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witcherslittledove · 3 years

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Home is Where the Heart Is

A Joey/Henry lockdown fic - AO3

Rated: T

Words: 7k ish

CW: RPF, covid, far too much pining?

_______

“I’m sorry, Joey,” Madeleine sighed again, pressing her head into the crook of Joey’s neck, her hair tickling his cheek.

It was pulled back into a messy bun, flyaway strands surrounding her face in a halo, and as the sun shone from behind her, she looked like some kind of angel. Joey wondered, not for the first time, how he’d even been so lucky to have Madeleine as a friend. She truly was a wonder, his favourite person and light of his life. Everyone should have a friend like Madeleine Hyland.

He laughed and pressed a kiss to her temple as he pulled back from her embrace. “Nah, it’s alright, Madeleine. Your parents need you, much more important than little old me.”

“Oh fuck that, you bastard, stop fishing for compliments,” she laughed, swatting him on the arm.

“Aww,” he pouted, “Oi!”

She’d hit his arm again, barely a tap but he pretended it hurt, rubbing his arm and pouting even harder at his friend.

“Come off it, Joey. You’re staying with Henry for the rest of lockdown, that’s hardly a trial,” she teased, poking him in the chest.

Ah yes.

Henry.

The bane of Joey’s existence, mostly because of the fucking ginormous crush he had on his co-star. He hadn’t known Henry had been signed on for Geralt until his audition, really he hadn’t known much at all, just that he’d be auditioning for a bard and that he should probably take his lute to the audition. A spur of the moment decision that had turned his life upside down. He’d gone from a nobody to... well, not exactly famous but people had started to recognise him, much to his despair.

And then there was Henry.

He’d been admiring Henry from a distance for a few years now, watching him in the Tudors had sort of been Joey’s bisexual awakening, and then he’d suddenly been thrust into the most bizarre experience of having to work fairly closely with the man.

Joey would never forget the feeling of Henry throwing him over his shoulder as if he wasn’t almost the same size as Henry.

Fuck, that had been hot.

And now, Joey had to cohabit with said crush for an indeterminate amount of time, preferably without making a fool of himself.

He was doomed.

Of course, he could have said no when Henry had offered his place when Joey was grumbling about being alone during lockdown after Madeleine's parents got sick, but no… Henry had stared at him with such shining hope in his eyes that Joey never stood a chance.

Joey just needed to keep reminding himself that Henry was straight. He was practically the poster boy for heteronormative; classically gorgeous, action star, gymrat, lover of sports and building fucking computers.

Okay, maybe Joey was generalising a tad, but it was a form of self-defence.

Christ, the mere thought that Henry could be interested in men… interested in him.

It was too much.

So here he was, saying goodbye to his best friend whilst waiting for his biggest crush to pick him up. Madeleine bundled into her car with the last of her bags, and Joey was left waiting on the pavement. In all honesty, he would have preferred to drive to Henry’s place himself or at least get the tube, something where he felt like he was actively doing something. The waiting was killing him, making his thoughts run out of control. Maybe he shouldn’t have packed his guitar. He could have at least been tuning it, or plucking out some meaningless melody, anything to keep his hands busy and his mind distracted.

When the black car pulled up, Joey let out a sigh of relief before realising that it was very much frying pan, fire. Luckily, before he could really start to panic, the back door opened and Joey was almost bowled off his feet by a large bundle of fur that Henry claimed was a dog and not, in fact, a bear.

“Kal!” Joey greeted warmly, burying his fingers into Kal’s neverending fur, and letting the dog lick all over his face.

“He’s missed you,” Henry called in lieu of a greeting.

He was wearing a grey henley that looked like it was two sizes too small and his dark blue jeans seemed to strain against his quads. Henry’s arms were crossed in front of his chest and he looked down at Joey with a blinding Hollywood smile that made Joey’s heart flutter. Dark curls seemed to have finally recovered from the weeks stuck under Geralt’s wig and they fell in front of his so very blue eyes.

He was bloody gorgeous, and it wasn’t fucking fair.

So Joey did the only logical thing, and started to coo at Kal instead. “I’ve missed him too,” he trilled happily into the dog’s fur, scratching Kal behind his ears. “Such a good boy! The bestest, cutest doggo.”

“He’s not the only one who’s missed you, you know,” Henry groused, although when Joey looked up, he was still smiling so Joey didn’t feel too bad for paying far more attention to Kal than the gorgeous specimen of a man that is Henry Cavill.

“Aww, you sap,” he chuckled. “Well, I still haven’t forgiven you for those cruel and terrible words you cursed me with the last time we met.”

It wasn’t the last time they’d met. They’d had a few scenes after the argument in episode six. Scheduling had meant that it wasn’t filmed entirely in order, and then there had been reshoots and post-production parties, premieres and the table reads for season two, but it was a sort of in-joke. Joey liked to tease Henry about the argument, they’d both lurked enough online to know that ‘the mountain’ was a big fucking deal to the fans of their characters.

Henry rolled his eyes and opened his arms out for a hug which Joey eagerly returned, inhaling the soft musky cologne that Henry wore and enjoying the strongs arms that wrapped around him. He loved hugs, but most of Joey’s male friends would do that god awful hug and pat thing, then pull away too soon. Henry had never been like that and it was delightful, even if it really didn’t help the not so little crush that Joey had on the man.

It was cliche but it really did feel like coming home.

Fuck.

He was utterly screwed… and not even in the fun way.

The drive to Henry’s place was quiet, Joey spent most of the time watching the streets of London roll past as they weaved through bendy roads that webbed across the city. The traffic was weirdly non-existent, a side effect of a global pandemic, and he couldn’t help but be reminded of the ghost towns from films and books.

It was truly haunting, spooky in just the right way. Horror and the Wild had very much had woodland magic vibes, but driving through the dead streets of London, Joey wondered what happened to the fae when a city sprung up near their home. Did they adapt like the wildlife did? Urban spirits that lurked in the shadows, in the alleys, behind the bins and cobbled streets at the back of theatres.

Most theatres were supposed to be haunted, Joey had always wondered just who the spirits were that glided through the aisles when the shows went dark.

Henry didn’t feel the need to fill the silence which Joey was grateful for. On set, with Jaskier on his fingertips, Joey was happy to joke about and laugh and banter, but he was nervous about the move to Henry’s and the silence gave him time to get lost in his own imagination, a reality that wasn’t quite the one they knew.

He was almost disappointed when the car pulled to a stop in front of a rather grand house. It was part of a terrace but that was unsurprising, most places in London were, but it was much nicer than the shitty little flat that Joey shared with Madeleine.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

They were poles apart. Even being friends was unrealistic. How the hell was Joey supposed to even pretend they were in the same league? It was fine. Everything was going to be fine. Joey just had to be a perfect house guest, no clumsy mistakes, no setting fire to any ovens, and no slipping in the shower and messing up his ankle.

He’d just have to spend all his time with Kal lest Henry find out just how much of a walking disaster he could be.

Henry had only offered because he was a caregiver, selfless and kind in everything he did. He would have done the same to anyone else if they’d mentioned spending lockdown alone. Joey was just the lucky one.

Or unlucky.

He hadn’t quite decided yet.

Yes, he would just have to spend his days with Kal and his guitar, stay out of Henry’s way and then everything would be fine.

Right?

___

Joey’s plan went according to plan for almost an entire week. He mostly kept to his room and occasionally the living room. Henry wanted to show Joey some films he liked and it would have been rude to say no, so Joey curled up with Kal on the floor to keep some space between them. That way he wouldn’t be tempted to snuggle up against Henry’s chest the same way he did with Madeleine, only it wouldn’t be the same because Madeleine was his best friend and Henry was… well… Henry.

It was such a mess.

And he was probably being an arse.

They’d gotten along so well on set in between takes, but now, without Jaskier there as a crutch, Joey’s anxiety was getting the better of him, and all because of a stupid crush. This would all be a lot easier if Joey were straight; no awkward crushes, no pining for a man he couldn’t have, no… whatever this was?

He could flirt and tease and banter just like he would with any of his friends because it was harmless.

If only.

No.

He had to do better. The reason Henry had invited him to stay was so neither of them would be alone, and despite all his cuddles with Kal, Joey was really starting to feel touch starved. He’d never gone so long without human touch.

The problem was that Henry was just so fucking sweet. He was so bloody understanding that it made Joey just yearn even harder. There was never any pressure to hang out, just gentle suggestions, and the most amazing home-cooked meals that Henry said could be heated up another time if Joey wasn’t hungry. The wine Henry picked out to go with the meal was heavenly, and fuck, the man could cook.

He felt like he was being seduced; wooed with the most gorgeous culinary delights that were truly to die for.

What was a poor bisexual to do?

So every evening Joey would sit across from Henry at the table, trying to joke and laugh just as they had before, but even to his own ears it felt flat. Madeleine’s voice in his head reminded him that that was probably his anxiety speaking but, of course, he ignored it. They ate their food and then Joey would either retreat to his room with his beloved guitar or Henry would suggest a film.

Until Henry decided enough was enough.

Joey was lured from his room with the sweet delicious smell of pizza, and when he came down the stairs he found Henry already on the couch, two boxes of pizza and a couple of beers already opened and ready to go.

There was no sitting on the floor, not with pizza and a Kal. Joey wouldn’t get to taste the greasy wonders of his takeaway if he sat on the floor, and the pizza box was already being guarded by Henry on the couch.

He had to break his rule.

Fuck.

“Kitchen table not good enough?” he teased with a quirk of his lips.

Henry scoffed. “Who eats pizza at the table?”

It was a fair point and sighed, resigning himself to an evening pressed up against his friend when his cuddle instincts got too much. Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad thing, maybe it would help get him out of his head and into the moment… maybe he should just let Jaskier out of the box and pretend that all was fine?

No.

He could do this. Just… be himself?

“Before I open this box, there is one very important question I have to ask,” he said far too seriously, barely able to hide a smile as he scooped the pizza box into his lap and sat down next to Henry, keeping a safe distance between them.

“There’s no pineapple.”

“Oh thank fuck for that,” Joey laughed and opened the box. It was a standard pepperoni pizza, not his go to, but it was a safe option and one that was always yummy regardless of the restaurant. “Garlic dip?” he asked with a cock of his head.

“Damn, I hoped you wouldn’t like it,” Henry grumbled and pulled a small green topped tub from inside his own box.

“You!” Joey said in mock outrage, “keeping the beloved dip from me. It’s like the mountain all over again.”

“It’s not like the mountain,” Henry grumbled. “I didn’t make the script, you can’t keep blaming me for that.”

Joey’s heart sank as he wondered if he’d taken the joke too far, but when he met Henry’s gaze he saw the man was smiling despite his grousing. “I can,” he insisted.

“Hmm,” Henry replied in his most Geralt-y voice.

And with an internal sigh of relief, everything seemed to be okay. Yes, Joey was pulling some of his energy from his beloved character, but so was Henry, and it seemed to smooth out the edges of his anxiety. The beer helped and everything seemed a lot more relaxed with the takeaway pizza and the film already starting to play on the TV.

“I’m sorry,” Henry whispered after the pizza was finished and the credits had started to roll.

Joey’s head was resting on his friend’s shoulder but he’d managed to keep himself from koala hugging… so far. The vulnerability caught his attention though, and he sat up wearily to peer at Henry.

“For what?”

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable by inviting you here.”

Joey wanted to swear, to stomp around the room and tear the place upside down. He’d fucked up. He knew he’d fucked up, his damn anxiety keeping him from being the person he wanted to be, the person he knew he could be if his head just shut up! He didn’t do any of that though. Instead, he slumped back down to lean against Henry and took a deep breath.

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable.”

“I didn’t?”

“No. I’m just- it’s hard for me, being somewhere new,” not a lie, not entirely the truth, “and I didn’t want to encroach on your space. This is your home, and I- umm- I didn’t want to get in the way.”

Henry laughed, running a hand through his hair, pushing the curls back off his face, and Joey was entranced for a moment, wanting to reach out and feel the soft hair between his fingers for himself. It was a miracle that he managed to keep his hands in his own lap.

“Joey, this is our home, for now at least,” Henry said with such conviction and warmth that Joey made a sort of strangled noise in the back of his throat.

“Our home?”

“We have no idea how long this nightmare is going to last. It could be months, Joey. I want you to feel like you can relax here,” Henry insisted, wrapping his arm around Joey’s shoulder and pulling him into a sideways hug.

“Right- yeah, no, I know,” Joey mumbled, trying and failing not to blush.

Now that Henry wasn’t really having to watch what he ate and stay dehydrated for dear old Geralt, he was big.

And Joey was weak.

It was like all his wet dreams were becoming a reality, one by one.

He was just monkey-braining over the fact that Henry was one big, large, strong man that wanted to take care of him. It was pathetic. Joey wasn’t exactly small himself, and he could, should the role require it, hold up pretty well in a sword fight with Henry and not look entirely ridiculous.

“And I know Kal is very cute,” Henry teased, nodding to the dog who was sprawled on the carpet in front of them, “but if you ever need a hug, he’s not your only option.”

Joey definitely didn’t squeak this time. Instead, he finally let himself snuggle up to Henry the way he’d been wanting to all evening, every evening since he’d arrived. “Like this?” he teased.

Henry chuckled, and just squeezed his arms tighter around Joey, “Exactly.”

“I’m sorry,” Joey mumbled. “I was being an arse.”

“No, it’s not your fault.”

Joey scoffed.

“I should have been clearer on day one,” Henry sighed, “although seeing as you live here now, maybe you should cook?”

Joey laughed nervously, burying his face into Henry’s jumper. “Neither of us want that,” he muttered. “Trust me.”

“I’ll help?” Henry suggested, which of course brought forth a dozen images of cooking together, dancing in the kitchen to whatever songs fell past Joey’s lips, lazy early morning kisses as they waited for the coffee.

He swallowed, blinking away the fantasies. “How about you cook, and I’ll help?”

“Lazy,” Henry said with a chuckle but just pulled Joey closer.

“Only trying to keep you safe, darling.”

Darling.

Fuck.

“I mean, Henry, sorry, slip of the tongue. I mean- fuck. I call Madeleine darling all the time?”

“Joey, it's okay,” Henry reassured him.

“Okay.”

With a sigh, Joey untangled himself from Henry’s arms and gathered up the pizza boxes and empty beer cans. Booping Kal on the nose as he went past, he busied himself with clearing up. It wasn’t much and didn’t take long, so sooner than he would have liked he poked his head back around the door.

Henry was sitting on the floor, rough-housing Kal, chuckling as the dog kept licking at his face. The sight made Joey smile softly, and he almost didn’t want to leave, but he was getting tired and he really didn’t want to slip up again. He couldn’t blame every mistake on Madeleine. It wouldn’t be fair to her.

“I’m going to bed,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his hair. “See you tomorrow, Henry.”

_______

After that, things started to get easier. Joey would flop down onto the sofa next to Henry in the evenings regardless of what they were doing. Sometimes he’d lie with his head in Henry’s lap whilst they both read a book, other times he’d pluck at his guitar and laugh over stupid limericks that he could make up about his co-star. True to his word, Henry made Joey start helping with mealtimes, although he soon regretted that decision but refused to back down. The food still tasted good but the presentation was lacking. They spent an afternoon trying to bake bread together… Joey’s did not turn out so well and Henry’s attempt was thankfully less than perfect but still edible. The little flaws made Joey feel a little less inferior, and made Henry seem all the more human.

Kal still got a lot of Joey’s attention. How could he not? He was just so fluffy and adorable, plus Joey loved the little pout that Henry did whenever Kal got more hugs than he did. Joey could pretend that his friend was jealous, and that just helped him sleep a little easier at night.

Cuddling on the couch had become their usual routine, and it settled something deep inside of Joey that had been becoming restless. Mornings were spent watching Henry workout. Joey joined in occasionally but usually he would just cheer Henry on from the sidelines sipping his cup of tea. It was a sight to behold, and Joey thanked the lord that the gyms were currently closed otherwise he would never have been allowed to enjoy the view.

Henry’s arse was truly spectacular.

Despite his morning workouts, Henry had definitely gained a rather lovely layer of fat over his previously tightly toned muscles. He looked stronger. He looked cuddlier. Joey’s crush was only getting worse by the day, wanting to run his hands over the broad muscles of Henry’s back, thighs, arms… wherever he was allowed, but he just settled for the cuddling each day.

Joey tried not to think about the fat building over his own stomach and filling out his cheeks, barely noticeable unless you’d had a lifetime of his mother breathing down his neck about his weight. He was cuddlier too, that’s what he told himself whenever the familiar buzz of anxiety started to build up.

And anyway, Henry didn’t seem to mind.

Kal certainly didn’t. The beast of a dog had started to share the sofa with them in the evenings, squishing between them for maximum cuddle potential until eventually he got bored and retreated back to the floor.

It was really starting to feel like home. There were signs of Joey around the house, sheet music left on the TV cabinet, a set of spare lute strings in the kitchen, the bastard instrument tucked away in the corner of the living room until Joey could bring himself to pick it up. Two sets of keys now hung up by the front door so they could both take turns walking Kal without having to worry about getting locked out if the other was busy. A fluffy worn blanket was now strewn over the big armchair where Joey liked to sit during the day. Even the fridge now stocked Joey’s favourite rosé wine.

All in all, Joey wasn’t hating lockdown. It was frustrating but he enjoyed being inside anyway, and well, the company was pretty great.

The two of them were curled up on the sofa watching the Great British Bake Off on netflix, gin and tonics flowing a little too freely, and Joey felt like he was on top of the world. He had the best cuddler in all of England, nay, the world, a big fluffy puppy to boot and some bloody brilliant booze in hand.

The best thing was that Henry’s hoody had shifted up at some point during the evening, and Joey couldn’t take his eyes off the soft but defined muscles that were often hidden under Henry’s clothes. The dark hair that dipped beneath the exposed band of Henry’s boxers was tantalizing, and Joey longed to reach out and touch…

Only he was drunk enough that his inside thoughts had his hand moving before he could realise, landing on Henry’s stomach.

He froze and stared up at his friend with wide eyes.

“Oops,” he slurred.

“That’s my stomach,” Henry pointed out.

And still Joey didn’t remove his hand, relishing the bare skin beneath his fingertips, but he knew he needed an excuse, so he did the only logical thing and launched his attack. Henry was stronger than him, but Joey had the element of surprise as he tickled his friend, fingers dancing across the exposed skin as Henry desperately tried to shove Joey away. They were both laughing, too busy pushing and pulling at each other, that neither of them quite registered that at some point in the tussle, Joey had straddled Henry’s waist in an attempt to keep him pinned down.

Until suddenly their lips were barely a breath apart.

Oh.

“Hi,” Joey mumbled, smiling coyly down at Henry, the longer strands of his fringe falling into his eyes.

“Hi.”

It wouldn’t take much to lean down and kiss him, maybe Henry would even reach up first. There was no denying the sudden pull between them, and god, Joey wanted it. He’d wanted it for so long now.

So close.

The warmth of Henry’s breath brushing against his lips.

Eyes closed.

Hearts racing.

A soft whisper of a moan.

And then a bark rang out in the room, startling Joey and shattering the moment. He cursed as he fell to the floor, the world spinning from the gin and giddy burst of adrenaline. Kal jumped up into Henry’s lap, barking and whining excitedly at his owner, checking that he was okay following Joey’s tyrannical tickle attack.

Joey felt like an ice bucket had been dumped over his head, feeling far too sober, far too fast.

He’d almost kissed Henry.

Fuck!

“Right,” he slurred as he pushed his hands back through his hair- too long, needed a haircut. “Bedtime, sleep. Yup.”

“Joey?”

“See you in the morning?” he mumbled, although glancing at the clock, he wondered if that was a little optimistic. “Tomorrow,” he amended.

“Tomorrow,” Henry agreed, looking a little disappointed.

Joey refused to think about it. He wouldn’t start to hope. It would hurt too much if this all went wrong.

______

They didn’t talk about it.

Or rather, Joey, didn’t talk about it.

Henry tried to bring it up the next morning but Joey just laughed it off before his heart could get torn to pieces. He didn’t need confirmation that his crush was a no go. He already knew, but he really didn’t need to hear the words. Not to mention his hangover was an utter bitch and all he wanted to do was crawl back into bed and feel sorry for himself, which is exactly what he did.

After a few days, or was it weeks, months, years? Time seemed to stop existing, all Joey knew was his clothes seemed to be tighter than before and he was in desperate need of a haircut, but after a lockdown-eque period of time, all was forgotten. They fell back into their usual routine, and Joey’s crush continued to simmer just below the surface, unnoticed by Henry.

He’d started to facetime Madeleine most evenings just before bed now that the novelty of living with a bloody filmstar had worn off. He missed her terribly and she seemed to be going crazy at her parent’s house. There was a twinge of guilt stabbing in his chest when he realised he’d all but forgotten about her the first few weeks of lockdown, but it was nice to catch up with her again.

Henry was brilliant, but he was no Madeleine Hyland. He wasn’t Joey’s best friend.

And sometimes Joey just needed to vent about Henry’s stranger habits. Like seriously, why wass there that weird sponsored water just stationed around the house? And what was with the weirdly staged selfies on instagram. It made Joey feel a whole lot better about his own lack of media presence. He’d rather be a mystery online than this boomer energy than Henry had going on.

Venting to Madeleine helped too, he got less frustrated about the shit hole that was life during a pandemic. A little less angry, a little less depressed, and a little less pathetic with his pining over Henry, although Madeleine would probably disagree.

She was probably right.

The sudden cold turn in the weather hadn’t helped. It wasn’t too bad but Joey had mostly brought summer clothes with him because he honestly hadn’t thought he’d be staying more than a couple of weeks. Thankfully he’d thrown in a couple of onesies for comfort reasons so he spent most his days dressed like a tiger and hoping that Henry would find it endearing. The best part was his onesies were a bit looser and fit him more comfortably than his normal clothes. A lockdown diet was brilliant, but not exactly what he’d had in mind when he’d gone shopping all those years ago.

What he hadn’t expected, was for Henry to rock up to dinner wearing the stupid bunny onesie that Joey had left in his room.

“There,” Henry greeted him with a broad smile, “Now we match.”

It wasn’t fair. Joey wanted to kiss him so badly. The white onesie was a little short on Henry, pulling up just above his ankles, and it still managed to stretch at his shoulders, but it was so fucking adorable and Joey could pin point the exact moment his crush tumbled over the edge into love.

It was the crinkles at the corner of Henry’s eyes as he smiled, the slight tilt of his head, the sparkle in his ocean blue eyes.

Except they weren’t just blue. No, there were specks of golden brown in one eye, that were just captivating. Joey felt like he could so easily get lost in Henry. Every time he looked at the man he found something new and exciting.

“Darling, you look adorable!” he cooed, before he could get too distracted by the fluttering of his own heart. “Very cuddly.”

Henry chuckled and opened his arms wide, allowing Joey to barrel into them. “That was the idea.”

“So, what’s for dinner?” he asked, hoping that Henry would have forgotten that-

“It’s your turn to cook.”

“Bugger,” Joey whined. “Cheesy pasta?”

“You made that last time,” Henry teased.

“I’m very good at carbonara!” Joey countered.

“Melted cheese on pasta isn’t carbonara.”

Joey scoffed. “Eh, close enough.”

“Fine, make your cheesy pasta.”

“Carbonara,” Joey said with a wink. “I’ll add bacon this time.”

The pasta was overcooked and the bacon was a little chewy, but it was dinner, and afterwards Henry made them both extravagant hot chocolates made from actual chocolate rather than powder shit that Joey used. It was covered in whipped cream and marshmallows and had a healthy amount of Baileys to top it off. They curled up on their usual spot on the sofa, buried under blankets and held the warm mugs close to their chests.

If it had been snowing, then Joey would have thought he’d walked into a Christmas film, all it needed was a fireplace and some fairy lights. It was cosy and warm, and a little bit romantic, or it would be if Henry was interested in men and Joey was his type.

No, he couldn’t think like that.

They were friends, good friends, good friends that liked to cuddle and almost kiss if the dog hadn’t interrupted.

It was fine.

Everything was fine.

He took a long gulp of his hot chocolate to stave off his anxiety, not noticing when his nose dived straight into the whipped cream until he looked up to find Henry staring at him with a fond expression. Warmth flooded through Joey’s chest as he returned the smile, feeling high on love and sugar.

“Hi,” he breathed, sounding as love sick as he felt.

Henry’s smile brightened, filling the whole room with light and Joey could have sworn he could hear the swell of violins in the soundtrack of his life.

“Hi,” Henry replied easily as if he hadn’t stolen Joey’s breath, heart and soul. “You- umm, cream, here!”

Henry tapped his own nose.

“Oh cock!” Joey hurried to wipe his nose, almost spilling his hot chocolate in the process, “Fuck! Bugger, shit balls!”

Henry, the bastard, just laughed, his arms reaching out to steady the mug and stop Joey from falling to the ground. “I think you made it worse.”

Joey snorted “I got that, yup, thanks.”

This time he could feel the sticky sweet cream clinging to his cheek, the subtle taste of vanilla on his lips. He pouted up at Henry, gazing through his eyelashes in a way that he hoped could be played off as friendly, but also maybe a little bit seductive. His tongue flicked out to lick his lips and he barely resisted the urge to wink.

Maybe there had been more Bailey’s in his drink than he realised.

Instead, he just wiped his face and snuggled back up to Henry, pulling the blanket up to his chin. They settled on watching Always Sunny, so Joey didn’t really have to concentrate. He let the tension drain from his body as he listened to the familiar TV show and then closed his eyes. Warm, happy and wrapped up in the arms of the man he loved-

Joey fell asleep.

He didn’t notice the way Henry was staring down at him as if he hung the fucking moon and stars, or the inner turmoil his friend was plague with as Henry resisted leaning down to kiss Joey in his sleep.

No, Joey was blissfully ignorant, sleeping better than he had in weeks.

________

The rest of lockdown went by in a blur. Their routine started to seem normal and any doubts Joey had about spending so much time with Henry faded away. They bantered easily like they had on set, laughing and giggling over whatever stupid thing one of them had said. Henry would spend hours playing his video games whilst Joey zoomed Madeleine to work on their new album together. When the regulations relaxed they started to walk Kal together, enjoying the quiet summer days and fresh air. The cuddling never really stopped, and some mornings Joey would wake up still curled up against Henry’s chest, their limbs tangled from the night before.

Those were Joey’s favourite mornings. He’d be stiff all day from sleeping on the couch but he could pretend, for just a few moments, that things were more than they were.

The pining never went away but it was truly the sweetest torture that he’d ever had to endure. The domestic bliss being barely a step away from everything he craved.

And when the time came for Joey to return to his flat with Madeleine, he felt like shit. He didn’t want to go. He wanted to stay in the strange fantasy world he had with Henry, eating too much food and drinking too much wine, cuddling and watching crappy Netflix shows.

Which was why he was sat, staring at a messy pile of clothes on his bed, clothes he’d not worn in weeks. Over the chair were his onesies and a collection of jumpers and hoodies that he’d stolen from Henry over the last few months and weeks. Kal stared up at him from the floor, tail thumping against the carpet.

Joey sighed and ran his hand through his hair, trying desperately to ignore the ache in his chest that was growing more painful with everything second that passed. “I don’t know, Kal. I should be happy about going home.”

Kal didn’t respond, his tail still wagging away just like it always did whenever Joey paid attention to him.

“I miss Madeleine, of course I do, but living with Henry has been great. And you, I love you, big fluffy puppy!” He cooed with a big smile as Kal barked happily and jumped up onto the bed. Joey laughed as he tried to keep his face away from the attack, wrapping his arms around Kal’s neck and pressing his nose into the fur.

“If I tell him how I feel that’s just going to make season two really really awkward, but I just feel like I’m missing a chance, you know?”

If Kal knew, he either didn’t care or just enjoyed watching Joey suffer. There was no reply and Kal just rested his head in Joey’s lap.

“Yeah, right,” he muttered, still running his fingers through Kal’s fur. “You’re no use.”

Kal snorted at that and Joey rolled his eyes.

“But I love you anyway, yes I do!”

“Ready to go?” Henry asked from the door.

“Shit!” Joey yelped. “How long have you been standing there?!”

Henry chuckled, striding into the room and perching on the bed opposite Joey. He reached out to scratch Kal on the head with a dazzling smile. Joey felt his cheeks warm up and he buried his face in Kal’s fur to hide the blush. So many months and he still couldn’t stop his heart from racing whenever Henry smiled. He was pathetic.

And he was running out of time.

He knew it was a bad idea, even entertaining the thought of dating a co-star, but he’d regret it if he didn’t give it a shot. I mean he could always blame the mixed signals if it went wrong. They’d nearly kissed twice and Joey didn’t even cuddle Madeleine as much as he’d cuddled Henry. They were probably the only people that were less touch-starved during the lockdown than before.

So Joey was going to tell him.

Just three words.

He could do that.

Fuck!

He couldn’t do that.

“Joey?” Henry said, reaching out to squeeze Joey’s shoulder.

Joey blinked. Had Henry been talking to him? He’d asked a question so that would make sense. God, his anxiety had gone through the roof, it was like that first day all over again.

“Need to pack,” he mumbled, gesturing at his clothes.

Henry let out a long and heavy sigh, sounding just as thrilled about the idea as Joey did. “I suppose you do, yeah. When is Madeleine due over?”

Joey hummed, glancing at his watch. “Ten minutes ago. Lockdown traffic must be a thing of the past.”

“Pity.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Henry sighed.

Neither of them moved, both staring glumly at Kal who was happily nestled between them. It was strange but Joey had almost begun to think of Kal as his, theirs. Their home, their life, their dog. He would miss Kal very much.

He would miss Henry even more.

“Do you have a start date yet?” Joey asked, the restrictions were lifting and there were talks about getting back to work again, but it was all up in the air.

Henry shook his head. “Should be getting a call from my agent some time this week. I need to make sure my other projects can work around the schedule.”

Joey smirked, “Or my dear witcher will have a new face next time we meet,” he teased.

Henry scoffed. “Not a chance, you’re stuck with me, bard.”

“You still owe me an apology,” Joey shot back, not quite realising how close they’d gotten during their mock argument.

He swallowed and licked his lips, one hand reaching up to scratch the stubble on his cheek. His face was burning right up to the tips of his ears, his heart thumping in his chest. There was a spark of electricity crackling between them, the scent of coffee lingering on Henry’s breath.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Henry promised, voice hoarse and low, making heat spread through Joey’s body and the world around them seemed to disappear.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Henry breathed, the words shaky.

Joey longed to reach out and brush his fingertips along the strong line of Henry’s jaw, to feel the scratch of stubble beneath his skin. He longed to tangle his hands in the dark mess of curls, to see if they were really as soft as they looked. It felt as if there was a magnetic force pulling them closer, a string tying their souls together, binding them as one. Joey couldn’t ignore even if he wanted to, and he was over that. He couldn’t live inside his head any longer, not when there was a chance.

Hope.

Deadly, poisoning his very soul, until he could think of nothing except Henry’s lips on his, hands roaming bodies, pulling at hair, unable to resist the promised pleasures of sin. Tongues tangling. Hearts singing. One breath shared between two. Heat. Lust. Love.

Just Henry.

His love.

Joey closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against Henry’s, their lips barely ghosting over each other, you really couldn’t call it a kiss; not yet. One more breath, a millimetre to close the gap.

A horn honked from outside and they pulled apart before they could cross the bridge, past the point of no return.

Joey let out a slightly manic laugh and ran his hands through his hair, whilst Henry went back to stroking Kal as he cleared his throat.

“Bollocks, I still haven’t packed.”

“I’ll invite Madeleine in for some tea,” Henry chuckled, stretching as he stood up.

Kal barked happily and jumped down, wagging his tail as he sniffed at Henry’s socks.

And Joey was left alone once more.

“Fuck!” he groaned, covering his face as he flopped back onto his pillows.

By the time he finished packing, Madeleine and Henry were laughing away in the kitchen like old friends.

Like Joey and Henry had so many times.

He wasn’t special. Henry was just that guy.

Hope.

Dangerous and lethal, stabbing into the heart and tearing the soul apart.

“Ready,” Joey mumbled, holding up his suitcase and guitar. “Might take a couple of trips, I have another bag upstairs and the damn lute.”

“Not sure I ever heard you play the lute?” Henry teased.

“Yeah well,” Joey grumbled and turned away from the kitchen before he could start crying.

He really really didn’t want to cry in front of Henry. What was a little heartbreak between friends? At least he could channel that into Jaskier whenever they finally got back onto set. God, he was a fucking mess.

“I’ll help you,” Henry volunteered because of course he would. He probably just wanted Joey gone sooner.

The poor bloke probably couldn’t wait to have his own space back without Joey’s inedible attempts at cooking, non-stop music and chatter, lazy slobbish evenings in front of the TV.

He wasn’t going to cry.

He wasn’t.

Fuck!

Joey sniffed and stumbled out the door, his hands gripping his suitcase so tight he thought he might break the handle. Back home with Madeleine, to his life, and his bed, and nights spent drinking too much wine and lurking on social media.

He’d just about managed to throw his suitcase into the boot when he heard a loud bark behind him, followed by Henry grunting. Joey was almost knocked off his feet as Kal bundled into him, circling around as he jumped up, winding the lead around Joey’s body and pulling a poor Henry with him.

Not that Joey was particularly complaining about having Henry pressed up against him, but did it have to be when he was crying?

Henry cursed, struggling to keep hold of the lead. Their faces were close and they had to wrap their arms around each other to keep steady. Joey laughed through his tears, reminded of a similar moment from one of his favourite Disney films.

Only Kal was a lot bigger than a Dalmatian.

“I don’t think he wants you to leave?” Henry said, smiling sheepishly.

Joey smiled back despite his broken heart. “Doesn’t look like it.”

“I- I don’t want you to leave either,” Henry whispered so quietly that Joey wasn’t sure whether he’d heard it at all. “I- umm, I like having you here… with me.”

“Oh,” Joey replied stupidly.

“Fuck, I- Joey… Can- can I kiss you?”

The world turned upside down. Joey's heart stopped and everything started to spin. He tried to process the words but nothing seemed to make sense. There was no fucking way that Henry had said that, that he wanted to- wanted to…

Fuck!

“Oh,” he repeated, blinking at Henry as he licked his lips. “I mean. Fuck. No, I mean… Christ. Yes. Please. Yes.”

Henry chuckled and cupped his cheek, pressing their lips together in the most tender of kisses, taking Joey’s breath away right there on the pavement. Joey just giggled when they parted and then swooped back in for another kiss, and another-

And he never wanted to stop.

He didn’t need to breathe, he just needed this; Henry’s lips on his.

Henry had other ideas though, pulling away with a blinding smile.

“Stay with me?”

Joey nodded and threw his arms around Henry’s neck. “God, yes.”

And then they kissed some more. They had months of lockdown to catch up on, after all.

#the witcher rpf #henry cavill rpf #Joey batey rpf #Joey batey/henry cavill #Joey/henry

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celosiaa · 4 years

Text

Submission by @entitynumber5: Hi Connor, I hope you’re having a WONDERFUL birthday and that you get to take a break from studying to do the things you enjoy and just have the lovely day you deserve!!! For this morning’s “write what I like” sprint (trying a new method of getting it all out before I have to put the brain into study mode), I wrote a lil something about 🎃 spooky season birthdays 🎃set in the Emmaverse… which turned out kind of long and a bit sappy. So there is no pressure to read it! I just love these characters :’) the working title is “Martin and Jon get proven wrong by an adorable five year old”.

Content warnings: brief mentions of blood, alcohol and minor injury (in relation to Martin working a Halloween paramedic shift); food.

Emma is obsessed with birthdays. Just not her own.

She turned five in May, and no matter how special they tried to make the day—with rainbow layer cake and carefully-selected presents and a visit to the roller-skating rink with her best friends—she didn’t seem half as excited as when it was someone else’s birthday. She would hardly sleep the night before friends’ parties. She spent hours wrapping the presents she picked for them with ribbons and bows and even confetti stuffed inside the paper. The only time they could encourage her to practice the piano for her weekly lessons was when she played the Happy Birthday song over FaceTime for her friends’ birthdays that were during school holidays.

The only thing Emma seems to have held onto from her own birthday is the notebook given to her Georgie and Melanie. Martin seems to remember there being two: one with little cartoon ghost drawn in the front by Georgie and the other with a scribble of the Admiral by Melanie. But Emma only carries the one around with her everywhere, and Martin is starting to doubt his own memory about there being a duplicate.

She has it with her now, as they sit outside the lecture theatre where Jon is currently teaching. In the too-big chair beside the door, her legs swing as she holds the notebook very close, staring intently at its pages while she wriggles her fluffy purple pen in thought.

“Daddy,” Emma says, in that voice that means she has a Very Serious Question, “When is your birthday?”

Martin is still a little dazed from nearly a week of night shifts. It’s the first time in six days that he hasn’t been working or sleeping at this time in the afternoon, and while walking with Emma to Jon’s work to surprise him at the end of the day seemed like a nice idea in practice, he really wishes he was lying on the sofa. They could be watching Peppa Pig for the thousandth time. Or getting started on dinner, which he isn’t going to let Jon make after a long day of teaching. He’s been mentally calculating how many hours it is until he can go to bed, how many tasks he has to do before then.

This feels like a selfish thought, though, and he pushes it aside quickly in favour of smiling at Emma. “My birthday?”

“Yes,” Emma replies, still very grave, “That’s what I said. At school today, Miss Jones made us all put stickers on the big calendar on the wall for our birthdays. I wrote down all of my friends’ birthdays.”

“That’s nice.”

“And now I want to write down yours.”

“Okay, well, my birthday is next month.”

Emma frowns. “Next month. That’s…” she counts on her fingers until she seems to reach the answer she’s looking for. “October?”

“It is!” Martin grins. “Well done.”

Emma’s little frown doesn’t ease. “What day?”

“Well, do you know how many days are in October?”

Emma thinks. Shakes her head.

“There are thirty-one days in October,” Martin tells Emma, “And my birthday is on the very last day.”

Emma nods and returns to her notebook, slowly enunciating the words as she writes them down: “Oc-to-ber three-one.”

Martin wonders if Emma realises his birthday coincides with Halloween. Besides birthdays, she still doesn’t seem too interested in dates, no matter how many times her teacher makes her write them at the top of every page in her workbook. And during previous years, they celebrated Martin’s birthday the day before or after Halloween itself, so they can separate the two events, although perhaps she doesn’t remember.

Before Martin can ask, the door of the lecture theatre opens and students start filing out. Emma puts away her notebook and pen, her frown of concentration replaced by a glowing smile as she waits, bouncing excitedly in the chair, for her Baba to notice them waiting just outside.

“Jon,” Martin whisper-shouts as he tiptoes into the house after his shift, hoping he doesn’t wake Emma—but that his husband knows it’s urgent. “Jon, Jon, Jon.”

Jon emerges from the kitchen, wearing a pair of yellow washing up gloves dripping soap suds and a look of alarm. “What’s wrong?”

Martin ushers him back into the kitchen and shuts the door as quietly as possible, hoping it won’t wake Emma—or, worse yet, the cats, who will sit outside any closed door and cry to be let inside no matter what activity they were engaged in before.

“Martin,” Jon says, “What’s going on?”

“They just released the shifts for the next few weeks,” Martin replies, “And I’m working.”

“Well, good. I should hope so.”

“On my birthday.”

Jon’s expression merges into one of comprehension: Emma. And her newfound obsession with birthdays. “Ah.”

“Yep.”

“I don’t suppose you could swap shifts with someone?” Jon asks.

Martin sits down at the table, lowering his head into his hands. He wants to shower, change out of his paramedic uniform, but he knows he won’t be able to focus on anything else until they’ve had this conversation. “No one’s going to willingly take a Halloween shift. For a start, Andrew is terrified of clowns. And people are usually drunk, and it’s actually really hard to tell the difference between real and fake blood.”

“We could celebrate the day after,” Jon says, taking off the washing up gloves and sitting opposite Martin. He reaches across the table to take Martin’s hand. “I mean, you were born five minutes before midnight. It wouldn’t be a lie so much as a… slight shifting of the truth.”

“Jonathan Sims.” Martin gapes across the table at him. “Are you suggesting we lie to our daughter?”

“No!”

“Yes.”

“No, Martin,” Jon says again, “I’m simply suggesting we separate your birthday from Halloween, as we have done every year, and not draw attention to the fact because our daughter is currently obsessed with other peoples’ birthdays.”

“And it might upset her if she knew we were actually celebrating on the wrong day.”

“Exactly.”

Martin sighs. “I don’t know. It feels… sort of wrong.”

“Apparently, children under the age of seven have no concept of the passing of time and—”

“Did Tim tell you that?”

“No.”

“Oh, god. It wasn’t Helen, was it? Please tell me you haven’t been having philosophical discussions about parenting with Helen again.”

“Martin,” Jon interrupts, “It was in the parenting book you gave me.”

“Huh. I don’t remember that chapter. Oh, god, maybe I should re-read it. The whole thing. Beginning to end. I—”

“Martin.” Jon squeezes his hand. “You deserve a day of your own. Tim and Sasha already agreed to take Emma trick-or-treating on Halloween. She will be focused on that for most of the day; she’s already talking about how excited she is. Let us spend the day after that treating you to all the wonderful things you deserve on your birthday—and every day.”

Martin manages a small smile, although every instinct inside of him is telling him not to accept Jon’s proposal. Not because he is worried about the ethics of manipulating their daughter’s concept of time—although this is a concern, too—but because he doesn’t want Jon to feel like he has to do any of this. To make a whole day about him, even if he takes great pleasure and care in doing the same for Jon on his birthday.

“Thanks, Jon,” Martin murmurs.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Now, why don’t you go and have a warm shower? I’ve put the hot water on so it shouldn’t run out while you’re in there this time.”

Martin smirks. “Are you saying I smell?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?” Martin presses, teasing now. “Because I did have to treat a farmer who’d been kicked by one of his cows this evening.”

“Okay, alright, yes. Yes, you smell. Please go and have a shower.”

Martin laughs and gets up from the table. “I’m going, I’m going.”

“That really is disgusting, Martin.”

“It’s actually a pretty funny story. About the farmer, I mean. He’s fine, by the way. I’ll tell you about it when I’m out of the shower.”

Jon shakes his head. “Why today, of all days, have you abandoned the notion of showering before you sit down at the dinner table?”

“I had something important to tell you!”

“Fine. Alright.” Jon shakes his head again. “Now please have a shower. For your sake as much as mine.”

“Love you,” Martin sing-songs as he exits the kitchen. He hears Jon’s gentle laugh chase him into the warmth of the bathroom, where Jon has put on the radiator and left him a fresh towel. He smiles, feeling his love for Jon balloon in his chest, and settles into the sensation being home.

Martin’s Halloween—and birthday—shift is so busy that he barely has time to check his phone. Tim has sent an album of photos of him, Sasha and Emma out trick-or-treating, dressed as Mike, Sulley and Boo from Monsters, Inc. Jon has been updating him on the number of trick-or-treaters who have visited their house (fifty-four, as of ten thirty p.m.), and how Iris and the cats are holding up with the constant ringing of the doorbell.

On his break, Martin quickly texts Tim to watch his glucose levels and not to forget his insulin (to which Tim replies yes, sir with a number of yellow heart emojis). He also texts Sasha to say she can take home any of the Skittles they get on their expedition, since they’re her favourite but Emma hates them. He tells Jon he loves him and to give Iris a pet on his behalf and that there’s some spare sweets under the sink, if they’re running low. Then it’s back to work.

The shift passes quickly, in the end. There is so much to do and no time to think about anything other than their patients. He does get given a toffee apple by someone dressed as a Minion at a student house party, and he narrowly avoids getting his face painted by twins who are the same age as Emma while his team are checking their mother’s twisted ankle after a fall trying to get to the door in time for a last-minute delivery of sweets. It’s not an awful shift, but it is, like always, exhausting and difficult in the same measure as it’s rewarding and hopeful.

By the time he gets home, all he wants to do is sleep. Emma is tucked into bed, fast asleep, while her nightlight projects solar systems onto the ceiling. Jon, too, is sleeping soundly with the cats for company. Iris barely looks up from her bed when he comes inside, but she gives a little wag of her tail each time he passes down the hallway to shower or get a drink of water. There’s a plastic pumpkin full of Emma’s sweets on the table, next to the empty bowl that had once been full of treats to hand out to their visitors.

Martin’s smiles—it looks like a night well-spent for his family—and this thought carries him through an exhausted shower before he crawls into bed next to Jon. Jon must be tired, too, because he doesn’t stir. Martin makes a mental note to check his joints aren’t playing up from all the getting up and down from the sofa during the trick-or-treat visits.

Sometime later, Martin wakes to the soft click of the door as it opens. He squints against the light bursting around the edges of the still-shut curtains, expecting to see Jon tiptoeing to the bathroom to get ready for the day. Instead, Emma is creeping inside, holding a tray of pancakes while Jon follows behind, balancing two cups of tea.

“Happy birthday!” Emma says, as she places the tray down on the bed next to Martin. “We made spooky pancakes!”

Martin rubs the sleep from his eyes and sits up fully. He glances at the alarm clock next to the bed: 11:42 a.m. He’s been asleep for just over six hours, but it somehow feels longer and yet not enough. “It’s not—”

Jon clears his throat.

“Oh. Oh, thank you, Emma! These are wonderful.”

The pancakes are, indeed, spooky. Emma has used a pumpkin cookie cutter to shape them and then drawn on funny faces with fruit and syrup. No longer responsible for balancing the tray, Emma looks at Jon, a little uncertain, and Jon nods in encouragement as he places their cups of tea down on the bedside table.

“I made you a present,” Emma says almost shyly.

Martin smiles gently at her. “That’s very kind of you. Thank you, Emma.”

Emma pulls something off the tray. It’s the second notebook, the one Martin thought he’d imagined, wrapped in a glittery silver ribbon and some confetti streamers. She offers it to Martin, and he takes it carefully, holding it as if it might fall apart in his hands.

“You can open it,” Emma tells him seriously.

Martin unwraps the ribbon. Emma takes it from him, along with the confetti, perhaps to reuse for another present. Slowly, Martin cracks open the notebook to the first page. There is Georgie’s ghoulish sketch, alongside a new inscription in Emma’s handwriting: Sorted Poems By Emma K. Blackwood-Sims. For Daddy’s Birthday. October 31.

Martin feels something tender and soft unfurl in his chest, until he’s certain he is going to cry. He begins to flick through the pages, but Emma says: “Wait!”

Martin stops. “What is it?”

“Look.” Emma climbs on to the bed, elbowing her way into the space next to him, and reaches across Martin to open the notebook on the first page again, where her inscription is. She points at her name.

“It’s meant to say assorted poems,” Jon says, “But neither of us were sure how to spell it.”

Martin laughs, the sound a little wet and shaky with the tears he can feel building. Jon hates spelling. It’s his least favourite type of homework to help Emma with.

“Look,” Emma says again, “I wrote my name like yours!”

Martin smiles. “Blackwood-Sims? But that’s your name, too.”

“No,” Emma insists, “Emma K Blackwood-Sims. Like you! Like a proper poet.”

“Oh,” Martin murmurs, “Oh.”

He’s sure he and Jon will laugh about this later. Martin doesn’t actually have a middle name. Emma does, but it certainly doesn’t begin with K. But right now, he feels tears on his cheeks as he takes in his daughter’s hard work.

Emma reaches for his face, patting away his tears with the palms of her hands. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, I promise,” Martin replies, sniffling in an attempt to draw back the tears, “I’m happy. And I love you so, so much.”

Emma frowns. “Will pancakes make you feel better?”

“I’m alright, Emma. I promise. These are happy tears.”

“Pancakes always make me feel better,” Jon announces, climbing onto the other side of the bed and sliding back underneath the covers. He settles Emma down in the middle of them, handing her a mug full of juice. She doesn’t drink tea yet, but she doesn’t like to be left out when they do, so she has her own mug.

“These look wonderful,” Martin tells them, arranging the tray so they can all reach. Emma takes a plate and hands it to Jon, then does the same for Martin, before grabbing the final one for herself. “You’re getting very good at pancakes.”

“Baba said we can learn French toast next,” Emma says.

“Wow. That’s big.”

Emma nods. “It’s more difficult than normal toast.”

Martin chuckles. “It certainly is.”

They distribute the pumpkin-shaped pancakes between them. While they eat in bed, they tell each other stories about their Halloween night. Jon talks about the costumes of the people who visited their house, how many compliments they got on their pumpkin carving skills. Emma narrates her trick-or-treating adventure with Tim and Sasha. Martin shares the safest tales of his nightshift, the funny costumes he saw and the extravagant decorations at the parties they visited.

Martin is exhausted again by the time they’ve finished the pancakes. Jon insists on taking their empty plates back to the kitchen and making them another cup of tea, while Emma snuggles against Martin’s side. She rests her head on his shoulder.

“I know it’s not your birthday, Daddy,” Emma whispers.

Half-asleep until now, Martin grunts himself awake. “What was that, sweetheart?”

“I know it’s not really your birthday,” Emma tells him, not moving from where she’s clinging to his arm, “Your birthday was yesterday. On Halloween.”

“Oh, Emma, we—”

“It’s okay,” Emma says, “It’s like when we had a party on Saturday even though my birthday was on Wednesday because I had school.”

“Yeah.” Martin stokes his hand through Emma’s hair. “It is a bit like that.”

“I still get to say happy birthday.”

“You do.”

“But can we have a party on the right day next year?” Emma asks.

“For your birthday?”

“No, for your birthday.”

“Oh.” Martin laughs. “Yes. It might not be a party, if I have to work again, but we can do this. This is lovely. Thank you for being so thoughtful. And I’m excited to read your poems.”

“Baba said they were good.”

“Well, that’s high praise indeed.”

“It was fun.”

“That’s good. That’s what matters most when you make things.“

Emma wriggles around until she’s grinning up at him. “Can I read your poems now?”

Martin sighs, barely supressing a laugh. This isn’t the first time she’s asked. “Emma.”

She sticks her bottom lip out, pouting in a way that breaks Martin’s heart to the point where he can never turn her down when she’s looking at him like this. “Please.”

“Alright,” Martin gives in, “I’ll read you one tonight. Before bed.”

“Yay!” Emma’s grin grows even wider. "Thank you, Daddy.”

“Thank you. And I love you very, very much.”

“Love you, too.”

They settle back down. Martin dozes a little again, a smile on his face, as he thinks about telling Jon later that their daughter very much does understand the concept of time. There really are some things parenting books don’t prepare you for—like the way his love seems to grow with each day he gets with Emma and Jon, even when he thinks it’s impossible, that he already loves them more than any person can.

Some things are gifts even when they are not given as such, and Martin is beginning to allow himself to think of his life with his daughter and his husband as one. He didn’t ask for it with words or lists. He doesn’t know, even now, if he deserves it. But it’s his. And he will treasure it always.

Not featured: Martin realising what he’s agreed to and frantically trying to find a non-angsty poem he can read to his five-year-old daughter. Jon thinks the whole thing is hilarious.

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #jonmartin #emma #SDSFLSKFLKJFA AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH #HANNAH HANNAH I LOVE THIS SOOOO MUCH #I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU WROTE THIS OH MY GOD #this is so incredibly special to me I don't even know how to express it #oh my god this is so sweet and I loved every second of it #oh my friend #thank you so much #i love the way you write martin as ALWAYS #and Emma is so sweet here oh my goodness!!!!!#she takes after her dad by caring about other people's birthdays like that #i loved the way you talked about how exhausted he feels after working night shifts #and the lovely little moment where they're talking quietly in the kitchen #martin's musings about not deserving this #and feeling selfish for being so tired on jon's birthday #oh my god i can'ttttttt #i love this so much i'm gonna read it 8000 times #hannah you are fantastically talented #and such an incredibly kind soul #i truly wish we were not an ocean apart!!!#thank you for all the wonderful joy and kindness you bring to the world #you are so very loved #THANK YOU!!!!!!#<3 <3 <3 #submission

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jamaiskookie · 4 years

Text

reese-with-her-spoon [ksj x reader]

👾 warnings: really shitty writing, honestly not my best work. :-((

👾 word count: 4.5k

👾 genre: fluff!!! crack!!! all the good shit!!!

👾 A/N: kicking the week off with some fLUFF to prepare you for the ~spook~ that is arriving soon. hope you enjoy this! why do i feel like i have to mention joon’s bonsais in every fic

main masterlist. spooktober masterlist.

👾 synopsis: in hindsight, attempting to get back at the biggest prankster you know during halloween was probably not your most stellar idea.

“Kim Seokjin!” You screech furiously, pacing outside his ridiculously large cottage-style home. Passerbys worriedly look your way, but you cannot bring yourself to be embarrassed. The house stands still. Nobody seems to be moving, much less rushing to get the door, despite the fact that you’ve pressed the doorbell countless times already.

“KIM SEOKJIN!” You yell again, glaring at the house as if your steely gaze will force him to come out. “What the hell could you be doing?” You mutter to yourself. “It’s not like you have a life or anything.” You reach out, stabbing the doorbell again.

“I can hEAR the goddamn bell ringing inside come get the dOOR JIN!” Someone on the inside is stomping down the doors and you hear a scuffling accompanied with whispers. Smirking satisfyingly, you bang the door. “Good, now come out, you coward!”

The door opens… to someone that is not Seokjin. Kim Seokjoong stands on the other side, quizzically raising an eyebrow at you.

“Y/N, hey- wow. He did that?” Kim Seokjoong is Seokijn’s older brother, a self taught coder who basically spends every waking moment of his day on his computer. Come to think of it, you don’t think you’ve ever seen him out of the house.

His eyes are fixed above your eyes, and he smiles, quietly giggling to himself. You pull your hands back, reminding yourself that you need to save your temper for the real culprit.

“Would you just-” You point inside, not meeting his eyes. “- let me in?” Seokjoong nods, stifling a laugh. You glare at him, and he promptly shuts his mouth. “Aren’t you supposed to be in university now, you unemployed leech?” Seokjoong flinches and mumbles something about how you’re supposed to respect your elders.

“Here, come in.” He says, sighing. “Just don’t murder him in the house, okay? Mom’ll get mad.” Seokjoong stands aside and lets you in, looking around outside and shutting the door, putting a finger to his lips. “He’s been upstairs cackling his ass off since you started screaming and pounding the door twenty minutes ago.” You look up at the ceiling, only to wince at the screaming picture of a witch stuck on the ceiling.

The Kim household during Halloween season is quite- festive. Pumpkins, witch hats, ghost cutouts and much more are scattered and adorned all around the house. You just know this is Jin’s doing… the doctor printout with cat ears on the wall that reads ‘I’m A Purr-amedic!’ gives it all away. You squirm when you have to pull away fake cobwebs out of your face to go up the stairs.

“So, how are you going to do it this time? Sneak attack, retaliate? Do me a favour and don’t douse him with a bucket of syrup like you did last time. He was sticky for weeks, and we had an ant infestation.” Seokjoong pants and follows you up the stairs, questioning you. You stalk up the stairs, gripping the handrail tightly.

“- Okay you’re starting to look scary now. Please don’t kill him.” He says, and you don’t bother giving him a response.

“Which one is he in?” You eventually say, looking around the closed doors in the hallway. Seokjoong turns to look at you, furrowing his eyebrows.

“You’ve been up here thousands of times, Y/N.” You flick his forehead and he lets out a cry of pain.

“No, that’s not what I mean. Which room is he hiding in?” You ask. He hesitates and you, exasperatedly, point to the top of your head. Guiltily, he points to the furthest door to the right, looking up at the ceiling and fiddling at the hem of his shirt. Muttering a rather curt ‘thanks’, you stomp over to the purple and orange decorated door that is labelled “SPOOKY SUPPLIES.” You pause to sigh at Jin’s stupidity, then you fling the door open with a bang.

“AHHHHHHHHHHH-” As expected, Seokjin is inside, wearing his worn out black hoodie and sitting on a pile of Halloween decorations. You put your hands on your hips and glare at him, but his screaming slowly turns to laughter, which just makes you even more mad.

“- Oh my god hAHHAHAHAH! You look hilarious!” He yells, slapping his thigh and laughing in his obnoxious, window wiper-like voice. “It turned out better than I thought it would!” He marvels through his laughter. Your glare turns meaner, and you stare straight into his eyes, shutting him up.

“Kim. Seokjin.”

“... Yes, my love?” He smiles innocently, batting his eyelashes. You resist the urge to slap him.

“Care to explain to me why the hell my hair is bright red?” Jin, not able to hold it in, bursts out laughing again, burying his face in his hoodie, attempting to muffle his laughter. It doesn’t work very well, and he comes back up for oxygen, taking a large breath.

“In my defence,” Good luck with that, you think. Nothing would be able to help his case and keep you from murdering him. “- I didn’t really think it would work this well!” He takes one more peek at your hair and chokes back another laugh. “Oh my god, you kinda look like a pumpkin!”

This time, instead of holding back your violent tendencies, you grab a foam pumpkin from the ground of the supply closet and hit him on the head. Unfazed, he just looks back up, still infuriatingly giggling.

“Don’t worry,” He says. “It’s not permanent.” You huff, secretly relieved. “... Well, it should be temporary. I think. Probably.” You lift the pumpkin foam decoration and hit him again. “Hey! Why are you hitting me? You look good in red! Now you can be Ronald Mcdonald for Halloween!” You raise the pumpkin (Who you have begun to affectionately call ‘Jin Hit Pumpkin’ in your head) to hit him again, but he squeaks and covers his face, so you put it down.

“I swear to god, Jin,” You scold. “If this doesn’t wash out of my hair, I will sue.” Jin looks sheepishly up at you before ducking his head down and walking out of the storage closet. He glares at Seokjoong the second he steps out, who is apologetically smiling at him.

“Traitor.” Jin mutters, stabbing a finger in his older brother’s chest.

“I’m sorry!” Seokjoon defends. “She’s real fucking scary with the red hair!” You turn over to glare at them, and the two brothers recoil, murmuring apologies. You point at Seokjin, locking your eyes with his while walking backwards down the stairs, at the exact same time.

“You. Watch your fucking back, Jin. I’ll get back at you for this.” You slowly disappear from the brothers’ eyeline, and they hear a door slamming shortly after. Seokjoong sighs and places a hand around Jin’s shoulder.

“You have weird taste in women, bro.” Jin pushes his hand off his shoulder, rolling his eyes and retreating to his room, grumbling something that Seokjoong didn’t manage to hear.

👾.

Kim Seokjin is a force to be reckoned with, even you have to admit. For someone who claims to be an unoriginal copycat, his pranks are pretty creative. You would never ever tell him this, of course, but you keep a list of the pranks he’s played on you.

It’s not much of a list, actually. More like a three notebooks’ worth of practical jokes. And after all these years, he’s somehow never repeated one of his pranks. Only the stupid, small ones, but that’s inevitable. You can’t count how many times you’ve sat on a whoopee cushion.

But also, who the fuck still uses whoopee cushions? You’re almost convinced Seokjin has a lifetime supply that he’s just trying to use up with the amount of cushions he has to go through every single year. You tap your pen against an empty page of a notebook, frustratingly chewing on your lip. This prank is a new one. Jin’s never done anything to your hair before, so should you do something to his precious hair?

Come to think of it, how on earth did he even manage to sneak into your house and replace your shampoo? Maybe you can charge him for breaking and entering. You tap at your computer and groan when Google says that a minor will mostly likely get a fine for breaking and entering. The most they can get to one year of detention punishment.

A year is hardly enough of time away from Seokjin and his stupid pranks. How much time have you wasted stressing over his jokes? You wonder. Last year, you didn’t sleep well for a good two months when he managed to stuff a walkie talkie underneath your bed.

He made creaky chicken noises while you were sleeping for two whole months before you managed to find out why the hell chicken sounds were coming from your bedroom every night. Begrudgingly, you have to admit that that one was pretty smart. But you aren’t too mad about that incident. He lost just as much sleep as you did by making those goddamn chicken noises. At the time, you asked him why he didn’t just loop a recording or something similar, but he just grinned and quipped that he didn’t think of that.

You got back at him a week later by posting a particularly ugly selfie from his middle school days on instagram. It had nearly 8,000 likes before he found you and forced you to take it down. You also got a week of detensions when he tattled on you for sharing photos without the owner’s consent, (Which is the most bullshit thing you’ve ever heard,) but it was pretty worth it.

Sighing, you run your fingers through your hair, scoffing and whining when you realise again that your hair is now fucking red-! Faded red, but it still looks horrible. Maybe you should dye his hair red, just to match. Seokjoong would probably let you in if you bribed him enough- with cookies, obviously. But he’d probably look good in red hair, that insufferable, good-looking idiot. What could you do… What could you do? You drop your pen onto the notebook, and a huge grin slowly spreads on your face. You might just have an idea.

Halloween night. A time for budding teenagers to make bad decisions. Or alternatively, a time for Seokjin to go absolutely insane. You don’t know how he does it, but his parents go away every single year for the week of Halloween. He throws the craziest costume party every year, and always tries to come up with the craziest costume.

Last year he was a ‘waist of time’. Completely shirtless, he wore a belt with a watch looped around it. Not his best idea, since he had to go around the whole night explaining to people what he was dressed as. The year before he was a ‘hipster vampire’. Completely shirtless, he wore fangs with fake blood with circle sunglasses with a jet black cape wrapped around his neck, with the words ‘SAVE THE BEES’ embroidered on the back in yellow and white.

Yeah, there’s a little bit of a pattern.

“Soo, what are you doing for Halloween this year?” You sweetly ask Jin, who is walking through the hallway after slamming his locker shut. One of his hands holds the strap of his backpack, and the other hand knocks at your head. Pulling back, you stare at him weirdly.

“What are you doing.” You ask. He doesn’t respond. Seokjin leans in, curiously looking at your face. You blush, pushing him away, but he continues to look at you, tilting his head and humming to himself. “What are you doing?” You say, moving further away from him.

“You haven’t gotten rid of your red hair yet?” He says, reaching out and stroking the red hair. You slap his hand away and he retracts it, still smirking gleefully. You had spent the entire weekend before attempting to watch the red out of your hair. The result was a faded berry-black dye that’s been stained in your hair. You scowl, turning away and smacking him in the face with your hair just for good measure.

“How could I get rid of it? It won’t fucking wash off, dumbass! This is all your fault!” Jin hums thoughtfully to himself, scratching the underside of his chin. He looks like a premature grandfather recalling his days in wartime.

“Damn,” He swears under his breath. “I guess my prank backfired.”

“Backfired?” You stop in the middle of the hallway to face him, and he slowly turns around to do the same, quizzically raising an eyebrow at you. “Don’t you mean your prank was a success? I thought you’d be ecstatic to know that my hair now looks like a rotten strawberry.”

Jin shakes his head with a slight smile. “No, it backfired.”

“You look really good with red hair. This prank probably affects me more than it does you.” He says nonchalantly, turning away and walking down the hallway. Your eyes follow him, watching as Taehyung, Jin’s friend and the school’s resident art hipster launches himself on him and koala hugs him, cackling when Jin screams and starts yelling at him.

“What… What? What did he just say?” You say to yourself, blinking blankly.

Maybe your plan backfired too. You approached Jin with the intent of sabotaging his Halloween night, but what you walk away with is neither an evil plan or a satisfied smirk on your face. You spin around in a daze, heading to your calculus class with a bright red blush lining your cheeks and the beginning of a daydream starting to form in your head.

You practically collapsed in your seat, not listening to the teacher, who is currently scolding you for being late. You nod, blurting out an apology, even though you didn’t hear 90% of her rant about the significance of education and time.

“Psst!” Namjoon, the only friend both you and Jin share hisses at you, jabbing the head of his pencil into your side. You hiss back, smacking his pencil back. “Why is your hair red?” You glare his way.

“Don’t ask.” You grumble.

“... Okay then. Why are you late?” He asks. “I was going to wait for you after homeroom, but you didn’t didn’t come to your locker so I left without you.”

Disregarding his question, you lean over, propping your head onto your hands. “Are you going to come to Jin’s Halloween bash on Saturday?” Namjoon snorts, turning back to the teacher to make some quick notes in his notebook.

“Of course. Do you know how much shit I’d get if I didn’t show up? He gets so pouty and pissed about his Halloween obsession. And now I have to come up with a relatively creative and funny costume to satisfy his requirements for the stupid costume party he hosts!” He complains and whines at you. You laugh, and can’t help but agree. You’ve been forced to attend every single Halloween bash too. “You know what I came as last year, right?” He asks. “I came as a bonsai tree, and he got so mad! Said that I put “no effort” into my artistic choices. I spent like two hours glueing those leaves onto my shirt!” Namjoon huffs, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“What do you think I should go as?” Namjoon shrugs. “You can wear whatever you want, it’s not like he’ll care about what you’re wearing. As long as you show up, he’s happy.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask, frowning. Namjoon immediately shakes his head at you, smiling slightly strangely.

“Nothing!”

You stare at him suspiciously, but you don’t comment further. Namjoon’s just weird like that sometimes. “Hm. Can I bounce some Halloween ideas off of you then?” He nods, shrugging to say he doesn’t mind. You lean in and whisper something into his ear with a mischievous glint in your eye. Namjoon bursts out laughing in the middle of the empty classroom when he hears what you have to say.

👾.

Another thing to add to your neverending list of things Kim Seokjin can do; Throw a party. For Halloween night, the household gets even more festive, if that’s even possible. Every inch and every corner of the front yard, interior and outerior is plastered with some kind of Halloween themed merchandise.

There’s even a large hand drawn sign outside that says ‘NO TRICK OR TREATERS PLEASE.’ Not that any sane child would ever come within a mile of this place. You could hear the blasting music from three blocks away. You wonder how long it’ll take for somebody to call the cops this year. But then again, it’s probably more likely that the police would join the party instead of arresting the partiers. God knows the police have better things to tackle on Halloween night anyways. It’s the major season for crime and stupid desicions, of course.

In your humble opinion, Halloween is the most useless holiday out of them all, with Valentine's day coming in at a close second. What’s the point of celebrating a large westernised holiday? The main purpose of Halloween is literally so children can get free candy and for college kids to get wasted and pass out on the lawn with a slutty cat outfit on.

You don’t see the point, but if you even voiced your thoughts aloud within a five mile radius of Jin, you’d get murdered. That man lives, breathes, and eats Halloween all year long. He complains about it not being October yet constantly, puts ghost stickers everywhere when September begins (For his “pre-celebration”), He’ll even buy anything that has the words ‘pumpkin spice’ on it. You’re slightly worried sometimes that it’s an actual addiction.

Hallow-diction? You’ll work on the term.

You already regret your choice of wearing heel when you trudge through the grass of Jin’s front yard, covering your eyes from the couple who is basically having clothed sex against the wall outside Jin’s home. Who knows how many blisters you’ll wake up with tomorrow morning? At least your legs look amazing.

The sky is dark and dreary, a rather fitting night for Halloween to be on, but inside the house, it’s loud and you can already hear people getting drunk and dancing. Taking in a deep breath, you push open the door.

You don’t know what you were expecting, but if anything, the inside is worse than the outside. You’d rather go back to the couple having clothed sex. People dressed in outrageous costumes are dancing on the floor to some rapper you can’t recognise. You can already spot five sexy cats, at least 5 witches, and too many angels for you to count. Maybe this is a bad idea, you think. It’s not too late to go back home, you reason with yourself in your head. The sweaty bunch of people drunk dancing and screaming is already sounding off all the SOCIAL ANXIETY QUICK RUN sirens in your brain.

But before you can turn around and give into your instincts, a hand clamps onto your shoulder and pulls you into the house, leaving you longingly staring at the front door, the only chance of your freedom taken away. Namjoon spins you around to face you and nods appreciatively. He’s dressed as a ‘french toast’, a striped shirt, mustache and barrett accompanied with a slice of bread costume slung over his shoulders.

“Hey, you look good!” You giggle at the praise. The only good thing about tonight is how great your outfit looks. “Aw, man!” Namjoon whines. “Maybe I should have gone as an angel! Then we would have matched!” You laugh, the sound drowned out from the blasting music.

“Angel and devil? That’s hilarious!” But you spin around anyway, showing off your bright red bodycon dress with lace cutouts. A pair of embellished devil horns sit on your head and you personally attached a spiked tail to your dress just this morning. All topped off with a cropped leather jacket that you already have the urge to take off.

“Yeah, you look super fucking sexy, wait until Jin sees this!”

“Hm? I can’t hear, it’s the music-!”

“Nothing!”

You spin around, looking left and right throughout the house. You can’t seem to find Jin anywhere, but that’s alright. He’ll find you soon enough. You still wonder what sort of shirtless, punny, dad joke style costume variation he’s managed to come up with this year though.

“What happened to your sabotage plan? I was surprised when the whole house didn’t explode in stick bombs… or something worse.” Namjoon shudders in his toast outfit.

“Eh.” You shrug, shifting uncomfortably. “I just thought I should enjoy Halloween, you know? Try not to make Jin miserable for once.”

“Well, looks like you ended up pranking him anyways,“ Namjoon gestures down your figure. “Whether you meant to or not.“

You have no clue what Namjoon is talking about, but you were originally planning to come armed with all the sabotage tools: toilet paper, stink bombs, elephant toothpaste… the works. But you ditched the idea after a bit of thought. What’s the use of getting back at Jin on Halloween anyway? He’ll just get back at you, twice as hard. Your hair is already red- you couldn’t risk anything else.

An off-putting, familiar voice speaks from behind you. Looking up, Namjoon is already gone, which means-

“Speak of the devil.” You mutter. “Oh, hey!” You chuckle at the accidental joke. “Speak of the devil, because tonight I’m the literal devil, haHahhahHAH I’m so funny-!”

“y/N, you’re here!” Sure enough, Jin stands behind you, completely- shockingly, in a turn of completely unpredicted events- shirtless. His abs should be outlawed, you think. They shouldn’t be allowed to be just hanging out. He should at least come with a warning sign. ‘WARNING: THE FOLLOWING CHEST AND STOMACH MAY CAUSE SHORTNESS OF BREATH AND DEATH DUE TO THIRST.’

At first sight, he just looks like an average frat boy, with loose sweatpants dangerously hanging down at his hips. But after squinting, you notice he’s holding… a spoon? And a packet of reese’s cups?

You slowly turn around, and Jin’s eyes widen comically, his jaw physically dropping. He drops his metal spoon on the ground, but doesn’t seem to notice.

“I- Y/N! I-? Wha- ? I- wah- wow. Wha?” If there was a human expression equivalent to ‘??!!!?’, Jin’s face would provide the perfect definition for it. He chokes, and coughs back, leaning over the counter and clutching at his chest.

“Woah- Are you okay?” Jin, holding a finger up, swallows down some phlegm and continues to ogle at your costume.

“Okay.” He says, after he finished coughing. “When I told you that your costume had to be creative, I didn’t mean- this.”

“What do you mean, do I look bad?”

“No, trust me, you don’t. But there are so many pervert guys out here tonight who would take advantage of you, so be careful. Stick to me.” You look up and down at him, from his abs which are completely on display, to the sweatpants that would definitely get him arrested for public indecency.

“Are you talking about yourself?” Jin leans down to pick up his spoon while you speak. “What are you supposed to be anyway? A frat boy from the 90s? An ex-con who just got out of jail? A college dropout?” Jin frowns.

“Why is nobody getting my costume tonight?” Holding up his Reese's pieces to his face, he smiles brightly and explains. “I’m Reese,” He lifts up the spoon. “- With her spoon!” You stare at him. He sighs and stomps his foot against the floor. “I’m Reese Witherspoon.” Your mouth opens in an ‘o’ in realisation, nodding. “Not my best idea, but still smart. I never fail to amaze myself year after year.” Clearing his throat, he spares another glance to your dress and tears his eyes away straight after, averting his eyes and bringing his hand up to the back of his neck.

“Uhh,” He says, awkwardly. “Devil. It fits you! You know, with the red hair.” You nod, thankful that he’s actually acknowledging the effort you put in your costume this year. Last year, you showed up as a powerpuff girl- Blossom. He got angry and ranted for hours without end about how Bubbles was clearly the superior powerpuff girl.

“I know, right!” You say cheerfully. “Your stupid prank actually gave me an idea, so I guess I should thank you.” Jin looks at you expectantly, and you shove him back. “Doesn’t mean I’m going to actually thank you, jerk. You still dyed my fucking hair red.”

“Fuck,” Jin curses. “I did this, didn’t I? Goddamnit, I told you this prank would end up affecting me more than you!”

“Huh?”

Jin continues to curse at himself, pinching the bridge of his nose and deeply regretting his life decisions. From behind him, Min Yoongi is calling him to join for a game of spook-pong (A game Jin invented; It’s like beer pong but with mystery drinks), but he ignores his name being called. He so quickly averts his eyes down at your chest again, blinking and drawing back like he saw a ghost.

“Anyways,” He says, pulling you around to place his hand over your shoulder, forcing you to press into his slightly sweaty chest. He walks you over to the spook-pong table. “Don’t wear this again, okay? You’re going to give me a heart attack.” He looks over at you when you begin to laugh. “Don’t laugh, I’m serious! I can’t look at you right now without- ugh. This was a bad night for me to choose to wear sweatpants.” He steps away from you and buries his hands inside his pants pockets, clearing his throat in a moment of strange seriousness. For a split second, you think he might have something important to say, but he just breaks out into a signature Jin grin, smiling toothily at you. His face is too cute to match his bare chest, you think to yourself.

“Have a nice Halloween, Y/N. Call if you need anything, okay? I’ll come find you after I smash this game of spook pong.” You nod and he goes off running towards Yoongi, who is already complaining about what took him so long. Jin laughs and snatches a ping pong ball from him, already screaming about how there’s no chance the inventor of the game could lose.

On the opposite end of the table, Jimin and Jungkook are making faces at him. You smile and break out into a laugh. Halloween night is rather fun, you suppose. You sigh. Maybe if you stop spending Halloween as a way to get back at Jin’s stupid pranks, it would bump Valentine’s day up as your most hated holiday. Namjoon appears by your side, shaking his head at you for no reason.

“You still don’t get it?” He asks, gesturing to Jin. You stare blankly at him, moving away when his toast costume accidentally smacks against your devil tail.

“Get what?” Namjoon continues to shake his head, smiling in a one-day-i’m-going-to-kill-you kind of way. Men are so confusing.

(At the end of the night, you draw dicks and other incriminating things onto Jin’s back with the help of a distracting Namjoon. It was his fault for being shirtless- and besides, you can’t let Halloween night go completely to waste.)

👾talk to prankster!jin! add yourself to the taglist!

TAGS; @extremeobsessions101 @bishuthot @stonyiscanon @jksbbyfacebunny

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crushedbyhyperbole · 4 years

Text

Good Ole Stuffing

A/N: For @xxloki81xx ‘s 2019 Xmas writing challenge, filling the song prompt: It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas - Michael Bublé. Thanks for organising this badass challenge

This is a Bucky Barnes x Reader w/ powers fic where their relationship is established. The story is set a couple of years after another of my fics, Disco Ball Diva. I think I might make a cluster of fics with this reader character because she’s hilarious and sassy as fuck.

Read Disco Ball Diva | Main Masterlist | Mobile Masterlist

Words: 3.3k

Warnings: 18+ only please... Smut, threats of bodily harm, and terrible terrible language.

Summary: The early arrival of Christmas and a prank courtesy of Sam ‘turkey boy’ Wilson ruins your super-chill fall vibe. Bucky makes it up to you, and let’s face it, his recipe for stuffing is right up your street.

November 1st. You sighed blissfully. This day always felt so peaceful, like all the tension that built up over the course of a year just seeped away leaving behind a fresh, crisp, new-feeling world much like the old one but lighter; unpacked and unburdened. This was one of the things you loved about Halloween, aside from the dark occult connotations, and the child-like excitement that came with this holiday, All Saints Day had its own special feel; everything felt cleansed. Except your mind – that was always filthy.

Halloween at the Avengers compound had been an evening garden party with a bon fire, a haunted house marquee, carnival games and spooky themed circus acts. It was more for the families of all the Avengers and Stark Industries staff (families with children), but you but you loved every second regardless. Kids in costumes running around excitedly with candyfloss, completely hyperactive on sugar and E numbers. Adults in costumes running around excitedly, completely hyperactive on alcohol. But that had been later in the night, after all the kids had gone and all who were left were those of your who lived in the compound.

This year, you and Bucky had done the couples thing. Collaborating costumes for the first time had been fun and your adaptation of Sweeny Todd and Mrs Lovett had gone down swimmingly, especially since you actually baked pies for the party; apple and blackberry, made to look like a bloody filling. Delicious.

It wasn’t the first Halloween you’d had together, you’d been together 2 years now and things were going great. You’d danced around each other when you’d first joined the team but as time grew on you came to realise that you truly cared for the man formerly known as The Winter Soldier, and learned that he felt the same. And boy, did he! Bucky poured his heart and soul into you, giving life to the aching hope you cherished, that one day all the tension between you would evolve into something amazing. And that he’d fuck you senseless. Phew! That man was passionate on a whole other level, even the thought of him was enough to get you going.

Sweaty and in desperate need of a different kind of release, you quit the gym having worked through your hangover, and hit the showers. If you’d have told yourself a couple of years ago that you’d be an exercise-loving badass Avenger with a badass Avenger boyfriend, you’d have told yourself to suck a dick. You’d come a long way since Tony Stark picked you up, back when you were a hotdog seller whose superpower was simple prismatic projection. Now you were a fully-fledged Avenger whose power could both protect and harm, as well as look snazzy as fuck. Your Avenger name was Suncatcher, which was a hell of a lot better than Rainbow Brite - the name Bucky first called you when you joined up. That asshole!

The communal area in the compound had a different feel altogether. Not the calm you loved about All Saints Day, but something glowing and bright and-.

“What the fuck is this shit?”

Your gym bag was heavy as you toted it the final few steps into the lounge where you observed a kind of carnage you’d never seen before, not even in the aftermath of battle.

Bucky’s head snapped in your direction, his glitter-covered hair fanned, sending sparkling dust everywhere. There were fairy lights wrapped around his metal arm, plugged in, no less, and he had baubles on the floor all around where he knelt.

“Hey sweetheart.” He was at your side in seconds, having ditched the lights and come to give you a hug and a soft peck on the cheek.

“Where’s the Halloween shit?”

Bucky’s mouth flapped in surprise at seeing your deep scowl, and he thumbed over his shoulder at his friend.

Ahh yes, the other culprit. The Falcon.

Sam had been knelt by Bucky, hidden from view when you’d entered. Now he was out in the open, exposed, and he was struggling to stifle his mirth.

“Well, this ain’t happenin’. Hell fuckin’ no!” You stood in front of the partially assembled Christmas tree, hands on hips, bristling. “I will fucking fight you both.” You were sure you looked fierce. Amazon queen that you were.

“C’mon, Rainbow Brite.” Sam smirked. “Tis the season to be jolly.”

“Fuck that!” You gripe indignantly. “It’s Halloween until December 24th and not a day before.”

“You tolerate this woman?” Sam jibed at Bucky, rolling his eyes with a long-suffering groan.

“Get stuffed, turkey boy.” Your irritation was only half serious, you loved talking shit, especially to Sam. “I light up his life like the glorious disco ball of sexy bitchin’ badassery that I am.”

Bucky pulled you in for a hug, chuckling against the top of your head. “Speaking of stuffing.” He murmured.

“Oh baby!” You moaned salaciously when his hands slid down to your ass. “You know I love me some of that 100 year old sausage meat stuffing.” You cackle with glee at the disgusted noise Sam made.

You were sorely tempted to push Bucky down on the sofa, straddle him and make a scene of dry humping him just to get Sam to flee the scene. Bucky would let you do it too, he’d long since stopped being embarrassed by your exhibitionist behaviour. But you wanted this man to fuck you senseless and that called for the soundproofed bedroom in which he slept.

Nightmares. It was for the nightmares, alright. But it certainly served your needs.

“If I’ve got to tolerate this Christmas bullshit before the corpse of Halloween is even cold then you,” you paused to poke his pec playfully, “robocock, are going to make it up to me.”

With a grin, Bucky tapped your thigh and bent down a little. Jump up, his eyes said.

No sooner were your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck, were his lips on yours in a searing kiss and he carried you away. Somewhere in the background Sam was muttering something about being scarred for life, counselling needed and some other lame ass complaint. You didn’t care. Bucky had you and he was going to take you.

There was no preamble once his bedroom door banged shut against the frame. Bucky threw you down onto the bed and tugged down your yoga pants, knickers and all. He knew what you needed from him, he was great like that, reading your mood and desire like you were an open book. It had come with much practice, but it had come.

You were yanked by your ankles to the edge of the bed and Bucky was inside you immediately, where he stilled, eyelids fluttering as he allowed you both a moment to adjust. You were tight, even after all this time as his lover. More so because he hadn’t warmed you up beforehand, but you were great. Perfect, in fact.

You grinned at his sharp intake of breath at the purposeful flex of your pelvic floor, teasing him, goading him to fuck you sore. To leave you with that burning throb that reminded you for days of the feel of him buried deep in your cunt.

“Lose the shirt.” You commanded with a sly smile and he obeyed instantly. “I’ve been thinking about you naked all damn day.”

“Yeah?” He threw your legs over his shoulders folded you in half, leaning over you until his hair tickled your face, swaying as he started a slow rhythm. “Been thinking about my cock too? I bet you have.”

You groaned deep as he slammed into you hard, once twice, three times. “What girl – doesn’t love – vintage – accessories?” Your grin was taunting and your hit your mark. You loved it when he talked dirty.

“I’ll give you vintage.” He growled, dragging your hands up above your head to pin you down, his hands locked with yours. “You’ll feel this tomorrow, for sure.”

It was brutal. The depth and force of his thrusts, and the angle he achieved by forcing your knees down onto the mattress by your ears using his weights as leverage. You could hardly breathe, but that was half the thrill. Gasping and keening, dizzy but exhilarated, you took every inch of him as he drilled you down into the bed. Paying rent, you called this.

“You gonna come for me, huh, sweetheart?” Bucky read the violent flush blooming on your face and décolletage with an arrogance smirk. “Gonna let me feel that sweet little pussy flutter? Yeah, you are! I’m gonna fuck you until you come around my cock.”

You had no words for him, only grunts and gasps made of what little air was in your lungs. He didn’t mind, he was giving you this, fucking you how you needed. It wasn’t always brutal like this, sometimes you couldn’t bare anything more than the softest touch, when you asked him to make love to you instead of fucking you into oblivion.

“Feel that?” He slammed into you hard and ground against you for a few beats, his pubic bone wreaking havoc with your clit, before resuming his punishing rhythm. “I’m gonna destroy that gorgeous hole of yours so bad you won’t sit right for a week.”

He was so close, straining to hold back until he pushed you over the edge. Impossibly he picked up the pace, pounding you ruthlessly until your eyes rolled back into their sockets. You practically drooled on yourself, groaning as you crested the huge mountain of intense pleasure he built for you. The wave crashed, destroying what was left of your self-control. You cried out, tears undammed as they spilled forth. It was exquisite, the sharpness of your climax and the painful burn where you were stretched so perfectly around his swollen prick.

The first violent contraction of your cunt dragged him with you, his cock twitched almost painfully as the pressure between his hips exploded. The air around you grew heavy to the point where he couldn’t draw breath, and as he filled you to brimming with his jism small flecks of multi-coloured light erupted all around.

He slowed and sat back on his knees, prolonging your orgasm with slow deep strokes until you began to relax. The light show was spectacular, undulating spectrums layered over one another, growing in size until you came back to yourself.

Bucky stroked his hands up and down your thighs gently, watching as your breathing settled and your eyes cracked open to meet his. Your shock was temporary, followed by guilt and suddenly he could breathe more than short shallow breaths. You hadn’t realised you’d used your power; it was a reaction to the intense emotions you’d felt. The first time it happened, Bucky panicked, but now he knew to ride it out, and sometimes it added to his pleasure.

“How was that?” he whispered, lowering your legs to the mattress and curling himself against your spine.

“Best stuffing, evarrrr…” You spoke quietly but with a smile, blissfully worn out and on the verge of unconsciousness.

“Not bad for 1940s vintage, huh, sweetheart?” He pressed a kiss into the hair at your temple and pulled you closer, feeling you relax back against his chest.

“They don’t make ‘em like they used to.” You mumble and Bucky chuffs a soft nasal chuckle, rubbing his stubbly cheek in your hair as you succumb to complete peace.

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas

Everywhere you go…

Take a look at the five and ten, it’s glistening once again

With candy canes and silver lanes that glow…

You stirred from sleep, grumbling at the infernal racket that was threatening to ruin the amazing dream you were having about Bucky kissing every single inch of your body.

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas

Toys in every store…

But the prettiest sight to see is the holly that will be

On your own front door…

The muffled vibrating that accompanied the horrendous tune pulled you further from sleep and made you crack an eye open like a sleeping dragon. A phone. Someone’s phone was ringing. Some Christmas-loving heathen’s phone. Ughh!

A pair of hop-a-long boots and a pistol that shoots

Is the wish of Barney and Ben

Dolls that’ll talk and will go for a walk

Is the hope of Janice and Jen

And Mom and Dad can hardly wait for school to start again…

You were soon bolt upright, slightly woozy but too grumpy to care. You scoured Bucky’s room for the source of the annoyance and fixed, confusedly, on your gym bag. What the fuck? Hands frantically searching, you pulled out your phone to find one missed call from ‘Fist of Victory’. Bucky must’ve called you to wake you from your nap. Blissed out as you were, he must’ve left you to sleep while he ran some errands and did some chores, like bringing your gym bag from the common room.

The screen flashed and the voice of Michael Bublé piped up once more. Bucky again.

It’s beginning to look a lot like-

You killed the call and, with an irritated nasal sigh, you delved into your settings to undo whatever heinous crime had been committed on your phone.

It’s beginning to look-

“Nope.” You swiped the red button, growing more annoyed by the second. Your phone asked you for a password but your pin didn’t work. “Don’t do this to me!” You groaned, trying everything you could think of short of factory restoring your device.

It’s beginning to-

“What the actual fuck?” You raged. It was no use. Some bastard had set your ringtone and locked you out of your own security. “Fuck Christmas!”

Dirty yoga pants pulled on in haste and phone in hand, you raced from Bucky’s room towards the common room where you hoped to find your beau or at least someone who could fix this travesty. Micheal Bublé’s voice chased you down the halls until you were about ready to flush your phone down the nearest shitter and call it quits.

Shoving through the door of the lounge, you were faced with 4 pairs of eyes around a dinner table laden with food; Bucky, Nat, Sam and Steve turned to look at you. Bucky’s smile faded when he saw the state of you, dishevelled and panting, pink thong over the top of your inside-out yoga pants; furious. You froze, cringing as the song continued uninterrupted in your hand.

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas

Everywhere you go…

There’s a tree in the Grand Hotel, one in the park as well

It’s the sturdy kind that doesn’t mind the snow…

There was confusion from three of the four, Bucky included as he ended the call, but Sam – oh that bastard! You lunged for him and almost got to him too, before a solid metal arm wound around your waist and pulled you back.

“You!” You struggled hard against Bucky’s strength, but even if you got free Steve was ready to stop you before you could hurt yourself, and it would hurt, but it would be worth it to punch that smug parrot in his weak-looking jaw. “I’m gonna fucking pluck you, roast you and feed you to the homeless.”

The amused glint in Sam’s eyes goaded you further but you succumbed to the calming effect of Bucky’s arms tightly gripped around you. You dropped your head against his chest and groaned.

“C’mon, y/n! Get into the Christmas spirit.” Sam chuckled and you flipped him the bird.

He knew he’d won this round but you’d find some way of paying him back. Maybe you’d set fire to his tree on Christmas Eve so Christmas Day would have that vibrant bonfire smell that reminded you of Halloween, which was only yesterday. You huffed.

“Is this why the tree is up so early?” Nat said judgingly with a slight roll of her eyes. “You should probably fix her phone.”

“Hell no!” Sam snorted around a mouthful of food. “This is too much fun.”

“Suit yourself.” Nat hid her smirk behind the rim of her coffee cup. “I’m not going to save you when she chokes the life out of you, Darth Vader style.”

Coughing and choking preceded grains of rice spluttered into a napkin as Sam’s wide eyes flitted between you and Nat. “She what?”

“Wanda has been working with her on expanding the range of her powers so she can effect larger areas further away from her body.” Steve chimed in. “It’s impressive.”

“The air gets thick and suddenly you can’t breathe.” Nat cocked a brow. “She doesn’t even need to touch you and you’re choking to death.”

“From over there?” Sam pushed his chair back a few inches, like that would make a difference.

Steve and Nat nodded deliberately, solemnly.

You grinned, projecting a light show worthy of your wrath. Sam was out of his seat and backing up before Bucky turned you and positioned himself between you and your target. Sam didn’t know you couldn’t reach him and it was fun to make him squirm so you tried, like, really tried to stretch your power outwards at that winged menace. The air grew heavy and it seemed like everyone held their breath, everyone except you.

Bucky stroked his hand into your messy hair and tilted your head ready for his kiss. You knew he was trying to distract you, and it worked. Lips and tongues eagerly danced until you were moaning into his mouth and pressing yourself against his growing arousal. The room relaxed as he ravaged your lips, forgetting you were not alone. Your tummy growled aggressively and broke the spell, bashful giggles followed.

“Looks like I’m going to be making it up to you again, darlin’, on behalf of that bird brain.” Bucky kissed the tip of your nose.

“Well…” You drawled. “If you’re going to fuck me every time he pisses me off then I might sign him up on a contract.”

Bucky smeared his lips against yours in a passionate but tongueless kiss before swiping a plate full of food from the table and shoving it into your hands.

He swept you up bridal style and spun you around once for good measure. Nat caught your eye and you mouthed ‘thank you’ to her. She winked subtly with that pursed lop-sided smirk she does when she’s highly amused. Steve was looking elsewhere, seeing his childhood friend head-over-heels in love and so confidently displaying his emotions was a moment of awkward pride for him.

Sam was forgotten as Bucky carried you back to his room with a grin on his face that already had you weak. Your phone was forgotten, turned off in your hand, and as you disappeared down the hallway, those in the common room would swear they heard you humming a tune. A tune that fit with the words now playing in your head.

It’s beginning to look a lot like sex-mas

Several times a day

Take a look at that perfect bum, and that juicy pair of plums

And the cock that’s going to fuck my cares away

It’s beginning to look a lot like sex-mas

Get the toys and stuff

If I’m still walking straight, and not with a funky gait

Then he hasn’t truly boned me hard enough

A pair of nipple-clamp bells and some lube that smells

Like cherry and not something yuk

A straining hard cock that gives my ovaries a knock

And I’m gonna give it a suck

And when we’re done, we’ll watch some porn until we’re ready to fuck

It’s beginning to look a lot like sex-mas

Fingers tease me slow

When he’s giving me metal three and working them ruthlessly

Until I’m screaming and I’m ready to explode

It’s beginning to look a lot like sex-mas

And we’ve ruined Bucky’s bed

We’ll take it to the floor or stood by the door

Where I’m on my knees so I can give him head.

It’s beginning to look a lot like sex-mas

He’s gasping as he comes

Filling me to the brim and holding me close to him

Rubbing my cheeks so tender with his thumbs

I do love Bucky’s plums.

If you’ve enjoyed this, why not try my other Suncatcher fic, Disco Ball Diva. Same sassy reader character, just earlier on in her Avengers career.

#xxloki81xx2019xmas #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #reader insert #reader with powers #bucky barnes fan fic #marvel fan fic #writing challenge #my writing #suncatcher cluster #cloudy's writing

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artificialqueens · 5 years

Text

Needles Family Values, Ch. 2 - pureCAMP & Citrus

Summary: They’re creepy and they’re kooky, mysterious and spooky, they’re altogether ooky, the Needles family! Missing sisters, lying psychiatrists, passionate sex and the imminent threats of fraud and death… just another day in the Needles household. Welcome to the Addams Family AU you never knew you needed.

pureCAMP’s a/n: happy halloween here’s our needles family (do do do do), plz revive shalaska in the old frankenstein way for the seasonal spirit, and if u saw michelle do tish on strictly did you, too, die a death at how good she was!! plz enjoy

Citrus’s a/n: happy halloween, here’s some porn x

“The authorities found her washed up on the Florida coast, following a harrowing experience out at sea,” the petite brunette explained to a stunned Needles family and guests in the parlor. “They performed tests on her, medical exams, a complete psychological evaluation. Finally, they confirmed it: she’s your dear, long-lost sister. They transferred her to me at Human Services, and I’ve brought her back to you after so many years.”

Alaska buried her face in Sharon’s shoulder for a moment, trying to hold back her tears of joy.

“That’s preposterous,” Roxxxy criticized. Detox nodded in agreement. “Isn’t that the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard?”

“It certainly is,” Alaska said, standing up and crossing the room to take a look at Katya. “And now you’re home.”

“Katya Needles…” Sharon mused. “Home at long last.”

“At least for a week,” Katya agreed, somewhat nervously. Alaska looked horrified.

“A week? You’re finally home, what are you talking about?”

Katya managed to shrug despite Alaska’s strong hand on her shoulder. “I have, uh, lots of things brewing. In the, er… Bermuda Triangle.”

Sharon made a soft sound, leaning back against the sofa. “Oh, Alaska, the Bermuda Triangle…”

Alaska’s eyes glimmered. “Devil’s Island,” she replied, moving to join her wife on the couch.

“The Black Hole of Calcutta,” Sharon teased in a low voice, fingers dancing along her wife’s arm. She gasped when Alaska took her hand and kissed her palm, staring straight into her soul with those beautiful dark eyes that promised even darker deeds.

“Excuse us,” she said, eyes still glued to her wife. Sharon’s lips formed a small smile.

“Second honeymoon,” she explained, the twinkle in her eyes providing the details that her lips didn’t. Clearing her throat, she turned her attention to the brunette woman once more. “Doctor… O’Hara, was it? Dr. O’Hara, will you be staying with us as well?”

“I’m afraid I’m much too busy,” Phi Phi said hastily, “But I’ll be back to check on Katya’s adjustment.”

“No one escapes the Bermuda Triangle,” Violet deadpanned from her position on the floor, cross-legged. “No one normal, anyway.”

Alaska smiled at her from the couch. “My darling, you’re forgetting that Katya is a Needles,” she supplied.

“And she has endured things which others could not,” Dr. O’Hara agreed.

“Now, if you’ll excuse us…” Sharon left the rest of her sentence unsaid, implying that all guests would be seeing themselves out, and Alaska swept her up bridal-style to carry her to their bedroom.

Almost the moment that the bedroom door had shut and locked itself, Alaska’s lips were laying claim to Sharon’s neck and the area of her chest left exposed by her dress. The brunette sighed as she backed them up onto the bed, hands tangling in her wife’s hair.

“You’re overjoyed, mon cher…”

“Yes,” Alaska breathed, moving Sharon’s hair aside to give herself better access to her wife’s neck. Somehow, the marks she left never remained the morning after, but she loved to leave them all the same. Once she’d marked up Sharon’s neck to her satisfaction, she pushed her wife’s dress down over her shoulders and past her hips, sliding it down her legs before Sharon suddenly flipped their positions. Now that she was on top, she was able to make quick work of Alaska’s sinfully well-fitted suit, leaving her in a similar state of undress in mere moments.

“Darling…” she whispered, nails scratching lightly down her wife’s hip, “After such joyous news, what could I possibly do in order to bring you more pleasure? How can I ever compare to what Dr. O’Hara has done for us, mon amour?”

Alaska took in a shuddering breath, restless after such an agonizing hour of being away from her wife’s embrace, and the ghost of a whine escaped her lips when Sharon’s nails raked down her thighs, much harder this time. “Cara mia, words are not enough to tell you of the bliss that you make me feel,” she answered. Her hands moved from her sides to rest against Sharon’s abdomen, just below where her corset ended, and her eyes shone as she stroked the soft skin with care. “My sister back home… A baby on the way… Tonight could not be any more perfect.”

Sharon raised an eyebrow, her crimson lips curving into a smirk. “Not at all?” she teased, her hand moving to squeeze Alaska’s crotch through her underwear. “There’s nothing I can do for you?” The other woman moaned freely, biting down on her lip.

“I suppose there are a few ways that this night could be better,” she acquiesced, the sentence all but a groan as Sharon pulled her underwear off and began lightly stroking her length. “You treat me as though I’m fragile, Shar,” she teased.

Sharon’s grip tightened as she smiled. “We both know that you’re anything but,” she replied, twisting her hand around Alaska’s aching cock and making her wife shudder. As she slid further down the bed to position herself between her wife’s legs, she peppered uncharacteristically light kisses over her thighs, interspersed with sharp, painful bites. “Tonight is yours, mon amour,” Sharon promised. “Tonight, the servant becomes the queen, the worshiper becomes the goddess, the desperate becomes the coveted.”

“Cara mia…”

Alaska’s back arched like a drawn bow, her body taught and tense as Sharon’s mouth enveloped her, teeth grazing painfully along her length before swallowing her down. For a woman who spoke so little, Sharon’s mouth was not without its talents, and she managed to reduce her wife to a squirming mess in mere minutes. When she pulled her mouth away, lipstick slightly smudged, Alaska let out a whine.

“Shar, don’t tease,” she begged as her wife’s manicured fingertips danced along her erection. Sharon guided Alaska’s hands to her back in a silent command to begin unlacing her corset, and Alaska complied all too happily. Though the expensive garment was not without its beauty, it locked Sharon’s body away from Alaska, teasing her, taunting her. It was a cage for her beloved, a cage that kept her from Alaska’s touch. She was endlessly glad when the corset was loose enough to be undone and tossed to the floor, forgotten.

Now that Sharon’s alabaster skin was all but revealed to Alaska, she could hardly keep her hands away. She ran them all over her wife’s near-naked body, relishing in the sensation of Sharon’s cold skin against her own heat. Flipping them again, Sharon found herself beneath her wife once more, and Alaska’s lips and tongue made a hot, wet trail along her chest down to her hips. She stopped to take each of Sharon’s nipples into her mouth in turn, sucking on the delicate flesh and pulling a well-deserved moan from her wife, before continuing down to her stomach.

Sharon wasn’t showing just yet, but Alaska knew that in due time her wife’s belly would grow heavy and swollen with child as their unborn infant formed inside her like a parasite. The thought alone was enough to make her moan aloud, and Sharon couldn’t help but smile as Alaska made great pains to kiss and caress every inch of her stomach and abdomen.

“Tonight is about you,” she reminded her wife gently, reaching down to caress her cheek. Alaska flushed, eyes even darker than usual with desire, and she nodded.

“Your satisfaction is my pleasure,” she murmured against Sharon’s cold skin, her lips providing searing heat that set Sharon’s nerves alight. “Your pleasure, Sharon, is more than I could ever hope to receive, in this life or the next.”

Before Sharon could even attempt to switch their positions once again, Alaska was drawing the black silk panties down her wife’s legs and discarding them, spreading her milky thighs apart with strong yet tender hands. The black-haired seductress let out a cry as her centre was introduced to Alaska’s mouth, so wet and soft and almost painfully hot against Sharon’s icy core. It was nothing short of bliss, and Sharon’s hands tangled in her wife’s messy black hair as she lost herself in sensation, in pleasure, in Alaska.

“Oh, mon coeur,” she sighed, her hips bucking up against her wife’s mouth, and Alaska paused to look up at her with a deep look of lust in her eyes.

“That’s French,” she all but moaned, licking a final stripe up Sharon’s slit before repositioning herself to line up with her entrance, hands on her beautifully round hips.

“Wait, darling,” Sharon bade her wife, and though patience had never been Alaska’s strong suit, she stopped just shy of pushing into Sharon. Caressing her wife’s cheek, she cocked her head to one side.

“Is something wrong, cara mia?”

Sharon shook her head slowly. “Nothing,” she promised. “However… I had hoped to be on top tonight, mon cher.”

Alaska’s expression betrayed her, and she nodded eagerly at her waiting wife. “Yes, Sharon, yes,” she breathed, moving to lay on her back. She palmed her length impatiently as Sharon repositioned herself, hovering above her wife, her pale thighs on either side of Alaska’s legs, her black hair cascading down her back like a river. “Cara mia, you’re devastating.”

Sharon allowed herself a small smile, gripping her wife’s cock and lining them up, teasing her by running Alaska’s tip between her slick seam. In a single, impressive move, she sank down onto Alaska with a cry, her senses torn between pleasure and pain as Alaska’s impressive length filled her completely. This was always her favourite moment, the one she secretly pined for; Alaska was overwhelmed by sensation, and Sharon was completely and utterly hers. Only in such moments did Sharon truly feel like a goddess, straddling her wife’s muscular thighs as she took her cock to the hilt, burning and aching, every nerve on fire.

“Mon amour, you will be the death of me,” Sharon moaned, low and deep, and her words cut Alaska far deeper and more pleasurably than any knife they owned. “Please, Alaska, take what is yours.”

At the utterance of her name, Alaska began to thrust up into Sharon, who was beginning to ride her, setting a brutal– and entirely welcome– pace. Sharon’s hands flew to massage Alaska’s breasts as her wife gripped her hips, holding her steady as she was claimed, and her delicate moans filled the air as Alaska fucked her harder, deeper still.

Sharon was hers, entirely and completely, her other half and her perfect match. She was more beautiful than life itself, more tantalizing than death, dearer to Alaska than anyone else in the world. As Sharon’s pace slowed above her, their rough, passionate sex turned into soft, sweet lovemaking. Sharon rolled her hips against Alaska’s in slow circles, hands splayed out on her chest, head thrown back in ecstasy as her wife met her motions in equal measure.

“Mon cher…” Sharon sighed, long and drawn-out, a whisper of absolute pleasure and completion. “Alaska…” Alaska groaned as they reached the peak of their pleasure together, becoming a singular being with a shared heart, a shared body, a shared soul. Back arched, crimson lips issuing forth a moan, Sharon was as radiant as a goddess of the moon, and Alaska was her sun goddess, hot and passionate as she spilled into her wife, their edges bleeding together. They were one.

Sharon collapsed on her wife’s chest, utterly spent, and Alaska held her close as their breathing gradually slowed. They were passionate lovers, but gentleness always prevailed when they had been satisfied, falling into one another’s arms. Alaska held Sharon close, stroking her dark tresses as her other hand danced over her wife’s soft, pale skin.

“My dark angel,” Sharon purred, nails lightly scraping down Alaska’s bare chest, “Dare I suggest we go again?”

By all accounts, Katya’s night had been hellish from start to finish. Left to wander around the estate, she found herself entrapped in a labyrinth of horror, beginning with land that she was certain was haunted and ranging all the way to disembodied hands, carnivorous plants and ghastly weapons. Around every corner there seemed to be a new danger, something else to jeopardize her stay with the strange family. Every little oddity was teeming with dark family history, and Katya knew her cover would be blown if she failed to at least fake recognition.

With some help from the tall, ungainly butler that identified himself as Max and said nothing more, she discovered the room that supposedly belonged to her counterpart. It was grim and disturbing, so she didn’t propose to stay long.

As she began to unpack the supplies she’d brought along with her, she suddenly sensed that she wasn’t alone. Turning with a jolt, she came face-to-face with Sharon, who had somehow managed to enter the room in complete silence.

“Unpacking? Let me help you.”

Katya tried not to let her panic show as she said, “It’s all right, I can do it,” but the dark-haired woman was already peering into her suitcase. She took items out one-by-one and Katya snatched them from her hands, trying not to panic. Was her cover already blown?

“Crowbar… Dynamite… “ She picked up a small corked bottle, inspecting the label, then turned to her sister-in-law. “Cyanide.” She smiled softly. “Katya, as if we’d run out.”

Once Sharon had bid her goodnight and left the room, Katya let out a relieved sigh. These people were even more dangerous than she’d thought, so she’d have to work quickly and get out of the house to avoid sustaining any injuries. Opening the door of the bedroom, she looked out into the hall and was confronted by the little girl standing nearly motionless in her doorway. Slamming the door shut, she cursed under her breath. She’d have to wait until the nosy brat went to sleep before she could accomplish anything.

Turning her attention to the dust-covered desk, a few things caught her eye; the first was a photograph of two young, dark-haired girls being held in cages. They wore matching grins as they posed in front of a sign for a summer camp. The second was a photograph in a burnished silver frame, showing the two sisters with a friend between them, who was identified as Sasha in a scrawled note next to it. She was starkly different to the two of them, with her bird’s nest of white hair piled on the top of her head and bushy brows, but was equally as weird and thus fitted in perfectly. Katya barely noticed the NG tube on Sasha’s face, too distracted by the real Katya’s loving gaze at her.

When she heard the sound of a door slamming across the hall, sherelaxed. She could sleep a little more peacefully if she knew that none of the Needleses were awake and creeping about. Collapsing on the overly plush bed, she sank deep into the mattress and tried to relax. Out of nowhere, a disembodied human hand crawled up onto the bed, giving Katya a little wave. She screamed.

“That was cruel, Shar,” Alaska groaned, brushing a lock of dark hair away from her face, “You know that I cannot possibly resist you.” Sharon was draped over her body, wearing only a gown of midnight-black chiffon, content in her wife’s embrace.

“You would blame me for your own… shortcomings?” Sharon teased. Alaska chuckled, pulling her wife closer and pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“As I said. You know I can’t last long when you pull such tricks on me… That unexpected Greek technique, oh, Shar… You are devilish.” She was about to say more when a long, shrill scream echoed from deep within the house. A joyous smile spread across Alaska’s face. “That sound… It can mean only one thing…” she breathed. Sharon let the ghost of a smile cross her lips as she rested her head on Alaska’s chest, hearing her love’s heart beat.

“Katya’s home.”

The next morning, they gathered for their first meal as a family in twenty-five years. Alaska was overjoyed to have her sister back, and sat down at the table with a smile.

“Home cooking!” Jinkx proclaimed, setting food on the table. “There’s nothing like it in the world!”

Katya regarded her plate with barely-concealed surprise, noting that the tentacles were still moving. “What’s this?”

“Mama’s specialite de la maison,” Sharon replied, enjoying the way that Alaska shifted in her seat.

“Oh, Shar… You know how I feel about French…”

Sharon took her hand, squeezing it as a small smile painted her lips. “Je sais.”

“How did you sleep, Katya?” Alaska asked, turning her attention to Katya as if a spell had been broken.

“Like the dead,” Katya answered a little nervously.

“Really? Who knew the Bermuda Triangle could change a woman so much? We used to have to chain you to the bed!” Sharon raised an eyebrow, silent.

“It doesn’t make sense,” Violet said solemnly, casting a suspicious eye on her aunt.

Jinkx scooped more food onto Katya’s plate, “food” that looked even more unusual than the first dish. “Start with the eyes,” she directed.

“Darling, where is your brother?” Sharon asked Violet.

“Outside,” the girl shrugged, her voice monotone. Just then, her brother entered the dining room, carrying a stop sign double his height. There was a car horn blasting, and then the sound of a crash. Gio’s parents applauded his mischief, and Sharon pulled out a chair for him at the breakfast table.

The food that Jinkx had prepared tasted much better than it looked, and Katya managed to stomach it and keep her ruse up for all of breakfast. The moment her plate was clear, Alaska had turned to her, eyes gleaming with excitement. She took Katya down a series of complicated passages, all of them booby-trapped, until they reached a gondola docked in a dark black lake. They continued downward, Alaska steering a gondola through the black waters, the sound of her voice echoing in the vast stone room as she sang along to an aria playing through the gondola’s gramophone.

When they reached a place to dock the boat, Katya’s eyes landed on a large door with a combination lock. It had to be the vault, there was nothing else it could be; she was excited to smuggle out some riches and leave this house and all the weirdos in it.

“Five turns to the right, then seven to the left, and then…” Alaska waited for her sister to answer, and Katya nervously blurted out the first number that came into her head. It clearly wasn’t the right one, because Alaska looked disappointed and sighed. “No, no, two. Five, seven, two, Katya, the cabins from summer camp!” She regarded her sister with confusion, wondering just how much the Bermuda Triangle had changed her. The lock clicked open and Katya followed Alaska inside, expecting the same kind of gold that Detox had shown her, so she was disappointed when the door swung open to reveal a lounge.

Trying to conceal her disappointment, Katya examined the room as discreetly as she could while Alaska rooted through an old box of god-knows-what. She approached a wall of bottles, looking at their strangle labels; some were things she had never heard of, while others were common spirits. Picking one up to read its label closer, she startled when the shelf spun around in the wall. Turning her back on the bottles, her eyes fell upon the true vault, full to bursting with more wealth than she could have possibly imagined in one place. She put the bottle back quickly, not wanting Alaska to notice her absence, but the idiot was still looking through boxes for something.

“Katya, look!” she exclaimed, beaming, as she held up a photograph. It depicted herself and Sharon, wearing black from head to toe, standing in front of a coffin surrounded by flowers. “Our wedding day. She was so beautiful…”

“She was,” Katya agreed, trying to remember whether Alaska had mentioned Katya’s presence at the wedding. To her annoyance, Alaska didn’t elaborate any further. Thankfully, with Katya’s lack of questions, they simply moved on.

They went through old videos and pictures for hours, drinking and talking and laughing, and the strangest feeling was beginning to dawn on Katya. She was playing the part of the long-lost sister, of course, but somehow she felt as though these memories were hers, and as though she’d known Alaska her entire life. She’d never felt as close to her real sister, Phi Phi, as she did to Alaska right now, and that was a scary revelation.

Still, much of what she was shown seemed to be horrifying. They flicked through some truly gruesome images - Katya found herself wanting to hurl at a particularly nasty one of the two sisters no older than maybe six or seven, grinning as they held up a stiff cat between them. Another showed Alaska in bitter, distressed tears whilst Katya attempted to strangle her, smiling widely whilst doing so. A third had Katya with an expression of sheer disgust as her sister ran her tongue down the centre of her face.

It was, in all honesty, terrifying. It didn’t seem like the two sisters had a good relationship at all, and yet somehow Katya felt like she understood it perfectly. To anyone else it would seem vile and unnatural, but it seemed clear to her that they were happy and good friends, if nothing else. She had to remind herself that these people were cruel and evil, and that this Katya - whoever she really was - was a deranged human being.

Alaska pressed the remote onto another image, gasping in delight as it filled the screen. Once again, Katya recoiled in sudden shock. Her sister wore a sharp suit, pinstriped, with a devilish smile on her face, but the real shock of the picture, however, was the corpse between them. Bespoke as the coffin was, Katya hadn’t expected the damn thing to be open, revealing a foul rotted body still complete with teeth and hair. Alaska happily posed above it as if it were simply a sleeping friend.

“Ah,” Alaska smiled sadly. “I remember this fateful night.”

Katya swallowed, panicking. Fateful? Fuck, what had been so special about it?

“Your first funeral!” She tried, her enthusiastic smile attempting to make up for the uncertainty in her voice.

Alaska frowned, bemused. “My first- Katya, come on! Our first funeral was years ago, surely you know that! We were ecstatic that they never knew it was us!” She grinned. “Dearest grandpa. It’s how he would’ve wanted to go.”

Great, Katya thought to herself, I’m in a house of murderers who think that I’m also a murderer. Just great.

“I won’t accept that you don’t remember this night, even if you weren’t here with us. Surely this is the one thing you could never forget.”

The picture from earlier flashed in Katya’s mind. For a moment, it was as if she could remember it - the sensation of Sasha’s hair tickling her arms, a warm fondness for the girl blossoming in her chest. As soon as it had arrived, however, it disappeared, replaced with a fleeting anger and then confusion. Still, she took a chance.

“Sasha.”

Alaska sighed. “Sasha. Our dear, dear friend.”

She reached forward suddenly, taking Katya’s hand in hers as though to comfort her. “Please, my sister, let me explain everything to you. I never knew… God, when Sharon told me… You loved her, didn’t you? You loved Sasha and it’s no wonder you thought I was some heartless player, messing her around. I promise you that isn’t the truth, Katya. I wanted to spoil her and make her last moments with us memorable, and then whenever I wasn’t with her I was with my beloved… the way that must’ve looked to you, as though I was using them both for my own gain… I can’t stand it. The real truth, Katya, is that Sasha introduced Sharon and I, and gave our relationship her blessing. I merely took her to see things she might never see, I never pursued any kind of relationship with her…”

Her gaze was filled with sorrow. “I beg you, please forgive me. This misunderstanding… it has been eating at me ever since you left us. That it was all my fault, all because you loved a girl and believed I was using her. Had I known… I couldn’t be more sorry, Katya. If I could dig her up and reunite the two of you right now, I would. You deserve to love one another the way Sharon and I do.”

As she spoke, she flicked away from the corpse to what appeared to be Alaska’s wedding. Both of them were still dressed in the black garments seen in the earlier photographs, locked in a passionate embrace amongst all the graves behind them. At first, Katya wondered who in the hell would get married right after a funeral, but it seemed fitting for such an odd family. If what she could deduce was correct, they had only dated for a short while anyway before tying the knot in a graveyard, so she supposed that the strangeness of it all made sense.

Katya stared at the photo. Murderers though they may be, a strange collective of oddities that seemed to dabble in more than just weirdness - whatever love was shared between these two, it was all-encompassing.

Shaking her head, Alaska pressed forward to yet another romantic shot of the two - with Sasha’s rotting body between them, of course. “We were devastated at your disappearance, Katya. You always talked so excitedly of the experiments you wanted to perform on my future children. You weren’t even here for little Violet’s birth…”

Trying her best not to look too repulsed, Katya looked away as Alaska started flicking through pictures that depicted parts of Sharon she had no desire to see. The last, however, of a squalling baby fiddling with a rickety mobile of knives and grenades with loose pins, settled her fraught nerves. Of course, part of her tried to argue for the safety of the baby, but she seemed quite content with her toys, and Alaska and Sharon were cooing happily in the background. It didn’t seem all that bad, to be honest. Not at all like Phi Phi had warned her.

“It truly is family that makes us rich, is it not?” Alaska reminisced.

Katya nodded along with her. “You’re right. And… I forgive you. Water under the bridge.”

She offered a huge grin to Alaska, hoping that she would believe the act and wholly accept her as the long lost sister. To her complete relief, her eyes lit up and then glistened with sudden unshed tears.

“This has haunted our family for so long, and now, at last, it is done,” she whispered reverently. “You must allow me to prove myself. Sharon is one of us now, and I will show you just how I have never loved another woman. Come with me; come and meet our beautiful children properly. They are a putrid stain on this world and we could not be prouder of them.”

“Alaska, are you certain?”

“Sharon, my darling, darkness of my life, I am absolutely positive that that woman is not my sister.”

#rpdr fanfiction #shalaska #needles family values #citrus #purecamp #lesbian au #sharon needles #alaska thunderfuck #violet chachki #jinkx monsoon #phi phi o'hara #katya zamolodchikova #roxxxy andrews #max malanaphy #aquaria #vanessa vanjie mateo #addams family au #detox icunt

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thepartyresponsible · 6 years

Text

another fic for the spooky season! i’m still mixing prompts from here and here.

this prompt is: awful first meeting + Frankenstein creation/unnatural creation of life.

here’s an au where everyone is some kind of magic, and bucky is most definitely cursed. this was supposed to be winteriron, but steve rogers showed up. i have no apologies to give.

Steve’s boots leave blood on the welcome mat as he shoulders his way into Tony’s lab. If he weren’t welcome, that mat would’ve taken his feet off at the ankles, but Tony still thinks he’s abusing the truce. The mat drinks the blood happily enough, but God only knows the source, or what it’ll do to the charms.

“You know,” Tony says, “someday I’m gonna rescind your welcome, and I won’t be responsible for--”

“I need your help,” Steve says, as he drops a body on the closest empty table.

Tony takes a long look at the body and then raises a single eyebrow.

“Tony,” he repeats, insistently, “get over here. I need you.”

“Not a necromancer,” Tony calls out, a little singsong, as he turns back to his work.

“Tony,” Steve says, and there’s enough compulsion in it that it drags Tony to his feet before he can counter it.

“Fuck’s sake,” Tony says, more offended than the situation calls for. He’s always been sensitive about that sort of thing. “Keep your magic off of me.”

He sends Steve’s spellwork back at him, snaps it harsh enough that it hits like a slap across the face, but Steve hardly seems to notice. He’s running careful hands above the body he’s brought, sending up sparks and heat, filling Tony’s lab with errant magic, because, as usual, Steve is an absolute terror in a controlled environment.

“Will you just---” Tony cuts himself off. Blinks. His eyes drop to the body, and he watches as it takes a slow measured breath. “Steve,” he says, “please tell me you did not bring a revenant into my lab.”

“I need you to bring him back,” Steve says.

Tony laughs, sharp and a little disbelieving. “He is back,” he says. “He’s there and back again. There’s no more back than he already is, Steve. That’s a dead thing walking.”

“He’s not dead,” Steve says. It comes out as a shout, and every single glass instrument in Tony’s lab hums and rattles. “He’s not,” he adds, quieter.

Tony’s gaze moves slowly around his lab before resettling on Steve. “If you’re having some kind of emotional fit,” he says, “might I suggest moving it to a slightly less temperamental environment?”

“Nat heard him,” Steve says. “Whispering.”

Natasha is one of the best readers Tony’s ever met. He won’t even walk into the same room as her without proper wards. She’ll swipe any stray thought, steal daydreams, shift them around, and sell them back to your as your own ideas. She’s dangerous.

But she is also very, very good at what she does.

Tony crosses the lab. The thing on the table feels dead. It feels old and dead. When Tony casts his magic against it, he tastes gravedirt in his mouth, feels ice in his veins and tears in his eyes. Old, and dead, and sad.

“Yeah,” he says, “revenant. Someone’s been puppeting it around.”

“Him,” Steve says. “His name is Bucky.”

Tony grimaces. “I don’t know what his name used to be, but it doesn’t have a name. This isn’t a person, Steve. Whoever he was is gone.”

The look Steve gives him could melt a hedgewitch where she stood. Tony feels the weight of Steve’s power pressing against his own.

“I’m sorry,” Tony offers, after a moment.

Steve takes a deep breath. His magic settles back under his skin. He stares down at the body for a long moment and then he reaches out, carefully brushes the lank strands of dirty hair out of its face. “Please,” he says.

Tony’s known Steve Rogers for years. A century and a half, probably. Tony spent a lot of his youth downing potions a smarter sorcerer would’ve left alone. He doesn’t remember when exactly he met Steve, but, in all the time he’s known him, Steve has never once begged him for anything.

“Steve,” Tony says, as sympathetically as he can. “Even if he is in there, even if some part of him is still alive, it’s not a kindness, bringing them back. Not after everything they’ve been made to do. Think about it.”

“I’m not going to burn him.” Steve sets his shoulders, ducks his chin, flashes the gritted-teeth, narrowed-eyed look that once conned Tony into waging war against an entire coven of thousand-year-old dark witches.

Burning is the best way to put down a revenant. Tony’s burned hordes of them. He burned his father when he was barely out of boyhood, when a rival sorcerer killed Howard and set him against his family.

It is a kindness. If there’s any part of them left, they don’t deserve to be recalled to life against their will.

And there’s almost never anything left. And what’s left is almost never good.

“Nat heard him,” Steve says. “Tony, please. You’re the best cursebreaker I know.”

“I’m the best there is,” Tony corrects. “Which means I’m qualified to tell you, which means you should listen. The best thing to do is burn the body. Death corrupts, Steve. That’s what it does. It rots, and it festers, and it corrupts. You might end up having to put down whatever’s left of him, and it’ll be easier to do that if he’s not using your name while he begs you to stop.”

Steve goes still. He stares down at the dead man’s face for a long moment and then draws in a sharp breath, looks up. “Tony,” he says, “I’m sorry about Howard, but--”

“This isn’t about Howard,” Tony says. Although, of course, it is. Because, even two hundred years later, everything in his life is somehow about Howard.

Tony’s not a necromancer, but he can recall a wayward soul into a body that isn’t dead, and revenants aren’t dead so much as they’re cursed.

And Tony’s the best cursebreaker there is.

“Please,” Steve repeats. He looks Tony right in the eyes when he says it, and there’s not even a hint of magical compulsion, but Tony knows immediately that he can’t say no.

“Fine,” he says. “I’ll try. But you can’t be in here, Steve. You’re a nightmare. The whole lab’s scared of you. Get out.”

Steve’s face cracks open like someone seeing his first dawn in a thousand years. He wavers on his feet like he’s about to do something horrifying, like hug Tony or kiss him, and then he steps back, hands up and out. “I’m gone,” he says.

There’s so much hope in his eyes that Tony can barely stand to look at him.

“Thank you,” Steve says. “Tony, really--”

“Go,” Tony says.

And he does.

Which leaves Tony alone in his lab with a body that isn’t dead and a soul that isn’t quite faded.

He sighs, shifts his magic, locks the whole place down. He has work to do.

The soul is so far afield that Tony almost can’t find him. The tethers that should anchor him to his body have been frayed to filaments, and Tony thinks, with a sick sort of fascination, that he must have done this to himself.

That, Tony thinks, is desperation. To doggedly seek the listless, lonely nothingness of soul-walking with nothing to draw you home. Even ghosts would flinch from such a pale existence.

But Steve is right. And so, by extension, is Natasha.

This isn’t a revenant. This is an experiment.

The memories are feral, and free-ranging. They latch onto Tony every chance they get, screaming the same frantic message.

They killed me. They killed me. Over, and over, and over, and over, and over.

There are a hundred deaths worked into this mind. They brought him to the brink of it, shattered him apart, and used that moment of vulnerability to break his will, slithered their way into his mind like a snake winding through the gaping sockets of a skull’s eyes.

It is a horrible, unnatural thing.

And they did it hundreds of times.

They killed me. Over, and over.

It’s so brutal that it is almost obscene. Tony can’t imagine a crueler trick, making someone into a revenant without the mercy of letting them die first.

Revenants are numb, clumsy things that don’t feel pain, or cold, or hunger. But this is something else. This man felt everything.

The curse is twisted, blood-hungry and voracious, too ravenous to be clever. It takes, and it takes, feeds and feeds, and so the simplest thing to do is to feed it poison. Tony cuts himself on a charmed blade, sets his will against it, lets himself glow with memories of his mother’s smile and Rhodey’s laughter and Pepper’s courage, love and loyalty, daybreak and summer.

He thinks of Steve as the blood drips into the potion. He thinks of the sunshine shade of his hair, the still water blue of his eyes. He thinks of his squared shoulders, and his quiet smile. He thinks of Steve, pulling him from a pit that would have opened into hell, thinks of the way Steve made himself into a shield that shoved back every evil thing Tony had invited into his heart.

He thinks of Steve’s voice, of the way he’d said Please.

The potion sparkles like condensed starlight, holds every bright, beautiful thing Tony knows. He curls a careful hand around the dead man’s neck, tips his head back, and pours the brew right down his throat.

Nothing happens.

Sometimes, when a soul wanders too far, it cannot be drawn back. There are ways to rend a soul into pieces too small for even the finest net to catch.

There’s a shift, and a shiver, and a thin layer of ice comes from nowhere, covers every square inch of the man on the table. And then he gasps his way back to life, shatters the ice, scrambles off the table so fast that Tony almost tips over getting out of his way.

The man is across the room, back shoved into a corner, before Tony can blink.

He’s still for a moment, staring at his hands, moving his jaw like he can’t remember how to breathe. And then he sucks in air like a drowning man, and he screams.

This was not a kindness. Tony knew that before he did it. But he did it for Steve, because he asked.

“You’re alright,” Tony says, projecting calm. He doesn’t use his magic on people’s emotions often; he always loathed it when Howard did it to him. But this man is suffering. “You’re alright,” he repeats. “It’s safe here.”

Tony’s magic brushes against him and withers, falls like a dead thing to the floor.

“Don’t,” the man says. “Don’t do that.”

Tony is over two hundred years old, and that has never happened. He’s found walls his magic couldn’t break or circumvent. He’s had his magic turned against him. He’s never felt it die.

The hair on the back of his neck is standing up. He feels as squeamish as a boy at his first bloodletting.

“Well,” he says, soft and thoughtful, fighting the instinct to run from his own lab, “what manner of unnatural thing are you?”

The man blinks at him. He has eyes like ice.

He stares for a long, terrible moment, and then he puts his head in his hands, and he starts to laugh.

#writing #fic #tony stark #steve rogers #bucky barnes #spooky season fic

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thismasterpieceofmine · 3 years

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Cain's days all start relatively the same on the farm: wake up, eat breakfast with his dog Bea, go out and feed and check on the pigs and sheep, check on the garden, and then do some chores around the farm before dinner. Hardly anything that drastically different from any other normal person, if he's honest.

Implied/Referenced Character Death, references to blood, Implied Dismemberment, mention of human organs/body parts, (in relation to the dismemberment), Horror Elements, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, farmer Cain (Supernatural), No Animal Death, Prompt Fic, Unreliable Narrator, kinda???

or, as i like to call it, tried to write something a bit spooky, spent too long focusing on the animals over horror elements. oops.

snippet:

For Cain, his day starts off relatively the same. He wakes early to the distant caws of crows from the field, and even without rising from his bed and checking the window, he knows they are either perched on the recently painted white fences (a young lad, Charlie, had helped with repainting them two weeks ago. He had a knack for the arts, and while Cain would admit -- having seen his paintings -- this was far below his skillset, it had turned out much nicer than if just he had done the job. Shame the kid had done it the morning before his drive north to art school. Cain had hoped he might be able to get him to help repaint the deck -- that awful stain on the back steps had been bugging him if he were honest) or were picking through the scraps thrown onto the dirt to decompose. Knowing this signifies he’ll probably have to till the patch of dirt again, Cain sighs and gets to his feet. He doesn’t mind the work, truthfully. If he had, he wouldn’t have been a farmer. There are simpler, less labour-intensive jobs that exist that he could have chosen if he so very pleased, but the sigh was less to do with the work and more towards the idea of leaving the comfort of his bed.

It was the pull that came from the warmth of the bed, the soft pillow beneath one’s head, the comforter that kept you bundled close, that acted as a siren’s call against the creeping chill of fall in the air. Even with years of experience, Cain, much like a seasoned sailor, still often bowed to the nudge of the siren’s sweet song sometimes. He is only human, after all.

#spn fanfic #spn #fanfic #cain spn #horror elements #i can tag the other stuff listed above as well if ppl want #but that only really happens in the last little bit of the fic in case anyone was wondering #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfiction #mywriting

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constantfluxx · 7 years

Note

malec + pumpkin carving

👻The Spook Cruise👻

Port of Call: MALEC!Itinerary: Pumpkin Carving! 🔪🎃🔪Captain: @celestialbane ✨

[-submit a prompt-]

Magnus frowned as he heard the door open, looking up from the charm he was crafting for a client. “Alexander?” he called, leaning over to get a better look the foyer. “I thought you were going to be late?”

“Me too. Ended up blowing through those reports.” He set whatever he’d been carrying down on their table with a loud thud, then walked over to Magnus’s desk to greet his boyfriend with a small but no less meaningful kiss. “Is that okay… ?”

The worried look curling Alec’s features brought Magnus to lightly chuckle. “Of course it is. I was just surprised, is all.” He put down the ingredients he’d been holding - a few strands of werewolf fur and a vial of demon ichor - then stood up to properly greet Alec with a tight hug. As he did, his eyes wandered over to their table, and his brow peaked at the object he found sitting there, large and bulging and aggressively orange with a stout muddy-green stalk curling maybe three inches long off the top.

“A pumpkin?” Magnus inquired, though he obviously needed no confirmation of what the object was. He stepped around Alec to walk towards it, one arm crossed low over his open, silk shirt to support his other by its elbow. Inquisitive eyes flickered over the seasonal squash, swiftly deeming the fruit to be a prime specimen of its kind, and he turned a wide grin to his partner. “What’ll it be, then? Pie? Soup? Cookies?”

“What? No,” Alec replied, face screwed in confusion. As he crossed the room to join Magnus by the table, his deft fingers plucked a small blade from his thigh holster, flourishing in an expert and practice motion. The glint of his blade in the day’s waning light was echoed in the gleam of his eyes. “We’re going to carve it. For Halloween.”

“With that?” Magnus laughed, nodding towards Alec’s dagger. “There’s hardly any need.” As he turned back to the pumpkin, already his fingers began to coil in the air beside his face. “What do you want it to look like? We could do a skull, or perhaps a ghost… I could try one of those fancier designs, the ones where they only half-carve the—”

“Magnus,” Alec interrupted, his free hand catching Magnus’s by the wrist. To his boyfriend’s befuddlement, he pressed the hilt of his dagger into Magnus’s hand, then curled his fingers around it and held his hand within the cup of his own. “No magic. I thought… I thought it’d be nice to do something…”

Magnus watched Alec curiously as the Shadowhunter sought the right word. Slowly, a smile curled his lips, and he offered, “…mundane?”

Alec blinked, dark eyes snapping over to him, and then slowly he smiled in return. “Yeah. Something simple, tactile… Something to pass the time together.”

Of all the requests he’d ever received, this one was certainly towards the top of Magnus’s list so far as quaintness was concerned. Unsurprisingly, the rest of the top ten slots were all taken up by one thing or another from Alec - his precious Alexander Lightwood, endlessly surprising in his refreshing and pure simplicity. He imagined Alec still didn’t quite understand the full breadth of it. For him, it was enough just knowing that these kinds of things brought handsome smiles to Magnus’s face. But for Magnus, these simpler things were a breath of fresh life in a world filled with angels, demons, immortality, and war, the kind of steadying sigh that reminded you why you wanted to live in the first place.

“That sounds lovely, Alexander,” he at last replied, knowing saying anything more than that would likely only serve to confuse Alec. He drew out a chair for Alec, then settled into another, placing the dagger down upon the table so he could idly tap his goatee’d chin. “We do still need to decide on what to carve, however.”

“Any particular inspirations?” Alec asked, spinning around his chair so he could sit in it backwards, his arms folded upon the chair’s back. “I’ve never really done this before.”

“You haven’t?” There was something like pity in Magnus’s voice. His own childhood had been rather turbulent to say the very least, and anyway had taken place in both the wrong century and the wrong country to partake in the custom, but he’d long ago come to understand the unique joy it brought to many Mundane children across the world.

Alec shook his head, not in the least bit disappointed or sad about it. How could he be, not knowing what it was he’d apparently missed out on? “Too busy protecting the Mundies from real vampires, werewolves, witches…” He shared a smirk with Magnus, then turned to the pumpkin and reached over to turn it around a bit. “I grabbed the biggest one I could find, so we’d have enough room.”

“For what, the entire Sistine Chapel?” Magnus mused, eyes widening as he actually took in just how massive the pumpkin was. “Well, if you’re going to do something, best to go all-out, I suppose.”

Alec grinned at Magnus, already enjoying the activity even though they really hadn’t done much yet. His eyes sliding back to the pumpkin, he reached out to curiously draw a finger along its swells and crevices. “I don’t want to do the typical Jack-o-Lantern thing. And I don’t especially want to do anything horrific or scary. Something fun and… and simple, but still a little… not spooky, necessarily. Halloween-y? I mean, it should fit with the holiday, after all.”

As he listened to Alec ramble on, Magnus couldn’t suppress a light chuckle, a fanciful gleam sparkling amid his eyes. With all the burdens that typically weighed on the Head of the New York Institute, it was a nice reprieve to see Alec fussing over something so inconsequential. The Shadowhunter’s mind could puzzle over the problem freely, without any worry for the consequences. It reminded him much of the way a child might consider what crayon to draw with, and it held a certain precious innocence that made Alec seem more like a precious cherub than a glorious angel. Something fragile and vulnerable that needed to be protected and cherished, rather than a holy force to be reckoned with.

This really was turning out to be one of Alec’s best ideas, for reasons he would likely never come to understand.

“I think I have an idea,” Magnus replied at last.

As he explained what he had in mind, he watched Alec’s excitement swell, pulling his every feature big and wide into a beaming grin. Just a hint of wickedness touched Alec’s eyes, the spark of a mischievous sprite, and soon he was eagerly nodding. “Yeah, yeah!” he exclaimed. “That’d be perfect!”

“Very well, then!” Magnus chuckled, rising from his chair with a smooth and elegant motion, the same ethereal grace that seemed to embody his every movement.

Alec turned to watch his boyfriend drift swiftly and soundlessly through the room towards his desk, his brow wrinkling in intrigue. “Where are you going? My daggers will work well enough, won’t they?”

“For the carving, sure,” Magnus replied lightly. Delicate fingertips plucked a black marker from the long, shallow dish stationed at the head of his desk. “But first you have to draw out our design. It’ll be the guide for our carving.”

“Why do I have to draw it?” Alec scowled, taking the pen from Magnus. “It was your idea!”

“That’s precisely why, my dear!” Looking perhaps a bit too smug for Alec’s liking, Magnus dropped back into his chair, one leg draping over the other and his fingers curling beside his devilish smirk. “I never get to see your more creative side.”

“Because I don’t have one,” Alec muttered, uncapping the marker and rolling it awkwardly in his fingertips. He glanced between it and the pumpkin, then scooted his chair closer to the table so he could get to work drawing out their design.

“Of course you do, Alexander. Everyone does! It’s just not as prominent or physical for some compared to others.”

Alec cast a raised brow over his shoulder. “Oh, so you don’t like my nightly experimentation?”

Magnus only wasn’t scowling because his face was too busy blushing. “That’s not fair. You know that’s not what I meant!”

His boyfriend snickered before returning to the pumpkin. “I know. I just like seeing you flustered. It doesn’t happen very often!”

At that, Magnus couldn’t help but laugh, leaning forward to fondly draw his fingers through Alec’s messy hair. “And yet, you always manage to somehow do it. You’ve grown quite devious in recent months!”

Alec’s eyes flickered towards Magnus briefly before he suddenly turned his face to steal a quick kiss. “I’ve had a good teacher,” he whispered against Magnus’s lips as they parted.

A shudder rippled through Magnus, much to Alec’s delight, and with a mild scoff Magnus tapped the tip of Alec’s nose. “Focus on the damn pumpkin, or I’m going to take matters - and you - into my own hands.”

Alec bit his lip, goosebumps of his own sweeping across his skin. “Such a hard decision,” he chuckled lowly, then capped the marker and leaned away from the pumpkin. He gave it a satisfied nod, his hand idly laying upon Magnus’s back. “Luckily, I’ve already finished this part. What do you think?”

“Mmm,” Magnus murmured, turning his head to regard Alec’s drawing. He made a show of carefully studying the crude linework, then finally replied, “…It’s awful.”

It earned him a playful shove. “Oh, shut up,” Alec laughed, trading his marker for his dagger. He made to pass it to Magnus, but again his boyfriend was departing the table, and so again Alec released an exasperated sigh. “Now what? We aren’t ready to carve it yet?”

“You really haven’t done this before, have you?” Magnus fondly chuckled. “Go ahead and start cutting around the stem,” he instructed, indicating the top of the pumpkin with a circling gesture. “We need to remove the top so we can clear out the insides.” His voice grew distant as he disappeared into the kitchen, but nonetheless he continued to explain things, even as Alec already sank his dagger into the top of the fruit. “You’ll want to make a smooth, contiguous cut all around the top, so we can replace it once we hollow out the pumpkin. And make sure it’s wide enough to fit an arm!”

Alec followed the instructions as best he could, silently hoping the entire time he wasn’t screwing anything up. It seemed simple enough a task, at least, and his dagger proved plenty adequate for this particular task. Still, as he eyed the bits of fruit caught in the blade’s sunken grooves and intricate patterns, he distantly began to regret using it over a common kitchen knife. Approaching the end of his circular cut, he stood up and leaned over the pumpkin, tip of his tongue caught between his teeth as he carefully completed his round. As soon as he did, the top of the pumpkin wiggled slightly, fully loosed from the rest of the fruit. A victorious gleam bright across his face, Alec extracted his dagger and set it down upon the table.

“Careful!” Magnus cried.

Alec started slightly as a burst of blue smoke plumed across the table’s surface, leaving a newspaper in its wake. “Sorry,” he bashfully replied, laying his soiled blade upon the protective surface.

Magnus offered a kindly smile, setting the large bowl he’d taken from the kitchen upon the newspaper. “It’s fine. Go ahead and lift the top off!” he encouraged, already rolling up his sleeves. “Set it down on the paper - there will probably be some...” He grimaced as Alec lifted the pumpkin’s cap, long and pulpy strands of seeds hanging from the inch or so of fruit. “...Yes, that,” he eventually finished, gesturing towards the stringy mess.

“Should I... uh... do something with it... ?” Alec asked, moving aside so Magnus had room to approach the pumpkin.

“Yes,” he replied, attacking the pumpkin’s innards with a metal spoon so harshly it made Alec jump. He scraped his implement along one side of the fruit, pulling out a pile of pulp and dumping it into the bowl. “Shave it off and add it to the bowl with the rest of it.”

“You going to do something with it?” Alec curiously asked as he obliged. “Is there enough here to cook or something?”

“Absolutely!” Magnus chirped, pulling out another spoonful. Tiny bits of pumpkin flecked his muscular arm, and Alec had to swallow down a stray thought of licking it clean. “I’ll clean and toast the seeds for our party Friday evening. A nice blend of cinnamon, sugar, and cayenne will make the perfect glaze for them! Of course, I’ll also store a handful for personal use - there are a number of brews which call for pumpkin seeds, and they’re difficult to come by out-of-season. Depending on how much pulp we carve out, I may be able to make a pie, or some cookies at the very least. I’m not sure about the strands... Some kind of puree, I imagine. Catarina’s surely got some kind of salve or other we can make from them.”

As Magnus rambled on and on, a chuckle played at Alec’s lips. He loved when Magnus got excited about something, especially when it was something he’d brought about. Usually, Magnus’s talents were used at someone else’s beck-and-call, done more out of a need than a desire. Moments like these, where Magnus could simply enjoy his vast knowledge of magic, could invoke any number of spells, charms, and crafts for his own use rather than someone else’s, were a treat in and of themselves. Alec was pleased, and more than a little relieved, Magnus could still find joy in this massive and ofttimes double-edged part of himself.

“Alexander? Earth to Alexander?”

Alec shook out of his reverie. “Sorry, got distracted.”

Magnus smirked. “I can see that.” He nodded to the pumpkin before turning to retreat back to the kitchen. “You can start carving, if you like. I just need to wash up.”

“Aww,” Alec exaggeratedly whined, eyeing Magnus’s arms.

His boyfriend rolled his eyes, then turned and swept back to the kitchen. “I’ll just be a moment.”

As Magnus washed his hands, Alec set back to work cutting along the edges of their design. For now, he kept his cuts shallow, per Magnus’s advice when the warlock had first described the idea. By the time Magnus rejoined him beside the pumpkin, he’d finished tracing the marker lines, and they could now go about deciding which areas to cut out completely and which ones to only half-shed, leaving behind thinned areas that would glow before the candlelight. With the both of them working at it, they finished in little over an hour, at last stepping back to admire their handiwork.

A rampant grin consumed Alec’s face. “It’s perfect.”

Magnus smirked at his boyfriend. “You think it’ll work?”

“Definitely,” Alec asserted with a firm nod.

A couple days later, it was at last time for the party. True to his word, Magnus had prepared a shallow bowl filled to the brim with toasted pumpkin seeds, their kick sending Alec’s eyes rolling in delight. “These are amazing!” he groaned around a mouthful of seeds.

Magnus gently batted at his hand as he made to grab for more. “Leave some for our guests, Alexander!” he laughed. “How are the cookies doing?”

Alec twisted around to eye the oven, squinting through the translucent, protective glass. “They’ve got about a couple minutes left, I think.” He checked the clock, then darted out of the kitchen towards Magnus’s cabinet. “The candles are in here, right? People are going to arrive soon!”

“Yes,” Magnus called as he set the bowl of seeds upon a console table by the entrance. “Right side, second drawer from the bottom.” He eyed the display, tweaking some of the decorations a bit so the whole thing looked just right, then turned around to find Alec standing beside him, brow raised.

“Some of those candles looked awfully thing,” Alec remarked with a suspicious look.

Magnus’s eyes sparkled wickedly. “Perhaps one day you’ll be ‘experimental’ enough to find out what they’re for,” he chided, placing a kiss upon Alec’s cheek and plucking the stout candle from his hand.

“I think I already know,” Alec replied, a gentle blush coloring his cheeks. He retrieved their pumpkin and removed the top, holding out the cavity in the hug of a single, strong arm. “When do you think he’ll show?”

“Clary said they were already on their way,” Magnus murmured, most of his focus directly to carefully placing the candle inside the pumpkin. When he was certain it was stable, he backed away and let Alec place the whole thing down upon a nearby table. With a snap of his fingers, the candle flickered to life, and Alec replaced the gap with excited glee.

They anxiously occupied their waning moments with various last-minute preparations, making sure everything was in place. Their costumes were donned, the food was prepared in elegant arrangements, the decorations covered every inch of their loft, and with the lights dimmed their carved pumpkin cast an eerie glow upon the foyer.

Finally, their first guests arrived. Alec ran to the door, knowing it’d be Clary and Jace. He peered through the peep hole just to be sure, discovering their friends hand-in-hand as a pirate and sailor. Clary wove her hook before them, Jace still fussing with his navy-blue neckerchief. “Helloooo?” she called. “Anybody home?”

Alec looked over his shoulder to share an excited wink with Magnus, then swiftly gathered himself, took a steadying breath, and pulled the door open. “Clary, Jace!” he cried, greeting them both with a hug. After, and only after, did he finally step aside to let them in, one right after the other. “Welcome, come on it!”

Clary’s eyes found the pumpkin, and her hands slapped to her mouth to stifle her giggle.

Jace stepped in after her. “Hey, budd—AAHHH!!!” Clary, Magnus, and Alec all burst into rampant laughter as Jace jerked back, colliding wide-eyed against the threshold to the loft. A moment later, he glared at Alec and threw a punch to his parabatai’s arm. “A fucking vampire ducky? Are you serious?!”

Alec snickered. “It was Magnus’s idea!”

Magnus defensively threw up his hands. “Alec had a very specific list of criteria!”

Ultimately, Jace rolled his eyes at the both of them and swiftly stalked beyond the ominously-glowing ducky carving. “You’re filthy traitors, the both of you!”

Through their dying laughter, Alec and Magnus shared a triumphant smirk. “Not bad, if I do say so myself,” Magnus remarked.

Alec agreed with a victory kiss. “Nope. Not bad at all!”

#shadowhunters #shadowhunters tv #malec #magnus bane #alec lightwood #clary fray #jace herondale #fanfiction #halloween #writing prompts #fluxx fics #the spook cruise #celestialbane

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clarenecessities · 7 years

Text

spooky pranks

Word Count: 1627 Rating: PG

Summary: i guess this fic is just standing around and talking about pokemon now Chapter Warnings: cartoon violence

[First] [Previous] [Next]

“I don’t know about this,” said Adrien, frowning at Marinette and Nino as they fiddled with a piece of string.

“No dude, no, it’s fine, don’t even worry about it,” said Nino. He was kneeling next to the front door of Marinette’s apartment, holding one end of the string against the frame as Marinette held the other, casting some kind of enchantment on the string itself. From the feel of the magic, Adrien was pretty sure it was a stiffening charm—hence his anxiety.

“I mean, what if somebody gets hurt?” asked Adrien, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

“Adrien, please. We’re professionals,” said Nino, clasping his free hand to his heart.

“Professional… pranksters?”

“Professional Alya wranglers,” Marinette corrected, smiling broadly.

“Yeah, you know, weirdly, that doesn’t make me feel better,” said Adrien.

The trouble had begun about thirty seconds ago, when Alya went downstairs to greet her mother and had left her bag upstairs. Nino had immediately decided it was a golden opportunity, Marinette had agreed, and Adrien had never been so scared in his entire life.

“Okay,” said Marinette, dropping her end of the string to the ground. “We’re good.”

“Have you done this before?” Adrien asked hesitantly.

“Nah,” said Nino, getting to his feet with an exaggerated groan, “You think we could pull the same shenanigans twice with that girl?”

“She’d see it coming a mile away,” Marinette agreed, solemnly shaking her head.

“She’d make us trip our own trap. She’s done it before and she’ll do it again,” said Nino. “Why make it easier for her?”

“I don’t think I understand human friendship,” said Adrien.

“It’s terribly straightforward,” said Plagg from the kitchen, poking his head out from behind the refrigerator. “They just do what they want with no rules or mind games or anything. Terrifically boring stuff.”

“I mean there are some rules,” Nino disagreed, “We’ve got like, a Bro Code.”

“But if you break it, do you lose like… an arm or your voice or something?” asked Adrien.

“All of your luck, perhaps?” added Plagg, grinning.

“Uh… no. I mean you might lose some friends,” said Nino, rubbing the back of his head. “If you had lent them like a movie or something you probably wouldn’t get that back. I guess yeah, generally, there aren’t any straight up curses involved in human friendship.”

“Oh, I disagree,” came Alya’s voice from the stairwell. “Only true friendship has curses. You have to get through it together.”

“Maybe the real curse was the friendships we made along the way,” said Marinette, grinning as she leaned around the door frame to see her better.

Alya slowed suspiciously as she reached the landing, eyes narrowing as she looked at Marinette. “Why do you have your guilty face on?”

“She feels bad for trash talking friendship,” Nino supplied innocently.

“Uh huh,” she said dubiously. “And the string on the ground?”

“Heck,” said Nino, with such force that he might as well have just sworn.

Marinette sighed, waving her wand to disenchant the string, stepping over the threshold and wrapping her arms around Alya. “Alright, fine,” she said dramatically, “You win this round, Césaire. We’ll get you next time.”

Alya wrapped her arms around Marinette in turn, snorting good-naturedly, “You’ll have to do way better than an extremely visible tripwire.”

“It was Nino’s idea,” said Marinette, pulling away to make a face at her.

“Hey I know it was a longshot, but like, imagine if it had worked!” said Nino, scooping the string off the ground and stuffing it into his pocket. “She woulda never lived it down!”

“And you’re not like, mad about this?” Adrien asked Alya, a little nervously.

“What, that they’re trying to catch up to the number one prankmaster? Hardly. I’m only disappointed their efforts were so… remedial,” said Alya, removing one arm from Marinette’s waist to put a triumphant fist against her own hip.

“Things are really different out here,” Adrien murmured, half to himself, half to Plagg.

“Oh, can you even imagine if someone tried that in a sídhe?” his guardian asked with a snort remarkably similar to Alya’s, “The charm would be absorbed in about a second. Even if it managed to trip somebody you’d more likely end up with blighted crops.”

“Jeez,” said Marinette, frowning a little, “that sounds kind of rough. I thought the sídhe were all about having fun and living free.”

“Oh, we are,” said Adrien sincerely, “It’s just that most of the aos sídhe take themselves way too seriously, and also that blighting crops is super fun.”

“Well it is,” said Plagg. “Haven’t you ever just like, smashed something? Started a fire? Popped a balloon? It’s a real rush. I’d do it all the time if people weren’t going to die or whatever.”

“Aaaand on that note, I’m out,” said Alya, rolling her eyes. Marinette passed her her bag with a rueful smile that the kitsune returned in equal measure, ruffling her bangs affectionately. “You keep the boys in line another day, huh? I’ll text you later.”

“You’d better,” said Marinette, in the warmest threat Adrien had ever heard.

“Later, nerds,” said Alya, giving a two-fingered salute to the room. “Oh, Mari, your parents said they’re gonna be downstairs for a while. I guess they’re reopening the potion bit for a few more hours, since things have calmed down. Your mother says, and I quote, ‘tell Marinette that she’s in charge and under no circumstances should anyone follow Plagg’s advice.’”

Plagg yowled in protest as Alya left. “I give great advice!”

“You give terrible advice and you know it,” said Adrien sourly. “Do you remember what you said to me before class yesterday?”

“Yeah, your first day of school ever, which I very helpfully took you to and arranged in the first place?” muttered Plagg.

“Yes, that one. What did you say?”

“I told you to go in and fight the biggest kid in the room, so everybody would know not to mess with you.”

Marinette and Nino groaned in tandem.

“What?” demanded Plagg, “That’s how you establish dominance!”

“If I were going to cat school, which is for cats,” said Adrien. “This happens to be a little more multicultural than you’re used to, Plagg.”

“Excuse you, I’m very cultured! I’ve been serving in the Fairy Court for almost—”

“No, like, a more multicultural school, Plagg,” said Adrien, rolling his eyes.

“What’s the difference?”

“Well,” said Marinette, “I mean, correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t most members of the court like, seasoned representatives of their various groups?”

“Mostly,” Plagg allowed, his flattened ears swiveling forward in interest. “Sometimes you get lone wolves such as myself, who just happen to be especially powerful and awe-inspiring.”

“But everyone involved is lobbying for a voice in the court,” she pointed out. “Kids go to school to like, learn.”

“Oh,” said Plagg, blinking. “Oh. I hadn’t actually thought of it like that.”

“You hadn’t thought of school as being for learning?” asked Adrien.

“Well excuse me for being used to refinement and political intrigue—”

“In what universe does ‘fight the biggest dude in the room’ equal refinement?” Nino asked, laughing incredulously.

“In the aos sídhe world,” said Plagg, turning his nose up primly.

“He’s actually right about that one,” Adrien admitted. “Like, if somebody walked in right now and put Plagg in a headlock, I’d pretty much have to respect them. It’s in like, my genes.”

“I mean I’d respect anyone who’d be willing to put a cat in a headlock,” said Marinette. “That many claws, that close to your face? Talk about guts.”

“Well let’s clarify, the toughest dude or the biggest dude? Like I’m definitely bigger than you guys, even if I couldn’t beat Catdad in a fight,” said Nino.

“Not you too,” groaned Adrien.

“Look, it’s adorable, I’m not gonna miss out on that. But yeah like, it would be significantly less impressive if somebody just came barreling in here and put me in a headlock, you know?”

“I suppose strongest then,” said Plagg, tilting his head to one side as he considered.

“Good, ‘cause like, biggest is def-o Ivan, but I don’t know if Adrien could take him,” said Nino, grinning at Adrien’s affronted gasp.

“He’s a giant rock monster Adrien, what did you expect,” Marinette laughed.

“Um, a little faith?”

“Dude I’ve known you exactly a day and I am one hundred percent certain Ivan would kick your ass. This isn’t even about faith, it’s about keeping you from getting squashed like a bug.”

“Well, who’s the strongest, then?” grumbled Adrien, unable to deny it. He was smiling in spite of himself, surprised at how much he was enjoying the gentle ribbing. He’d never been very good at taking things personally (though he could hold a mean grudge when pressed) so it was almost… refreshing, to be in an environment where he could relax a little, and know that teasing was just teasing.

“Out of the class?” asked Nino, frowning. “Hm… I guess it depends. In straight combat, probably Ivan—but as we saw today, our Marinette’s got a great head for strategy.”

“I’d say you could give Ivan a run for his money, Nino,” Marinette pointed out, smiling wryly. “You’re stronger than you realize, and your agility blows his out of the water.”

“Ha!” said Nino, grinning over at her, “Nino used Agility. It’s super effective!”

Adrien blinked.

Marinette, apparently picking up on his confusion, smiled over at him. “Oh, it’s from this game called Pokémon. I think Nino mentioned it earlier?”

“Yeah!” said Adrien, brightening, “Yeah, he actually showed me a couple episodes last night! It’s a game?”

“You bet your sweet cat ass it is,” said Nino. “Marinette, grab us some consoles. Things are about to get wild.”

#miraculous ladybug #spooky ml au #clare's writing

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