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theres-a-goldensky · 3 years

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30 More The Untamed Fic Recs

Here we go again. Another Wangxian rec list. Are you bored of me yet?

Were these recs helpful to you? If so, you can check out my other Wangxian rec posts:

Part 1 - 40 recs

Part 2 - 23 recs

Part 3 - 23 recs

As ever, feel free to reblog.

You can also head over to my bookmarks on AO3.

(All recs are complete) (I’ve noted pairings, length, and rating, but not any warnings or additional tags.)

** denotes personal favorite

1. say it's here where our pieces fall in place by Lirelyn - ~69,000 words, explicit - Modern AU where Lan Zhan meets Wei Wuxian after he adopts a small A-Yuan, because Wei Wuxian also has a past with him. Lots of adorable family feelings and emotional hurt/comfort.

As often happened, Wei Ying’s voice preceded his entrance, calling to his co-worker through the open door, “Frankie, they forgot to order spoons again, can you hold down the fort a little longer while I —”

Lan Wangji was already looking to his entrance, head turning as if magnetized toward the voice, so he saw the moment when Wei Ying’s eyes landed on A-Yuan and the smile fell from his face. He looked stricken, and Lan Wangji immediately looked to his son in alarm. A-Yuan seemed fine. His small eyebrows were pulled together in a small frown as he looked back at Wei Ying, but that wasn’t surprising, given the expression on Wei Ying’s face. Lan Wangji had seen that face beaming, laughing, whining, wheedling, and occasionally angry, but never like this. He looked blank and hollow and it stirred something fierce in Lan Wangji: he wanted to rise up and obliterate whatever was making him look like that. Then his eyes lifted to Lan Wangji and there was a flash of something almost like betrayal, before he pressed his lips together and turned his back.

“I’m going to run out to the store and get spoons,” he said in a flat voice to his co-worker, and left without looking their way again.

2. the breaking of your soul (upon my lips) by sunsandships - ~41,000 words, mature - This is an AU of the novel where Wei Wuxian puts two and two together when Lan Zhan sneaks that kiss from him. It changes a lot of things.

Against his own will, Wei Wuxian found himself glancing at Lan Wangji’s hands. They were… certainly large enough that one of them could wrap around both of his wrists. And Lan Wangji was certainly strong enough, tall enough, broad-shouldered enough to bodily pin him against the trunk of a tree with no chance of him breaking free. Lan Wangji was the first person he’d come across in his slow comb through the vicinity of where he’d been so headily kissed.

Wei Wuxian drew a sharp breath. There was a connection to be made here. He didn’t think he was crazy enough to make it. Perhaps he truly was going slightly insane with demonic cultivation if he could believe Lan Wangji, the paragon of virtue and respectability, who lived unflinchingly under Gusu Lan’s three thousand edicts, who had at best only tolerated his presence as children, would sneak up to him while he was blindfolded, pin him against a tree, and steal a kiss from him in broad daylight.

3. and his wanting grows teeth by yukla - ~25,000 words, teen - This is a very interesting AU where Lan Zhan is a traveling cultivator and runs into Wei Wuxian and the Jiangs looking for shelter during a snowstorm. No spoilers, but this fic goes to a pretty dark place that genuinely shocked me, but I enjoyed. (Still ends well though.)

Without further ado, they are hustled past the entrance and into a smaller greeting area. Huang-bobo approaches the brazier in the center with his hands outstretched, warming his fingers in the heat, but Lan Wangji hangs back. As he carefully brushes the snow free from his shoulders, he feels the burn of a curious gaze trailing up and down his body, lingering at the guqin still strapped to his back; when the sensation pauses at his face and stays there, he lifts his head.

The boy with the ribbon lights up at the eye contact, flashes another dazzling smile, and gives a little wave.

“You must be new here,” he whispers, something like laughter threaded into his voice, eyes scrunching into winking half-moons. “All dressed up in white like that! You might lose yourself in the snowstorm!”

Something stirs to life in Lan Wangji’s chest. It’s—uncomfortable, he decides, and so he steps away. Teasing should not be encouraged with a response.

4. Ghosts Shouldn't by ShanaStoryteller - ~15,000 words, not rated - After Wei Ying's death, his spirit seems to linger. The story is told from Lan Xichen's point of view. I love an outsider point of view. I also love the way the author fleshes out his character as well.

Lan Xichen means to force his way inside, angry ghost of the Yiling Patriarch or no, but then his brother lets out slow breath, settling, the pain easing from his face as he falls back into a more peaceful sleep.

His hair is moving on its own, so subtly Lan Xichen might not have noticed it if he hadn’t been looking at Wangji so intently. It’s like someone’s running their hand through his hair.

The window frosts over suddenly, thick enough that he can’t see through it. Anxiety spikes through him so quickly he’s nauseous with it, but then the frost melts away and the opening notes of Healing start up again.

He can’t tell if it’s a warning or not. Maybe it’s just an acknowledgement. Wei Wuxian knows he’s there.

5. **leading tone by silencemostofall - ~32,000 words, general - This is a modern AU set in a world where people who love you leave a mark of color on you the first time you touch. Wei Wuxian has no color on him. So much emotional hurt/comfort. So much of Wei Wuxian's terrible self-esteem.

He can cover up his palms with his gloves, so that the blankness does not draw stares. But he has no marks on his fingertips, which he cannot easily hide, and none visible on his face or neck, the blankness of which is even more difficult to hide. People look at him and, with a single glance, understand the single most devastating truth that he knows about himself.

They assume that he does not have very many marks. He may be an eccentric, dramatic person, but the likelihood that an individual has all of their marks on, say, their feet or their torso or other places that are not immediately obvious-- that probability goes down as your number of marks increases. He can laugh as much as he wants about how he loves touching people for the first time with odd places, like the knee or the elbow, but it doesn't quite mask the feeling of other that he knows he exudes.

They assume that he does not have a lot of marks. This, while a heavy weight, is not unbearably so. It is okay that they think he is not much loved. It chafes a bit, and feels occasionally like something he has to furiously push down within himself, but it is not unbearable. What would be unbearable is if they knew the truth: that he does not just have very few marks, but none. That he is simply an individual who is not loved at all.

6. **pastel by antebunny - ~7,000 words, gen - This is a remix work of the above fic. It's from Lan Zhan's point of view and just different enough to be interesting. Still lots of emotional hurt/comfort. I love this concept a whole lot, and both of these fics are great.

It’s a simmering day in May, and Wei Ying is wearing long sleeves, long pants, and gloves.

His choice of dress isn’t unusual for many reasons. For one, there’s plenty of people who don’t like strangers seeing their soulmarks. There’s plenty of people who wish to keep them private by covering them up. For another, Wei Ying spends most of his day in various chilly computer science department rooms, He could just be wearing long sleeves for that.

7. one good thing by Yuu_chi - ~27,000 words, teen - Wei Wuxian has died (or did he??) and is haunting his old home. Lan Zhan moves in. This story has a happy ending! And so much yearning!

To the flowers struggling to grow on the other side of the glass, he says, “We’re getting a new roommate. Well, I’m getting a new roommate - you’re getting somebody who might actually be able to water you for a change.” The flowers outside sway a little in the breeze, and Wei Wuxian nods contemplatively. “He can’t be any worse than the last guy who lived here. Remember when I spooked him while he was cooking and he nearly burnt the house down? Of course you don’t. You’re fucking foliage, your memory is worse than mine. I remember though, so it’s cool.”

There’s the sound of shuffling behind him and Wei Wuxian looks up to see the stranger has entered the kitchen, setting the last of the boxes down on the table. Disgustingly neat handwriting declares the box kitchen - homeware. The stranger carefully brushes his hair back from his face and, without so much as a second of hesitation, cracks open the box and begins unpacking.

“Wow, you really don’t waste any time, do you?” Wei Wuxian marvels. “You literally just got here - who cares about unpacking? Sit down for a moment, breathe, have something to eat. It’s not going anywhere.”

8. with you, I am home by tellthemstories - ~47,000 words, mature - Modern AU where Wei Wuxian is being forced to return home to entertain marriage proposals. So naturally instead he "convinces" Lan Zhan to pretend to date him. I love a good fake dating fic, and this one hits all the right beats.

Lan Zhan does that almost-smile thing that Wei Wuxian takes to mean he’s happy, or at the very least not-mad. “You don’t have any money.”

“Not true. I have the money from our last job, when we settled the vengeful spirit for the flower shop girl.” (He doesn’t. They have Lan Zhan’s money. Wei Wuxian spent his on a pack of loquats and three bottles of Emperor’s Smile wine.)

“Fine,” Wei Wuxian says. “Do it for me.”

Thinking back on it two weeks later, standing alone in the middle of Jin Ling’s graduation banquet and watching Lan Zhan walk away from him, Wei Wuxian realises that this, this was the moment when he should have known. He should have realised in the way Lan Zhan doesn’t hesitate or negotiate and just says with that half-fond, half-exasperated tone he gets sometimes, “Fine.”

9. and in the spring i shed my skin by wvlfqveen - ~11,000 words, teen - Modern AU where Wei Ying can't find Lan Zhan, but hey, there happens to be a rabbit here instead. Features a very slow Wei Ying, emotional hurt/comfort and accidental love confessions.

Immediately, his heart settles and he grins down at his new friend. “Oh, hello there,” he coos, reaching out to pet the fluffy ears. The bunny is very, very still under his hand.

“Did Lan Zhan bring you today?,” he continues cooing. “I’m sorry I missed that, but your Dad didn’t tell me he was bringing you.”

Lan Zhan rarely brings his rabbits to work since they are as tolerant of crowds and unnecessary noise as he is. They were probably relevant to today’s lesson but…

Wei Ying frowns. “Why would he leave you alone? And where is your cage?”

10. how, or when, or from where by sarahyyy - ~10,000 words, gen - Wei Ying wakes up in the hospital with amnesia and can't remember the last few years of his life, including his best friend and the guy he's in love with.

Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes so hard Wei Wuxian is surprised his eyeballs don’t just fall out of his eye sockets. “That’s the worst part. He did. Whatever mating ritual you both have going on is so fucking weird, Wei Wuxian.” He snorts. “If you’d stayed asleep for any longer, I’d have lost my shit and thrown my myself out a window just so I wouldn’t have to talk to Lan Wangji again.”

Wei Wuxian blinks at him. “Is this a good time to ask who Lan Wangji is?”

Jiang Cheng glares at him. “Your Lan Zhan,” he says, annoyed. Wei Wuxian must look as confused as he feels, because Jiang Cheng’s annoyance bleeds out into concern. “Your Lan er-gege? Your soulmate, Lan Wangji?”

Wei Wuxian shakes his head. “No bells are ringing.”

11. ** a shared plate by yukla - ~26,000 words, teen - This is an absolutely gorgeous fic about Wei Wuxian traveling the world post-canon to rediscover himself and restore his faith in humanity and eventually find his way back to Lan Zhan. The whole thing is great, but the last two chapters are just *chef's kiss*

Lan Zhan,

Just as the mountains stand unchanging and the green rivers flow ceaselessly, we will meet again — and between then and now, you cannot hope to avoid my letters, either! Haha! Lan Zhan, I’ve seen so many things and met so many people, and it’s only been a month!

I miss you already

It’s so hot that I find myself missing the wind in Gusu’s mountains. Your poor Wei Ying is I’m melting away, Lan Zhan...

I’m realizing now, sixteen years is a long time to be away — the world is vast, and quite a bit different than I remembered. And in sixteen years, a child can also grow up into a man! It’s your job to catch me up on A-Yuan’s fun childhood stories! I do remember hearing something about a pile of rabbits...

12. with your arms outstretched to me by annemari - ~14,000 words, teen - Lan Zhan finally gets up the nerve to ask Wei Ying on a date, but things don't go as expected. Features emotional hurt/comfort (are we sensing a theme with these recs??) and just regular hurt/comfort.

"Oh, man, I was hoping you had some water with you," Wei Ying says. "I totally forgot to bring any for myself. Stupid of me."

"There is enough for both of us," Lan Wangji says. He has another bigger bottle in the car, as well.

Wei Ying hums but he only takes a few sips. He presses it back into Lan Wangji's hand. "I don't need any more."

Lan Wangji is considering arguing, but then Wei Ying shifts a bit, moving his ankle, and gasps very, very quietly.

13. ** A Lot of Edges Called Perhaps by hansbekhart - ~22,000 words, explicit - Wei Wuxian has finished traveling and returned to the Cloud Recesses and Lan Zhan. But their lives never do run smoothly.

“Lan Jingyi,” Wei Wuxian says, recognizing him after a moment. His heart slams against his rib cage. “Where is Lan Zhan? What’s happened?”

Lan Jingyi flaps a hand at him, gulping air. Wei Wuxian hands him the water, and leans back against Little Apple’s side as he waits impatiently for the boy to get his breath back.

“I’m so glad I found you,” Jingyi gasps, just as Wei Wuxian is about to throttle a proper answer out of him. “Hanguang Jun was in such a state when he woke up, we didn’t know if you’d come and gone already.”

“Where is he, Jingyi,” Wei Wuxian says, as evenly as he can. “What happened?”

14. So Why Not Crack Your Skull When the Mind Swells by greenteafiend - ~14,000 words, explicit - Wei Wuxian is cursed to feel extraordinary pain unless he's touching Lan Zhan. Yet more of Wei Wuxian's self-esteem issues and Lan Zhan's steadfast devotion.

“Are you hurt, Wei Ying?” Lan Wangji asks, pressing his hand to Wei Ying’s forehead to feel his temperature. There is no fever, but that doesn’t do much to mitigate Lan Wangji’s worries.

“No—I’m not hurt,” says Wei Ying, sagging forward to lean his weight into Lan Wangji’s hand like he can’t help himself.

It’s so strange—Lan Wangji can feel what Wei Ying is feeling. Although the relief is still very profound, wisps of other things are making themselves known; happiness; wistfulness; guilt. It’s all so fleeting that Lan Wangji can’t even begin to deduce what has provoked those feelings, but he wishes he knew their source.

15. puzzle pieces by Anonymous - ~6,000 words, teen - Modern AU where Wei Ying and Lan Zhan are roommates, and Wei Ying has started borrowing Lan Zhan's clothes.

“Hm? Oh.” With sleepy eyes that does— things to Lan Zhan’s heart, he blinks and tugs at the lower hem of the shirt, which is riding just above the curve of his thighs. Does Lan Zhan’s mouth water? Maybe. Yes. Absolutely. “Ah, yeah, sorry. Laundry day caught up to me before I could catch up with it. I saw this shirt left in the washer a few days ago, and—“ He blinks up at Lan Zhan through dark eyelashes that Lan Zhan wants to kiss, maybe, and gives him an uncharacteristically hesitant smile. “Do you mind?”

I mind the fact that we are not married, Lan Zhan thinks. But he can’t say that, and his tongue doesn’t know how to say anything else. So he stays silent.

“Oh,” Wei Ying says after a moment. “If you—oh, damn, I should’ve known, this is like real silk, must’ve been super expensive. Fuck. Okay, here, uh, I’ll take it off—“

16. ** Nothing But Trouble by brooklinegirl - ~60,000 words, explicit - Modern AU where Wei Ying is trying to be a good brother and get Jiang Cheng laid. Somehow this plan involves pretending to date Lan Zhan.

"I won't!" Wei Ying insists. "I'll ask out someone...high stakes. I'll find someone. I'll...okay, how's this? I swear that I'll ask someone out and keep at it for at least two dates."

"No."

"Three dates."

"Nope."

"Okay, okay, five. That's fair! That's more than fair! One person, five dates." He points at Jiang Cheng. "You have to do it, too. That's how a pact works."

Jiang Cheng stares at him. "Five dates," he says flatly. "Five. And yours can't be Nie Huaisang."

17. i'm the one for your fire by occultings (microcomets) - ~43,000 words, explicit - This is a Modern AU and a Cherry Magic AU! (Side note: GO WATCH CHERRY MAGIC IF YOU HAVEN'T.) But in short, Wei Ying turns 30 without losing his virginity and gets the power to hear people's thoughts when he touches them. He gets more than he bargained for with Lan Zhan. The author does a good job of translating the story to these characters. Wei Ying is not forced to be like Adachi, the main character of Cherry Magic. He's still himself, and the same goes for Lan Zhan.

Lan Zhan’s voice is so clear, so sudden that it’s as though it’s spoken, the slice of a sharp object through velvet.

He’s touching me.

Wei Ying startles for a moment, wonders if he’d somehow heard his own thoughts instead, but — no, that had definitely been Lan Zhan’s steady, factual baritone, loud and clear.

God, this is still so weird. It still doesn’t seem totally real. But how else can he account for hearing Lan Zhan’s voice in his head, as clearly as if he’d spoken to Wei Ying directly?

18. like blue flame over my fingertips by tangerinechar - ~37,000 words, teen - Modern AU where Lan Zhan and Wei Ying are roommates, and Lan Zhan just finds himself wanting to take care of Wei Ying.

Lan Wangji’s roommate. Is a problem.

He doesn’t get an answer to the roommate problem until the next morning, when Lan Xichen texts him telling him that the apartment he’d suggested (and helped pay rent for) to Lan Wangji said in the small text that it’d be two people per apartment, the second bedroom wasn’t actually a guest bedroom, sorry, Wangji, you can move in with me if you want, I have space —

No. Thank you for your kind offer, Brother, but I will be quite fine, Lan Wangji texts back.

19. ** some impulse of delight by handclaps - ~20,000 words, explicit - College AU where Wei Ying decides he needs to help Lan Zhan get used to touching people. Lan Zhan agrees. Wei Ying is dumb and in love. Lan Zhan is less dumb, but still as in love.

Lan Zhan shakes his head and fumbles, tries to push the cotton wool into Wei Wuxian’s hand.

“Sorry,” Wei Wuxian says, realising. “Touching people, I know.”

He feels dumb. He thought he’d worn Lan Zhan down more than this, that they were friends now and that his whole no touching thing was mostly overcome. He took Wei Wuxian’s hand easily, right? He looks down at his belly full of scratches, dabbing at them moodily.

“Sorry,” he says, again.

Lan Zhan makes some kind of noise, but he is busy packing the first aid kit back, placing everything exactly where it was before.

“Lan Zhan, you’re going to have to do something about this,” Wei Wuxian complains. “I know you don’t like touching people and usually it plays as a kind of gentlemanly thing, but what about emergencies?”

20. And I Will Call You Home by Spodumene - ~43,000 words, explicit - Wei Wuxian returns after a year of traveling and rejoins Lan Zhan in the Cloud Recesses. He's doing a good job of pining and ignoring the obvious. Look, at this point, it shouldn't be a surprise that I'm a sucker for stories where Wei Wuxian deals with his ~*~issues~*~ and Lan Zhan takes care of him, whether he asks for it or not. This story has lots of that. I also enjoyed the case fic aspect of it.

“I do, I think,” Wei Wuxian admits. “Would be nice to see his face again after so long. And at least this time, I’m going to show up draped in finery. What do you think, Lan Zhan? I can’t possibly disgrace him—or you—wearing a cloak like that.”

“You could never disgrace me,” Lan Wangji says gently, that soft, affectionate look back on his face.

Wei Wuxian grins, warmed to the tips of his toes.

“I’ll remind you of that later. The next time I’m three jars deep and feeling especially shameless, you’ll have to remember those words, Lan Er-gege.”

“Of course,” Lan Wangji says simply.

Wei Wuxian smiles some more, overwhelmed by fondness.

21. darling, am i a chore? by martyrsdaughter - ~7,000 words, explicit - Wei Wuxian really, really wants Lan Zhan to call him 'gege'. Lan Zhan knows a trump card when he sees one.

“You know what I want,” Wei Wuxian purrs, reaching up on his tiptoes to throw his arms over Lan Wangji’s shoulders. “Call me gege, won’t you? Call me and I’ll stop.”

Lan Wangji knows he will not stop, regardless of what he calls him. Still, he thinks about it. If there really is a way to make Wei Wuxian stop, should he not consider it? He doesn’t have any real interest in curbing his husband’s insatiable mischievousness, but he does like knowing things about him—everything there is to know.

If there’s something that persuasive in the world, that it can bring Wei Wuxian into submission when no one is under threat, could he stop himself from seeking it?

22. your name, safe in their mouth by astrolesbian - ~11,000 words, gen - Wei Wuxian & Lan Sizhui fic with the Wangxian in the background. Lan Sizhui wants another dad and Wei Wuxian wants a son, they just don't know how to explain that to each other.

“Hush,” Wei Wuxian says, in a low croon, like someone quieting a baby. Then he blinks, and looks away, awkward. “I mean—you shouldn’t speak. You’re tired. Rest if you need to.”

Lan Sizhui tucks his chin into his uncle’s shoulder, and lets his eyes fall closed.

“It doesn’t hurt too much, does it?” Wen Ning whispers to him kindly.

Lan Sizhui takes a deep breath, and takes stock of all his aches, his ringing ear, his hollow chest, the way he had selfishly wanted Wei Wuxian to keep speaking to him in that careful voice, like he was just a child to be soothed and there was no real danger. How dangerous, to pretend. “No,” he lies. “It doesn’t hurt that much at all.”

23. when you're doing all the leaving (then it's never your love lost) by tardigradeschool - ~26,000 words, teen - AU where Lan Zhan with Wei Wuxian to Jin Ling's one-month celebration. Things go down, and it leads to Lan Zhan discovering Wei Wuxian's missing golden core. This obviously will not do, and oh look, the best doctor in the world just happens to be right here.

“How—“ Lan Wangji chokes. “His core —?” He looks at Wen Ning, half accusatory in his shock. “Jin Zixun could not have—“

“No, no!” Wen Ning says, holding out his hands. “He hasn’t had one for years, don’t worry!”

This is not as reassuring as Wen Ning seems to think.

“Please explain,” Lan Wangji says, pained. He feels for Wei Wuxian’s pulse instead; in the absence of a golden core, it will have to do as reassurance that he’s still alive.

Wen Ning is so anxious that the story comes out in a ramble, out of order. Lan Wangji wants him to hurry up, but he’s also not confident in his own ability to speak, so he just keeps quiet and lets him talk. His heart feels as if it’s about to fall from his chest, beating nearly twice as fast as Wei Wuxian’s does under his fingers.

24. A Match in the Making by lareine - ~30,000 words, teen - A Modern AU where Wei Wuxian sees his single and bad ass friend Lan Zhan and his single and bad ass friend Mianmian and gets some very dumb ideas.

To return to the point: Lan Zhan was peak adulting. Mianmian was peak adulting. And if they were both at the peak, then they were on the same level. What level? That mysterious level thing that everyone mentioned when it came to dating.

Whatever level it was, Lan Zhan and Mianmian were on it together. Wei Ying nodded to himself. So, Lan Zhan and Mianmian were allowed to date each other. The next question was: were they compatible? Did they have chemistry or whatever the fuck people called it?

25. Crack me open, pour you out by Tenillypo - ~16,000 words, explicit - Lan Zhan gets cursed to say whatever he's thinking. So his worst nightmare. Mutual pining, first time, all good stuff.

Lan Wangji freezes with his chopsticks halfway to his mouth, lifting his eyes to stare at Wei Ying.

"I know! Just completely paralyzed." Wei Ying mimes being still as a board. "I don't know how long I lay there. It must have been two days at least. Good thing for Little Apple. He wandered back to the village when he got hungry, and eventually a few of them got brave enough to come look for me. When they rolled me over, the figure fell out of my hand and I could move again. Cunning little thing." He shakes his head. "I was weak as a kitten for a little while after they took me back to the village, and by the time I recovered, they'd burned the whole place to the ground. Such a waste."

Lan Wangji slowly lowers his chopsticks, heart racing unpleasantly. In his head, a picture of Wei Ying slowly wasting to death alone in the middle of the woods, with Lan Wangji a hundred miles away and none the wiser.

26. Crazy, Rich Cultivators by ShanaStoryteller - 13,000 words, no rating - Lan Zhan wants to bring his boyfriend home to meet his family. There are some things he definitely didn't realize about Wei Ying.

“He has a life here,” he says down the line. He doesn’t say that he has a life here too, one he likes a lot more than the one he had before. He misses home. He’d miss Wei Ying more. But he doesn’t say that, doesn’t say how vibrant he is and how beautiful and how little interest Lan Zhan has at seeing him among the high society he grew up with.

“Well, your life is here, Wangji,” his brother says. “You can’t stay away from home forever. You’re going to have to see how he does with the rest of us sooner or later. It might as well be sooner.”

It might as well be never, as far as he’s concerned. His family can meet Wei Ying at their wedding.

“I’ll ask,” he says.

Wei Ying has no interest in cultivation politics. They’re horrible, the five clans have an iron tight alliance that’s thirty seconds away from collapsing in on itself the moment someone from one sect steps on another sect’s toes. It’s the worst and he hates it. Surely even just the idea of it will be so horrifying to Wei Ying that Lan Zhan will be able to tell his brother no.

27. just our hands clasped so tight by electrum ~4,000 words, teen - Lan Zhan really, really, really just wants to give Wei Ying everything he wants.

“Despite your best efforts,” Wei Wuxian agrees. He shakes his head in mock-dismay. “How much longer do you think that will last if you keep buying everything I look at?” When this, too, fails to soften Lan Zhan’s resolve, he tries a different tactic. “We couldn’t even afford potatoes,” he says. “Back when I was with the Wens, at the Burial Mounds. Only radishes! If I survived that, I can certainly survive without another pretty comb.”

Lan Zhan’s expression is at once unmoved and yet somehow stricken. “I would have bought Wei Ying potatoes,” he says, like Wei Wuxian doesn’t know, by this point, that Lan Zhan would buy him anything. “If I had known…”

28. ** Rotten Work by ShanaStoryteller - ~64,000 words, no rating - Jin Ling & Wei Wuxian with Wangxian in the background. Jin Ling is the best boy! And as he tries to rehabilitate his sect and his family and keep himself alive at the same time, he realizes, horrifyingly, that he has to be the mature one.

29. ** an act too often neglected by Ariaste - Lan Xichen / Meng Yao, ~61,000 words, explicit - The Wangxian is in the background here, but the main story is about Lan Xichen meeting Meng Yao on a dating app and getting immediately dickmatized. Meanwhile. Meng Yao refuses to be won over by Lan Xichen's charm. It goes as well as you'd expect for him.

The caption below is equally sparse: “5’6. Demanding.”

Lan Xichen feels a low simmer of arousal kindle in the pit of his stomach, and he gazes at that word-- demanding --for nearly as long as he’d stared at the photograph. He swipes right.

A few minutes later, a notification pops up: < Hm, the size of your hands is promising.

This is familiar. This is the flirtation stage. Lan Xichen knows the steps to the dance.

30. My Land Beneath Me by longleggedgit - ~30,000 words, explicit - Modern AU where Wei Wuxian is cast out of his sect and out of China to America. And Lan Zhan just...follows.

Lan Zhan always waited for his tea to cool before drinking, which meant he had nothing to do but give Wei Wuxian a judgmental look. “No more McDonald’s.”

“You’re just bitter because you get indigestion from anything that actually tastes good,” Wei Wuxian grumbled.

Because Lan Zhan was insufferably mature and patient, he didn’t rise to the bait. “We have time to stop somewhere before class,” he said.

“Fine. But you’re paying this time.”

It was a bad joke, and predictably, fell flat; Lan Zhan was, after all, paying for everything, every time. Wei Wuxian frowned into his mug.

“You know,” he said, after another swallow, “you really don’t have to be here. I’m going to figure something out.”

Interested in 86 more The Untamed fic recs?

Part 1 - 40 recs Part 2 - 23 recs Part 3 - 23 recs

#the untamed fic #the untamed #master of demonic cultivation #wangxian fic recs #wangxian fic #mdzs #lan xichen/jin guangyao #lan zhan #wei wuxian/lan wangji #wei wuxian #jin ling #lan sizhui #mxtx novels

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rainydaydream-gal18 · 3 years

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The Mandalorian - Imagine Din Being Protective (Part 4)

Wow. I got it done during a lunch break, and I’m so happy. This is set near the end of Season 2. It is pretty long, just a fair warning.

Warnings: spoilers for near-end of Season 2, blasters, brief fighting.

You watched the unusual exchange unfold before you before Mayfeld’s gaze swept over the group before flickering back to land on you. He seemed to puff out his chest a little as he eyed you with interest. “And who’s this lovely miss?” Wonderful. Just fantastic.

Over the last several days, you learned that the Empire had been steadily recuperating behind the scenes. The Razor Crest had been obliterated in the matter of seconds. But worst of all, the Grogu was taken. It was like one giant nightmare that you were waiting to wake up from, only to find yourself lying in a cot aboard the Razor Crest. But you didn’t. Instead, you were standing in the middle of a junkyard to recruit a prisoner who could help locate the child.

Now to top it off, this scruffy guy was hitting on you?

You gave him a look, arms folded across your chest. “The name is _________.”

“Yeah? Nice name for a nice girl.”

Cara Dune made a fake wincing sound. “I would back off if I were you.”

He gave a shrug. “I don’t hear her complaining.”

“You better hope she doesn’t,” Cara taunted, giving him a warning look.

Mayfeld narrowed his eyes. “Or what? The Mandalorian is going to shoot me?” He gave a laugh, shaking his head at the idea.

“Thinking about it,” Din sighed in annoyance, the beskar chestplate rising and falling dramatically with the gesture. He stood, hand resting on his belt in a casual stance just across from you, completely unaware of how content you were observing him in moments like this. A part of you wondered if his annoyance with Mayfeld stemmed from his past experience working with the man, or if even a small part was because of the obvious flirt attempt he made at you.

The prisoner’s eyes widened and brows lifted incredulously as he gestured to you. “What, is this your girl now? Finally got over Xi’an, eh?”

You tried to keep the surprise and curiosity from your expression at the mention of this female, but your eyes instinctively darted to Din, whose visor was still glued to Mayfeld and refused to look your way. The man caught this subtle expression and smirked.

“Oops, sorry,” he shrugged with mock regret. “Didn’t tell her about the ex, I guess. I’ll try and keep things on the down-low then until you have a chance to talk about it.”

You hadn’t asked Din too much about his past. He expressed his disdain for the way he used to be, so you figured it was something best left untouched until he was ready to speak more on the subject. Of course you didn’t want to assume that he had never had a love interest before, but he seemed so closed-off when you met him. It was hard to imagine anyone could melt that ice. Unless this Xi’an was something special.

You felt a twinge in your chest. It was like jealousy walked through the front door unannounced and picked a place to crash for a while. It wasn’t taking over, but could be bothersome if you paid too much attention. So you decided not to. There were too many other things to worry about.

“Alright, let’s get moving,” Cara said impatiently. “We’re wasting time.”

You boarded Boba Fett’s ship, taking your seat as the others did. The new ally began the take-off, and several seconds passed in silence before Din spoke up. Mayfeld scoffed at the idea of obtaining coordinates to Moff Gideon’s ship. Cara sighed and informed him that the kid was taken.

The kid. The child.

Your little baby. You kept seeing his face, his tiny green features and big brown eyes. You pictured him happy as he sipped some broth and smiled at you. Or the time shortly after you learned from the former jedi that his name was Grogu. You and Din spent the afternoon calling him that and sharing laughs at how his ears perked. The image was replaced with the most recent memory you had of him, when he was ripped right from your arms by strange droids at the seeing stone. You glanced down at your arms, heart sinking. The bruises those droids left had already healed from bacta patches, but your arms had never felt so empty.

Your thoughts were interrupted by Din’s disbelieving tone. “Morak? There’s nothing on Morak.”

“It’s a secret Imperial mining hub, okay?” Mayfeld replied. “If you can get me in there, I can get you the coordinates.”

Silence fell over the group again. Cara glanced your way, looking as if she wasn’t sure whether to believe the prisoner or not. You gave a shrug. This was Din’s idea, and if he thought it would work, you trusted him.

Din commed Boba. “Fett, punch in the coordinates to Morak.”

“Copy that.”

----------

“I did an initial scan of the planet,” Boba said. “This is what you’re talkin’ about, right?”

Mayfeld gave a nod, pointing to the holomap. “Yeah, that’s the refinery right there.”

“Wonder what they’re refining in there,” Fennec mused.

“Looks like rhydonium. Highly volatile and explosive.”

“Yeah, kinda’ like this one, huh?” Mayfeld chuckled, gesturing to Cara.

From where you stood, you could see Boba’s look of unamusement and practically feel Din’s annoyance as the two stared at him. That sight almost made you laugh, but the situation wasn’t exactly a laughing matter.

The group speculated on the measures the Empire had taken to keep its refinery secure. It didn’t sound like getting in would be very easy. Fortunately, between a criminal, three bounty hunters, a New Republic officer, and you, a pretty decent plan was cooked up. They were going to hijack a delivery truck and infiltrate the refinery that way.

The question was, who? Who was going to hop into the truck with Mayfeld?

As it turned out, neither Cara nor Fennec could. The ex-ISB had rigged the scanners, and both of them would be recognized in the database. Even Boba couldn’t, and while the others stared at him in confusion, you chuckled under your breath. You even heard a hint of amusement in his tone as he said that they might recognize his face.

“Great, so it’s me going in alone,” Mayfeld shrugged.

“No way,” Cara protested. “The minute he gets inside, he’ll tip ‘em off. He’ll be a hero.”

“Hey, this wasn’t my idea,” he pointed out, offended. “I’m doin’ you guys a favor.”

“I can go.” You spoke up much quieter than you intended, and the bickering didn’t stop, so you tried again. “I can go with Mayfeld.” At that, the conversations around you came to a halt as they considered the idea. Cara nodded, impressed, while Mayfeld eyed you curiously.

“You, uh, sure you can handle it?” He folded his arms.

“I’ve been traveling with Mando for a while now, and I’ve helped him and Cara on multiple occasions,” you told him. “I think I can handle walking in there and laying low while you get the coordinates.”

He held his hands up in understanding. “Well, okay. I think it’ll work.”

You stole a glance at Din to see his visor already fixed on you. It was that stare. The protective one that made you feel safe from everything else, yet vulnerable to him. It was like the air was stolen from your lungs for just a moment. You figured he would protest, but you hadn’t expected what he’d say next.

“I’ll go,” Din volunteered.

Mayfeld’s gaze traveled to him, and he scoffed. “Hey buddy, I might be good at fast-talking, but I don’t think I can explain away a guy in a Mando suit to Imperial guards. So unless you’re gonna’ take off that helmet, it’s gonna’ be me and _________ heading in there. Or say goodbye to your little green friend.”

“That’s not an option,” you argued, feeling the pain well up at his words. You couldn't imagine what Grogu was going through, even now as the lot of you debated how this situation was going to play out. You didn’t want to think about it, but you kept seeing him reaching for you.

Din’s words drew the gazes of the entire group. “__________ isn’t going in there. I’m coming with you instead. But I won’t show my face.”

“No, Mando, even if you’re going, I’m going too.” You blinked away the tears that had just started to blur your vision, fortunately catching them before they fell, and looking at him with resolve. “I can’t stand by and do nothing. Not with our baby being held by the Empire.”

It was suddenly quiet. Much too quiet. And that’s when you realized your mistake. You hadn’t called Grogu the baby. Or even just his baby. You had definitely used the word our. It made you want to vanish into the jungle- especially when you took in how the group was looking at you. Cara’s lips parted in a surprised smirk as she tipped her head slightly. Fennec raised a brow, though her expression didn’t betray her intrigue in any other way. Even Boba Fett’s eyes seemed to soften; whether it was over your expression of care for the child or out of pity at your slip-up, you weren’t sure. You didn’t even want to look at Din, but you found yourself staring into his visor, searching for some indication of his feelings on the matter. There was nothing, just silence. Mayfeld sighed, though it didn’t sound like exasperation. It almost sounded sympathetic.

“Look, typically for a delivery like this, there’s only two troops,” he pointed out, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. You looked to him, glad for the attention to be taken off of you. He caught your pleading gaze and let out another sigh. “It’s uncommon, but not unheard of. I think we can get by with the three of us. But you gotta’ lay low, like you said.” He pointed at you, and you nodded. “Alright. We’ve got to go.”

The nerves were building up in your chest as you, Cara, Din, and Mayfeld dropped onto the juggernaut. This wasn’t like going undercover at the cantina. This was a whole other experience entirely, but you felt ready. Before long, the two troops were taken out, and their armor taken away.

Din disappeared around a corner to change out of his Mandalorian armor and into the Imperial trooper gear. Mayfeld complained about the smell of his newly acquired armor, and you were grateful to be wearing the spares that were tucked away. You found a spot on the juggernaut to slip the armor on. It wasn’t built for a female, so it wasn’t the best fit. Still, it would have to work.

Suddenly, Mayfeld chuckled. “Look at this.” You peeked your head out of the juggernaut to see what looked like a trooper approaching, but you knew to be Din. “Oh, the shame. Now that right there is worth the price of admission.”

“Wish I could say it looked good on you,” Cara said, smirking. “But I’d be lying.”

Din ignored her statement. “Just make sure you take out the rooftop gunners, or we’re never getting out of there.”

“We got you.”

“Take care of this.” Din handed her the duffel with his Mandalorian armor. “Keep it safe.” As Cara took it, she assured him with a sincere look that she would. You knew she would. Like you, she knew what it meant to him.

“Hey guys. Still on the clock,” Mayfeld reminded them. “Me and _________ are all ready to go. Right?” He leaned over and gave your boot a nudge from where he sat.

You shrugged and were glad to pull the trooper bucket over your head. For once, you could be the mysterious face under the helmet. “I’m ready when you’re ready.” Not to mention your voice sounded pretty cool in the modulator. Such a shame that it was a stormtrooper helmet because you could get used to this.

While Mayfeld was busy taunting Din in an unsuccessful attempt to get a reaction, you looked to Cara.

“Wish me luck.”

“Oh, I will.” She shot a glance at the chatty man. “Considering the company you’re going to have.” Then she looked back at you with that smirk from before. “So what was that about earlier?”

You pulled the Imperial bucket off your head so that the modulator wouldn’t broadcast your voice. “I don’t know what happened, Cara. I can’t believe I said that. We’re definitely more than travelling companions at this point. I care a lot about him. I think I even... ”

She nodded, smirk becoming a more reassuring smile. “I understand. It seems like he feels the same about you.”

“Still, I’m afraid that I overstepped in calling Grogu our child.” You shook your head. “He hasn’t spoken to me since.”

“Well there’s not a whole lot of time to talk, and it’s the kinda’ thing that takes time to sort out,” she pointed out. “I’m sure it’ll be fine-”

“Hey, if you two ladies are done, we have to get moving,” Mayfeld called.

“Yeah, yeah,” you groaned, pulling the helmet over your head again. You clambered into the front of the juggernaut to get situated. The two guys were already seated and taking a look at the vehicle’s controls. Mayfeld seemed content to be with his helmet off, while Din of course kept his on.

“Feels better when it’s off,” he commented, glancing over at his companion. Din’s trooper helmet simply turned to look in his direction. He gave a smile in response before turning his attention to the road again. “__________, you too, huh?”

“I don’t ever get to wear a helmet, so I’m just enjoying this while it lasts.”

“You’re enjoying this?” Din asked. His tone didn’t seem to carry any disdain, just innocent curiosity.

“Well, not this. I mean the helmet. It’s nice to have some privacy when I’m surrounded by people who get to cover their faces. You guys don’t know whether I’m smiling or what in here.”

“You’re smiling right now,” Din said, making you turn your visor in his direction suddenly.

“How did you know that?”

“I can hear it in your voice.” And as if to prove his point, you picked up on the amusement in his tone as well.

Right. You forgot for a moment that he had a lifetime to discern emotions through helmets, being that he was a foundling in a Mandalorian community and all.

“You know, you two are just adorable,” Mayfeld interjected humorously. “Seriously, I’m touched.”

The conversation died down again after that. You were rather pleased with the exchange you had with Din. At the very least, he didn’t seem irritated with you about your earlier statement. Things seemed to be going rather smoothly.

- - - - - - - - -

You’d never been so happy to see Imperial troops in your whole life. As Mayfeld pulled the juggernaut into the safety of the Empire base, they flooded the bridge and fought off the oncoming pirates. Din had re-entered the vehicle, groaning in pain from his fight. You noticed his armor had been busted off in some places from the fight.

“Mando,” you said softly, hand on his forearm.

His visor looked to you as he said in a strained voice, “I’m alright.” His reassurance put you somewhat at ease. You knew he wasn’t really fine- he had injuries- but he was okay. He made it.

“Never thought you’d be happy to see stormtroopers.” Mayfeld saluted the line of troops that saluted and waved as the vehicle passed by, most likely to make things convincing. He and Din stepped out of the juggernaut to be met with actual applause and cheers. One even clapped a gloved hand on Mayfeld’s shoulder in congratulations. It would have been heartwarming if not for the fact that it was the Empire, and these people were working toward an oppressive future. You hopped out of the vehicle, glad to be on solid ground and not on a shaky roadtrip with rhydonium in the back.

“Okay,” Mayfeld said. “All we gotta’ do is find a terminal.” You moved to Din’s other side, and the three of you began making your way through the crowd of cheering troops. His gloved hand took yours for just a moment and gave it a light squeeze, and you returned the gesture before separating. “Should be in the officers’ mess.”

“I’ll stand by and keep an eye out,” you said.

“Good,” Mayfeld nodded. “We’ll make it quick.” You watched as the two men headed for the mess hall, and you found a spot along the wall to wait, bucket tucked under your arm. The occasional trooper stopped by to congratulate you or give you a pat on the back. This extended contact with Imperials was starting to get to your nerves.

Mayfeld and Din still hadn’t returned. Whether you were being paranoid or not, you weren’t sure. Better to play it safe. You headed in the direction they had gone earlier, helmet still under your arm, and tried to act casual. Mayfeld was standing at the doorway, eyes shifting between the floor and his surroundings. No sign of Din.

“Where is he?” you demanded. “Is he okay?”

“He’s in there.”

You followed his gaze to the mess. Everyone in the room had their helmet off.

“I don’t see him.”

Mayfeld sighed. “He’s over there by the terminal.” Both of you leaned in to sneak a glance, and you gasped softly. You saw his form standing there in the very back, head of messy brown hair. “I couldn’t go in. He had to do a facial scan to get the information.”

“You could’ve gotten me to do it.”

“That’s exactly what I said.” He shook his head. “But we wasted enough time as it is. He was worried about you going in there alone. You know, he’d really do anything for that kid, and for you.”

Oh, Din.

“Trooper,” an officer said, and his eyes were fixed on the dark-haired man in the corner that you knew was the man you’d fallen for. He rose from his seat, and your heart was pounding.

“We need to do something,” you said.

Mayfeld shook his head, eyes on the floor. “I can’t. I already said can’t go in there.”

“Fine, I’ll do it.” You straightened up, taking a deep breath, and quickly walked through the mess until you intervened the officer’s path. “Sir. You called for me, sir?”

He paused, eyes narrowing, as he stared at you. “I was referring to another trooper. The one by that terminal.” He moved to get around you, but you side-stepped to block him again. “I’m sorry, you’re sure there’s nothing I can help you with?”

He gave you a condescending look. “No, but thanks anyway.”

You hoped that Din had escaped the mess because there was nothing more you could do unless you caused a big scene, which was not in the plan.

“Trooper,” he continued, stepping around you. But to your surprise, he was faced with another. Din had walked over. Inwardly you burned at the thought of the Imperial officer looking at his face. You averted your gaze, feeling as if it would be wrong not to. Even though you wanted nothing more than to drink in his features while you could.

“You should pay attention when a superior officer addresses you,” the man said. He tipped his head to one side in observation. “What’s your designation?”

Din spoke, voice unmodulated and sounding so small. You’d never heard him sound so unsure before. “Transport crew.”

“What?”

“My designation is transport copilot,” Din said, forcing his tone to sound confident as possible to make it more convincing.

“No, son,” the officer chided. “What’s your TK number?”

“My TK number is…” He hesitated, and you could do nothing but stand aside and wait, holding your breath. How many numbers were in a TK number, anyway?

“This is my commanding officer, TK-593, sir,” Mayfeld’s voice interjected as he strolled in front of you. He spoke so casually that you were sure he’d pull it off. “I’m Imperial Combat Assault Transport Lieutenant Tk-111, sir.” He gestured to you. “This is TK-501.” Then, he glanced at Din. “I’m afraid you’ll have to speak up to him a bit since his vessel lost pressure in Taanab.”

Your eyes wandered past Mayfeld, catching another glimpse of dark, messy hair. To some it might seem a minor thing, but to you it was adding to the escalating situation. Brown eyes locked with yours, and your breath hitched. Din was looking at you. There was a trace of warmth in his eyes, and your hesitation vanished. You took in the way his brows furrowed slightly over his eyes, crinkling them at the edges. You memorized each feature. His nose. This cheekbones. The handsome way he seemed to be looking right back you. You quickly turned your gaze back to the officer in front of you who looked in Din’s direction.

“What’s your name, officer?” he belted, enunciating each word. Seeing Din’s face had been a shock, and in the middle of the stress, this officer’s behavior almost made you laugh, but you swallowed the giggle that threatened to make things worse and kept your composure. The officer leaned in, waiting for a response.

Mayfeld took the liberty of answering instead. “We just call him ‘Brown Eyes.’ Isn’t that right, Officer?” Din’s eyes flickered over as he gave a hesitant nod.

“Come on,” Mayfeld landed a hand on his shoulder and his other one on yours to lead you away. “Let’s go fill out those TPS reports, so we can go recharge the power coils...”

“You’re not dismissed.”

- - - - - - -

In short, things had gone from bad to worse. Mayfeld was growing shakier by the minute as this guy ranted about the Empire and the sacrifices that were made so far. You kept glancing at Din, who looked just as concerned as you, as Mayfeld visibly became more distressed.

Finally he raised a blaster and shot the sick man across the table. It turned into a firefight that ended just as swiftly as it began. Once the mess hall had quieted, Mayfeld handed Din his trooper helmet.

“You did what you had to do,” he said. “I never saw your face.”

Din stared at him for a moment before accepting the helmet. He quickly put it back over his head just as more troopers arrived on the scene. You sprung into action, pulling out the blaster at your belt and firing.

From there, it was just a quaint little trip out the window and along a ledge above roaring waters of the refinery with several stormtroopers in pursuit. Shots were fired. You ran.

It wasn’t until you were pulled further onto Boba’s ship by Din that you were able to stop and breathe. Mayfeld was set free by Cara and Din after he blew up the Imperial refinery, and after he left, Boba set a course for Moff Gideon’s ship. For the first time in a while, you and Din had a moment alone as he found the duffel bag of Beskar armor. He paused as if thinking it over, before setting the duffel back down. The stormtrooper visor was focused on you again. You had long removed yours, and so you gazed back with your own eyes. Suddenly, he placed a hand on either side of his helmet and slowly began to lift.

“Din,” you whispered, quiet enough so no one else would hear, as you gently stopped him with the touch of your hand to his wrist. He let go of the helmet only to put his hand over yours.

“You need to know,” he began. “About Xi’an.”

“What? No, no, there’s no need.”

“I could tell it bothered you.”

“Well, yes… Mayfeld made it sound like she was rather important, like you just finally got over her, and it bothered me that you never mentioned her.” You shook your head. “But I guess there was no reason for you to.”

“There was nothing to get over,” he said simply. “We flirted here and there. It wasn’t anything real. It wasn’t love. I think Mayfeld was just bitter because you weren’t responding to his attempts.” The chuckle that emitted from Din’s stormtrooper helmet made you smile. It was a sound that you never imagined getting used to.

You couldn’t help the sigh of relief that escaped your lips. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For talking with me,” you replied. “I was worried that after earlier you were irritated.”

“Earlier?” His tone went higher ever so slightly in realization. “Oh, right. Your turn to talk.”

“My turn?” you gulped. “No way. Let’s just forget it happened.”

You could almost hear the amusement as he tipped his head, the visor staring at you in silence.

You sighed in defeat, observing your hands as you fiddled with the stormtrooper gloves. “Alright, well...the truth is, it sort of slipped out. I think of the kid as yours because, well, you’ve been looking after him since before I met you. And the Mandalorian we spoke to said that you are as his father, by creed.” You paused, glancing up at his visor before continuing. “But...I’ve also come to think of him as my own as well. When I met the two of you, of course I thought he was a cute little guy, but I never imagined I could love someone so much. I adore Grogu, really, even though I haven’t cared for him as long as you…”

“That does not matter.”

“What?”

“It doesn’t matter that I’ve known him longer. You care about him, and that’s what’s important,” Din nodded.

“I do care about him. As my own. And with the two of us…”

His visor was so close all of a sudden. “The two of us…?”

You ducked a little, recalling how he embraced you on that planet after a tense training session. “You know.”

“Do I?” he teased in a low voice, helmet even closer.

“With the two of us together, sort of, I guess I thought of us as a family...I guess. And it slipped out earlier. In front of all those people.” You raised a hand to cover your face in embarrassment at the memory. Din didn’t say anything for a moment. He reached up to pull your hand from your face gently, and with the other he lifted the stormtrooper helmet off with a deep breath.

As you peered into those brown eyes once more, you smiled. He smiled too then, the movement making his eyes crinkle. It was a lovely sight, and you lifted a hand, pausing just below his chin.

“Is it okay?”

He gave a small nod, and you reached up to touch his cheek. It was a little stubbly toward his jawline. Then you went up to start at the crease between his brows and trace down the length of his nose to his lips. He tenderly took that hand in his and kissed the fingertips.

“We’re going to get him back,” he said.

You smiled again. “I know we will.” Then, your smile faded. “And if we find where he belongs, with a jedi, then I am prepared to do what’s best for him.”

His eyes look sad as he responded, “me too.”

“For now,” you said quickly. “Next stop is Moff Gideon’s ship. We are going to take him down and get Grogu back.”

With that, Din leaned in and planted a feathery light kiss on your lips. It was something you had not expected since the moment you first laid eyes on the Mandalorian. You never imagined that you’d end up with him, seeing his face, or kissing him. You returned the kiss, touching his cheek again as you let him pull you closer, wrapping both arms around you.

The last few days had felt like a nightmare that you hoped to wake up from. But now it seemed that even in the darkness there was a glimmer of hope. The nightmare would give way to a dream.

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kashimos-hajime · 4 years

Text

late night devils | b.b.

summary: bucky gets revenge on his ex with you, the girl he never got over no matter how much he thought he did.

WARNINGS: smut (18+, oral - m receiving), daddy kink, sub/dom elements, y’all out here being nasty and vindictive, drinking, swearing, mentions of cheating pairing: modern!bucky x fem!reader word count: 5.0k

a/n: smut with very little plot bc i have no brain for it. enjoy heheheh ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) bucky is PUSSYWHIPPED ngl

Bucky doesn’t expect to get a call asking for him to come over when he’s sitting at the bar counter, but he gets it and if he could, he’d break his phone in his fist.

“I told you, Dot, it’s fucking over.” The music is blasting in the club, bright with life, as Bucky tips back another shot. It’s a busy Thursday night. The dance floor is nearly completely occupied and the bass thrums through the floor as he tries to let his ex down gently as he has been for the past ten minutes.

“You can’t be serious. You think you can just walk out after three years—”

Alright. That’s enough.

“And do you think you can just call me like I’m some fucking booty call three days before your wedding after you dropped me like I was fucking nothing? No. Goodnight.”

Tapping his screen to hang up, Bucky sets down his phone with a hard sigh and gestures to Sam for another line of shots. His hand was burning from how long he held the stupid phone for, and he cools it down by cradling his vodka glass, pushing it back and forth between his hands.

“Dot, again?”

“Yeah.”

“Tough, man. I’ll get you some shots when I get Romanoff off her little blondie’s lap” His friend taps the bar counter in a show of support before heading to the end where Natasha was flirting with one certain blond man. Steve. AKA their resident bouncer currently off duty. Bucky rolls his eyes, smiling for a moment as Natasha turns around. The two give a talk before Natasha ducks underneath the countertop door and slips into the crowd, Steve in hand.

“Hey, Sam!” A sharp, too-sober voice catches Bucky’s hearing and he turns to see a woman wrapped in a leather jacket and tight fucking jeans burst through the crowd. Rain is still glistening along your shoulders and you pull your hair out from underneath your jacket. You wear a hoodie beneath the leather and as you lean against the bar beside him, he catches the words printed onto the chest.

Yes, I’m single. It reads, bright white against the black of your hoodie. Now’s your chance.

His eyebrows rise as you catch Sam’s attention. His friend glances at you but Bucky merely shrugs, looks at you, and thinks, A regular? Fine. I’ll bite.

“What’s the strongest you’ve got?” You tap your fingers impatiently and he watches the strobe lights glint on your black nails as you lean forward on your arms. He shifts back and you send him a glance, eyebrow arched as your eyes rake visibly over his form. Damn, you’re confident, and when you grin, he decides maybe you’ll be an apt distraction from his fucking problems.

“Not the usual?”

“Need something stronger tonight, Sammy,” you sing and he grins.

“I’ll make you something special. Let’s work up to Everclear, yeah?” Sam turns to Bucky, leaning onto his elbows. “Whaddya say, boss? Break out the Everclear for a pretty girl?”

“Now, hold up,” Bucky says, putting up a hand to catch your attention and he smirks as Sam brings out ten shot glasses pinched between his fingers.

“Hey.” Your eyes flicker over his body visibly and he smirks, twisting slightly to look at you fully. His knees part widely and maybe it’s the alcohol he’s already had, but it looks like you glance right between his legs.

“Hey.” The red lights swing their way, blinding him for a moment before it’s gone again. Sam lines up the shot glasses and Bucky watches as he pours them overflowing before glancing at you again. “Wanna? On the house.”

“Are we working up to body shots?” you ask slyly, sliding into the empty stool as he shrugs, grabbing the first one on his end. You take one from the other and throw it back as he does the same. It burns all the way down.

“If you wanna,” he says with a shrug and you laugh. “Hold on the Everclear, Sam. Let’s get to know the pretty lady first.” You snort into your second shot as Sam shakes his head when someone flags him down.

“Well, I’ve gotta get to work,” he says pointedly. “But you kids have fun.”

“Fine by me.” Bucky shrugs. “That just means I get all your attention.”

“Don’t like sharing?”

He half-laughs, pushing down shot three and four in rapid succession before slamming the glasses down on the wood. “Nope. I’m Bucky, by the way.”

“Consider me charmed.”

“No name?”

“I’m not looking for names tonight,” you say before you order another line of shots.

Something about you is undeniably charming. You give the air that he’s known you his whole life as you talk and listen and laugh. He gravitates towards you as you speak and talks about everything when you listen because he has this feeling you won’t judge him. It’s something about the confidence, the way you don’t give a fuck about what he thinks of you. It’s so different from Dot.

Dot, who worried about what that girl was thinking about Bucky or what that guy thought about her. And there was nothing wrong with caring, but Bucky couldn’t bear to give a shit about anything anymore.

“So you’re here because of a broken heart?” you point out after he explained his phone call prior to their meeting and he chuckles, the vodka making his head pulse with the beat in the club. The red and blue lights flash and blur in his vision but your face is still clear.

“Nah. I don’t love her,” he says, turning to the mojitos he ordered for the both of them. Yours is half gone, his gone completely. “Just… sick of being some stupid second fucking choice. She leaves me for a millionaire then comes crawling back for one last fuck. Fucking ridiculous,” he spits, grabbing your mojito and sucking it down.

“You’re preaching to a damn choir,” you say scathingly.

“Husband?” he pries and you eye him for a moment knowingly.

“Boyfriend. Left me for some kid in high school. We’re fucking third year college, man. That shit’s so gross and I’m ready to beat the shit out of him. Might as well do it drunk.”

“Hah, I did that once.”

“Get with a highschooler?” you ask, voice tinging with something judgmental and he laughs because it’s such an outrageous notion and he can’t help but agree. Fucking nasty.

“Fuck, no. I had a best friend I was fucking in love with,” he begins, the mint cool against his tongue. “High school. Got creeped on by some older dude and I beat the fuck out of him when he got too close for her liking. Got expelled, never saw her again after her grad when I realized she was probably going to head to uni and go big, but damn if it was worth it, even if it meant she went with someone else to fucking prom. Fucking Brock Rumlow.” His eyes drift to yours as you stare at him and he chews on his straw, explaining in the briefest of sentences. “Resident asshole of our year.”

There’s a quiet where he sets down the mojito again, and his head is swimming with memories. At the last time he saw the girl of his dreams, graduation cap pinned to hair and a sunset burnishing their street gold.

“No fucking way. Bucky?” you say and he looks at you from his—your—drink. “As in James Buchanan Barnes?” you ask with a scoff evident in your voice and he arches an eyebrow. “Oh, you can’t be serious.”

“What—” His insides are on fire, and his eyes fall to your lips as you press them into a frown. “Who?”

“You fucker!” You slug him in the arm and he yelps, clutching the offended bicep as you take him by the shoulders. “You fucking left me!” He is forced to look at you as your eyes search his. They’re dark with something he thinks is bitter love, and his eyebrows knit together. What is his luck with women lately?

“Who the fuck are you?” he yells over the thundering music, but his answer is swallowed up by a pair of searing lips. Fists in the lapel of his suit jacket, he groans into your mouth as his hand darts to your hips. He drags you flush against him and you crash into his body. Hitching a leg over his, he feels up your hoodie and you open up beneath his mouth. Your hips dip against his as you jump into his lap and he holds you there by the thighs, squeezing the flesh through your jeans.

“Fuck, James,” you whisper and he feels it all again in a heartbeat. That intense, selfish love that seized him as he walked away from you. The way he fucked you in the bathroom before the ceremony, gown bunched at your waist, pants barely shoved past his hips. The curious disgust every time he got with someone that wasn’t the girl from the stall. It’s you. “God, don’t you recognize me?”

These past few years dating Dot, feeling like he’d move past a tiny infatuation, obliterated to nothing as your voice tears down his defenses. Tears down everything he’s built, every lie that you’re nothing more than the past.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs against your desperate lips and you sink into his lap deeper, arms wrapped around his neck. “Fuck. Yes.” He tilts his chin up when you run your teeth along his neck and his eyes close shut. Heat is surging to his cock at the thought of tearing you apart here and his jeans tighten as your hips grind down against his. “Could never fucking forget you. Grown ass woman, now, huh?”

“Fuck me,” you whisper, pulling off of him though it’s more of an order and he nods, standing up with a stagger. Your hand is insistent on his wrist, hand melting through his skin.

“I live five minutes away,” he mumbles, drunk off his ass. When he looks at you, he doesn’t see smokey eyes or mulberry painted lips. You weren’t always so dark, direct, rough around the edges.

No, you were bright eyes and strawberry lip gloss once. Straight A’s, straighter laces. By the books and popular and pretty and innocent until he got you on his bed and ate it out of you.

Maybe he fucked the good girl out of you.

He doesn’t mind. He already knows he likes it when you’re bad.

“Fuck.”

His nails scratch down your back pleasantly and you purr, pressing him deeper into his couch. You’ve managed to slip out of all your clothes on the walk up and his hand digs into your hip, his other hand working against your slick heat. The heel of his hand rubs against your clit as you lift and sink into three fingers. Your walls clench around him and he groans at the tight suction as his phone rings.

“Ignore it,” you mumble, kissing him sloppily and his tongue glides against yours, burning with vodka. His hand runs up your back to grab your hair and he yanks your head back, licking down your neck. “James—”

“Fucking missed this, sweetheart. Fuck. Missed this pussy more than anything else,” he groans. Your pants whisper against his ear as your hands roll into fists against his head. Your arms wrapped around his neck, you rock your hips against his hand desperately. “Come on.”

You moan right into his ear when his wrist flicks up and his fingers plunge deeper into you, wet with the first orgasm he’s wrenched from you just like this. It breaks and your whole body shudders. Your walls tightens around his digits and he increases the speed of his fingers. Your legs trembling, you let out a hoarse cry.

Your voice breaks and your nails dig into the nape of his neck as you come on his fingers. Your thighs clench around him as he bends his finger inside you and you choke out a moan. A pulse travels through your body as he lazily plays with your engorged clit and you twitch with every gentle stroke as he pulls you through your high.

His phone lights up. Ding. Ding. Ding. And then, his ringtone blaring in the thick heat of his room.

You’re sweating against him, resting your whole body on him as you kiss along the cord of his neck and he bites his lip, groaning. You nip along his collarbone before soothing it with your tongue, tasting the alcohol he’s beginning to sweat.

Lazy love.

“She’s not gonna stop fucking calling,” Bucky whispers in defeat, hand stalling inside you and you groan in frustration, hips grinding against his heel. Prompting yourself up, you frown. “Fuck. I have to pick up.” He bites into your breast, licking your nipple in passing before leaning over to grab his phone. Your legs widen, and you lower yourself deeper into his lap as he keeps a hand firmly on your ass.

“For fuck’s sake,” you growl, slipping your hand down his cock and he lets out a groan against your shoulder. His cheek pressed against your joint, he stares at the Caller ID in dread. “She treated you like dirt and you’re still picking up her calls? I think you should just put her in her place.” The venom in your tongue makes something inside him twitch, makes him want to just pin you down and put you in your place because you don’t know shit and Dot isn’t worth my time anyway but instead, he slaps your ass and shifts his legs apart.

“Alright, that’s enough. I’m picking up that call no matter what, sweetheart.”

“Are you serious?”

“Get on your knees.” You pause and he turns to you, a thrill boiling through his blood as he slaps your ass. “Let’s put that mouth to use.” Your eyes go black with lust as you swallow, sinking to the floor between his legs, and he chuckles, spreading his legs farther apart. Your fingers trail along the line of his hips, lips whispering along his thighs as he clears his throat. The phone is still ringing in his hands as he looks down at you and arches an eyebrow. You’re smirking and he grabs one of your curious hands and wraps it firmly around his dick. “Get to work.”

As soon as he’s in your mouth, he picks up. You run your palm down the base of him as you take him in deeper and he lets out a sigh. You’re warm, wet, and he tilts his head back when you swallow. Eyes closing, he lets out a hoarse breath and tries not to give himself away too quickly.

“Bucky?”

“Who is this?” he asks, toying with her, weaving his free hand in your hair. He ups the volume, just enough so you can catch a hint of a word or two over the wet sounds of your mouth.

“It’s your Dotty, Buck.”

Pressing down on his thighs, you angle your head to take him further as if you’re displeased he’s even talking to her at the moment, jealous, even, but he simply grabs a fistful of your hair and tugs you back right, keeping himself just as deep down your throat. You gag, swallowing again.

“Yeah. What do you want?” His words come out breathless. He raises his head just enough to watch you work, eyes glued to the way your fingers, wrapped around him, move up and down. Your eyes are blown out with lust, already on his face and you smile against his thigh as you seem to take him down further. Wet lips wrapped around his cock, hair a mess around your face, it paints a pretty sight. Your tongue flattens against the underside of his length, and he groans when you slowly pull off. It’s an agonizing ecstasy, the way you seem to swallow him deeper despite drawing away. “Oh, fuck. Just like that, sweetheart. That was good, baby, That was good.”

“‘M I being good, daddy?” you ask, voice muffled, and his hips thrust into your mouth just as his hand forces you down, and he closes his eyes at the heat searing his blood. You’re so fucking good.

“Yeah, sweetheart. Don’t worry ‘bout a thing.” He cradles the phone closer to his face. “Fuck. Dot, what do you want again?” he asks. The line is nearly dead and a flash of satisfaction hits him as you moan quietly against his cock. The vibration shoots up to his stomach and he hisses out a breath. “You’re doing so good, sweetheart.”

“Yeah?” You bob your head between his thighs, the hand not around him digging into his hip. You hollow out your cheeks, the suction sending his head into the stars as the slick sound of your mouth ceases when you simply keep him in your cheek, blown pupils wide and innocent. Your hips twitch against his foot, seeking friction and he smirks. His needy little girl.

Bucky lets go of your hair, patting your cheek before wiping away the trail of drool leaking from the corner of your mouth. He leans forward, dragging you off his dick with a slight pop and a chill brushes against his length as Bucky pinches your chin between his thumb and index finger.

Pressing an open-mouthed kiss against your panting lips, he doesn’t care if Dot can hear every single fucking sound.

He pulls away before you have a chance to reciprocate and your whine follows him as he sinks back into the couch. His hand finds your hair again, guiding you back down his length and you seem to sink back onto your knees. He plunges endlessly down your throat as he clears his own, nearly forgetting he really is on the phone.

“Sorry, Dot. I’m a little distracted right now,” he says nonchalantly, the smile working onto his face.

“If you’re busy—”

“Nah.” You purr at the lie and he tugs your hair as he stifles a moan—a warning with no merit. He keeps you still despite your impatient wiggle and he opens his eyes, simply admiring your face full of his cock. Your eyes are at half mast as you rest your head against his thigh, and his finger traces down your cheek, along your jawbone, as he adds, “You’ve been blowing up my phone all night. You’ve got my attention now, darling.”

“Bucky,” Dot intones, sounding a bit tense and Bucky can’t help but wonder why, “seriously. It’s fine. You clearly have other company.”

“Oh, don’t worry. My girl over here’s just keeping me warm. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?” He moves the phone from his ear to your mouth where he taps your cheek and you let out a soft, garbled moan, eyes fluttering shut. Bringing the phone back to his ear, he chuckles. “You tired, baby? You getting tired?” His tone is mocking and you’re subdued by the way he commands the air as you nod. Your jaw must be aching as you hold onto his thighs and lean against his leg. You’re a sprawled mess against him. “She’s getting tired, Dotty. Make it quick so I can take care of her.”

“Bucky, this isn’t you. What are you doing?” Dot exclaims but he doesn’t care as he lets out a long, guttural groan at your tongue running along his length in your mouth. Still trying to earn his graces.

“Finally getting the time of my life after you left me high and dry for a fucking year. I’m moving on just like how you did during our relationship. How’s the wedding planning? Feeling nervous?” he asks tightly as you swallow, teeth grazing along his skin and he looks down at you. Warning you for real this time. “Watch it, sweetheart.”

“It’s going… okay. Bucky, I… I didn’t want you to be doing this while I talked to you, but please, listen to me. I’m still in love with you.”

You pull off his dick with a long stroke of your tongue and he groans, hand tugging at your hair as you climb up his body. You nip at his skin along the way, your whole body stretching languidly against his as you brace a knee on either side of his hips and sit down in his lap.

“Seriously?” You press kiss after kiss around his face, long fingers wrapped around his cock and rubbing it slowly. Your purr rumbles in your chest as you dip your head to suck a mark into the underside of his jaw and he runs a hand down your back, cupping your ass. “Don’t you think it’s a bit too late right now?”

“You're not giving me any attention, daddy,” you whine with a pout, his dick against your abdomen, just there and he knows you must be aching for it to speak up. Leaning in close, you place your mouth along the cheek where the phone is, trailing tiny little teasing kisses along his swollen lips and flushed cheeks. He tries to snag your lips but you merely pull away and bounce in his lap impatiently. His cock brushes against your stomach, painfully hard, and a groan rips through his throat as you gently settle a hand on his chest.

“I know, baby. Just give daddy a moment, alright?” Bucky murmurs and you pout, your hand pulling at his dick. His hips twitch, jerking into your fist as you lay your head on his chest, slouching against him, kissing his jaw fleetingly. “Be a good girl.”

“Okay,” you mumble as you lazily pump him. Your thumb presses softly against the tip, spreading precum down his shaft and he groans, tipping his head back and closing his eyes again. You smile against his collarbone as you speed up the pace of your hand. A tight-lipped groan in his chest, he runs a hand up and down the curve of your back.

“It’s a mistake. This wedding’s a mistake,” Dot pleads as you watch his expression. He can feel your stare burning into his neck as you press quiet kisses against his chest. A knot tightens in his navel. “I know the way I treated you was shitty, and I know you must’ve moved on, but—”

“Dot, you left me, cheated on me, lied to me about everything.” Bucky bites down on his lower lip. “Fuck. You’re doing so good, sweetheart.” You hum against his chest. The crash is so close and your palm slows down. Growling, he looks up and pins you with a glare, but you merely look at him innocently and he sighs, brushing a thumb across your cheek. “I have moved on. It’s been a year since we broke up and I think it’s time you did, too.” You raise your head off his chest, shifting in his lap as you straddle his hips upright. His eyes follow you like a wolf as he tries to calm down from the high that never came. His hips twitch against your legs and he lets out a growl when you move your hand away.

“Bucky, wait—”

The phone is plucked from his hand and a protest builds up in his throat as you rest your other hand on his shoulder. He looks up at you, lips parted and you smile, sickly sweet. In the dim light of his room, he sees the way the shadows play dangerously on your face. His hand on your back slides to your hip, and his lips find your left nipple as he sinks his other hand into the flesh of your ass.

“Dot?” you ask sweetly as if you’ve no awareness at all, but by the way your eyes flutter, you’re well aware of his mischief. “Hey. Jamie’s a bit busy at the moment. Can you call him tomorrow?” Your smile sits on your face as it turns smug. “Great. Bye!” You hang up and toss the phone onto the coffee stand before cupping his face and kissing him fiercely. It bruises his mouth, sloppy open-mouthed kisses, and he groans as you raise your hips and slide him right in like their bodies were made for each other. His vision explodes in stars as you sink, his cock buried deep inside you.

“Fuck was that?” he mumbles when you part from him for a moment to breathe. Your hips slowly swing against his, taking him in deeper with every move as your hands, still cradling his face, burn through his cheeks. His hands run up and down your sides, your front, and you sigh at the rough palms against your sensitive nipples before he hoists you up more comfortably on his lap. “Jamie? I’m not fucking five.” He thrusts up with his question and your breath hitches.

“Fuck. Fuck, I’m sorry..” Your lip caught between your teeth, you rock against him faster and his hips lift to meet your thrusts as you tilt your head back. You arch against him, eyes squeezed shut and he pushes your body forward, teeth running over your breasts. “Fuck, James.”

“Bad girl, hm.” His eyes close and your fingers run through his hair, hug his head to your chest. Your moans are a symphony in his ear and you bounce in his lap, knees digging into the cushions.

“Yes, daddy,” you whine into his ear, gasping and the way your every word becomes high-pitched makes him want to fuck you through the couch. You're complete putty in his hands, warm like fire and malleable to his touch, and he kisses the valley of your breasts, his hands tracing the curve of your spine. “I’ve been so, so bad.”

He digs his fingers into your skin and twists, letting you fall onto the couch as he slides his palms down to grab your legs. Everything he touches is wet, burning, and the squelch of your pussy around his cock sends him into overdrive as he puts your legs up on his shoulders. Your eyes are squeezed shut and your mouth is open in a silent moan when he thrusts deeply into you at this new angle. Your hands find his and fingers interlace as he pins your wrists to the armrests above your head.

Smirking, he pushes deeper into you with no grace or rhythm and you thrash against him, mewling at his slowing pace, begging to go faster with the way your wriggle your hips back against him. “Daddy, I—”

“Shh, sweetheart. Now that I’m not busy anymore, I think daddy’s gonna have to teach you a lesson.” Your eyes barely open at his words and he smirks, making sure your attention doesn’t stray for a moment. “Keep those eyes on me, sweetheart.” You bite down on your lip, trying to stem desperate gasps but he growls a warning as he speeds up to a punishing pace. You’re overstimulated, exhausted, but still you try to push back against him, try to get him as deep as he can get.

You’re so eager to please with those plush, pink lips. “Yes, daddy. I’m sorry, I’ve been bad.”

“Sorry for what?” he wonders aloud just as your eyes squeeze shut and he feels your peak in the way your abdomen goes taut. Slowing down again, he nearly laughs at your disappointed whines. He pulls out completely, waiting for an answer and you cry out at the loss of fulfillment. Your legs lock around his neck. “I’m waiting.”

“Daddy, please... please, I was so close.”

“Give me an answer.” His tip brushes against your heat and you shove your hips forward. “How’re you gonna apologize when you don’t even know what for? How’m I gonna fix it?”

“Please...”

“I’m waiting, sweetheart.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t listen, daddy.”

He slowly pushes in again and your mouth drops open in an oh as you welcome him easily. You’re so damn wet that he slides in all the way he can with no problem. You lift your hips, heels digging into his back, and he slowly begins to thrust into you again. The sound of his hips meeting yours punishingly, the wet slap of skin against skin is the only sound in the room besides your panting breaths.

Bucky smiles.

“I’m gonna teach you a lesson not to talk out of turn tonight, understood? G’na teach you that when daddy’s on the phone, when daddy’s busy with other things, you behave if you wanna stay around,” he whispers, voice darkening with every word and your breasts heave as he runs a hand down your body. Fingers sneaking between their bodies, he presses a thumb against your clit and you fall apart with a shameless moan that bursts from your heaving chest.

Bucky wonders how he ever moved past you. You with makeup streaking down your pretty pouty face.

He didn’t. He never did.

“Oh, god,” you groan, dreadfully broken, still trying to recover but Bucky’s not finished with you yet. No, he’s going to make up for lost time for the rest of his life he can. “Fuck… James. Oh, god.” Your walls clench around him, dragging at his cock as he pauses inside you and he lets go of your wrists. Your legs slip off his shoulders.

“You miss me, sweetheart?” he murmurs, nuzzling your cheek and you pant, nodding weakly. He turns to ensnare you into a heavy, tongue-filled kiss as he sucks on your bottom lip. “Miss me a lot?”

“Yes, daddy,” you mumble, voice warped by his incessant kisses and he smiles, ravishing your mouth with his teeth and tongue. He gives you this small moment because it’s going to be a rough night and he wants to savour every last bit of it. By morning, he won’t hear a single peep out of you with how much your throat burns from screaming his name.

That’s three for him, zero for you, and Bucky’s not sure if it’ll end when morning comes.

He wants to ask if you’ll stay and he has a lot of furniture he needs to break in.

The kitchen counter looks like a wonderful place to start to do both.

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kalinara · 3 years

Text

Dream Show 2.0

It’s time for the second annual “Dream Show Challenge”!

The rules are a little different this year: we were given someone else’s dreamshow cast from last year and asked to make a new show.

Since it’s very possible to end up with a cast list full of names we don’t recognize, we were allowed one trade.

This is my cast:

Jeff Goldblum, Jennifer Connelly, Alan Tudyk, Mandip Gil, Lee Pace, Elliot Page, and Matt Berry.

Since at the time I started this, I had no idea who Matt Berry was, I decided to trade him out for a different white British comedian: Jack Whitehall.

So now I present to you:

The Gates of Kallipolis

Synopsis: When Lydia Nowlan receives an invitation from her estranged uncle, she has no idea what to expect. She had no idea that she had an uncle. And she certainly had no idea that he had invented a working time machine.

But Dr. Nowlan called her for a reason. Time is behaving strangely, and there are people scattered through time who need their help to get home.

Characters:

Lydia Nowlan - Jennifer Connelly (2021 CE): For as long as she remembers, Lydia Nowlan never had much in the way of a life. She worked, she slept, and she worked again She had no time for things like friends or family, even pets. But now her work is completed and she has no idea what to do next. Fortunately, a mysterious letter from a long lost uncle comes at just the right time.

Dr. Mark Nowlan - Jeff Goldblum (2021 CE): Lydia’s estranged uncle. An experienced time traveler with a temperament that makes Lydia look like a people person, Dr. Nowlan is in over his head. But fortunately, he’s not in this alone anymore.

Bibi Khunza - Mandip Gil (c. 1550 CE): Widow of a king, mother to another, Bibi Khunza knows how to fight and how to rule. But as to how this sixteenth century Indian warrior princess ended up at the center of a witchhunt in seventeenth century rural England is a really interesting question. Especially since she’s not the only one lost.

Augustus Cole - Elliot Page (1875 CE): The life of a chimney sweep in Victorian London is a hard one, but Augustus Cole knows exactly how to translate those skills to something a bit more lucrative: cat burglary. And never let it be said that the man will miss an opportunity: a futuristic sailing ship is the perfect place for a bit of breaking and entering. But what’s that about an iceberg?

Xavion Knox - Lee Pace (2320 CE): Grown in a lab, built for war, Xavion Knox has known very little except violence. He hasn’t cared much about anything since the death of his partner, but perhaps that will change now that the man’s stuck in the distant past, reliant on a couple of barely competent time travelers to get home. Wherever that is.

Zeta-5 - Jack Whitehall (2440 CE): An Alien. Zeta knows his science. He knows his technology. He knows the intellectual capability of humanity, and he damn well knows that time travel is impossible. But try telling that to Mark and Lydia Nowlan. (He has. Many times.)

Grok - Alan Tudyk (c. 190,000 BCE): The manservant of Dr. Nowlan, and human being who predates any recognizable culture or society. He may even predate the development of spoken language, or at least any language that the translator can recognize. Because of his communication difficulties, he has yet to provide Dr. Nowlan with sufficient information to get him home. He seems happy enough where he is, and well, good help is hard to find.

Important Concepts for the Show:

The Reese-Hartnell Effect: It is impossible for a living being to be in two places at once. Because of this, it is very important that a time traveler never “cross their time stream”, meaning they should never visit a time when they themselves are alive. If at any point, a time traveler ends up in the same time period as their past or future self, they will merge together.

In the best case scenario, the knowledge and memories of the future self will remain with the past self, allowing the time traveler to make any desired changes to his own future.

In the worst case scenario, the time traveler’s mind is completely obliterated.

The Ultimate Translator: Lydia Nowlan’s life work. The great translator is somehow able to take spoken language from any point in time and enable it to be understood by any time traveler in the vicinity. Because of his origins, Grok is unable to use the translator. Instead, he communicates through gestures, pictures, expressions, and occasional broken English.

Origin Time: In order to return a lost time traveler, the machine must be calibrated with the exact time and place that the traveler disappeared from, down to the nanosecond. Too soon, and the time traveler risks the Reese-Hartnell effect destroying their mind. Too late, and the resulting gap of “non-existence” could create catastrophic effects down the timestream.

The Time Machine: Dr. Nowlan’s invention. The Time Machine is not a ship, but rather a stationary set of silver gates that open into a pre-set location. The gates can be concealed but not closed while the machine is in use.

Episodes:

Episode 1 - Witchhunt (1645 CE)

Lydia Nowlan, linguist and engineer, has just finished her life’s work. She unwinds by answering an invitation from her estranged uncle. When she arrives, she finds a surprisingly high tech laboratory, a strange device and her uncle nowhere to be found. She is startled by the sudden appearance of Grok, her uncle’s assistant, and accidently activates the device, which turns out to be a time machine.

Lydia finds herself in medieval England, where her strange appearance and even stranger knowledge quickly makes her the target of a witchhunt. But she isn’t the only time traveler at risk. She meets fellow prisoner, Bibi Khunza, and the unlikely allies work together to escape. Lydia’s uncle, Dr. Nowlan, comes to find her, bringing with him a time-lost space marine and a lot of questions.

The foursome, assisted by Lydia’s invention, agree to work together and find out what’s causing all these time disturbances and try to find a way to return everyone home.

Episode 2 - the Titanic (1911 CE)

Lydia’s invention continues to facilitate communication between our heroes, with the exception of the caveman, Grok. They investigate another anomaly, this time aboard the HMS Titanic, where they meet the Victorian, Augustus Cole. Khunza encounters some racism, which does not end well for the racists, while Lydia repeatedly attempts to warn about impending doom, and learns the regrettable lesson that some things can’t be changed. She is introduced to the concept of the “Reese-Hartnell Effect” which prevents any time traveler from being able to make multiple attempts to influence the timestream.

As the now fivesome return back to Dr. Nowlan’s lab, they meet Zeta-5, an alien from the far future, who is very armed, and very insistent that he be returned home.

Episode 3 - Ancient Greece (399 BCE)

A comedy of errors involving Zeta-5’s weapon (actually a zoological inseminator) and the time machine sends most of the crew to ancient Greece. Dr. Nowlan has an interesting conversation with Socrates, while Xavion gets to punch Plato in the face. Khunza and Augustus find unlikely common ground as they solve a Philosophical Conspiracy.

Meanwhile, back home, Lydia, Zeta-5 and Grok have to find a way to repair the time machine and get the others back.

Episode 4 - Utopian Dreams (3505 CE)

The concept of utopia comes up again, when Dr. Nowlan takes the crew to the futuristic city of Kallipolis. The peaceful surroundings inspire introspection: Khunza revealing her desperation to reunite with her young child, while Augustus and Xavion admit that they don’t have much of a home to return to. Lydia has a cryptic encounter.

Nowlan’s plans to access the Kallipolitan Hall of Records is thwarted when a sudden insurrection scatters the crew to the four winds.

Episode 5 - Dystopian Nightmares (3505 CE)

Loyalist factions capture Lydia and Xavion. Augustus gets to plan the heist of any number of centuries to get them out, while Zeta-5 discovers his inner revolutionary.

Lydia’s interrogation has some particular after effects that lead to some shocking revelations: namely, both she and her “uncle” were members of the Kallipolitan Time Agency, but her mind had been destroyed by the Reese-Hartnell Effect. Dr. Nowlan had set everything up in an attempt to restore her to herself.

Episode 6 - Finale (???)

Dr. Nowlan has fled into the timestream having accomplished his goal but at the cost of his career and reputation, and possibly his life, should the Time Agents track him down. Lydia and the others race to find him first, engaging in a merry game of chase and sabotage against their rival pursuers.

Dr. Nowlan does ultimately surrender himself into Lydia’s custody, but reveals that his notes have been destroyed in the chaos, meaning that now he genuinely can’t return anyone home. Lydia must reconstruct his work, which she does, with some unexpected assistance: the caveman Grok. He had observed most of Dr. Nowlan’s work and actually comprehends a lot more than anyone realizes. The crew are finally sent home...for the most part.

Bibi Khunza returns to her kingdom and her son, and is able to resume her Regency without much incident.

Augustus Cole does not return home to Victorian England. Instead, seeking a new challenge, he appears in Khunza’s court and is welcomed as a new “foreign advisor.”

There was a “miscalculation” and Xavion Knox is not returned to his own time, but rather six months earlier, to the incident of his partner’s death. Due to the Reese-Hartnell Effect, Xavion has an opportunity to save the man that he loves and he doesn’t intend to waste it. And this time, he won’t be alone.

Zeta-5, citing his race’s long lifespan, decides to go to Xavion’s time instead of his own. He realizes that there is a very good chance that the Reese-Hartnell Effect will come into effect in about fifty years, but it might be interesting to live his life again from infancy onward.

Dr. Nowlan is serving out his sentence at the Kallipolitan Time Agency. He’s treated well and receives many visitors. He is, by all accounts, quite content.

Lydia Nowlan has received tacit approval to continue her linguistic studies across the timestream. She is accompanied in this effort by her new partner, Grok.

Bonus:

As this is a Rip Chat challenge, of course I have slipped Arthur Darvill in here somewhere. He has been cast as Dr. Pierce Draxton, head of the Kallipolitan Time Agency. Because the man’s played a rebel. Now I’d like to see him actually in charge.

#dream show #dream show challenge #rip chat challenge

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ultimatetrashyfanfic · 3 years

Text

I’m just gonna say Non-despair AU cause I want everyone to be happy. I freaking LOVE Gundham so much, he’s wonderful and I’ve been wanting to write him for a while (but stalling cause of his DIALOGUE. It’s so hard). Buuuut I decided to finally give it a shot. And to kind of vent a little cause he used to stress me out in his dark coat and scarf in tropical heat. With Kazuichi because I want them to be friends, and because I seem physically incapable of not putting Kazuichi in every fic. COULD be seen as pre-soudam if you prefer, I didn’t write it like that but it could be if that floats your boat. I do like that ship, I just like other ones with Gundham and kazuichi more. Anyway, hope you enjoy - Circle

Also on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33543364

Warning: descriptions of overheating, sickfic. Nothing really bad here.

Kazuichi wasn’t shocked to wake up sprawled across a towel with sand in his hair and a dry mouth, completely alone on the beach. This wasn’t even the first time it had happened. When his insomnia was really bad he’d always doze throughout the next day - for some reason he couldn’t sleep in his warm, comfortable bed at night but could drop off in seconds with his head on the breakfast table or against Hajime’s shoulder. His classmates never bothered to wake Kazuichi if he was somewhere he wouldn’t be in the way, so the beach was a frequent napping spot. They always made sure to leave him in the shade with a water bottle for when he woke, so Kazuichi didn’t mind. It was normal.

What was very much not normal was waking up to Gundham grasping the front of his t-shirt, shaking him violently and yelling some weird gibberish that Kazuichi was still too woolly-headed to understand.

“Wha..?” he muttered, trying to wake up properly. For a second he wondered if he was having a weird lucid dream, because Gundham never usually touched people, especially him - though he was shaking him by the shirt instead of the shoulders.

“You’re gonna stretch out my clothes,” Kazuichi whined, sitting up and scrubbing his eyes.

“As if your tattered garments are a priority right now! Answer me with honesty, lest the demons tear your tongue from your very mouth. Have you encountered the wrath of my Crimson Steel Elephant?” Gundham cried, far too loudly.

“What?” Kazuichi mumbled. “Gundham, I can’t decipher your witchy language when I’ve just woken up.”

“Foolish mortal! This is a dire emergency!”

“Why? What’s happened?”

“I shall repeat myself just once more, so listen well. Have you encountered one of my Dark Devas of Destruction? Maga-Z appears to be missing,” Gundham said. Despite the grandeur and fancy words, Kazuichi could see he did look pretty distressed, holding the three remaining hamsters in his hand as if he was scared they’d dash away too.

“Oooh, okay. You’ve lost a hamster. That’s all you had to say, Gundham. One single sentence and I would’ve understood,” Kazuichi said.

“Do not talk so disparagingly! My Devas are far more powerful than mere hamsters. And Maga-Z has an independent spirit and often attempts to cause chaos alone. I have my concerns for the safety of everyone on this island if Maga-Z wields his destructive power without my guidance.”

Gundham was completely serious, but Kazuichi had to bite his cheeks to stop himself laughing, picturing a hamster storming across the island in a tank, decimating everything. But Gundham was clearly frantic, and Kazuichi was trying to be nicer to him recently, so he sighed.

“Okay, I’ll help you look for him. We should try to get the others to help too.”

“Indeed. You were the first mortal I came across,” Gundham admitted.

“Right, what does Maga-Z look like?” Kazuichi asked, taking a long drink of water. He felt like he’d be running around in the hot sun for a while now and wanted to drink while he had the chance.

“Your memory is abysmal.” Gundham seemed irritated that Kazuichi didn’t know the hamsters by sight.

“Look, I’m not exactly on nodding terms with your ham- Devas, am I? How am I supposed to know which is which? I only recognise the chubby one.” Kazuichi pointed to Cham-P.

Gundham reeled back like he’d been slapped, spluttering in outrage. “How dare you mock his corporeal form! If Cham-P was not so patient, he would obliterate you where you stand for such cheek.”

“Look, I wasn’t trying to body shame your hamster,” Kazuichi said irritably. “I wasn’t mocking. He’s just bigger than the other ones.”

“He is of the Golden variety, of course he is larger in stature. It has nothing to do with his nutritional intake.”

“Are we going to search or not?” Kazuichi snapped. God, talking to Gundham for more than five minutes was exhausting. “Do you know if Maga-Z has favourite places to go or something?”

Kazuichi let Gundham lead and did his very best not to talk to his strange companion as they searched through bushes and inside cupboards, asking any of his classmates they encountered to look too. Gundham muttered to the remaining hamsters, but didn’t try to talk to Kazuichi much either except to order him around - though his grandiose tone was quickly becoming softer and more anxious.

“Maga-Z has never disappeared from my influence for so long,” he mumbled, pulling his scarf to cover his mouth. “I cannot contain this feeling of dread.”

“Hey, don’t worry,” Kazuichi said, surprising himself. “We’ll find him. He’ll be okay.”

Gundham blinked, then stood up straighter. “I assure you, I fear for the inhabitants of the island. Maga-Z will come to no harm.”

But he was worrying, and even Kazuichi could see it. His searching was becoming frantic, his usually careful hands clumsy, so he knocked things off their shelves and forgot to tidy up or close doors behind them. He started running between buildings and bushes, long coat billowing, calling out for his lost hamster.

“Gundham! Hang on a second,” Kazuichi gasped. “I can’t breathe!”

Surprisingly, Gundham did as he was told, leaning against a palm tree in the shade. He wrapped his arms around his chest, pale fists gripping his dark coat. His carefully styled hair was starting to droop in the heat, and his face was very pink. Kazuichi had never seen so much colour in his cheeks before. The three remaining hamsters cowered inside Gundham’s scarf, sensing his anxiety.

Kazuichi went to lean beside him, wiping the sweat off his own forehead. He didn’t know how Gundham managed in his black clothes every day.

“We’ll find him,” Kazuichi said again. “Ibuki and Twogami and Mahiru said they’d look. And Miss Sonia looked like she was going to cry when I told her Maga-Z was missing. She said she wouldn’t rest until he was found.”

“She has a good heart,” Gundham said softly.

“Yeah…” Kazuichi paused. “Hey, you didn’t say anything nice like that about me. I’m the one who’s been running around with you in the baking sun for hours.”

Gundham didn’t respond. He’d been talking a lot less in the past twenty minutes or so, though he’d originally been giving incomprehensible orders to Kazuichi every two minutes. Souda assumed he was just growing more concerned for Maga-Z the longer he was missing - so he was caught off guard when Gundham slumped over and fell limply against him, almost bringing them both to the floor.

“Dude!” Kazuichi managed to catch hold of Gundham. “What are you doing?”

Perhaps Gundham didn’t know what he was doing either, because he had a look of sheer bafflement on his face. He tried to pull himself upright, clinging to the rough bark of the palm tree, but each time he wobbled dangerously and Kazuichi had to grab onto him again.

“What is this..? I appear to be reacting negatively to your mortal world’s atmosphere.” His usually forceful speech came out laboured and slow, and Gundham placed a hand to his lips in surprise.

“What? You’ve been surviving in this atmosphere for ages already,” Kazuichi argued. “What’s up with you? You sound drunk. Can you tell me in plain English?”

“The temperature in this godforsaken land exceeds even the fiery bowels of hell,” Gundham hissed, having to cling to Kazuichi to stay upright.

Kazuichi took a second to disentangle Gundham’s web of fancy words. “Sooo… you’re too hot. I guess that makes sense. Who wears a black coat and a scarf in this heat? And I know you haven’t had any water since we started searching. I’d better take you back to your cabin,” he sighed.

“Unhand me this instant, you fiend!” Gundham growled, though he was the one using Kazuichi like a walking stick. “I could never rest while one of my Dark Devas of Destruction is unguided.”

“Well they’ll all be unguided if you get heatstroke and drop dead,” Kazuichi said. “Half the island is searching for Maga-Z - and I’ll go back out to keep looking as soon as I can, okay?” As much as Gundham might get on Kazuichi’s nerves sometimes, he didn’t want him to get really sick or hurt. He hoped Maga-Z had enough sense not to wander into the sea or something; Gundham would be crushed.

“Hmm.” Gundham didn’t look convinced.

“Your other three ham- I mean Devas probably need to cool down a bit too,” Kazuichi tried.

Another pause. “Very well,” Gundham sighed. “I shall retire to my artificially cooled domain until the effects of this oppressive atmosphere wear off. I trust you to ensure the search continues.” He turned on his heel and tried to walk on his own, staggering alarmingly.

“Hey, careful!” Kazuichi ran to steady him. “I told you I’d help you.”

Gundham slapped his hands away. “Fool! Have you forgotten I am cursed with poison?”

“Oh for God’s sake! Could you just give an inch for once! Why do you make everything so difficult?” Kazuichi cried exasperatedly.

Gundham stuck his chin in the air and started berating Souda again - but before he’d even finished the first sentence his words died away. He blinked several times, looking dazed, swaying where he stood.

“Gundham..?” Kazuichi said nervously.

Gundham didn’t respond. He took another few staggering steps towards his cabin, then crumpled as his knees gave way under him. Kazuichi cried out and hurried to catch him, their foreheads bashing together painfully. Gundham’s skin was clammy and damp, his face looking much more… alive than usual. Kazuichi realised it was because his pale makeup was running.

“Fucking hell, Gundham,” Kazuichi groaned, hauling one of Gundham’s arms around his shoulders. “Just hold onto me, okay? Try not to pass out.”

Surprisingly, Gundham nodded, staring down at his feet like it was taking a huge effort to make them move. It was clear he was trying to be helpful, but Kazuichi had to carry a lot of his weight and they were both breathless by the time they reached Gundham’s cabin. Kazuichi breathed a sigh of relief as the wall of cool air conditioning washed over them.

“Thank God for that,” he mumbled, dumping Gundham onto the bed. It was carefully made, which Kazuichi had never understood; why bother making your bed when you were just going to mess it up every night? The entire room was neat, though the giant cage meant it rather smelled like hamsters. “Right, get your coat and scarf off.”

Gundham glared at him viciously.

“Oh, that’s the thanks I get, is it? Well, no matter how annoying you might be, you’re overheated. No wonder, wearing that stupid dark coat. So get it off.” Kazuichi grabbed Gundham’s arms and yanked the coat sleeves off like he was undressing a sulky toddler. Gundham hissed a series of furious curses at him - one of which sounded like Latin, which was actually pretty impressive - and the three remaining hamsters hopped out onto the bed, startled.

“There. Was that so hard?” Kazuichi said silkily when Gundham was lying on the bed in his shirt and scarf, glaring. Kazuichi tried to take the scarf off too, but Gundham’s hissed threats became more vehement and he gave up. “Fine, keep it on then. Though I don’t think the gothic look is very sustainable in a tropical climate, man. Right, I’m going to get you something to drink.”

Gundham didn’t respond until Kazuichi had returned with a cup full of water from the bathroom. “I shall take advice from one with such abysmal fashion sense as yourself with a grain of salt, fiend,” he said, with as much dignity as he could muster while tomato-red and damp with sweat on his bed.

Kazuichi had to fight very hard not to pour the glass of water directly over Gundham’s head, but he just about managed to help him drink it instead. Then he grabbed the little fan from the bathroom and placed it by Gundham’s bed, dampened a cloth and slapped it rather unceremoniously on his forehead. Gundham yelped and glared again, water trickling down his temples. Good. Serves him right for that earlier comment. “There. Keep your head back or you’ll smudge your eyeliner. And don’t move. I’ll try to find Mikan while I’m looking for Maga-Z, okay?”

Gundham turned his face away, cupping one hand over the Devas protectively. He mumbled something into the material of his scarf.

“What?” Kazuichi asked.

“I said I am grateful for your assistance…”

“Oh.” Kazuichi was surprised. He’d never heard Gundham acknowledge he needed any help before - though maybe that was Kazuichi’s own fault. He’d been the one to start up the whole stupid rivalry thing (which wasn’t ever a rivalry in the first place since the girl wasn’t remotely interested). Maybe this was a step towards a reconciliation.

“I mean, I wasn’t gonna leave you to die,” Kazuichi added awkwardly.

“You are far more tolerable when you do not echo the Dark Queen like a parrot. I once believed you had no real mind of your own,” Gundham said bluntly.

Kazuichi flushed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You made yourself an extension of the Dark Queen. You never disputed her or challenged her. You agreed with her every word.”

“Well… I wanted her to like me,” Kazuichi mumbled. “Look, you don’t need to lecture me about all this. You know I’ve left Sonia alone.”

“Indeed. But you still wish to befriend her?” Gundham asked. Even weak and overheated as he was, his eyes were burning into Kazuichi’s with such a fierce intensity he had to look away.

“That’s her choice. Why are you asking all this?”

“If you still seek a friendly companionship with the Dark Queen, you should not forget she is a mere powerless mortal,” Gundham said. “She does not wish to be treated like she is extraordinary. She does not wish to be around those who only agree to please her.”

Kazuichi stared at him. Was Gundham really offering advice? Was this a weird way to repay him for helping out? It was pretty embarrassing to be given advice on how to make friends from Gundham, who openly distrusted everyone - but he was friends with Sonia. Maybe even something more, Kazuichi honestly didn’t know. He’d tried to stay away from Sonia as much as possibly, partly because he wanted her to be more comfortable and partly because he was pretty fucking embarrassed by his past behaviour. But he would like to be her friend. Nothing else - he knew that wouldn’t ever happen - but friends was good.

“Now make haste!” Gundham suddenly cried, making Kazuichi jump. “Continue the search! I shall rejoin you as soon as I am able.”

“No, rest. Don’t move and especially don’t put your coat on again. I’ll find Maga-Z,” Kazuichi said quickly. He dashed outside before Gundham could protest, groaning as the sticky heat wrapped around him once more.

He started searching again, after taking a quick detour to Mikan’s cabin to ask if she could go check on Gundham and make sure he hadn’t gone out into the sun again. Almost everyone on the island was searching now, splitting off into little groups to cover more ground. Nagito was one of the last to join in - and Hajime and Kazuichi watched in astonishment as he shifted the very first box he touched in the storage room of the old building and pointed. “There he is.”

“WHY didn’t I ask him first?!” Kazuichi practically screamed.

“Ultimate Luck seems a pretty useful talent,” Hajime murmured to him, not wanting Nagito to hear. It’d only start him off on a long self-deprecating rant. “Go on then, Kazuichi. Get him.”

Kazuichi peered behind the box on his hands and knees. Maga-Z was cowering in the corner, fur dishevelled and standing on end. He didn’t look too friendly. “Why do I have to grab the stupid hamster?” Kazuichi whined. “You grab him, Hajime. I don’t like them. They look like they know too much.”

“What are you on about?” Hajime sighed. “It’s just a hamster. You can’t be scared of a hamster, Kazuichi.”

“They’re Gundham’s hamsters. They probably like… worship the devil or something.”

“Hamsters don’t worship anything. They’re just hamsters.”

“Can I go now?” Nagito asked, looking like he was losing braincells just listening to this conversation.

“Yeah, thanks, Nagito. Unless you fancy grabbing this hamster,” Kazuichi said. He looked hopeful, but Nagito left without another word.

“I’ll do it,” Hajime said, exasperated. He reached behind the box to ease his hand underneath Maga-Z, but as soon as his fingers brushed fur, the hamster made a mad dash forward. Directly towards Souda. He squealed and hastily cupped both hands around Maga-Z, holding him at arm’s length. “Oh my God, oh my God, I got him… Oh God, he’s gonna bite me, I know he is,” Kazuichi whined.

“Hey, good job,” Hajime said, surprised. “I didn’t think you’d catch him.”

“I’m not a baby, Hajime,” Kazuichi huffed. Then he whimpered in a very childish way. “Ugh, he’s wriggling around. Can I… put him somewhere? A bag or something? I don’t trust him.”

“Just shove him in your pocket and let’s go. It’s boiling in here. And Gundham will be stressing about Maga-Z. Do you know where he is?”

“I had to put him to bed because he nearly fainted. He was running around in his black coat all day.”

Hajime rolled his eyes. “Nobody on this island has any self-preservation skills.”

“At least Maga-Z is okay.” Kazuichi studied the little ball of fluff cupped in his hands. Somehow his little ink drop eyes did look menacing. “Hey, he really does look like he wanted to go off and cause chaos on his own, doesn’t he?”

Hajime gave Kazuichi a look. “I think you’ve spent too much time with Gundham today.”

Thankfully, Gundham was still in his room and looking a lot better, though still very visibly agitated. His colour had returned to ghostly pale (he must’ve reapplied his makeup) and his eyes were far more focused - they snapped to the door right away when Hajime opened it. When he saw Kazuichi, his hands still full of wriggling hamster, his brow cleared.

“Take him, quick!” Kazuichi said, hurrying over to the bed. “I’m sure he wants to bite me.”

“You fiend,” Gundham murmured, taking the hamster. For a second Kazuichi was offended, thinking Gundham was calling him names when he and Hajime had been nice enough to bring the hamster back, but then he realised Gundham was talking to Maga-Z. He spoke to them in exactly the same way he spoke to his classmates, no silly mushy voices like most people did with cute animals.

“I can only pray you have not caused too much destruction while unsupervised,” he murmured, smoothing Maga-Z’s fur. The hamster sat up to greet him like a little puppy, and Kazuichi noticed for the first time that Maga-Z’s cheeks were bulging.

“Did he really run off just to steal food?” Kazuichi groaned. “We’ve been so stressed and he was just eating!”

“Ah yes, a feast befitting the magnificent Crimson Steel Elephant,” Gundham said, gently placing Maga-Z with the other hamsters. They circled him joyfully, happy to be reunited too.

Kazuichi threw his hands up exasperatedly. “I give up. You’re all nuts.”

Gundham turned to Kazuichi, his face solemn. “I am deeply indebted to you, as is everybody who resides on this island. I cannot speak of the terrors that may have occurred if Maga-Z was without guidance. I shall spread the story of your triumph to every other mortal here so they can show you due gratitude,” he said.

“Oh… Thanks, man.” Kazuichi could see he meant well, but the thought of Gundham telling everyone Kazuichi saved the island from a hamster’s destruction was pretty embarrassing. He could already see Hajime smirking out of the corner of his eye.

“You should stay inside a bit longer though,” Hajime said. “Just in case. You need to make sure you’re totally cooled down.”

“Indeed. I have had ample excitement for one day,” Gundham said.

“Me too,” Kazuichi mumbled.

“If you’re feeling better, you can tell everyone about Kazuichi saving the island over dinner,” Hajime said, grinning. Kazuichi glared at him.

“Asshole,” he muttered as soon as they were outside Gundham’s cabin.

Hajime burst out laughing. “Maybe he’ll make you sound really gallant and fearless when he tells it.”

“Then everyone will know it’s a lie right away. And anyway, Nagito saw what happened. Even if you don’t give away the real story, he’ll definitely tell.”

“Probably. But you did save his hamster, even if you weren’t that fearless about it. Is there a truce between you two now?”

“I suppose so. He’s not so bad. Crazy and dramatic and difficult… but okay,” Kazuichi admitted. He paused. “I don’t know what half of the words he uses mean though.”

“Yeah,” Hajime agreed. “I don’t either.”

#super danganronpa two #danganronpa 2 #kazuichi souda #gundham tanaka #four dark devas of destruction #overheating #Gundham’s lines were ridiculously hard #mod circle

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silverarmedassassin · 3 years

Text

Home For the Holidays (1)

Bucky x Reader | Words: 8,608 | Warnings: None

A/N: Happy holidays and happy December 16! This is my holiday submission for @wonderlandmind4 Fall/Winter challenge. My prompt was: B is very enthusiastic to introduce A to all their traditions, but tries to be sensitive when A seems like they’re struggling to fit in/enjoy themselves.

I’ve been working on this guy for so long, so I decided to split this up into two parts. Part two will be posted this weekend! I’m so happy to finally be sharing this bad boy with you all! If you feel so inclined, I would love to hear what you think. Happy reading!🎄

From the time he was a young boy, Bucky has had an aversion towards the elderly. Which is ironic considering since, technically speaking, he is the elderly now. It’s not that he doesn’t like old people; it’s just that they make him uncomfortable. Which is why, on a balmy Sunday in October, when he walks into the Brooklyn Manor nursing home, he feels his skin crawl.

This trip has been a long time coming. Two years on the run, a voluntary deep freeze, a universal war, and the obliteration of half the earth’s population and its subsequent return, to be exact. But no amount of time would ever prepare Bucky for the visit he was about to make. But it was “essential to his healing,” as Sam so often liked to say. This, along with therapy and the establishment of a place of his own outside of the Tower, was meant to help him move past what had happened to him, help him see that he was a victim and that people still loved him despite what he was forced to do for all of those years.

"Good morning," a cheery redhead says from her spot behind the front desk. "Can I he-" She cuts herself off when she looks up from the computer screen and sees who is looming over her.

"Er, hi," Bucky says, suddenly convinced this is a terrible idea. He should expect nothing less, considering his line of work, both current and past. "I was told Rebecca Proctor lives here..."

It took a second for the woman to register what Bucky had said, but then she jumps into action and begins to type into her computer. "Of course! Are you a relative?"

"Brother."

Her eyes go wide for a second before it clicks. "Oh my goodness, of course." The woman grabs a sticky note from the pad next to her keyboard and scribbles down a series of numbers before handing it to him. "Her room number is 117. This is the code to get into the residence portion of the building. If you need help finding the room, there should be a nurse's station in every hall."

Bucky offers a tight smile and nod of appreciation as he takes the slip of paper from the woman. As he makes his way deeper into the facility, he can feel his nerves waxing and waning with each step. He shouldn't be nervous. It was just Becca, just his little sister, one of the last living ties to his life before all of this. But it had been so long, who knew if she would even recognize him?

When Bucky recruited Sam to help him find out where, or even if, his sister was living, he figured it would be a fruitless quest. He was surprised, however, when Sam came to him a week later with the address of the building he was currently attempting to navigate, shyly dipping his head every time he would pass an older woman in a wheelchair or a group of men concentrating on a board game. Sam had managed to hunt her down with a little help from his Avenger title. The nurse couldn't give him much information since he wasn't a relative or listed on her medical files, but what she could share broke Bucky's heart.

At 102 years old, technically a little less since she was a Snap victim, Becca's memory was less than stellar. Her children had made the tough decision to place her in a home after her mind had started to slip, and she was no longer able to care for herself. It makes Bucky feel guilty because he wasn't around to help.

But today, hopefully, that would change.

After a little wandering and a helpful point from a nurse, Bucky finds himself standing in front of the oversized, thick oak door with a golden plaque in the center proudly displaying "117." He waits a moment, listens for any sign that someone is in the room, but all he hears are the general noises of a nursing home just after lunchtime. He raises his hand to knock but stops short of making contact. Should he knock? What if she’s sleeping? He wouldn't want to wake her. He decides to slowly press the door open instead.

He enters the room slowly, unsure of what he will be greeted with when he reaches the end of the short hall blocking his view from his sister's bed. What he sees, however, thoroughly surprises him. Instead of finding a small, frail body lying in a too-sterile hospital-grade bed, he finds his sister sitting in one of the two armchairs in front of her window, quietly looking out into the garden just outside. After a moment of shifting back and forth on his feet, Bucky clears his throat in an attempt to catch Becca's attention.

The woman slowly turns her head to eye the intruder, and, to Bucky's amazement, a slight look of recognition flashes across her face. Despite her age and sunken appearance, her bright blue eyes still shine as brilliant as they did when she was a little girl. He focuses on those eyes as he slowly crosses the room to her.

"Hey, Becca. Do you," Bucky grimaces as the falter in his voice caused by the tears that are starting to form in his own blue eyes. "Do you know who I am?"

To save his sister from having to crane her frail neck to look up at him, he settles himself into the chair across from hers. The smooth velvet is cool on his overheated skin, and he could sink into the feeling of comfort it gives him. Another piece of home, he thinks as a picture of his family's home flashes across his mind, the two chairs nestled in a similar position to how Becca has them now.

Rebecca studies her brother for a moment before a thin but bright smile spreads across her aged features, and Bucky lets out the breath he didn't realize he was holding. "You're from the pictures. Just over there."

Bucky watches as a boney finger points to the dresser, the top neatly cluttered with picture frames and trinkets, a sign that his sister had lived a full and happy life after he'd gone. He gets up and makes his way to the piece of furniture to better look at the mixture of black and white and colored photos scattered together. It's strange, he thinks, seeing his sister's life play out across the years in the span of just a few short seconds. When he lands on a black and white photo in an aged frame, he freezes. Smiling back at him are his parents, Bucky himself sitting in front of them on their home's front steps, and Becca nestled snugly in their mother's arms. From when they first brought her home, Bucky thinks to himself as he reaches out and caresses the delicate glass. He moves on to another older photo, this one depicting the two Barnes children dressed in their Sunday best with a scrawny Steve Rogers thrown into the mix. Bucky shakes his head at the sight of his best friend, remembering all the trouble he used to get the two of them in.

The last photo he sees, though, causes a lump to rise and settle in his throat. Frozen in time in the cracked and fading film is the last time he ever saw his family. Bucky, Rebecca, and their parents stand on the dock just in front of the boat he was to ship off on. Becca and his mother have a tight grip on him, and his father only offers a tight smile to the camera. Looking at the image of his younger self, not too different from what he looks like now, is a heart-wrenching moment. The man in that photo has yet to see death first-hand, feel the visceral need to kill or be killed. That man was still innocent, naive to the world, and convinced he was invincible.

Bucky remembers that day and how, despite the nerves, excited he was to see someplace other than dinghy Brooklyn. Yeah, that war wasn't one he signed up to fight, but he'd made a promise to himself he would do what he needed to keep his ma and sister safe.

As he reaches for the frame, a soft knock on the door startles him from his thoughts. "Mrs. Proctor!" a sweet voice sing-songs as the door is pushed open once again. "I hope you didn't fill up at lunch. I brought-Oh!"

Standing in the doorway, both hands full of reusable bags filled to the brim with goodies of all sorts, is a young woman. Her smile, one of the prettiest Bucky's ever seen, he thinks, falters just a little when she sees his towering form taking up so much space in Becca's room. However, she recovers quickly and nudges the door shut behind her as she makes her way deeper into the room.

"I didn't know you were expecting company this afternoon," the woman says and deposits the bags onto the bed. "Who is this?"

Bucky studies the woman in an attempt to figure out who she is to his sister. She couldn't be a daughter or granddaughter, right? She looked nothing like them. Plus, she was calling her Mrs. Proctor. Bucky also felt confident in his ruling that she was not a nurse or staff member at the facility, considering she wasn't wearing scrubs or donning a facility badge.

The only indication that she even belongs in this facility is the sticker she wears proudly just above her heart, with "Y/N" scrawled in bright red letters.

"The pictures," Becca finally says with a smile, pointing towards Bucky. "He's from the pictures."

Their visitor looks between Bucky and Rebecca with a soft look somewhere between pity and a faint sense of joy. "Bucky," the frail old woman says, and Bucky instantly feels the lump that had settled into his throat not ten minutes earlier begin to grow again.

Y/N must sense the energy shift in the room because she quickly pulls out a few homemade goodies wrapped in cellophane and places them on the rolling table next to Becca's bed. "Well, I'll let you be with your visitor, Mrs. Proctor," she says as she shoulders her bags again. "I'll see you Tuesday evening, okay?"

Becca simply nods as she watches the younger woman make her exit, then shifts her attention to Bucky as he steps back towards her and crouches down.

"Bec, you remember me?"

She says nothing at first but brings her hand up to rest on Bucky's freshly shaved cheeks, a fresh set of tears gathering in their twin blue eyes. "You came back."

Bucky sits with his sister for two hours after they reacquaint themselves. The nurse that spoke with Sam was right; it was difficult to be around her, as she often slipped up with her memory. She couldn't remember the names of her grandchildren, nor her great-grandchildren, but when she saw their smiling faces looking back at her in the pictures, she knew they belonged to her. Her fragile mind, however, seemed to favor older faces and memories. She could recall events from when she was a teenager and even got some details right from when Bucky shipped off. The remembrance came with a repeat of the same stories two or three times, but Bucky didn’t mind. He was never around to bear witness to some of these stories, and it was just good to hear his sister’s voice again.

It's around 3 o'clock when Rebecca begins to grow tired, and so Bucky takes that as his cue to take his leave. He helps his sister into her bed for a pre-dinner nap, then quietly makes his exit when he is sure she is fast asleep. For a visit he was hesitant to make, he can't think of a better way to have spent his Sunday afternoon.

As Bucky makes his way back through the winding halls of the facility, a jaunty tune he recalls from his teenage days plays through his head, and he feels like he could face the world if needed, which is why he finds himself doing the unimaginable as he reaches the redhead at the front desk.

“Excuse me,” he says with a renewed sense of confidence that had been absent earlier in the day. “I don’t know if you can give me this information, but there was this woman...Y/N I think her name is. I don’t think she was a nurse, but maybe someone else that works here? Would you be able to tell me if she was still around?”

The woman smiles gently back at him but shakes her head. “We’re such a large facility, I’d need to see a face to know exactly who you’re talking about.”

There’s a momentary lapse in his confidence, realizing just how weird the question could come off. He’s suddenly very glad she had no idea who he was talking about and hopes she doesn’t mention it to anyone else.

“Uh, thanks anyway,” he mutters as he gives a small nod. “Have a good rest of your day.”

Oh well, he thinks to himself, at least I could make it out my door this morning.

The Snap impacted each and every person differently. While most think the Vanished had it the worst, people tend to forget about those left behind. Many lost their jobs due to closures and shortages, others were evicted due to insufficient funds for rent. The uncertainty of it all, the not knowing what happened to family and friends, not knowing when you’d find your next job, if you’d have money to buy groceries this week, took a harder toll on some than others.

You had been a relatively fortunate one. Since moving to the city, you hadn’t quite made a large group of friends yet, which meant there were fewer people for you to lose. Your family had somehow lucked out as well. Due to an abundance of workers suddenly gone without a trace, you’d been able to snag a corporate position that you managed to hold onto even after the Snap was reversed.

However, the one downside was the aftermath of families coming back to their homes only to find that someone new was living in their space. That, unfortunately, happened to you. Two days after everyone reappeared, you had a knock on your front door. When you opened it, you found a lovely couple who had just been married before the Snap and had just started renting the apartment you were living in. And, even though you’d called this building your home for the past five years, you did what any half-decent individual would do and moved out. Goodbye state-of-the-art gym and central location, hello paper-thin walls, and a forty-five-minute one-way commute.

At least you were able to take a few days off of work to get your belongings out of the old apartment and into the new one. Most of the larger furniture had been the couple’s, which meant you only had to carry a few pieces into your second story Brooklyn brownstone apartment. The problem, however, was that there was no elevator in this renovated building, which meant you had to find a way to carry your low-quality Ikea TV stand up the too-narrow stairs without busting a wall or your furniture. The only thing you were close to bursting was a nerve because it was turning out to be more of a two-person task, and you were the only one participating in this moving process.

“Fuck you,” you groan as one of the stand’s legs gets caught on the stairs again. Despite the chilly breeze that was blowing in from the building’s front door you had propped open, you were perspiring more than would be deemed ladylike. With the rate you were going, you would need to need to take another full day off just to get your stupid furniture into your apartment.

“Do you need some help?” a voice calls from above you. You peek over your shoulder to find a rather tall, rather bulky man standing at the second-floor landing. It hadn’t even occurred to you that people might actually need to use the stairs to, you know, go about their daily lives. What doesn’t go over your head, however, is the fact that the man standing at the top of the stairs was not a complete stranger like you originally thought, but someone you knew almost too well for not actually knowing him at all.

“That would actually be wonderful,” you huff out a laugh, attempting to be nonchalant about the fact that Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier - soldier turned assassin turned Avenger - was standing just feet away from you for the second time in twenty-four hours, this time in your new apartment building. Maybe this place wasn’t as safe as you had thought?

He makes his way halfway down the stairs, and you attempt to shimmy out of the way so that he can grab the corners you had been holding up. “If you could just get this thing back down the stairs, I could-” Your meager offering of help is cut short when Bucky manages to slot his arms into place and life the entire piece like it was nothing. A metal arm will do that to someone, you suppose.

You awkwardly direct him to your apartment, shoving open the door to 2B and waving your arm to give him a vague idea of where you want the stand. “Thank you. You’re a lifesaver. I thought for sure I was going to have to take the thing apart to get it up here.”

“It’s no problem, really,” Bucky says as he stuffs his hands into his jacket’s pockets, the stiff leather shifting and rubbing as he does so. When he looks at you for the first time, his bright blue eyes light up even more with recognition. “Hey, you were visiting my sister’s place the other day.”

“I was,” you laugh as you extend your hand. “I’m Y/N.”

There’s a brief moment of hesitation before a warm, leathered hand slips into yours. “Bucky,” he says as if you wouldn’t already know who he is. "Do you, uh, need help bringing anything else up?"

You watch him as he slowly glances around your small apartment, void of much except for a few boxes and the stand he just carried up and your mattress you've yet to shimmy into the bedroom. “Oh! No,” you laugh, realizing how pathetic your new home looks at the moment. “I have movers bringing the rest of my things from storage tomorrow. But thank you, I really appreciate it.”

“It’s really no problem. If you, uh, ever need anything, I rent the unit above you. Not sure how often I’ll be home, but for whatever it’s worth,” he shrugs as you follow him back out your front door.

“I’ll keep it in mind. I guess I’ll be seeing you around?”

Despite his nod of agreement, you don’t see Bucky for another two weeks. You try not to let the unexplained but forewarned absence weigh on your thoughts. With the exception of listening for the creaks of his floorboards that never come and the brief visits with his sister, you find yourself doing everything you can to not fixate on the Grecian god of a man you have somehow come to call a neighbor.

It’s not until you receive a call from Rebecca’s daughter that you finally admit he was home.

“Oh, I’m...I’m so sorry…” you choke out when Mary informs you her mother had passed away in the early hours of the night. Despite having no real relation to the Proctor family, you’d known them for a handful of years due to your time spent at the nursing home. In that time, they’d come to be like family to you, so their loss affected you just as strongly as the passing of your own family member would. “Have you told her brother?”

“No. We have no way to contact him. I know he’d spent some time with Ma at the nursing home, so I left a message for them to pass the news and my number on if he came in or called. But I haven’t heard anything.”

“I actually have a way to reach him. I’ll tell him to give you a call, okay?”

When you get home the following day, you’re greeted by the sound of Bucky’s shower turning on. Five minutes later, it shuts off. You give him another ten before you make your way up to his apartment. The idea of telling this man, a practical stranger who you knew nothing about other than what you’ve read in books and seen on tv, that his sister passed away leaves you feeling nauseous. This isn't exactly what you pictured when you said you’d see him around.

He’s quick to answer his door. You’re taken off guard when his door is pulled open to reveal his broad chest covered in a blue Henley that is clinging to his still-damp skin. It takes you a moment to gather your thoughts and remember exactly why you were here.

“Is everything okay, Y/N?” he asks as you drag your eyes up to meet his own.

You clear your throat and shake your head in an attempt to gather your thoughts. “Uh, yeah. No? I’m sorry to bug you, but I, uh...You haven’t heard from Mrs. Pro-er, I mean Rebecca’s daughter, have you?” When he says no, you sigh. You knew that was the answer you were going to get, but a part of you still hoped you weren’t going to have to be the one to deliver this information. “Mary called me yesterday. She, uh...She wanted you to know...uh...Rebecca passed away...early yesterday morning…”

You can visibly see Bucky shift through several emotions - shock, grief, anger, to finally an almost expressionless mask. You unintentionally stiffen at the sound of metal shifting and grating together, which seems to break Bucky’s haze. You can tell he’s struggling to find words in that moment, so you continue on, hoping a coherent sentence will come out.

“I know I’m probably not the person you want to hear this news from, but I couldn’t really give her a way to contact you and...Here!” You shove your hand out towards him, the small piece of paper you wrote Mary’s number down on resting in your palm. “I told her I’d give you her number. So you could call her or whatever.”

Bucky just looks at the slip for a moment before you clear your throat. “Listen, I’m really sorry. I wi-”

“Thanks, Y/N,” he cuts you off and grabs for the paper. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to go call her.”

Before you can respond, Bucky is turning his back. “Yeah, okay,” you whisper to the dark oak of his door before making your way back down to your own apartment.

“The service was beautiful, Mary,” you say as you hug Rebecca’s daughter. “She would have loved it.”

“It’s all thanks to Bucky. He paid for everything.” Mary says as she sets her gaze over your shoulder. “Or, I guess Uncle Bucky is more appropriate to say…”

You turn and follow her gaze to where the man in question is, his great-great nieces and nephew using him as their personal jungle gym. You can tell, even from across the room, that his face is absolutely glowing, eyes crinkled in the outer-corners with delight as Bridget, the youngest of the bunch, wraps her tiny arms around his neck and demands a horsey ride.

“I’m glad they’re taking it so well,” Mary says as she watches her grandchildren. “It’s almost like he’s been a part of their life this entire time instead of just appearing out of nowhere.” There’s no hostility in her voice when she says this. Rather, she sounds remorseful. “I went my entire life hearing stories about my uncle. My dead uncle. Yet, after all these years, he shows up looking exactly like he does in the pictures I’ve been looking at since I was a little girl.”

You felt for Mary and the rest of the family. You couldn’t begin to comprehend how difficult and confusing it must be to find out that the man you’d come to know as just a ghost story was alive and real and more than willing to be a part of even the most difficult moments in life. It’s a testament, you think, to how good of a man Bucky really is. Despite the horrors of his past and the apprehension he’s likely still faced with every day, he’s still willing to put himself out into a world that has been less than kind to him.

As if your thoughts summon him, Bucky looks up and over to where you are standing. When he catches your eye, his smile grows. You’re sure there has never been anything as beautiful as Bucky Barnes flashing a megawatt smile at you. “At least you’re in good hands.”

You decide not to stick around for the luncheon after the service so, after snagging a few refreshments and a quick chat with a few of the family members you recognize, you begin to inch your way closer to the exit. You hadn’t seen Bucky since you’d spoken with Mary, and you were in the middle of trying to figure out why that left you with a hollow feeling in the pit of your stomach when you’re abruptly stopped on your way to the doors.

“You can’t leave before I get the chance to apologize for the other day,” Bucky says, a small smile gracing his face. He cleans up well, you decide as you get a better look at his lightly stubbled face. He has his hair tied back in a neat, low bun, which allowed his eyes to stand out more than they usually did, and a black-on-black suit is stretched just right over his broad chest. If you didn’t know better, you would think he was a model on loan to add some cheer to the rather dreary day.

Bucky quirks his head and shifts his body weight when it takes you a bit too long to answer, and it’s only then that you realize you’re ogling him. His sister just died, Y/N, you chastise yourself, this is not the time to be checking him out.

“I, uh,” you clear your throat, hoping he can’t feel the heat that is rapidly clawing up your neck radiating from you. “I don’t want to intrude on family time,” you say rather lamely. It was true, but for whatever reason, Bucky left you feeling almost guilty.

He lets out a humorless laugh and crosses his arms. “If anyone is intruding, I think it’s me,” he says as he looks over your shoulder back into the banquet room the rest of the family is in.

You turn to follow his line of sight and can’t help but smile when you see one of his great-nieces twirling around, showing off her dress. “Nah, don’t say that. The little ones seem to love you,” you laugh, hoping to lighten the mood just a little.

Bucky chuckles and then sighs. “Yea, but I just...don’t feel like I belong.”

Hearing Bucky, this man who had his entire life ripped from him multiple times, who, after spending just a few short hours in total with, you ardently believed deserved every good thing in the world and then some, say that he feels he doesn’t belong among those who are supposed to love him most broke your heart. You know that it’s likely untrue that Rebecca’s family was anything but unwelcoming, but that Bucky even felt that way caused a pit to open in your stomach.

“Oh, Bucky…” you say softly, trying to avoid sounding full of pity. “I’m so sorry this all has happened to you.” He averts his gaze and shrugs. “You know what? I could probably stay for a little while longer…”

At that, Bucky looks back at you, eyes as bright as when his own sister recognized him on that very first day. You knew then that, no matter what, you’d do anything to keep that look on his face.

“I promise it won’t be for nothing. They have a ton of food, and I guess there are some famous deviled eggs that, not to sound awful but...are to die for.”

You stifle a laugh and shake your head as Bucky leads you back into the banquet room, excitedly rambling on about the various food items his relatives have to offer. After piling your plates full and grabbing a coffee, you follow Bucky to a small table conveniently tucked away in the corner. Over the next hour, you watch Bucky’s perfectly constructed walls begin to crumble just a little. You quickly uncover which topics make him uncomfortable, particularly those revolving around his current line of work and those he can talk about endlessly. You learn the ins and outs of what it was like being friends with Captain America before he was the size of a brick house. You also discover that Bucky is someone you could listen to talk for hours on end.

“I don’t think it ever came up,” Bucky says as he takes a seat back at the table, two fresh cups of coffee in hand, “how did you know my sister?”

You hum your thanks and take a sip before answering. “Well, a few years ago, or I guess a few years before the Snap, I started volunteering at the nursing home. You’d be surprised how many families just shove their parents or grandparents in those homes and forget about them. They get lonely and just want someone to talk to that isn’t a nurse or whatever. It got worse during those five years. Rebecca never really needed me to sit with her; her family visited all the time. However, she was still one of my favorite residents.

“She talked about you all the time, you know. Even when she couldn’t remember her own children’s names, she always had a story to tell about you. She was immensely proud of you.” Bucky grunts, and you playfully roll your eyes at him. “She was a good storyteller. Sometimes it was hard to tell if she was trying to pull my leg or not. She...she was something else, but she’s going to be dearly missed.”

A somber sort of silence falls between the two of you then. It’s not uncomfortable, but it’s the kind charged with a unique sense of melancholy. It’s so strange, you think, to share a common heartbreak with someone you still barely know. Loss and grief have a curious way of bringing those once unknown together.

“Uncle Bucky,” a high-pitched squeal cuts through the moment and brings with it the excited, flushed face of an excited great-niece. “Uncle Bucky, I made you something!”

Bridget worms her way up onto Bucky’s lap, a piece of paper with her hand traced to look like a turkey in its center. “To Unkle Bucky, Luv Bridget” was written sloppily across the top.

You watch as Bucky’s expression goes from one of strain to that of absolute joy. “Thank you so much,” he smiles as he takes the paper and examines it as if it were a piece on display at the Louvre. “I know exactly where I’m going to hang this as soon as I find a frame.”

The little girl, who bears a striking resemblance to her long-lost great-uncle, beams as she wraps her arms around his neck and squeezes. You catch Bucky’s eye, causing him to break into an even wider smile. You hope he can see how truly and unconditionally he is loved.

You watch as she scrambles off back to where her brother and cousin are sitting, coloring away. You nod at the sweet drawing. “Planning on spending Thanksgiving with them?”

Bucky smooths his hand over the paper in front of him and thinks for a moment. “They invited me. I guess they, we, have family in Indiana that they usually visit for the holiday. I just...I don’t think so. I don’t want to be that far from where I’m needed most, and I think meeting a whole new set of family would be a bit much, ya know?”

You hum in response, fully understanding the dilemma. It’s unfortunate, though. “Well, I’m sure I could never compete with a real home-cooked meal, but I’m staying home because I don’t...really agree with the holiday and will be heating up a nice frozen turkey TV dinner if you would like to join. I might just throw in a pumpkin pie, too.”

Bucky looks up then, a soft, small smile turning up the corners of his lips. “Thanks, Y/N, really. But I’m not sure. Might not even be home,” he shrugs.

“Well,” you say as you look at the time on your phone, “the offer stands just in case you change your mind. But, hey, I think it’s time for me to leave for real now. I have some work to catch up on before I go back to the office tomorrow.”

You can tell he’s disappointed, but Bucky offers to walk you out anyway. He wants to stay and help his family clean up, or he would offer to walk you home. You make your rounds to say goodbye to the family you were familiar with and, when you reach the kiddie table to say goodbye, Bucky’s great-nephew Jackson refuses to let you go.

“Will I ever see you again even though we can’t come to visit Grammy no more?” he wails as he buries his little face into your stomach.

“Jackson, please,” his mother says as she comes to diffuse the situation. The little boy lets out one last sob into your dress before letting his mother pull him into her arms. “Y/N will still be around,” she smiles mischievously, directing her gaze over your shoulder to where Bucky waits at the front doors. “I’m almost sure of it.”

You can feel the heat of embarrassment as it claws up your neck, and you quickly give another round of hugs and goodbyes to the children before heading back to Bucky. “Is everything alright,” he asks as he hands you your coat.

“Fine. Jackson is just…” you slip on your coat and refuse to meet Bucky’s probing eyes, “dramatic sometimes.”

The weeks following Rebecca’s funeral saw Bucky locked away in his apartment. Calls from Sam and Wanda went unanswered, and the curtains were scarcely opened. He’d even ignored your attempts of delivering some semblance of comfort. The pasta dish you dropped off was left mostly untouched in his fridge, and he’d only managed to eat half a slice of a pumpkin pie you’d left for him on Thanksgiving. He knew that hiding away was doing nothing for his mental health, would do nothing to help him move past the loss and pain, but it was all he knew. How he reacted was all he could control, and Bucky liked to be in control.

His control, like most things in his life, came to an end far too quickly when Sam decided he’d finally had enough. Bucky knew that he couldn’t hide from his friends forever, but he would have liked to come out on his terms.

“Man, I know you’re in there,” Sam shouts as he knocks on the door of Bucky’s apartment. He’d been there for five minutes now, and, at this point, Bucky was testing to see how long he could keep the man waiting. “Seriously, Buck, open the door, or I’ll use Redwing to knock it down. And I won’t pay for repairs or reimburse your security deposit.”

Bucky sighs before hauling himself off of the couch. “What?” he deadpans as he opens the door. It takes everything in him not to slap the toothy grin off of Sam’s amused face.

“I was beginning to think I was going to have to call the Smithsonian - tell them to get your exhibit ready because, as far as any of us knew, you were dead,” Sam says as he pushes past Bucky into the apartment.

“What do you want?” Bucky asks again as Sam looks around the scarcely decorated apartment. From the discontent on his face, Bucky could tell Sam was less than thrilled with the state of his apartment. It was dark, the only furniture being a couch, a small coffee table, and an old TV he’d stolen from the Tower. Not exactly what one would consider a "space of their own."

“Listen,” Sam says as he moves to push open the curtains, “you’ve spent enough time locked up in here. You need to get out, see the sun, get some air. Plus, Wanda misses you, and that spider kid has been coming around asking for you.” Bucky grimaces at that. Peter Parker had asked his fair share of questions about his arm, and Bucky didn’t feel like entertaining the teenager anymore.

“Don’t give me that look,” Sam continues as he flops down on the couch. “Go get dressed. You can hang out with the crew for a few hours today. I promise if you have the worst time of your life, I’ll let you sit in your own filth and wallow for the foreseeable future, okay?”

After a moment of contemplation, Bucky agrees. Despite his dwindling interest in seeing anyone outside of his own reflection, he knew that seeing his friends - his chosen family of mix-matched misfits - would make him feel at least a little better. So, he allows Sam to tidy up the apartment, put away the dishes Bucky has been neglecting, and open the rest of the windows while he goes to get dressed. Bucky will never admit, however, just how much lighter he felt when he emerged from his room to the man he reluctantly called his best friend, smiling back at him.

December creeps up in a flurry of deadlines and personal obligations. The two-week break your company gave you every holiday season was a welcomed reprieve to the daily hustle and bustle of life, but it also meant long hours at the office in the weeks leading up to the holiday. Plus, the holidays were always a sour topic around the nursing home, as many of the residents were left to their own devices instead of being a part of family celebrations. That meant, in addition to staying until six or seven o’clock at work, you were spending hours afterward crafting decorations, cards, and personalized goodies for each of the residents you visited each week. This all, understandably, left you with little to no free time.

So, when the first of the month came rolling in, and you were yet to have played a single Christmas song or even thought about pulling your tiny table-top tree from storage, you felt deflated. You’d never been so thankful for online shopping and overnight shipping because, by Saturday afternoon, you had a brand new artificial Christmas tree waiting for you on your building’s front steps. In your excitement of getting into the holiday spirit, however, you completely overlooked just how you were going to get this tree up your narrow stairwell. It was like moving day all over again, except for this time you were sure a knight in shining vibranium armor was not going to show up to save the day.

To your dismay, you hadn’t seen Bucky since his sister’s funeral a month ago. It’s not like you hadn’t tried to make contact. You had prepared him a small meal the day after and had even left him half of the pumpkin pie you picked up from the market down the block. The only way you could tell he was even inside his apartment was the fact that, when you went back up to check, the items were gone. That or one of your other neighbors had taken them for themselves. Either way, you were missing Bucky. Even though you’d only had one proper conversation the entire time you’ve known him, you enjoyed just knowing Bucky was around. The thought of him suffering to any extent made your heart twist into unmanageable knots.

You sigh as you prop the building’s front door open, bringing your attention back to the task at hand. You were strong and independent, and you were more than capable of getting this hefty box up to your apartment. With that mindset in tow, you’re pleasantly surprised to turn around and find Bucky and another man making their way towards the building.

“He’s alive,” you exclaim, unable to hide the smile that blooms across your face. You’d feel embarrassed at the overexcitement that laced through your greeting, but you were genuinely happy to see that he had been out of his apartment and with a suspected friend.

“Uh, hey, Y/N,” Bucky says as he looks down to his boot-clad feet. Despite his quiet demeanor and tendency to be closed off, you’d never seen Bucky so...shy.

So you turn your attention to the second man standing in front of you. “I’m Y/N,” you smile as you bound down the stairs to the men, hand out and waiting for Bucky’s friend to shake, “Bucky’s neighbor!” You hope that whatever icy tension that had settled over Bucky would thaw if you directed the spotlight away from him.

“Sam,” the man says as a toothy grin breaks across his face. “Bucky didn’t mention he had neighbors.”

“It’s an apartment building, bird brain, of course I have neighbors,” Bucky mumbles as he buries his hands in his jacket pockets. He looks at you then or rather looks past you at the tall box leaning against the brick building. “What’re you up to?”

“Well, I just got a new Christmas tree delivered,” you say as you bite your lip and try to hide your desperation for help. “I was just getting ready to take it up.”

Bucky looks from you to the tree before settling his gaze on you. “Do you need some help,” he asks coyly.

You don’t even attempt to mask your smile as you guiltily nod your head. As Bucky turns to look at his friend, Sam puts his hands up. “Nah, man, I was getting ready to leave. Plus, heavy lifting is more your thing,” he says before looking at you. “Plus, Bucky is still learning how to play nice with others. And it’s my day off.”

You chuckle and playfully roll your eyes. “You better go relax, then. I’m sure a day off is rare for a superhero.”

As Sam starts backing up towards the way they came, he nods. “I like her, Buck. She really gets it. It was nice meeting you, Y/N!”

“Bye, Sam,” you wave as you watch him make his way down the sidewalk. “He seems really nice,” you say as Bucky hauls the tree box over his shoulder.

“He’s a pain in my ass,” he grumbles as he nods towards the front door.

All you can do is laugh and lead the way to your apartment.

“Thank you so much, Bucky,” you say as he finishes up pulling the faux tree from its too-small confines.

“It’s not a problem,” he shrugs and takes a step back to look at the tree. It’s in pretty rough shape, but once you’re done with it, no one will ever be able to tell it’s lived most of its life in a cardboard box. “You know, I haven’t had a Christmas tree since 1942.”

You stop shuffling around in the bin of ornaments and turn to look at him. “You’re joking,” you say, absolutely appalled. When Bucky shakes his head, you make a decision. “Stay and decorate with me, then.”

This obviously takes Bucky off guard, and before he can even attempt to come up with a reason to say no, you’re busting out your best pout, absolutely determined to share some holiday cheer with him this afternoon.

“Fine,” he sighs, but you can see the hint of a smile twitching on his lips.

You put Bucky to work immediately, pointing at boxes and bins full of ornaments, tinsel, and other holiday goodies. To your delight, he has quite the eye for placing ornaments, a skill he attributes to having a best friend who forced him into art classes and design lectures as teenagers. You’re almost certain he’s enjoying himself, a suspicion that is all but proven when he starts cheerfully humming along to the Christmas station you have playing on your phone.

“I’m really happy to see you out and about today,” you say as you hand him a sparkling orb to hang on one of the taller branches.

Bucky falters in his movements just a little before delivering the ornament onto its new home for the season. “I’m sorry I disappeared for a little bit…”

“Oh, Bucky,” you say as you place a hand on his metal forearm. You'd been surprised when he took his jacket off to reveal his metal arm with little more than the sleeve of his t-shirt covering it. You try not to think of the implications behind the small but seemingly intimate action. “Never apologize for how you grieve. We all process and deal with things differently.”

A moment passes in silence, though it’s not awkward. It’s simply a moment where both of you seem to process what was said. Surprisingly, it’s Bucky who breaks the silence. “That pasta thing you left me, that was really good,” he chuckles.

“Remind me, and I’ll write the recipe down for you. It’s one of my favorite comfort foods.”

Time passes easily with Bucky. Despite what Sam said early, Bucky is an excellent companion to decorate with. He cracks jokes every now and then and comments on your collection of antique ornaments. You even manage to get him to try some of that crockpot wine you had attempted to make earlier in the day. By dinner time, your tree is fully dressed and situated in its corner, and you’re tipsy on holiday cheer and alcohol. As you make your way towards the couch with a fresh glass in your hand, Bucky begins to hum along to Bing Crosby’s “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” as the beginning notes start to float through your apartment.

“God, I remember when this song came out,” he says quietly as you take your seat. “They played it nonstop at camp. Dunno what they were trying to do, raise our spirits, maybe? It just made me think about how Ma and Becca were going to be all alone that Christmas.” He pauses then, likely lost in the memory. You’re about to say something to pull him back from wherever he drifted off to when he adds, “I couldn’t help thinkin’ that this was a song I’d ask a girl to dance to, too.”

“I didn’t know you could dance,” you laugh as you set your wine glass down.

“Oh sweetheart, I had girls lining up outta the hall to dance with me back in the day. I wasn’t always so…” he turns to look at you and gesticulates with both arms to make his point, whatever that may be.

You squint your eyes in a challenging glare and stand. “You have to show me these moves, Bucky Barnes.” He opens his mouth to protest, but you quickly cut him off. “I’ll sing along if you don’t. I know you can hear the concerts I put on for my shampoo bottles in the shower. Save you and the neighbors the show, come on.”

Bucky gives you a mock grimace before giving in. You’re not sure if it’s the wine that’s causing time to feel so slow or if it’s the fact you want to savor the image of Bucky standing over you, flesh hand outstretched for you to take. You don’t question it, though, and simply step into his warm, welcoming embrace. It’s all too easy to melt into Bucky’s arms and allow him to guide you around your tiny living room.

A few moments pass with little more than Crosby’s melodic crooning drifting around the two of you. You hope that, despite how close you are, Bucky can’t hear how rapidly your heart is beating. When you finally muster the courage to look at him, you find that he was already looking at you. He squeezes your hand a little and gives you possibly one of the most tender smiles you’ve ever seen.

“Nice to know I still have it,” he exclaims as he winks, and you smile and shake your head before resting it on his shoulder.

When the song ends, Bucky ends his effortless glide across the antiqued hardwood floors, and you pull back from his chest enough so that you can look into his eyes. If your gaze lingers a little too long on his plump, pink lips, you’ll never admit. Despite the impossibly low lighting of the room, you can see the way Bucky’s crystal blue eyes sparkle and dance when they catch the lights from your tree.

“Thank you for helping me today,” you say, barely above a whisper.

“‘Course,” Bucky replies and, as the seconds pass, you’re pretty sure that he begins to lean towards you, eyes flicking between yours and your lips.

Just as you’re about to close the small distance, a disorienting ringing begins from somewhere. Bucky pulls away, irritation quickly taking over his expression. “Goddammit,” he practically growls as he pulls his phone from his pocket. “What, Sam?”

You watch as a range of emotions flash across Bucky’s face before a seriousness shadows his features. He barks out a gruff, “See you in a few,” before quickly ending the call. “We’re, uh, needed. Immediately.”

“O-oh,” you mummer, disappointed that he has to leave so quickly. You watch from where Bucky had stopped the two of you as he gathers his jacket and scrambles to put his boots on. He’s almost to your door when your brain finally catches up to what is going on, and, in that moment, you’re appreciative for how small your apartment is because you’re able to get to him before he is fully out of the apartment.

“Wait, Bucky,” you call as you grab for his arm. When he turns to look at you, you almost back out of what you’re about to say, but you persevere, knowing that the world will continue to turn if he rejects you. “Come to Christmas with me. My parents only live two hours away. We’re pretty low-key, no big party or anything. Please?”

Bucky considers you for a moment before he visibly softens and nods. “You know what, sure. That...that sounds great.”

You smile so wide when you hear him accept the invitation, something you thought for sure would be for not. Before you can even consider your actions, you’re leaning up to place a chaste kiss on his rough and prickly cheek. “Stay safe out there,” you say gently. Bucky simply nods, a blush begins to work it’s way up his neck.

You stand in your doorway until you hear the front door of your building click shut behind him. You’ll never confess to it, but when your own apartment door is securely shut behind you, you do an excited, happy dance.

#bucky x reader #Bucky Barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky fanfic #Wonderland4SeasonalWC

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paper-n-ashes · 3 years

Text

sparks and embers - chapter 7

Characters: Poe Dameron x Original Female Character, Kylo Ren x Original Female Character

Story Tags: Explicit (18+), Canon Compliant/Divergent (Set after TLJ), First Person POV, Love Triangle, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Porn with Plot, Hurt/Comfort, Kylo Ren hates Poe Dameron

Chapter 7 - The Transmission

Words: 5.6k

Chapter Tags/Warnings: Mentions of medical procedures, ANGST, description of severe anxiety/panic attack

Read on AO3 or Start from the beginning

Poe didn’t exit the study for a long while, finally hearing the creak of my office door as it opened for the first time in hours. Within that time I'd farewelled the last of my patients for the day and begun to prepare dinner in my quarters, feeling significantly more balanced as the evening wore on.

Mind over matter. That’s all I needed to remember.

It was BB-8 who rolled in to demand my attention first, knocking his body into my ankle as I stood chopping vegetables at the kitchen counter.

“Hello again,” I greeted, still marvelling at how sweet this droid’s disposition was. Placing my knife down, I turned to face Poe as he slinked into the space, taking a place at the dining table. He seemed tired, almost despondent, possibly even more solemn than he appeared when I saw his face last.

“How did the transmission go?” I asked, breaking the silence. From the energy drifting out of his shape, it was clear he hadn’t completely moved on from the sadness we’d shared during our last interaction.

“As well as it could have. They’re still safe, for now. Think I gave them all heart attacks when my transmission came through,” he responded, exhaling hard. “And you were right. There was a search initiated. But my last reported co-ordinates were over Hutt Space, so they never would have found me.” He looked puzzled then, and I mirrored his expression.

“What do you mean? That’s at least a day’s trip from here.”

“That’s exactly what I can’t seem to figure out.” He huffed then, exasperated. “I don’t remember getting any further than that. I hadn’t even nearly reached my destination.”

“Were you traveling Galactic North or South?” I screwed my face up immediately after asking the question, already assuming he wouldn’t give me an answer.

“Yeah, I can’t tell you that.” He looked down to his hands, wringing them restlessly. “I know I can trust you, but I just can’t risk it, for both your own sake and the Resistance. All I can say is that I wasn’t flying to anywhere near Raxus.”

I nodded, understanding. “Well, no matter which way you were headed, Hutt Space is way too far from here for a ship to be unpiloted.”

“Right. Something, or someone, must have changed my course while I was there. And whether it was the crash or some other reason, I’ve lost any memory from after I was flying over the region that might have explained the cause.”

A sparkle of thought flickered, looking down at BB-8 still stationed at my feet. Poe appeared to read my mind.

“I thought the same too,” he remarked. “But he has no data logs indicating any unauthorised navigation. I’m still concerned about how his internal circuits looked when I was repairing him - I don’t think that kind of damage was caused by the crash. If BB had something to do with this, if he’s been tampered with, I won’t be able to be sure until I can conduct some deep diagnostics back at the Resistance base.”

BB-8’s head fell in his own form of remorse, emitting a few low beeps I could only gauge as an apology. I leant down and patted him softly, feeling sorry for the droid. It felt a little unnatural for me to have any sort of emotion towards a machine. All the medical droids I’d worked alongside in the past had the personality of a decaying tree.

BB beeped back happily at me, appreciating my sympathy, when I realised abruptly what Poe had been implying. “Wait, do you think someone did this on purpose? Sabotaged your flight?”

He seemed hesitant to answer again, most likely debating internally how confidential this information was. But eventually he nodded. “It’s what Leia seems to think, and I’m tending to agree. It seems too orchestrated. But the more worrying concern is that only a select group of Resistance personnel knew about my mission, even less knew exactly where I was headed.”

Both the casual mention of Leia Organa, famed princess of an obliterated planet, daughter of one of the most powerful Sith to have lived, now Leader of the Resistance, and the notion Poe seemed to be hinting at, tilted me slightly off balance.

“You think a spy might have infiltrated the Resistance?”

“That’s the theory we’re running with for now. Whoever did this assumed a crash landing on an Outer Rim planet would have meant my certain death, and any evidence would have most likely never been found, especially with them looking in the completely wrong place,” Poe explained. He looked up from his hands, his eyes finally gentle again, the creases in his forehead relaxing. “They obviously never planned on me landing right on your doorstep.”

“The universe clearly wanted to keep you around for a little longer.”

“Lucky me,” he laughed gently. “Hopefully I don’t mess up whatever it has planned.”

“You’ll figure it out,” I said encouragingly, glad he had relaxed a little. But it was short lived.

His face became sombre again, gaze moving to his fingers once more. “Leia is keeping my reappearance quiet for now - her and our most trusted Resistance members, my friends, are the only ones who know.” I saw his jaw tighten, face tense, a controlled breath seeping past his lips. “They’ll be arriving sometime in the night to take me back to base.”

I knew it was coming. I was more prepared now, my resolve holding strong against the gloom I’d pulled into a locked box inside my mind, easily keeping it restrained.

“I bet you’re excited to see them,” I said kindly, hoping to pick up his mood.

Poe smiled softly to himself. “I’ve missed them,” he agreed, glancing up at me. “They’re pretty eager to meet you actually.”

I furrowed my brows, dubious. “Really? You told them about me?”

Poe looked at me incredulously, like that fact should have been obvious. “Of course. How else was I going to explain how I managed to survive that crash? Leia seemed particularly impressed. She's disappointed she can't give her thank you in person, being too valuable to send away from the base.”

My cheeks threatened to flush with crimson, wanting to shy away from the compliment. Relief was the more overwhelming emotion, glad I wouldn’t have to navigate my way through a conversation with Leia Organa, having no doubt I would make a fool of myself. “So, who is coming?” I wondered, interested in learning more about the people Poe considered his trusted friends.

“Well there’s Chewie-”

“As in Chewbacca the Wookie?” I interrupted. “The Chewie?”

Poe rolled his eyes playfully at my marvelling. “So I don’t need to tell you anymore about him then,” he continued, smirking. “There will be Finn, an ex-stormtrooper who defected to the Resistance, royally saved my ass when I was captured by the First Order. And then there’s Rey, who has been training as a Jedi, and technically pilots the Millennium Falcon now, although if you ask me, I’ve flown that rustbucket way more often…”

Poe kept talking, but my mind was barely able to focus on his words.

A Jedi. A Force user. Coming here.

This is bad.

I forced my face into a veil of interest about what Poe was chattering about as he remained oblivious to the panic that had erupted inside my chest. Eventually his words ran out, thankfully without ending on a cue for me to reply. It took all of my focus to keep my voice steady as I spoke. “I thought all the Jedi were gone?”

It was a question anyone would ask. Not too suspicious.

He appeared slightly confused at the point I’d decided to back track on, yet quickly seemed to realise I’d not had the same encounters with force users that he’d had. “We thought that too,” he remarked. Poe then relayed what was evidently an extremely condensed story of the re-emergence of Luke Skywalker, who had then begrudgingly taught Rey how to wield the Force.

It was an unbelievable tale, something any other being would be enthralled to hear. And honestly, I couldn’t believe Poe had made it so far as to have landed on my doorstep. But there was one thing my mind centred on amongst the rush of information.

She’d been trained by a Jedi Master.

I’d learned an essence of control over my power, whatever kind it was that I utilised, both before and after I’d run to Raxus. After realising the target it put above my head at a young age, I’d taught myself to restrain it, hide it away in the absolute pit of my consciousness, only summoning that which helped heal people in the most dire of circumstances.

When the wrong person caught me, when I’d let my power become unconstrained for only a few moments, I knew I had to deepen my command over it, in case I ever found myself in that situation again. And now, I was completely unsure if four more years’ worth of preparation was going to be enough to hide it from a trained Force user.

“Why is a Jedi coming to get you off this planet? Wouldn’t she have more important things to do?” I pointed out. Only when the words escaped my lips did I realise how rude it might have seemed to Poe.

Come on Alex. Simmer down.

He actually laughed, taking my perception with good humour. “You’re not wrong. But as I said, she pilots the Millennium Falcon now, which is the fastest ship we have available at the moment. And she insisted on coming herself. Said she owed me.” Poe appeared warmed by the sentiment, and I would have enjoyed his happier demeanour if not for my own internal fretting.

There was no avoiding it. Rey was already on her way here, and there wasn't an appropriate way I could prevent myself from meeting both her and the other crew members without arousing heavy suspicion. I was truly trapped, heart thumping along fast with anxiety, fearing I could be hours away from facing all I thought I had escaped from.

I made dinner for us both, Poe continuing to make idle conversation in our last hours together as we ignored the looming farewell.

Yet now I was more concerned with what I needed to confront before that moment. My mind was a mess of warring emotions behind the indifferent façade I held in Poe’s presence, wanting his departure to be both as quick as possible and dragged out as long as I could make it.

I knew he sensed some of the unrest behind my eyes, but he didn’t probe, probably hoping to maintain the easy-going nature of our last meal together, however fake it might have been.

It was long after we finished eating that I recalled the need to do one last assessment of Poe’s injuries, remembering something I’d promised to do before he left.

“Your cast!” I gasped, thinking out loud, startling Poe as he dried the last of our dishes. After turning around, smirking at himself for the way I’d made him jump, he rose the casted arm into his view.

“Oh yeah,” he realised, flexing the fingers. “I’d actually kind of forgot about it.”

“Well come on, one last assessment and you’re officially free of my care.”

I said the words with such pure intentions, yet it was starkly clear both of us were jarred by the reality hidden behind them - a cold, unbroken hush settling in the space. I noticed BB-8’s head movement from my periphery, once again calling into question our sudden stillness. He raced to my feet, squealing little beeps in an inflection I couldn’t understand. Poe’s expression swiftly turned aggravated at the droid, and didn’t immediately translate like I assumed he would.

“Is he okay?” I asked. “Did he say something important?”

Poe’s face forcefully relaxed in an attempt to seem unbothered by BB’s insistent beeps. “He’s just appreciative of how well you’ve treated me.”

I knew he was lying, but I could only assume it was better I didn’t discover what was really said.

Poe had perched himself back onto his hospital bed, and I could feel his gaze follow me as I placed the monitoring over his figure for the last time. The moment for conversation had obviously passed as we maintained a heavy silence during my final tests. He barely winced when I took blood, the results revealing all of his inflammatory markers had receded. The bruises had disappeared, the scars had begun to fade, even over his badly burned arm and torso.

I glanced to his face while taking some X-rays of his femur, pulling up the initial post-crash shots and scribbling down my final progress notes on the healing of the fracture. He seemed awed once again at the damage I’d managed to repair, and he turned thoughtful as he looked down at his perfectly functional leg. I could tell without words he was grateful, knowing we’d both experienced the outcome of those who might not have been so lucky as to keep their limb after such an injury.

I’d kept the casted arm until last, wishing to drag out these final moments, most likely the only thing he’d truly remember of our time together. A comforting thought simmered into my awareness, realising his deeper scars wouldn’t fade for years yet, somewhat of a memento etched onto his skin.

The X-rays were textbook. The fracture line had fused nicely, with almost no irregularity in the shape of the bone shaft. The cast had done its job, and now, there was no need for it to be connected to him anymore.

Just like me.

I pulled my thermal scissors from within my medical trolley, used specifically to melt through the hardened plastic I’d moulded closely to his forearm. It was over in seconds, slicing through the cast and peeling it from his limb, the skin underneath looking slightly clammy but otherwise acceptable. As soon as he was free from the plastic he begun to flex and twist his wrist, a small exhale of relief slipping out of his throat.

“Well that just about does it,” I stated flatly. “You’re all healed up.”

Poe looked away from his newly freed arm and locked his eyes with mine. “I know I’ve said this a million times, and it will never be enough, but thank you.”

I looked down from his gaze. “You’re welcome. I’m glad I could help you.”

He lifted his left hand to my chin, tilting my head back up to meet his stare again, holding it there while he spoke. “You’re really good at your job Alex, I hope you realise that. You saved my life. And I won’t be the last one you save, I’m sure of it."

His eyes were so penetrating, so impassioned, that it made me want to turn away. I didn’t like being praised like this. It made the flesh under my skin feel itchy. Somehow, through no power of my own will, I kept my stare locked to him, confined into place with his thumb softly resting on my skin.

He began to breathe slower, more cautiously. “If we…” he started, voice barely above a whisper. “If we never see each other again…” The words trailed off as he seemed to grapple with the future bearing down on us. My heart was pounding painfully in my chest, instigated merely by the sensation of his fingertips pressed to my skin.

Please. Please stop making this so hard.

“I won’t forget what you did for me… I won’t forget you.”

Without conscious thought I felt my hand begin to rise, instinct pulsing within to pull him into another fervent kiss. Before he noticed the movement, I wrenched it down, closing it into a fist. It was my own voice that echoed in my head, louder and louder.

I will not let this ruin me.

It felt cruel, the way I abruptly stepped away from his touch, but it needed to be. I glared back at him, hoping my words, particularly the meaning behind them, would suffocate the flames of yearning I kept seeing in his irises. “You’ve been a cooperative patient Poe, and I’m glad you survived. But I wouldn’t wish on seeing you in the future. It would only be because you’re in need of my medical care again.”

Poe’s head snapped back, stunned at my reply and the harsh recoil from his hand. Clearly, he'd predicted a different reaction. “You don’t know that,” he urged. “I could come ba-”

I flew my hand up, palm forward, immediately indicating him to cease talking. “Don’t. Just don’t.”

He ruminated on my request for a few eerily silent moments before his stare turned fiery, irritated. “Why are you fighting this?” he shot, rattling me. “We both know there’s something here, something more than you’re willing to admit.”

His maddened tone made it harder to keep my stoic demeanour. “I told you why.”

“Wouldn’t it be more painful to leave each other like this?” he retorted, the muscles in his arms tightening. “Not acknowledging what I know you feel? Pretending it’s not eating you alive, like it’s doing to me?”

A beat of silence passed before I turned and walked away.

I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t keep my restraint if he continued interrogating me this way, revealing emotions a strangled part of me hoped he had. I wasn’t strong enough for that. I needed distance.

“Alex!” he boomed, hearing him leap off the bed behind me. “Tell me you haven’t felt it! Tell me you don’t want to give in to it!”

“I barely know you!” I shouted, swirling to face him again. “You are- were my patient! And you’re about to leave! You shouldn’t come back here, and I shouldn’t go with you!”

“You know more about me than nearly all of the galaxy! And that’s within five days!” he growled, offended. Poe took a tentative step towards me, letting some of the anger recede before speaking again. “I would come back for you. I would come back, if I survived, if you wanted me to. If you admitted what you’re keeping hidden, the feelings that made you kiss me.”

“Please stop doing this,” I begged, a hopeless attempt to keep him at bay, my resilience starting to fizzle away. “You seemed to understand yesterday. That it would be too difficult if we crossed that line.”

He shook his head in frustration. “I've already crossed it Alex." His eyes turned pleading, an intensity within them I was sure I hadn't witnessed before. "I don't want to ignore it anymore, what I feel for you. I can't keep holding back."

I pulled my hands into fists, resisting every temptation to throw away resolve and allow myself to experience the warm glow of happiness his revelation brought. There was no denying the way in which my walls started to weaken, mercilessly barraged by the raw emotion he was exposing.

Don’t give in Alexys. His life, and yours, depend on it.

The voice toughened my determination, enough to keep my willpower solid against the craving to surge into his arms. “I guess I’m just stronger than you are,” I muttered, turning again to prevent catching any type of reaction in Poe’s face. Even one glimpse would make me crumble.

I stormed down the hallway, desperate for the isolation of my quarters, closing the entry and setting the lock. Falling back into the door, my teeth felt like they were going to shatter if I clenched my jaw any tighter.

My brain focused solely on the rhythm of my breathing, centring on the quickened rate, trying to force it into a more calmed pace. Soon I began to concentrate on expanding my lungs, inhaling until the space was full of air, letting it sit there as long as I could hold, before allowing it to whistle out of my nostrils.

That’s all I permitted myself to think of, the slow inhale and exhale, imagining the oxygen particles seeping into my bloodstream, travelling to every cell in my body, keeping me functioning amongst the turmoil thrashing through my soul.

Time passed. I wasn’t really keeping track on how quickly. Imprisoned in my own mind, pacing my quarters, continuing the attention on my breathing. It was the only thing that kept me stable, that pushed away the memories of Poe’s voice ringing in my thoughts.

Eventually my legs grew fatigued from the movement, and I placed myself on the sofa, dropping my head into my hands, grasping my fingers through my hair in frustration.

He couldn’t have just left it alone. He couldn’t have just ignored it, departed this planet and forgot all that happened here.

A memory slipped through the cracks, pushing its way out into the forefront of my awareness. One that refused to be smothered.

'I would come back for you.'

I shook my head within my clenched hands, trying to physically rid myself of it. I wanted to claw my fingers into my brain, pluck the memory from my inside my head and banish it forever, never to torture me again.

Breathe. Focus on your breathing Alexys.

The voice caused a realisation to strike, how hard it had become, my ribs stuck in place, intercostal muscles rigid, refusing to let my lungs inflate. It felt as if gravity had increased its pressure over my body, making me crumple underneath its increased weight. The load was too much, my head screaming for oxygen. I knew what was happening, I knew I was in the throes of a crushing panic, helpless to stop the cascade of anxiety from taking over.

Instinct was quick to surface, telling me exactly what to do. What I’d done only once before.

I withdrew my fingers from their entanglement within my hair, placing the tips on each side of my temple, and within my depths, I set it free. The energy swiftly begun to course through my blood, bringing with it an incredible radiance that lit up my veins. It crawled its way through every capillary, every vessel, as if it was replacing my own blood with its glow.

Soon, it weaved itself through my chest cavity, relaxing the muscles clamping down on my lungs, the relief of an easier breath making me feel lighter. It's journey didn’t cease, surging through my neck to my brain, twirling in between the individual neurons, clouding me with a feeling of peace, serenity, the rest of the world blocked off from my senses.

I wanted to stay in this place forever. Every fear, every sadness, every frustration, all of it melting away into nothing. I felt whole, a brilliant euphoria shimmering from every part of my being.

Let go. You cannott linger here for too long.

My fingernails were suddenly pierced into the pillows of the sofa, panting, grateful I had something to remind me not to surrender myself to the dangerous void any longer. The energy recoiled instantly, my own invisible hands pushing it within the confinement I'd kept it behind for much of my life. I took a moment to push it even deeper down my consciousness, praying it would be too far for Rey to sense when she arrived.

The panic was gone, my chest moving in even time, an aura of composure enduring even with the healing energy locked away. But it also left me exhausted, my brain feeling slightly fuzzy with fatigue. Although for this, I was glad. Even a short time in the peace of sleep would stop me from thinking about Poe.

I had just risen from my seat, about to walk to the comfort of my bed for however long time would allow, when there was a solid bang at my door. I tilted my head in confusion at the noise, knowing Poe would have simply knocked if he wanted entry. Although right now, that seemed extremely unlikely.

When I heard an artificial squealing piercing the air behind the wood, it was obvious what had made the sound.

BB-8 was still beeping urgently when I allowed him entry into my quarters, whizzing past my legs before I even had time to greet him. I noticed the sound of the ‘fresher running as he rolled quickly to the space before my sofa, his head movements darting from me to the pillow where I had just been seated. He wanted me to sit down, that was clear, but I couldn’t determine why.

I did what was requested, settling back down, BB-8 at my feet, his eye appearing to whir and focus in on my face. He was quiet for a moment, doing what I could only imagine was a droid’s version of thinking, before his head darted away. Suddenly a burst of blue light flickered into the air, floating the outline of an image on top of the metal table that sat in front of us.

He was showing me a hologram.

It was fuzzy at first, slowly becoming clearer, displaying a scene I hadn’t been privy to this afternoon. The simulated image of Poe was sitting at my office desk, his own hologram transmission only just visible in the blue beam.

It appeared BB was showing me a long way into their discussion, Poe’s face stressed as he listened to the multiple figures in the holo, their lips forming words that only came out muffled.

“I don’t think you should be showing me this BB-8,” I fretted quietly, acknowledging how private Poe had been with Resistance information.

BB-8 beeped insistently, sounding like he disagreed, and continued playing the holo. The voices became more defined, eventually loud enough for me to make them out.

“We’ll have another X-wing ready for you as soon as you make planet fall,” an older woman’s voice explained. I could only assume it was Leia’s, holding a gentle yet authoritative tone. "Do you think you’ll be ready to attempt the mission again as soon as you return?”

Poe didn’t immediately answer, and I could almost make out the pain in his holo image.

“What is it?” another woman, a lot younger sounding, questioned. Her voice was more on edge than Leia’s, speech displaying an accent I wasn’t familiar with. This was most likely Rey. “Are you still too injured?”

“I’m fine,” Poe reassured. “Better than fine really. Alex… uh, Dr. Jago had me walking within the first few days. And everything else has healed well enough.”

Yet another voice, this time a man's, piped in. "You broke your leg and she got you walking that quickly? There’s no way.”

Poe rolled his eyes, the small movement still obvious in the flickering image. “Finn, you nearly died and you can still doubt the effect of bacta? That stuff fixed your shattered spine for maker's sake.”

“Still took more than a few days though,” Finn mumbled.

“It’s irrelevant,” Leia interjected, seemingly annoyed for a moment, before softening. “Is something wrong Poe?”

His eyes looked down from the hologram in front of him, hesitant to answer. “Is there…” he started, breathing in as if to gain courage. “Is there anyone else who could make that flight?”

All three of the figures recoiled in disbelief at the question.

“You’re the best pilot we have,” Leia said definitively. “There’s no one else who could navigate that route except you.”

“What about Rey?” he retorted, looking to her figure insistently. “She’s got the Force to help her.”

Rey sighed, troubled. “I... already tried. I thought maybe your navigation system may have malfunctioned, preventing any tracking, but that you’d still made it to-” BB-8’s hologram suddenly became engulfed in static for a few moments, leaving me unable to hear the destination of Poe’s mission. Eventually the picture cleared into the same scene, only a few seconds later. "-but I couldn’t make it through. It was too dangerous to traverse, even with the Force to guide me.”

“Why are you even asking us to find someone else?” Finn challenged. “You were more than ready to do it yourself a week ago.”

Poe gritted his teeth, looking somewhat ashamed. “I know.”

There was silence in the holo, and for a moment I thought this was all BB-8 wanted to show me. But Leia’s voice struck up again. "Finn, Rey, could you let me talk to Poe privately?”

From their small faces I could still see them look quizzically at each other, Finn appearing more puzzled by the request. But they left under the General’s orders, slinking past the frame of the holo.

“Poe… Tell me. Tell me what’s changed,” Leia urged softly. “You and I both know you’re the only one who can do this. And if there’s something worrying you, or making you doubt yourself, you need to tell me.”

He looked despairingly at her, uncomfortable with the prospect of hiding anything from his General. “I don’t want to admit it.”

Leia breathed out heavily. She began to pace inside the holo, arms folded in thought, before turning back to speak to Poe again, her face gentle. “It’s the doctor, isn’t it?”

It took an excruciatingly long time before Poe responded, finally nodding his head.

I felt every muscle in my body tense at his reply, heart thrumming to a faster beat.

“I thought so,” Leia whispered. “I... wasn’t expecting this.”

“Neither was I, General. I’m sorry.” The expression he wore, filled with such unyielding turmoil, shot a pang of cold ice through me.

Leia looked kindly to him, her face melting into understanding. “Oh Poe, you don’t have to apologise. You aren’t the first, and you won’t be the last, to question everything for the sake of their emotions.”

“I want to do what we planned. I do. I’m ready,” he asserted, voice rising into confidence, only for his face to fall again. “But every time I think of leaving her…” His face became buried in his hands, frustrated, unable to finish his sentence.

“Does she feel the same way?”

“I don’t know,” Poe muffled under his palms. “I... think so. She’s holding back. Her loyalty to this clinic is annoyingly similar to mine with the Resistance.”

“So she wouldn’t consider coming with you, joining us? We desperately need doctors of her calibre.”

He pulled his face back up. “I asked. And she refused. She would never want to leave, fearing for the health of her patients without her here. Not to mention she’s staunchly against the war we’re fighting in.”

“She sounds like someone I would like to meet,” Leia smiled to herself. “So... That’s why you don’t want to return yet. Why you need someone else to complete the mission. You want more time with her.”

Poe nodded slowly. “I know we don’t have much time to get-” Another fuzz intercepted Poe’s speech, an additional piece of information too confidential for my ears. “-but I just… I just don’t want to go yet. If someone was able to go in my stead, then I wouldn’t be completely dooming us. I know it’s selfish… Irrational… But the thought of leaving her behind right now, on a mission I might not make it back from… It’s too much.”

“Oh,” Leia mouthed, her voice muted. “Do you… Do you think that you…”

She didn’t have to finish her question. Poe knew what she was implying.

“I… think I could. If I had more time, a chance to figure it out.”

His revelation made me stop breathing, a tear wriggling from the duct, crawling down my face.

Leia sighed loudly, her stress evident. “I wish I could Poe. I would want nothing more than to give you this, after all you’ve given for the Resistance. But you’re the only one who has a chance of completing this mission, and we are desperately running out of time and options.”

Poe clenched his eyes shut as she finished, his jaw tightening, lips fighting back a frown. He took a few moments held in this position before relaxing himself back into composure, his face serious and professional. “I understand,” he replied flatly. “I’ll get this mission accomplished General. See you back at the base.”

“I’m truly sorry Poe-” Leia began to apologise, only to be interrupted by his sharp tone.

“It’s fine. Tell the engineers to make sure the new X-wing is prepped before my return. I want to leave as soon as possible.”

Leia nodded, her expression remorseful.

Suddenly the blue, illuminated image was ripped from my view, the rest of my quarters coming back into focus around me.

My body was stuck, motionless in the now painful silence filling the air. Inside my mind there was chaos, memories of the hologram darting around randomly. I tried to capture at least one rational thought, to analyse the emotions bubbling up from within my chest.

He wanted to stay. For me. Everything he wanted to accomplish, for the Resistance, for his friends, for his parents, for the galaxy. He wanted to put it all on hold.

Just for me.

He’d been right. I was holding it back, the same thing he felt, and it was clawing at my insides, desperately wanting to be set free.

Purely out of my selfishness, my own excuses, the voice in my head threatening our lives. All of it keeping me from what I really wanted.

Him. I wanted him. To be close to him. Even if it was just for a little while.

You’re giving in? So easily?

Damn right I am.

Next Chapter

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#poe dameron #poe dameron x original female character #kylo ren #kylo ren x original female character #star wars #star wars fanfiction #adcu #adcu fanfiction #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x female reader #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x female reader

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dahniwitchoflight · 3 years

Text

Homesquared Chapter 16

Alrighty, that was a fun tangent, now back to John it seems?

Oh, no, Narration of John (So Actually Dirk, speak of the devil and he shall appear and all that etc etc)

“ leaving John with one final touch on the shoulder. John leans into it in response, though he’s a bit ashamed of chasing down a sliver of physical affection so soon after obliterating Karkat’s evening like he had. “

pfft lol so Im not the only one that thought it would be funny if that scene was interpreted in a Pale Romantic light, even though that really wasn’t what was happening

OIh! but we still get Roxy, just the other version of Roxy

Roxy subtly being like “hey!! shit has apparently gone down, were not exactly close atm but I feel bad about you dying to want to know if youre still alive so im gonna message you while trying to make it look like i dont care about it as much as I do”

JOHN: trying to align my memories of my youth with whatever is happening right now so

and the wonderful question is, what IS going be happening with you now John?

Roxy looking nice and casual, but also yeah narration, why are you making this ominous, its not like Roxy’s out here to double spy on behalf of Jane, I don’t think Roxys on her side THAT much

ROXY: may have to do a smidge more if my old bff decides im next on the list for bombing out

ROXY: but so far so good

ROXY: just a coupla exploded cars in the yard from some shenanigans our dear son and his friends were in but u kno it is what it is!!!

Roxy once again being a master of hiding how shes feeling, even when trying to open up, feeling pretty stressed about whats happening with Jane, understandable, the exclamation points give it away lol

The narration is really trying to make John nervous though

OH lol that was the implication haha no lol John it obviously wasn’t that

“John feels his shoulders unbunch. Of course. Yeah. He’s almost embarrassed by how relieved he feels. So what if his ex wife wanted to hook up? Shouldn’t that be a situation he could navigate? Don’t people like to find solace in human physical connection during dire times? Why did the idea of it make his mind white out in panic more than, say, any number of the traumas he just experienced? He doesn’t know, but he believes Roxy that he must look pretty haggard. He probably feels haggard? Maybe sitting down will feel better.“

lol once again, Dirk has no idea how to read Roxy at all and just trips over himself and his assumptions XD

Yeah, looks like Roxy not on the Jane train and is doing some takesies backsies, shes glossing over her feelings on the matter still though, I know thats par for the course of how Roxy tends to handle stuff too but I wish shed open up a bit more, but maybe shes playing the smart game, yknow, knowing that Dirk has a hard time reading her, so glossing over stuff is how you protect yourself against the narrative force, confusion and vaguery in the narrative and her actions only helps her to keep control over it, because at any point, you can decide to “clear up” any narrative “miscommunication” or “confusion” and lay down what is it thats actually happening with you any time you want

Void working in the behind the scenes to do what they want

JOHN: like it’s my HOUSE.

JOHN: but mostly it always felt like my dad’s house?

JOHN: and when i started living there after i moved out of here, it was like i crammed myself back into whatever was left of my kid self?

JOHN: and it didn’t feel good, but it at least was familiar, you know?

JOHN: like living there let me feel closer to my dad, trying to be like the way i remember him, or like how i remember him wanting me to be, or something?

JOHN: and i didn’t realize how much i hated doing that until i saw it all go up in flames.

JOHN: so i guess i could have used my powers to stop the fire and save whatever was left of the place, but i couldn’t bring myself to do it.

JOHN: like some fucked up part of me was glad i got there too late?

JOHN: so i just sat there, watching, trying to figure out why watching my house burn down felt like i was being released from prison.

JOHN: and even now i keep trying to explain it away, as though it’s because of how fucked up everything else is that it made me feel good.

JOHN: but that’s just bullshit.

JOHN: it DID feel good.

JOHN: i DO feel free.

JOHN: sorry.

ROXY: no need 2 apologize

ROXY: we just delved in2 my whole gender thing last time so it seems fine for u to have a turn

JOHN: i didn’t say it was a gender thing.

Im pretty sure you’re talking about a gender thing John, like, very 100% sure now this is what’s happening

because if you were actually a girl, of course you’re dad leaving all these notes about how one day hes gonna be so proud of the man youll become, yeah, that can feel a little pressuring, even if your dad didnt mean it like that, since he was unfailingly the kind of dad just bumbling around trying to understand their kid as best they could and leave encouragements everywhere, thats what his intent was, but all his notes come off a bit wrong in particular issues

remember the note under the fridge that was all like “SON. IF YOURE READING THIS NOTE, YOUVE FINALLY BECOME STRONG ENOUGH OF A MAN TO PICK UP THE FRIDGE.” not exactly that but that was always the vibe Dad’s little notes always had

Yeah, i can see how John would view it as a bit off, but if he hadnt the self awareness to realize it was a gender thing at the time, hed be understandly confused as to why such a thing would bother him

now though, he’s realizing, maybe, he doesn’t exactly want to be the man his dad always encouraged him to be

John does seem a lot happier here in his convo with Roxy than he did on his own when the house was burning, that conversation with karkat left me wondering if John was about to start dissociating he was so down, but here he says he feels freeing and happy about it?

ROXY: but like now that u mention it

ROXY: *meaningful pause*

JOHN: …

JOHN: i

JOHN:

John’s beginning to question stuff, or acknowledge that he’s questioning stuff, cuz it’s true, and hes feeling happy about it, in a way that he wasnt before, but he hasnt quite connected the dots here between the happy feeling and what exactly he has to be happy about

ROXY: aight then no wind bending just use your mangrit

Roxy flexes, the corner of her mouth pulled up into a familiar grin. John feels his guts, so recently calmed, twist up into knots again. Her eyebrows shoot up and the smile loosens. He must have shown something on his face.

ROXY: ok or just like push when i push

ROXY: we both got sick muscles

ROXY: no other adjectives necessary

JOHN: yeah ok.

Yeah Roxy’s 100% picked up on it, and maybe Dirk has as well if the narration is commenting on it

Alrighty then, to the secret lair under the bed!

oh I just noticed how kind of cute and interesting Roxy’s nickname for Harry is, “Lil H A” Harry Anderson shortens to Ha like laughter haha

and if Harry had Roxy’s last name, it’d be Harry Anderson Lalonde

Lil HAL

lol what is Callie doing under Roxy’s secret bedchamber XD

This whole secret bedchamber thing is turning into one big metaphor isn’t it?

That thing behind the curtain kind of looks like the Attic Portal shape from Hiveswap though

that’d be neat if that was it, like obviously we knew one of the cherubs had to have something to do with that portal just going by the design of it alone

Honestly it makes sense that Callie is doing it under the curtain of Roxy’s Void, it’s honestly the safest place to do something like that

lol Calliope has grown past writing fanfic about shipping and being in love, now the drama of broken relationships and divorce is all the rage XD character growth? haha

CALLIOPE: besides, hUman divorces are even more fascinating than i had ever imagined, and being able to witness yoUrs in motion was an honoUr.

CALLIOPE: so i consider Us aboUt even at this point.

Calliope just burned him harder than his childhood home’s destruction

CALLIOPE: ah right, right. yoU're probably a little cUrioUs as to where the dickens we are.

have you been talking to Jake lol (I mean, probably Original Grandpa Jake tbh if that portal is actually the portal)

Alright so John is getting caught up on the major plot points, Earth C is indeed in the large black hole, his choice didn’t matter since both choices happened anyway yadda yadda

CALLIOPE: think of it like a coin flip.

CALLIOPE: the series of events that led to Us being trapped beyond the event horizon of an Ubermassive black hole could be considered "tails", while the events which would have occUrred otherwise could be considered "heads".

CALLIOPE: since both were possible, and paradox space is the way it is, they actUally both happened. and we jUst "happened" (hee hee) to get tails instead of heads.

yup yup yup pretty par for the course of timesplits in homestuck so far

CALLIOPE: not at all! since both possibilities depend on one another's existence, it really doesn't make sense to call them "right" or "wrong". they both just "are".

yup, this is true, the ending’s of both referenced the others, so it’s disingenuous to say one is “canon” while the other isn’t

one is simply in the realm of actual possibility, the other is in the realm of unlikely possibility

More than likely, John would have chosen to leave and go die and be the hero like in Meat, but there was still the possibility that he would stay, even if it was unlikelier than the other, but since both were possible choices for him to realistically make, both actually happened for real

CALLIOPE: anyway, the reason i went on this tangent in the first place was to explain that the space we are standing in right now has a special significance, in that it is the location which corresponds to the black hole's singUlarity

that’s interesting, so there’s the original meteor that crashed into the surface of Earth C, and it’s in here that the singularity of what I don’t wanna call the Green Hole to match the Green Sun when I wanna talk about this specific Black Hole lolol

but yeah, here in this meteor lies the crux of the paradox it seems, interesting, also interesting again, this is where that Hiveswap Portal is

Hiveswap does have a plot point of “Joey must do thing in 11 days otherwise Earth and Alternia will be destroyed” and the only known destruction event of Earth and Alternia so far in canon is the Green Sun’s Creation from the destruction of both universes (and then later Callie’s destruction of the green sun into the black hole) so is Hiveswap gonna be a factor in the green sun’s destruction/creation as well? (Joey has the symbol of the Green Sun for a reason, I’m super curious as to what factor Joey has in relation to the Green Sun’s Existence, We still don’t know what the fact those black monsters are too, they’re like nega-first guardians, the kind of things that look like would come out of a Black Hole that came from the Green Sun tbh)

It’s all inter-related I tells ya

ROXY: ur not gonna enter a weird time vortex and change the trajectory of a little girls life with the power of love

JOHN: aw.

You say that now but

CALLIOPE: it's not strictly speaking "bad" for Us to be inside of a black hole, mUch thoUgh that contradicts most of what anyone knows about them.

CALLIOPE: of coUrse, if we had fallen into it, that woUld be a whole other kettle of fish.

CALLIOPE: the tidal forces woUld have stretched Us all into spaghetti and then ripped us apart!

CALLIOPE: bUt the natUre of oUr arrival was more akin to simply "being" here, sUddenly. one moment we were not, and the next moment we were, and somehow always had been.

yeah that’s basically how this multiverse’s reality works, the future is a thing that already physically exists, just in a different location in the universe somewhere else

time travel and spacial teleportation could be said to be the same thing all along

that’s why violating the events of the future has actual consequences, because its like asking to go somewhere that doesn’t exist but how has to exist because it’s the future, too much of that and reality starts cracking at the seams to make room

same thing happens with sessions and playing sburb

the planets and dreaming moons and all that simultaneously have always existed here, and started existing only because the player played the game and the planets were generated upon entering a session, but to the player involved, it looks and feels like you are just being teleported to a different location in the universe, because you also kind of are

CALLIOPE: i mean, the natUre of space and time is a little finicky in here, bUt for the most part it doesn't seem to be anything too oUt of the ordinary.

CALLIOPE: bUt beyond that, it means that we are sealed away from the rest of existence.

CALLIOPE: oUr sphere of inflUence is limited to the sphere of the black hole's bounding horizon.

CALLIOPE: as far as everyone else is concerned, we might as well not even exist!

So you’re just in a little seperated bubble, that’s not connect temporally to any other place of existence, you aren’t anywhere in the past or the future of anywhere else

nowhere leads here, and here can not lead outwards either, theoretically, and yes it exists, so it must also

JOHN: is there no way we could let anyone know that we're in here...?

CALLIOPE: almost certainly not!

CALLIOPE: there are very few ways for anything to escape the kind of predicament that we are in right now. one of them is to be an all-powerfUl being with control over the very fabric of space, with the energy of two Universes at yoUr disposal.

CALLIOPE: in which case, escape woUld become rather trivial, if a little Unscientific.

JOHN: ok. i am going to assume that we can't just do that.

CALLIOPE: yoU've hit the nail on the head, UnfortUnately. U_U

CALLIOPE: the method i described was the one employed by my alternate self, who yoU may recall crashed through the event horizon in the body that once belonged to jade harley.

CALLIOPE: she departed through a pUnctUre she created in the black hole's surface shortly after consUming my brother, a deed which provided her with the necessary "oomph", and which was frankly rather breathtaking to watch. =u=

CALLIOPE: bUt Upon her departUre, the rift closed for good. as far as i can see, there's simply no way for Us to commUnicate with the world oUtside the black hole.

CALLIOPE: i woUld certainly be very sUrprised to find oUt that anyone had managed sUch a thing!

So someone else definitely has managed to do such a thing

JOHN: knowing that we're inside of a black hole... does that actually change anything?

JOHN: like, can't we just go on living like normal?

CALLIOPE: oh absolUtely not.

CALLIOPE: i don't know if yoU've noticed john bUt this world is on the brink of a total cataclysm.

JOHN: oh.

CALLIOPE: oUr exclUsion from the overarching coUrse of events which governs all reality means that oUr existence here is liable to dramatic and violent Upheaval.

CALLIOPE: to pUt it another way, becaUse nothing in here "matters", we are likely to be sUbjected to things which are a bit bats in the belfry, for no reason other than it's totally insignificant to the wider canon of reality.

CALLIOPE: and mUch thoUgh i am personally titillated by some of the conseqUences of this predicament, it is a degrading way for Us to live. u_u

JOHN: that's... certainly one way to put it, yeah...

yeah, so because here in the black hole neither affects the past or the future of anywhere else, being so disconnected, they are technically free of the reigns of the Alpha Timeline that exists elsewhere in the multiverse

the Alpha Timeline now being understood to simply mean, The Narrative

Things are the way they are because they are thus written to be so

CALLIOPE: at first, i believed that this was simply necessary. Us playing tails to oUr coUnterparts' heads, the black to their white, and so forth.

CALLIOPE: bUt over the years i have come to the conclUsion that this is simply not kosher.

ROXY: its total bs is what it is

CALLIOPE: right, yes.

CALLIOPE: a steaming pile of bUllshite.

CALLIOPE: and so we have decided that something needs to be done aboUt it.

Hmmm. It’s a dangerous idea to be playing with for sure, to decide all the black pieces in the game of chess suddenly become white, it is a very flip turning of reality upside down to be sure

To be honest, I’d think you’d need a powerful Doom player at your disposal to even try something like this

or actually, a powerful Doom user would be most likely to shut this entire thing down, knowing how bad of an idea it’d be, maybe it’s more you need a powerful Life player to do something like this instead

is that also why Dirk viewed Jane as an ally then? She would technically have the kind of power to upend the black and white doomy laws of reality if driven to her full potential, i mean obviously yes, we know this already because of the candy colored I-can-do-whatever-I-want-with-no-consequences lollipop

Is this what Calliope hopes to achieve with the Hiveswap Portal then? her goals for Joey and friends are to be the ones to prevent their universe’s twin destructions, and thus the Green Sun’s initial existence and then also the destruction into the Black Hole after the fact? that would be one way to prevent the Black Hole from existing, making it so the thing that creates the black hole never exists either

and that's certainly a canon event that would be difficult to tear asunder without major consequences

That would be a “Re-writing Homestuck from the very beginning” level of canon event

And if I’m correct, Joey is theorized by me to be a Mage of Life, if any classpect at their full potential was gonna do something like that, or have the impossible knowledge to something impossibly paradoxical like that, well..

ROXY: but u dont need to worry abt busting us outta space jail tbh

ROXY: thats not ur problem to fix

JOHN: oh.

JOHN: i'm... not sure i follow, then.

ROXY: i mean yeah ur gonna obvs facilitate it in a sense

ROXY: but only by going and busting the person who can actually help us outta normal earth jail

CALLIOPE: we need yoU to free vriska from the clUtches of oUr misgUided friend jane, and bring her here, to the singUlarity.

ROXY: weve been calling it the plot point

CALLIOPE: yes, the plot point is a key part of oUr plan.

CALLIOPE: as far as we have been able to sUrmise, the only remaining method for escaping oUr grim confinement depends on leveraging the UniqUe properties of this location to create an event of sUch catalcysmic proportions that it simply cannot be contained within the black hole any more.

CALLIOPE: something SO dramatic, so hyper-relevant, that it becomes ontologically impossible for anyone to ignore it.

CALLIOPE: for that, we need an individUal of sUfficient narrative cloUt, so to speak.

CALLIOPE: and to liberate her, who better than the embodiment of the aspect of freedom itself?

I mean yeah! makes sense! Johns major factor here is Freedom, Vriska’s is Importance

and yeah, I can think of no other wholly dramatic event that to mess with stuff with the Green Sun, everyone will have eyes on that, they have to, their whole existence the way it is relies on it

But, they could also mean something else, its only condition is that it has to be something so imflappably impossible, something so not-canon and so outrageous that it basically horse-shoes around to the other end of the canon spectrum to being something that truly exists again

and that could be literally anything and it’s nerve wracking and exciting to see what thing theyre gonna come up with to just directly kneecap Homestuck itself

ROXY: thx babe

ROXY: oh is it 2 soon for that joke or

JOHN: no, weirdly enough, that one’s fine.

(yeah that’s because Babe can be construed as feminine June)

so, I’m basically convinced they’re doing June Egbert now

that to me was like, pretty severely on the nose

John: Hey Roxy, what it does mean when you find a sense of freedom when all of the symbolism of the masculinity surrounding your childhood burns down around you

Roxy: idk It’s probably a gender thing man

John: I didn’t say the word gender-

Roxy: It’s ok babe no pressure, we can hash it out later

John: Hmm, later then. :)

Roxy: (Turns and looks towards the camera with a knowing smile)

shit all that imagery makes me think of Roxy as that picture of the small kid smirking at the camera while a house burns in the distance XD

#Homesquared #june egbert #john egbert #yeah theres no way there not gonna bring up June Egbert as a apossibility now #Roxy couldn't have quirked her eyebrows harder at the fourth wall if they had tried #Homestuck #I'm basically convinced now lol #that plus my reaction to chapter 14

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bladekindeyewear · 4 years

Text

HS^2 bloggin’ mainline 2020-10-31

THE SPOOKTOBER SPOOKD8 IS HERE! Time to blog it and hope to the lord of bones that it heavily features the 12-foot Home Depot Skeleton! Continuing from last time.

Will John remember that he should be off protecting the other kids from running off? Or will he search for Vrissy finally, now that he’s spent a literal DAY staring at his house burning down?

> (==>)

This is the last Blood tie with your childhood and the past you were clinging to like a man-child, finally cut. Your psyche is no longer allowed to be....

....Housetrapped.

Now get your Breathy ass over to your more adult responsibilities. Or do something as irresponsible as usual, but more forward focused and thus singularly impressive.

> (==>)

I LITERALLY GASPED

I knew I was a fatally addicted Homestuck fanboy despite the trauma but I didn’t know I was THAT much of a just-over-thirty-year-old fanboy, I literally GASPED out loud. To finally have the joy and confidence for the future that comes with JOHN and KARKAT together IN PERSON and interacting with a common goal.

What a dramatic, perfect shot. This IS Karkat right? That’s what the visuals and my heart and soul said

> (==>)

THEY’RE CLOSE FRIENDS

CLOSE ENOUGH FOR THAT

KARKAT HAS COME SO FAR

Karkat and John conversations are some of the strongest in Homestuck, I ship them as FRIENDS so hard

It brings to mind something I mentioned in the Breath, Blood, and the Flow of Reality explanation/theorypost, which was holy shit SEVEN YEARS AGO wow

I didn’t always understand the appeal of John as a character, ranking him in the middle of my liked characters list. But after a while, I suddenly noticed how enjoyable he was for the things his conversations did to others, making his pesterlogs some of the most enjoyable to read. I wrote the following two years ago, in a character rankings thread, back when we knew jack shit about the import of classes and roles:

“I didn’t really see why I should think John was such an amazing character until I realized his consistent effect on the other party. He’s goofy and doesn’t really understand anything, but he understands just enough about his friends and others to make cutting, hilarious, almost unintentional insights that can change people for the better, even if he’s off the mark. It’s not what he says himself, but what he brings about in others that makes him so great to read. I mean, if you wall him off from everyone else… he kind of fails.

That’s why I take issue with the complaint of protagonist syndrome, here. John is very little by himself, but enhances all the characters around him immensely. Imagine if John were doomed to stay the least powerful and/or game-advancing of the kids and trolls combined; notice how little that would do to the story, or his beneficial role in it.”

John cut himself off from EVERYONE for YEARS in the Candy timeline. He tried to be close to people and just ended up distancing himself from it. He tried to keep himself tied down by his old home and memories of the version of Dad he lost, and all sorts of childish stuff. But that tie is cut, and the bonds he’s forged need to be grasped to bring him out to exercise his maturity, because Breath is futile without real BLOOD.

> (==>)

Awesome shot.

KARKAT: ROUGH DAY, HUH.

youtube

(that was supposed to skip to 2:26 when you click but I couldnt embed it that way -- I haven’t metal geared i just seen clips and super best friends & know some memes)

So many scars. I used to even ship Jane and Karkat a little so they could just be aghast together at everyone’s shenanigans and level criticism at them together, but to think Jane’s fought and hurt Karkat THIS much...

(And yeah, his blood color is shown through his eyes now at this age, that’s correct.)

> (==>)

Oh my fucking god, going from that to Sprite mode that abruptly. XD

This is great.

JOHN: karkat? JOHN: what are you doing here? KARKAT: IT'S NICE TO SEE YOU TOO.

Hah, SO close that Karkat’s immediately critical of NOT being greeted warmly. :)

JOHN: this isn't a battlefield, it's just... KARKAT: THE OBLITERATED, SMOLDERING HUSK OF YOUR FORMER HOME. JOHN: well, yeah. KARKAT: WHICH WAS DESTROYED AS COLLATERAL IN AN ONGOING MILITARY CONFLICT. JOHN: oh all right, fine. JOHN: it just feels weird to call it that. JOHN: i guess i'm used to thinking of home as somewhere far away from all that war stuff.

Yeah John, the burning down from a bomb that was meant for you and ALL of your friends’ children is supposed to shatter you out of that illusion.

I’d continue criticizing, but Karkat’s about to do it for me:

KARKAT: JESUS *CHRIST* JOHN. KARKAT: I CANNOT EVEN BEGIN TO LIST ALL THE WAYS IN WHICH THAT CONSTITUTES A SHORT-SIGHTED AND PUKE-WORTHILY IGNORANT THING TO SAY TO ME, PERSONALLY. KARKAT: AND FRANKLY I DON'T HAVE TIME TO BOTHER, THANKS TO THE COUNTLESS FIRES I HAVE BEEN PUTTING OUT ALL DAY, THE ONE PRESENTLY CONSUMING YOUR HIVE NOTWITHSTANDING. KARKAT: YOU KNOW WHAT WOULD HAVE MADE THINGS GO A BIT MORE SMOOTHLY? JUST A FRACTION? KARKAT: IF YOU HADN'T JUST DECIDED TO WANDER OFF THE INSTANT SHIT STARTED HAPPENING. JOHN: jeez, i'm sorry karkat. JOHN: i had no idea how much time had passed. JOHN: i must have gotten a bit distracted by my house being blown up.

A BIT DISTRACTED. You empty-headed irresponsible guardian.

KARKAT: NOT WANTING TO POINT OUT THE OBVIOUS, BUT I FEEL LIKE THIS WAS A PROBLEM THAT YOU OF ALL PEOPLE WERE UNIQUELY AND MAGICALLY EQUIPPED TO DEAL WITH. JOHN: huh? KARKAT: YOU KNOW. KARKAT: WITH YOUR SHOOSH THING. JOHN: my shoosh thing. KARKAT: YOUR SHOOSH THING. KARKAT: THE GUSTY NONSENSE? THE GIFT OF GAS?? KARKAT: YOUR SBURB ALLOCATED BLOW JOB??? JOHN: uh. KARKAT: THE SUPERNATURAL COMMUNION YOU HAVE WITH ALL THINGS WINDY, YOU ASS!! JOHN: oh right, that. JOHN: that would have let me put the fire out, maybe. JOHN: i don't think there's anything in my skillset that would have unexploded my house though. KARKAT: THAT'S FAIR.

Mhmm. Many of the characters in Candy AND Meat are currently in a situation where due to either years of unpractice in a worshipful society that discourages it by fueling their insecurities or inability to due to confinement in a years-long space trip has caused them to AVOID using their powers for the main beginning stretch of our new story. People have complained about them outright “forgetting” to use their powers, and they’re right, to an extent, but it’s story-justified. They’re almost all physically or psychologically prevented from doing so! But those walls are coming down, starting now. They’re going to come back into their own. And we’re bound to see a LOT MORE of these literal Gods using their abilities to shape the fabric of reality as the story progresses.

JOHN: i suppose i'll add one more notch to the daily tally of crazy stuff that happened which i just have to accept as my life now.

It was all already happening, you just refused TO accept it until now.

JOHN: so... JOHN: what else happened while i was caught up watching the symbolic representation of my former life get consumed in a giant fire ball? KARKAT: OH BOY. WHERE TO START. KARKAT: SO FIRST OFF, IN HINDSIGHT, TODAY WAS PRETTY OBVIOUSLY JUST ONE HUGE BAITED TRAP. KARKAT: I SAY "IN HINDSIGHT", BUT FORTUNATELY IT WAS ALSO EXTREMELY APPARENT EVEN IN FORESIGHT TO THOSE OF US WHO SPENT A FEW SECONDS THINKING ABOUT IT. JOHN: ...right. KARKAT: OH COME ON EGBERT, SERIOUSLY? KARKAT: KIDNAPPING A PERSON OF IMPORTANCE, ONLY TO LET US KNOW PRECISELY WHERE AND ON WHAT OCCASION THEY WOULD BE MOST ACCESSIBLE FOR A RESCUE ATTEMPT? KARKAT: HAVING THAT OCCASION BE NONE OTHER THAN THE CORPSE PARTY OF A HIGHLY NOTEWORTHY POLITICAL FIGURE, WHOSE CASKET MIGHT AS WELL HAVE HAD A GIANT "KICK ME" SIGN DAUBED ON IT? KARKAT: THERE WAS BASICALLY NO WAY IT WASN'T A FRONT FOR SOMETHING HUGE. AND IT WAS! KARKAT: WE HAPPEN TO BE SITTING IN FRONT OF ONE FACET OF THAT HUGENESS AT THIS VERY MOMENT.

Wait. Oh, God.

Someone brought up the possibility that Gamzee might still be revivable by Jane, and I speculated that she’s deliberately CHOOSING not to because she actually doesn’t like him that much or has some semblance of fucking sense left in her.

But what if she PLANNED to have a public funeral for him, and then revive him SOON AFTER to turn him into a Christ-like resurrecting figure? D:

JOHN: well, when you put it like that... JOHN: i guess we all got pranked pretty hard, huh. KARKAT: THIS IS NO TIME FOR YOUR SHITTY NERD PRANKS JOHN. KARKAT: FRANKLY I'M INSULTED THAT YOU THINK SUCH A WORD IS EVEN REMOTELY APPOSITE TO THE PRESENT SITUATION. KARKAT: OTHER THAN TO DESCRIBE THE WAY I AM PERSONALLY BEING "PRANKED" BY REALITY IN HAVING TO EXPLAIN ALL THIS TO YOU.

Pretty much. Get serious, John, actual people are dying by the--

--oh right, he was like this through the apocalypse and death of everyone on Earth.

I guess this is in character. Paradox Space made sure to choose someone empty-headed and disconnected from reality enough to withstand this shit easily. He really is a Breath player.

KARKAT: IT TURNS OUT THAT WE DIDN'T NEED TO PUT SO MUCH EFFORT INTO THE RESCUING YIFFY PART OF THE OPERATION. KARKAT: SHE BASICALLY RESCUED HERSELF WHEN ALL WAS SAID AND DONE. KARKAT: AND TOOK CARE OF KICKING GAMZEE'S CORPSEBOX OVER WHILE SHE WAS AT IT, IN A STUNNING DISPLAY OF EFFICIENCY WHICH THE REST OF US CAN ONLY ASPIRE TO.

Excellent, yeah.

JOHN: it sounds like she'd be a pretty welcome addition to your ranks then. KARKAT: SHE'S A CHILD, YOU MORON.

Yeah, you’re fucking grown up now, John. Stop thinking of the kids as the ones who have to rise up when the adults aren’t all doomed or dead.

KARKAT: THE VRISKAS, PLURAL. JOHN: shit. KARKAT: THEY'VE BOTH BEEN CAPTURED. JOHN: shiiiiiiiit. KARKAT: YEAH. KARKAT: GREAT WORK KEEPING AN EYE ON THEM, BY THE WAY! KARKAT: YOU LITERALLY HAD ONLY ONE JOB, AND YOU MESSED IT UP IN THE EQUALLY SINGULAR WAY IT WAS POSSIBLE TO DO. JOHN: urgh, i know, i know. ):

At least he messed that part up while he was TRYING to watch them, and not when he wandered off and watched his house burn for a whole day instead of protecting the remaining kids.

KARKAT: JANE'S PLAN FOR THIS CONFLICT HAS THUS FAR CONSISTED ALMOST ENTIRELY OF KIDNAPPING VARIOUS HIGH PROFILE CHILDREN. KARKAT: IT'S BIZARRE. KARKAT: AS THOUGH WE ARE FIGHTING A WAR OF ATTRITION, WHERE THE MAIN RESOURCE BEING UTILIZED IS THE OFFSPRING OF THE MOST POWERFUL PEOPLE ON THE PLANET. KARKAT: IF IT WASN'T ONE OF THE CORE TENETS OF HER FASCISTIC PHILOSOPHY, I'D BE TEMPTED TO SAY THAT CURBING REPRODUCTION MIGHT HAVE BEEN A GOOD IDEA, IF ONLY TO PREVENT THIS KIND OF FUCKSHIT NONSENSE FROM HAPPENING.

Leave it to Karkat to point out the blatant absurdity of Homestuck’s nonsense in any given situation.

JOHN: wait. JOHN: wait a minute. JOHN: you said that both vriskas have been captured, right? KARKAT: EXCUSE ME WHILE I WEEP FOR JOY AT THE REVELATION THAT YOU HAVE BEEN PAYING ATTENTION FOR ONCE. JOHN: okay, well putting that emotional outburst aside for a moment. JOHN: how is that even possible? JOHN: doesn't vriska, the original vriska, still have her magic alien mind control powers? JOHN: it seems like it should be basically impossible for anyone to kidnap her. KARKAT: YOU'VE STUMBLED ASS BACKWARDS ACROSS THE MOST IMPORTANT POINT OF THIS UNFORTUNATE DEVELOPMENT.

...Is Karkat going to put two and two together and realize that Vriska must have been intentionally captured of her own free will for some sort of ploy?

KARKAT: YOU ARE CORRECT, IN THAT WITH HER CASTE-TYPICAL, *COMPLETELY SCIENTIFIC AND NOT EVEN A LITTLE BIT MAGICAL* PSYCHOMANIPULATIVE ABILITIES, STAYING OUT OF CROCKER'S REACH SHOULD HAVE BEEN COMPLETELY TRIVIAL FOR SERKET PRIME. KARKAT: EVEN ACCOUNTING FOR THE FACT THAT SAID ABILITIES ARE NOT NEARLY AS POTENT ON HUMANS AS THEY ARE ON FELLOW TROLLS, THEY STILL OUGHT TO HAVE TIPPED ANY ALTERCATION SQUARELY IN HER FAVOR. KARKAT: BUT SOMEHOW, IT DIDN'T! KARKAT: INSTEAD, THINGS APPEAR TO HAVE GONE GLOBES UP IN CLASSIC VRISKITE FASHION, AND NOW ONE OF THE MOST UNEXPECTED AND UNWANTED BUT NEVERTHELESS USEFUL WEAPONS IN OUR ARSENAL IS DOING TIME IN CROCKERJAIL. KARKAT: THAT'S ABOUT ALL WE'VE BEEN ABLE TO GLEAN FROM TAPPING INTO THE BATTERBITCH AIRWAVES, WHICH IS A FANCY TERM FOR EAVESDROPPING ON THOSE OF HER AGENTS WHO TALK A LITTLE TOO LOUDLY IN SEMI-PUBLIC SPACES. JOHN: jeez. JOHN: i really screwed that up, didn't i.

Guh. I guess Karkat is underestimating Vriska a bit or just assuming the worst out of a habit of assuming the worst of everything. (Or, if he has his suspicions, he’s not telling John.)

KARKAT: HAVING SAID ALL OF THAT, AND WITH THE RECOGNITION THAT I AM CHOOSING TO NURSE YOUR BRUISED FEELINGS DURING A PLANET WIDE CONFLICT FOR THE FATE OF MY SPECIES, KARKAT: IS THERE ANYTHING I CAN DO TO EXPEDITE YOUR GETTING THE FUCK OVER IT? JOHN: i... hm.

Yeah, use your shoosh-paps from Karkat wisely, John. You needed them.

JOHN: i don't really know? JOHN: this all feels wrong, karkat. JOHN: no offense, but when you're around, it's usually a lot... KARKAT: A LOT WHAT? JOHN: a lot funnier. KARKAT: FUNNIER. JOHN: how to put this. JOHN: normally listening to you go on and on about how much we've fucked everything up is just very funny! JOHN: but now it's just not the same. JOHN: maybe it's part of what's going on with this entire reality? i don't know. JOHN: once upon a time i would have put down your ability to pull a silly rant out of your butt as a fundamental law of physics or something. JOHN: remember back when we first knew each other? JOHN: it felt like all you ever said to me was how much you thought i was screwing up and being a useless asshole. JOHN: and once i realized that you were also just a dumb kid who didn't know what was going on, i started to kind of enjoy it. JOHN: but now it's like... the only one who's still a dumb kid is me, and everyone else has something big and important going on that i just don't understand.

Mhmm, Karkat has every reason to be mad. And everything really, REALLY close to you that you care about is in danger from the very things he’s mad about. Karkat is RIGHT for once with every angry seemingly-exaggerated-but-not word, and that’s throwing you.

JOHN: i thought that i finally got what was going on with this whole war and everything. i wanted to be useful! JOHN: i guess i got a little too wrapped up in the feeling of something finally happening again. JOHN: and then watching it all blow up in my face, kind of literally now that i think about it...

...you think maybe something that happens to be A WAR is actually a big farking deal that you should be serious about??

JOHN: it's hard not to feel even more dejected about the situation than i was before. JOHN: and now even the patented karkat vant rant has lost all its sparkle.

IT’S NOT SUPPOSED TO BE FUN.

JOHN: maybe if you had like, painstakingly itemized a list of all the things wrong with my plan in a comically overdone fashion or something. KARKAT: I CONSIDERED IT, BUT HONESTLY THERE WAS SO MUCH WRONG THAT I CONCLUDED THAT THE BEST THING FOR EVERYONE WOULD BE TO NEVER SPEAK OF IT AGAIN. JOHN: oh. okay.

Heheh.

KARKAT: IF WE'RE BEING HONEST, YOU DIDN'T EVEN HAVE A PLAN, JOHN. KARKAT: CALLING IT A PLAN WOULD IMPLY THAT IT WAS A STRUCTURED SEQUENCE OF STEPS DESIGNED TO ACHIEVE A GOAL. KARKAT: WHAT YOU CAME UP WITH WAS A CONVOLUTED MESS WHICH STILL SOMEHOW INVOLVED DOING FUCKALL. KARKAT: AND I USE CONVOLUTED HERE IN THE SAME WAY THAT I WOULD TO DESCRIBE THE FRENZIED DRAWSTICK SCRIBBLES OF A SQUALLING HUMAN INFANT.

All Breath and no Blood? All concept and influence and ephemeral accomplishments and no physical impact or results?

Karkat has been fighting this whole time with physical results in mind. He NEEDS to tie that ephemeral shit down, and once added to his plan, once Breath sweeps the tide of actual sentiment of people, inspires them, you have an actual victory in reach instead of just more attrition.

KARKAT: I APPRECIATE THAT YOU SEEM TO HAVE DUG YOUR PAN OUT OF YOUR OWN CHUTE THE FEW MICROMETERS NECESSARY TO NOTICE THE PRECISE DEGREE TO WHICH THE WORLD IS BEING JUDICIOUSLY BATFUCKED RIGHT NOW.

Really need to dig yourself out more than that, John, yeah.

KARKAT: AS HARD AS IT IS TO BELIEVE, THAT'S A FEAT WHICH NO SMALL NUMBER OF PEOPLE ARE COMPLETELY INCAPABLE OF DOING!

(Which is why your plan of attack needs more Breath!)

KARKAT: BUT NOTICING THE PROBLEM AND MAKING MEANINGFUL PROGRESS TOWARDS SOLVING IT ARE TWO COMPLETELY DIFFERENT THINGS. KARKAT: THE NEXT TIME YOU GET THE IMPULSE TO "LEND A HAND", YOU'D BE BETTER OFF CANNING IT FOR FIVE MINUTES AND LISTENING TO THOSE OF US WHO'VE BEEN TRYING TO SOLVE IT A LOT LONGER THAN YOU HAVE. KARKAT: THIS ISN'T AN EXERCISE BEING CONDUCTED IN ORDER FOR YOU TO PROVE YOUR PERSONAL DEGREE OF MORAL RECTITUDE. KARKAT: AND IF IT WAS, YOU WOULD HAVE ALREADY FAILED MISERABLY! SO DO YOURSELF AND EVERYONE ELSE A FAVOR AND STOP TREATING IT LIKE ONE. JOHN: well... all right. if you say so karkat.

Phew. Let’s hope he takes Karkat’s gift of a worldbound, arms-in-the-dirt sense of responsibility (Blood) and runs with it.

KARKAT: I DO SAY SO, EMPHATICALLY AND AT GREAT VOLUME. KARKAT: AND NOW THAT MY OBLIGATION TO CATECHIZE YOU ON THE SUBJECT OF YOUR OWN LIFE IS FULFILLED, I HAVE A WAR TO GET BACK TO. JOHN: wait, hold on. KARKAT: OH MY GOD WHAT NOW.

--is it gonna be a hug?

> (==>)

JOHN. Put it together.

JOHN: you can't be leaving already. JOHN: there's... so much we still need to talk about!

No, not that!!

...well, yes, I’m all for more of you two talking but. This ain’t just about you two.

KARKAT: WHAT MORE COULD THERE POSSIBLY BE FOR US TO DISCUSS?? KARKAT: PLEASE DO NOT TELL ME YOU JUST HAD ANOTHER EMOTION THAT WE NEED TO DROP EVERYTHING IN ORDER TO DISSECT. JOHN: no, that's not what i'm talking about at all. JOHN: karkat, we still haven't spoken about *you*! KARKAT: ABOUT ME? JOHN: yes. KARKAT: ABOUT *ME*? JOHN: about you. KARKAT: WHAT THE FUCK ABOUT ME. JOHN: well... JOHN: you know, how you feel! KARKAT: HOW I FEEL. JOHN: or just... JOHN: argh, i don't know!

This was more of an intervention than a feelings jam, John. I’m not sure John’s in the condition right now to Breathily inspire Karkat somehow and help his war with an idea and drive he didn’t have before -- like he SHOULD eventually -- but I suppose we’re about to see.

JOHN: it's just been so long since we've seen each other. JOHN: all sorts of things have happened in that time, and it doesn't feel right to just not even mention any of it! KARKAT: LIKE WHAT?? JOHN: oh, i don't know karkat, literally anything! JOHN: i mean, look at you. JOHN: you are decked out in a tight body suit and have an eyepatch and everything. there is simply no way there isn't something to discuss there.

You talked with him plenty while NOT in person, though.

> (==>)

Such MOOD. What a good image.

JOHN: or like, forget the eyepatch, we don't have to talk about the eyepatch. JOHN: i feel as though my point still stands? JOHN: there is basically a bottomless well full of stuff to go through. JOHN: i mean we kind of glossed over it when you brought her up earlier, but what about yiffy? JOHN: this might not come across so easily due to human troll cultural boundaries, but her existing is kind of a big deal?? JOHN: i feel like somehow i missed the part where we all sit around and talk about how strange it is that two of our friends went off and had a secret child without any of us knowing! JOHN: is it too much to ask that we have that part now, karkat?

That’s fair. And they DO need to talk about it! But this is sort of like in the Game -- there’s important shit to do, and not a whole lot of time to do it. You’re going to do a lot of talking, but you won’t be able to do all you want with certain people separated from you by the circumstances of how this war is dividing your responsibilities.

JOHN: i mean, maybe it just doesn't mean that much to you. KARKAT: JOHN. JOHN: which is a little strange, given that it ties in to the whole conflict that you had with jade and dave. JOHN: oh god we have to talk about dave. KARKAT: JOHN. KARKAT: FUCKING HELL! KARKAT: I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT DAVE. JOHN: no, this is what i mean, karkat. JOHN: we need to talk about dave! KARKAT: HAHA! LIKE SHIT WE DO!! KARKAT: I HAVE NO FUCKING CLUE HOW THIS IS EVEN A RELEVANT TOPIC OF CONVERSATION. JOHN: oh come on. JOHN: there's no way you aren't feeling kind of messed up about him, right?

THIS is fair. Karkat does need to talk about this with somebody. Whether John is the right somebody... I guess he is where Dave is concerned. And he has to talk to Jade eventually, too.

JOHN: i know i am. JOHN: whenever i think about how things ended between you two... JOHN: especially now that he's... JOHN: ugh, i'm sorry. i'm SO sorry karkat. sorry doesn't even begin to cover it. JOHN: this whole thing feels so impossibly sad. JOHN: all i'm trying to say is... JOHN: it's not healthy to bottle these feelings up and not acknowledge them. JOHN: even if you aren't feeling anything right now, and i don't for a moment believe that's true, *i* need to talk about dave! JOHN: so can we please just talk about dave for a moment. KARKAT: NNNNGNGNGGGGGGGUUUUUUGUUGHHHHHHHH FINE.

It’s difficult to live in a Daveless world.

KARKAT: IF IT WILL GET YOU TO SHUT UP ABOUT THIS TOPIC FOR EVEN A BRIEF MOMENT, THEN FINE. KARKAT: REGARDLESS OF HOW POINTLESS AN EXERCISE I CONSIDER IT TO BE, I WILL DISCUSS WITH YOU MY "FEELINGS" ABOUT DAVE. JOHN: okay. JOHN: thank you. KARKAT: ARE YOU PREPARED TO BE INUNDATED WITH NONE OTHER THAN AN UNINTERRUPTED SPATE OF HARD, UNEMBELLISHED DATA VIS A VIS MY SWEEPS-SUPPRESSED, BISCUITFELT EMOTIONS ON THE DAVE SITUATION?? KARKAT: WELL HERE GOES.

--it’s not gonna be short, or cut away, is it? --actually it could just switch to a very sad sunset-like vista of the two sitting there, and one poignant line from him followed by a long, hanging pause.

> (==>)

KARKAT: *DEEP BREATH*

A giant expletive isn’t it.

The best sendoff you could give him.

> (==>)

Holy shit. It really IS a rant!

KARKAT: YOU WANT TO KNOW HOW I REALLY FEEL ABOUT DAVE? KARKAT: HOW I FEEL IS THAT I WISH THAT EVERYONE WOULD STOP FUCKING BOTHERING ME ABOUT HIM!!! KARKAT: ALRIGHT, SO HE AND JADE GOT HUMAN MARRIED!! BIG DEAL!!! KARKAT: DO PEOPLE FORGET THAT I WAS THERE?? I FEEL LIKE EVERYONE IS FORGETTING THAT I WAS LITERALLY INVITED TO THE OCCASION. KARKAT: I'VE EVEN COME TO EXPECT THIS KIND OF AMNESIAC BEHAVIOR FROM EVERYONE ELSE, SINCE I ADMIT THAT I DIDN'T EXACTLY STICK AROUND OR ACTUALLY SHOW MY FACE FOR MOST OF THE ORDEAL, BUT YOU EGBERT SHOULD HAVE NO FUCKING EXCUSE! JOHN: wait, karkat, that's not what i KARKAT: SO YEAH! THAT WHOLE THING HAPPENED, AND I CAME TO TERMS WITH WHATEVER THERE WAS TO COME TO TERMS WITH, WHICH WAS FUCKING *NOTHING*, AND THEN I GOT ON WITH THE ACTUAL IMPORTANT BUSINESS OF TRYING TO PREVENT THE WORLD FROM CRUMBLING! KARKAT: WHICH, NOW THAT WE'RE ON THE SUBJECT, IS *STILL FUCKING HAPPENING*! KARKAT: I AM UTTERLY APPALLED THAT THIS IS AN INFO MORSEL I KEEP HAVING TO SPOONFEED DOWN YOUR WINDCHUTE EVERY FIVE SECONDS, JOHN, I REALLY AM. KARKAT: I MEAN HOLY SHIT, NOW IS NOT THE TIME FOR THIS! KARKAT: AND ONE THING I CAN SAY WITH ABSOLUTE IRONCLAD CERTAINTY IS THAT IF DAVE WERE HERE, HE WOULD SAY THE SAME THING!!

Okay he dealt with it by keeping his hands in the dirt working on hard-fighting responsibilities, yeah, as a Blood player might. But the way he’s ranting about it seems a little-

KARKAT: SPEAKING OF WHICH, WHERE *IS* DAVE?? JOHN: um. KARKAT: I FEEL LIKE IF ANYONE COULD HAVE PREVENTED TODAY FROM DEVOLVING INTO A HEADLESS CLUSTERFUCK, IT WOULD HAVE BEEN... OKAY, MAYBE NOT HIM, BUT AT LEAST HE MIGHT HAVE HELPED DRAG YOU OUT OF YOUR DEPRESSIVE FUGUE A LITTLE SOONER! JOHN: (oh shit.)

Oh SHIT

> (==>)

Oh no... oh no, they’re BOTH about to let it out together.

They’re gonna have to cry it out. Finally, onscreen. THIS is why they weren’t showing us, why they were saving it. It felt so awkward at the time but it’s because it has to culminate in these two, some of the closest to Dave since CHILDHOOD, get to show us the effect on everyone in a microcosm.

KARKAT: NOT ONLY THAT, BUT MAYBE WITH BOTH OF US HERE WE COULD HAVE DISPENSED WITH THIS ENTIRE SORRY TOPIC ONCE AND FOR ALL, IF ONLY FOR YOUR BENEFIT! KARKAT: OH HI DAVE, JOHN SEEMS TO BE UNDER THE IMPRESSION THAT THE UNSPOKEN HISTORY BETWEEN US IS OF SUFFICIENT IMPORT THAT WE NEED TO HASH IT OUT THIS VERY SECOND IN FRONT OF THE BLASTED REMAINS OF HIS HOME! KARKAT: yo karkat that does seem to be a strange thing for my best friend john to be concerned about given that he has spent the past five years wallowing in the depths of deepest divorce fever KARKAT: and especially since jade and i have meanwhile been working as part of your resistance with no complaints, but sure, we can brofist each other and arrange our limbs in an unambiguously platonic way KARKAT: a way which is also flawlessly calculated to communicate to everyone present that here are two guys who are totally and unequivocally over each other JOHN: (oh god. you don't...)

Talk about John’s comment about Karkat’s rants not being hilarious in a situation. THIS situation really tugs it out of them. :(

KARKAT: THAT SOUNDS LIKE A GREAT IDEA DAVE, AND WITH THAT MAYBE THAT WAY WE CAN WASH OUR TOUCH STUMPS OF THIS WHOLE ORDEAL AND NEVER HAVE TO SPEAK OF IT AGAIN! KARKAT: WOULD YOU LIKE THAT, JOHN? KARKAT: WOULD THAT SATISFY YOUR CRAVING FOR CATHARSIS ON THE SUBJECT OF DAVE?? KARKAT: WELL WHY DON'T WE TRY IT THEN. KARKAT: IN FACT, WHY DON'T YOU CALL DAVE AND GET HIM OVER HERE RIGHT NOW! JOHN: (oh my god...)

> (==>)

These visuals are ON POINT. This entire sequence since Karkat showed up is masterfully done.

KARKAT: MAYBE WE SHOULD GET JADE TO COME AS WELL! JOHN: ): KARKAT: FUCK, WHY NOT INVITE FUCKING EVERYONE!!! KARKAT: WHY NOT PRESS "PAUSE" ON THE RACE WAR FOR A MOMENT AND HAVE ONE HUGE FEELINGS JAM LAWNMEAL WHERE WE ALL PUBLICLY EXPATIATE OUR VARIOUS CONVOLUTED EMOTIONS. KARKAT: FORGET PEACE TALKS, GET FUCKING *CROCKER* TO COME! KARKAT: MAYBE THE SIGHT OF A DAVEKAT RECONCILIATION IS THE SECRET KEY TO UNLOCKING THE PART OF HER BRAIN THAT STOPS HER FROM BEING A GENOCIDAL RACIST BITCH!!! KARKAT: HOW COULD WE HAVE POSSIBLY BEEN SO BLIND!!!!!! KARKAT: IF GAMZEE WASN'T DEAD, YOU COULD HAVE INVITED HIM AS WELL! KARKAT: HAHAHA, THAT'S OKAY, WE STILL HAVE A VERITABLE MENAGERIE OF PEOPLE WE KNOW WHO AREN'T DEAD. JOHN: ))))): KARKAT: ALL OF WHOM I AM SURE WILL BE SIMPLY DELIGHTED TO ATTEND WHAT WILL UNDOUBTEDLY BE THE SINGLE MOST IMPORTANT EVENT IN EARTH C'S BULLSHIT HISTORY. KARKAT: IF THIS IS WHAT IT TAKES, EGBERT, THEN I AM PREPARED TO DO IT! KARKAT: DON'T THINK THAT I WON'T!! KARKAT: IF JUST FOR AN *INSTANT* IT WILL GET EVERYONE OFF MY CASE ABOUT THIS, I WILL STAND UP WITH DAVE IN FRONT OF THE ENTIRE ***FUCKING WORLD*** AND SOLEMNLY VOW THAT I DO NOT GIVE A SHIT!!!! JOHN: KARKAT!!!!

That last bit with John. I can HEAR the rawness in his voice as he shouts that last bit... he’s about to burst into tears. And Karkat is going to have to with him. And they’ll cry it out together, as they should.

> (==>)

JOHN: ugh, fuck, this is just too much! JOHN: i thought you KNEW! KARKAT: KNEW WHAT??? JOHN: dave's GONE, karkat! JOHN: he's... JOHN: he's dead.

Let’s see it happen.

> (==>)

Just body language, the blow of the words...

JOHN: i didn't mean for you to find out like this at all, i thought... JOHN: i mean, i only heard about it yesterday, but i was convinced someone would have told you already! JOHN: apparently one minute he was there, and the next... JOHN: none of us even know how it happened, and it doesn't make any sense that he's dead, but he is. JOHN: he is dead and he's not coming back. KARKAT: JOHN: talk to me karkat, please. JOHN: please talk to me karkat. KARKAT: KARKAT: HE...

Jade and Rose were on a different part of this battlefield, they didn’t have the ability, time, and/or heart to break the news--

> (==>)

KARKAT: HE DIDN'T EVEN SAY GOODBYE?

aaaaAAAA

What a fucking expression, wow.

And what a regret RoboDave has to have for abandoning everyone without so much as a farewell letter. To think that ditching them like that was IN his Ultimate Soul is going to eat away at him. He may be linked to all of his self of selves, but he’s still an individual with individual regrets.

This was a damned good update. See y’all next time.

(It may be the new meds I’m on, but between this and the thorough love I see put into the unofficial archive, I’m suddenly reminded that despite all the drama, I fucking LOVE Homestuck. Even its current incarnation.)

#Homestuck #hs2 #Homestuck Liveblog #upd8 #Homestuck^2 #spoiler #spoilers #John Egbert #Karkat #Dave Strider #Jane Crocker

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viinas-writes · 3 years

Text

“Desert Rose”

Written for the Kiribaku Anthology “Ascent”. Words: 5,211

The weight of Eijirou’s last bullet is both a grim and comforting reminder. It’s locked in the pistol tucked into the waistband of his pants like a soldier at the ready, waiting for its first and last command.

Blood-red clouds race past his vision, blurring into the overcast sky. He feels the ravaged terrain of a city he once called home tilting under the worn soles of boots that have been too small for over a year. His lungs burn. Smoke and debris sting his eyes. His body aches down to his bones but he doesn’t stumble, doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t stop.

A fleeting thought rolls across his mind: I don’t want to die here.

He casts a glance over his shoulder. The hooded man—a dorobou, probably—is still in pursuit. Eijirou can hear the clack of a rifle bouncing against his assailant’s back.

Eijirou is virtually unarmed; his pistol has been empty for months. He keeps only what he calls an “insurance bullet”—to put into his own head if things turn for the worst. If the choice is between dying as himself or having his soul obliterated by a dorobou, there’s no question about how he’d rather go.

He skids to a stop just before the ground plunges straight down. Loose earth scuttles past his feet and falls over the edge. His blood throbs in his ears. Down below, he makes out human remains, grotesquely discolored, emaciated, and half-floating in dark, shallow water. Discarded hosts. When a dorobou’s human body decays from infection, the only way for them to survive is to move onto a new one.

His hand finds his pistol, his trigger finger twitching.

“You stopped.”

Eijirou’s heart skips. Furtively, he looks back. His pursuer stands a safe distance away, rifle in hand but pointed at the ground. He pulls his hood back to reveal a shock of blond hair.

His appearance gives Eijirou pause. The venom in his gaze is discordant to the roundness in his jaw, as if everything he’s seen has yet to catch up with him, physically.

He’s a kid...like me.

“A dorobou wouldn’t have stopped.” His head falls. He pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out a heartfelt, “Fuck.”

Eijirou’s head fills with questions but the only one that forms is: “What are you looking for?”

The boy’s hand drops to his side and he screws his eyes shut, furiously shaking his head. He won’t look up, lest he lower his guard. Eijirou understands that well. Trust can’t be given blindly; altruism was a luxury their world lost.

“You looked like…” He drags a weary hand through his hair. “Same shitty dye job.”

Eijirou raises an eyebrow. “Uh—”

“Whatever,” the boy says. He turns on his heel, slinging his rifle across his back. “I made a mistake.”

“H-hey, wait up!” Eijirou yelps, because to a certain degree all trust is blind and maybe he’s just as angry and tired as anyone unlucky enough to have been born into this hell. “You know, we’ll survive longer with two of us, right? I...I mean,” he pauses, turning his words over in his head. “Unless you’re not alone…”

The boy sneers and the venom in his eyes now drips from his voice. “Like hell. I made it this far on my own.”

Eijirou laughs, which makes the boy turn and glower. He’s got big, rotten pride and an attitude to cut through glass, but if he’s survived this long all by himself, there’s got to be a thing or two they can learn from each other.

“S-shut up!” he stammers, visibly thrown off-kilter. “Give me one good reason why I should let your dumb ass tag along!”

Eijirou’s lips curl into a grin. “Well, I’m not much for offense, but.” He brings his fists together with a satisfying thud. “I’m resilient. I’ll be your unbreakable wall, man. A guard who won’t waver.”

“You are so goddamn weird.” He turns back around. Something like disappointment feels heavy in Eijirou’s chest but before he gets the chance to make a move of his own, the boy calls out, “Fine. But get in my way and I’ll kill you.”

***

Time elapses and once they’ve gotten to know each other—in whatever capacity Katsuki will allow it—it may have been days, weeks, or even months. He learns the idiot is named Kirishima Eijirou and he’s sixteen just like him. Katsuki is able to connect his ink black roots and faded red dye job to his loud, vivacious personality. Who else but someone with a desire to stand out would even bother keeping up such an appearance in this wasteland?

Katsuki also learns that there’s an organized chaos to the way they work together. Everything about Kirishima should make Katsuki hate him; he’s chatty, impulsive, optimistic to a fault, way too touchy…

But he’s also quick on his feet.

Clever in the emotional ways Katsuki is not.

He’s rock solid and dependable where Katsuki is turbulent.

Somehow, it just works.

One night, a storm chases them into the dilapidated remains of a drugstore. They rush in, sopping wet, the soles of their boots squeaking against the tile. Broken glass and empty food wrappers litter the floor. Along the walls, there are dark, empty refrigerators and equally vacant shelves.

It isn’t uncommon for looters to gut places like this. If anything, Katsuki is annoyed he hadn’t thought to do it first.

They find a corner clear of debris to rest their aching feet and Kirishima wastes no time in talking Katsuki’s ear off.

Katsuki supposes he doesn’t mind the sound of Kirishima’s voice. It’s a way to fill the silence he’s has grown uncomfortably used to—protection from his own thoughts. What’s more, as long as the idiot stays yapping, it means Katsuki doesn’t have to talk back.

His secrets don’t define him, but that doesn’t mean he’s about to let any asshole into his head. Some things are sacred. For now, his memories are fragmented moments in the back of his mind. They belong to him in the form of nightmares and fantasies that will become all too real the moment he shares them with anybody else.

So he lets Kirishima talk.

Kirishima’s head tilts back against the wall. He shuts his eyes as if lost in a moment long gone.

“I can’t remember anything before the orphanage,” he admits. His voice has taken on a softer tone, uncharacteristic of the boisterous pain in the ass Katsuki’s come to know. “It wasn’t much, you know. Overcrowded, underfunded...the food was awful.” He brings his hands together and starts to wring them out. “There were never enough beds either. We’d play games to decide who’d have to sleep on the floor for the night.” His lips quirk into a crooked grin. “I’d always let the younger kids win. It sounds pretty shit, but it was home. It was all we knew. Some kids, like me, were orphans of war but a lot of them were abandoned. We didn’t have anybody but each other.”

Kirishima rests his forehead on his joined hands. “When dorobous Thieved our caretakers, I was thirteen. Nobody knew what to do. So many of my siblings died. I was scared and desperate.” He takes in a shuddering breath. “I ran away. Like a coward. I didn’t do anything. Didn’t jump into the fray like a real man should.”

Katsuki tries to picture it, a younger, doe-eyed Kirishima, running without purpose. All his life he had nothing—he was running toward nothing—and yet, he stayed on his feet with love in his heart and a will to live.

How could someone so kind survive in such an unforgiving place? Katsuki tries to wrap his head around it. These days, survival is earned only by the most ruthless.

Katsuki isn’t sure whether it’s Kirishima or the world he’d underestimated. Both of their truths cannot coexist.

“Do you ever regret it?” Katsuki asks, mulling the pieces over, studying the nuances of Kirishima and the broken pieces of his sorry life. He wants it to make sense.

“What, surviving?” Kirishima chuckles. “What kind of question is that?”

Katsuki wonders if he’d have the same optimism if his strength amounted to something other than more time in hell.

A grin that’s at once hopeful and sad touches Kirishima’s lips. He punches Katsuki’s shoulder playfully. “Besides, I met you, didn’t I?”

***

The first time Eijirou sees a dorobou die, the shock leaves him reeling. He’s no stranger to death, but something about the way this body—once so omnipotent—hits the floor is horrifyingly human.

Smoke rises from the barrel of Bakugou’s rifle.

Eijirou’s stomach turns at the sight of the bullet nestled between the host’s eyes. A clean shot. From a distance, he might even look peaceful.

As he steps closer, Eijirou studies the details of his face—close-cropped brown hair, patchy stubble on his chin, thick eyebrows and a hooked nose. The veiny black tinge under his eyelids is the only indication that he was ever anything but human.

Who was he before he was Thieved? Whose life did we just take?

Eijirou’s siblings and caretakers, all Thieved or murdered, flash with gruesome clarity in his head. One by one by one.

“Do you think they felt it?” Eijirou whispers. Lead has settled in his bones. His hands curl into fists to keep them from trembling.

Bakugou snorts, slinging his rifle around his back. “Who gives a shit?”

“Not the dorobou,” Eijirou corrects, his voice steadier than he would have given himself credit for. “I mean the man...do people stay conscious when they’re….Thieved? Are they still there? Do they know they’re being kil—”

“You talk too fucking much.” Bakugou’s voice is like ice. “Let’s go. We don’t know if there were more where he came from.”

The way Bakugou withdraws from hard questions isn’t lost on him. It leaves Eijirou wondering what he’s so afraid of and what he’s seen to make him so cold.

More so...why was it so easy for him to pull the trigger?

***

When Kirishima manages to hotwire a pickup truck, Katsuki supposes he could have done worse in finding a partner. It’s in bad shape, with a cracked windshield and rusty paint job—not to mention the fact that it’s ancient—but it isn’t like they can afford to be choosy.

Methodically, he fiddles with a tangle of blue and red wires, tongue poking out between his sharp teeth, and Katsuki can’t help but study the stern wrinkle in between his brows. He is held captive by the movement of Kirishima’s calloused, dirt-caked fingers looping, tying, pulling, working in such a comfortable motion that Katsuki knows he’s done this many times before.

The truck roars to life; Kirishima sits up and grins. A drop of sweat rolls down his neck, pooling in the hollow of his throat. Katsuki drags his eyes away once he realizes he’d been staring.

“You’re not as dumb as you look,” he remarks.

Kirishima laughs, unapologetically loud. It does something strange to Katsuki’s pulse. He shoves him out of the way and settles into the driver’s side, then looks at the dashboard. The gas meter is a hair away from empty. He sighs.

“You wouldn’t happen to know how to siphon gas too, would you?”

As night rolls in, the two decide it’s best to get some much needed rest. They lay a couple of blankets they stole from a looted shop some weeks ago over the truck bed’s hard ridges and then collapse beneath a threadbare quilt they found in the backseat.

Katsuki’s heavy eyes fall closed as cool air fans across his face. The humble chaos of nighttime has always been so strange to him. Daytime can be so quiet—lonely, when your only company is the terrain. But nighttime rings.

Crickets on the outside.

Memories on the inside.

Kirishima’s breathing so steady and calm...protective in its own inexplicable way and shushing Katsuki’s hurricane of thoughts.

He shifts and Katsuki opens his eyes, transfixed by the way the moonlight drips over Kirishima’s face, delicately tracing his features. He follows the soft silver lines from the ends of his hair, down the slope of his nose, over the curve of his lips, enamored by how they shift and change as he moves.

Kirishima turns on his side and Katsuki can’t breathe for a second. They’re close enough that he could count his eyelashes if he wanted to—long, black, and brushing the top of his cheeks when he blinks.

“Can I ask you something?” Kirishima asks, almost whispering.

Katsuki swallows, something heavy settling in his chest. “What is it?”

“You asked me some time ago...if I ever regretted surviving.” Kirishima wets his lips and the crease between his brows returns, like the question is something he’d considered as carefully as he did the wires in their truck. “Do you?”

He exhales, watching the scar on Kirishima’s eyelid appear and disappear as he blinks. He doesn’t know how to answer that. Survival nowadays is limited only to how desperate you are—more so, how lucky. Katsuki has never been fond of games of chance.

At last, he settles with, “I don’t regret not giving up.” Be it due to luck, skill, selfishness, or a combination of it all, Katsuki doesn’t know how to surrender. He’ll stay alive out of spite if he must. What better way is there to get back at a life that took everything away from him?

Kirishima stares and it makes Katsuki feel naked, like his gaze alone can crack through his armor and sink beneath his skin. He wants to turn away but he’s trapped. Kirishima’s eyes are a deep crimson with sunny flecks of gold—embers that don’t stop burning.

Gooseflesh covers Katsuki’s arms.

He tells himself it’s just the chill.

“My mentor.” The words fall from Katsuki’s tongue. Kirishima’s eyes hold him steady like his own private gravity and it makes Katsuki feel safe.

Maybe secrets whispered in the dark aren’t quite as real.

Kirishima moves closer and their knees bump under the blanket. Electricity sparks in the places they touch.

“I…” Katsuki’s mouth feels dry. He clears his throat and tells him, “My parents and I joined the rebellion when I was a kid. We went out on rescue missions, slaying dorobous and bringing civilians back to the safe house we built. My mentor...he was well-known in our town. A hero, really.” What Katsuki doesn’t say is that Toshinori Yagi was practically his father after his own parents were Thieved and then mercy-killed by their own comrades in action.

He feels Kirishima’s fingertips graze his arm, maybe by accident. Katsuki draws in a swift breath.

“What happened to him?” he asks, gentle and undemanding. Maybe the skeletons in Kirishima’s own closet have given him this specific type of empathy. Or maybe he’s just that kind.

“I went out on my own one night,” he says, curling his trembling hands into fists. Anxiety mangles his words and Katsuki needs a moment to recalibrate. This memory—this confession—isn’t supposed to belong to anybody else.

He keeps talking.

“That fucking safe house felt more like a graveyard than a sanctuary,” he grinds out. “It was full of grief-stricken survivors. I had to get away, just for a bit. Every day felt like a goddamn funeral.”

Kirishima says nothing. His eyes are so damn big, like a puppy’s. It at once throws Katsuki and comforts him.

“I got ambushed by dorobous. Like a dumbass I wasn’t armed so the fight seemed pretty hopeless. I kept thinking to myself that I’d rather die than be Thieved, as if I had the luxury of a choice.” Katsuki grasps the blanket with white knuckles, swallowing the knot in his throat. This fucker will not see him cry.

“Toshinori, my mentor, noticed I was gone so he came looking for me. The idiot was recognized immediately. I mean, people called him All Might. He was their worst nightmare…”

Or at least that had been true before his accident. After a close call with a dorobou some years prior, Toshinori was left walking with a cane and almost blind in his left eye. His aim wasn’t what it once was. He could barely hold his own in a fight. He existed as a symbol, a tactical leader, but he hadn’t been on the frontlines in years.

“I wasn’t as interesting to the dorobous anymore and he saved my life at the cost of his own.” His voice was strangled and he cursed himself for being so weak, even now. “They killed him. And I ran away when I should have died by his side.” Beneath his own anger and grief, he knew why he did. Because if Katsuki had died that night, Toshinori’s sacrifice would have been for nothing.

It still felt like a flimsy excuse.

“It was my fault.” It comes out in a broken whisper that didn’t even sound like himself. “If I hadn’t gone out...if I hadn’t been there…” He shakes his head furiously and curses under his breath.

Kirishima touches his arm, running his thumb across his skin. “Hey...what happened after that?” A soft voice. A steady voice.

Katsuki swallows. “I couldn’t face anyone. I took one of his guns from the weapon closet and ran like hell.” As an afterthought, he adds, “The leader of the attack looked like you from the back. It’s the reason I chased you down that first day. Sorry, I guess.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Kirishima says.

Katsuki finally averts his eyes.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he says again. His fingers stay on Katsuki’s skin. “Look, this world doesn’t really lend itself much to blame. Shit happens and we just have to get through it as best as we can.”

Katsuki turns away from him because suddenly he can’t stand to be touched. He’s surrounded by the ghosts he just set free. It’s all too much.

He hears Kirishima sigh but then the silence feels all too heavy. It empties his mind of the present and leaves too much room for the memories. He comes to a compromise.

“Hey, idiot,” Katsuki says. “Tell me a story.”

Kirishima tenses beside him. He stammers, “Uh, s-sure. Of what?”

“Anything.” He just needs to hear his voice until sleep pulls him under.

And so he does and his gravity returns. When they wake up the next morning, they’re a tangle of limbs.

***

Sunlight beckons them awake and they extricate themselves from each other without words. For the past few weeks, ever since their first night together on the truck bed, every morning has been this way.

Eijirou tucks his pistol into a proper holster now while Bakugou is bent over his knees, lacing up his boots. Once they’re both ready, they share a glance and then hop into the front seats, off again. Sleepy, laconic conversations have become routine for them and each response brings them closer to some semblance of the energy required to survive.

“You reek,” Bakugou says.

“So do you,” Eijirou says.

“Let’s find a shower.”

“But food first.”

“Food first.”

“And coffee.”

A snort. “Good luck finding that.”

“You really do reek, man.”

“You didn’t think so when you clung to me last night.”

Eijirou laughs, tilting his head back against the seat, listening to the rickety hum of their motor. He catches Bakugou’s smirk out of the corner of his eye.

It’s rare to find an abandoned supermarket stocked up, but when they stumble upon one with its front doors intact, Eijirou suggests they give it a look.

Bakugou grunts an affirmative.

Humid air rolls over them as they step inside. The first thing Eijirou notices is the assaulting stench of rancid meat.

“Eugh,” he half-gags. “That’s ripe.”

“Good sign,” says Bakugou. He stalks past Eijirou. “Means there’s still food here. There’s gotta be something salvageable.”

“Should we split up, then? Cover more ground?”

The faster they’re out of here, the better. If this place has yet to be looted, that means it’s only a matter of time.

“Yeah.” Bakugou cocks his rifle, ever-vigilant. “We’ll meet back at the entrance in ten.”

They part ways and Eijirou combs through the aisles, stocking up on whatever non-perishables he can find. A jar of peanut butter. Saltine crackers. Canned goods. His backpack puts on satisfying weight. But the rotting smell only grows more oppressive the closer he moves toward the back.

He tiptoes forward and the stench sends his stomach lurching. When he turns the corner, fear winds through his stomach.

A girl—no, a corpse—lies at his feet. One yellow-tinted, glassy eye stares straight through Eijirou; the other has been eaten by a festival of maggots that have since found a home in her now-hollow skull.

Infected black veins bulge from her ashen, emaciated hands.

Not just a corpse. A discarded host.

Eijirou draws his gun and calls Bakugou’s name.

Katsuki backs into a wall, aiming his rifle at the horde of enemies closing in on him. He’s limited on bullets and would prefer not to waste any on these lowlife dorobous but if he must, then he will. His eyes dart from left to right, searching for an opening.

Kirishima’s voice falls on deaf ears. It wrenches Katsuki’s heart. Is he alright? Did a dorobou find him? He knows Kirishima is more than capable of taking care of himself.

But still...

The one directly in front of Katsuki cocks his head with amusement. Katsuki’s head spins; something about him sets his nerves on end.

“You know…” His voice is deep and gravelly, grating against Katsuki’s ears like nails on a chalkboard. “You remind me of an old friend. It’s that look in your eyes.”

Katsuki’s blood runs cold but he shows no indication. He narrows his eyes and clicks a bullet into its chute.

“I’ll fucking kill you,” he says, though he’s still careful. Right now, his odds aren’t good.

“Aw, kid, don’t you remember me?” He smiles, displaying a row of decaying teeth. “I wonder if All Might would be proud to know you’re still alive.”

Silence.

Eijirou’s heart sinks.

Without thinking, he breaks into a run.

He keeps his gun drawn as his eyes scan the area, desperately searching for a sign of his partner.

He runs.

Leaping over debris and groceries strewn over the floor.

He runs.

As nightmarish what-ifs fill his head to a point of bursting.

He runs, and runs, and runs.

Because if he doesn’t...

His thoughts and better judgment are so wholly monopolized by adrenaline that he isn’t prepared when he’s tackled. He crashes to the floor, gripping his gun to his chest. Cans of food spill out from his backpack and roll straight into the foot of an adjacent shelf.

Eijirou turns over with a gasp, aiming the gun forward. A dorobou with a nest of blonde hair crushes his legs beneath her weight. Her honey-colored eyes are feral with hunger. A web of black veins blooms from her temple.

Her body has already started to give from the infection; once a host can no longer sustain them, they find their next target.

That insurance bullet flashes in his mind.

She’ll kill him. She’ll take him. The gun throbs in Eijirou’s hand like the heartbeats its bullets are meant to collect.

He should kill her.

He should…

A scream tears through his chest and he jams the butt of his gun into her nose. She shrieks as blood runs over her lips. He wrestles her off and leaps to his feet and he doesn’t hesitate to take off again.

Red floods Katsuki’s vision. Toshinori’s alias falls off the dorobou’s tongue like something poisonous. Visceral familiarity carves into Katsuki’s gut and suddenly the pieces jerk into place. Those smug eyes. The bloodlust that would rather kill than Thieve.

A different host, but it’s him.

“You.” Katsuki abandons logic and self-preservation. He lunges at him. “You son of a bitch!”

He’s shoved to the floor by four or five others and his rifle is wrenched from his grip. It clatters to the floor, out of reach.

“I want the body!”

“Shut up! My host has given way. I need it the most.”

“If you damage it beyond repair, none of us will be able to take it!”

A knee jams into his back and Katsuki’s jaw cracks against the tile. Agony explodes through his body. All of his senses but the ones that register pain begin shutting off. White noise spills into his ears and he feels like his skull is about to burst open.

He can’t breathe.

He can’t see.

He can’t speak.

Why the hell did he let his anger get the better of him? Katsuki tries to curse but pain shoots through his spine.

Maybe this is some kind of penance. To die the same way as Toshinori, the way he should have all those years ago.

Even now, thinking of his mentor’s sacrifice, he’s so selfish.

He’d give anything for more time.

More things to learn. More sunrises to see. More...more nights under the stars and long drives in comfortable silence and more warmth. Warmth under a tender gaze, a familiar voice, a soft touch...

...just...more…

The floor grows warm as pins and needles spread across his back. His heartbeat slows, but so does the pain.

Is it over?

It’s so quiet.

And then, a gunshot.

A scream.

A sob.

Bang.

A watery voice calls his name, not Bakugou, but Katsuki. It sounds so sweet. Like a lullaby. He wants to hear it again. Warm hands carefully roll him over and take him into their arms.

“Hey.”

It’s so warm.

“Katsuki.”

It’s so safe.

“Godammit, STAY WITH ME!”

A gentle flame flecked with fierce gold embers. It’s so beautiful.

“I took care of them but we need to leave before we’re ambushed by more.”

It’s...

“Katsuki.”

It’s home.

***

And then everything burns white.

Katsuki’s eyes open to what feels like the goddamn sun. Slowly, the stiff gears in his mind begin to turn as shards of reality draw together: the ridges of the truck bed under his body, the throbbing in his head, the smell of grass and gasoline, and the faraway sound of music trickling through static—a radio?

He groans and tries sitting up but the pain knocks him back down. Kirishima is instantly by his side, hands hovering just above Katsuki’s shoulders.

Kirishima.

He takes him in: big doe eyes, razor sharp teeth barely biting down on his bottom lip whenever he’s concentrated or confused, the scar cutting through his eyelid. He’s so soft. Kind. For a dumb moment, Katsuki asks himself how someone like this could possibly fit into a world so cruel.

“The….fuck,” Katsuki says.

Kirishima helps settle him into a sitting position, then gestures sheepishly at Katsuki. “I hope it’s okay. I have, like, the bare minimum of first aid knowledge. They taught us at the orphanage. But, uh, I’ve never properly dressed a stab wound.”

Stab wound?

He glances down at his body and connects the pain with a concentrated area just shy of the small of his back. Threadbare bandages are wound tightly around his torso.

“It’s...fine,” Katsuki manages, still dazed.

Kirishima sits back on his heels and exhales; it looks as if it’s the first time he’s allowed himself to breathe in days. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

His head is still full of fog, but through the haze of pain, confusion, and whatever memory he has from that night in the supermarket, he’s able to realize one thing.

Kirishima saved him.

Kirishima, with his gentle heart and careful hands pulled the trigger again and again, crying Katsuki’s name—desperate. Kirishima who once asked him if human hosts could still feel the fear and agony of being Thieved, and then being killed. He discarded his own empathy to save Katsuki.

Dorobou or not, his hands are forever stained with blood now.

“You,” Katsuki begins, then stops himself. He doesn’t need to rehash that. Not right now. There will be time to talk about it just like there will be time for Katsuki to return the favor. Instead, he sighs. “It had to be you, didn’t it? No other asshole could have gotten us out of that mess alive.”

Kirishima laughs and the remaining tension bleeds out of him. There’s still something different in his eyes—not broken, but less naive. They’re the eyes of someone who just learned that the only way to survive is to be more ruthless than the world you’re in.

But those fire eyes with their sunny gold flecks are still unequivocally Kirishima Eijirou.

“Is there anything you need?” he asks. “I mean, now that you’re awake.” He jabs a thumb in the direction of the front seat. “I can change the radio station, though, it’s either this or polka.”

Katsuki has half a mind to snap at Kirishima for coddling him. He doesn’t, though. Because it’s Kirishima. Because when everything was slowing to a stop, all he could see was scarlet eyes and a starlit smile.

So he doesn’t curse at him, or move away, or listen to the parts of himself telling him he’s a fool for letting anybody this deep into his heart.

He says, “You called me Katsuki.”

Pink blossoms on Kirishima’s cheeks. He lets out a nervous laugh and scratches the back of his head. “Sorry about that. I, uh, things were...I mean, you know. I don’t kn—”

“God, you talk too fucking much,” says Katsuki. His fingers wind through the fabric of Kirishima’s shirtfront and he pulls him in for a kiss. Butterflies explode in his stomach and his heart feels like it’s about to burst out through his ribs and at first, he thinks Kirishima is going to push him away.

But he melts.

His hands cradle Katsuki’s face, calloused thumbs circling his cheeks. His flushed skin, soft lips, and the rhythm of his pulse intoxicates him like a drug. When they pull apart, Kirishima licks his lips, and then laughs.

Katsuki is taken aback. Defensively, he sputters, “What the hell?”

“You’re so cute when you’re smitten,” he replies, then presses a sweet kiss to the side of his mouth. Katsuki’s face burns. “Man, I’m so glad you didn’t kill me that first day.”

He snorts, then narrows his eyes. “Once again, you talk way too damn much.”

Kirishima cocks an eyebrow. “What are you going to do about it?”

They fall back into each other and Katsuki smiles against Eijirou’s mouth, thankful at the very least for one thing: that all of the anguish leading up until now gave him something so good. Maybe they were unfairly born into a world where the odds are stacked against them. But maybe there’s also something to be said about the way they’ve kicked adversity in the ass. Destiny, fate, or whatever brought hellfire to their home, challenged humanity to a fight to the death.

Every moment up until now has been about trying to conquer the insurmountable. But now, together, there isn’t an odd they won’t beat.

#kiribaku #bakushima #kirishima eijirou #bakugou katsuki #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bnha #mha #fanfic #zine

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6ix-dragons · 5 years

Text

Honeymoon Heat (2019 NaLu Love Fest)

Series: Fairy Tail Pairing: Natsu/Lucy 2019 @nalulovefestofficial Prompts: Memories (Day 2), and Reunion (Day 7) Rating: MA/NC-17/XXX/something like that Word Count: 10,970

Alternate Links: FFN - AO3

(WARNING: Contains graphic sexual descriptions, and strong language. Reader’s discretion is strongly advised!)

---

Lights of varying colours flashed across the room, painting the walls with bright shapes in differing sizes, scattered in alternating patterns. Thin layers of fog swept around the flickering dance floor, closer to the ground, the floor being taken up by more than a dozen prancing figures. All of it was complemented by the booming sounds of music that emerged through the rattling speakers, the music being a mellow composition that had a funky groove to it, along with string and brass instruments.

A set of emerald irises, lined with hazel, had focused on the whole scene from a short distance away. The pair of eyes scanned the entire area, before they settled onto the shining disco ball hanging from the ceiling. Rays of light bounced off the spinning, multi-faceted sphere, projecting bright spots that spun around the walls.

The emerald eyes then turned around, lowering down, right before the sight of a polished oak counter-top, and a glass filled with alcohol that was held in the hand of their owner—a pink-haired young adult.

A quieted sigh escaped from the dragon-slayer himself, as Natsu Dragneel gazed down at his drink, with a weary, yet ponderous stare.

Sitting alone at the bar, across from the dance floor, Natsu could not help, but reflect back on the events that had brought him here. To think, it had only been one year, since he went out on that Hundred-Year Quest with his guild-mates. It was during that time, when he slowly realized all those feelings he had for the blonde celestial mage who was—almost always—travelling beside him, in their adventures together. He had found out that he was definitely in love with her. Eventually, he reached to that point, where he wanted to express them, in their truest form, towards her. When he finally did, she returned them back, with her own, establishing a new chapter in their relationship with each other.

From that point on, they began to go out on dates, spending more time together. Then came the day, when Natsu proposed to her, on a day when they usually went around town. She became quite ecstatic at his proposal, having been caught off-guard by it, at first. It was only a few months, after they became engaged to each other, that they met one another, at the cathedral’s stage. Just about every single guild member invited to their wedding ceremony had cheered them on, the moment they kissed for the first time, as a married couple.

After all the celebrations surrounding the wedding, however, it was time for the two of them to move on to their honeymoon. Exactly a week after the ceremony was held, they were off and away to Akane Beach, spending the first of their few days at the resort over there. Up to this point, they had spent their first day with some sightseeing, having fun at the casino and amusement park, before deciding to stop over at a nightclub.

As Natsu waited for his wife to join him there, looking to his left for a second, he couldn’t help but feel about how much has happened since that very fateful day. It had felt very…profound, when it came to him finding a word to describe those experiences. He wondered to himself about what things could have been, had they not met each other for the very first time, or if she wasn’t around with him anymore.

‘No.’ He shook his head with slight, vigorous movements, frowning at the thought.

This really wasn’t what he should be thinking about, right now—not even at all. He had already experienced those times when it came to her being close to death, the life of his beloved one that was seemingly going to be taken away in front of his eyes. He swore to himself that he would protect her, as always, and it would forever be that way, especially after their marriage to one another. As much as everybody else was, in the guild, she was the one who spurned him on to keep living and fighting, even in the face of adversity. But she was so much more than that, in his eyes.

Taking another sip of his glass filled with spiced rum, Natsu placed the glass firmly onto the counter-top, only to slump forward with a quiet heave.

It was only a few seconds later, when he felt a hand being gently laid on the top of his back, and he heard a very familiar voice…a cheery, bubbly one that belonged to her.

“Natsu? Hey, Natsu!”

The pink-haired dragon-slayer slowly turned his head to the left, and found his eyes widening at his wife standing closely in front of him, a bent arm at her hip.

To say that she was totally drop-dead gorgeous, would be a complete understatement. Complementing her large, chocolate-brown eyes, her layered, golden-yellow locks were brushed back at the sides, the appearance of those locks being similar to the feathers of a bird. Her voluminous locks had shined brightly from the rays of light beaming down upon her, giving an angelic glow around them. Only her fringes at the front had remained the way they were, from before.

Aside from how her hair (at mid-back length) was styled, she wore a stunning, ruby-red dress that was low-cut, with a plunging neckline. It was backless, with the ruffled hem at around knee-height, complete with a self-tie detail, situated right below her chest.

Natsu was stunned by the way she looked, a small gape in his mouth accentuating his reaction. The one-piece dress had perfectly hugged her voluptuous, hourglass frame, leaving a generous amount of cleavage for his eyes to ogle over. In fact, it was so much so, the dragon-slayer had stared at her for more than a few seconds—with said celestial mage eventually taking notice of such. Lucy Heartfilia blinked at him, eyebrows raised. “Eh? You okay, Natsu?” Finally snapping right out of it, the pink-haired mage gave a charming grin at her. “Ah, nothing,” he rubbed the back of his neck smoothly. “What took you so long?” “I had to put on some make-up, before I could go,” she answered, returning his grin, with a cheeky smile. Natsu allowed her to take a seat next to him, Lucy sitting on the bar stool closer to her husband.

He turned his attention to her, as soon as she was fully seated. “So, what did you think?”

Lucy raised her eyebrow at him. “About, what?”

“About this place,” he answered plainly. “Seems like things have changed a lot, around here.”

Lucy agreed, looking up. “Yeah, come to think of it,” she remarked. “A place like this wasn’t around here, when we went before, with Erza, Gray, and Juvia.”

Natsu murmured quietly, the side of his face leaning against his hand that was propped up onto the bar counter.

Of course, this wasn’t their first time spent on this particular location. He could recall that time, from years ago, when they all travelled there—courtesy of Loke. While they had some fun over there, it had quickly turned south, when they then found themselves on the island where the Tower of Heaven once stood. It was one of those events that he would never forget in his memories, but one he wouldn’t want to dwell too much into.

He then directed his focus towards his wife, who was also in deep thought over this event. Her eyes became half-lidded, as they stared into blank space, briefly filled with genuine sorrow.

Lucy’s lips creased into a slight frown, as she could also remember that previous time they were there. The only moments she could reminisce from that one event, were when they were abducted and sent to the Tower of Heaven…and, when said tower itself had been obliterated, while Natsu had fought the once-nefarious mage, in Jellal. At that time, she was extraordinarily concerned for her guild-mates, especially the ones who fought the former enemy of Erza’s past. It was especially for the man she had gradually come to love, when she saw him become caught up in the tower’s destruction.

It hurt her at its worst, not knowing if he had survived from the aftermath. However, it eventually turned out that he would come back from it, along with those who fought in that close battle. And, besides, like all the other unsavoury memories she had in her life, this was one that she would like to move on from—rightfully so.

A small sigh to herself, Lucy shifted her eyes towards her beloved. “You know,” the blonde suggested, “as much as I’d like to go back to those times…I think it’s better to look forward, instead.”

Natsu hummed lightly, with a slight nod of his head, sitting up straight.

Her lips pursed into a feigned, innocent smile, as she became much closer to her husband. “Besides,” Lucy softly murmured, leaning against him. “Now that you’re here with me…we don’t have to worry about all those other things in the past.”

The dragon-slayer could feel his body heat up, upon feeling her presence right up against him. His attention locked onto her, Natsu could feel her hand creeping up onto his leg, smoothly running up and down the surface of his flared white trousers. He held back the shivers that dared to escape his lips, as she leaned in even closer towards him, her lips being dangerously close to his ear.

“Just together, Natsu,” the blonde whispered deliciously into his ear, “we’ll both make good memories, from now on.”

His body quivered from her touch, the one that drove him into an array of fuzziness through his mind. Natsu then gasped loudly, when he felt his wife’s hand slowly made its way to his inner thigh, before it had finally reached in to cup his groin. She moved it around, in circles, a naughty smirk to herself, when she felt him harden through the trousers.

The pink-haired male panted faintly, before a low growl rumbled from the back of his throat, feeling his wife’s ministrations imposed on him. His grip on the glass of rum had tightened, fingers starting to tremble more intensely.

Lucy stifled a playful chuckle to her own, as she purred into his ear. “Mmmm…you and me, Natsu…together…”

With one eye open, and his eyebrows twitching, the dragon-slayer cursed in his thoughts. ‘Damn it!’

The way she appeared before him, the way she advanced towards him, and that sweet aroma of hers picked up by him—everything about her…he just wanted to take her, here and now; ravage her, ‘til she couldn’t walk properly, the morning after!

It was only that he quickly snapped to his senses, he realized that he wanted to save it for later, when they would get to their honeymoon suite.

But, for now…

Gathering his nerves, Natsu flashed a loving gaze at her, successfully getting her to stop her ministrations—and make her heart beat faster.

“You know,” he slowly spoke, in a low, guttural tone, “you’ve gotten me all fired up, Lucy.” A tiny smirk formed on his lips, as he could observe the burning redness on her cheeks intensify. “I love that.” Cracking a small grin, Natsu then turned his head back towards the occupants of the dance floor. “But, before we take it elsewhere…how ‘bout we go for a little tango?”

Lucy raised her eyebrows inquisitively at him, turning her eyes to exactly where he was seeing. “You mean…right over there?”

He stifled a small chuckle. “Why not?”

Right when his beautiful, blonde wife was about to respond, Natsu took her by the hand, as he moved towards that area of the nightclub.

Lucy squealed, having been caught off-guard by him. “Natsu! Hey, wait!”

She was then caught by surprise again, when her eyes suddenly came across his, closely in front of her. Both of them found themselves in the middle of the glowing grid, being that of the dance floor.

Not long after the current song over the speakers had ended, another one came to replace it. Unlike the previous tune that played moments ago, this one was rather faster-paced. It had a smooth melody that made both dragon-slayer and celestial mage begin shuffling to the beat. The song carried the same funky rhythm to it, with its four-note riff, and the composition featuring horns, bells, and strings…but, its tone was different.

It was as if it had fit the way their relationship was, at the moment, with a highly romantic theme of its own.

“I want your love,” the vocals sounded out through the speakers, “I want…your love.”

Taking both her hands with his, the two of them began to move their feet around, closer to each other’s in certain parts of the song.

Dancing, especially with one another, wasn’t really new for the both of them. As far as the two could remember, they had already danced with each other, in more than a couple of past instances. Key among them was the one time when they’d learn to dance, for that mission involving the capture of a criminal. Another instance was the time after the Grand Magic Games had ended, and all the participant teams were invited into the banquet, at Mercurius. Even before he got into his hijinks, Natsu had danced with her, but it was a short-lived affair.

Shuffling, and stepping to the beat, the newly-wed couple strutted with such harmony, never losing pace, nor the passion of it all, as they became lost in each other’s gazes. Lucy admired how much he had improved, over the years, of his ability to waltz with other people…including her. For one, he didn’t step on her feet, much like the first few times when they’d learn how to dance in tandem. To her, it felt like he was a totally different person than the one she knew before—despite having a few traits of his personality that remained, there was the sense that his improved skills had added to his gradually-evolving character.

Looking into his eyes, Lucy held her breath at the sight of them. They were filled with that same ardor, the subtly-flirtatious stare having warmed her heart and soul. And, they were a part of his facial features that the blonde found him to be quite handsome. Laying her fingers softly on his right cheek, she could tell that the scar he suffered from his past fight with Zeref had long been faded, only caressing the velvety skin that fully replaced it.

Natsu’s breath stilled, as he felt her hand on his face, and her lovely chocolate-brown eyes meeting his own. His own affectionate gaze narrowed, the pink-haired dragon-slayer thought highly of the blonde female in front of him. What he previously considered those sorts of feelings to be fuzzy and surreptitious, had become more open and clearer, in his renewed state of mind. This was a much profound sensation he experienced with her. It always was. However, it was the one that he’d come to express properly, in intimate terms, for the person he’d care very much for.

Suddenly, the dragon-slayer drew closer toward her; the celestial blonde awaited for what he would do next, a small gape in her mouth, underneath her brightly-gleaming eyes.

“Lucy,” he whispered to her, sending delightful shudders down her body.

Then, with a small, sneaky grin, Natsu quickly spun around, taking an arm around her waist. A bewildered cry escaped Lucy, as she was able to follow what her husband was doing. Kicking out a shapely leg, her crimson high-heel pointed upward at an angle, the blonde was leaned further back. Her body heaved a bit, Lucy meeting his green irises up close, mind taken aback by such boldness coming from him.

With the song picking up its pace further, Natsu followed up with another twist and spin of his arms and legs, his dance partner corresponding to his moves. This time, the pink-haired gentleman had her leaning closely to him, her right knee touching his left, only the toes planted to the floor.

Lucy’s breathing heightened, upon being in such a position, awestruck by her partner’s ability to follow through this style of tango. There was no way he learned to do this by himself, and in a short span of time!

‘Maybe he learned it from somebody else, I wonder?’

Before she could even find out, the blonde exclaimed loudly again, when her husband made the next move.

Locking his fingers around hers firmly, Natsu pulled away just a few inches from her, planting the heels of his feet ground to the floor. It was during the climax of the song, when he spun her around in a clockwise motion, slightly leaned back.

Holding onto his hands tightly, as she could, Lucy found herself angled further down than he was. Her backside became a short distance away from touching the ground’s surface, while she also grounded the top piece of her high heels at the same time. Whether it was the blood rushing to her head from all the spinning, or something else, the blonde was dazed at the sight of her pink-haired partner. He had never looked so handsome, so desirable, in her eyes. Her face could only beam with such excitement, as she returned his bright smile, with one that was both doting, and star-struck.

Once the song returned to its usual rhythm and pace from its climax, so did too, with the dancing couple. Slowly straight onto their feet completely, Natsu led her closer to him, with a gentle pull of his hand. As they held the hand of one another, the young dragon-slayer softly planted his other hand on her lower back. Likewise, Lucy lowered her free hand onto the broadened shoulder of his white leisure suit.

The married couple shuffling mildly to the remainder of the song, both newlyweds had gazed deeply into each other’s eyes again.

His wife could get quite the glimpse at his emerald irises that became a shade darker, filled with intense affection from within. They gleamed brilliantly, from the light that reflected off of them, making his entire facial features stand out more to her.

Her husband observed her eyes the same way she did, in her mind—the dark-brown irises being a bit hazier, with wanton passion exuded from them. Combined with her fresh, citrusy scent that filled his senses even more, Natsu felt a flame stoked up inside him, the heat rising further than before.

A low gasp escaped from Lucy’s lips, as Natsu pulled her flush to his body, her chest pressing against his own. The pink-haired dragon-slayer could feel her heart thrumming wildly against her bosom, and a kind of rising heat that was different from her…a certain kind of warmth that he felt, whenever they were intimately close together.

Before he knew it, he felt her hands reach around the back of his head, only to let them surround his neck. The blonde’s eyes blinked with that same extravagant passion, before they closed. Head tilted up, Lucy puckered her lips, glossed with the very cherry-red sheen as her heart-shaped earrings were, primed with thrilling anticipation for what she expected this instant.

Only a second went by that she finally felt what she really wanted from him: his own pair of lips pressing against them, overcoming her senses with how warm they felt on her skin. To her, it felt amazing, her breath taken away by this one kiss—all the while, where they remained in a dreamy atmosphere filled with bright, flashing colours, and wispy smoke surrounding them.

As the song eventually played itself out over the speakers, the young couple continued to shuffle around lightly whilst they locked their lips with one another, Natsu holding her around the small of her back.

Pulling away from each other at last, the two of them took their time to catch their breath, especially so with Lucy. Panting irregularly, the blonde celestial mage set her hands onto his shoulders, eyes half-open from the struggle of cracking them wide.

“N-Natsu,” she breathed hoarsely.

An audible gasp suddenly escaped her, when she felt his large hands grasp her forearms first, before they held her smaller ones.

His mouth formed an impish grin, a low lilt held back. “We should head over to our room, right now.”

Lucy gaped at the boldness of his suggestion, forcing her to hold her breath softly. Before she could even react, however, she found herself moving alongside her husband, as Natsu brought her away from the dance floor by hand. A confused expression painted her countenance, upon setting her eyes on him, but it soon turned to elation, with her lips creasing to a genuine smile.

---

The door parted inward with a small creak, light from the hallway seeping into the darkened room.

Both newly-weds simpered ecstatically at each other, as they stepped past the open entryway, Natsu carrying his wife in his arms.

Settling onto her feet, Lucy gently released herself from her endearing husband, and casted her attention to their immediate surroundings. The blonde could barely make out anything in front, with all this darkness around, as she squint her eyes. She slightly jumped, when all the lighting in the room unexpectedly came about, illuminating the entire space at once.

Lashes fluttering, the celestial mage quickly turned to her dragon-slayer spouse, who had just discovered the switches on the wall, having flicked one of them. “Did you do that?”

Natsu blinked back at her. “I did?”

An eyebrow furrowed upward, Lucy resumed her focus back towards the rest of the interior. Her eyes softened in awe at how their whole suite appeared before her.

The ceiling lights gave way to a large living den, in front of the pair. More than a few steps away from them, there was a sofa wide enough for two, maybe three occupants. Past ahead of it was an elegantly-designed glass table. Just after the table, a rounded-square rug of soft, arctic-white fur layered atop the polished, mahogany oak floor. It was wide enough on all sides to reach the two leathered recliners situated near its corners, the recliners flanking both sides of the area. One of the couches was covered with animal print.

All of this was in front of an old-fashioned brick fireplace—the flames having already ignited, automatically—complete with solid pine mantel, fixed against a wall of wooden panels with a porcelain base below them. Off to their left, away from that area, the rounded bed sat above the raised, heart-shaped platform. Hanging high above it was a large, red mirror, the shape of a diamond, mounted to the ceiling above.

Still amazed by how their suite looked, Lucy continued to survey the entire room, from side to side, a gape in her mouth. Natsu watched her, as he hanged his suit onto the nearby rack, leaving him in his white vest, and black shirt.

He flashed a grin at her, kicking off his platform shoes, and placing them against the wall. “What do you think?”

Lucy slowly turned to him, the awestruck expression still remnant in her eyes for a moment. “It’s much nicer than I thought it would be,” she breathed out, kicking out of her high-heels, and shuffling them aside, as her bare feet stepped onto the mat.

His keen eyes kept on his wife, whose feet made their way onto the beige, wool carpet, before making it across to the oak floor, as she made her way closer to the fireplace.

Her feet planted firmly on the fur rug, the plush feeling of it against her skin, Lucy stood silently, glancing around. She was seemingly lost in the room’s interior elegance, and charm.

Laying her sight directly towards the rising flames in the pit, the blonde finally broke her silence, whispering aloud, “This is actually beautiful.”

Lucy then heard her husband stifle a chuckle behind her, having closed the distance between them. A sudden rush of air was taken in by her, when his large hands settled at the sides of her waist.

“Not as beautiful as you are, Lucy,” he grinned widely, slowly running his hands up and down her sides.

The celestial mage’s body quivered at his remark, her face burning from not just the heat that emanated from the fireplace. “Natsu…”

She squeaked, when her pink-haired husband nuzzled against the crook of her neck. Making his way up against the side of it, the amorous Dragneel picked up more of the lemon-lime breeze that invaded his nose—intensifying with every intake.

Lucy panted, and gasped, as she had fallen victim to his touch. He had pulled her flush against him, in which she responded by repeatedly grounding her rotund bottom against his groin. Natsu held back a low groan, as he began planting deep kisses against her shoulder, working all the way along her neck. It earned him a few delighted mewls from her. A quiet curse escaped his lips, upon having felt himself harden against his trousers.

“Ah…Natsu,” she moaned quietly, taking in his ministrations. Without warning, she felt him pull away from her neck, leaving her into a state of confusion. “Wha—?”

The celestial blonde then found herself being turned around by him, where her eyes directly fell upon his lustful ones.

His devilish smile widened. “Come here.”

Before she could even process what happened, his lips suddenly captured hers, at the same time he pulled her closer to him. Lucy could feel herself melt into the kiss, sending her mind into a frenzy. Moans and gasps were shared between the two, as the heated kiss intensified, with their tongues clashing aggressively against one another.

In the midst of their lip-lock, her fingers made their way to the buttons of his vest, skillfully undoing them. With the opened-up vest freed from her husband, she made quick work on his dark shirt, in the same way she did with the other garment.

Parting out from the kiss, both newlyweds caught their breaths, while Natsu shrugged off the shirt that he was wearing. Lucy was silently astonished at how well-built he was, in his current, topless state. She turned around, right as her husband closed in from behind.

The blonde spun her head back to face him, wanton fervor in her eyes. She beckoned him to undress her, with a sultry whisper of “Please”.

His lips stretched into a wolfish grin. “I was about to do that, anyway.”

Both sides of her dress slipped down her arms, unraveling to reveal her bare torso. It was only a matter of time, before the single piece of clothing had fallen to the floor graciously, after its bind was untied by him.

It felt as if she was in one of those movies…but, it wasn’t.

This was actually real.

Crossing her arms over her uncovered chest, Lucy turned around to face her husband. She then laid her hands onto his shoulders, her lips reaching to make contact with the pulse on his neck. Gasping breaths escaped Natsu, while, unbeknownst to him, the blonde guided him towards the nearest recliner. She kissed, and suckled around his neck, while unbuckling the belt around his waist. Said black belt of leather slid off to the wayside, as she finally brought him to her intended destination.

A surprised gasp escaped him, when he felt her hands on his chest aggressively pushing him down onto the chair. Leaning back onto it, the slightly-dazed Dragneel peered down at his blonde partner, now on her knees before him.

Lucy leaned in further, her head closing in on his nether regions. His panting heightened, as he felt her faint breath down there. Through his pants, she palmed around his groin, feeling him harden greatly with her touch. Looking up at his face, she was more than thrilled at his submissive expression that contorted with undeniable delight.

Seizing the opportunity, the blonde took the zipper of his pants between her teeth, dragging it down ever-so-slowly. Sliding his pants down, along with his boxers underneath them, her face burned at the sight of his erect phallus that shot upright upon being uncovered. Thick, muscular, and at full-mast, her curious eyes kept on it, before she slowly reached out a slightly-trembling hand towards it.

Watching his emerald irises looking down on her, Lucy wrapped her fingers around the engorged shaft, before gently moving them up and down over it. A soft gasp poured out of his open lips, his head tumbling over, as he let out a low, satisfied moan at her strokes.

“Ah, Lucy,” he rasped, chest heaving. “Yes…that’s it…”

Holding back a naughty chuckle, Lucy leaned in closer, tracing the blade of her tongue up over the underside of his phallus, before sweeping around his shaft in a swirling motion.

Natsu’s breathing picked up, as the pink-haired newlywed grunted, and moaned softly at her ministrations. His narrowed gaze barely picked up his blonde lover planting deep kisses all over his cock, leaving a few of her cherry-red lip prints around it. One of his hands tightened on an armrest of the recliner, while his other flew to rest onto the tuft of her hair, catching her attention.

Lucy looked up at him, again, blinking. Seeing his broad smile, and narrowed gaze of approval—along with his hand lightly rubbing the top of her head, all of it had egged her to continue what she was doing. Leaning in, once more, Lucy planted a kiss on the tip of his manhood, before taking the rest of his shaft into her oral cavern.

Natsu’s hold on her hair tightened a bit, as he hissed, and grounded his leaning body against the chair. Gasping moans and curses escaped her husband, while he writhed around to the warm and moist sensation surrounding him.

“Yes…fuck,” he grunted quietly, taking in the feel of her lips firmly wrapped around his phallus. “More…Lucy…”

Responding with a muffled moan, Lucy released her mouth from his cock, before she drew her tongue down the underside of it, towards his testes. She followed through, lashing the tip of her oral muscle against the junction between them, prior to pressing her lips against his testes, leaving another lip mark there.

Pleasure spiked through his body, as he slightly arched his posterior over the reclined backrest. Natsu peered down at his lustful wife, eyes barely open, both his hands now onto her head, as she resumed her fellatio of him.

Bobbing her head up and down, Lucy suckled around his shaft with all her might, low moans escaping out of her, in muffles. She dragged her tongue against it, at the same time, creating a loud, slurping noise every time she went down on him. The noises aroused both of them—especially Lucy, as she faintly sensed the warm moisture seeping out through her panties.

Natsu released a few shuddering gasps and groans, feeling a certain heat building up in his lower core. “Mmmhh…Lucy…please…”

Breathing through her nose, Lucy pumped her lips back and forth on him, before she hollowed out her cheeks, and began taking him in further.

Her husband threw his head back, releasing a louder groan, when he felt the head of his shaft reach further into her oral cavern.

“Guh!” He choked out, his hands fisting at her tufts, as she sucked all over him deeply. “L-Lucy!” Natsu felt the fire in his lower core rise quickly, along with a tingling sensation at the base of his spine. “I-I can’t….” His eyebrows twitched, jaw clenching. “I…I’m g-going to…”

His eyes then shot wide open, when he felt her movements cease instantly. Slowly lifting his upper-body away from the backrest, Natsu looked down at his wife, who had just pulled her mouth away from his phallus. She coughed, and sputtered, breathing heavily, trying to catch her breath.

“Lucy,” he gasped, quickly placing his hands on her shoulders. “Are you alright?”

Covering her mouth for another cough, the blonde’s rhythm of breathing finally settled back to its regular pace, as drool ran down her chin. “Yes,” she panted, wiping the drool out with the back of her hand. “I’m okay, Natsu.”

“Oh, good,” he gave a content sigh, smiling. “That’s a relief.”

Lucy smiled back at him. “But…how was it, Natsu?” Her brows curved inquisitively. “Was it…better than you thought?”

He nodded his head shortly, and broadened his grin. “Yeah, of course I loved it, Lucy!” He rubbed her shoulders softly. “I didn’t know you can reach that far, with your mouth.”

Her cheeks reddened at his remark. “Well…I-it’s my first time doing it,” she murmured, her gaze steered away from him.

Natsu held a low chuckle to himself, as he gently brought his hands to the sides of her face. “It’s not bad for your first time, ‘though.” His smile widened a bit, at her bashful, pouting expression, while he caressed her cheek. “Come here, Lucy.”

The blonde was taken by surprise, when he tipped her chin up, and leaned in to take her lips with his own. She pressed her lips back against his, whilst leaving her hands on the side of his face, only for both to sneak their tongues into each other’s mouths, again.

Rising off from the recliner, Natsu helped his loving wife onto her feet, as he stepped out of his discarded pants. The two of them continued in their liplock, while Natsu guided her onto the middle, open area of the fur rug, right in front of the fireplace.

Settling her onto the white floor-cloth, Natsu clambered on top of her, as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

The word ‘gorgeous’ had already been used in his mind to describe her repeatedly, much like a broken record. But, here, that word came across him again, when he looked deeply at her face.

Underneath her feathered hair that fanned out all over the rug, her large, chocolate-brown irises shone brightly from the reflection off the lit fireplace. She narrowed those eyes, her lips stretched into a sweet smile that made his heart thump a bit faster.

His eyes sparked, as he breathed out in a murmur. “Lucy…”

She giggled quietly at him, fondling his cheek. “What are you waiting for…Natsu?”

Quickly seizing her lips, Natsu kissed her fiercely, as her hands roamed around the sides of his locks. Pulling away from her face, as fast as he took her lips, he moved down to plant a deep kiss on her neck, underneath her chin. His grin flashed for a very brief moment, when it earned him a gasping cry from her, before he continued to plant more kisses down her body.

Panting, Lucy squirmed about, as Natsu placed a few deep kisses around her large mounds. Her lithe fingers fisted the soft, fluffy fur. He left a trail of kisses down her abdomen, before his eyes finally stopped at the area between her legs.

His dirty grin broke wide open, when he inspected that intimate area of hers closely. Her red, high-cut lacy panties were already dampened from her arousal, Natsu making out the dark patch staining the very area between her inner thighs.

He could hear her whine from above. “D-don’t stare at it like that!”

His gaze curving back up to her own, Natsu quietly chuckled, grinning playfully. “Hmm…I don’t mind it at all.”

Lucy pouted at him, in response, right before he lifted her legs together. Hooking his fingers on the hem of her panties, from the sides, Natsu slowly tugged them away. His focus was trained on the thin ropes of sticky, clear fluid that bowed between her panties, and her entrance, prior to all of it breaking apart. Sliding them past her knees, he shifted his focus towards his wife’s face, her expression filled with great fervour, and anticipation of what was going to come next.

Slipping the undergarment through her feet and out, Natsu held the bunched knickers in his hand, before throwing them over his shoulder, his broad grin of content signifying his wanton desire.

The blonde woman held back a short squeak, when her husband suddenly parted her shapely legs outward, exposing her most intimate area to him. Covering her mouth with her fingers, the bashful Heartfilia watched, as Natsu peered at her exposed entrance with captivated eyes.

Under her patch of neatly-trimmed golden curls, his gaze fell upon her vaginal entrance. Leaking with clear fluid that trickled down her inner thighs, its labia were engorged, with the fleshy bits of its clit peeking out within the vulva.

Shuddering breaths escaped Lucy, as she saw her husband onto his knees, his head leaning in towards her nether-regions.

Hands on her thighs as support, Natsu began kissing around her inner thighs, leaving dark bruises on them. Lucy reacted with airy mewls, tossing her head left and right, while her husband continued with his teasing touches.

The pink-haired Dragneel followed through, licking away the transparent liquid that gathered on the inner-most areas of her thighs, savouring its slightly-acetic, but sweet flavour.

“Natsuuu,” Lucy whimpered, her head lifted a bit to look down at him. “Pleeease…”

His lips stretched to a wide, naughty smile at her plea, Natsu proceeded to sweep the blade of his tongue against her sopping clit.

A short, but loud cry was wrested from the blonde, as she arched her back slightly, in response. Turning her head side to side, delighted moans spilled through her gape, while her hands flew over to her lover’s spiky locks.

Natsu grunted quietly, having felt her fingers bunch around his hair. He continued to pleasure her, licking away at her clit, tracing the tip of his tongue all over her most sensitive areas.

“Mmmmhh! Haaah!” Lucy squealed away, her body quaked with excitement. “Natsu! …More!”

Granting her request proudly, Natsu furthered her pleasure, sneaking his tongue into her vaginal opening. It earned him another squeal from her, and a tightened hold on his hair, as he slid his tongue all over her inner folds.

Arching her back even more, Lucy kept her grip on her husband’s locks, as she threw her head back in bliss. “Natsuuu!” She cried out, chest heaving heavily, the fire stoking upward within her lower core.

Now holding her by her outer thighs, Natsu shoved more of his tongue into her inner folds, licking at them more intensely. He then quickly pulled his tongue out of them, before covering over her vaginal entrance with his mouth, lapping up her outer folds with his oral muscle.

“Aaaahhhn!” Lucy cried out, again. She could feel the pressure in her lower core about to snap. “Natsuuu! …Ah! …I’m…I’m g-gonna—”

She suddenly gasped, when she felt him pull away from her clit without warning, bringing her legs down to the rug. Panting hoarsely, still, Lucy lifted her upper-body to face Natsu, who had wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Natsu,” she frowned, her eyes cross with confusion. “Wh-why did you—”

“Turn your body around,” he murmured lowly at her, his smiling expression becoming more lascivious. “I want you on your hands and knees.”

Blinking, surprise befell Lucy for a second, as she made out his irises that turned a more smoky green in nature.

“Ah…y-yes,” she stumbled in her response slightly, at his bold request.

Through heavy-lidded eyes, a thrill was sent through Natsu’s senses, when his blonde wife turned over to plant her splayed palms, and bent knees against the rug. His senses were further inflamed, when her heart-shaped ass faced him, in plain view. Spreading her legs apart, the arousal in his body surged, when his sights captured her dripping pussy, wet with the same clear fluid that he relished beforehand.

His lips cracked open a rapacious grin, his fangs exposed. ‘Perfect…’

With bated breath, Lucy turned her head back, glimpsing at her husband crawling towards her.

Positioning over her body, Natsu leaned in to nuzzle against her shoulder, earning him a delighted giggle from the celestial mage. He returned with a mischievous chuckle of his own, before he began kissing the crook of her neck. Soft moans poured out of her lips, as he pressed his lips against it.

“Natsu,” she panted, gasping. “Please…I want it…”

The pink-haired Dragneel smirked silently, reeling away from her shoulder. Placing a hand on her hip, Natsu used his other hand to guide the head of his hardened phallus towards her moistened entrance. His attention then went to Lucy, who squeaked, and gasped, as he rubbed the tip against her outer folds. Her body trembled with great anticipation, her shallow breathing picking back up.

Pressing the tip against her vaginal opening, Natsu slowly pushed in, both his hands now onto her hips. Lucy mewled loudly at the intrusion, his shaft beginning to stretch her apart, inside. Her fingers bunched around the piles of white fur tightly, while her upper-body curved downward, pushing her breasts onto the rug.

Breathing in sharply, he gently drew his hips back, until the head of his shaft remained inside her. With a quick thrust forward, he slid his entire shaft completely in.

A piercing squeal broke loose from Lucy, who grappled her hold around the fur, as a powerful bolt of energy shot through her spine. Her jaw clenched, while her inner walls wrapped around him. Natsu grunted deeply, as those wet, warm, and silky sensations began taking over his mind. In his lack of better words, it had felt great to be inside her again. The ethereal feeling he felt before, had returned in that very moment.

Sensing her love canal squeezing around his cock, Natsu began to pull his hips back, before driving them in. Gasping squeaks escaped her, as she felt his phallus slip in, and out, repeatedly.

The glass table shook mildly, along with the glassware that clinked around above it. In front of the roaring flames within the fireplace, Natsu thrusted deeply into his blonde lover, thin clouds of vapour pouring out from his husky breaths.

“Oh, yes! Haaah!” Lucy cried out, head craned upward. “Natsu! …Ah!”

She maintained her grip on the strands of fur, as she reigned in the fuzzy, ecstatic sensations that whirled around in her head. Her enormous, heaving breasts swayed back and forth, with every plunge of his hips. Her tongue drew out slightly from her gape, thin clouds of vapour also pouring out from there.

“Fuck,” he hissed, pounding away from behind. “You feel so good, Lucy!”

His gaze panning down, Natsu took full view of her sleek back, curvy sides, and her rotund bottom. In addition, her long, feathered locks rose and fell in ripples, and waves.

“So good,” she panted, echoing her lover’s remarks, her eyes rolling to the back of her head. “AH! …So good!”

Skin slapping against skin reverberated throughout the interior, when Natsu picked up his pace. Noises of pure ecstasy escaped both lovers, who could not just get enough of each other. Sheen layers of sweat coated their bodies, as they continued their carnal, lustful act.

---

The flames maintained their peak height under the mantel, while the entire suite was filled with sounds of impassioned moans, grunts, and groans.

Lucy mewled away in staccato, finding herself onto her side, her bent knees spread wide apart. Her pink-haired husband, also on his side, cradled her body from behind, plunging his shaft in and out of her. His momentum unbroken, Natsu firmly held the thigh of her lifted leg for support.

“N-Natsu!” She squeaked out a moan, her gaze slightly turned back towards her lover, gape quivering. “M-more!”

In the midst of his breath pouring out huskily, Natsu flashed a dirty smile at her, before intensifying his thrusts. It earned him a short, high-pitched cry from the blonde, who closed her eyes, and lolled her head to the side. She curled her toes, while her large mounds bobbled around shortly.

Gasping, and moaning, Lucy could feel the head of his phallus push aggressively further with each thrust, reaching deep against her most sensitive spots. She could even feel him throb within her vaginal depths.

“Lu…cy,” Natsu groaned out her name softly, grunting at her love canal contracting around his shaft.

Said busty blonde turned her attention back towards him, when she heard her name spill under his breath. Instant surprise befell her, as her husband seized her lips, with his. Her faint squeak was muffled out in the searing kiss, upon finding herself fully on her back. She could feel his body shift over, to be on top of her, again.

Natsu began driving his hips into her strongly, restarting the intense pace of his thrusts. Breaking apart their lips from each other, Lucy cried out delightfully, wrapping her arms around the back of his neck. Her body writhing with tinges of pleasure, she raised her legs on an upward angle, allowing him deeper access into her depths.

“N-Natsu!” She squealed, her bent legs riding up against his waist. “Natsuuu!”

Her pink-haired husband growled out a grunt, while he plowed into her. Jaw clenching, Natsu could sense his own pleasure reaching its tipping point, feeling the fire in his lower core close to bursting away. Eyes flicked open, his sights immediately made out her gaping expression, rapturous with unbridled ecstasy. As they fell downward, they captured a great view of her bouncing, melon-sized breasts.

His fingers quickly latched onto them, squeezing the supple flesh against his skin. Lucy threw her head back, and to the side, letting loose another high-pitched squeal. His firm caresses added more to the pleasure she received from him, on top of his cock buried deep into her that it almost reached the mouth of her womb.

Natsu hissed harshly, and cursed, feeling the familiar tingles in the base of his spine reoccur. Combined with the throbbing of his shaft becoming more frequent, he knew that he was now reaching the point of no return, as he continued to fondle her twin peaks.

Caught in the storm of his own delight, an idea conjured up faintly in his mind—one that he never fully explored with his wife…yet.

Lilting moans escaping through clenched teeth, Lucy could tell she was reaching her tipping point, as well. The ball of energy built up in her lower body was also about to explode.

“Natsuuu!” She squealed even louder, holding him in a loving embrace. “I’m about to come! I-I’m—”

Her ears barely picked up his grunt, before she felt his body begin to pull away. Lucy gasped, eyes parted wide, when the warm and thick sensation in her love canal suddenly vanished. Before she could even know why, she felt her husband straddle her chest without warning, his legs touching her sides.

Lucy squeaked, when she felt his hands part her breasts, and his hardened phallus rested onto the middle of her chest, slick with her arousal.

“L-Lucy!” Having groaned her name aloud, Natsu wasted no time in putting his idea into use. Pressing her breasts together, he began thrusting in and out of her cleavage, sandwiching her mounds all over his cock.

In the dragon-slayer’s mind, it felt quite sublime. Although it felt ethereal being buried into her vaginal depths, it didn’t come close to the sensation he was experiencing, being surrounded snugly in between her breasts. The same warmth surrounding him was there, but with the addition of her velvety skin, and the gelatin sack-like consistency of how soft they were.

The busty blonde responded with more delighted moans, as he slid his phallus back and forth. Lifting her head upright, Lucy was in awe, watching the head of his penis poke out from her cleavage, with every thrust.

Tucking her arms against the sides of her chest, she crossed her forearms over her breasts, pushing them against each other tightly. Natsu lolled his head back, in response, his moans coming out in gasps, from such warm softness moulding all over the pulsating stiffness of his manhood. He braced his hands over her forearms, helping her secure her hold around his shaft.

“Yesss,” he hissed fervently, retracting his hips, and pushing them forward in repetition. “That’s it, Lucy…hah…fuck!”

Mewling breaths came away from the blonde, as she scalloped her tongue out. She darted the blade of it out against the tip of his phallus, whenever the head of it emerged through, in each push of his hips. Lucy savoured the taste of the pre-cum that seeped out of the tip; a combination of somewhat-bitter, and somewhat-sweet. The head of his penis twitched, along with the rest of his shaft, as she dipped her tongue against the most sensitive part of it.

“Lucy!” Natsu called out in a shuddering gasp. The tingles building in the base of his spine grew sharper, and intense, while he picked up the pace of his thrusts. “I…I’m…I’m gonna…”

Right as she knew what he meant from his gasps, the busty blonde heard him grunt gutturally, at the same time his hips lunged forward. Short, loud squeals broke out from her, when she felt a few long, thick strings of warm fluid land onto her skin.

Primal moans, growls, and grunts had all escaped Natsu, as he gave a few hard, jerking thrusts through her cleavage. He could feel himself give in to the cresting waves of his climax, in tandem with the liquid warmth escaping his shaft in pulses. Sensing his wife releasing her forearms away from her breasts, the pinkish-haired Dragneel freed his cock away from them. His fingers grasping his manhood, Natsu pumped his hand over it, repeatedly. Hoarse groans spilled from him, as he let more of his liquid warmth expel in short spurts.

Panting unevenly, Natsu was slumped forward slightly, while catching his breath. Sweat dripped above, and below his closed eyes. Recovering from his mind-blowing orgasm, he slowly got up on his feet, and moved around his wife, only to seat himself in front of her. There, he slowly re-opened his eyes, before they instantly snapped wide, upon the full realization hitting them.

Sitting upright, the blonde female also breathed irregularly. Thick globs and patches of iridescent-white fluid gathered onto her front fringes, her face, her neck, and her enormous mounds. Some of it dripped down her chin, while a couple of blotches ran southward over a breast, like icing.

The entire, messy sight had sent his blood pooling into his loins again, re-igniting his semi-flaccid phallus.

Her eyes cracked open gently, Lucy blinked when she felt the residual warmth of the fluid on her skin. Her mouth formed open a gape, when she looked down at the pearlescent-white, viscous fluid atop her large globes.

“Oh my,” she remarked quietly, instinctively dabbling her fingers onto the sticky, glaze-like liquid. “There’s so much…and so warm…”

Lucy then crawled over to the glass table, where she reached a dark-coloured towel from the closest corner. She wiped away the semen from her hair, face, neck, and chest, with it. As she did, complete realization struck her mind, of what transpired during those few, short moments.

“Wait,” she blinked, placing the towel back on the table. Lucy turned to her kneeling husband, brows raised, eyes cross with bewilderment. “Natsu…why didn’t you come inside me?”

His face flushed with red, in response. “I…I was going to,” Natsu stammered, somewhat struggling in his explanation, “but, I wanted to do this kind of thing, instead…since I never tried it before, with you.” Ashamedly, he bowed his head, and turned his focus away from her. “I…I’m so sorry, Lucy.” He suppressed a gulp in his throat. “I shouldn’t have.”

A wonderstruck expression painted her countenance, in tandem with her ponderous stare. She blinked rapidly a few more times, before her lips stretched into a reassuring smile. “It’s alright, Natsu.”

He brought his gaze back towards her, with an astounded look on his face. “But, you…you forgive me?”

Lucy simpered at him. “Of course I do, Natsu!” The blonde crawled towards him. “Even if it’s what I didn’t expect from you, I still liked it as much as you did.”

Natsu blinked at her, slightly-dumbstruck, as she kneeled in front of him. “Lucy…”

She giggled shortly. “Besides…we still have the whole night for each other.” Her eyes then trailed down to his fully re-engorged manhood, having risen to full-mast again. “And, I can see that your ‘little dragon’ is already up for another round.” The sight of it had made Lucy lick her lips.

Peering down where her eyes were previously transfixed towards, the young, pink-haired male looked back up to her eyes, with a wicked grin—and the unmistakeable glint in his eyes. He chuckled darkly, in which Lucy giggled airily, as her response.

Both leaned in to capture the lips of one another, sharing yet another fiercely-passionate kiss, their tongues pushing up against each other. Her hands flew to his erect phallus, fingers running up and down on it. Natsu moaned lowly into the kiss, before he quickly restrained her hands with his own, earning him a playful laugh from his wife.

---

Small squeaks of spring coils pierced through the room, in combination with airy moans of a young female.

“Hah…oh, yes,” Lucy panted, lilting another moan. “Natsu…”

Natsu could barely keep his eyes open, as he focused on her bouncing figure on top of him. “Lucy…f-fuck…”

His hands guided her hips, as she rolled them against his own. Natsu leaned back against the other chair, its backrest reclined at an angle, while Lucy straddled his hips, and rode him like a dragon.

Grunting, and groaning, Natsu brought his head up, and tilted his eyes downward. He could barely make out her pussy taking him by the inch, as she slid her body down. Shifting his sights away from there, they panned up to her jiggling, perky bosom. Her sizeable breasts rose and fell, with every bounce of her hips.

Raising his upper-body off the backrest, he quickly leaned in to close his mouth around an areola on her breast. His tongue swirled around its puckered bud, while his free hand squeezed onto her other, unattended mound. Lucy tilted her head back, and released a crying squeal, while her husband added to the pleasure she received.

“Natsu,” she mewled through shaky breaths. “P-please…”

Not minding the hint of his own essence that remained on her skin, along with the sweat that beaded on there, Natsu swept his tongue around her mound. He felt her hands gripping the back of his head, while he switched to the other breast.

It took a brief moment, until he felt her hands suddenly on his shoulders, pushing his upper-body back against the backrest. Her hands fell to his abdominals, where his wife took the opportunity to feel how rock-solid and sculpted they were. Her fingers dug into them, while she sped the pace of her bounces, buckling her hips against him.

“Shit,” Natsu gasped out hoarsely, an eye shuttered, keeping a firm grip on her waist. “Yes, that’s it, Lucy…”

Shuddering rasps escaped Lucy’s breath, as she began to bounce wildly. “Oh yes, oh yes,” she repeated, tongue protruding out underneath her rolling eyes. “Natsu…oh, yes!”

Lucy cried out sharply, when she felt him buckle his own hips against her, as she came down. Low growls rumbled from her pink-haired lover, not wanting to let his wife have it all, by herself. He began rocking his hips hard against hers, every time she came down.

“N-Natsu!” The blonde cried out, feeling that same ball of energy building in her lower core, about to burst. “I…I’m…almost…”

She heard a grunt from him. “I’m…almost there…too,” he growled, jaw clenching slightly. “Just…cum for me…Lucy…”

Repeating those three words under his ragged breath, Natsu kept propelling his hips intensely against her, hearing his wife’s moans pick up in volume, and pitch.

An errant buckling of their hips had finally sent both lovers reaching their peaks. A strangled, breathless cry spilled from Lucy’s gape, as her head dropped back. Her quaking body, paralyzed from the amount of energy that surged through her nerves, froze in place. In the midst of her climax, she dimly recognized her fluidic warmth flowing out in a gush, and his warmth pooling against her lower abdomen.

The sensation was likewise for her husband, whose hold on her hips tightened. Growling gutturally, Natsu arched his lower-back slightly, the muscles in his body tightening. Flames of pleasure engulfed his entire body, the sensation coinciding with the other sensations of her liquid heat coating around him—and, his own liquid heat erupting outward.

A very brief moment passed by, before the two lovers snapped out of the waves of pleasure that washed over them, still connected together.

Short of breath, Lucy gently collapsed onto her husband’s chest, landing the side of her head under his chin. She could feel his chest heaving laboriously, his flushed skin quite temperate to the touch.

At the same time, as he wrapped his arms around her, Natsu felt her generous breasts flatten against his upper torso. He sensed his flagging phallus twitch and re-harden, in response. He could also feel their mixed love juices leak through the crevices of her entrance, where they trickled down his shaft, and onto his testes.

Both of them felt the heartbeats of one another, while they caught their breath. Lucy was the first to break the post-coital silence.

“Mmmm,” the blonde purred sultrily. “That felt amazing…Natsu…”

Natsu held a low, but satisfied hum, smiling widely. “Not as amazing as you were, Lucy.”

She responded to his remark, with a playful swipe of her hand against his chest, and a mischievous giggle. “Oh, stop it, you!”

The dragon-slayer snickered back, before he leaned in to slant his lips over hers. It was a slow, simmering kiss they shared, unlike the other, much-passionate kisses they took part in. A gasping squeak escaped Lucy, when she felt his cock twitch, and thicken within her love canal.

She pulled her face away from him, now fascinated with awe. “Natsu…you’ve gotten big, again.”

Natsu suppressed a grunt, upon feeling her inner walls lightly squeeze around him. He chuckled shortly at his wife, grinning boldly at her. “Wanna keep going, for another round?”

Lucy blinked at him very briefly, before her lips stretched into a sultry smile, under her smoky brown eyes.

She aggressively attacked his lips, slanting hers onto them. Low, subdued moans escaped them, their tongues clashing with each other. Lucy wriggled her hips around, rocking them slowly against his, restarting the same motions that eventually kicked off another round of love-making.

---

A couple of hours passed by, with the flames in the fireplace crackling at a low simmer.

Natsu and Lucy had both found themselves on top of the circular bed, with its sheets and pillows in disarray. Their bodies flushed and drenched with sweat, and marked with small love bites on certain areas, both of them struggled slightly to catch their breaths.

Natsu was laid out on the mattress, fully spread, while his wife lay on her side, her legs bent and apart from one another. Globs of his thick, pearly-white seed sloshed out of her entrance, staining her inner thighs, and trickled onto the sheets.

Huffing about, for a few minutes, Natsu finally settled into the regular rhythm of his breathing. He lazily turned his head to his left, where he faced his wife directly. His eyes met her loving ones that had been staring at him, for a moment beforehand. Shifting his entire body to be on its side, also facing against her directly, Natsu reached an arm over to rest his hand on the side of her head.

Ruffling her feathered locks lightly, he then brought his fingers over to her cheek. His skin warmed a bit more at his wife’s smiling face, her sweet smile bringing more of those fuzzy, lighthearted sensations in his head.

Gently brushing his fingers against her cheek, Natsu flashed open his charming, bright smile, and laughed quietly. Lucy returned with a bright smile of her own, and hummed happily at him. They shared one last kiss for the night, before both eventually succumbed to their natural desire for sleep, their hands linked together. They let the flames in the fireplace slowly burn themselves out.

---

By morning’s rise, the fireplace was all barren, aside from piles of soot, and darkened chunks of burnt wood.

Emerging from their slumber, the newlywed couple—having consummated their marriage that night—stirred around, as they were both awoken. Both rising upright, they yawned, and stretched, before getting off from the bed.

Planting their feet on the floor, the two of them didn’t exchange their morning greetings with one another. Without a word, instead, the couple had embraced each other, together. Another small, but passionate kiss between the two had followed, afterward.

Lucy then yelped, when Natsu scooped her up by her legs, carrying her in his arms. Laughing heartily, Natsu carried her into the bathroom, nearby. Moments later, thin vapours of steam wafted out the open door. Sounds of the water running from the shower emerged from said room, in conjunction with Lucy’s moans, her husband’s grunts, and the unmistakeable noise of skin slapping against skin.

The rest of the days, and nights, spent at Akane Resort saw the couple explore around the rest of the grounds, including its beach. They spent their entire honeymoon having fun, taking in its wonderful sights…and making a lot of love to each other, in between.

---

Evening fell, as the skies turned into a dark-purplish field, with a yellowy streak extending towards the horizon, complete with thin, violet-pinkish clouds. The sun hovered over the horizon, and over a cluster of structures that was the resort, from the very far distance.

Natsu’s eyes captured its sparkling, and flashing lights, across the sea of shimmering water, before the dragon-slayer gave a long, quiet sigh at them.

A hand over the top of a wooden post to support his standing body, Natsu can only reflect those times spent with his wife over there. It was hard to think, in his mind, that it had already been a while, since they set foot on that place.

Regardless of that, he could never forget the ever-so-jubilant memories of Lucy and him, having the best days—and, nights—of their lives. They were the ones that he’d cherish for the rest of his life.

As he continued to stare into the distance, reflecting upon those outstanding moments, his train of thought was disrupted by the call of his name.

“Natsu!” The voices echoed behind him, only becoming louder, and clearer, as they got close. “Natsu!”

Finally turning around, said pink-haired dragon-slayer was pleasantly surprised to see a couple of figures he recognized in front. Coming down the boarded walkway, from the hill, was his blonde wife. She was accompanied with his blue-furred, winged feline companion.

A welcoming smile found Natsu’s face, upon seeing her again.

She was still as beautiful, as she was, before. Her hair was no longer feathered, however, having returned to its straightened form. Furthermore, she was in a long, forest-green dress that flowed closer to her knees.

Natsu greeted them with a wave of his hand. “Well, hey, you two!”

“Natsu,” Lucy called out to him, her bent arms at her sides. “What were you doing there?”

A small chuckle to himself, Natsu turned his head back to the scenery. “It’s…nothing, Lucy,” he murmured, his lips creasing elatedly. “Just enjoying the view, from here.”

There was a slight breeze in the air that whistled past him, rustling his front locks, and blowing his scarf around. He then returned his gaze upon his wife.

Lucy draped her right hand over her abdomen, swollen and rounded heavily, and rubbed it in a gentle, circular motion. The sight had made his smile widen.

It warmed his heart even more to know that his wife, at more than seven months pregnant, is now carrying—rather, growing a new life within her.

A new life that they both created from those warm, passionate nights at the Akane Resort.

Their future.

The blonde then let out a gasp, causing Natsu to move away from the fence, and advance towards her.

His brows shifted upward, an inquisitive look in his eyes. “Lucy, what is it?”

“She’s kicking again, Natsu,” Lucy softly whispered, smiling joyously, as her husband joined in.

Placing his large palm over her swollen belly, Natsu could feel the flutters their unborn child made, through her maternity dress.

“I can’t wait until she’s finally here, Lucy,” he professed, beaming brightly. “This is still the best thing ever to happen to all of us, here.”

“Yeah,” Lucy agreed, smiling serenely.

Natsu then leaned in to press his lips against hers. Lucy took in the mild warmth of his lips, as she also pressed her lips onto his.

Happy snickered behind his paw, hovering right before them. “They really loooove each other!”

Breaking away from one another, Natsu and Lucy shared a laugh together, as well, joining their Exceed companion in joyous occasion.

“Hey, it’s getting late,” the dragon-slayer reminded his wife. “How ‘bout we come back home, right now?”

Lucy nodded, concurring. “Yeah!”

Happy also chimed in. “Aye!”

“Alright!” Natsu grinned, in his usual high spirit. “Let’s go!”

All three of them then made their way down the boardwalk, Natsu’s hand holding hers. The now-expecting couple began to leave behind the sights of Akane Beach, from the extremely-long distance. What they did not leave behind, however, were the exceptional—yet, intimate memories they made together.

It was truly a profound honeymoon that they would never forget.

#fairy tail #fanfiction #nalu #nalulovefest #nalulovefest2019 #nalu love fest #natsu dragneel #lucy heartfilia #happy #ftfic #lemon #smut

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yukiwrites · 4 years

Text

Death, a Beginning

HELLO YES of course I would write a sequel to A Spark of Life in a Cursed Body the moment Líf was summonable, so HERE WE ARE!! Watch out for the sin, ye who enters!

______________________________

Part 1 - Part 2

Líf's cursed body returned to how it had always been before Kiran had briefly sparked life into it. Under the command of Hel, Líf strode to battle the parallel Order of Heroes time and again, his body feeling heavier and heavier as he did so.

His legs felt as though they longed to return to the earth; to go to the eternal sleep Hel robbed him of after his death. After all, that would be preferable than to face Kiran again and again, refusing to look at her in the eyes as they stood on opposite sides of the battlefield. He could feel her piercing gaze burning holes into his body -- it made his chest tighten as though his heart could come back to life by simply being under her scrutinizing observation. He couldn't allow that.

He would hold onto the memory of their shared night together and complete his mission as Hel's Commander until the appointed time.

Yes.

Only until the parallel Alfonse, the one that Kiran should give her love to, pierced Líf's unbeating heart with Fólkvangr. Only then he knew he would be granted the eternal rest his mind craved for, if only to distance itself from the body that clamored to be touched by Kiran again. The body and unresting heart that longed to be watched by her; to be close enough to hear her breathing on his skin.

He wanted her to look at him and only him. But he ran from her gaze, for the pressure his weak, reawakened heart suffered from his overwhelming feelings threatened to make all of his convictions crumble. He wanted her embrace, her touch, her heat, her gaze, her damned fidgeting lock of hair. Oh, vengeful, fickle gods! He had been freed from the pains of the living only to revive them the moment she uttered his forsaken name with that alluring voice of hers.

Each new battle increased the weight of his steps, the piercing gaze of Kiran's making Líf's body waver. The day the army of the dead lost Thrasir was the decisive moment for its Commander.

It was finally time for the sweet release, but not before he did his all to at least fulfill the vow he had made to himself, as wavering as that resolve had become in the past few weeks.

He felt Alfonse's sword dig deep into his chest, a smile inadvertently sprouting under his mask. "This is it, then?" He managed to cough out, the entire body feeling numb.

Alfonse, the young man Líf once had been, pressed his lips into a thin line, as though he was holding back his tears. "I couldn't save you; I'm sorry."

Kiran's muffled sobs sounded behind the prince, her body crumpling to the ground. "A-Alfonse...!" She hiccupped, covering her mouth with both hands, tears endlessly streaming down her cheeks. "I made that promise and yet- yet!" she sniffled between sobs, crawling towards Líf as he was slowly dissolving into countless specks of light.

"Do not apologize, Alfonse." Líf felt his eyelids heavy with the approaching dissolution. He knew in his mind that that was what he wanted, but now that it arrived, he was washed over with regret. "You won. You weren't driven by madness," he huffed to the approaching Kiran, gently touching her soaked cheeks. "You weren't unable to save the ones you love." He whispered, the simple action of speaking turning more and more difficult as his body disintegrated.

Alfonse's chin trembled as he squeezed the hilt of his sword. Sharena sobbed in Eir's embrace, unable to watch the scene any further as Kiran gripped the hand Líf had deposited over her cheek.

"Oh, Al-Alfonse!" The Summoner choked on the word, her vision blurry as more and more of Líf's body was consumed by the specks of blue light. "Don't lea-ve... don't leave me again! I've only just found you..." She squeezed her eyes to shoo away the tears, at least wanting to meet his gaze, but to no avail -- they wouldn't nor couldn't stop.

The words flowed out of her mouth without her knowing, as though they came from her very soul.

Líf widened his eyes, barely the only part of him left to disintegrate, his voice not coming out as he wanted to scream Kiran's name.

Darkness surrounded his very being, not mattering whether his eyes were open or closed.

Eyes? Open? How could the Void allow one to have such thoughts?

Líf had been released into the nothingness -- he was supposed to have finally, truly, achieved death. So why was he able to form conscious thoughts?

Not only that, but as more time passed, the more he could grow conscious of his own body -- he felt the feeling of his limbs return, the tips of his cold fingers in contact with his pitch-black armor. He felt the compulsion to breathe as though he had never forgotten how to -- and, most of all, he felt the foreign, utterly welcome beat coming from inside his chest.

It was faint and scarce, mayhap only once every a long while, but it was definitely there.

His heart was beating again; too faint for it to belong to a living person, but still too much for a dead, cursed one. It was the sensation he only felt during his hastened stay with Kiran; the hold the curse held on his body, mind and heart had weakened to the point of his entire being clamoring to return to where it belonged: beside Kiran.

His body fought against the death that claimed him, refusing to obey what the mind had decided to be the best course of action.

His heart was beating.

Was he alive? It couldn't be!

The eyes that were too heavy just a moment ago shot open, the breath the lungs took burning his insides for it was still a foreign action.

"You're awake." A familiar, highly unlikely voice spoke from the side. Líf's eyes were still getting used to the surroundings; his vision was blurry as though he were a newborn baby getting used to the outside world.

The former Commander of the dead squeezed his eyes, rubbing them with the back of his hand. "Veronica?" He asked with a groan, shaking his head so as to dispel the thick fog grasping his consciousness.

Thrasir, Líf's second-in-command, stood by the door, her crossed arms signaling her slight annoyance. "I've been awake here for a bit, but there's nothing but an empty corridor. The architecture resembles the ones we've seen on the ancient ruins, but this castle looks brand new."

"How long have you been here?" Líf cleared his throat, overly conscious of how his vocal chords trembled as he spoke.

Thrasir bobbed her head to the sides. "Less than five minutes, I'd wager. You appeared a little after I opened my eyes."

"Minutes?" Líf felt his body move, the muscles he'd forgotten he had stretching as he did so. "You've been defeated weeks before I did. Are we in a world where time flows differently?"

"Weeks? Hm." Thrasir took one hand to her chin in thought. "I didn't wander too far since you were still unconscious, so I can't really tell where we are."

"So we've failed to die yet again? What madness is this?" Líf dared to move his body, getting up with difficulty.

He remembered how that felt.

It was the weight of life that hindered his body. His movements didn't flow effortlessly like they did while he was dead. He needed to use his own energy to move, resulting on his limbs cramping as though they needed lubrication.

He felt... alive. Just barely, as though only a thread connected his cursed body to it, but it was certainly the burden of life that weighed his movements.

Not giving either of them the time to come to terms with the new life shining within their death, an overwhelming presence made itself known just in the corridor next to the room they were in. The raw power it exuded made both of them widen their eyes in shock, unbelieving that such an omnipotent being could exist in any of the worlds.

Startled, the former commanders of the dead reached for their weapons, gluing themselves to the wall to form a plan.

The presence threaded closer to them, uttering no sound from its footsteps.

"Prince and princess of a ruined realm..." An otherworldly voice spoke -- one couldn't tell if it belonged to a man or a woman, for it simply rang in their heads as though it could consume them with but a whisper.

Líf felt the faint beating of his heart speed up, the sensation of being pressured by a world-shattering power one that he hadn't felt ever since his life was taken by Hel's scythe. He gripped Sökkvabekkr in his hands, painfully aware that nothing he could possibly ever do would subjugate the being walking towards them.

Even so, because he didn't know what was its intention, he decided to fight for this draft of life that had been granted to him. If he could be alive again, then...

"Know that the heavens have witnessed your battle." A woman-shaped being walked through the open doors, her palms facing her front as though she could all but summon every single particle in this world to obliterate them if she wished.

Thrasir narrowed her eyes, adjusting her tome on her hand. "And you are?"

The woman lifted her chin to assert her superiority, a smirk sprouting at the corners of her lips. "I am called Thórr. In the eyes of mortals, I am seen as the god of war."

The always pleasant smell of the flowers were already making Kiran feel sick of them. The weather was always good and the flowers were always in full bloom inside Ljósálfheimr, the land of dreams. The Summoner sat by what anyone would call an idyllic hill, surrounded by all sorts of beauty, digging her face between her knees, holding her legs as she sighed.

An unidentified amount of time had passed since Líf's demise. To be more precise, a little over six weeks had gone by before Kiran found herself trapped inside the land of dreams, and ever since then, she couldn't tell day from night; weeks from months.

Though that had been the case ever since she witnessed Líf disappear right within her grasp -- time felt meaningless. Even now, in Ljósálfheimr, good and bad dreams seemed to avoid her: both dökkálfar and ljósálfar steered clear of her, as though she were either invisible or inconsequential to their agendas. She saw a few nightmares roaming about, destroying anything they touched, but she barely felt any compulsion to stay away from them.

She just watched as everything happened to her or around her, her own life turning into that of a passive agent: waiting. Simply... waiting.

Kiran had cried until she had no more tears left before she sniffed Hel out of existence with her enhanced Breidablik -- and yet, the void inside her chest ate away at herself with each passing day, refusing to allow her to be whole again after she had truly experienced the happiness she had always sought.

Her world had turned grey, little by little, little by little. Even now, the land of dreams looked dull, the myriad of flowers she used as cushion doing nothing to faze the heart that had given up on trying.

Even the nature of Ljósálfheimr -- one that would show those the dreams they wanted -- could barely scratch the surface of what Kiran truly needed. Whenever her mind wandered to the only one that could bring color back to her eyes, the world would show phantoms of her and Líf walking hand in hand, smiling happily.

It would show her scenes that had never happened before -- at least, not during this time. It showed her pulling him along towards a garden she had found and was eager to show him, followed by the both of them tripping and rolling down a hill, dissolving in laughter at the bottom. The Líf in the memory was the Alfonse he had been before the curse took ahold of him, though they still shared the same loving gaze when directed towards herself. The images of the cursed and the live man would overlap, showing Kiran the passionate night they had shared together before he had practically ran away from her in shame.

"Enough," Kiran covered her face with both hands, quivering her brow as her heart ached. "These aren't good dreams at all..." she choked a soundless sob, though her eyes remained dry since a long while ago.

Not even when a dökkálfar found her did the nightmares they showed manage to rattle her heart -- so what if they kept repeating the day she last touched Líf in a desperate attempt to keep him whole? Her own mind already did that at every waking moment (and she had not slept ever since arriving in the land of dreams), so they had no power over her.

Trapped in a world where nightmares snatched scoffs out of her and dreams would slowly chip away the remainder of her shattered heart.

Kiran was tired.

So, so very tired.

With a sleight of hand, she summoned Breidablik, which obediently materialized in her hand within a flash of light. The ancient weapon hadn't worked at all ever since she first set foot into Ljósálfheimr, no matter how many times she charged it.

As she stared holes at the fancy-looking gun, her chin trembled. A dream started to dance in front of her, showing happy moments of herself and the Alfonse Líf had been in the past. They were always laughing, their hands never apart from each other.

The thoughts of that Kiran flowed into her from time to time, showing her that there plans of ring-exchanging in the near future... One that never came after Hel invaded.

"... enough...!" Kiran's vision blurred as she slammed the weapon on the ground, scattering petals and disturbing the dream, though being unable to stop it entirely.

She thought she had no more tears to cry.

She thought she could finally at least allow her own self to breathe without hacking a sob and burning her throat with her cries.

Oh, vengeful, fickle gods! She thought she could simply exist without confronting all this pain!

"If only I could-" she sniffled, large teardrops flowing out of her eyes, "if only I could choose which Hero would come next... I would've taken the you from a moment after we became one. It would've been the you who whispered how much you loved me in the stupor of the moment, thinking I hadn't heard you." On her knees and pressing Breidablik on the ground with every ounce of strength she had, Kiran felt the tears trickling down her nose towards the weapon. "Even though I know those words were meant for her," Kiran bobbed her head to herself of the dream, smiling happily at her Alfonse, "I would've still chosen that you." She sobbed, her entire body shaking with grief as she lowered her head to rest it on Breidablik. "Oh, Alfonse!"

The moment her skin and tears touched the ancient weapon, a blinding flash of light emanated from it, engulfing its entirety.

Startled, Kiran fell on her behind, watching as Breidablik levitated and floated just a bit overhead, pointing towards the place the dream was repeating itself as though it were a damaged video file. The Summoner's eyes widened as the light started to focus on the muzzle, redying itself to shoot.

A summoning?!

Thórr and Loki had proposed Thrasir and Líf to join their ranks simply because they had struggled until long after they had failed -- not because they had even gotten closer to winning.

"Was it your power that brought a whisper of life back into us?" Líf asked before he could give his answer, one hand silently clutching his feeble heart.

The god of war simply smirked, ultimately remaining silent. That stole a snicker from the god of mischief beside her. "Isn't she a delight? It's always so amusing to watch her deal with her subjects."

"Subject..." Líf and Thrasir exchanged glances, the answer already etched into their hearts. The former Commander of the dead took a step forward, looking down at the god of war's short stature, though aware that that form was far from her real one. "Thórr, you have my word. I will bind myself to your contract. I will fight for you."

Thrasir nodded beside him, while Thórr’s expression remained impassive, her chin always hanging upwards proudly. Before Líf opened his mouth again, the corners of her lips went up, as though anticipating his words.

"But remember this: I will not bind myself to you for all eternity. I will free myself from you -- I'll serve as proof that the arrogance of the gods has its bounds." He narrowed his eyes menacingly. "I vow this not only for myself, but for another..." He lost his voice by the end of the sentence, pressing his lips into a thin line.

"You are an exemplar Prince." Thórr opened her arms, giving a nod as a greeting of her newest General. Líf barely had the time to reciprocate the gesture before Thórr spoke again, her eyes trailing to someplace above his shoulder. "Perhaps this vow might be fulfilled sooner than one would expect." Her smile grew to the point that it almost went from ear to ear, her face contorting into a nightmarish abomination. She looked up to the ceiling, a presence knocking at the borders of that fabricated world she had made solely for this meeting. "I'll allow!" She pointed upwards, prompting the two royals to follow her gesture with a start.

Loki hummed gingerly as reality distorted itself to open a path to the nothingness that surrounded it. "Oh my, she managed to use it even inside Ljósálfheimr? The rate she keeps getting stronger is simply delicious!"

A tiny ball of light shot through the now open hole, unceremoniously flying straight to Líf, piercing his chest and enveloping him in its warm embrace.

"What manner-" Líf looked at himself in confusion, his surroundings enclosed in a blinding white.

"Alfonse-" Thrasir meant to grab him, but by the time her fingers reached where his hand had been a heartbeat ago, he disappeared. "What is the meaning of this?!"

Thórr and Loki smiled in their own way as the distorted hole returned to normal. "Step forward, Princess. Let us watch their next battle..." Thórr turned on her heel towards the endless corridor preceding the room and left with soundless steps. Loki winked at Thrasir before following along.

"Don't worry, dearie, we'll hear from him soon. Very, very soon."

Breidablik shot straight at the fuzzing dream, a blinding light promptly engulfing it and its surroundings, forcing Kiran to cover her eyes.

For the first time in a long, long while, Kiran felt something akin to hope being sparked into her heart. What was that light? Could... could it be?!

Forcing her eyes to see despite the unfading light, Kiran peeked through her fingers to the shadow that made itself seen from within the summoning grounds. The patch of earth surrounding it had been scorched to ashes and the dream had dissipated with the fog, leaving only the silhouette of a befuddled, familiar man.

"Where... am I-" Líf huffed for breath, his body aching due to the brute force throwing him around between worlds. Narrowing his eyes to see within the thinning mist, the now General of the gods looked around in confusion.

Kiran brought both hands to her mouth in shock, her eyes wide with tears still fresh upon her cheeks. "Al-" she hiccupped, her entire body shaking. "Alfonse?"

Hearing the name he had discarded in that wonderful, loving voice made Líf's legs tremble as he searched for the source. A timely gush of wind did away with the mist, lifting petals, hair and capes alike as their eyes finally met after what seemed to be an eternity apart.

The pale sunlight shone on Kiran's tresses, the draft making them dance as time slowed to a halt. He saw her tender hands clutching in shock; her drenched face gleam in wonder; her unbelieving gaze never leaving his own.

Ahh, Líf didn't even realize he had ran towards her until she was already in his arms, her warmth bringing a shocking, dull ache in his limbs and a surge of energy -- his heart that had been beating at long intervals started thumping with the vigor of a living man, his entire body flaming in response.

"Is that- this isn't another dream, is it?! Oh, tell me this is real!" Kiran sobbed by Líf's febrile chest, fumbling her hands without knowing where to put them.

Líf pulled away for but a second -- enough to peel the mask off of his face -- and dove into Kiran's lips.

"Mmph...!" Surprised by the sudden action as she was midway to a sob, Kiran coughed right as Líf inserted his warm tongue into her mouth, cutting the kiss short. "Hak... hahh..." She panted, grabbling around from Líf's chest to his neck, then his scalp.

Pressing his forehead into hers, Líf gasped for air, quite rusty with all this breathing business. "Forgive me, I... I should not have done that-"

"No, no, nonono," Kiran slowly shook her head, digging her nails into his scalp to bring him closer. Their lips brushed against one another, her tongue impatiently peeking out, eagerly seeking his. "Don't... don't apologize for doing this. Not now," she nipped at his lower lip, then bit it and sucked on it, unwilling to move away, "not ever again."

Líf closed his eyes, unable to keep up with the overwhelming weight of his and Kiran's feelings clashing and mingling. He hugged her tender body tightly, binding her entirety to him as he inserted his tongue into her mouth. Her taste stole a hungry groan out of his throat, his entire body throbbing with the desire to be with her.

He sucked into her lips, dove into her mouth and tasted her unique flavor, his hands securely pressing her into him while she wrapped both arms around his neck, tilting her body downwards. Unwilling to part from the kiss, the couple flopped down on the soft flowers while a phenomenon that hadn't happened ever since Kiran arrived unraveled around them: night fell in an instant, its bright stars and moonlight illuminating their eager bodies.

Dissolving their kiss into smaller ones, Líf huffed as he sucked and licked Kiran's lips, his body inadvertently moving back and forth as her own accompanied from below him.

"Hold me, Alfonse- hold me-" she cupped his face so they could look each other in the eyes. She saw that his red brimmed with life; a warm light deep within glinting with desire. "Show me that this is truly real..." She pecked his lips, pulling him closer so she could kiss his cheeks, then ear and hair.

Inebriated with her taste, warmth and appetite, Líf reciprocated her gestures -- a trail of kisses starting from her lips went down to her cheeks, ear, then to her neck and collarbone. As Kiran moved her hands to grasp Líf's hair, the General slowly stopped, his own, large, hands taking hers out of him so he could lift his body upwards.

Lying down in the middle of his spread knees and watching him tilt his body backwards to as to strip himself of his gloves and cape made Kiran gulp and rub her legs in anticipation.

His red eyes shone in the dim moonlight -- and to be the recipient of such deep, unfazing desire made the Summoner's whole body shiver. Líf placed his mantle on the space right beside Kiran, dutifully claiming her back into his arms to move her to the softer surface before once again diving into a passionate kiss. The Summoner arched her back eagerly as Líf trailed his hands down to her thighs, squishing them between his fingers in delight, reminding himself of how her soft skin felt. He lowered his touch to the back of her knees, pulling her legs upwards and spreading them in front of him as she promptly wrapped them around his waist.

"Kiran, oh, my Kiran..." he bemoaned as he felt her hips moved up and down close to his own, enticing him to hell and back. He took delight in tasting every inch of her skin, kissing and sucking his trail from her lips to her cleavage, leaving marks in his wake. He groped her breasts under her thin tank top, huffing in pleasure as he was once again reminded of how she usually went without a bra.

"Eek-ah...!" Kiran felt a jolt of sensations as his cold yet warm hands lifted her top to reveal her bare chest, her nipples hardening immediately under his touch. Her inebriating voice fogged Líf eyes -- moved by the primal urge to claim the woman he loved, he could barely keep himself from biting the softness of her areolas as he carefully ground them with his teeth.

Another zap of pleasure flooded Kiran's body as Líf licked and sucked on one nipple while rubbing the other one between his fingers. She arched her back upwards, urging him to continue; to take all of herself to him -- to fill her insides with all of him. Panting, Kiran took one hand to her mouth to muffle her moans while the other dug into Líf's head.

Líf felt that he was slowly but surely going crazy -- he rolled his eyes in pleasure as she rubbed her inner thighs into his throbbing erection, hidden within his pants. The taste of her body was immensely different than when he was still dead.

It was addicting.

He wanted to kiss and lick every part of her body and call her his own.

Her bashful, muffled moans echoed inside his head, louder and louder the hungrier his mouth was, filling his entire being with the sole need of pleasing her and uniting with her.

Under Líf's mouth, Kiran's entire body trembled -- she felt the fire of climax hover around her cells, simply looking down at her and refusing to come while it didn't have what it truly wanted; what it truly needed.

"...ease-" She choked a huff, breathing heavily. "P-please, give it to me- I can't-" she rubbed her already wet underwear over his erection -- it was so hard! Was it always that way? Oh, she needed to know -- biting her lower lip in anticipation.

Líf squeezed his eyes shut with the wave of desire that came from her words, wanting more than anything to shove it all in and bring them both the pleasure they wanted.

But he was so hungry.

He was so very hungry for her.

He wanted, he needed, he craved for her taste.

Once again he trailed down his mouth. Towards her bellybutton, then hips and finally reaching her inner thighs. He lifted her miniskirt and pulled down her underwear, tossing it somewhere behind him as he licked his lips in anticipation for his meal.

Spreading her labia to reveal her moist insides, Líf readily dove into her vulva, sucking into her clit with unparalleled thirst.

"Ah-ahh...!" Kiran squeezed her eyes in pleasure, digging her nails into Líf's scalp. She felt the fire of climax spread through her legs towards her innards, enveloping her heart in a hot embrace. The more Líf drank from her, the wetter she became, and the closer climax loomed into her insides, shaking her very core.

Feeling her vaginal opening twitch endlessly with the approaching orgasm, Líf stole a look at her from his position, immediately closing one eye for his erection hurt with lust.

Her flushed face; her shut eyes, her gaping mouth.

Líf wanted it all. He had it all.

She was his.

And he was hers.

"My one and only," he kissed her inner thighs, trailing his lips until her calf as he pulled her closer to him, placing her legs over his shoulder.

Panting, Kiran's vision was blurry with the approaching orgasm -- she needed just a little bit more to grasp it when Líf stopped his caresses. He freed his bulging erection at last, shuddering a bit when the cold air slapped it before prodding it at her vaginal opening.

"Hahh, hahh..." Kiran huffed, biting her lower lip in anticipation. She hadn't realized she cried tears of pleasure, so no wonder she could barely make out her surroundings. "P-please- give it to me-" she begged once more, rolling her head to the sides in a drunken plea. "I- I... I also love- ahhh...!"

Before she could finish her confession, Líf put it in slowly, enjoying how her inner walls accommodated him once again -- it was as though she had molded herself to him and him only. It was overwhelming to the both of them: Kiran's entire body shook with the orgasm the deeper Líf penetrated until it was all inside; and Líf had to take a moment to blink as his vision had darkened from the rush of emotions and feelings he felt the moment they were finally joined.

Kiran squeezed herself around Líf, her entirety trembling and pulsating as though to keep him inside of her forever. Overwhelmed, Líf slowly bent back down to her, making the penetration feel even deeper to her as she stretched out a long moan.

"I love you," he confessed as he pulled it out with difficulty -- she was sucking him in so much he had to roll his hips to poke at her sensitive spots to allow him out, "I'll always love every bit of you." He slowly put it all back in, enjoying her choked moan as she struggled to handle the pleasure over pleasure she was feeling.

"You- ahh... You stole my-ann..." She tried to speak under his constant rhythm as he went in and out, in and out... He was igniting the fire inside of her once again, not allowing the previous orgasm to cool her down. "My line..."

Líf kissed her cheek and licked her ear as his rhythm accelerated slowly, ever so slowly, driving her crazy. He huffed by her ear, his warm breath tingling on her skin, forcing her to dig her nails onto his back lest she lost herself entirely.

"Only that I, ah, feel that I've beeeen... waiting for you to unlock my heart ah-again..." She sniffled as her body shook with his pounding into her, growing faster and faster. She truly felt that the sole reason for her to be summoned into this world was to meet him; to meet Alfonse as Líf.

It was as though she had a compulsion to be with him the moment they first met; making her soul lurch towards him whenever their eyes met. She was his.

And he was hers.

Líf felt his eyes tingle with emotion, his lower body accelerating his movements to accompany the rush inside his head and heart. "Hahh, hahh... Kiran, my Kiran... it's always been you..." He squeezed his eyes in pleasure, his breathing mingling with hers as their lips brushed on one another within their shared heat.

"Alfonse-" she bemoaned his name over and over again, cupping his head to dive into his kiss at the same time their bodies shook with the climax.

Líf liberated himself inside of her, making Kiran feel the warm fluids streaming down within her amidst the tingling and fogged sensation of the orgasm. Exhausted, the Summoner's hands fell limp on the sides of her head, small moans escaping through her gritted teeth as her insides once again pulsated around Líf.

The General pressed his forehead on hers, his mind a blank while his lower body shuddered, wanting to rise again to claim her until neither of them could take it.

To think that he would only feel complete again after dying and being brought back to life.

It was all so he could meet her again.

It was all so she could meet him again.

Crying tears of pleasure, Kiran held Líf's tender hand that had caressed her cheek and smiled weakly, kissing its palm. She took a short breath to speak, but Líf was faster, resulting in the both of them confessing at the same time:

"I love you." They huffed in the same tone, a wide smile leaving Líf's lips. "Thank you for bringing me back to you."

#lif #lif fire emblem #kiralfonse #feh #fire emblem heroes #a sin a day keeps the thirst at bay #my writings #this takes place straight after book III then the xenologue then the start of book iv #I WAS INSPIRED BY THIRST #AND TO MAKE ACTUAL GOOD CONTENT SO THERE #a sin a day keeps the thirst at bay- oh wait i had tagged it already whoops aksjdlnmasd

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keeroo92 · 4 years

Text

Be My Nightmare Ch16

Fight and Flight

Warnings for gore, in depth description of invasive surgical procedures and murder.

Word count - 4,290

~~~Previous Chapter~~~

---------

Your hand trembled around the slim handle of the knife. This was a choice you could not reverse, an action that had no path back. You had to be certain there was no other way, that this was what you really wanted.

What do I want?

“Where’d you find that loser, anyway?”

Your kin scratched his ass and wandered back to the living area, plopping onto your couch and reaching for the remote. As if he lived here, as if he weren’t an invader. As if he was welcome in your life. What you wouldn’t give to have him disappear...

...I could make that happen.

You caught your breath. It would be so easy, to just sink the blade deep into his gut and twist. Tear his body open and watch the light fade from his eyes. Even thinking about it gave you goosebumps.

But you weren’t a murderer. What was wrong with you, having such dark thoughts? Not to mention enjoying the visuals. No, killing your father wasn’t the answer. There had to be another way.

Maybe I can incapacitate him somehow?

“Whasamatter, cat got your tongue?”

You pursed your lips and forced your hand to relax, releasing the blade from your iron grip. There was one alternative, though it was extremely risky. It might even end up killing him anyway, but there was a chance he’d survive. Manslaughter, not murder.

You couldn’t think of anything else and you didn’t have time to waste. Every second that passed was one more that V could’ve been caught, could’ve started spilling all your secrets. The knife wouldn’t do. A more precise tool was required.

“Something like that,” you replied at last, opening a nearby drawer that held your prize. Voices on the television faded in the wake of the dull roar resounding in your ears.

No more hiding.

A grunt of acknowledgement was your only response. Your fingertips closed on cool metal and you shuddered, knowing the dark history of the procedure you had to perform. So much could go wrong, but what else could you do?

Sliding the drawer closed, you took a moment to prepare. The rage and pain of V’s sudden departure, the fury and resentment you held for your father, the itching desire to break free… All your distorted emotions spread out like a buffet of misery. They would only distract you. Unacceptable - focus was imperative.

One by one, you visualized them in your grasp. Tufts of pain and threads of mirth, strings of shame and rebellion all went inside an imaginary steel box, the lid too heavy for the pesky things to break free. The storm inside calmed with each addition to the box, and as you mentally clicked a padlock in place, a sense of calm descended upon you.

It’s time.

Steady feet carried you to stand behind your father. The patch of baldness on the crown of his reclined head was barely disguised by greasy strands of brown and the light of the screen added a blueish pallor to his skin, as if he were a corpse.

In a few moments, he very well might be.

“Breaking news - an escaped killer believed to be responsible for the recent killings downtown has been spotted near the financial district. The police are in pursuit and shots have been fired. Law enforcement is advising residents to stay indoors and call immediately if you see the suspect.”

Your stomach sank as an image of V popped up on the screen, green eyes sparkling over a twisted smirk. Shots fired. Police in pursuit. Could this possibly get any worse?

“Holy shit… holy shit, your boyfriend’s a murderer?!”

You just had to ask.

The incredulous eyes of your father met yours, his lips spreading into a sly grin. No doubt the bastard was already imagining ways to use this to his advantage, force you to do whatever he wanted. Harness your mind for nothing more than gambling, all the while treating you like a pile of dog shit he had to scrape from his shoes. It almost made you laugh.

Not this time, dad.

“Yes, he is,” you replied.

And then you slammed the handle of your tool into his temple as hard as you could.

His expression went slack, a thin trickle of blood trailing from where you split the skin. A quick check of his pulse revealed a thready but stable heartbeat. Perfect.

You angled his head and lined up the slim metal stick. Last chance to change your mind. It was a longshot that you could pull this off properly; you’d never done it before and research only helped so much. The slightest mistake may lead to patricide. Not to mention the risk of infection; your apartment wasn’t exactly a sterile operating room. The best case scenario meant the obliteration of his personality.

Courts could only charge me with manslaughter, not murder. I’m not a murderer.

You took a deep breath and steadied your hands. There was no time, he could wake at any moment and the longer V had to run, the more likely he’d be captured. The moral ramifications could wait. Consequences be damned.

The metal chopstick slid past your father’s right eye with ease to tap at the frontal bone hiding behind it. Tiny blood vessels surrounding his eye socket burst from the pressure, lines of red that would turn black by the end. With the heel of your unoccupied palm, you struck the chopstick, over and over until the bone gave way with a sickening crack. It didn’t take much - the bone was thin.

You felt the slightest resistance before his brain tissue gave way. It was softer than you would’ve expected, easy to tear through. Like a tender piece of steak, the meat falling off the bone. The chopstick slid forward as if it had always been there, embedded in your father’s eye socket.

“Here goes nothing…” you whispered.

With a gentle twist, you rotated the utensil forty degrees and wiggled it, severing neurons with every motion as you approached the midline. Trickling blood leaked from the entry point, but not much. It truly was an extraordinary technique, somehow both invasive and not. Simple, yet effective. Grotesque, yet elegant.

The perfect punishment for the misdeeds of your blood.

You spent several minutes ripping away the connections between the frontal lobe and the thalamus. It didn’t have to be perfect, nor did you expect it to be. All you could hope for was that it was enough to prevent him from reporting you to the cops.

But you wouldn’t know for sure until he woke up.

Which could happen at any time. I’d better hurry.

The left eye went much more quickly, your wrist already learning the motions needed to do the job. You paused to check his pulse, finding it racing but steady. About what you would’ve expected for someone undergoing brain surgery.

One last wiggle of the metal instrument and you sighed. Surely that would be enough? How long was this supposed to take? How did you know when you were done?

Doesn’t matter. I have to get moving.

You withdrew the chopstick at the same angle as the initial entry, cringing at the quiet slurp when it came loose. Blood coated the metal, and a few greyish particles you’d rather not think about. A scent similar to egg whites and copper tinted the air. How long should you wait before leaving him to his fate? Whatever the result of your procedure, there wasn’t much you could do for him now.

Five minutes, then I go. Just to see if he stops bleeding from his eyes.

You set a timer on your watch and spent the scant seconds gathering the essentials, papers and clothing, food and water. The items you were sure to need if you followed through with the barely cognizant plan still forming in your mind. How had it come to this?

It didn’t matter. The reality was that your old life was gone, and there was no turning back now. You were past the point of no return, had been for days. The second you decided to help the murderous artist at the museum instead of turn him in, you had made your choice.

Your watch chimed; time to go. You had everything you truly needed, the essentials snugly arranged in your old university backpack. The worn out straps slid home across your shoulders as you approached your father for what was most likely the last time.

“Dad? Can you hear me?”

His eyes were still closed, drying lines of blood lining his cheeks. Purple bruises marked where you’d done your work, dark shadows not unlike a black eye. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest seemed almost normal. At the very least, you hadn’t killed him outright.

You pursed your lips and shook his shoulder. It would be best if you knew how coherent he was before leaving.

“Hnnn… what happened…?” he murmured.

Language center intact; a good sign. Hopefully.

“You okay, dad? You passed out,” you replied.

He blinked owlishly, the bruises a stark contrast against the whites of his eyes. His gaze was clear, but something was gone from his expression. “I think so, just got a headache.”

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

A wrinkled hand rose to pinch his nose, smearing the blood still wetting his face. He paused and stared at the red streaks, perplexed but not alarmed. “You were behind me, and the news was on… saying something about that guy of yours?”

Memory and basic motor function intact; that could be good or bad. You took a seat beside him and feigned nonchalance, forcing yourself to portray calmness. If he still planned to take advantage of the situation, what were you going to do? If a damned lobotomy didn’t do the trick, how far were you ready to go?

“He’s in trouble, yeah? Huh… did he hurt someone? But he seemed nice enough...”

The confusion would fade in time. If you’d done the procedure right, the inability to make decisions would not. Only time would tell, and you’d wasted enough. He was alive and able to speak, you’d have to take your chances on the rest.

“Yeah, something like that. Listen, I gotta go for a while but make yourself at home.”

The words were bitter on your tongue, but if he left… no doubt he’d cause trouble. The man had a knack for it. Even just a few minutes of his oddly calm demeanor was a shocking contrast to his normal attitude. Had he ever gone this long without insulting you or implying your lack of worth? You didn’t think so. That had to be a good sign, right? That his emotions were no longer able to influence his decisions?

Whatever. Good enough.

“Okay, hon. See ya later,” he replied. “Love you.”

You forgot how to breathe for a moment. Words you’d never heard him speak until now, uttered so casually as if they meant nothing. You should have lobotomized him years ago. Maybe then you wouldn’t be so broken, wouldn’t have ended up chasing after a serial killer.

Doesn’t matter. Time to go.

With a final nod at the man you called father, you stood and headed for the door, swiping V’s beanie from the coffee table almost as an afterthought. What came next, you weren’t entirely sure. All you knew was that your career was dead and your friendships (if you could even call them that) were built on lies, and the only person who spoke truth to you was out there, running for his life and being shot at.

~~~V~~~

The soles of his shoes slapped against pavement as V ran, pumping his legs as fast as possible. Both Griffon and Vergil howled at him to turn around, go back to where he was safe and hidden, but he ignored them. Besides, the police wouldn’t catch him unless he allowed it. They were fools and he, a genius.

He didn’t bother trying to hide as he darted past the vehicle, instead focusing on speed. His options were limited, damn he should've held onto that knife, but he could manage.

Mere seconds passed before the blaring siren erupted behind him. He didn’t look back; it would only slow him down. With his eyes trained forward he’d be better able to spot a way to elude the idiots in blue.

“This is the police! Stop and put your hands up!”

Not likely.

He vaulted over a picket fence, landing on his feet and dashing off again. How foolish he’d been to hide in the first place, playing house with you as if he could ignore his calling. Idiocy, he should’ve known better than to believe there might be someone who could share his dreams. A companion would be nice, but it wasn’t necessary. He didn’t need you.

He simply wanted you.

Faster, Van Gogh! We gotta book it!

The artist didn’t respond, too busy panting as he slid under a decorative banner. Apparently, the fishing festival was coming to town.

“I said stop!”

He almost rolled his eyes. If the fools didn't wield guns, he’d already have them by the throat. However, without a weapon of his own a direct confrontation was suicide. Running was his best option, until he could arm himself. Even a length of pipe would do, he didn’t have the luxury of being picky.

A soft grunt slipped from his lips as he shoved aside a passing civilian, trying to throw the confused imbecile into the police officers’ path as he fled. Perhaps he ought to shatter a window and use the glass to rip them apart? No, it would take too long.

If only he’d had more time, spent his energy on learning the area and all its hidden secrets instead of on luring you to his side. A city this size always had shortcuts and navigational oddities, things he could’ve exploited to hasten his escape. Instead, he had to improvise. Street traffic wouldn’t be enough to lose his pursuers.

Can’t risk taking an alley; I don’t know which are dead ends. The roofs, perhaps? No, nowhere to hide…

He palmed a sign pole, spinning to change direction and sprinting off once again, his breath a staccato rhythm matching his steps. The police siren blared behind him, blue and red lighting the brickwork to his left as the vehicle’s tires squealed through the sharp turn, straight through a red light. Ordinary folk stared at the spectacle, wide eyed and sheeplike in their foolishness. Soon enough, they would learn the truth.

“Stop or we will open fire!”

The artist dared to glance over his shoulder, gauging the likelihood of the threat coming to pass. The police cruiser was less than two car lengths behind him, and the officer in the passenger seat had his weapon drawn, muzzle pointed to the sky but clearly at the ready. He’d have less than an instant to dodge. Far from ideal…

He growled and wove his way between passerby, doing what he could to shelter in their wake. If this was to be his technique, he needed to find a more populated area. The wrong choice spelled his doom. Which way, which way?

A crack of thunder split the sky, yelps of alarm echoing a beat behind. The idiotic onlookers crouched and covered their heads, fear twisting their features as they tried not to get in the way. A harsh chill danced up V’s spine.

He’d seen faces like this before.

Don’t think about it, this isn’t the time. Just keep moving.

Sweat prickled his brow, goosebumps breaking out across his bare forearms. Images of blood and terror filled his mind. The past was not so easily ignored.

“V, what the hell?! Get down!”

He gritted his teeth and ran on. Dwelling on Nero was the opposite of helpful now, he needed to focus. Every step he took could be his last taste of freedom, if he wasn’t careful. Isolating the officers would be the first step, but how?

Jade eyes continuously scanned the street as the artist ran on, forcing himself not to stop despite the growing fatigue tugging at his limbs. A dead sprint was not easy to maintain, but he had no choice. Just a little longer, an opportunity would present itself soon. It had to.

“Take care of her…”

He shook off the memory. Someone screamed as another crack of thunder echoed through the air. V forced his legs to keep going, keep running until he found a way to fight, but he couldn’t go much longer. Soon, he would have no choice. The human body had its limits, he knew that better than most.

Salvation took the form of a subway entrance, graffitied and smelling of human piss and sweat. He didn’t hesitate, taking the stairs three at a time and vaulting over the turnstile without looking back. Every second counted.

The telltale rumble of an approaching train fanned the flames of hope in his heart. Almost free, just a few heartbeats more and he could pause, catch his breath. The only disappointment would be the lack of blood left in the wake of his flight, but perhaps it wasn’t too late for that. Being stuck in a metal tube full of idiotic commuters might be just what he needed to forget the sting of leaving you behind.

He followed a group of nearby civilians, letting them lead him to the tracks as shouts echoed down the stairwell. A young woman smiled at him as he passed, her hair a pale reflection of your auburn and slate locks. He should slit her throat for daring to look him in the eye, but there was no time.

There - a voice, announcing the impending arrival of his freedom.

“710 to North Riverside, now arriving on track A.”

He paused and scanned the signs above, clever eyes finding his target quickly. Left, then right and down. Almost there. The subway would carry him to safety, set him free to pursue his work once more. It may even serve as a backdrop, get his mind back where it needed to be.

Focused on his masterpiece.

The horde of lambs surrounding him thickened as he neared the platform, the cries of his pursuers fading away in the chatter of the masses. They discussed meaningless drivel, the actions of famous fools and the latest news about fashion. As if there were nothing of higher importance; the artist curled his lip in disgust. Hopefully, a few of them would board his train and be his latest canvases. Their bleached hair and perfectly made up faces held such potential, how delightful they would be twisted into agony. Their painted lips frozen in grimaces, their eyes forever wide with fear…

Focus! We are not yet safe.

V grunted and shoved past men in suits carrying briefcases and slipped between distracted students, their textbooks heavy on their backs. He wove his way closer until at last, his feet moved from the stone platform to the metal tube that would save him. Still, even aboard the subway he didn’t dare relax. There may yet be those nearby who could capture him, or those who would do him harm. No, not until his work was complete could he afford to be lax.

As the subway screeched into motion, he made his way forward to the next cabin. Few of his fellow travelers paid him any mind, but all it took was one. His eyes swept across every face as he moved, ever watchful for his next canvas or a sign of recognition. Another cabin, then two, until he could go no further and only eight souls shared his air. Still too many for his liking, but he grasped a pole and held tight for balance anyway.

“Next stop, 21st Avenue Station.”

A pair of youthful faces on his left shifted, their bodies not far behind as they prepared to disembark. Two down, how many to go? Six? Depending on their temperament he may be able to slaughter them all.

The artist bent his knees as the momentum shifted, the cabin slowing to a stop. A soft chime sounded from the overhead speakers a moment before the doors opened, releasing passengers and inviting new ones aboard.

“Nobody move! This is the police!”

Oh, no…

Adrenaline once again flooded his blood as V watched two figures in blue board, holding out badges as they scanned the cabin. Of course they’d followed him; it can’t have been hard to determine which line he took. There were only so many, after all.

“What’s happening?” asked a spectacled passenger in a fancy business suit. “You’re going to make me late for my board meeting!”

The officers barely glanced at him. V lowered his face and feigned disinterest, yet his entire body was coiled and ready to spring. If they came close enough, there would be no escape. All he had to do was wait; his prey would do the hard part for him, then he could make his escape.

“We have reason to believe a fugitive is on board. Has anyone seen this man?”

Just a little closer…

Freshly polished black shoes entered his field of view, their every step echoing like war drums in the artist’s skull. His fingers tingled in anticipation, visions of crimson dancing behind his half-closed lids. Goosebumps erupted across his body and he drew in a shaky breath, his need almost too powerful to bear. Only the knowledge of impending satisfaction kept him from losing his composure and striking too soon.

“Are you people serious? Clearly I’m not a fugitive, why can’t I leave?” the irate businessman crowed.

A thin smirk twisted the artist’s lips. If the man continued, he may become a useful distraction.

“Sir, please calm down. We’ll have you out of here as soon as we can,” replied one of the officers, a young man by the sound of his voice.

“But ‘soon’ isn’t now. You see the issue?”

The shiny black shoes turned; the officer now faced the foolish man. Perfect.

Ebony hair fluttered as V bolted forward, snarling as he slammed the closer officer’s skull against the pole he’d moments ago held for balance. A sickening crunch rewarded his efforts and the blue-clad man crumpled to the ground bonelessly as blood leaked from the fresh indent in his head.

The passengers cursed and screamed, horrified expressions only serving to feed V’s bloodlust. He spun, making a circle in the growing bloodstain with his toes as he faced his next adversary, a blond officer not much older than himself. A fool, seeking justice in a world that granted none. If only he knew the truth.

No matter - soon enough, they would all see.

The officer’s shaking hands struggled to release his firearm, panic clear in the dilation of his widened grey eyes. Still, the weapon cracked as the lad squeezed the trigger, spewing death to any who were unfortunate enough to be in its haphazard path.

The artist ducked, moving faster than he should've been able to as he avoided lethal hits. A single bullet pierced his thigh but he ignored it - he’d seen worse and the victims had kept fighting. It would dishonor their memory if he faltered now.

Instead, he bolted closer to his assailant, wrapping his long fingers around the poor young man’s neck to slam his delicate skull against the thick glass behind him. A smear of red marked the point of impact, the only remnant of his final breath.

With the immediate threat resolved, V smirked at the crowd and waited, content to revel in their horror. It mattered not whether his remaining foes chased him down or wandered into his path unaware, the end result would be the same. Crimson, a massive swatch of life blood decorating the walls and floors of the subway. Reminding those who used it that the transport was built on the spines of slaves. Nothing to be proud of.

“Run,” he growled.

The terrified group gaped at him, eight souls too shocked to realize they were free. Eight new voices to spread his message, to tell the tale of an unarmed man taking down two police officers bare handed. The thought brought a wicked grin to his face and he licked his lips, catching the taste of scarlet on his tongue. Delicious.

He raised an eyebrow at the nearest passenger, a young woman on a seat whose pants featured a wet stain between her legs. Terrified tears streaked her perfectly applied blush, dark with her runny mascara. “Now, little lamb.”

She trembled but managed to rise, her shaky legs carrying her to the platform and to the relative safety it offered. The other seven witnesses weren’t far behind her, all of them staring at him as they fled the scene. Alone at last, V surveyed his handiwork. Two dead police officers, not much of a mess but enough to whet his appetite.

If only he had the time to properly utilize their corpses. He’d yet to create a public display, and it excited him to imagine the far-flung reach such a bold act would elicit. They would whisper his name to their children, tell tales of his deeds and fear the dark as they always should have, these people. These sheep.

But he couldn't afford to linger, and there would be other chances. It was beyond time to refocus on his goal, his masterpiece. Enough tomfoolery.

V smirked as he stepped to the still open door, pausing to pick up a discarded or forgotten cell phone. No doubt it would prove useful in his exploits. He couldn’t wait to get started.

~~~~Next Chapter~~~~

#Be My Nightmare #fanfic #my writing #v x reader #v x oc #reader insert #tw: gore #tw: mental health #tw: blood #dmc #dmc v #darkfic

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