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tobesolonely · 3 years

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house hunting

A/n: hello!! I’ve been having a mad case of writers block, so @goldenbluesuit‘s list of prompts was posted just in time! Thank you and i hope you all enjoy!! thank u @harryysstyless and @nationalharryleague for looking this over also :) Love u guyssss!

summary: newly engaged y/n and harry realize they have very different tastes in homes when they begin house hunting!!!

warnings: smut

word count: ~3.3k

my ko-fi! thank you :)

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

With all the joys that came with being engaged, there was a good deal of logistics that you hadn’t even thought of when you excitedly told Harry, “Duh, of course, I’ll marry you!” just four short months ago. Should you wed in the fall or wait until the spring? Outdoors or indoors? These were things that you and Harry went back and forth about most nights, cuddled in bed next to each other before drifting off to sleep.

Something you were most excited about, though, was finally owning a home with Harry. You practically lived together as it was, seeing that you were at his place most nights. Still, his home wasn’t yours—you were reminded every time you had to grab something forgotten from your apartment. Or when he was away for work and you couldn’t bear to be in his large, empty house by yourself.

So while you already knew each other’s grossest habits, (Harry loved asking you to pop his back pimples) you didn’t yet own a home together. Sadly, house hunting was turning out to be a less-than-joyous task when you and Harry were looking for completely different things.

“I jus’ think we’re cottage-style people… that’s all,'' your fiancé’s hand rests on your thigh while you wait in his car for the real estate agent to arrive. “This one’s nice, yeah, but is it who we are?”

You refrain from rolling your eyes at him. “You’re only saying that because they remind you of home.”

“So? They’re lovely,” he sounds a little defensive, but not mad. Your response to Harry is interrupted as the real estate agent pulls into the driveway.

“Be nice,” you remind him as you open your door to let yourself out. “I understand the Craftsman isn’t your first choice, but she worked hard to find this place for us. At least go into it with an open mind.”

Your fiancé mutters something under his breath, but you know he’ll behave himself––he didn’t have a mean bone in his body. Harry’s demeanor immediately changes once the real estate agent is within earshot, turning on his signature English charm. “Thank you for meeting my fiancée and me today. We’re both very excited to check out this lovely home.”

Since you’re privy to the reality of the situation, you can tell he’s laying it on a bit thick, but your agent is loving it. “You’ll both fall in love, I know it,” she begins her ascent up the long driveway and you and Harry follow behind hand-in-hand. “Six bedrooms, eleven bathrooms, and nearly twenty thousand square feet. You can’t beat it.”

Harry seems unphased by the enormous size of the house, but your breath hitches in your throat. Did the two of you actually need this much room? The house appeared to be even bigger than the one Harry owned now––you knew you would hate staying here when he was away for work except this time, you wouldn’t have a quaint apartment and a roommate to go back to when you were feeling lonely.

“H, ‘s kinda big…” you’re trying to speak quietly enough so the real estate agent doesn’t hear you. “I don’t know if I like it.”

“What’s tha’? We haven’t even gotten inside, love,” Harry stops walking to give you his full attention. “You don’t like it?”

“Just the driveway by itself is enormous,” you feel your cheeks growing warm. “I would be too scared to stay here by myself.”

Harry hums in agreement. “Can we have just a moment, please?” He sweetly turns to face the real estate agent who insists you take your time, walking farther up the driveway to give the two of you privacy.

“We’ve not seen the inside, doll. Gotta at least do that,” Harry’s hands run along your bare arms. “‘Member what you jus’ told me? Let’s go into it with an open mind. Don’t have to place an offer on it or anything.”

“Okay…” you’re reluctant and Harry can tell, but neither one of you want to be rude to the real estate agent. “You’re right. I guess it doesn’t hurt to just check it out.”

Harry gives you a dimpled grin. “Y’never know. Might fall in love with it, puppy,” Harry leans in so close that you can feel his breath on your nose. “Besides, think of all the rooms we’d get to have a shag in if we moved in here.”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

“I hate it.”

“What’s there to hate? Look at how cozy it is.”

“Don’t like the color.”

“It’s nothing to slap a fresh coat of paint on the outside.”

You open your mouth and then close it in defeat. He wasn’t wrong. You let Harry lead you around the perimeter of the house while you wait for your real estate agent to arrive to let you in—Harry’s animatedly talking about all the renovations that can be done to upgrade the house (even stating he could do some of them himself) and deep down you know this is the house you will end up living in.

“So sorry I’m late,” the agent’s voice pulls you from your thoughts. “There was an accident on the 405–made traffic a nightmare.”

“No worries at all,” Harry says cheerily. “We’re just excited to get inside and take a look at this place. It’s gorgeous.”

The lady doesn’t even try to hide her surprise. “Really? I agree that it’s a beautiful home, but I thought it would be your last choice given it’s on the smaller side.”

“How many bedrooms?” You change the subject, gazing at the house in front of you. You thought it was rather large, but to each their own.

“Five bedrooms, four and a half bathrooms.”

You glance over at your fiancé, who appeared to be deep in thought—he was most likely calculating if five bedrooms would be enough to host friends and family who came to visit.

“That’s perfect,” he says after a moment, squeezing your hand in excitement. “We’d love to get inside.”

The real estate agent mutters a quiet, “please, follow me” to which you and Harry oblige. She leads you up a gorgeous cobblestone pathway that ends at weathered brick stairs. Harry lightly placed his hands on your waist as you ascended the three steps, knowing you tended to be on the clumsy side.

“Porch is nice, innit?” Harry says to you, lowering his gaze so he’s looking square in your eyes. “I can see us ‘avin a cup of coffee in the mornin’ while lookin’ out at the street.”

Your husband-to-be was trying to sell you on the home more than your real estate agent was––you weren’t mad at it. You simply hum in agreement, not wanting to fully give into Harry just yet.

The real estate agent unlocks the door and ushers the both of you ahead of her, wiping her feet on the mat before entering the home. It was beautiful. The floor plan was open, the living room flowing easily into the kitchen which led into the dining room. Large windows let in plenty of natural sunlight, which you know Harry appreciated.

You listen attentively as the real estate agent gives her typical spiel, informing you about the history of the house (and how all the wood fixtures were original). Harry is long gone, tucked away in some other part of the house, most likely examining the crown molding or something of the sort.

“...because the floor plan is so open, it’s the perfect space for entertaining.”

“So true,” you respond politely, looking around the space. “I was just thinking that. I’m sure Harry would agree... wherever he ran off to.”

“He’s a fan of this one, I take it?” She’s walking again, leading you to the back of the house.

“Oh, definitely. He’s been telling me we’re “cottage people” to warm me up to the idea of moving in here.”

“Is it working?”

You let out a quiet giggle. “Surprisingly, yes.”

“Babe, come look at this bedroom. S’gonna be ours!” Harry calls out to you from deeper in the house and you furrow your brows as you try to determine what room he ducked into.

“Where are you, love?”

“‘M in here!”

You roll your eyes at how Harry did nothing to clarify his exact location for you, but you quickly figure it out, anyway. While the house was large, it was nowhere as big as some places you’ve already looked at which you appreciated.

Once reunited with Harry, he immediately reaches for your hand and pulls you into him. The bedroom you’re now standing in has floor-to-ceiling windows, an adjoining bathroom, and even a fireplace. It was stunning.

“This room is nice,” you say quietly, leaning into his touch. Harry nods.

“S’our room. Can’t you just picture us sleepin’ in here? Relaxin’?” He leans in close to your ear. “Fuckin’?”

A shiver immediately runs through your body at your fiancé’s vulgarity, but you try your best to play off your reaction as you turn to face the real estate agent. “Let’s see the rest of the place, yeah?”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

No one warned you about how much work went into actually closing on a home.

It was a long process. You were glad you had Harry, who had financial advisors, to help you close on the deal. You and Harry ended up going with the cottage home, of course, which ultimately was the best choice for what the two of you needed at the moment.

Waiting to move in seemed like it took a lifetime, even though it was only a couple weeks. Your apartment was a mess of boxes and packing tape, and you were glad you had your roommate to help you gather the things you still had left there (since you had basically already moved in with Harry as it was).

When the day finally came to move all your boxes into your new home, you were more than ready to get it over with. You weren’t sure how Harry could remain in such high spirits engaging in such an arduous task (you were honestly feeling quite crabby), so you let Harry deal with the movers lest you accidentally lose your cool and snap at someone. He kept offering to help them move things, feeling guilty for just standing around while they heaved your extensive amount of belongings around, but they kept insisting they were fine. Your fiancé opted to contribute by going to the kitchen and making them lemonade and little sandwiches, instead.

“We have a lot of stuff, don’t we?” Harry glances up at you as you walk into the kitchen, a mischievous look on his face.

“What’s this we? Pretty sure they’re struggling to carry your things around, not mine,” you snake your arms around Harry’s waist. “Maybe we can have a garage sale? Get to know some neighbors too, hmm?”

“Weird to sell Gucci at a garage sale, innit?” Harry cuts a sandwich into four perfect triangles and sets them beside him on a platter he must’ve dug out of some box. You shrug.

“I’m sure you’re not the only person in this neighborhood who can afford Gucci.”

Harry hums in response, continuing to slather spread onto the sandwiches he was making. “Can you go offer these to the movers? Ask ‘em if they want lemonade or water, too.” He tilts his head toward the tray on the other side of the counter and you reach around him to grab it.

“Look at you makin’ everyone snacks and whatnot. So domestic,” you tease, grabbing Harry’s cheek and pinching firmly. “It’s getting me all hot.”

“Yeah?” He questions, going along with your playful pestering. “Y’like it?”

“Fuckin’ love it,” you coo, giving him bedroom eyes. Harry throws his head back, letting out a loud guffaw. You exit the kitchen and go from person to person, kindly offering them sandwiches which they are more than happy to accept.

The movers finish a couple of hours later, your beautiful home still just as beautiful, but now a myriad of boxes and trash bags. The two of you had absolutely no furniture yet, seeing as Harry wanted to buy everything new instead of bringing the furniture from his old home for reasons you were still unsure of.

Harry settled on making the two of you sandwiches for supper, seeing as that was the only food you had in the entire house, and neither one of you felt like running to the store to buy anything else. He pours two tall glasses of lemonade before carefully walking to where you sat cross-legged on the floor of the living room.

“Our new home...,” Harry trails off, looking around the cluttered space. “The first thing that’s ours.”

“I could cry,” you reply, voice slightly shaky. “Like, it’s just so surreal. We can really decorate however we want and celebrate holidays–”

“Gonna fight wif’ each other ‘n love on each other,” he adds. “Grow old with each other... so happy you’re all mine and ‘m all yours.”

Your heart swells at Harry’s words. He can always tell when you’re growing emotional––he knows you better than anyone else, after all––and he quickly moves closer to you, pulling you into his side. Neither one of you says anything, there’s nothing that needs to be said. You opt to bask in each other’s company and the comfortable silence that fills the dim living room. Out of the corner of your eye you notice Harry scoot the food and drinks out of the way before he pulls you fully into his lap.

“I can’t wait for all of it,” you wrap your arms around his neck, sucking lightly on the area where the skin of his jaw trails into his neck. “Can’t wait to have it all with you.”

“Know what ‘m lookin’ forward to the most?” You hum. “Lookin’ forward to the baby makin’.”

Your breath hitches in your throat at Harry’s admission. Sure, you’ve discussed children before––you were getting married! Still, he catches you off-guard.

“Yeah?”

“Mmm,” his hand slowly makes its way underneath your shirt, loving how he already had you squirming under him.

“I’ve got it,” you mumble quietly, moving away from him. You expertly unclasp your bra and fling it out of the way, letting it join the rest of the mess that litters the floor of your home.

“This is really the first place we’re gonna shag in, then?” Harry asks breathlessly, sucking roughly against your collarbone.

You shrug your shoulders before moving to tangle your hands in Harry’s hair. “The entire house is a mess, this is as good a spot as any.”

“Can’t argue with that,” he mutters, trailing his hands down your body until he gets to your bottom. He easily shimmies your tight leggings down your legs, having done this many, many times before. “Gonna help me christen every room in this house, angel?”

“Yeah,” you’re quick to respond. You wish there was more kissing and less talking going on, but your arrogant fiancé loved two things: teasing you, and the sound of his own voice. “Can I have a kiss?”

“Where do ya want that kiss?”

“Get your mind outta the gutter,” you plead, tilting your head to the side so Harry can access your neck easier. “My lips.”

You know what Harry’s going to say before he says it. “Which ones?”

“H, come on,” you whine, tugging at the hair on the nape of his neck. “Gimmie one.”

Harry finally gives into your requests and presses his lips delicately against yours, humming in pleasure as he feels you sink deeper into the kiss. “I’m messin’ with ya, Y/N. I could never pass on givin’ ya a kiss.”

“I’m glad,” you answer triumphantly, shamelessly stealing another kiss from him.

“Gonna go all the way with me on our living room floor? Dirty girl, you are,” Harry says quietly, gently removing you from his lap. He helps you lay back on the floor, but not before bunching up your leggings for you to use as a pillow.

“All good?”

“Mmm,” you reach up for him, wanting to feel his lips against yours once again. He doesn’t give in so easily—not this time. Harry allows you to take his plump upper lip into your mouth before pulling away just out of your reach. You let out a pitiful whimper which causes Harry to puff out his chest, his ego getting the best of him.

“Gonna make ya feel so good,” he says quietly, rubbing his palm against your core. Your underwear was still on and you knew he was approximately four seconds away from ripping them off.

“I know,” you answer quickly. “I know, H.”

“You sound impatient.”

“I just wanna get on with it.”

Harry sits back on his heels. “What’s tha’ rush? Jus’ us, yeah? Jus’ me?”

“I need it,” you say under your breath. You were usually quite vocal in bed with Harry, but something about the way his gaze fixed on you had butterflies fluttering all-around your stomach.

“What do you need?” Harry taps your bum while he’s saying this, signaling for you to lift yourself slightly off the ground so he can get them around your ankles.

“I need you in me,” you whisper. You knew he knew exactly where you needed him, but you’d stroke his ego a bit if it meant he’d fuck you just how you wanted him to. “Hard. F-fast.”

“I can manage that,” he cheekily replies, giving his hard cock three tugs before pressing himself to your entrance. “Don’t want me to eat ya out or summat?”

“No,” you answer entirely too quickly. “Please just fuck me, H-”

He understands just how needy and desperate you are now and wastes no more time, swiftly entering your tight cunt like he was made just for you. Your body always molded together so perfectly––no one knew you better than he did. When you were really pressed for time, he could get you off in less than five minutes. Although his pace is relentless tonight though, there is no rush.

You felt full in such a way that only Harry could make happen. You let out a loud moan as he moves your leg ever so slightly to angle you in such a way that he knew would hit your spongy walls deep inside of you.

“Y’like it? Like me fuckin’ into ya like this?”

“Love it,” you moan breathlessly, reaching to cradle your tits. Harry raises his eyebrows, pace faltering slightly.

“What are you bein’ so quiet for? S’no one here except us,” he reaches in between your sweaty bodies to flick your clit. “Can feel you clenchin’ ‘round me–are you gonna come, puppy? Come around my cock?”

His teasing is all it takes for you to cum around him, clenching down so tightly that it takes a surprising deal of strength for him to keep moving. Harry follows shortly behind you, letting out an animalistic groan that sounds downright filthy. In that moment, you were glad that there was no one else in the house because if there was, they definitely would’ve heard you and Harry coming down from your respective highs together. He speaks after a moment, chest still heaving.

“One room down, the rest of the house to go.”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

as always, please let me know what you thought here!

#harry styles smut #harry styles #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic

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immersed-in-mischief · 3 years

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Something Good (Tom Hiddleston x Female Reader) Part 20

Summary: The two of you form a plan and Tom sees you in a different light.

Read the previous parts first

Mischief Makers: @ruiningthe1975 @nms224 @youlightmeupfinn @salempoe @lokiprompts @oasiswithmyg @saltandapepper @chwlogy @locht3ssmonster @mad4marvelloki @sititran @dryyoursaltyoceantears @ca-loki @nurisiliel @thankyouforanonymity @tgaylorxoxo @ordinarylokix @1marvelnerd3000 @queenofallhobos @marvelgirl0515 @augusta-imperatrix @deanaddicted2 @geekwritersworld @donttouchmylaevateinn @rogerrhqpsody

The empty pizza box was discarded on the floor beside him. As you stretched out on the couch with your head resting in Tom’s lap, you looked at the apartment around you. It really wasn’t worth everything you were going through just to keep it. Your ego was the only thing keeping you tied to it. The feel of his fingers brushing through your head kept you grounded and somehow held off the hopelessness you had allowed to surround you.

“I won’t go crawling back to her, Hollywood. I can’t.”

His eyes stayed closed as he rested his head on the back of the couch. It was easier to just close his eyes and focus on you than to look at this place a second longer than he needed to.

“Then come back to London with me.”

When he felt you roll over onto your back, he lifted his head and met your gaze.

“I can’t be your lost puppy that follows you around either. I’m not your own personal charity, Hiddleston.”

From the second he backed you into a corner, he knew you would fight him and fight him hard. His love for you was stronger than your stubbornness and he wasn’t going to give up on you.

“You can stay with me until you find a job there and your own place. London always made you happy anyways and you can’t say that you wouldn’t love the change in scenery. In the meantime, we’ll get more time together. If it makes you feel better, I’ll even charge you rent, George.”

For the first time since he arrived, he smiled as he watched you reached through that pretty little head of yours for more excuses.

“Well, what about my stuff? We can’t exactly fit it all in your jet…”

Without a pause, he spit out the already prepared answer.

“We take your stuff down to your mother’s and only take what you wish to have with you in London. The guest room even still has some of your stuff in it from the last time you were there. It’s your room already, Georgia. No one else ever stays in it.”

As you tried to come up with something else, he pulled out his secret weapon.

“Bobby would love to see you every day. He loves you more anyways. Think of all the cuddles you get to have and runs with him…”

He watched you try to look angry as you hid the smirk on your face.

“That’s low, Hollywood. Even for you… you know how much I love that dog.”

You stared at him as he waited patiently with a smug look on his face as if he had already won.

“OK, what about my job. I can’t just quit without any notice.”

“Well, how much notice do you need to give them?”

As you began to wrap your head around the logistics of it all, the most important question came to mind.

“Wait! How are you even here right now? I know you have a thousand and one things to do. You just had ten days off.”

You seemed to finally ask a question he wasn’t prepared for.

“Not only did I know I needed to make things right with you, which is impossible to do when you shut your cell off, I knew you needed me, Love. I told Luke it was a family emergency and to figure it out somehow. The second he objected, I told him to take it up with you and that seemed to pacify him for now. I swear the man is genuinely frightened of you. Speaking from personal experience, being the target of your wrath has terrified me a time or two.”

The grin on your face brightened the room around him.

“Only a time or two? I’m going to have to step up my game then, Hollywood.”

“Now. Now. Let’s not have that. Being on your bad side as many times as I have in seven years has already shortened my life considerably.”

With a giggle, the rest of the fight left you. Your deep sigh sealed his victory.

“You’ve thought this through, haven’t you?”

His fingers tucked the hair behind your ear as he studied your face.

“More than you’ll ever know. I’m willing to kidnap you but it’s easier for everyone involved if you go willingly.”

You held onto his arm that was resting across your stomach and started your mental checklist.

“I need to at least work my shift tonight. I won’t leave them shorthanded with only a few hours’ notice.”

“Understandable.”

He watched you return your attention back to him.

“How long do you have?”

Tom mentally scanned his calendar for this coming week.

“Well… the calls for Monday and Tuesday can be moved a few days. One of the lunch meetings can be handled by email given the circumstances. The online meeting for Loki can be done in person if I end up being in Atlanta anyways. That gives me… three days maybe? Four at the most? If I’m back in London by Thursday night or Friday morning, I might be able to prevent Luke from murdering me.”

Your mind tried to piece together the logistics of making this happen.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this… Between the two of us, we can have the apartment packed and loaded in a moving truck in a day tops. We are looking at a full day on the road, then of course I will have no choice but to spend more than just a few minutes with her since I haven’t been home in so long. That should give you time to schedule your meetings for the show and maybe an afternoon of work by email and phone from Mom’s? I’ll deal with Luke.”

Tom nodded his head as he worked it all out. He could be back home in time if the two of you left first thing Thursday morning. He was having trouble believing that you were coming home with him. It felt too good to be true.

“So it’s settled then, George? Are you saying I get to take you with me this time?”

You sat up and groaned as your muscles protested the movement.

“Yes, you win, Hollywood. Tomorrow, I’m moving to London apparently. Tonight, however, I’m going to work.”

Tom was answering emails on his cell when you came out of the bedroom after changing clothes for work. Hearing you come down the hall to enter the bathroom across from him, he looked up briefly to acknowledge your presence and immediately did a double take as his mouth hung open. He didn’t know what you wore for work, but he certainly had not expected…this.

You started to brush your teeth and didn’t seem to notice his staring. It was impossible to look away as his eyes traveled around your curves. This tank top was lower cut than what you normally wore and was extremely fitted, showing the slightest bit of midriff. What truly did him in, was the blue jeans that seemed to be painted onto your body. It seemed like a miracle you were able to pull them on and button them. Seeing you from the side, he could tell the way they perfectly cupped and lifted your behind in all the right places, not that you needed help in that department anyways. When you turned your back to him and crouched down to grab the curling iron from the bottom shelf of the cabinet, his mouth went dry, and it became impossible to swallow. With his eyes still glued to your backside, he noticed the boots for the first time. He hadn’t seen you in boots in a long time, but it was a sight he wouldn’t mind seeing more often.

“Got anything planned tonight, Hollywood?”

Tom watched you turn around to plug the item in to style your hair and hoped you hadn’t noticed him gawking.

“Pardon?”

With an eye roll, you came to lean against the doorway as the iron heated up with your arms crossed over your chest. It was a struggle to keep his eyes on your face and not on the cleavage that was slipping over.

“While I’m at work tonight. What are you planning on doing? You can feel free to hang out here if you want, I just figured you would be bored. I didn’t know if you had any plans.”

The current thoughts in his head wouldn’t let him think even that far ahead right now. He would have liked to get up to get a drink from the kitchen, but his current situation made it impossible to uncross his legs and stand.

“I have a list of things to take care of actually. There’s a lot to handle if we are going to get everything done before flying out Thursday morning. Don’t worry about me, Love. I’ve got enough to keep myself busy until you get home. I wouldn’t mind if you left me the key though in case I need to run out for a bit.”

“Yeah. Of course!”

You slipped the key off the ring and left it on the entry table before returning to the bathroom to get started on your hair. As you began to add some curl to the ends of your hair, you called back out to him again.

“Is there anything I can take off your plate? You’re already doing enough for me Hollywood. I need to feel like I’m pulling my weight here.”

Of course you would need some sort of control in all of this. He should have seen that coming.

“Darling, you just focus on getting through one more shift for now. Tomorrow will be a mad rush to pack and you will be plenty busy then, I assure you. You could handle calling your mother and let her know to expect us. I’m sure it’s been a while since the two of you talked anyways.”

The frustrated sigh was the only response he received.

Somehow he was able to focus on work for a few more minutes until he made the mistake of letting his eyes drift up to you once again. Now done with your hair and completing your makeup, he watched the way you slowly applied your lipstick as you leaned into the mirror. He almost never saw you in makeup unless you were attending an event with him, and even then, he never saw the application of the makeup. How the hell is applying lipstick this damn erotic?!

He should have gotten up for that drink when he had the chance to earlier…

#loki smut #loki fluff #loki laufeyson #loki fanfic #loki fandom #loki angst #tom hiddleston smut #tom hiddleston fluff #tom hiddleston angst #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston fanfiction #something good #best friends to lovers

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genshin-impacted · 3 years

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lost & found // Diluc x Reader (3/3)

Word Count: ~6.5k

Notes: Seelie!Reader, GN!Reader, Diluc/Reader, Mondstadt people interaction + Mondstadt Archon Quest, mild violence/fighting description and mentions of blood, Diluc POV briefly, mainly reader!POV

Summary: Oftentimes you find yourself wondering about your life before becoming a seelie, but with Diluc by your side, you don’t let yourself dwell on the long-gone past-- not when Diluc offers you affection and a tenderness that no one else is privy to.

But on moonless nights, you let yourself wish upon a star.

(And sometimes, in this world ruled by the Gods and their stars, wishes are granted.)

Alternatively: Diluc has never asked you or needed you to change for him to love you.

[Part 2]

(thanks for the love for this fic! here is the final addition)

Diluc breathes out and sees the fog it makes in the frigid air of Dragonspine. The world continues to remind him that he’s lucky to have his Pyro vision, and again he’s inclined to agree that it’s a useful tool indeed. He cannot melt the snow that falls on the peaks of these mountains, but even he must admit that his flames have served him well in this icy winterland-- until it doesn’t.

His phoenix burns through ruin guards and hunters alike, along with the icy foothold beneath him, and he falls into this cavern with no way up. He thinks it’s ironic that he’s the one that led himself into this predicament and attests it to your influence as his trouble-finding seelie.

Diluc huffs as he dusts off the snow from his shoulders and continues further into the hole he fell into, leaving tracks wherever he can so that you can find him. He knows better than anyone what you can do, and he knows that you cannot find him if he doesn’t leave clues.

It is neither a surprising nor disappointing revelation to him. Diluc has always known that there is nothing special that binds the two of you together-- and perhaps that is why he cherishes what the two of you have. There is no contract, no string of fate, no hand of god that has put the two of you together or convinced the other to stay. You have chosen to stay with Diluc, and Diluc has chosen to let your presence change his life bit by bit.

Ever since coming back to Mondstadt, he has slowly grown more accustomed to working with other people, though with your appearance, his change has been accelerated. For with every adventure you drag him into, he meets new people, forming different teams. He’s helped Razor handle his broadsword better, and now he visits him ever so often to let him spar to his content. He let his stars be read by Mona, despite his initial hesitance (apparently, you are very into astrology), and can now see the constellations form above him much more clearly. And while he has never seen the need to be closer to his god, Venti sees the both of you more often outside of the tavern, and he sees a glimpse of Barbatos within the wind-weaving bard.

You are a comforting presence: straightforward, easy to read, and compassionate. And he does not resist, much like everyone else, when you twirl your way into his heart. It is no longer surprising for him to understand that he does not need to be alone on the dark side of dawn when you have chosen to accompany him.

Speaking of choice, Diluc thinks irritably, wringing out the water from his hair. How did he agree to wander around Dragonspine of all places? He must have been caught up in the logistics of the experiment itself as well as your easy agreement. Diluc is admittedly the only person that understands your every nuance (or, well, most of it; some twirls are lost in translation), but even he cannot quite decipher what you want to take from this experiment of Albedo’s.

When you find him-- which you will, he will ask you, and he thinks you will tell him as best as you can. For someone that cannot speak, you are the most honest individual in his life, which is something he has repeatedly found endearing and refreshing.

Diluc climbs up the side of a cliff near the camp, only to see Albedo and Sucrose discussing at the edge of it. He briefly wonders if the experiment has ended, but when he does not see your light between the two of them, his breath hitches in the momentary panic he finds all too familiar to when he lost you the first time.

Albedo spots him before he can speak. “Master Diluc, I’m relieved to find that you’re safe," he says briefly, and Diluc can at least respect how quickly the alchemist gets to the point, because he continues quickly. “Your seelie left to go find you before we could assess the situation.” He sighs as Sucrose frantically hands Diluc a towel to dry himself and a seat. “You gave them quite the scare, disappearing on us like that.”

“You mean they’re out there on their own right now?” Diluc presses, feeling his hackles raise.

“Yes. We’re going to go out to recount your steps-- undoubtedly, your seelie will be trying to find you--”

Diluc doesn’t need to hear anything else. He holds the towel to Sucrose who nervously puts her hands up, unsure on what to do. “I’ll go find them,” he says. “The experiment is finished now, right?”

“Do not go." Albedo sighs, and however Diluc thought of him before, it’s evident now that he is, above all else, frustrated with how things have turned out. “It’s my experiment and a miscalculation on my part. You should stay--”

“I’ll be fine--”

“Your vision does not make you impervious to the climates,” Albedo says calmly. He thinks he sees a gleam of cunning in Albedo’s eyes when he glares at the alchemist. “Besides, would your seelie be happy if you got yourself sick going to find them?” And Diluc cannot respond to that.

“That being said,” Albedo continues, pulling at his gloves. “I predict you will refuse to stay here permanently. As it’s my fault, I’ll provide you with at least a potent heating potion before you go. Please wait; it won’t take long.”

“...Thank you,” Diluc says, taking back his towel much to Sucrose’s relief. When he sees Albedo head off onto his alchemy table, he sighs and settles into his seat. Where could you have gone, he thinks, drying his hair. After leaving the waterfall, he had… climbed the clifftop. Perhaps you lost him there without any way to notice which way he went afterward, which was a mistake on his part. Perhaps he should--

Diluc pauses his train of thought and instinctively turns his head to the left where he sees you floating. And the relief, oh, the relief he feels when he sees you fly toward him makes smiling easy. “There you are. I was about to go look for you since you weren't with Albedo." He swallows, beginning to breathe easy again. "I was worried," he admits, "I--" He stops abruptly when he looks up at you.

You are crying, and he almost does not know what to do.

He didn’t realize you could cry. Diluc isn’t sure if he can even call them tears-- these globby droplets that disappear when they fall off your body that, when Diluc brushes them away, does not make his gloves wet.

But he sweeps them away when they come anyways. “Hey,” he says tenderly, as you raise your voice from distress. “It’s okay. I’m fine; I’m here.” He cups your small orb-like body and listens to you as best as he can, sweeping his hand over your head and ears soothingly until your hiccup-like speech slows down to a halt.

“You found me,” he tells you firmly. “You found me.” He repeats himself until you are warm in his hands and his hair is dry, the towel left forgotten on the ground.

Even when you have long calmed down, he continues to look over his shoulder to watch as you converse with Sucrose. “Did you get what you were looking for?” Diluc asks the alchemist, who hands him the warming potions for any emergencies.

“Yes. Simply put, your mini seelie does not choose what it finds.” Albedo explains, “However, based on previous observations, they can hone in on things that are… otherworldly. You may be glad to confirm that you are, in fact, not otherworldly. And though this was not my intended result, I also would like to inform you that their attachment to you is out of their own volition…” Albedo watches in barely concealed amusement as Diluc glances over at you again. “Though, I’m sure you already knew this.” He clears his throat. “I would like to offer them future experimentation if they are willing.”

Diluc does his best not to look confused, but his pause gets the better of him. “Why are you asking me?”

Albedo only arches his brow and asks as a matter-of-fact, “Are you not each other’s keeper?” He continues without pause to quickly go over any logistics he has remaining, the details of Dragonspine (lest he fall into a pit again), before going over to talk to you briefly. Diluc wonders what the alchemist talked to you about but he decides to let the questions be asked later.

For now, you twirl up to him, beaming at him more brightly than usual, and he does not have it in him to say anything other than, “Let’s go home.”

.By the time the two of you arrive at the winery, it is dark. You do not hesitate to corral him into getting ready for sleep, and he indulges you by not protesting.

“What did you want to get out of the experiment today?” Diluc asks you, untying his hair and placing it onto his nightstand. Before he can finish his question, you bury yourself into his hair, and he thinks that your tweets and trills sound very much like laughter. He chuckles. “Avoiding the question, are you? How very unlike you,” he teases, and he knows you hear him when he looks into the mirror and sees you peek out from underneath the red and squeak indignantly.

“I’m kidding.” Diluc lifts his hair so you can climb out and face him. “You��re the most straightforward person I know,” he says fondly, and he briefly wonders when he has gotten so honest with himself, letting you know how he feels with the amount of emotion he puts into his words to you.

Sated, you flip around once before settling into his cupped hands, deep in thought. Diluc doesn’t quite understand how your mannerisms make your emotions so recognizable, but he imagines that if you had hands, they would be under your chin in a thinking pose.

He patiently waits for an answer, walking around his room and blowing out the lights. When he turns off the last one, you can only look up at him and let out a quiet coo-- an apology. His hands are already comforting you the moment after you answer him.

“It’s alright,” Diluc says. “I suppose it’s not exactly easy to explain that.” He adds on immediately, “And don’t apologize again. It’s fine.”

“I think I can understand why without you telling me,” he says, and if his voice is a little raw, he hopes it goes by unnoticed. “It’s hard, isn’t it-- not knowing what you’re supposed to be doing."

Quietly, you float up, and Diluc feels his heart tremble when you press a kiss to his forehead in a mix of an apology, a comforting notion, and an act of love. He lays down in silence with you, and if you make a nest out of his hair, and if he wakes up with you nestled at the crook of his neck, he does not say a word.

There is no need.

“Isn’t it enough?” Lisa asks him as she leans over the library railing. Diluc looks over to her as he puts away the last of the books he has asked to borrow, and he knows what she is asking before she finishes. Still, she tilts her head, her hat staying steady on her head, and repeats, “Isn’t it enough that they’re here with you?”

“Yes,” Diluc says without hesitation. “It is.”

“Can I ask why you’re still researching about seelies then?” Lisa pauses, putting her hand over her shoulder, and Diluc knows she will arrive at the right answer without him telling her. “If not for you then… for them? You’re looking for answers for your mini seelie?”

"I try to do what I can," he says, ignoring the way Lisa's eyes gleam all too knowingly. (He always knew there was much more to her at first glance.) "Thanks for the help, I--" He pauses when he catches Lisa smiling behind her fist. "...What is it?" he asks warily.

"Oh, nothing." Lisa croons, giggling, "I just think it's sweet how the two of you treat each other. Anyone would get jealous of that." She pauses, looking out the window as the sun sets in the west. "It almost seems like a miracle to have the two of you find each other, don't you think? Fate, perhaps? How utterly romantic!"

"You're letting Kaeya influence you too much," Diluc retorts, much to Lisa's amusement.

"Maybe so," she says, sighing, "but even if it was fate, you wouldn't have cherished them any less." She gives Diluc a pointed look even he cannot deny. "Isn't that right, Master Diluc?"

Diluc huffs, walking past her to head down the stairs. "Asking that, I'm sure you already know my answer," he tells her, and he lets his mouth twitch in a semblance of a smile when he hears her complain about his tight-lipped attitude. It blossoms into a full-blown smile when he starts heading back to the winery.

When he comes back, you are waiting for him among the grapevines as the winery is basked in orange light.

He's home.

Diluc sleeps early and wakes up before the crack of dawn and takes you up the clifftop overlooking the winery. He had told you that there was something he wanted to do and left it at that. Not that you minded-- you were happy to follow him, blocking out any sharp rocks so he wouldn’t grab ahold of them as he climbed and scaring off any elemental wisps that came your way.

When the two of you reach the clifftop, the sky begins to grow brighter as the sun peeks over the horizon. The color change from blue to yellow then orange is truly beautiful, and you are almost mesmerized as Diluc takes a seat down next to you, watching the sunrise.

“...It’s almost been a year now,” Diluc says, “since we first met.”

Happy Anniversary? You squeak in confusion, only to whip your body to face him when you realize why you’re here with him at dawn to watch the beautiful scene unfold before you. You squeak rapidly, stumbling over your words that he cannot hear but can understand anyhow. You hadn’t realized-- You were an idiot for not planning anything either, not that you could-- What kind of ore could you go find to bring to him as a present--?

“Thank you,” Diluc tells you, “for the past year.” In the backdrop of the rising sun, you think he is almost too bright to watch with that gentle smile of his. The thought is only exacerbated when he cups you in his hands as softly as he has always done. “Let’s see what this year has in store for us together.”

You trill softly, floating in the air to situate yourself on top of his head to watch the ocean shine brighter with the rising sun.

It is not the New Year for any country nor culture, but you look into the horizon and make a wish that no one can hear. One year has passed, many things have changed, but you find that the one thing that has not is your adoration for Diluc.

"Let's go back home," he tells you, not for the first time, when the sun rises substantially above the horizon. Obediently, you float down into his sights where you twirl playfully in the air in thanks for the view. He chuckles. "No problem," he says, and he leans down just enough to place a quick kiss in between your ears.

(In hindsight, perhaps you should have wished for more kisses in the following year if you thought that was actually something you could wish for.)

Like the beginnings of a new arc, you lead Diluc onto the start of another campaign that lasts longer than normal and ties in with the previous adventures you have had with Diluc.

You find Aether on the shores east of Mondstadt. Diluc can only look at you curiously when Aether reveals his visionless powers and his desire to find his sister, for if there were ever any need for corroborating evidence on your talent or ability, Aether is living proof of it.

With the traveler, you resolve many of the things that neither you nor Diluc could comprehend. The red, crystalline tears are purified, the winds calm down with Dvalin’s defeat, and Venti-- or should you say, Barbatos-- as usual, disappears in a wisp of dandelions to leave the City of Freedom to its autonomy. In the breezes of Mondstadt, you can feel his protective gaze upon the city, and more often than not, you find him wandering in the tavern, looking for a quick drink that Diluc offers ‘reluctantly.’ (You know him better now; Diluc would rather hug Kaeya than admit that he cares for the people in his life more than he shows, and Venti is one of the people he can find a fondness for. You still find yourself abashed to know that you are the only one Diluc can say unashamedly and wholeheartedly that he adores you-- in his own way.)

Aether’s presence in Mondstadt is a breath of fresh air, considering how compassionate he is and how willing he is to help with the common troubles of those in the city. He is led along by Kaeya, tugged onto an impromptu date by Lisa, and given a mask to go undercover with Diluc and help him in ways that you cannot. The tug of jealousy is unfamiliar, but you are more glad than anything that Aether can be his partner during the most dangerous of missions. You tag along as moral support and as a guiding post-- and for that, you find yourself most similar to Paimon, who, for some reason, keeps being compared to emergency food.

“You’re my companion,” Diluc tells you with finality when you look up at him, barely forming the thought in your head about being his emergency food. “Don’t doubt that.”

Turns out, people can not breathe when you are covering their entire face with your translucent body.

When the dust settles, you never think of turning Aether down when he asks you if you can sense whether his sister is in Mondstadt.

You leave with Aether and Paimon with the promise that you return to Diluc at the winery. You guide the two of them to Stormterror’s Lair, a place you have gotten far more acquainted with in the past month, and head up to the cliffside where a ruin guard’s footprints remain next to a dandelion. You can sense something here, though you are unsure of what, and you are about to apologize for finding nothing when Aether looks over to you with wet eyes.

You coo up at him comfortingly as he sighs with a mixture of relief and sadness. “Thank you,” he tells you, holding out his hand. You press against it, and you hope he knows that the best you can do to imitate a comforting hand-hold. “At least now I know for sure she’s here in this world.” He smiles at you. “This gives me a lot of hope that I’ll find her, so… thank you, really.”

Aether leaves for Liyue in the next few days, and if you had known he would leave so soon you would have done more than held his hand. You wish you could comfort him, reassure him that his sister, too, must be looking for him just as hard as he was. (Even if this was not the truth, you think if you wish hard enough, you could maybe manifest it for him.) You have so many words within you and yet none of them are conveyed, and Aether’s sad smile stays.

It gets hard sometimes, knowing how little you can do, and how much you could have done before-- and this is one of those moments. It is rare for you to feel melancholy over the things you no longer have, but they come and go like the waves on Falcon Coast. Without a word, Diluc can tell when you are feeling down, holding you when you fall into his hands.

His kisses come more often now, and he places one between your ears when you are with him during your lower moods. You think your day improves almost immediately when he does so, but it helps tremendously also that Diluc never forgets to reassure you.

“If you want me to help you with anything,” he says, “you only need to ask."

You coo again, twirling once, nudging at his cheek before backing away just enough to look at him. If you had a heart (and you sometimes suspect you do), it would be beating quickly as you wait for him to decipher your actions.

“...Ah,” he says, picking you up again. You think for a moment he looks as embarrassed as you feel, but then he asks, “...Another one?” and places a second kiss onto your head.

You trill, pleased that you are spoiled by Diluc and even happier that Diluc only joins you in your mirth when he huffs in laughter.

“What an honest seelie,” he says, and you could not be more content with how fond he sounds of you and how, again and again, he continues to be patient with you even when you cannot be patient with yourself.

Sometimes when the moon is high and Diluc is fast asleep, you find yourself at the place you first came to fruition as a seelie. The lake by the Winery and this exact scenery may as well be your birthplace. When you look into the reflection you see your orb-like features, viscous yet watery all at once, emitting light.

But sometimes, when the only light is coming from the fireflies that glow beside you, you look into the lake and see a familiar face staring back at you. They have your face-- your eyes, your nose, your mouth, and your brows of a time when you were not a seelie. It’s the only time you get to see this image of your past self, reminding you of what you were before. Sometimes, you think you can hear your voice being carried over by the winds of another world, of another time.

These moments are the only thing you have kept to yourself.

After all, what’s the point of holding onto something that you no longer have? The man you’ve grown to care for-- grown to love-- is someone who has his eyes set forward toward the future, and you’re going to be there with him no matter what.

Although seelies cannot dream, you dream of carrying over the tray of tankards and washing the dishes in the tavern, of carrying Klee over your shoulders as you lead her to Albedo, of bumping elbows with Kaeya jokingly or placing a blanket over Jean’s shoulders when she falls asleep in her office again.

You dream of lacing your hands with Diluc’s, pressing your lips upon his temple, and hearing his heartbeat against his chest with a steady, grounding rhythm that reminds you you are home.

And sometimes, just dreaming is enough.

(And sometimes, it is not.)

Life goes on. You see more of Mondstadt and begin to know the land like the back of Diluc’s hand. Knights and adventurers alike know you as the little seelie, and whether they think you follow Diluc or Diluc follows you is up to each person’s interpretation. (Regardless, none of them are wrong.)

You accompany Diluc when he trains Razor in Wolvendom, and you invite Bennett to adventure sometimes with the two of you. (The boy may be unlucky, but you’re a magnet of trouble, so you think you have some things in common. A lot more things explode when he accompanies you but Diluc can handle it.) You make sure Jean gets some rest (“Your seelie is, um… very…” “Stubborn?” “I was going to say determined.”) and follow Lisa around on her expired library book expeditions. (“You think she’s beautiful, don’t you?” Diluc says to you, and you wonder why you babble excuses to him-- You’re more beautiful!-- while he looks at you in amusement.)

You and Diluc spend more time with other people in comparison to before, but you still have quiet moments with just the two of you when the days are slow. You’ve been learning how to move small things even better than before, among other things, but with this skill in particular, you can actually slide the pieces on the chessboard when you play against Diluc, who looks on (fondly) as you do your best to carefully push the pieces with your body.

You always end up knocking some down, but when you finally get a handle of it, you do it with such concentration that Diluc doesn't have the heart to offer help. He does, however, end up polishing the board so the pieces slide more easily. You notice it’s shinier but he doesn’t let you pay it any mind.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says to you, and you think the words I love you come to mind more often than not recently.

Thank you, you trill instead, and you ache with a want that pulses ever so often when you want so much more than you have when Diluc reaches out to caress your head.

“Like I said,” Diluc says softly. “Don’t pay it any mind. It’s your move still, you know.”

And you move the pieces. And you pick the grapes in his vineyard. And you find artifacts of crimson for him. And you kiss the scars from the many years he has battled (with or without you).

He gains another in the next, final battle with you as his seelie.

Diluc has gotten hurt before. It’s inevitable with the number of enemies he faces, the number of times you run into enemy territory, but it has never been a problem for him to stand back up and fight. His fire burns brightly-- shine true is his motto, and Diluc lives those words as though they have been etched onto his soul.

Much like fire, Diluc is relentless, and you can only follow him as he pushes through enemies, listens to his connections, and finds a den of thieves that have been terrorizing Springvale for months. The two of you should have known that their efficiency was because they were led on by the Fatui, but you fail to notice until they have you surrounded.

You have every faith in Diluc to come out safe and sound, but it takes only one mistake for you to be reminded that there is a limit to everything.

The blade slices through so quickly you aren’t sure what happened, but when Diluc pulls his hand back from the cut on his side to have it painted with blood, your heart drops.

“A little out of depth, don’t you think, Darknight Hero?”

“I’d keep my tongue in my mouth if I were you,” Diluc growls, and you can only tremble in mid-air as your mind races with the things you can do-- only to think of all the things you cannot do. You almost miss what Diluc tells you with the way your hearing fuzzes. “Go back to Mondstadt and tell the Knights where these bandits are,” Diluc says, and you know it’s serious when Diluc thinks about reaching out to the knights. (This is partly true, you would realize later, that despite Diluc’s hesitance on being associated with the knights, he knows you would reach out to Kaeya or Jean if needed-- if not for him but so you would be taken care of.)

You should have told Jean or Kaeya or Amber or even Lisa where the two of you had gone just in case things go awry. The thought never crossed your mind things could go wrong when you had Diliuc with you.

“You’ll find me again,” Diluc tells you softly when you hesitate, and you wonder how he can lie to you like that when his gloves are too bloodied to even hold you. “I promise.”

How could you ask me to do that? You plead, feeling tears well up again. How could you ask me to leave you?

“It’s okay,” Diluc tells you, and his bare hands are warm. “It’s fine.”

You are ripped out of Diluc’s hands when someone throws an electro grenade in the fire below Diluc’s feet. He’s still standing even after this, but a throwing knife hits him on the shoulder, another grenade to his left. You can do nothing but watch as Diluc is hurt, falling onto the ground.

If there was ever a moment you wanted something so badly, you would have done anything to get it, it would be right here-- right now.

You are the last thing he sees.

“You whose strength stems from your devotion, I shall lend you my power.”

You don’t know whose voice you heard or how somehow you have the hands to hold onto the Vision framed with Mondstadt wings in your hands, but you’ve learned not to question the good things in life-- one of them being your life at Diluc’s side.

Your voice is loud, you realize, when you shout at the bandits to leave. And your powers are strong-- strong enough to protect the person that matters most.

The bandits run at the fight sign of trouble, and the Fatui agent is unconscious. (You checked.)

You hold Diluc as he lies on your lap, breathing heavily but still breathing-- thank the archons. You quickly brush his hair away from his face and press on his wound, wincing when he lets out a grunt of pain even unconscious. I won’t let them hurt you, you think, taking one of his hands to brush your lips over his knuckles. (His hands are rough and calloused, but you love them just the same for how gently they held you when you were just a seelie.) If they come back, they’ll have to get through me.

“Hello, mini seelie.”

You look up from Diluc just in time to see a hand reach down to softly rustle your hair, much to your dismay. The initial reaction gives way to surprise when you recognize that the voice comes from none other than Kaeya. He grins down at you with his sword by his hip, and you frantically look around to see if the bandits had come back.

How did you--?

“Nice wings you got there,” Kaeya teases you, making you look back and find that oh, when did those get there? “Didn’t even notice them because you were too worried about Diluc, huh?” When you nod, he softens his gaze. “Why don’t you let us take care of things around here, hm?” He glances down at Diluc who has been sleeping soundly in your lap. “Let’s get him back home.”

When a few knights come with a cart to ambulate Diluc back to Mondstadt instead of the winery (you couldn’t argue with Jean even if you did choose to speak; she’s stubborn when the people she cares about are hurt), you feel the tension leave your body all at once, and for the first time in what feels like an eternity, you actually feel sleepy.

“I’m glad we arrived right in the nick of time.” You turn to Kaeya who had been working behind the scenes, directing the knights. “You did good work, chasing them out of here so we could catch them easily,” he says, “I-- oof!”

You tackle Kaeya into a grateful hug, and it takes him a few moments to respond by placing his hands onto your back and giving it a few pats. “There, there,” Kaeya drawls, but you can hear the smile in his voice anyways. “Better not hug too long; Diluc might be jealous that I’m the person you hug first, you know.”

You let go slowly, grinning up at him as though you agree, and you dodge Kaeya before he can mess with your hair again. On the way out of the camp, Jean gives you a smile, Amber waves excitedly at you before rounding up a few more bandits, and your cheeks hurt a little from the way Lisa pinched it. You go find Diluc where he’s being taken back in a horse-drawn cart and hold his hand until you’ve fallen asleep by his side.

(In his sleep, Diluc holds onto you.)

Diluc wakes up twice. Once, very briefly, when your wings are expansive and when the Vision at your waist shines brightly with power. Before he wakes up the second time, you can already feel the power fade from both you and the Vision.

You knew that your transformation was temporary; powers do not always last forever, especially since the glow of your Vision seems contingent on the cycles of the moon-- particularly the moon that you were born on. You think that you should feel more disappointed, but you don’t. You get to hold onto Diluc’s hand in yours and wipe away the sweat from his forehead as he sleeps, and you think that if you only get this one chance to do these things, then you will take what you can get.

You will love Diluc as you are, no matter what form you take. Your transformation wasn’t necessary. Your powers were a bonus, but even if you weren’t granted a miracle, Diluc would have been safe, as a courtesy of Kaeya who had been trailing behind the two of you since you from the start. (Kaeya and Diluc's connections had the same info this time around, so they were bound to intersect at some point.) What you’ve been given was not the power to save Diluc, but the chance to love him in a way you have always dreamed of doing.

When Diluc opens his eyes the second time around, more aware and more awake, you almost don’t know what to do. It’s a momentary panic when you think he doesn’t know who you are, but he only needs to take one look at you before he raises his hand to caress your cheek as he’s always done.

“It’s okay, I’m here. I’m fine,” he soothes, though his voice is still raspy from disuse. “Don’t cry.”

I can’t believe you wanted me to leave you behind. How could you tell me that?

“...Sorry,” he says, and you raise your head from his bed just enough so he can wipe away the tears on your lashes. “It’s funny but even if you don’t talk, I can still understand you.”

You watch as he slowly takes your hand and presses his palm against yours, lowering his fingers until they’ve interlocked with yours. “My seelie,” he says with all the warmth in the world. You can only nod before you’re wiping away the tears that spring up again. "Even in this form, you'll still lead me, right? Still find me if I get lost?"

You don't know what type of face you're making, but Diluc softens his gaze before shifting slightly in the bed offered to him by the church. "Come here," he whispers, arms outstretched.

You tentatively place your weight onto the bed, arms placed on each of his sides as you gingerly climb into bed with him. When he winces, you put a hand on his chest, alarmed, to stop him from exerting himself.

“I’m fine,” he says immediately, and when he looks at you, he bursts out laughing, only for him to wince again more strongly. “Sorry, your expressions-- they’re exactly how I imagined them.” He chuckles, though you purse your lips at him as you finally settle under the covers next to him. You make a sound of surprise when he leans over just enough to press a kiss onto your forehead. You hear his soft huff of laughter again when you bury your face into his chest out of embarrassment. “Still as easy to read as ever.”

You grab a hold of his shirt with your ears pressed against his sturdy chest. He gently rubs circles on your shoulder as you listen to his heartbeat, which is as steady as you have imagined it to be. It quickens ever-so-slightly, and you look up at Diluc in time to see him gaze down at you tenderly. “You don’t have to speak,” he says, brushing his hand across your cheek. “Nothing has to change at all. But there’s something I want to know.” You raise your hand to caress his hand (and he finds the courage to keep on speaking).

“Do you think you can tell me your name?” Diluc whispers, the most unsure you have ever seen him, and you think you’re so fond of him your heart (not just metaphorical this time) might burst from it.

It takes only a moment for you to decide to scoot yourself up just enough to kiss him on the side of his mouth, and you can't help but grin at the stupefied expression on his face.

And you say your name.

How interesting is it that it's the one thing you cannot convey through trills and twirls, cannot show through hugs and kisses? You never thought that your name could have such significance but you watch as Diluc's eyes widen and you think this moment is the gift the gods have given you.

Diluc takes a moment to taste your name, and he calls out to you for the very first time out of many, many, many times.

Before the sun rises, Diluc wakes up to your bright glow and with your seelie body pressed up against his collarbone. He breathes your name into the quiet infirmary before he closes his eyes to sleep again.

You are found more often than you are lost. For every time Diluc calls your name-- as a seelie or as a human (fairy?)-- your heart soars as high as the anemograms at Brightcrown Mountain.

As a seelie, your life with Diluc stays the same-- for the most part. No one treats you differently and no one loves you differently from when they knew you as just a seelie. If anything, the biggest change has been in Diluc's life where the stares from his admirers are more muted and the swoons reduced, for how could anyone continue to pine over someone that is so evidently preoccupied with someone else? (Even though they've only seen the person who Diluc holds in high regard once every new moon.)

Every adventure still has the same probability to go awry and Diluc still polishes the chessboard to perfection for you. Though on moonless nights, Diluc can hold you close, and you can hold him closer, saying his name (the second word you ever say) and hoping he can never feel quite as lost as before when you are here with him.

FIN

temp taglist

@creation-magician @inlustris-but-obey-me @lumi-ying @thetwinkims @loveyoutothestars @ninqat @winterptilopsis @nya-vivi @just-noelle @shr3ik

#diluc ragnivindr #diluc/reader #diluc x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact diluc #diluc #genshin diluc #kaeya #albedo #jean #lisa #aether #mini seelie #the amt of times i stopped myself from rambling

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there-must-be-a-lock · 3 years

Text

Rain Check

Spencer Reid x (gender neutral) Reader

Word Count: 2860

Warnings: Lots of sexual tension and pining and ~heated glances~ or whatever but no actual sexy times. Author plays fast and loose with the canonical details of Spencer’s teaching sabbatical, as well as the logistics of grad school. There’s a teacher-student thing going on, but no weird age gap or whatever. Excessive objectification of Spencer’s hands, because really, what else do you expect from me?

A/N: For the “mutual pining” square on my @cmbingo card!

You trail off. Spencer’s staring like he’s waiting for you to say something else, even though you’ve been rambling for a while now.

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly.

“For what?”

“You probably didn’t need to know all of that.”

He blinks, shaking his head with a quiet laugh.

Something about him makes you want to open up; it’s been almost an hour of nonstop conversation, and you haven’t told him what you’re studying or even where you’re studying, but you feel like you’ve known him for years. You’ve talked about your favorite books and assorted high school traumas. He keeps insisting he’s not good at small talk anyway.

“I really like listening to you talk,” he says, soft and sweet. “I just… I like watching you talk, too. I noticed your eyelashes and — and I got distracted.”

Your cheeks feel hot, suddenly. You know the feeling.

“Oh,” you manage.

There’s something about his hands; they’re just very fucking distracting, and every time he tucks his hair behind his ears, you lose your train of thought. It doesn’t help that he keeps absently-mindedly twirling a pen as he talks, long dexterous fingers moving with precise little movements, and — yeah. Distracting is putting it mildly. There’s this constant low flicker of want in your gut.

“It’s been a long time since I enjoyed myself this much in a bar,” he admits, with a self-conscious little half-smile.

“Me too.”

Probably helps you’re not actually inside the bar. You’re tucked in the corner of the deck, leaning on the railing, and even though it’s crowded, you’ve barely noticed your surroundings. Every time you look at him, the rest of the world feels distant, like one of those perfect movie moments where the crowd parts and the hero and heroine walk toward each other in slow motion, meeting in a spotlight as everything else fades away.

It’s just… those moments don’t happen, not in real life and certainly not to you. It’s never as simple as that: see — want — have.

You can’t help but hope that this time might be different.

Spencer’s smiling, and the way he looks at you with those big soft eyes makes you feel like you’re standing in a spotlight. It’s not a bad thing, necessarily. It’s just unusual, this jittery, excited, not-exactly-stage-fright thing happening in your chest.

You have to remind yourself to breathe.

The pause stretches a bit too long, and in an effort to fill the silence you blurt out, “What are you thinking about?”

He hesitates, and his tongue slides along his lower lip, drawing your attention to his plush pink mouth as he says, “I was thinking—”

“Spence! There you are!” someone says loudly, and you’d be embarrassed by the way you jump, startled, if Spencer didn’t do the exact same thing.

“Hey. Emily. Um… what’s up?” His voice cracks. He looks like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar; it’s flattering and oddly endearing.

“We have a case.” The woman seems to be holding back a smile as she glances apologetically at you. “Meet you up front.”

Spencer is visibly disappointed as he turns back to you. He gives you a helpless sort of shrug, and for a second, neither of you say anything.

Your throat feels tight as your eyes lock on Spencer’s parted lips again. It’s been such a long time since you felt this drawn to a person; his closeness feels hypnotic.

“I’d like to see you again,” he says shyly. “I — can you—”

“Phone number?” you supply. His hands flutter and his eyebrows rise, like he forgot, for a second, that cell phones exist. Then he pats his pockets, pulls his out, and passes it to you. Once your number is saved, you give it back with a small smile.

“I’ll probably be out of town for a few days, and then — maybe next weekend,” he says.

“I’d really like that,” you admit, trying to make yourself take a step back. “This was — yeah. I’m glad I met you.”

“Spencer!” someone says, from the door, and he waves them off without turning to look.

“Earlier, when you asked—” He pauses, frowning, shifting his weight like he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. “I was thinking about how much I’d like to kiss you.”

His voice is soft and husky, and it cracks on the last word like maybe his throat is tight too. You feel hot all over.

You never even shook hands; there’s been no physical contact whatsoever between the two of you, and now your head is spinning with the urge to reach out, to touch, to get closer... but it feels like you missed your opportunity for that — it doesn’t feel right, not when you know it’d be over much too quickly. You can tell Spencer feels it too.

Once two magnets snap together, it’s a lot harder to separate them.

“Rain check on that,” you say breathlessly, and he nods, raising one hand in an awkward wave as he steps back.

This is Spencer, by the way. I’m really glad I met you.

The text comes in just an hour or so later, when you’re sitting in the cab on your way home, and you smile so wide it feels like your cheeks might split with it.

The giddiness lasts until Tuesday morning, when you walk into the first session of your six-week-intensive graduate seminar and see Spencer at the white board, writing down page numbers for your reading assignment.

Your eyes lock, and there’s another of those moments where you can’t see anything other than him. It’s not so pleasant this time, though.

Spencer drops his pen, and you promptly forget how to walk, stumbling and spilling coffee down your front. You curse so loudly that the rest of the class turns to stare at you.

To add insult to injury, the only open seat is directly across from Spencer’s.

Fantastic.

You spend the next hour and a half trying very hard to avoid eye contact, and for the most part, you’re successful. He doesn’t seem to want to look at you either.

You do sneak one glance, though, and he’s just as pretty in the harsh fluorescent light of the classroom as he was in the golden glow of the bar lights. It seems really fucking unfair.

If it were any other class, you would consider dropping it, but you were lucky to get a spot; this is big for your resume. It’s a special, one-time-only class, and your advisor had described the guest professor as “a genius, and one of the leading names in his field.”

...fuck.

Spencer dismisses the class. You start packing hurriedly, convinced he’s going to ask you to stay back, but you get out the door without incident. You’re already halfway down the hall when you feel your phone buzz in your pocket.

Can we talk?

It’d be so easy to lie, say you have somewhere to be, put the rejection off for another day, but instead you take a deep breath and turn around.

Spencer is sitting right where he was, except now he’s cross-legged in the chair, twirling a pen and frowning at it like it contains the mysteries of the entire universe. He gives you a twitchy attempt at a smile, eyes wide with worry.

You move closer, sitting down next to him, trying to ignore those fucking fingers as he plays with the pen. This would be a whole lot easier if he would stop doing that, because it’s just like the bar — the same hot, fluttering sensation low in your belly, no matter how much you try to ignore it now.

“I thought you worked for the FBI,” you mumble and he lets out a laugh that sounds more like a sigh.

“I do,” he says ruefully. “I just — also teach, sometimes?”

“Yeah. I got that.”

His tongue does that slow swipe across his lower lip. You bite your own lip, trying not to stare, and Spencer drops the pen with a clatter.

“Sorry,” he says, shoving both hands through his hair. “I’m so sorry if I — if this is — is this going to make you uncomfortable?”

You frown, looking at him blankly for a second, because that was so not the reaction you expected. “Uncomfortable?”

“Knowing that I — that I’m attracted to you? I’m aware of the power imbalance inherent in the situation and I promise I would never—”

“Present tense?” you blurt out, and Spencer stops, blinking at you.

“Well… yes. I thought that was obvious. I meant it, you know; I don’t just meet people like that,” he says, agitated. “It’s usually difficult for me to talk to strangers, and you’re — you’re just — yes. I’m attracted to you.”

“I figured you would think I was immature, and — I mean, it’s such a fucking cliche,” you laugh, digging the heels of your hands into your eyes. “I usually try to avoid modeling my life on Van Halen songs.” He gives you a blank look and you add hastily, “Never mind. Point is, a student with a crush, throwing themselves at a professor? Seems like a recipe for embarrassment.”

“Oh,” he says, as a smile spreads across his face. “So… maybe after the class is over, we could—”

“Yeah?”

Spencer is blushing. Jesus pogo-jumping Christ, you want to kiss him.

“It’s just six weeks. We’ll keep it strictly professional — appropriate — for six weeks.” The words are quiet, all husky and promising, and you can’t tell whether it’s intentional or not, but something about that tone sounds very fucking inappropriate. “And then… we’ll take that rain check.”

You nod and clear your throat. “You’re on.”

SIx weeks, two classes a week, ninety minutes per class. Easy enough.

It’s not easy. Not in the fucking slightest.

Part of you wishes he could be a bad teacher, or something. If he was boring — if he had an obnoxious laugh — something. Instead, every goddamn minute spent in his classroom seems like another reason to fall for this guy.

And yeah, sure, he’s pretty. You catch yourself staring, sometimes: his long lashes, the hint of gold in his eyes, the sharp angles of his jawline, the messy hair… and you’re not the only one. It seems like the entire class is crushing on him by the end of the second meeting, boys and girls alike, and maybe you would make fun of the Indiana Jones-style lash-fluttering that’s aimed his way if you weren’t guilty of doing the same thing yourself.

Once word gets around that there’s a cute new professor in the criminology department, rumors start to fly left and right. You’ve heard other students talking about him, speculating about the apparently “way more badass than you’d think” Doctor Reid. You hear stories about how he got shot once — was kidnapped and tortured — overdosed on heroin — saved a train full of people by talking down a lunatic with a gun — hooked up with a movie star — went to jail for murder — you name it, every story more far-fetched than the last.

Well, he did mention getting shot one time, but you’re pretty sure the rest are too absurd to be true.

Either way, it’s not the looks or the legends that have you hopelessly head-over-heels.

It’s the way he lights up when he gets started on a subject that interests him. It’s the joy in his expression when a student asks a good question, or when they draw the right conclusion; his smile is bright and brilliant every time.

The first time one of those smiles is aimed in your direction, along with a half-shouted, “Correct!” and an excited wave of his pen, you’re just about blinded. It quickly becomes one of the driving goals of your day-to-day life: make Spencer smile.

He’s beautiful, in those moments when he’s grinning and enthusiastic, but the quiet moments are even worse.

Sometimes he stares as you work your way through a train of thought, eyes glinting as he fixes them on you with a breathtaking intensity and this fierce pride. Sometimes, his voice is firm and sharp, and sometimes when he says things like, “Yes, exactly like that,” it sounds so much dirtier than it should.

Sometimes — sometimes — once or twice or a dozen times — you fantasize about that voice. You’re only human.

You never realized there was such a thing as a “praise kink,” but… yeah. That about sums it up.

At first you worry that he’ll lose interest: that you’ll say something stupid or he’ll find someone else, because in your experience with men, they don’t wait around for six hours, let alone six weeks, once they’ve realized they can’t immediately have what they want. Instead, it only gets worse as the weeks pass.

It’s nothing obvious, nothing that could be labeled as inappropriate — you still haven’t touched Spencer, not so much as an accidental brush of his hand against yours when he passes back a graded essay. It’s just that his gaze lingers, whenever he looks in your direction, just a moment longer than it would on anyone else. Every time your eyes meet, you have a hard time remembering that the rest of the world exists. It might as well just be the two of you. There’s this heat between you, this crackling electricity, like touching a live wire every single time, like you can’t pull yourself away to break the current.

It’s the longest six weeks of your life.

“That’s our time,” Spencer says, glancing at his watch. “I’ll get your essays marked and returned to you before break, and on Sunday evening, I’ll submit your final grades, at which point—” His eyes flick to you, and you bite your lip. “— my responsibilities as your professor are complete. It’s been a pleasure.”

“Hi,” Spencer says, without preamble, when you pick up the phone on Saturday evening. “This is — um. This is Spencer?”

You roll your eyes, but you’re grinning so hard you can barely say, “Yeah, I know.”

“Right. Um… where are you?”

“Just dropped off a few library books.”

“I got grades done a little early,” he says hesitantly. “Do you want to… meet me at my office, maybe? We could go out for dinner?”

You’ve never been there before, but you know where it is. Open office hours with Spencer always seemed like a disaster waiting to happen, because your self-control only goes so far.

“Sounds good,” you say, voice strained, heart racing. “Be there soon.”

You walk fast.

The building is mostly deserted, at this hour, and as you walk quickly down the hall, the catch and release of breath in your lungs seems too loud for your quiet surroundings.

You might be panicking a little bit. There’s still a part of you that’s just waiting for him to change his mind, to realize how dorky and awkward you are, to find someone more polished or accomplished or… something — fuck, this seems to good to be true.

Spencer has one of the old, cramped temporary offices used by visiting professors, and even though he’s only been here for a month and a half, he’s amassed quite a collection of books in the small space. When you step through the open door, he’s got his sleeves rolled up as he places a couple books gently in a box. He runs his hands through his hair with a sigh, making it even more hopelessly touseled.

“Hey,” you say, and he turns around, wide-eyed and nervous for a moment before a smile — one of the brilliant too-bright ones you’ve become so fond of — transforms his face.

“Hi! Um, I’ll come back tomorrow to finish cleaning, I was just — we could go out, I don’t have to — dinner? Are you hungry?” He picks up a pen from the cluttered desk, twirling it like he just really needs something to do with his hands; he seems just as anxious as you feel. It’s comforting, for some reason. At least you’re both awkward dorks.

“Not hungry,” you say shyly. You close the door, slow and deliberate.

Spencer’s eyes widen and then go dark, all heavy-lidded and heated.

He drops the pen, closes the distance between you in two long strides, and cups your face in his hands before kissing you, deep and urgent, dizzyingly perfect. It’s desperate, after all this time, all that pent-up longing and suppressed electricity surging through you all at once, making you gasp at the sharp incredible sting of his teeth nipping your lower lip.

It’s one hundred percent worth the wait.

You’re both breathless when he breaks the kiss, but you sway closer anyway, trying to follow his mouth, and blink like you’re coming out of a trance. His lips are red and swollen.

“Rain check on dinner?” he asks. His voice is suggestive and smoky — there’s nothing appropriate about it.

When you nod, he just reaches behind you and locks the door.

Smutty bit is now here!

More CM fic here!

#cmbingo21 #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #spencer reid #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction

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whump-only · 3 years

Text

intro -- golden (vamp whump)

Ok so I have a vampire whump addiction now..... (thanks @deluxewhump + @ashintheairlikesnow). NEW WIP NEW OCs eeeeee

tw: broken bones, reference to gore (removal of teeth), captivity, restraint, it/its as pronouns, physical abuse/manhandling, non-sexual nudity, manipulative/abusive relationship, referenced death / murder

----

“Come on. Just let me just show it to you.” Hyde phrased it as though it was a request, but he stood blocking the front door. Daring Pollen to refuse him.

“No. Find someone else. I’m leaving,” Pollen said, but they both knew that wouldn’t happen. Pollen really, really regretted agreeing to housesit, For a whole month? On Hyde’s turf? Idiot! But he didn’t think Hyde would spring this on him.

Hyde stepped forward and took Pollen by the elbow. “I’ll protect you…” he said cheekily, pulling Pollen towards the basement door.

“Fuck you.” Pollen planted his feet firmly. To think Pollen would agree to living with a vampire…

“Fuck! I said just look at it. How is that hard?” Hyde snapped with that ferociousness he was capable of. It’s why he was a top tier vampire hunter, but it startled Pollen when it came out like that.

But just like that, the flash of anger was smoothed away, and Hyde was soft, coaxing. “Listen… if you actually look at it and still think it’s dangerous, then I’ll kill it before I go? Okay?”

Pollen was baffled. Did Hyde really think this was reasonable? Knowing what vampires did to his life, to his family? “…You’re serious?”

Hyde grinned before leading the way. That smile of assured victory that everyone swooned over. That Pollen used to want to kiss. Pollen clenched his teeth.

Hyde opened the door to the pitch black basement and already everything in Pollen wanted to say, Close the door, get the fuck out! Leave it down there! That’s what any sensible human would do.

Hyde flicked on a pale yellow light and padded down the steps. Pollen stopped at the threshold of the door, his heartbeat hammering in his ears. Run. Run! Those last words of his mother echoed in his head, the memory of that night wrapping itself around his neck, like a snake. Run!

Hyde looked up at him, raised his eyebrows mockingly. Scared?

Pollen reasoned that if the thing somehow got loose it could kill Hyde first and give Pollen time to run away. Or something. And so, he forced himself to step down, one creaky, labored step after another. The smell of rotting, horrible something hit him so hard it triggered a coughing fit. “Ugh, god. You never crack a window down here?” Pollen called.

Hyde was already out of sight, somewhere down there. “No windows.”

Pollen’s eyes watered and he could barely see anything in the yellow glow of the overhead light. Hyde was near the far wall, and Pollen urgently scanned the bare room for the monster. With a shock he realized it must be the figure at Hyde’s feet, curled under a blanket.

With the clink of chains, the thing suddenly shifted and let out a whimper and Pollen’s heart leapt into his throat.

Hyde kneeled down next to it and Pollen braced himself for it to leap up and rip open Hyde’s face.

But instead Hyde lifted it clean off the floor and held it up. Its blanket fell away and it was naked, so thin that it looked like its every bone was visible through its grey skin, making it all the more inhuman. It looked like an eerily accurate mannequin, utterly plastic and lifeless, yet still detailed in its rendering. The chain that dropped down from its neck looked heavier than its body. The thing remained limp in Hyde’s arms, its head drooped down to its chest, its bound wrists hung loosely. Its mop of black hair covered the top half of its face and the bottom was obscured with a muzzle. Its legs dangled a full foot off the ground. There was no way it was full grown, Pollen realized.

It did not paint an intimidating picture. But Pollen still flinched when it growled suddenly.

Hyde didn’t seem to register the sound at all, even though he was holding it against his body. He switched to holding it up with one arm. “Look at its eyes.” With the other hand he moved its matted hair out of the way and pulled up one of its eyelids. The iris was a deep, almost golden, yellow. “Such a pretty color.”

The vampire’s eye seemed to fix on Pollen, its pupil growing small in an instant. Pollen turned away, finding himself overwhelmed. Those eyes. Just like—

“Want to touch it?” Hyde said, almost reverently.

“No,” Pollen said firmly. “Just stop.”

“Suit yourself.” Hyde dropped the vampire so suddenly that Pollen jerked in surprise as it hit the floor and cried out.

Hyde stepped over the cowering creature and with a gleam in his eyes. “See? Didn’t I tell you?”

Pollen stepped back, momentarily forgetting the vampire, but nonetheless terrified. Hyde was alive now, glowing with excitement. At any moment his energy could be redirected by a swift turn of anger into a quick bone cracking punch or the instant unsheathing of his knife. In this basement, Hyde could get away with anything, Pollen thought.

But Hyde was in good spirits, seemingly assured that his presentation had been thoroughly convincing. So he was now onto logistics, “The freezer upstairs is filled with cow blood. Give the vamp a block every day or so. That’ll keep it alive but it won’t get strong enough to give you trouble. You can always lower the portion if it’s getting too energetic.”

Pollen’s head was still spinning from the slow realization of what he’d gotten backed into doing. “And what, take off its muzzle? What if it bites me?”

Hyde grinned with chaotic glee. “I took out its fangs! And the rest of the front ones too.”

Pollen unconsciously raised his hand to cover his mouth.

Hyde continued. “Still gotta be wary of the things growing back of course. You can use the pitchfork to pin it down, but trust me, it doesn’t move around much anyway. It’s pretty easy.”

Pollen tried to relax his clenched mouth. “Right. Cow blood. Got it.”

Hyde tapped his chin. “Other than that, I just dump a bucket of water or two every few days, to wash down the piss an everything to the drain there.”

Literally mopping shit. Unbelievable that Hyde would take him for granted like this, Pollen sulked. “I hate you. You’re a bad friend.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry,” Hyde said tenderly. He reached for Pollen’s hand and teasingly wrapped his index finger around Pollen’s pinkie. With the other hand he gave Pollen’s butt a little squeeze. “I’ll make it up to you.”

Ridiculous. Did Hyde think he was so good that sex would make up for this?, Pollen wondered. Pollen wasn’t that desperate.

And now Pollen was insulted. “Hey. I never say I’d do it. Chained up or not, toothless or whatever, I’m not going to be able to sleep knowing there’s a vampire under me. That’s a risk you’re willing to live with. But not me. What if it gets away and comes upstairs to kill me?”

Hyde sighed. “You really think that thing is any threat to you? Be serious.”

“Yes!” Pollen insisted.

Hyde’s eyes narrowed and he smirked coldly. “So sad. But I get it. Can’t be too careful with vamps. They killed your folks right?”

Pollen already knew Hyde wasn’t just giving up. But Pollen didn’t know how to stop him. How to not walk into the trap. So Pollen yielded, “Yes. And my siblings. I had two sisters.”

“That’s too bad...” Hyde turned to the vampire that had somehow managed to silently twist most of itself back under the blanket. “Hey, Goldie. Mr. Pollen doesn’t trust you…”

Hyde walked purposefully toward a metal baseball bat that Pollen hadn’t noticed before. Pollen didn’t think he imagined the dark staining on it.

Hyde glanced over, trying to catch Pollen’s gaze. “…What can we do about that?”

Pollen felt very cold in his stomach, remembering Hyde’s promise to kill it if Pollen thought it was dangerous. “Hey, come on Hyde. Hyde! Don’t do that,” Pollen said, but he wasn’t sure. The vampire couldn’t be released back to the outside to terrorize people, they both knew that.

The vampire too, must’ve sensed the lurch toward danger, because it broke out of its stupor. As Hyde loomed over it, it struggled and whined, tried to scrabble against the concrete, pull itself away. But Hyde firmly stepped down on a part of it, pinning it.

“Stop! No!” Pollen shouted, but Hyde raised the tool above his head—

Pollen turned away and covered his ears to block the piercing cry of the creature. With every new breath it screamed into its muzzle and seemed to choke on its own voice before screaming again. Pollen panted in horror, unable to look up.

“One broken leg,” Hyde reported, loudly, over the thing’s cries. “Or if we’re really being more exact, it’s probably shattered from the knee down. Still think vampy can get away?”

Pollen shook his head. “Hyde. I can’t…”

“What do you think, Goldie? Can you still crawl up the stairs and kill Mr. Pollen?” Hyde addressed it with a tone that approached tenderness. But he still held that bat, weighing it in his hand. Pollen realized Hyde never intended to kill it.

Pollen wished he could jump up and snatch away the bat. But his body wouldn’t move. “Hyde. Hyde, please stop. Just stop.”

Hyde looked right at Pollen with dark eyes as he raised the bat again. “Sorry, Goldie. One leg to go.”

Pollen finally unfroze and raced up the stairs two at a time, tripped once, bashing his chin into a stair, but it didn’t slow him down until he was back in the kitchen. He felt dizzy so he sank to the floor and clapped his hands over his ears as the creature wailed.

The stairs creaked as Hyde climbed them. He softly closed the basement door, muting the sounds of pain.

The ringing finally subsided in Pollen’s head. “Why the fuck did you do that?” Pollen demanded.

“You know I’m the last person on earth who’d underestimate a vampire. I wouldn’t leave you in a situation where you could get hurt,” Hyde said sweetly.

You knew it’d make me guilty, Pollen thought. To get back at me for resisting you, right? But Pollen said nothing, and took the hand Hyde offered.

Hyde pulled Pollen to his feet. “I know it’s scary. Especially for you. But you can do this.”

Pollen rested his head on Hyde’s shoulder, pretending that this Hyde, the soft one, couldn’t switch back if he was hugging Pollen. The broken moans of the thing could still be heard through the door. This whole exercise seemed so cruel now, so unnecessary. Pollen mumbled into Hyde’s shirt. “Why can’t you just kill it?”

Hyde wrapped his arms around Pollen. “This is a rare opportunity. I’ll take it around to fairs and things, earn a little cash showing people something they’ve never seen before. It’ll be something to do between my hunting trips. Maybe I can even travel less, if the money’s good… I’m not getting younger, you know?”

The creature’s pitiful sobs echoed in Pollen’s skull. Pollen gripped Hyde’s shirt tighter. “Mhm.”

Hyde approvingly pecked a kiss onto Pollen’s forehead. “Thank you.”

Pollen cursed the fluttery feeling it gave him. He broke out of the hug. “You’re welcome, asshole.”

Hyde began to shuttle around the house, scanning for things he might’ve forgotten to pack. The vampire had gone quiet.

Finally Hyde stood at the door, ready to leave.

Pollen joined him to see him off. “Have a nice trip. Kills lots of vampires for me.”

“That I will.” Hyde gave a salut and marched off.

Pollen closed the door and slumped down to the floor. “Fuck!”

#vampire whump #captivity whump #golden the vamp #whump writing #broken bones #gore #captivity #restraint #it/its pronouns #non-sexual nudity #manhandling #physical abuse #abusive relationship #manipulation #referenced death

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slowpoke-fics · 3 years

Text

The Run | The Good Doctor pt 3

Fandom: The Walking Dead

Pairing: Negan x Reader slow burn

Summary: You had a bit more responsibility than you'd expected, not to say you didn't know what you were doing

Warnings: none really, cussing, ooc Negan, slow burn, it's cute, I miss some and am not perfect, read at your own risk

A/N: This is part three to the Good Doctor Part 3! Thank you for being patient and I hope to have part four up much quicker. I liked this even though it's just some logistical stuff and insight, here is part two!

Maybe he thinks he can fix me, sucks for him, I'm broken beyond repair.

When you woke up, Negan had his hand on your shoulder, you immediately grabbed the gun under your pillow, holding it under his chin. He immediately grabbed the gun and twisted it out of your hands, your eyes now fully open and awake. You didn't realize he was eye level with you, how hot it was for him to control your gun like that, how hot he was staring into your eyes, waiting for your next move. You were frozen, you're not sure he equated it with anything but sleep, but he was captivating.

He laughed, hands up, "Damn, doll, just trying to fuckin' wake you up without fuckin' scaring you, see that was fuckin' pointless," his eyebrows raised as he shook the gun by the barrel at you, "you want it back or not?" You shook your head in disbelief as you took your gun and put it down, shocked that you held a gun to someone for just trying to wake you up. "I-I'm sorry, I guess it was just-" Negan laughed, "No worries, doll, at least I know you can take care of yourself."

You smiled, throwing the blanket off of you and swinging your legs over the couch, “So,” you stood up and began folding the blanket, “what’s the plan?” He watched you fold the blanket, not trying to hide the fact that his eyes roamed your body. Taking in the battered bluejeans that hugged your body, the scratched and slightly torn tank top, your hair shining against the sun, really popping the color out. “We’re going to drive a little longer than I’d hoped but,” he huffed, “the towns supposed to have some more supplies left than we’d originally thought, we should be back by dark.” You shrugged, “Should be fun, are we ready to leave now?”

Negan leaned against the desk, you took all of him in. He was wearing his classic leather jacket over the tattered t-shirt and blue jeans that laid over his steel toe boots. He watched as you put your hair into a pony tail, shirt playing peekaboo with the skin on your torso, “Right after breakfast doll. You ready?” You nodded at him, heading to the door with him following close behind.

Once you had sat down for breakfast Negan started shoveling food down, a full plate compared to your half rations. You didn’t really have much of an appetite, worried about everything that could happen with Negan today. He didn’t seem to notice, and by the time you’d finished your small plate, he was already done eating too. He grabbed your plate so he could return it with his own. You picked up the bags and followed suit, following him out the door and to his truck.

The truck was huge. Had to have been able to fit half of Alexanndria's storage. You’d wondered how much he was planning to come back with. It started to make a little more sense when a small portion of his crew jumped into the back, probably for protection. You climbed into the truck after Negan opened the door for you, closing it once he’d known your feet were out of the way. Then proceeding to climb in his own side.

Negan started the truck, taking you in before he started rolling. Your legs crossed, fingers interlocked at the top of your thighs, thumbs picking at each other, ankle continuously moving. You watched the trucks behind you, following close, at least three others. Did all of them have people in the back? How big was this run?

You were clearly nervous and he hated that, he wanted to make you as comfortable as possible. He tried to ignore it, but after fifteen minutes of non stop thought through his head, he had to say something. "God damn doll," Negan bellowed, "you're gonna roll the damn truck if you don't stop shaking so much," Negan lightly rubbed your forearm, a foreign thing to you, "what're ya so fuckin' nervous about anyway princess?"

You shrugged, a look of uneasiness resting on your face at his nickname for you that didn't go unnoticed, "Just don't know how to act with your group, what're your run rules? Where do I not be in the way? Will I distract you and your men? I'm used to going solo, or with one or two people. There's so-" Negan had to stop your monologue, knowing you've asked these questions twenty times since yesterday. "Don't fuckin' worry about it," Negan smiled, "I made sure this was gonna be fun for you." Your eyebrows curled, needing him to explain.

Negan blushed? No way, you thought and left it alone. "What do you mean?" He shrugged, "You'll see, won't you doll?" You huffed, "Well that just makes me more nervous." Negan let out a hearty laugh, "Damn girl, pull at this old assholes strings huh?" He shook his head, "I'm your personal companion today," he giggled at your slap to his arm. "I don't need a baby sitter!" He raised he hands very quickly to show defense, "No! But, wherever you go, I do. Whatever you fuckin' say, that's law. Everyone else goes at your direction too," he paused, looking at you, "but you don't leave my fuckin' sight," his eyes bore into you, demanding confirmation. "Yeah, okay," you smiled lightly.

"So," Negan's fingers drilled the steering wheel as he hummed at you to continue, "what's in this place?" Negan shifted, "It's a little town, the rest is a surprise." He looked genuinely excited, and you wondered how this apocalypse had changed him as a man. He couldn't have always been this heartless. "Do I get any hints?" Negan hummed again, this time searching for something to give you, "You'll fuckin' like it." You shrugged, "Maybe." He glanced to your bag where you keep your notebook, a gentle reminder of his broken trust. "Oh," you cleared your throat, "hopefully." He beamed at you, "Come on lil' fuckin' firecracker," he pressed the gas a couple more times, gently swerving the car to play with you, "be more fuckin' excited! I'm fuckin' kidding!"

The rest of the way you could believe how different Negan was being. He was intently talking to you about the grid of the town, what his crew already know about, how his crew has already been briefed that you're running it, explained the teams to you and that you're header, leading the team leaders, and he's told you that he's confident you have this ability. You were shocked about him being completely different man that with other people. You were sure that you could be with the man sitting in the truck with you, and you were sure that you couldn't be with the man who murdered someone you considered to be your brother. You were torn between seeing his good and never forgiving him for killing Glenn, how could he do something so vile? You shook your head, drawing attention back to the road and off of your thoughts.

When you arrived, Negan placed his hand on your thigh, just barely touching you. "There is one rule," he smiled, "stay here." Negan was gone for no more than two minutes. He finally came to your door, opening it and revealing his many men standing behind him, "Make sure you're safe." He reached for your hand, dropping you down to the same man who stole from you in your clinic, you glared him hiding behind Negan.

Negan stepped out of the way, the man looking guilty, "Hello, Doctor Y/n," he cleared his throat, "I'm sorry for stealing from an honorable woman." He handed you a gum pack, missing a few pieces, and a small pack of skittles, "I couldn't find gum to replace what I'd stolen, so I hoped that the skittles would excuse my poor manners." You smiled hatefully at him, taking what was in his hand, "Apology accepted..." you waited for him to say his name, but Negan chimed in. "Brady," and he slapped the other man on the shoulder eliciting a smile, "and Simon." You smiled, reaching your hand out to shake Simon's hand, "I've heard." Negan smiled at you, "Good we're all fuckin' aquatinted," he roughly slapped Brady's shoulder, you didn't miss the wince he tried to hide, "these two travel with us period. So, Y/n," a bright smile, "what's the fucking plan?"

With that you noticed the other men had cleared a path for you, letting you view the town. At this point you took in the town, looking at the tiny shops and small streets. Negan wasn't kidding, it's a small town, surely the four trucks you bought could fit everything. You thought for a second, and it hit you, how much work he had put into this. You smiled to yourself, knowing that he wanted to make this go smoothly for you, hence the perfect amount of trucks, a grid, briefed men.

You walked a little behind you, looking at the different streets, looking at Negan, he smiled, giving you some confidence. "You said that you'd already separated these men by trucks? With their usual teams?" You whispered to Negan, "Yes ma'am, they're with their usual team leaders and already armored, just need you to tell them where to go n what to do."

"Okay, so here's my plan-" Negan put his hand up, gesturing to the men when you realized you should be talking to them. You cleared your throat, "Okay, so here's the plan," Negan's body was just barely pressing against you, standing behind you on your left side, his hands in his pockets, watching his men intently listen to you. How hard did he work on this for you?

"If you came in Negan's truck, you're with us on main," you motioned with your hand to have them move to the side, "Truck two-or rather-team two, you're going to our left, Combs Street, when you get to the library, we're looking for education books, if we have time and space after you've gotten everything else essential on the street, comb the library taking the fun books, that's a good part of life now." Negan nodded, liking your plan for education first, noting that the houses on the street might hold value, but acknowledging that we still need distractions like 'fun books' if circumstances allowed.

"Truck three, hit the residential area, on Langley Street," you continued when the men nodded their heads, "Truck four, hit the shops to our right on second street," everyone started moving and you shouted, "wait!" You cleared your throat once again, "Team leaders, I need you and your right hand man, everyone else stay put."

You pulled out the grid as the men surrounded you, "So you've got the left and right sides on your street, split in half, half on Side A, the left, half on side B, the right, this will increase the time we can spend in the houses and avoid stepping on each others feet. Every time you clear a house you call it in, for example, team four A, you would say 'Team Four, A1 clear, moving to A2,' or 'Team Four A Trapped, requesting Four B at A3.' I need you to do this so I can designate resources and men, keep up with the lives and walkers. No need for needless death, check in." Everyone nodded, you smiled, "Anybody have questions, comments or concerns?" The men shook their heads and you turned back towards the crowd, "Alright, everyone knows what you're doing, no-one goes anywhere alone or unarmed. Take everything useful. Do not let your guard down and watch your backs. Dismissed." At that the men dissipated, going on their own assignments.

"Was that okay?" You looked to Negan, the need for approval swimming through your eyes, Negan nodded, "I think it was great, Simon what about you?" Simon chirped up, "Oh yeah, couldn't have done it better myself, I don't make them check in that much but that's okay." You smiled at Simon, wondering how he could not worry about his men that much. You watched as Team One had already started moving toward the first building, them the first check-ins started.

"Team One, heading to A1," a pause, "Team One, heading to B1," another pause, "Team Two, heading to A1." You listened to the team list off their locations, smiling as everyone checked in. "Alright, doll," Negan leaned against the truck, "Where to first?"

#twd negan #twd fanfic #twd fanfiction #negan x y/n #negan angst #negan fluff #negan x you #negan imagine #negan fic #negan fanfiction #negan x reader #the walking dead fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #Jdm fanfic

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marvelwritings · 3 years

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Can't tell me there's no point in trying

Summary: Peter travels back in time, get's a concussion and Tony takes care of him, even though in his mind, Peter has been blipped for three years.

In hindsight, the exact memory of when they started researching how to travel back to the past is lost on him. It’s just that he had been so devastated, after Tony’s death, that his emotions had reached through to the only person that somewhat knew what he was going through. Peter didn’t want to compare Wanda’s situation with his, after all, Wanda was the one that was forced to choose between the love of her life and saving the universe, but the weight of their grief was the same none the less.

Wanda had approached him while he was out on patrol, and though there was not set plan, Peter was willing to try anything to get Tony back. They started of their plan by seeking help from Doctor Strange, and when that hadn’t worked, Peter had snuck in and stole -borrowed as he preferred to call it- a few books that might have been helpful for their goal. Between going to school, patrolling, putting up a front for his friends and aunt -and as of late Happy-, and searching endlessly for a scrape of hope, Peter had worked himself to the bone. It would all be worth it though, if their plan came to fruition.

It hadn’t worked the first time, nor the second time, and neither did the third. Failed enough times that Peter’s heart sunk into his stomach, and that he carefully tried to convince Wanda to try something else. The spell was eerily straightforward with very little need for ingredients, nothing more then saying two sentences and having a personal item of the person they strived to reach, and if they hadn’t managed to work it out in three attempts, Peter assumed, though the idea rendered him dejected, it would never work.

Until he went out on patrol again that night. One moment he was excitedly talking to Karen, animatedly retelling the story of how he managed to stop a bank robbery, as it the AI hadn’t witnessed it, and the next he tried to shoot out a spiderweb to building so he could swing over, only for the web to hit nothing but air.

‘Ow, wow’, Peter floundered, trying his best to reach something and prevent himself from slamming on the ground -again-, but he failed. He banged into a tree at full speed, colliding head first and tumbling down while hitting every branch possible. That was the first sign that should have tipped Peter off. There were no trees in the middle of Queens. Under normal circumstances, he would have considered that, but the heavy impact is not working well in his favor.

Landing on the ground on his stomach with a hard thud, his body, and specifically his ribs, screamed in agony, and he rips the mask off without considering his predicament. Anyone could walk by and see the face beneath the mask. Still, Peter can’t breath with the way his ribs object, but at least without the mask it’s fresh air he inhales.

He turns around and struggles to get on his back. His hand instinctively slide over his stomach, protecting the hurting area. Come to think of it, every area on his body hurts. Peter knows the logistics of cracked ribs, and savvies that even with the aid of super healing, it’s not going to repair in a few minutes times.

He inhales as a small as he possibly can, despite knowing he shouldn’t, and braces himself for running back to May’s and his appartement. He can’t stay here, where anyone could walk up to him and attack him while he’s down. He laughs incredible, at least aunt May, and Tony of he was still here, would be proud of him for calling it a day.

When he blinks his eyes open though, he’s met with nothing but grass and green for miles, and a blurry vision that tells him he has a concussion. While trying to sit up, his visions spins like he’s a part of a rollercoaster, and his stomach turns uncomfortably.

‘Oh no,’ Peter moans, ‘aunt May is gonna kill me.’ It’s the only thing he can say before he has to swallow back bile and decides it’s best to be quiet from now on. He struggles to his feet, stumbling a few times before successfully finding his footing in the grass.

His vision does not clear, but he forces himself to take a few steps in any direction anyway. Wondering if seeing all these trees are because of his concussion, Peter freezes when he hears tiny footsteps approaching the opening his still currently residing in. It’s accompanied by children’s crying, the hairs on his arm standing up at the sound. Perhaps it’s a trap, but Peter has never done well ignoring a child ever since meeting his baby sister.

‘Hello?’ he calls out tentatively, squeezing his eyes shut firmly to clear it, but it doesn’t help.

‘Hi’, an adorable voice answers back to him, a head peeks out from behind a bunch, as if the child is equally as curious about Peter as Peter is about her. He can only notice she does this because blurring colors that inch closer little by little. The girl sniffles, ‘I hurt my foot.’

Peter is out of his depth here. He’s only ever impressed children by swinging them around in the sky, but his body will not allow that right now. Instead he tries to focus on what he would do if Morgan was the one that was hurt. Adopting a tone only Morgan has ever heard from him, Peter crouches down on his knees. His ribs creak in dismay, but he ignores it firmly. Someone needs him right now.

‘Oh that’s not good. Does it hurt a lot?’ Peter himself cannot assess the damage.

‘No I guess not’, the girls splutters, pulling up her foot to show Peter.

‘Okay, that’s great. Do you live for away from here? I bet that if I take you back home, your parents will give you a lollipop because you were so brave.’

‘Oh’, the child cries out in wonder, pain in her foot forgotten completely at the mentions of dessert. Peter can’t help but smirk a little, bribery works on Morgan every time too. ‘I’ll show you, but you have to carry me okay?’

Peter can’t think of a worse activity for his injured body to sustain right now, but he’s not about to let a kid down.

‘It’s a deal, lead the way and hop on up.’ His tone is cheerful, even though he has to bite back pained groans by biting his lip.

The girl shows no hesitation and follows his lead immediately, giggling in delight.

‘So, do you want to play a game on the way over?’

They end up playing I spy with my little eye, which Peter loses every time, and not only because he can’t see straight at the moment. The girl, being clearly very young, is a spitfire, which is good because it means Peter doesn’t have to talk during the trip.

It gets increasingly harder to carry her the longer he has to endure the pain, but he knows that salvation is near when the girl, points to a brown blob in the distance. ‘That’s it, there it is. Put me down, I want to get my lollie now.’

Peter obligates, and watches as she runs without any regard for her painful foot, smiling to himself. He hears the door of the house open, and a male cadence calling out and sounding so joyful he must not have noticed Peter yet. He can only imagine the weird sight that must be, to see a stranger bringing home your daughter, but Peter can’t move away yet. His body has stopped listening to his commands.

‘Daddy, daddy, can I have a lollipop, Peter said I could if I was brave, and I was! He said so himself.’

Peter assumes she points to him, and his smiles weakly, although he’s having trouble even finding the strength to do that. Once he walks a little further, he should rest for a bit, close his eyes for the briefest amount of time. Before it get’s to that point though, Peter hears a glass mug being dropped on the ground. The sounds is piercing in contrast between the quiet forest and the intrusion, but that’s not the weirdest thing.

‘Peter?’ That same cadence exclaims, the voice breaking of the syllable. It’s strange, because for the briefest moment Peter’s mind flashing the name Tony at him, but the man is long gone.

Peter just about handles frowning at the direction, a weird knowingness to the exclamation, like the man somehow knows who Peter is.

‘How do you-?’ The sentence is cut short when a wave of nausea slams into Peter again, and he can’t keep himself upright this time. His knees buckle, his eyes roll into the back of his head, and the ground nearly welcomes him with open arm. Before he can collide with it again however, in such speed Peter can’t phantom the man being fast enough, he instead lands between the mans arms. All the strength has left his body, and Peter can do nothing but let his head roll onto the man’s shoulder.

‘Pepper’, he screams, so shut up it comes across as hoars, pulling Peter even closer to him than thought possible. ‘You’re okay kid, you’re okay. I promise you’ll be okay.’

---

Peter comes too slowly, groggily, as if moving through solaces. The logical part of his brain, of which there is much, screams at him to panic. He doesn’t know where he is, he can only vaguely remember the events leading up to his current situation, and he can’t ensure his safety or anyone else’s furthermore, but the smaller part of his brain soothes him.

Tells him everything is fine and he’s safe. It’s rare that Peter feels that way. Even at home with May in their appartement, there’s a constant need to be alert. Peter snaps awake from every little sound, his body turning rigid from the forceful transition between sleeping and waking up, even if the cause was only a door creaking.

It doesn’t make any sense for Peter to be this tranquillized right now, or any other time for that matter. He groans, pained, fluttering his eyes open to find himself in a dark room with the windows drawn. His eyesight is still blurry, his head is still pounding beneath his skin, and because there’s no acute danger to be detected- his spider senses tell him so, though he hasn’t learned to trust them completely yet- he allows his eyelids to droop closed again.

A warm, calloused hand strikes through his hair softly, while a thumb strikes out the frowning lines that pain flashes put on Peter’s forehead. Peter realizes with a startle that his not alone, and that must mean his Peter tingle has failed him, but can’t force himself to push the hand away. It’s nice to experience a loving touch after so many rough handlings, and the memories of lab days with Tony, car rides with Happy, building Lego with Ned and cuddling with MJ render him immobile. He longs so fiercely to feel safe, to be safe, that he leans into the touch like a cat being petted.

‘It’s okay Pete, just go back to sleep.’ A rough voice rumbles from besides Peter. All the rest he previously had, flies out of the window, as his entire body fill up with adrenaline. That voice belongs to a man that’s long gone, a man that sacrificed himself to save Peter and paid the ultimate price for it. That voice can only originate from a ghost.

Peter practically jumps up, opening his eyes and looking in the direction where the voice came from, but he miscalculated how fast his concussion would go away. He stumbles, faceplanting into the body that held Tony’s voice, and was only held up by the grace of the other man. Again, there were bouts of pain, but not only from his physical ailments.

The fire that Peter imagines to be inside of him, the one that destroys everyone else around him but leaves him, unfortunately intact, burns up from the remnants of his heart. He’s tried very hard to move on from Tony’s death in the past few months, and he had almost convinced himself that he was over it. That would be a flat out lie though, and Peter Parker doesn’t lie. The agony of the situation had just been shoved to the back of his mind, while Peter took on so much so he wouldn’t have to touch upon it, to prod in it. It peeked out every once in a while, when Happy would tell May about his life and an anecdote with Tony would be told, or when a poster with Iron man on it drew his attention, but it’s easier to pretend to be okay then to deal with the truth.

‘Hey Peter, I’m glad to see you too, but don’t get too excited now bud.’ Tony laughs, but the tone with which he says it sounds grief stricken, with the barest hint of hope coating the edges. He lowers Peter back down into the bed, and Peter has to bite back a sob at how comfortable the sheet caresses his skin, and how gentle it is on his wounds.

He shakes his head vehemently, trying to clear it and be able to think logically. He wants so badly that Tony is actually here, but there isn’t any way for that to be true, unless.. Peter gasps, memories piercing through the fog in his head. Unless Wanda managed to do what they set out to do. And that would mean that It’s no weird fever dream. Peter’s hand clench up in Tony’s shirt, pulling him down so Peter can meet him in the middle and hug him. He still can’t see the expression on Tony’s face, but he prepares to be rejected, and can’t find it in himself to care. Even if Tony pushes him away after barely a brief second, at least Peter still did something he had set out to do for months now.

That doesn’t happen. Instead, Tony grabs him even tighter, a gentle hand cupping the back of Peter’s head as he curves his body around him.

‘Tony’, Peter whispers, the first tears starting to track a path on his cheeks. ‘Tony.’ Sobs are building up in the back of his throat, unable to be contained for much longer, and as they escape, Tony doesn’t scold him, or tells Peter to stop, but he starts to rock the both of them.

Peter can’t be sure, but he thinks he feels splatters of Tony’s tears on his shoulders as well.

‘Morgan’, Peter says nonsensical after a while, sobs are still heaving his body, but he’s had experience pulling himself together in need before, and right now he needs to know Morgan is safe.

‘Is she okay?’ he asks Tony, with a clumsy tongue. The crying has made his weak and aching body even more exhausted, the rocks reminding him of babies being cradled and normally he wouldn’t want to be seen as a baby, but he doesn’t care right now. He just want to enjoy being around Tony again.

‘Morgan?’ Tony laughs, sniffling quietly like he’s refusing to let Peter knows his been crying too. ‘She fine, she’s probably playing in the barn again even though Pepper tells her she’s not allowed. She’s a bit of a menace, just like you Pete.’

At that, Peter sobs turn into heaves, his entire body shaking with the force of them. All the grief of the past few months, the guilt that Peter has carried knowing it’s all his fault, is all coming to a head now. It’s his fault that Tony’s dead, it’s his fault Morgan has to grow up without a father, and it’s his fault the world doesn’t have Iron man to protect them anymore. He’s tried to so hard to make it right, but how can he? How can he ever be the person Tony was, when he’s just Peter Parker.

‘Kiddo, please calm down, you’re gonna make yourself sick’, Tony soothes despairingly. He lowers peter again but stays close, his hand going back to striking Peter’s hair. ‘You’re okay, I promise you, I won’t let anything else happen to you.’ Tony is getting chocked up again, but this time he doesn’t try to hide it. ‘Not again.’

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry’, Peter whispers, his voice wrecked by the amount of crying he has done. He wants to talk to Tony, explain what happened, spend time with him and beg for his forgiveness, but Tony shushes him, and he’s asleep before he can argue.

----

The next time Peter struggles to consciousness, he senses their presence; Morgan, Pepper and Tony, and he knows without a sliver of doubt that its them. He shakes with the knowledge. The room he’s in, his room as Pepper had told him upon visiting for the first time, is scattered with spiderman toys, and even a few posters on to wall to complete the image. The sight is ridiculous, but Peter laughs at it all the same. He tries to keep the smile on his face, but melancholy isn’t easily beat.

At the very least his concussion seems to have gone away since waking up a first time, and all that’s left to remind him he took a fall is a vague pounding in his head, and the nausea. It’s not as bad as before, and Peter takes the reprieve with greedy hands.

The hustling and bustling of the family, alive and well, downstairs is crustal clear to Peter’s advanced hearing. It’s strange, being back in the lake house without it seeming so bleak. After they defeated Thanos, and Mister Stark died, Peter’s mind helpfully supplies, he had only been here twice. Pepper tried her best to come back, to give Morgan a home away from the home they owned in the city, but too much had reminded of the husband she was forced to burry, so they moved fairly quickly.

So it unusually to see it the way it was supposed to be. Lived in, with Morgan’s giggling and Pepper’s pretend scolding voice, with mister Stark chuckling quietly to himself, a perfect little family. It’s supposed to emit a warm, honey affection bleeding through every crack, and it’s a shame it isn’t anymore.

‘Morguna, go play with your toys for a second, I need to talk to your mom about something very important.’ Spying on Tony leaves a bad taste in Peter’s mouth, but he can’t help it. He’s been so devoid of any scraps connecting him to Mister Stark, that he’s willing to forgo manners.

‘Is it a surprise?’ Morgan asks, mirth in her voice. She’s so much younger than Peter ever remembers her being, because he’d never got to witness her at that age. His heart clenches, the hurt still so fresh.

‘You know what little miss, as a matter of fact it is, so you better scoot, or we might not be able to get in time.’

Morgan squeals in delight, and Peter hears her little footsteps sprinting outside. Peter smiles, he knew Tony would be a good dad someday. The downstairs is quiet for longer than normal, and Peter suddenly turns worried that Pepper and Tony caught him.

Then, Pepper speaks up again. ‘You can’t keep spoiling her you know. She’ll turn into a monester by the time she hits fourteen.’

‘She’s fine,’ Tony placates. Peter visualizes Tony pressing a kiss to the top of Pepper’s head, the only weakness the woman has, which he takes great advantages of. The issue seems to be settled, the playful disagreement put to rest.

Peter ponders over what to do next. He’s so extremely awkward, and despite hoping for an opportunity like this one, he has no idea what to say to Tony.

‘Oh Tony, is it really him?’ Peter freezes, so caught of guard by the heartache in Pepper’s words. She sounds both optimistic and demoralized, as though she has had her hopes up for so long she can’t risk it again.

‘It is Pep. I know it is, I saw it in his eyes.’

‘But how?’ Pepper questions extensively. ‘He was blipped, just like so many people. None of the others have come back.’

‘I don’t have all the answers Pepper, God knows I wish I had. All I know is that my kids back, do I need to question why?’

Hearing, outright hearing mister Stark say Peter is his kid, has Peter tearing up, something sharp sticking at his ribs and feeble heart. It hurts just as much as he longs to overhear it again.

‘He might be able to bring the others back. Tony, I get why you don’t want to hear this, but he could be the key to helping millions.’

‘He has to be nothing but healthy alright? Maybe he can help, maybe he can’t, but all I’m sure of is that I’m never,’ Tony’s voice sinks lower and even more venomous then before,’ putting him in the line of fire again.’

I’m okay, Peter thinks, needing to scream it to Mister Stark’s face that he didn’t do anything. It wasn’t up to anyone, just like it wasn’t up to anyone to save Tony either.

‘I’m sorry’, Tony utters, sounding defeated and, honestly, old. ‘I’m sorry, but I just got him back, and I can’t, I can’t lose him again.’

‘It seems like the first step in ensuring it never does it to go up and talk to him. Go to him Tony, say what you couldn’t say three years ago. And’, Pepper swallows thickly. ‘Tell him we all love him.’

Peter’s grateful he won’t be forced to initiate the first move by walking downstairs.

‘Underroos, I’m coming up so you better not be sleeping anymore.’ The flawless transition between vulnerable and slipping into his role a cool role model is staggering, but it doesn’t surprise Peter in the slightest anymore. He’s spend too much time with Tony for that to be the case.

He doesn’t know what to do with his body, how he’s supposed to respond to seeing Tony in person again? Part of him wants to lung at his mentor, while the other part hisses at him to act like a normal human being. Peter ends up sitting down on the bed, standing in front of the door, hiding behind the closet and finally back to bed in the span of however long it takes Tony to reach the room.

By that point, Peter is too distracted by the glimmer of his past to overthink the encounter. He remembers the lego set as if it just happened. It was the first bout of Peter’s interests that Tony listened to wholeheartedly. After the battle with Thanos, it had slipped Peter’s mind completely. He had no idea Mister Stark had this thing in his home.

‘I asked May if I could take it with me, when I moved out here’, Tony says with melancholy, taking a seat by Peter on the bed, but leaving a considerable distance. He’s not looking at the lego set at all, instead dividing his full attention on Peter. Swiftly his eyes roam Peters face and posture, sucking in all the little details Tony hadn’t been able to discern about him after a while.

‘There’s so many of that stuff in her apartment, but this one was the most fun to put together, because it’s the death star you know? It has all this detail and it took forever to make but that’s all good, cause there’s so much detail and-’

‘Pete’, Tony sounds chocked up, like the façade he was forcing himself to wear is already slipping. Peter hasn’t even said anything yet. ‘God kid, where the hell di you come from? I’ve tried everything but I-‘, he takes a deep breath and pinches the bridge of his nose. Peter has only witnessed mister Stark crying once, so it’s a shock that it occurs again. ‘I didn’t know how.’

‘Mister Stark-’, Peter stops, cutting his own sentence off. Is he even supposed to say anything? Is he supposed to blab the secrets of the future. His Spidey scenes are distinctively ordering him not too, but Peter itches to all the same. ‘I don’t think I’m supposed to say,’ he settles on, ‘with the butterfly effect and all.’

‘The butterfly effect? Kid what in the world are you talking about?’

‘You know, like in the movie, where he can travel back in the past but it always alters things for the worst?’

‘Yeah, I’ve seen the movie’, Tony asserts, almost deadpans. ‘What does that have to do with anything?’

‘Just- just please trust me Mister Stark’, Peter pleads, hands beginning to tremble with the need to reach out for reassurance. The memories of the one complete hug Tony had ever given him sparking a longing in him. ‘Do you trust me?’

‘Of course’, Mister Stark firmly agrees.

‘Then don’t ask me how,’ even to his own ears the desperation is tangible, ‘please.’

Tony clasps his hand on Peters shoulder, a ground weight to which Peters never endings zing in relief. Before he can stop himself, he’s crumpled in, his head on Tony’s shoulder while his hands twist in the back of mister Stark’s shirt. The reciprocation is immediate.

‘I’ve missed you’, He chokes out, feeling rather annoyed at himself that all he seems to be doing is crying. His time here is limited, he can sense it, the hunch that time is of the essence and he doesn’t posses much of it, and he refuses to waste it on more tears.

‘Me too, Pete, more than you know.’

‘I think I have a pretty good clue’, Peter laughs bitterly, it’s not the same really. He’s only been missing mister Stark for a few months, the man in front of him has been missing him for three and will need to miss him for two more years. The buzzing in the back of his head grows louder. Another stroke of Parker luck, he spend most of the time he had with mister Stark unconscious.

Whatever, he can’t change it now, but he has a few more things to say before he needs to leave.

‘Tony’, he begins, using Mister Starks first name to ensure he understands how important this is. He pulls away, just enough to be able to look Tony directly in the eyes, but what he sees there is nothing short of panic. His hand tighten, softly guiding him back but Peter resists.

‘Please don’t tell me you have to go again.’ It seems that despite Peter intent, Tony savvies more than he’d like. Peter smiles bitter.

‘It’s not your fault.’

‘What?’

‘What happened on Titan, when he blipped all of us, me, that’s not on you mister Stark.’ Peter repeats patiently, watching as Tony’s face hardens.

‘Peter-‘

‘It’s not. You couldn’t have protected me any more then you did. I’m sorry it turns out the way it did, but I need you to know it’s not on you.’

‘I should have done more.’ Tony insist, raising his voice a few octaves. Downstairs, Morgan asks Pepper why her dad is so close to yelling. ‘I should’ve, you were my kid Peter, are my kid, and I failed.’

‘You didn’t fail’, Peter yells back just as loudly, he stands up from the bed, subconsciously trying to appear taller so he has more say in the situation. ‘Because if you already failed then what did I do? I’m still here and you-‘, he cuts himself off once again, almost spilling all the secrets.

Tony approach him like he’s an animal that needs to be handled with care. ‘I don’t know what you’re on about, but I’m a grown man Pete, I can take care of myself.’

‘But I-‘

‘Ah, ah, ah, not talking back, I’m the adult here. Zip it kid. How about this, we’re both not to blame alright?’

Peter isn’t convinced Tony believes that, but it’s still a weight of his shoulders to have said it to Mister Stark, maybe, in the future, when he pins the blame on himself once more, he’ll think about this moment. He nods.

‘I have to go now Mister Stark’, The words tumble out of his mouth before he realizes that it’s the truth. Whatever is going to happen next won’t wait much longer.

Peter walks over to the window and opens it, ready to swing out after saying goodbye. He can’t go and see Pepper and Morgan, it’ll upset them as much as it’ll upset him. He’ll see them back in his time.

‘Wait,’ Tony screams, as I Peter was going to leave without a goodbye. The embrace he pulls Peter in is heavier this time, loaded with the upcoming goodbye’s. It’s still nice though, and Peter enjoys every second of it. Tony presses a kiss to Peter’s temple then holds it there when he asks; ‘How long do I have to wait before I see you again.’

Peter swallows painfully and considers lying to make Tony feel better but, ‘two years’, he eventually confesses, figuring that he can at least give that little piece of information.

Mister Stark simply hums, but Peter notices his tears nonetheless. With one last, solid squeeze, Peter wiggles out of the embrace and tries to stall his own tears. It would hurts less if he could go back to find Mister Stark there, if only he had a way to warm Tony.

He’s pretty sure he can’t go into too much detail but; ‘Mister Stark, when it happens, please hold on. I can’t lose you either.’

‘Okay Pete,’ Tony assures, his hands shaking with the urge to drag his kid back, safe in his arms. ‘After this is all over, we’re going to hold a movie night okay? With pizza.’

‘And Star Wars?’ Peter asks hopefully. Mister Stark laughs, his eyes wet. The smile is all Peter demands before he jumps out the window, not waiting for an answer. He prays that he’s done enough without messing anything up. He hopes.

---

When Peter makes it back to his own time, his phone pings with a message.

It reads; ‘Hey kid, still up for a movie night?’ send by Tony Stark.

#peter parker #tony stark #pepper stark #morgan stark #spiderman #peter parker imagine #tony stark imagine #spiderman imagine #post avengers endgame #happy ending #nobody dies #irondad #spider son #hurt/comfort #hurt peter parker #protective tony stark #marvel imagine #marvel #the avengers

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runtedfiction · 3 years

Text

tomorrow

day 3: flight @zelinkweek2021

ao3

AN: i fucking love haikyuu!! also this week has been lots of fun :)

* * *

Revali finds someone who flies nearly as high as he does on the court. The world implodes.

* * *

When Impa asks Zelda to be on an intramural volleyball team, she doesn’t think about it too much. They’re studying in the library, and she nods absentmindedly while organizing her cybersecurity notes.

“You’ll just be an alternate,” Impa says, over-explaining even though she knows that Zelda would agree to hide a body with her. “We have six people already, so occasionally you might have to sub in, but I don’t think that would happen. You can also borrow my gear.”

“Well, you remember how bad I was in high school,” Zelda says with a shrug. “And it’s been two years since then, so.”

“Don’t worry!” Impa waves her hand. “Most of them are Mipha’s friends, so they’re chill. We’re all very casual.”

Zelda nods again, and begins reading about different kinds of web attacks.

(If this were a sitcom, this would be the part where the narrator tells the audience, “They were not chill. Or casual.”)

* * *

She shows up ten minutes late to their first game. It’s not her fault--the exam ran over, and she had to get changed before coming--but it’s a bad look nonetheless. Everyone’s looking at her, already lined up on the court, and she smiles apologetically while dying inside.

“Midterm started late, sorry!”

“No worries,” Impa says. “We’re just getting started!”

The whistle blows, and a boy with black--no navy--hair does a jump serve that slams into the opposing team’s court. Zelda doesn’t know if she’s seen anyone jump this high.

“Way to go, Revali,” the burliest person she’s ever seen says. He pulls Revali in for what looks to be a bone-crushing hug.

The other team doesn’t score a point until Revali misses his fourth monster serve; the ball goes just outside the lines. But even when the other team finally gets the ball, it’s easy for the burly boy to receive, Mipha to set, and her roommate (Urbosa?) to spike.

Zelda realizes very quickly, much to her horror, that everyone on this team is good. She can’t even do an overhand serve--what was Impa thinking, what was she thinking--but she doesn’t have time to continue to despair because someone else is serving now.

He has a powerful overhand; again, the ball goes straight into the court. But for his second serve, he takes a few steps back, and flies for his jump serve. He’s shorter than the first boy, but he’s jumping almost as tall as him. Zelda’s mouth opens slightly.

“Nice one Link!” Urbosa says. Revali snorts.

Their team--the Champions--wins the game in what must be under half an hour. Zelda thinks about how she hasn’t done an underhand serve in two years and wants to scream.

* * *

After the third game (another ridiculously easy win), the burly boy--Daruk, she’s learned--suggests that they all go out for frozen yogurt. It’s 11pm and the brunt of exams have passed, so everyone is free.

“Perfect!” His voice booms throughout the gym and matches his giant smile. He claps a hand on Link’s shoulder. The force of it undoes his loose ponytail. “Let’s celebrate the little guy for his final block!”

They go to Selmie’s Spot and eat on the sidewalk. It’s a chilly night, but the chocolate is so delicious that she can’t complain.

“Link,” Revali asks, “where did you learn to play like that?”

“I started in middle school,” he says. Zelda wonders if she’s taller than him--they’re definitely the same height at least. “And then I played through all of high school.”

“Nice,” Revali says in a way that makes it clear he does not, in fact, find that nice.

“Your vertical is quite impressive,” Mipha says. Revali’s eyes look like they could shoot out murderous laser beams.

When everyone’s finished with their ice cream, they figure out logistics for walking back home. Impa, Mipha, and Urbosa head north; Daruk and Revali accompany them.

Zelda finds herself alone with Link, who doesn’t have much to say.

“You’re quite good,” she says.

“Thanks.”

“Did you ever consider playing for real in college?”

“Nah.”

Zelda shuts up quickly, and they reach her gate soon enough.

“Thanks for walking me here,” she says.

“No problem.”

Euch, she thinks as she walks him away. The night swallows his bright blue hoodie. Standoffish.

* * *

For the next two games, Zelda sits on the sidelines and alternates between clapping and getting work done on her laptop. Everything goes swimmingly. Link and Revali rack up points from serves and general talent, Daruk receives steadily, and Mipha and Impa set to Urbosa for spikes.

Then Zelda gets called into the next game. When Revali mentioned that he needed to leave for someone’s birthday party, she agreed to sub in, assuming that the game might end before them anyway.

The game, however, is not ending early; the Guardians might hand the Champions their first loss.

They’re one point behind when Zelda steps in, and then they’re five points behind. The best server on the opposing team aims the balls straight for her, and even though she can get the ball up most of the time, it’s punishing. It slams into her forearms, sometimes spiralling off (Link manages to dive and save it once), and rarely making it to Mipha.

Finally the serve goes out of bounds, and it’s a relief. But then it’s her turn to serve, and oh God, it’s match point.

“It’s ok, you got this!”

Impa’s too kind. Zelda takes one swing at the ball--underhand, how humiliating--and loses the game.

* * *

On the walk back, she’s the quiet one this time.

She doesn’t understand why she’s so upset; intramural volleyball doesn’t matter. Her grades are excellent, she probably has a second date with that cute classmate, and she definitely has a second interview with the university research lab.

Link speaks, unprompted, for the first time in her presence.

“You don’t need to look so worried,” he says.

“I don’t look worried,” she counters. Are her brows furrowed? They are. She makes a conscious effort to smooth them out.

He smiles. “Whatever you say.”

She spends the rest of the walk wondering if she looks worried. Then she remembers how she lost the game for everyone tonight, and that awful feeling pools in her stomach again.

“Hey,” she says when they reach her gate. “What did I do wrong tonight?”

He looks surprised. “Oh, hm--”

“Too much to count?” She tries to say it as a joke, but it comes out a bit desperate. Fuck.

“My roommate books practice courts sometimes, and always asks if I want to come,” he says instead of answering. “Maybe we can practice this week and I’ll show you some stuff?”

She nods. Her brows are furrowed again.

"Don't worry," he says. "It'll be chill."

“I’m not--I’m not worried,” she says.

“Ok,” he says, and she thinks he’s laughing as he walks away.

She scowls. Annoying.

* * *

At the practice court, he teaches her how to serve. Thankfully only Impa and Link’s friends get to dodge her serves that first go into the net, then way too deep, before finally she starts hitting the court.

“Nice,” he says after what must be two hours. She’s exhausted. “Remember you want to hold the ball steady in your left hand before you pound it with your right.”

“Uh. Ok.”

When they’re all walking out of the gym at the end of the practice, Link turns to her. “Sidon booked the court for Sunday night too, if you want to come then.”

“That would be great, thanks."

“He’s cute, right,” Impa says when Link leaves.

Zelda raises her eyebrows. “What?”

Impa just laughs.

On Sunday, he teaches her how to receive.

“Bend your knees more,” he says. “Instead of swinging your arms upward.”

They fall into a rhythm where he does a light spike and she gets the ball back to him. Her forearms are red when they break for water.

“Nice. You learn quickly,” he says. The compliment, said so matter of factly, makes her a bit embarrassed. “Before the qualifying game on Tuesday I got the sand courts up by the track if you want to practice a few hours before. I want to do my serve and Daruk said he might need to come late to the game, so.”

“Yeah, I'll come!” she says. She wonders if she hears a “please don’t mess this up” hidden between the lines, but she has a feeling he’s too nice to think that. He’s patient and an understanding teacher and--frick.

She examines his face more closely.

Impa wasn’t lying. He is cute.

Frick.

* * *

Zelda subs in for Daruk, and surprisingly it isn’t a disaster. She gets all her serves over the net, and only messes up two digs. Revali and Link's jumpserves are also particularly nasty this time around, and they win easily.

They make it to the elimination round, and then semifinals. Frozen yogurt at Selmi's becomes a regular tradition after each game.

Before they reach the finals, she asks Link to practice with her once more. It’s very likely that the Guardians will beat the Zorans, and they’ll have to face them again. Impa has a conflicting exam this time around, but can sub in once it ends.

“Sure, I’ll book the sand courts again,” he says. When they reach her gate, he smiles. Cute. “Night.”

Her mouth still tastes like chocolate when she smiles back. “Goodnight.”

She meets him at the court on a sunny day. They have a small rally, just the two of them serving, bumping, setting, and spiking to each other. Even though it’s late autumn, it feels like summer. They take a water break in the shade of the tree.

His water bottle is empty, she notices.

“Here,” she says, holding out hers. “Have some.”

“Ah, that’s ok--”

“Have some.”

“Ok.” He pauses before taking a small sip and handing it back to her. Huh, his eyes are really blue. “Thanks.”

“Yeah.”

On their way back, they reach the intersection that they normally split at when they’re walking during the day.

“Hey,” he says. “You want to get lunch?”

Her heart is pounding. “Sure.”

* * *

When they face the Guardians again in the finals, she’s the most confident she’s been in her skills. The monster server is back and targeting her, but she only misses once, and even then Daruk is there to cover for her and get the ball to Mipha.

Mipha sets it to Zelda this time, which catches everyone by surprise. Urobsa’s been hitting the entire time, barely getting past the blockers.

Zelda sets up for a spike that ends up rolling off her fingers and functioning more like a tip, but no one is covering her, and they’re one point ahead.

“Yes!” Impa yells from the sidelines. It looks like she ran from her test; there’s still a pencil in her hand as she punches her fist in the air.

“Thanks,” Zelda says as she subs out.

“No problem,” Impa says. “You did great!"

Zelda watches as the Champions go toe to toe with the Guardians. She cheers when Mipha does an elegant dump, when Urbosa hits the ball so hard it goes off the blocker’s fingers, when Daruk digs balls with gnarly spirals, and when Link and Revali pull off superstar plays.

The game ends when Link hits from the back row with impossible strength and precision right on the line.

“Nice!” she yells along with everyone.

(But she could swear that he smiles right at her, and it floods her with warmth.)

At Selmie’s Spot after, even Revali gives Link one of those boy handshakes where they do a one armed hug.

“Nice one,” Revali chokes out, sounding only minimally pained.

“Oh come on,” Daruk says. “The little guy won us the whole thing! Your yogurt’s on me.”

“No, no.” Link shakes his head. “Team effort.”

“Yeah,” Impa agrees, putting her arm around Zelda. “Team effort! To the Champions!”

Zelda smiles. ”To the Champions.”

On the walk home, they’re both quiet at first. She keeps racking her brain for funny things to say to break the silence, or excuses to see him so regularly again.

But then he reaches for her hand, so easily, and that’s all she can think about as they walk. His hand is warm and rough and lovely.

Hm, so lunch the other day was probably a date, she thinks. But I didn’t get that specific vibe? But hm, he’s holding my hand now, fuck. He’s holding my hand. Ok, concentrate--so lunch was a date. Ok but even if it wasn’t--maybe we should talk about this. Do we need to? Is there a “this” even?

The stress makes her palm sweaty. He probably notices, but thankfully he doesn’t break his hold and keeps the same steady pressure.

In the end, she manages a lame, “That was fun.” when they reach her gate. Instead of entering in the code immediately like usual, she turns around to face him. She drops his hand so he doesn’t drop hers first, but she wipes it on her sweater to have an excuse.

“Yeah,” he says, smiling faintly. The warm feeling starts to come back. “Really fun.”

“I definitely got better thanks to you,” she says.

He shrugs. “You were really determined to get better. Stubborn, even.”

It’s so easy to joke back. "Worried about it?”

“Oh, yeah. Always. I feel like you’re worrying right now.”

“Well, yeah,” she says. His eyes are so kind when he picks up her hand again. He laces his fingers around hers, and squeezes. The warm feeling multiplies tenfold. It makes it easy for her to ask, “Let’s do something tomorrow?”

He's really smiling now. “Let me cook for you.”

The seed of hope in her chest blooms. “Sounds good. See you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow.”

#zelink week 2021 #zelink #zelink fanfiction #this one is a bit sloppier but at least it was fun hehe xd

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unforth · 3 years

Text

So keeping in mind that I’ve literally already written a 40k Destiel fic inspired by Selena Gomez’s “Back to You,” today it came up on my play list and I started to think about ficcing it again, but this time Wangxian. It’s just such a ficcable song, I can’t even.

Like, a modern AU (set in the US) where Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji were once dating, and Wei Wuxian started making friends with “the wrong sorts,” and so Lan Qiren forced Lan Wangji to dump him. They part ways for a few years.

Lan Wangji never really recovers, and he perfunctorily dates the people his uncle sets him up with, and his life kinda stalls...not that there’s anything wrong with it, just...it’s always the same, the same places, the same people, the same work, the same wake up time, the same daily routine, the same bedtime. Sometimes he’s not sure which he misses more - Wei Wuxian, or the disruption to his life that Wei Wuxian represents. He almost wishes that Wei Wuxian has gone as “bad” as Lan Qiren was so, so sure he would, because then it would be proof - that stepping outside the box is not the way to a good life, that Lan Wangji made the right choices even if he’s not happy with them, that kind of thing.

Wei Wuxian also never really recovers, but instead of letting it get him down, he’s even more determined to prove that he’s so much more than what snobs like Lan Qiren thought of him - and so are the friends he made, who are of course Wen Qing and Wen Ning. They also have really had a tough time, with a lot of people assuming the worst about them because of their family connections. The three make a pact together - to succeed, no matter what it takes, and to help each other whenever one of them starts to struggle. And it works. Though they’re a little behind their peers - they all go to college, and they all finish their degrees, they all get advanced ones. Wen Qing becomes a doctor. Wei Wuxian becomes an engineer. Wen Ning becomes a vet. They get respectable jobs, if poorly paid because that’s the economy in 2020s USA, and they’re slowly building lives for themselves. No one from the circles his adopted family move in will associate with him anyway - he got kicked out for some of his youthful shenanigans, and though he’s in touch with his siblings, his “parents” won’t acknowledge him - but he doesn’t care. He knows he’s succeeding, no matter what they say about him.

(read more)

Though Lan Wangji never stops thinking about Wei Wuxian, he refuses to Google him or look him up. Fantasize about him? Yes. Wish his current SO was them? Yes. Occasionally scroll through Jiang Yanli’s friends list just to make sure Wei Wuxian is still there? Yes. But he doesn’t look him up, doesn’t friend him, doesn’t outreach. Why should he? Some regrets are normal, but he’s over it - he’s definitely over it.

Not that Wei Wuxian expected him to. Lan Wangji broke his heart, and it hurt - oh, it hurt so much, but Wei Wuxian is definitely over him. Who needs that asshole anyway? Wei Wuxian knows his worth, and he doesn’t need the affection of someone who cast him aside at the say so of his uncle. If he occasionally comes moaning Lan Wangji’s name...that’s a perfectly normal thing to do as regards someone Wei Wuxian hasn’t dated in a decade, right? Lan Wangji was, and presumably still is, hot as fuck, and Wei Wuxian has a healthy labido

Which is to say, neither of them is over it at all.

Still, their mutual pining might have never come to a head if not for Lan Wangji’s best friend - Jin Zixuan - getting engaged to Wei Wuxian’s sister Jiang Yanli.

And then, suddenly, after so many years, they’re in frequent contact again - helping with planning the wedding - and, well...

For Wei Wuxian, it’s infuriating. There’s Lan Wangji, still quiet, still distant, and sometimes when Wei Wuxian glances his way, he can swear that he caught Lan Wangji looking at him with resentment and regret, which - that’s some fucking bullshit right there, cause it’s not Wei Wuxian who ditched Lan Wangji, not Wei Wuxian who caved to family pressure. That’s all Lan Wangji - what’s Lan Wangji got to resent?

For Lan Wangji, it’s awful. Wei Wuxian is at least 8 times more gorgeous than Lan Wangji remembers him being, tall and lithe, his hair long, his affect casual. Despite the same air of nonchalance he always projected, though, now he’s like that but ALSO educated, successful, and self-made. Every bad thing Lan Qiren said would come to pass for Wei Wuxian is now proven a lie, and Lan Wangji feels wretched about it. Even worse, Wei Wuxian is clearly single - and “ready to mingle,” as Lan Wangji believes the phrase goes. Literally anyone who breaths, of any gender, is apparently fair game, and Wei Wuxian flirts constantly, especially with members of Lan Wangji’s friends circle. Mo Xuanyu? The poor guy never knew what hit him. Lan Jingyi? Is like eight years to young for Wei Wuxian, but that doesn’t stop him. Ouyang Zizhen? Lan Wangji is pretty sure Wei Wuxian doesn’t even know Zizhen’s name - or his age - but again, when did any reasonable objection ever stop Wei Wuxian? Luo Qingyang? She’s a lesbian for fucks sake, but she apparently doesn’t mind, and even flirts back, and Wei Wuxian is incorrigible.

Maybe Lan Qiren was right after all.

Wei Wuxian is determined to flaunt what Lan Wangji missed out on, loudly and publicly. Mo Xuanyu does make for a fun fling, and Lan Jingyi is a good kisser but they never get farther than that. Ouyang Zizhen is definitely too young - and he’s straight - but he laughs along when Wei Wuxian is outrageous, and they understand each other. And Luo Qingyang...Wei Wuxian suspects she knows exactly what the score is, and is maybe even helping him.

Helping him make Lan Wangji miserable, that is.

Wei Wuxian is definitely not looking to accomplish anything else.

Unless he can secure a Plus One to the wedding, ideally one who can join the wedding party and stand beside Wei Wuxian when he and Jiang Cheng give Jiang Yanli away.

Cause, oh, the look on Lan Wangji’s face, if he’s forced to spend the entire wedding facing Wei Wuxian and his date? Priceless, definitely.

Lan Wangji is determined to give Wei Wuxian the space to do...whatever it is Wei Wuxian is doing. Wei Wuxian always was a whirlwind, and Lan Wangji has never wanted to control him, never known how to keep up. Still, it galls to see Wei Wuxian flirting, and it hurts to see Wei Wuxian act indifferently towards him, and it aches to remember that, had things been different, Lan Wangji could have been on the receiving end of all those lovely, carefree smiles.

Rather than deal with the difficulty he has breathing whenever he’s in the same room as Wei Wuxian is in the room, Lan Wangji throws himself into the logistic planning of the final weeks leading up to the wedding. He coordinates vendors. He soothes ruffled feathers. He makes sure the caterers know literally everyone’s dietary preferences and restrictions. He works, and he works, and he works, and he tries to do nothing but work, but sometimes...

...Wen Qing will wander by, take over his spreadsheet, and tell him to go socialize...

...or Wen Ning will intercept the decoration Lan Wangji was moving, lift it surprisingly effortlessly, and tell Lan Wangji to join the main gathering...

...or Luo Qingyang will come and lecture him about how hiding is dumb and maybe he’d actually meet someone new if he tried.

As if Lan Wangji will get to meet someone new.

As if Lan Qiren will let Lan Wangji be with them, even if Lan Wangji did.

They’re trying to help, but he can’t figure out why. Wen Qing and Wen Ning especially are barely even his friends - but they’re closer to Wei Wuxian than anyone else in the world...Lan Wangji can’t fathom what they’re up to. If he didn’t know better, he’d almost think they were trying to get him back together with Wei Wuxian? Which makes him think they don’t know Wei Wuxian half as well as they think they do, cause there’s no way that Wei Wuxian wants that - no way that Wei Wuxian wants him. Lan Wangji had his chance. He gets that.

(But, oh, it’d be nice to believe, even for a minute, even for a single dinner party, that maybe that would be something Wei Wuxian would want.)

But that’s impossible.

So Wei Wuxian flirts shamelessly.

And Lan Wangji hides behind duty and a stoic facade.

And the day of the wedding approaches - they get through the rehearsal dinner, the bachelor and bachelorette parties, the hangovers the next morning, all of it...and then it’s time.

Lan Wangji knows he should be watching Jin Zixuan, dressed in full Chinese traditional garb for an utterly Western style wedding, but instead he can’t keep his eyes off the opposite wedding party. Luo Qingyang is maid of honor, in a chongseom that makes no sense as either traditional Chinese or modern Western - and Jiang Yanli insisted on her brothers standing at her side, and so Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian are both there.

In tuxedos.

A sharp contrast to the robes in muted colors that Jin Zixuan picked out for his wedding party.

And Jiang Cheng still has a look on his face like he stepped in something gross and is too dignified to wipe it off on the carpeting, but Wei Wuxian...oh, Wei Wuxian is so perfect, absolutely flawless, and his pleasure is so obviious and uninhibited. From the moment the tent flaps open and Jiang Fengmian walks his daughter, in full Phoenix robes and an elaborate golden head dress (a family heirloom, no less), Wei Wuxian only has eyes for his sister, and his joy for her is spectacular and makes Lan Wangji’s chest ache.

As the ceremony commences - Western secular, seriously, what, not that it’s a surprise, Lan Wangji helped plan it, but it’s still weird - Lan Wangji looses himself in the rhythm of non-religious liturgy and imagining that, had his life gone differently, how Wei Wuxian looks now might have been how he’d have looked on their wedding day.

He wants that so badly.

He so, so desperately wishes that could have been.

For once, Lan Wangji isn’t wrong about Wei Wuxian’s train of thought. He’s got eyes for no one but Jiang Yanli - well, and a small aside of imagining all the ways he’ll make Jin Zixuan regret ever being born, should he ever hurt her. The ceremony passes so quickly he’s amazed - usually he’s super impatient and antsy during events like this - but no, he’s fine, he’s fine, he’s fine, he’s...and then it’s over, and he glances to the groom’s party, and he realizes...Lan Wangji is staring at him.

Reflecting back over the ceremony...Lan Wangji has been staring at him the whole time?

And seriously - what the fuck is up with that? What had Wei Wuxian done wrong this time? Was it the tux? Lan Wangji coordinated the rental, if he’d objected to the Western attire, he had plenty of time to say something. Was it the way Wei Wuxian was rocking back on his heels? As if Jiang Yanli didn’t know Wei Wuxian couldn’t stand still - as if she’d ever hold that against him! His mind scrambles through explanations, each more ridiculous and rude than the last...no matter what the reason is, he’s sure that his existence offends Lan Wangji, as it also offended Lan Qiren. If it didn’t, why would Lan Wangji have treated him so indifferently since they re-met?

(It definitely isn’t because Wei Wuxian has intentionally kept him at arms length, oh no, this - whatever this is - is absolutely entirely Lan Wangji’s fault.)

Still, now that he’s aware of Lan Wangji’s condemnation, Wei Wuxian can’t stop thinking about it. It preoccupies him all through agonizingly dull hour of taking group photographs in various places in the picturesque garden, and all through the brief period he actually gets to spend during the passed platter part of the reception - hors d’ouevres to tide the guests over while the family and wedding parties do the pictures - and all through the achingly dull meal. The food is good, Wei Wuxian supposes. The wedding has been nice, Wei Wuxian supposes. Jiang Yanli is elated, Wei Wuxian knows, and he’s delighted for her, but...somehow, the joy has drained out of the evening.

Fucking Lan Wangji - can’t behave himself for one fucking evening, he’s even going to ruin this for Wei Wuxian.

Fuck it - as soon as the meal is over, and the first dances done, and the reception switches from staid social affair to open bar dance party, Wei Wuxian resolves to get sloshed as fast as humanly possible. Anything to stop him from thinking so damn much.

Lan Wangji is one of a handful of designated drivers amongst the people in his generation - he’s expecting to do at least three runs back to the hotel, starting with the bride and groom, then all the Jin half-siblings, then probably the Jiangs, judging by how they’re behaving so far, and then...he doesn’t know, but he suspects there’ll be others. Looking around as the evening grows later, the music louder, and the dancing more raucous, he tries to do a mental tally, and realizes...something is wrong.

No, nothing is wrong...someone is missing.

Where’s Wei Wuxian?

Confused, Lan Wangji looks around again. Wei Wuxian had been dancing - with his sister, with his brother in law, with Luo Qingyang, with Mo Xuanyu, with the folks a half-generation younger like Lan Jingyi, with anyone or anyone, by himself...but no...Luo Qingyang is dancing with Wen Qing, if “intense dance floor frottage” can be considered dancing...and Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli are dancing together, and Mo Xuanyu is flirting with some guy Lan Wangji doesn’t recognize, and the half-generation younger folks are teasing some poor Jiang junior, and Wei Wuxian has been exuberantly present for much of the evening, and now he’s just...gone.

As drunk as Wei Wuxian appeared to be, that can’t be good.

So, concerned - just that Wei Wuxian is drunk and might have tried something dumb, like driving home himself, or gotten lost on the way to the bathroom, or needed to throw up, not about anything else, Lan Wangji is definitely not concerned about Wei Wuxian in any other respect - Lan Wangji goes in search of Wei Wuxian.

He checks around the outside of the tent - nothing.

He checks inside the venue’s main building - nothing.

He checks the bathrooms - nothing.

He checks the parking lots - nothing, and of course Wei Wuxian didn’t take a vehicle, he didn’t drive himself.

He checks everywhere he can think, as the night grows later and darker and the party proceeds and the oldest, most staid guests start to say their goodbyes.

Finally, tired, out of ideas, and disinterested in returning to the loud bright heat of the tent, Lan Wangji goes for a walk through the manicured grounds. Even in the dark of night, the place the Jin-Jiang’s chose is lovely. Scattered decorative lights cast barely enough light to navigate the lanes and paths, aided by a full moon and the occasional flicker of a firefly. There’s a koi pond in the center - they took a lot of pictures there - and a few stone benches around it, so Lan Wangji meanders in that direction. He can still hear the party. He’ll know when they need him. He really needs some time to himself - it’s all been too much.

He tries not to think too hard about what “it” actually refers to in that thought.

Nothing Wei Wuxian does diffuses the empty feeling in his chest; every drink, he feels worse. Every dance, he feels more like he’s putting on an act. His friends were starting to notice - Luo Qingyang and Wen Qing had exchanged a look and then rounded on him like they were going to pin him down and force him to...or try to force him to...talk about his ~feelings~, and so Wei Wuxian fled into the gardens, found a bench where he could listen to the soft sussuration of flowing water somehow audible over the thump of the bass, and breathe.

It’s been a long time since Wei Wuxian felt like he could breathe.

He still doesn’t feel like he can breathe.

Which is ridiculous, he knows, and he’s in the process of going into extensive internal detail of why it’s ridiculous when a damn ghost steps into the clearing around the koi pond...

...no, not a ghost...it’s Lan Wangji, cheeks pale from how much time he spends in doors, robes nearly white when their pale blue is washed out by the moonlight, hair raven falling about his shoulders. His headband frames his noble brow, and his corsage rains a trail of vining flowers over one shoulder like some strange epaulette, and oh, he’s gorgeous, and Wei Wuxian recognizes, to his horror, in that instant...

...he’s never, ever, ever been over Lan Wangji, and he never will be...

...and he’ll never, ever, ever get to be with Lan Wangji. Like, ever.

Lan Wangji is staring at him.

Fuck Wei Wuxian’s life.

“I’ll just...go...” Wei Wuxian mumbles.

The statement hangs heavy in the night air as Wei Wuxian rises, straightens his tux, heads toward the pathway that Lan Wangji just entered from...and then stops.

Because Lan Wangji has grabbed his forearm.

“Oh come on, man - what the fuck?” Wei Wuxian demands, yanking his arm away. “Look, I get it, I’m your least favorite person - well, the wedding’s done, you’ll never have to see me again if you don’t want. Is that what you want? Would that finally make you happy?”

He’s breathing hard by the time he stops talking, and Lan Wangji is still staring at him, and Wei Wuxian wants to flee - not to the tent, but to...literally anywhere...anywhere that Lan Wangji isn’t...except he can’t make his legs work, and he can’t seem to move, and Lan Wangji won’t. stop. staring. and then Lan Wangji opens his mouth, and it seems to be in slow motion, and is he actually going to speak, holy shit, Lan Wangji hasn’t said a word to Wei Wuxian since he said, “good bye” ten years ago, and then of all the fucking things to come out of Lan Wangji’s mouth, all he says is,

“No.”

“Wha...why...ho...WHAT?”

“You asked, ‘is that what I want? Would that make me happy?’ The answer is no, Wei Ying. That is not what I want. That would not make me happy.”

“Oh. Well. Fucking good for you.” Wei Wuxian doesn’t even know what the fuck he’s saying. He doesn’t know what the fuck Lan Wangji is saying. All he knows is that being there hurts, and he’s so damn tired of hurting, and Lan Wangji already destroyed him once...

...and I’d give anything for five minutes with him, even if I know he’ll likely destroy me again...

“What do you want?” asks Lan Wangji, like he actually cares about the answer, and Wei Wuxian can only goggle at him, because he was so so incredibly clear about what he wanted ten years ago - he even fucking asked Lan Wangji to marry him, said, “I’ll do anything, conquer any challenge - we can make this life together, Lan Zhan,” and Lan Wangji had just said, “Good bye,” and now, now, Lan Wangji wants to know what Wei Wuxian wants? What gives him the right? What gives him the entitlement? What gives him the audacity?

What makes him think anything Wei Wuxian wants has changed?

But Wei Wuxian can’t say that, can he...?

The silence stretches out between them.

Neither moves.

Neither speaks.

Fireflies flit around them.

Lan Wangji dreads Wei Wuxian answering, dreads him walking away, dreads losing this last precious moment they share, even though the tension of this moment is so awful that Lan Wangji fears it will break him.

“What would you say if...if I said that all I want...is all I’ve ever wanted?” whispers Wei Wuxian, like he’s terrified.

Lan Wangji has no idea why he’s terrified.

Lan Wangji has no idea what he means.

He asks with a raised brow, and Wei Wuxian laughs awkwardly. “Naw, I can’t do the ‘silent Lan act’ right now. Use your words, I’m fucking right out of here, okay?”

“I’m sorry. I’ll try.” It’s ludicrously hard, but...for Wei Wuxain, Lan Wangji will always try, always regret that he didn’t try harder when he should have. “I...don’t understand. You say...what you always wanted. A degree. A found family. Your siblings at your side. A pet rabbit. An apartment with a bidet. A signed copy of ‘The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.’ There were many things you said you wanted. I’m afraid I’m unclear which you mean.”

“You...you remember all that dumb shit I said back then?” Wei Wuxian sounds astonished. How can Wei Wuxian sound astonished? How can Wei Wuxian believe Lan Wangji would have forgotten a minute of those wonderful days - the best of his life?

“Mn.”

“Well, none of that shit’s what I mean. Got most of it anyway. Bidets are awesome. But Lan Wangj...Lan Zhan...”

His name, said in that sweet voice, causes a tingle to go down Lan Wangji’s spine.

“...all I’ve ever wanted was you.”

Lan Wangji’s jaw drops.

“And you told me to fuck right out of your life when I asked for that, so...fuck, what am I even still doing here?”

“Kissing me.”

“Wha--”

Lan Wangji interrupts Wei Wuxian’s confused exclamation with action - grapping Wei Wuxian’s shoulders and pulling him into a kiss. It’s rude, and inappropriate, and consent - what consent? - and Wei Wuxian doesn’t reciprocate but...oh well. Lan Wangji has already ruined his love life. At least he can have one kiss to remember fondly, to cherish, to--

--and then Wei Wuxian has an arm around Lan Wangji’s shoulder, their bodies pressed together, their lips moving as one, and oh, it’s good - glorious - Lan Wangji could weep he’s so happy. They kiss, and kiss, and kiss, shifting in the moonlight, lost in their embrace. Lan Wangji is breathless and growing dizzy, but he’s terrified to put space between them - what if this is goodbye? What if it’s just Wei Wuxian flirting, like he flirts with everyone? What if...what if...what if...

But finally, they do part, and scantly, bodies still close, embrace still maintained, faces inches apart.

“What’s going on, Lan Zhan?” asks Wei Wuxian weakly.

“I kissed you.”

“Yeah...got that part...but why...?”

“I know I’ve no right to ask this...but would you try again? With me? With us? Would you--?”

Wei Wuxian is kissing him again before Lan Wangji can finish the question.

Wei Wuxian can’t believe that’s a real question Lan Wangji has to ask - as if Wei Wuxian wouldn’t have taken Lan Wangji back anytime, at the drop of a hat, over the past decade.

(Okay, that’s unfair...Wei Wuxian’s actually been a huge dick about it...he knows Lan Wangji had no independent living, and relied on his family, and Wei Wuxian was just some aimless jackass, and, and, and...but it still stung that Lan Wangji wouldn’t throw all cares to the wind to be with Wei Wuxian, as Wei Wuxian would have done - had done - to be with Lan Wangji.)

But it feels dumb to dwell on that when Lan Wangji is in his arms, kissing him so eagerly, asking if he’ll try again.

Because of fucking course Wei Wuxian will try again.

“I don’t know what that means, Wei Ying,” says Lan Wangji with obvious frustration.

Kiss.

“It means yes,” Wei Wuxian replies.

Kiss.

“Yes?”

Kiss.

“Yes.”

Kiss.

“Always?”

Kiss.

“If you’ll have me back...”

Kiss.

“As if I’d ever turn you down!”

Kiss.

“Already did once...”

Kiss.

“And regretted it endlessly.”

Kiss.

“Good. You deserved at least that much suffering.”

Kiss.

“Deserved it, and more.”

Kiss.

“I suppose I’ll forgive you, if...”

Kiss.

“Anything. Just tell me.”

Kiss.

Oh, Wei Wuxian has so many ideas, and he delights in teasing Lan Wangji with each and every one, whispered between husky breaths in to the cooling air, interrupting himself constantly to kiss, and kiss, and kiss.

They’re still making out by the koi pond when Wen Qing and Luo Qingyang come looking for the promised designated driver.

They don’t even consult - or consider interrupting - when they do find the two idiots locked in an embrace. As one, the ladies turn, exchange a silent, smug high-five, and pull out their phones to order Ubers.

They can pay for rides for the Bride and Groom and family members and other drunken party goers.

Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian have a lot of catching up to do.

(and done)

(oops, this got long)

(and yes, this is absolutely a mash up of a modern AU with the lyrics to “Go Back to You” with a healthy dose of the plot of Jane Austen’s “Persuasion.”)

#unforth writes #the untamed #cql #mdzs #wangxian #modern au #background ships #idek here have a pile of words

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