#I’m just bored out of my gourd tonight
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Hmmm I think I’ve seen everything the internet will ever have to offer for me. Goodbye everyone
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I’m lovin’ it - Aegon II
This is straight crack like I mean if you read this more than once you’re entitled to go do meth behind a strip mall and work overnight stocking. This is for Chris you big fat dirty white bitch why’d you take me off the motherfuckin schedule with yo triflin ass- @teamaemond
Rating: Explicit
Tags: Loser Stoner McDonald’s Worker!Aeg, modern universe, meet fuck, play place defiled more than usual, doggystyle, dirty talk, pnv!sex, I did not beta I just word vomited aggressively
A/N: based off the crazy ass anon that asked if Aegon would fuck in a McDonald’s play place and I couldn’t help but lose my shit
So McDonald’s wasn’t really twenty-four hours in your town. Too small. 10 o’clock would roll around and they usually had one or two workers and every machine was ‘broken’ by then. No really. They told you one time their hot was broken. You asked for coffee.
But you needed some coffee and some fries before going into an all-nighter studying at the local community college in the area. Hopefully the ‘hot’ wasn’t broken or the weird foot guy was working the night shift. You liked the stupid blonde, he was cute and flirty. Usually he would give you free stuff. Argan? Argon…something weird like that.
Walking into the desolate McDonald’s you breathed a sigh of relief at the blonde working tonight. No foot talks. He seemed bored and positively stoned out of his gourd, leaning against the counter. The man drawled, “How can I help you?”
You came closer and snatched at his name tag, making him yelp. Aegon. You snickered, “Aegon. What kinda name is that?” He grimaced and spat back, “A family one. I’m trying to go home early- so what’s the order.” He had a cute blush on his pale cheeks, pale orbs staring you down.
“Uh just a medium coffee and same for the fries. That’s all.”
“That’s a stupid order,” he commented while ringing it up.
You gave him a look, mouth gaping. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Aegon smirked, “I don’t know, I’m about to close, I have all this leftover food and you want a coffee and fries. That’ll be three-oh-eight.” You handed him a five and teased, “Why don’t you eat the leftovers? You’re like…high as balls right now.” Aegon’s lips pouted and he sniffed, “I’m not trying to be one of those fat fuck stoners.”
You raised a brow at his slightly softened midsection and stifled a laugh. Violet eyes narrowed at you and he turned around to make your food. Plopping yourself on the counter you asked, “Soooo, you got siblings?”
“Yes.”
“Are they blonde too.”
“…Yes.”
“Oh. I graduated with Aemond.”
“He’s a dick.”
You laughed and agreed wholeheartedly. Aegon handed you the coffee and fries, having grabbed himself some nuggets in the meantime. He grumbled, “I gotta close soon.” You shrugged, “You don’t want company?”
A brow raised, heat coming across his eyes, “What kind of company are we talking about babe?”
Well.
Aegon had his standard black pants down, fucking you bent over the likely germ infested ball pit of the play place. He said there were no cameras in there…which had to be a total liability. No matter the issue he could fuck and had a nice cock.
His warm hands gripped your hips as he panted in staccato breaths, moaning, “Fuuuck, you’re fucking tight!”
You haphazardly flailed across the balls, unable to gain purchase as he fucked pathetic little ‘ah ah ah’s’ out of you. Reaching back to grab a boney wrist you whined, “C-can we- fuckshit- pleaAse find another spot! I-I d-oooon’t want a needle in ME! Goddamn!”
Aegon laughed, stupidly composed in his situation as he eased you down to the padded floor, hand now on the small of your back to push towards a better angle. You cried out as his cock drug along your sweet spot, pulling and stretching all the right walls. The blonde swatted a hand across your bouncing ass, huffing, “God- you’re gonna make me blow too fast, sh-shit.”
One of his gorgeous hand snuck down between your thighs to get at your swollen clit, sometimes sliding around where his cock stretched your cunt out. You mewled at the obscene feeling, wailing his name. The walls of your pussy were fluttering now, ecstasy taking a hold of body and mind. Chewing on your bottom lip, you thrust back to meet Aegon’s hips in wet slaps, hoarsely moaning.
“Oh Christ,” he whimpered under his breath, tone still low and raspy. Your legs were shaking, Aegon having to pull you up to keep from sliding flush to the ground. He leaned over your sweaty back, cooing in your ear with a playful nip, “Feels that good huh? You’re a needy little thing.”
“‘M gonna cum,” you squeaked with frantic eyes.
He began to nip and lap at your neck, disgustingly hot.
His fingers pinched and tugged at your clit, sending you over the edge with a careening wail, seizing up and milking his thick cock with rhythmic squeezes. Aegon stuttered on a breath, gasping for air as he quickly pulled out and painted your ass with hot cum. The idiot fell back onto his ass, you laying flat on the floor now.
You panted, pussy throbbing in the best way. Aegon moaned in content, “Needed that.” Finally pushing yourself off the floor you retied your ponytail and scoffed, “Yeah I’m not getting any studying done tonight.”
Aegon laughed, an endearing giggle, full lips stretched into a smile. He cocked his head and offered, “We can make this a full time…deal if you wanna help me close up? I’ll make it worth your while.” Then he gave you a cringeworthy wink. You found yourself grinning uncontrollably at the loser, accepting his proposition.
Besides, what’s wrong with a good fuck in the McDonald’s play place from a hot blonde?
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Next up on our list my lovelies is Paul! A special thank you to @trescharmant-mydear for helping me with brainstorming ideas when writers block had me stumped! I hope you fang babes all enjoy the next boy in our child birth saga!
Lost Boys Fem!S/O Gives Birth [2/4]
Paul
The whole pregnancy thing was undoubtedly a massive shock when you had finally told him. At first he wasn’t even sure it was his. Granted you slugged him for even suggesting you had been having an affair but he couldn’t help it! The idea of impregnation was pretty much impossible as far as they knew. He had no heartbeat, the blood in his veins was dead and black, he kind of assumed by that point his gun was shooting blanks. That is until you began rejecting anything that wasn’t blood or meat. Every day he could see more of that reality coming into play. At first he thought maybe he had just imagined it, but when your stomach grew in really sank in.
He was terrified beyond belief knowing he’d soon be responsible for a living, breathing thing- er baby- guh! The word freaked him out. No one even warned him what came with it. Well, Dwayne tried to but those books were nasty. Especially the pictures. Paul tried his best to sit through them but it just stressed him out! There wouldn’t be a doctor! There would be no sterilized hospital bed where a team of nurses would be on standby if there were complications- hell, they wouldn’t be able to know if there even were any complications! That’s what scared him more than anything. You both were utterly in the dark. Were you healthy? Was the baby healthy? Could this kill you if they weren't careful? Ultrasounds were out too, so he couldn't even know if it was a boy or a girl. The uncertainty of it all was torture!
The only way he knew they were still alive was from his own bizarre connection to them. Sure his mental powers were never as clean cut as David’s, but he could still feel their emotions inside you. It was raw. There were no clear thoughts. Even the emotions would pile over each other. Hungry, tired, anxious, hyper, mad, happy. It was almost like there was more than one consciousness in there, but he just figured it was your own heartbeat and emotions clouding the baby's.
Hormones were wild between you both. You wanted sex more than you ever had before, and at first he was all for it. Being the mother of his unborn child brought out a desire that was utterly foreign to him. Yeah he loved you to death before, but now… he couldn't keep his hands off of you. The first few months it was wild, but the bigger you got the more worried he was that something could happen if he lost control. Okay, well, as long as he was careful right? But, things did not go exactly to plan when a firm kick pressed on his erm… Needless to say it certainly freaked him out. Then came the morning sickness.
Fuck whatever liar came up with that name. “Morning”? Try morning, noon, night, and the ass crack of dawn. Twenty-four seven. He hated seeing you hugging a trash bin, panting between excruciating heaves that made your stomach spasm. Paul could only hold your hair back while you gurgled out sobs. It was even harder knowing he was partially responsible for putting you in this position to begin with. Afterwards he’d carry you back to your bed. Yeah, bed. All the guys had felt that you needed something way better than a couch to crash on. There were more pillows and blankets than you could count. Piles on the bed, scattered on the floor, stacked up in the corners. With a bit of searching they’d found a pocket-cave branching just off their own that kept you out of sight and even better, nearby. What Paul really couldn’t account for was how frickin’ clumsy you were!
Oops you just banged your knee! Well looks like you accidentally nicked your hand while peeling a freaking apple! Paul nearly ripped a guys head off for bumping into you on the boardwalk just to cut in line with his stupid friends. Eventually he just refused to leave your side during the second trimester when he found a bruise on your stomach. You didn’t have the heart to tell him those were from the baby kicking. While the guys went hunting he’d just lay beside you in bed gushing over your taut belly. The baby always stirred when he spoke, even more so when he’d serenade them. His voice always made your face heat up, and inside you could feel your child eagerly pressing up. While Paul was certainly uneasy about his encroaching parenthood he was over the moon the first time the baby really kicked. Even if it seemed scary he was so excited he could hardly sleep most nights. Every day he'd wonder when they'd get here, bombarding you with thousands of questions.
"Do you think they'll have your eyes? I bet if it's a boy he'll be a bad ass like his dad, huh," he asked. There was almost a glee to his voice, it was so adorable to watch him shed that panic for just a moment to fantasize about the baby. Anything. Teaching them to play guitar, taking them on their first hunt. He didn't care if it was a boy or girl. Part of you really hoped it'd be a little girl.
“They probably won’t get any eye color until the fifth month I think,” you’d remind him, flipping through the aged pages of a baby book. "I do know if it is a boy he's gonna be so much like you."
"Unless it's a girl," he pondered, tapping your belly like it was an over ripe melon, watching it stirr with life. "Oh god you'll break so many hearts. But no boyfriends. Or girlfriends. Only dad."
"Babe thats not gonna be for years," you assured, petting his head. "You can't keep them from dating when they're old enough."
"Uh, the fuck I can't," he retorted, his hand kicked again. "Yeah I said it. No dating for you"
As they grew you could feel something was.. Off. Granted you couldn’t do much to check but, it almost felt like there was more than one heartbeat...
Your due date was slowly rolling closer as summer shed it's long, hot days for the chilled season of autumn. Tonight was a late, stormy October night. Most of Santa Carla was holed up at home hoping it wouldn’t rain tomorrow on Halloween. Paul grumbled slurping at a blood bag laying on his side as he propped his head on his hand, currently bored out of his mind while you carved at a pumpkin with Marko.
“I think it needs more teeth,” you’d say to yourself out loud.
Marko peeked over, titling his head to the side. “More eyes too.”
All the guys decided to stay back tonight. It wasn’t just the rain, all of them were nervous to leave you alone. None of them were doctors, but even they could tell your stomach was much bigger than expected. Dwayne was flipping through an old book while David had just gotten back from a hunt.
Ever since you hit your third trimester each of them took turns gathering blood. A few blood bags alone would not cover it for four hungry vampires and an honorary vamp who had a ton of cravings. Instead they'd carry four or five empty milk jugs that'd be filled to the brim with sloshing, goopy red fluid.
"Guys, you oughta go get something to eat, you don't need to watch me twenty-four seven," you insist, carefully dragging the knife through the thick gourd's flesh.
"This wasn't up for debate last time, it’s still not now," David retorted, tossing one of the jugs Dwayne's way. Marko caught a second one, eagerly knocking back a swig. The sight made you want to throw up again. It was slow, like a thick molasses dyed crimson with globs of congealed plasma. Okay looking at the pumpkin again before you had to puke.
"Don't worry about us, Y/N," Marko insisted with red stained teeth, tossing the now half empty jug to Paul. "It's only a few more months. Blood is blood."
Paul stood up, swooping behind you with his arms around your shoulders. "Speakin' of blood kitten, you need to eat." You looked at the jug as he set it on the table and immediately scrunched up your nose. Now, it'd been seven and a half months of drinking it, so you'd gotten used to the bizarre taste of salty, vinegary cherries with a metallic aftertaste. It always made your body heat up, the feeling itself was better than any booze you'd tried. But the texture. Oh god the fricking texture! Blobby, goopy, slimy- no!
"Uuuugh," you hesitated, only to have Marko push it towards you. “Can’t I just have a raw steak or something, it’s not nearly as gnarly as straight blood.”
"Don't be picky, you need to eat."
You glanced back at Paul who was just pouting behind you. "Come on babes, drink up."
Once again. Thick, soupy but warm fluids ran down the back of your throat. Everything felt heated, spreading from your stomach to each of your limbs. This time you felt an ache in the base of your abdomen. It was enough to incite a small gasp. And with that suddenly each of them had sat up.
"What's wrong, what's going on," Paul quickly asked, placing a hand over your stomach.
Marko had stood up, looking at you with a furrowed brow. "Is it-?"
"Guys, guys," you interrupt. "I'm okay, I swear. It was just a cramp."
It wasn't even a surprise when Paul lifted you up again bridal-style. "Paul,c’mon, I’m fine, really."
"Nope, nope I am not even risking that shit babes. C'mon kitten I'll lay with ya," he insisted, kicking anything on the floor out of his way. But again it ached. This time it lasted two minutes. You clung to him, trying to take a breath. This wasn’t your average false contraction that would only occur maybe every hour. "Paul- Paul it's not stopping."
"Wait wait wait what," Paul asked in rapid following, gently setting you down. Marko had gotten up to help you stand with Paul on the other side. A sharp pain wrapped around your waist. Now another two minutes. It was enough to make you double over with your hands over your stomach.
"Shit oh shit wait hold on." Paul was in a panic. He wasn't ready! The baby wasn't supposed to be there for another month! It was too soon!
You, on the other hand, were far too busy trying to keep yourself standing. It wasn't just your abdomen. It was your stomach, all the way up your back, your womb felt like it was being torn open from inside. Dwayne jumped over the sofa when the two blondes failed to move, lifting you up. Your jeans were soaked, sharp pains were faster, harder, any time another contraction squeeze you let out an agonized cry.
They all made a mad dash for your room, propping you up against a pile of pillows. "No, no wait, don't look," you insisted to the others as Paul tried to help you get your soggy jeans off.
"I'm about to help you push a baby out, and you're getting embarrassed by us seeing your underwear," Dwayne questioned
"Shut up, turn your fuckin head," Paul snapped. Carefully he draped a blanket over your legs, pulling off your jeans. There was utter fear across his face. He was so afraid of what this could do to you.
"Hey.. its okay," you assured him, cupping his face. Well, okay was a bit of an overstatement. Still, the tender touch seemed to provide some small ease as he placed his hand over yours. Again, you assured him it'd all be okay. Marko came running in with a bucket of warm water, David was grumbling about carrying over a mountain of towels, Dwayne leaned over Paul tapping him hard on the back of his shoulder. "Paul you need to check how dilated she is."
"WHAT?"
It was time for both of you chiming in disbelief. "No no, wait Dwayne man, I can't-!"
"If she pushes before she's ready, the baby will get hurt in the process," he interrupted him, grabbing Paul by his shoulders. "You gotta do it, man, I can't do it for you."
"The fuck, why me?!"
"Paul?!" It was your turn to question his logic and the blonde threw up his hands, clutching at his head trying to think.
"I'm sorry! I'm panicking!"
"Dude Paul," Marko shouted.
"What?!"
"Listen, man, this can't be good for either of them. Nut up, dude," he assured him, patting his back. Paul looked at you, still trembling on your bed. You were just as scared as him, bottom lip trembling, he could even see your shoulders shaking. "...okay…"
The feeling was so uncomfortable. You couldn't even focus between the throbbing pains that shot up your back and the tearing pull between your legs. Tears burned your eyes, you thought you might pass out. Marko was rapidly wiping away sweat from your face, letting you hold his hand. Even if you broke it, unlikely, it'd heal in an hour anyways.
"Okay how many fingers can you manage," Dwayne asked, getting a strange look from Paul. "Just tell me how many, you asshole.:
"It's like, all my fingers man I dunno what that means."
"Go to her man, I got this," he assured, pushing him up to you. Paul climbed up on the bed beside you holding you tightly in his arms with your shoulder nestled against his armpit with one arm over your shoulder and the other you immediately snatched his hand, panting rapidly. "Shh slow down baby, slow down."
"God it fucking hurts," you whine, throwing your head back on the pillow. Blood stained the bed, a thick pink-red spot on the blanket spreading out. Your face was completely flushed as a tight pressure slowly dragged down your back that made your toes curl. If Paul wasn't pinning you in place you would be writhing. There was a horrid fire in your body, there were no words left in you, only screams. Dwayne's urges to push were muffled, the ache in you back slowly pulled lower until you were able to hear them. A thick gurgle followed by high pitched, raspy wailing. While Dwayne had pulled the infant into a thick, fluffy towel something felt wrong. It still hurt. Your stomach felt no relief, in fact you felt it pull and ache again. "Wa...wait i.. no it's-it's not done, I'm not done," you whimper in a panic.
"Wait what the hell do you mean you aren’t done?! I thought there was just one?!”
Paul looked over at Dwayne, who in turn ran to David and passed the swaddled newborn his way much to his dismay. “Just hold them for a minute man, we weren’t exactly expecting more!
“I got it,” Marko volunteered, climbing off to bed to hold the baby carefully in his grasp. Your screams tore through, a second wave of pain reviving old agony. There was little relief as the same horrid tension in your back spread out. Paul coaxed you through it, but somehow it hurt even worse than before.
“No,” you cried, shaking your head. Your face burned, tears streaming down your face leaving your vision completely blurry. “No no no, I can’t, let me go! I can't, I can’t! Paul, I can’t-!”
“Baby, listen you can do this! You got this, yes you fucking do,” he yelled over you holding your head to his shoulder. “Listen to me. C’mon you fucking got this, kitten! Don’t you give up, don’t you dare fucking give up now!”
With everything you had you screamed until your throat felt raw, pushing as hard as you could until finally, finally… it stopped. A huge wave of relief made your muscles go limp. Two. You just had given birth. To twins. The realization had finally hit Paul asw he looked up at Marko still holding his first born. “Are they…”
“Dude, you got a girl,” he beamed, carefully passing the swollen new born half-awake clinging to the towel. Occasionally her grey eyes squinted open, making trembling whimpers until she nestled back into sleep.
You managed to catch your breath, Marko helping you lay down while Dwayne circled around with your son. A boy too. You couldn’t help but laugh through tears, finally able to see his face after so many months of waiting. Paul couldn’t even hold back tears, laughing like an idiot as he pulled you both in his arms. “Fuck man… oh shit I’m a fucking dad,” he choked out, trying to hide his tears.
“Let it out man,” Marko teased, patting his shoulders.
“Shit man I can't stop crying... they’re so perfect.” Paul ran a hand gently over his son’s head still softly crying in your arms, watching him soothed as he clung to his finger. He looked you in the eyes, both of you just in utter awe that you brought not one, but two lives to the world. Nothing but tears and smiles between you. It was October 31st, 2 am, and you had spent the past four and a half hours of Hell to bring your twins (Girl Name) and (Boy name). Paul could not even fathom the amount of love he was feeling, trailing kisses all over your lips and cheeks. “Happy Halloween, kitten.”
You couldn’t help but laugh, laying your head back against his chest just unable to tear your eyes away from your beautiful new family after so many hours of grueling pain, so much waiting, in the end it was worth more than either of you had ever dreamed.
“Happy Halloween, babe…”
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somewhere between hope and pride
written for @wayhavenmonthly‘s Fall for Unit Bravo
Day 18: Harvest
Pairing: Mason/F!oc (Serena Willis)
rating: M- strong language, sexual conversations and mention of alcohol and cigarettes
words: 1.7k
read on ao3
A/N this is another piece of my canon divergent as of yet untitled AU.
It’s exactly the sort of event I would have done anything to avoid back home. The community center is decorated with pumpkins, gourds, and leaves in the warm tones of fall. The last event of the annual harvest festival, the silent auction, is apparently the height of Wayhaven’s autumnal social calendar. Mayor Friedman had specially requested Unit Bravo’s presence. I’d considered telling Agent Greene that since I was not technically an agent that I must not be included in that mandate in order to escape attending.
However, after weeks of what amounted to house arrest, I was more than happy for an opportunity to get out an about. We still had been unable to locate the party behind the bounty on Dinah. Without any real reason to leave the premises, I’d spent most of my days in the library, watching movies with Farah, and avoiding Mason.
It’s been a little over two weeks since I ended things. That sounds like there was something to end. It’s been two weeks since I stopped hooking up with him, and it’s sucked. As much as I may know that I was making the right choice to protect myself, I miss spending time with him both in and out of the bedroom. But that was the whole reason why I had to stop it. My dumbass had caught feelings. If it was just fun then I wouldn’t miss him. Mason doesn’t do feelings.
For all my grumbling, the event hasn’t been terrible. Nate and Farah are off going through the silent auction offerings. Adam has been dragged off to speak with the mayor and Agent Greene leaving Dinah, myself and Mason alone at our table.
I’m nursing another glass of red wine and even without super senses I can hear the pretty brunette at the table behind us trying to work up the nerve to approach the brooding vampire sitting a few seats to my right. I have to remind myself that he was never mine to lose before I get too bitter.
I steal a glance to see if he’s noticed, to see if I need to really start drinking in earnest. I’ve never seen him in a button up before. It’s black and I can still see the chord of his crystal necklace poking out from where the last few buttons are undone. His hair is pulled back in a low ponytail with only a few strands falling out around his face. He looks sharp and devilishly handsome. As I look up, I find that his eyes are already on me. His brow is furrowed, but it smooths as he noticed me looking at him. I wonder how long he has been watching me, if he’s noticed how agitated I’ve become. I hope not.
For once he looks away first. Without a word, he rises from the table and I notice him reaching for the pocket he always keeps his smokes in as he heads for the hallway. I surprised he is even bothering to leave; he usual lights up wherever he wants to, rules be damned. Maybe he needs a break from the overstimulation of the room. There are a lot of people here and it must be wreaking havoc on his nerves.
“Well, that was interesting,” Dinah says off to my left.
“Huh? What was interesting?” I ask as I turn to her.
“I take it you still haven’t talked to him.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” I don’t want to have this argument again. She seems determined to try and make us out to be some great romance. Not everyone gets what she and Nate have.
“How will you know if you don’t try?” she asks her voice soft as she places a soothing hand on my arm.
I resist the urge to shake the hand off. I know she is trying to be helpful, and I don’t want to lash out at her. I’m just getting so tired of people encouraging me to do something I know will only hurt me. “Mason made it clear from the beginning that it was just fun. I don’t have a right to try and change the terms halfway through just because I’m stupid and caught feelings.”
I already know how that conversation would go. At least this way my pride can stay intact.
“Don’t look at me that way, Dinah. I’m fine.” I don’t want her pity. Not about this.
She sighs and shakes her head, “and people say I’m stubborn.”
“I’m not stubborn.” I say as I pour myself another glass of wine. “I’m just realistic.”
We lapse into silence as I sip at the wine. After a minute or two, Nate slides into his seat next to Dinah. I’m thankful that they can keep each other company and just leave me to my wine.
I hear a chair slide back from the table behind me, and watch as the brunette walks past me to the quieted cheers of her friends. Mason has reentered the hall, and apparently, she has finally found the nerve to make her move. She’s cute. Her low-cut dress much more flattering than the prim professional number I had borrowed from Dinah. I’m sure Mason will find her appealing enough. I knew he would find new people to take to bed; I just didn’t think I would be in the room when it happened.
I see her reach out and place a hand on his arm. He hasn’t brushed her off and she hasn’t been scared off by his rudeness. I can’t do this. I want to leave, but they’re too close to the hallway. I glance around and see a smaller exit at the back.
Adam will probably have my head, but I’d rather risk getting kidnapped than start crying in front of everyone here. In front of him.
I think I hear Nate say my name as I go to leave, but I don’t turn around. I can feel tears welling up in my eyes and I need to get out now.
The door leads to a small set of stairs. I’m alone. I walk to the edge of the landing and grab the metal railing for support. It’s freezing. Drawing in a deep breath I focus on the cold. I have no one to blame, but myself. I hate that I can feel tears escaping down my cheeks. Stupid, stupid Serena.
At the sound of the door opening, I turn. I do my best to wipe away any trace of the tears before who ever it is can see.
Fuck. Why did it have to be him?
“Though you were supposed to stay inside?” Mason growls at me as the door closes behind him leaving us alone on the stairs.
“Well we both know that I don’t always follow the rules.” I say trying to be my usual snarky self.
“You don’t have to babysit me.” I continue. “I’d hate to ruin your fun.” It comes out with more bitterness than I meant.
He looks confused for a moment, “oh that” he shrugs.
“Yeah, so like I said, you don’t have to babysit me. I’ll go back inside in a minute. Go get your dick wet or whatever.” I cross my arms across my chest and roll my eyes. I’m shooting for nonchalance and indifferent, but I don’t know if I managed it.
He looks at the door for a moment before looking back at me. “I don’t think I will.”
“What, why not? She’s cute and seems into you. Isn’t that all you need?”
He leans back against the wall and with a smirk says, “only one I want to have fun with here is you, Sweetheart.”
I feel like all the air has been pulled out of my lungs. He’s a tempting vision and my body responds to the familiar pattern of banter. If it was only that it would be one thing, but there’s a flicker in my chest of something that feels suspiciously like hope. A vain hope that he means more with those words. That he means I’m the only one he wants beyond tonight.
“Too bad, because I’m not interested.”
“you’re lying” he accuses me with narrowed eyes.
“Is your ego really that fragile that you can’t handle a rejection.” I say with a scoff.
He rolls his eyes. “I know you and you’re lying.” He smirks, “remember, your body gives you away.”
Stupid vampire super senses.
“Why do you care, Mason? We both know you were going to get bored sooner or later.” I turn away so he can’t see my eyes anymore. I can’t do anything about my heartrate, but I can get rid of at least one source of information.
“Would I? I’m not bored yet.” I can’t tell if he’s asking me or if he’s asking himself. I feel him move closer so that he’s standing directly behind me. His hand ghost over my arm, not actually touching it. “I thought we were both having fun. I don’t see why it needs to stop.”
“God damn it don’t make me say it!” I yell. I had hoped he would just let it go.
“Heaven forbid I make you do something you don’t want to do, Sweetheart.” He says in a biting tone.
“It wasn’t just fun for me.” I admit as I turn around to face him. “It was beginning to mean something to me, and I wanted it to mean something to you, but it doesn’t work that way for you.”
There it is. Fuck my pride, I guess.
“What if it did mean something?” he asks.
My chest tightens as the little spark of hope flares within it, “Does it?”
He closes the inches between us and kisses me. I don’t know if it’s an answer or a test, but at that moment I don’t care. His hands move to my hips and pull us flush together. God, I’ve missed this. My whole body feels like it ignites at his touch. Would it really be so terrible to believe in this? To believe he cares for me?
This kiss breaks and I whisper, “I think I love you.”
His hands drop from my hips as if he’d been burned.
I nod and swallow all the emotions I’ll have to deal with later, “that’s what I thought.”
I don’t give him a chance to respond before I’m through the door and back to the event.
Stupid, stupid Serena. You knew how this would end.
tagging: @lord-king-saint, @morgans-ass-freckles, @agentnatesewell, @lilyoffandoms, @softforf and @bellarxse (If you would like to be tagged/not tagged/only tagged for certain pairings please let me know 💜)
#the wayhaven chronicles#fallforunitbravo#twc#twc mason#au#fanfiction#lovelieswrites#lust love and other liabilities#mason/Serena Willis
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a necessary accessory
“Electric blankets,” Aziraphale sighed.
Crowley grunted. “Fermentation."
"That doesn’t count. It’s not a thing. It’s a--whatcha call, erm...a process. A technique.”
“Fine,” Crowley said, “coffee, then. Coffee in mugs. Coffee mugs! Ha! Doesn’t get much more a thing than that.”
Aziraphale leaned back on his elbow and beamed up at the night sky. “Coffee mugs, yes. They’re delightful.”
They were, on this fine summer night on a warm patch of earth, smashed out of their gourds. It was a deliberate sort of smashing, though, the kind of drunkenness that’s sought out for a reason, and Crowley and the angel had many. This week, it was something called Sputnik, a shiny flying ball that had the humans all in a ruckus. And God herself was none too pleased, either, a fact that normally would have cheered Crowley’s side but in this particular instance, the business of the Great Beyond, it had not.
And so: they were drunk.
And Aziraphale was stuck on coffee mugs, apparently.
“I especially like,” he said, “the white enamel ones that stay warm when you curl your fingers round them. Those are very pleasant. Even though I don’t really care for coffee, sometimes I’ll order it just so I have something toasty to hold on to after the meal is done.”
Crowley waved his fingers above his face, stretched them out again towards the stars. They were far enough out from the city that the velvet of the void seemed close enough to touch. “That’s profoundly weird, angel,” he said. “Ordering something you don’t want. And very unlike you, might I add. Your turn.”
“My turn--? Oh, my turn!” Aziraphale burbled happily. “Oh, good. Where was I?”
“Electric blankets.”
“Oh, those are lovely.”
“I know!” Crowley said. “You just said. Now what’s next?”
“There’s no need to be snippy.”
“I’m not snippy,” Crowley said snippily, “but I am getting bored. And bored and drunk is a bad combination for me. You know that. Remember that night in Beijing? Er, when was that? 1372?”
He felt Az turn towards him, the buttons of his friend’s very silly and seriously unfashionable waistcoat brushing up against his arm. “1327. You dared a man to put his sword through a table. The one at which you were sitting, as I recall. He nearly chopped off your leg.”
“Nearly being the operative word. Meaning, he didn’t, did he? But let’s not tempt fate. Let’s do any and everything we can to keep me away from any and all such scenarios tonight.”
“Well,” Aziraphale said in that infuriatingly reasonable way that he had even when three sheets and a duvet to the wind, “I don’t see any tables about, if that helps. Nor any angry-looking men wielding swords.”
Crowley grumbled. “It’s your turn,” he repeated. “So enlighten me: what comes after electric blankets for you on the list of humanity's greatest hits?”
He heard Az’s tongue hit his teeth. “Hmmm,” his friend said. “Cat litter, I think.”
“What the Heavenly Host,” Crowley tried to say, but what came out was a snort, and then a moment later, one word: “ Why ?”
“Because. I like birds.”
“You like birds. Ok. I wasn’t aware they frequented cat boxes.”
“What is mean,” Aziraphale said, pronouncing each word over and above, “is that cat boxes make it possible for cats to live with humans inside their houses, if everyone is agreeable. And the more indoor cats--or even indoor/outdoor cats, come to think--there are, then the fewer of the little bird-murdering machines there are menacing the winged population, yes?”
“I mean," Crowley said, because he was very drunk, yeah. “I see your point. But I thought you liked cats?”
“Hmmm? Who says that I don’t?”
“You, apparently. You just labelled them murderers.”
“I can loathe their penchant for killing and still be fond of them, can’t I?”
There is a sort of logic to the mind when it is soaked in spirits, a logic that is not unique to one species. When reindeer eat a certain type of mushroom, for example, or when elephants binge on the Marula tree, or when a human downs too many pints, the order of their thoughts, such as they are, falls into a similar pattern: circular and prone to getting caught on corners and to missing the really important bits of what’s going on around them in favor of little things. For example, on this night up in the hills beyond Oxford--a town to which Aziraphale had been dispatched and Crowley chosen to tag along--Crowley was at that very moment fixated on remembering the distance between two stars in the Crab Nebula. He’d been instrumental in marking that out and supervising the final design and he was fond of it, that crab. He hadn’t been back to visit nearly enough. Oh, his mind was well trained enough to follow his conversation with Aziraphale, although his vocabulary was a bit less lofty; e.g., his response to his friend’s question in re: loathing and fondness coexisting was the multi-monosyllabic:
“Huh, sure. Why not?”
But he was at that very moment investing as much intellectual energy wandering through the star charts of his relative youth as he was in listening to the angel and as such had no extra brain-bits to spare on the pleasant weight of Aziraphale’s corporeal form against his, on the way Az had peeled Crowley’s arm from the blanket and tucked himself under it and requisitioned Crowley’s shoulder as a pillow for his head. Crowley noticed these things vaguely, in a how’s-the-weather sort of way, but due to the three bottles of red wine he had emptied himself and the white that he’d finished for Az, this shift in the tectonic plates of the central relationship of his life didn’t get the attention it demanded.
“Not right away, that is.”
Aziraphale laughed. “Go on, then,” he said, poking Crowley in the chest. “Your turn.”
“Hmph,” Crowley said, the wheels turning. Wheels. Spin. Ah--! “Record players. And the spinny bits that go on them, er--records!”
“What kind of records?”
“All of them! All the circular ones, anyway.”
“Tsk,” Aziraphale said. “Crowley, we both know you that when you say ‘records,’ you are referring to only the most foul: rock and roll. You might as well say it. ”
Crowley rolled his eyes. Failed to notice the way his fingers were curling gently against the top of the angel’s arm. “Just because you loathe it doesn’t mean it’s terrible,” he said. “Some might say that you’re in the minority here. Not some. Everyone!”
“Yes, well, I’ve never been especially impressed by the majority’s taste in anything, to be honest. Particularly when said taste is accompanied by such an awful sort of racket.”
“Ugh,” Crowley said, rallying. “Do you know how old you sound when you say something like that? I can hear every 6,000 years. Besides, aren’t you the one who dragged me to Paris to hear the premiere of Rite of Spring? That’s music that started a riot, Az! And you loved every bloody discordant note.”
“It is not discordant,” Aziraphale said hotly. “It’s atonal.”
“Same thing.”
“No, it’s not!” Aziraphale pitched up a bit, glaring, and sent Crowley’s hand tumbling down his back. “And don’t you dare compare your Elvis Presley to Stravinsky! That is, well--that is just--!”
Crowley grinned up into the angel’s face, a bigger star than the others, brighter, closer. “That’s what?”
Az leaned down and lowered his voice, its peevishness fully intact. “That’s sacrilege.”
It was in this moment that Crowley suddenly became aware of two things: his physical proximity to the angel and the strange, vaguely uneasy feeling emanating from his pants, one that seemed rather keen to push past the cotton of his y-fronts and invade his trousers.
Oh shit.
It had been an act of vanity that had brought him to this point, vanity and an almost slavish devotion to what Aziraphale liked to called his aesthetic, but what Crowley thought of as, well, His Look. 6,000 years is a long time to trudge about in the same guise, and on Earth as it was in Hell, Crowley was keenly aware of other person’s eyes. He wanted to cut a figure, as the humans had once put it, wanted to be the center of attention when he strolled into a room, and if there was a certain pair of eyes whose attentions he craved, that was as may be. Shorter version, whatever his reasons: Crowley was always intent on looking his best.
Admittedly, some of humanity’s forays into fashion had been at best questionable but was, in Crowley’s mind, what artful draping and tailoring was for. And now, in the mass production age, he clung stubbornly to the notion of not buying things off the rack; his form, the means of his demonic function, he’d long ago decided, required individualized attention.
The trousers he’d slipped on that morning, then, were new, and as he stood staring at himself in the mirror, it had taken him a moment to figure out why the beautiful, damnable things didn’t seem to fit right. They were too loose in the front bit; they didn’t catch the curves of his ass as much as current fashion allowed. They were, he’d thought with a scowl, not right at all.
And then he’d realized why: he'd forgotten to put on his cock.
This was one consistent drawback of Crowley’s devotion to the personal touch when it came to his clothing: it required, er, a personal touch, and the humans who did said professionally and wholly fabric-centered touching expected to if not feel a cock as they did so--that jackass in 1890s New York notwithstanding--then at to least brush the thing. He was A Man to the people of Earth; they didn’t know any better. And being A Man brought with it certain embodied expectations, especially where the matter of well-fitting trousers was concerned.
In some decades, with some pairs, the styles worked whether he had the cock on or not; in others, though, like the ones was wearing, the cock was a necessary accessory if he wanted his trousers to hang right. So he'd worn it today and forgotten about it, was the thing, about its occasional instinct to stir when it shouldn’t and now here he was with Aziraphale in his arms (at last) and the thing had chosen now of all times to wake up.
Of course it bloody well had.
“Crowley?”
“Hmm?”
“Why are your eyes closed? Are you sleeping?”
“Are they?” He tested; they were. Better they stay that way. “Huh.”
“What’s the matter, then?” Aziraphale’s breath was unsettlingly close, a pinot-scented draft.
“Nothing’s," Crowley said. "I mean, nothing’s wrong. The matter. Not a thing.”
“Then why does your face look like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like…” There was a brush on his face like leaves, the catch of bright, familiar skin. “I don’t know what like. Stunned, or something. Like the stoat you hit with your car on the way up here.”
“I didn’t hit it! It ran into the road and banged its head on my fender. My car just happened to be in its way.”
“It was lost,” Aziraphale sighed. “I told you. It got turned around and went through the wrong hedge. And you brought it back to life.”
“Well,” Crowley said, “I--”
The angel’s fingers found the tip of his chin, the side of his jaw. “It was beautiful, what you did.”
Crowley’s necessary accessory jerked. Beautiful, he heard in his head, a drunken butterfly soaring. Beautiful beautiful you.
“It was a stoat, angel,” he stammered. “Lots of ‘em about. Part of the problem, probably. All of them chasing each other around.”
“I don’t think you know how beautiful you are.” Aziraphale’s voice was dreamy. “One of God’s loveliest creatures, my old friend. That’s what you are. I think that, you know. Every day.”
Later, Crowley would regret not having his eyes open then, would kick himself for not getting at least one glimpse at Aziraphale’s face as he said those words, as he dipped his head, as the night air slipped between the valleys of their lips, as the angel murmured again:
“Every day.”
But Crowley would take comfort later, as he did at that instant, in the bloom of Aziraphale’s mouth, a flower bourne to him, parting for him, sinking its sweetest eagerly into the red wine depths of Crowley’s own. And the sound that rose from them with their tongues touched, that stretched into the sky high above their wholly inadequate blanket, was an earthquake just as powerful as the ones God had once thrown about all the time, the foundations of the very earth shifting.
“Oh, my dear,” Aziraphale said softly. He nuzzled Crowley’s cheek and drew his hand down Crowley’s front, past the shaky breath in his chest to the tremble of his stomach to the heat down below, a flame that only grew bolder when the angel freed it and drew it out into the soft summer air. “How lovely you are, hmmm? Look at you.”
And so it was that Crowley and his angel spent a long, golden hour wrapped together in the grass, the lights of the city, the presence of man, far off to the east, and when it was over, when the strange, wonderful work was done, Crowley lay gasping, his trousers stained, the blanket bunched beneath his back while Aziraphale petted the cock--Crowley’s cock now, surely; now that he’d actually put the thing to good use--and chuffed softly in Crowley’s ear.
“Where are on earth did you learn how to do that, angel?”
Aziraphale chuckled. “There are these things called books. Perhaps you’ve heard of them? Some of them even have pictures.”
“And you read these books. About--this sort of thing. Just for fun.”
“Not fun, exactly. More like: just in case.”
“In case what?”
The angel’s thumb traced the head of Crowley’s cock. “You know,” Aziraphale said. “In case the right moment came along.”
If alcohol had caused Crowley’s mind to meander, the lovely electric pleasure of Aziraphale’s hand was not helping matters any. “You, ah,” he managed, getting the words out over a shiver. “Wow.”
They kissed again, more confident now, more sure of where to put tongues and how to not to use teeth and how to breathe. That was the hard bit, breathing. Technically, neither of them had to, but over the millennia it had become a regular habit and now, even in the midst of all this, it was difficult for them to break. Besides, it fit perfectly with what Crowley was feeling: light and floaty, grounded and hot, a creature of the stars and the air.
“Zippers,” the angel said after a long, lovely while.
Crowley wasn't quite ready to let go. “Hmmm?”
"Zippers. I’m adding them to my list.”
“What list?”
The angel kissed his cheek. “The list of the many varied and wonderful things that humans have come up with. Zippers deserve a spot there, I think.” He settled Crowley’s cock back from whence he’d drawn it and tugged the zipper up carefully. “I don’t think I’ve appreciated before how handy they are, have you?”
Crowley’s fingers regained some of their sense and slithered up to cup Aziraphale’s neck. “In that vein, then,” he said, “let’s add kissing there, too.”
“Oh Crowley,” Aziraphale breathed, a catch in his voice that Crowley wanted to immediately and forever collect, “I knew I liked you.”
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@ask-maruta
Maruta smiled and chuckled a little before saying, “Maybe, but will Ah’ll hafta ask yer caretaker first.”She knew that most of the younger muds under 9 was raised by at least someone, whether a parent, a foster parent, a family member, or even caregiver of sorts that was responsible for more than 10 eggs at a time!Isabelle’s behavior was clearly that of a young girl who didn’t live on her own as of now. Maruta had no problem taking this young lady under her scarred wing, but she wanted to be sure that it would not cause problems.
Isabelle squeaked in joy but when heard she needs parental consent, she didn’t know if Cecil would be hard to convince or not. “Oh... So I need permission from my dad, huh?” Having seen the absolute state he was in lately, it would probably work in her advantage. In all likelihood he’d be thrilled to have her out of his hair for a little while. “That shouldn’t be a problem... I’ll ask him tonight!” The girl clearly didn’t know what she was signing up for. “Everyone always complains that I’m just some spoiled brat that does nothing for herself, and I’m sick of it. Not to mention bored out of my gourd.. So this might finally put those naysayers in their place! Hahaha!”
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Klaine one-shot - “The Gourd You Give” (Rated PG)
It’s just another day at work for Kurt when a handsome man bursts through the door and begs Kurt for a pumpkin. (1577 words)
A/N: This is a re-write. Warning for mention of illness. Meet cute.
Read on AO3.
“Help me! Quick! I need a pumpkin!”
The words fire out so quickly from the man’s mouth that his request is finished before the bells over the door stop jingling. Kurt looks up from the issue of Vogue open on the counter he’s sitting behind and straight into the eyes of the most desperate man he’s ever seen – harried for certain, curls that have been gelled down within an inch of their life breaking free around his hairline, hazel eyes shimmering from the cold, his cheeks flushed from running (Kurt assumes, since he’s panting like a tired dog). Plus, the door has a brand new dent from where the man slammed into it before he realized it was a pull door and not a push.
“Uh … okay.” Kurt puts a worn business card into the binding of his magazine to mark his spot, then closes it to handle his manic customer. “You do realize you’ve just entered a costume shop, though. Not a supermarket.”
“I know.” The man nods vigorously, taking a deep breath. “I need a pumpkin costume.”
Kurt sits up straighter, intrigued by this man’s request, as well as his adorable, slightly antiquated clothing choices - a sweater vest, a button-down, a bowtie, and a vintage U. S. Navy peacoat. Paired with his dapper good looks, the man pulls it together nicely. Kurt’s eyes zero in on his brightly-colored shoes and go wide. Where on earth did he find a pair of Moods of Norway suede wingtips in pink? They’re sold out everywhere! Kurt has to find a way to ask.
Kurt also can’t help but notice the pride flag pin fixed to the collar of his coat - the new version with the brown and black stripes. Kurt grins.
His recent string of dull afternoons might finally be looking up.
“A pumpkin costume for yourself?” Kurt asks.
“No.” The man shakes his head, a bashful smile splitting his lips. “For my little man, Andy.”
“Oh,” Kurt says, only minorly disappointed at the mention of a son. But children have never been a deal breaker for Kurt. He loves children.
“He’s six,” the man explains, “and when his mom asked him what he wanted to be for Halloween, he said he wanted to be a pumpkin.”
Okay, wife is definitely a deal breaker, Kurt thinks, but he chuckles at the thought of a little boy, who Kurt imagines looks somewhat like this man – raven hair, possibly the same hazel eyes, and olive complexion, waddling around the streets of New York dressed as a giant, gap toothed Jack-O-Lantern.
“He doesn’t even want to be a Jack-O-Lantern,” the man grouses, stunning Kurt into wondering if he hadn’t voiced that thought out loud. “A Jack-O-Lantern costume I can find. He wants to be a regular, boring old pumpkin.”
“How adorable,” Kurt says, giving the man a flirty smile when he knows he shouldn’t. He can’t seem to help himself. Something about the way this man is freaking out over trying to find his little boy a pumpkin costume is too endearing.
“I tried to talk him out of it. For weeks actually. I’ve bought him every costume under the sun that I thought he might like – Iron Man, Captain America, Thor, Fluttershy …”
“Fluttershy?”
The man chuckles, but waves the topic off. “That’s a whole other story entirely.”
Maybe for another time? The words almost make their way out of Kurt’s mouth before he mentally slaps himself in the face.
Married. With a kid married. Gear down, Hummel.
“Anyway, he won’t budge. And his mom, she’s a really awesome seamstress, but she’s been sick …” He pauses and swallows after the word sick, and Kurt feels his heart double thump. He’s using the same inflection Kurt remembers his father using when he would tell people that Kurt’s mother was sick. It leads Kurt to believe that ‘sick’ might be a vague reference to something more devastating than the flu that’s been going around.
“Oh,” Kurt says. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
The man nods, pinching his lips between his teeth to keep from going into it. “It’s been kind of a tough time for the little guy. So I thought, you know, if he wants to be a pumpkin so badly, let him be a pumpkin. Only, I can’t sew to save my life.”
“Did you try papier mache?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” The man looks subconsciously at his hands. Kurt peeks and sees bits of dried plaster embedded underneath his nails. “But I thought that a professional costume shop might have something like a really kick-ass pumpkin. I’ve checked online, but I’ve had no luck. I even tried calling some of the performing arts schools, but nobody has one. I guess nobody ever plays a vegetable in a school play anymore.”
“I guess not,” Kurt says sympathetically. He looks at the distraught man and sighs. Kurt feels for him. He really does. He seems like a nice guy – sweet, kind, and caring to a fault, racing around New York City, trying to fulfill a little boy’s wish. Even with his bittersweet story, he’s a nice change from the customers this shop usually gets – cosplayers, Ren Faire folk, and, during Halloween, teenagers looking for whatever sexy comic book character they can get their hands on. In the close to four years since Kurt’s been part-timing here, it’s been a while since he’s had anyone come in asking for a child’s costume. They did outfit the Atlantic Children’s Playhouse performance of Cinderella a year back, but the pumpkin from that performance was six feet tall, and got trampled in the last act.
“I’m sorry,” Kurt says, “but we don’t have any pumpkin costumes here.”
The man stares at him blankly, lips parting an inch as if he’s about to argue, unwilling to accept what Kurt is saying.
“How about a squash?” he asks sadly.
Kurt’s heart breaks a sliver. “We don’t have any fruits or vegetables … or food costumes in general. I’m so sorry.”
The man sighs, looking about a foot shorter when he’s done.
“Well, this was the last store on the list. I can’t believe in all of New York City …” The man taps the counter with his hand, like putting a period at the end of his sentence, stopping himself before he unloads his grief at this situation on Kurt. “Thank you, anyway.” He smiles weakly, then turns to go out the way he barreled in.
Kurt watches him leave and knows he can’t let him. So, maybe the most compassionate (and probably the most handsome) man Kurt’s met in ages is married, but that’s not the issue, dammit! His kid still deserves to be a pumpkin!
“Wait,” Kurt calls out before the man’s hand reaches the door. “You know, I’m majoring in Musical Theater at NYADA …” The man turns back slowly, that hopeful look returning to his face. “I make a lot of my own costumes. Maybe I can help you.”
“Do you … do you really think so?” he asks, walking back to the counter.
“Yes! If I can make a Joan of Arc suit of armor in a day, I’m sure I can whip up a pumpkin. I mean, how difficult can it really be?”
“Oh my God!” The man jumps up and down, doing a tiny dance. “Are you serious?” Kurt nods, chuckling at the man’s ridiculous jig. “You’re a life saver! That would be … that would be incredible!” But then he stops dancing, and his face falls again. “Oh, but I’m afraid I probably can’t pay you what you’re worth.”
Kurt bites his lower lip. What he’s worth. He’s been so jaded by fair-weather friends since he’s moved to New York, he didn’t know there were people out there who worried about things like that anymore.
“Meh,” Kurt says. “I’ll take a ton of pictures and put them in my portfolio for school. Chalk it up as work experience. Just pay for the material, and the labor’s on me.”
“Oh, I couldn’t.” The man shakes his head to decline Kurt’s generosity, but with the widest smile growing on his face. “That’s too much.”
“I insist. I need the extra credit points,” Kurt lies. “You’d be doing me a favor.”
That seems to sit okay with the man because he stops shaking his head.
“Well, can I at least buy you dinner while you’re toiling over construction of this gourd?”
“Absolutely,” Kurt says without thinking. Then his mind skids to a stop. “Uh, will your … wife be joining us?” Oh, please don’t be a cheater, he prays in his head. I’ll lose all faith in humanity if you turn out to be a cheater.
“My … wife?” The man’s brow wrinkles, and he looks as confused as Kurt feels. “Oh no! No no no! Andy’s mom is my sister-in-law, not my wife. Andy is my nephew.”
“Oh!”
“No, no. I’m single.” The man emphasizes the word single. “My boyfriend and I separated over a year ago. I’ve been on my own ever since.”
“Oh. Well, in that case, my name’s Kurt.” He sticks out his hand, and the man takes it.
“Blaine.” He holds Kurt’s hand for a moment after he shakes it, giving it a gentle squeeze that makes Kurt’s toes tingle. “So, can we consider tonight a date then?”
“Absolutely. Meet me here tonight at seven,” Kurt says, “and we’ll turn your nephew into a pumpkin.”
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@rlyehtaxidermist it’s finally done! i’m your secret santa, here to deliver a lil yuuparu fic for ya. sorry for being late, writing is hard when you haven’t done it in years, hehe. but i hope you enjoy!
The blue reflections of vengeful spirits danced in the dark waters below Parsee’s bridge. One drifted too close to her, its cold aura briefly chilling her face before she waved it away. Buzz off, you.
Parsee yawned as she leaned on the red railings of her bridge. It had been a while since anyone had stopped by, and she was getting bored. Whatever, she thought. It’s not like they’d do anything but bother me.
Despite that she couldn’t help but wonder what the other youkai of Former Hell were up to. Yuugi is probably having a great time somewhere, drinking with all her friends. Without me, of course. She hates me, like the rest of them. They’re probably laughing about me right now. Stupid annoying Parsee, with her dumb bridge and--
Her moping was interrupted by the wind being knocked out of he. Someone had just slapped her heavily on the back, a type of greeting she recognized all too well...
“Heya, Parsee!” said Yuugi. “How’s it goin’?”
“Ugh. What do you want, Yuugi?” grumbled Parsee, trying hard to hide the small spark of joy she felt when the oni said her name.
“Just, uh, thought I’d swing by. Check if ya needed any help with bridge guardin’, or somethin’ like that.”
“I’m doing just fine, thank you,” Parsee snapped.
Yuugi leaned on the railing next to her anyway. A slightly awkward silence filled the air.
“So I heard from Orin that there’s a full moon tonight,” said Yuugi, breaking the tension. “I was thinking of takin’ a trip upstairs to do a lil’ moon viewin’.”
“Have fun with that, I guess,” Parsee mumbled into her sleeve.
Yuugi coughed with a blush that might not have been entirely caused by inebriation. “Naw, y’see, I meant like...D’you...d’you wanna come with? Drinkin’ by yourself ain’t as fun.”
Concealed by her sleeve, Parsee flushed a bright scarlet. Wait. She...actually wants to spend time with me?
She clenched her eyes shut. No. She’s lying. She feels bad for me. “I don’t need your pity. I bet you’d rather bring Suika or Orin or someone, so just stop mocking me and--”
Another heavy slap to the back put a sudden end to her sentence.
“Aw, don’t be like that!” Yuugi said, cheerfully ignoring the sounds of Parsee gasping for breath. “I go drinkin’ with them all the time. Can’t a gal change it up? Besides, it’s not like I haven’t heard you talkin’ ‘bout the surface an’ how jealous you are of those who get to live there an’ whatnot. So why don’tcha stop being such a grouch for once and come have a good time, princess?”
Parsee pondered the offer. On one hand, basically anywhere beyond her bridge was way out of her comfort zone. On the other, she was curious about the surface. And maybe she wanted to be with Yuugi too, even if she was just her pity friend.
“Alright, I guess,” Parsee said, trying not to sound excited. “Let’s go see this dumb old moon of yours. Probably a waste of time.”
Yuugi punched the air. “I knew I could convince ya! Lessee now, the closest route to the exit would be...”
Without warning, Yuugi grabbed Parsee’s hand and started sprinting like only an oni can. “That ol’ hole to the surface should be right around the corner. Hang on tight now!”
Parsee could barely hear her over the sound of rushing wind. The underground was a blur, Yuugi making sharp turns this way and that, with Parsee helplessly trailing behind her. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried very hard not to be sick…
“Parsee? Ya doin’ alright there?”
Something tickled Parsee’s cheek. She opened her eyes and saw green strands. Grass. We’re on the surface.
Yuugi took her hand—carefully this time—and pulled her to her feet.
“Sorry ‘bout that,” she said sheepishly. “Guess I was a li’l rough with ya.”
Parsee shot a glare at her. “A little rough? You could’ve torn my arm off, you damn…”
The sight of the oni in the moonlight made her forget what insult she was about to say. The soft rays shone in Yuugi’s golden hair and glinted off her red eyes. Despite the miles of running she just did, she didn’t seem out of breath in the slightest. Not a drop of sweat could be found on her, not even on her magnificent biceps…
Parsee suddenly noticed that Yuugi was looking somewhat concerned. Wait, how long have I been staring at her?
“Uh...princess? Ya didn’t hit your head on somethin’, didya?”
Parsee quickly returned to her trademark scowl. “I’m fine. Let’s keep going, but try not to kill me this time.”
Yuugi grinned apologetically. “Alright, alright. How ‘bout we do it like this, then?”
With one swift movement, Yuugi scooped Parsee into a bridal carry.
Parsee could only stammer as she was suddenly enveloped in beefy, well toned arms. “I...uh…”
“Great! Let’s head off then, the mountain ain’t far from here.”
Yuugi launched back into an almost supersonic sprint, but this time Parsee could actually process what was going on around her. The full moon shone above them as trees and bushes whizzed past, lighting the way to a stately mountain up ahead. She caught glimpses of fairies flitting around the tree trunks, and even heard a few notes of the song of some bird youkai among the branches. Finally the two arrived at the mountain’s base.
“How are you gonna get up there? You better not make me climb anything,” said Parsee, gazing towards the top. The mountain’s peak was obscured by a few stray clouds. Parsee didn’t want to think about the effort it would take to get up on foot.
Yuugi winked at her. “Nah, don’t worry. I got this. Hold on tight now!”
Parsee could feel every muscle in Yuugi’s body tense into a crouch. “Wait, what are you—”
With tremendous force, Yuugi leapt off the ground and soared into the air.
In seconds, Gensokyo spread out underneath them like a gigantic map. Deciduous forests, bamboo forests, lakes, a strange red mansion…
Parsee had known that the surface was vast, but this was beyond even her wildest dreams. She was too amazed to even make a sound as Yuugi carried her up, up into the sky.
They landed at the peak with a thud that left a small crater in the rock. Yuugi carefully set her down.
“Well, here we are. Hope ya ain’t ‘fraid of heights.”
Parsee stumbled a bit, her legs wobbly from the ordeal. She steadied herself against Yuugi.
“What...what even was that?!” she gasped.
Yuugi flexed her arms and swelled with pride. “I’m one of the Big Four of the Mountain, don’tcha know. That ain’t a title they give to just anyone. Let’s find a place to sit, eh?”
After a bit of searching, they found a place flat enough to sit. Yuugi took out a small sake gourd and took a test swig.
“Ahh. Yep, that’s the good stuff.” Yuugi threw her head back with an exaggerated sigh of contentment.
Parsee rolled her eyes. “That’s nice and all, but what am I supposed to drink out of? You brought a cup for me, right?”
Yuugi froze. “Um.”
Parsee groaned. “Great. Excursion failed. Now you’re gonna have drag me back to the underground, you numbskull.”
“Waitwaitwait!” Yuugi scrabbled for her trademark sake dish and presented it to her. “N-no need for that. We can just share this, right?”
“Gross. But I guess it’s better than going home having accomplished.” Wait. If we drink from the same dish, wouldn’t that be like...like a kiss?
“Hey, what’re ya blushin’ about? Ya haven’t even tasted this yet,” Yuugi said, pouring sake into the dish. “Besides, it’s not like us youkai can get sick or anythin’ anyways.”
“Quiet. Gimme that.”
Parsee snatched the dish and took a big sip. The strength of the alcohol almost knocked her backwards.
Yuugi laughed. “Told ya it was good stuff, didn’t I? Give it here. Can’t have ya hoggin’ it all now.”
Not long after, the two were quite drunk. The sake had nearly ran out, and Parsee was leaning against Yuugi’s shoulder to keep stable, her haughty image all but forgotten.
Yuugi held up her forefinger and thumb against the brilliant moon. “Lookit, Parsee. I...I got th’ moon. I’m holdin’ it, see.” She pinched her fingers together. “Whoops. Crushed it.”
Parsee snorted. “You’re weird.”
She let her gaze rise towards the pale orb. It really is pretty, though. Suddenly, a melancholy feeling came over her. She rested her head on Yuugi’s shoulder and closed her eyes.
“The moon is so beautiful...” she mumbled. “I’m jealous.”
Suddenly, she felt Yuugi’s arm around her. “Naw. That’s where you’re wrong, princess.”
Parsee lifted her head to look at Yuugi. “Huh?”
Yuugi was blushing heavily, perhaps not just because of the alcohol. She gazed with half-lidded crimson eyes into Parsee’s green ones, and softly cupped her cheek. Tingles ran down Parsee’s spine.
“With a face like that,” Yuugi said softly, “th’ moon should be jealous of you.”
A few seconds passed, the two simply looking at each other in silence. Parsee suddenly regained control of herself and looked away in a hurry.
“Y-you can’t just say things like that!” she snapped, trying hard to ignore the warm feeling within her. A feeling she hadn’t felt for as long as she could remember.
And ever so silently, though she wasn’t even looking, Parsee’s hand felt around for Yuugi’s, and found it.
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So I’ve been listening to The Adventure Zone, and I just got through the Eleventh Hour arc, and then I made some rash suggestions about needing fic where Merle leverages his party-god-of-the-forests connections and gets Magnus baked to make him talk about his feelings, and, uh, anyway, have some The Adventure Zone fic, I guess. (I’ve barely started on The Suffering Game and have been spoiled for maybe one-and-a-half plot twists, don’t tell me anything that happens please)
Truthfully, Taako had been a little worried about selling this, but he had maybe underrated how boring guard duty was, because Avi just said "Hey, thanks, dude. These are really fancy!" and took a brownie without a hint of suspicion.
"It's just a caramel-and-ganache drizzle," Taako said, watching intently. Avi had swallowed the first bite, was working on the second, and showed no signs of collapsing or asphyxiating or any other exciting stuff like that. "Feeling okay? Not noticing any poisoning symptoms?"
That did make Avi pause. "Should I be?"
"Nope!" Taako gave Avi his most reassuring finger-guns. "Absolutely no reason to think that anything I cook might be poisonous at all, my man- what do you think? Where do they rank on a scale from one to delicious?"
"Pretty ridiculously tasty. Are they just plain chocolate?"
"Nah, there's caramel and raspberry sauce in there, and also just a minute dash of cayenne pepper, which oh hey Angus where did you come from I'm putting a fucking bell on you do NOT take a brownie. Not for Anguses!" Angi? Better get that sorted out before they had to fight an army of Angus clones.
Angus, deprived of the brownie Taako had smacked from his grasp, looked as wounded as ten kicked puppies smushed together. "But Avi got a brownie!"
"Yeah, well, Avi... Avi earned a brownie. Because he's been working so hard. Guarding our stuff. Good job, Avi."
"Oh." Angus was instantly downcast. "Okay. I guess. If you don't feel like I've earned a brownie-" Dammit, that disappointed lip-wibble was powerful.
"Although I have been working very hard, sir-"
Oh, fine. "Actually, Angus-" Instant perk up. "You can't have a brownie-" Perk down again. "-because these are for everyone else, and I'm making you your own batch of brownies later. Special Boy Detective brownies. Cubbies? Like... brownies, but cub scouts...? I'm still working on the name. The point is, I can't allow you to ruin your appetite now."
Angus was already back to his natural state of perkiness. "That's so kind of you, sir!"
"Yeah, well, I'm really nice like that. Hey, Avi, still feeling alive?"
"Huh? Oh yeah, for sure." Avi had been looking dreamily at the lantern on the opposite wall, and it took him a moment to focus on Taako again. "I'm feeling great, actually. It's just a really good day to be alive, you know? Hey, can I get another one of those brownies?"
"Nope," Taako said, and bolted.
"Well, that's... fancy," Merle said, squinting at the brownie pan.
"If you wanted boring brownies, you should have said so," Taako said, throwing himself onto the couch to make his disdain extra clear. "Or no, you should have taken your bootleg Pan-oregano to a different chef. You ask Taako for brownies, you get fancy brownies. Guaranteed non-poisonous brownies too, I fed one to Avi and he didn't keel over at all, you're welcome, by the way."
"There's nothing bootleg about this shit! You don't go to Pan camp every summer of your teenagerhood without making some connections, I'll have you know." Merle was cutting the brownies into squares methodically with somebody's jeweled dagger that had been lying around. Taako hoped it was a clean one, but couldn't be bothered to check.
"You planning to eat all those yourself?"
"I am planning to eat none of these myself, my friend, these are intended for Magnus."
"Magnus?" Taako squinted up at him. "Does Magnus know these are for Magnus?"
"He does not so much know that, no. It's what you might call a charitable gesture. You were there for the chalice thing, weren't you? You saw how he was afterwards. Whatever he was tempted with, he took it a lot harder than you and me." Undeniably true. "And now, if you try to bring it up to him, he just looks sad and brave and lip-wibbly and starts talking about holding it together for the sake of the team." Also true. Taako had been lip-wibbled at far too often lately. "So in my semi-professional opinion, it's time to bring out the big guns. And if that means we have to get Magnus stoned out of his gourd to talk about his feelings, well, we're just gonna have to suck it up. For our teammate's sake."
"I hear what you're saying," Taako said, chewing on his lip, "but have you considered how you're gonna convince him to eat one in the first place? He's a pretty canny guy-" and was interrupted by the dorm door opening and Magnus edging through, arms full of mysterious carpentry equipment.
"Yo, Magnus, brownie!" Merle lobbed a brownie square at him underhand. Magnus looked startled, twisted, and in an impressively dextrous move, caught the brownie on the flat of a saw blade. He looked pleased with himself and jammed the entire thing into his mouth.
"Zatsreal- mmf. That's really nice of you, Taako, I appreciate you sharing with us. This is fantastic, what's in it?"
"Well, chocolate, obviously, and caramel and raspberry sauce, and a tiny little bit of cayenne pepper," Taako said, pushing himself off the couch and moving to intercept Magnus, who was eying the brownie pan. "That's very kind, Magnus, and I also appreciate the way you always keep our furniture in, uh, furniture-condition?" He broke a brownie in half and handed the smaller piece to Magnus, who took it obediently, then figured what the hell and bit into the larger one himself.
Damn, these were good. He ought to set up some kind of brownie dojo, where lesser bakers could come and learn the art of brownie-making, ideally without ever quite surpassing his skill. In the background Magnus was saying something about liking to be useful which Taako tuned out to think about flavor combinations. Maybe mint next time?
"-another, or are you saving them?" Magnus was already reaching for the brownie pan. Taako sighed and gave up.
"Look, maybe... maybe just wait a little while and see how you feel first?"
Magnus looked at him, and then at Merle, and then at the brownies. Back at Merle. Back at the brownies. He dropped his mystery tools on the counter with a clatter, stepped back, and spread his arms.
"You *shitheads*, I had things to do tonight."
"Looking mopy while sanding joints doesn't count as things to do," Merle said firmly, taking him by the arm. "You know what does? Because I'll tell you what does: lying out baked on the empty quad at midnight to stargaze and talk about your feelings. And look what's conveniently available-"
There were actually some people trying to play Night Frisbee on the quad, but they fled when Merle glared at them. Magnus followed him slowly, looking like he was concentrating on his footsteps. "Do you guys ever feel uneasy out here? With all that open sky, and it's not like moon gravity is as strong as earth gravity, it's always made me kind of edgy."
"You're worried about... falling off the moon?"
"Maybe not falling off, but what if you jumped too high? Or just walked really hard? We can't expect the moon to do all the work for us. If you move wrong you might slip right off." Magnus stood stock-still in the middle of the green, looking at the sky tensely.
"Like the dogs? Sit down, you'll feel better when you're touching more of the ground." Taako patted the grass beside him. Magnus went to sit down, critically missed, and fell over on him.
"Okay, that works too. There, see, if you start to drift off I'll catch you. Your hair is way softer than it looks, you know that?"
Merle's eyes were narrowed at him. "Exactly how much of that stuff did you sample while you were baking?"
"You don't taste raw batter, dude, gross. Unless you're some kind of salmonella fetishist? I think half a brownie may have had a strong effect because of my natural elven attunement to the rhythms of, uh, trees and shit. Our constitutional resistance to this kinda thing is just naturally lower than average." Taako really was feeling pretty good. Better than normal, honestly, not that he wasn't super fucking chill all the time, but... this was nice, was all. The quad was cool and peaceful and looked pretty in the dim light- with the lanterns and the black sky, it looked like the Night scene set in a magic picture show. Magnus was lying half in his lap and wasn't objecting to having his hair petted.
"Exactly like the dogs," Magnus said well behind the conversation. "But we could just be careful to keep the dog on a leash when it's outside, right? Or build a little dog jetpack for it? We could totally get a dog."
"We're away a lot, though. I mean, do we take the dog adventuring or what?"
Magnus made a distressed sound. "I wouldn't feel right exposing it to that kind of danger. I'm sure somebody here would feed it. Killian has a tear-away calendar where every day is a different adorable puppy, I bet she'd feed it for us. Are there any more of those brownies?"
"Absolutely not."
"They were really good."
"I know! Totally not poisonous, either. I tested them on Avi first cause I'd be kind of sad if you guys died, plus I need you for backup."
"What?" Magnus shifted to glare at him but didn't bother moving further. "Dude, you can't kill Avi, Avi's great."
"Um, obviously I didn't kill Avi? If I'd killed Avi then I wouldn't have given you the brownies, would I? 'Oh look, the brownies are deadly after all, glad I found that out, now I guess I'll go feed them to my team-'"
"I worry about Avi," Magnus went on thoughtfully. "He seems like a great guy, I just don't know if he has any friends? I mean, there's us, but we're terrible. How much opportunity for a social life do you get on the moon?"
"He's on Moon Grindr," Taako volunteered and instantly regretted. Merle was doing the eyebrow-raise thing at him.
"And you know this how exactly?"
"I got lost looking for beignet recipes, how the fuck do you think?!" Taako huffed out a breath and let himself fall backward. "Moon Grindr sucks anyway," he told the black sky. "There are four guys on it, and I'm not making a humorous understatement there, I mean I actually counted. And that includes me. And you think, hey, you could hook up with that guy and if it's weird you'd never have to see him again except for how you would, every day, because we live on the fucking moon, what're you gonna do, hop on a caravan to another fucking moonbase? It was not a good use of my data plan."
"This isn't making me feel any better about Avi's love life," Magnus mumbled into Taako's thigh. "We should keep an eye out when we're on the planet, for someone who might like him. Someone who wouldn't mind living on a moonbase."
"It's a tough sell," Merle said. "There you are at the first-date bar, eating your first-date tapas, you ask 'So, what do you do for a living?' and they open their mouth and what comes out is nothing but maraca noises. Off-putting."
"Yeah, it wouldn't be a great place to invite people back to. The moon thing sounds romantic, but then they get here and it's all screaming eyes in the sky and people wanting them to drink aquarium waste, and not even any dogs."
"You're really stuck on this dog thing, aren't you?"
"I like dogs." Magnus reached out and dragged Taako's hand back into his hair, which was still ridiculously soft. How did that even work? There was no way Magnus knew what conditioner was. "Julia and I were gonna get a dog. Or six or eight, maybe. Really cute dogs. Dress 'em in stupid outfits and laugh at them, that kind of thing." He sounded drowsy but clear. "I thought we were gonna have a chance to bring them up in a city at peace. Watch them grow up, send them to school-"
"This is still dogs we're talking about?"
Magnus shrugged. He had picked a moon dandelion and was carefully stripping it of fluffy bits one by one. "She did like dogs, though. I brought in this puppy one time, it had been hit by a cart in the road, she made a little prosthetic paw for it from wood and leather. She was good at that kind of stuff, fixing little helpful things. Before we- she used to repair my stuff, even before I noticed it was wearing out, she'd yank it away and give it back all tuned up. Later she told me she had just wanted to impress me. Which, she didn't need to work hard at that, but she liked to do it." He dropped a piece of dandelion fluff and watched it tumble in the air. "She should have had more time to do it in. I was figuring we could live to ninety-five or so together, she had decades to spend fixing things, and picking flowers, and petting dogs, and all those years were stolen from her."
"That's rough," said Merle, who was apparently taking point on this, thank all of the gods individually, Taako just wasn't great at this kind of thing. "And hard on you, to have to live with."
"Harder on Julia." More dandelion fluff. "I've been wondering if I should have accepted it," he went on in the same conversational tone of voice. "If she hated me, and she would hate me if I let scores of people die and fucked over the world for this, she'd still be alive to do it. She'd have all those years back. Even if I never saw her again, she'd be alive."
The silence went on for so long that Taako felt really awkward about breaking it just to say "Well, no. She'd be pink tourmaline."
Magnus exhaled sharply with a sound that might have been laughter-related. "Hah. Yeah, okay. But you can't be sure the Bureau wouldn't have found someone else."
"I can be pretty damn certain! It's been going on for how long? And we're the most competent people it's ever managed to recruit. *Us*. You know as well as I do, if it had been anyone else they sent in there, this moonbase would now be orbiting a rather attractive semiprecious gemstone of astronomical size."
"He's got a point," Merle said sagely. "Very dramatic effect, not so great for sustaining life."
Magnus threw his arm over his face and said "Yeah, all right," which came out muffled. "You know," he went on, indignant like this had just occurred to him, "for a guy who wants me to talk about my feelings, Merle, you were pretty unconcerned about me falling off the moon."
"Oh yeah, I almost forgot you were stoned out of your mind." Merle scooted closer and planted one broad hand firmly in the middle of Magnus's chest. "There, that should keep you. Better?"
"Mhm." Magnus hummed a contented little tune. "I'm really glad I met you guys, you know? Even if I did think about erasing it with a magical time goblet. It would be sad if we were never a team."
"Yeah, well, you're a giant fuckin' sap."
Merle threw a handful of grass at him. "I think what Taako is trying to say, Magnus, is 'you're our teammate and we care about you and you can talk to us if you need to'."
"Come on, I don't wanna lay all my problems on you guys."
"I'm not offering free therapy indefinitely, okay? Just talk about it, a little, if you think it'll help. Tell me about Julia. How'd you meet her?"
"That's kind of a cute story, actually," Magnus said, and told it. Taako drifted off a little. You got a great view of the stars from a dimly-lit moonbase, but they were a little askew from how they looked from the ground, and it was disorienting. None of the constellations looked quite right. Were those the Dioscuri, or were they some other starry fuckers pretending to be the Dioscuri? Hard to tell. Somewhere Magnus was still talking, but Taako wasn't quite awake enough to listen. This was nice, even if he wasn't going to admit it out loud. It wasn't like he needed physical contact or anything- he'd been alone most of his life, hadn't he, and that had been fine, hadn't it?- but there was something kind of comforting about falling asleep next to other people. People he could almost certainly trust to have his back unless something really distracting was happening. At some point Magnus cried for a while, not very loudly, and Merle made soothing noises at him. Merle was great at that kind of thing. Damn, they were a well-oiled team. They should also, Taako thought vaguely, probably not all fall asleep in the middle of the quad. He'd point that out to everyone, in a minute.
He awoke, not for the first time, being prodded delicately in the ribs by the toe of somebody's buttoned boot. "Dare I ask what precisely took place here?"
This was probably the time for his most charismatic excuses, but in the moment of clarity of awakening Taako had had a terrible revelation. "Oh, shit," he muttered into the grass, "I missed the most obvious Boy Detective baked goods pun ever, Angus will never respect me again, fuck."
"Now, I'm sure there's no need to be so harsh with yourself," the Director said. "Angus is a kind-hearted boy, and with time and effort on your part he may perhaps regain a portion of his former esteem for you. Try to think positive thoughts. Ideally, think them in a different location. Good Lord, boys, we didn't build the dorms as background set dressing, you know." She looked them over. "Are you going to need help dragging Magnus inside?"
"Oh, yeah, probably, why don't I just go and find some people to help with that," Taako said, and ran for it.
An hour later he tracked down Angus, yanked the book out of his hands, replaced it with a plate, stared him down and said flatly, "*Encyclopedia Brownies*."
"That's *brilliant*, sir," Angus said, wide-eyed.
"Yeah, I'm pretty smart like that," Taako said, and took a brownie. But he let Angus keep the corner pieces. What the hell, he could be a good teammate once in a while.
#did i have a fic tag i've already forgotten#canary writes a thing#it doesn't have a plot or anything it's basically just stoned dudes cuddling
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Tagged by @homoponyrabbit. Girl, thank you, I needed something to do tonight <3
Nickname: I don’t have one. My name is Sara, and you can’t really nick that.
Gender: Female
Star sign: Taurus
Height: 5′6″
Time: 8:38 p.m.
Birthday: May 20th
Favourite bands: Muse, Bastille, Imagine Dragons
Favourite solo artists: Adele, Rob Thomas, Justin Timberlake, Ed Sheeran, Lady Gaga, Elvis (I really prefer solo artists to bands, honestly)
Song stuck in my head: Praying by Kesha
Last movie i watched: Oh god. Um. Kingsman: The Golden Circle, I think
Last show i watched: Not gonna lie. It was My Little Pony. Don’t judge.
When did i create this blog: September 2012, I think.
When do i post: When I’m bored. I always have a queue going, but if you see a bunch of shitposts or DA love, then that’s me bored out of my gourd trying to find the meaning of life.
Last thing i googled: What time PetSmart closes. Had to get some food for my cat.
Do i have any other blogs: Not on Tumblr, no
Do i get any asks: Not generally. I try to avoid drama, and that’s usually where asks come from as far as I can tell.
Why did i choose my url: My real name is Sara, so I just started from that. There’s nothing super special about it.
Following: 95
Followers: 266
Favourite colours: Purple, Black, anything remotely metallic.
Average hours of sleep: 6 or less
Lucky number: Yeah, I don’t have one of those, lol. I do think 6 is my UNlucky number, though
Instruments: I played the violin for 6 years, but I have zero rhythm and I’m a tad tone deaf so I never progressed very far with it
What am i wearing: Black skinny jeans, black crop top, blue plaid shrug, and a black cowboy hat.
How many blankets do i sleep with: ....4? I hate being cold at night.
Dream job: Writer, editor, professor
Dream trip: Most anywhere. I love everything about travel. Even just going out to a new town on the weekends makes me happy.
Favourite food: Mexican, probably. I can’t go a week without eating a burrito of some form.
Nationality: American, and I second that, homopony. I hate it, send help. SOS. Eh, fuck that, it’s already sunk.
Favourite song right now: Galway Girl by Ed Sheeran.
Tagging: @milkynozomi (I know you like these ;) )
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A Crime Against Pizza (co-authored with @mshoneysucklepink)
From this prompt: "Your pizza keeps getting delivered to my house by mistake and I need to talk to you about your choice of toppings AU" by @ashesinyourhair from the @dailyau.
Rating: PG (for innuendo)
Summary: Some people are very particular about their pizza.
Warnings: Pineapple on pizza, orgasmic descriptions of pepperoni, egregiously overused italics, general idiocy. Stoner Brett.
~3100 words
AO3
First this happened. Then this happened. Super thanks to @snarkyhag for the awesome beta.
--
The only saving grace about exam time, Blaine thought, was that somehow it made pizza taste even better. He wasn’t sure if it was some psychosomatic reaction or the perfect balance of protein, carbs, and fat traveling through his bloodstream straight to his brain - but it set off his reward center like nothing else. Except maybe a good orgasm (ideally brought on by something other than his own hand, thankyouverymuch).
The only problem was his roommate. Sam HATED Blaine’s preferred toppings of pineapple and ham, (“it’s fruit on pizza, Blaine, and fruit is healthy, it totally defeats the point of pizza being junk food! It makes it, I don’t know, less junky!”) Which was why he considered himself lucky that Sam had a nighttime photo shoot. Nothing was stopping him.
He dialed his favorite pizza place, telling himself he’d eat the leftovers for breakfast in the morning before Sam could bitch about it.
--
“Ouch!”
It was the fifth time Kurt had accidentally pricked himself with a pin while working on the partial costume that was barely holding together on the dress form. This was his final project for his Advanced Costume Design class, and it was about to look like a costume for Sweeney Todd instead of Hamilton (hmmm, maybe he could pass it off as from the “Battle of Yorktown?”). His vision was swimming in spite of all the coffee he’d ingested and...oh, he hadn’t eaten. That explained things; his blood sugar must have been off-balance.
He checked the fridge--nothing. He had been so busy with final assignments and living off bagels from the library coffee shop, he hadn’t gone grocery shopping and the fridge was only full of Rachel’s vegan friendly favorites. There were the kale chips she had bought on a whim, some tofu (ergh), and some homegrown kombucha from the farmer’s market that he was certain was becoming sentient. He briefly considered sauteeing up her seitan and vegetables into a stir fry, but he still had so much work to do and just the thought of cleaning up the kitchen afterward was more than he could bear.
He opened the drawer of menus and instantly salivated. He hadn’t had pizza with real cheese on it in months. Tonight not even Rachel Berry could stop him from getting his pineapple and pepperoni fix.
--
There was a reason the guys at Vanelli’s called their new delivery boy “Stoner Brett.”
Blaine was up and at the door before the delivery guy could even finish knocking.
“Uhhh, you order a,” the delivery boy who reeked of pot drawled, squinting at the label on the side, “a large pineapple?”
“Yeah, that’s me. Here you go,” Blaine said, handing over 25 dollars and taking the pizza box. “Keep the change.”
“Dude, cool,” Stoned Delivery Dude smiled and left. Blaine closed the door and went to set the pizza on the coffee table. He grabbed a plate, knife and fork from the kitchen, a handful of napkins (it was New York pizza) along with a soda from the fridge, and sat down to his mid-study reward.
“Mmm, come to papa,” Blaine moaned, as he opened the box.
And was immediately disgusted.
There was pepperoni on his pizza.
Now, Blaine understood that pepperoni was the most popular and stereotypically classic pizza topping. He figured it was an easy mistake to make. But it didn’t stop the queasy feeling they gave him. Little red nitrites, their edges crisped and curled up like the floors of Hell, their centers filled with a light yellow puddle of grease. Spicy little grease pools that dripped everywhere, and anyone who ever had to get grease stains out of polo shirts would empathize, he was sure. And with pineapple? No, just...no. The saltiness of the ham paired so well with sweet pineapple; slightly dry balanced with juicy bursts. But pineapple juice mixed with pepperoni grease?
Blaine would have cried if he weren’t so nauseous. And hungry.
He decided, maybe he could just delicately pick the pepperonis off? He picked up one, and gently attempted to pull it off the cheese...and the grease splashed back onto his shirt.
“GODDAMNIT.” He called Vanelli’s again, to try to get a replacement pie.
--
Kurt stomach growled and he looked up from his sewing and saw the time. It had been almost an hour since he’d ordered his pizza.
“Oh my god,” he mumbled to no one, reaching for his phone. He was just about to dial to find out where his food was when Rachel came noisily into the apartment.
“Kurt! You will never guess who I ran into tonight at yoga - Jesse St. James, from high school. You remember him?”
Kurt scowled. Yes, he remembered Jesse-St.James-from-high-school. He did not approve.
“Yes, but Vanelli’s never delivered my pizza so hang on; let me call them and you can tell me all about -”
The downstairs buzzer rang before Kurt could push the numbers. The caller ID’d himself as the pizza delivery guy so Kurt buzzed him up.
“I hope that’s the Vegan Double, Kurt, I am starving,” Rachel followed him to the door, standing behind him and looking skeptically at the delivery guy. Kurt didn’t recognize him, but he definitely recognized the slightly sour scent of streetcorner weed. He made a face and paid the guy, but he didn’t have the heart to skimp on his tip, even with the tardy delivery.
Kurt set the box on the dining table, “Rachel I didn’t order the vegan one,” Kurt said, opening the box. “You weren’t here so I opted for - not this.” Kurt stared at the pizza. It was almost right. He could have sworn he’d ordered pineapple and pepperoni, but that was definitely ham on the pie. Whatever, he shrugged to himself. Pork is pork.
“Gross.” He had almost forgotten Rachel was standing there. “I don’t know how you can eat that, Kurt. Those poor pigs, and all the milk for that cheese belongs to the baby cows -”
“Calves, Rachel. They’re called calves.” Kurt rolled his eyes.
Rachel sat across the table with her most judgmental look. “They are baby cows, Kurt.”
“Whatever Rachel. I am starving and I am eating this pizza,” he said. But he knew he’d give in, he always did. And usually he didn’t even mind. He liked eating healthier, he felt better, and it was good for his occasionally fluctuating weight (although that had been less of a problem as he’d gotten older). But sometimes he just wanted a real freaking pizza. “Go make yourself something. I’ll stop at two slices and eat the rest tomorrow after my exam. I still have to finish up the project for my costume design class and then we can watch a movie and have popcorn with that vegan butter you like, okay?”
Rachel grinned. “That sounds like a perfect night Kurt. Thank you!”
--
After the pizza mixup from the other night, Blaine was hesitant about ordering from Vanelli’s again. They had brought him a new pie, with the proper toppings, and he left the other for Sam (who, as expected, picked the pineapple off and threw it in the trash, what kind of monster…). But they had ordered once after that and it turned out fine, though the last delivery person was different (and decidedly not high as a kite), and the order had been correct (however, with Sam home there would be no pineapple). Blaine assumed they had fired the stoner from before.
Blaine sighed with relief when he came in from his last exam. He had sent his final paper in earlier that day, and with that another school year was behind him. He had a couple of weeks until his summer internship started, and for now he felt like celebrating. As far as he was concerned there was no better way to celebrate than with his favorite pizza. With the biggest puppy eyes Blaine could muster, Sam bent to his will and let him pick the toppings (“but I’m totally picking the fruit off!” he said).
“You’re the one best friend that anyone could have,” Blaine sang at Sam, as he went to take a shower, leaving Sam to answer the door.
--
Less than a week after the ham pizza incident Kurt was buried under a History of Design project and two back-to-back finals, one for his Advanced Playwrights class and the other a monologue from The Tempest for his Shakespeare class that Kurt was finding to be a miserable bitch to memorize. The further he got into the monologue the worse he got.
It took him about fifteen more difficult minutes to realize that he hadn’t actually eaten since breakfast, and that was probably why his brain wasn’t putting words together in any proper order, much less the order William Shakespeare demanded.
As good as the ham and pineapple pizza had been, he was still craving his favorite pineapple with pepperoni. Ham was fine, but a ham and pineapple pizza was just so boring. Pepperoni was spicy and chewy, and Vanelli’s had that special way of cooking the pepperoni so that they curled up around the edges and the tasty grease pooled deliciously in the center of each slice, like tiny bowls of processed pork product soup.
“God yes,” Kurt moaned as he thumbed open his phone and called the shop.
--
“Blaine, pizza’s here!” Sam shouted.
Blaine came out of his room, barefoot and wearing a fresh shirt and pair of jeans, pressing the moisture out of his curls. “Great, I’m starving! Wait,” Blaine sniffed the air, then at Sam’s clothes, and got a strange sense of deja vu. “Why does it smell like a Phish concert in here?”
“Probably because the pizza dude was totally stoned out of his gourd,” Sam laughed, as he opened the box.
Blaine didn’t even need to see the pepperonis before he knew they were there. “Damn it. I gotta call them back, get them to send a non-stoner to bring us a new pizza.”
“Um, why don’t you just give it to this Hummel person?” Sam asked.
“What Hummel person?”
“The person whose pizza this is? I looked at the receipt on the side. They only live two floors above us.”
--
Forty-five minutes later there was a knock on his apartment door, which made no sense unless Rachel had forgotten her keys, because they had a buzzer and everyone in the building was careful about not letting in someone without keys. Kurt looked through the peephole in the door. There was a guy on the other side that Kurt thought he recognized as one of the two guys who lived downstairs. The two cute guys. They’d never exchanged more than a polite nod, and neither he nor Rachel had been able to figure out whether they were a couple or not.
Oh well, cute guys don’t randomly knock on my door every day, he thought, as he opened it. It was one of the cute guys - the one who usually used too much gel in his hair (though not tonight and ooh those curls were sexy) - and he was holding a pizza box.
“Hi, can I help you?”
Cute Guy scowled. “I believe this is yours?” He lifted the edge of the box and Kurt could see his perfect pepperoni and pineapple pizza inside.
Kurt grinned. “Oh wow, thank you!” He reached out and took the box. “But how did you -”
“Know it was you? Your apartment number was on the box.”
“Oh, duh, of course! Well, thank you, um…”
Cute Guy extended his hand. “My name’s Blaine....”
“...Kurt.”
Kurt juggled the box to his left so he could shake hands with his right, and when their hands touched there was a spark. Blaine sure did have the prettiest eyes Kurt had seen in a long time. Maybe in ever. He wondered if Blaine might like to share his pizza. Or possibly his bed. “Would you like to come in?”
--
“Um, okay.”
Blaine was all ready to be super judgemental about whoever this Hummel person was, because he was perfectly allowed to judge based on choice of pizza toppings alone. But when the door opened, he wasn’t expecting the hot guy from the mailboxes. Sam was always teasing him that he was having an imaginary affair with the guy he ran into when he was getting the mail (and he wasn’t wrong). He can’t believe he never registered which apartment was his.
“Thanks for bringing up my pizza. I swear they mess this up every time.” Come on Kurt, you can be flirty. “Can I get you a drink, or do you want to share a thank you slice?”
How could someone so gorgeous have such awful taste in pizza toppings? He hoped it didn’t show on his face.
“I just have to ask one thing,” Blaine said.
Kurt turned from setting the pizza box on a table, raising an eyebrow. “Yes?”
“Why pepperoni?”
Kurt’s mouth dropped open. “Um, why not pepperoni?”
Blaine cringed internally, because this guy was so cute and wrong about pizza but still cute with such a melodic voice. But he had to know, because pepperoni was gross.
“Excuse me, what’s so gross about it?” Oh damn, he said that out loud. Well, in for a penny...
“It’s just so highly processed, and the way it curls up, and the grease pops out of it and settles into these icky, oily pools -”
“Very delicious grease, I think you mean.”
“- and you can’t pick them off without getting the grease everywhere. They are a crime against pizza! And with pineapple? How can you ruin such a perfect, juicy, succulent fruit, that just bursts with sweetness in your mouth?”
Kurt could think of something he’d like to burst in his mouth, all right. “All true. And don’t forget the occasional flash of tart the pineapple sometimes supplies,” Kurt said. “I suppose you would pair your pineapple with ham?” Kurt’s voice had gotten higher at that, and Blaine thought he might have moved a bit closer. He may even have licked his lips.
“It’s only the best balanced companion to pineapple. The ham has that little bit of smoky dryness and salty tang that pineapple pairs so nicely with.”
“But it’s just ham. It is literally the topping most commonly paired with pineapple. It’s so, so -” don’t say boring Kurt, you’re still trying to impress this guy, “predictable.”
“Predictable, huh?” Blaine said, and oh, he could watch Kurt’s lips purse around pronouncing words that start with “P” all night (even if one of them was “pepperoni”).
“Pepperoni is spicy, hot, it makes your mouth feel alive, Blaine. It - mmpf”
Blaine’s mouth was definitely alive, and it was living all over Kurt’s.
Kurt let out a squeak, but gripped Blaine’s shoulders, pulling him closer as they both settled into the kiss.
“Oh my god!” Blaine pulled away. “That was - I don’t know what that was. I am -”
“Do not say sorry.” Kurt pulled Blaine’s face with both hands and kissed him again, angling his head so their mouths slotted together, his tongue licking into Blaine’s mouth. Kurt pulled away when he finally needed air, and Blaine took a step backward. “Wow, um. Okay.”
They stood for a moment, evaluating each other.
“Would you like to stay for pizza?” Kurt asked, waving a hand backward toward his probably cold pie.
“No,” Blaine said.
“Oh. Well okay, I guess I read this wrong…”
Blaine panicked and grabbed Kurt by the arms. “No, I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant. I mean I won’t stay for that pizza. We can order another.”
“And, um, what should we do while we wait?”
Blaine gave him a sultry gaze. “I have some ideas.”
--
Three months later…
Blaine was sitting on the sofa reading through a magazine when the buzzer from the street went off.
“Hey babe, can you get that?” Kurt shouted from their bedroom. Their bedroom.
“Sure. Are we expecting someone?” Blaine pushed the buzzer. “Hello?”
“Delivery.” came the muddled voice through the tinny speaker.
“It’s a surprise!” Kurt sang from the other room.
They had only been living together for a few days, long enough to have most of Blaine’s things moved in while Kurt moved some of his out-of-season things to Rachel’s old room. It wasn’t like they even had that much stuff, it was just the act of combining their lives that made it seem like so much more.
It had seemed sudden to their friends, when Blaine moved into Kurt’s apartment, but with Rachel cast in a series shooting in Los Angeles and Sam moving back to Kentucky to be with his parents for a while, it had seemed like the obvious choice to both Blaine and Kurt.
“A surprise, huh?”
Blaine opened the door to find...Stoner Brett.
The pizza delivery guy. (They found out his name after another two misdelivered pizzas, and three calls to Vanelli’s. Everyone there called him that. It seemed fitting.)
“Hey, Sto--uh, Brett,” Blaine said.
“Yo, dude.” Brett looked confused a moment. “Am I in the right place?”
Blaine laughed and fished money out of the jar by the door. “Yeah. I moved.”
“Woah. Cool.” He grinned and put up a fist for Blaine to bump.
Kurt came out of the bedroom as Blaine took the pizza. Brett looked even more confused. “Wow, dude, did you move too?”
“Um, no?” Kurt said, as Blaine put the pizza on the table. Brett stood for a moment, as if he wasn’t sure he was even in the right dimension, but eventually shuffled off without a word. Kurt brushed it off. “So, I thought to welcome you, we could have a compromise pizza!”
“Compromise, huh?”
“Yes,” Kurt said, as he wound his arms around Blaine’s waist. “Pineapple all over, but ham on one side for you, and pepperoni on the other side for me,” he punctuated with a wet kiss to Blaine’s lips.
“Aw, that’s so sweet!” Blaine cooed, as he leaned over and flipped open the box lid and… “Oh, you have got to be kidding me!”
They both stared into the box: the pizza had all the pineapple on only one side; the other side had the ham and pepperoni together.
“Well, we can’t blame Stoner Brett this time,” Kurt mused. “He only delivers them, he doesn’t make them.”
“So, what do you want to do?”
“Well, you know how I feel about pork, Blaine. Why settle for just ham and pepperoni when I can have sausage here at home?” He gave Blaine’s ass a squeeze and led them back to the bedroom.
That pie went cold. From then on they started ordering their pizza from Jimmy’s Famous instead.
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