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wovenstarlight · 2 years

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hey remember what i said about thinking of a new and interesting way to ruin yoojin's life. au of the secret haunting au. i love ghosts i love talking about ghosts but i especially love when they're real

Han Yoohyun dies.

And then Han Yoohyun wakes up.

To screaming, to strangers' hands stretching out, to his brother with tears staining his cheeks and a glowing red stone in his palm--

Han Yoohyun wakes up, and he's in one of Haeyeon's reception rooms, his brother in front of him. "Hyung-?" he starts, already reaching out, eyes scanning him--no blood, no scars, no awkward stance to keep the weight off his bad leg--

There's a hand on his shoulder. He whips around, slapping the hand off--

It's Song Taewon.

Song Taewon is dead.

"You're dead too," Chief Song says, like he knows what Yoohyun's thinking. His voice is steady and firm, like he's giving a mission briefing. Not looking for a fight. Yoohyun grits his teeth and doesn't let himself relax. "We're ghosts, or something like it. It's a side effect of your brother's skills, as far as we can tell."

(The dragon's claws, ripping through him like scissors through paper. He can't remember the last time he felt that sort of pain, but he can remember thinking worth it.)

Yoohyun turns and stares at his brother. He looks--healthy, thank god, but he also looks... strangely young. "What's..." He frowns, glancing around. He knows this room. Didn't they replace these sofas? "How are we here?"

"A wishing item." Chief Song steps up beside him; out of the corner of his eye, he can see him studying hyung with a frown on his face. "He asked to go five years back in time with his memories."

A do-over? Hope swells inside Yoohyun, only to die just as fast, because-- "Hyung," he says again, loudly. Too loud.

His brother looks straight through him, a hollowness to his eyes.

"He can't hear you," a new voice whispers. Yoohyun glances over sharply to find the room crowded by strangers, except... He knows these faces. Aren't these hyung's old teammates? (A side effect of your brother's skills.) The one who must have spoken is near the front, staring at him. Her name slips his mind, but the brown hair and that sweater are distinct. She was among the earliest people hyung worked with, and if he's remembering the report right, she died in that very outfit.

Whatever her name is, she gives him a cautious glance before taking a slow step closer, peering at Yoojin as her mouth thins into a line. "He can't see you, either," she continues. "And you won't be able to touch him. Oppa's got no idea we're here."

Yoohyun thought so. He's clenching his teeth so tight his jaw aches, and he forces himself to relax, or at least enough to stop the hurting. "How long have you been watching?"

"Since we died," one of the others pipes up. Yoohyun vaguely recognizes him, too. (Hyung's friend, hyung's coworker, hyung's friend, hyung's friend, hyung's teammate, on and on... And Chief Song? whispers a tiny voice at the back of his mind.) The man shrugs. "Like Chief Song said. We're ghosts, right?"

Ghosts, or something like it. Yoohyun swallows. "And you've never been able to--"

That's when someone comes storming through the door, hyung's teammates hastily pulling out of his way. "Hyung," the intruder snaps, and Yoohyun bristles as he looks over (his hyung not yours not yours-!).

It's--him. It's Han Yoohyun.

"Dungeon brokers are--"

"Sorry," hyung says, and Yoohyun feels like shaking apart at the look in his brother's eyes when he gazes at the other-him. "I won't do it again."

Other-Yoohyun's brows furrow. Yoohyun realizes that on his face, surprise looks a lot like frustration. "If you've maybe gotten yourself in trouble-"

He keeps talking, but Yoohyun doesn't want to listen. Five years ago, Chief Song said. He knows the way he was talking to his brother five years ago.

He remembers exactly why he spoke to him that way, because it's the same reason he spoke to him that way just an hour or so ago. That doesn't stop him from wanting to put a fist through other-him's face when he sees the way hyung just takes it, the sheer lack of fury, of even just indignation. I was being immature, he's saying with a laugh, like it wasn't an hour ago that he threw his weapons aside and faced down a dragon and told Yoohyun I'll save you the trouble of holding a funeral--

He's not sure what sort of expression he's making, but by the way Song Taewon hisses "Han Yoohyun," and the other ghosts draw back, it must not be a very nice one.

Well. It's not like he cares about that sort of thing.

The tangled surge of emotions has his ears ringing, and so it's hard to hear what exactly other-Yoohyun says to their hyung before his brother suddenly steps forward and pulls him into a hug. Yoohyun steps forward, too, unable to stop himself. "Hyung," he whispers, strangled, and he isn't calm enough to hear properly again but he can see his brother's lips shape the words my brother, shape his name.

The next words cut clear through the ringing.

I love you.

There's arms wrapping around Yoohyun, and he shoves them away instinctively, pulling back with a snarl--

Hyung stares back, eyes wide with surprise and--a flicker of hurt that disappears a second later, replaced by blankness, and Yoohyun gasps, reaches out, and when he clutches at his brother's shoulders, his hands don't go through.

His hands don't go through.

(And you won't be able to touch him.)

"…Yoohyun-ah?" hyung asks, tentatively raising a hand before hesitating and going to drop it. Yoohyun instinctively grabs for it before he can lower it completely, wrapping his fingers around his brother's, and hold on, hold on, where's the stiffness in his fingers and the tightness of the skin at his wrist from old injuries and scars--?

Yoohyun slaps his other hand against his own face. Cheeks softer and rounder than he remembers, the line of his jaw not nearly harsh enough. Cold air against his forearms as he fumbles his way through the check; his forearms are bare--

His forearms are bare. He's in a T-shirt. The blood-soaked turtleneck, the rippling coat, they're- they're gone.

Hyung's still here.

"Hyung," he breathes, and yanks his brother back into another hug, tighter than before. Hyung lets out a muffled squawk, but he falls into the hold without a fight, clutching back at Yoohyun just as hard. Yoohyun buries his face in his brother's neck. "Hyung."

"Yoohyun-ah," hyung says, audibly bewildered. He reaches up and combs a hand through Yoohyun's hair. "What's- What happened? What's wrong?"

What's wrong? What's wrong? "You almost died," Yoohyun hisses. "You almost died, you would've died if I hadn't- You would've- You were going to--"

His voice rises as he keeps talking, and Yoohyun's fingers curl into his brother's shirt as he all but shouts- "Don't ever do that again!"

His voice cracks on the last word, and the next breath that escapes him comes out halfway to a sob, and his brother's hand has frozen in his hair, so Yoohyun raises his head to look at him--

Yoojin is staring back at him in undisguised horror. "What?" And then, a second later, eyes widening impossibly further: "You remember?"

#star.txt #you attempt to DIE? you attempt to give your life for me? oh!! oh!!!! confinement for hyung!! confinement for hyung for One Thousand Ye #yeah anyway after the shitstorm that is the resulting freakout yoohyun's like hey wait where'd chief song and the others go.#and yoojins like THE WHO? YOU'RE SEEING THE HATMAN NOW? and yoohyun's like no just your old teammates. they were hanging out.#they said you used a skill on them?? and yoojins like . now hold on a second. what.#please feel free to imagine the other side of this. where the ghosts are like oh jesus christ hyh's here with us n[hyh gets keyworded]#[ghost hyh disappears] HEY WHAT WHAT THE FUCK WHERE DID HE [alive hyh starts saying shit only ghost hyh can know] HEY WHAT THE F U C K #tl;dr. what if ghost au but one of hyj's old targets getting keyworded meant the ghost got merged into their living self.#my sranks #my sranks spoilers #<- presence of stw as always #han yoojin #han yoohyun #song taewon #choi yumi #i neither know nor care if this is ooc i wrote it exclusively as a warm up exercise for cached au prompt response #which is so. both the scene itself and having to Write it are making me weep and wail #why is stw like that. why is HYJ like that.

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summermoonshine · 9 months

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Poker night - a tender pun.

Synopsis: a failed mission, sultry heat, one free pass: will all this be enough to finally feel at home for a bit? Maybe a pun and a rematch will.

Content: stw; green rating; one-shot; slice of life; fluff; war zone (NO red ratings, just general environment); self-reflective; silly moments; jokes; melancholy (?); play of words; shipping pairs; GhostxSoap; PricexGaz. Notes: pairs do not necessarily have to be shipped to each other. The fluff tone allows the story to be read however you like (assuming there's any good soul reading it since I'm a lonely sucker in this fandom). First time sharing a work of mine here after years because i'm scared of being told off (again) by others for being ''too old''.

༻❁༺༻❁༺༻❁༺༻❁༺༻❁༺༻❁༺༻❁༺༻❁༺༻❁༺༻❁༺༻❁༺

Soap, Gaz and Price have been playing for hours now; the table is littered with casino tokens, poker cards and a few nibbled peanuts here and there. The air is rarefied. You can barely breathe and the smell of plastic, cordite and tobacco makes the environment unbearable – unless you're used to it, of course.

Price murmurs something rubbing his beard and eyeing his cards. Gaz, with a worried look, tries to study his opponents hoping to understand their next moves; Finally, Soap, with the look of someone who has lost every single previous game, lets a heavy sigh escape his lips after calling yet another ''all-in'' of the night, rubbing his tired eyes.

The door behind them opens, creaking annoyingly and breaking the silence of the small control room.

Gaz looks up from the table for a moment and exchanges a quick bow of his head in greeting, while Price takes another draw on his cigar leaving a huge cloud of smoke in the air that mixes with the torrid heat of the desert in which that emergency base was improvised in an old uninhabited control tower. A quick and heavy "Ghost" in greeting slips away from the Captain's lips, before the cigar returns between his teeth, the smoke begins to fill his lungs and, again, blurs the profile of that man 193 cm tall.

Ghost reciprocates the greetings of both in silence; a quick nod, nothing more but enough to make his presence known.

The dim lamp connected to the emergency generator - not without an annoying buzz and a heap of flies and insects of all kinds dancing around it - illuminates the dusty, almost empty room, occupied only by a few suitcases and the rickety table with their respective plastic chairs, drawing the figure of a third, mute person: Soap, in fact, does not move his gaze from the table.

He stares at his shoes, head bowed, an adorable pout despite his growing beard.

"All clear out there?" Price asks, almost mindlessly, before making a move to which Gaz responds with an annoyed "Oh come on!".

The sound of the combat boots slowly wakes Soap’s mind up, who although always silent, now shifts his gaze towards the dusty floor following the steps of his Lieutenant.

"All clear", he replies flatly, getting ready – in the meantime – to take one of the glasses placed on the metal trolley nearby, pulling out of a wooden box a glass bottle containing a golden liquid with a pungent smell: good, fine scotch.

A grunt behind him, similar to a clearing of the throat and a cough, anticipate a call.

"Have we forgotten to be on duty?". Ghost, half filling his glass, turns to Price, who continues: "Sure, not that much is done around here, but, you know, the rules are the rules… ", he finally says, busy nibbling on his cigar and arranging some of his cheques.

Ghost sees Gaz making his move, and from the way he immediately cheers and Soap gets up from the table, he understands that the match probably ended in a botched showdown and a big loss.

This is enough to remind Ghost that there is something else in that room, besides the bottle of whiskey in his hands, that is Scottish and that he adores: Soap has always been a sucker at poker.

"Yes, Sir. So are they…", replies the skull-man as he approaches the table taking the place of Soap - who stops now a few steps from the door, fascinated by that faceless human tower’s unpredictable actions.

He sees him spreading his legs - pausing more than necessary to observe how the fabric of his uniform stretches easily under the man's perfectly toned muscle – fitting his large body into that small plastic and metal chair and lifting the mask slightly up over his nose before taking a longed-for sip of scotch.

Then the half-masked man continues, pointing to some notes mixed among the chips in the centre of the table: "but, Sir, is it legal to post 100 pounds for a poker game when you're on duty? I mean, if the rules are rules..."

Price bites the cigar a little more, moves it from one side of his lips to the other and finally meets the eyes of the man sitting across from him.

''You know, Simon" he starts, taking another puff on his cigar, "I've always considered you like a son", he states as he collects his cheques, "but, sometimes,'' he says, stressing a lot this last word, ''you're just as painful as a kick in the nuts", he concludes laughing and starting to clear the makeshift card table.

Gaz doesn't hold back his laugh, and turning towards Soap, asks: ''another round?''.

Before the Scottish could answer, however, Ghost does. Price stares him into the eyes; to some extent Simon is predictable when it comes to Johnny – or maybe not?

"Another round" he confirms.

Soap approaches what until a few minutes was his chair muttering something in Ghost's ear - not exactly in hushed tones.

"Simon, leave it, it's okay-"

"How much have you lost?" he asks, taking another sip of his scotch.

Soap swallows, going silent. Gaz, nearby, is a bit embarrassed but really – really – happy not to be in his shoes.

"Johnny, do I have to repeat myself?" the deep voice reaches Soap's ears like a sweet threat. Ghost's eyes now stare intently at him.

"nearly £200", he answers, ashamed.

Yet, with almost no time for the man beside him to finish, Ghost looks back at Price.

"no limit game, first bet £300 and up, you in?" he proposes, smirking.

After a moment's reflection, Price's big, deep, fatherly laugh stimulates something warm in the centre of Ghost's broad, toned chest, who at that moment is no longer a special operator, no longer on a mission to a place without electricity, lights and enough food due to wrong intel; now it's just Simon who, as if he had just come off a normal factory shift, returns home to his family and tries to repair – avenge? – the disastrous losses of his man.

The Captain stares into his eyes once more and, fully understanding that needy sense of familiarity that no one in that room has ever felt except within the Task Force, smiles back at his Simon.

Leaning against the table with both arms crossed, Price studies him.

“What a big bastard I raised,” he says with a proud, thinly disguised smile. "I'm in!" he says then, licking his lips and patting the table lightly with the weight of his wallet.

A light and sincere chuckle escapes from the always so serious Ghost, and Soap, next to him - who would bet it was laughter he'd heard –, would love to stop time in that instant. He then watches Simon take his wallet, but the Scottish hands block him just in time.

"No, no, I'll take care of it, leav-" he whispers.

“What are you talking about, Johnny?” Simon replies, regardless of the tone of his voice. "Go and grab a chair instead."

But Soap remains motionless, with his hands still on the forearms of his Lieutenant, who in the meantime has already pulled out a bundle of money and organized his checks.

"C'mon, go." Simon says, as Gaz starts shuffling again. "It will not take long anyway. 20 minutes max and I'll kick them all down. The pot will be ours” he says, winking.

A shyly smiling Soap, after having dragged the last of the botched chairs and finally taking a seat next to him, like a real lucky muse, asks him in a low voice and with great concern for the high stake: ''and if it doesn't work?''

“No need to worry, I have a few knives up my sleeve” Simon replies instead aloud, as he collects the first cards, to everyone's common amazement – and fear.

Soap, after an intense general exchange with all the others and an embarrassed smile, intervenes to correct him: ''erm-. cards. I think you mean cards''.

Simon, stopping and turning to his favourite Scottish but deeply doubting his intelligence for the first time in years, asks: ''What the fuck, Johnny? Have you become a moron?''

And as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he proceeds to pull all the knives out of his sleeves, of the pockets of his bulletproof vest and of his safety buckles, placing them on the table: ''of course I didn't mean cards, I said what I said. Tch!”

Silence falls in the room, the hum of the electric generator and the mosquitoes the only audible noise.

Soap's mouth wide open, the hallucinated gaze of Gaz and Price, poor old man, who, shaking his head slightly, thinks and rethinks how much that Simon of his can really be an unpredictable kick in the dick.

Even in the desert, in poker… and in love.

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stevetonyweekly · 2 years

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SteveTony Weekly - January 23

Happy Sunday!! Here’s what I’ve been reading this week. As always, leave your fic authors some love if you read and enjoy their stories!

And for my friends on Twitter--STW is there now, with the weekly list and daily spotlights!

**Indicates my recent favs

~*~

after you woke by hollyandvice (hiasobi_writes)

Tony's daddy issues have daddy issues. This is common knowledge. What isn't common knowledge is how, exactly Tony got those daddy issues. Steve's about to find out.

Breathe and Release by exfatalist

Since being honorably discharged from the Army after an injury sustained while deployed in Afghanistan, Steve Rogers has found a new center of balance as a yoga instructor at a small Manhattan gym. It just stands to figure that one day media crisis-plagued billionaire Tony Stark would come waltzing in and throw everything off. As he guides his controversial new student on the journey to inner peace, Steve learns to deal with some negative energy of his own, and finds something unexpected on the way. [ Non-Powered AU, Modern!Steve. ]

Breakfast is the Most Important Meal by CherryIce

In which Steve is kind of a fossil but his squishy parts and feelings are still intact, Bruce hates blueberries, there's a mysterious banging coming from Tony's lab in the basement, and Emma Frost is not actually a stripper.

Wonders of the World (The Keep Me Safe from Harm Remix) by Sineala

Steve, America's top cop, meets Tony, in the middle of launching Resilient, in a hotel room in Seattle. There, Steve finds unexpected comfort in Tony's presence. It wasn't supposed to be an assignation. But then, a snowstorm wasn't supposed to strand them together, either.

Unmasked by Sineala

All the rifts of the Civil War have been healed, everyone is alive again, and the Avengers can finally relax... and party! It's time for a marathon viewing of the Avengers TV show! Of course, Tony doesn't remember what happened in any of the episodes that aired while he was the director of SHIELD, but he's positive he wouldn't have approved anything... inappropriate. He absolutely wouldn't have. As it turns out, Tony shouldn't think so highly of himself.

Your Lips and Mine (sharp as knives, sweet as summer berries) by IamShadow21

In which Tony Stark kisses and is kissed, makes poor choices and good apologies, and ends up with a family of friends despite himself.

***Get Some Now by Sineala

Avengers Mansion has a mysterious feline infestation. Meanwhile, Steve just can't figure out how to ask Tony out on a date. And the thirteen teleporting cats sure aren't helping matters any.

Blank Slate - A Tony Stark Mystery by navaan

He doesn’t remember who he is or who his friends are, but he knows he’s in a Nazi prison and needs to get away. He doesn’t remember anything about Captain America either, but the man seems to be the kind of guy you trust.

And apparently they share more history than meets the eye at first glance.

Your Knight in Shiny Armor by magicasen

Steve gets hit with a memory spell, and now everyone's worried over him. Mostly over the fact that no one can figure out just what he forgot.

Your Mirror Image by magicasen

The Maria Stark Foundation hosts a superhero-themed gala. Who Steve and Tony come dressed up as is really no surprise.

All That Remains by kijikun

In retrospect, it was the answer to all of the questions he'd carefully avoided asking, all of the things he hadn't wanted to look at too closely.

Seeing Stars by BlossomsintheMist

“I want you to ride me,” Steve said, his hand closing around his dick. He slid it up slow, pushing his foreskin up before circling his palm over the head, pulling it back down so that Tony got a view of his sweet, leaking tip, the copious precome welling up and spilling over.

Tony gives Steve a ride (and a few more things).

Hold Me Down by Elspethdixon, Seanchai

Steve takes Tony back to his apartment to recharge and get warmed up following a fight with a supervillain. PG-13-rated shower sex ensues.

three weeks by orphan_account

Tony Stark is missing and he's pretty sure no one's coming for him.

***His Mark on Your Skin by nightwalker

So he gets the tattoo. For Steve, who likes to see Tony marked. But also for Tony who likes to be marked, to be reminded in that visceral, physical way that he’s Steve’s now.

***The Adventures of Leonardo da Sneezi by soniclipstick (veriscence)

… and his pet human, Steve.

This is the story of how Steve Rogers and Tony Stark fell in love due to a fortunate series of extraordinary events, including but not limited to: the courtship of a cat and his beloved tree, the drinking of much paint water, and an entire pharmacy worth of allergy medications.

With My Own Two Hands by Sineala

When Steve and Tony's safeword jokes turn serious and the two of them embark on a D/s relationship, Steve discovers just how much he enjoys taking care of Tony.

****Forty-Seven Flat by geekymoviemom

Steve Rogers was on the top of the world. He was one of the top students in his class, a world-class athlete, and had a man who loved him. Winning an Olympic Gold Medal seemed like the perfect addition to his picture-perfect life.

But only four years later, Steve’s entire world has come crashing down around him, leaving defending his Olympic title the only thing lying between him and utter ruin.

And then, the unthinkable happens.

Inside the Absence by laireshi, runningondreams

Steve doesn't really believe in Christmas miracles. No one unexpected is going to eat from the empty plate at the table. But sometimes tradition is the only thing he has to hold on to.

Cincinnatus by laudatenium

Behind the counter were mirror-backed shelves filled with black-and-white photographs and a folded flag in a frame. One of the most prominently displayed was one of Steve, in the ridiculous uniform he had worn during the USO tour. He had the cowl off, and looked exceptionally uncomfortable as he posed with what looked like several railway officials, a couple of the Star-Spangled Singers sitting smirking around spoons in the booth behind them.

“Sorry – I gotta –“ Tony motioned outside.

He Blinded Me With Science by orbingarrow

The Security Admin Department at Stark Industries has a point system in place to pass the time.

+10 points for tagging management with a "Kick Me" post it note

+10 points for paging a punny fake name over the office intercom without getting caught

+10 points for stealing any office supplies off Clint's desk and returning it in jello

+20 points for making Steve swear

It's a good thing productivity isn't in the job description.

***The Last Love Song of Anthony E. Stark by jibrailis

After contracting an Asgardian virus, Tony starts forgetting things. And people. And Steve.

#stevetony weekly #stevetony #stevetony fic #fic rec #rec list #stony #superhusbands #fic rec list #steve rogers #tony stark #iron man #captain america

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