#top ten moments just before disaster thing i mentioned earlier | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mygodyouredivine · 3 years

Text

The Hell In Your Eyes - 2

Summary: Loki doesn't meet her until two weeks after his initial imprisonment, but he knows he hates her. He has to hate her. Because the way she talks to him and helps him and saves him meals can't mean anything. She is too soft to deal with Loki, who is hardened with pain, pain, and more pain. And Loki hates soft things.

Have you ever seen the hell in someone’s eyes and loved it anyway?

Characters: Loki Laufeyson/(f)Reader

Warnings: mild blood

Word Count: 3498

Previous Chapter

It’s 5 in the morning.

The sun isn’t even out yet and you’re standing in the kitchen, dressed in your pajamas, preparing smoothies. You thought you’d be used to waking up early, considering how you always used to make smoothies before everyone else woke up, but apparently your recent ‘break’ has thrown off your internal schedule. In fact, if not for FRIDAY’s not-so-gentle reminder of your morning plans, you wouldn’t have gotten up in time.

You shake your head, tightening your grip on the mason jar you’re holding.

It won’t happen again.

It can’t.

Not when you’re already in everyone’s way, always leeching off of Tony’s money, always causing trouble for Steve and making Bucky worry. Not when Natasha always feels a need to look after you and Wanda constantly checks in. Not when Sam and Clint feel obligated to train with you and Thor treats you like you’re going to break — going to shatter into a thousand tiny pieces and then cut and bleed all over the tower’s expensive, clean floors.

No. If you can’t even do something as simple as making smoothies for the people you’re always inconveniencing, what use are you?

Your fingers tighten and you can feel your nails digging into the hard glass of the mason jar. For a second, you wonder if it’s possible for you to scratch the class. You clench your fingers — hard — in an effort to break the glass. Just once, you want to break something else. But as you loosen your grip, you’re forced to come to terms with the fact that the jar is just as pristine as it always was.

Not a single crack. Not even a scratch.

The jar is fine — the jar is always fine. But your fingers are dented and your joints are sore and you’re so tired of this. Of always being the one who is damaged. The only one who is ever damaged. Everyone else is always unscathed and no one else ever breaks.

You drop the mason jar.

Shit.

It falls to the ground and you watch as it shatters all over the floor.

Maybe Thor is right. Maybe you are going to shatter one day, just like that mason jar.

But it’s not going to be today. Breath quickening, you furiously remind yourself that it’s okay.

It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay.

It’s not you on the floor. Maybe one day it is going to be you, lying there broken and useless and fractured and gone, but right now, it's not. You’re still full and whole and not broken and the glittering glass fragments on the floor aren’t you. Looking back down, your eyes catch on droplets of red. Your breath stops and the air in your lungs still. Sure, the glass on the floor isn’t your ground-up soul, shattered and crushed, but the blood is yours.

There are specks of blood splattered amidst the glass, staining the kitchen’s pristine floor. And you know it’s your blood because you can feel it dripping from your fingers where the glass cut into your skin and you can’t help but stare as a drop of it rolls off your middle finger and falls to the ground and you flinch as it lands in a little crimson circle.

It’s pretty, though.

And you can’t look away as another drop falls, landing directly on top of the previous one, doubling the size of the puddle. For a second, you wonder how much blood it would take to cover the entire floor — and if your body has enough.

But then you hear footsteps approaching and you hastily kneel onto the ground, furiously attempting to clean up the mess you made, to fix it. More blood trickles from your fingertips as you desperately grab at the broken pieces. You’re making it worse.

The glass blurs and you frantically blink, trying to rid yourself of the tears beginning to form in your eyes. The last thing you need is to cry — for your tears to mingle with your blood — for you to appear even weaker than you already do.

But you are weak. You can’t even win this battle — against yourself, and you feel the tears overflow and you watch as they fall, turning the dark red into a lighter pink.

It's a pretty pink.

It’s a pink that reminds you of the first lipstick you ever bought. You and your best friend had gone down to the convenience store after school, sneakily carrying the lunch money you’d both saved. You remember counting the coins together and excitedly running towards the makeup aisle, where the both of you promptly agonized over the perfect lipstick for the better part of an hour.

Eventually, you settled on a sparkly little tube of lipstick — more of a chapstick really, and you can distinctly recall how it smelled like heaven and tasted like strawberries, and how it always tinted your lips just the slightest bit pink.

But right now, the pink you’re staring at isn’t lipstick, and you can very clearly make out two feet standing before you. Looking up, you meet a pair of eyes. Blue, like the sky on a sunny day. It’s a blue filled with promises of picnics and lemonade and daisies, of innocence and childhood, of strawberry lipstick. And in this moment, you want nothing more than to drown in that blue.

Maybe if you bleed enough blood and cry enough tears you can drown in it. Maybe you can drown in the perfect shade of pink while staring into the perfect shade of blue.

______________________________

For such a muscly man, Thor’s fingers are surprisingly soft.

The god is currently standing before you, carefully bandaging your cut hands.

“My lady, I thought you specifically told me that blood smoothies were not appetizing.” His attempt at humor brings a smile to your face, but you can’t do more. Shrugging, you answer.

“Well, I guess I’m just a hypocrite.” His eyes squint, his eyebrows furrow, and you can tell he’s about to reassure you. You hurriedly continue. “Even the best of us make mistakes, Lord of Thunder.”

Thor’s eyebrows relax again, and the corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles. Relief courses through your veins. You wonder if Thor can feel it in the blood that is still leaking from your fingers. Gently, you tug your hands out of his grasp, just in case. Sending out a silent prayer of thanks to whatever prompted you to wear your black sweatpants today, you try not to grimace as the fabric brushes against your injured legs. At the very least, they conceal the blood.

Thor doesn’t need to know about those. It’s bad enough that he’s already seen you dissolving into an emotional puddle earlier, not to mention how the literal King of Asgard had cleaned up the mess you made and is now attempting to inspect your hands again.

“Were you planning on making the smoothies this morning, my lady?” Thor’s voice interrupts your thoughts and you look up, meeting his poorly-disguised-concerned gaze.

“Yup.” You nod, popping the p . “I’m glad to be back, and I wanted to start making you guys smoothies before your morning workouts again. I know for a fact that whatever concoction you made yesterday was an absolute disaster.”

Thor looks sheepish as he smiles, his hands running through his short blonde hair. “My brother would agree with you.”

At this, you suddenly remember. You need to get Loki’s smoothie preference, as well as the time he wakes up. You know everyone’s preferred flavors, as well as their morning routines, to ensure your smoothies are always as fresh as possible.

“Speaking of Loki, when does he wake up?”

Thor shrugs, a confused look flitting across his face. “Truth be told, I don’t really know. Loki and I haven’t inhabited the same space in quite some time, and I am not familiar with his routines.”

“Oh.” That would be slightly hard to work with. “Uh, well do you know what type of smoothie he might prefer?”

Thor’s lips turn down into a pout. “I don’t think Loki would like any type of smoothie, my lady. Yesterday he made his distaste for smoothies quite clear."

Before you can interrupt and remind him that his smoothie most definitely tasted nothing like your smoothies, he continues with a wink. "But I suppose if anyone could make a smoothie Loki does approve of, it would be you, my lady."

You know Thor is somewhat disappointed by Loki’s lack of enthusiasm towards his smoothie. It’s easy to detect, even under his charming antics. Thor’s lips turn downward when he is upset, and he always picks at his nails. Sometimes he will suck in his cheek, and that’s when you know he is truly in a mood. But Thor never stays sad for long.

His expression has brightened up again, and Thor is back, his ever-chipper energy once again emanating from within his warm eyes. There’s not a single trace of conflict in his eyes, and you wonder, for the hundredth time, how he does it. Thor has seen so much death — caused it, even — and been through so much pain, yet he is always able to hold it together, always able to smile and laugh and come back stronger.

Thor is the embodiment of the word 'golden'. No matter how much dirt and grime Life layers on top of him, nothing could ever dim his luster.

You think you're closer to being the dirt and grime than you ever were to being gold.

“Thanks Thor.”

______________________________

In the end, you settle on making Loki Thor’s favorite smoothie. After all, Thor is the only other god here who has dined on the finest Asgardian delicacies, and if he likes your chocolate-strawberry smoothies, you just hope Loki does too.

The only difference is, Thor prefers his smoothies absurdly sweet. Whether it’s his insane metabolism or the ten thousand calories he burns a day, he never seems to be affected by the hundreds of grams of sugar you’re sure he consumes.

You’re carefully pouring the smoothie into two mason jars when Nat comes into the kitchen. You smile and motion towards her drink sitting on the counter. Natasha prefers a green smoothie, packed with kale and spinach and cucumbers and ginger — not the best tasting thing you’ve ever made, but it must do something , ‘cause Nat looks like she doesn’t understand what the word ‘bloating’ means.

The redhead raises an eyebrow, motioning to the second mason jar you’re carefully pouring. “Does Thor drink two of those every morning now?”

“Well, no. This one's for Loki. I don’t know what he prefers, so I thought I’d make him Thor’s favorite for now. Except without the whipped cream and excessive number of chocolate chips.”

Nat’s other eyebrow raises. “You’re kidding right? Angel, stay away from Loki. He’s a dangerous man. He’s deranged and unstable and selfish. He’s not going to appreciate your smoothie.”

And with that, all the self doubt rushes back in. The self hatred that Thor’s fingers had smoothed away, the shame that bled from your fingertips, it all rushes back in, pumping through your veins and into your heart.

“Do you appreciate my smoothie?” You hadn’t meant for it to come out, and you certainly hadn’t meant for it to sound so insecure.

Nat’s eyes widen, and she hastily retreats. “Nono Angie, that's not what I meant. Come on, you know all of us love your smoothies. What I’m trying to say is —” her fingers meet her forehead in a gesture of frustration “ — we appreciate and love you for all that you do, but Loki won’t. He’s too arrogant and he definitely thinks we’re all beneath him.”

With that, she moves closer to you and envelopes you in a hug. Natasha means well, you know that, but she doesn’t realize how her words come off — how she just backed up the little voice inside your head, repeatedly telling you that you’re worthless. You wonder if she even wants your smoothie, or if she just humors you. And then her arms retreat from around you, and she steps back.

“Sorry Angie, but I’ve got to go now. I love you — we all do. You know that right?”

You nod, and smile. “Thanks Nat. I love you too.”

______________________________

Natasha’s smoothie has separated. The blended ingredients have floated to the top, and the green liquid has settled below. The abandoned smoothie sits on the edge of the counter, where she left it, only reaffirming your suspicions that she didn’t really want it in the first place. Dimly, you consider dumping Loki’s smoothie out. Maybe Natasha is right. But you don’t really want to waste any food, so you move to put his smoothie in the fridge. Maybe Thor will drink it later.

(If he even likes them.)

But as you open the fridge door, you notice the plate of leftovers you snagged yesterday is gone. The saran wrapped plate is missing, and you don’t think anyone would have taken it, except…? You look around for the plate. It’s not in the sink or left on the counter, nor lying in the dishwasher. You find it in the cabinets, placed directly on top of its companions.

You’re confident that no one in this tower would clean their plate after eating, except maybe Steve. But Steve isn’t here — he made his famous lasagna last night because he was leaving for a mission early today. So really, that just leaves Loki.

Is it possible that Nat was wrong?

Did Loki take the food you left for him? And ate all of it? And cleaned up?

You suddenly remember yesterday, walking in on Loki scrubbing blood off the floor. You can’t say you were surprised Thor had left a mess, but you were somewhat surprised Loki was cleaning it up. Maybe it is possible then.

So you decide to bring the smoothie to Loki.

First, you make a quick stop at your room. Your legs are really starting to sting, and you don’t want the sweatpants to dry onto your skin. Damn. You’re going to have to wash these again, and you just did laundry. But it’s okay, and soon you’re walking out of your room, clad in another pair of sweatpants and an oversized hoodie, holding Loki’s smoothie.

You take the elevator and press the familiar button of Thor’s floor. Mentally, you’re once again debating whether or not this is a good idea. You’ve almost decided to just turn back when the elevator doors slide open and you make eye contact with Loki, who is standing awkwardly in the doorway of his room, one foot inside the door and one foot in the plush carpet of the Odinsons’ shared living room.

His eyebrows are raised comically in an expression of surprise, and for a second you don’t see the intimidating god.

But then the moment passes, and he straightens, eyes narrowing, eyebrows drawing together in a frown. “Can I help you?”

A part of you — a large part of you — wants to leave immediately. To apologize for disturbing him and go back to your room. But another part of you, the one who caught a glimpse of Loki before he threw up his defenses, roots you to the ground.

“Actually, yeah. I made you a smoothie.” You stick out your hand, ignoring the way it trembles slightly. “I know Thor’s smoothie probably tasted like shit, so I thought I’d make you one to show you how it's done.”

When he doesn’t move, you step further into the living room and set the smoothie down. One of Thor’s hoodies is lying haphazardly across the coffee table, so you pick it up. Loki is staring at you.

There’s an awkward silence, and you wish he would say something. Anything. But the raven haired prince is as stoic as ever. His eyes are still boring into your own and you can’t help but notice how strikingly different they are from Thor’s.

Somehow, you’re engaged in a staring contest with the god — and you don’t really want to lose. In an effort, perhaps, to prove to yourself that you’re not weak (especially after the morning’s incident) you resist the increasing temptation to blink. You don’t want Loki to think you’re scared of him, even though you may be a bit wary , and you continue to stare into his eyes.

They say eyes are the windows to the soul. If that’s true, Loki has a very — empty soul. It’s neither warm nor cold, just vacant . It’s almost as if you’re staring into the eyes of someone long dead.

With that, you shiver, and surprisingly, Loki breaks the intense eye contact. He looks away then, and his head tilts downward.

“Right then. I’ll just be on my way.” You hold up Thor’s hoodie. “I’m going to do some laundry. Do you have anything that needs to be washed?”

You hope he doesn’t ignore you. You really don’t need that today. You just need to be productive. To do something — to help someone. And maybe he senses that, because Loki actually nods and walks back into his bedroom, leaving you to stand awkwardly in the middle of the lavish living space.

A few moments later, Loki reemerges, effortlessly holding a laundry hamper.

“Would you like me to take this down?”

You’re a bit stunned by his unexpected and considerate offer, but your desire to prove yourself shines through.

“Nah, I got it. Thanks.”

With that, you lug Loki’s hamper and Thor’s hoodie out of their room, leaving Loki’s smoothie — and an intense hope he drinks it — behind.

______________________________

Loki is an unbelievably neat person.

His dirty clothes are folded — inside his hamper. And organized by article, as well as color. You don’t think he realizes how — awkward — it makes the entire process. After carefully shoving his button downs, slacks, sweaters, and jeans into the washer, you’re left with an interesting assortment of clothing.

His undershirts are ridiculously soft, and you resist the urge to snag one. This isn’t Thor, you remind yourself. After piling them in, you stare at his hamper. Loki has folded his socks, which are paired together. You sincerely hope the washer doesn’t decide to eat one of them, as you doubt he understands the Midgardian concept of missing socks.

Below his socks are… Loki’s boxers. You wipe away the mental image your mind involuntarily conjures and quickly dump the rest of the clothing into the washer, without touching anything.

With that, you throw in Thor’s hoodie and your sweatpants, start the cycle, and leave, shaking your head.

On the way back to your room, you realize that Loki has a very limited closet. All of his laundry had barely filled up his hamper, and you notice how most of his clothing consisted of somewhat uncomfortable items. You haven’t seen him around due to your break, but from his clothing you can assume that Loki has a very different fashion taste than Thor. Mentally, you make a note to slip him some of your oversized hoodies when returning his clothes.

______________________________

You’re immensely thankful for Thor. He always seems to have the best — or worst — timing, and this time he has saved you from a rather embarrassing situation.

You’re pulling Loki’s clothes out of the dryer (having already stolen Thor’s hoodie), and you’ve just started to fold his clothes. So far, you’ve shoved a forest green hoodie at the very bottom of the hamper, and you’re in the process of carefully layering Loki’s sweaters over it. Thankfully, the dryer is still mostly full, and you haven’t been confronted with the dilemma of handling Loki’s underwear again.

Luckily, Thor walks in before you have to.

“Are you doing Loki’s laundry, my lady?” His voice startles you and you jump, but manage to not drop Loki’s earthy brown sweater.

“No,” you deadpan, “These are all mine.”

Thor smiles that smile you’re so familiar with, and you can’t help but grin back. “Well, let me take it from here.” His grin falters for a moment, and he looks more serious when he continues. “Thank you Angel, for giving Loki a chance. I know he can be — difficult. And I wouldn’t blame you if you only saw the villain.”

You meet Thor’s eyes, always filled with emotion — whether that be happiness or warmth, sadness or anger, and you think back to another pair of eyes. Soulless. You think of Loki, and you think of how you’ve seen those soulless eyes before; every single time you look into a mirror. And for a second, you let yourself believe that maybe Loki’s soul wasn’t voluntarily taken from him either. Maybe his cruelty is his defense, just like yours is the fake-happiness that you wear as a shield.

“It’s no problem Thor.” You smile, your shield intact. “I couldn’t let him suffer with your smoothies forever, no matter how villainous he might be.”

______________________________

Cruelty is just loneliness disguised as bitterness.

- Tom Hiddleston

______________________________

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Taglist: @spacedaddydinn @doct0rstrange

#loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson x reader #loki x reader #loki series #the hell in your eyes #thiye #loki x you #friends to enemies to lovers #reader insert #loki fic #jouce writes

98 notes · View notes

bellesque · 4 years

Text

Stop & Smell the Flowers (Loki x Reader)

A Loki Oneshot for the Spring Time with Loki Collab Collection on AO3. Also on my AO3.

Rating: Explicit

Words: 8.9K BIG yikes

Tags/Warnings: Sex Pollen (therefore Mildly Dub-Con), Smut, Vaginal Sex, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay, Orgasm Denial, Sex in Space, and some hints of a Praise Kink

Summary: Plant samples from Alfheim and a brooding god as your only companions in a small Quinjet sounds like a recipe for disaster, but some good things can happen in ten hours.

A/N: All I can say is... whoops, my hand slipped?

THE RIDE BACK to Earth is longer than you anticipated.

The small Quinjet is a sturdy and silent thing, the engine’s muffled hum a constant as you hurtle through space. It’s a drawn out, unceasing sound; it brings your boredom to the forefront of your consciousness and warps it into a false sense of steady calm. You might even be able to close your eyes for a second, seeing as there’s nothing but blackness before you—

“Wake up,” a voice snaps from behind your pilot chair, punctuated by a sharp snap of fingers. “You will not crash this ship.”

You straighten in your seat, unfazed by the bite in your companion’s tone. You blink a couple times, squeezing your eyes shut as you stifle a yawn.

“There’s literally nothing to crash into, Loki.”

Heavy boots thud against the metal floor of the ship until they stop by the copilot chair a few paces away from you. “You never were the vigilant type to begin with.”

This time, you sigh. “Look, if it makes you feel better, I’m turning on autopilot. If you can’t trust me, trust Stark. His tech is unparalleled. We will be fine.” You punch a button on the control panel, and the low hum of the Quinjet rises slightly in pitch. Swiveling around in your chair, you turn to face the god with raised hands. “See? No hands. All good. Course set.”

Loki stares at you, his features set in an unamused scowl, before turning on his heel to the farther side of the ship.

It takes a little more willpower than usual not to allow yourself to snap back at him, but you manage. After all, you’re both pretty tired, and he’s most likely antsy because of how long you’ve been cruising through the void of space. You’re sleepy, he’s irritable.

Still, your estimated time of arrival isn’t for another eight hours, and seeing as you’re going to be stuck with each other you might as well try to maintain some semblance of cordiality.

“So,” you begin, pushing up and out from your seat, “Alfheim was pretty.”

Loki stands by the glass window that shows you nothing but the expanse of space. His reflection is so clear that the details—like the strong slope of his nose, his aristocratic cheekbones—are unmarred.

“Yes,” he answers curtly. “Home to the Light Elves. As Stark briefed earlier, if you had been paying any attention.”

You swallow the retort, letting it fizzle out on the tip of your tongue. Stark did brief you on your mission, alright. You just wish knowing how to handle a brooding, irritated god was one of the things on Tony’s agenda.

Your mission was simple enough—collect some plants and flowers and shrubs and cuttings, he said. All the planty things. It’ll be quick, he said. Two rides through the Bifrost from Earth to Heimdall’s Observatory in Asgard, and then to Alfheim, followed by a short Quinjet ride to the nearby planet-slash-moon-thing, he said. Piece of cake, won’t take too long to get there.

He failed to mention how long it would take you to come home since you couldn’t use the Bifrost for reasons that were “none of your damn business.”

“You know, you’re not usually this much of a pain in the ass,” you find yourself saying as you stand side by side.

“And you’re not usually this mouthy,” he replies. He cocks his head at you. “Are you certain the coordinates have been set for Midgard?”

“Yes, sire,” you say, unable to keep the mocking tone from your voice at bay. “I told you. Trust me. If not me, then Stark.”

You lapse into silence, watching distant planets and stars twinkle against the dark backdrop of the void, the unending vastness pulling you into thought.

You’ve been working with the Avengers for just about a year. In this time, you’ve gotten to know everyone in the tower.

Including Loki.

He’s… quite a character, to say the least. Silent. Calculating. Not plotting his next attempt at world domination, but still, many are wary of his presence. You’ve spent enough time with him to know he’s a different Loki from the one in New York, though. You’d even go as far as to say that he’s… almost kind of good. Wreaking chaos, sure, by way of annoying the hell out of Steve and Tony especially, but… good.

And you’ll even admit to yourself, just a little, that he’s nice to be around. Not right now; no, he’s unnecessarily bitchy at the moment. But when it’s just you and him in the tower while the rest are either off-world or taking a day off outside the tower, it’s almost refreshing. His presence is companionable. When you watch a movie, his comments are genuinely witty and they make you laugh. He’s more aloof—more himself, you feel, and he allows himself to actually fucking smile.

And hell, when he does, looking at you with those green eyes and that heart-wrenching, happy smile—

You huff, squashing the blooming feeling in your chest. Pivoting on your heel, you make towards the other side of the ship: the small corner by the hatch that holds your collection of plants from today’s excursion. Maybe the weird, exotic flowers will keep you from acknowledging your tiny (but growing) crush.

“Do you have plants like this on Asgard?” you ask, hoping to inject some light into the heavy and tired air that hangs between you.

It takes Loki a second to move from his stance by the opposite window, but he ends up by your side eventually. He picks up a glass jar that houses a plant with blue, stunted leaves. “No.” He brings it up to eye level, examining it and rotating it in his hand. “The plants we’ve acquired are native to the Alfheim regions, it seems.”

“What does Stark want with them?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea.”

He sets down the jar with a dulled thunk and picks up another. The flower inside this one is pretty: curling petals with an orangey, reddish, and golden iridescence to it. It glitters in the low light of the Quinjet’s interior, and you can’t help but voice your admiration for it.

“Do you know what that one’s called?”

“No.”

“So why’d we get it?”

Loki’s eyebrows scrunch together, shifting his weight to the other foot. “Are you a child, mortal? Why must you ask such—”

You never get to hear the rest of Loki’s question; the Quinjet makes a hard, stuttering sound, almost as if it’s skidding over gravel, and the entire ship lurches forward and then sideways. The scraping sound of metal doesn’t cease as the ship continues to vibrate from the turbulence. You lose your balance, clutching at air to steady yourself, only one particularly hard jerk to the side causes you to stumble into Loki with a soft oof.

The pair of you are jostled to the floor, and the next thing you register is the distinct sound of glass shattering.

After a few seconds, the vibrations stop. Thankfully, because you were really starting to worry that dying in space was going to become an actual thing. The lights flicker before steadying and it resumes its normal hum as though it didn’t just go through the most unholy turbulence you’ve experienced. Granted, this is only your third time in space, but the unexpected collision leaves you spooked out nonetheless.

“What was that?”

It’s this moment that your mind chooses to notice that Loki’s chest has seemingly cushioned your fall, the top half of your body splayed on top of him.

Feeling the heat rise to your cheeks, you hastily clamber off him. “Shit, I’m so sorry.”

He doesn’t say anything, only rises to his feet and dusts off the front of his clothes. “You and I are in big trouble,” he says.

You hurry to the cockpit, which isn’t much of a cockpit considering how small the ship is compared to what Stark usually provides. A space rock just about the size of the ship lazily rolls away. “Looks like an asteroid?” you say, uncertain. “Are we caught in a belt?”

“No, it was a rogue one. The trouble I pertain to is not that, mortal. I’m afraid we’re one plant short now.”

“What?” Your head whips to the back so fast that your neck cricks, and you rush to the spot Loki points at.

Broken glass, and a flower that’s lost some of its iridescence. Some particles glitter on the metal floor, and you curse.

“There’s a spare jar in one of the overhead cabinets. Maybe we can still salvage this one.” You sigh. “What if this had some super special healing power and we just ruined it?”

“I told you not to crash this ship, and yet—”

“Shut it, Reindeer Games.” At this, you can see in your periphery how Loki’s nostrils flare just the slightest at the nickname. He hates it. Hates it because Stark uses it.

You manage to pick up the bigger pieces of broken glass without inadvertently cutting yourself and throw it into the waste bin. Loki hands you—well, more like shoves into you—another glass jar, into which you carefully place the flower. You slot it with the other plant samples and straighten up.

“There are still some smaller shards of glass around here,” you say, gesturing vaguely at the floor, “so we just need to be careful when we walk here.”

The floor shimmers in some angles: some attributed to the minute glass shards, some from the flower. Loki dips his chin in acknowledgment before resuming his perch by the window, staring out at the abyss of space as he was doing before you and he decided to look at the Alfheim plants.

A decision you’re regretting more and more with each passing minute.

You’re back in the pilot chair, scanning for any possibility of crashing into another space rock. If what you were feeling earlier was sleepiness, how you’re feeling right now is that tenfold with an extra weight of ten pounds on your head. Your eyelids are heavy and your body is beginning to feel warm. You sniffle, your nose a little congested, and a sneeze permeates the silence.

You swivel around to face Loki. The simple action of it causes your head to spin; you feel almost lightheaded, the same feeling you get when you’re sick. You steady yourself by planting your feet on the floor. “Hey. Are you feeling a little woozy?”

Loki’s eyes snap to you, concern written on his features. “Are you feeling unwell?”

“Not really. Feels like… like an allergy. From the flower.” You sneeze again. “Head’s heavy. Wanna sleep.”

“There’s a pull-out cot you can rest in.” In a flash, Loki’s helping you up, one arm around your waist. You can’t stop your eyelids from closing this time, feeling your grip on consciousness slip from you as your head lolls onto Loki’s shoulder. It’s a weird feeling. Heavy and light at the same time. You want to voice how it feels, but all that comes out is another sneeze.

“Perhaps the Alfheim flowers are a little too intense for your mortal body.”

Maybe it’s the allergies, but you swear you hear the hint of a smile in his voice. Loki drapes a blanket over you—wait, is he tucking you in?—and cards his fingers through your hair. You’re not sure if it’s real or not, but it feels nice.

“Sleep,” he says, voice distant and muddled. “I will take care of the ship.”

It doesn’t take you long to fall asleep to the Quinjet’s comforting hum.

It’s hot.

Way too hot.

You blearily open your eyes, the feverish warmth that’s spread over your body the first thing you notice. The funny thing is you’re hot but you aren’t sweating. At all.

Just warm.

Excessively so.

“It’s hot,” you blurt out dumbly, sitting up on the strangely comfortable cot. The blanket falls away from you as you squint at Loki’s silhouette in the pilot chair.

The lights are a little dimmer, you think. Not as harsh and cold, blinding white too, but almost warm. You didn’t even know the ship had that feature.

Loki doesn’t answer you. You realize this a little late after marveling over the Quinjet’s new lighting. “Are you hot?” Your voice sounds foreign, different to you—a different timbre, a little more hoarse.

“Not particularly.”

Your stomach does a little flip because shit, his voice sounds different too.

You swallow, rising to your feet. “How long was I asleep?”

“I did not keep track. Perhaps an hour. Maybe two.”

He swivels in the pilot chair, and your stomach does a funny kind of flip. He’s the perfect picture of a confident, cocky prince with a sort of casual regality; he’s leaning back just a little lower with his legs spread open, one arm hanging over the armrest while the other is bent at the elbow, a closed fist by his face. Like he sits on his own throne, proud and powerful and incredibly sexy.

And you’ll be damned if you don’t admit it’s an attractive sight.

“Did you sleep well?” he asks, his head falling to one side. The intensity of his gaze burns into you, and something inside you coils unmistakably. What the hell…?

“I…” your voice catches, and you clear your throat. “I did. Maybe—do—uh, do you want to take a nap this time? ’Cause I can keep watch.” You hurry to your feet, and your legs feel like jelly as you stand. It’s as if they aren’t a part of your body as they take you to the heart of the ship, the halfway point between the cot and the cockpit.

Loki stands, still staring at you, and even in the dimness of the ship you can see that the intensity with which he looks at you hasn’t waned. He reaches you, standing a good foot away, and stops.

You try to calm the wild beating of your heart, rooted to the spot from his attentions, and you fidget. Your eyes are flighty in contrast, flitting from his face to his chest to the void outside the Quinjet and back again.

He lifts a single finger up to your face, tipping your chin upwards so your eyes meet. Heat begins to pool somewhere specific now, and you’re not sure what to do about it.

Obviously nothing, your brain screams in protest. It’s like your mind is swimming, your afterthoughts delayed and your actual thoughts heady, private wishes just bubbling at the surface.

“Your face is red,” Loki comments, his voice low and soft. Like the blanket he tucked you into. No, a part of you thinks, stop this right now—

He brushes his knuckles against your cheek, regarding you with great interest. “You’re burning up as well. Shall I take you to bed?”

Surely he doesn’t mean for his words to come out as much of an innuendo as they do, but that’s immediately where your mind goes: into the gutter.

“A-aren’t you tired?” you say instead, allowing Loki to steer you by the shoulders back to the pull-out. “I can definitely—”

“No, you need to rest,” he insists. As your butt hits the mattress, Loki’s expression shifts into a thoughtful one. “Although your suit seems to be an unfitting set of clothes, considering you’re quite hot. One moment.”

Loki disappears, walking to a hidden part of the ship and you take this time to fan yourself. It’s still unbelievably hot, and the way your folds are slippery without any stimulation (except, you think with a small smirk, Loki’s little pilot chair moment was visual stimulation enough) causes alarm bells to ring faintly in the distance of your mind.

You experimentally flex your lower muscles and—oh. Oh.

“Here,” Loki says as he saunters back into view. He tosses you a dark green shirt. “Wear that.”

You stare at the bundle of fabric in your lap and realize it’s his.

And just like that, a fire is lit within you.

You bring up the shirt to your face, inhaling his scent when he turns his back, and fucking hell does he smell good. Your mouth practically waters at it, your eyes trained on Loki’s back as he settles back into the pilot’s chair.

Unconsciously you bite your lip as you wonder what his skin might look like underneath his armor.

“Don’t turn around,” you say, fighting the urge to jump him right then and there that surges to the fore. You’re tempted. You really are. And you also want him not to listen to you and turn around, watch you undress and change into his shirt.

Again, what in the hell…?

You shimmy out of your clothes and pull Loki’s shirt over you. It’s Asgardian in design, likely tailored specifically for him. You wearing it just feels so intimate. The smell that’s so distinctly him envelops you and quite frankly, it’s intoxicating.

You stand, and the shirt falls just to your mid-thighs. He didn’t bother getting you any shorts; you’re not sure if you’re grateful or angry, or maybe a heady mix of both.

Bundling up your used clothes in your arms, you clear your throat. “Thank you.”

Loki swivels around, stuttering to a stop when he sees you. His eyes rake over you, from your messy bedhead down to your exposed legs. His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat quite visibly, and your pride rears its head in victory.

“No shorts, though?” you ask innocently, one eyebrow shooting up.

“Unnecessary,” he answers with a devious grin that makes your insides melt and ignite all at once.

He turns his attention back to the controls, and you lay your clothes by the side of the pull-out.

Wearing Loki’s shirt does little to cool your temperature—in fact, it’s still blistering despite the Quinjet’s air conditioning.

“Are you sure it isn’t hot?” you ask again. You know you’re asking unnecessary questions, but you want to get him talking, speaking to you in that gorgeous velvet full voice of his.

You hear him chuckle, a gush of heat rushing towards your center. “I’m afraid that’s all you, little one.”

Sighing, you flop onto the bed, pulling a pillow over your legs. Maybe if you take another nap, the heat will subside from your body.

Your arousal, on the other hand…

A thought enters your mind, fleetingly, because you immediately push it away and chastise yourself through the murky fog of your brain. Pleasuring yourself? In Loki’s presence? The absurdity of the idea. You should be feeling shame… only you don’t. Not really, at least.

You shift onto your side, squeezing your eyes tight. Sleep does not come to you. You try lying on your back, on your stomach, and then again—

“Are you alright back there?”

The normal tone Loki uses astounds you, seeing as you’re somehow a feverish, horny mess and he isn’t. It puzzles you, and some deep part of you wants to figure out why. Only your brain seems to refuse to cooperate unless you’re thinking of doing certain things.

Things you certainly don’t mind doing with Loki.

“I-it’s hot,” you explain, embarrassed defeat lacing your words. How many times have you said that to him? You probably sound like a broken record.

At this, Loki lets out a full peal of laughter, husky and with a sensual edge to it. You wish you could make him laugh, hear it one more time. Or twice. Or on loop. It doesn’t really matter.

He swivels again to face you, his sitting posture similar to the one earlier, and it does things to you. Causes an uproar that’s novel to you, a need rising within you that must be sated.

Loki makes a smooth come hither motion with his fingers, curling from his pinky to his index. A beckoning you can’t refuse. “Perhaps I can help. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m quite adept at magic. It may help the current predicament you face.”

You slide off the cot and walk barefooted to the copilot chair. He looks a little different, you realize as you amble towards him. Maybe it’s the allergies, but just as he sounds different, there’s something different about him now that you’re really looking. He’s always been a pretty face and you’ve always found him extraordinarily handsome, but right now is different. You just can’t put a finger on it, so you chalk it up to his aura changing. Or the allergies. Most likely it’s the allergies.

You’re about to sit in the copilot chair beside him, only to be stopped when Loki laughs again and wraps his fingers around your wrist. All you hear is a faint, “No, silly girl,” before he pulls you in between his legs.

Pulls you with surprising strength, it seems, because your butt lands almost unceremoniously in the crook of his groin and lap. Your knees are hooked over the opposite arm rest, which means if you shift even just the tiniest bit to the side, your hip will come in contact with a certain part of him.

It’s a dilemma, you think with a giggle, if you want to be caught in a hard place.

His arms snake around your waist, pulling you close to him, and it just registers that you’re sitting on his lap holy shit you’re sitting on his lap.

“Are you comfortable?” he murmurs, adjusting your position so he can rest his chin on your shoulder. Instantly your mouth goes dry; it’s the proximity. You’ve never been this close to him before, and being in such a… an intimate position has you tense and rigid on top of him.

“I think so?” you squeak, stilling further as Loki’s nose burrows into your hair. He parts the curtain of your hair with side to side movements, until he buries his face into your neck. He inhales, and a delicious shiver runs down your sides.

“Good,” he breathes.

You’re frozen on his lap, afraid to even let out the smallest puff of air. His face just stays there, in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply.

“Are… you okay?”

And then your heart stops, because he’s lifting his head, his fingers brushing your hair to the back and exposing your nape to the cool air. The next second he’s tracing the tip of his nose from your chin up to your earlobe, where he pauses. You’re acutely aware of his lips against your skin, just barely brushing against it. “Never been better.”

He inhales again, deeply, and another shiver runs down your spine. You were wrong to think he was unaffected; something’s changed between you as you slept, and you aren’t sure why or what it is.

“You smell…” He trails off, moving down and back to the spot behind your ear. You swear you feel the slightest whisper of a kiss there, and it takes extra effort to hold in the sigh that’s caught in your throat. “…different.”

“I have a smell?” It comes out with a halfhearted, short laugh; an attempt to ease the thick tension that hangs over you.

Loki only hums in response. This time, with the pressure on your neck and the puffs of his breathing against your skin, you’re sure Loki’s lips are on you. Not a kiss, nothing more—just a steady weight that anchors you in his lap.

Anchors you to the reality that you are in his lap.

“And you are so warm.” The way he says it, his mouth moving against your skin, it’s almost as if he’s talking to himself. His arms around your waist tighten, and your hip comes in contact with a little bulge.

Well, not very little, but…

“Y-yeah, I thought you were going to do something about that.”

“Hmm? Oh, yes.”

His hand rests on your exposed thigh, his thumb rubbing hypnotic circles into your skin. “Better?” he asks with his face still buried in the crook of your neck.

“I don’t think so.” Coherency becomes increasingly difficult to achieve; you’re too focused on the sizzle of electricity thrumming within your veins, spidering from where he touches you.

“How about…” His hand glides up your thighs, skimming over your underwear and underneath the baggy shirt until they come up to rest on your hip. “Now?”

You’re sure he kisses you this time, on that sensitive spot below your ear, and you bite your lip to stop yourself from making a sound.

“Still nothing,” you whisper, strained. “As hot as ever.”

There is no second guessing anymore: something wet and hot darts out behind your ear, and Loki’s lips press a firm, lingering kiss there as his hand skims to the center of your stomach. You suck in a shaky breath, your eyes slipping closed at the spark you feel.

“And now?” he questions, just by your ear. The conspiratorial tone and the volume he uses makes you clench in anticipation.

Instead of answering, you shift on his lap—purposefully grinding a little bit on his evident erection. You hear Loki’s breathing change just slightly, his fingers curling on your stomach.

You think he’s about to do something to break the sexual tension and turn it into something tangible, something you both can actually do to ease the ache you’re sure you both feel, but you know the God of Mischief enjoys his games. He enjoys acting unaffected when in fact he is, and you intend to play that to your advantage. Somehow.

“I’m not sure I’m feeling anything,” you say as nonchalant as possible. A plan quickly brews in your mind, and you pretend to notice something on the dashboard. You wriggle in Loki’s lap, making sure to rub him in all the right places as you tell him you swear you saw something whiz past.

The way Loki tenses underneath you brings you a small bout of satisfaction.

“Perhaps,” he starts, his voice clearly strained as you begin to rotate your hips ever so lightly against him, “perhaps a nap is what you need.”

“But Loki,” you say, exaggerated and almost whiny as you lean back against his lean chest, feeling the full extent of his arousal against your lower back, “who’s going to see if the asteroid comes back?”

You yelp as Loki stands, one arm hooked under your knees and the other around your waist. He’s carrying you, the thought floating through your muddled brain.

“Stark will handle it. Like you said. Trust him and his technology, or something like that,” he says, voice a little rough. “It’s bed for you.”

Loki lays you down with surprising gentleness, smoothing the covers around you. You think you might be able to sleep a little now that a little pent up energy has been released, but you only become shell-shocked when Loki climbs into the cot beside you.

It’s not a very large bed, mind you, which means that you’re trapped between his body and the wall of the ship. There isn’t much room to lay on your back when Loki’s in it with you, so you settle on your side while he does the same.

Loki pulls your back to his chest, completely flush against his body. “Relax,” he murmurs. “Try to sleep.”

Yeah, as if you can with something very hard poking into your backside.

For the record, you do try to sleep. You let your eyes drift closed with Loki’s arm draped over you, but even when you reach that half asleep state you’re focused on his erection behind you and his arm slowly making its way under your shirt again.

And somehow, whether it’s of your own doing or your body on autopilot, your hand slowly makes its way behind, reaching between you and placing it flat against his erection.

It’s like time stops. There’s nothing but static in your brain, the only sound the ever-present hum of the ship. As if neither of you dare to breathe. Loki’s fingers rest on your hipbone, where the garter of your underwear rests.

Neither of you move. You stay like this, for how long you don’t know, until Loki exhales a little, pressing his length against your palm.

“Can’t sleep,” you whisper, shifting to ease the budding strain in your arm. “Still hot.”

“So am I,” Loki replies softly.

You don’t think you can tense up further, but your body surprises you. “Maybe…” You don’t know why you’re allowing your question to form and where you’re getting the boldness to ask. “Maybe you should take something off.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and you don’t turn around to face him. The sound of the sheets rustling and the mattress shifting is enough to tell you that he got up. Cold dread begins to replace the delicious fire that was coursing through your veins—have you scared him away? Offended him?

The mattress dips again, and Loki’s pulling you against him, in the same spooning position you were in earlier. Only… only he’s shirtless, you realize when your back hits his chest.

Shit, you really want to turn around and take a good look at his gloriously naked chest first.

You’re not sure your heart can take any more when Loki slowly guides your hand back to the evidence of his arousal. Once he places your palm on his erection, his hand is sliding over your skin underneath what you’re wearing, resting just underneath the swell of your breast.

“You know, mortal, you are very pretty,” he admits quietly, his finger dashing against your skin. “And your company is… tolerable.”

“Yeah, you’re not too bad yourself, Reindeer Games.” It comes out rushed, breathy, and a small moan of pain (or is it?) punctuates the end of your sentence as he drags a nail over your skin.

“Do not call me that. Or I will have to punish you.”

When did you decide to court danger?

“Are you threatening me with a good time?”

“Perhaps I am threatening you with the absence of one.”

Fast as lightning, Loki removes his touch from you. “You are still feverish. Perhaps you should take off your shirt.”

“You mean your shirt.” Your heart thumps loudly against your ribcage, your hands now toying with the hem of the fabric. The tone between you two has shifted so drastically, the tension so thick it’s almost suffocating. You sit up, twisting to see Loki lying on his side, his eyes dark and half-lidded.

You maintain eye contact as you grip the end of the shirt, slowly pulling it as it exposes, bit by bit, the upper half of your thighs, your underwear, your stomach, your breasts, until you pull it over your head and toss it to the side. Loki stares at you all the while, a hungry look in his eye, but does nothing.

“Lie back down,” he commands, running a finger over your bare side. “Perhaps now you will be able to cool off.”

He twirls the ends of your hair around his fingers as you do as he says, the warmth of your center now the focus of your attention as it thrums.

Loki props you against him, on your side again, his fingers dancing across your midriff, moving up until he’s tracing the tops of your breasts and ghosting over your nipples.

Your back arches almost unconsciously, pressing into him where he meets you with equal pressure.

Experimentally you gyrate over his erection, making sure to keep your movements slow and agonizing. His hands skim over your breasts until he takes one in his hand, rolling your nipple between his fingers until they pebble.

His head falls onto your shoulder as you keep with your tantalizing dance over his hips, his breathing growing ragged. He tweaks and pulls at your nipples, squeezing and palming your breasts until it’s the only thing that clouds your mind.

“Are you—are you still warm?” he asks, evidently trying and failing to keep his composure as you buck your ass against him particularly hard.

“You tell me.”

He flicks over your breast in response, your head falling back with a barely held back moan.

“Maybe you should take off your pants,” you suggest with a sigh.

“Maybe I should take off yours.”

“I’m not wearing any, remember?”

Loki stills, which makes you do the same. He shifts, gently guiding you to lie on your back. The confusion must be clear as day on your face, because Loki stares at you with those intense green eyes of his as he climbs on top of you.

Your faces are level, his eyes scanning every inch. You’re not sure where this is coming from; one minute he’s all over your breasts and the next he’s quiet and on top of you. He buries his face in your neck for what feels like the millionth time today, setting off a reaction that sends another wave of want to your core.

This time he sucks on your neck, and you gasp. Your hands move to bury into his hair, but Loki pins your arms to the sides by your wrists. You writhe underneath him as he marks you with tongue and teeth.

He peppers kisses around your neck, your throat, your collarbone as he grinds into you. Letting out a small groan, he moves to hover over your lips.

“Tell me to kiss you,” he whispers hoarsely. “Do it. Now.”

The grip on your wrists has slackened and you take the opportunity to pull Loki’s face to yours. Hungry and passionate is what the kiss is: his mouth moves quickly, in sync with yours, as though to make sure every bit of this is real and not just a fever dream. You savor it, the taste of him, leaving you dizzy and delirious with every swipe of his tongue and graze of his teeth against your lips. It’s almost rough, the way he kisses you, but it fits the urgency you feel. You don’t want to have it any other way.

He travels down until he’s suckling at your breasts, and you do everything in your power to hold in the moan that rises in your throat. All you can feel is heat and slick and the pulsing of your blood, overcome with the need to be filled to the brim by him.

You’re about to fumble with his pants when he trails a path of kisses down your torso, stopping when he reaches between your legs.

You’re practically trembling with anticipation now. Seeing Loki in between your legs, a wicked grin on his face, has you wetter than you’ve ever gotten in life. He spreads you apart, settling between them, and feathers kisses over your inner thighs.

“Loki,” you say through gritted teeth, your pussy clenching as he nears your sweet center. “Stop teasing.”

He shifts forward, kissing your hips, your stomach jumping underneath him. Then, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, he bares his teeth, scraping over your skin and biting down on the fabric of your underwear.

He slides one side down, his mouth dragging over your thigh, your underwear between his teeth; he does the same to the other side, and again he goes. All the way, pulling your underwear down with his teeth until they’re around your ankles. He discards it lazily, adding it to the growing pile of clothes, and at this point you’re nothing but a whimpering mess.

“So this is the source of your sweet smell,” he mutters as he lowers his head between your legs. You’re shaking lightly, wound tight from the excitement, and when Loki inhales the scent of you, long and drawn out, you almost want to cum right there and then.

“Absolutely divine,” he comments. Then he��s placing his tongue flat against you, your head falling back against the pillow, unable to hold in the moan that spills from your lips.

It’s like an explosion of little lights, you think distantly. Little stars bursting from one touch.

He lifts his head from your cunt with a mischievous grin. “I like that sound, little one. Let’s see how many times I can make you do it again.”

The feeling of Loki’s head between your legs, his mouth inside you, is incomparable. He dives into your cavern, his dexterous tongue causing you to sigh praises that seem to only spur him on. It’s a steady, swirling motion that drives you insane, your pelvis arching.

Then he’s moving up to swipe over your clit, and every nerve ending in your body sizzles and frays, another loud moan of his name ripped from your throat. With a grip of steel, he holds your thighs down, parted wide, as he assaults your clit with sucks and nibbles and licks.

“Loki,” you pant, hips bucking against his mouth. Your insides begin to coil in preparation, your walls clenching around Loki’s tongue. “Loki, I—”

He hums, almost like he’s questioning you, and the vibration on your sensitive parts is enough to send you over the edge.

The orgasm that overtakes you is powerful, pulsing through every part of your body as you whisper his name like a prayer. Only Loki doesn’t stop—he licks up every drop that leaks from you, and it’s enough stimulation for another powerful orgasm to build.

His lips latch onto your clit, sucking rhythmically, as his tongue swipes and swirls around the bundle of nerves.

“Loki,” you try to say, only it comes out a breathy whine, “I want to go down on you too—ah—”

He plunges a finger deep within you, curling against your G-spot in time with his sucks.

“Fucking hell, Loki,” you grind out, your fingernails digging into his scalp as you rotate your hips on his face. You can feel the steady climb to another precipice of an orgasm, as well as the tiny smirk that plays on Loki’s face against you.

Your grip tightens on his hair as he speeds up his movements; rapid, quick swipes on your clit, his fingers pumping in and out of you shallowly. Your walls begin to clench at the splinters of release—

“Not yet,” he says, removing his lips and fingers from you with a dark grin.

Frustration wells up within you, but it’s shadowed by the undeniable thrill that shoots towards your center. If you’re understanding Loki right—which you do most of the time—he isn’t finished with you just yet.

He crawls on top of you like a prowling animal, the pure lust in his eyes mirroring what you feel. He captures your lips in a kiss, languid and seductive, his hands cradling your face.

The juxtaposition of the entire situation hits you like a freight train. He’s gentle when he’s holding you like this, like you’re made of glass, but the urgency with which he grinds into your naked mound detonates another explosion of emotions. One action is delicate, the other rough. Contrast bolting through you at the same time and colliding into one as pleasure.

“You’re amazing,” you sigh into his mouth, and you can feel Loki suck in a breath, pausing at your words. Spotting your chance, you roll on top of him, straddling his waist with a smirk.

Loki’s eyes open, a ghost of bewilderment etched onto his face at the sudden shift, and then when he sees your expression he transforms his own into his usual confident half-grin. As though he’s merely amused by this whole situation—but he isn’t fooling you.

“I didn’t think you had it in you, little one,” he drawls, sliding his hands up your sides.

You grab his forearms, pushing them down to his sides as you rock against the clothed tent in his pants. Loki could easily overpower you, you know that, free his arms from your not so vicelike grip, but he lets you. Lets you pin his arms to his sides just as he did to you.

Lowering your head, you run your nose along the expanse of his chest, up to his neck where it’s your turn to inhale deeply. He smells just like the shirt you were wearing, only ten times more potent, and it sends a fresh wave of heady arousal to wash over you.

“Not yet,” you echo his words from earlier, your grip tightening on his wrists as you grind down into him. You can feel Loki about to respond with a snarky remark, so you silence him by suctioning your lips on his neck. Your one track mind has only one goal: mark him with bruises that are of your doing. Claim him as yours.

You lift off him with a little pop; not a very sexy sound, but Loki seems to enjoy it with the way his hips seem to be moving of their own accord. You kiss across his throat before suctioning again on another spot right below his jaw.

This time, you play a little rough.

Loki’s hips jerk upwards as your teeth rake over his skin, his breath fanning over your hair. “Little minx,” he utters, groaning a second later as you push your center against him with a harder bite to his neck.

“Pants off, Loki,” you whisper.

He frees one arm from your grip and haphazardly waves his hand, and your swollen sex comes in contact with the flesh of his hard and heavy cock.

Just as Loki’s about to jerk up and into you, you lift your hips off of him. It kills you to do it, but the teasing, the foreplay, causes you to feel a smidge of power.

“I said, not yet,” you say, sliding down his body until your face is level with his cock.

His length throbs in front of you, and somehow, somewhere in the deep recesses of your mind you think you’ve never seen a cock as beautiful as his. Curious, you lick a stripe down the underside of it, from the base up to the tip.

Loki masks his hiss, turning it into a cheeky exhale, folding an arm under his head. “Go on then. Impress me.”

Whatever intimidation game he’s trying to play, feigning nonchalance, it’s not going to work on you. You take a moment to examine the bead of precum that leaks from his slit, your fingers at the base of his erection, and drag the tip of your tongue over it before sliding your lips over the blunt head.

You don’t bob up and down; unmoving, merely suckling and swirling your tongue around the head of his cock. His hands fist into your hair as your hand and mouth begin to pump up and down his shaft, and just like that promises and praise fall from his lips like wine.

You chance a glance at him, and are utterly pleased by the sight. Loki’s eyes are scrunched shut, barely containing his pleasure, breathing hard through his nose. To have him, a god, reduced to his most carnal needs at your ministrations fills you with gratification. You take him further into your mouth until you can feel him pulsing with almost release, and then you lift off him with a sly grin.

“Not yet,” you repeat in almost a teasing, singsong kind of way.

Loki glares at you, but it’s hardly threatening. You manage to laugh as you level your faces, kissing him hot on the mouth and guiding your slick entrance to his throbbing cock.

You hover over him, not fully seated, his cock just stretching you the slightest bit. Your self-restraint cracks with every passing second you remain unmoving, until Loki takes your hips in his hands and brings you down on top of him, seating you on top of him.

He stretches you in a way you can only describe as full. You lean forward, planting your hands on his lean chest, and rock against him, eyes closing at the feeling.

It’s nothing you could ever conjure up in your wild dreams—he fills you, grinding in time with you and sending you into a barely controlled frenzy. But you keep your movements slow, relishing the way you can feel him throb inside you. Everything feels so new, a first you’ve never experienced: each touch, movement, kiss, no matter how small seems to be amplified in the small ship. It fills you with an unfamiliar, delicious kind of fire, boiling inside you.

“Not—not bad,” Loki grunts, unable to maintain the once casual tone he used before. “For a mortal.”

You swivel your hips and rake your nails over his chest, and Loki’s mouth parts lightly. “Not bad,” you remark, squeezing your muscles around him, “Reindeer Games.”

It’s Loki’s turn to seize his opportunity, it seems, because his eyes fly open, a wild, hungry look to him as he flips you underneath him, his cock still buried in you. The shift in position drives you a little mad, your pussy clenching unconsciously around him.

“What did I say,” he asks dangerously, plowing in and out of you with slow, agonizing strokes, “about calling me that?”

“You’d punish me.” A delicious shiver runs down your spine as the words come out.

“Wonderful that you remember. Because you’re about to forget everything except my name.”

And with that promise, Loki brings your wrists over your head, pinning them above you with a firm grip, his mouth seeking yours as he begins to rut into you more senselessly now. He swallows the moan you make when the tip of his cock hits a particularly sensitive spot inside you, making sure to angle it right where you’re most sensitive.

He doesn’t cease his movements when he latches onto your breast, roughly biting and sucking until you’re whimpering soft cries and pleas and praises. His other hand caresses the curve of your hip and ass before he presses on your clit.

If you were seeing stars earlier, right now you’re seeing entire galaxies explode behind your eyes. The sensations are overwhelming, your legs spread wide open, and just when you think you’ve felt it all, Loki takes you by surprise and pulls you both into a kneeling position. He bounces you on his cock with unrelenting speed, and your arms find their way around his shoulders as you approach orgasm yet again.

You subconsciously flex your walls around him, biting down on his shoulder to prepare you for an orgasm—only Loki slows to a stop, gently laying you back down on your back.

The release that built inside you ebbs away, and you clench around Loki, a silent signal for him to continue. Only Loki pulls himself out of you, resting atop you with his face buried in your neck, suckling another bruise into your skin.

“Loki,” you breathe, his hand cupping your breast, “Loki, please.”

The god has the nerve to smile against you, you feel it. “What did you say to me earlier?”

“You said it to me first, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Loki lifts his head, his eyes boring into yours, blown with desire and yet… something has shifted. Something else is there.

“You are extraordinary,” he tells you, brushing hair away from your forehead. “You have always been the object of my attention, ever since you walked into the board room on your first day.”

Your throat closes with the genuine admission, and you swallow the lump in your throat. “Yeah, well, I always thought you were pretty neat. Maybe we can talk later and finish what we started?”

Loki chuckles, his eyes crinkling, and presses a kiss to your lips. “Smart woman.”

It’s almost as if the tender moment doesn’t happen at all, because Loki’s arms snake underneath you to bring your hips closer to his, plunging into you and reaching a deeper spot that makes both of you groan in earnest. Whatever just happened, you can probably mark it for later with a good sit-down conversation. Right now your focus is on his cock inside you, and you don’t hesitate to tell him how good he’s making you feel.

“Hands above your head,” he commands.

You oblige, and his head immediately dips to your breasts. He’s kissing, licking everywhere he can reach, while your hands tangle in his hair, his shoulders, his muscled back. Your back arches, his cock thrusting mercilessly into you, burying himself to the hilt and brushing against that sweet, sweet spot over and over.

You don’t know how you’re ever going to come back from this. Loki buried within you, your cunt stretching to accommodate him, perfectly slotting into each other. His fingers rub against your clit, adding to your already overloaded senses and fuck, it’s as if all the effects from the foreplay and your heat come crashing down in one big tidal wave.

The speed at which Loki’s pounding into you is almost ungodly, unreal. Your mouth hangs open, your orgasm building with extraordinary intensity—

Almost as quickly as it builds, you’re tipped over the edge, a broken wail of his name accompanying the spasms in your lower body. You’ve never had an orgasm as shattering as this one, your cunt fluttering around Loki even as you slowly come down from your high.

“That’s it,” Loki says, jaw set. “Very good, little one.”

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even slow down—he continues to wreck you, the sounds of your coupling obscenely filling the air. You want him to feel the seismic pleasure you just did—so you clamp around him, rotate your hips in little circles in time with his thrusts.

“You’re absolutely amazing,” you tell him, watching how he slowly unravels with every new praise. You tell him how good he makes you feel, how good he is, perfect and incredible and oh, the things you would do to—

Loki bends down and kisses you ferociously, licking every part of your mouth and biting on your lips as he bucks, going rock hard and cumming inside you. His movements slow, just a fraction, as you let him ride out his high.

“Glorious woman,” he mutters, his eyes still closed as he kisses over every inch of your face.

You’re about to return with a compliment of your own, but are cut off when Loki grinds into you again.

“A-are you still hard?” you ask, a giggle rising to your throat whose tail end turns into another moan.

“I’ve lost count how many times I’ve made you make that wonderful sound,” he says, hips stirring back to life as you feel a fresh bout of slick moisture gush down your legs. “I think that’s quite a success.”

And then he’s flipping you over, on your stomach, pulling your ass up and sliding his still-hard cock back into your dripping folds, reaching depths you didn’t even know you had, evidently ready for another round.

Through your half-lidded eyes, you make out the faint outline of stars—whether they’re from the pleasure you feel or actually there, you don’t know.

-- -- --

You’d think overstimulation would best you, but your entire afternoon—evening, morning, you can’t really tell, space is just completely dark—has been you and Loki all over each other all over the ship.

You can’t tell how long it’s been, but you can feel the ship beginning to descend into Earth’s atmosphere.

“Hey. Hey, Loki—ah, yes, there—”

You’ve also lost track of how many orgasms you’ve had.

You writhe underneath him, searing hot ecstasy blistering in your core as Loki sucks on your clit, his teeth just lightly scraping over it, his fingers smoothing over your inner thighs.

“You taste so sweet, little one,” he murmurs against you, licking through your folds.

“Don’t distract me.” You swat at his head weakly. “I think we’re here.”

“Haven’t touched the ground,” he says, shrugging, making to dive back into your well-spent cunt.

You stop him before he can seduce you into letting him taste you again, and again, as he’d been doing all day.

Whatever warmth you were feeling earlier has completely subsided from your body, and even your mind feels clearer. As soon as you came down from whatever it was, all that was left was a blissful afterglow that you still feel until now.

Surprisingly, you and Loki haven’t had any awkward, dead air—granted, he has been buried in your thighs and yours in his most of the trip. You thought maybe as soon as the strange fever subsided, you’d both be back to whatever it was before this, but apparently not. It seems to have opened up a door, an opportunity, one you both mutually want to walk through together.

“We still have time,” Loki purrs, caressing your folds with his thumbs.

“You’re insatiable,” you sigh, and Loki takes this as a sign to delve back into your warmth, his tongue gliding into you for the umpteenth time today.

“You love it.”

You and Loki disembark the Quinjet, you with shaky legs and him with a sort of spring in his step. You’re not sure what to tell the others when you see them, a tinge of worry sneaking into your bubble of sexual satisfaction.

As soon as you walk into the board room, you’re met with the expectant eyes of the Avengers, studying the pair of you with varying expressions.

And then Loki’s sliding his arm around your waist, bringing you closer to him, and the room erupts into shouts of “Called it!” and “No!” and you can’t help but laugh at the raucousness of it all.

“I’m glad we couldn’t take the Bifrost coming back here,” you tell Loki quietly.

“As am I,” he whispers back.

“Yeah, about that,” Stark cuts in, stepping forward, “yeah… you totally could have used it.”

#by belle #smut #loki x you #loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki smut #loki imagine #yeah... yeah this VERY long #tom hiddleston imagine #sex pollen

2K notes · View notes

lifeofkaze · 3 years

Text

When Stars Ignite - Chapter 13

HPHM Rockstar AU

A/N:

General Warning: This whole fic has a general warning of being NSFW / 18+. We will give specific warnings for every chapter in itself, but several adult themes will be more or less present in every chapter, may it be explicitly or in mention. These include sexual topics, drug abuse, (ab)use of alcohol, smoking and a whole lot of cursing.

Specific Warning: Language, allusion to NSFW content

~~~

Find the masterpost here, the previous chapter here and the next one here. The songs featured before every chapter can be found on this pretty badass playlist here.

~~~

This work is a collaboration with @the-al-chemist

Taglist: @slytherindisaster @night-rhea @carewyncromwell

Drop of a hat she's as willing as Playful as a pussy cat Then momentarily out of action Temporarily out of gas To absolutely drive you wild, wild She's out to get you

~ Queen - Killer Queen ~

After Lizzie had left on that day back in August, Orion hadn’t been sure whether her words would follow action and there would actually be a next time, nor had he been entirely sure he wanted there to be one.

Not because the night he had spent with Lizzie hadn’t been fantastic, or either of them was feeling uncomfortable with it; but she had been his close friend and colleague for so many years now and Orion valued her presence in his life deeply. Changing a pattern that worked smoothly seldomly proved to be a good idea.

He had been glad nothing seemed to have changed between them when they saw each other next; Lizzie had acted just the same as always, focused on their music, laughing with him during breaks, maybe a little flirtatious, but then again, that was just her way.

Orion’s resolve to consider the fling with her done and dusted lasted about a week. He had walked her home from the dinner they’d had with the rest of the band; when they’d reached her flat in Chelsea, she’d waited in the door to the house, looking back at him over her shoulder with an amused expression.

“What now? Are you coming or not?”

He had to admit, the second time round, this time with their senses all together, the sex had been even better than the first time. His concerns about what it might do to their friendship were melting away with every kiss Lizzie left on his body, setting his skin aflame and shutting off his mind with that deliciously wicked smile of hers.

When they’d found themselves in his flat for a third time, he felt the need to stop her wandering hands while he still could.

“Wait a minute, we should really talk about what we’re doing here.”

Lizzie looked up at him incredulously, her fingers hooking on the seam of his trousers, her fingernails grazing his sensitive skin. “What, right now?”

Orion tried to ignore his urgent wish for her to continue where she’d left off and sat up. “Yes, right now.”

“Fine,” she answered briefly and removed her hands from his body, but not without running her hand over him one last time, sending a shiver down his spine. He couldn’t deny how much his body yearned for her but he pushed the heat inside his chest aside and forced his thoughts to focus on what was on his mind.

“If we want this to continue we need to talk about where it’s going,” he managed to say a lot calmer than he felt as he watched Lizzie slowly taking in his undressed body, a salacious smirk on her lips.

“I can perfectly tell you where this is going right now,” she chuckled but Orion didn’t let himself get distracted.

“I’m serious, Liz. As fun as this is, we’re actively breaking the rules here. We are part of a greater thing; the whole unity that is Equinox is more important than every one of us on our own. I don’t want to do anything that could harm the band.”

With a sigh, Lizzie sat up straighter, her expression serious. “Neither of us would ever do anything to put the band at risk. This here is not a relationship, Orion; we can stop this any time.”

She shuffled closer to him on the bed and put a hand on his arm. Her smile was now nothing but warm and reassuring. “Don’t worry, this is just fun, no strings attached.”

He wasn’t entirely convinced, however. “Things like this end in disaster more often than not.“

“If it makes you feel better, let’s make a deal,” Lizzie suggested. “We’ll do this as long as it’s fun and we both want it. In the case that things change for either one of us, we’ll just stop and go back to how things were before. How does that sound?”

Orion sighed deeply. “Do you really think it will work just like that?”

“Just like that,” she smiled, her hand wandering from his arm onto his chest, giving him a slight push so he fell over on his back.

“You’re thinking too much,” she purred as her lips trailed down his chest and over his stomach, coming to rest where hands had let off earlier. “Let me help you relax.”

And just like that, what had begun as a simple drunk one-night stand had developed into something that wasn’t just a friendship, but was far from a relationship either.

Even when their tour had started, they hadn’t stopped meeting in the dead of the night, the risk of being discovered adding an additional thrill, which Orion would have never guessed he’d find himself enjoying. Working off the adrenaline a successful show set off in their bodies soon became his favourite way of winding down. It wasn’t long before he’d actually started showing signs of impatience - something that used to be completely foreign to him - when Lizzie took her time before leaving the backstage area, joking around with Skye or Charlie, deliberately teasing him.

The curves of her body became as familiar to Orion as the neck of his guitar, and he knew exactly how to play both to coax the sweetest sounds from them. Lizzie began to learn every story behind his many tattoos, her fingers tracing the delicate lines as he told her all about them.

The harmony that had existed between them from the get go solidified, unexpected but not unsurprising; it felt like a natural extension to their friendship, raising their connection and understanding to a higher level.

Now, almost ten months since their first night together, he couldn’t even remember what it had been like before.

Orion was violently broken out of his musings by Skye snapping her fingers in front of his eyes.

“Earth calling Orion, you still with us, mate?”

She eyed him critically as his eyes snapped back into focus. “What’ve you been daydreaming about?”

He slowly pulled her hand away from his face. “I have been reminded of something and indulged in the call of the past for a moment,” he answered serenely.

“The way you’re looking it must have been a good memory,” Lizzie said innocently. Her eyes were sparkling as if she knew exactly what he had been thinking about.

He inclined his head, hoping his face wouldn’t give him away. “A favourite.”

Skye shrugged. “Whatever, let’s get those damn pictures taken and get outta here, I’m hungry. You’d better focus on the job.” She stopped, looking thoroughly bewildered. “Can’t believe I need to say this to you of all people.”

Still shaking her head, she grabbed Lizzie by the arm and pulled her towards the set that had been prepared on the far side of the room. The photographer was already instructing Merula on where to stand, Everett looking on from the sidelines.

It took them ages to get all of the pictures Rita’s magazine wanted done. After all of them had their portraits taken, they continued with group shots in various combinations.

When it was the girls’ turn, Orion joined Everett on the sides. The mood between the two guitarists had improved a little since Everett felt he got the recognition he deserved, but still, the atmosphere lacked the carefree camaraderie of the past. Orion struggled to find something to talk about with him these days, not wanting to provoke any of Everett’s bad moods.

As it turned out, their frontman had no desire to talk to him anyway. He was watching Skye, Lizzie and Merula pose in front of the camera intently. He leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms in front of his chest, a small grin forming on his face.

“You can say what you want, but our girls are quite a sight to see, aren’t they?”

Orion didn’t answer, only raising his eyebrows slightly. Everett took his silence as a sign to go on. “I mean, look at them.” His grin widened, taking on a wolfish touch. “Look at Lizzie, for fuck’s sake. Shame she’s always running ‘round all plain and simple, what a waste.”

Orion had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. “Beauty comes from the inside, from embracing our nature as it is and carrying it to the outside. Lizzie is in tune with herself and that is showing. The way she prefers to keep it simple doesn’t dim her light, it enhances it.”

“I certainly wouldn’t say no to her glammed up like that, is all I’m saying,” Everett snorted.

Orion wasn’t surprised by Everett’s take on things, but he was astounded at how much his words were grating on him. Everett had been a flirt for as long as Orion could remember, but he had never objectified women the way he did these days. Ever since they had started their way to the top, the pressure they were constantly feeling had steadily increased. Everett was treating the girls admiring him just the same as he did anything else taking his mind off things; as a meaningless, replaceable means to an end.

He didn’t like hearing Everett talk about anyone like that, but especially not Lizzie.

However, Orion couldn’t deny that he had a point. As per usual, Andre had worked his magic on her for the shoot, creating a maximum effect with simple but well chosen measures. Lizzie’s light brown hair fell around her face in a heap of messy curls, her dark makeup accentuating her blue eyes.

The shiny leather leggings she was wearing were clinging tightly to her legs that were elongated by a pair of black heeled boots. A loose black shirt with the familiar logo of the Rolling Stones gave her the effortlessly nonchalant vibe that was so inherently her. She had tied it in a knot at the sides to shorten it, showing just the tiniest bit of her belly.

Yes, as much as he hated to admit it, Everett was right; Lizzie was a sight to see. Their eyes met briefly as Merula and Lizzie switched positions. Orion could see the smirk starting to form on her lips, like it always did when she caught him watching her.

She quickly regained control over her expression, flipping her hair out of her face and concentrating again. But her attention kept wandering back to him, a mischievous glitter in her eyes that Orion knew all too well.

When it was time for pictures of the whole group, he and Everett joined the girls in front of the camera again. To get a more compact looking picture of them all together, the photographer wanted him and Everett to sit on one of the sofas they had used for the interview, the girls grouped behind them, all trying their best to look as casual as possible.

Orion was sitting directly in front of Lizzie; he almost jumped when he suddenly felt her hand on his back, hidden from the others by her body that was very close to his. Her fingers tiptoed higher up until they found the exposed skin of his neck. Her nails were grazing his skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind at the unexpected sensation. Orion could feel the intense energy radiating off her and had to fight the urge to turn around and catch a glimpse of her expression.

Looking at her camera, the photographer, a beautiful young woman in a blue headscarf, frowned and shook her head. “This doesn’t look right yet. I’m missing the energy, the spirit of your connection.

She contemplated for a moment before her fine features lit up. “I know; Merula, could you sit between the guys? The other girls, one on each arm of the sofa, please.”

They changed as she had asked them to, Skye perching on the back of the sofa next to Everett and Lizzie now sitting closer to Orion than before. But still, their photographer wasn’t satisfied.

“Lizzie, could you lean in a little?”

“Sure,” Lizzie smiled innocently, leaning closer to Orion until their bodies were almost touching. He could smell her perfume and the sharp scent of hairspray. When he felt her hand on his back yet again, conveniently out of sight of the camera, he shifted his position a little, ever so slightly leaning into her touch.

Encouraged by him playing along, the corners of her mouth twitched, masked by a little tilt of her head for the camera. Her hand traveled down his spine to the base of his shirt where she lost no time to slip it underneath the seam, her cool fingers brushing across the bare skin of his back.

Orion exhaled slowly, trying not to laugh at the light sensation of her fingertips. Lizzie knew that he was ticklish in that particular spot. She was trying to play him, testing his control over himself, just as she had done after their first show in London.

He couldn’t believe the risk she was taking; touching him like that in a dark nightclub under a table was one thing, but during a photoshoot, with all eyes on them? He’d never thought she would be so bold.

Her ridiculous recklessness was intriguing, however; just like everything about Lizzie it was playing with fire and the reward of being close to a blazing flame never came without danger.

A movement at the edge of his vision drew Orion’s attention away from her touch. His eyes flicked over to the other side of the sofa and he thought he could see Skye looking over to them. His heart suddenly racing, Orion leaned against the back of the sofa, effectively forcing Lizzie to withdraw her hand.

He glanced over to Skye again, but she was looking straight at the camera, her moody rockstar expression edged onto her face. She paid him or Lizzie no mind whatsoever, and for a moment Orion wondered whether that frown on her face had been nothing but a trick of his mind.

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #harry potter hogwarts mystery #rockstar au #orion amari #lizzie jameson #lizion #skye parkin #merula snyde #andre egwu #jason everett #when stars ignite #wsi #besties collaborate #I may have figured out the tag problem yay

11 notes · View notes

artificialqueens · 3 years

Text

Galactica, Chapter 81 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Previously: Sutan and Violet skipped out on their party plans, Bianca’s friends deeply disapproved of her new relationship, Adore struggled to get over Pearl, and Alaska harbored a secret unrequited crush on her best friend Jinkx.

This Chapter: New Year’s Eve continues, full of love and betrayal.

***

“Well? What do you think?” Bianca asked, when Courtney stepped away to greet Alaska. Her voice was low, and she was trying extremely hard to appear casual, but Jinkx could see the anxiousness in her eyes.

Jinkx grinned. It wasn’t very often that she had any kind of leg up on Bianca Del Rio, and she was prepared to milk it.

“Hmmm…”

“Come on!”

“I think she’s incredible. Gorgeous, charming, and she clearly has good taste-” Jinkx batted her lashes, framing her face with her hand, in an obvious reference to Courtney gushing all over her about what a big fan she was. Then, she gave Bianca a once-over. “Well, good taste about some things.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Bianca grumbled, bumping Jinkx with her hip, suddenly looking more like herself than she had all night.

Jinkx laughed, feeling quite pleased with herself. The truth was, Courtney was everything she’d been expecting, based on what Alaska had told her: vibrant, fun, bursting with warmth and positive energy. The only surprising thing so far was Bianca. She’d known her for almost twenty years, and hadn’t ever seen her so sparkly-eyed and doting. This relationship was clearly making her happy, giving her a new kind of brightness, and that was lovely to see.

“No, but seriously,” Jinkx continued, linking her arm through Bianca’s. “I think you guys make a great couple. Sugar Mama is a good look for you.”

“I...” Bianca opened her mouth, at first looking like she was about to protest that characterization, but then seemed to think better of it, her lips twisting into a smirk. “Yeah, well…”

Jinkx laughed, watching as Courtney gave Alaska a hug and skipped back to them, arms immediately winding around Bianca’s waist, eyes shining with love as she gazed up at her. Bianca whispered something into her ear, too soft for Jinkx to hear, before kissing her gently.

It was all disgustingly cute, Jinkx noted, nose wrinkling just slightly.

***

Raja held Raven’s hand as they slowly moved through the Henri De Toulouse-Lautrec exhibition at MoMA, the evening's guests all holding little glasses of champagne, the low tone of constant chatter all around them.

The dinner had been lovely, Raven taking obvious delight in the decadence of it all, but Raja had to admit that she missed her brother, Sutan’s absence on New Years like a little hole in her heart.

She knew he was sick, knew that it made sense that he was spending the evening at home with Violet, but Raja couldn’t help but feel forgotten.

Sutan had confided in her that he told Violet he loved her, and Raja wasn’t jealous. She wasn’t, because Sutan and Violet had only been together for about 6 months, and she had been his best friend since before they were born, their history spanning literal decades compared to Violet’s months.

In all honesty, Raja had been wavering about whether or not she wanted Violet to come along for Aspen, Kahmora a complete disaster when she had joined them. After the ‘love’ reveal though, she was happy for the opportunity to spend a few days with her brother’s girlfriend, and figure out her exact motivation for being with him, to scratch deeper and see what was hiding underneath that polite surface.

“Ooh” Fame turned around, a smile on her lip. She was wearing all white and looked positively radiant, her hand on Patrick’s elbow. “What about this one?” She pointed at one of the pieces, a group of women all standing together. “Don’t you think that would look fetching in the master bathroom?”

“Well,” Patrick looked at the painting, his other hand in his suit pocket. “Where else would you put a late 19th-century avant-garde?”

“Oh please,” Fame slapped Patrick’s arm, and Raja had to quickly take a sip of her drink, hiding her smile. “It’d be a print. You can’t hang actual art anywhere near a shower. Don’t play smart.”

“Of course, love.”

Raja had to admit that she loved how much Patrick adored needling Fame, giving her small pushes towards the edge a game they often played together, since Fame was so easy to toy with. If it had been anyone else, Raja would have stepped in to stop them, but with Patrick, she knew that he’d always be there to help put everything back together.

“I like that one-” Raven pointed to a large painting of a woman in a low cut blue dress, brown curls spilling down, two other women at her side.

“You would,” Raja pressed her lips against Raven’s temple, lowering her voice to a growl, the woman in the painting basically showing off her breasts, “wouldn’t you, you dirty girl.”

“Raj!” Raven gasped, slapping her chest before giggling.

***

Dahlia smoothed down her scarlet-colored velvet gown, surveying the club with a smile. She would never have admitted it, but when Pearl invited her to this party just yesterday, she’d immediately gone out and splurged on a new dress--and she was glad she had, because she looked like a million bucks. The top was draped, held up alluringly by delicate straps that threatened to slip down her shoulders at any moment, the waist fit her like a glove, and the slit showed off her long legs to perfection. She tossed her glossy dark hair over her shoulder, loving the many pairs of eyes that were so obviously drawn towards her.

“Can I get you a drink?” Pearl asked, voice low and sexy in her ear.

They’d started their own party earlier, pre-gaming and fooling around in Pearl’s apartment as they got ready. Dahlia had been in the middle of straightening her hair when Pearl’s fingers slid up her thighs, which nearly caused her to burn her ear. At this point, they were each about five (or so, they hadn’t really counted) drinks in and fully ready to have the night of their lives.

“Sure.”

“What do you want?” Peal asked, lips grazing her neck.

“Surprise me,” Dahlia said, biting back a whimper. She turned to Pearl, cupping her cheek and saying, “I’m gonna go wash my hands.”

She continued to feel her fantasy as she walked across the dance floor to the restrooms, humming slightly to herself as she stepped up to a sink, hips swaying as she washed her hands. She was just about to reach for a paper towel when she glimpsed a figure in the mirror behind her, coming out of a stall.

Adore.

Dahlia felt her heart sink. What on earth was Adore doing here, looking at her with that hurt puppy expression, completely destroying the delightful buzz that she’d had going on?

Apparently wondering the same thing, Adore burst out, “What are you doing here?”

“I’m...it’s a party.”

Adore swallowed, and for a second Dahlia felt the guilt tighten in her chest. They hadn’t seen each other since that awful gig, when Dahlia had ditched the band and left with Pearl. She’d spoken to the others a few times, intentionally failing to mention that Pearl was more than a one-time thing.

She and Adore had been friends since high school, but for the first time in almost ten years, looking into her face was like looking at a stranger. Dahlia didn’t like to think about how much she’d hurt her, their friendship now probably beyond repair. For a few days after their fight, Dahlia had held out some hope, but when more than a week went by, and then two, and then three and no communication from Adore, she realized that it was truly over between them, despite Aja’s insistence that there was still hope, that she’d be fine after she nursed her wounds for awhile.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” Dahlia said, feeling defensive as she added, “Believe me.”

“Yeah, but how did you-”

At that moment, the door to the bathroom banged open, and in waltzed Pearl, still turnt up to 100, holding two drinks in her hands.

“Heyyyyy, D, are you ready to fuck this party up?!”

Adore turned toward her slowly, a look of horror on her face as the situation dawned on her.

Pearl looked hot as sin, her blonde hair spilling over her shoulders, a black long sleeved crop top clinging to her fit arms and shoving off a tone stomach, a skirt tight around her hips and ending just above her knees, a gold chain digging into the skin on her waist, her heeled boots making her ass look amazing. But Adore didn’t appear to be admiring her beauty or chic fashion sense. Instead, the look on her face was one of pure disgust.

“Are you…” Adore turned back to Dahlia, asking, “Are you here together?”

“Hell yeah!” Pearl exclaimed, before Dahlia could respond. She shot Pearl a look, trying to tell her to shut up with her eyes, but it didn’t do any good. “It’s good to see you, Delano. You look hot as fuck tonight. Want a drink?”

Adore blinked, clearly trying to figure out how Pearl could be such an absolute fucking idiot. (Dahlia was wondering the same thing.)

“...No. No, I don’t want a drink. I want you to leave. Both of you!”

“Why should we leave?” Pearl asked, sipping one of the cocktails. “We don’t have the problem here, and you don’t have to have one either.”

“Because! I’ve known Jinkx since I was a kid and my sister’s here and you’re just here to...why are you here? This isn’t even your scene!”

“I thought it would be a nice change of pace,” Pearl said. “You seriously need to relax, I thought we said we were gonna be friends.”

“Friends? Are you fucking serious, Pearl?”

“Yeah? Why not? It’s not like we ever really worked as a couple.” Pearl held out the other cocktail glass, which Dahlia assumed was meant to be for her, shaking it slightly, the ice clinking against the sides of the glass. “Jack and ginger…Isn’t that your drink? Consider it a peace off-”

“Pearl! What the fuck is wrong with you?! Do you have brain damage?!” Adore cried, slapping her hand away, liquor sloshing over the side of the glass. “You cannot seriously be fucking one of my oldest friends and think everything is gonna be cool! Or that you can buy me off with one cocktail from a fucking open bar!”

“This is so boring.” Pearl groaned slightly, rolling her eyes. “You’re totally ruining my buzz.”

“Good!” Adore yelled, voice hoarse, the tears filling her eyes telling Dahlia that they had about 30 seconds before a full emotional meltdown. She put her hand on Pearl’s arm, trying to signal for her to shut the fuck up so they could get the fuck out.

“Adore, there’s no need to make a scene. Why don’t you grow up and come do shots with us-”

“Do shots with you?!”

“Yes! We can all have some fun, and - what?” Pearl finally noticed Dahlia’s nails digging into her wrist, turning to her with an annoyed expression, which Dahlia ignored.

“I’m sorry,” Dahlia said instead, directly to Adore, as sincerely as possible.

Adore took a deep breath, eyes dull and glassy as she said, “Whatever. I just...please, just-”

“We’ll leave,” Dahlia assured her. After everything that went down, it seemed like the least she could do.

“But-” Pearl began, still not getting it.

“Pearl! Enough! Come.” She grabbed Pearl’s arm and pulled her towards the door, turning at the last second to give Adore one last, “Sorry.”

Adore nodded, tears brimming in her eyes. Her sorry clearly wasn’t enough. It probably never would be. She held her gaze for one more split second before she couldn’t stand it anymore and pushed the door open, shoving Pearl through.

***

“Hurry up lovely eyes!”

“I am, calm down-”

Sutan grinned as Violet grabbed yet another stack of papers from the living room table, moving them out of the way as quickly as she could, the table not at all ready for dinner, since neither of them had expected to be home. They were waiting for their food, the local Chinese restaurant nearly groaning on the phone when Sutan had placed his order, so he had promised to tip generously, though he always did anyway.

Sutan watched Violet, a small smile on his lips as the ends of his girlfriend's hair was still damp, the blue wrap dress and the thick socks so unlike the gown Sutan knew she would have otherwise worn, not that he himself wasn’t in a pair of loose sweats and a sweater.

Sutan didn’t normally pay much attention to what Violet was doing on the living room table, since they both preferred to either eat in the kitchen or at the TV, but it seemed like he should start checking in more, everything he stumbled upon utterly fascinating.

So far, he had seen completed patterns for skirt embroidery, all marked in Violet’s neat handwriting and completely idiot proof, his girlfriend clearly still not trusting the tailoring department to do their job while they were away in Aspen.

He had spotted what he assumed was the beginning of Raja’s MET clothes, seeing his twin's face stare back at him highly amusing. Violet had already done several small collections, fabrics and sketches all stapled together in little collages that gave a quick overview of her thoughts.

“Where do you want me to-” Sutan took a stack of paper from the table, wanting to help Violet, but all he managed was to make his girlfriend whip around, her eyes wide.

“Careful!”

“I am!” Sutan laughed, hooking his thumbs on top of the layers of fabric so it wouldn’t go anywhere as he walked over to the chest of drawers, putting it down to the side. “I didn’t realize you were so messy, Violet.”

“Please,” Violet snorted, leaning on her crutches with a raised eyebrow. “Like you’re one to talk, Mr. Kitchen Table.”

“Ha!” Sutan grinned, the taunt hitting exactly right, though he hadn’t actually thought about the kitchen table in forever, the surface somehow always clean when he needed it.

***

In the elevator, Dahlia fumed silently as she slipped on her coat. She’d been expecting an epic and glamorous night, not the shitshow that had just occured. Even more annoyingly, Pearl seemed unfazed by the whole thing.

“So, where to?” Pearl asked, her voice obnoxiously chipper.

“I don’t know,” Dahlia replied sullenly.

Completely oblivious to her tone, Pearl soldiered on. “There’s this great dive bar a few blocks from here, it’s-”

“A dive bar?” Dahlia cut in bitterly. “Dressed like this?”

Dahlia had not dropped nearly $300 on a new dress and spent two hours getting ready to end up in a dive bar. She crossed her arms.

“Well...I... Okay, if you want another fancy party, I can find one.” Pearl pulled up Twitter on her phone, scrolling through her feed. “I know my boss is at that MoMA thing, but I bet we can find something better-”

Suddenly though, even the thought of another extravagant party left a terrible taste in Dahlia’s mouth.

“Maybe I should just go home,” Dahlia sighed.

“What? Why?” Pearl’s head was tilted, confused, and looking at her big blue eyes, Dahlia couldn’t hold in her exasperation for a second longer.

“Because! I’m not really in the mood to sip champagne after all that! I know you’re like, hashtag unbothered by the whole thing, but it kind of sucks that I lost one of my oldest friends!” she burst out, just as the elevator reached the lobby.

Pearl touched her gently on the hand, saying sincerely, “It’s her loss, D.”

Dahlia sighed. She appreciated that Pearl was making an effort to be all ride-or-die, but it just felt too much like dismissing her feelings. She had lost something, something important, and she felt like shit.

“I just...wonder if it was worth it…” Dahlia admitted, and Pearl’s brow creased, finally bothered for the first time.

“I didn’t force you to come out with me,” she said quietly.

“I know,” said Dahlia.

“Or to fuck me.”

“I know.”

They stared at each other, a few moments of awkward silence passing before Dahlia finally looked down. It wasn’t fair of her to put all of this on Pearl, she knew that. But she couldn’t help feeling a bit resentful.

“If you really want to go home, I can get you a cab,” Pearl finally said.

Dahlia swallowed, a deep sigh leaving her. “Okay…”

So much for her epic, glamorous New Year’s Eve.

***

Still shaking a little from that awful confrontation in the bathroom, Adore walked towards the bar to order a drink. She’d been doing her best not to think about Dahlia or the whole mess with Pearl over the holidays, but Aja had asked her a few days earlier if they were gonna work things out, for the sake of the band.

Adore was thinking about it--after all, she loved her band. She loved writing music and she loved performing, and Dahlia had been part of it from the beginning. So she was trying to work up the energy to talk to her again. Or, she had been until tonight.

The fact that she was still dating Pearl was the last thing Adore expected. From Dahlia, that is. From Pearl, at this point nothing would surprise her.

Ugh.

She glanced around the room, wondering where the fuck Courtney was. Of course, she finally spotted her with Jinkx and Bianca, perched on a sofa, hanging on her sister’s arm...and likely her every word, if the look on her face was any indication.

Adore rolled her eyes, in no mood for Courtney’s slavish puppy love at the moment.

“What can I get you?” asked the bartender.

“Double Jameson,” Adore replied immediately, then after half a second added, “Actually, make it a triple.”

“You got it.”

Adore put her head on the bar and groaned slightly. Beside her, someone chuckled drily.

“Sounds like your night is going about as well as mine.” The tall blonde grinned at her sheepishly, recognition dawning in her eyes. “Wait, aren’t you Courtney’s friend?”

Adore puffed out her cheeks. She’d been known as ‘Bianca’s sister’ for most of her life, and she was resigned to it at this point. But now, she was gonna be ‘Courtney’s friend’? When would she just be herself? “Yeah. I’m Adore.”

Thankfully, the bartender set Adore’s drink down just then, allowing her to take a giant sip.

“Alaska,” supplied the blonde. “I work with Court at Galactica. I love her so much, she’s just the sweetest thing ever. She talks about you all the time.”

Frustration reaching a boiling point, Adore burst out with, “Yeah, Courtney’s the fucking greatest. My best friend. Although you wouldn’t know it tonight, since all she cares about is my fucking sister and the moon that apparently shines out of her ass.”

Alaska looked taken aback for a moment, and Adore squeezed her eyes shut, embarrassed.

“I’m sorry, I’m just...yeah, I’m just having a real shitty night, and I...please forget I said all that.” She couldn’t help finishing with, “Even though it’s true.”

Alaska laughed, a long infectious laugh that made Adore smile in spite of her wretched mood. “Consider it forgotten…But are you okay? Feeling a little left out?”

“I mean, I guess. I don’t know. I just saw my ex, who is now dating my former friend.”

“Ouch.”

“Why don’t we talk about you instead? What’s your story?” Adore asked her.

Wincing, Alaska sipped her drink. “Let’s not. I’m…sort of going through it tonight.”

“Oh yeah? Is it worse than your friend of ten years fucking your ex right after you broke up, and then the two of them showing up pretending like everything is normal and your ex asking you to fucking do shots with them?”

“Uh…no…not worse than that. Jesus.” Alaska shook her head and gestured to Adore’s drink. “You sure a triple’s strong enough?”

Adore laughed and shook her head. “It’s not. But I’m working with what I’ve got.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I hear that.” Alaska reached out and put a hand on Adore’s. “They both sound like assholes, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Adore said gratefully, looking into Alaska’s kind brown eyes and feeling seen for the first time all night. She cleared her throat. “...Okay, I just told you my shit. Wanna tell me yours?”

“Well…” Alaska chewed nervously on the straw in her own cocktail. “I have this friend…”

“Yeah…?” Adore prompted.

“I’m in love with her, and she doesn’t feel the same way, so I come to these things to torture myself.”

“Fuck.” Adore nodded, completely understanding this girl’s pain. She tossed back the last of her drink, then slammed the glass back down onto the bar, thinking that they may as well have some fun. “Fuck it. Do you wanna dance?”

“Sure!” Alaska said, a beautiful smile blooming on her face.

It wasn’t until they were on the dance floor, Adore’s hands circling Alaska’s waist, that she began to feel how tipsy she was. She hadn’t intended to drink, and certainly not to this point, but here she was. Thankfully, Adore didn’t seem to mind supporting her weight.

She leaned in close, mouth right up against Alaska’s ear, and said, “Your friend is a dumbass.”

Alaska giggled. “Thanks, I think?”

“I’m serious! You’re totally hot.”

“Shut up.”

“Fuck you, I will not!” Adore held her tighter. “Is she here?”

Alaska glanced to the side of the room, where Jinkx was laughing with someone. She nodded.

“Wanna make her jealous?”

“How are we gonna–” Alaska was cut off by Adore’s soft, warm mouth against hers, plush lips pressed to hers, hands pulling her closer. After her initial surprise, she relaxed into the kiss, winding her fingers in Adore’s long, messy red hair and opening her mouth, letting her tongue inside. It had been so long, and she maybe responded a little too ardently. Maybe let it go on a little too long. Maybe pressed against her too hard…but damn, she felt good.

Adore pulled her head back, grinning wickedly, and whispered, “Is she looking?”

“Is…what…oh, shit.” Alaska suddenly remembered what she was doing and glanced to the side without moving her head. “Yeah, she’s looking,” she answered softly.

Adore kissed her again, sliding her hands down to her ass. Alaska’s heart raced and she whimpered slightly. Adore released her again and winked. “Happy New Year,” she said, sauntering away.

Alaska brought a hand to her mouth, watching her walk away with a slightly dazed expression. She caught Jinkx’s eye for a split second and then looked away, blushing.

***

5 notes · View notes

spicyteez · 4 years

Text

Deal II

Smut

Gang boss San x Fem Reader

Word count: 5.8k

Part I

Warnings: thigh riding, some nipple play, a little bit of spanking, Dom San whoof. But also Subby San too, riding, marking, cockwarming, unprotected sex (pls don’t do that), a fight, mentions of blood

A/N: Part 2 yay! I loved writing both of these and I hope you enjoy them. I hope this fits with the story and is cohesive with the San in the last one. This one is a little soft because I was in such a soft mood all week and this was the result :)

Sanie 💕: Babeee. Come over.

Your phone dinged once again and you quickly flipped it over, hiding the message that popped up for the world to see.

Sanie 💕: I wanna fuck you.

The last time he had texted you such things, one of your employees had read it before you could stop them. That had been a disaster. Discussing your sex life with an employee was not your definition of a good time.

Once you had begun officially dating San, you learned things about him that surprised you. Like how whiny he got when he was feeling needy.

You: I can’t, I have a delivery coming tonight.

Noticing a customer approaching the register, you put your phone down and busied yourself with taking their order. It really had been a long time since you had seen him and you really missed him. With no end to your busy schedule in sight, you were beginning to become touch starved. You hadn’t seen San in over two weeks and work was killing you. Checking your phone once again, you noticed there was no response and moved on with your work, hoping that he wasn’t too unhappy.

Night fell and you waited for the delivery man to come. What type of a company delivers at nine pm on a Saturday? Once you had signed for the goods and they were all stashed away, you were finally able to return home for the night. Shrugging off your long coat, you threw it to the side and plopped down in front of the TV. A knock on the door distracted you from your show and you stood up to give whoever it was a piece of your mind.

“You better have a good reason for knocking on my door at ten-” You trailed off when you noticed it wasn’t a stranger, but your boyfriend staring at you with his eyebrows raised and a smirk on his lips.

“Oh? And what are you going to do? Spank me?” Your face grew red and he chuckled at the effect he had on you.

Standing back so he could come in, you sucked in a breath when his hands came to rest on your hips. Pushing you slowly, he backed you against the wall and pressed himself against you. His lips were on yours in an instant, tenderly applying enough pressure to drive you insane. Pulling away, he inhaled sharply and rested his hand on the wall above your head. “I’ve missed you.”

Wrapping your arms around him, you pressed your head to his chest and breathed in his familiar scent. “I missed you too.” You stood like that for a moment, listening to his steady heartbeat and enjoying the feeling of his arms around you.

You pulled back to lace your fingers with his. “What do you want to do?” Grinning up at him, you giggled at his adorable eye smile. Your boyfriend was the cutest. Even if he was a gang boss.

“Whatever you want. I want to see what you normally do on a Saturday night.”

Leading him to the couch, you made sure he was comfortable before resuming your program. You laughed along to the humorous lines, missing the look of adoration he gave you. After months of meeting exclusively at his place, it felt so strange to have him sitting on your couch in your tiny apartment. The gap between the luxurious suite he lived in and here had you worried he would think your home was pitiful. Looking over at him, you noticed he looked relaxed and at ease. Some of your worry faded away and you chided yourself for thinking that way.

Hours later you were spread across the couch, your legs in his lap, both staring at the screen intently. The final scene of The Notebook played out, bringing tears to your eyes. How many times had you watched this film and still felt your heart wrench at the ending? A few too many to count. Once the credits began their ascent up the frame, you felt San’s eyes on you.

“Babe,” He chuckled lowly, pulling you fully into his lap. “Don’t cry. It’s just a movie.”

Burying your face in his neck, you breathed in his scent and tried to stop your sniffling. “But it’s so sad!” You wailed. Wrapping your arms around him, you felt his chest rumble with his laughter. Rocking you gently, he rubbed soothing circles into your back until you felt your emotions were under control.

“It’s three in the morning. I think it’s time you get to bed.” Patting your head, he waited for you to stand up before he stretched and stood up himself. You noticed him gathering his things and decided that maybe you’d like to wake up in his arms tomorrow rather than your empty bed.

Reaching for his hand, you got his attention. “Sannie. You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but maybe…” Looking at his shoes, you felt your face heat up. Why was it so hard to ask him? He’d done the filthiest of things with you, but asking him to stay the night was terrifying. “Do you want to stay the night?”

His hand came to your face, gently holding your chin and raising your head up to look at him. “Of course baby.” He gave you a quick kiss and allowed you to lead him to your bed. Digging through your drawers, you found a tshirt and some sweats that you thought would fit him and let him go change into them. When he walked into the room, he paused when he saw your choice of sleep wear, a flowy camisole with a pair of short shorts. You definitely knew what you were doing when you chose the outfit, knowing that the delicate fabric against your skin would drive him wild. He had texted you earlier to let you know he was needy, and heck, maybe you were feeling a little needy as well. Standing innocently, you felt heat rush to your core as his eyes slowly raked over every inch of your body. Moving forward slowly yet confidently, he met your eyes and you saw pure lust swimming in the dark orbs. You felt excited yet shaky, stepping back until your legs hit the bed and you fell back onto the plush mattress. In a second he was on you, climbing on top of you and caging you beneath his toned body. Dragging his teeth across your jaw, he trailed to your neck and nipped at the skin. Letting out a whine at the feeling, your mind clouded and you tilted your head to give him better access. His breath, sweet and hot, mixed with his intoxicating presence had your head swimming and your pussy dripping. Biting down harder, his fingertips flitted over your exposed collarbones and chest, the warmth of his hands making you shiver. Removing his teeth, he soothed the newly formed mark with his tongue, lapping at the hot flesh and sucking on it slightly.

“Do you want this baby?” His voice had sunk an octave, his desire obvious.

Lost in the feeling of his lips on your skin, you choked out a reply. “Oh yes San.”

A harsh bite to your neck had you gasping for breath. “It’s Sir to you, sweetheart.”

Your heart sped up in anticipation, every nerve crackling with excitement. His dominant side had taken over, his desire to control you overriding all other thoughts in his head. When he got like this, you couldn’t help but think he was unbelievably sexy.

Pulling away, he sent you a harsh look when you whined at his absence. Tugging your shorts down, he tossed them to the side and noticed the damp soaking through your panties. His breath hitched and he struggled to maintain his composure as he stood and untied the sweatpants resting on his hips.

“Did that turn you on that much?” Wonder laced his voice and he cursed under his breath. “Holy fuck." Nodding your head, you bit your lip as you gazed into his awestruck eyes. Tugging down his sweatpants along with his boxers, he pulled off his shirt as well and stood completely bare before you. No matter how many times he undressed, you could never get used to it. His body, toned and lean, always had your mind imagining sinful things. Not to mention his cock, which was fully erect and in need of attention.

Noticing the way you stared at his exposed thighs, he walked to the head of the bed and sat up straight against the headboard. “Come here.” Patting his thighs, he waited for you to crawl onto his lap. His fingers hooked in your panties, pulling the garment off your body. Instead of grinding you down onto him like he would usually do, you found him guiding you to straddle his left thigh. He pressed down on your hips, forcing your slick folds to make contact with his leg. Mewling at the pressure on your clit, your hands latched onto his shoulders to ground yourself. “That’s it baby. I want you to get off on my thigh.” Everything about the way he cooed the words, falling from his lips with his familiar charm felt so sinful, yet you couldn’t get enough of it. Pre-cum clung to his thigh, aiding your movements against his flexing muscle. You were practically dripping at this point, pussy gushing as the angle of your hips stimulated your clit with each pass. Loud wet noises filled the room and San groaned quietly, his dick twitching with each recurrence of the filthy sound.

Speeding up your motions, you gripped his shoulders tightly, feeling your release rushing closer. San noticed the way your breath hitched and your hips frantically ground against his thigh and he knew you were close to your finish. Gripping your hips harshly, he slowed your pace, effectively cutting off your anticipation. “Sir.” Whining in frustration, you gazed at him doe eyed, begging him to let you cum. He felt a surge of pride at your outburst, to have someone as gorgeous as you at his mercy made him feel so powerful.

Fingers digging into your hips, he set a torturously slow pace, sensually dragging your hips as he flexed his thigh. Leaning in to your embrace, he kissed your neck softly, trailing his tongue to your ear and biting down on the appendage gently. “Patience kitten. I want to feel every millimeter of your pretty pussy.” A shiver ran down your spine from his proximity and the lewd words he had whispered into your skin. You involuntarily clenched around thin air, his deep tone affecting you more than you’d like to admit. Leaning back, his nimble fingers slipped beneath your camisole, sliding up to your breasts to fondle the sensitive flesh. Taking your nipple between his fingers, he pinched down hard, drawing a ragged moan from your lips. He continued to play with your breasts, abusing your tender chest and undoubtedly leaving bruises from his harsh squeezes. Abandoning your chest, he gripped your hips once again, slightly speeding up the speed of your movements. He kept you there for what felt like forever, dragging your abused pussy against him slowly, feeling your soft lips slide against his thigh steadily.

The fire in your stomach ignited again, your moans growing more frequent and higher pitched as you got closer and closer. Swiping his fingers through your dripping wetness, San pressed his fingers to your clit firmly and rubbed slow circles onto the engorged nub. Fingernails digging into his shoulders, you barely registered his hiss at the pain through your pleasure induced haze. The world seemed to fall away, all input leaving your head besides his fingers running over you repeatedly and the knott about to snap in your stomach.

“That’s it baby. Cum all over my thigh like the dirty girl you are.” With one last movement of your hips and circle on your clit, you fell over the edge, throwing your head back in a silent scream. Your hips continued to move under his hold, riding out the mind numbing orgasm until you felt the sting of over sensitivity buzz in your spent slit. Mind clearing, you heard San whispering praises to you, caressing your hips gently while telling you how good you were for him.

Breaking his rules, you reached forward to touch him, pressing your palms against his chest while you connected your lips to his own soft pair. Pulling back a bit, you ran your fingers through his two toned hair and brushed a stray strand away from his face. “I love you.” Bursting with love for him, you felt your heart leap out of your chest as you stared at his handsome features. The dark look in his eyes calmed to something loving and tender, his hands cupping your face and bringing your lips together again for a slow, passionate kiss. You pulled away slowly, your heart about to burst from the butterflies floating in your stomach.

Intertwining his fingers with yours, he laid down on the bed and pulled you to straddle his hips. Touching his angry red cock, he let out a groan while he spread his dripping pre-cum around his length. Lifting up your hips, you allowed him to insert his dick into your numb core, clenching around him purposely to draw out a strangled groan. Tugging on your shoulders, he pulled you down to lay on his chest and connect your lips to his. Rocking your hips on his dick slowly, you allowed his tongue to slip into your mouth and explore your warm cavity. You pressed against his lips harder, battling for dominance. Slowing down your hips to a crawl, you moved at a snail's pace, driving him mad at the taste of his own medicine. Pulling back from your lips harsly, gone was the loving gaze in his eye. His hand came down hard on your ass, repeating his actions and grabbing your cheeks with both hands. Thrusting his hips up into your warmth, he continued at a bruising pace, growling at your disobedience. “Remember who’s in charge here.”

You felt small under his intense gaze, whimpering at the intense pleasure in your sensitive cunt. Nearing your second orgasm, you felt him twitch deep within you, an indicator of how close he was as well. “Yes, yes, yes.” You choked out, tears forming in your eyes at the pain infused pleasure.

“Mmm.” Humming in satisfaction, he slammed into you with renewed vigor. The tip of his cock brushed your sweet spot repeatedly, crude curses falling from your lips with the overwhelming sensation. “Look at you princess. So beautiful, so fucked out. And all mine.” He all but growled the last word, deep and animalistic. It threw you over the edge, his possessiveness causing you to clench around him tightly until you felt his hot cum paint your walls. Heavy pants filled the room as he rocked you against him slowly, milking out the remainder of your highs. Once you had both come down, he pulled out and watched as your combined releases dripped out of your spent hole. Squeaking, you felt his fingers push the fluid back into you, dragging against your walls as he pulled out and sucked the digits clean.

Rolling off of his solid chest, you cuddled into his side. “And I’m all yours.” You whispered back, pecking his swollen lips. Pulling you so your back rested against his chest, you both laughed when you noticed the clock nearing the four o’clock hour. So much for sleeping.

As your eyelids began to droop, you heard him whisper into the quiet room. “I love you so much. No one else has ever made me feel so alive.” His lips trailed over your neck, pressing adoring kisses to your pulse point. Closing your eyes, you gave into the comfortable feeling and allowed sleep to pull you into its depths.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sunlight streamed through the window when you opened your eyes. Shifting around, you made yourself comfortable and heard a high pitched whine from behind you. Halting your movements, you felt something hard poking your thigh. How was he still hard after your lengthy roll between the sheets last night? Gently grinding against his length, you felt his hands grip your hips as a warning. Rolling over to face him, you caressed his face gently, appreciating his sleepy morning state. Nuzzling into your hand slightly, San closed his eyes and began to fall asleep again. Your fingers traced his skin, trailing down his neck and running down his chest and abdomen to rest at the base of his cock. Grasping the shaft lightly, you pumped him in your hand slowly. His head lolled against your shoulder, soft whines falling from his parted lips as he gave in to the mounting pleasure. Gone was your intensely dominant boyfriend, replaced with a soft boy needy for your touch. The cute sounds he was making spurred you on, pumping him harder in order to hear more of his beautiful moans.

Pulling your hand away, San whined at the loss of contact and pouted at you. Your heart fluttered at his adorable unhappiness. Pushing him up, you guided him to sit against the headboard like he had done the night before. Too tired to put up a fight, he complied and watched with hooded eyes as you climbed onto his lap. "Let me take care of you baby." The pretty noises he had been making already had you wet and you needed no further preparations as you slid down onto his stiff cock. Letting out a shaky breath, he leaned his head back against the headboard while you began to lazily rock your core around his length. Kissing down his neck, you found his sweet spot and sucked on the skin gently. He pulled away and shook his head at you, indicating that he was opposed to you leaving any marks. It was your turn to pull out the puppy dog eyes, watching the resolve in his eyes fade away. "Please Sanie, just one? I want everyone to know you belong to me. Just like I belong to you." You clenched around him gently, heightening his pleasure as you waited for him to respond.

With a groan, he gave in, nodding his head and tilting his jaw to give you better access. He was so vulnerable, so sensitive, and you wanted nothing more than to make him feel good. Sinking your teeth into his neck, you whined against his skin when he bucked his hips up into you at the feeling. Alternating between nibbling and sucking, a purple bruise began to blossom on his soft complexion. When you were satisfied with the mark, you brushed your lips across it, soothing the hot skin. Pulling back, you smiled at your work. "Look baby. Now we match." Tilting your head, you showed him the deep purple bite he had nibbled into your skin in the same place the night before.

"Mmmm. Perfect." He hummed, pulling you close to rest against your forehead. Gently taking your hand, he pressed it to his chest, right above his racing heart. A surge of pride raced through you, knowing it was you who got him so worked up was the ultimate compliment.

Shifting slightly, you sped up the pace of your hips, feeling his dick twitch deep within you. When you both reached your climax, he pressed his lips to yours in a slow kiss, muffling your combined moans. Halting your movements, you broke away from his lips and left a tender kiss on his jaw. "That was amazing, baby." He thanked you shyly, a blush dusting his cheeks.

Lifting your hips from his, you sucked in a breath at the sudden empty feeling. He pulled you down to lay beside him, all but smothering you with the intense way he clung to you. Chuckling at the way his eyelids were already fluttering, you traced patterns along the tattoos on his arms as he held you close. The warmth of his body pressed against yours permeated your being and you soon felt your eyes closing as well, giving in to sleep for the second time.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two weeks later you found yourself in the passenger seat of a Mercedes Benz, scanning your surroundings in awe. You knew San was rich, but you didn’t know he was this rich. Squirming uncomfortably in your seat, you were fearful of leaving even a fingerprint on the sleek leather dash. His hand pressed down on your thigh, squeezing your leg reassuringly. Smiling at you, he noticed the uncertainty in your eyes.

“Don’t worry y/n, everything will be fine.” Although his sweet words made you feel calm, you couldn’t help but continue to feel a spark of worry in your gut. Contrary to his words you knew that everything was not fine. You were on your way to a fancy party, one which all of San’s friends and business partners would be in attendance. San’s god father, his late father’s best friend had organized the party and he wouldn’t miss it for the world. He had been a big part of San’s life and you were excited to meet the man who influenced your boyfriend so much. From the way he talked about this man, you could tell he had a huge soft spot for the gentleman who practically raised him since his father had passed. On the other hand, however, you were terrified of meeting him. Your father had been involved with him briefly, long enough for the man to learn of how your dad’s greed for money was greater than the worth of any of his friendships. If he knew who your father was, what would he think of you?

The three hour drive passed in almost silence, San knew you were scared and didn’t want to worry you any more. When you pulled up to the luxurious hotel hosting the party, your jaw dropped. "Like what you see? My friend Yunho owns the place." He helped you out of the car, chucking at how you continued to stare at the building.

"Holy shit, San. You never fail to surprise me."

A quick team of bellhops converged on the vehicle, carrying your luggage off to the right room. You had arrived just in time to get ready for the party and you were stressed. Everything had to be perfect, from your dress to your makeup nothing could be out of place. When San helped you zip up your dress, his fingers brushing your exposed back, he pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder once the action was complete.

"You look gorgeous. Stay by my side tonight and everything will be fine." Turning to face him, you noticed the look of concern on his face. Your heart warmed at his sweetness and you grasped his hands like a lifeline. "What if I mess up and look stupid? Wouldn't you rather stay here and test out the bed?" You asked the question partially because you wanted to waste time but also because he looked extra delicious in his crisp tuxedo and you thought that it would look just as good on the floor.

Tilting your chin up gently, he forced you to make eye contact. "Oh hush. You'll be perfect. And besides," A playful smirk crossed his lips, "When we get back we'll have the whole night to ourselves. Maybe I'll even let you top me this time. I can't get over how hot you look when you're in control."

Swatting at his chest, you failed to hide your blush when his contagious laughter filled the room.

Soon it was time for the party to start and for you to face your fears. Clinging to San, you made the rounds, greeting everyone who he knew, which felt like practically every person in the room. The party was just what you had expected, boujee attendees dressed to the nines, sipping champagne and talking business. What business did gangs do anyways? Although the party was stereotypical, what you didn't expect was to see a tall young man breaking it down to classical music in the middle of the ball room. He seemed to be a natural entertainer, his antics feeding off of the energy of his circle of friends. You felt yourself being pulled in his direction, and you followed San's guidance, the man somehow looking even taller up close. When you were close enough to observe him, you noticed just how puppy-like he was. A huge grin filled his whole face and he practically radiated happiness.

"Y/n, this is Yunho." San introduced you to the boisterous young man and you were once again surprised. Yunho didn't look like a millionaire, but looks could be deceiving. Pulling you into a conversation, Yunho never dropped the bright grin on his face and you felt yourself relaxing in his presence. You were so caught up in the conversation, you almost didn’t notice Mingi standing quietly in the corner of your vision. Excusing yourself, you moved to say hello, feeling like it had been way too long since you had last seen him. Over the course of your deal with San, you had grown closer to Mingi, conversing with him as he drove you to your ‘dick appointments,’ as he called them. As you talked with him, the worry you had felt for the past few days melted away and you finally felt calm. However, you couldn’t help but feel a race of nerves when San took your hand and gently pulled you away. It was time for him to greet the host and you were terrified.

He guided you across the room until you stood before a middle aged man in a very expensive suit. Dropping your hand, San wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you closer to him.

“Ah San. It’s so good to see you again.” The man pulled him into a hug, temporarily breaking his hold on you.

“It’s good to see you too, Uncle Kim. The party is amazing.” San beamed at the man, clearly excited to see him. Pulling away, he returned his hand to your waist and rubbed comforting circles onto your side.

Your heart jumped when the man turned his attention to you, observing you silently. Shifting under his scrutiny, you realized you were shaking in San’s hold. “You must be y/n.”

Choking out a ‘yes’, you reached out a hand to shake his outstretched one.

“From what I’ve heard from San, you’re quite a lovely lady.” He smiled at you, bright and full of warmth. It would seem as if there was nothing to worry about at all. Grinning at you fondly, San pressed a quick kiss to your temple, promising to return for a full conversation with his godfather before pulling you away.

When you were on the other side of the room, he stopped and took your hand in his. “That wasn’t so bad, now was it?” His eyes shone with pride and your heart swelled.

Shaking your head, you chuckled quietly. “Okay. Maybe you’re right.” Placing your hand behind his neck, you connected your lips in a sweet kiss. Wrapping his arms around your waist, he pulled you close, deepening the kiss in a way that was almost too scandalous for the public eye. A yell broke you apart, drawing your attention to the man approaching you quickly.

“If it isn’t Mr. Choi San.” Turning around, San froze when he saw the speaker. You could sense the change in his body language, his shoulders tensing and his jaw clenching.

“Gabe.” Clutching your hand tighter, he pulled you behind him. So this was the infamous Gabe, San’s rival gang leader and enemy. His muscles were shaking, pure rage flowing through his entire being. The two stood in silence for a moment, daring the other to make the first move. Shifting to the side slightly, Gabe caught a glance at your hand wrapped in San’s.

A sickening grin split across his face and he raised his eyebrows in amusement. “Who’s this? Your new little whore? I wonder what’s lower, her IQ or the time it takes her to suck you off.”

In a second San’s fist connected with his face, catching him off guard and causing him to topple over. Jumping on top of him, San continued his attack, dodging most of the punches thrown by his retaliating opponent. Gabe was able to land a punch to San’s face, sending him reeling back before continuing the fight. Spitting out blood, San’s eyes shone with hatred. “Don’t you fucking talk about her like that! She’s so much more of a person than you’ll ever be!”

You winced in horror as Gabe landed a strong punch to San’s ribs which was sure to leave a bruise. San retaliated by striking his eye, creating a large welt on his handsome face. Before the two could continue, a man yanked the pair apart, pulling Gabe to his feet and standing between the two. Grimacing in pain, San wiped the blood from his split lip and glared daggers at his opponent. People had started to take notice and were staring wide-eyed at the commotion. Taking your hand again, he murmured something to the growing crowd and pulled you away to the privacy of your hotel room.

Once the door swung close, you watched San’s back as he let out a heavy breath. Collecting your thoughts, you didn’t know how to feel about the scene that had just played out. You knew he could be aggressive but you had never seen him like this before. Although you were disappointed, you couldn’t help but feel a little… proud.

"San." You whispered, waiting for him to turn around. When he faced you, you took in his ragged appearance and felt your heart ache at the sight. Moving forward, you wrapped your arms around his waist tightly, apologizing when he winced at the pressure on his bruised ribs.

He slowly wrapped his arms around you as well, letting out a sigh. "I'm so sorry y/n. I don't know what came over me, I just couldn't listen to him say those things about you. I just… I'm sorry." Burying his head in your neck, overwhelming shame filled his heart. Taking his head in your hands, you pulled back to look at him.

“Oh baby. No one has ever stood up for me like that.” He tilted his head up in confusion, looking at you curiously.

“No one?” You shook your head no and he frowned. “You’re the most caring, beautiful, wonderful woman I know. Everyone should stand up for you.” Smiling softly, you pressed a kiss to his pouting lips.

“Let’s get you in the tub. It’ll help your sore muscles.” Leading him to the bathroom, you started the water and threw in whatever fancy bubble bath the hotel had available. Helping San out of his clothes, you carefully unbuttoned his shirt and slid it down his broad shoulders. Unclasping his belt, you helped him out of his pants and into the tub. You opened the door to leave but San’s hand on your wrist pulled you back into the room.

“Please join me.” He looked at you pleadingly, biting his lip as he waited for a response. Nodding your head, you slid the zipper to your lavish gown down your back. Stepping out of the dress, you set it on a chair, not wanting to ruin the gorgeous fabric. Next came your bra and panties, hitting the floor as San eyed you with awe. Placing his hands on your waist, he guided you to straddle his hips, sloshing around in the warm water until you were comfortable. Sitting back on your heels, you realized just how bad he had fared. A large cut began at his eyebrow, trailing down his face about an inch. Bruises littered his face and you could see a large one forming on his ribs and collarbone. You grabbed a washcloth and lathered it with soap, preparing to clean his wounds while San twisted your hair into a loose bun atop your head. A quiet hiss escaped his split lips when you rubbed at the scrape on his temple. His fingers tangled in yours, bringing the back of your hand to his lips, frowning when your hand came away red from his bloody lip. Finally you finished up, cupping his jaw and gently dabbing at his lower lip, his eyes never leaving your face. Once the wound had been cleaned, you discarded the washcloth and pecked his lip gently, almost as if you were kissing it better.

Silence filled the room, the pair of you taking in all that had happened that day. Brushing a strand of hair he had missed behind your ear, he smiled softly. “This feels familiar, doesn’t it? Do you remember that night?”

“Of course I do. It was the best night of my life.” Rubbing his fingers over your knuckles, his lips pressed to the back of your hand once again.

You remembered that night vividly although it had taken place months ago. It was the night he confessed his feelings for you and he made love to you so passionately. His scars from that time had faded away, but you could still find them if you looked hard enough. It seemed that you were always in this position, finding him beaten and bruised. He told you that he had enemies, but you hadn’t realized just how many there were.

Telling you to lift your hips, he noticed your confused expression. “I want to be closer to you.” You followed his instructions, shifting on your knees to lift up your hips higher. When you felt his cock press against your lower lips, you knew what he wanted. Sinking down on his thick length, you sighed in satisfaction. Moments of intimacy like this were rare, but you absolutely adored them. He felt warm inside of you and a cozy sensation spread through your being. You felt so full, almost as if a missing piece of you had been returned, like he was made to fit there. Bringing you closer, he slowly brought you to rest on his chest, careful to not agitate his injuries. Rubbing your back soothingly, he held you close and basked in your presence.

It wasn’t everyday that a man was willing to beat someone for you and you found San standing up for you to be extremely touching. Although this trip hadn’t gone as planned, you knew that it would be alright. As long as you were together everything would be okay.

#i hope it's not lame #please tell me if it's lame and i will honestly rewrite the whole thing lmao #san #san smut #ateez smut #ateez imagine #ateez imagines #san imagine #san imagines #deal #k writes #ateez gang au #san gang au

782 notes · View notes

and-it-freezes-me · 3 years

Text

Accidents Happen - On Demons And Angels

Summary: Roman believes that the accident wasn’t entirely Remus’ fault, and begins his investigation into Janus’ part in it. Part 1 of ?

Content: disaster humans, brief discussions of injuries, brief fire mention, brief bugs mention; Remus is implied to be cruel but isn’t, really

Words: 3,845

{Part 2}

‘In every set of twins, there is an angel and a demon.’

At least, that was what it had said in a book Roman had read once. He couldn’t even remember what it was called, let alone what the context for such a condemning statement had been, but those words had stuck with him from the moment his eyes had found them on the page. Maybe it was because he had been reading it around the time that Remus had started acting out properly, and because the only thing he could come up with to explain it was that Remus was just naturally bad. They had the same parents, after all, the same upbringing, the same neighbours and peers - they should have turned out the same. It had made plenty of sense to his twelve-year-old self: he was the angel, and Remus was the demon.

Now, however? He was pretty sure that it was the other way around.

Or maybe it wasn’t true at all. Because whilst an angel didn’t get their twin kicked out of the house or blamed for the dog going missing, he was fairly certain that an angel wouldn’t end up in prison, either.

Maybe they were both demons, only he was better at hiding it. Everybody else certainly took him to be an angel, after all: when they compared Roman: a straight A student, head of the theatre club, volunteering twice a week, heading to a prestigious university to study classics in the fall; to Remus, who hadn’t scored well in an exam since he was eight, who was always in dirty, ripped clothes and smelled of bonfires and booze, who had once pushed a kid down two flights of stairs (Patton had been fine in the end, but still…), what were they supposed to think?

“At least one of your boys will amount to something,” somebody had said once. “At least Roman’s going somewhere,” they had said. And then, “isn’t your son talented!” and “you must be so proud of your boy,” as though Remus didn’t exist at all anymore. And Roman had let it happen, because he had loved the praise, because he had loved being the golden boy, the one that could do nothing wrong. He loved being the example, being allowed to stay home alone a whole two years before Remus even though they were the same age, being allowed to go to see his friends at any hour of the day or night as long as he texted to say when he would be home. Next to Remus, who had once procured a dead snake and wrapped it up as a Mother’s Day gift, he could do no wrong.

And so when things went slightly wrong, it didn’t matter if he blamed Remus. They were still friends - they were twins, of course they were friends - and Remus never seemed to care. When Roman had spilled candle wax all over the floor when they were thirteen and their parents had asked what had happened, the words had just slipped out: “Remus was playing with the candles earlier.” Six hours later, they had all been woken by the smell of smoke to find that Remus had set the living room curtains on fire, and two hours after that, Roman had slipped into his brother’s bedroom and thanked him for covering for him.

“That’s what I’m here for, Ro-Ro,” he had said, grinning at the glo-stars tacked to the ceiling in the shape of a monstrous grin. “We’ve gotta stick together, you ‘n me. I’ve got your back.”

Remus never asked anything from him.

He didn’t ask for a return favour when they were fourteen and Roman had failed an exam, stole Remus’ clothes while his twin was in gym, re-sat the paper as Remus but wrote his own name on the top, and then blamed the original failed paper on his brother trying to fuck with him.

He didn’t make Roman own up when he had taken their father’s car out to a party when they were sixteen, gotten slightly tipsy, and managed to throw up all over the seats and leave a massive scratch all down one side, ruining the paintwork. His parents were already inclined to blame their problem child, and all Roman had to say was, “I thought I heard the car while I was studying last night.” Remus not only took the punishment for him, but went as far as to key their mother’s car the next night.

When they were seventeen, they had gotten a puppy. It was supposedly for everyone, a family pet, but everybody knew that it was really a reward for Roman landing the lead role in the theatre club’s production of ‘Bugsy Malone’. Two months later, the twins had been home alone (their parents had gone out together, and Remus wasn’t allowed to be alone in the house anymore and hadn’t been since The Microwave Incident, so Roman had to stay in with him) and Roman had left the back door open when he went outside. The dog - Filo, after the pastry - had charged out after him, been spooked by something, and dashed through the fence. Roman had followed her into the woods, fallen into a creek, and had to hobble home on a twisted ankle. He was a good actor; it didn’t take much to call up some tears, and explain how he had been trying to catch Filo after Remus had let her out by mistake. Remus never asked for Roman’s help with the hours and hours he had searched through that forest, every day after school for months, until he finally came home to get a spade and returned with Filo’s collar some time later.

There were other things, too, things that had actually been Remus, things that Roman had had nothing to do with. Most of the things were like that, really. And when Roman made mistakes, he usually owned up to them - he wasn’t a bad person. It was only the few times that he had ducked out of the way and allowed Remus to take the punishment for him.

He wouldn’t have done it if he’d have known how it was going to end. Sure, Remus was a disaster, Remus was strange and already on first-name basis with a few of the police officers around their town, Remus was awkward in conversation and quite frankly an embarrassment to be related to, but he was still his brother, and he did still love him. So if he had known that his parents would kick Remus out for it, Roman never would have claimed that he had never seen the ziploc bag of weed, or that Remus must have hidden it in his room. And by the time he heard the yelling, by the time he tried to take it back, it was too late. His parents saw his desperate pleas that it was his as generosity, as self-sacrifice, as trying to stick up for his brother, and had calmly explained that it wasn’t just this, that this was just the latest in the longest line of things, and that it was sweet of him to try to look out for his twin.

So yeah, maybe Roman wasn’t the valiant prince he had always thought he was.

He had given Remus the keys to his car, a gorgeous red thing his parents had bought him for his eighteenth. Remus couldn’t drive, of course (after the Scratch’n’Vom Incident, they had stopped his lessons, and he didn’t the funds to pay for them himself) (Remus hadn’t had pocket money since they were ten), but he could sleep in the thing for as long as he wanted, and Roman said would let him into the house to use the shower and stuff when their parents were out. He had parked the car around the corner, out of view of their house, because their parents had explicitly banned him from helping him, and brought Remus some extra blankets. It was the least he could do.

But Remus, of course, couldn’t let it go. Ask anybody: he had to top Roman’s latest disaster with an even more spectacular one of his own, and Roman was awoken at around four in the morning by a uniformed officer informing his parents that there had been an accident, and that they would have the opportunity to appoint a lawyer for Remus before questioning started the following morning, and would they like to come down to the station to see him now? (They hadn’t wanted to do either of those things).

How foul-mouthed, crude, angry Remus had persuaded the golden-eyed, silver-tongued captain of the debate team to get into the car with him after midnight was anyone’s guess. Roman hadn’t even thought that Remus knew Janus, let alone was on midnight-joyride terms with him. Janus’ parents insisted that Remus must have kidnapped their son. Janus stayed quiet, although that wasn’t surprising given the fresh burn scars down his once-flawless face and neck and the smoke damage to his throat; instead of speaking, he submitted a written statement to the effect that he had gotten a lift from Remus, who had been drunk - although he hadn't known it - and that Remus had gotten distracted and driven them off the road. He didn't want to press charges; his parents forced him to. Remus made no move to confirm or deny this. His lawyer, one provided by the state, had pleaded guilty.

Remus got eight months.

Roman should have been pleased. Not that his brother was in prison, but that it hadn't been worse. Janus could have died, landing Remus in even more trouble. Remus could have died.

Instead, he was furious. None of it made sense. (Well, it did, a little, but not as much as everybody seemed to think it did!) Why would Janus have been out that late? It had been a school night, there was no reason for him to be… Well, anywhere other than at home. Had it been anybody else, this would be a stupid argument to make, but this was Janus Sinclaire, practically the most perfect student to exist. Why would he accept a lift from Remus, of all people? Most people Roman knew seemed to agree that it was safer to be on the streets alone than in a car with Remus.

Even if he took Janus' story as true (which he didn't), there were other things that didn't make sense. There hadn't been any alcohol in the car - Roman wasn't stupid, he didn't keep booze in his car - and Remus didn't have his wallet on him when he left, so how could Remus have been drunk? And the most important problem of all: if Remus had been planning on doing something big to make a spectacle of himself again, he wouldn't have been driving around town picking up other students like a freebie taxi service. He would have driven directly to the lake and sunk the car, or gone to the edge of town and torched the thing. Roman was pretty sure that nobody else would make this distinction, but he knew his twin (kinda).

In short? Not only had Roman gotten his brother kicked out of the house, but now Remus was serving time on a statement with more holes than a sieve.

It would be unsporting to disbelieve the victim in a case like this. It would be about as far from angelic as he could get, Roman reflected, tapping a pen against the bulleted list in the notebook in front of him. But that was okay. He had already proven that he wasn't an angel.

Remus:

Not a good driver - nobody would trust him to take them home

Promised he wouldn't go anywhere - are Remus promises worth much? Unsure.

Tends to immediate chaos & destruction - why driving?

No alcohol in car + no wallet for Remus

What was Janus doing at 2am?

Does Janus trust Remus enough to take a lift at 2am? Fuck no

Janus lies - known fact

Remus doesn’t hurt other people - Patton, me, random scraps

Remus doesn’t plan on hurting other people - luring Janus into my car would take planning

Janus lies. That was the point he kept coming back to, no matter how many times he told himself that he could only put it down once, that Janus had no reason to lie here, that only a monster would start trying to push a horribly scarred guy about what must have been a traumatic experience.

But Remus deserved better than this, didn’t he?

No matter how much of an asshole he could be, no matter what kind of freaky things he did for fun, just for once Remus deserved somebody to stick up for him. Besides, Roman owed him - big time - and maybe he should finally start paying in his debts. It was the princely thing to do, after all. And the ends justified the means, so if he had to do some slightly dodgy things to discover the truth, that wasn’t a problem.

Maybe it was just time to accept that he had more than just a little of the demon twin in himself.

It was another week before Janus returned to school - just in time for the end of year finals, although it was common knowledge that he had been given a pass not to sit them. He sat them anyway. Roman was certain that he only sat them to maintain his reputation, because there was no way the faculty was going to give him anything less than a perfect grade even if he didn’t.

Despite his scars and the new hoarse quality to his voice, Janus didn’t seem to act as though anything was different. Roman was actively watching him now, waiting for an opportunity to get close to him, for a crack in his golden façade that would allow him to break him open and pry at his secrets until he discovered exactly what had happened the night Remus had been kicked out; surely this lack of reaction was suspicious? Janus still arrived at exactly the same time every morning, dropped off by his parents in a ridiculously shiny silver car; he still went to every class and hosted debate team rehearsals in his lunch breaks; he still went straight home after school, again in that gorgeous silver machine, and sat in his room for hours, reading or studying. (Roman had found a tree across the street, one leafy enough that he could sit in it with a pair of binoculars for hours without being seen). (Yes, this was not princely behaviour).

Roman had gotten his information about what was ‘normal’ for Janus to do from Virgil Spince, who always seemed to know people’s routines. He had explained his curiosity away by saying that he wanted to apologise for his brother’s behaviour - something Virgil thoroughly approved of, given how badly his best friend had been hurt in the past - but was too anxious about it to just approach him. If there was something he understood, Virgil had said, it was anxiety. He had handed over Janus’ timetable without much more of a fuss, and Roman hadn’t asked how he knew what Janus did at home.

Roman had pushed down the guilt that rose in his chest with each lie he told, taken the scrawled list of times and places (Virgil had surprisingly cute handwriting, who knew?) and left.

It was another week before he found the courage to actually approach Janus. It wasn't as though there was an obvious change in his routine - other than the Thursday therapy trip, which Roman couldn't really see as suspicious - so it wasn't as though Roman could just accost him in the middle of something illegal. That made talking to him much harder, because it meant that he was going to have to be nice. Nice, to somebody that had gotten his brother locked up. The jumpsuit really didn't suit Remus.

Fortunately, Roman was a very good actor.

He did it at lunchtime, reasoning that that was the least suspicious time to talk to another 'victim' of his brother the natural disaster. Sliding into the seat across from where Janus was poking at a flask of what had to be maggots (or maybe it really was only noodles and Roman was still thinking about that film he had watched last night), he pulled his own lunchbox from his bag and set it down decisively, then just stared at it.

His nervousness was, for the most part, an act. Although his head was tilted toward the box of rice balls in front of him, Roman’s eyes were on Janus - and he was sure that something had flickered across his face when he had sat down. What it was, he couldn’t say, but it had definitely been… Something. Guilt? Did Janus feel guilty? Roman hoped so. If he didn’t yet, then he would make sure that he did eventually.

After a brief count of thirty-nine (thrice thirteen. Thrice, because three times was traditionally lucky; thirteen because it was Remus’ lucky number), Roman Wang raised his head and stared directly into the pale, now-quizzical eyes before him. The left eye (Roman’s left, he wasn’t sure why the distinction was important but it was) was just the same as ever; the right was rimmed with angry, swollen skin, and looked painful to open. He buried the stab of guilt for what he was about to do, reminded himself that Remus was his priority, and allowed his tongue to dart briefly over his upper lip before speaking. “I’m… Sorry about what happened. For Remus. I’m sorry for what Remus did to you, Janus. I never thought he’d do anything like that…”

There was silence as Janus regarded him, then the sound of a fork scraping against the metal of his flask as he raised another twist of maggots to his lips. Maybe they’d eat him from the inside out. Wow - these thoughts were a lot more befitting of Remus than of him. Maybe admitting one might be part demon unlocked a whole new category of twisted imaginings right from day one. Or day sixteen, as the case may be. Finally, Roman watched the bob of Janus’ throat as he swallowed, winced, and then spoke in that same husky, hoarse voice that would be more at home in a horror film than in a canteen. (No, that wasn’t fair. Not a princely thought at all. Since when had Roman made fun of people for injuries they couldn’t help?) (Since now, apparently). “You didn’t?”

“What?”

“Didn’t think Remus would do something like this.”

“What? Of course not!” Janus just stared at him, and Roman made a valiant effort to lower his voice so that his next words would be more civil. “He’s not - I didn’t think he would be this… Cruel. You shouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

“Interesting.” Somehow, Janus managed to draw the word out, to turn it into a condescending drawl even with his new chainsaw-murderer voice. “Even after what he did to Patton Grace? What happened to Logan Ahmed?”

Roman gaped at the other man. What had happened to Logan? He couldn’t remember. Either way, Janus had a point: Remus did have a track record for hurting people. He had even written that down in his notebook earlier that week. Shaking his head briefly, Roman pulled the chopsticks from the lid of his lunchbox and started picking at his rice. “Sorry. I guess I’m just… Shocked. I was just trying to… You know. Apologise. Ask if you were okay. If you needed to borrow any notes from the weeks you missed. That stuff.”

He was fairly certain that somebody else would already have given Janus notes, but it sounded good to offer; after another moment of silence, Janus shrugged. “Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Apology accepted. I’ll take the notes, too. You take AP Spanish, right?”

“There are eight of us in that class, Janus. You know I take AP Spanish. We’ve mostly just been doing conversational skills - Señor Puentes said a large part of our final would be verbal.” Roman allowed himself a little drama there, rolling his eyes in an exaggerated fashion, and Janus actually gave him a very faint smile. “You need my notes for that? I can help you revise, if you like.”

This time, Janus’ smile was wider, but thinner, too. “Coming from anybody else, that would sound as though you were just trying to get free tutoring.” He screwed the lid back onto his flask and bent to return it to his satchel (most people would get the crap kicked out of them by some netheranderal for carrying a satchel to school. Janus not only got away with it, but managed to make it look good, too). He straightened up with a water bottle and a blister pack of what Roman assumed were painkillers and swallowed two of them before washing them down with something that was probably the blood of some innocent goats. Or raspberry juice. One of the two.

Then Janus looked up to see what Roman hoped was a confused expression and not a hateful one, and rolled his eyes. “Yes, we can study together. Friday, half four. My place - I’ll give you my address.”

Roman had to restrain himself from saying something stupid, like “Don’t worry, I know where you live.” That wouldn’t sound dodgy at all. Instead, he thanked Janus as he scribbled an address on a scrap of notepaper and pushed it across the table with a scarred hand.

Janus got up to leave a few seconds later, making some comment about checking books out of the library, and Roman ate the rest of his lunch in silence, Janus’ address burning a hole in his pocket. That had been… Easy. Reassuringly so. It shouldn’t take long to squeeze the truth out of that snake if he just accepted what Roman had said so easily.

Of course, maybe Janus really didn’t have anything to hide. If he had taken Roman’s words for granted so easily, what was to say that he hadn’t done the exact same thing for Remus? If that was the case, then Roman would be manipulating just another victim, collateral of the swathes of destruction that Remus left in his wake. The guilt that rose in his stomach at this thought felt a lot like nausea, and he pushed the lid back onto his barely-touched lunch.

There was no point thinking like this. He had started on this path, and he would get to the bottom of this mystery no matter how ill it made him feel.

Besides, if he found out the truth and was able to bring it to light, to see that Janus got what he deserved for landing his brother in prison, maybe things would go back to normal. Remus could be the grubby, disturbing, mostly harmless demon, and he could go back to his happy, perfect life as the angel twin.

Even avenging angels had to get their hands dirty sometimes, right?

#roman sanders #remus sanders #janus sanders #creativitwins #AccidentsHappenAU #fanfiction #remus is a semi-voluntary scape-goat #but roman does want to fix things

15 notes · View notes

aveyna · 4 years

Text

The Seal of Approval

SUMMARY: In which Nuru liberates a seal, Yong gets adopted, Hugo is a gay pining disaster, and Varian is the sole voice of reason.

Alternatively, Nuru partakes in the age old tradition of toppling a monarchy.

[NOTE] Apparently the desire to see Varian get slapped by a seal was strong, judging by my last post.

AO3 LINK

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Can I at least take him for everything he’s worth?”

“For the last time, no, Hugo. You cannot be rude to the king, you cannot antagonize him, you cannot make fun of his beard, and hell, you definitely cannot kill him.” Varian sighs. After their last run in with Donella and her goons, they had just barely made it to the kingdom of Equis. He is only so close to choking this brilliantly stupid idiot with those dumb goggles he refuses to wear like they’re intended to. “I’d like to sleep under a roof for one lousy evening.”

“Oh, come on, hairstripe. If not thievery, can’t I commit a little murder?” Hugo whines, placing his arm dramatically over his eyes. “What else do I have to live for?”

It’s during times like these that Varian almost wishes he could go back to the way he used to be, before he and the princess had made amends. His younger self would not have hesitated to kick this sorry excuse of an alchemist to the curb. He loves him, truly, he does. The same can be said for Nuru and Yong, but he has just about had it. He had left on this journey in-search of his mother, but instead, he was stuck on babysitting duty.

Distantly, he wonders if this is how Eugene felt with his past failures on the hot water boilers. He visibly shudders at the memory.

No, let’s not think about that.

“Then die.” Varian glares up at the taller man who was currently leaning on him. Scowling, he removes the other arm that he had perched on-top of his head.

“Don’t be so heartless,” Hugo laughs. He smirks at Varian, but it softens ever so slightly. It seems almost fond and gentle, but quickly, it is wiped off from his face. “Huh, you really do make for a very nice armrest.”

“Glad that’s all I’m good for,” Varian grumbles, brows furrowed in annoyance.

Yong jumps up, waving his arms erratically as if he needed to expend that much effort in garnering Varian’s attention.

“Yes, Yong?” Varian asks, smiling pleasantly at his shorter friend.

“You’re also pretty!” Yong says. The color from Hugo’s face immediately drains.

“Wha—” Varian laughs, but it does nothing to dissuade the complete awkwardness of this situation.

“That’s what Hugo always says!”

“Haha, no, my dear Yong,” Hugo exclaims, speaking a bit too fast and loud. He had rushed over to the pyromaniac, clamping his hands over him. “He’s got it completely wrong. I never said you looked pretty.”

“No, but I heard—” Yong breaks free Hugo’s grip, only to be interrupted.

“Boys, boys, as entertaining as this may be, we’re drawing a crowd,” Nuru says, lips upturned in a half smile. Her golden eyes are lit up in mirth. Clearly, Varian can tell she finds amusement in his misery.

He raises his head, and…it looks like her assessment was correct. Surprisingly, a large number of people had gathered, eyes boring into the strange group with varying degrees of confusion and judgment. Yong had immediately jumped at the chance to talk with some kids his age who were conspiratorially whispering to one another as they pointed towards Varian.

Yong nods, easily blending into the crowd. His expression is resolute as he earnestly listens before turning his eyes towards Varian.

His feet are nailed to the spot, unable to shirk away from the attention. He feels as if he is a fish out of water, but…he cannot move. His two so-called friends had an iron-clad grip on his arms. “Let’s hear what they have to say. Afterall, we wouldn’t want to disappointment Yong,” Hugo concedes in a mocking fashion.

If I must suffer, I won’t do it alone, his eyes seem to say.

“Varian, hey, Varian, guess what—!!” The pyromaniac looks towards his new friends before nodding in understanding once more. “They just told me something really cool! Apparently you’re famous!?”

Immediately, his reality comes crashing down. With Yong’s well-meaning statement, Varian stumbles back as if he were scathed by boiling water. He has done many things he wasn’t proud of over the course of his life. Varian…he had been hurt. He had hurt others, but, here, in this time and place, this family that he has found…it will all come crashing down. It hurts to look at Yong’s bright expression with the knowledge that it’ll soon morph to one of contempt or even pity. He lowers his head, bangs shrouding his downcast eyes.

“Hugo, didn’t Varian kidnap the Queen of Corona?”

His head immediately whips towards Nuru, eyes wide in bewilderment. What in the world—

“He sure did,” Hugo replies in a dispassionate tone. “What a hypocrite you are, goggles. You forbid me from stealing a single jewel, yet you get to commit attempted murder?”

They’re…they’re not disappointed in me?

“Way to hog all the fun for yourself,” Hugo lightly chides, glancing down at Varian in a condescending manner.

Varian’s eyes are glassy. He feels tears begin to prick at the corner of his eyes, but he hastily wipes at his face. There is so much to unpack here. Does he even deserve their understanding? Like his father and the king, he had been keeping secrets from his friends. They’d traversed across countless kingdoms and nearly died in the process. They had laughed, cried, shared good and bad moments, but for reasons unbeknownst to him, they still remain by his side.

With everything they have done by merely staying by his side, he—

Wait.

How did they find out!!?

Hugo adjusts his wire-rimmed glasses as he nonchalantly states, “Don’t shoot us that look, goggles. You’re acting like we kicked your raccoon.”

At this, Varian’s initial agitation at the infuriating man returns ten-fold.

“Why you—don’t bring Ruddiger into this!!” Varian seethes, standing up on the tips as he grabs Hugo by the goggles placed over his neck. His threat had come full-circle. Now, he is this close to murdering his fellow alchemist.

Nuru looks between her two older companions. Earlier, she had found a disconnected amusement in their bickering. She had always been alone growing up; it was hard to find someone close to her age to forge a genuine connection with. But here, with these two moronic geniuses and a kid who would most likely commit grand arson in a few years tops, she felt…included, complete…as if she were not a princess burdened with a heavy task and instead, a normal girl.

Still, it would be best to calm Varian before he gets a one-way ticket to prison. She cannot possibly understand how he thought they would never find out; the signs were obvious enough!

“You would not believe how popular books on recent Coronian news are,” Nuru articulates, thinking back to her initial surprise upon finding chapters upon chapters on Varian’s initial [clearly not one-sided] betrayal of their princess and eventual redemption. Under most circumstances she would have had him thrown out of her kingdom, but she had seen his kindness first-hand.

He had been abandoned when he was young; cast aside by those he had once admired. His problems were definitely more complicated than that, and its connections were deeply entrenched within the machinations of his kingdom and beyond, but—

If he had gone out of his way to right his wrongs, she could tell he was a good person at heart, and certainly one she would not mind to have right by her side when traversing the great unknown.

“You also talk in your sleep,” Yong mentions, eager to help out.

Varian’s jaw drops, mind reeling at their confessions. Various expressions flicker across his face, but his words…clearly do not do his thoughts justice.

“Oh, shit,” he says.

Hugo playfully goads the shorter alchemist, attempting to rile him into another argument. “I thought you said no cursing around Yong?”

The blue-eyed alchemist merely looks past the taller man and points. Curious, Hugo turns.

“Oh, shit,” Hugo hisses.

---

Underneath the sunny, brightly lit sky of Equis, Hugo…is confronted with his worst nightmare. No, even that would be too kind a word. Nothing can describe the complete loathing and disgust he feels at this very moment, not when he is face to face with the vilest person he has ever had the misfortune of encountering again. Even six years is not enough time away from this madman.

Clearly, time had not been kind to him. Not that it had ever been, if Hugo were to be honest.

Though…now he has a seal.

That’s new, Hugo offhandedly mutters, staring at the seal wearing a lavish necklace and golden crown while…still hideous, actually shoots him, unlike this man glaring daggers at him.

Nuru, however, her eyes…they are the brightest that they have ever been. She looks as if she had been struck by an arrow. Hugo looks at her, clearly disturbed at the princess’s…unusual behavior. “What. Is. That!?”

She is shaking Varian’s shoulders, eyes filled with stars as gazes at the seal in an awed reverence.

“A seal…?” Varian responds, somewhat worried by Nuru’s words, until…realization dawns on him. “Oh.”

“He’s…majestic,” she practically shouts, smile impossibly bright. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my life.”

We’ve lost her, Hugo deadpans.

“What are you four miscreants doing in my kingdom?” the king of Equis, Trevor, demands as he narrows his eyes at the four friends. Quickly, he looks towards the crowd, only to have them quietly disperse, but—

Not without shooting another curious glance towards their pathetic excuse of a traveling group.

“I’m sorry about my friends, King Trevor,” Varian murmurs, casting a small glance towards Hugo and the others, as if beckoning them to remain calm and quiet. He looks at Nuru, but she has clearly lost herself to this newfound discovery.

“Clearly,” the king guffaws. “Wait, I know you from somewhere…”

His attention immediately snaps towards Varian, who is doing his best to hide behind Hugo. “Save me,” he says.

I’m sorry. You’re on your own, Varian. Hugo relents, glancing between the alchemist and king.

“You must be mistaken, I—”

“Yeah, you’re that alchemist from Corona,” King Trevor utters, voice laced in suspicion. “You’re not working for that fool, Frederic, are you? Trying to steal the secrets of my great kingdom—wanting to overthrow my rule and displace all of my people? Good, hard-working, law abiding people, might I add.”

Him? Willingly work for the king? He’d rather die.

Varian’s eyes crinkle in disgust. He may be on good terms with Rapunzel, but it doesn’t mean he wants anything to do with her father. “What, of course not!”

At his words, King Trevor marches past Hugo, red cape swishing as he levels his eyes with Varian. “You’re lying. Trevor Jr., come here—!!”

Hugo inaudibly chortles. He named his seal after himself?

“Arf,” the royal seal states, slowly moving its flippers as it waddles towards them. Its movement is so languid that anxiety begins to fester among their group until…eventually, it finally reaches the king.

“Go on,” he says, urging his pet seal towards Varian.

It turns its head towards Varian as it stares into the alchemist’s blue eyes. The alchemist cannot breathe as the seal regards him with a contemplative expression…at least, he thinks the seal is contemplating.

A moment passes, until, “Arf,” Trevor Jr. says once again.

He raises a flipper.

Yong’s hands are pressed to his face; smile impossibly wide as he awaits the royal seal’s verdict.

“Arf,” the seal barks. The flipper comes down and a resounding slap is heard.

Varian cannot believe this. Did he…

Did I just get bitch slapped by a seal!!?

“Arf arf,” Trevor Jr. huffs, head raised high as he turns away from Varian. The king’s eyes light up with a mirthless glee as he clears his throat.

“Trevor Jr. has spoken,” the king extrapolates. “He is displeased, and for this…you, Varitas, will be sentenced to death.”

“Actually, his name’s Varian,” Hugo corrects, helping Varian to his feet after he had been knocked over by the seal. He shoots a look towards Nuru, but her hands are pressed against her face, sporting the brightest grin he had ever seen on the princess.

He should be more sympathetic, but this is just too good to pass up. Sniggering, Hugo says, “Can’t believe a seal rejected you.”

Varian glares at the older alchemist, but…screw this. He is too done with this day. All he wanted was one peaceful day. Just one, but instead, here he was…public enemy number one again…and Trevor Jr.’s surprisingly hard slap certainly didn’t help.

He makes a move to retort, only for his words to be broken off by laughter.

“I think he likes me,” Yong cackles, petting the seal, eyes starry in wonder and amazement.

A whirlwind of thoughts goes off in his head; the weasel-like king seems genuinely conflicted, before casting a fond smile at the seal. He visibly sighs. “As much as it pains me to this say this, your execution…will be put off for now. Your little friend has gained the trust of Trevor Jr, so—”

No.

“He has gotten—” Time stands to a halt as Varian stares at the king in horror.

Don’t say it, he and Hugo internally scream. Yong seems oblivious, but Nuru…she has lost herself to the cuteness of the seal.

“—The seal of approval.”

Varian cringes. “Just kill me now.”

The taller alchemist merely pats his back in understanding. He, too, is visibly shaken by…the king’s choice of words. “Only if you kill me first.”

King Trevor looks towards Yong as if he were an ant. “Feel blessed, child. I do not know why, but my Trevor Jr. has taken a liking to you.”

“Do not disappointment him,” he yells at the sky, both fists curled into balls at his sides. “He is my baby; the only person in this world that I hold near and dear to my heart. Whatever Trevor Jr. says is the law.”

“I’m Yong,” the alchemist exclaims an introduction. He looks up at the king in amazement. “Woah, are you two wearing matching clothes!? That’s. So. Cool!”

The king audibly deflates, at a loss for words.

“I like your beard; it’s fancy! Do you think I’ll get a fancy beard when I grow up?”

No, no, please don’t, Varian laments. He had gone that route once upon a time. Those fingerless gloves, fanged bandana, the goatee. Yong should not commit the same mistakes he had committed in his past.

“Oh, you do?” King Trevor says, twirling his mustache. “You never know, eh, but…probably. You look just like me in my youth. Just, nowhere near as tall. Or handsome.”

“He does?” Hugo deadpans.

“Of course he does! Can you not see the resemblance, boy?” the king barks. “We look exactly alike. Why, he’s practically the son I never wanted.”

“Does this mean I have two dads now? And a mom?” The pyromaniac tilts his head in confusion. “I don’t remember them getting a divorce.”

King Trevor pauses, contemplating Yong’s words for a moment. “I guess you do now.”

“Well, eventually, I will need a successor, and seeing that I have no children, why not?” He glances at his seal. “If Trevor Jr. approves of you, who am I to judge?”

Yong’s hands are clasped together, clearly ecstatic. The sight is so blinding that Varian almost has to shield his eyes. “Which one of my parents did you marry?”

“Eh, who cares,” King Trevor dismisses.

The pyromaniac presses his hands to his face, mouth forming a silent ‘o’. “Just wait until I tell my siblings!”

“Follow me, Yoshi,” the king says, as he walks away from the other three teens. “There’s so much you must learn about Equis if you want to rule over my kingdom with an iron fist.”

“Don’t you mean kind and just?” Yong says, eyes starry and impossibly bright.

“Oh, silly, naïve Yoro,” the king chides. “You have so much to learn.”

“Hold on, you can’t take Yong,” Varian exclaims in anger, placing himself between the Yong, the king, and Trevor Jr.

A moment passes…complete and utter silence. The king raises his hand, but—

“It’s fine, Varian!” Yong beams. “Guess this is my life now.”

“No, Yong, it’s not fine—”

“Trust me,” the shorter boy says. His expression darkens, but Varian must have been imagining it. “I need to make my father proud; I’m sure you understand.”

The alchemist makes a move to run after Yong and the king, but Trevor Jr. had gotten in the way—lethargically following after the unlikely duo, but not before casting one final look of complete loathing at Varian. He shirks back on himself, the memories from the previous grueling minutes replaying in his mind.

As he watches their retreating forms disappear into the distance, Varian makes a vow. “I’ll save you even if it’s the last thing I ever do.”

“May the moon have mercy on his soul,” Hugo snarks, slightly concerned…but not for Yong. Oh no, definitely not for him.

“I’ve met the moon,” Varian responds. “Personally, not her biggest fan.”

---

Meanwhile, Hugo is waving his hand over the dazed princess. “Goggles, I think she’s broken.”

“I’ve never seen anyone so perfect in my life,” Nuru squeals, hugging Varian as she recalls the wondrous sea creature. “We don’t have anything like him back in my kingdom.”

“Have…you seriously never seen a seal?” Varian asks, dumfounded.

“When you grow up in a kingdom constantly bombarded by meteors, you…don’t get much in the way of wildlife,” Nuru responds, an intense gaze in her eyes as she jumps up. Resolutely, she looks forward, determination laced in her voice. “I’m going to rescue Trevor Jr. from that wretched king.”

“You’ll start a war if you do that, Nuru.” Perhaps it had been the stressful day that he has had. Afterall, he was slapped by a seal, only to be nearly executed. Yong was whisked away by a king, and Nuru wants to steal a seal. Somehow, his only ally in this madness was the source of his many, many migraines. Varian leans in to Hugo, sighing as he closes his eyes in tiredness. “The king will be after our heads.”

A luminescent blush forms on his face as Varian leans against him. The alchemist had always been oblivious to his attempts at courting him. That, or downright sadistic in his dismissals. He’d rather be turned down right then and there rather than holding onto false hope. Even if he were to tell Varian directly that he liked him, the alchemist, bless his poor, oblivious heart, would merely smile and say, “I like you too, Hugo. You’re a good friend.”

But now, with Princess Nuru on the hunt for blood, and Yong somehow becoming royalty, he…can make his move. Finally, this will be his one and only chance. The perfect moment to ask the shorter alchemist out on a date.

“No fair,” Nuru says, sticking her tongue out at Varian.

Since when has she been such a brat, Varian wonders in sheer exhaustion and annoyance.

“Worry not, goggles,” Hugo laughs, glancing over at Nuru as she makes a hasty [and certainly not discrete] exit. “She’s at that age when there’s only one thing on her mind.”

“Homicide?” Varian mumbles, burying his face onto Hugo’s arm.

“No. Well, yes, but aren’t we all?” the bespectacled man replies sincerely. “She’s partaking in the age-old tradition of over-throwing the monarchy.”

“Oh.”

“Absolutely right you are, hairstripe,” Hugo responds, squinting as he gazes up at the sky. Quite some time had passed; he’s sure it’s well past lunch with the insanity that they had been pulled into. “So….”

“Sooooooo,” Varian says. “Want to grab a bite to eat?”

“Hell yes,” Hugo beams.

---

After breaking away from Varian and Hugo, Nuru had made off towards the castle. Certainly, it was not easy to miss—the sight of its gaudy walls was impossible to not see even from a distance. She was never one for physically taxing activities such as running across a large populated city, but with the powers of sheer determination and spite, she was ready as she would ever be.

With a seal to save, Nuru knew she could accomplish anything.

Sneaking into the castle was easy enough…surprisingly, or not. King Trevor did not have much in the way of military or police, but what he did have…were portraits of himself. A chill ran down her spine as she avoided the smarmy gaze of the portraits, who, while a fraction as annoying as the king…did not amount to much.

“I’ll save you, Trevor Jr.,” she promises, as she crosses past yet another seal statue.

Only the sounds of her nimble footsteps break the paper-thin stillness of the castle. For a place that should be brimming with life [especially as it is the daytime], she had not seen eye or flipper of any humans or seals. The lunar princess continues to walk in silence, but there it is. She detects movement at the corner of her eye.

It is soft, quiet, as if…someone else were sneaking around. Could this be an ally or a foe? Both outcomes were possible in a kingdom with a king like Trevor.

Nuru darts behind a seal statue, waiting quietly, anxious as to whom she will possibly see. She waits and waits…

Another moment passes, but the mystery person never arrives.

“Guess I was worried over nothing,” Nuru laughs, still feeling a bit uneasy and agitated over what could have been.

“Hiya, Nuru!!”

She certainly did not jump up in surprise at the sound of Yong’s voice. If anyone asks, she…saw a spider. Yes, that was it. That was definitely, most certainly the one and only reason.

Somehow, without her notice, he had snuck past her…and has discovered her hiding place behind the gaudy [begrudgingly cute] seal statue.

“What are you doing here?” they both simultaneously ask.

“You first,” they both say.

Yong beams up at her, hand pressed over his heart. “I want to make my father proud.”

“Oh,” Nuru responds, struggling between her emotions of rescuing Trevor Jr., destroying Equis, and not disappointing Yong…which would be an inexcusable in and of itself. She’s about to say more, but the shorter boy merely pulls at her sleeve.

“Are you planning to take Trevor Jr.?” Yong is not looking at her. Rather, his gaze is directed somewhere far ahead.

“What if I say I am?” the princess inquires, arms crossed in defiance. Her loyalty towards him is great, but the seal…it beckons to her with its smart, inquisitive ‘arf’. “What will you do then, Yong?”

He is silent. Nuru feels beads of sweat roll down her face in anticipation. Another moment passes, and then another, until…Yong beams up at her with the cheeriest expression she had yet ever seen on him or any other person. “Will it make my father proud if we release Trevor Jr. into the sea?”

She narrows her eyes at Yong, searching his face for any signs of betrayal or trickery. But…there is nothing. Only a hint of mischief in his smile. “Yes,” she concedes. “I suppose it will make him proud.”

At this, Yong cackles, hands raised to his sides as one would see on a mad scientist. Maybe…he has been spending too much time with Varian, Nuru notes, slightly disturbed and yet…impressed.

---

Honestly, Hugo does not know what to make of this situation. They had been off in-search of the perfect sandwich shop [he wanted to spend time with Varian, but he wasn’t lying. It was well past three and he was starving], but…he got neither a date nor a sandwich. Instead, he was granted the fortune of sneaking into a stupid king’s castle and no lunch. He at least had Varian by his side, but…he really wanted food. Even a cracker would do at this point.

He had originally thought the princess to be prissy and snuck-up like the nobles back home, but she had quickly gone above his expectations. Hugo could nearly cry at the proud feelings he felt as he saw her sneak into the castle.

Nuru was completely insane. She was feral in her attempts to rescue this seal through and through, and he could not get any prouder.

Truly, he was proud of her. He would very much like to shake her hand under any given circumstance and take her under his wing, but now…he is just irritated and very hungry. How long they had been wandering the corridors of this castle, he does not know. He eyes glance down towards Varian, and…yeah. The shorter alchemist definitely looks to be on edge, not that the [creepy] portraits the king had ‘decorated’ the castle with have done to help.

Hell, they…had stumbled upon one room in-which King Trevor had taped his face on top of a family portrait…which he had somehow stolen(?) from the king of Corona. It was very, very creepy. He and Varian are both convinced that he is stalking the poor queen, but…that is a disturbing problem for another day. Faces blank, they both sped walked out of that room, eyes downcast underneath the watchful gaze of the Queen Arianna and his royal travesty, King Trevor.

“Ugh, where do you think Nuru ran off to?” Hugo complains, cringing at yet another excessively ornate and gaudy portrait of the king.

Varian shoots him a quick glance. “If I knew, we wouldn’t be here.”

Their steps continue across the empty castle…really, the sight is rather eerie if Hugo were to be honest. Unfortunately, their luck had just about run out. Rounding a corner, there…are two guards sporting the official crest of Equis.

“Great, just our luck,” Varian sighs. The guards seem to have heard their voices. Quickly, the younger alchemist grabs his hand before shoving the both of them into a broom closet. It’s rather small, and uncomfortable, but…hopefully, the guards will not think to look here.

“This cannot possibly be your brilliant plan, goggles,” Hugo deadpans, trying no to stammer at how close they are.

Varian merely rolls his eyes at the taller alchemist. “Oh, just shut up and kiss me.”

Hugo locks eyes with Varian, mouth agape as the goggles he wears around his neck are grabbed until he is at eye-level with the alchemist. His mind is floundering. He cannot think, cannot speak, and Varian…his eyes had always been so blue. But, they almost seem to be glowing…or maybe it’s the theoretical sparks that he had always heard about literally igniting in his head. He had always prided himself on his persona—the suave playboy act that he had crafted for himself.

And yet, all it took was for a smart, stupid, but surprisingly kind alchemist to undo all of his hard work.

He makes a move to say something, but Varian merely glares past him.

“Do you mind?” the shorter alchemist drawls, voice as sharp and scathing as a freshly sharpened knife. Hugo inwardly protests at Varian’s withdrawal, but he is still reeling. Had…Varian finally realized his feelings for him? Were his affections finally reciprocated?

“Ahem,” a guard coughs into the crook of his arm, eyes averted from Varian’s icy gaze. “Sorry for interrupting you two. Uh, carry on……”

"Lousy teenagers,' Hugo hears them say.

Varian listens to their footsteps fade away before devolving into a fit of laughter. He wipes at his eyes, grinning brightly at Hugo as he helps him out of the broom closet. “I can’t believe that worked!”

“Yeah, I’ll say,” Hugo responds, still clearly dazed. Wait…worked? Was this a setup!?

As he listens to Varian drone on about ‘The Adventures of Flynn Rider’, his face must be undeniably crestfallen. All it takes is one look for the dark-haired alchemist to immediately shut up. Now silent, the duo continues to walk across the marble floors of the castle with only the gaudy decorations adorning its walls for company.

Varian wants to break the silence somehow, but there’s something off about Hugo. His demeanor had soured, but it’s not even just that. He seems more agreeable and not at all his usual sarcastic self. There are no taunts or joking retorts. The bespectacled man merely seems to be lost in his own thoughts. It should be a welcome change, but considering everything that they had gone through this day, he cannot help but worry. He raises his head and reaches for Hugo, only to jump up in surprise at the large cacophony of wild laughter and screams coming from down the hall.

Their senses are immediately filled with the bitter scent of smoke, and…yeah. Looks like they found Yong, and…judging by the sound of rushing water, they’d bet Nuru was there with him.

Without giving it a second thought, Varian grabs Hugo’s hand and races down the hallway with him in tow.

In other circumstances, Hugo would complain. But with Varian, he would follow him til’ the ends of the earth.

“REVOLUTION!! FREEDOM FOR ALL!” Nuru cackles as she races down the hall with not just Trevor Jr. following her, but another seal with a slightly smaller crown. “We will not stand for this tyranny any longer, isn’t that right, Yong!?”

“Stick it to the man!” Yong pumps his fists into the air. He, too, has decided to partake in this bout of teenage rebellion. The hallway is billowing gray smoke, and they can hear the angered screams of…what appears to be the king.

Varian stares at Trevor Jr.

The seal stares back.

---

Somehow, despite everything, they have finally made it out of the kingdom of Equis [relatively] unscathed. Varian is sure he may have lost a bit of his sanity, but…that would not be the first time it happened. And he is sure it most certainly will not be the last.

As he looks back towards Nuru and her new seal brethren, he is sure of it.

The kingdom of Equis may have sworn vengeance against them and their descendents for generations to come, but…Varian can live with that. But what he cannot possibly understand, however, is Yong’s toothy grin. It is unsettling with just how plain cheery this boy can be. If he could, he’d ignore it. But, Yong’s incessant wide-eyed gaze will not cease until he gets to say whatever it is in that strange, strange, terrifying mind of his.

“Yes, Yong, what is it?” Varian sighs for the umpteenth time that day.

Yong beams up at the alchemist. “Do you think my dad will finally be proud of me?”

Why, I don’t know, Yong, he murmurs to himself. He had set King Trevor’s castle on fire, lied, cheated, and stolen his royal seal… “Yeah, I guess.”

“Great,” Yong chirps. “Maybe now I’ll be the favorite child!”

At this, the three older teens stop in the tracks, staring mouths agape at the would-be arsonist.

“Dad hates King Trevor,” the short boy explains, grinning up at his friends. “Something about a fireworks deal gone wrong…”

His sentence falls into obscurity. But, these are words best left unsaid.

“Well, you’re my favorite,” Hugo quips, patting Yong on the head.

“Agreed,” Nuru replies. “You can do no wrong.”

Varian looks from Hugo to Nuru to Yong.

He shrugs.

Yeah, he can do no wrong.

#Tangled #Tangled the Series #Varian and the Seven Kingdoms #Varian #Varian Tangled #Hugo the Human #Nuru Tangled #Yong Tangled #Varigo #Fanfic

149 notes · View notes

nokomiss · 4 years

Note

Gonna take this as an opportunity to request a rare pair. Either May/Tony or May/Rhodey for “volunteer chaperones”

It was a mistake. A complete, total, absolute mistake. May was never, ever doing this again.

She looked around, overwhelmed. Yep. She was still surrounded by teenagers armed with battle robots they’d built themselves. Allegedly they were all to remain at their workstations with proper protective equipment, but they were teenagers. They were absolutely not going to wait until the competition to try out their lasers and saws on each other.

“Peter, I’m gonna tap out,” May said, trying not to wince as Peter’s robot unfurled a whirring blade and attempted to cut a piece of lumber in half. “I’ve gone through too much to watch you chop off a thumb now.”

“My thumb is nowhere near the blade,” Peter said, waving his hands in a manner she supposed was meant to be reassuring. “Besides, you never know, it could grow back.” He gave her a shit-eating grin, and May nobly managed to refrain from calling her kid an asshole.

“Chaperones are allowed coffee breaks, right?” May looked longingly towards the exit.

“You’re supposed to supervise me the whole time I am engaging the robot,” Peter recited, making air quotes with his fingers. “It’s in the Teen Battle Robot Competition handbook.”

May rolled her eyes at him. “I’ll be gone ten minutes, tops. Cover for me.”

“May!” Peter hissed, adorably frazzled for someone who fought crime on the regular. She ignored him and wove her way through the crowd, trying not to focus on the terrifying murder robots the children were creating all around her. This was so seriously not her thing. She slipped on her sunglasses and headed out the door, aiming for the nearest coffee shop.

She aimed to be gone for ten minutes, though thanks to the line and the fact that she really didn’t want to return to robot hell immediately, it stretched out past half an hour. She finally returned, iced coffee in hand, pushing through the door while scanning the room for Peter.

Instead she ran directly into someone. Her hand holding the coffee bumped into her chest, covering her top with iced coffee.

“Shit!.” She shook droplets of coffee off her hand as she transferred the cup to her dry hand, and patted at her shirt with the napkin she’d had wrapped around the cup.

“By all means, save the shirt, screw the bystander.”

It couldn’t be. May looked slowly up, still dabbing the napkin at her chest, to see Tony Stark standing there, grinning at her.

“What are you doing here?” Crap, that was rude. May tried not to be rude to Tony, because while he could be supremely irritating and smug, he had done things for her kid that she could never repay him for. But… what was he doing here? And dressed like, well.. A farmer. She quietly chose not to question it too much. Besides, this was her time with Peter, as ill-suited to the outing as she might be.

“Same as you, I assume,” Tony said, flagging down someone who magically had a towel on hand. He offered it to her with a, “I can help if you want.”

“I’d rather you didn’t, thanks,” May said, but she accepted the towel. She dried up the worst of the spill -- it was sheer luck that she was wearing a dark top that wouldn’t stain, merely clung to her damply. Tony seemed to appreciate it, though she raised an eyebrow at him when she noticed him looking. He had the decency to quit immediately.

May didn’t love the idea of Tony popping in and taking over her time with Peter, though, no matter how little she was enjoying the killer robots. It was exactly up his alley, and she should bow gracefully out, but… “I hope you aren’t here to be Peter’s chaperone. I’ve got that covered.”

“And bless you for it, that kid is a disaster,” Tony said fondly. “I’m here for that sarcastic little bastard over there.” He gestured towards a kid in a faded AC/DC shirt who was using a controller to aim what appeared to be a ray gun mounted atop his robot at the ceiling.

“You don’t have a kid,” May said with certainty.

“Nope,” Tony agreed. “But Harley’s a kid I watch out for, and he’s almost as bright as your kid.”

Pride laced his words, and he was watching the boy with a soft fondness that made May feel immediately guilty for her own possessiveness moments before. She of all people should understand the bond you could forge with a child not of your own blood, and know the legitimacy of such a bond.

“He have superpowers too?”

“Nope, and it’s probably a good thing,” Tony said cheerfully. “Think Peter will notice I’m here?”

“You think he hasn’t already?” May said. It was the right answer, Tony’s eyes lit up in a genuine way that made it clear to her how often she saw him playacting at happiness.

“Come on, I’ll introduce you to Harley,” Tony offered. “Unless you want me to get you out of those wet clothes first?” He waggled his eyebrows in a way that was so over-the-top that May just laughed.

“Shockingly I didn’t bring a wardrobe change to a day outing. It’ll dry.” Hopefully she wouldn’t smell too awful when it did.

“Here.” Tony shrugged off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders like a letterman’s jacket before she could think to protest. Despite the rough material, it was warm and smelled like Tony -- expensive and a little much -- but May didn’t take it off.

She didn’t even want to, which… was something she would have to examine more closely. She was no stranger to gallant gestures, and she didn’t normally accept them from people she wasn’t interested in. Tony was a force of nature, she told herself. He wouldn’t accept it back even if you tried.

Plus, there were way too many teenage boys in the room for her to really want to walk around in a cold, wet shirt that clung uncomfortably.

Tony flung his arm over her shoulder, apparently deciding that if his jacket was allowed to do so, so was he, and he led her over to the kid he’d claimed.

Harley was the polar opposite from Peter -- confident, sarcastic in a biting way, and treated Tony like he was any other human being. It was a sharp contrast to the hero worship Peter tended towards, and the shyness and sweetness that she was always worried was going to be worn away by the world they lived in. But watching Harley and Tony together made it obvious that deep down Harley was another kid who had been given the short stick by life and was trying his best to carve his own path through it.

Harley also kept giving her what could only kindly be called the stink eye. It took her a moment to work out why -- he’d watched Tony stroll up with his arm around her shoulder, she was wearing Tony’s jacket like they were going steady, and it was fairly obvious that her expertise was not in mechanical engineering.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out what the kid was assuming about her, and May couldn’t figure out a casual way to tell him how very wrong he was. Finally she settled on, “I gotta go see how Peter’s robot is coming along.”

“You know he’s actually lined up to battle Harley’s robot,” Tony said, and it was obvious from Harley’s confused expression that Tony had not divulged his connection with the competition.

He looked back and forth between them. “Who’s this Peter kid?”

“An intern,” Tony replied smoothly.

Harley was clearly not satisfied with this answer. “You’ve never offered me an internship.”

“This is a different thing,” Tony replied. May winced; Tony was entirely too new to managing teenagers to understand what he’d just done. Harley’s expression darkened and May knew without a doubt that Peter’s robot was a dead machine rolling.

“I’m just going to head back over there,” May said, gesturing vaguely towards Peter’s distant station and hurrying off before she got somehow wrapped up in the argument Harley was about to start.

She hustled off, and only realized she was still wearing Tony’s jacket with Peter raised an eyebrow at her.

“I ran into Tony -- literally-- and dumped my coffee on myself,” she explained.

“Very, uh, gentlemanly of him to offer his coat,” Peter said,. “And why was he even here? He hasn’t said hi to me.” He checked his phone, where she could only see messages from Ned bemoaning his parents for choosing this weekend for a family trip.

“Apparently,” May said, stretching out the word to show it was news to her, too, “he’s mentoring a kid in this competition. I didn’t get the details.”

May marvelled as Peter’s expression became a mirror for one Harley had worn moments before. Tony really knew how to pick ‘em.

“What? What kid?” Peter stood on his tippy-toes, looking around to try to spot Tony. His expression darkened even more when he found him. “That kid? He’s the three-time champion! Last year his robot managed to freeze and set his opponent on fire simultaneously!”

May’s eyebrows raised. “You know him?”

“Some other kids were talking about him earlier,” Peter explained. “They somehow didn’t mention that Tony was with him.”

May thought back to Tony’s appearance and he had appeared more low-key than usual. The jacket she was still wearing was denim, which… she wouldn’t have thought was in Tony’s wardrobe at all, honestly. “I think he’s in disguise.”

“Huh,” Peter said. “I didn’t know he knew how to do that.”

“To be fair, I only realized it in retrospect.” May shrugged. “I think the fact that he isn’t announcing his presence is doing most of the disguise work for him. No one would believe Tony Stark would show up at a battle robot competition and not try to win.”

“He is though,” Peter said darkly. “With that kid.”

“Well,” May said, looking at Peter’s robot, “guess we just have to kick that kid’s ass.”

Peter grinned.

An hour later -- and the time seemed to magically fly by much faster than before, now that May had a goal in mind -- it was time for Peter’s first battle. He wasn’t up against Harley until the third round, and May felt a little proud that Tony had assumed Peter would make it through to the finals without any help. Her boy was brilliant, and it always gave her a warm feeling when others acknowledged it, too.

Especially Tony, but she would never, ever tell him that.

Peter’s robot destroyed his competition in under a minute, and twenty minutes later, in his semifinal round, he took out a robot that seemed to be made entirely of buzzsaws in an agonizing three minute match.

He won, though, and they settled in to watch the competition. Harley’s robot had destroyed his first competitor in thirty seconds, and in this battle, he revealed that he’d somehow installed a flame launcher on the underside that melted the wiring on the robot he was fighting in the semifinal.

Finally, it came down to Harley and Peter. Tony was beaming proudly, and May had no idea how anyone failed to notice it was him, flannel or no.

“Kick his ass, kiddo,” May told Peter encouragingly. “You’ve got this.”

Peter gave her a double-thumbs up, and marched into battle.

May slid over to where Tony was watching, standing shoulder to shoulder with him as their kids prepared to destroy each other. “Hope you’re prepared for defeat.”

“You know I can’t pick favorites,” Tony said, “except for how there’s no chance in hell that Harley’s not gonna win this.”

“Wanna bet?” May said teasingly.

“Why, Ms. Parker, I wouldn’t have taken you for a gambling woman, but yes, yes I do,” Tony said. “My kid wins, I get to take you out for that dinner.”

Tony had been threatening to take her out to dinner for months. “And if my kid wins?” she asked.

“Why, you have to take me out, of course. Terms have to be fair.” Tony’s grin should make her want to smack him, but May had found that the bastard tended to grow on you.

She considered it half a moment, but… what the hell. She held out her hand to shake on it.

When she turned back to the rink, she noticed that both Peter and Harley were giving them the stinkeye, even as the ref counted down for the battle to begin.

Once it did, there was absolute carnage. May saw a streak of fluid that looked alarmingly like blood arc through the air after a saw unfurled off Peter’s robot and surprise-attacked Harley’s. Then as Harley’s robot retaliated, there was fire and sparks. When the smoke cleared, both robots were incapacitated.

“A tie!” declared the ref, much to the disappointment of both boys.

May glanced over at Tony. “Guess it’s a draw.”

“So we have to do two dinners, obviously,” Tony said without skipping a beat.

From the corner of her eye, she could see Harley and Peter turn towards each other, and she was proud to see Peter offer Harley a handshake. A moment’s hesitation, eyes cast towards Tony, but Harley shook firmly. She had a feeling that was not going to turn out great for Tony.

“It’s a date.” Tony continued, looking so overly confident that May knew that he was hoping that she’d agree.

May’s attention crashed back into focus on the man in front of her. This could go so very badly, and there was Peter to think about, for when things inevitably crashed and burned, but…

May had made most of her best decisions in life on impulse, and she knew what she wanted to say. “Pick me up at seven.”

#my fic #mcu #may/tony #prompt response #sorry this took forever!#but here it is #angel-gidget

18 notes · View notes

rusty-guitar-strings · 5 years

Text

Sleep Schedule

or This Fic Switches from Fluff to Angst so Fast it Gave Me Whiplash and I’m the One Who Wrote It (Not Sponsored by Starbucks)

Summary: Someone can’t sleep. Two someones, actually, and neither of them want to do anything about it. They do want the other person to sleep though. How could this possibly be solved?

Logan has work to do. Remy has no work to do, but is staying up anyway, for some reason Logan can’t comprehend. Remy is hiding something. Logan intends to find out what.

Rating: G or T

Pairings: Losleep/Sleep Schedule (goin’ full RWBY on these ship names)

Word Count: 2,025

Warnings: cursing, playful arguing, two very slight sexual innuendos, use of an undesired name (not deadnaming but similar), crying, one mention of religion

Note: This was written on request/suggestion from @blinksinbewilderment. My first kind-of sort-of request. I do take them!! Anyway enjoy. Also I love Remy. (If you can find the nod to blink I crammed in there, you win a hat)

All-nighters were better when they weren’t ‘all-alone-nighters’ as Remy liked to call them. Luckily, Logan wasn’t currently dealing with loneliness. No, it was quite the opposite.

“Oi, Squid-nerd, check it.” Logan’s very important financing for props of an upcoming video was suddenly blocked by the Sleep aspect’s phone, which contained a meme of some sort. He squinted wearily and adjusted his glasses, leaning in to get a closer look. It appeared to be Winnie the Pooh (what was a ‘pooh’ anyway?) effectively mimicking Logan’s current expression. The top mentioned something about someone’s mom looking at memes, and it was all he could do not to sputter.

“That is not nearly as amusing as you seem to find it, Remigius, and it doesn’t- it’s not even accurate, I can’t- I’m not your mother, that’s impossible- stop laughing-“

Remy was rolling on the floor now, knees to his chest, absolutely weeping with laughter. He got far too giggly when he was sleep deprived, in addition to the sass, and it was as frustrating as it was endearing. “I can’t believe that worked! Girl, you are too much!” He shrieked and wiped his face, chest seizing with giggles.

“How do you expect anyone else to be asleep with all this pandemonium?” Logan couldn’t quite hide all the fondness from his voice. “Aren’t you supposed to be monitoring Thomas’ dream activity, anyhow?”

“Boring business,” the diva wheezed, waving Logan off dismissively. “Same old stuff, weird self-inserts he won’t even remember when he wakes up.”

“Remigi-“

“Remy.”

“Yes, fine, Remy. Your job is important, you should be taking every aspect of it seriously.” Logan lifted an eyebrow at him, managing to pull a serious enough expression for how late at night it was.

The figment in question was sitting up in the blink of an eye, grinning smugly. His shades obscured his eyes for the moment, but Logan knew they were gleaming with mischief.

“Ha. You said ‘Spec.’”

“Really? That’s what you went with?”

“The best jokes are unanticipated and take time to understand,” he stated matter-of-factly, in an infuriatingly accurate impression of Logic himself.

“You shut your mouth, sir.” Logan shoved a hand in Remy’s face in a feeble attempt to get him to stop.

Instead, he took Logan’s hand and, making eye contact over his shades for a split second, pressed a gentle kiss to the back of the side’s knuckles. “Like this?” He purred, lips curling into his usual smirk.

“That’s acceptable, yes.” Logan, determined not to be deterred from his signature stoic state, took back possession of his hand and patted Remy twice on the head before returning to his laptop. He bit the inside of his lip to avoid smiling at Remy’s obvious deflation. He continued his budgeting uninterrupted for a few blissful moments.

“Hey L, I have a proper- poorpro- a propsit-“

“Proposition?”

“Yes, a that. I have one of those for you.” Remy stared up at him through his shades, now kneeling next to Logan’s swivel chair. His arms were folded on one arm rest and he had his chin on them, successfully equating him to the puppies that Roman summoned so often.

“All right, Remig- Remy, what is it?”

“Get your ass in bed and go the fuck to sleep.”

“Profanity does not make one more appealing.” Logan didn’t stop typing. “And you should also be sleeping.”

“I don’t need sleep, honey, I am Sleep.” Remy stuck his tongue out teasingly.

“Falsehoods are not a good look on you, sweetie,” Logan deadpanned. Remy fell backward with a gasp.

“Who are you and what have you done with my Logan?” He demanded. At the end of his accusatory point, the side in question tried not to preen at the (admittedly over-dramatic) reaction to his outburst.

“I am still present.”

“Good. Go to sleep.”

“Why?” Logan waited patiently for his desired statement.

“Because you need it.”

That wasn’t quite it, so he tried again. “And why is that?” He asked evenly, adding Roman’s desperately important party poppers to the budget and scrawling a sticky note reminder to warn Virgil of the prince’s plans. The last thing they needed in a lighthearted video was an attack from him. Or on him. Logan added another sticky note directing future Logan to further explore Virgil’s role as anxiety, if he was the cause or effect, or if he could be both. He almost missed what Remy said, which would have been a disaster.

“Because sleep is important, Dumbo!”

“Ah ha!” Logan whirled in his chair triumphantly, the tip of his pen pointing directly at the figment’s nose. “So we are in agreement, then.”

Remy blinked in bewilderment. “What?”

“We both agree that you-“

“Stoppin’ ya right there, babes.” He waved a hand and conjured green tea in a Starbucks cup (not sponsored), a peculiar ability of his that Logan had yet to discover the reasoning behind. “I didn’t say nothin’ like that.”

“Why are you using double negatives? That is a disgusting misuse of the English language.” Logan, a certified nerd, gave Remy the dreaded Stare of Disappointment™️. Everyone in the Mindscape trembled in their figurative boots. But they were also asleep, so… figurative dream boots. Unless they weren’t wearing boots. They trembled in their figurative dream boots-or-other-footwear. Logan almost missed what Remy was saying for the third consecutive time.

“English is already disgusting, she doesn’t need my help.” He waved a hand. “End scene. Go to bed.”

“Roman appears to be rubbing off on you.” The creative side was the one to originate the habit of saying ‘end scene’ when he wanted to drop a conversation, and lately had begun to use it more and more seriously.

“Bitch, what did I say?” He pointed sternly at the bed, sitting with his legs crossed in the floor like toddler.

Logan tilted his chin upward defiantly. “Only if you sleep with me.” He was promptly hit in the face with a pillow.

“Ew! Nasty! No ma’am! Not in my good Christian household!” A multitude of other objects were thrown at him, luckily light and mostly harmless.

“Remigius, please- Remy! Let me rephrase, I did not intend to imply that we would, ah-“ he cleared his throat. “-have intercourse. If I am going to sleep, I want you to as well. Nothing more.” Logan adjusted his glasses awkwardly.

“Oh. Well, in that case, you’ve got a deal.” Remy looked around at the mess he’d made. “This looks like a problem for future me. I’m gonna get changed, see ya in a bit, boo.” He stood, winking. “Unless you want to join me.”

“No. I can change quite well on my own, thank you.” In a split second, Logan was wearing a science pun t-shirt (courtesy of Patton) and constellation pajama pants, and was idly removing his glasses to place them on his nightstand. He smirked to himself as Remy disappeared into the closet, complaining under his breath about how unfair his powers were and the fact that he had to change by hand.

About ten minutes later, Remy was in a tank top and shorts and his sunglasses still, lying next to Logan in bed and scrolling through his phone idly while the other attempted to sleep.

“Remy,” Logan whispered after a moment, harsh and sudden enough to make the figment jump and drop his phone. “Go to sleep.”

“Not until you do, wise guy.” He immediately regained a cool composure and reached for his device carefully.

“Are you always this hard-headed?” Logan sat up.

“Darling, have you met me?” Remy quirked an infuriatingly perfect eyebrow.

“Remigius-“

“Don’t call me that!” Sleep looked as stunned as Logan felt at his own outburst, then stiffened up and focused on his screen again instead. “Please.”

“Apologies. I wasn’t aware your proper name was a… sensitive… subject.” Logan rubbed one eye, staring downward. The other didn’t look up.

“It isn’t. I just don’t like how similar it is to… his.” He tapped his phone once with odd finality. “End scene.”

“I’m sorry, Remy, truly. I just believe that things should be called what they are, but I shouldn’t have applied that to-“

“End scene, Logan,” he persisted. “Please.” His voice broke a little, startling Logic, which was a rarity.

“Of course.” He fell silent and turned back to the blankets, rewinding the events in his mind and wondering what he’d done. It was unusual to see Sleep silent, still, and just… not causing general mischief. Where was the giggly figment he’d seen less than an hour ago? “Will you at least try and rest?”

“No rest for the wicked.” Remy smirked, typing something to someone, but it lacked the usual fire. “I meant what I said earlier. After you.”

“Remy…”

“It’s no biggie, Issac No-Fun. Go ahead and nod off, I’ll be here.”

“Rem-“

“I can hold down the fort, you know. My incredible humility prevents me from sharing my immense capability.”

“Remy. Look at me?”

“‘Course, I’d never complain about getting to- woah!” He jumped slightly when Logan took a light hold of his jaw, not daring to pull away.

“You mean that literally, don’t you?” Logan swallowed, all of his late nights or totally sleepless ones crashing back with a wave of a guilt to accompany them. “You are incapable of sleeping until everyone in the mind palace is no longer awake.”

Remy shrugged and opened his mouth, as if preparing a snarky comeback. Instead, what came out was, “It’s my job.”

Logan pushed Remy’s sunglasses up into his hair carefully, revealing dark, watery eyes shadowed by sleepless nights too numerous to count. “I’m sorry,” he breathed, “that you feel the need to use caffeine to stay awake.”

“I’m so goddamn tired, Logan,” the poorly named figment whispered, head falling forward to rest against Logan’s chest. “I can’t even take naps, it’s so fucking miserable…”

Logic softened, lifting his arms after a moment to wrap them around Remy. One hand cradled the back of his head as his body trembled against Logan’s and he let out a single, shuddering sob. “I know. We are- I am going to set a more steady sleep schedule. For all of us, including you. Would that be alright?”

Sleep nodded slightly against him, sitting up enough to try and rub his face. Logan lifted a tissue. “May I?” At another nod, he wiped Remy’s eyes, then handed it to him. “Blow. I will return with some water.” He pulled away slowly, then left the room after pausing to glance back.

Upon his return, Logan found Remy still sitting up smirking a little at something on his phone. He tried not to focus on how nice the figment’s eyes looked now that he could actually see them. He offered him the glass of water instead, then slid onto the bed next to him. “Drink at least half,” he advised.

Remy nodded, downed the water according to his orders, then wiped his mouth on the back of his arm. “Thanks, L.”

“No need. Lie back.”

“Dominant, are we?”

“Remy, lie back before I push you.”

“Okay, okay, I’m doing it. No need to get your tie in a twist.” He shifted to lay on his side, eyes still a bit teary. Logan reached out a hand to wipe them away gently. The tears. Remy’s eyes remained stationary. He tugged Remy’s shades from his hair and placed them on the nightstand next to his own glasses.

“Good. Relax, I am going to sleep so that you can. Please take advantage of it.”

“I will.”

“Good.” Logan closed his eyes, lying down as well. He scooted a bit closer to Remy to wrap an arm over him from behind, no matter how it made his skin burn with heat. No one else was around to see.

“Night, babe,” Remy whispered, and that was the last thing Logan heard until morning.

The next day, the two would share knowing glances while going about their daily tasks. Logan would present his sleep schedule, Remy would deny everything that happened the previous night, and then eventually he would confess the nature of his powers. He would receive shock and some concern, and everyone would abide to Logan’s plan. And everything would be fine.

Everything would be fine.

#sanders sides #logan sanders #remy sanders #losleep #angst #fluff #hc #author ari #im remy trash i cant stop writing him #send help #also logan is a delight #and i like roman and am gonna do him next #send requests pls

170 notes · View notes

my-miraculous-headcanons · 5 years

Note

If I may request a scene in Marry That Girl: a third party finds Marinette's sketchbook and gets akumatized over it, with the book as the Akumatized object. When the fight is nearly over Ladybug is super confused as to why Chat keeps refusing to break it

Mmm that seems too angsty, since Chat would be pretty upset and I don’t want Adrien to go through too many bad feelings during this AU. And after the first disaster where she lost her book, I really doubt Marinette is going to allow herself to make that mistake again, anyways.

However, I CAN imagine an akuma who has a vendetta against Marinette to find it themselves. They might burst into her room, looking for the girl, and the second the akuma lays a finger on the forbidden sketchbook, Chat’s going to throw down. No holding back.

Sabine did not feel bad for turning the girl away. After the last incident, with that Sabrina girl having snuck into her daughter’s room and stolen her diary, she was not going to take any chances. Especially now, with the recent design contest Gabriel Agreste was holding.

A girl with long dirty-blonde hair and hazel eyes who introduced herself as Bernadette had tried to convince Sabine that she was Marinette’s model for the recent contest. She was pretty enough to be a model, that much was evident, but Marinette has never mentioned this person before, and this girl has certainly never made an appearance in any past photos.

Sabine has learned her lesson. No matter how much to girl tried to evade questions and lied to convince the mother to let her through, Sabine had remained firm. Nobody gets through unless Marinette says they can.

The girl had quickly left the moment she saw Sabine move to dial Marinette’s number. That was evidence enough that the girl was looking for trouble.

So no, she did not feel bad for turning the girl away. Not in the slightest.

She did feel bad that she had caused an akuma that’s out to ruin her daughter, however.

There was nothing she could do to stop the Fabricator from kicking down the door and intruding in on Marinette’s room. She certainly tried, taking her broom and whacking the akuma a few times, but the only thing that accomplished was getting her thrown into the wall. After that, she could barely stand, her back pain flaring out from the impact she had dealt with.

She did the last thing she was capable of. She put an alert out on the Ladyblog, and waited.

Just as the akuma had began collecting Marinette’s sketchbooks, Chat Noir had burst in through the skylight, shattering the glass.

“Woah, never expected to see a fashion disaster in Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s room. You clearly don’t belong here.”

Fabricator screeches in rage, opening up one of Marinette’s sketchbooks and peeling off one of the images. Out of it, a woman in haute couture comes to life, wearing sharp, pointed heels and shoulder pads reminiscent of Cruella de Vil.

“Well,” Chat Noir says, realising the enemy had just multiplied in numbers. “At least this one’s got a fashionable villain look.”

Sabine can’t help but smile a bit through her pain. He may have rejected her baby girl, but he’s truly a good friend to her, that much is evident.

There’s a tussle the further wrecks Marinette’s room, and if it weren’t for the fact that the Miraculous Cure existed, she’s sure she would be throwing a fit at the damage. Things pass in a blur, and at some point, she ends up getting carried out through the shattered skylight and down to street level.

“Don’t worry, Mme. Cheng,” Chat Noir says, gently lowering her onto the sidewalk. “Ladybug will be here soon, and we’ll deal with the akuma.”

“She— Please, you can’t let her keep the sketchbooks after you purify her,” Sabine quickly says, clutching onto the hero’s arm before he can take off. “Those are Marinette’s. She was trying to sneak in and steal them earlier, and I told her to leave. None of those belong to her!”

Chat Noir’s expression falls and tightens, not an ounce of amusement peeking through. It surprises her how quickly his attitude changes at that mention.

“Sketchbooks, huh,” he murmurs to himself. “Alright, Mme. Cheng, I promise me and Ladybug will retrieve those items and have them safely back in Marinette’s possession.”

In that moment, Fabricator finally descends from the top of the bakery, carrying at least ten of Marinette’s sketchbooks, shoved unceremoniously into a hideous bag. The akuma reaches in and pulls out one of the sketchbooks, and peels off another image.

Out of that image comes a man very reminiscent of Adrien Agreste, and three children, wearing comfortable pajamas.

For some reason, this made Chat Noir furious.

With a roar, Chat Noir tears from Sabine’s grasp and charges at the akuma, carefully avoiding the man and three children. He slams his baton into Fabricator’s side, flinging them across the road and straight into a lamppost. Sabine winces and rubs at her own back.

He doesn’t pause for them to catch their breath, quickly advancing on all fours. Ladybug finally makes an appearance, then, but as far as the battle goes, it’s already been won. With a single swipe, Chat Noir claws right through the Fabricator’s bag, and the akuma flutters out.

Ladybugs spread out, wrapping around the bakery and gentling fluttering by Sabine’s back. The sketchbooks are magically returned back to their rightful place, and she can finally stand up.

She can’t help but stare at Chat Noir, wondering why he was so furious at the sight of an adult Adrien Agreste with three children.

…

Three children, two of which very much resembling Marinette.

Oh.

With a smile, Sabine shakes her head. She used to get just as jealous back before she and Tom had gotten married. Ah, young love sure was messy, but it was precious.

She wonders what this means for Marinette’s future.

If it weren’t obvious, Sabine’s totally misinterpreting Chat’s reaction right here, haha.

#Maximilian Speaks #answered #Marry That Girl #Sabine Cheng #Maximilian's Writing #Adrien Agreste #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Marinette Dupain Cheng #Adrienette #Adrinette #Marichat #Hawkmoth #Akuma OC #OC #Chat Noir #Fabricator

713 notes · View notes

wild-springflower · 5 years

Text

Do or Die

My own take on the follow-up to the tsunami everyone is doing. I haven’t seen the episode yet, or even any promos so, this is just what my head came up with!

“Captain Nash, Captain Nash do you have a copy?”

A strong female voice cut through the din of their surroundings and Bobby was quick to pick up his radio, not sure what he was needed for. In this type of emergency, it could be literally anything. “Go for Captain Nash.”

“Sir, I have a gentleman here that is asking for you, he’s pretty insistent.”

Bobby sighed, they really didn’t have time for this, not in the middle of a disaster. “Look, my team is pretty swamped down here, he’ll just have to wait.”

“He said to tell you his name is Evan Buckley, that he works with you?”

Bobby felt a flash of rage course through him, he loved that kid to bits he really did, but he never learned. “Swear to god,” He grumbled, before picking the radio back up, “Ma’am, yes he works for me, but right now he is on leave due to an outstanding injury and should not be working at all, so you tell him to stop what he’s doing and go home immediately or he will be seriously reprimanded-”

“I’m sorry Captain, you misunderstood. Mr. Buckley isn’t here helping with the tsunami, he was in it.”

“He was what?”

“Yeah, I’m transporting him to the triage center now, but he’s been asking you to meet him there.”

Bobby felt his heartbeat spike, using all his years of training to keep his breathing under control. “Okay, we’ll be there as soon as we can.”

Chimney halted in his search through the water, tagging bodies as they went, and glanced at the captain warily, having been close enough to hear the whole conversation.

Bobby nodded once, as an offer of reassurance, no matter how pitiful it may have been, before turning to the rest of his firefighters. “Alright team, drop what you’re doing here, we have somewhere else we need to be right now.”

Hen sat up and gave Bobby a quizzical look, “What do you mean?”

“We have to go the triage center; Buck was caught in the tsunami.”

“Oh my god.” Hen breathed, shock and fear coating her voice.

Eddie’s feet halted in his steady progress back, staggering and nearly falling over completely. “What?”

“I don’t know much, but he was cognizant enough to tell them who he was and have them contact us.” Bobby tried to soothe some of the fear and tension he could so clearly feel.

Eddie just shook his head, having trouble keeping himself calm enough to make sense and get his point across clearly, “No, Christopher was with Buck today. Did they say anything about a little boy, is he okay?” The team fell deathly silent, and Eddie stared for a moment with wide eyes before his frustration and fear got the better of him, “Bobby is my son okay!” He shouted.

Bobby held his hands up in a calming gesture, his voice cool and collected, “They didn’t say anything specific, but let’s get in the boat and head over there right now. We’ll get you to Christopher Eddie.”

Hen offered a hand, basically guiding Eddie into their little boat and forcing him into a seat. He couldn’t focus, couldn’t think of anything past the pounding fear in his heart; it was debilitating. He was terrified for his son, and worried about his best friend as well. And on top of that he felt a bone crushing guilt. The two of them were only out because he had pushed Buck to get out, to get some fresh air and have a little fun. He’d been so down and gloomy, Eddie had just figured him spending time with Christopher was a good way to lighten his spirits. If anything had happened to either of them, it would be his fault. The boat lurched forward, water spraying in his face as they booked it back to the emergency triage center that had been set up in the wake of this disaster, but Eddie barely noticed. They had to be okay, they both had to be okay; Eddie couldn’t even begin to think about what he would do if they weren’t.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When he’d been pinned under the truck, with no means of escape and a psycho with a bomb strapped to their chest standing over him, Buck thought that was the scardest he could ever be. And then the wave came, and he lost Christopher.

Logically, he’d known he wasn’t going to be able to keep a hold of the kid, not with the force of all that water slamming into them, but the first few minutes after he resurfaced that Christopher wasn’t in his arms were some of the worst in his life. He had felt his heart bottom out in fear, desperation coloring his tone as he screamed, begging to hear a response.

And he’d gotten one. Obviously, their situation hadn’t been ideal, they’d just been struck by a tsunami for goodness sake, but at least they were together. At least he knew Christopher was safe.

And then the wave reversed, receding with almost as much force as it had attacked with, and Buck had to wonder who up there had such a sick sense of humor because he was really getting tired of being in such horrible situations. Yes, he knew how ironic that sentiment was coming from a firefighter, but there was a certain amount of detachment when he wasn’t the one being crushed by a truck or searching for a loved one after a disaster.

He’d turned his back for a minute, just a minute, to try and help some of the people begging to be saved as they were swept out to sea, and when he turned back around, and his eyes didn’t immediately see the bright shirt or sun reflecting off the glasses, he’d literally begun to panic.

Buck didn’t even spare a second to be mad at the rest of the people on the truck, because how could they have let him fall into the water? How could they not see Buck had been trying to save other people? How could they have not taken just one moment to be responsible for someone other than themselves? Because if he thought on that too long, he sunk deeper into self-loathing; he was the one who was supposed to be responsible for Chris. He shouldn’t have let Chris out of his sight, he’d let Chris fall in the water.

The fear from earlier was nothing compared to the raw terror he was feeling then, shouting desperately, on the verge of hysteria, as he continued to get nothing in response. No shout of his name, no flash of orange and white in the water, nothing. Christopher was just gone, in the span of less than a minute his best friend’s son had disappeared.

And it was all his fault.

Buck did his best to keep his breathing under control, the last thing he needed was to get lightheaded and pass out in the water, he was close enough just shouting at the top of his lungs. He knew he was feeling fatigued, the multiple trips into the water having really done a number on his newly healed leg. But he couldn’t let himself feel that, not yet anyway. There would be a time and a place to feel.

“Christopher!” He screamed again, his throat cracking with the effort. He thought he maybe tasted blood, but chose to ignore that fact, hoping if there was blood it was just from vocal cords being rubbed raw and abused by saltwater.

Something heavy and hard collided with his leg, his healthy one thankfully, but the shock of it still pulled him under the water. Buck surfaced sputtering, wiping water out of his eyes as he tried to regain some semblance of control in the raging wave. It had been a while since his feet had been able to touch any sort of hard surface, let along the ground.

Buck looked around again, wide eyes stinging, when he caught a glimpse of a familiar pair of red glasses. His stomach, which had been resting somewhere low in his stomach since he’d first realized Christopher was no longer on the fire truck, fell the rest of the way down to his feet.

Fighting against the current, Buck swam over and grabbed the glasses, which had been snagged against some debris, tightly in his hand. “No no no no.” He whirled around, combing the area and praying; he’d been doing more of that recently. Until Maddie had gone missing, he hadn’t really sent up a prayer in years, but he’d prayed then, and it had worked, they’d found Maddie alive. And then he’d prayed again, when his leg had been crushed under the symbol of his dreams and aspirations, and it seemed to have worked then too, because he was still alive. So, he prayed again, prayed harder than he ever had in his life, he needed to find Christopher alive. He couldn’t do that to Eddie.

The kid had to be somewhere close, at least, that’s what Buck was hoping. “Christopher!” He called, pausing when the need to cough became too great. “Chris buddy I need you to make some noise if you can hear me!” Buck stopped, treading water to the best of his ability and scanning the area, “Please hear me.” He whispered, blinking back against the sting of tears. He was surrounded by enough saltwater at the moment, he really didn’t need to be adding more, not to mention he was almost definitely dehydrated.

Faintly, he heard what sounded like metal on metal. His eyes widened and he spun around, trying to quell the threads of hope, because there had been a tsunami, of course debris was going to be making noise. “Christopher?” He called, moving towards where the sound seemed most prominent. “Christopher is that you?”

“Buck?”

Buck was pretty sure that one little call of his name added ten years back to his life, and he nearly sagged with relief. “Christopher!” As quickly as he was able Buck swam through the water, to where he saw a little hand reaching up from behind what had probably been part of the pier at one point. Now it served as a makeshift raft, where Christopher was holding onto the wood tightly, knuckles white and arms shaking, whether from exertion or fear though Buck couldn’t be sure.

Either way, the kid looked just as relieved as he felt, and quickly launched off the floating debris and into his arms. “Christopher, holy shit don’t ever do that to me again.” Buck wrapped him up in his own arms, holding tight and burying his face in Christopher’s hair, planting a soft kiss against it, and vowing to never let that boy out of his arms ever again.

“Dad says that’s a naughty word. We aren’t supposed to say naughty words.”

Buck chuckled, pulling Chris back to try and look him over for any obvious injuries, “My apologies, let’s not tell your dad about that huh?”

Chris smiled almost playfully, “What do we tell him from this?”

“Well, I suppose nothing isn’t an option. How about we leave out the scariest bits okay?”

Chris laughed, “Yeah okay.” Then his little hands were reaching up and brushing against his face, which Buck was only realizing now was slick with tears. “Why are you crying?”

“What this?” Buck tried to laugh it off, smiling as big as he could, “Nah, that’s just water buddy, no tears here.”

“I just have water too.” Christopher said, leaning back and looking towards the sky, still smiling, his own eyes bright with ‘not-tears’.

Buck laughed again, he probably sounded crazy, but he was just so relieved. He pulled Christopher back up against his chest and squeezed, taking a moment to calm his breathing and let his heart settle back down to a slightly less worrisome rhythm. At least he no longer felt like he was about to go into cardiac arrest. “Oh hey, I have something of yours.” Buck said, just remembering the glasses. He held them up where Chris could see them and watched as the boy smiled excitedly.

“My glasses!” He cried, he reached out a hand to grab them, but left the other where it was, holding a chunk of Buck’s shirt in a vice-grip.

Buck sniffed and adjusted his position so he could help Chis put the glasses back over his eyes, still smiling and laughing softly.

“Now what?” Christopher whispered; little arms tucked back around Buck’s neck.

“Uh, that is an excellent question buddy. Now we figure something out, I’m gonna get you outta here.”

“Yeah, I’m a little sick of the water now.”

“Only a little?”

Chris smiled and nodded, “Only a little.”

Buck shook his head with a breathy laugh, he took one more minute to cradle Christopher’s head against his shoulder, fingers rubbing gentle circles in the sopping wet hair, before his firefighter brain took over, telling him they had to get moving. They had to find help soon, because Buck was definitely beginning to feel the effects of the tsunami. “Okay kiddo, here’s the plan, you’re gonna slide around and ride on my back while I swim through this mess.”

“Like a monkey?”

“Yeah, just like a monkey Monkey.” Buck tickled Chris’ stomach just enough to get the kid to giggle, “Think you can do that?”

“Roger that Team Leader.” Christopher nodded strongly, already adjusting his grip so he could move.

Neither of them really let go of the other, which made the process of Christopher moving to his back slow-going, but slow and steady won the race, or at least got them into their desired position. Then they began their painful shuffle through the gradually falling water. Buck could tell it was getting more shallow, but not enough to make much of a difference at the moment.

He kept swimming, just like he and Christopher had talked about earlier, just like Dory. The burn in his arms, the uncomfortable wrenching in his leg that hinted at what could potentially be a worsening injury, he ignored all of it, pushed it to the back of his mind and locked it in a box, throwing the key away with the tsunami. Buck didn’t have much energy for talking however, so the two spent a vast part of their journey in silence. Christopher seemed content to simply be hugging Buck tightly anyway, and Buck knew that pressure against his back was all he needed to keep himself going.

“Hey,” A gentle pat against his cheek drew Buck’s attention, “Do you hear that?” Christopher asked.

Buck shook water out of his face and paused a moment, listening. It took a moment, but sure enough after a few seconds of straining, his ears picked up on what sounded like a motor. He’d been so focused on moving in the direction of land that the possibility of running into other rescue operations hadn’t even crossed his radar. “Hey!” He shouted, although the sound didn’t carry far with how raw his vocal cords were. He tried waving his arms but all that accomplished was an uncomfortable mouthful of water that left him coughing.

“Hello!” Christopher shouted, a little louder than Buck had been able to manage.

“Keep shouting buddy, wave your arms around a bit, I’m gonna hoist you up.”

“Like one of the rides!” Chris smiled, arms already above his head. “See us!” He cried again, and when Buck shoved him as far above the water as he could Christopher waved his arms around even more.

Buck’s own arms shook with the effort, but he pushed himself to go further, do more, and lifted Christopher even higher, almost falling completely underwater when the two of them came crashing back down. But it had been worth it; when Buck’s head resurfaced the little rescue, boat was turning in their direction, someone on board waving their arms back to let them know they had been spotted.

A small hand was once again patting at his wet cheek, “You did it kid.”

“You were an incredible help Christopher. Great job.” Buck breathed heavily, counting the seconds until he could stop moving his arms and just let them melt into the jello they wanted to become.

The boat slowed as it neared them, and a female firefighter Buck had never seen before ran to the edge, “Hey there!”

“Take him.” Buck didn’t waste a second, he needed to get Christopher out of the water.

“Come here kiddo, I’ve got you.” She called gently, strong hands wrapping under Chris’ armpits and hoisting him above the side of the boat.

“Now you gotta get my Buck.” Christopher whispered, scooting out of the way but staying very close to the middle of the boat.

The lady smiled and gave him a strong nod, “Of course. Sir, grab my hand I’ll help pull you up.”

Buck barely had the energy needed to throw his arm over his head, let alone pull himself all the way into the little boat. But somehow his hand reached past the rubber lip, and he felt a strong tug against the back of his shirt. He was straining as hard as he could, wincing with the effort, when he felt a small hand grab his own and start to help pull as well. It was enough to give Buck a last burst of effort, and with the much-needed assistance of the firefighter, Buck was able to flop ungracefully into the boat.

He fell on his back, panting heavily and just staring up at the blue sky. Christopher laid his head against Buck’s chest, and Buck instinctually began running his fingers through his hair. “Thank you.” He gasped out, not quite sure who he was directing that gratitude to.

“Just hold tight you two, we’re gonna get you on dry land and get you all nice and warm.”

“I want hot chocolate.” Christopher whispered, and Buck smiled.

“We can get you some hot chocolate kiddo.”

Christopher’s next request was voiced a little quieter than the first and was accompanied by a squeezing of Buck’s fingers. “I want my dad.”

That got Buck moving again, groaning as he moved to sit up, ignoring how the world spun for several seconds too long when he was finally upright again. “Are you in contact with the other firefighters working here?”

The woman glanced at him from her position steering the boat, “Yes sir, why?”

“I need you to contact Captain Bobby Nash of the 118. He and his team need to meet us back on shore.”

“I don’t know where they’re stationed, everyone is spread pretty thin.”

“I know I know, but I need Captain Nash. Just, radio him, please. I work for him, tell him it’s Evan Buckley.” Buck explained, he was getting really tired of talking, and he tried pleading with his eyes. “Please, Captain Nash of the 118.”

The woman pursed her lips but relented with a nod, “I’ll contact him once we get closer to shore, you can’t hear much of anything over these motors.”

Buck just nodded, sagging back and letting his eyes slip closed. “Thank you.” He whispered, his arms once again finding their way around Christopher’s waist and gently tugging him as close as he was able.

When they finally docked it was to a scene of absolute chaos. Someone tried to grab Christopher from him as they hopped out of the boat, but Buck just shook his head, too tired to even tell them to back off. The two of them were ushered towards where several cots had been set up, someone giving them a quick preliminary medical check just to assess whether or not they were dying. Then they were given a thick blanket and told to sit tight.

So that’s what the two of them did. Buck soon began to lose track of everything but the warmth in his arms, the steady beat of Christopher’s heart. It cancelled out anything else he might have been feeling and he fell into an almost blissful state of numbness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The zodiac had barely touched down before Eddie was jumping out and sprinting through the crowd, eyes wide; he wasn’t even trying to hide his desperation. “Christopher!” He shouted, growing more desperate the longer he went without seeing him. “Christopher!”

“Eddie, over here!” Hen called, waving to get his attention. She pointed to where several cots were all lined up, and sitting on one, looking more exhausted than Eddie ever wanted to see, was Buck. And clutched in his arms: Christopher.

Eddies shoulders sagged in relief, and if he hadn’t been so desperate to hold Chris close to him, he knew his legs would have given out right there. He jogged closer, tears falling unchecked, “Christopher.”

Christopher’s head poked up, and he glanced around to try and see where the voice was coming from. “Buck,” He said, shaking Buck’s shoulder, “Buck it’s dad!”

Buck blinked, the boy’s words took a moment to process, probably a moment longer than they should have, but when they finally did register he quickly set Chris down, no matter how much he didn’t want to, and watched him stagger towards his dad.

Eddie crashed to his knees and pulled Christopher as close to him as was physically possible. “Are you okay, does anything hurt?” Eddie pulled back and held Chris at arms’ length, studying him carefully.

“I’m okay dad.” Christopher smiled, brushing a hand against Eddie’s chin. “Buck kept me safe.”

A spike of emotion shot through Eddie’s heart, and he glanced up to see Buck sitting exactly where Christopher had left him, Eddie couldn’t even tell how much awareness he really had, the poor guy looked about ready to collapse.

“He needs a nap.” Christopher stated matter-of-factly.

The sentiment made Eddie chuckle, knowing that whenever Christopher was particularly exhausted, a nap was his go-to solution. “I think he needs more than just a nap buddy.”

“A nap is a good place to start.”

“That it is. Hey, you remember Hen and Chim right? Can you let them look you over while I check on our friend over here?”

Christopher nodded, holding his arms open for one more hug that Eddie was all too willing to give him, before he started making his way to where the two paramedics were waiting, figuring Eddie would want them to check his son over anyway.

That allowed Eddie to stand and make his way closer to the cot. “Buck?” Eddie asked, holding a hand out and looking at his friend warily.

“Eddie.” Buck’s shoulders sagged in relief, a tired smile stretching across his marred face. “I found him Eddie, I found him, and I didn’t let him go.”

Eddie’s eyebrows furrowed; not quite sure what Buck meant. “How you feeling buddy?”

Buck didn’t really seem to register what had been asked, instead positing a question of his own, “Is Christopher alright?”

“Yeah, yeah Buck, you got him here safely.”

“Oh thank god, I was real worried for a bit. Wasn’t sure we were gonna find you.” Buck sighed heavily, his eyelids drooping and his entire body listing to the side.

“Woah woah buddy, Buck buddy you gotta stay awake okay?” Eddie called frantically, catching Buck before he could fall out of the cot completely.

“We made it back,” Buck breathed, still not quite seeming to comprehend anything Eddie had actually said to him.

“Yeah Buck, you did.”

“‘M tired.”

“I know you are buddy, but you could be hurt, we need to check you over. Eyes open okay?”

Buck just blinked sluggishly, “Christopher? Is he hurt?”

Eddie sighed, lips tight, he wasn’t sure if it was just exhaustion or if Buck had a concussion or other sort of injury that was interfering with his ability to focus. “No Buck, just a few cuts and bruises, nothing serious at all.”

“Okay good, was real-” Buck’s voice tapered off into an exhausted whisper, “worried for a sec.” He finished, the small sentence obviously taking quite a bit of effort, before his eyes rolled back and his entire body sagged downwards. He would have hit the ground had Eddie not already had a firm hold of his shoulders. “Buck, Buck hey! Guys I need help over here!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Buck didn’t remember closing his eyes, granted most of the day after he’d lost Chris had been a blur, but it was still a weird feeling to wake up in a room he had no recollection of being moved to. He was starting to get far too used to hospital beds though, so although he didn’t know all the details he knew exactly where he was when he finally came to.

The room was quiet, a heart monitor beating softly in time to his pulse next to him and the quiet shuffle of some sort of material; the general din of the world outside his own room was the only source of any significant noise. He could only imagine how busy the hospital was after the disaster they just experienced.

His eyes peeled open with minimal effort but attempting to turn his head and survey the room resulted in a hiss of pain.

Maddie had been sitting in the chair next to his bed reading a new book Chimney had bought her when she heard the noise of discomfort, the book immediately falling away when she saw her brother awake. “Hey, how are you feeling?”

“Okay, all things considered.” He whispered, throat feeling like he had gargled nails for breakfast.

“Yeah, you were amazingly lucky. Mostly minor injuries.”

Buck’s eyebrows raised and he looked up at Maddie in trepidation, “Mostly?”

She nodded with pursed lips, but she’d promised him she was never going to withhold medical information, no matter what it might be. “Yeah. Lots of little cuts and bruises. Your ribs took a real beating, so you’ll have to be careful about those. Whiplash, hence the sore neck, so careful moving your head. Your leg, well for what you went through it sustained amazingly little harm. You’ll need to use crutches again, at least for a little bit, and the doctor has to keep a close eye on things to make sure nothing was damaged structurally and the metal implants are still holding up okay, but otherwise you’ve been given a clean bill of health.”

Buck nodded, swallowing with a wince. It really wasn’t as bad as he had expected, with how he’d been feeling by the time they’d finally been picked up by rescuers. They. A spike of icy terror shot through his heart, vocalized by the shrill scream of the heart monitor, “Christopher, where is he, is he alright?”

“Evan, relax, okay? Just breathe, Christopher is fine. He’s at home resting, he is perfectly safe. Thanks to you.” Maddie was hoping that would at least calm Buck down, make him feel a little better, but if anything, it seemed to have the opposite effect.

“No, no I lost him Mads. I had him and then I lost him, he almost died.” Buck shook his head vehemently, face scrunched in disgust.

Maddie settled gently on the hard hospital cot, gripping the hand not full of tubes in her own, “What are you talking about, Ev I don’t understand.”

Buck’s eyes began to water, and he’d just opened his mouth to try and explain, when a slightly breathless figure in the door caught his attention. “Eddie.”

Eddie’s eyes were wide, breathing heavily as if he’d just run up several flights of stairs in full firefighter gear, “You’re awake.”

Buck nodded with a swallow, “You’re alone.”

“I didn’t know- Christopher is in the waiting room, he was having a little trouble sleeping back home but I didn’t know if you were still out of it. I didn’t want him coming in here if you weren’t, well if you weren’t conscious.” Eddie shifted nervously, still standing in the doorway, “He saw you pass out at the triage center and it uh, it really freaked him out.”

Buck’s face scrunched up in anger, one more thing to add to the ever-growing tower of self-loathing. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Eddie demanded immediately.

Maddie watched the two interact, could feel the tension radiating off her brother in waves, and knew this was a conversation the two of them needed to have alone. “Hey Evan, I’m gonna go get some coffee okay? I’ll be back in a bit.”

Buck smiled up at her briefly but otherwise didn’t say anything.

On her way out the door Maddie gave Eddie’s arm a reassuring squeeze, “He’s real upset about something, I don’t know what though.” She whispered.

Eddie gave a small nod and stepped out of the way as she left, book in hand. He shuffled his feet awkwardly, he wasn’t terribly good at navigating emotions, but Buck had saved his son’s life, not to mention he considered the man one of his closest friends. He owed it to him to try and figure out what was going on. So, with a deep breath he stepped through the threshold, and crossed over to the recently vacated chair. “So how are you feeling?”

“Well, I really just woke up not that long ago, so I think the discomfort hasn’t really sunk in yet. That or they have me on some pretty good pain meds.”

Eddie laughed, “Probably a little of both.”

The room lapsed into silence and Buck stared so intensely at the wall Eddie thought it was in danger of spontaneous combustion, “How many?” He finally whispered.

“There isn’t a final count yet, but a lot.” He responded somberly.

Buck just nodded, teeth chewing the inside of his lip almost subconsciously. “There were so many people out there, I wish I could have helped them.”

“You did, you helped a lot of people Buck.”

Buck just sighed, the exhale almost sounding bitter, which only served to confuse Eddie further. Maddie had been right; something really was bothering him. Eddie moved to sit in the hard-plastic chair that had been moved close to Buck’s bed, studying his face as he went. “Can I help with anything, I mean, do you need me to get anything for you?”

Buck ignored Eddie’s question and responded with a question of his own. “Why aren’t you mad?”

The inquiry had Eddie reeling, blinking in shocked confusion, “What are you talking about?”

“You should be furious with me.” Buck said, his tone resigned, like he was just waiting for the mood to shift and for him to be proven right, “You should hate me.”

Eddie’s heart stuttered, “Why would I hate you?”

It took a moment, and when Buck finally did answer it was in such a small, quiet voice, Eddie almost didn’t hear, “Because I hate me.”

“Buck, you saved my son’s life, how could I ever hate you? Hell, I’m still trying to figure out how I’m going to repay you.”

“No.”

“No?”

“Don’t do that.”

Eddie sighed, “Don’t do what?” He pressed gently, hoping Buck would just open up already and the conversation that clearly needed to happen could finally start.

“Thank me. Act like I’m some-some hero or something.” He said the word like it tasted bad on his tongue.

Eddie chuckled nervously, mostly because he really didn’t understand where any of this was coming from. “Well what should I treat you like?”

“A failure.” Buck snapped, his eyes were bursting fiery with anger, but Eddie could tell it was directed inward and not at himself.

The vehemence in his tone took Eddie by surprise and he was left sputtering, “What? Buck, how could you be a failure? You’re alive, Christopher is alive-”

“Yeah well he almost wasn’t!” Buck interrupted with a crackling shout, tears welling but refusing to spill.

Dread pooled in the pit of Eddie’s stomach, mind racing with possibilities, of the doctor’s having missed something, him missing something; Christopher hadn’t mentioned anything but maybe he didn’t want to talk about it. “What-what are you talking about Buck?” He hated how much his voice wavered.

Buck shook his head, he looked like he wanted to stand and pace, work out some of the tension in his body. “He fell off the truck Eddie! I turned my back for a second, and he fell off the truck and he was just gone. I thought he was dead, I thought I had killed your son and I knew it was something neither of us were ever going to be able to forgive me for. And yeah, sure, I jumped in to look for him but I- I was- Eddie if I couldn’t find him, I wanted that wave to kill me. Because being dead would be better than having to face you and tell you I let Christopher die. That it was my fault you lost someone else in your family.”

Eddie felt the confession hit him like a brick, sucking the air from his chest and immediately making tears prick behind his own eyes. “Buck, Ev listen, I don’t care. Okay? I don’t. Look, whatever happened in the middle, I’m sure you protected Christopher to the best of your abilities.”

Buck opened his mouth to interrupt, probably protest, but Eddie wasn’t going to give it to him. “Ev it was a disaster. You said Chris fell off the truck? Then he fell off the truck. But you found him again, you brought him to safety.” Eddie had to stop and breathe as a sob threatened to wrench its way out of his throat, tears were already free flowing down his face. “You brought him back to me. And we can talk through anything else that happened later but right now the only fact I care about is that you and Christopher are alive. You understand?”

Buck nodded, not trusting his voice to work past the tears lodged in his throat.

“God,” Eddie laughed wetly, swiping the tears off his face with a sniff, “Here I was afraid you were gonna be mad at me.”

“W-what?” Buck croaked.

“Buck, you wouldn’t have even been out on the pier if I hadn’t pushed you to get out today. I’m the reason you left your apartment.”

“I don’t blame you, honestly I-I know I needed it. I just happen to have the shittiest luck in the universe. But I didn’t blame you for a second Eddie.”

“What if we just say it was no body’s fault?”

The sudden voice from the doorway drew their attention away from each other, Christopher stood with a big, albeit tired, grin on his face.

Eddie stood and was quick to scoop Christopher off his feet, tickling his tummy on the way up, “Hey you, how did you get up here?”

“Hen brought me!”

“Hi,” Hen waved, leaning in the doorframe, “Sorry if I was interrupting something, Maddie said Buck was awake and this one was insistent on seeing him immediately.”

“You were?” Buck asked playfully, “C’mere you goof.”

“You’re the goof!” Christopher squealed as Eddie hoisted him above his head and swung him around the room a little before plopping him onto the hospital bed.

Buck’s hand drifted towards Christopher without him really even seeming to notice, still instinctually needing to be close, to ensure Chris was safe. He leaned forward as much as he was physically able, swallowing a wince, “So, what’s the status report?”

“Nothing of consequence.” Christopher said matter-of-factly with a strong nod of his head.

“You sure?” Buck asked, a mischievous grin growing on his face, “Not even here?” He poked at Christopher’s side, “Or here?” Buck poked his other side and Chris wiggled out of the way. “Definitely here!”

Christopher fell back with a loud giggle, clutching his stomach where Buck was tickling him playfully. “Stop!” He cried, a large grin on his face.

Buck pulled his hands back, laughing along with Christopher, no matter how much it hurt his ribs. Eddie must have picked up on his discomfort though because a second later he was walking over and kneeling at the edge of the bed, looking Chris in the eyes. “Whaddya say we let Buck get some rest hm?”

“Aww.” Chris sat up, smile fading.

“You can totally come back and see me tomorrow,” Buck promised, before opening his mouth in a hugely exaggerated yawn. “I am pretty tired.”

Eddie met his eyes over Christopher’s mop of curly hair, a small smile of gratitude silently expressing his thanks. Christopher needed to rest too, and he would feel much better about leaving if he thought it was because Buck needed to sleep himself.

“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow kid.” Chris said, reaching his little hand up once more to rub against Buck’s cheek.

Buck leaned into the contact and took the opportunity to blow a quick raspberry, wanting to hear the boy’s laughter one last time before he left for the evening.

“Alright mister,” Eddie gripped Chris and easily pulled him off the bed. “Can you wait for daddy out in the hallway real quick?”

“Roger that!” Chris nodded and started making his way to the door, progress a little slow-going without the aid of his crutches.

“Thank you,” Eddie said, standing and placing a firm hand on Buck’s knee. He sounded more sincere than Buck had ever heard him, “Seriously, thank you.”

“Thanks for visiting. You’ll be back tomorrow?” Buck wasn’t even the least bit embarrassed by the hopeful lilt of his voice.

Eddie smiled, glancing over his shoulder where Christopher was sweet-talking a nurse. “I don’t think that one will stand for anything else.”

“Good. Now get outta here.”

“Alright, I’m going. Have a good night Buck.”

Buck smiled gently, “You too.”

Hen watched Eddie leave the room, once again snatching Christopher right off the ground and pulling him close, the sight made her smile. She couldn’t even imagine how she would be feeling if it had been her own son lost in the disaster.

“Thank you, for bringing him up.” Buck’s soft voice broke the relative silence that had encompassed the room.

“I think he needed it as much as you did. Now get some rest, you look about two seconds away from passing out completely.”

Buck sighed, trying to stifle a real yawn that time with little success, “Any idea on when I can get outta here?”

“You don’t enjoy the scenery?” Hen joked with a roll of her eyes. “Go to sleep Buck, I’ll ask around.”

“M’kay. Night Hen.”

“Good night Buck.”

#9-1-1 #911fox #this is long #but there will be more #because i literally can't help myself #you know nightmares are a thing that need to happen!#my writing #evan buckley #eddie diaz #christopher diaz #bobby nash

81 notes · View notes

daniharperdominant · 4 years

Text

First Friday || Dani & Ash

Tagging: Dani Harper and Ash Clarington @ash-clarington

Date: Friday, October 9

Location: Dani’s Room

Summary: Bondage, Impact, Sex and Cuddles

As far as scenes go, Dani had a hard time predicting what was going to happen with Ash. The submissive was quiet and reserved, and not big on unnecessary words or conversation - which frightened her a little, because scenes required constant communication. But she was a good Dominant, if her course work and scenes in her first year were any indication, and she knew that no matter whether Ash was talkative or not the scene would be safe and carefully executed. Waiting beside the bed were the impact implements she'd chosen, as well as lengths of rope that she could tie into strict knots but undo or cut at a moment's notice. There was soft music filling her room, and she'd chosen a very simple outfit - a jade green bra paired with dark underwear, framed by a black robe. The scene didn't have to include any sexual element, nor would it unless Ash asked, but Dani also wanted to be comfortable. Dressing the way she had helped her feel even more Dominant. Perching on her bed, she played an idle game on her phone as she waited for Ash's knock.

The summer break and the emotional drudge of the end of Ash's last semester left her, putting it lightly, out of practice. On top of that, she was starting to sink a little too far into herself on campus. She walked around going unnoticed, speaking to no one, attending classes then tucking herself back into her room. It was getting depressing and Ash knew if she let it go on she'd probably pull herself deeper into more destructive behaviors left unchecked. So the submissive had seen an opportunity. And she went for it. Donning some of her best lingerie beneath a simple dress, Ash pulled on her coat to combat the evening chill and left early enough to take her time walking to the Dominant dorms. Ash paused before she knocked at Dani's door to take a few steadying breaths and steady herself. The anticipation building in her belly was specific and sorely, sorely missed.

Dani set her phone aside, silenced, and stood up to smooth out her robe. She opened the door with a smile, wanting Ash to know that she was welcome and that she had no intention of doing anything that wasn't wanted or desired. "Please, come inside." Once Ash was clear of the door Dani turned with a gently chiding expression. "In the future, please kneel at the door while you wait." It wasn't a huge issue the first time, but she didn't want the submissive to make a habit of not kneeling. "In the meantime, please step into the bedroom there and take a seat. There are a few things we need to go over quickly." Stepping into the room after her, Dani shut the door. "I'd like to hear your limits and safeword, Ash, and then I'd like to know one thing that you want out of this scene tonight. Anything at all, just the first thing you can think of that you really want."

Ash felt the tips of her ears flash warm. There was no anger in Dani's voice, no contempt, barely even a hint of annoyance over the matter but Ash still felt her stomach swirl with unrest over it. It'd been a while since she had knelt for someone, she had quiet literally forgotten. She swallowed the disappointment in herself silently and complied with the given instructions, only pausing to shuck away her jacket to hang by the door. Ash cleared her throat before speaking, having not said much since being called on in an afternoon class, then began "My limits are small confined spaces, tickling, body fluids and," Ash winced slightly at the last one---"age play." The submissive sat where instructed, mentally reminding herself not to fidget. "My safe word is lavender, Miss, and... and well I guess..." Ash paused thoughtfully, attempting to draw up the most accurate response. "I want to feel less." It came out wrong but Ash just needed to transfer control for a while, be fully distracted, to not think.

Dani was patient and warm as she could be as she waited for Ash to give her what she'd asked for. There was no rush when she did a scene, no urge to move faster or increase the pace, especially when it was with someone new. That was only a recipe for disaster. The submissive's list of limits was easy to comply with and wouldn't butt up against any of what she had in mind for the night. "To feel less," Dani repeated. "As in...to get out of your own head? That's something I can definitely do." She kept her eyes on Ash. "Thank you for all of that. Let me explain my philosophy when I scene. This should be fun for us both. I will strive never to go too far, never to do anything you don't want, and never to make you feel unsafe. Should any of those things happen, I will expect a safeword and honor it as sacrosanct. No debate, no argument - if you safeword, we stop immediately. No matter what." Dani smiled. "If all of that is acceptable to you, please strip down as far as you're comfortable with."

This Dominant was a little bit of an enigma, it was enticing to Ash. Usually she went for the overbearing and vocally stern types but the way Dani's voice flowed seamlessly between what seemed to be her normal speaking voice to something more succinct and direct for clarity. Dominance with a gentleness Ash wasn't accustom to.

The woman's inference was exactly what Ash meant and the submissive felt some of her apprehension melt away. The swirling in her stomach faded and a spark of excitement began to take it's place. With no hesitation Ash reached for the zipper of her dress and then let it fall. She stepped away once it was pooling around her ankles and felt herself gravitating toward Dani. Ash did knee then, signifying her willingness to begin, and to submit.

"Good girl," Dani smiled. The first moments of any scene were the most important to her mind - trust had to be established on both sides, guidelines and boundaries set to be sure that everyone involved was comfortable ans safe for what was to come. "You're a very beautiful girl, Ash, and I appreciate you wearing such lovely things over for me." Reaching out, she gently ran her fingers through the girl's dark hair. Only then did she stand, shrugging out of her robe to leave them in similar states of undress. "I'd like you to lie down on the bed for me, please. Face down, with your hands above your head. I'm going to secure your hands and your feet, and then we'll begin some simple impact play." It was only the warm up, but the warm up was important. Once Ash was in position, Dani took a small length of the rope and began to securely knot it around the girl's ankles. "You look very lovely in rope."

Ash held her shiver at bay. It was more the Dominant's words that the simple touch but both made her eyes drop closed for a moment and Ash had to reign in some of her focus just to lift herself off the floor and onto the bed as she was told. She kept her eyes low as she moved but lifted them just enough to catches glimpses of Dani as she moved around her, free of the robe she had been donning before. Ash's heart picked up as the rope brushed against her and tightened against her skin. "Thank you, Miss." She managed, reminding herself to be vocal.

"You're welcome," Dani smiled. She'd known that Ash was quiet, and had expected it, which made it all the more important that she be cognizant of other nonverbal cues - the sound of her breathing, the tension in certain limbs and muscles, the way that she moved or didn't move. They were all important, and she would do her best to watch for any and all of them. "Hands now," she instructed. "Just keep them above your head, and we'll get them tied. It was a quick series of simple knots, and she gave them an experimental tug when she was finished. "Does that all feel okay? Nothing pinching, no pain?"

For just a flash of a moment a voice in the back of Ash's mind told her to ball her fists at her sides and resist but her desire to bend willfully won out and she placed her hands above her head, face down, as told. Goosebumps broke out over the submissive's body as soon as the final rope was in place. Ash moved a little at first, simply opening and closing her hands and rotating her ankles to test for tightness and blood flow. She gave a few experimental tugs, admiring the Dominant's work as she realized how stuck she really was. The residual panic was set aside quickly Ash let Dani's earlier words ring again through her thoughts. She could stop this at any time. Ash stilled and took a steadying breath. "None, Miss."

Dani was impressed by the way that Ash moved, clearly knowing how to check her bonds without needing further instruction. She watched carefully as well, making sure that the ropes were going to hold for what she had in mind but not dig in if there was a struggle. "Very good girl, thank you. We're going to start the impact portion of this scene using just an open hand. Five spanks on each side, just to get your skin warmed up a little. I'd like you to count out all ten for me, please - no need to thank me, just a count will be sufficient." Once there was confirmation, Dani began. The spanks weren't designed to hurt or punish, they were simply a way to bring some blood to the surface of Ash's skin. Good impact required a warmup, because without it there was too much chance of broken blood vessels and marks that would last a week instead of a couple of days. Not to mention, of course, that she enjoyed the spanking immensely.

Ash knew the process, the way it should be done anyway. Not all Dominant's were quite as kind and if Ash were being honest she didn't always care if they were. In the past doing casual scenes she usual set a limit of no marks that would be lasting on her body but with her Mistress, that was a different story. Her Mistress could be reckless at times in a way Ash found thrilling, it was one of the destructive natures of their relationship. This was different and Ash liked the way Dani spoke aloud what she was doing, and furthermore, why. Ash gave her acknowledgment, the small bit of praise pushing her forward in her desire to hear it again. The brunette didn't flinch when the first blow landed, she counted out. Her body didn't recoil at the next, landing firmly, stinging but only slightly. The Dominant's strikes didn't rock Ash's body, it enticed it, and she felt herself warming. The places that had fallen beneath Dani's palm, her cheeks, her core. Ash was mindful of her breath between counting, stubbornly determined to stay grounded for as long as possible through their play. "Ten." Ash huffed out, mindful not to stutter, and paused for the last to land.

Thus far, Ash had been a perfect scene partner - willing, eager, and able to follow instructions without hesitation. Knowing that let Dani lose herself in the scene a little, watching the way that her soft skin rippled with each impact and the way that her voice grew just a little bit more ragged as she counted. "Very good," she praised at the halfway mark, and when her hand came down for the tenth and final time she repeated the praise again. "Such a good girl for me." Dani ran a hand across pink skin, squeezing and rubbing in equal measure. "Now that you're warmed up, I think we'll move on to something a bit more intense. I have my favorite paddle here," she reached for one nearby, wrapped in red leather with her initials monogrammed on the handle, and ran it up and down Ash's spine. "And I'm sure that you're going to enjoy it. You don't need to count this time, just lie there and let yourself enjoy it." Once Ash had responded, Dani brought the paddle down with firmly, creating a slapping noise that seemed very loud in the quiet room.

The submissive was putty beneath Dani’s praise. It didn’t matter what the Dominant had pulled out, Ash would have accepted it eagerly. She turned her head to flip her air out of her eyes and get a look at Dani, with her blood pumping Ash took more time actually looking at the other woman. Her eyes dashed over the paddle, noting the initials, but they lingered on the curve of the Dominant’s hips. “Thank you, Miss.” she said, for the relief from counting and for each blow she hadn’t thanked along the way. The short pause before the paddle was put to use had Ash holding her breath and when it finally came down with a near crack, she inhaled loudly, her fists balling in the sheets. The bark was worse than it’s bite but the instant tingle that followed was addicting and Ash waiting intently for more, her breathing quickening.

When Ash turned to look at her, Dani let everything she was feeling show in her eyes. The pride in the way she was taking the impact, the concern for Ash's well being, and the desire that she felt seeing a beautiful woman tied up with a reddened ass. There was nothing held back, and nothing she wouldn't be open about. "You're welcome, my good girl. You're doing so well for me." As long as that continued she planned on making sure Ash was rewarded properly for her submission, so a small part of her brain went to work on what a good reward might be. "God, you look good," she grinned. "Your ass is made for this." Establishing a quick rhythm, Dani alternated spanks on each side. The staccato pattern sounded like gunshots in the quiet, and when she reached fifteen she set the paddle down, wriggling slightly in excitement. "How are you feeling, sweet girl?"

It didn’t take long for Ash to get lost in it. She had to work to find rhythm with her breath, to keep from gasping at every strike. She lost count in her head somewhere around ten and grounded herself in Dani’s voice as a distraction to the steadily growing sting of her reddened skin. The center of her body was burning, and through the movement sparked further irritation to her backside, Ash pressed her hips downward. Her body instinctively looking for relief from the building tension between her legs. The more it went on the less Ash found herself caught up on any worries and her focus began to dwindle. By the time Dani stopped the brunette hadn’t even realized she had been making sharp and small mewling noises along with the paddle. It was only when it was silent in the room again that the sounds caught up with Ash’s thoughts and her blush spread over her cheeks beneath long dark unruly hair, and across her chest. She didn’t want to speak but Ash found Dani’s eyes, expressing a certain calm in lidded blue eyes, despite her elevated heart rate. She pulled on the restraints annoyed that she couldn’t reach for Dani. Ash hummed and gave a nod, “Good, Miss.” was all she was willing to conjure.

As silence settled over the room and Ash's little needy noises reached her ears, Dani immediately wanted to hear more of them. There was no mistaking the way that the submissive tried to grind into the bed, or the tension in the ropes as they were pulled at, and it left Dani with a decision to make. She didn't want to push too hard, or too fast. Ash had seemed almost skittish in their first few conversations. But at the same time, if her body was craving touch then Dani would not deny that. "You're so gorgeous. Ass all red for me, moving while you try to get some relief - absolutely gorgeous." Dani licked her lips. "With your permission, Ash, I'd like to touch you now. Because good girls deserve rewards, and I think you've been a very good girl for me. Is that something that you'd like?" Either answer would be okay with her - sex wasn't a necessary part of a scene for her, but she certainly enjoyed it with willing girls. It was completely up to Ash what her next move would be, and she was comfortable sitting there waiting to find out. In the meantime her hand moved idly across reddened skin, brushing it gently with her fingertips.

“Yes.” Ash slipped too quickly and she mentally scolded herself for being needy. “Yes, Miss.” She shifted, sinking lower on the bed to get a little more bend in her knees. Ash pulled again at the restraint, knowing over and over again that they wouldn’t give way. The submissive couldn’t keep herself from squirming. Every ‘good girl’ sent Ash reeling with delight and a smile, though devilish, pulled at her lips unchecked. Dani could keep her there all night if she wanted, as long as there was promise of this. The abundance of attention and praise after not feeling as fulfilled in quite some time bubbled emotions to the surface but Ash ignored them, keeping herself in the moment instead. “Please touch me.” She breathed out, arching her back to lift her body from the bed and raise her ass up higher against the restraints.

Dani's eyebrow quirked, but before she could think of correcting Ash she went ahead and took care of it herself to save her the trouble. "You asked very nicely, gorgeous girl, so I'm going to give you what you asked for. That's a promise." God, there was nothing more beautiful than a girl struggling against her restraints in need. Dani took a moment to admire the view but not loosing her from the restraints. For now, she would have to be content with the touches Dani was willing to give. Only later, when she'd proven herself good, would she be allowed to to any touching of her own. "It's hard to even know where to start," she mused playfully. "This ass is beautiful." Her hands ran over Ash's offered body. "And these hips, and these thighs..." her fingers traced them as well. "But I think I know what you want. I think you'd like it if I touched you here." Dani's finger traced a path up one thigh, pausing between her legs before pressing oh so gently against her core. "So wet for me already," she murmured. "I do love a needy girl."

Ash let out a moan as soon as Dani’s touch grazed her inner thigh. She shivered beneath it in anticipation and nearly cried out when the slightest pressure was applied where she needed it. She breathed into the pillow, ragged and uneven, steadying herself. Ash was dizzy with it. The scene was enveloping her whole, she forgot they were even doing it because she had asked. Ash forgot about Devereux, about anyone else she had met there. Her past and failed claim slipped from her mind like it’d never even been there and all of Ash’s thoughts either dwindled away to blankness or settled with an intensity on the Dominant hovering above her.

Dani was intoxicated with Ash. The way she moved, the way she breathed, the noises that slipped from her lips - everything about her just fed Dani's desire for more. To see what other noises, what other gasps and quivers and cries she could wring from the submissive before their time was over. Her hand moved away, but only so that she could quickly untie the rope that held her ankles together. "Much better," she murmured. "Gives us some room to work." She didn't expect an answer from Ash, nor would she demand one, and her finger quickly returned to the spot she'd just left. This time she didn't settle for a touch, instead tracing the length of Ash's lips with one hand and gathering wetness on the tip of her finger before stopping to lick it languorously clean. "You taste so very good, gorgeous girl. "

Ash wasted no time raising up on her knees once she was freed. The cool feel of the sheets dragging against the patterned indents the rope had left on her ankles brought her back a little. The sensation pulled her closer to the surface only to be immediately undone again by the sight of Dani tasting Ash from her fingertips. A guttural moan released past her lips at the sight and Ash closed her eyes as if it were too much to filter in at once. Her ass in the air and chest pressed to the bed, Ash waited with baited breath for what was next.

Each time Dani thought she'd heard the hottest noise that Ash could make, she found a way to make a better one. The moan shot right through her, and she squeezed her legs together just a little in response. "I think we're going to turn you over now," she instructed. "I like this ass very much, but if I'm going to make you cum for me then I want to see it in your face." Dani helped her over, taking Ash's leg and propping it on her shoulder as she settled between them. "I'm not going to tease right now. It won't always be this easy, but you've been very good for me. What I do want is for you to be vocal, with words or sounds, so that I know you're enjoying it. You can cum when you get there, you don't have to stop to ask me. I just want to watch." True to her word, Dani didn't hesitate. She ran two fingers up and down the length of her slit before pushing them into her, fingers curling just a little on each thrust. Her other hand moved closer and her thumb worked gently at Ash's clit; she didn't want to rush, just establish a slow and steady build.

Their movements were easy, sometimes Ash was following along and other times the Dominant was more manual. She was on her back quicker than she had time to process, arms now crossed above her head. The anticipation built with every word Dani spoke and Ash had to lend most of her attention to not writhing in the woman's arms to demand more. She heard most of what was said, most importantly the part about being allowed to climax. Ash hiccupped a groan as Dani set to work, the initial intrusion setting her skin alight with a cold flame of a chill. The submissive gave a helpless tug at her restraints, her body twisting and arching into the touch. Fleeting thoughts of being able to reach for Dani ran through Ash's clouding mind as she pulled, helpless to the Domme. Her breath was ragged and she could feel pressure building but Ash was trying to stay in the moment for as long as she could. Each stroke brought her closer and closer but when Ash rolled her hips she felt the sheets rub across her freshly reddened skin and the pain distracted her from her impending orgasm. Trying to hold onto the moment and stay beneath Dani's steady watch, the submissive put all her focus on the sting of the sheets against her ass. She forced herself to keep her eyes open, watching the Domme watch her, holding her gaze when she could as her body began to go into overdrive outside of her control.

Dani was in her element, and she loved it. There was absolutely, positively nothing sexier to her than a girl who'd given herself over completely, and Ash had done that for her. There was no hesitation in her now, none of the hesitance that she'd shown in conversation, just the beautifully simple reactions of a woman who was going to be fucked to a brilliant orgasm and was completely lost in the experience. "That's a good girl," she murmured as Ash tested the ropes yet again, still finding no give in Dani's knot work. "Look at you," she praised, moving her hand away from Ash's clit to reach up and brush away the unruly dark hair that had fallen over her face. Only when she could see her eyes properly did Dani's fingers return to their task. "So very beautiful." There was no rush in her movements, no urgency, just a simple steady pace of thrust and withdraw, thrust and withdraw. With each thrust her fingers curled, dragging over Ash's g-spot, and with each pull back they straightened out once more. She was gloriously wet around Dani's fingers, and the Domme couldn't wait to taste her again - but it would wait until the task at hand was complete. "God, you're fucking gorgeous," she grinned. "I've got you, Ash. I'll get you where you need to go, I promise you, and you're going to ride out every second for me. Getting so close now."

Her orgasm seemed to fall over her slowly. Ash felt it coming and she slipped her way off the edge with her breath held and her pulse racing. The Dominants eyes trained on her only propelled its ferocity and her body shook as she rode out the drawn out climax. Ash cursed, losing herself in the moment. There was a slight ache in her arms, something she didn't notice until after the wave of her orgasm had begun to recede. It felt good, it all felt good. The submissive's body was still shuddering with post orgasmic flutters and her thoughts were slow to the forefront of her mind.

As slick walls tightened around her fingers, Dani couldn't hold back a proud smile. This was her favorite moment - there was something so beautifully unguarded in a woman's face as she fell from the edge, and it always filled her with power to be the one to see it. True to her word, Dani's fingers never ceased their movement until she was sure that Ash had wrung every ounce of pleasure from her climax - only then did she withdraw, bringing her fingers to her lips and sucking them gently clean. "You were so good for me." Leaning down, she gave Ash the rarest of her gifts - a long, slow kiss. "You're such a good girl. When you feel like you can, please tell me what you need from me for aftercare. And whether you'd like to be untied yet or not."

Ash was winded and spent. She hummed away a flicker of arousal watching Dani taste her a second time but was quickly derailed by the unexpected kiss. Ash's brows nit together as she was pulled further into it, languidly following Dani's lead. It left her breathless and reeling. Her body was still thrumming from orgasm and her lips tingled in the wake of the kiss, blue eyes following the Dominant away with a glimmer of surprise still present. When Ash had caught her breath she rolled slightly to one side, trying to stretch some life back into her limbs. Then nodded, acknowledging that her selfcare was dependent on speaking up for herself, that she could handle. Pulling tension but not tugging the submissive nodded again, "Untie me please, Miss."

Ash's surprised expression only made Dani feel better about giving her such a rare present. She wasn't romantic or anything of the sort, so a kiss was about the highest praise that she could offer a submissive who'd scened with her. Sitting back a little, she watched the girl carefully as she rolled and stretched, glad to hear her voice speak clearly in response to her request. "Of course - good girl for asking politely." Dani slowly undid the knots, taking each arm between her hands and rubbing feeling carefully back into them. Then, gently and slowly, she moved away a little to give Ash room to sit up if that was what she chose to do. "All untied now," she murmured, keeping her tone and words soft in the aftermath of the scene.

Ash sat up, feeling dazed. She rubbed at her wrists absently as she struggled to pull her thoughts fully in line, noting that her own fingers didn't feel half as soothing as the Dominant's had been. It had been exactly what Ash needed. Uncomplicated and straight forward. The scene hadn't been overwhelming and the submissive could feel that serene feeling she got after submitting begin to circle her. It wasn't as all encompassing as it was when she fully gave herself over but it was enough to feel satisfying and certainly scratched the itch. She felt okay, her bottom sore but nothing that wouldn't fade on its own through the night. There was always only one thing she craved after a scene, something so simple but perfectly soothing. "Can I just..." Ash hesitated, building herself up to asking. "Will you lay with me for a while, Miss? Until I go?"

Dani kept her gaze trained on Ash as she sat up and rubbed over the spot where the ropes had been, making sure that there was nothing bothering her or that needed any treatment. That didn't seem to be the case, which made Dani happy - it meant she'd done her job properly and kept care of Ash. The request made her smile, especially given how hesitantly it was made. "It would be my pleasure, sweet girl." Dani pulled back the covers on her bed and took the big spoon position, patting the spot in front of her. "Thank you for telling me what you needed. Get comfortable, and you're welcome to stay as long as you want."

#thread: first friday #char: ash clarington

1 note · View note

undertalethingies · 4 years

Text

The Third Worst Day

Loosely inspired by the ninth chapter of @undertalethingems Unexpected Guests comic, and by the end of John Mulaney’s Delta Airlines bit. (“In fact, we’re gonna frame you for MURDER! [...] ~Because we’re Delta Airlines, and life is a fucking nightmare~”)

Sans was not having the shittiest day of his life, because everyone was on the surface and Frisk was being nice this timeline.

The second shittiest day, though- well, no, not that either, technically speaking. Nothing was on fire except maybe Undyne’s house underground, and that just because no one could be bothered to put it out when everyone was moving to the surface anyway. (Please don’t ask about the second shittiest day of Sans’ life, he will not tell you and will instead have flashbacks)

Ugh, it was really indicative that this BS only ranked third.

So, the curtain opens on the third shittiest day of Sans’ life, and maybe, like, the eighth worst thing to ever happen to him.

What could be bad enough to rank on Sans’ top ten worst days list, though? (which is a list he actually made once, as a joke, and then he looked at it and kind of wanted to cry, before laughing instead because that’s just how Sans copes with things)

Well, you see, he was being framed for murder.

Flowey, specifically, was currently attempting to frame him for the death of the old royal scientist, W.D Gaster, who Sans had met maybe once in his entire life.

Admittedly, the fact that he actually remembered said meeting, and that there had been a previous royal scientist at all, was highly unusual.

He didn’t remember for anywhere close to the reasons Flowey was insinuating, though. No, the reason Sans remembered the old royal scientist had very little to do with the scientist himself and a lot more to do with how remembering across timelines was triggered in the first place.

Cross-timeline memory retention (which are the Official Science Words for it) was triggered by high levels of Determination. No more, no less. And Sans had very high DT levels for a monster. It was pretty much the only reason he’d managed to make it to adulthood with just a single point of HP to his name. (Undyne remembered a bit too, he suspected, though he’d never called her on it)

So the reason Sans remembered the existence of Gaster was the same reason he had what little knowledge he did of the RESETs, though he remembered far less of those, due to having fewer triggers for the memories to resurface. (The fact that no one knew who had built the CORE had been enough for Sans’ mind to fill in the blanks)

Flowey was saying that Sans remembered because he’d known the guy, which was just flat out wrong. The weed was insinuating that Sans couldn’t possibly due the things he did without being a scientist, which was partially true, and finally accusing him of killing Gaster, either to steal his research or because Sans was the Judge, (Nice of Flowey to out him, the little shit) which was blatant slander.

Sans could see that the others (excluding Alphys, who knew the story was bullshit) didn’t want to believe what Flowey was saying, but he could also see that, despite that fact, he was still convincing them.

Flowey, after all, was a very skilled liar. Especially when it came to convincing people of crazy backstories he’d concocted on the spot. It made sense, since he’d had rather a lot of practice.

As Flowey finished his story, Sans looked at Alphys. He texted her a question about an old promise he’d made to her that was suddenly not one he was sure he should keep. (He’d do it anyway, if she asked, but breaking it would make disproving Flowey’s allegations that much easier.)

“And that’s why- are you on your PHONE?” Flowey interrupted himself, looking hilariously offended for someone who was actively framing a guy for murder.

“Is that how little you care? You killed him and you can’t even be bothered to hear out the allegation?” Oh, so that’s how he was playing it. Sans narrowed his eyes, just a bit, before responding.

“eh, you looked like you were having fun. wouldn’t want to interrupt, ya know?” Earlier in the conversation, when Sans was still actively participating, Flowey had interrupted him several times. Alphys snickered at his jab, and hit the send button on her phone.

Sans checked the text, and inwardly sighed in relief. Seemed like he could take the easy way out here.

“Sans, please put away your phone. This is a serious conversation,” Toriel said. Sans supposed he had to agree to disagree on that one. This wasn’t much of a conversation at all as much as it was Flowey using his knowledge to manipulate the room in a way that allowed him to frame Sans for murder.

“yeah, don’t worry, tori. it was relevant,” She looked as if she doubted that, but she didn’t say anything. Sans sent Alphys a quick thank-you and stuck the offending device back in his pocket. He turned to look at Flowey, who probably would have shrunk from the ice in his gaze if Flowey had ever bothered to figure out how to read his expressions.

“so, you done, pal?” There were several winces around the room at the vitriol present in his tone, but none of them belonged to Flowey.

“Yeah, I think I’ve made my point pretty clear!” Flowey looked positively cheerful at the thought.

“good, ‘cause i’m getting pretty tired of hearing you speak. don’t want a repeat of the last time you tried something like this, right?” Last time Flowey had attempted something like this with Sans present, the weed had still been in control of the timeline. Sans had killed him before he could even finish his speech.

“Ha! You wouldn’t dare! Not when Frisk is-” Flowey cut himself off before he could dig all three of them (four of them?) into a hole they really wouldn’t be able to talk their way out of. Frisk shot him a glare, with an expression that said they’d probably kill Flowey themselves, if he didn’t shut his trap. The weed gulped audibly.

“A-anyway! Are you gonna explain yourself, trashbag?” Papyrus made the same pinched expression he always did when Flowey used that particular moniker.

“heh. sure, why not,” Sans’ grin turned predatory.

“i’m not gonna bother asking you to back your claims with evidence, since we both know you don’t actually have any,” Flowey narrowed his eyes, probably thinking of a thousand ways to justify that, but Sans continued without giving a chance.

“you’re right that i used to be a scientist, so kudos for that, i guess. my leaving the field had nothing to do with gaster, though. it actually happened quite a while after that,” Sans preferred not to talk about this, but with Flowey forcing his hand, it seemed like the simplest solution.

“my leaving had nothing to do with gaster, and everything to do with the experiments that got alph fired,”

When Sans had been younger and more optimistic, he’d wanted to be a scientist more than anything in the world. He’d spend hours combing through the dump for old textbooks, and the few he found, he’d pore over until he had them practically memorized.

So when an ad went out saying that the new royal scientist was looking for an assistant, he’d jumped at the opportunity. Sans had spent hours studying for the required tests, barely even eating in his complete dedication to the task before him.

Sans didn’t know whether he’d had the highest score, or if he’d been selected for his blue magic, (a rare ability that was extremely useful for engineering) or if had simply been because he lived so close to the lab at the time, but he got the job. He’d celebrated for a day straight, and would probably have irritated the hell out of Papyrus if they’d been living together at the time. (Sans was in that young adult phase where he lived alone in a shitty apartment because he was trying to be independent)

When he’d first met Alphys, he was not ashamed to admit to having geeked out a bit. She was considered one of the greatest minds of their generation, after all.

He’d tried to keep it to a minimum, though, (correctly) figuring that she wouldn’t have much use for him as an assistant if he was too busy with hero worship to contribute anything.

Though they’d been awkward together at first, they’d quickly warmed up to each other, and soon at least half of the new innovations exiting the lab had their roots in Sans’ ideas as much as Alph’s.

Quickly enough, they’d become best friends.

And then…

Then had come the Determination experiments.

Both Alphys and Sans had agreed it would be best not to allow the amalgamates out of the True Lab. Alphys had confined herself to her workplace, moving in a bed and her anime collection so she’d only have to leave for the occasional grocery run.

Sans had kept his status as her assistant under wraps, though, so he didn’t have to worry about being cornered by the victims’ families like she did. Papyrus had mentioned recently that he was looking for someone to go in halfsies with him on a housing lease in Snowdin, so Sans did what he did best, and ran away from his problems, packing his stuff and moving just about as far from Hotland as it was possible to get without entering the Ruins.

He and Alph stayed friends, though. When you’re the only two people who know about a catastrophic disaster like that, it kinda brings you together.

Sans finished his explanation with a nod to Alphys, before saying,

“and as for gaster, the only connection i’ve got to the guy is that i named an attack after him in honor of his scientific prowess,”

The room was silent for a few moments as everyone thought through his words. Suddenly, Flowey said,

“Yeah, that’s all well and good, but how did you even know about him? Everyone else forgot he ever existed!” Sans smiled secretively.

“probably the same way you do, asriel,” Let no one say he couldn’t give as good as he got. If Sans had to share his backstory, well.

Might as well take the flower down with him.

#undertale #undertale fanfiction #undertale fanfic #sans #flowey #alphys #i wrote a bs sans backstory am i a Real Fan now #yeah my blog name was very definitely inspired by undertalethingems #and you should go read their comic because it's amazing #this story was brought to you by a strong urge to write something and no inspiration at all #despite that it didn't end up completely terrible so i'm kinda proud of myself in all honesty #time to go do that thing i'm procrastinating with all these tags i guess #i don't really like the title of this but i couldn't think of anything so like #might as well #the third worst day

3 notes · View notes

johannesviii · 4 years

Text

Top 10 Personal Favorite Hit Songs from 1992

This list was incredibly difficult to make and some cuts were made. Using both the US and the French year-end charts also made this list way more interesting than I anticipated.

Also, you will hate me for all eternity. For various reasons, actually.

Disclaimers:

Keep in mind I’m using both the year-end top 100 lists from the US and from France while making these top 10 things. There’s songs in English that charted in my country way higher than they did in their home countries, or even earlier or later, so that might get surprising at times.

Of course there will be stuff in French. We suck. I know. It’s my list. Deal with it.

My musical tastes have always been terrible and I’m not a critic, just a listener and an idiot.

I have sound to color synesthesia which justifies nothing but might explain why I have trouble describing some songs in other terms than visual ones.

Honorable mentions to Back to the Hotel by N2Deep, Le Chat by Pow Wow, and November Rain by Guns N Roses. That last one is objectively great but was never my thing, for some reason.

The only reason Bohemian Rhapsody isn’t on this list is because it’s a re-release and I decided it wouldn’t count because the list was already VERY difficult to make without even including it.

If the year had been as wretched as 1990 was, I would probably have counted it, though.

10 - Under the Bridge (Red Hot Chili Peppers)

US: #8 / FR: Not on the list

I respect this song more than I enjoy it, and I’ve never been a fan of this band (I know. I know. Keep your rocks to throw them at me later. I swear it’s gonna be worth it), but listen. I have to acknowledge quality when I hear it

9 - Jump Around (House of Pain)

US: #24 / FR: Not on the list

I don’t have anything particularly interesting to say about that one, it’s energetic, it’s fun, it kicks some serious ass. That looped high pitched noise might have been annoying for a lot of people but I thought it was fine.

8 - Baby Got Back (Sir Mix A Lot)

US: #2 / FR: Not on the list

Actual critics have already written long thinkpieces about this song and why it’s so important in the cultural landscape but frankly, I just like it because it’s a lot of fun and because that beat is fantastic.

Yes. I’m putting the ass anthem higher than the Red Hot Chili Peppers.

No, I insist, don’t throw your rocks yet, save them for later.

7 - Beyond My Control (Mylène Farmer)

US: Not on the list / FR: #59

Just imagine what these lists would look like if I was STILL a fan of this singer. That is a terrifying thought.

Anyway. That’s the paroxysm of her goth phase, featuring murder, wolves and possible witchcraft, and yet another not safe for work music video, and she had nowhere else to go in that direction. And she mostly crashed and burnt.

She’ll be back later, unfortunately for all of you and for my poor brain trying and failing to ignore her songs like the multiple calls of a vengeful ex.

6 - Paradoxal Système (Laurent Voulzy)

US: Not on the list / FR: #94

We’ve already reached the songs I genuinely love. In a more mediocre year, this could have easily taken the top spot and it’s only #6 here.

This song’s melody has a weird contrasted watercolor-like gradient as a background and its colors are very, very strange and it would be enough to land it here but the lyrics are also pretty nice, something about a long distance relationship that works better from far away than in person, and the more apart these two are, the more in love they are, which sounds like a receipe for disaster and makes it way more interesting than your standard Voulzy love song. Listened to it quite a lot when I was around 15.

5 - The Show Must Go On (Queen)

US: Not on the list, I REPEAT, NOT ON THE LIST / FR: #10

You can thank the French charts because otherwise this wouldn’t be on this top 10 at all. I actually couldn’t believe it wasn’t on the US year-end chart. Like? Really?? You found a hundred songs better than this one in a single year? How???

I have nothing to say about it. You all know it, you all love it, let’s move on.

4 - Sweet Lullaby (Deep Forest)

US: Not on the list / FR: #92

Aaaaand we’ve now officially entered the “played that song on a loop for hours” category. The album too, actually.

It’s the perfect balance between calm enough to listen to while working and energetic enough to enjoy it while walking. Also I’ll let Wikipedia say the most interesting thing about it:

The song is based around a traditional Baegu lullaby from the Solomon Islands called “Rorogwela”, and uses a vocal sample originally recorded by ethnomusicologist Hugo Zemp in 1970 and later released by UNESCO as part of their Musical Sources collection. The lyrics refer to a young orphan being comforted by his older brother despite the loss of their parents.

Loved it way before I even knew that, but still. Good.

3 - Smells Like Teen Spirit (Nirvana)

US: #32 / FR: #6

You knew this was coming. Remember how enormous the impact of that song was? I mean, look at its placement on the US year-end chart. Wow.

Ok. Now look at its placement on the French year-end chart.

Yepppp.

Why isn’t it higher on MY list, you ask? Overplay from the radio and overexposure from years of being an edgy angsty kid, mostly, but also the fact it’s a mostly meaningless roar of anger. A very powerful and cathartic roar of anger, mind you, but still. Also my ex significant other/best friend (insert here the “It’s Complicated” fb relationship status) when I was 16 absolutely adored Nirvana and there’s some bagage attached to this song for me.

Even taking all that into account, the fact I’m putting two songs above Smells Like Teen Spirit should be enough to permanently revoke my punk card.

Especially when you’ll see what these songs are. Be prepared.

You aren’t.

2 - Rhythm is a Dancer (Snap)

US: #75 / FR: #2

SEE. I told you my favorite Snap song was yet to come. You can throw the rocks now. I’m ready.

The funniest thing about this is that I don’t have anything to say about this song. Yes the rap bridge is terrible. But this is extremely good 90s dance music and I’m a sucker for that, as the next lists will probably demonstrate.

Now that you’re out of rocks to throw at my face, we can proceed.

Because.

Uh.

Here goes nothing.

1 - Friday I’m in Love (The Cure)

US: #71 / FR: Not on the list

A Real Critic(tm) would tell you that this is the worst Cure single ever and that it is a complete sell-out and that it is cutesy and stupid and OH MY GOD YOU’VE PUT THIS ABOVE NIRVANA WHAT THE F█CK

But you know what makes a cute and silly happy song better? When it’s sung by a band who’s mostly making vaguely angsty, mostly slow music and who’s members look like they slept in a bin and put on their make up at the bus stop. It sounds happier than ever (the music video doesn’t hurt either, it always makes me smile). We need more music like this and I will never get tired of this song. This is the sound of being in the gutter and wanting to die and suddenly seeing a really dumb and cute thing that makes you forget you're sad for about three minutes, and for a moment everything is ok again. Like, look, a bird! OH. A CAT. That song I like is on the radio. Someone gave me a free cookie. Holy shit it's FRIDAY

So... YES. I’m putting the silliest, happiest, cutest Cure hit ever above Nirvana. I know. It’s absolutely outrageous.

Fight me. In. The Pit.

Be careful though, I have a tambourine and I won’t hesitate to use it.

Next up: Another top ten where some painful cuts had to be made to make room for songs nobody is gonna defend in the year of our lord 2019 except the OP

#Johannes’ bad not good pretty terrible music lists #music #long post

16 notes · View notes

justalosersdiaryofmisery-blog · 5 years

Text

A Necessarily Sober Night’s Ramblings

I’m sitting here in my bed, writing on a shitty, hundred dollar netbook that rests on a book thicker than my fist to prevent overheating. The floor of my room is covered in a disgusting salad of dirty laundry, trash, and books, all sprinkled with a frustrating amount of cat litter from the box a few feet to my right. A space heater with more personal space than anything else in the place keeps me warm in the mornings and nights, and the fan that’s blowing my hair at the moment keeps me cool during the afternoon and whenever else I’ve been drinking.

I’ve got Altered Carbon playing beside my word processor; just started watching it. It’s impossible for me to focus on any one thing, so its there just to keep the excess ‘brain energy’ or what have you busy while I try and write this all out. All this nonsense. The lamp resting on my nightstand, which is currently sitting in the midst of the chaotic disaster that is my floor rather than being pressed up against a wall, is annoying but helps keep the anxiety down a bit.

The anxiety is still drumming my heart and shaking my hands, but it would be worse in the dark. I enjoy knowing what’s surrounding me. If I turn off the light, I can only assume what rests in the darkness. I don’t think there’s any monsters hiding beneath my bed amidst the beer cans and paper plates, I’m not a child. But there’s knowing, and then there’s knowing. When the light is gone, the whole world becomes Schrodinger's fun house.

Plus, if I turn out the lights, the odds I step on a sharp piece of aluminum on my way to the bathroom magnify ten fold. Foot lacerations are the fucking worst. Slicing your palm isn’t that bad because you don’t always have to have your dick in your hand. Plus, for the most part, your always aware of the palms of your hands. You forget the bottoms of your feet, and the trail of blood you leave behind is a bitch and a half to clean up.

Not that I’d clean it from my own carpeted floor, but there’s certain expectations for the world outside the stained and battered walls of my bedroom. Smiles required, pleasantries demanded; it’s a whole other ball game out there. That’s not some dramatic piece of speculation either. When I was a child my parents threatened to beat the frowns from my face and decried my silent coming and goings as disrespectful disobedience. Now that I am a man in age and burden if not status however, I am free to move more freely. The habits have already taken root though.

Despite my already volcanic anxieties simmering and sizzling beneath my flesh, I’m having another energy drink, my third of the day. I went to the store earlier for something fizzy and calorie free to drink, and despite knowing I must be wary of caffeine, I was swayed by a little sticker promising ‘3 for $5!’. It’s a rare moment that I’m without thirst, but unless I have sweat through my clothes in exhaustion (an even rarer moment) or am exceptionally hung over, drinking water gives me heartburn.

It’s a touch allegorical, really. Water, that most basic material of life, burns the ever living shit out of my throat.

People don’t take caffeine seriously enough. It’s just like any other drug, if a bit milder. At first it puts a bounce in my step, then in a few minutes my mind will be racing with dark thoughts and fears, and if I go without it for too long my head feels like someone is taking an ice pick to the top of my skull. Sometimes the initial jauntiness is worth it though. That ‘sometimes’ keeps me coming back.

There it is. Reading this back, you won’t remember the pauses between sentences, the distraction filled minutes as Altered Carbon takes priority over writing between paragraphs. I say that so it won’t feel quite so jarring when I say that anxiety is carving a butcher’s knife through my gut and up my sternum after just mentioning the jauntiness caffeine can bring.

Anxiety and just a hint of anger are filling me. Thinking on it now, and exploring this idea for the first time (though I’ve brushed against it like a virgin schoolboy ‘accidentally’ bumping into a pretty girl before), I’m realizing there’s always anger somewhere in this stack of flesh. Anger I was bred into, that was taught to me, beat into me. It’s always there. Just, I keep it buried away and hidden. Once, I did that so that I wouldn’t get in trouble, so that I would be safe. Now I do it so that the people around me will be happier.

The only people I’ve ever intentionally physically hurt are my male family members. My younger brother, in adolescent rage reminiscent of my father’s, has been strangled, punched, thrown, and kicked. It was never unprovoked, but always unearned given the severity. I never bruised or truly damaged him, but still. Trauma is trauma. The words I spewed at him were instinctively and specifically chosen to hurt him, to damage him. It’s left me with a quandary similar to that of the chicken and the egg. Did his little man complex come from my infrequent but scarring abuse, or were the assaults unleashed by his constant needling and provocations?

Then there’s my father. Him I tried to kill once. He was drunk, and violent. He was roaring and screeching with anger at my mother, worse than normal. I went to figure out what the fuck was going on, he put his hands on me, and I snapped. I threw him to the ground, and amidst his punches and slaps and scratches I began to choke him. Tears and spit pouring from my face I bared my fangs and produced more animalistic sounds than actual speech.

My mother was futilely trying to pull me off, begging me to stop. I didn’t care. I was beyond reason at that point, my id was in full control. Like a flare in a moonless night however, a thought brought me to a stop. I had my second day of work at a new job the next day, and couldn’t afford to spend at least the night and next day in jail for murder. That lone, paragonal thought amidst a sea of frothing rage was all that saved my father’s life.

Other than those two examples however, I’ve never allowed myself to be a violent person. Or rather, I’ve never had the courage for it. I get the fight or flight shakes just from passing a slow moving vehicle, let alone a face to face confrontation. I wonder if that’s who I am, or who I was made to be.

My first girlfriend, who could technically be called my ex-fiancee if you don’t dismiss a six month, hormone-fueled, teenage puppy love engagement, was victim to some verbal abuse throughout the two or so years we spent together. She was a piece of work herself though, and although I cringe to think back on my words and feelings back then, I don’t think less of the man I am today for them. I see it as character growth. She cheated on me, lied to me, and was certifiably crazy herself. She and I have both come a long way since then though, and I’ve learned to be a better man based on the awful example I set for myself.

I say we’ve both come a long way, but in reality, she’s got a college degree and is dating a successful musician while working for a governor. I’ve got a GED, am entirely alone, and as of the end of March jobless. There was a brief spike in my life a little over a year ago. I only weighed one-hundred and sixty pounds, I was on the second rung of the company I worked for’s ladder, I had a girlfriend, I was happy. That’s all long gone now though.

See, even though I hunt for zero calorie sodas and energy drinks, I still eat too much food. I drink too much alcohol. I lay around in bed like a fucking pile of ooze. I was going to call myself a slug, but even those invertebrates get more exercise than I do. I probably weigh Two-ten by now. Two-fifteen maybe. I’m sure if I were sitting on a scale right now it’d read in the two-twenties, between my clothes, belly full of spaghetti sauce-drenched pizza, and general fat ass.

As of today I’m twenty-two years old, five-eight in the morning and in shoes, with short brunette hair and just the one tattoo, a coyote on my left arm. My upper right arm and my left ‘tit’ are covered in scars. I have a handful spread over the rest of my skin; faded ones all across my legs, one across my stomach, one on my right ‘tit’, three partially faded bands on my right forearm. All self-inflicted, obviously. I have a small patch of fur all across my chin that struggles to reach the center of my lower lip, stubble spreading back from it towards my throat, and a curled moustache above my mouth.

I fucking hate when television shows have non-English parts. It prevents me from being able to just spend the extra ‘brain energy’ on them, and instead I have to divert more of my direct attention to follow along.

Sometimes I want to carve out my own eye. Even though my left eye is (diagnosedly so) the weaker of the two, whenever I envision it, it’s always the right one I slice out like an avocado pit. The cut would start close to the center of my forehead and run all the way down to my jaw, stopping just a hair over the line and onto my throat.

I don’t think that comes from any weird sort of mutilationist fetish, or one of those weird (Ha, who am I to judge?) mental illnesses where a part of your body feels alien. I think its just a desire for attention? If that’s the right way to phrase it. I want to be special, look special. All those bad-ass pirates and fantasy characters have facial scars, typically over their eyes, and I want to be like them. I want to be special.

I want to be special. I want to be important. I want to feel like I actually matter. No amount of self reaffirmation has ever been enough for me. I’ve always needed ‘affirmation’ from others, and I’ve rarely ever received it. And it can’t be just anyone who gives it to me, it has to be someone special, someone whom I respect. The words of those I subconsciously deem as ‘below’ me mean absolutely nothing, no matter how reverential or supporting.

As for who I respect, which isn’t the right word at all, I’m not really sure. Beautiful women. Impressive men. Members of authority. People with experience in fields that I respect (this time it is the right word). I’ve had coworkers who practically begged me to hang out, less than attractive women who nearly molested me in their flirtations. All it ever did was annoy and nearly disgust me.

It’s a strange dichotomy, my ego and self-loathing. On one hand, I’m disgusted by myself. I look in the mirror and see a hideous, fat, disgusting, waste of human existence who could die tomorrow without the world so much as blinking. On the other hand, I recognize my intellect, sense of humor, virtues, and what few skills I have as being exceptional.

I hate myself, but somehow still place myself above others.

It’s funny how little self control I have compared to what little drive I have. I crave love, yet haven’t been able to muster the willpower to eat healthy and exercise. I crave fortune, yet haven’t been able to finish writing (Really writing, with editing and everything) a book. I crave attention, yet stay hidden away in my room and when out in public avoid standing out at all. When I crave a McChicken, I’ll drive to the McDonalds across town at 3 AM for it.

I guess I’m just short sighted. Back when I still played chess, I could never think more than a single move ahead. When a problem has a single-step solution, I can find it near instantly, no matter how obscure or obfuscated it is. Throw in just one more step, however, and suddenly I’m lost as an orphan looking for his mother in a department store.

That applies to long term goals too, even when the answer is spelled out for me step by fucking step. Step one, cut the calories down to less than two-thousand. Step two, take the dog(s) for a walk everyday. Step three, repeat steps one and two for the next six months. Just like that, I go from fat lard-face to looking like a young Leonardo DiCaprio.

But I just don’t do it. The one time I succeeded with a diet, it was based on routine. Every morning on my way to work, I’d get two McDonalds burritos with mild sauce and a large diet coke, no ice. Every night after work, same thing. Right now, jobless and hopeless, there is no routine in my life. That’s just an excuse though, I know that. Doesn’t mean I fucking do anything about it.

It also helped that back then I spent every night with a woman I was in love with. Kira. Black haired, thin as a skeleton, cheek bones like daggers. Her nails were more like claws, and she’s never without her eyeliner that stretch out like wings from her beautiful brown eyes.

When we met, she hated me, so of course I sought her approval. She hated me just because I sat in her spot one time. She, never to my face, called me an inbred hobbit. After several random encounters at work (which is where I met her), we also bumped into each other at the vape store. A casual, friendly conversation lead to her messaging me at work the next day, and a friendship quickly formed.

After that, it didn’t take long for love to form. One sided love. I asked her out, she rejected me. My love diminished but quickly re-blossomed. I confessed full-blown honest to god love to her. Again, she rejected me, with a full (and requested) letter explaining why. That letter tore me to pieces. Not because it destroyed my hopes for ever having her, but because every reason she listed was (to my eyes) nonsense.

She said I wasn’t artistic, I consider myself to be a great story crafter and a half-decent writer. She said she thought I’d be controlling and possessive, when I am nothing of the sort. She said I wasn’t ‘edgy’ enough, in so many words, even as I carved my flesh into ribbons. Even to this day, when she describes her perfect partner’s personality, she describes me to a T, or at least to a lower-case t.

I treat our bond as though we are siblings, and I believe that’s how she sees me, though I feel a much stronger love than that for her whilst single, and she feels nothing for me. She treats me like garbage. One time I begged her for company, knowing that if left alone I’d make an attempt on my life, and she said no. No one else came either, but I thought she of all people would understand and care. But she didn’t. And despite the handle of vodka, bottle of nyquil, assortment of pills, and sheer amount of blood loss I endured that night, I lived to suffer the pain of her betrayal.

With her it’s always apologies and broken promises. She’s sorry she abandoned me for the millionth time to be with her new abusive boyfriend, she promises it won’t happen again. She’s sorry she disappeared without a word of warning, and promises she’ll warn me in the future. She’s sorry that she broke her promises, she promises it won’t happen again.

And yet I love her. I’ve given her thousands of dollars. I’ve bought her over a hundred meals. I take care of her when everyone else abandoned her. I helped her get her shit together when agoraphobia had grabbed hold of her. I’ve given her everything I could possibly give, sacrificed everything she’s ever asked for or needed that I had.

But its never enough for her. It never will be. She will never care about me and my needs. I don’t need her romantic love, as much as I would enjoy it. But never once has she sacrificed for me. Never once has she gone out of her way to make me happy. She gave me a stack of ‘coupons’, to be redeemed for things such as ‘a guaranteed hang out session’ or ‘You can pick the music all day’. The one time I tried to redeem one, the first one I mentioned, she blew me off.

But of course, she moved to a whole other state for her drug addicted, physically and verbally abusive boyfriend. Then when she came back I took her back following a promise that she was completely done with him. I’m sure she will, or already has, broken that promise.

Despite all that, she is the most important person in my life. The thought of her killing herself makes me genuinely want to die too. Without her, there’d be absolutely no one in my life that I truly love. She is a fire amidst a barren tundra without which I’d freeze to death, even if she flickers in and out of existence that I’ve wished to die in her absence.

My only other friend is Whitney. The strangest person I’ve ever known, and one of the most genuinely wholesome and good people you could ever have the pleasure of meeting. She’s sweet, kind, caring, generous, intelligent, and fun. She’s also asexual, so there’s no hope for romance there either. She lives a busy life, between college and work, so it’s rare I ever get to see her.

Everyone else in my life is temporary, fleeting. They either abandon me purposely or drift away like clouds.

My last girlfriend, the only other serious one I’ve had besides my ‘ex-fiancee’, abandoned me out of the blue. One moment, she was saying that she loved me and that I was her perfect man. The next, she provided a list of issues she had with me and said that they were irreconcilable. She left me with trust issues that have plagued every attempt at romance I’ve had since. I lost my virginity to that girl.

And when we broke up, you know what happened? Her shit head best friend went and spread all of my personal information to our mutual friends, in a horrific way that painted me to be a violent and hurtful man who was ruining her life. And they believed him. Even though he was known to be an over-dramatic, hyper-aggressive piece of shit, they believed him. In spite of all the good things I’d done for them and absolutely no personal experience with me to back his words up, they took it as gospel. I had non-romantic commitment issues before then, but damned if they weren’t magnified ten fold after that.

Every other romantic trist I had after her has had its issues. One time, whilst I was seeing a shrink and given pills that amplified my anxieties to levels beyond my control, I went full blown crazy with a girl. Demanded to know where she was, why she was ignoring me, sent over thirty texts in as many minutes. I quit that medicine the moment I ‘came down’.

Another I ‘broke up’ with after we agreed that she couldn’t handle just hanging out in my car, and I can’t handle going to clubs. Another couple ghosted me. Another was even flakier than Kira, and far more blatant about it. Another just wasn’t that into me, even if he (an FtM transgender person) wouldn’t admit it.

Right now, the biggest source of my anxiety is the fact that Kira has yet again disappeared. I’m used to that, but this time she explicitly said she would text me ‘soon’ when we hung out three days ago. The girl is a fucking suicidal drug addict, and doesn’t care about the pain it causes me when she disappears like this. The fears and anxieties that fill me hurt so bad you wouldn’t believe it. I’ve told her this countless times. She just, doesn’t, care.

I want to punch something, tear my room apart. Its a disgusting mess now, but the mess is settled at least. A path to the door amidst the refuse, big piles pushed against the walls. It could be much, much worse. I feel like I’m about to explode, all these feelings bursting out of my fucking rib cage. But she doesn’t care about that. All she cares about is herself.

There’s only two people in the entire world I’ve truly cared for, like really, wholly, undeniably loved and felt empathy for. My ‘ex-fiancee’, and Kira. But even for those I didn’t feel that way for, Whitney or my ex-girlfriend, I treat them right. Better than right. I buy them gifts, I look after them, I tell them I love them, I do my best to be the best friend or boyfriend I can be.

I’m a heartless monster, but at least I have the manners to act better than that.

You know something, I legitimately can’t remember the last time I cried. Probably when Kira and I first started becoming friends, she demanded I open up and tell her everything if I wanted her to do the same. So I did, and I broke down. Since then, not a drop. I just don’t have it in me. I’m tired. I’m tired of being alive, but outside of drunken and seemingly random spikes of suicidal ideations, I’m too scared of death to try and kill myself tonight.

The thought of death, of everything just disappearing, terrifies me. It has since I was a little kid, we’re talking four or five years old. I don’t want to die, I never want to die. I want to live forever, or at least to know that there is reincarnation or an afterlife. I fear the ocean too, specifically being in the middle of the water with no land in sight and seeing a silhouette approaching me. But that’s not what my fear of death is. That’s a shock, a jump in my seat when I watch a video on youtube.

My fear of death is primal, unadulterated terror. It keeps me up at night, it forces me to keep a light on when I want to sleep, it gave me a love for twilight hours as they brought an end to the darkness when I was a child. It brought me peace.

Kira finally texted me back, simply saying ‘’I love you’. It could be her last words, it could be an apology for going back to her shit head ex, it’s definitely a lie to either herself or to me. It brought some measure of peace, though left a trail of underlying fears in its wake.

I just wish I could be happy, but for that I need at least one of the three B’s. Booze, blood, or betrothal. The last B is hyperbolic, I don’t need that much of a commitment, just some sort of romantic connection with someone. Gotta keep the pattern going though. When I’m drunk, my troubles fade away. When I’m cutting, the pain distracts me. When I have a girlfriend, I feel accepted.

Right now I have none of those things. I might cut my arm here in a bit, but I doubt I’ll be getting a girlfriend sometime tonight; and its too risky to be drinking on a night like this. So, I’ve just got to wallow in my own misery.

I meant to write chapter two of a new book I’m working on tonight. It’s a dark, nautical comedy set in a fantasy-ish world about a dull yet narcissistic pirate captain and his misadventure to regain his fortune. I started writing it to keep myself busy while I wait to distance myself from the first book I wrote, a more serious piece. That one’s about a man and his new apprentice facing a rebellion of monsters who are supposed to coexist with humans, but are sick of their treatment as second class citizens.

I need to distance myself from it because every time I look at it I want to delete the whole thing. It all feels too fresh, too personal. I can remember every keystroke that I put down, and since I was the one who typed it all, it must be trash. That’s how my mind sees it. I need to forget.

I’ve just started episode five of Altered Carbon, haven’t paused it once, haven’t stopped writing except when they speak in another language or I don’t know what to wrtie next or when Kira texted me. I’m starving. By starving I mean I’m hungry, just enough that my stomach hurts. I’ll probably go grab more food like the fat ass, no-self-control shitstain that I am.

I hate when people tell me I’m not fat, or when people say it shouldn’t matter. I am fat, and it matters to me. I don’t find fat people attractive. Never have, never will. I remember once, back when I was dieting and nearly at one-sixty, a (fat) girl said to me “Why are you still dieting? You look great.” I responded by lifting my shirt up (I didn’t have the scar on my stomach at the time) and jiggling it, which immediately elicited an ‘Ew!’ from her. I said, “That’s why.”

It’s not a crime to be fat, nor do I treat fat people any worse than their skinny counterparts. I just think its extremely unattractive, just like me. I don’t want to be fat. I just don’t have the willpower to put a stop to it. And I hate myself for it. Maybe if/when I get a new job I’ll be able to get back into my routine. It’d be a lot easier if I lived on my own, and could choose the pantry and fridge’s contents myself.

But for now I’m stuck living in my parents’ house. I thought once I bought a new car, I’d be able to save up and move out. Then I met Kira, and spent thousands on her. Then I allowed myself to be talked into going to therapy, a waste of time that I put a stop to after being told that I’d never be happy and to keep on cutting, that put me in debt to pay for. Then my car broke down, and I’ve had to open a new credit card for over nine-hundred dollars and spent another four-hundred up front, and her check engine light is already back on.

Oh, and I don’t have a job anymore after getting fired for spending too much time helping coworkers, so its not like I can get a place with the two-hundred and twelve dollars I get a week with unemployment. I’ve dreamed about living on my own since before I was even a teenager. I’ve always hated my parents. Every time I think everything’s about to turn around fiscally, life comes around and shits down my fucking throat and cuts a hole through my trachea so it can fuck my feces-stained esophagus. Every, single, fucking, time.

God that therapy was fucking worthless. I did what the guy said in regards to cutting. I tried rubber band snapping, icing, writing out my feelings. None of it had the same sense of distraction and gravitas. So, he told me if it helps and I’m being safe, keep doing it. So I have. I wanted to stop though, not for my own sake, but because the people who say they care about me (in other words, Whit) don’t like it and I can understand why. Again though, no will power.

When it came to my moods, I told him about as much as I’ve told anyone in my life about myself. At first it felt good, he looked at me like some sort of specimen. By our last session though, it felt more like I was a chore to him, a frustrating waste of time. Although I didn’t bother to remember the words verbatim, he more or less told me that sometimes there just isn’t anything you can do to stop being miserable, and you’re just stuck that way. So, since that was the case, I stopped going.

There was another professional I saw there, a woman who was there to actually prescribe medicines. After the first one ruined a budding and potentially great relationship, I was hesitant to try another. Given the fact that it was also expensive as fuck and I was constantly broke, with or without hesitation I couldn’t try another kind. She refused to prescribe me medicine for my ADD either, even though she did diagnose it. Said we needed to get the depression under control first. Maybe I’d be less fucking miserable if I could concentrate on one thing at a time instead of constantly having my attention diverted between two to three things every waking moment of my life.

It’s funny, when I finished my first book, I thought I’d be happy. Filled with a sense of pride and accomplishment that would spur me forward in life. So I rushed it. The last couple chapters were far below my typical word count. Whitney pointed out that fact, and the fact that a lot of the earlier chapters were subpar comparatively, so I went back and finished it ‘for real’. I rewrote most of the earlier chapters, filled in the later chapters, got a real, proper first draft done. And still nothing.

Now I’m telling myself that once I can edit it properly instead of just grimacing through the prologue I’ll feel it, but I don’t believe it. Maybe if an agent wants it, I’ll feel it, but I don’t believe that. If it were miraculously published, then, then I might feel a hint of genuine joy, but I don’t believe that. I keep pushing the goal posts of finding happiness further and further back to excuse my failure to do so.

Fuck, I don’t even know why I wrote all this. I don’t feel any better. I feel like an overdramatic, self-important, delusional cunt. Same old same old I suppose.

1 note · View note