was racing, and then a strong hand found her, pulling her close and taking away the whirlwind of questions and comments spewed at her. Her chest was heaving, feeling her lungs regain air, and pressing her hands against her chest. Peter hugged her close, running his hands down her back and directing her towards the door of the event decorated with gold, white and red balloons

“She always does that. Leaves when she can't answer something we ask. Classic spoiled bitch.” One of the men picks up his camera from the floor, wiping the lens on his gray blouse.

At one moment, Y/n was standing next to Peter, and the other she was being abandoned again at the door of the large party building. With strong, hurried steps, Peter spins his body around to throw a powerful punch at the man who made the comment, causing him to fall against the other gossip channels who were on duty at the scene to capture any slip-ups. The photographer grumbled, putting his hand to his lip and realizing that blood was coming out. With a startled look on his face, he glares at the brunette

“Call my girlfriend a bitch one more time, and I'll make you swallow your fucking tongue.” He says through his teeth, stepping out of the crowd again and into the building with hurried steps.

Y/n had her hands over her mouth, stunned by what Peter had just done. Her heels tapped against the lobby floor as her boyfriend patted her shoulder, trying to comfort her from what she had just been through. Parker was followed by two security guards, who, only after seeing the situation, decided to protect Y/n.

“You irresponsible bastards. Stark will find out about this.” Peter says loudly to the two men in black, who were now following them to the elevator.

“My father!” Y/n says in astonishment. “Peter, my father's going to find out about the punch you threw at the guy outside! Fuck, we're fucked. He's going to kill you. Shit.”

“Don't worry, darling. Anything to protect you is worthy.” The brunette pressed the elevator's ‘up’ button, hugging his girlfriend tighter against his chest.

#tom holland #tom holland x fem #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker x fem!reader #peter parker #peter parker spiderman #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you

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my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction · 4 months ago

Text

One For The Road [4]

Cecil Dennis x afab!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals •Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | requestinfo• ko-fi •

Series Masterlist

Summary: Cecil calls you late at night

A/N: Another huge thank you to @thexsanctuaryx for beta reading again, making some excellent suggestions, and putting up with meeeeee <3

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, mentions of weed, catching feelings, oral sex (afab!receiving), jerking off, p in v sex (with a condom), vibrators, swearing, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 3073

I Thought It Was Dark Outside

Cecil: “Do you want to come over on Friday night?”

You: “You got new porn recommendations for me?”

Cecil: “You want some?”

You: “Maybe.”

Cecil: “I was thinking we could do something a little different?”

You: “Such as?”

Cecil sends you a video. The preview image is black.

Cecil: “This could be inspiration maybe?”

You pause for a moment before you click the video. The second it starts you’re glad it’s late and you are on your own tucked up in bed. Not on public transport or at work.

It’s, unsurprisingly, semi-professional porn.

A woman is bouncing on a guy's cock, her hand squeezing his neck as he whines underneath her.

You: “Is that what you’re into? Getting choked?”

Cecil takes a few minutes to reply.

Cecil: “Yeah.”

Cecil: “I’m into lots of stuff.”

Cecil: “Is that okay?”

You: “Yep.”

Cecil: “Good. You don’t have to choke me or anything if you don’t want to, I was just thinking if you’d like to fuck on a bed?”

Cecil: “My bed?”

You snort, unable to not find his texts weirdly endearing.

You: “I like how formal you’re being.”

Cecil: “Yeah? Or are you joking? Tone is hard over text.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to reply this time before your phone vibrates with another message.

Cecil: “And that’s not the only thing that’s hard.”

Cecil: “Get it?”

You: “Your dick?”

Cecil: “You wanna see?”

You smile.

You: “Sure.”

You expect a photo, maybe a little video. But instead, Cecil video calls you.

After the small beat of surprise, you giggle and accept the call.

“Hi Cec,” you smile.

“Hi,” he whines. He’s laying in bed, his face and part of his bare chest taking up the frame. His phone shakes slightly and from the sounds it’s obvious that he’s jerking himself off out of frame.

“You having fun?” You tease.

He pouts. “Got horny.”

“Aw, did you?”

He pulls a face and you giggle.

Cecil grins, his facade breaking for a second before he reschools his face into a puppy dog expression. “Your fault.”

You snort. “How is it my fault?”

“Talking to you, got hard.”

Heat runs under your skin. “Show me.”

He bites his lip and there is a manic moment where he scrambles to change the camera from front facing to back one handed, which makes you smile.

His cock is hard against his stomach, the tip red and swollen. He’s squeezing the base lightly, but not moving.

You lick your lips. “Aww, Cec…” You say softly and he whimpers. “Having trouble because I’m not there to take care of you?” You try your best to make your voice sound vaguely neutral and fail miserably.

“Yes.” He whines, and you can hear the over the top sulk in his voice.

“Want me to come and sit on it?”

The jab is playful and anything but serious, but his cock twitches before your eyes on the screen and he groans.

“Pleeeaseee,” he swallows, giving one slow jerk. His stomach muscles quivering under the strain. “Please, god, fuck, Harry isn’t here right now, he’s at Mary-Ann’s tonight. You could, you could stay over and-” He moans as he shallowly thrusts into his hand. “Please, you could, we could-fuck- I mean definitely fuck. I won’t even come until you get here. Please?”

You pause, conflicted. Part of you really wants to tease him, to mess with him and watch until he spurts all over his tummy and whimpers in that oh so sweet way.

The other really wants to be in the same room as him right now.

You glance at the time on your phone. 23:49. This would be a booty call, wouldn’t it?

Though at this time, it would barely take ten minutes to drive to his house.

Fuck it.

“Okay.”

You barely get the word out before Cecil is uttering a stream of ‘thank yous.’

“But.”

He stops talking quickly, a little snap echoes as he sharply closes his mouth.

“I want you to come now. Otherwise, you’ll get too excited when you see me and’ll probably bust a nut on the spot.”

Cecil giggles, but starts jerking off straight away, his laughter quickly turning into moans. If you hadn’t already heard him several times in previous situations, you would say he was putting it on a little. Purposefully sounding as pornographic as possible. But that was just Cecil, he couldn’t be anything but loud.

“I would,” he manages to get out through his cries of pleasure. “You’re so smart, I totally, totally would just see you and jizz, fuck, you really gonna come over and see me?” His voice breaks a little at the end and so does a little piece of your heart.

How many times had people lied to him?

How many times had others broken promises?

“I am, the second you finish.”

He whines. His hips slamming up into his fist, the slap, slap, slap of skin echoing around your room.

“Cecil.”

“Yes,” the word is strained, breathless.

“I wanna see you when you come, want to see your face.” You haven’t even finished your sentence but already Cecil is rapidly changing the camera.

He looks so wrecked, his eyes glazed over. He softly whimpers your name, biting his lip. “Gonna come.”

“Good.”

He moans loudly, convulsing and nearly dropping the phone with the force of his orgasm. He shudders, breathing hard and pressing the back of his head to his pillow as his muscles tense and relax.

You’ve never seen anything more beautiful.

“That was so nice.” He mumbles and then, instead of changing the camera, just twists the phone around to show you the mess of cum on his stomach.

You grin. “Very good Cecil.”

“Oh fuck.” He shivers and giggles when he turns the phone back to face him, “Don’t– you’ll make me come again.”

You snort. “You got a praise kink?”

He rolls his eyes playfully. “Duh, of course.”

You laugh and look at him for a moment, really focusing this time. There are faint bags under his eyes and his eyes themselves are red. “You high?”

He shakes his head.

“Drunk?”

“Nope, haven’t drunk or smoked or taken any delicious mind altering substances today.” He gives you a sincere smile.

Maybe he’s just tired.

Maybe he’d been crying.

You push that thought away quickly.

“You sure you want me to come over?”

He nods quickly, “Please– only if you want to, I mean, but, I’d really like to see you. We don’t have to do anything, well, you could just sit on my face for a few hours.”

You bark out a laugh. “A few hours?”

“I know,” he nods, all fake seriousness, “Not long enough….”

“You dork.”

“You love me for it,” he beams.

“Yeah, sure.” You smile. “I’ll be over in ten. And no getting dressed.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” He mock salutes. But you get the feeling he likes it more than he is letting on.

—-----------------------------------------------

The drive takes 8 minutes. A new personal record, and no speed limits were broken either.

You’ve barely knocked on the door, your knuckles just grazing the wood, before it’s thrown open dramatically.

Cecil beams at you, ushering you in. He’s wearing a dark blue towel bathrobe that he takes off in a flourish the second the door is closed. “It’s me, Anastasia.” He flounces his arms to the side, mimicking the cartoon character. He’s completely naked, his semi cock bobs comically as he moves.

You giggle at him, kissing his cheek and then his lips. His grin widens, happiness flowing off him in waves as he wraps his arms around you. His skin is warm and he smells like coconut body wash, obviously having taken a quick shower before you got here.

“I’m so glad you came.” He nuzzles into your neck, littering any skin he can reach with kisses.

“Me too. Thank you for inviting me.”

He tuts and squeezes a fraction tighter, “You are always welcome. Literally, just come over whenever.”

A spark of warmth settles in your chest. “Yeah, well, you gotta deal with me in my pyjamas now.”

He pulls back a second, still grinning like an overly excited puppy and biting his plump bottom lip. “This is the sexiest outfit I have ever seen.”

You laugh, but there’s a sincerity in his expression that makes you stand a little straighter.

“But,” he wiggles his eyebrows, “You know where it would look even better?”

“On your bedroom floor?” You snort.

“No,” he gives you a look of mock shock, “On me. It would look better on me, but you need to take it off first.”

You chuckle, “You’re so silly.”

“You love it… I hope?”

“I love it.” You reassure him and stroke his cheek.

He kisses your wrist, nuzzling into your touch and sighing happily. Slowly he inches closer, once again wrapping his arms around you, “Come to bed with me?” He poked out his bottom lip and blinks rapidly.

“Stop,” you try to groan but can’t stop the fit of giggle the expression causes. You gently push at his cheek. “That face is terrible.”

He blinks harder.

“Cec!” You shake your head grinning and he leans forward kissing you deeply and slipping his tongue past your lips.

The way he softly leads you upstairs somehow feels so uncharacteristically characteristic, sweet and caring despite the raging boner he’s sporting. He barely takes his lips off your skin and you're a little surprised he doesn’t fall up the steps in the process.

His room is suspiciously tidy, and freshly vacuumed, which makes you smile. However, you don’t get very long to admire it before Cecil pulls you towards the bed, his hands sliding greedily under your top and groaning when he realises you're not wearing a bra.

“Oh, fuck yeah.” He helps you out of it quickly and sits on the edge of the bed. He palms your breasts eagerly, staring like he’d just found the holy grail before he gently kisses them, sucking one nipple into his mouth and then the other.

Your breathing hitches as you lean into him, lightly arching your back and sinking your fingers into his hair.

“Shit, Cecil…” You swallow and he groans, whining softly as he sucks. Pleasure twists and sparks down to your core, settling in a deep untenable ache that you crave for him to soothe.

He laps at your right breast with the flat of his tongue as he hooks his fingers under your waistband and pulls the rest of your clothing down.

Slowly he pulls back, holding your hands as he helps to steady you as you step out of your pyjamas. His eyes are lidded, glazed with arousal as he takes you in and squeezes his balls to just take the edge off.

He groans lowly, saliva shining on his lips as he looks up at you with those big doe eyes. “Come and sit on my face?” Cecil shuffles back fully onto the bed, laying down with his head propped with pillows before he gives you a sweet, beseeching look.

You nod, climbing after him. Despite having been in a similar position before a sense of anxiety drapes along your skin, the times previously were rushed or accidental, things that you could argue were casual. The unplannedness of this should add to that. Should mean nothing.

He runs his hands up your thighs eagerly as you settle into position, urging you to partially suffocate him with your core.

He hums, licking his lips eagerly as he looks up at you and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him this happy before.

Lightly, he tugs at your hips, pulling you closer and darting out his tongue to swipe the tip through your folds and circle your clit. “God, you taste so good.” He groans and repeats the movement with the broad flat of his tongue.

You gasp, grabbing hold of his headboard to steady yourself as he keeps licking, in long steady strokes.

“Fuck, just use me please.” He mutters, sucking on your clit and pulling you down against him completely. He moans when you do, echoing your sound of pleasure with his.

For a split second you forget how to move, so overwhelmed with the sensation of his thick, warm tongue. But then he grips your hips and rocks you slightly, encouraging you to find your own rhythm.

Expletives fall out of your mouth, mixed with his name like a prayer as you grind against him, your thighs shivering and muscles tensing as you chase your peak.

Cecil moans, slurping at your slick and pulling you closer with every circle of your hips. His balls tighten, the sounds of your cries and heavy breathing settle in the base of his spine. His eyes roll back as the pressure at the root of his cock builds, he squirms his legs, desperately thrusting upwards into nothing as he searches mindlessly for relief.

He flicks the tip of his tongue, trying to slip deeper inside and curling until you scream, the sensation paralysing you with pleasure. You hang onto the headboard as it washes over you, leaving you weak and shaky as you breathe hard.

Awkwardly you move back off him, worried that you might have cut off his air supply.

“Oh fuck,” Cecil whines, breathing as heavily as you were, he looks at you and smiles. “I nearly came too, fuck. God, you sound so fucking sexy when you come, taste so good too.” He climbs over to you, kissing your cheeks and neck and pushing his face in between your breasts and breathing deeply.

“You wanna fuck? Or you wanna nap?” He gives you a sweet look, and you’re very sure he would be content to wrap you in blankets and snuggle up for the night if you said the latter.

“Fuck please.” You grin when he beams, excitement plastering his features.

“I’m warning you,” he jumps out of bed and riffles through his side table drawers. “I’m not gonna just plough you.”

You snort. “Ever the romantic.”

“No, I mean,” he grins, running a hand through his hair. “No, I mean, I’m probably gonna last less than a second if I just try to do the normal routine, you’re just so pretty and hot and I know you’re gonna feel so nice.” He whines a little at the end and shakes his head, “sorry, I, I’m gonna try not to just,” he mimics an explosion and you giggle.

“If you gotta you gotta, you know I’ve been with guys who didn’t even try to get me off beforehand, so.”

He pulls a face, “Where’s the fun in that?”

You shrug.

He finds what he was looking for in the drawer and climbs back onto the bed. “Those guys suck.” He unwraps the condom with his teeth and slides it onto himself before he fiddles with something in his hands. It’s small and metal and you don’t realise what it is until he switches it on and it buzzes into life.

“Why do you have a bullet vibrator?” You laugh.

“For this.” He grins and wiggles his eyebrows at you as he settles between your thighs and notches his cock at your entrance. He pauses, biting his lip, his eyes darting up from your pussy to your face. “Is this okay?”

He waits for you to nod, giving you the most brilliant smile before he slowly pushes in.

“Ohhh shiiiiiiiit,” he groans, inching in and then pausing to gather himself before he continues. He swallows and circles your clit with his thumb, the lube from the condom mixing with your slick, before he presses the vibrator to your bundle of nerves. He moves it lightly, mirroring the pattern he drew with his fingers seconds before.

He gasps when you jump, “Oh, fuck, maybe a bad idea? I can feel the vibrations through you and you're squeezing me so hard.” He whines at the end.

You swallow, little moans escaping your lips as he finally pushes completely inside. You’d underestimated how thick he’d feel, how he’d stretch you so perfectly. The pleasure is so high it’s almost to the point of pain.

“Okay, okay, okay,” he breathes hard, shifting a little to get comfortable. “Gonna make you come again, yeah? Please?”

“Cecil,” you whine, rocking softly against him as the vibrator sends shivers through your nerves.

“Can I?”

You nod, “Please, please, please. Need you to, just move.” You buck against him and he hisses.

“No, no, no, we're just gonna stay like this and,” he shifts, leaning down so he can kiss you, one hand awkwardly pressed between your bodies to keep the vibrator in place.

He slips his tongue into your mouth greedily, drinking down your moans as he rolls his hips, barely pulling out.

You grab onto him for dear life, tugging at his shoulders as you move with him, matching his hypnotising pace.

Sweat beads and slides between your bodies as each of your movements start to grow more frantic and desperate.

He rolls his hips and the way he drags and presses against you hits a spot inside that sends a jolt of electricity through your limbs.

Your cry is muffled by his lips, but still powerful.

Cecil gasps, his spine arching. “Oh, fuck, fuck, that good?” He bites his lip, his brow pinched together in concentration as he focuses on repeating his thrust perfectly.

You grab at him, unable to form words as he hits it again, suffocating in the sensation.

“God, that's good, right? You’re, fuck, you’re fucking pulsating around me, oh!” He groans, snapping his hips, unable to hold himself back any longer.

He whines, low and needy as he thrusts, rapidly, your name falling from his lips with every breath. “I can't, I can't, I can't-”

You tense, your head thrown back in a silent scream as your orgasm rips along your spine leaving only ashes in its wake.

Cecil groans, high-pitched as you tense and spasm around him. It barely takes him a second to follow you, spilling violently in the condom.

He collapses on top of you, blinking hard and then struggling to get off you, “Sorry, sorry, sor-”

You grab him by the back of the neck and pull him into a long, sweet kiss.

He sighs happily, relaxing against you. “That was really nice.” He mumbles. “Can I make you pancakes in the morning?”

Thank you for reading!

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#cecil dennis #revenge for jolly #cecil dennis x reader #x reader #cecil dennis x you #x you #cecil dennis x afab reader #afab reader #cecil dennis x female reader #x female reader #cecil dennis x f!reader #x f!reader #cecil dennis x fem!reader #x fem!reader #my writing #fanfic #oscar isaac #oscar isaac characters

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chimimon · 3 months ago

Text

Cab Boy

Modern AU - Touya x f!Reader

Disclaimer! What you are about to read contains the following: vulgar language, creepy co-worker, some stalking. Again if I’m missing something pleeaassseeee telllll meeeeee.

& and I have to say is… I started to get lost after the third draft. And then I wrote something for Nanami because I was going to loose my mind looking at manga panels of Touya for any inspiration, but I want to thank E.P.! You’re a real one and I love you for being an English major drop out. I would give you a big fat platonic smooch if HR wouldn’t beat me for it :’)

On velvety old car seats that softly gleamed under the streetlights, you completely melted in the backseat. With your legs to one side, leaning against the window, you watched the city fall behind you and your taxi. It was like dreaming with your eyes open, or like lying down while sitting up. The car smelled of cigarettes and cologne which added to the scene of the night drive.

The release of tension on your hips from standing in place for nearly four hours felt painful, and more so with every bump or hitch in the road. Comically they were just one chair short when you arrived at the main meeting room. But they were sure to save you a spot at an uncomfortably high countertop to type out company dialogue and bullet points. The burn in your wrists couldn’t be soothed as you rolled your balled fists around every couple minutes. The hollow ache only inched further up your arm. In the corner of your eye, you caught your driver’s gaze in the rear-view mirror before he warned you of an upcoming bump, mindful of the back of your head resting against the glass.

“Thank you.” You yawned with outstretched arms and legs, now readjusted and upright. There were still thirty minutes left until you arrived outside your apartment and the driver was staring again with smiling eyes. You thought to ask, “Have I seen you before? Did you pick me up last time?”

“I might have.” A soft tap followed the rhythm of his sentence. “But I drive a lot of people.”

You hummed with a lifted chin. The streetlights blurred the tips of his white hair, and you felt mesmerized by the green and red that paled in it. “Do you like driving all those people, sir?” You crossed a leg sitting tall. Those feathery strands of hair rolled from one shoulder to the other.

“I don’t mind it if most of them are like you.”

“Like me?” You leaned forward and with a lazy raise of your brow. “What about me?”

The red light made him look pink as he looked to you over his shoulder. A black medical mask covered his mouth as he answered. “Quiet, sober, pretty… most things I like in a passenger.” he said thoughtfully.

The word pretty lifted you up again, uncrossing one leg before crossing the other. “Right.” You whispered, and then laughed. Before you could open your mouth to ask for his name you remembered you called the cab online. With the ride information pulled up you looked at his information and smiled.

“Touya Todoroki,” your driver stiffened at your playful tone. “Do you get big tips for calling passengers pretty?”

A deep and airy chuckle was exactly what you wanted to hear. “We’ll see.” He sang after a moment.

Soon the door opened, you exited, and just like that you were home. Before you jogged up the stairs you turned to cordially thank him. You replayed the banter under the yellow light of your doorstep. “Touya,” you read to yourself. I can’t afford it, but I’ll tip you big tonight.

Over end of day coffee and toast, a transfer hire was talking your ear off about paperwork for company plans. The never-ending praises for management and how they “ran a functionally tight ship” made your coffee bitter and toast cold. It felt suffocatingly humid as both the heating and conditioning vents aimed at you in the break room. It had been cold outside, so it was a little too warm inside as boring conversation added to the creeping heat. You lifted up and off the wall from leaning against it as the man spoke. It became apparent that he was not going to let you slip past idle conversation. Every step you took away to leave he took equal steps forward to follow. There was also his wandering gaze on your outfit which you felt he could have at least tried not to be so obvious about. He was clearly appraising your waist, blouse, and neck. The thought of him undressing you with his eyes made you button your collar closed before making haste to your cardigan draped over your chair.

This man was not giving up. At some point you had stopped nodding, equipping your knitted armor of acrylic and cotton, as you began to sit down. “If you're hungry after work, we can-”

“I’m sorry,” You quickly cut in. “But I can’t afford any overtime this week. And, oh- damn. I need to get back to my amazing manager.” Every part of your face smiled but your eyes, ignoring his clear attempt to ask with a lie. “Sorry, but if you don’t mind.” Both hands were put up as you shrugged. “It’s a tight ship, sir.”

Finally, he was leaving. It was like watching a big kid drag their feet away from a playground, but he was finally leaving. With the whole encounter in mind, it was decided that there was no hurt in securing another ride tonight. Sure, going home by taxi added thirty minutes to what was normally a 10-minute rapid train ride, but there was no point in having that man insist on lunch again while you walked to the station; or worse, having to find out that he’s got a car to drive you home in.

Touya saw you had requested another ride and at once claimed your ticket. As the confirmation screen loaded, he noticed your request was made ten-minute’s ago and that he may have just missed you. He crossed his fingers before he dropped his head in relief, grinning as the location details appeared on the screen. This afternoon you had some instructions.

Please pretend to be annoyed that I’m “late”, and speed off once I get in.

Interesting, he thought to himself while he sped over, arriving a little earlier than your pick-up time. Touya tapped on his steering wheel again in anticipation before he exited the car. Without shame he hoped you were wearing another skirt that hugged your waist and hips or that this time that your hair might be down.

As you approached the car Touya was leaning on the passenger side, smoking a cigarette with another black mask resting below his bottom lip as he waited for you. The clicking of your heels in their quick stride drew his empty stare up. You were wearing opaque black tights, an A-line heather skirt, and a baggy cream-colored cardigan, looking especially stuffy with the white-collar button down. As soon as your eyes met, you smirked, and he pulled up the mask before you could take his features to memory. You bowed in pretend apologies, and he clicked his teeth. With some dramatic flair he flung open your door, side eyeing as you got in before smacking it shut. Touya dropped his cigarette onto the street, pressing it into the concrete before he climbed into the driver's seat. As he dropped in, he caught sight of a stalky man staring bullets into your temple.

“Running away from your boss?” He said through rear-view mirror. Touya noted how your face softened in relief as soon as he hit the gas.

“He’s kinda higher up, so...” the window fogged as you spoke to your reflection. “I guess you could say that.”

“He looks like a skinny, uptight asshole.” Touya muttered.

You smirked. “More like a skinny, uptight creep.” a chuckle escaped your lips as you turned to his light blue eyes, smiling at you again. Under gray skies in the late afternoon, they seemed cold. “But I'm happy to see you again, Touya.” You turned to look out the other window.

He slowly blinked and felt something bubble in his chest. “How sweet,” He said too honestly, “Well... I’m sure my acting skills are deserving of another nice tip.” He lifted a brow to the road.

“Oh?” You rolled your eyes. “You think I have that kind of money because I walked out a fancy glass building?”

“Are you saying you only have money for boys that call you pretty, ma’am?”

Ma’am brought an embarrassed blush to your face as the word dripped into your ears. “Do you drive in search of a sugar mama?” You kept up.

“Are you judging me?”

“Just a little.”

Touya clicked his teeth again three times before his voice polished itself into something flirty. “You’re quick, aren’t you?”

Your attention snapped to his reflection as the heat traveled down your neck. Touya ate up the suppressed smile that was cupped in your hands. You leaned toward him again as he entered a freeway.

“Ah, so you aren’t.”

“I think I’m beginning to question my happiness in seeing you again, cab boy.”

“Oh, she bites too.”

“And you don’t, Touya?”

“Just a little.” He purred.

You fell back into your seat and did some people watching at a red light. “Cab boy,” you quietly let out in a quick laugh.

It was the kind of laugh that tightened his jaw and causing him to grip the steering wheel for self-control. Touya was on the clock after all, and you were a paying passenger.

It’d been a week since he saw you, and he was worried you actually couldn’t afford anymore cab rides. If it weren’t completely illegal for him to ask for your account information, just to gather a lucky set of numbers, he would have offered to drive you around for free.

The first time he picked you up was after receiving a request from an older man, so when you and another young woman entered his car, he was pleasantly surprised. You were clearly annoyed, giving him the cold shoulder before talking with a voice that warmed him right up. But you weren’t speaking to him, you were shutting down some poor sucker on the phone with a smile on your face, a taunt in your tone and rolled eyes. You were meanly turning down the man that ordered the cab and he liked it. This vague idea of you lived in his head for a couple of days until he realized he was headed back to that same cooperate office. With all the luck he used driving you around the first time, it was like hitting the jackpot when you hoped in again alone.

It was written all over your body that you were just so tired, taking up all the room in his back seat, wondering if you would stop him from joining in to take up more. Innocently- he thought. But if Touya liked you rude, he liked you better embarrassed. The word pretty did so much to you for just a moment, he could see you falter as he tested the water; watching for go signs as if he could act on them while behind the wheel.

Three rides just days apart was where he felt his luck run dry. Just enough to miss his favorite ride for the week and when Friday arrived, he was starting to think you were using another service for drives. That bugged the hell out of him all afternoon.

Persistence can overcome any obstacle for as long as you harassed the right woman and tonight, in a cold restaurant sitting across from a man that couldn’t take any hints, that woman was you. As drinks were dropped off at your table, he talked about how endearing he found your game of hard-to-get.

“You're just this snippy thing in a frumpy cardigan. But I thought like, like God! If she just looked a little harder, she might appreciate what I’m doing, cause you like roses, right? Women like roses?”

A finger traced circles on the rim of your glass, “They’re pretty, sure.” You knew you were blinking too much, sighing too much, drinking too much water. There was little to no eye contact from your end and honestly, the whole “I’ll at least get a free meal,” thing was not worth this.

“Why don’t you order something to drink? How about a omething as sweet as you, little missy?”

Like hell you were gonna get drunk near this guy. But for just a moment you began to wonder... what would Touya have called you? Would he have asked if wanted something stronger? Would he have even taken you here? Would you have been better off calling for another ride to sit in casual conversation? Without realizing it, you had started to smile at the thought of a taxi driver and your date took it as a sign to reach across the table for your hand. The sudden contact made you jump as he continued to pride himself in the choice of venue, and how he detests men who like something fruity.

Not a single man in your office interested you, but your manager was going on and on about how this temporary transfer was going to take the department places if the team was on their best behavior. What he meant to say was that he’d get a good raise if he babysat a stockholder's son. But once he caught scent that this guy liked you, your manager visited your desk often. Asking you to show this guy how to use certain things in the office, how to label faxes and emails, things that your date knew because they were a transfer, not a new hire. And more time together meant digging deeper to find more excuses to turn him down. All of them were fairly honest and nice, but when he placed his hand on your arm during lunch, pushing your resolve aside with brute force, something sick possessed you to finally say yes to make it stop. It was just luck you would cave in on his last week there. Of course he’d snatch you up the night he leaves the department.

And here he was. Still moving his god forsaken mouth. “Are you gonna look at the menu?” He rested his chin on his fist, making himself taller. “Or are you trying to keep that figure nice n’ light for tonight?” He giggled.

With wide eyes, you thinly smiled, slowly reaching for your stomach. “I actually, I think I’m catching something.” You giggled in nervously.

“Oh, excited I see.” His teeth were too white, and it felt like your eye was twitching.

“I, no I actually...” Your scooted out of the booth, holding your stomach tighter. “I just- can you just excuse me for a second?”

In cold silence, the man's face dropped as you walked past. Nearly running to the restroom, you hid yourself in a stall and pulled out your phone to request another cab. If you could help it, you were going to walk straight past him in hopes he wouldn’t follow if he caught your stride. The cab was confirmed, and you gave it five minutes before you could dart out of the restaurant and down the street. But he started to text you at the two-minute mark, followed by a call.

As soon as it went to voicemail, you blocked his number and walked as fast as you could. The cold night air snuck up your back and shoulders as you began to run a block down and around the corner. There was a set of stairs on the side of a closed café, you pulled out your phone to see the status of your ride. There wasn’t a car to be seen slowing down, and you were getting antsy to leave the area. The site said your ride should have been there, but instead of an engine you could hear footsteps echo from the direction you came. Without looking you went further into the neighborhood to weave through an alleyway. There had to be a convenience store somewhere, and you were going to find it. And a convenience store there was.

As soon as you made your entrance, you saw the man you were running from turn your way. You ducked as the echo of your low pump heels felt like a target was placed on your head. You weaved through a medicine aisle, jogging on your tippy toes to mute your steps. Damn it, you gently kicked off your heels, speeding barefoot on the cold plastic flooring, completely abandoning your shoes. The goal was to be in another stall while you calmly found a new ride. You pushed the door open with your back just to be sure your date hadn’t already spotted you. But as you rushed in, you slammed into another man before the door could close.

“Oh shit.” Your stomach hit the floor as you turned to see the back of another tall man. “Shit! Sorry!” The sound of costumers nearby stopped your outstretched hand from pulling the door open to leave. “I- ah.” You said to the floor, with your heart in your throat.

The stranger was wiping his hands off with a paper towel and did not care to look at you. “Yeah, yeah.” He said about to push his way out. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me-” Touya stared at the back to your head, and your hand on the handle before allowing his gaze to drop.

Oh, he thought. It’s you. How lucky.

Before you could completely turn around to face him, someone tried to push open the door. Touya quickly pushed the door closed with hand planted beside your head. You looked back and up at him with wide eyes and lifted shoulders. To him you looked self-conscious and noted just how different it felt when you weren’t blushing. You looked wild, taking heavy breathes in and out, wearing a short dress that was falling off your shoulder. He watched your eyes focus on his, then he watched your brows furrow, and finally this dog like charm brought on a nervous smile. “No way.” you whispered. “You’re late.”

“I’m never late for you, princess. I’m anything but late.” His smiling eyes taunted. “Besides, someone beat me to it.”

“It? To what-?”

The sound of urgent stomping grew as a man got closer. “How does a door without a lock get stuck?” You heard a familiar voice whine.

“Damn it,” you could just smell the alcohol past their paper white teeth. “Touya stay with me.”

“What-?”

Before the door could be completely swung open you dragged Touya into a stall. He quietly laughed and watched as you climbed onto the tank of the toilet before he locked the stall behind him. “You’re fucking ballsy.”

The thought to say something smart was chased away as your pursuer entered a stall across from you two. He had started to mutter insults about you before turning his attention to an incoming call. You shushed Touya with a finger to his mask, completely unaware of the shit eating grin that hid underneath as you wildly eyed the slit in the stall door.

He turned to door as well, squinting while trying to listen in on this mysterious man you were hiding from. “Well. Go on.” He tilted his head and waited.

“That stupid girl from the analytics department. Yeah. Yes, yes. Her.” You eyed the ceiling in which his voice echoed from. “Yeah, well I’m over here blowing money on drinks for us, and she runs away before she’s gotta put out.”

Touya’s felt his mouth open. He was staring at you before you stared at him, pointing to the inside of your mouth and pretending to gag.

“Yeah well, whatever. I’m over it. Yeah. No, like. No exactly. Seriously. You wanna spoil some chick and- no literally. I know she’s here. No, I’m not- No I wasn’t trying to follow her- I… I have her shoes in my fucking hands.”

With a click and open of his stall, the man had left without washing up. You started rubbing your fingers together as you thought about the impromptu physical contact he made at the resultant.

“I see.” Touya leaned against the stall staring at your bare feet. “So... bad date?”

“Bad is underplaying it.” You whispered still, relaxing a bit in Touya’s presence. “Wait, what are you doing here?”

“I’m off tonight.”

“Oh.” You looked to the side in deep thought. “Oh, okay. It...” finally clicked.

“You said I was late?” He tilted head. “What was I late for, hmm?” He taunted, enjoying how you squinted your eyes at him.

“Nothing apparently.” You crossed your legs on the tank and leaned forward in relief, rubbing your temples. “Nothing I’m fine now.” You stepped down on the lid before stepping onto the floor. The scent of some soapy cologne held you in place as you thought about the man still being outside. “Can I ask you to-” you paused again, taking a deep breathe with some clear anxiety. “Can you leave with me?”

“You know how that’s gonna look, right?”

On cue a blazing heat settled into your face, feeling the embarrassment overwrite anxiety as you seriously contemplated bolting straight to the station barefoot. With a nod and a deep breath in, you dropped your head. “Touya, please?”

That pushed a button. “Please what?” The precious look through your lashes pulled him in. “Go on?”

“Please walk me down the block? You jerk?” You batted your lashes cutting through bashfulness with a grin.

“You got it, baby.”

Touya took you under an arm to hide you in loose hold. The soapy cologne did not hide the sewn in stench of tabaco. It stung on inhale and made you lightheaded as you kept walking. You could feel his grip tighten as you two stepped out the store. When his arm didn’t loosen after going a block down, you slowed down. “Touya, you’re good.” You lifted your hand to peel off his arm, which he did as soon as you touched him.

“Are you sure?” He dug into his pockets to dangle a set of keys. “I can drive you home.”

“I can’t afford that tonight.”

“I don’t want gas money.”

“It’s okay, I-” you stopped yourself as the thought that you were shoeless, a little sweaty, and in a dress occurred.

Touya scratched his neck from in the collar of his hoodie, waiting for you to finish. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you’re face, pal. So, I can’t ask you for a free ride.”

“You’re not asking. I’m offering.” He sounded a little annoyed. “But you can ask to sit pretty under my arm while check-out eyes us down?” Touya dropped his head, deepening his eye contact with you. He had these doll-like lower lashes that held your attention.

“Apparently…” that stung so you backed away. “So, thank you for that I guess.”

Touya was taken aback, kicking himself for being blunt as you sucked in half of your lower lip. “I’m kidding.” He started to play with a string looped around his ear before flicking it off, suddenly exposing his face. “It’s no big deal.”

The corner of your mouth lifted. “How convincing.” you sighed, wistful of the whole night. Touya put his arm out again, waiting for you to walk into him before walking you to his car in a lot another block away.

The silence was thick as he opened the passenger door for you, watching you drop in and shyly get comfortable. His car was clean, empty, and smelled just like his taxi. A sudden Dejavú hit as he hoped into driver's seat. It was foreign to be front passenger of any car, let alone one Touya drove. The car hiccupped as the engine turned, you watched his hands on the wheel when your trail stopped mid-way. It was a stick shift and once Touya got onto the main road, his attention alternated between his hands, feet and the street. He was the heart of the car and it was fun to watch it beat up close.

Touya could feel your gaze as he shifted gears. He smiled a when the down shift caught you off guard and wondered if you had ever been in a manual before.

“Here.” He opened his palm on the top of the shifter. You reached over and gripped the knob, feeling the car shudder at the red light. As soon as the light turned green his hand landed on yours to take off. The car took deep breathes before it trilled at the gas pedal. Touya’s hand was soft, his fingers rested in between yours, and with each shift up you could feel the nighttime moths flood your stomach.

He bit his lower lip pensively and squared his gaze forward as he drove. As soon as he got to sixth gear of the freeway, he smoothed over his thumb on yours. Normally he would have taken his hand off the stick, but he was dragging out the physical intimacy of whatever this was. He wanted more, and selfishly placed you hand in your lap with his lingering on top. When Touya began to lift his hand, you lifted yours as well to re-lace your fingers with his.

That same burn in your hips returned but it was accompanied by cold feet and arms. The adrenaline was leaving your body and you shuddered at its exit. The chatter of your teeth began to rival whatever was playing on his stereo. Touya unceremoniously tore his hand from yours and laughed when you softly pouted. The car slowly leaned into another lane as Touya took off his hoodie. With his knee he brough the car back into the lane as he slipped off the last sleeve. Your look of bewilderment made him flush as he placed his hoodie on your lap. “Put it on,” he nodded self-consciously. “Come on...” He sighed.

You faced him with a cheeky smile and he rolled his eyes. Thinking back on it, his hoodie looked big on him but seemed to grow on you as soon as you slipped it over your head. With your knees to your chest, tucking them in for warmth, you breathed in all the lingering cologne and cigarette smoke in the neck.

“Thank you.” You tilted your head toward him and hummed.

“No problem, princess.”

#touya todoroki #touya x reader #touya x y/n #touya x you #my hero academia #mha #boku no hero academia #bnha #bnha dabi #dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi x y/n

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tmntxthings · 11 months ago

Text

一Holiday Comps・゜・。

author’s notes: so last weekend me & mine decorated our own gingerbread houses, call me inspired ✨

author’s notes 2.0: *sigh* i couldn’t get this done during xmas, so sad, but i want it OUT of my drafts, totally lost the motivation after Donnie’s 😭 forgive meeeeee

warnings: cursing? competitive nature x10, unedited asf it’s 2:00 am rn :3

—————————————————————————

Leo

Obviously he would be trying really hard. Because if anything suddenly becomes a competition all this turtle is concerned about is being numero uno.

“We should up the stakes a bit. April! You’ll be the judge, anddddd add in stuff to like throw us off our game. Make it harder! Oooh time limit of 40 minutes?”

He’s like adding shit and making things way more complicated than just a, “Oh cool gingerbread house contest? When everyone finishes the judges can decide who wins!”

No! Nope! Not happening. This will be the X-Games of Gingerbread Comps. Glory or death type shiz. So how does this process that he thrust upon the whole gang work? Well let me just say he has no problem abiding by the time set.

But his house looks messy as hell. He had a very hard time getting the roof to stop collapsing and may have looked over at Donnie to see how he got it done. Icing? Everywhere. He has no problem when one of the challenges was to “Switch hands! Use your least dominant,”

Easy peasy lemon squeezy. Though some could argue that it didn’t matter what hand he used, it would have been messy either way. If one challenge was to switch seats and work on a brother’s gingerbread house be ready for a slick sabotage. One that Mikey may not have realized until his own foundation started fumbling, why were the walls caving in?! And what happened to the tree gummies that had been set aside?!

Leo happened, that’s what. Though he is quick to deny and not know the nature of those issues at all. By the end April is video recording to also get Sunita and Cass’s vote. Including Splinter that’s four! One for each turtle if everyone is lucky.

The responses on Leo’s house are making him pace. He can’t stay still as he hears Cass laugh out loud, wondering why the hell his gingerbread man is on the roof. “This one is a bit all over the place but, it’s got personality!” Is the saving comment from Sunita who revives Leo’s confidence in the whole ordeal

In the end I think with the time frame Leo definitely got shit on his house, but it doesn’t look all that pretty, one vote at least!

He’s butt hurt about whoever wins if it’s not him and definitely calls out his brother’s own flaws in their own work. Petty. P-E- to the T-T-Y~!

Donnie

If given an unlimited amount of time, I do believe Donnie would be a real rival in this house decorating competition. First of all he’s good with his hands, precision baby, precision!!! He has the most practice with fiddling around with crazy small parts. Those little sprinkle balls aren’t falling to the floor due to his hands.

Now he may not get a lot of them on, because this turtle will take up a lot of time just getting the foundation of the house perfect. The walls have to be straight! The roof cannot be uneven! April may have to stop him from using outside sources or trying to break the whole model build and go for something more his style.

Once he finishes with that Donnie probably took about 10 minutes alone with it having to be perfect. Icing is up next and oml this may be his downfall. There is so much to secure, and you have to take into account the drying time! The challenges he has no problem with either but they eat up his time completely!!

If April decides to do a bit of trivia, winner gets to penalize whomever he chooses, Donnie is most likely winning those even if April chooses a fair category like Jupiter Jim or Lou Jitsu. Trivia is just Donnie’s jam, and the only way he can get Leo to stop for two minutes or be able to eat one of Raph’s essential pieces like a peppermint decor!

Donnie’s build would be the cleanest, icing looking beautiful! Like touched of snow on the house! But he would hardly have any decorations due to sheer lack of time. He’d have a vote for sure but would get comments like, “It looks pretty simple!” or “This one doesn’t have a doorknob!”

“If I had more time,” would be his immediate come back. Puffing up and feeling defensive because this competition is definitely in his wheelhouse, but Leo of course had to make it to where a genius couldn’t thrive under such terse conditions. Hmph!

I’m sure April’s vote would be for Donnie

Mikey

He’s an artist, artists thrive in silly little gingerbread house competitions. I mean come on he’s the one who has the most creative ideas. Probably the most aesthetically pleasing as well!

But I fear Mikey will lack in the actual house building part. Which is literally just four slabs of gingerbread and the two more for the roof. He’d struggle to get it to stand. He’d struggle to get it to stay still. “Why does it keep MOVING?!” He’d be yelling out his frustration for sure

Even more so when he finally gets everything to stay in place only for one of the challenges to be switch houses. Leo getting his house and while Mikey doesn’t pay too much attention to what Leo is doing, when he gets his gingerbread house back it’s suddenly collapsing again?! He thought he had solved that problem! ACK! “LEO!!!” But no amount of calling his older brother out would change the fact that his house still isn’t put together

When…If he does get it together in time, you best believe he’s rushing to finally get to his favorite part! The decorations! He’s definitely eaten a couple of things without noticing it happening himself. It’s not exactly good candy, but candy is candy!

I think Splinter would vote for Mikey’s even if the house is crumbling, it’s a pretty crumbling house, out of all the brothers I think Mikey would win in a contest that wasn’t rigged by Leo!

Raph

I’m sorry, but he’d eat like half his materials. HE WOULD! So there wouldn’t be a house, maybe a shack if he’s lucky.

And on top of his appetite getting the best of him, everything is pretty darn small, and his fingers are chunky. This activity is just really not made for him but he’s doing his best, okay? His best with what he has left LOL

The hardest part would be decorating since the candy would be the smallest pieces to get on. He’d have icing everywhere, mostly on his fingers to which he would be licking clean, losing more material!!!

“Raph are you even trying???” Leo would goad, feeling that much better about himself and his standing even though he’s not doing much better as we have seen! Raph doesn’t let Leo get to him, he’s happy to just be doing something with the fam! And eating!

I think Cass would vote for this guy’s shack. Probably for some odd reason that I could never guess because she’s such a wild card to me sksksksks

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positivelyholland · 2 years ago

Note

Hey sunshine, it’s meeeeee!

So could you write something with Chris x daughter reader when she’s not having the best past couple of weeks because her brain just won’t let her communicate what she wants to (her brain just isn’t braining) and chris knows when she gets like this her anxiety is though the roof because she can’t explain anything it’s almost like her mind is just detached from herself it makes her panic badly. So it’s a lot of comfort, bluey and communication strategies because he knows it’s hard for her, so he gets scott to take her out because she’s hasn’t been out the house in a hot minute just to get her some fresh air and some of her comfort foods like apple sauce because it slaps. They just have a fun and slow couple of days until her brain finally decides it wants brain again, even if it’s as slow and spending a day in chris’ bed with bluey or going on a walk with Scott and dodger. Just comfort and to be able to slow down that’s all she needed

pairing: chris evans x daughter!reader

genre: comfort & fluff

summary: when school gets to be too much, you're dad comes and saves the day

warnings: being overwhelmed

A/N: im so sorry that it took me long to respond to this, my dear! hopefully the wait was worth it and this can be all that you wanted it to be

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

You sit at your desk, surrounded by what felt like a mountain of books, papers, assignments, and so on. School has become extra overwhelming lately, and you're struggling to keep up.

You had been working on your homework for hours at this point, and you were just about to reach your tipping point.

That tipping point came sooner than you thought as you finished what you assumed to be your millionth essay of the day, just to realize that you didn't save your progress.

That's when the tears started falling.

Just before you about ruined your art homework by crying, you head a gentle knock on your bedroom door. You sniffle, hastily wiping away your tears, and call out, "Come in."

The door creaks open, and you see your dad, standing there with a sympathetic smile. His presence alone is enough to provide some solace. You've always admired him—his kindness, his strength, and his unwavering support.

"Hey, kiddo," Chris says, stepping into the room. "I noticed you've been pretty stressed lately... and now you're crying so I'm a little concerned, mind if I come in and talk?"

You shake your head, and he walks over to your desk, taking a seat beside you. His comforting presence feels like a warm shield against the stress that surrounds you.

"What's been going on, y/n?" Chris asks, concern evident in his voice.

You take a deep breath and pour your heart out, sharing your struggles, fears, and frustrations. You talk about the constant pressure to excel, the feeling of never being good enough, and the anxiety that has been building up within you.

Chris listens intently, his eyes filled with empathy. When you finish, he places a hand on your shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"You know, you're doing a really good job, but i understand that it can be hard to do a good job sometimes" he says, his voice soothing. "But it's important to remember that you're not alone in this. We'll find a way to make it through together."

A glimmer of hope flickers in your eyes as you absorb his words. Your dad, understands your struggles and is determined to help you overcome them. Inspired by his unwavering support, you wipe away the remaining tears and give him a small nod.

"Alright, then," Chris says with a mischievous smile. "Enough of the studying for today. It's time for a break."

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued by his sudden shift in tone. "What do you have in mind?"

He stands up and extends a hand toward you. "How about we go on an adventure? We'll leave the books behind for a while and focus on having fun."

You hesitate for a moment, but the idea of spending time with your dad, escaping the suffocating stress, is too tempting to resist. And besides, you don't get chances to spend an entire day having fun with your dad instead of doing homework.

You reach out, your hand slipping into his, and he pulls you to your feet.

Chris leads you downstairs, and soon, the two of you are stepping out into the sunshine, Dodger's leash in hand. As the three of you walk together, he fills the air with his infectious laughter, making your worries melt away.

First, he takes you to a local park. You swing on the swings, feeling weightless as the wind rushes through your hair. He pushes you higher and higher, shouting encouragement and laughing alongside you.

Doing all this just like you did when you were a little girl. You finished at the park with a game of fetch with Dodger.

Next, you head to the arcade, where Chris challenges you to a series of friendly competitions. You cheer each other on, while both of you still want to be the winner.

As the two of you celebrate victories and laugh off defeats, all the stress and worry seem like distant memories.

When you're both worn out from games, Chris suggests grabbing ice cream. You eagerly agree, savoring each spoonful as you stroll through the city streets, talking about anything and everything. Chris listens intently, offering advice and sharing stories of his own struggles.

"Remember, kiddo," Chris whispers, his voice soft and comforting. "Life can get tough, but it's the moments like these that make it all worthwhile. You're strong, resilient, and capable of great things. Don't let the challenges define you."

His words resonate deep within your heart, filling you with newfound determination. With Chris by your side, you realize that you can face anything that comes your way.

After a good nights sleep, the next morning you settle back at your desk, ready to tackle your mountain fo work with a renewed sense of purpose. Armed with the love and support of your dad, you know you can do anything.

#chris evans x daughter!reader #positively holland #chris evans x teen!reader #evans!reader #x daughter!reader #chris evans #dad! chris evans

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ryin-silverfish · 9 months ago

Text

LMK Fanfic: The Wild Son

AO3 Mirror

Nezha-centric one-shot. Or, "how the Third Lotus Prince learns to stop worrying and enjoy the exploration of death."

CW for suicide and extensive discussions of it. Similar to my previous story, this is very FSYY-inspired, which is shorthand for "pretty fucked-up".

Y'know, with the novel's version of Nezha's suicide being the most graphic and all.

...

The Devaraja of the North has a wild son, who bows not to his father, only the Buddha. The Buddha knows of his stubborn unreason, and sets upon his father's left hand, a pagoda.

——Su Zhe, "Nezha"

Over the years, he had really come to loathe That Look.

You know, when these brats (technically, all mortals are kids to him) learned of his suicide and just gaped at him in wide-eyed horror. Usually followed by an "I'm so sorry" or "It's not your fault" or the slightly less grating "Man, your father sucks."

Duh, Dragonhorse Girl. Duh. But anyone who talked shit about Li Jing was in his good books, and he could at least appreciate Mei's straightforward nature.

Still, whatever prior impressions he left, he knew he was now seven years old and hurting again in their eyes, and would never stop being so.

And it drove him nuts, because 1) it didn't even hurt all that much, and 2) why is offing yourself suddenly such a big deal? Apart from some ol' Confucian bores' rants about unfilial conduct, no participants in the War of Investiture had ever batted an eye at his death and resurrection; the problem was with what he did immediately afterward.

That said, death in the War of Investiture wasn't final, logical, or that big a deal either, until it suddenly was.

...

Unlike killing, death didn't get less confusing even after you've kicked the bucket once. Nor was spending your time as a spooky ghost and getting your godhood rudely interrupted helpful, when it came to understanding the boundary between gods and ghosts, and how some people could come back but not the others.

Well, according to The Patricidal 7-years-old's Guide to Death and Deification:

People die when they get killed.

At which point they turn into a ghost, and float around going "Woe is meeeeee!" for a while before moving on to their next lives.

Unless they don't want to move on. In that case, they just haunt the living out of spite, and to get free stuff.

But wait! If enough people treat the ghost like a god and give them offerings, they'll become one and...dunno, make a new body outta faith or something.

If someone's name is on The List, it's totally okay to kill them because they'll become gods after death.

Wait, isn't that dragon prince's name on The List too? Then why is his dad so angry when he killed him?

And sometimes, a Daoist master just pops a pill into the recently dead guy's mouth and they are alive again.

It took him a surprisingly long time to realize that The List was not all it's cracked up to be, and was basically the Poor Man's Godhood. Or that knowing someone would come back in the end didn't make their absence hurt any less. Or that they could come back, but would remain forever out of reach, shackled by the duties of godhood and the chains of causes and consequences.

And even when a quick resurrection was possible, every death scarred the soul, making it fray and tear at the seams. Seven was the maximum. After dying and coming back seven times like poor Senior Uncle Jiang Ziya, not even The List could take your soul without it exploding into a billion little ghostfires that had more in common with ambience Qi than any living spirits.

He wondered if his inability to understand this fuss around offing yourself had something to do with a scar, too.

But which one? Was it the first and most gruesome one, where returning your flesh and blood also meant ripping out the itty bitty pieces of souls that were embedded in them, clinging to your father and mother like muscle membranes on a bone? Was it the one that looked like an ugly crack on a gilded statue, widening, spreading, until it shattered altogether? Was it not a single scar, but a bunch of little holes in his essence, like wormbites on a leaf, or a pool of oozing sludge left by the Blood-melting Knife?

Assuming he still had a soul in the first place, of course. Maybe instead of a soul, there's only one huge patch of scar tissue where his three souls and seven spirits used to be, red and fibrous and angry.

Yeah, try pulling *that* out of his body with a spell, suckers.

...

A popular god gains new domains like new year gifts. Namely, you seldom receive the ones you want, are stuck with the ones you were tired of, and have no idea where that pile over there even came from.

Sun Wukong shared a domain with him as the protector of youth, a fact he was strangely okay with. He took the silly and mischievous ones, while Nezha dealt with the moody, rebellious ones. An amicable arrangement, as far as dispute between overlapping domains went; were they ever to switch places, the result would be a disaster.

This, however, was when a joint operation would be really helpful.

Alas, he had no such luck. So here he was, sitting in the Megapolis Children's Hospital's inpatient ward, next to a girl with owl-like eyes and tubes inside her nose, who asked him "Being dead, what does that even mean?"

...

Nothing, 'cause it's something that happens to other people. That was how he would have answered this question, back when he was still a real kid, and not an 18-foot-tall immortal plant construct who could choose to look like a kid.

He did wish people would recognize him as something other than "god of youth", though. Or realize his older forms existed too. Somehow, when Jinzha's master appeared as a little boy with five hair buns, people didn't stop worshipping Old Dude Wenshu or Graceful Bodhisattva Wenshu, but one too many adaptations later, Nezha was just THE Kid God, and not also the Three-headed Six-armed War God of Setting Things On Fire.

Bah.

But this was about Nezha the human (was he ever human, though, with the whole Spirit Pearl thing?) and Nezha the kid, not Nezha, Marshal of the Central Altar. Who didn't quite realize death was real, as in, a thing you should try to avoid for both yourself and others, and had been told that it was his destiny to dish out death to people in some epic upcoming war.

Master Taiyi, bless the old immortal, was a perfect case of someone who clearly cared so much, yet still managed to fuck up so badly.

For all his grudges against Jinzha's master (less about the whipping, and more about his damn cat killing the Jade Emperor), Wenshu made some good points: You did not tell a kid that you would protect him from all the consequences of his actions, then set him loose and expect him to not wreak havoc on unintended targets.

...

"What do you mean?"

He'd admit, this was not his finest hour. You weren't supposed to answer a question with a question, at least not in a way that didn't make you seem all mysterious and wise.

"I..." She trailed off. "I mean, I feel dead people all the time. Brushing past me, being all chilly and stuff. Since I'm gonna be joining you guys soon, I just wanna know...how it's like." The corner of her mouth twitched; either a grimace, or an attempt at smiling. "And you feel nicer than the others. Warmer, too."

He was no god of medicine, no matter how much he wished he could be one right now. Yet he could see the flames of her three souls, dimming with every passing second, as well as the blocks in her Qi flow, with one right behind her eyelids. Her sight was already gone, and in a week, these flames would go out entirely.

Sickness, he could heal, but not a passing ordained by the Book of Life and Death. As tempting as it was to pull a Sun Wukong, if he was to remove the name of one person, what was stopping him from removing another? And another? Before he knew, he'd be striking the name of every good person off it, and only chaos could result from that.

His gaze shifted to a small charm, fastened onto the bedframes with red strings. Made of peachwood, glowing gently in his vision, accompanied by the wisps of a prayer. Please watch over her, and take away her pain. Please don't let her face this alone.

Slowly, he extended a hand towards her, a tiny spark of pink flame dancing on his fingertip. If there were still ghosts in this room that hadn't fled when he first came in, they were definitely gone by now, as the darkness dispered in a surge of Yang-aligned Qi.

"...Wow." She visibly relaxed, with a sigh. "Thanks."

"No problem."

"Are you...also a kid, when you...you know? You sound like one."

"Yeah. But I've been dead for a long time. Long before this hospital was built." He let out a dry laugh. "I guess you could say I'm a professional at this whole 'death' thing."

"Huh. I thought after a while, people just...move on."

"They do, if they aren't trying to avoid the ghost cops. The Heibai Wuchang," he said. "Nowadays, they dress like cops too, but they show up for everyone, to take them to the Underworld. Not just bad ghosts that need to be arrested."

"What's the Underworld like?"

"Dunno. Never been down there." This was partially true. At the time of his death, the Underworld bureaucracy did not exist yet. Most of his knowledge of its workings came from chatting with Huang Tianhua, whose father was deified as the King of Mt.Tai, former head of the Ten Kings. "But you seem like a good egg, so they would send you straight to the Naihe Bridge, and onto your next life."

"That's...good to hear," she said. "I wanna know more about the, uh, ghost part, though. Does it stop hurting when you die? I've been...hurting for so long, I'm starting to forget what it's like, before...this."

"Yeah, the pain stops," he answered, "but so does everything else. You just stop feeling things altogether. Smell, touch, warm and cold and all that jazz." He paused. "Being a ghost is very, very boring."

"And you still don't wanna go with the ghost cops?"

"Well, I killed myself, and that gets you stuck in the City of Wrongful Death." He blurted out, before realizing that this was the worse moment to be honest, and braced himself for the awkwardness to come.

"Sounds like an awful place."

"Pretty much. They said it was just full of depressed ghosts, being depressing together," he chuckled. "Yeah, thanks, but no thanks. I think I'll pass."

"Glad I didn't...go through with it, then." She said, then quietly added, "I nearly did, when the pain got too much, and the cost just kept rising."

Well, that wasn't quite what he expected. But he wasn't too surprised, either.

...

They thought his suicide was an act of despair. It was insulting, honestly. Both to the strength of his will and spite, and his unconventional problem solving skills.

See, when people said that your body and skin and hair were given to you by your parents, the implicit message was So you can't do anything to them, and They own you, every bit of you, and above all, Obey.

You weren't supposed to give them back, not so flippantly. Yet it was the simplest, most obvious solution, in the same way beating up the dragon king who tried to sue you was. (Guess he really was Taiyi's student.)

At the heat of the moment, it was quite thrilling. Almost liberating. Like a snake shedding its skin, a baby bird breaking out of its eggshells. As the raging storm and roaring tides drowned out Fate and Destiny's ever-tolling bells, for a second, he really felt like this was the end.

No more Spirit Pearl, no more unruly child, woe of his mother, doom of his lineage. No more Li Jing, no more questionable advices from Taiyi, no stupid dragon kings, and none of that Vanguard of the Zhou Army crap. Just a kid sacrificing himself, laughing and laughing until he chocked on his own blood.

Just Nezha.

But obviously, things didn't end here. Death rarely was the true end, nor did it tie things up neatly, like cutting through a knot with a sword. It was more akin to what you got when you broke a lotus root in half, full of sticky, near-invisible threads, stretching on and on between the scattered pieces.

...

Believe it or not, this wasn't the first time he had to deal with suicide, kids, or suicidal kids. Especially after gaining one of his more recent domains. He is the protector of all young people, regardless of who they fancy or whether their bodies match their souls, it was just that those who didn't fit the common denominator tended to get a lot of shit for existing.

(As annoying as the "Third Princess" nickname was, he had no problem with people finding strength and comfort in his legends, in severing ties, defying norms, and blossoming inside a changed body. After all, that was what gods were; a mirror that reflected the worshippers' beliefs and needs back at them.)

A few decades ago, he was summoned by a teen, standing on the bank of a river, holding a stick of incense. Dunno where, just that it was a Hokkien-speaking area and one of his temples was nearby.

They gave him a hopeful look when he showed up, emerging out of the water like an actual lotus plant, yet remaining miraculously dry. As hopeful as someone in their circumstance could manage, at least.

"Is it okay if I ask you to curse my parents?"

"If that's what you want, you are praying to the wrong god," he replied. "And the kind of gods who accept such requests will make you pay a price you are never ready for."

"Damn. Guess I'll just have to come back and haunt them myself, then."

They knelt down to stick the incense into the mud, then started wading their way into the shallows. He sighed, and they were promptly dragged back by his red sash, struggling furiously.

"Let go of me!" They screamed, muddy water splashing beneath their sneakers. "W-Why? I don't get it! Why are YOU stopping me? You, of all gods! The child who hacked himself to pieces, and tried to kill his asshole dad——"

"And got a burning pagoda dropped on him for his troubles." He said flatly. "Need I remind you that it all took place a thousand years ago, and I'm no longer out for his blood?"

"Oh, so they'd beaten it out of you! Good for you, I guess." They snapped. "But not me. Why would you even care if a freak like me died or not?"

"gin-na, you just admit you are gonna become a vengeful spirit. And I literally have 'subduing demons and harmful spirits' in my job description. So maybe, maybe, I'm gonna have a problem with that?"

"Even if they totally have it coming?" They retorted. The first two buttons of their collars had come loose in the struggle, exposing the ugly patch of bruised purple around their neck, as well as implications of worse things. "I thought gods were all for karmic justice."

"Especially if they have it coming," he said. "Which is why I'm stopping you. It's not gonna work."

"What does that even mean?"

"Ugh. Look. Suppose I let you drown, without alerting any ghostly officials. Suppose that you come back, haunt your parents night and day, and don't get yourself exorcised. Suppose that you inflict on them the same torment you were subjected to, and drive them to madness or some other gruesome ends." He said. "Then what? What are you gonna do afterwards?"

"I'll just...move on, I guess."

"To do that, you 'll have to cross the Naihe Bridge. And the Underworld officials won't let you off the hook that easily, not after you've accumulated all this negative karma by haunting the living." He shook his head. "I heard they take 'Hell is other people' quite literally, and punish people who hated each other by throwing both parties into the same Minor Hell, giving them a pile of lethal weapons, and resurrecting whichever side that gets killed. Over and over again."

He leaned closer. "Is that what you really want? Getting stuck in the same pit with your parents for centuries to come? Mind you, even if you get tired of the violence, you are not allowed to quit until the Underworld officials let you."

Came to think of it, that was the War of the Investiture in a nutshell. No one was allowed to quit, not even in death.

"...No," they mumbled, after a long silence. "But it's still tempting. At least I'll get to do something to them."

"Well, here's a thing you can do to them."

"What?"

"Live."

"That's it? Seriously?" They stared at him in disbelief. "Because I own it to them? Because my very existence is a mistake or something?"

"No. Because you own it to yourself," he said, "and it is only a mistake if you believe so, and if they think you are a mistake, there's no better way to prove them wrong and rub it in their faces than keep existing. Think of it like this——you ain't gonna help them get rid of you, are you?"

"Well, if you put it that way..." they paused. "But I'll still be depriving them of their favorite punching bag, at least."

"Is that what you think you are?"

"It's what I have been for the past few years."

"Yeah, sorry, but hell no. You can be way, way more than that." He grinned. "Why be a punching bag, when you can be their worst nightmare instead?"

"I thought you don't want me to haunt my parents?"

"Oh, no. You are gonna drive them nuts in a whole different manner: by growing into a successful, well-adjusted adult they no longer have any power over," his grin widened, "And watch them age into bitter, miserable old farts who'll die alone and forgotten, knowing that the moment they die, they'll be dragged straight into one of the Hells in chains, suffer for untold eons, and probably spend their next life as ants."

"That is...satisfying, not gonna lie." They bit into their lips. "But until then, I'll still be stuck with them. Thanks for the reassurance, though."

"Does that mean if I let go of you now, you aren't gonna dash into the river?"

Upon receiving a nod, he whistled, and his sash loosened around the teen, floating back onto his shoulders. They staggered back; he prepared himself, watching out for tensed muscles and all the little tells of someone who was going to make a run for it. Thankfully, he spotted none, as they retreaded their steps back onto dry land, one muddy footprint at a time.

He wasn't entirely convinced that they wouldn't change their mind later, but it was a good start. And he had just the idea to make it an even better start.

His fingers started twisting in a mudra, weaving together threads of pink and golden light into the shape of his signature seal. No, he definitely didn't enjoy the kid's quiet gasp of wonder, as a lotus-patterned token fell out of thin air and right into his hands. It wasn't like he was a show-off or anything, unlike that ape.

"Here. Take this. Go to—" He paused and cursed himself. Dammit, he kept forgetting that mortals couldn't just sense temples and their giant beacons of faith. "Do you know there's a temple over there?" He pointed east, "Like, in that direction?"

"You mean Taizi Gong? Yeah." They nodded. "Grandma used to take me there."

"If you ever need a meal, or a place to stay the night, just show this token to the staff, and they'll help you out." He narrowed his eyes, and said the next sentence very slowly. "Also, if your life is ever in serious danger, like, no-time-to-call-the-cops danger, just hold it tight, say my name, and point it at whatever is threatening you. Do. Not. Use. It. Lightly. Understood?"

He intentionally let out a bit of his killer aura, as he uttered the last few words. Not hard to muster, considering the circumstances that first drove him to develop this token system. It was always awful when he was too late in his interventions, but he swore to the Three Pure Ones, if anyone ever triggered the spell with a prank call, when he arrived at the scene, they'd wish they got caught in the explosions instead.

They paled and nodded in quick succession, then started to turn away. Before remembering something, and coming to a halt mid-step.

"I...I don't even know how to thank you." They shook their head. "If it was too early for that. If 'Thanks' is even enough. But if you are right and I do find my way out of this mess, I'm building you a temple, Third Prince."

...

A temple. Build me a temple, mother. Build me a temple, mother, for I'm cold without a body, hungry without a stomach. He remembered himself crying out, once. Build me a temple so I can be back at your side again, isn't that what you want? What you said you would give up everything for, as you picked up my pieces and buried them in a shallow grave?

Build me a temple, or you'll never know peace again.

The most frustrating part wasn't how much he sounded like the sorts of ghosts he'd beat up later, a lot, as Marshal of the Central Altar. It was the lack of context. As in, there was no memory of the before and after. Just words echoing in a vaccum, with neither pain nor sensations attached.

It was the same whenever he helped a mortal. It was the feeling he got when, twenty years later, he stood in front of a temple gate, watching the person in a suit cut the red ribbons during its opening ceremony, and thought, I've done something like this before, long ago, inside my first temple.

But I can't remember what it was, or for whom.

He knew that was how ghosts became gods. Three souls attracted by the fragrance of incense, seven spirits nourished by the ashes of burnt offerings. Ten shades of a person, molded back together into something more than the sum of its parts, by countless mud-stained, callused hands, clasped together in prayer.

He'd watched it happen before, on the coasts of Fujian. Little Lin Mo Niang, disappearing beneath the waves, only to rise out of the tides later as Mazu, guiding fisherfolks and sailors to shore with her gentle red light, just like she did in life.

Or maybe he had more in common with Guan Yu. The fugitive, the warrior with the might of a thousand man, the loyal companion. Who, despite his promise in the peach garden, did not die on the same day as his sworn brothers. Specifically, how his vengeance and fury used to hang over Jingzhou like a plague, how his name was once whispered in fear, before it became the synonym of loyalty, brotherhood and martial virtue.

Perhaps ghosts became gods when mortals poured pieces of themselves into them, filling up the holes in their psyche. Making them more human than they ever were, and could be.

Thanks to Li Jing's destruction of his idol, he'd never know.

That——that was what sent him onto his roaring rampage of revenge, right after reviving in his lotus body. After everything else had been bled dry, rage was all he had. Like thick black tar, sticking to the bottom of a broken jar.

...

"What stopped you?" He asked, without really knowing why.

"My legs. Literally. They don't work anymore. And I'm...gonna die anyways, it's not really worth the effort..." Her breath hitched in her throat, yet she still managed to squeeze out the last few words, "Then my mom came back."

"I...I'm still a little mad that she left in the first place, like, long before this. But she had a nice singing voice, when she wasn't crying, and," she sighed, "didn't start arguing with dad again. She said I had a new little brother, and showed me the photos...and I was just like, hey, he looks like a raisin, and they laughed, and I haven't heard either of them laugh in a long, long time..."

She was starting to look dazed, stuck in that liminal space between dream and awakeness.

"And I, I wouldn't mind hurting a lil' longer, if it means I get to have more moments like that."

What if you don't? A part of him wanted to ask. What if those moments are no more than baits on a straight hook, carrots on a stick, making it so that you are willing to hurt longer and longer until it's not even fleeting happiness you seek, just the mere promise of release?

But that was the bitterest, crueler part, and it could fuck right off.

"I'm sure they are glad to have you, too." In the end, that was all he managed to say, in a whisper she might or might not have heard, and only got a small yawn in return.

"Well, you sound like you're about to doze off. So I won't keep you up any longer," he said. "Any last questions, before I go?"

"What do you...look like?"

"Huh?"

"When I die, I'll get to...see things again, right?" She asked. "And you can't be the only kid here. Just...wanna...go over and say hello, before the ghost cops come."

"Oh, I'm very recognizable. You don't see a lot of folks with twin hair buns nowadays." He laughed softly. "And I promise you, when the time comes, I'll be right here, inside this very room."

"Thanks," she nodded. "G-G'night, ghost friend."

"Farewell, and sleep tight."

...

When did you stop being fun? Sun Wukong asked him, once.

When you started being nothing but jokes, he wanted to scream back. When you shut yourself in your cave for five hundred years to take a depression nap, while I drain just as much power answering the prayers of mortals as I get from their worship, and my true body is stuck guarding the fire that burn away worlds. When Yang Jian had stopped giving a crap about everything that happened outside of his precious Sichuan, me included.

When I grow the fuck up, monkey. We all do, sooner or later, yet you never seem to.

But then he remembered the look on Sun Wukong's face, as the mountain came down. A look he had seen on the faces of so many souls, as they were called up the Terrace of the Investiture.

It was Ao Guang clutching onto his son's tendons with trembling, scaly hands. It was his mother kneeling in the dirt, begging for his life and unlife. It was him handing Huang Tianhua's head back to Huang Feihu. The eldest of Zhao Gongming's three sisters, muttering a quiet "Sorry, brother" before she was swept away by Lao Tzu's scroll. Guang Chengzi looking Yin Jiao in the eyes, as they dragged his plow up the hill.

It was a monk postponing his Buddhahood in favor of the path of the Bodhisattva, swearing a vow that, for every life, he should learn the meaning of compassion anew, and teach it to others.

A pig who was once a marshal, too weighed down by his desires to attain enlightenment, who nonetheless went on to live a good life, full of good food and few regrets.

A soldier made into a monster after one simple mistake, who decided he was better than that, and, with quiet determination, followed his brother and master into samsara as their guardian.

It was a white dragon, destined to set things aflame and be consumed by flames, yet burning brightly all the same, a goofy grin on his face.

So he just gritted his teeth and kept on fighting. It was what he was made for, what he always did.

And it wasn't enough.

...

But when was anything ever enough? When did Fate or Destiny ever pat anyone on the head, and tell them they did a good job, and they'd be free of suffering, just like that?

When were there ever easy answers, for mortals and gods alike?

Azure Lion thought there would be one, that the right person on the throne could magically make it all better, and he shattered trying to make himself into that person.

One step at a time. One answer at a time. A promise kept, a visit made. That was how you do it.

After all, the great lump of molten colors Nüwa used to seal the cracks in the sky——they were but little pebbles too, once upon a time.

...

"Told you I'll be here." That was the first thing he said, as he unsummoned his wheels and sat down in midair, cross-legged.

"Oh. Well. I," The translucent girl let out a small laugh. She tried to scratch her head, before realizing she couldn't anymore. "I certainly wasn't imagining this, when you said 'twin hair buns'."

"Do you have reasons to, though?" He asked. "People usually don't see the Third Lotus Prince on their deathbeds."

"No. But it's pretty obvious in hindsight, with the warmth and all these little hints." She shook her head. "Dangit. Now I just feel kinda dumb. Still, it's good to see you again, sir...Third Prince?"

"Nezha would do. I suppose I make much better company than the ghost cops, right?"

Behind the hospital screen, the man wearing a tall black hat grumbled something about people not appreciating their jobs, before being cut off by a "Ha! Checkmate, Lao Fan!"

"Yeah. It's a little distracting when you were dying, and two guys were just having a chess game five feet away," she said. "The cheerful one is a better player, though."

"Only because you keep giving him tips!" The man snarked back. "How does it feel like to cheat via a dying kid, Xiao Xie? I bet you feel real proud of yourself right now."

"How does it feel like to lose to a dying kid?" His colleague laughed, sticking his tongue out way further than any living humans were capable of, or comfortable with. "She gave you tips too, you just aren't good enough to use them well. And she's good. Real good. This one thinks she may just be a chess champion in her next life!"

"Thank you, Mister Xie. I learned it from my grandpa."

It was such a blessing that these two didn't exist yet, at the time of his death. As grim and thankless as their duties were, Xie Bi'an and Fan Wujiu were also the most annoying pair of ghosts he ever met, the former taking nothing seriously and the latter taking everything way too seriously.

"Hey. You two, shut up and show some respect." He snapped, before turning to the girl. "I'm sorry you have to endure their presence."

"That's right, Xiao Xie! Even the Third Lotus Prince tires of you and your constant jesting!"

"This one thinks if we pay our proper respect to everyone that has ever died, we'll have no time to actually do our job." Xie chuckled. "Besides, he is clearly talking about the one who is constantly yelling, and incapable of losing gracefully. But alright, this one shall do as you command."

"...Let's go talk somewhere else." He sighed. "These two clowns are giving me a headache."

She giggled a little, as the screen parted with a wave of his hand, revealing the two psychopomps sitting on the nearby bed. "Their hats do look like clown hats."

"The clowns can hear you, you know?" Fan snarked, before picking up his baton and making a gesture in their direction. "Whatever. Begone. And remember our deal: you have four hours. Not a second more, not a second less. Understood?"

"Did you just admit to being a clown too?" Xie grinned. "This one does think a red nose will suit you well."

"Sometimes I seriously wonder why I ever agreed to become your sworn brother, Xiao Xie."

He led the girl out of the room, just as medical personnels started coming in, carefully concealing his presence from the mortals' eyes. The girl made a face when her hand passed through the doorframe, but quickly recovered.

"Where are we going?"

"Anywhere you like." He replied. "Your home, your old school, that really cool arcade or amusement park you never get a chance to visit...and you don't have to choose one. Distance is not a factor at all," with a blaze of pink fire, his wheels were back under his boots again, "when I'm the god of speedy drivers. So take your time."

"Hmmm. I think," she said, after a long silence, "I wanna go see my mom, and my little brother first. Is that okay?"

"Yes," he nodded. "Let's be on our way, then."

"Alright. Leeeego!"

#lego monkie kid #lmk fanfiction #nezha #lmk nezha #journey to the west #investiture of the gods

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