HAPPY KISS WEEK YEEHAW
Asher Gideon Trevelyan is mine
Jasper Cadell belongs to the bootiful @jewishzevran <3
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“How about a kiss?”
Jasper snorted. “Absolutely not.”
Asher, grinning ear to ear, stretched his arms out wide. Arms coated in the detritus of the giant spider that they just encountered in the Emerald Graves, after an already eventful day of battling Freemen and Red Templars. As far as giant spiders went, though, this one had to have been the size of at least three of its kind. Being the one who delivered the killing blow, Asher’s entire front was covered in viscera. In fact, the mage was more filth than he was mage at the moment.
“Not even an embrace?”
“That’s even worse, actually.” Jasper genuinely laughed, a silly, syncopated rhythm that never failed to make Asher’s heart flip. The mage joined him for a moment before recovering to give the archer his best pout.
“But Jasper. You love me.”
This chapter of their relationship was still new, but it certainly didn’t feel like it. For one, the look Asher got in return from Jasper was one he was already familiar with. It was soft, reverential, but hesitant. Not out of uncertainty, but a fear once quietly confessed in the dark behind closed doors. Jasper’s eyes told him the words his lips couldn’t yet form.
I do. I love you more than words can say.
Suddenly and wordlessly, Jasper pulled a kerchief from his pocket and stepped up to Asher, deftly wiping the flecks of ichor from his face. Asher blinked up at him as the soft cloth touched his chin, tilting him up for a gentle kiss.
“There. All better?” When the archer pulled away, his signature smirk was in place. Asher forgot how to quip back, instead giving Jasper a small smile and blushing so brightly it made his freckles stand out across his cheeks.
Someone cleared their throat from the edge of the clearing. The two whipped their heads around in near-perfect unison toward Bull and Solas, the other two in their party, who pretended to be looking at anything other than them.
Asher straightened himself out. “Right. Well, with that thread tied, I believe now would be a good time for us to return to camp. Since we closed all the rifts in this area, we should have respite for the night.” Even in saying it, he glanced to Solas, who nodded his assent. Asher’s shoulders relaxed a little more at that. “Fairbanks will still be there in the morning. Let’s head back, then.”
As they walked away from Gracevine, Bull clapped Asher on the back with a knowing smirk and walked ahead, taking Solas with him to continue their mental chess game. After another moment, Asher tapped Jasper’s arm with the clean end of his staff.
Okay, okay, I’m doing it, I’m trying to rewrite one of my fics into an original work. If you want to read about the rise and fall of a gay drug trafficker in the 80s and 90s in Spain and his peculiar relationship with his lover and his lover’s wife, take a look here
It was early; too early for a five year old to be awake. Lan Sizhui sits up and throws his little legs off the bed. He wiggles his toes before jumping down, landing on the carpet with a soft thump. Steadying himself, he grabs his stuffed bunny from his bed and leaves his room in search of his father. His quick steps sound like little taps on the hardwood floor, taking him in the direction of the kitchen.
Lan Wangji wakes up at five o'clock every morning, regardless of when he goes to sleep (although usually nine or ten). He doesn't leave the bed immediately, rather turning to his partner beside him. Lan Wangji has a morning ritual, and it begins with his partner. He leans over the other man and pulls the sheet down, exposing his neck and shoulders. His partner grumbles a bit and shivers, but Lan Wangji places his lips to his shoulder in a light kiss. He works his way up, across the shoulder, up his neck, all with soft touches of his lips. The kisses continue past his neck, making their way up to his jaw and then up towards his ear. Lan Wangji kisses the tip of his ear, pleased at the way his partner shivers from his attentions. Following his trail back down, Lan Wangji pauses at his mouth, placing a chaste kiss to its corner. A small smile appears on his partner's lips, making Lan Wangji's heart tighten with affection. Carefully, Lan Wangji slides out of bed, so as not to disturb his sleeping partner. He pulls the sheet back over the other man's shoulder before turning and making his way into the bathroom to ready himself for the day. One finished, he leaves the bedroom and makes his way to the kitchen, knowing that their son would soon be awake and wanting breakfast.
In the kitchen, Lan Wangji begins brewing a pot of coffee, allowing the comforting smell to permeate the air. He gathers ingredients for breakfast, arranging them on the counter for his son to choose what he wants. He's not surprised when he hears quick little taps coming from upstairs. Lan Wangji glances at the clock, 5:45, and turns to greet his son as he slowly climbs down the stairs.
Lan Sizhui tackles the very last step with a huff. Being small really did have its downsides, especially when carrying a stuffed animal. He pads into the kitchen, eyes lighting up as he spies his father standing by the counter. Picking up his pace, he reaches his father and grabs a fistful of his pants, clinging. He looks up and gives a gap-toothed grin, “G'morning, Father!”
“Good morning, A-Yuan,” Lan Wangji answers, reaching down to pick up the small boy. He gestures to the array of ingredients littering the counter. “What shall we have this morning?”
“Hmmm...” Lan Sizhui stares hard at the stuff, thinking hard. “I think I want pancakes!”
Lan Wangji nods. He holds his son for a moment longer, squeezing him just slightly. He carries the boy into the dining room, placing him on his booster seat at the table. There's a coloring book sitting in front of the seat, ready to be used while the boy waits for his food.
Lan Sizhui dutifully sits at the table, placing his little bunny beside the coloring book. He opens the book to a new page and reaches for his container of crayons. His tongue peeks out from his lips as he concentrates on the picture in front of him. When he deems it complete, he turns the page and begins on a fresh picture. The smell of cooking pancakes wafts in from the kitchen and his stomach grumbles, demanding to be fed. Lan Sizhui ignores it, knowing that it is impolite to demand food and that his father will bring it to him as soon as it is done. He colors quietly, patiently, until he feels his father standing behind him. He promptly closes his coloring book and replaces the crayons in their box, moving the objects away and making room for his plate. Lan Wangji places the plate in front of him and Lan Sizhui's mouth waters at the sight of three fluffy pancakes, cut into bit-sized pieces of course, stacked and drizzled with syrup. Lan Sizhui scoops up a bite and shoves it in his mouth, grinning around it. “Fhanf uuh!”
“Do not speak while eating,” Lan Wangji admonishes. He picks up the coloring supplies and takes them from the table. Walking towards the front door, he picks up Lan Sizhui's small backpack and places the items inside. He returns to the dining room and sits with his son, sipping his coffee and watching as Lan Sizhui makes a mess of his face. There are bits and pieces of pancake stuck all over his cheeks. If he didn't look so adorable, Lan Wangji would sigh and shake his head.
“Finished!” Lan Sizhui looks up at his father with another gap-toothed grin. He's wiped the plate clean of food, including crumbs. Kicking his legs, he waits for Lan Wangji to get up and grab a wet cloth, coming back to clean his face and hands.
When he finishes, Lan Wangji picks up his son and sets him on his feet. As he wipes down the table, he says, “Go wake up Daddy.”
“Okay!” Lan Sizhui runs out of the dining room and climbs back up the stairs, rushing into his parents' bedroom. He climbs onto the bed and stands next to his father, ready to jump up and down. He does just that. “Wake up, Daddy!”
Wei Wuxian never wakes up before six. Even when he can vaguely feel the bed moving as his partner awakens, he sleeps. He's just barely coherent whenever he feels the sheet being pulled from his shoulders and a pair of warm lips trailing across his skin. He shivers at the contact, makes a noise, but does not wake. It's just not possible for him to wake up that early, he doesn't know how Lan Wangji does it. It's always closer to seven before Wei Wuxian begins to become even some semblance of awake. And that's not usually by his own choice. Every morning, there's a certain little helper that gets him out of bed, and it's not his partner.
He hears the foot steps before they enter the room. Wei Wuxian feigns a deep sleep as his son climbs onto the bed and stands beside him. It's hard for him to hide a smile when Lan Sizhui begins to bounce up and down on the bed, trying to shake him awake. He hears Lan Sizhui's “Wake up, Daddy!” and suppresses an even bigger smile. Ignoring the bouncing child, Wei Wuxian lets out a fake snore, covering his head with the sheet.
“I know you're faking, Daddy! You always do this,” Lan Sizhui whines. He stops bouncing and lays down, picking up a fistful of his father's long hair. He tugs at the locks, hoping to get his father to stop pretending. When that doesn't work, Lan Sizhui dives under the covers and wriggles until he's face to face with his father under the sheet. He can clearly see the smile on Wei Wuxian's face. He pouts, blowing air into his father's face. “Come on, Daddy! Father asked me to wake you up! He made me pancakes!!”
Finally, Wei Wuxian lets up on his poor acting. He sits up abruptly and snatches up Lan Sizhui, holding him tight and tickling his sides. “Oh? So you're only here because Father asked you to do this? It's not because A-Yuan loves his Daddy?”
Lan Sizhui squeals loudly, breaking out into peals of laughter. He wriggles back and forth in a vain attempt to escape his father's onslaught of tickles. “Daddy, stop!”
Wei Wuxian ignores his son's pleas and picks up his night shirt, lowering his head to blow a raspberry onto his stomach. Lan Sizhui squeals even louder, no doubt sounding crystal clear throughout the whole house. He continues to tickle his son until he grows red in the face. Only then does he let up. “And so? Do you love your Daddy, little rabbit?”
“Yes! Yes! I love Daddy too!” Lan Sizhui gasps for breath, his laughter dying down. He doesn't try to wriggle out of his father's grasp, content to sit on his lap.
“Very good!” Wei Wuxian grins brightly before peppering his son's face with kisses. The boy squeals again.
Lan Wangji stands in the doorway, watching them. His eyes are soft, the corners of his lips turned up ever so slightly. However, he glances at the clock on the nightstand, life awaits. He clears his throat, catching the attention of the pair on the bed. They look up at him and his heart thumps. He says, “Almost time to leave.”
It's a routine for Wei Wuxian at this point. His eyes widen, he gently places Lan Sizhui on the floor before scrambling off the bed and into the bathroom, the door slamming shut behind him. All the while cursing that he should have been woken up earlier. Lan Wangji says nothing, moving forward to straighten out the bedclothes. When he's finished, he picks up Lan Sizhui and takes him to his room to get him ready for school. As he leaves their bedroom, Lan Wangji can hear Wei Wuxian bumbling around in the bathroom, rushing.
Thirty minutes later, the small family leaves their home. Securing Lan Sizhui in his booster seat, Wei Wuxian notices that the boy is still clutching his stuffed bunny. He doesn't say anything as he climbs into the passenger seat of the car, knowing what he'll have to do when they get to the school. It's a quiet drive, aside from Lan Sizhui humming along to his favorite kid show. The couple had invested in a portable DVD player for the car in order to keep Lan Sizhui entertained on long drives. It only takes about ten minutes for them to reach the school and that's where the hard part of the day begins.
“A-Yuan, you have to give me the bunny, okay?” Wei Wuxian kneels in front of his son, apologetic. “Teacher says you can't bring it to school anymore.”
“B-But...” Lan Sizhui sniffles, clutching his bunny to his chest. He shakes his head vehemently, tears gathering in his eyes. “Just for today... I really wanna take him in, Daddy!”
Wei Wuxian looks at his husband, asking for help. He's always been weak to Lan Sizhui's tears.
“Listen to him.” Lan Wangji stands behind Wei Wuxian, giving his son a level stare. “You do not want to get in trouble.”
“Well... No, but...” Lan Sizhui looks down, pouting.
“Tell you what, bunny and I will be together all day!” Wei Wuxian puts on a bright smile for his son. “I'll take great care of your bunny.”
“R-Really...? You promise?” Lan Sizhui is hesitant to agree.
“Yeah! And you know what? When we come pick you up, if you've been good today, we'll get a biiiiiiiig ice cream! Bunny can have some too! Does that sound good to you, little rabbit?”
At the mention of ice cream, Lan Sizhui's eyes light up like little suns. He nods his head fervently. “Yes, Daddy!”
Lan Sizhui hands his stuffed bunny off to his father, although still slightly hesitant to let it go. The promise of ice cream definitely softens the blow of leaving it. After receiving a kiss on his forehead from Wei Wuxian and a head pat from Lan Wangji, Lan Sizhui is free to run inside to his friends.
I’m working on something in which Dr.Strange roughes up Mobius 2.0 juuust a little (he didn’t mean to and he’s very sorry but in his defence he was fighting against Loki and Mobius went kind of to the middle) and anyway it’s all a bit of an excuse to have Loki magically taking care of Mobius’ bruises. It’s all very wholesome and there will be cuddles at some point.
Anyway, a bit of the wip:
“I just thought that you could use a hand. That’s why I cut in”.
Loki focuses on the mechanical aspect of the spell. A healing touch to Mobius’ forehead to mend a little gash. A knuckle going over the agent’s cheek to make the bruise fade away. The adrenaline and the fear rough up the words when he answers with a snippy: “I had it under control”.
“Sorry to ruin your chance to prove again what a powerful magician you are”.
“I’m a powerful magician”.
“I know”.
Loki looks briefly to Mobius in which he fully attempts to be a glare and then away, blinded by the warmth of that gentle, amused smile of his. He huffs and takes the other’s bruised hand, gently tugging it under the light of the bedside lamp in the quarter of the Avengers’ compound in which they’ve managed to sequester themselves.
(‘It is of utmost importance to keep a levelled head, Loki’, his mother says at the back of his head, a voice from a memory of times long past. ‘You need to convince both the body and the soul to mend themselves. You won’t heal anyone by pushing them around’)
He takes a deep breath, then another, his hand hovering over Mobius’ injured knuckles in a pitiful attempt to pretend that he’s not stalling.
“He had no right”, he ends up saying instead, aiming for a statement and ending up feeling as if he’s explaining himself. He hurt you, he thinks, the words lodged in his throat in a knot that grows thicker by the moment when Mobius’ hand curls up into his, a thumb going over Loki’s knuckles. He hurt you because of me. That cannot happen.
“Strange couldn’t know—”. Loki flinches away from Mobius’ grounding touch when the agent tries to put his other hand on his shoulder, and then moves away entirely, putting a bit of space between the agent sitting on the bed and the uncomfortable chair the god had picked for himself.
What if Mobius had been a bit quicker. What if Strange hadn’t changed the curse of the spell at the last moment. Mobius would have sacrificed himself —yet again— to protect him —yet again— throwing his life overboard because of his faith in Loki— the Sacred Timeline might have been blown to pieces, and here he is, hanging to the edge the universe manages to repeat time after time.
Loki tries to focus on the mechanical aspect of the spell. A healing touch to Mobius’ forehead to mend a little gash. A knuckle going over the agent’s cheek to make a bruise fade away. The adrenaline and the fear rough up the words when he answers with a snippy: “I had it under control”.
“Sorry to ruin your chance to prove again what a powerful sorcerer you are”.
“I’m a powerful sorcerer”.
“I know”.
__
In which Strange doesn’t really want to receive Loki with open arms and Mobius 2.0 gets injured in the crossfire.
The analyst looks over the TVA with the dawning realization of those condemned. He takes on Kang’s statue as if it was bound to wake up and prune him any moment now.
“Hey”, Mobius insists, gently, raising his hands a little when that manages to make the guy flinch hard. “You’re at the library”, he explains and then points to himself: “I’m agent Mobius”.
CONTINUE READING ON AO3
I'm manifesting another Lokius hug for s2. This is inspired by this awesome drawing by Alice Rovai.
Drabble: The times, they are a-changin (will you wait for me?)
“This is not Loki declaring himself king of space. Not my— Not this Loki”.
Stephen blinks, slowly, and reclines back. The Eiffel Tower appears in Cairo. Reality itself is threatened. And now someone takes a proprietary, protective view on Loki. On this particular Loki, anyway, from the many that are now unleashed through the multiverse.
My Loki. Wow.
CONTINUE READING ON AO3
In which Mobius, our collective beloved, ends up in a reality in which Kang has also taken over the TVA and asks Dr. Strange to help him find his Loki.
“She demanded me to fill in the blanks. She said I should know, given that we pass all day together”. A beat. “I said that indeed, we do pass all day together”.
__
Local mobster’s long list of talents doesn’t include not tact nor subtlety, nor the slightest bit of introspection. Or, Primo tells Regina.
He means well.
CONTINUE READING HERE.
TAGS: Alternative Title: I'd Rather Have Cash Than Feelings If That Were Possible, Happy ending, Awkward conversations, Intensely surreal conversations, Polyamory negotiations, In the most literal sense of the expression, I mean it’s Primo we’re talking about, This fic can best be summed up with: ‘Yes, I can tell you who’s the slut sleeping with your husband. It’s me. Now for the love of God stop shouting’
