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some-kindofgnome · 4 years ago

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Hitoshi tests a more creative application of his quirk on you, his willing submissive.

characters: dom!pro hero!hitoshi shinsou/sub!f!reader

wc: 5.3k

warnings: smut (18+), aged-up characters, pro hero Shinsou (who is kind of a softie), hard BDSM and control dynamics, edging, consensual mind control, sex toys, praise kink, blowjob, unprotected sex, some loooong and tender aftercare/yearning

notes: the dynamic in this fic was partially inspired by We Wear Chains on the Weekend [ao3] and a conversation with @shadowworks about some fun applications of Hitoshi's quirk 👀 I hope you enjoy this horny little bit of fun! I enjoyed thinking about this dynamic with 'Toshi. He talks big, but we know deep down he's just as soft and squishy as us 💖

One more note: The dynamics and safety measures in this fic are the result of a little bit of research that I conducted. It is not meant to encompass EVERY BDSM experience, nor was my research exhaustive. This was just my little take on some kinky business with Hitoshi, so please let me know if there are any elements I've overlooked or misstepped!

(MASTERLIST)

Hitoshi will never forget the first night he spent in this house.

The little semi-detached in a quiet, trendy neighbourhood was one of the first things his pro salary earned him. Having the place to himself is still one of the biggest perks that salary ever provided.

Privacy, as he’s learned since, is paramount to the life he’s crafting for himself.

It’s Friday evening, and the early spring rain’s showing no sign of letting up when you ring his doorbell. The sound echoes through the house like the bells of Notre Dame- terrifyingly gothic, considering it was like that when he moved in, but not entirely out of character for him.

And his heart swells quietly every time he knows it’s you behind that door.

He pads easily down the polished steps, already showered and changed out of his work clothes. He likes to dress up for you a little, sporting a pair of dark slacks and a black button-down with the top four buttons undone. His hair, still damp from the shower, sits a little tamer and darker than usual.

No matter how good he looks, you manage to knock him on his ass with a single glance.

“Hey,” he greets with a quiet, familiar sort of warmth as he pulls open the right half of the double front doors. His smile slips a little at the sight of you, shaking the water out of your umbrella and soaked to the bone. You catch his gaze out your peripherals and start a little, shooting him a sheepish smile.

Something claws tight and possessive at the pit of his chest. You’re so cute, even water-logged like this.

“Getting worse out there, huh?” He quips, stepping aside to let you in.

“It’s not exactly prime umbrella weather,” you giggle, setting the dripping, half-broken monstrosity in the umbrella tray that he keeps by the door. “But I made it, didn’t I?”

He can’t help but reach for you, letting his fingers brush attentively at your clothes as he helps you out of your drenched coat. The dress you’re wearing looks devastatingly easy to remove, and his chest lurches a little with the urge to have you bare for him.

He resists. For now.

“Right on time,” he replies, taking your coat neatly by the collar and hanging it over the bannister. “Do you want to dry off a little before we go upstairs, or…?”

“No.” You answer suddenly enough to prompt his inquisitive gaze, and Hitoshi turns to look at you with a purple brow quirked perfectly.

“I’m just feeling a little antsy today,” you continue, and he watches the way your tongue darts out to wet your lower lip. “So, I’d like to get started right away, if that’s okay with you.”

You meet his eye again. Hitoshi’s starting to wonder if he’s the one who should be getting on his knees in front of you upstairs.

“That’s okay with me.”

He smiles thinly, making his best attempt at hiding the affection that’s bubbling shallow and steady in his chest. He reaches for you, uncurling his fingers to offer an eager palm.

You take it. The contact is breathtaking.

He climbs the stairs with your fingers grasped firmly in his. The suspense never fades.

Hitoshi keeps his bedroom a few degrees warmer than the rest of the house, and as he twists the knob and pushes the door inward, he can feel your palm relaxing in his. You’ve always liked it in here- warm and humid, from the house plants that line the windows and add lush splashes of colour to every corner.

It means more to him than you’ll ever know, that you find such comfort in a space so full of him.

He lets you slip in ahead, closing the door behind him and reaching for the colourful remote nearby. He dims the lights overhead, stroking his thumb thoughtfully over the rainbow buttons. He peeks at you through his peripherals, watching the way you glide your fingertips over the broad leaf of a money plant that blooms atop his dresser.

“What colour should we use today?” He pushes a button, and hidden strips of lighting illuminate in a deep shade of blue-green. The bed and walls are cast into a cool, oceanlike glow, reflecting blue off the room’s vegetation and creating a floating, almost aquatic sense of serenity.

“I like this one,” you confirm. “Keep it.”

“Whatever you like,” he promises, setting down the remote. “Today’s all about keeping you relaxed.”

He approaches you at last, cupping either side of your face in delicate palms. He tilts your gaze to his.

“You’re still up for it?” He asks, low and sincere as he searches your eyes. “What we had planned for today?”

“I am,” you confirm. He’s nervous that the rain may have upset things, but you’re clearly as ready as ever. “Been thinking about this all week.”

His shoulders drop a little, relief trickling into the fluttering cavity of his chest. “I’m glad to hear it.”

He bends, pressing a quiet little kiss to your forehead and smoothing his palms over the wet surface of your hair. He holds you there for a moment, staying close. He forces power into his shoulders and steps back from you, unbuttoning his cuffs. He breathes a deep sigh- focus, Hitoshi- and settles into the power dynamic you both can’t seem to stay away from.

He unbuttons his shirt and shrugs it off, depositing it neatly over the back of the nearby armchair. He nods toward you, slow and discerning.

“Strip.”

That dress is precisely as easy to remove as he hoped it would be, and he gets to watch as you slide each strap slowly down your arm, letting the fabric pool at your feet. His jaw gives an interested little tick as he gorges himself on the sight of you.

You’ve developed a nasty little habit of leaving your bra at home for sessions like this, as if he wouldn’t notice the way your tits sat beneath that loose silk, your nipples tight and hard from the wet chill outside.

You are delectable. Hitoshi feels infatuation crawling up the column of his spine every time he has you like this. But he’s about to take you even deeper, and while you’re more than ready, he’s not sure his heart can take it.

You’re wiggling out of your underwears now, exposing that perfect little patch of hair between your legs. What makes his cock throb even worse, though, is the way that you already know how he likes you. And so, kicking your underwear away and smoothing your hands down your sides, you don’t wait long at all before dropping to your knees and settling your palms on your thighs.

You lower your chin and go still.

For a minute, he lets himself admire you. He’s aching to touch you, but today will be all about patience. For both of you.

But he can’t take you, sitting so still for him like this. He caves to the warming in his chest and steps forward, tucking two fingers beneath the point of your chin and pulling your eyes to his.

“You sure about this?” He asks you. You lick your lips again, slow and thoughtful and torturous, now that he’s already so captivated by you. You’re giving it the honest thought it deserves. But when you purse your lips and nod into his palm, your eyes are certain.

“I’m sure.”

He’s been working you up to this for weeks. Exploring the unique possibilities of a relationship with him has always been in your contract, but it’s not something Hitoshi ever planned on rushing into. Only now, after months of playtime and weeks of careful preparation, does he feel ready to practice this with you.

“We left you your signals,” he reminds you, tenderly stroking the backs of his fingers from your chin up to your cheek. You’re staring up at him with such trust and admiration it’s hard to imagine anyone ever thought him a monster, for possessing such power. “You can come out of it whenever you want to.”

“Hitoshi,” you prompt, and the fall of his first name from your lips is enough to quell all his rising nerves. Despite the way you’re looking at him, memories of those poison words he’s been hearing all his life are flooding him. They’ve always served as a grim reminder of the damage he’s capable of.

But you wanted this. You’re ready for it. And he’s taken every precaution to ensure that you’re going to be safe.

So much reassurance, wrapped up in the three tiny syllables of his name.

It’s his turn to nod. He takes your jaw into his hand and drops to one knee in front of you, stooping to press his lips to the shell of your ear. Your sweet scent washes over him as he leans close, enhanced by the fresh rain on your skin and the rapid swell of your chest as you breathe.

“So you’re ready to drop, then?” He keeps his voice as low as possible, delighting in the way that you shiver in response. Your breath hitches against his chest, puffing quietly across his cheek.

“Yes.”

The word barely edges from your lips before the influence of his quirk fills every hollow in your ready bones. It’s a presence like nothing you’ve ever felt before, like the rising tide filling your lungs and weighing down your limbs. You take a deep, shaky breath to remind yourself it’s still possible.

Hitoshi’s used his quirk on you before. Preparing for this level of control, he tells you, takes practice. The more time he has to inhabit your mind, the better control he’ll have over what you experience and what you miss. The first time he ever used it on you is still a blank slate. But he only kept you under for a couple of seconds, building slowly over the course of many sessions toward the layered control he has now.

The sensation is thrilling. And yet, simultaneously, you feel completely safe. He will not misuse this power that you’ve so blithely handed over.

The sounds around you are muffled as Hitoshi gets to his feet, but when he speaks, his voice echoes in your mind like a bell.

“Can you understand me?”

Your body feels heavy and warm and semi-solid, but you manage a slow, clear nod.

“Good girl. Give me your hands.”

When he gives you an instruction, your muscles move without your consultation. You stretch your hands out toward him eagerly, and he takes both of them between his. He gives your fingers a sharp little squeeze.

“Can you give me your signals now?”

You cycle through them like clockwork. This is the part you had to work hard to develop, working through the specific layers of his quirk that might have been able to prevent such advanced thought.

With practice, though, here you are.

The system is one you’ve always used in parts of your arrangement where your ability to speak freely has been repressed. Hitoshi’s always been good at checking in with you no matter what, but thankfully he doesn’t push your boundaries too often.

You squeeze his hands in a slow progression, leaving long, deliberate spaces between each signal so that their distinction is clear.

One squeeze: keep going, all is well.

Two squeezes: slow down, I’m getting frustrated/uncomfortable

Three: STOP NOW

When you finish your stop signal and let your hands go still, Hitoshi’s fingers go slack in yours.

“Good girl, good,” he coos. “God, you’re so pretty like this. Look at you.”

He drops your hands, carefully letting them fall back to their neutral position on your thighs. There’s a pleasant tingle filling your dulled senses. In this state of mind, you can feel his gaze on you like a careful touch.

“I can do whatever I want with you,” he grunts. “Fuck, I can feel how much you want this.”

He’s moved away from you for a couple of seconds, but when he comes back he’s bare. Your vision is blurred about the edges, but you feel a wet little push he presses the tip of his cock, already hard and weeping, to the swell of your cheek.

“Don’t be difficult,” he purrs in your mind. “Open up.”

Your mouth drops eagerly open as you let your eyes fall shut. As he eases his hips forward, you let the flat pad of your tongue slip forward to cradle the tender head of his cock. Hitoshi groans low and soft, but the sound echoes through every nerve in your body, reverberating from within.

“That’s it,” he prompts softly. “So pliant for me, beautiful. Take it.”

He rocks slowly into your throat, letting sloppy drool slough from your tongue and coat his thick shaft as his fingers spread across the back of your head. He grips you tightly, keeping your neck in place as his tense thighs work to keep himself steady.

He eases himself onto your tongue and stops there for a moment. His pulse thrums in your ears, syncopating steadily with yours. He lets his head lull back as he lets out a deep, shaky sigh.

“Suck,” he commands, and you comply.

You bob your head eagerly back and forth, settling into a numbingly precise rhythm. Sucking Hitoshi’s cock has never been a chore for you, but in this state you’re conditioned to like it.

He grips you tighter as his hips begin to stutter a little. Every sound that leaves his mouth passes into your mind well before it reaches your muffled ears. You’re beginning to realize, in the deep, sunken place where your consciousness still rests, that allowing him into your mind has connected you more intimately than ever before.

You can feel his pleasure in the same way that he can sense your desire.

“So good,” he gasps, and the sound rappels down your spine. “Fuck, you’ve always been so good at this. I know how much you love it.”

He’s losing his cool now, thrusting against the barrier of your throat with more reckless abandon. But you’re numb to the feelings that might have stopped you before, swallowing him eagerly down to double his pleasure.

It shows. His fingers twitch against the back of your head as he grits his teeth and grunts, a breathy, feral sound with every rock of his heavy balls against your chin. Your eyes have slipped open again, but you don’t see him. Not really. All you can sense is his ecstasy, building to a rapid peak as he humps and pants and shivers into your needy mouth.

“God,” he rasps, “not gonna… t-that’s it… f-fuck!”

He rips away from you in one fluid stroke, that ecstasy boiling right to the surface before it’s halted in its tracks. He’s got one hand wrapped tightly around the base of his flushed cock and his pleasure’s dwindling.

He’s saving himself, to fill you properly later. While controlling your pleasure has always been a part of your games, Hitoshi’s taken to controlling his own as well. Lately, he doesn’t even let himself cum until you’ve seen your climax.

You’ve been trying not to let yourself read into it.

“Good girl,” he pants inside your head. “Come here.”

You’re a little shaky as you climb to your feet, but the numbness that you might normally get in your toes by now persists through your entire body. You close the distance to him in a handful of deliberate, steady steps, and he settles a hand on your hip to stop you when you’ve come close enough.

“Look at you,” he growls. “You’re still under, aren’t you? Incredible.” He takes one of your hands between both of his, dropping a kiss to your knuckles before giving your fingers a meaningful squeeze.

“Check in for me, sweetheart.”

In the receded depths of your on consciousness, you’re nothing but eager to continue. Hitoshi’s weighty cock in your throat sent spirals of aggressive arousal through your entire body. Your pussy is swollen and tingling, smearing the insides of your thighs with thick desire.

You give his palm one long, deliberate squeeze.

You need more.

“That’s what I like to see,” he purrs. He leads you to the bed and takes the liberty of lifting you into his arms. Your body collapses eagerly into his hold, and you let him deposit you gently onto the neatly made sheets. You stretch into the pillows, but your blank stare is always fixed on him.

“Okay, pretty girl,” he croons, and you’re still and stiff before he even finishes his thought. “Lie still for me, okay?”

He lifts one knee onto the bed and casts a gentle hand down the column of your belly, taking a gentle tilt to the left and sliding his fingertips along the column of your thigh.

“I’ve got your favourite toy here,” he croons, but you can’t respond. Instead, the buzz of nerves builds in the back of your skull, where your meager ability to feel has been preserved. Hitoshi wraps his graceful fingers around the toy in question- a sizeable wand vibrator in a deceptively pleasant shade of pale lilac silicone- and waves it in front of your eyes.

“Let’s see how much you can take, hmm?”

He leans closer, pressing a kiss to the point of your collarbone before tilting his chin forward to find the shell of your ear.

“Don’t cum,” he croons, sending a fresh thrill of terrified arousal into your veins, “until I say you can, alright?”

He slips the vibe between your legs and you feel it rumble to life. He knows your favourite settings easily by now, setting the toy to buzz low and hard between your legs in a series of long, rhythmic pulses.

Your body starts to pitch and tremble, but it cannot disobey his strict instructions to stay still. Your pleasure spikes the instant the vibrator’s soft, flexible head makes contact with your swollen clit. You want to press your legs together, whine with overstimulation and bat away the offending toy. But the influence of Hitoshi’s power is stronger than any physical restraint. Even as your muscles strain, you are powerless to move.

He holds you there, amusement lighting his features. You can feel the satisfaction thrumming in the back of his mind, building slowly. You know he can feel the unbearable sensations racing through your entire body. But he refuses to let up, even as desperate tears break from the corners of your eyes.

This vibrator has always been your favourite of his, thanks to its unshakeable ability to bring you to orgasm within the space of a minute. There’s something about the depth of the vibrations (and Hitoshi’s expert handling) that never seems to fail.

Tonight, that fact isn’t working in your favour.

Your pleasure reaches its peak devastatingly quickly. But every part of your body is under Hitoshi’s complete control. And he’s given you strict instructions not to reach that climax.

Your nerves are struck dumb as the pleasure bleeds into a desperate ache. You can feel the edge of your climax, dangling just out of reach. And the longer he keeps you on the edge, the more torturous the sensation.

The tears are coming faster now, streaming down your temples and soaking into your hair as you whimper and pitch, trying to shrug his control and force the vibrator away from your overstimulated pussy. He lets you thrash and struggle for a dozen heartbeats, picking up on your discomfort and pulling the vibrator away from your body as you gasp for shaky breath.

“That feels good, doesn’t it?” He coos, switching the vibrator off and laying a hand on the flat of your stomach. Your body’s gone slack, but the muscles in your lower belly are still twitching and fluttering, trying to make sense of your waning pleasure.

“I can feel you fighting me,” he continues, voice dropping into his chest. He rubs soothing circles into your tender skin, letting you catch your breath. “You know you don’t have to struggle, sweetness.” He leans in, dipping his forehead against yours and giving your mouth a soft little taste.

“Are you ready for my cock now?”

Yes, your mind screams, and he starts, pulling back to look at you in mild surprise.

He actually heard that. After the surprise fades from his expression, he lets the barest hint of a smile touch his mouth.

“Good.”

When he touches your thighs they fall limp into his palms. Any commands he’s given your paralyzed nerves are overridden by the force of his touch. So, as he kneels between your thighs and pushes them apart, you relent easily.

Your senses are still a hazy blur, but you feel it like a bolt of lightning when he swipes the tip of his cock over your sloppy folds. You give a sharp little yip and Hitoshi chuckles, with the breathy edge of pleasure slipping into his voice. He rocks his hips forward, grinding against your needy hole and grunting through his chest.

“Fuck,” he sighs. “Can’t hold on any longer.” He edges forward, prodding his thick tip against your entrance. As soon as he’s lined up he slides home in one smooth stroke, burying himself to the base with a shaky groan.

The pleasure is enough to prompt a quiet whimper from your absent mind as your body eagerly takes his stretch. Hitoshi’s cock has always seemed perfect for you in size and form. And he’s proven many times over that he knows exactly how to use it.

He fucks you with devastating precision, slipping one hand under your thigh to brace you against the mattress while he anchors himself by the knees and ruts against your body. He lets his hips slap ruthlessly over your skin, his weighty, spit-soaked balls swinging heavy against the curve of your ass with every thrust.

You’ve been well prepared for this moment, messy-wet and smearing his shaft with your slick. Every time he drives his cock into you, his groans are punctuated by the soft little whimpers that break from his control to escape your clenched jaw.

The pleasure is already unbearable for you. That peak you weren’t allowed to reach before is approaching quickly, and all you can hope is that Hitoshi will have the sense to let you release before he’s tumbling over the edge himself.

You have no choice at this point but to trust him completely.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he gasps above you. Your pleasure is doubled by his sensations racing through your neurons, and you can tell before he speaks that he’s not going to last long at all.

“Don’t know how long I can hold out,” he warns anyway, and his hips are already beginning to stutter inside you. You could have easily cum two times over by now, but your body is held back once again, forced to linger on the edge of bliss until he decides to let you fall.

He shoves his hips against yours one, two, three more rough times before stilling abruptly inside you. His body’s stiff, straining against the threshold of his pleasure. But he catches his breath, and his next words ring clear as day among a sea of troubled sensations.

“Are you ready to cum for me?”

You let out a low, desperate whine, focusing every ounce of concentration you have left into amplifying those desperate emotions.

Please, your mind screams. I’ll do anything, please.

Hitoshi nods slowly, your body going slack when you’re sure you’ve been heard. He slips both hands under your thighs, stroking his thumbs lovingly along your flesh. He bends over your torso, dropping a kiss to your mouth and steeling himself as his lips trail to your ear one last time.

“Cum,” he orders, and you do.

All the pent-up tension and pleasure spirals from your body in the most powerful orgasm you’ve ever felt. What would normally send dull flutters into the pit of your stomach has deep, earth-shattering tremors wracking your entire body. You thrash into the pillows, crying out your pleasure in eager, greedy gulps, and your pussy seizes around his cock as tight as a fist.

Hitoshi curses against your skin, rutting his hips into your convulsing depths and matching your peak with a climax of his own. His balls draw up against your ass as he pumps hot spurts of cum into your needing cunt, fucking the fluid back into your body as your thighs clamp over his hips and the last tremors of your orgasm recede into dull trembles.

“That’s my girl,” he gasps. In the pleasure that overtook him, he’s de-activated his quirk. He lets you surface as he stays inside you for a couple long breaths, tasting the crook of your neck and rubbing sensation back into your limbs.

“That’s my good fucking girl,” he croons. “Come here. Give me your hand. Show me,” he prompts, and you’re far from surfaced but you know what he wants when he slots his fingers between yours.

You give him another long, deliberate squeeze. You can’t form words yet, but you’re okay.

“That’s okay,” Hitoshi prompts. He pulls slowly back from you, sliding out of your body and easing onto the pillows beside you. He keeps his movements slow and gentle, handling you with extra care while you’re still feeling delicate.

“You were so good,” he growls, reaching for you. “So good for me. My perfect girl.”

His touch is the first sensation that clears the fog in your mind. He pulls you tightly against his bare chest, and the sweet touch of his skin to yours is like a soothing tonic for your frayed senses. Skin-to-skin contact has always been a big part of aftercare for you, but tonight it hits so hard that it sends relieved tears to your eyes.

Hitoshi’s patient as a lamb with you, stroking slow circles into your shoulders, belly and hips as you cycle through the complex progression of emotions that stand between you and the surface of your consciousness. He keeps his lips nuzzled tight to the shell of your ear, speaking low and soft and constant, grounding you in him.

After a long few minutes, you blink a little faster and stir a little heavier in his arms. You’ve fought your way to the surface, like breaking out of a deep sleep, and the weight of all he’s put you through settles into your chest. Hard.

You shiver. “Cold.”

“Okay,” he promises, shifting both of you a little more upright. “I’ve got clothes for you right here. Let me just-” He lets go of you to reach for the drawers of his nightstand, and anxiety rushes hard and fast to the back of your throat.

You whine. Loudly. You reach for him without thinking about it, and he comes back to you in the span of a heartbeat.

“Okay, okay,” he soothes. “I won’t let go.”

You’re always clingy after a scene. But today you can’t bear to be parted from him. While he’s the one that sent you spiralling, he’s also the one who brought you down to earth again.

With you looped carefully in one arm, he scoots the pair of you toward his side of the bed until he can reach the nightstand with one hand still carefully draped over your middle. He dumps a pile of soft cotton fleece onto the sheets in front of you, then presses himself up tightly behind you to reach forward with both hands and unfold the garments.

“There,” he hums, showing you the sleeves of one, the cuffs of another. “Warm clothes. Can I help you put them on?”

You give a pouty little nod, so he slips you into the pants one leg at a time and pushes your arms gently into the hoodie, staying as close as possible and letting you keep the black hood pulled over your head. He finds his discarded undershorts and slips into those, too, prompting another defeated whimper from you when he has to pull away to find some clothes of his own.

Once he’s dressed (and you’ve cuddled him long enough to quell some of the pouting) he pushes the edge of your hood back and presses a gentle kiss to your temple.

“Do you want to visit the fish?” he asks. Your mood spikes and you cling tighter, but nod nevertheless.

The most prominent feature of Hitoshi’s lavish house is mounted into the wall in the upstairs hallway. During the day it’s surprisingly easy to miss, but now that the light has waned and the house is dark, it glows an ethereal blue that casts a liquid pool of light across the dark hardwood and ornate rug.

Lining the entire wall stands a massive tropical fish tank, maintained professionally and kept in impeccable order. It’s filled by a multitude of different species of tropical fish, darting in and out of live coral in warm splashes of vibrant colour. The pump in one corner sends a steady stream of bubbles toward the surface, and in the quiet, the bubbles make soft little gurgles as they break the surface.

Hitoshi brings you into the hallway cradled tightly in his arms. The moment your face is bathed in that pretty blue light, the last dredges of anxiety bleed from your chest. There’s something immensely calming about the gentle, rhythmic way the fish move. Some of the more curious ones even see you peering in at them, emerging from their little hideaways to swim up to the glass and investigate.

“Hi,” you croon softly, touching one fingertip gently to the glass where a bright yellow tang noses eagerly at its smooth surface from the other side. Hitoshi chuckles deeply into your neck, always charmed by how soft and quiet and vulnerable you get after a particularly tough scene.

This part, the tender healing that comes afterward, is half the appeal for both of you. But with every passing session you can feel yourself growing more deeply attached to him. You’re falling for him, despite everything you put into words- on paper for him- that said you wouldn’t.

Love was not what either of you wanted to get out of this arrangement. But when he handles your trust so delicately where so many others have failed, it’s hard not to fall.

It’s hard not to wish, watching over such a tiny, peaceful little underwater world, that you could belong in there, too. Maybe, if you’d been born a little blue surgeonfish, you wouldn’t have to deal with such complex feelings.

But then you wouldn’t have all the pain and all the joy of falling for someone like Hitoshi Shinsou.

After you’re satisfied with the state of the fish tank, Hitoshi brings you downstairs to the kitchen. He’s not letting you go home tonight, but you were prepared for that possibility. You have pills and a toothbrush in your purse, and he’s had extra clothes lying around for you from the moment you signed that contract.

He bundles you into the couch. Puts on your favourite sitcom without needing to ask. He brews your favourite kind of tea- liquid heat that warms you to the very core- and stretches out next to you for the rest of the evening.

You wake hours later, sleeping next to him in the wee hours of the morning. He is stretched out on his side next to you, spooning you lovingly with one heavy arm draped over your side. He’s always reaching for you, ready to catch.

In moments like this, it’s easy to believe he might love you. And in the deepest hours of doubt and vulnerability, you let that feeling lull you back to sleep, just as he might if he could soothe your restlessness.

#bnha x reader #shinsou x reader #hitoshi shinso x reader #bnha shinsou hitoshi #shinsou #bnha #tw dom/sub #tw mind control #my hero academia #gnomewrites

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clanoffetts · 4 years ago

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Tales From Bespin, Vol. II: A Surprise

Lando Calrissian x Reader

Warnings: porn with a smidge of plot (18+); anal play, butt plugs, lando is an extravagant bisexual who loves fashion; talk of a threesome (boba where you at); pet names; oh and huge mirrors to watch yourself get fucked

word count: 3k

this takes place a few weeks after Vol. I ! you can find that here!

A 3PO droid knocked on your door late in the night. You wore a short shimmersilk nightgown in lilac when you answered the door. “Master Lando wishes to see you,” the silver droid says.

“It’s almost 1300 hours,” you start to protest, but you don’t know why. It’s not the droid’s fault. “Where is he?”

“His rooms, mistress,” the droid says and bobbles away, pleased with their work. You allow the door to shut, retreating back into the room and into the closet to locate the matching slippers and robe Lando had gifted you. Finally, when the set was complete, you began your walk to his room.

The white halls were bare, and shone in the faint light of elaborate candledroids floating around. You felt like a princess in one of the holos, dressed in shimmersilk from head to toe that glows in the soft light. You preferred the halls like this, not many people wondering and the harsh bright lights turned off. Lando must’ve ordered everyone out for tonight, usually the halls bustled and the sounds of sabacc games echoing through the halls. Those sounds had been absent for a few hours, but you hadn’t ventured back out of your room. Lando is a people person and you knew that, but he knew you were not. You needed your quiet alone time, and he left you to it.

You approached the large door that led to Lando Calrissian’s private sanctuary, but he opened it before you had the chance to talk. “Been missing you tonight,” he murmurs as he takes your hand to press a kiss to your knuckles.

“Just needed to be alone for a bit,” you say as he lets you in and shuts the door. “There’s always so many people here.”

He pulls you into a hug, “I know,” he says. “Not tonight, though.”

“No, not tonight,” you agree. “But why is that?”

He let you go, but kept your hand in his. “Tonight’s for us,” he says. “I ordered us something. Well, mainly you.” He leads you through the sitting room into the bedroom. A few things have changed since last night, when you and Lando had your fun and you stayed the night. His bed was starting to become yours, too.

There was not only a mirror above the bed now, but in front of it. The one at the foot of the bed had a tapestry that could be pulled down in front of it. And there was a fairly large wooden box on the foot of the bed.

“Your surprise, pretty girl,” he says, gesturing to the box. You look at him, studying the mischief in his eyes. “Go on,” he encourages.

You step up to the end of the bed, looking at the box. It was gorgeous dark wood, probably the same wood from Kashyyk. The lock on the front was gold, the gold key hanging from it. “Lando this is gorgeous,” you say, running your hand over the polished wood.

“Wait until you see what’s inside,” he says with a wiggle of his eyebrows. “Come on, gorgeous, I’m dying over here.”

You roll your eyes at him before turning back to the box. You turn the key and open the lid. “Lando…” you breathe. Sitting before you on a bed of velvet is probably twenty butt plugs, every color of the rainbow in every size. You marveled at them, but mainly the ones in the very back row. There’s no way those would fit, right?

“Do you like it?” He asks, stepping up behind you, looking down over your shoulder at the box. “And don’t feel like we have to use these. I just thought since you’ve mentioned you’d never done anal, and I saw that you’d looked on the ‘Net at some with jewels and I know it’s a bit excessive-”

“Lando,” you cut him off, “This is amazing, thank you…did I really leave that tab open?”

He lets out a laugh and kisses your temple. “You’re not the best with the new datapads, love.” He runs his hands up your sides before letting one stray to the box, running his hands over the small plug with the light purple stone.

“We’d have to start small, of course,” he whispers in your ear. “And if you like it,” he presses a kiss behind your ear. “We’ll work our way up, hm? One day, you might even take this one,” his hand brushes over one of the largest plugs. “And then, you could take my cock.”

“Maker, Lando,” you sigh, melting back into him as he runs his hands all over you. “We’re trying it tonight, right?”

He chuckles, “If that’s what you want, beautiful.” He picks up the small light purple plug. “This one matches our clothes, darling.” That’s when you notice he is also clad in lilac shimmersilk pajamas.

“It’s pretty,” you say as he holds it out for you to examine. “Seems really small.”

“Won’t feel small, not at first,” he says. “Trust me, I would know.” He wiggles his eyebrows again. There are still many facets of Lando to explore. “You want to try?”

“Please,” you say. “Please, Lando.”

“Well since you ask so politely…” he says. “I love those pretty pajamas on you, darling, but I think you should take them off. And get on the bed, love, I’ll get the lube.”

You obey, stripping off the shimmersilk into a puddle on the floor. Goosebumps arose on your arms, the cool air of the room finally hitting your bare skin. You grabbed the box of plugs and moved it to an ottoman. Lando was somewhere in the room, opening a drawer to pull out a bottle of lube as you climbed up on the bed, unsure of what to do with yourself.

“Look at you, darling,” he says, stalking towards the bed in the lilac pajamas and a long, matching robe. He was gorgeous. “So pretty, like a princess all sprawled out on my bed.”

He rubs a hand across your stomach, over your hips and up your chest, taking your breast in hand. “So, so pretty,” he murmurs, tweaking your nipple and moving to the other. He brought his mouth down, sucking a mark between your breasts before moving to suck on a nipple. When his teeth come out, nibbling on the sensitive skin, you gasp. “Love your pretty noises,�� he says, lifting his mouth to your other nipple and repeating.

His hand drops the plug on the bed and snakes down between your legs, gently nudging them apart. His deft fingers find your clit with ease, applying soft pressure. “Maker, Lando,” you breathe out.

He pulls off your chest with a pop, and picks the plug back up. “What do you want to do first?” He’s running the plug around your stomach, up over your tits, the cold metal making your nipples impossibly harder. “You want to come and then get the plug or vice versa?”

The anxiety and excitement whirled around in your belly, excited to know what it feels like to feel more full and anxious about the pain you’ve heard so much about. “Plug first,” you whisper. And then louder, “Plug first, please.”

“Alright, pretty girl,” he coos. “Hands and knees for me. Show me that ass, gorgeous.”

You oblige, rolling onto your stomach and pushing yourself up onto your hands and knees, feeling like you were in a Gatalentan yoga class. You feel exposed like this, ass up in the air, legs spread enough that your cunt is bared to the cool air of the room. And on top of it all, you can feel Lando just staring, and when you look over at him he doesn’t even notice. His eyes are trained on your ass as he turns the plug over and over in his hands.

To bring Lando out of his trance, you wiggle your ass. It works. “Eager, are we?” He moves closer to you, a hand splayed over one of your ass cheeks, pulling it to the side. “Look at this tiny little hole,” he coos. “So kriffing tight, pretty girl. But I think you should turn around, face the mirror, darling.”

Heat rises into your cheeks as you turn around, and see your body in the huge mirror. You grow even warmer when Lando pushes you down onto your forearms, and you see yourself presented to him in the mirror. He sits back on his haunches behind you, rubbing your lower back. “Look at yourself, gorgeous,” he says. “So pretty.”

As you stare into the mirror at Lando, you see him open the bottle of lube, squeezing some onto his fingers. “Gonna spread this around your hole, pretty girl,” he says. “Is that ok?”

“Yes,” you breathe. “Please.” Lando likes manners.

He smiles at you in the mirror. The lube being spread on your asshole is a new sensation, heightened by the man who is doing it and the knowledge of what he will do next. “Maker,” he says. “Do you want me to put a finger inside you, gorgeous?”

“Maker, please, Lando,” you whine, anxious for the experience and any touch that will bring you some kind of release.

“Alright, darling,” he pushes against the tight hole with his pointer finger, gently nudging you open little by little. “Atta girl,” he praises. “You’ve got one finger in your ass, pretty girl. Feel ok?”

You nod and whine, the stretch reminiscent of his cock in your cunt, but oh so deliciously different. “Kriff, I think I get the hype,” you laugh. “It feels good.”

“Can I move my finger?” You whine, wiggling back against him. “Need you to say it, beautiful.”

“Yes, Maker, fuck me with your finger,” you whine, growing more needy with every second.

With a groan, he slowly dragged his finger out of you, and then pushed it back in, stretching you. “Wish you could see this,” he says. “Kriffing gorgeous, stretching around my finger. Can’t imagine what it’ll be like to see you stretched over my cock. Or gripping onto these plugs.”

You try to say something witty, but it’s no use as he wiggles his finger inside of you. “Could…could you add another finger?”

“Another one, dear? You sure?”

“M’sure,” you say, finding yourself addicted to the slight pain of the stretch that had disappeared as you got used to the one finger. “Want more.”

“And who am I to deny you?” His touch disappears for a moment, but when it returns, he’s pressing two fingers against your ass hole. The two fingers slip in with some ease, and he surprises you by scissoring the fingers inside of you.

“Fuck!” The sensation is new and the stretch hurts so good. Lando laughs a little, continuing to stretch out even more. “Lando, baby, please,” you whine.

“So pretty with your manners,” he says. “But ‘please’ doesn’t mean anything if you don’t tell me what you want.” He’s stopped scissoring his fingers and has returned to the slow paced finger fucking.

“I want to come,” you say. “But this isn’t enough.”

He tuts. “This isn’t enough, darling? What do you need to come, then?”

The feeling of his fingers in your ass has your mind clouded, and you whine out, “Cock.”

“Cock? Just cock?” he mocks. “I can go grab one of the gambling scumbags from a club if you just want cock.”

You huff in frustration at his intentional misunderstanding. “Your cock, Lando, yours, I need yours to come,” you babble.

“You want me to plug your ass and fuck your cunt, gorgeous?” His fingers haven’t slowed, not even a stutter in his pace when you beg.

You look up and make eye contact with Lando in the mirror. “Please!”

His fingers abruptly pull out of your ass and you whine. “Shh, darling, you can survive a few seconds of not being stuffed,” you see the lube bottle again as he squeezes some onto the plug. “In fact, I’m not sure that you know what stuffed really feels like, pretty girl.”

You feel the plug against your ass hole, watching him in the mirror as he focuses on your ass. The plug slowly pushes in, and your breath hitches as the stretch returns. Your core is aching for him to be inside your pussy, but all you can focus on right now is the coolness of the metal being warmed inside you.

“Pretty girl,” he sighs. “Gorgeous. I think I bought enough for you to match your outfits with a plug. Or, better yet, match my outfits. Would you like that? Come in here every morning when I get dressed and let me plug you up?”

“Maker, yes, Lando, whatever you want,” you rush out. “Please fuck me, Lando, please, sir.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Sir? That’s new. I like it, though,” he says. “You want my cock so bad you call me sir. So perfect for me.” He runs a finger over your slit, and then moves to grip your hips. “Are you ready to be full?”

“Yes,” you plead. “Please, please.”

And he obliges. The head of his cock is resting against your cunt, and then pushing inside. The stretch of your pussy adds to the intensity and you feel your eyes roll into the back of your head. As he bottoms out, he groans, and you release a guttural moan from deep inside you.

He leans down to whisper in your ear, “That’s what full feels like.” You try to babble something back, but no words come, just moans. “I think this is the first time I’ve made you cock dumb, pretty girl,” he says. “And out of the pretty things in this room, I think you, cock dumb, is the prettiest.” Your mouth hangs open as he starts to fuck you, occasionally pressing on the jewel of the butt plug or smacking your ass.

He leans down again, and puts two fingers in your mouth. “Suck on these like I taught you to suck on my cock, gorgeous.” And you do, you suck hard on his fingers, as your holes clench around him and the toy, trying to murmur out I’m going to come but you can’t, and you know Lando will realize, so you let yourself go.

“Coming, pretty girl?” You hum. “Good girl, clenching around me, so pretty,” he says. You’re groaning around his fingers, the only thing keeping you from waking up all of Cloud City with your moans. “Gonna make me come, gorgeous.”

Those words, and the erratic pace now set by his hips as he loses control, pushes you over the edge again, with no time to catch your breath.

As Lando fucks himself, and you, through his high, he groans out, “Again? Kriffing again? What a dream.”

Lando’s hips slow as your breathing returns to normal. You’re both fucked out, bodies tired from the strain of pleasure, and he pulls out gently. “Need to wait a second to take the plug out,” he says, pressing a line of kisses up your spine. “Muscles need to relax a little,” he explains, replacing his lips with his hands, massaging your back. “I’m going to go get a towel, ok? I’ve made a bit of a mess of you.”

“A bit?” you joke. You can feel his cum, and probably some of yours, too, dripping down your thighs.

When he returns, you’re flat on your stomach, spread eagle on the bed, eyelids drooping. Lando climbs onto the bed with the towel, and situates himself back between your legs. The towel is rough against your sensitive folds, but you’re almost too tired to react. Your cunt clenches when the towel makes contact with your clit, and Lando chuckles quietly.

“What’s so funny?”

“When you clench, the plug moves,” he says, tossing the towel off the bed. “You’re all cleaned up, pretty girl. Are you ready to take the plug out?”

“Yeah,” you say, sleepiness dripping in your voice.

Lando’s large hands are on the backs of your thighs, squeezing gently. “Can you get back on your knees, dear? Might be easier that way.”

“Don’t wanna,” you whine. “But I can.” You push yourself up again, onto your forearms and knees, with what felt like max effort.

“Good girl,” he praises, and you feel his fingers grip the jewel on the end of the plug. “Ready?” “Yes,” you sigh, and his fingers begin to ease the plug out. Lando gently twists and pulls, apologizing when you clench. Finally the plug slips out, and Lando moves it to the nightstand.

“Come on, darling,” he says, easing you up onto your knees and then back onto your ass. “You’re tired.” He pulls you back against the pillows, and resting on his chest. He’s still wearing the pajamas, never having discarded the shirt, and slipped the pants back on when he got up to retrieve the towel. The silk is soft and cool, and you can hear Lando’s heartbeat against your ear.

“How was it?” He asks, rubbing circles on your back.

“Do you really have to ask?” The both of you laugh. “Though, maybe sometime I could have...something else to suck on.”

“Something else? What, another cock?”

You nod. “If you’re ok with that, of course. Only if you’re ok with it.”

“Oh, I’m more than ok with it,” he says. “Then you’d really know what it’s like to be stuffed. All three holes.” His voice sounds like he’s witnessing angels.

“I don’t know with who,” you say. “Wouldn’t really like to know them too well, I feel like that’d be awkward. Maybe not someone who is here often either-”

“Darling,” he cuts you off. “We can figure that out another time. You need to sleep. After all, you’ll have to get up early if I’m going to coordinate your plug to my cape.”

“We are going to be the most fashion forward couple in the galaxy,” you joke.

He winks, “You know it. Now go to sleep, darling.” He presses a button on the nightstand and the lights slowly dim to black, just as your eyes close and you drift off into sleep.

paging: @hansonveggieclub @delusionsxfgrandeur @fuckyeahbeskar

#lando calrissian #lando calrissian smut #lando calrissian x reader #tales from bespin

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tchallasbabymama · 4 years ago

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M’Baku’s Love- Chapter 2

Sorry, had to repost it. For some reason it was all blacked out on mobile? Idk, it’s weird and I’m still trying to understand tumblr.

Anywho, here’s Chapter 2 of M’Baku’s Love. Check out my masterlist HERE to read chapter 1 if you haven’t already, and take a look at my other stories as well. As always, let me know what you think or if you want to be tagged in anything. Enjoy!

Word count: 2689

M’Baku pulled up to the Outreach Center a little earlier than necessary on Tuesday. He got out the automated car and leaned against it, crossing his arms as he scanned over the building and its surroundings while reflecting on the mission at hand. If they were successful, thousands of Black children, millions if they expand, would be given a better education and connected to their old, pre-colonizer ways.

He smiled at the thought and turned to grab his things, when he noticed a small rainbow dash from the other side of the parking lot into the building. It took him a moment to process what he saw, but he realized it was Miss In a Hurry, rushing yet again. He smiled fondly and shook his head before heading towards the Outreach Center, opening the door and heading inside the cool, air conditioned building.

Once the chief settled in his office he went over the assistant files one more time, preparing for their interviews. He went over his upcoming day in his head and remembered that his meeting with the head of the Arts Department was at 11. He smiled to himself, dreamily, at the thought of her bright teal hair and her deep dark eyes, but shook himself out of it when he was interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Mr. M’Baku?” a tall, slender man who looked to be in his early twenties stood in the doorway dressed in slacks and a button-down.

“Yes, who is asking?”

“Deontae Greene, I’m here for my interview,” the young man introduced himself. They shook hands and the interview began. Truthfully, M’Baku didn’t need to interview the other candidates, he had already decided on hiring Deontae the moment his interview ended. He went through the motions of the second and third interview, focusing on the clock more than the interviewees. As soon as his third interview ended, he called Deontae to offer him the position, then went for a quick walk around the center to stretch his legs.

M’Baku found himself outside one of Shuri’s STEM courses, watching as the middle school aged children learned coding languages. She waved him in, and he tentatively stepped inside.

“Everybody, this is M’Baku. He’s the leader of the Jabari tribe in Wakanda.”

A chorus of “Hi M’Baku” erupted from the room, and he smiled before greeting them back.

“Mholo, children. What are you working on today?”

A little girl in the back with braces and pigtails was the first to answer.

“Princess Shuri is teaching us how to make computers work by telling it what to do in different computer languages.”

M’Baku looked at Shuri in confusion and she waved it off to explain later.

The large chief walked around the room to get a look at what they were doing, but quickly made it back to the front of the room when he caught a glimpse of the clock on the wall.

“I have a meeting, or I would stay longer princess.”

“Go, and don't be a stranger to this side of the center. Technology isn't all bad,” Shuri said with a wink as he left and shut the door behind him.

M’Baku’s long legs carried him back to his office in record time, where he was met with the sight of the head of the arts department sitting cross-legged in the chair outside his office, writing in a notebook.

“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, I wandered down to the STEM wing and lost track of time,” M’Baku rambled on until she looked up at him. Today she had on gold wire-rimmed glasses instead of her red cat-eye frames from the day before, and he liked that he could see her eyes better with this pair. When their eyes met his heart thumped a little louder and his skin felt a little warmer. He watched a small smile brighten up her face as she set her notebook down before unravelling her legs to stand up.

“I wasn’t waiting long. Plus it was your turn to be running late this time,” she responded. M’Baku gestured for her to enter the office first and she obliged before perching cross-legged in the chair across from him. He rounded the desk and sat down, looking into her eyes.

“I do not believe we were properly introduced to one another,” he held out his hand to her, shaking it from across the desk. “I am M’Baku, as you already know from yesterday.”

“Monae Johnson. It’s nice to officially meet you, M’Baku. And my apologies about the other day, I accidentally took a nap and woke up with barely enough time to- I’m rambling, my bad, I do that sometimes.” She rubbed the back of her head..

“It is no problem, really,” more than anything, M’Baku found her adorable.

“So did you end up trying the place I suggested?”

“Yes, I am actually glad you ran into me. I loved The V Spot. It was an excellent recommendation, thank you.” M’Baku had to give props where they were due and this woman definitely knew food. “You must tell me, what else is good in the area?”

“There’s so much! What do you like?”

“I am new to most cuisines, but I am open. Our meeting ends around lunchtime, would you care to accompany me and show me something I might like?”

Monae’s chest tightened up at his seemingly unintended double entendre. The man before her was fine as aged wine and she was having a very difficult time concentrating on the conversation, instead wishing she could see how soft his lips are. She looked down at the ring on her left ring finger and sighed, knowing she’d regret her decision.

“I’d love to.”

______

“You’re a vegan, right?”

“Vegetarian, but vegan is fine.”

“Ever tried Indian food?”

“I cannot say that I have.”

“Come on, there’s a place around here with some really good lunch specials. I hope you like it.”

“Well your last suggestion was superb, so I trust you,” he said with a wink. Monae blushed and turned away, but not before he noticed. M’Baku fought to contain his smile and cleared his throat. “So are you from Oakland?”

“Nope, I’m from Nashville. A southern girl at heart,” she said with her best southern debutante affectation. “I came to Cali for college and just never left.”

“What made you stay?”

“Honestly? It never gets cold here, not the type of cold that seeps into your bones anyway. The worst I’ve felt here is chilly. I’m not made for anything below 50 degrees.”

“As chief of the Jabari I must say I am a little offended, Miss Johnson.”

Monae’s face twisted up, but then softened when she saw the glint in his eye. Was he flirting?

“My apologies, your highness,” she said with a curtsey. “But I’ll admire it from afar.” Her ring flashed in her line of vision, but she shook it out of her mind.

“Besides, you are wrong. Anything over 40 degrees is unfit for habitation. The weather here makes me want to crawl into my refrigerator.”

Monae shivered at the thought.

The two of them arrived at Bombay Palace and since he trusted her judgement, she ordered for the table. The waiter took their menus and quickly brought their waters with lemon slices.

“Are you a vegetarian as well?”

“Um sometimes. I don't eat red meat, but I still eat fish and poultry on occasion. I’m mostly plant-based though. I read that the Jabari are pescetarian, what made you switch over?”

“You have been reading about us, eh?”

“Well I like to know who I’m working with, and I imagine that over the next few months we’ll be seeing a lot of each other, so yes I read about the Jabari.”

“Yes, I would hope so,” M’Baku said before taking a sip of his water while watching her. He noticed her shiver under his gaze and adjust herself in the booth and he smirked, knowing he was getting to her. “And I just do not like the taste of fish very much. Earlier you mentioned having a dance background, do you still dance?”

“I’m so busy I barely have enough time nowadays outside of teaching a class at the center here and there.”

The waiter returned with their samosa appetizer and Monae danced in her seat a little, making M’Baku crack a smile at her endearing antics. They both dug in, M’Baku immediately thanking Hanuman for the food he had received. The familiar yet unfamiliar tastes swirled around in his mouth like a gold medal ice skater at the winter olympics, and he couldn’t get enough.

“Mmm, what is this?”

“Samosas.”

“I could eat this for the rest of my life and die a happy man.”

Monae giggled and almost choked on her food, “This is just the first course, wait until you taste the paneer.”

The two of them continued to talk as more food came out, not watching the time at all.

“How does your family feel about you living so far away?”

“Well my little sister is in college at NYU, living her own life, and my parents died six years ago in a car crash, so they don't feel much of anything anymore.”

He was torn between laughing at her joke and feeling a deep sadness for her loss.

“What’s your family like?”

“I am the oldest of ten-”

“Ten?!”

“Yes.”

“Your poor mama...”

M’Baku’s laughter roared through the restaurant and forced a laugh out of Monae as well. Of course his laugh was as big as he was, and her mind briefly wondered if everything about him was proportional to his size before she was pulled out of her daydream by a ringing telephone. She looked down and her face dropped when she read the name on her screen. “Shit. Uh, sorry I have to answer this- Hi honey...yeah of course...uh-huh...no, just out at lunch with a colleague-”

He couldn’t believe his ears. He knew for a fact that she was flirting with him, yet here he was talking to her “honey.” He wanted to roll his eyes, but instead returned them to his bowl and kept eating.

“Hey, D, can I call you back? We’re just about done here...Ok, bye.” She hung up the phone and cleared her throat.

“Boyfriend?”

“Fiance actually,” she said, showing off the ring on her finger.

“Interesting…”

“What is?”

M’Baku leaned back in his chair and looked into her eyes as he spoke.

“I was not aware you were already spoken for.”

Something about the tone of his voice made her face heat up and she crossed her legs tighter.

“I have my ring on, what would make you think otherwise?”

“That right there,” he gestured to her flushed skin and fidgeting lower half. “You are awfully flirty for someone who is betrothed.”

Monae had hoped he wouldn’t notice and they could carry on like earlier, but the moment was ruined.

M’Baku looked at his watch, realizing they spent almost two hours at the restaurant. “We should get back to the center, I am sure we are missed.”

“M’Baku, I’m sorry to lead you on, but that wasn’t my intention, I just-”

“There is no need to explain, Monae.” He flashed her his gap-toothed smile and called for the waiter to bring their check. He paid, not without plenty of arguing on her end, and they headed back to work.

Shortly after he made it back to his desk the king and prince barged in.

“Soooo…?” N’Jadaka tried to get the conversation going, but M’Baku wasn’t following.

“How did it go?” T’Challa added.

“How did what go?”

The cousins looked at each other in exasperation, and yet again the hot headed prince pushed the issue further.

“Your date nigga! We saw you and Monae walking all close and shit.”

“It was not a date,” He loved the Udakus dearly, but Hanuman, they could be an annoying and intrusive bunch. “She is engaged.”

“Barely,” the cousins said with an eye roll.

“What do you mean ‘barely’?”

“My friend, she has been engaged for three years now with no wedding plans in place and he is almost never home. Like we said: barely.”

M’Baku would never knowingly break up a happy home, but he saw her body language on the phone and she didn’t seem to be as into her fiance as she was into him. Yes he was shiny and new, but the exasperation in her voice at his interruption told him what he needed to know.

“Far be it from me to advocate for adultery, but-”

“It ain't far from me, cuz,” N’Jadaka butted in. “Bak, that beautiful fairy of a woman likes your big ape ass for some reason. Fuck that nigga, she was looking at you like you’re already daddy.”

M’Baku looked over to T’Challa who was nodding in agreement. He had watched her during their department head meeting and every time M’Baku spoke she perked up and the tension fell from her shoulders. She was definitely feeling him.

“I have met this fiance just once and did not get a good vibe from him. I am not sure what it is yet, but there is something-”

M’Baku cut him off before he could even finish. He knew if he let them continue they would end up hatching a plan and roping him into it, so he nipped it in the bud.

“Do not worry about it, I would prefer to remain unattached for the short while I am here, anyway. Now if you know someone who would like something more casual, I would not mind meeting them at some point.”

“I’ll keep an eye out, brother”

“I think the newest history teacher is single, or at least there's no ring on her finger. I can’t remember her name though, is it Keisha? Naima? Whatever it is, she’s fine as hell,” N’Jadaka’s hands outlined her voluptuous body for him, which caught his interest. “I’ll see what I can do. We gon get you some pussy bruh, on Bast.”

T’Challa simply nodded in agreement again.

“Thank you both for your concern,” M’Baku responded dryly. “Now if you gentlemen would excuse me, I have to meet with the social studies department head in a minute.”

“We understand when we are not wanted, but please at least let N’Jadaka set you up. You need to get back out there again, it’s been more than enough time,” the king patted his friend’s shoulder before leaving the room, his cousin doing the same.

______

M’Baku’s last meeting didn’t end until 5 pm, and he was more than ready to get home, cook dinner, and watch a little more Fresh Prince. He packed up his things and headed out towards his car, when out of the corner of his eye he spotted Monae on the other side of the parking lot struggling with several boxes. He jogged over and took them from her hands.

“Here, let me.”

“How are you everywhere?” She laughed.

“You are just lucky, I guess.” He flashed her his million-dollar smile and she was hooked again. Derrick be damned.

“Yeah, I guess I am...um, thank you M’Baku...well uh, I should go. Busy day tomorrow with the open house and all.”

“Ah yes, what exactly is an open house?”

She chuckled at his naivety.

“Basically people from the community get to come here after hours to see what we offer. Think of it like a mass tour.”

“Interesting, well since I have nothing to show them on this tour I am sure I will have time to help if you need it.”

“Thank you, M’Baku, I just might take you up on that.”

“Good. Well, you should go home and rest for the big day ahead. I will see you tomorrow Monae.”

“Get home safe!”

It warmed his heart to hear her caring about his safety, even if it's something she said to everybody. A dreamy smile parted his lips and he felt as if she had just kissed his cheek and sent him on his way.

“You as well, Monae. You as well...”

Next Chapter

#cecewritessometimes #black panther fic #m'baku #m'baku's love #m'baku x oc #black!oc #fluff #jada kingdom

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carryon117 · 3 years ago

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Chapter Eleven:

The early morning light slowly creeps it’s way towards my eyes, gradually waking me from my deep sleep. I start to blink away the sleep clouding my mind and throw my legs over the side of the bed. The cold marble sends a chill up my spine as my feet connect with the floor. I run my hands through my hair, a useless attempt at taming the silver locks. I close my eyes and shift to face the open door leading to the balcony, basking in the warm morning rays. The clearing of a throat draws my attention from the sun, directing me to look around the room and notice I’m not alone. Sitting on the plush furniture near the fireplace, sits Loki. His familiar garb of leather and metal are mysteriously absent, instead he wears a dark green and black tunic ensemble. The book perches in his hands, now forgotten as I stir from sleep.

“I thought you would sleep all day”

“Not all of us are gods, some of us need our beauty sleep.”

“Ah dear mortal” he tsks at me. “You do not seem to be an individual lacking in beauty.”

I roll my eyes at him, “What can I do for you, Loki?” If he is surprised by me ignoring his comment, he doesn’t let it show.

“I am here to escort you to breakfast this morning. But you have decided to waste much of the morning away, so it seems you must dress yourself quickly.” At this he briskly stands before exiting the room. Well, that was a much warmer first conversation than I expected from him. I shrug and step into the closet. Pulling on a simple long sleeve gray tunic and black pants, I slip on a pair of boots before going to pull open the door. Just as I expect, Loki is leaning against the opposite wall with a smirk and twinkle in his eye.

“Shall we?“ he extends his arm. I reluctantly take his outstretched arm,

“I may have stood up for you, and I may believe in you and your potential. But I’m not quite sure that I entirely trust you yet.”

“Wise words, my lady”

“Y/N”

“Wise words, Y/N” my name flows from him with an otherworldly grace in his deep tone, as he tests the syllables across his tongue. I nod at him and turn my head to face the direction we are headed.

“But I do want to” I almost whisper as we continue our walk.

“Want what?”

“Want to trust you. You have done things that you regret, I know. And I cannot fault you with how you were treated. But Loki,” I stop our walk down the hall in front of an entryway to a small banquet hall and turn to him, “you are not a monster. An entire race is not a monster, it is who we are and who we strive to become that separates monsters from heroes. And I believe that you would rather strive to be a hero, you just need to be given the chance. So please, not just for my sake, but for yours, try.” I release his arm and give him a small smile.

“Lady Y/N, what do you know of my past exactly?” I study his face for a moment, searching for any type of deceit or tricks. His pale face, usually devoid of any emotion, flashes with sorrow, hope, guilt, and possibly fear.

“I know of your lineage, and how you came to be part of this household. I am, quite obviously, aware of the mistreatment by Odin’s hand. I know of your failed attempt at impressing your father after Thor’s banishment, and your subsequent fall from the rainbow bridge into the void. I can only speculate of the horrors that you endured before arriving on Midgard. But I know of the battle and your hearing before Odin. I heard the awful things he has said to you, and you shouldn’t believe him. No matter what someone has done, they can always be redeemed if they want to be. I know what lies in your future should you continue on this path, and I can guarantee you, it is not a happy ending.”

“Thank you for telling me,” Loki says sincerely, hands clasped tightly behind his back, “But do you know of what I represent?” He asks, desperation clear in his tone.

“I know you are the God of Mischief, lies, and chaos. I have heard talk of you also being the God of Stories.” At the last one, he smiles at me, face a little lighter than before.

“Yes, all of that is true. But at first I represented fun, and close companionship to the mortals of Midgard. As I grew alongside my brother,” at the mention of him referring to Thor as his brother my heart swells. “The ideas of fun and companionship were twisted under the scrutiny and disdain I received in the court. My nature shifted to reflect what people wanted and expected to see from me. I think I want to find my way back to the person I was before.” His voice trails off as he seems to get embarrassed by his declaration. He seems almost surprised to have spoken the words out loud, and in front of a mortal stranger nonetheless. I take a step closer to him and rest my hand on his forearm.

“Thank you for taking this step and trusting me, I shall strive to do the same for you in the future.” A throat clears behind us to gather our attention, I’m starting to get irritated by people doing that. Thor is standing at the entryway now, as well, with an eyebrow arched.

“Shall we to breakfast, Lady Y/N?” Loki asks

“So we shall”

#marvel #marvel fanfic writer #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #reader insert #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #ao3fic #ao3 writer

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yamithediaperdork · 3 years ago

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Worlds fastest Little and a Super caretaker

Bart was willing to do many things for his friends, Help them out in epic battles, babysit (though most people only made the mistake of letting him baby sit once), Run errands at super speed but today Bart Allen, the fastest boy alive was going to go about and beyond in the favor he was going to do for his second best friend.

Because today he was going to let Kon diaper and baby him.

The urge to baby and look after a little guy was a left over from Kon's time spent in Gem world. After posing as and to some extent becoming the husband to Lophi and father to her son little Lon. Rao knows Kon had tried to just work his feeling out looking after little ones at a daycare job Kal had set him up with but it wasn't enough and he knew there was NO way in hell he'd be able to adopt.

That left finding a little (Something Kon hadn't even known had existed till a little google search) or someone close to one who could be trusted to keep his mouth shut.

Considering all of his options, it naturally came to him that Bart would fit the role perfectly.

'Now the only question is will I be able to keep up with a speed forced charged big toddler.'

Bart arrived five minutes late from when he was suppose to arrive having gotten distracted by a new arcade in town though he lied and said it was a intergang attack. Since he was doing Kon such a big solid Kon decided not to call Bart out on his bullshit excuse and just led him to the bathroom instead.

"Sooo why are we coming in here? I thought I was gonna be going in diapers? Or a training potty. Oh, Do you just want me to wear?" Bart asked, going a million miles a minute like always as Kon just chuckled.

"Bart, when was the last time you took a bath or had a shower?" Kon asked reasonably, starting to run a tub.

"I didn't come here to have my personal hygiene attacked!" Bart huffed and pouted, crossing his arms and glaring.

"Bart, Daddies give their their little ones baths and you smell like you need one." Kon said chuckling.

Bart went to argue then held up a arm and sniffed a pit and made a face at the smell.

"I say we agree to disagree but I'll humor you and let you give me a bath.. if I can play with some bath toys." Bart said, striping down at super speed and having spotted a few toy boats.

Since Kon was going to be diapering him anyways the smaller boy didn't bother to cover up and Kon wasn't shocked that he was devoid of any chest hair or pubic.

"I suppose that can be arranged, but I need to wash you first so g-" Kon started and then was hit with a splash of water as Bart jumped into the tub, shocking him. "-et the tub.. I'm starting to see this is going to be a little different from looking after Lon." Kon sighed, dabbing his face with a towel as Bart giggled impishly.

Bart giggled as he let Kon go to work washing him. Normally he considered Showers and baths a semi waste of time because of how slow they were but having someone else do all the work was actually kinda fun.

After having his hair and body washed Bart was left to coo and play with the boats and a rubber ducky as Kon cleaned up the water Bart had displaced and then went to change into dry clothes.

Oddly the more he played in the tub the more he started to wonder how the ducky would taste and kept stealing glances at the door, not sure how Kon would react if he came back to Bart popping the toy in his mouth.

Deciding to risk it Bart tugged the shower curtain semi closed, and then nommed on the head of the rubber ducky, and giggled, having his mouth stuffed and acting so babyish was bringing flash backs of sucking on a paci and sitting in his parents laps while they watched holo shows. He was enjoying it so much he just closed his eyes and chewed (making sure not to chew too hard) and lost himself in the feeling.

So much so it wasn't until he felt the water getting warmer he realized that apparently he had relaxed a little too much, he was peeing in the tub!

"Ah! Kon!" he yelped, spitting out the rubber ducky and pulling the curtain back. "I-I had a accident!"

Kon had been not only getting changed but setting up the cloth diapers for Bart, making sure he could get the little guy right into the diapies when he heard the cry and dashed into the bathroom.

he might not of been as fast as Bart but he could still hit a pretty nice burst of speed and was picturing the worse. he figured Bart had gotten hurt trying to get out, or had cut himself or something else, cursing himself for leaving the little guy all alone only to get in and see the once clear bath water now had a tell tale yellowish twinge to it, and his super sense confirmed that Bart not only had peed in the tub, but needed to drink more fluids.

The fastest boy alive was standing up in the tub, blushing badly and his bottom lip was trembling.

"I'm sorry I'm sorry I didn't mean to it just came out an-" Bart was saying rapidly, sounding like a over sized toddler.

"heh, it's ok little man. I know you can't control it. I should of sat you on the potty first. At least you didn't make any 'torpedo's' in the tub." Kon said tugging the plug out of the tub and then making use of the removable shower head to re-wash Bart down.

Bart whined at the torpedo's comment but just shushed up and let Kon re-clean him then get him out of the tub, drying him off with a soft and fluffy towel.

"Speaking of stinkies though, I only have so many diapers and we wanna make it last before I have to wash any to change you..so did you wanna sit on the potty and try to go boom boom like a big kid?" Kon asked.

"I can go potty like a big kid!" Bart whined and huffed, his tone taking on a fussy toddler twinge. "And I KNOW I don't hafa uh-oh!"

"mmmhmmm..Of course you know when you have to go." Kon said, smirking and using a condescending tone. "Alright, if your SURE you don't need to sit, let's go get a diapie on you widdle guy." Kon coo'ed.

Bart was huffing and pouting as he padded along, Thinking about just how much of a meanie butt Kon was being when he was trying to be a good friend, even though as they got to the bedroom he could feel his tummy churning a little.

It was too late now though to say he needed to potty so he just convinced himself he could hold it for a little while.

"uh Kon..you know that there are disposable diapers on earth right?" he asked, even as he dropped the towel and plopped his butt on the thick white terrycloth diapers, nothing it was pre-powdered.

"heh, yeahhh but I'm used to cloth, and this is just cuter. plus I got you some adorable plastic pants." Kon chuckled, holding up a light base colored pair with rainbow sprinkles and teddy bears in diapers all over it.

Looking them over, Bart's face went shocked to curious while Kon swallowed, looking unsure/hopeful that Bart would like them.

As squeal escaped from Bart's mouth and he went all sparkle eyes, cooing and reaching up to hold them.

"They're so cuttttttte!" the worlds fastest little in the making gushed.

"heh, Glad you approve. they cost a pretty penny but figured you were worth it!" Kon said as Bart giggled and hugged the plastic pants, holding up and looking at them again then hugging them over and over. "uhhh buddy..I'm gonna need those back."

"...Pin my diapies up first." Bart said, giving a toothy grin.

"So clearly I'm gonna need to get you lots of teddies if we're gonna keep doing this huh?" Kon asked, tugging the cloth up and with expert ease getting the pins in and making sure the diapers were nice and tight.

Bart coo'ed and squeezed his thighs together, finding he couldn't get his legs to touch Kon had gone so thick but also finding he didn't mind at all, letting out a muffled poot and getting a raised eyebrow from Kon.

"Heh, you SURE you don't wanna go sit on the potty little man?" Kon asked, holding out his hand for the plastic pants.

"I'm good!" Bart giggled and gave the teddy bear plastic undies one last hug then handed them over.

Bart wasn't actually sure if Kon was gonna be able to slide the plastic pants over his puffy diapers, but though determination and the used of super steaght the deed was done, and Bart sat up on the bed and went to zip over to the mirror and see how he looked.

went, but didn't because the thickness though off the speedster and 4 steps in he ended up plopping on his butt, a adorable surprised look on his face as Kon chuckled and gushed.

"Awww! Babies first steps! wanna try again little man? I can help you if need me too." Kon coo'ed, coming over and leaning down holding out his hands.

Bart almost took the offer up, but then giggled and rolled over onto all fours, and showed that even reduced to crawling he was a quick widdle guy.

Honestly the sight of Bart crawling around in JUST his diapie and getting over to the mirror and coo'ing and giggling at how he looked was just too adorable, and if it hadn't of been for the agreement of no pictures Kon would of used up half a memory card already. he almost just let Bart keep posing in front of the mirror but they did only have SO long they could do this before Bart would have to go home, so he cleared his throat as he picked up a t-shirt he had a sneaking suspicion Bart was going to lover.. since it shared the same color and designs as the plastic pants.

"You don't mind if I finish getting you dressed do you?" Kon asked, a big grin on his face.

Bart turned to whine that this was good, then spotted the shirt and zipped over so fast Kon barely moved to the side in time to avoid being balled over and then Bart was on his knees reaching up and trying to grab the shirt.

"I want! I want!" he whined as Kon lifted it out of his reach.

"ah ah ah, Let me dress you little one..arm's up." Kon said.

Bart looked like he was gonna argue for a second (Kon figured he just wanted to hug the t-shirt like he had the pants) but then stuck his arms up in the air like a good little boy.

Sliding the t-shirt down and adjusting it, Kon wasn't really shocked when Bart crawled back over to the mirror to look at how cute he looked and giggle like a mad man.

His only regret in the whole thing was that originally it had been a teddy bear onesie Bart was meant to wear, but the company he had ordered from had messed up and there hadn't been time to fix the order. That and the company had forgotten to send the pacifiers Kon had ordered but at least his next order was going to be half off because of the mix ups.

'Oh well, always next time. sometime tells me I'm not gonna have a hard time convincing him to come back.' Kon thought.

Bart coo'ed and giggled and in a move that made Kon's heart melt, leaned in and kissed his reflection, something Kon had seen other toddlers do.

Moving from the bedroom Bart's tummy was rumbling lots though Kon had given up on asking him to use the potty, which was good because he didn't wanna lose any his new favorite outfit.

'Besides, I'm just hamming it up for Kon..I'm not really a widdle diaper boy..even if i am super duper kewt.' Bart thought, though he knew he was lying to himself.

there was no way he wasn't coming over and getting babied like at least ONCE a week from now on!

Sitting on a blanket on the floor he studied the baby toys Kon had gotten him, he was used to the toys of his time period and these were actually more fun to play with, though he kept nom'ing on some of the more brightly colored toys.

"Remind me to get you a teeth ring before next time." Kon chuckled, patting Bart's head.

"..That's a thing!? I want that!" Bart said excitedly.

"You sit here like a good boy while I go and make you a ba-ba, I don't want you getting all dehydrated." Kon chuckled, clearly not shocked by Bart's response.

"ok..but then a teething ring? Pleassssse?" Bart whined and tried the puppy dog eyes on his new semi daddy.

"Not today buddy. at least not right now." Kon said.

"Whyyyyyy?!" Bart whined and huffed

"Because you'd have to go shopping in your little outfit and it's mid day. Didn't think you'd wanna make this public." Kon pointed out and a muffled fart escaped as Bart blushed.

"Oh..yeah.. ehehehe..didn't think about that." he said sheepishly and rubbed the back of his head.

"I thought that might be the case. Apple juice or milk?" Kon said, chuckling lots at just how silly Bart was.

"Milk please. apple juice gives me the poops. trust me, you'll take me later." Bart said and giggled, blowing a raspberry.

"heh, So what your saying is if I want a super little present maker.." Kon said and winked, but then disappeared into the kitchen.

'..Why do I get the feeling I'm gonna regret telling him that?' Bart thought, but then had his attention drawn to a white and blue rattle with a teddy bear on the handle and started to shake it lots.

Kon had just finished making the ba-ba of milk, 3 percent, when a loud racket started to fill the apartment and he almost dropped the bottle, stumbling out and holding one hand to his left ear and the bottle in the other, he could see Bart had found the rattle and was playing with it..at super speed not aware of the racket he was making.

Not only was it loud enough to hurt Kon's super hearing, but the windows were vibrating and were seconds away from shattering.. all the while Bart was just looking at his rattle and shaking it unaware of the damage he was doing.

Coming over as fast as he could (he tried to yell and get Bart's attention but the noise was too much and Bart was off in his own little world) Kon got a hand over the rattle and stopped the noise.

"hey! what cha do that for!" Bart huffed.

"Buddy, you were shaking it at super speed and almost blew out my eardrums, as well as break my windows." Kon said.

"What? No I.." and Bart stopped and looked around, a few picture frames were cracked and things had been knocked around the room. "oh..Oh...Um.. Sowwy?" Bart said, gulping and giving a weak smile.

"...it's ok buddy. I didn't think about it when I gave you a toy like that. why don't I get rid of any noise makers while you drink up." Kon said.

he could see how bad Bart felt about it, but just like a parent with a real baby or toddler, he knew Bart hadn't known any better and like he had said, it was his own fault for leaving the toy there.

Getting rid of anything that made noise when it was shook Kon turned around to see Bart drinking his bottle, but with a few tears coming down his cheeks.

"Bart..it's Ok buddy. I'm NOT mad at you." Kon said, coming over and scooping up the big baby who tugged his ba-ba out of his mouth.

"I just..I was having fun and didn't..Please let me come back for more baby time!" Bart sniffled.

"Bart of course you can. I'll just have to be careful about toys I get you from now on." Kon said and kissed the whimpering big babies forehead, Taking a seat on the couch and taking the bottle from Bart and starting to feed him himself.

"Besides..now we know what to do next time some Parademons attack, get you two rattles then dive for cover." Kon teased getting a giggle out of the big baby.

Before the bottle was half drained two things started to happened, the first being Bart's eye lids started to droop and he was clearly falling asleep in Kon's big strong arms.

the second and less adorable for anyone with a super sense of smell was Bart started to poot up a storm.

'can't say i'm shocked, known he had to go for awhile now.' Kon thought and just put up with the smell.

he'd put up with worse stinks on the farm between the animals and changing Lon's diapers so it wasn't like Bart could be any worse right?

with his eyelids shut tight and Kon pulling the ba-ba from the big babies mouth, moving the sleeping boy up to burp him, Kon got his answer.

Between the massive budgle that was rapidly forming in the back of Bart's diapers with a series of gross sounding farts and the stink penetrating the whole apartment.. Bart was much, much worse.

'...being a daddy isn't all fun and games.' Kon thought, wrinkling his nose.

Still he made no move to get up and change Bart, worried about waking the little guy up.

'but I'll be damned if I'm gonna like a little..ok..BIG stinky diaper stop this!'

The end

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canopycalls · 4 years ago

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Emmett's Christmas Present

Emmett has to ask Jax to come visit at their house, since they can’t go into the woods. When Jax arrives, Emmett has a little box wrapped for her in shiny red foil paper, as well as a large goody bag of toffee, Christmas cookies, and a few avocados.

Inside the box is a yellow notebook with treated paper, used usually by field scientists, so it won’t smear or otherwise lose its writing if it gets wet or muddy. Emmett also included instructions on the inside cover to use the specific special pen if the paper is already wet; if not, then Jax can use almost any writing utensil, but especially the rainbow pack of fine-tip Sharpies. Packaged along with these are two pairs of some simple leg (or arm) warmers made from soft, fluffy material, one end stitched with a decent elastic to keep them on the arms.

There’s also a card with two Christmas kittens on the front. Emmett doesn’t chase Jax off before letting her read it, but it’s mostly just in case she said something confusing and not because she isn’t dying of embarrassment.

Jax,

I know we’ve only known each other a very short while, but I’m glad you chose to trust me to help you, and that I could find such a lovely friend in you. I hope we have a great deal more fun getting to know each other in the coming new year.

Love, Emmett

#Jax cries openly over all the gifts she’s getting #baby cats is .......#RAINBOW SHARPIES!!!!!!#lambonthealtar #submission

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jynxlovesluck · 6 years ago

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Meet Me In The In-Between

Snow was falling onto the ground like at the very first time they met. Virgil, chilled to the bone, warmer then he had been in months, sat on the bench outside of Logan's grandparent's house.

The taste of candy cane mixed with the rebellious taste of sweetened lips. Virgil bit into the minty treat he stole from Logan and dreamed about something much smoother and yet chapped that could be occupying his time.

He swore he wasn't a romantic. In fact, he had sworn off romance altogether. But it was the way Logan glowed in a debate. Smiled as he talked about the stars. Laughed when Virgil got into a pun contest with Patton and won.

It had taken them years to get here. Comfortable enough to trust again. And the fear of being in love was gentler on his heart then it used to be.

But Virgil never counted on dreams.

He kicked his legs out, swinging himself. Each breath sent a warm cloud into iced air and left him feeling like he had as a child.

If Virgil thought hard enough, he could remember the day they had found each other. A boy who hadn't grown into his glasses and tripped over his own feet, and another boy who dreamed and dreamed and wished until his imagination gave out.

In the corner of the street was a park. It shined with the teasing glimmers of frosted art and was perfect for any child. The swings had rubber so the chains wouldn't freeze, and the slide bright crimson on a white background that you could pile snow at the bottom of.

And, if you were small, sickly, and a dreamer, you could climb on the globed shaped monkey bars and sit for hours staring at the sky.

On that day, Virgil wanted to watch the sun turn white snow into a barrage of colors, turning blandness into a beauty only patient people could see.

(Later, Logan would explain what light did to snow. Later, Logan would remind him of magic in front of his young, never tired eyes.)

But of course, life turns plans up on your head. And when a little boy decided he wanted the globe bars in the cold, well, he didn't appreciate someone else who didn't even have anything to do will sitting in his favorite spot. Logan had walked up right next to the bars and started telling Virgil off.

"You're in my spot." He tried to cross his arms, only for his rather big book to fall on the ground.

Virgil blinked a couple of times. "Doesn't have your name on It."

Logan's face flushed as he kicked the snow on the ground, revealing the rocks underneath. "Yeah, but I come here every day at 4:30 till 5. That's what my mama-my mom tells me."

Virgil looked down at him and smiled. "That's kinda funny."

Logan's nose scrunched up. "If you're going to be mean-"

"I come every day at 5:30 till 6." Virgil jumped off the bars. "I'm not trying to be mean. I that it was funny we both like this spot and we barely miss each other."

Logan let go of the fists he was making without thinking. "Oh."

Virgil picked up Logan's book and handed it back to him. "Maybe I'll see if I can come at 4:30. Don't stay out too much though." He leaned forward and booped Logan's nose. "You'll get sick." Virgil started to turn away.

Logan almost dropped the book again. "I'm Logan Evans."

It came out sloppy, and Logan wasn't even aware why he should tell him his name.

But he wanted to. Logan never wanted anything.

Virgil stopped for a moment. He turned his head and grinned. "I'm Virgil. Virgil Neight."

The memory fell away like spring flowers in the summer heat. The candy cane was gone, and Virgil felt himself melt.

A lot had changed since then. Logan grew into himself, and away from "brazen shows of emotional physical reactions."

Virgil started going quiet. Bright eyes turned dark. People became too much. His dreams fell apart, dead. But he picked the pieces and hid them away deep where no one could find it.

No one should want to find it.

But then Logan lost his father. And suddenly, his best friend needed him again. The dark corners of his mind took energy he needed.

And, holding Logan's hand, he leads them both to therapy. "Couples sessions" so they didn't have to go it alone. Effort every day. Virgil needed pills to balance out the chemicals in his brain. Logan needed a balance between getting his work done and taking breaks.It wasn't easy. They fought. They didn't talk to each other. They cried and tore into each other like wolves starved for food.

They ached for a hunger that left them starved.

But when push came to shove, the two of them were there for each other. Every cloudy day had a sunshine one, and a rainbow in the in-between.

Virgil felt a warm pressure on his nose. He blinked and looked up at Logan. "Sorry, I thought you might want some company." He sat next to Virgil, who noticed the blanket now wrapped around his shoulders. "And some hot chocolate, with marshmallows and whipped cream."

Virgil grabbed the cup and gently took it out of Logan's hands.

He took a sip and sat it on his lap.

The slow rocking of the swinging bench never stopped.

Logan sighed and cuddled up to Virgil's neck, nuzzling into it and closing his eyes.

"The sunset looks familiar."

Virgil smiled. "They say each one is different. But I feel like we've seen this one before."

Logan opened his eyes to star off into the sky. "It's like a dream. Are we asleep?"

The still air made the rest of the world fall away. The noise only came from them. The slight squeak of chains. The slight racing heartbeats. The air moving in and out of their lungs.

"If we are, I don't want to wake up." And for once, it was because his life was better than the idea of being asleep. His night was filled with beauty again, but instead of silver and gold and glitter, it was of warm hugs and warmer talks. Filled with love that didn't make you want to keep, but to give even a fraction of the pure goodness in your heart. The nightmares still hurt and a bit still ripped and burned, but now they healed.

And Logan, Virgil thinks, is more than just a love for him. He is a friend. His best friend. His healing light.

Even of said light needed someone like Virgil to stay out of the dark.

"I guess if we get to stay like this, then this is as real as I want." Logan murmured.

That was the beauty of being independent together instead of completely codependent. They could hold hands and face the dark and the light without flinching. They wouldn't sink.

Virgil gathered his nerve and his fingers, squeezing them together. "Hey, Lo?"

Logan lifted his head up. "Yeah V?"

He took a deep breath. Three years of building his confidence, and figuring out his feelings, and of doing embarrassing private assignments from their therapist better not be for nothing.

"I love you." He tilted Logan's head up. "More then it would take for a heartbeat to fuel a sun."

Logan closed his eyes and laid his forehead against Virgil's. "That's a relief then. Because I love you. More than the universe can ever know."

Logan got closer to him, and Virgil sat their hot chocolate on the ground. "But Virgil, you must remember, I'm hot-headed, and I'm selfish when it comes to you. Especially when it comes to you."

Virgil rolled his eyes. "And I'm a jerk and a dumbass when it comes to you, Lo. And that's why-," he grabbed Logan's hand like it was a baby bird,"-why I'm hoping maybe you'll consider going in a date with me, and seeing if our crazy jigsaw puzzle pieces fit together in the only way we've never tried."

Suddenly, Logan was in his lap and mind, hugging him tightly. "Yes. Oh, thank god, yes."

When he pulled back, he petted Virgil's ever-growing long hair back, and slightly tugged at his pierced ears. "Can I kiss you V?"

"Please do."

End

(Sorry I've been gone so long guys! Hope you enjoy <3. Remember to comment or message of you want to be on my general reading list! And for you Princey Bride lovers: chapter 2 is coming out this weekend!)

#sanders sides #sanders sides writing #analogical #jynx awakens #virgil sanders #logan sanders

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carryonsimoncarryonbaz · 6 years ago

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Chapter 5 of the Simon and Baz Travel AU is here! Link to read at AO3.

Chapter Five

Simon

I’d be happy to stay here on the floor all night, like this.

It isn’t the most comfortable but I’ve slept in worse so I’ll not complain. Baz has to drive again tomorrow though. I want him to get a good night’s rest and I’m sure he won’t manage that on this hard floor.

I should suggest we go upstairs but I don’t.

I’ve no idea what time it is. My watch is on the arm that’s curled around Baz at the moment and I’m not about to check it.

He’s not moving either. I don’t think he’s asleep. I know what his breathing is like when he sleeps.

I should make him go upstairs.

The shrill ringtone of my mobile eventually breaks the silence and Baz scoots away from me in an instant. It’s suddenly colder without him there.

I dig my mobile out of my pocket.

It’s Penny.

“Simon!”

“Hey, Pen.”

“Are you home yet? You didn’t call and I was worried. Micah said the whole east coast is shut down. Did your flight get out alright?”

Shit.

I’d completely forgotten to call Penny. Slipped my mind, what with running into Baz and the storm and all.

“I’m fine. My flight got cancelled.”

“Where are you, Simon? Did they put you up in a hotel?”

Baz has pulled his blanket off my legs and is standing up. I wave my arm at him, motioning him to sit back down. He shakes his head and points at my mobile.

Bloody git. It’s not like this is a private conversation. It’s Penny.

“Sit down,” I hiss at him, covering the speaker. “You don’t have to go. It’s just Penny.”

He blinks at me for a moment and then curls up under his blanket in the armchair across from me.

It feels too far away.

“Who are you talking to?”Penny’s voice comes through the speaker. “Simon, where in the blazes are you?”

“I’m fine. Don’t fuss. The flight got cancelled and we’ve been trying to get to another airport to catch a flight but they’re all shut down. Hoping to get a flight home tomorrow.” I scoot across the floor until my back is against Baz’s armchair. That’s better.

“Get to another airport where? In this weather? Did they bus you somewhere?”She’s peppering me with questions. Penny’s like that sometimes. Most times. “Who’s with you?”

“We tried to get to Washington. I’m at an inn somewhere in . . .” I turn around to look at Baz questioningly. “Where are we?” I whisper.

He rolls his eyes at me but there’s no sign of the disdain he usually infuses into that look. “Delaware.”

“Delaware,” I tell Penny.

“Simon, who are you talking to?”

“It’s Baz.”

“Baz?”

“Yeah, Baz. Baz Pitch.”

Her voice is testy when she replies. “I know who Baz is, Simon. What on earth are you doing with him?”

“Ran into him at the airport.”

“And now you’re in Delaware with him?”

“Told you. We were trying to get to another open airport.”

An exasperated huff comes through the line. “Honestly, Simon. Baz thought it was a good idea to go driving in this weather? And you went along with it?”

“It’s a Range Rover.” I hear a muffled snort from Baz.

Penny goes on for a bit. I just listen. It’s best to not interrupt when she’s in the middle of one of her lectures.

I close my eyes and lean my head back, bumping into something that’s definitely not the chair. I think it’s Baz’s knee. I’m instantly shifting myself away but then I feel the cool touch of his fingers in my hair.

And I freeze.

“It’s alright.” It’s barely a whisper but I tune out Penny’s voice as I strain to hear Baz. “It’s alright. I don’t mind.”

I tentatively rest my head back on his knee. There’s a featherlight touch of fingers running through my hair again and I can’t help but lean into it.

Penny’s louder now. “Simon. Simon, are you listening to me?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t answer. I asked you a question.”

“Sorry, Pen.” I shrug. “I’m tired, I guess.”

Her voice instantly softens. “Please be careful. And take care of yourself.”She pauses and then adds “Say hello to Baz for me.”

“I will.” “And don’t you dare forget to call me when you get home!”She’s back to her scolding tone now.

“I won’t, promise.”

I hang up and stay where I am, leaning against Baz and letting his fingers wander through my messy hair.

“We should get to bed.” Baz’s voice is velvety, soft and smooth and rich. It washes over me and I want to hear it again. I don’t want to move. I don’t want to spoil this moment.

I shrug.

“You can’t be comfortable on the floor.” He’s still hushed, voice low.

“I’m fine.”

Baz

I don’t know what I’m doing.

I could have stayed here all night, leaning into the warmth of Simon. I can see why he never complains about being cold, his body radiates heat like a furnace. It was a wrench to pull myself away when his mobile went off.

I should have left, gone upstairs, let him talk to Bunce in private.

Except he didn’t want me to. And then he moved across the room to sit near me.

I was completely undone when he let his head fall back onto my knee. Those bright, bronze curls, so close, so inviting.

So soft.

He’s letting me do this. Letting me run my fingers through his hair. I’ve dreamed of this.

I don’t know what’s happening.

I don’t know what we’re doing.

Are we doing something? What does this even mean? I can’t think right now.

I can’t think when he’s so close to me.

Simon

It’s taking all my self-control to keep myself from turning around to look at Baz. I want to. I want to see his face.

But I want him to keep running his fingers through my hair. So I stay still.

Baz

It could be moments or hours later. I’ve no idea. Time’s stopped for me, here with Simon.

My fingers are still slowly winding through his curls. It’s surreal to watch my hand bury itself in the bronze glory of Simon’s hair.

I’m sure it’s late.

We should go upstairs. We should get to bed.

The thought of sharing a bed with Simon again is intoxicating. Having him so close, sharing the same space, it’s a heady sensation.

It takes great effort but I finally drag my fingers from his hair and force myself to stand up. I don’t know if the room is truly warmer or if it’s me, my face flushed, my skin tingling from the awareness of Simon’s proximity. I’m burning up with it.

He looks up, eyebrows drawing together in a perplexed expression.

“Come on. Let’s go up. It should be warm enough by now.”

Simon doesn’t move. He’s still looking at me, the mesmerizing blue of his eyes rooting me to the spot. I feel slow and sluggish, my tongue heavy as I try to make words form.

In the end I just reach out my hand and he takes it, warm fingers closing around mine. I pull and he comes to a stand. He ends up much closer than I expect, his gaze never straying, and the air is electric between us.

It’s almost too much for me. I’m not adequately prepared for my teenage dreams to suddenly come to life before my very eyes.

I turn away from the entrancing sight of him and start to move towards the stairs. His grip on my hand doesn’t let up.

“Wait. We should take the blankets.” Simon pulls his own from the floor, never letting go of me.

I clutch my blanket to my chest with my free arm and somehow we manage to awkwardly climb up the narrow stairs, still hand in hand.

He doesn’t let go until we’re by the bed.

The incandescent heat of the moments before is muted now. We pile the blankets on the comforter, the vast width of the bed separating us.

“I don’t think there’ll be much hot water, with the power outage.”

I’ve no idea why I said that.

Simon blinks at me. “What?”

“I don’t think it would be wise to shower tonight. With the power outage. The water is bound to be cold.”

Christ, what am I doing?

He blinks again. “Oh. Right.”

I’ve got Simon Snow across the bed from me and I’m blathering on about the water. “I’ll go get changed.” I escape to the privacy of the bathroom.

I splash cold water on my heated face and stare into the mirror. I’m not sure how to process this. My second chance is taking a surprising detour. One that I’ve been longing for but the possibility of it becoming reality has me dazed.

This rapport with Simon, it’s so delicate, so new, so fragile.

I’m not sure I know how to navigate this.

It’s unknown territory.

Simon

If you’d asked me two days ago, how I felt about Baz Pitch, I’d have said he’s an arrogant tosser and maddeningly fit.

I’ve not changed my mind on the fit part.

Or the maddening part.

I think Baz just did a runner for the bathroom and I’m not sure why. It was all so good just now, downstairs.

So much more than I’d expected when I’d asked him to sit by me. More than I’d dared to hope for, when he pressed himself against me. When his head was resting on my shoulder. When his fingers trailed against my scalp, soft and electric.

It was heady, I’ll not argue that point. Every nerve was alight.

I pace for a bit.

He doesn’t come out right away.

I pace for a bit more and then do what I always did back at Watford. I knock on the door. “Oi. Baz. You going to be all night?”

“I’ll be out in a minute.”

I keep standing in front of the door and when it finally opens Baz almost walks into me. There’s an amused look on his face. “Stop lurking.”

“I’m not lurking.”

We’re standing chest to chest and that electric sensation is back.

His fingers brush my shoulder and then he slides by me. “All yours, Simon.”

Baz

I dive under the covers. Bloody hell. These sheets are freezing. I tuck the blankets around me and curl up on the edge of the mattress. Now that I’m in the bed my uncertainties overwhelm me.

What do I do when he comes to bed? Do I move near him? Do I stay on the edge, like I did last night? I’m at a loss.

I can’t even trust myself to talk to him right now and not say something remarkably stupid.

I don’t know how to be with him like this.

I’ll stay where I am. It will be enough knowing he’s there, just an arm’s reach away.

Simon

I don’t think I’ve ever taken a piss that quickly.

Baz is tucked under the mound of blankets when I come out. All I can see is his dark mane of hair peeking out.

I burrow between the cold sheets and switch off the table lamp.

Baz is all the way on the other side, practically hugging the edge of the bed.

He doesn’t need to do that. He’s being an absolute prat. There’s plenty of room. It’s not like we weren’t in this exact situation last night.

Except there wasn’t that undercurrent of something else last night, I remind myself.

I don’t care. He was closer to me just a half hour ago. He was literally running his fingers through my hair. He’s being an absolute pillock.

Something changed tonight. And I’m not going to let him pretend it didn’t. I don’t want to wake up tomorrow morning and act as if nothing happened. Something did. Something I never expected to want this much.

I lay on my back. It’s cold. Even with all the blankets. I typically run hot but not tonight, not right now.

I curl up on my side. My back is cold so close to the edge of the bed so I shift over a bit.

That’s not the only reason I shift over. I don’t like him being so far away. Not now that I know the touch of him.

Baz moves closer to his edge.

“Baz.”

“What?”

“Stop being a pillock.”

“I’m not being a pillock.”

I wriggle closer. “Yes, you are. I know you’re freezing over there.”

“I’m fine.”

I groan. “Listen, I’m trying to help.”

“I’m fine.”

I tug on the blankets, pulling them more to my side of the bed. That gets a reaction. “What the fuck are you doing? You can’t have all the blankets, Simon.”

“Stop clutching the edge of the bed, Baz. It’s warmer in the middle.”

“I’m not clutching the edge of the bed.”

“You’re clutching it like a Victorian virgin on her wedding night.” That should do it.

He’s whipped around in an instant. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What do you think it means? Stop being a prat.” I pat the mattress in front of me. “Come on. Scoot over. It’s warmer the closer you get to the middle.”

He wiggles an inch away from the edge and I snort. “Come on, Baz.”

He scoots over a little more.

I wait a moment. “Better?”

He grumbles inaudibly and then I hear a “Yes” from under the pile of blankets.

I roll on my back and shift until I’m almost in the middle of the bed. He’s mere inches away from me.

I wait. The mattress dips a little and then he’s closer. He rolls on his back too.

I slide over until my shoulder barely brushes his. Our arms are next to each other. He doesn’t move away.

In the dark my hand finds his. His cold fingers lace between my own. I tilt my head towards him.

He mirrors the motion.

The scent of his hair washes over me. I wait a moment and then turn my head in his direction. His fingers grip mine tightly and then he turns his head towards me.

“Hey.”

I bring our joined hands up to my lips and press a kiss to his knuckles. There’s a fluttering in my chest as I hear him sigh.

I want this. With Baz.

I roll on my side, facing him, our linked hands on the pillow between us.

Baz

The sensation of his lips brushing my skin makes me shiver. It’s nothing to do with the cold. It’s everything to do with the fact that he’s here, in this bed with me, holding my hand so tenderly.

I mirror his position, so I’m facing Simon, hands still linked. All I can see is the silhouette of him in the dim light but I can imagine what he looks like right now.

I’ve seen him in my dreams enough times.

I could kiss him.

I could lean forward and kiss him.

Simon

I can barely make out the shape of him in the dark. I shift a bit closer and reach out to brush his hair away from his face with my free hand. I let it linger there, reluctant to pull away but I don’t want to overstep.

Baz turns his face into my hand so I end up cupping his cheek. He shifts even closer to me and I’m holding my breath as my fingers slide up into the smooth strands of his hair.

I hear him sigh again. I can feel his breath on my skin this time.

I run my thumb along his cheekbone. And then I lean in.

Closer.

And do what I’ve wanted to do all night.

It’s a soft brush of lips, no more than that.

One kiss.

But in that moment, it’s everything.

Baz

I’m pressed up against the heat of Simon’s body, his arm curled around me and his fingers gently tangling in my hair.

He’s warm and solid, gentle and comforting.

I’m thrumming with elation but immobilized by sheer astonishment.

Simon Snow kissed me.

I kissed Simon Snow.

I keep repeating that astounding revelation in my head as I tentatively slide my arm around his waist and I feel him pull me closer when I do.

My eyes close and Simon’s steady heartbeat eventually lulls me to sleep.

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thegempage · 6 years ago

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kind-of spoiler warning for The Other Monster Hunters; this is part of janice’s backstory, but i’m unsure if it’ll appear in the fic in this form or not?

whatever this counts as, have some janice backstory and grimm stuff!!

edit: a brief warning, as of finishing this it’s about 1:46 am, so it might be. kinda stumbly

Dr. Church kept her office so cold.

Janice pulled the cardigan tighter over her shoulders and took a deep breath. It wasn’t that cold, she tried to convince herself. She was just sitting on a hospital bed, and those were always cold. No, no, she derailed that, thinking about cold hospital beds would make her sick. She was just nervous. Even though Dr. Church wasn’t going to hurt her.

Well, technically, in a sense, she was, but the end result would be okay. Janice would be better. Everything would be better.

Janice took another breath. The door opened, and Dr. Church stepped in.

As ever, she reminded Janice of her grandmother, all kind smiles and knowledgeable eyes and the presence that made her seem much younger than she was (they’d known each other, for a spell in high school, maybe they’d rubbed off on each other). She chuckled when she saw how tightly Janice had wrapped herself and pressed a few buttons on the wall panel. “It’ll get warmer in here in a bit,” Dr. Church assured her with a pat on the shoulder. “But for now, let’s talk about why you’re here.”

She sat down across from Janice on the rolling stool by the computer and started typing away, putting in password after password, trailing through Grimm’s archives to get to Janice’s file. Janice didn’t answer her request.

“You want to go through with the Stage One augmentation,” Dr. Church filled in for her. “Your reason’s not on file yet, dear. Any particular desires you had in mind?”

Janice chewed on the inside of her cheek. “I want to be helpful,” she admitted. “I know we’re supposed to have a diplomat and three hunters, but... I hate waiting for them to come back.”

Dr. Church nodded, smiling. “Interesting,” she hummed. “And you’re aware of the risks, of course.”

“Same as any surgery?”

“Not quite.” Dr. Church stood. “What we’re going to do, Ms. Darcy, is fundamentally change what your brain can do. But you know what we can’t change?”

It felt like a trick question. Janice didn’t answer.

“We can’t change what your brain can handle.” Dr. Church was closer, now, and put her hands on Janice’s temples. “You will have the power of a monster, Ms. Darcy, but a monster you are not.”

Janice couldn’t help but wrinkle her eyebrows and drew her shoulders closer. “What?”

“Monsters are much more capable creatures than we are, I’m sure you know that,” Dr. Church explained. “That’s why Reaper teams are made of four people, no? That capability extends to how they think, how they work. Their senses are much stronger than ours, but to them, it’s as easy as breathing.”

Dr. Church picked a few papers from her desk, flipping through them. “What we can do, Janice Darcy, is extend your senses beyond what humans should be capable of, and give you control over them previously thought unknowable. But you are human, Ms. Darcy. Do you know what that could do to you?”

Janice shook her head.

The papers Dr. Church showed her answered the question. Whoever the first subject had been, they were unrecognizable, almost as a human. Their face and upper body had been taken over by eyes, countless eyes, all crying a rainbow of tears. No nose, no mouth, and a small note reading “Suffocation” next to “cause of death.”

“The most dramatic case,” Dr. Church commented. “The only instance of physical mutation so far.”

The next few pages were, as Dr. Church suggested, less dramatic looking, but no less terrifying. One subject was photographed lying curled up on the floor, hands pressed over their eyes; the notes painted the rest of the picture: “collapsed, unresponsive, and stopped breathing.” The next was still alive, according to the notes, but there had been an error, a misfired failsafe, and they no longer had control over the fluctuations of their senses. The next had become reckless, too reckless, and thrown themselves into a battle they did not make it out of in one piece. Another had gone deaf in an explosion no one else could hear. On, on, a collection of all the ways this could go wrong.

“We’ve learned, of course,” Dr Church assured her, taking the papers away. “We have more fail-safes in place to prevent the worst of it.”

“But that doesn’t mean it’s perfect,” Janice said, mostly out of habit.

“I see you’ve learned!” Dr. Church joked. “Yes, it doesn’t mean its perfect. So, before we even conduct the pre-op check-up, I need you to promise me a few things.”

Scary words. Janice nodded anyway.

“There’s a low possibility that you’ll be able to extend parts of your abilities to other people for short times -- we’ve seen it before -- but I deeply suggest you don’t. It’s too risky, and a strain on both your mind and theirs. If you can go the rest of your life” (What, five years? Janice thought with a suppressed chuckle) “without trying it, you’ll be better off.”

Janice’s fingers were starting to hurt from holding the cardigan; the room was warming up, but she didn’t want to let go. She nodded to tell Dr. Church she was listening.

Dr. Church’s voice grew a bit softer as she moved on. “You’ll need to be careful about eating. I know you, Janice, and I know what you’ve been through, but this sort of augmentation means you’ll need to be eating more and more consistently than your current diet. If you don’t get enough calories, you’ll find yourself much worse off than any hunger pains you get now.

“And sleep. You’ll be able to get away with a consistent sleep schedule for now, but stretching yourself too thin could result in ‘overexertion naps,’ which we’ve seen can last for ten to twelve hours or more.”

“....Really?” Janice said, relaxing her arms. That part didn’t sound... too bad.

“Of course. Your brain will need to rest if you stretch it too far. And, of course, you could go too far... but we’ve found a fail-safe for that.”

Janice shifted on her seat, moving backward. “What’s ‘too far?’“ she asked.

“Well, you'll know when you wake up on the ground after passing out, won’t you?” Dr. Church smiled like it was a joke. Janice didn’t find it very funny.

“Bottom line, of course: you’ll need to take care of yourself. No more slacking off and getting away with the bare minimum.” Dr. Church turned away, looked at a separate stack. “Take some tips from your teammates.”

“Evan and Victoria?”

“Yes! They’re in excellent health, all things considered.”

I think I already used up my miracle of science years ago, Janice thought. But she still nodded.

“And finally -- we’ll talk more on the day of the surgery, of course, but before you leave here today and make that final choice -- Janice Darcy, I need you to promise that you’ll trust us.”

Janice swallowed. “I do, Dr. Church,” she answered, almost on reflex.

“Do you?” Dr. Church asked. “Think about that one. I want to walk into that operating room and know you trust me, alright?”

“I will.” Janice could almost make herself believe it without any trouble.

“Then you’re free to go back to your duties, for now, Ms. Darcy,” Dr. Church said, sitting down and typing furiously. “We’ll see you in a few days for the pre-op check up and talk more then.”

Janice hopped down from the table and pretended her legs weren’t shaking. “I’ll see you then, Dr. Church.”

“Have a good day, Ms. Darcy.”

#little rock.txt #the other monster hunters #janice #grimm

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xolotoofficial · 5 years ago

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> It’s only a couple days until the show starts, and there’s something marvelously bittersweet about watching all of the new, expensive shit Marvus and the crew bought on planet being loaded into his bus by the roadies - it means they’ll be back on the interstellar road again.

> His usual camera crew, about fourteen trolls these days, film all the brand names plastered on the side of shopping bags, dripping in sparkling gold. Most of the brands he did genuinely like, but there were a couple of fuschia bags mixed in for the taste of conforming the empire liked from entertainers.

> Whatever.

> Apparently there’s something satisfying about him observing it all, because one camera is practically in his face. He doesn’t look at it for a moment, but soon he can’t resist - he’s winking into it and fixing his bangs in the reflection of the camera lense. He likes how the lusus fur around his shoulders reflects the light.

> “Y’all suckers ready to roll? We got a crowd of hungry juggz to wreck soon.”

> He talks to them casually. He knows they’re just assigned here to capture his every move and stream it live to his of fans, but his charisma and the circumstances leave everyone around him loyal, open, and talkative. Sure it’s a job, but he wants it to be a fun job. There aren’t enough of those in the conquest-obsessed imperial fleet, and because of that he knows he can get away with anything around them - and besides that, steeping in his chucklevoodoo-enhanced ardor can’t be anything but intoxicating. Everyone’s smiling despite the heavy equipment they lug around.

> The youngish cerulean troll behind the camera he was admiring himself in chuckles. “Yeah, Mista’ M, we reddy. It’s gonna be da biggest show ya ever done. Trolls out here really missed ya while ya were MIA. Nervous any?”

> They’re speaking vaguely on purpose - no one knew where he was or why he was missing. They’re going to want to know, but they’re going to have to see the show to find out.

> “Nah babe,” Marvus shrugs. “We got somethin’ magical - muhva-fuckin’ magical - lined up. Just up’n glad I’m still able to share in this royal life with my brothers n’ my sista.”

> Marvus feels a sudden pull in his blood-pusher and starts walking without any consideration for the small horde of trolls around him, dropping down the stairs of his shuttle to take a look at the stage they were parked behind. The warmer roadies stay behind, of course, and continue diligently loading the bags into the bus. The cameras follow, used to his sudden capricious movements, and a few of the rugged indigos standing around the grounds follow, all of them keeping out of frame.

> “Oh yeah, ya got a new lil’ sister huh? Hear she’s hot shit on the block - used to be a fan of ya on Alternia. The empire really trusts ya to take on us newbies, huh?”

> He laughs loftily, remembering how his body seized from being tased. The feel of his muscles burning, the stomp of ocean-scented leather on his skill. His nerves suddenly felt on fire, and the spark of ugly, bitter rage rises - Ugh. “I dunno ‘bout all that, now. We just an easy goin’ crew with a real good balance of old heads and newbies. Good place to get ya space legs before gettin’ on a warship, ‘good trainin’ for them weaker-than-desired types’, I hear. Guess I’m a good cap’n, too, but that’s the doin’ of the crew n’ I puttin’ our thick ass noggins together. ...Hoo boy, look at that crowd.”

> He peeks from behind one of the giant curtains of the giant stage that had been set up for about a week by then, looking at the sprawling campsite of tents, all the colors of the rainbow - except indigo and up of course. They just muscled up to the front, no matter how late or early they were. The camera gets a glimpse of him from the profile before sweeping over the crowd. Some people exit their tents and wave their arms, knowing they’re on livestream. They want a glimpse of him and a chance to say ‘i was on the stream!’ So cute.

> “Oh yeah, just wait til they get a whiff of what I got for em.”

#Keepin' Up With The Clowns || Live Broadcast || Action Post #long post //#// ask to tag #// mmmm nothin too questionable yet but mentions of tasers and being stomped/attacked #Word Count | 720

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pvrestwolff · 6 years ago

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---- pleased to meet you, hope you guess my name; but what's puzzling you is the nature of my game.

trident’s task 000; a detailed introduction.

---- basic information

full name: ekaterina mikhailovna aliena zamolodchikova-markovy. pronunciation: yeh-kah-ti-ree-nah // mik-hail-ovna // a-lye-na // zamol-ohd-chkova // m-ah-rk-oh-fi. meaning: ekaterina ( the name ekaterina is a russian name, the meaning is ‘pure’ ), mikhailovna ( the name mikhailovna is a russian name, the meaning is ‘daughter of mikhail’ ), aliena ( the name aliena is a belarusian and latin name, the meaning is ‘foreign’ or ‘stranger’ ), zamolodchikova ( the name zamolodchikova is a russian name, the meaning is ‘bold and dashing female’ ), markovy ( the name markovy is a russian and serbian name, the meaning is ‘of Mars, the god of war’ ) reasoning: ekaterina was named for a dear friend of natallia’s, while her first middle name came from her father, and her second came from natallia’s oldest sister anastasia’s middle name, the original heir to the throne. her last names are her father’s and her mother’s respectively. nickname(s): kati, kat, nina, erica. preferred name(s): ekaterina or erica, but she does not mind certain nicknames from certain people. birth date: january 11th 1988. age: thirty. zodiac: capricorn // rabbit yang fire or tiger yin fire. gender: female. pronouns: she/her. romantic orientation: platonipandemiromantic. sexual orientation: platonipansexual. nationality: belarusian, russian. ethnicity: caucasian, ashkenazi jewish. current location: tulach island. living conditions: mediocre, living in the tulach house. title(s): crown princess of belarus, princess, belarus’ heir, grand duchess of vitebsk, the demon queen of minsk (colloquial),

---- background

birth place: the palace of snov, minsk, belarus. hometown: minsk, belarus. social class: royalty, upper. education level: masters degree. father: mikhail zamolodchikov-markovy. mother: natallia zamolodchikova-markovy. adopted?: no. sibling(s): two younger sisters and one younger brother. birth order: eldest. children: none. pet(s): daisy (maltese shih-tzu) and jay (labrador kelpie). other important relatives: tatiana nikolaevna ( cousin ), anya nikolaevna ( cousin ), ainsley dùghlas ( cousin ), alexander romanov-nikolaevna ( uncle ), nataliya kashkanov-nikolaevna ( aunt ), gavin dùghlas ( uncle ) and anastasia markovy-dùghlas ( aunt ). ( @tatiana-nikolaevna, @anyanik, @hrhxainsley ) previous relationships: charles flanagan ( first crush, murder accomplice ), grace thomas ( ex-girlfriend ), luka rossi ( ex-lover ) and unnamed prince ( ex-lover ). ( @classiciisms, @luka-rossi )

---- skills & abilities

physical strength: exceptionally strong for her size, she’s quite good at the salmon ladder and deadlifts. teamwork: she can and will butt heads with strong personalities or stupid people, but always works to reach the goal. talents: running, swordplay, fencing, knife handling, gun-handling, hand-to-hand combat, martial arts, ballroom dancing, adaptability, interpersonal skills, sketching, linguistics, communication, cryptography, symbology, and bdsm. shortcomings: intrapersonal skills, trust issues, manipulative. language(s) spoken: belarusian ( first language ), russian ( first language ), ukrainian, english, italian, french, gaelic, yiddish, hebrew, latin. drive?: yes for a car, yes for a motorcycle. ride a bicycle?: yes. swim?: yes. play an instrument?: piano, violin. play chess?: yes. pick a lock?: yes.

---- physical appearance & characteristics

face claim: lyndsy fonseca. eye color: blue, with a hazel ring around the pupil. hair color: honey brown hair type/style: thin and soft but abundant, naturally curly, normally sits at shoulder length but has gone uncut since being on the island. dominant hand: right, though when she was younger attempted to become ambidextrous. height: 5′4″. weight: 135lbs, but has lost muscle and weight since being on the island. exercise habits: every other day, early morning, erica would normally go for a 5km run outside. depending on her schedule, she will also practice either her fencing, her martial arts, go to the gym for strength training. the mornings she does not run she will spend her time doing yoga. skin tone: tan/olive. tattoos: a tiger on her left middle finger, a butterfly on the back of her neck, four birds on her left forearm, a sun and two stars behind her right ear, a tree on the right of her torso and hermes wings on the outsides of both her ankles. piercings: firsts, seconds, belly button, right ear helix. marks/scars: what look like straight and accurate cuts all over her body from her training, the scars are on her arms in particular, though they have faded and are not immediately noticeable. notable features: eyes, lips, hands, legs, ass. usual expression: resting bitch face. clothing style: neat blouses, skirts, heels, vests, a jacket, comfortable pants and the heaviest boots she can find. jewelry: none. allergies: none. body temperature: her body is warmer than most, and as a result environments feel much colder for her. diet: strict vegetarian, also tends to avoid eating eggs or smoking cigarettes that use castoreum when she can. physical ailments: short-sightedness, astigmatisms.

---- psychology

mbti type: entj-t ( the commander ) or istj-t ( the logistician ). //** technically untypable due to borderline personality disorder. enneagram type: type 8w7 ( the challenger, wing is the enthusiast ). moral alignment: chaotic neutral, borders on chaotic evil at times. temperament: choleric. element: earth. primary intelligence type: linguistic, logical, kinesthetic, musical. approximate IQ: 135, superior intelligence. mental conditions/disorders: borderline personality disorder, minor depression, obsessive-compulsive tendencies and sociopathic tendencies, sociability: usually an observer, cold until she can trust people and often uses a façade and flattery to win people over for her own benefit. emotional stability: no. obsession(s): looking after her weaponry, literature and keeping organised notes on everything in her life. compulsion(s): neatness. phobia(s): autophobia, atychiphobia, atelophobia. addiction(s): currently -- nicotine, alcohol and caffeine. previously -- cocaine and mdma. prone to violence? yes.

---- mannerisms

speech style: while speaking in languages she is fluent in, ekaterina speaks quickly and smoothly, but while speaking in english, she can converse well but not as quickly, she may pause to find the correct word or misuse idioms, sayings or phrases. accent: a mix of belarusian and russian, which has softened after staying in english speaking countries long enough. quirks: smoothing down dog-eared pages of books, running her fingers along the rim of glasses she is drinking from, hyper-focusing on work that must be done until it is finished, giving people special nicknames and standing on top of buildings to stargaze. hobbies: exercising, fencing, martial arts, reading, playing piano, exploring new places, sketching, creating/using ciphers for her journals, assassinations and murder. habits: adjusting her glasses constantly ( when she wears them ), flexing her hands, switching between languages and sharpening her knives ( when she has them ). nervous tics: running her fingers through her hair, tapping her middle finger and her thumb together and disassembling and reassembling her guns ( when she has them ). drives/motivations: power, ambition, freedom, justice, duty and loyalty. fears: rejection, failure, losing her loved ones and being totally alone. positive traits: rational, adaptable and powerful. negative traits: sadistic, manipulative and ruthless. sense of humor: dark and sarcastic. do they curse often? yes.

---- favourites

activity: swordplay and fencing. animal: tigers and bluebirds. beverage: anything alcoholic. otherwise, coffee. book: the great gatsby by f. scott fitzgerald, frankenstein by mary shelley, do androids dream of electric sheep? by philip k. dick, the elenium by david eddings, the hogfather by terry pratchett, his dark materials by philip pullman, the wizard of oz by frank l. baum, alice in wonderland by lewis carroll, the illuminae files by amie kaufman and jay kristoff, the starbound trilogy by amie kaufman and meagan spooner and inkheart by cornelia funke. color: purple and gold. food: strawberries, or any type of berry. flower: tiger lily. gem: rainbow moonstone. holiday: new year’s eve. mode of transportation: motorcycle. movie: reservoir dogs, kill bill, jeux d’enfants, indiana jones, monty python, studio ghibli, anastasia, fight club, pulp fiction and the princess bride. musical artist: stevie wonder, the four tops, the supremes, phil collins, no doubt, gwen stefani, tatu, pvris, bastille, sia, the beatles, andrew belle, the temptations and fleetwood mac. quote/saying: “we know what we are, but know not what we may be.” scenery: forests. scent: petrichor, strawberry and coffee, sport: fencing, lacrosse and soccer. television show: she doesn’t watch tv. weather: cloudy and mild.

---- attitudes

greatest dream: denying her claim to the belarusian throne and experiencing true freedom. greatest fear: rejection, failure, losing her loved ones, being totally alone and ascending to the throne. most at ease when: drinking, smoking and reading a book. least at ease when: powerless, weak and when she does not know something she feels she should. worst possible thing that could happen: her entire family is killed because of her actions. biggest achievement ( to date ): managing to maintain a semi-normal relationship with grace and reducing crimes in belarus through deals with members of organised criminal syndicates. biggest regret: allowing charlie to disappear from her life, manipulating the two princes and ruining her first betrothal. most embarrassing moment: ekaterina does not do embarrassing things. biggest secret: she finds special pleasure in killing those who deserve it. top priorities: self-preservation, freedom, protecting loved ones.

#task000 #//** THIS TOOK ME A DAY TO FILL OUT #♛ [ ** 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 ⁎⁎ ] PRINCESS EKATERINA #trident;task #☾ [ ** 𝘢 𝘱𝘶𝘻𝘻𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘹𝘪𝘵𝘺 ⁎⁎ ] TASKS

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theepitomeofamess · 7 years ago

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It Takes Two pt. 7

It’s long, it’s messy, it took forever, it’s a roller coaster, it’s the best y’all are gonna get for now. apologies.

high school au, theater au, Logince, Moxiety, 3445 words, warning: light abuse (i think, not sure how to word it)

Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

Nobody really went home on opening night. Most of the cast and crew stayed on campus or at restaurants around the school. They were all doing homework or working lines and songs one last time before doing the real performance. Roman, Logan, Patton, and Virgil were no exception. Sitting in a circle under one of the larger trees in the courtyard, a bag of Five Guys fries sat in the center of the four of them. Patton leaned back on his hands, legs crossed in front of him to act as a pillow for Virgil’s head. Roman had his back against the trunk of the tree, arm resting on his knee with the other leg outstretched. Logan sat at Virgil’s feet, arms around his knees to curl himself into a loose ball. The book he’d been trying to read now sat at his side, his place bookmarked by a clover he’d picked.

At some point in the middle of talking and laughing and watching clouds, they started doing homework only for Roman to realize he’d forgotten his math textbook in the classroom. Patton started trying to comfort him, telling him that it wasn’t a big deal, but he didn’t have to for long. Within seconds, Logan had gone into his bag and pulled out a ring jingling with what looked like a hundred keys, all painted different colors to form a perfect rainbow gradient. He pulled two from their places in the ring, one with a tiny “courtyard door” printed on it, and the other with the number of the classroom Roman needed to go to. Handing the keys to Roman, Logan told him to walk with purpose and be back quickly. Patton and Roman both stared at Logan, mouths agape with questions as to how, when, what, and why. Virgil didn’t seem phased, only chuckling at the confusion from the other two.

“What,” Roman tried to ask, “how-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Logan ordered. “Just move quickly and don’t get stopped. It’s fine.” Roman didn’t want to go without an explanation, but he did. He knew that Logan wouldn’t explain anything he didn’t want to.

“What,” Virgil asked before Roman could leave, “you guys don’t have your own set of keys?” Reaching in his bag, he pulled out a matching ring of keys. Roman shook his head, smirking as Virgil and Logan shared a chuckle and Patton tried to remember how to form words.

Needless to say the keys worked flawlessly.

When call time came around, the four went their separate ways. Patton ran up and down the aisles of the house, across the stage, between dressing rooms and the booth trying to fix last minute issues. Virgil stayed in the booth until he had to help Patton with microphones, then ended up changing a lightbulb despite the way he shook at the top of the ladder, then somehow ended up running around trying to help find misplaced props and set up refreshments in the commons. Every time someone passed him, they heard him muttering something about “can’t trust anyone, want something done right gotta do it yourself.” Roman and Logan both ended up in the dressing room, changing and laughing and taking and avoiding selfies respectively, at the beck and call of Patton’s restrained frustration and Virgil’s unbridled, panicked fury. The two of them seemed to be mirror images of Thomas and Joan, who were doing a sound check, standing at the back of the house and close enough together that Joan could draw stability from Thomas’ wall of forced calm.

“Hey,” Patton called into the dressing room, bangs already sweaty and starting to hang limp over his glasses. “Thomas is getting ready to do the prayer circle for whoever wants to join. Center stage, kiddos.” A few people immediately moved to follow Patton to the stage, including Roman, who was explaining the tradition to Logan. Logan had never been part of it as the pianist, he’d never been there at the right time.

About half of the cast and crew was gathered in a circle, all holding hands. Thomas giggled at something one of the cast had said. Roman positioned himself and Logan next to Patton and Virgil so Logan was squished between Roman and Virgil. He frowned at Virgil’s presence, knowing how he identified as agnostic, but allowed himself to relax when he remembered that he was probably only there for Patton.

The same question must have been going through Virgil’s mind when he gripped Logan’s hand, as his eyes flicked from him to Roman and back again. His slight frown curled into a smirk, and his eyebrow quirked knowingly.

Both of them bowed their heads out of respect when Thomas called for silence, but neither of them focused on what he was saying. Virgil was making a mental list of things he needed to triple check when he got back up to the booth.

Logan was analyzing the two hands he was holding.

Virgil’s hand was wrapped around Logan’s, palm facing down and thumb around Logan’s fingers. His grip was loose, his long, thin fingers cold like Logan’s. The two of them had held hands like this before, always in the same position if Logan remembered correctly, which he usually did. He remembered reading about types of hand holding and their meanings somewhere on a late night Google bender. The way Virgil held his hand indicated protectiveness, dominance. That made sense for Virgil.

Roman’s, first of all, was so much warmer than Virgil’s or Logan’s. Of course, it’s Roman. He radiates more warmth than the sun itself. His hand is thicker than Logan’s, his skin softer. His fingers are interlocked with Logan’s, pulling their bodies closer together by default. Logan remembered reading that this positioning is more common in more intimate couples, those that have surpassed physical attraction, care for one another immensely, and feel comfortable being vulnerable and honest with one another.

Logan’s heart skipped a beat when he felt Roman’s grip tighten. He wasn’t sure how true that last part was…

Thomas finished, and the circle broke, its pieces redispersing themselves throughout the theater for last minute adjustments. Virgil and Patton exchanged a peck before going their separate ways. Logan tried to follow their lead, moving to get his microphone, but Roman kept his grip, planted like a tree to hold the two of them in place. He smiled at Logan’s confused expression. Leaning in, Roman planted a peck on Logan’s cheek, pink seeming to blossom from the spot as Logan blushed.

“Break a leg,” Roman muttered. He was about to go back to the dressing rooms when Logan surged up, kissing Roman’s cheek in return.

“Same to you.” Logan instantly missed the warmth Roman’s hand provided when he started toward the apron to get his mic from Patton, his heart fluttering at the feeling of Roman’s finger reaching after him, the slight snap when their hooked index fingers finally separated.

It seemed like no time at all after that before Logan stepped into the spotlight on stage and mused “Once upon a time…”

The show wasn’t perfect. No show is ever perfect. In spite of that, it went off more smoothly than any of them expected. The tail that kept falling off of Milky White didn’t come off, but her leg did after the Witch resurrected her to make the potion and Jack hugged her a bit too harshly, leading to a long silence on stage and laughter from the audience. The silence was only broken when Roman improvised the line, “Be careful, she is undead, after all,” and reattached the leg as best he could. A little boy started crying when Virgil started punching a filing cabinet in the sound booth, creating the sound of the giant stomping closer - an innovation that Joan was still very proud of. He had to be taken out because he was scared of the sound; it reminded him too much of thunder. Patton had to chew out Remy for falling asleep backstage and nearly missing his cue. He didn’t raise his voice at all, but when he caught Remy backstage after the fact, he grabbed him by the collar, grinning widely, and hissed something through his teeth that made Remy’s eyes blow wide and go paler than the starched white of his costume. Needless to say, Remy ended up being too scared to fall asleep after that.

Before they knew what happened, Roman and Logan were lined up with the other actors, bowing to the audience and pointing out the crew and accompanist. It felt like no time at all had gone by, and yet it was over.

Going out to meet family before getting notes from Joan and Thomas, Roman was greeted by his parents with a bouquet of roses and ecstatic praise. Sloane had Virgil and Patton each under an arm, and Corbin stood to the side with a proud hand on Logan’s shoulder and a beaming smile. Sloane and Patton were both giggling. Virgil was trying to hide a blush rising in his cheeks, and Corbin and Logan were wearing the same content smile. They really looked like a family. Roman couldn’t help but smile.

Roman’s parents left, knowing that Roman had his car with him and would probably be a while, taking the bouquet so Roman wouldn’t have to keep track of it. Joining the others, Sloane immediately asked for a picture of the four of them together. Roman and Patton got on the ends, Patton squishing himself up against Virgil and Roman putting a strong arm around Logan’s shoulders. Virgil locked arms with Logan, who kept his hands firmly shoved in his pockets. He tried to keep his smile small, but stuck in the middle of Patton’s giggling, Virgil’s quiet affection, and Roman’s cheek nestled in his hair, he couldn’t help the grin that broke across his face.

Sloane and Corbin left when the boys were called away to get their notes. Joan and Thomas tried to be brief, only calling out a few people for missed cues and forgotten lines, and praising others for improvisations and particularly good jobs done on songs or scenes. Thomas especially praised Cinderella, who finally didn’t trip over herself in “On The Steps of the Palace.” They cleaned up and reset everything for the next performance. With everything cleaned up, everybody was free to go.

The boys were some of the last ones to leave, having stayed behind to finish a few things and talk to Joan and Thomas. When they were finally on their way out, Roman was trying to persuade Patton to tell him what he’d told Remy to make him so scared. Virgil giggled as Patton refused time and again, claiming that he didn’t even remember what exactly he’d said. He seemed a bit worried, wondering out loud if Remy had really looked that bad, but Virgil assured him that it wasn’t that bad and that Remy would get over it.

“But if he was really that scared, then maybe I should apologize.”

“He’ll be fine. You got your point across, and he’ll forget about it in a week.”

“Virge’s got a point,” Roman pointed out. “Remy’s got the memory of a goldfish. Actually, I shouldn’t say that. Goldfish actually have pretty good memory, right, Lo? What’s a better analogy?” Roman turned to look for Logan’s answer to find him frozen. “Lo?” Turning his eyes where Logan’s were fixed, Roman found a couple watching them. They were both wearing black suits, the man talking on the phone and the woman with her arms folded across her chest. Behind him, Roman could hear Virgil whispering frantically to Patton, asking what the hell they’re doing there, how they knew he’d be there.

Black eyes locked on Logan, she curled her slender finger at him.

“E- Ex-” Logan struggled, his voice mechanical. “Ex- excuse me.” He started away, flinching back when Roman caught his wrist.

“Logan, you-”

“I’ll meet up with you guys later. Just… j-just go.” His words were too fast, his voice too steady. He was marching toward the couple before Roman could get anything out of him, even a chance to look him in the eye. Watching as he went, Roman’s stomach turned. He looked like a soldier; too straight, too steady. Anybody else, and the rock-solid hands wouldn’t have meant anything.

Logan isn’t steady, though, as much as he tries to convince people otherwise. He doesn’t have steady hands. He’s constantly radiating energy, practically vibrating with passion and ideas. When he gets the chance to get really into one of his interests, he can’t stay still, can’t stop talking, usually ends up bouncing where he’s standing. Sure, he tries to play himself off as stable, steady as a mountain, but he’s constantly buzzing with life.

“Why don’t I go with,” Roman put on his usual chipper smile, jogging up and interlocking his fingers with Logan’s. “I’d like to meet your parents.” Logan swallowed hard at the suggestion, obviously wanting to protest, but something in him unable to. He slipped his fingers from Roman’s, continuing towards his parents. Roman shoved his hand in his jacket pocket. He could still just barely hear Virgil panicking to Patton, but he didn’t care. He could feel Logan by his side, though it didn’t feel like Logan. He was too stiff, too cold.

Too much like the people they stopped in front of.

Standing in front of these people, back straighter than a ruler and hands completely still in loose fists, he looked like all of that life had been sucked out of him in an instant.

“Who is this,” the woman asked, not even trying to mask her disgusted sneer.

“Roman Prince, ma’am. Friend of Logan’s. It’s so nice to finally meet you.” Roman held out his hand to either of them, but both of them only looked from it to him, lips curled as though his had were infected with leprosy. He didn’t allow it to drop until they were talking again.

“So we get home,” the woman turned her head to focus on Logan, who was staring at something beyond her, “and we find an empty kitchen, the house in the state that a mediocre, underpaid maid would keep it, and all because you decided to frolick like an overgrown child, practicing the overrated art of professional make believe? Care to explain?”

“You didn’t leave me any-”

“Silence.” Logan obeyed his mother all too easily. Roman almost didn’t recognize him.

“Excuse me, but-”

“Sorry, Romano, was it?” The man finally spoke up, slipping his phone in his pocket. His voice didn’t hold the same venom as his wife’s, much more flat than anything else. “We’re trying to have a conversation with our son. It’s a private affair. Go on, leave. He’s with family now.” Roman bit his tongue to keep from talking back, the manners drilled into his head keeping him from speaking his mind to his elders right off the bat.

“I can walk away, but only when Logan says that he’s comfortable enough for me to. Besides, I have his stuff in my car. He can’t leave without it.” Locking eyes with Logan’s mother, Roman found them to be the same shade of darkness as Logan’s, but completely different. Whereas Logan’s were individual galaxies glittering with billions of stars, hers were completely dead, calculating in a terrifyingly primal way. She was a shark; no emotion, only the hunt, ready to kill anything that stepped into her territory and either got too close or smelled too good to pass up.

The lack of anything behind her eyes kind of killed the hope that Roman had of setting her soul on fire with his mind - she obviously didn’t have one to set fire to.

A brush of knuckles against the back of his hand caught his attention. Roman’s gaze softened when he looked to Logan, but Logan was still staring at something far beyond their own realm of reality. He just barely nodded, silently telling Roman to walk away.

Roman obeyed, glaring at the couple before turning his back. He stopped at a pillar halfway between Logan and where Patton and Virgil waited. He watched as closely as he could, trying to make out what that woman was hissing to Logan, but she’d turned them so that he couldn’t see anything but their backs. He could see Logan’s face, though. All of the pain, the fear that froze him in place, that turned him to a statue as though he were facing a gorgon - which, Roman thought, he very well may be.

It felt like forever that they were talking. At some point Virgil and Patton joined him at the pillar, watching and listening. All of them were poised to make a run for Logan if they needed to. All of them had their protective instincts dialled to eleven.

“Speak up, Logan. You know how I hate the mumbling. What do you say?” Logan started muttering something through his teeth, only to get cut off.

The smack echoed through the atrium, the weight of it crushing the three that had been so ready to his defense. They were so stunned that they couldn’t bring their legs to move as they watched Logan’s mother dig her fingers into his face, picking him up from where he’d stumbled back against the force of her palm against his face. She seemed to have completely forgotten that the world was watching.

“Speak up!”

“Thank you,” Logan’s voice sounded like glass about to shatter, “for bringing me back to my senses.”

“No no no no no,” Virgil kept growling the single word as he crossed the atrium, the first to break out of his stunned trance and put himself between Logan and his mother. He stood directly in front of Logan, shifting his arms to cover Logan’s sides protectively. Patton and Roman weren’t far behind, each positioning themself in front of one of the parents. Roman stood in front of the mother, Patton the father. Neither of them were going to move. The line had been drawn.

“Children, this doesn’t concern you,” the woman tried to reason. Roman suddenly realized that her figure and poise had a strong resemblance to a younger, not quite as skeletal, Yzma.

“Like hell it doesn’t,” Patton spat.

“This is a family matter-”

“Biology doesn’t make you family.” Virgil’s voice sent the air around him shaking like the aftershock of an earthquake. “You treat him like this, you’re nothing more than a sperm donor and an incubator. You’re a biological inconvenience, the scum of the earth, not family.”

“Just leave,” Roman ordered. “Leave and don’t come back. From what I understand, you’re good at that.” The man locked his jaw, clenching his fists.

“And he’s not,” the woman asked, gesturing to Logan, still horrifyingly calm. “He hasn’t been home in days.” Behind him, Virgil felt Logan’s head bow, shame weighing heavily on his shoulders. There was no point in talking, he knew that.

“There’s a difference between trying to leave a bad situation and abandonment. Luckily, I’m very good at the former.” Virgil turned his back, leading Logan away. Patton and Roman didn’t have to be urged to follow once they saw the older couple beginning to back off. Both of them watched intently as Virgil put an arm around Logan, silently suggesting that he lean on him. Logan didn’t allow himself to give up any control of his weight, though. He stood as straight as a soldier, marching solemnly next to Virgil. Worry radiated from Virgil like a dark storm cloud. He whispered something to Logan, and Roman saw Logan’s jaw lock as he took a deep breath. Too controlled. A tempest was raging inside him, and he couldn’t - he wouldn’t set it free.

“The bottle’s gonna break,” Patton muttered, watching the two of them as intently as Roman. “Sooner or later, it’s going to shatter. We’d all better be ready to brave the storm when it does, even if he tries to force us to run.” Roman felt Patton turn to watch him, to read his features. He didn’t return the gesture. On any other occasion, he might have smiled.

“You and me,” he mused, watching the pair in front of them that sang of rolling thunder and howling wind, “we’re storm chasers. They’re gonna have to do a hell of a lot to make us run.” A slight smile flickered across Patton’s lips. He always smiled at the truth.

Roman didn’t smile the rest of that night. He couldn’t. Not the way his insides were burning, aching to put a blade through that woman.

Tag List:

@individual-charlie @ab-artist @fandoms-n-ship @iamtrashcans @jazzyb11 @lucifer-in-my-head @romanssippycup @pendragonqueen09 @margarethx @angst-patton @nienna14 @mirror2thespirit @smokeyrutilequartz

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harrish6 · 7 years ago

Text

String Stitches - Chapter 5 - Bloodied Knitting Needles

JuneTheGlassesBearer made this wonderful piece of art! Look at it! Fanart just makes me want to work all the harder on my stories.

June now has a art book on Wattpad too, so I would recommend to go check it out.

I also want to thank JuneTheGlassesBearer once more for helping me out with all this! They were a big help with how Shears would react to certain situations and things. Keeping Shears in character is something I strive for, as then it wouldn't be Shears if i didn't. So, a big thanks to them!

They were also a big help for the next chapter I am making for this story. One that I have been looking forward to making for a while now....

-Chapter Start-

It said a lot that Error didn't even flinch at being stabbed - in body, mind or SOUL - anymore.

It also painted a grim picture when Error could look perfectly fine and calm when one of his bones are ripped off - like his arm and/or leg for example. - his body.

All these things were normal occurrences to him. They happened nearly everyday by someone.

Usually it was Ink.....Most of the time it was Ink.

It was one of the main reasons Error didn't want Shears to leave his little AU without him. UnderSwap was one thing, Berry would make sure nothing would happen, or get in contact with someone who can help him if something were to happen. Honey - who was acting so weird now - would make sure nothing would upset Berry, meaning that Shears would be safe if he ever somehow went to UnderSwap-01 without him, even if he does hate Error with all his SOUL.

-Apologizes are nice in a way, he never got one from someone who hated him, but Error always understood actions more then words. Words can just be as important as actions, he knew this, but it is harder to lie with actions. Actions can reflect what is in the SOUL and back up the words.-

But the other AU's would not be so forgiving if Shears were to land there and happen to mention that he even knows Error, much less is a trusted and dear friend to said glitch of a skeleton. Ink might get it in his empty head to hurt Shears. The others wouldn't even think about it, they would hurt Shears.

So that's why, after a week was up, Error made sure to destroy some AU's far away from TailoredTale. It was a toss up, stay close to Shears and risk Ink wondering why Error is staying in one area for so long, or go far off and act normal.

Risking Shears is never a option, so Error went with the last option.

Which lead him to now; Being stabbed via Ink's paint brush.

With a grunt, Error looked to the skeleton in front of him, who had their paint brush at the ready.

Standing to Error's middle chest, Ink wasn't the shortest Sans nor the tallest. Wearing a white t-shirt with paint stains on it, brown shorts, brown boots with paint stains on it as well, and a fluffy blur jacket tied around his waist. He also had Fingerless brown gloves on his hands, blue arm and leg warmers lined with rainbow, his paints strapped around his chest and paint brush in hands. Ink's scarf was tan, with tons of paint stains on it.

It's only fitting that the Creator had so many paint stains on him. He was a stain on Error's life after all.

"Error, stop this N O W ."

'I would if I could.' Error mentally grumbled. Sighing, cracking his neck once, Error just gave Ink a blank stare. Really, with how much his ribs are hurting and how one was already on the ground somewhere, Ink should know better then to demand that. Then again, there is only way to end this. And Ink won't take it, no matter times Error has and will ask. "wILL yOU sTOP CReaTiNG tHEn?"

Dodging the giant paint brush once more, Error knew what the answer was. It never changes.

-With Shears-

"Okay! Just one more stitch...." Shears brightly smiled once the final stitch was done. Giggling, Shears looked down at the dress and accessories he had made.

"You are a fool! He's not going to accept your feelings."

"Do you think I do not know this?" Shears huffed, glaring into the endless white. "I know Error will most likely reject my feelings for him, but that does not matter! As long as he knows and stays my friend, then that is all I need."

"Then you're more then a fool! I'm not going to help you at all. Let yourself heal on your own."

Glancing down at his hands, Shears looked to all the little cuts, scratches and bruises on his hands from sewing and stitching everything he needed. It hurt, but it would all be worth it in the end.

Shears wanted to dazzle Error. To show just how enchanting he could be for the other. While there may be no chance for Error to return his feelings, Berry was right. His little love rival was right, Error would still be his friend no matter what. Error called Shears on of 'his'. That meant more to Shears than anything in the world.

"It does not matter what you do. I will tell Error what I feel." Shears grimly stated, face stern and hard. Nothing and no one would force Shears to stand down from this. Not even that malware that is inside of him.

"Don't come running to me when he leaves you for good."

"I will not have to, as Error will never leave me." Shears lightly scoffed at the very idea. Yet the Voice did not respond, finally going quiet. Lightly huffing once more, Shears looked back down at his hands.

Seeing how much his hands are scuffed and cut up, Shears tightly frowned. Then, a smile grew up one his face. Gather some more threads, Shears started to work on the last piece his outfit he planed to wear for Error.

So what if that stupid malware in him wouldn't heal him. Shears could work around that easily.

"Gloves would be perfect! Ffuffuffuffuffuffu~!" Shears giggled, lightly blushing at the thought of Error. "Oh my dear Error, how I can not wait to see you once more."

-With Error-

"aRE wE doNE yET?" Error groaned out, rubbing his tear marks as he looked to a panting Ink. "i mEaN....DoN'T YOu havE a lIFe? oR doES iT REvOLvE aROuND mE?" Error couldn't help but shiver in disgust at the very thought of being Ink's life.

"I won't stop fighting you until you stop destroying!" Ink snarled, eyes flashing red. "If you would just stop, we wouldn't have to be doing this almost every time!"

"sO, nEvER tHEN." Error sighed, waving around his hand. Ink could only grimace at the motion, as the hand held the rib that had broken off of Error. "thaT'S GreAT. MoThEr FuCKiNG GReaT."

"I don't see why your the one complaining." Ink frowned, getting his paint brush ready to fight once more. "Your the one that doesn't have a life."

"hEY!" Error frowned a bit, feeling a little insulted. Not on his behalf, but on the others that he spends time with. Just because Ink doesn't know about all of them - which if Error has his way, Ink will never know what he does in his free time - doesn't mean they're not real. "i DO haVE a lIFe oUTsiDe OF dEsTroYinG yOU knOW."

"Knitting and making dolls don't count." ink rolled his eyes, watching for a opening to strike. "Face it Error, you only live for destruction. You have no friends. No family. No one to love or call your own. You have no life."

'That's not true.' Error harshly glitched for a moment. 'I have Nightmare and his little gang, the Chara's and Berry....Maybe Honey too. He's Berry, that makes him mine too by association I guess. They're mine. So, they're my own. Not really friends though... And love? I have Shears-'

Error's eye sockets went blank and dark. Mind screeching to a halt like a car going hundreds miles a hour suddenly hitting the breaks for a red light.

Ink, seeing that Error was now distracted, flew in. Lifting his brush, Ink swung it down, hard.

*CRACK!*

-With Shears-

"Now then...." Shears took in a deep breath, sitting tall. "Error, I have something to tell you...No! That will not work."

After finishing the outfit he planed to wear, Shears slipped it on. He never knew when Error was going to come back, only a estimate that Error gave him. Shears wanted to be ready no matter what.

The main part of the dress was a solid dark green. Magenta flowers going around it, close to the bottom, with ruffles of a light green and a dark green under it. His shawl was now wrapped around his waist, making a bow in the back. The dress itself was strapless, so Shears made a black choker with a fold ring hanging off of it to wear around neck, holding the dress up. Also attached to the ring, other then the dress, was makeshift, long, open sleeves. They were blue and black, looking like butterfly wings.

Light pink long socks on his legs and feet, and then he made ribbons and bells to go on his sandals. So that when he walked, he sounded like a butterfly flying in the wind. Shears also made a headpiece to go on his skull, attached to his flowers on his head. It too looked like a butterfly wing.

The final piece to the whole outfit was a pair of gloves, lightly colored. Made as to not let Error see how much damage Shears did to himself, making the whole outfit.

The whole plan was to make Error's SOUL flutter.

But for now, Shears was trying to plan out what he is to say. Hoe to confess his love to the one and only Forced God Of Destruction, Error.

So, that's why he was sitting down, the little Error doll in hand.

Lifting up the doll, Shears looked into the little button eyes. Imagining it was Error himself right in front of him.

"E-E-Error...I-I...I lo..." Shears stuttered out, face getting more and more pink as he went on. Eventually, the pink overtaking his whole face. "...ove...y-y-y-you....I-!"

Giving a little squeal, Shears buried his face into the doll. Taking in deep breaths, Shears tried to calm his fast beating SOUL and brightly flushed face.

'If it is this hard just saying 'I love you' to a doll that looks like Error,' Shears's face twisted a bit in distress. 'then how hard will it be to say so to the real Error?'

Error deserved the perfect confession. One in where he knows that Shears will always love him, even if Error himself doesn't return that love.

Taking in one more deep breath, Shears lifted his head. Looking back down at the doll, all Shears could see was Error smiling at him. It didn't calm his blush or SOUL down, but it did make him more determined than ever to get this right.

"Error...I-I..l-lov-ve..yo-ou!"

-With Error-

Ink's eyes were wide, face twisted in worry. Shocked, Ink tried to move his brush, but found he couldn't. Gulping, Ink took in the sight in front of him.

When he swung his paint brush, it never came down on Error. Never made it to it's target.

Error had caught it.

With one hand, Error had caught his paint brush. Refusing to let it go. Error didn't even look like he was all there, let alone consciously catching a hit directed at him. The glitch's eyes were blank and dark, looking like darken blood. Error glitched harshly, face slack. If Ink didn't know better, and had seen Error lift a hand so nonchalantly to stop and grab the brush, he would think that Error was unconscious.

"Error! Let go this instant-!" Ink cut himself off when Error's head snapped up. Silently screaming, Ink pulled with all his might when he caught sight of Error's face.

ERROR signs littered all over the glitch now, body glitching at a fast pace. Eyes slowly coming back and glowing with magic and life.

The last time Ink saw that, Error had destroyed over a hundred AU's. That had been years and years ago though, so long ago that Ink forgets what had set Error off. All Ink knows is that when Error is too emotional or too lost in his anger, ERROR signs come to life all over him. It was one of Ink's main fears, because it was hard stopping Error when the glitch is normal. it is impossible when Error is too far gone.

Before Ink even knew what was going on, Error yanked the paint brush out of his hands. Frozen, all Ink could do was watch while Error made a portal, threw the paint brush in it, with his Gaster Blasters glitching into existence right behind him.

"inKY."

Ink shivered at the tone. Dark yet darker. Error's face twisted in so many emotions that Ink couldn't even tell what the other was feeling right then.

The Gaster Blasters's mouths opened, magic coming to life inside their glitching skulls. Error lifted his sweater just a bit, slamming his broken rib into place. Using strings to bind it in place. Letting his sweater fall back down, Error just kept staring at Ink the whole time. Ink shuddered, feeling something crawling up his back.

"R U N ."

-With Shears-

"This is going to go horribly."

"I thought that you were finally leaving me be." Shears sniffed, smoothing out his dress from where he was sitting. After feeling like he had enough confidence to say the words to Error, Shears started to make a gift. One made from his very SOUL.

"You know I can never leave you. Besides, why would that glitch want a virus like you?"

Shears stiffened, before forcibly relaxing. Slowly putting down the threads he had been using to make the gift, Shears glared up. "Error would not care about any of that. His SOUL is made of gold!"

"How do you know that? You've never seen his SOUL! And why should that matter? What about your own SOUL?"

"What do you mean?" Shears frowned in confusion, hand coming up to his chest.

"Your SOUL is so tiny. Worthless and weird. Tell me; Why would a God with a so called 'SOUL of gold' want your tiny blackened SOUL?"

That struck Shears. But he hanged on. The stitched up skeleton refused to give in on this. It would be like giving up on Error, which is something that Shears could never do.

"What Error wants, is up to him. Not you." Shears closed his eyes. A soft smile working it's way up on his face as he thought back to Error. "So, your words do no matter. Only Error's."

"Tch! Your just going to get your SOUL broken! Idiotic fool that you are, you don't see that this is just going to end badly! Fine! Do whatever you want."

"I have already planed to." Shears opened his eyes, still smiling.

Placing his hands to his chest, Shears smiled and willed his feelings to Error. Hoping that his love would reach the God, no matter where he was.

-With Error-

Error all but flew back into the Anti-VOID. The tall glitch drenched in so much blood and dust. The portal behind him showing a destroying AU, now silent and covered in dust and blood as it crumbled into nothing.

Almost none of it his own.

"Well, well! Look who it is!"

"Welcome home dumbass."

"Looks like you get that time off you always wanted, Hahaha~!"

"Just how many AU's did you destroy? You're lucky they were all copies!"

Blood smeared and splattered off of him as he fell on to his knees, the portal behind him closing up tight. Dust flaked off him, but Error paid none of that any mind. Not even the Voices could get to him right now. Not when his own thoughts were roaring at him for his own stupidity.

'Love?! Shears?! Nononononononon0n0n0n0n0n0n0n0!' Error was hyperventilating, sweat starting to form on him as he started to claw at his own face in distress. 'I can't love Shears! I can't! I'm nothing but a worthless glitch!'

Blood started pouring off his self-inflected wounds, mixing in with the rest of the blood on him. The Voices started to grow louder and louder, mocking him as always. Error was glitching harshly and at a fast pace, so close to crashing.

'What if Fate finds out?! What Ink does?!' Error started to choke, tears forming but not falling. 'They may not be able to kill me, but Shears can die! Oh stars, what would Shears think of me! A glitch loving him? Not even Shears could accept that..... I'm a broken, worthless, good for nothing God that doesn't deserve such things. He might think I'm a pervert or something for falling for him...'

With so many negative emotions in him, Error slammed his down on the white ground. A sickening crack sounded out, echoing out in the endless white. Error lifted his head slowly, the cracks and scars on his skull worse. Even the Voices went silent at the sudden abuse Error laid on himself.

Looking to his blood stained hands that were sticky with dust, Error knew that he was the last thing Shears needed.

He was a killer. The most hated Monster in the whole Multiverse. One that was trapped in a endless cycle that will never end. Error was a glitch, a error as his name implied. With nothing to him but destruction. A destroyer that was choking on Fate's threads, a puppet to his fate. Not even having death to look forward too, as trying to die does nothing. He was fated to be nothing more and nothing less then what he was.

Error is destruction.

Destruction does not love.

Destruction does not fall in love.

Destruction does not feel.

Destruction is just that. destruction.

And....And yet...

'And yet, I've fallen for someone I can never have.' A humorless chuckle rang out. 'Fate is cruel to those they hate. Even when Fate doesn't know it!'

*Drip*

Blinking, Error raised a hand to his cheeks. Pulling away his hand showed blue. Glancing down, Error saw blue mixing in with the red. Another blink making even more blue fall from him.

*Drip-Drip*

"tEaRS....?" Error hoarsely whispered. "i'M.....CrYiNG?"

It was like a dam broke. More and more tears falling from his eyes. Clinching his skull tightly, Error curled up, putting his head on his knees. After so many years, Error was crying. His SOUL breaking even further for what will never be. For what he can never have. For wanting something that he can not even wish for. Error let the tears fall, not making a sound as the Voices started up once more. Mocking him for his tears.

'Shears....I....I wish I could...' Error's hands started to leave new cracks on his skull from how hard he gripped his own skull. 'But I can't.... You'd never want something like me... I'm lucky to call you a friend. Why...why push that? Why mention something that would never come to pass? Why say something so absurd, something that you would never want or return to me?'

Taking in a deep breath, Error tightly closed his eyes. For once, wishing for something that he can never have. He tried to will all his love, all his feelings for Shears, to go away. The SOUL inside him breaking even further, making the strings holding his SOUL together stitch even further so that his SOUL would stay in one piece.

'I love you Shears.' Error moved his hands down his face, to his chest. Tightly gripping his sweater, right above where his SOUL was, Error gave a broken smile. 'I'll never be able to say it. I'll never be able to show it. But...but I wish I could. But you wouldn't want me. I want...I want-!'

"....i'M sO soRRy.... i DiDn'T mEaN ToO...." Error struggled to say, biting his lip enough to make it bleed. Conflicting emotions playing inside of him.

'I never meant to fall in love with you. I'm not meant for love, not formed for such things. You may never know Shears, but I love you. Maybe...no. I'm destruction. Formed for nothing more, living for nothing more. I can still be a friend...but..I-I can't...' Oh, how Error just wanted the pain to stop. He was so used to pain, but this was a new kind. To just rip out his SOUL and end it all, yet he knew it wouldn't work. He's tried it before. Wishing made it worse. He wanted to love Shears, wanted to give all and everything to the enchanting skeleton...but....He couldn't.

Why?

'Fate has deemed it so.'

-With Shears-

A small upside down black heart floated in small gloved covered hands. In the middle of the upside down heart was a dot of magenta.

Pulling the SOUL close, Shears looked down at it.

Softly whispering to it, doubts were heavily swallowed with a thump.

"Soon."

But....

Would hope be enough encouragement?

-End Chapter-

Here it is! I know it took a while, but it is here. DoubleStrings for Life!

I know this chapter isn't as long as my other ones, but I do think it is the most emotional heavy one...for right now that is.

I'm telling you all right now, Error is going to have a way worse breakdown in the next chapter. WAY worse. Please keep in mind that Error is not fully sane, and has many, many issues. While this story is lighter then others, it will still get heavy and dark at times. There is no way out of that with Error. Hell, Shears has issues too that are slowly unraveling. So, yeah, it will get heavy at times. Can't be helped.

For Error to realize his feelings, it had to be one of two things. First option was in a dramatic moment, where Shears's life is on the line. Either that, or Shears even dying and Error finally realizes what he feels for the skeleton. The next option was a random moment. Like, someone mentions something and Error thinks about Shears.

I went with the random moment as you call all see. Error did not take finding out about him loving Shears well. Having so many emotions coming up, making him lash out in one of the only ways he knows how; Destruction. Luckily for Error, he only destroyed a lot of copies. Meaning, he now has a vacation of sorts as he destroyed a ton of copies. The balance is in no way tipped in his favor, but it is no longer close to spilling over like before....for right now that is.

The next chapter is the one we have all been waiting for! I nicknamed the next chapter 'The Confession Chapter' in my head for a while.

Get ready for more feels.

#My Fanfic #Fanfiction #Fanfic #Harrish6 #Shears Belongs To JuneTheGlassesBeaer #Shears!Sans #Error/Shears #ErrorxShears #Error Sans #Forced Destroyer Error #Formed God Of Destruction Error #Forced God Of Destruction Error #String Stitches #Get Ready For The Feels #Doublestring #DoubleStrings For LIFE!#DoubleStrings

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teavious · 7 years ago

Text

dissolving like the setting sun

fandom: les miserables

pairing: enjolras/grantaire ; bahorel/feuilly ; courfeyrac/combeferre ; marius/cosette ; joly/bossuet/musichetta ; jehan/eponine

summary: They’ve been trying to decorate their apartment for what feels like too long for him, trying to find the perfect balance between Marius’ need for perfection and Cosette’s need for kitsch. The only thing that Courfeyrac requested, between mouthfuls of Jehan’s first batch of biscuits was fairy lights. It’s only fair to throw a fit over it now, right? OR: Les Amis have a Christmas party. Like all their parties, it's a bit diastruous, they make it too obvious they're just idiots in love, but at least they have food. Modern AU. commission written for @rthemis ! thank you so much for giving me the reason to write my fav nerds being nerds! merry christmas & happy holidays everyone! (also on AO3) (donate to my ko-fi page, request a fic and i will write it for you!)

Enjolras tests the quality of the sweater between his fingers, frowning at the two Christmas colours on display next to each other. He supposes if Courfeyrac would be here, a commentary about the universe somehow wanting to bring him and his boyfriend closer together sooner would be made, but as thing are right now, he has to bear Bahorel’s knowing glances, and his pointing at various hideous things.

“You should get it,” Feuilly smiles from his right, leaning to look closer at the piece of clothing that Enjolras started calling Grantaire’s present in his head. His friend needs no clarification, and Enjolras himself doesn’t feel enthusiastic enough to defend the way he makes puppy eyes at everything remotely green, remotely indecent.

Once the decision is made, it’s easier to enjoy the faces Feuilly makes every time Bahorel holds up another eye-hurting colourful shirt: lovesick, but equally terrified. The two end up settling for a rainbow striped shirt, Feuilly’s size so that he can stop wearing Bahorel’s identical one, and instead be together a matching pair of loving idiots. Enjolras applauds the easiness with which Feuilly makes his boyfriend bend to his suggestions, the immense trust Bahorel puts in the one he cares about the most.

Something in his chest tightens, and he goes on ahead, turns his head away from the image of Bahorel pressing his lips to Feuilly’s cheek, however sweet he would have found it at other times. He wishes he would have Grantaire’s awed and hooting laugh ringing in his ears, his hand between his fingers: then it would feel natural, the sight of other two in love wouldn’t feel so offending.

He sighs into his scarf, accepts Bahorel’s weight over him when he comes full force into a half-hug, and laughs at Feuilly impulse buying a new pair of socks, simply because the dogs printed on them reminds him of his own; bitterness be damned.

***

Bahorel tries to ignore the warm mouth set on licking his fingers, to stifle the laughter about to erupt – and he turns on his other side in bed, shifts closer to Feuilly’s sleeping body in hope that he can trick the dog into joining them in bed, rather than demanding a walk in the park at 5am on Christmas Eve. Frodo refuses to give up, and Bahorel swears as he starts tugging at the blankets. He scoops closer to Feuilly, arm over his waist, freezing legs against his much warmer ones. Feuilly murmurs at the contact, but that’s the only reaction, as he settles into the new position, having to share the one blanket left on the bed with a too big of a guy.

The dog paces around the room for a bit, whimpers at the head of the bed in hope of waking his owners – and seeing no reaction, he barks for good, his pacing exchanged for actual running. Bahorel sighs, rolls around in the bed, and speaks towards the ceiling:

“He’s your dog.”

Feuilly, eyes still closed, voice half muffled in the pillow, is making attempts at taking the blanket back:

“And you’re my fiancé. He’s your dog now, too.”

Bahorel rises, spends good seconds stretching, and although he already feels the cold biting at his toes, the hope that Feuilly might be staring at his ass is stronger. He whistles, Frodo coming running at his command, and before turning towards the wardrobe to get changed, he makes sure Feuilly is warm under at least two blankets.

Next time Feuilly is aware of his surrounding, Bahorel sits on the edge of the bed, dressed already, with his ridiculous winter hat on. He can faintly sense his fingers playing through his hair, and it makes concentrating on what he’s saying even harder:

“Would you like anything, my love?” He nods no into his pillows, tries to blow a kiss to Bahorel’s retreating frame, though he isn’t quite sure if he managed to.

By the time his boyfriend is back, the coffee machine is running in the background, as he hums along to Christmas carols in various foreign languages. He goes to greet the return of his two roommates, and the sight he’s welcomed with is a surprise: Bahorel, snowed in, holding a bouquet of half-freezing flowers for Feuilly’s taking, blush rising to his cheeks.

***

“You can’t have Christmas without Christmas lights. That’s why they’re called Christmas lights”, Courfeyrac repeat, slower this time, like he has to dig his idea into Marius’ head through the tone of his voice as well, besides the desperate arm gestures and invincible argument.

“The cat won’t like it,” Marius says, pointing towards the two glowing eyes from under the couch, the creature’s favourite (and only, from what Courfeyrac has seen while home) spot since Marius brought it home, scratched all over.

“The cat won’t care,” Courfeyrac shots back, this time turning towards Combeferre and Cosette for help in the matter, the two who up till this point decided to play the role of Switzerland in the debate. Courfeyrac really hates Switzerland.

They’ve been trying to decorate their apartment for what feels like too long for him, trying to find the perfect balance between Marius’ need for perfection and Cosette’s need for kitsch. The only thing that Courfeyrac requested, between mouthfuls of Jehan’s first batch of biscuits was fairy lights. It’s only fair to throw a fit over it now, right?

“We can ask everyone when they get here?” Ferre suggests, barely raising his head from his laptop, where he tries to put together a playlist to properly illustrate this mess of a year in their group. He tries to keep the love songs to a minimum, though it’s getting harder the more they go through the night and Courf loses an article of clothing with each passing hour.

“Fine,” he pouts, before dramatically falling into an armchair, trying to hide his growing smile that comes with Marius’ sigh of relief from the other end of the room, the husky meowing of that damn cat. Combeferre decides he can leave aside the more detailed parts of this party – after all, Eponine is sure to destroy every attempt at keeping it normal sounding – and he leaves his spot for shoving his body next to his boyfriend on a too small armchair for both of them. Courfeyrac’s grin is now humongous, and Ferre drags him into a kiss, if only not to let him think he won this time around.

****

Jehan knocks at the door, and shoves his face further into his scarf, trying to ignore the way in which the damn hallway of this building seems colder than the weather outside. There are a few seconds, during which he thinks he won’t receive any answer, then there’s a crash from the other side of the door, a shout – and out comes his girlfriend, frowning through her bangs, as she tries to put on a jacket that’s too huge on her frame, but that has all his favourite patches on.

He doesn’t say anything at first; he knows she’s better left alone for a while, so he simply follows her, humming a tune he can’t quite place. Then:

“I made cookies for the party.”

“Cosette wants to braid your hair.”

“Grantaire is certainly going to wear more decorations than the tree.”

“Enjolras will wear something… red.”

“You’ll probably going to drunkenly arm-wrestle Bahorel and win.”

The last two statements do it. Eponine erupts into laughter: loud and ugly, but Jehan’s face lights up like he just received the best present, and he catches up with her so he can hold her hand. Neither of them wears gloves, and the warmth is welcomed and comforting. Eponine sighs and stops to rest her head on Jehan’s shoulder, half hug, half awkwardly hiding her face.

“Hey,” he tries, squeezing her hand, sloppily kissing the top of her head. “You know you can stay the night? Well, nights, really. And even half of your friends will take you in without complaining, while the other half complains only because that’s who they are as a person.”

Eponine snorts, raises her head, leans to kiss Jehan. When they part, she’s smiling, though it lasts only for a moment, immediately exchanged for her usual frowning face. Jehan hums even louder, pleased now.

“I’m going to eat all your cookies,” Eponine says, before playfully shoving him and starting to run in the direction of Courfeyrac and Marius’ apartment. He counts to two before going after her.

***

“I’m pretty sure that’s not the way you do this,” Joly whispers, leaning his head onto Musichetta’s shoulder, reading the instructions in Bossuet’s neatly-kept recipes notebook.

“Well, I don’t know the correct way to do this!” Musichetta complains, passing a flour-covered hand through her hair. Joly tries to pat it away, pulling curls and blowing so close to her ear that he ends up making her giggle. Their meat pie is still in the very incipient state of creation, with the party ready to start in short of a couple of hours, but Musichetta isn’t sure she cares, taking in consideration she spent more time in Joly’s kitchen this day than she did the past few months since university started again. Plus, her boyfriend is especially cute when pouting, and even cuter is his after kissing face.

So it can be said that Bossuet’s attempt at teaching her basic cooking skills ended up with her trying to steal as many kisses from Joly as possible. It doesn’t help that her other boyfriend isn’t present to balance out things, or make them end faster.

“Musi?” She’s cut out by Joly’s voice, and she has to remind herself that she’s still very much dressed. “Don’t you want to get ready? We should be leaving soon.”

Yep. Right. “Yep. Right.” She adds out loud, lamely. She can feel Joly’s amused smirk, and if she ends up swatting at his chest with her dirty hand, just to leave a stain, at least he gets to know it too. She tries to tidy up, leave no proof of her failed experiment, and Joly is quick to help her out. There’s the faintest of music heard from the neighbours downstairs, and they finish cleaning in time with the dying words of Santa Baby.

And yet, Musichetta still hovers, eyes moving from the watch to Joly and back. He sighs under her stare, bids her closer with a hand movement. She’s already beaming by the time he snakes his arms around her waist, to give her one small, soft kiss.

“Happy?” he asks. She shakes her head no, tries to put on her most innocent face, slightly pucker her lips. He almost gives in to kissing her again, when the entrance door slams to the wall, making them jump apart. Joly’s the first to regain his composure, goes to welcome Bossuet, helps him in shaking off all the snow piled on top of his head.

“Bossuet!” Musi pouts, half because he interrupted her wooing attempts, half because it took him so long to come back in the first place. She joins the two in the hallway, dragging them into a group hug.

“Someone’s excited,” Bossuet laughs, but refusing to let go of his two lovers, squeezing them closer to his chest. It makes for quite a funny image, considering that both of them are so short, by comparison, and he’s glad that when not studying, Joly doesn’t wear his glasses, because knowing his luck, he would have accidentally smashed them through loving too much.

“And dirty,” he adds, sighing, once he takes a good look at his two lovers. He throws his coat and scarf on the hanger, shoos Musi and Joly towards the bathroom, for a thorough wash. Musichetta pauses for a second, turns to wink at him.

“Care to join us?”

He blows a kiss in her direction, but remains in the kitchen, sleeves rolled, to prepare the food casseroles for the party.

“Be good, babe.” He warns, smiling in a way that promises her better things if she does as told.

She nods slowly, catches up with Joly to ask for his help in combing away foreign stuff out of her hair. She manages to keep her hands mainly to herself, shampoos Joly’s hair while he helps wash her back. In the kitchen, Bossuet drops things only once or twice, and by the time they’re all in crisp shirts and nice dress, things have fallen into place. Bossuet and Musichetta make sure Joly is properly wrapped in several layers of clothes, wearing the one very ugly and very large sweater they bought him, and they leave, holding hands with him in the middle.

***

Enjolras doesn’t want to be here. Well, it’s not that he has any complaints about the place, the food, the music and least of all the company, but the feeling still persists, and it makes the whole place incredibly… incomplete. With the cat sleeping in his lap and a glass of red wine in his hand, he tries to comfort himself. He doesn’t think much of Courfeyrac’s shameless grins, or Cosette’s sudden leaves to answer and give phone calls. Combeferre’s place at his side is natural, and Bahorel hovering close became usual enough. He thinks Marius’ attempts to stuff his face with Jehan’s cookies are just host’s friendliness, and not even Eponine playing his favourite band doesn’t seem that much out of place. It is Christmas after all.

It starts getting suspicious the moment there’s no background chatter, no music. Courfeyrac runs towards the door before the doorbell sound even materializes, and Enjolras is a bit surprised to see Valjean on the other side – because, after all, the party is one of their parties, and it’s bound to end in disaster. Musichetta has already taken over the mistletoe, sharing kisses with everyone who makes eye contact with her (he’s been desperately avoiding that, all while Bossuet seemed but happy to comply to never watch anything else but her) and Eponine is probably on her 4th drink and still keeping perfect straight posture.

Then, Valjean moves a bit to the left, and Enjolras spots the dark curls, the sight of too green of a jacket. He’s up on his feet the next moment, Grantaire shoving his way through his welcoming committee so that he can welcome his boyfriend’s hug. No one else but Enjolras can feel the wet tears on his shoulder, and he stays there, patting his back, tightening his hold, for as long as Grantaire needs him to. They’re weary to disentangle from the embrace, but their eyes meet, and a new fascination is born, as they rediscover all the interior changes they’ve spent nights on skype talking about. Then, finally, Grantaire goes on his tiptoes, Enjolras leans his head down a bit: and they kiss. From somewhere, he can hear Bahorel hoot and Courfeyrac whistle.

“I’m home,” Grantaire says, his voice still raw, still chocked, his nose violently red from both the cold and the silent crying.

“Welcome home,” Enjolras whispers, helping him get out of his winter get-up, making unnecessary but very much needed contact along the way. The others keep their distance, friendly greetings and shoulder touches, but Grantaire still remains, basically, all his. It’s wildly fascinating to see all the familiar motions happen again in front of his eyes, after his boyfriend has been away for months at university. Any small trace of awkwardness is broken the moment Grantaire takes him by the hand, occupying the couch, half sitting in Enjolras’ lap, their legs tangled.

The others give them an hour: then, one by one, they form a circle around them, demanding stories told as just Grantaire knows how to tell them. Eponine is first, offering him a bottle of beer and pulling at his hair a bit too hard, maybe to make him taste how much she missed him. Bahorel screams his name from across the room, closes in so they can do a very complex but dorky hand shake. Courfeyrac joins in just to laugh at that. Joly’s warm eyes and kind offering of food make him break out in actual tears of gratitude: and then everyone takes their turn, hugging their small, finally home disaster of a man.

***

Marius almost falls asleep at the table, trying to pick the empty glasses to leave them in the sink for the morning. Cosette silently makes her way through the rooms, carrying so many blankets that the pink top of her head is barely visible, trying to make sure everyone is comfortable and warm, and will remain so throughout the night. Courfeyrac waves at them from the doorframe of his bedroom, and they nod in acknowledgement, keeping it down for the sake of the people asleep on the floor and on the couch in the kitchen.

Cosette, careful not to step on Bossuet’s hand, makes her way towards Marius. She gently shoves his shoulder with her hip, and when he almost falls over, she hurries to catch him. He snorts a bit, his sight lost in her hair, his senses in her perfume. He lets a hand touch her cheek, his voice softening beyond recognition when calling her by the nickname he picked for her ever since they started dating:

“Brilliance.”

Cosette huffs, nudges him to get up. “Worm, let’s get you to bed.”

“Will you sleep with me?”

She laughs, allows him a few moments to figure out why that phrasing was so wrong, given the context, and allows herself the enjoyment that comes with having made him blush, obvious even in the dark. She has learnt not to take his missteps too seriously, has learnt to figure out when he actually desires the physical contact. It helps that, when extremely tired, he seems to mind it less than usual.

The room is empty, their friends opting for the closer options as a sleeping place, and they both collapse on the bed with a grateful, tired sigh. She curls closer to his chest, his hand caressing her cheek.

“So? How was the first party you organized?” she asks, feeling herself growing sleepier by the second.

“This is the best part,” he answers, already half-asleep, and Cosette laughs; gets closer only to plant a kiss on his nose.

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