#but this closes out the set i planned for soliloquy down to three

[stil-lindigo]

craters.

a comic about a love story between two girls who only have each other, and take a chance on it.

Buy “Soliloquy Down To Three”, an anthology of blood stained sapphic comics (including this one) here.

#cw: implications of suicide #comic #lesbian #sapphic #lgbt #original art #this is the last sapphic comic i have in my tank #for this anthology i mean #lord knows ill draw comics of women being in love until the day i die #but this closes out the set i planned for soliloquy down to three #and i couldnt be prouder #this came out exactly the way i wanted it to and im very happy about it #i dearly hope at least one of you felt a pang of emotion reading that last line #it was definitely a personal goal to make at least one tearjerker out of all of these #i love these two girls #their names are painter and muse #personally i think they jump and escape without a scratch #and then they live out the rest of their lives together peacefully #but thats just me #once again thank you for your support #and of course #thank you for reading #stillindigo art

[1plus1kiyoomi]

Chapter 9: Plans

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[masterlist]

“Hey, love. I saw this Tiktok...” You sigh heavily as you hear the words come out of Kuroo’s mouth. Every time he shows you a video from that app, he follows it up with a, “let’s do it.”

“What is it this time?” Your eyebrows are furrowed, expressing your disagreement already. You’ve been peacefully relaxing on the bed and your husband really wants to destroy that peace of yours.

“So you rate my exes, and I rate yours. Out of 10,” Kuroo says and you squint your eyes at him in suspicion. There has to be something behind the sudden interest in remaking it.

“Why?” is all you can say at his request.

Kuroo shrugs, a smug look on his face. “Why not?”

He takes out his laptop and opens a social media platform. Placing his laptop on his lap, he pats the space beside him, a sign that he wants you beside him. You sit beside him and he immediately types out a name.

“This was my first girlfriend back in middle school.” He describes and clicks on one of the girl’s posts.

“She’s so pretty. Is that her kid?” You point at the child his ex is holding in picture. Kuroo nods. “So was she nice? I have to rate her through her personality.”

“She was nice. But she left me for a college student,” Kuroo explains.

“Oh, so she’s a victim?” You snicker, and Kuroo chuckles at your statement. “A 6/10. She's pretty and she looks nice. But minus points for dating a college student while she was in middle school.”

He proceeds to search for his next ex. “I know her,” you say as soon as you see the picture. “I was the one who planned her wedding a year ago. I believe she gave birth just a month ago.”

“She did. She was my upperclassman in Nekoma when we dated. I think I was in my last year of middle school and she was graduating high school,” Kuroo elaborates and you laugh. “What?”

“You’re also a victim.” With that, Kuroo starts laughing with you. It takes some time before the two of you stop giggling like kids.

“Since I know her, a 7/10. She was really polite when I was planning her wedding,” you explain while panting, recovering from your fit of laughter.

“This is the last one,” Kuroo says as he searches and you look at him in shock, not believing him.

“You only dated thrice?” You ask him and he nods proudly. “But you did have a lot of flings so still a bad boy,” you tease and Kuroo rolls his eyes. He shows you his screen and you look at the girl in the picture intently.

You glance at him and then his ex, and then him again, then back to the screen. “You’re lying.”

“About what?”

“Are you sure you dated her?” You point at woman at the screen.

“Yes. Ask all of my friends. They’re witnesses.”

“You dated a famous idol...”

“Was an idol,” he corrects you. “She’s quitting the industry because she’s pregnant.”

“I love her group’s songs. I give her a 10/10. But I still can’t believe you managed to pull someone like her. Kenma said that you weren’t famous amongst girls in high school...” you state, remembering his best friend’s words when you had dinner together just a few nights ago.

Kuroo simply shrugs, “I guess she really liked me then.” He lays his gadget on your lap, waiting for you to type in. You become nervous. How are you supposed to tell him that you’ve only dated seriously once in your life? And it’s someone he sees quite often in your workplace.

“I only dated once,” you tell him calmly, trying to conceal your shaky fingers as you type. Pressing enter, your eyes immediately look away. “You know him, right? He’s our cake maker at work.”

“How was he as a boyfriend?” Kuroo simply asks and you nod nonchalantly. “He seems like a nice guy whenever I see him at your office.”

“Really sweet. Baked me goods everyday and even brought me lunch boxes,” you reply rather confidently. “We dated back in high school.”

“9/10.” Kuroo rates with a pout. He knew he was going to get jealous, but he still dug his own grave for his. His plan being:

‘To subtly hint that he wants a baby.’

All of his exes now have children, and he is not competing with them at any means, but maybe you’ll get an idea about his baby fever if he shows you that most people at your age have children.

Now that his Plan A has failed, he’ll have to proceed to his Plan B.

Kuroo patiently waits for you at his car, ready for your first date after a long time. As he sings along with the song on the radio, he scrolls through his Instagram and sees Sakusa’s post about her daughter.

“Must be nice to have a kid,” Kuroo sighs. Seconds later, he realizes what he said and puts his phone down. “No. No. No. I can’t feel this way yet. It’s too early. But we’re already in our mid-20s so a kid won’t be weird. No... Does she even want kids? My kids?”

A knock on the car window disrupts his soliloquy. He turns his head to the glass and sees you waving outside. He quickly unlocks the door, allowing you to enter. “Hi, love. Who were you talking to?”

“I was talking to Kenma,” he reasons before he leans in to capture your lips into a greeting kiss. “How was work?”

“It was tiring. The Kitas sent an invitation by the way,” you answer as you pull away from him. “It’s for the triplets’ first birthday.”

“Should we buy their gifts today?” Kuroo asks you, starting the engine of the car. “I think we’ll find something while roaming around. What about you? You said you had to buy something.”

“Bikinis,” you say nonchalantly and don’t see Kuroo’s eyebrow raise from your response.

“Are you going somewhere?”

“I forgot to tell you. I’m going to Okinawa with my high school friends next week. You know them, right? Makki, Mattsun, Iwa, and Oikawa,” you respond and Kuroo becomes silent, not knowing how to react. He doesn’t care that you’re going with guys, but how did you forget to tell him something important?

The ride is serene. Kuroo’s hand not leaving your thigh the whole time. Your hand is on top of his, your fingers tracing the protruded veins in his arms. Landing on his ring finger, your eyes scanned the body part. You don’t have a wedding band yet. The two of you have never thought of getting a pair.

The two of you arrive at your destination so get out of the car. Kuroo takes your hand immediately, sliding both of your hands into his jacket’s pocket. You smile at the romantic gesture, something you’re yet to get used to.

“Should we buy your stuff first?” Kuroo questions, looking down at you. Nodding, you lead him to a bikini boutique.

As soon as you enter, Kuroo closes his eyes. The store you entered doesn’t only sell bikinis, but lingerie as well. He has to keep his lids shut or his imagination will go everywhere. Noticing how wary he is about the surrounding, you smirk.

You hook a finger on his collar and pull him down. “Choose anything you’d like to see me in.”

After the not so quick shopping trip at the garment store, you have noticed how fidgety Kuroo is. He wouldn’t stop squeezing your hand and giving you cheeks kisses. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just excited to see you in this,” he reasons, lifting the paper bag with sets of lingerie he has chosen. You hum, your attention going back to the racks of baby clothing in front of you.

While you’re focused on the baby items in front of you, Kuroo is panicking. In his mind, he’s about to explode. You in lingerie + his baby fever= a kink he thought he’ll never have. He’s trying so hard not to think about your mini me’s, but seeing the tiny pieces of garments is making it hard for him.

“My love, the triplets are boys. But knowing the Kitas, they wouldn’t mind dressing up their sons in that dress you’re holding,” you point and Kuroo snaps back to his senses. He looks down and sees that he is holding onto a yellow dress with ribbons and ruffles. He didn’t even know how he got the dress on his hands.

“Oh,” he chuckles awkwardly, putting the dress back on the rack. “I just thought it was cute.” You raise an eyebrow at him in confusion and he forces out a laugh. “It would look cute on Sakusa’s daughter. The two of us are kind of close.”

“Really? I always see him post about her. She would look very cute in that. Should we buy it?” Your confusion about his actions are thrown away by his reason. He sighs in relief as you look away, the dress now in his cart.

‘Our daughter would look cuter,’ Kuroo thinks and he smacks his cheek, causing you to look at him in shock. It was a rather loud and heavy smack. “Mosquito.”

His Plan B is a fail.

You’re eating lunch together the next day at your office as usual. It’s quiet before he flashes his phone screen in front of you, showing you a picture of three familiar small boys. “Look at the triplets.” You continue to eat after taking a look at the picture, trying to be as nonchalant as possible. Kuroo hums happily. “Aren’t they cute?” You only nod to his question.

“Look at Sakusa’s daughter. I met her last time and she’s such a charmer,” Kuroo narrates, letting out a giggle. The interaction replaying in his head. The interaction that caused his sudden baby fever.

It was a busy day at work since the Olympic team had to take their profile and poster pictures. Kuroo was talking to Bokuto when a child suddenly latched onto the spiker’s leg.

“My favorite teammate, you’re here!” Bokuto beamed and picked the child up. As she rested in his forearm, she looked at Kuroo in curiosity. Normally, children would get scared of him, but she wasn’t, which made Kuroo happy.

“Hi. My name’s Kuroo. What’s your name?” Kuroo asked the girl. She smiled at him before answering.

“Kia! Do you have a girlfriend?” Kia asked, taking Kuroo aback. It’s not everyday that a 4 year old would ask you about your relationship status.

“I don’t have a girlfriend, but I do have a wife,” Kuroo replied, which made the little pout.

“Since you only have a wife, I can be your girlfriend,” Kia proclaimed. Kuroo smiled at her statement. The girl suddenly made him think what his daughter would be like if he ever gets to have one.

“I’m sorry but my wife would be upset if I have a girlfriend, so I can’t be your boyfriend,” Kuroo explained to her, hoping she’ll learn something from it. You could subtly teach them about what’s right and wrong at a young age.

“Then, I’ll date your child, father-in-law,” Kia claimed which Kuroo patted her head for.

“I’ll remember your words, future daughter-in-law.”

“What are you smiling for?” You ask Kuroo and he looks up to you, his attention now on you.

‘It’s now or never. This is the perfect chance.’ Kuroo thinks, placing his chin on the palm of his hand. “I was just thinking about how cute our children would be.” You ignore his words and proceed to clean up your lunch box. As result, Kuroo frowns. He mirrors your actions, keeping quiet. Maybe it was wrong to mention it.

Your secretary knocks on your door before announcing that your client is already waiting outside. Kuroo put back the chair back to its proper place before walking over behind the table to give you a quick hug. You can feel his sadness radiating off him and you’re sure it’s from your silence.

His baby fever wasn’t unnoticed. In fact, you knew about it the moment you saw him scrolling through baby videos. He wasn’t very subtle about it, too. From showing his exes, to bringing you to the baby store, to sending you pictures of babies, to mentioning children all the time, you definitely knew about his baby fever.

But you don’t want a baby yet. You had just gotten steady recently, and having a child will wreck that steadiness for sure. You want to keep him to yourself as much as you can, and a child will take your time with each other away. Yet, you don’t know how to tell him that, because he’s determined to have one as soon as possible.

“I’m leaving now. I’ll pick you up later,” Kuroo speaks. He plants a kiss on your forehead before turning away. The way he turned his back at you, the way he frowned a little, it broke your heart. So you grab his hand and pull him back towards you. “Yes, my love?”

“Should we start trying for a child?” You look up to him with shaky eyes, and he saddens at your expression. He wraps his arms around you, your head falling onto his abdomen, while his hand pets the back of your head.

“Love, I’m not asking for a child immediately, so don’t get pressured. Just take my baby fever as a promise that I want to start a family with you and only you,” he reassures you, but you know he’s partly lying about it. Kuroo is a man who doesn’t give up until gets what he wants.

Kuroo’s Plan C has failed. He has no choice but to do his Plan D. (Will be posted soon 😉 if you know, you know.)

——————————————————————————

Facts:

Fevers turn on the body's immune system. They help the body fight infection. Normal fevers between 100° and 104° F (37.8° - 40° C) are good for sick children.

Fevers only need to be treated if they cause discomfort. Most fevers don't cause discomfort until they go above 102° or 103° F (39° or 39.5° C).

Most fevers from infection don't go above 103° or 104° F (39.5°- 40° C). They rarely go to 105° or 106° F (40.6° or 41.1° C). While these are "high" fevers, they also are harmless ones.

Fevers that don't come down to normal can be caused by viruses or bacteria. The response to fever medicines tells us nothing about the cause of the infection.

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Taglist: Still can’t tag smh T^T the app keeps crashing every time i tag more than 5 people 😭

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu smau #haikyuu series #hq x reader #hq smau #kuroo tetsuro smau #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo imagine #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro fanfiction #kuroo smau

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Victor’s Magnificent Date (Eng Translation)

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a squeal-inducing date which has not been released in English servers! 🍒

There’s a phone call that comes BEFORE the date: here

Valentine’s 2020 Collection: Gavin // Kiro // Lucien

The date begins with MC sitting alone in a café. The temperature is incredibly hot, and the fragrance of roses is in the air.

She’s on a video call with Anna, who very helpfully establishes the context for us - Victor brought MC to South America to participate in the Rose Festival as a “reward” for completing an assignment the previous year.

It’s MC’s final day in this foreign country, and she wants to make full use of it.

Anna notes that MC’s complexion doesn’t look good. MC looks at herself in the screen and realizes that she indeed looks paler than usual. She says the weather is too warm, so she feels a little faint.

Anna is still worried about MC as she remembers how MC did quite a lot of overtime before leaving for the vacation. MC tells Anna to hide this matter from Victor.

Anna: You haven’t…

Anna stops abruptly, her eyes looking at something behind me. Having a bad feeling, I turn around.

Finished with his video-conference, Victor walks down the stairs towards me, wearing his usual suit.

He stands behind me, his eyes sweeping over the phone screen on the table before raising an eyebrow.

Victor: What are you hiding from me?

Anna ends the call.

MC: Your meeting is over?

I flash Victor a wide smile, forcefully changing the topic.

Victor: It ended earlier than expected.

Victor doesn’t press further. He loosens his tie. I realise that there is a thin layer of sweat on his forehead.

MC: You didn’t have to rush over. Don’t you feel warm dressed like that?

Victor: It’s still okay.

He lifts the small luggage beside me, then picks up the sun hat on the table and places it on my head.

Victor: There are still a few hours before the event starts. That “Travel Guide” you did on the plane can be put to use now.

I widen my eyes and look at him from underneath my hat.

MC: How did you know about that? I thought I did it covertly…

Victor: What do you think? Of course I saw it.

MC: So you weren’t sleeping at all!

Hearing my “accusation”, Victor glances at me, his tone slightly teasing.

Victor: Someone’s soliloquy woke me up.

MC: Since you know about it… leave the rest to me. Let’s set out towards the Rose Festival!

Ignoring the discomfort in my body, I raise a fist in the air in high spirits.

There is a look of resignation in Victor’s eyes, but the corners of his lips are dyed with the warmth of sunlight, hooking upwards into a slight smile.

Victor: I shall wait and see then.

They go for a walk:

MC: I heard the Rose Festival has been around for a few hundred years!

I look at the flower baskets sold along the streets, and I feel like getting one.

MC: On this day, the men will invite their other half to dance. They will find the “most beautiful rose” during the event, and he will present it to her with a lover’s kiss. Isn’t it very romantic?

I share what I had read up online. Victor listens to me quietly, his thin lips pursing into a nice smile.

Victor: You did your homework.

MC: Of course I did! You specially accompanied me here, so of course I’d want you to have a memorable experience!

Victor: Haven’t you gotten it the other way round?

My grand ambition is suddenly interrupted. Victor takes the small slip of paper containing our travel plans from me and puts it into his breast pocket.

Victor: This is my “reward” to you. All you have to do is enjoy this trip.

Amid the unique architecture of this foreign country, Victor’s eyes seem to become more tender. It gives me the sudden urge to capture and record this moment.

MC: Victor, I’ll help you take a photograph?

I lift the camera that is hanging around my neck and point it towards him.

MC: Cooperate and give me a smile! I’ll shout “three, two, one”, and you say “pudding”!

To my surprise, Victor frowns.

Victor: Why pudding?

MC: Because I feel you wouldn’t shout “brinjal”… Or else you could use another word?

The crease in between Victor’s eyebrows smoothens out. He nods.

MC: Have you thought about it? I’m going to take the shot now! Three, two, one-

Victor: Dummy.

When I press the shutter, I hear Victor’s soft yet clear voice.

In the picture, Victor has a small smile on his face.

My heart rate suddenly accelerates. I lift my head to respond with a retort, but a sudden wave of weakness floods my entire body.

The blazing sun makes me feel especially dizzy.

MC: I…

The camera almost slips from my hands. I sway for a moment before falling into Victor’s arms, and he realises something is amiss.

In my flustered state, I see anxiety written on Victor’s face. I open my mouth, trying my best to form words.

MC: Victor, I don’t feel very well…

~

The hotel room separates us from the blazing noon sun. I am seated on the bed, my head slightly hazy from heatstroke. The ceiling fan spins slowly, dispelling the heat in the air.

This room that Victor managed to book at short notice has been decorated with several rose-related ornaments because of the Rose Festival.

The rose petals which were originally on the bed have been scattered all around, adding a touch of fragrance to the humid air.

The sound of the door being knocked cuts me off from my thoughts.

After half a second, I hear the sound of the door being unlocked. Victor walks in, carrying a grocery bag.

Victor: How do you feel now?

MC: I feel much better after taking the medicine.

To ease his worries, I summon my strength to give him a smile.

MC: Though we’d probably have to miss the Rose Festival…

Victor: You’re still thinking about that?

Victor puts the bag on the table. He walks over and presses his hand against my forehead. I relish the coolness of his touch.

Victor: Your temperature has gone down, but you still need to rest.

After checking on my condition, he draws his hand back. He removes his outer suit and places it at the side of the bed. Then, he returns to the table and takes out the items from the bag.

MC: What did you buy?

Victor: Ingredients. It’s more appropriate for you to eat milder foods.

Victor’s back is facing me. I see that the back of his shirt is drenched with sweat. I bite my lower lip, my heart suddenly feeling lighter.

MC: I’m not that hungry actually. Just getting something from the hotel would be fine.

Victor: It’s so rare that we’re here. You want to eat those kinds of things?

Victor turns to toss me a glance, directly rejecting my idea.

MC: Then… at least take a break first?

Victor: No need. You should sleep for a while.

Victor walks into the small kitchenette with the ingredients, and the sound of splashing water follows. Hearing him cook, I start smiling.

I’m unable to sleep peacefully in my current state. Something horrifying is chasing me in my dream, causing me to scrunch up my eyebrows.

MC: Uhh… don’t go!

In a moment of peril, I grab onto something that gives me a sense of assurance, and refuse to let go.

Victor: Dummy.

A familiar sigh travels to my ear, enabling my tense self to relax. I enter a deep sleep.

An unknown duration passes before I regain consciousness. My body feels like it is being enveloped, and I’m unable to move.

I struggle to open my eyes, but all I see is a patch of skin.

MC: !!

I widen my eyes instantly, my drowsiness vanishing completely-

Victor is also lying on the bed, his arms encasing me tightly, taking an afternoon nap.

I am leaning in the crook of his neck and am able to see his chin if I look upwards. I feel his steady, gentle breathing - like a single feather - on my ear.

My brain short circuits and I have no idea how the scene before me occurred - until I see how my fingers are tightly wound around Victor’s tie.

While I was dreaming, I had pulled on Victor’s tie, which in turn tugged his shirt open as well, revealing his bare chest.

I control my eyes before they can trail further downwards, and immediately let go of the tie.

Perhaps disturbed by this movement, Victor frowns, his eyelashes twitching under the light.

I shut my eyes, pretending that I’m still asleep.

The body that is pressed against mine shifts slightly with a rustle. The sound of Victor’s breathing seems to change.

He weaves a hand through my hair, his slender fingers gently sliding along the strands. Every minute movement faithfully travels to the ends of my nerves.

I don’t dare to move even the slightest inch. Feeling nervous, my temperature rises, and I feel my back break out in a thin layer of sweat.

The hand resting on my body shifts. Our close proximity makes it easy to visualise even the slightest movement in my mind.

Victor: Why are you sweating so much?

His low voice is tinged with slight suspicion. I’m wondering if I should open my eyes at this moment, but Victor’s palm ends up on my back.

The sudden contact makes me want to quiver, but I suppress my body’s instinctive response.

Fortunately, Victor retracts his hand. He slowly extricates his wrist from under me.

The body warmth suddenly vanishes, leaving me feeling slightly dejected. Soon, the sound of running water can be heard from the bathroom.

MC: Huff…

I release a long breath and open my eyes slowly.

Victor is no longer in the room, but the parts of my skin that he had touched feel as though they are on fire. My heart rate is unable to settle down.

The sound of running water stops. When I see Victor walking out, I shut my eyes once again.

The spot next to me on the bed sinks. Victor sits at the side of the bed, picking out a few strands of hair from my face.

Victor: MC? Are you awake?

MC: Uh…

I pretend to swipe his hands away blearily, but he continues placing the back of his hand against the side of my cheek.

Victor: Why has your temperature gone up again?

He draws his hand back, replacing his warmth with a wet towel. He gently wipes off the sweat on my temples.

Even though I know that he is genuinely helping me lower my temperature, I am completely unable to control my own senses.

The soft towel trails down my neck. Victor’s fingers unintentionally brush against my lower neck, causing me to tremble slightly.

A bead of sweat trickles off my face, sliding down my neck and disappearing into my hair.

Victor pauses. I squeeze my eyes shut, but my eyelids twitch uneasily.

It’s as though my body has decided to go against me in every way. At this moment, my stomach releases a string of low growls.

MC: …

Quiet air flows in the room. I remain stiffly in position, not moving at all.

Victor: You’re awake?

My eyelashes twitch, but I still don’t dare to open my eyes.

Victor lets out a low laugh, then leans over slowly. I sense a large shadow looming over me through my eyelids, and I stop breathing.

Victor: How much longer will you pretend to be asleep?

MC: I… I’m awake.

Seeing that I can no longer put up this pretence, I open my eyes slightly and watch as Victor straightens up.

Victor: If you’re awake, get up and have something to eat.

After a late lunch, MC notes to herself that even though they can’t go for the Rose Festival, spending time together alone with Victor is not bad either.

She notices that there is a bottle of red wine on a low shelf, and that it doesn’t have a label.

Victor: You still want to drink after having a heatstroke?

Victor’s sudden voice from behind gives me a fright.

MC: I was just curious… did you buy this bottle just now? Why doesn’t it have a label?

Victor: It’s home brewed wine from the Market Fair. It has a special flavour.

MC: Special? Was it brewed by some famous master?

Victor: Not a master. Didn’t you want to find the “most beautiful rose” earlier?

I fail to understand the meaning of his words, but Victor doesn’t continue explaining. He skilfully removes the oak stopper, pouring the rose-coloured wine into a glass.

Along with the scent of wine, a sweet-smelling aroma permeates the air. I can’t help but let out a deep sigh.

Victor arches an eyebrow, looking slightly surprised.

Victor: I didn’t know that people who suffer from a heatstroke would also experience a deterioration of smell.

I ignore his sarcasm, taking up the wine glass and swirling it in front of me. The faint aroma of flowers becomes even more obvious.

MC: It’s rose! So you can actually brew wine with roses?

Victor: It’s not made using roses, but it does taste like it.

MC: Can I try it?

Victor doesn’t respond immediately, but takes the glass from me before saying slowly:

Victor: No.

MC: Victor, CEO Victor, Mr Victor, please let me try it! My heatstroke is completely gone!

I lean towards Victor, but he raises the glass up high. Even if I were to tiptoe, I wouldn’t be able to reach it. So I can only huff and give up.

MC: Fine.

Victor: Wait till you…

MC: Just kidding!

Seeing Victor lower his guard, I jump and snatch the glass. Because of my unsteady footing, I end up lunging towards Victor.

Victor reacts immediately and steps backwards, forgetting that the bed is behind him.

After a chaos-filled second, Victor falls onto the bed heavily, bringing the scattered rose petals along with him.

I’m lying on him, my mind a complete blank, though my expression still displays cheekiness and excitement from snatching the glass earlier.

The glass of red wine that sparked off this entire situation has tumbled onto the bed, its contents spilling onto the covers and even soaking my hands.

I dumbfoundedly take in the scene before me as the scent of rose petals envelops us.

Victor, who is pressed below me, lets out a heavy sigh. Loose strands of hair casually fall in front of his eyes, making him look less sharp.

Victor: Didn’t I say that you can’t try it?

While he speaks, I can feel the vibration of his chest as we are pressed together tightly.

I regain my senses, my face beet red, wanting to straighten up.

Victor grabs hold of my wrist, and I fall back onto his chest.

Victor: You need to change your habit of running away whenever something happens.

His narrow eyes catch the change in my expression. His expression, while remaining the same as usual, makes me even more flustered.

Unlike his seemingly calm expression, he is unable to hide the heat emanating from his body and seeping through the thin fabric of his clothes. This causes my body to heat up as well.

The air seems to be burning, and I can hear my rapid heart rate. Even my voice wavers.

MC: I will change… next time.

Victor: I’ve heard this phrase many times.

The hand around my waist is like iron, pulling me even closer.

MC: This is an accident.

I explain in a small voice, letting my eyes shift everywhere aside from his face.

MC: I was just curious about the flavour…

Victor: You’re only allowed one sip.

MC: You said it yourself!

The scent of wine still wafts in the air, tinged with the fragrance of roses, making the atmosphere feel even warmer.

I bring my wine-soaked palm to my lips, gently licking it with the tip of my tongue.

A touch of sweetness spreads from my taste buds to my brain. The slight bitterness of wine carries with it a hint of a rose aroma. It has a surprising attractiveness.

Victor pauses. His eyes turn darker, and his voice sounds slightly husky.

Victor: …are you stupid?

Hearing this, I realise what I just did, and even my ears turn red.

MC: We’ve tasted the wine already, we...

Victor grips my wrist before I can escape again. With an irresistible pressure, he pulls me closer-

A drop of sweat trails down the side of my face and pelts onto his collarbone.

His Adam’s apple bobs, and he uses his other hand to loosen his tie in a slightly rough manner. He releases a low laugh.

Victor: Who says I’ve tried it?

With my guard down, he pulls my palm closer to himself and sticks out his tongue like I did earlier, gently licking the remaining red wine off my palm.

The rose-coloured liquid and the redness of the tip of his tongue makes this colour appear fresh, and even more dazzling, in my eyes.

My breathing and heartbeat seem to stop. I can only sense the touch on my palm, like electric currents coursing through my entire body.

While doing this, he keeps his eyes on me.

Trembling slightly under his gaze, another bead of sweat rolls off my temple. I want to escape, but I’m unable to hide from him.

The emotions within those deep eyes resemble surging tides.

Victor: The taste is not bad.

MC: [blushing] !!

I widen my eyes and pull my hand back as though I just touched a live wire. Victor doesn’t stop me this time, letting me hop up from the bed frantically, almost tripping over his feet.

Victor: Don’t be so reckless.

Victor reaches out to hold onto my waist, his low and husky voice in my ear.

MC: You…

Victor: The “most beautiful rose” is not just a literal rose.

He lowers his head and leans towards my ear, his lips almost pressing against it. I can barely concentrate on his words.

The curtains are drawn open, and the scene of the town shrouded in dusk appears before our eyes.

Victor: The sky is the most beautiful part of this town.

Following his words, I look up and my eyes widen in surprise.

MC: …it’s beautiful!

The rose-coloured sunset glows from the horizon. The clouds hang in the air, drifting slowly. Embedded in the sky, the clouds resemble waves from the sea.

The sky of this small town looks like a rose that is waiting to bloom.

Victor: In the evening, the colour of the red clouds look very special from here. This is the most beautiful rose I found.

His tender and low voice is in my ear, and I suddenly understand what Victor brought to me.

I originally wanted him to have a unique travel experience. I never thought that he would be the one giving me this rose-coloured sky in the end.

Victor embraces me against the window. The look in his eyes is even more tender than the red clouds.

Victor: Close your eyes.

I close my eyes obediently. A scorching breath gradually draws near, and a soft touch descends on my lips.

Victor places his hand on the back of my head, deepening the kiss.

His actions are gentle yet powerful. The intense stimulation spreads from the tip of his tongue all the way to my depths.

The fingers that gently brush the back of my spine leave a trail of tingles in their wake.

The hot air cools as the sun sets, but the temperature continues to increase along with the intertwining of our lips and tongues.

My senses are completely overtaken by Victor’s presence. His breathing, his tender licks, his arm encircling my waist, and the heartbeats from his chest…

After an inordinate amount of time, I tighten my grip on Victor’s arm, like a person who is about to lose consciousness and drown.

The faraway clouds, like a rose that has been waiting for a very long time, finally begins to bloom.

The curtains are pulled shut, and the room once again descends into a dim warmth.

An intense and rich floral fragrance slowly ferments in the blisteringly hot air.

🌹

Phone call after the date: here

#mlqc #mlqc cn #mlqc spoilers #mlqc victor #love and producer #the true OTP is Victor x his tie #truly inseparable

[heavensturtle]

Day 29: Travel

A short fic for day twenty-nine of the YOI 20+ Club’s Daily Art Challenge. - - -

Note: Packing counts as part of travel, right?

- - -

Watching Yuuri pack is a revelation. Victor is sprawled out on Yuuri’s bed as Yuuri piles clothes and costume bags and toiletries and other odds and ends around him. They’re listening to Mika on repeat, which Victor hadn’t even known anyone else liked until he’d walked into Yuuri’s room an hour ago to find it playing while Yuuri sifted through drawers looking for a particular shirt.

Victor nearly always forgets something when he travels. His toothbrush, his makeup, his button-down for the banquet and once, memorably, the belt to his long program costume. Yakov had been forced to call Mila and tell her how to break into his apartment so she could get the key to Victor’s apartment to look for the belt and bring it with her when she flew out the next day.

After enough incidents, Victor had gained a reputation for being forgetful. Forgotten items, forgotten promises, all of it a source of wry amusement to his teammates (and sometimes a source of ire, like when Yurio had showed up to claim the skating program Victor had promised).

Victor’s never had the will to explain that it’s not that he’s forgetful, it’s just that his brain is sometimes so sluggish that it’s all he can do to get himself out the door and to the rink, let alone plan for something so far in the future as a three-day trip to a skating competition.

The one exception, of course, being his trip to Hasetsu, when he’d simply packed everything.

Yuuri, though, is meticulous. He has an app on his phone where he has curated different lists depending on the destination, the time of year, and the length of trip, which he updates when he buys new clothes or skating gear. He checks, then rechecks, then triple checks before adding anything to his suitcase. Victor likes the jostling as Yuuri tucks items around him and rearranges them against Victor’s side while contemplating what to bring to the Cup of China.

When Victor had wandered into Yuuri’s room after shoving a large assortment of clothes as well as his entire makeup kit into a large suitcase, Yuuri had barely given him a glance before gesturing vaguely at the back wall, where his bed and his desk sat. Victor, interpreting the gesture as he wished, had chosen the bed.

Yuuri had simply given him a smile and laid his costume bags across Victor’s stomach.

Victor has his eyes closed, enjoying Mika’s ‘Step With Me,’ when Yuuri breaks the quiet.

“What do you think?” he asks. Victor opens his eyes to see Yuuri standing by the bed in what must be his banquet outfit.

It’s… hideous. Victor can admit this because although he believes Yuuri is beautiful at all times, he has noticed that Yuuri often does things to downplay this fact. This outfit being one of those things.

“Yuuri, didn’t we get already get rid of that tie?” Victor tries to keep the dismay out of his voice.

Yuuri frowns. “It’s a different one.”

“Oh,” Victor replies. He doesn’t really want to move, but he also needs to correct this situation.

He reaches out for Yuuri’s hand, tugging Yuuri closer to the bed. Yuuri’s knees bump the side. Victor keeps reeling him in until Yuuri climbs onto the bed next to him. Victor then reaches up and un-knots the tie, his fingers ghosting over Yuuri’s neck as he does. Both are quiet as Victor gently slides the tie off of Yuuri and lets it drop to the bed.

“There. Now you’re perfect. I packed extra, you can borrow one of mine if you want.”

Yuuri looks better than perfect, but Yuuri was asking about the outfit, not for a soliloquy about how his legs fit in his dress pants. Which Victor will give him, hopefully in the near future.

Yuuri, having seen the way Victor packs, gives Victor a look. “Are you sure you even know what’s in your suitcase?”

Victor lifts a finger, “Your makeup,” another finger, “Extra copies of your registration paperwork,” a third finger, “the Makka tissue holder,” a fourth finger, “and wool socks, in case you ever decide that you’re tired of chafing in cotton and want to join the civilized world. And four extra ties,” he adds.

While Victor is counting off items on one hand, he’s weaving the other through Yuuri’s. When Victor finishes ticking off items Yuuri takes that hand and pins it by Victor’s side. He leans down.

“Victor, did you pack anything for yourself?”

His face is close. Victor reaches up and brushes his nose against Yuuri’s, a thrill going through him when he sees Yuuri close his eyes for it.

“It’s just easier to remember your things,” he explains.

Yuuri looks like he wants to say something to this, but then Victor catches his ankle with his foot and Yuuri collapses on top of Victor, sending a small pile of charging cables tumbling to the floor.

“Oops,” he says with a smile as Yuuri harrumphs. Victor untangles the fingers on one hand and reaches around to hold Yuuri to him. He slides one leg under Yuuri’s, upsetting a pile of tightly-rolled cotton socks.

Neither of them pretends to care.

“Victor, what are you doing?” Yuuri says a little breathlessly.

“Distracting you,” Victor teases, a line from months ago coming back to him, “Is it working?”

Yuuri huffs. “How do we always end up like this?”

“No idea,” Victor continues his attempts to wriggle underneath Yuuri, which sets Yuuri into fits of laughter as he halfheartedly tries to fight it.

Victor just wants to live under the weight of Yuuri for the rest of his life. He wants it so much.

“Victor?” Yuuri asks, and Victor realizes he’s gone still.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, turning his face into Yuuri’s shoulder.

“What is it?”

“I just - I want to go home with you. When it’s over,” he speaks into Yuuri’s dress shirt.

“Was there somewhere else you were supposed to go?” Yuuri lifts himself up a bit, to try to see Victor’s face. Victor tugs him back down without answering. He can’t articulate it yet. It’s too much.

Yuuri lets Victor hold him like that for a long time, until Victor’s legs have gone numb and Makka arrives to beg for a walk. They go together.

#victuuri #victor nikiforov #yuuri katsuki #yoi #yoi fanfic #yuri!!! on ice #daily challenge #yoi fluff

[starstruckkittensweets]

Day 15 and 16: Uniforms | Body Worship

Pairing: Levi x Reader Words: 1.8k~ 

A/N: I couldn’t resist with this fic - it’s pure fluff with just a dash of smut. Sometimes Levi just needs to be appreciated for who he is, right? He needs to know he’s loved, the poor baby. Anyway, with that said, I hope you enjoy! 

Warnings: sensual touches, slight dirty talk, more intimate fluff than smut, slight uniform kink (somewhat), Levi being insecure and Reader helping him through it

At first, you didn’t think much of it. The thought of the infamous Captain Levi having any insecurities about himself was almost laughable. The man was one of the strongest soldiers the Survey Corps had to offer, with a record that spoke for itself. He carried himself confidently, brushing off insults and demeaning comments without so much as batting an eye. What did he have to be insecure about?

Over the next few days, you got your answer.

It wasn’t some grand spectacle in the mess hall or anything like that. From what you could gather, it had been a slow build-up of little moments that piled on top of each other. As you started watching him more closely, you realized just how he reacted to certain things around him.

The slight scowl on his lips whenever you got too playful with Mike. The roll of his eyes whenever Hanji made a “Shorty” comment. The way he would look away if you leaned too far over Erwin’s desk to see the plans he had written out. You couldn’t pinpoint which one of these things had set him off—until you realized it must have been all three. The captain was incredibly gifted at hiding his emotions, but even he couldn’t keep them all to himself forever.

He left for his office much earlier than he usually did one night after dinner. You watched him go, nearly missing the way he tensed up his shoulders as he walked out of the building. The signs were subtle, but they were definitely there. There was definitely something bothering him, and you were determined to find out what it was.

With one last smile in Hanji’s direction, you cleaned up your plate and left for the main castle. It didn’t take you long to reach Levi’s office, and when you did, you knocked on the door three times.

“Name and business.”

His voice had an edge to it—even more so than usual. You swallowed hard and cleared your throat.

“It’s me. Can I come in?”

At the silence that followed, you turned the knob and stepped inside. Levi was seated at his desk, already occupied with the stack of paperwork on his desk. You closed the door behind you as softly as you could, determined not to disturb him from his work. He was already annoyed at something—it would be wise not to agitate him any further.

“What do you want, brat? I’m busy.” He didn’t even look up at you as he continued to write on the piece of parchment in front of him.

You swallowed again, your skin prickling with anticipation. “…Are you okay, captain?” Your face bloomed with heat as he finally stared up at you, his gray eyes as cold as the winter sky above. “I-I mean… Well, you seem a bit…I don’t know, sad.”

His face remained expressionless. You were getting nowhere with him. If you wanted him to tell you what was bothering him, you were going to have to be more persistent.

So, with a shake of your head, you met his eyes evenly and continued to speak.

“I know something’s bothering you, captain. I don’t know what it is, but I want to know. Please, let me help you. I’m sure there’s something I can do to make you feel better! But I can’t do that unless you tell me what it is…”

At your little soliloquy, his features finally started to soften. He placed his pen down and leaned forward in his seat, holding his forehead in his hands. You watched him with bated breath, your bottom lip caught between your teeth.

“Why are you with me?”

The sound of your name snapped you out of your daze. That was not what you had been expecting from him. Where had that kind of question come from? You had assumed he was going to complain about his workload or the cadets or the upcoming expedition—but not the state of your relationship.

It scared you, but you wanted to hear more. “What…what do you mean?”

You needed him to be more specific. What was he getting at? Was he looking for a way to break up with you, to let you down as easy as he could? Had he finally decided he’d had enough with you? That this relationship between you wasn’t worth it? Your heart leapt in your throat at the possibility; you didn’t even want to think about a life without Levi at your side.

He took his hands away from his face, but he still refused to meet your eyes. “Why are you with me, kid? You could have any man within the Walls, but you chose me. Why?”

It was the way his voice cracked on the final word that broke your heart. In a flash, you made your way around his desk and to his side, cupping his cheeks in your hands. You brought his face to yours, pressing a sweet, longing kiss to those soft, slightly-chapped lips of his.

You knew what he was getting at. Many years of staying at his side as a friend and later a lover granted you the ability to understand what he was saying without any words. Suddenly, all those strange reactions around Mike and Erwin were starting to make sense. He wasn’t tall and blonde like those two, nor was he smooth-talking and easy with words. He was short, grumpy, foul-mouthed, and an outright asshole sometimes. He wasn’t exactly the easiest person to love, and that fact often raised the eyebrows of those around you whenever your relationship was brought to attention. People were completely baffled upon learning that you had given your heart to some unwanted little cretin from the depths of the Underground City.

But he was still your Levi. You had chosen him for a reason, and you were determined to make him understand that.

“Shut up. I love you, Levi. I don’t want anyone else but you.”

His eyes softened at your words, but his lips parted in protest. But before he could speak, you took his hands and led him out of the chair and toward the bedroom in the back of the office. Once you were inside, with the door shut and locked behind you, you sat him down on the edge of the bed and kissed his mouth again.

“I love you so fucking much, Levi. And I’m sorry I don’t say it that often, because I do. I really do love you with all my heart.” Another kiss on his lips. “I love your obsession with cleaning. I love the way your breath tastes like mint and tea.” You peeled his jacket off his shoulders and threw it to the side. “I love the pine shampoo you always use whenever you shower. I love how you’re always looking out for me, even when I don’t want you do.”

He stiffened as you trailed your fingers over his throat, fiddling with the cravat around his neck. A moment later, the slip of fabric was off and on the floor, and you were starting to work on the buttons of his shirt.

“And I love seeing you in this uniform. You always look so fucking good in it, baby.”

You were rarely one to use words in the bedroom; most of your noises consisted of moans and pleas as Levi brought you to the edge over and over again. But tonight wasn’t about you. It was about him, and you were going to make sure that, before he left this room in the morning, he knew he was loved for who he was.

“I love your chest—it’s so tight and hard—and I especially love resting my head on it. I like it when I can hear your heartbeat against my ear.” You pulled the shirt off his torso and dropped it to the floor, as well. “I love the muscles in your arms—God, I love feeling them around me. They make me feel so safe and warm, and I never want to leave.”

He sucked in a sharp breath as your hands traced the waistband of his pants. But he remained silent as you unbuckled his belt and slid his pants to his ankles, leaving him in just those black boxers. For some reason, despite the submissive position you had put him in, he was starting to enjoy this special treatment…

“I love your thighs and legs, baby. They’re so strong, just like your arms and chest. You always work so hard to keep yourself in shape like this, to make sure you’re ready to help your fellow soldiers. That’s one of the many things I love about you, Levi—you’re always there when we need you.”

You felt him stiffen as you cupped your hand around the outline of his cock. With a soft smile, you reached up and kissed him again, this time with a bit more force. His tongue melded with yours as you pushed lightly on his chest, knocking him down into the mattress below. When you broke apart, he stared up at you from the sheets, a light dusting of pink on his cheeks as you palmed his cock through his boxers.

“And I love your cock, Levi. I love how hard and big it is—how you’re always able to make me feel good. Fuck, just thinking about it is getting me wet…”

He swallowed hard, his eyes darting to your thighs. Even through your white pants, he could see a faint patch of wetness on the fabric between your legs.

You pulled his boxers down, exposing his hardened cock to the open air. As he propped himself up on his elbows, you hovered over him and placed a gentle kiss on his burning cheek.

“You don’t have to worry about anything, Levi. I don’t want any other man within the Walls. I want you, and only you. There’s no one else I’d rather share my bed with or spend the rest of my life with. It’s always been you, and it will always be you, baby.”

He mentally scoffed at himself as he felt his throat start to burn. He hated getting all sappy and shit, especially in front of you. You didn’t need to see all of that, he was sure of it. But he couldn’t help it—there was just something about you that brought out the best in him, despite all of the fucked up shit he had done in the past.

“I love you so much, Levi, and that will never change.” He watched you with lustful silver eyes as you made your way down his body, gripping his hardened cock in your hand. “You always make me feel so good, so free and loved. Now it’s my turn to make you feel good, baby.”

He only nodded and laid back against the pillows, his eyes fluttering shut as he surrendered to you completely.

#kinktober 2020 #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman smut #smut #sweets and treats #aot fics

[baby-grayson]

Kind Stranger|GBD|Part 12

Parts 1-11

Word Count: 4k Tag List: @styles-dolan​ @evergreendolan​ @someonetogray​ @vintagedolan​ @prettyboydolan​ @dolansficsandpics​ @graysavant​ @baby-turtles​ 

Summary: Grayson and Kate try to be friends, but can you really be friends with your ex?

Ethan Dolan lived in the middle. In ways he both did and did not recognize; Ethan Dolan was always firmly in the middle. He was the middle child: being born 2 years after Cameron and 20 minutes before Grayson. He was in the middle of being famous and normal: a heart throb to the younger generation but an anonymous face to their parents. Since the age of 15, he was in the middle of having a New Jersey heart but a California life: despite his desire to stay in Australia and kiss his girlfriend for the first time in months. On one Tuesday night, Ethan Dolan sat in the middle of his twin brother and Grayson’s ex-girlfriend.

Why is it a three-person sofa feels so small when there are exactly three people sitting on it? A layman might answer that it was because the twins, especially Grayson, were large and bulky for their age. A wiseman would say that Ethan’s couch felt claustrophobic because that couch was housing four entities: Ethan Dolan, his beefy twin brother Grayson, Kate with her post-op foot propped up on their coffee table, and the deeply complex relationship between Grayson and Kate.

Grayson felt his heart launch itself onto an emotional teeter totter when Kate entered the room: he constantly oscillated between needing to pull her into his chest and breathe her in and wanting to break up in a sloppily worded soliloquy about his own independence and ability to find someone better than her. But Grayson really did wonder if there was anyone better for him. Being just friends with Kate was a fatal tease to Grayson’s emotions. As his friend, she still made him laugh, amazed him with her intelligence, and dizzied him with her effortless good lucks and bright smiles.

In truth, Kate dizzied Grayson so much that he specified looked for activities that would minimize her effect on him. Anyone else would slowly retract their involvement in their ex-girlfriend’s life, but Grayson subconsciously shelved that idea: secretly hoping that something would change if he held on long enough. This meant finding activities that did not require Kate to speak, look at him, or be alone with him, which is how Grayson, Kate, and Ethan ended up on the boys’ couch watching American Psycho on a Tuesday afternoon in August.

Ethan had suggested the movie to Grayson, originally as a joke. He knew Grayson did not have the mental fortitude to watch scary movies. Ethan almost intended to turn Grayson off from the idea so that he wouldn’t continue to be a third wheel on the adventure that was Gray and Kate’s friendship. Grayson had asked Ethan to accompany him to Kate’s apartment to drop off a few groceries for her in her current state. Grayson had blabbed to Ethan in the car that they were doing a nice gesture for a friend, that this is something they would do for Deon, Ryan, or Nolan if given the chance: Ethan silently wondered if Grayson was trying to convince himself.

After that episode, Kate had asked Ethan if he would be there when she and Grayson met for lunch for at their place. She went so far as to ask Ethan if he would drive her home in advance, trying to avoid being caught in a small space with Grayson. That lunch was the one of the most awkward burritos Ethan had ever eaten. Kate and Gray became caricatures of themselves, with Gray decided the only part of his life he could talk about was his successes in working out and Kate spitting out fun facts about science and math as if she had been paid to do so. Ethan Dolan was a good brother. 

Ethan Dolan was so much of a good brother, that his eyes stayed firmly on the TV when Christian Bale’s character began having a threesome with two prostitutes. Kate instinctively closed her eyes tight, not that she was physically opposed to sexual content, she was just opposed to viewing it when in the company of her ex-boyfriend and his twin brother. Grayson’s jaw clenched and his eyes wide, his head stayed firmly planted on his neck: not daring to see the reactions of Ethan or Kate.

Silently, Grayson’s body exploded in a series of reactions. He utterly despised the part of him that became aroused at the scene. Since breaking up with Kate, he had been nothing but frustrated. He had tried to meaninglessly rump out that desire, but his plans had backfired when Kate woke up on his couch to find his nighttime partner escaping in the morning. Needless to say, Grayson was no where near physically satisfied.

He made a mental note to kill his brother for suggesting this movie. Did Ethan know this was in here? Is this why Ethan suggested it? Was this his idea of a joke? When one hooker became to mouth at Christian Bale’s undercarriage, Grayson nearly used the house key in his pocket to gauge out his twin brother’s eyes. Grayson’s mental soup of inhibiting arousal and seething anger was made all the more complicated by his treacherous nervous laughter.

Although incredibly sophisticated and mature for his age, Grayson Dolan was nothing if not an overgrown goofball. He had the bad habit of laughing in awkward situations, armed with a sense of humor that typically let him cut the tension in any room. However, no jokes came to his lips in this moment, only the nervous giggles of a schoolgirl bursted from his lips.

The trio stayed in that position: Kate’s eyes shut, Ethan facing straight ahead, and Grayson awkwardly chuckling at the end of the couch. After the longest three minutes any of them had ever experienced, Christian Bale escaped his threesome and began filming his companies with a 90s-esque camcorder.

“AHA-HA-HA,” Grayson laughed loudly but his eyes held the spirit of pain.  

Kate decided she was going to mentally count to one thousand.

Ethan felt responsible to fix this moment. Afterall, he was the one who chose the movie. He was the one who caught Kate and Gray in this awkward situation. Although, he only felt bad for Kate: he felt a bit accomplished watching his brother squirm like this.

Ethan stuck his hand out from where he sat. Kate was on 202 when she felt Ethan’s shoulder move, she opened one eye. “Why the fuck would ya film that?” he exclaimed, “If I was there, I sure as hell wouldn’t be filming my own video unless I was in it.”

It was an okay thing to say for not knowing what he wanted to say. Even Ethan Dolan’s jokes fell flat at times. The air hung heavy and awkward, making Ethan nearly regret saying anything. Kate decided that Ethan’s attempt to make this better deserved some positive reinforcement. “I know! But at the same time, the fact he had to pay them means that he doesn’t know how to get it himself!” Kate knew her comment made little to no sense in relation to Ethan’s words, but it was the most sensical thing she could come up with. The only way she could make words happen was by pretending Grayson was not in the room.

Ethan scoffed and nodded with wide eyes. He nodded again, looking at different points on the ground in his search for words, “Yeah!!”. He faces palmed internally, as the air in the room washed from tense and awkward to bumbling in awkward.

Kate took in a breath, she continued to pretend that Grayson was not in the room. “I lowkey feel like most people who have threesomes probably have to pay at least one other person,” she shrugged to Ethan, “or get the third person from the internet.” Sure, talking to your ex-boyfriend’s twin brother about threesomes was a normal part of friendship…right?

Ethan sucked in his lips; his teeth immediately sank into the lips. He looked away from Kate and to Grayson. In the dark of their living room, he could notice the shade of red on Grayson’s face. The twins exchanged a wayward glance. Ethan surrendered and returned his focus squarely on the television.

Grayson stuttered slightly before he even decided to speak. But when he saw Ethan and Kate’s gazes look his way, he realized he had committed to speaking by making indiscernible sounds. “Not always,” his voice wavered in tone and frequency at each syllable, “When—you know—when I did it, it was just, two people who—” he wanted to curl up, melt into the sofa, and never return, “—really wanted to try with me.” With me? With me? How pretentious was he? Also what was he doing admitting that to Kate, on his couch, with Ethan sitting between them?

“It was a long time ago,” Grayson amended his statement, “Like over a year ago.” He should really shut up right now. Kate’s mouth gaped open slightly. If it wasn’t for the cast on her leg, she would have wanted to run out of the Dolan rental house as fast as she could. She peered at Ethan, looking for some sort of reaction. Ethan gave her a meek nod, as if to say that yes, Grayson was telling the truth. Kate swallowed hard. Kate looked back at Grayson and her lips went dry. “Must be a celebrity thing,” her words were quiet and hesitant before she turned to watch the movie. She realized that watching Christian Bale perform horrendous murders and romp with ladies of the night was better than discussing Grayson’s past sexual escapades.

None of them spoke for the rest of the movie. The three of them lasered in on the gritty, gory, graphic movie as if they would be tested on its contents afterward. They sat still, like three statues of themselves. They sat posed until the last name rolled on the credits of the movie.

Ethan moved first, standing from the couch and announcing that he had to use the bathroom before he drove Kate home.

Kate shifted next, looking for her crutches. She reached out but her petite arm could not grab them from where Ethan had set them down. Grayson stood without a sound to hand them to her, his eyes betrayed his heart by staring at her every chance he had. “Thanks,” she said before propped herself from the couch and coffee table. She balanced herself on her crutches and looked up at him with a weak, meager smile. “I have something for you,” Grayson told her, trying to keep a nonchalant tone with his hands shoved in the pockets of his sweatpants.

“For me?” Kate’s eyes were painted in strokes of genuine surprise. Grayson nodded, “One second,” he quickly hurried off into the kitchen before coming back to show her. In truth, the concept of being ‘just friends’ confused Grayson to no end. He constantly wondered if he was dressing correctly, joking correctly, and acting correctly to be ‘just friends’ with Kate. Ethan tried to give him advice, saying to treat Kate like he would his other friends. But Grayson knew that his other friends didn’t make him weak at the knees. “Oh Grayson,” Kate cooed, “You’re—That’s so sweet.” Grayson held out one of his brand new, signature Wakeheart candles in scent Healing. He smiled while he placed it on top of the coffee table, in front of her. “It’s my favorite of the bunch,” he shrugged, “I feel bad that you’re still crutching around, and you have to spend so much time in bed waiting to get better. I thought maybe it would help your energy until you’re up again.”   The edges of Kate’s eyes pointed downward, “Thank you, really, I can’t wait to tell you what I think.” She gave him a bright smile. Grayson valiantly fought the internal urge to pull her into a kiss and tell her that he loved her.

Kate lit that candle later that night. She smiled while she breathed in the scents of evergreen, mountain air, and citrus. She closed her eyes and wondered if that’s what it smelled like when she and Grayson were tangled up in each other. Her sweet, citrus scents mixed in with his fresh, clean ones.

She pulled out her phone to text Grayson. She had her post-op leg elevated on a mountain of pillow while Planet Earth played on her laptop at the edge of the bed. She laid with a fluffy throw blanket draped over his normal leg and the rest of her body. She thought for a moment before typing out, “I love it! I can feel my scars burning by minute. Thanks for thinking of me Gray” she considered putting an emoji but decided it would make her look too enthusiastic.

As she typed out her note to Grayson, her phone pinged with a text from her grandmother. Kate was particularly close with her grandmother. Her father had left her life at a very young age, leaving her mother, Louise, to parent Kate. Her grandfather had passed from the Earth long before Kate was born, so her grandmother had moved in to help Louise raise Kate. Louise had even petitioned the court to remove Kate’s father’s name from her birth certificate when she was 9, to forever symbolize that Kate was not a Norris, she was a Walker. There were three Walker women in Philadelphia, all tough as nails, clever as a fox, and beautiful as the morning sky: Bethel, Louise, and Kathleen.

Kate smiled at the message from her grandmother, “How are you holding up cookie?” Kate thought for a moment before she texted her grandmother back. The last time she called her family had been before the surgery. She described LA to her mom and grandma, trying to capture both the serene beach and the fast cars. She had strategically forgotten to leave out Grayson.

Laying on that bed, covered in a blanket, with a bandaged foot, and a broken heart Kate desperately wanted to be back in the brownstone she grew up in downtown Philly. She was so lost in her thoughts, that she did not hear her phone ping when Grayson replied to her. She wanted her mother to hold her while her grandmother made pumpkin soup downstairs: when Kate thought really hard, she could remember the way the warm, cinnamon smells would permeate up the stairs, through her bedroom, and into her nostrils.

She looked down and typed out, “I’m holding in. I’m used to post-op life by now. If anything, I miss being home and wish I could see you more. Where I am now just isn’t the same. But I’ll make it, I’m your tough cookie. Could use your soup though.”

She sighed and wondered if there was a restaurant in LA that delivered pumpkin soup. She shook her head, trying not to get lost in nostalgic thoughts. She tapped on her phone to see what Grayson had texted her but did not see it.

It took a few seconds to realize that she had sent that message to Grayson, not her grandmother.

Kate’s eyes went wide as she threw her phone between her hands that were suddenly coated in sweat. She sat up and read what Grayson had responded to her.   He had written out, “Glad you like it! I hope it helps with everything  ☺️”

Kate read her message again, trying to figure out if there was anything in it that she would hate Grayson having to read.

“I’m holding in. I’m used to post-op life by now.” Okay, that was fine. That was cool. She had probably said something similar to Grayson earlier that day.

 “If anything, I miss being home and wish I could see you more. Where I am now just isn’t the same.” Kate sucked in a breath between her teeth. That was confusing, she struggled to figure out if Grayson would be confused or read that as he disdain for the emotional place she was in.

 “But I’ll make it, I’m your tough cookie.” Not as bad as the last part, but saying she was “his” tough cookie—that was the definition of problematic.

“Could use your soup though” What the hell would that even mean to Grayson? Was that sexual? Is that what the kids were calling it these days? Kate’s heart dropped when three little dots showed that Grayson was typically. In near hysterics, she slammed her fingers on her phone furiously trying to create sense with words. She settled on the brief, “Sorry that last text was for someone else. The candle is awesome though, so glad you gave it to me.” Grayson’s little dots disappeared from her phone screen. Kate read it again, finding it curt and cold. She threw her phone down on her bed and groaned. Internally, she decided that would just call her grandma next time.

The next day, Grayson surprised Ethan by asking to tag along when Ethan drove Kate to her doctor’s appointment. Ethan had the silent impression that Grayson and Kate were avoiding car rides together. He said yes to Grayson’s request, but felt weird giving his twin permission to accompany his ex-girlfriend to the doctor. Once again, Ethan Dolan was in the middle of whatever was happening between Grayson and Kate.

The car ride to the doctor’s office was filled with a semi-pleasant silence. Ethan had gotten used to chatting with Kate while he drove her to physical therapy, x-rays, and different appointments since her surgery. Sure, he could have asked her to take ubers but, in truth, he had started to both really like her and really care about her. Ethan was impressed by how quick she was, and he found himself thinking about things differently after her commentary. A part of Ethan missed that small talk on this ride.

Sometimes, Ethan would help Kate crutch to the door of the doctor’s office from the parking lot. Today, he stayed inside for fear that Grayson might try to walk in with her. Kate silently thanked Ethan for this, having the same thought herself.

Kate excitedly crutched out of doctor’s office after about 45 minutes. She had ditched her bulky cast, for a thick wrap of bandages and cotton: a small, but welcome upgrade. She nearly bounced into the Tesla, feeling a whole 5 pounds lighter from the lack of her cast. “I graduated,” she said in a high, bubbly voice as she settled into the car. “Congrats,” Ethan smiled at her through the rear-view mirror. “Any word on when you’ll back on your feet?” Grayson turned around in his seat to face her. His heart danced at the sight of her glittering smile and full cheeks.

 Kate nodded softly, “Maybe 4 weeks, three if I’m lucky.” “If you’re lucky?” Grayson cocked his head to the side from where he was turned around. “Yeah, if I heal fast. So I should go home right now and light that candle again,” she joked. Grayson smiled; his eyes perked up. He opened his mouth to say something but was interrupted by Ethan, “Can we sit down and put on seat belts?” The first half of the Tesla ride back to Kate’s apartment was spent reviewing her diagnosis with the twins. Grayson was impressed when Kate correctly named all of the bones and major tendons involved with the ankle. She went into detail about how her talus had shattered, putting pressure on the cuneiform bones in the front of her foot. The three of them chatted on happily up until Kate shared her plans for the rest of the week.

“I’m going to be moving around a lot tomorrow, so I’m probably going to want to take Thursday and Friday to rest in bed.” She shared in a perky tone.

A tense ball formed in Grayson’s stomach, with the memory of the text that Kate accidentally sent the night before. He picked at the callouses on his hand for a minute, his tongue resting in the corner of his mouth. His curiosity got the best of him, “Who are you going out with tomorrow?” Ethan furrowed his brow, wondering if he had heard his brother correctly. Kate stammered softly, thinking back to what she just said. She looked at the back of Grayson’s head with dubious eyes, “Who?” Grayson nodded, swiping his tongue against his bottom teeth. He rested his hands from where he had been picking at them. His shoulders squared off with the car seat. “Yeah, the person you were texting yesterday. Is that who you’re hanging out with?” Ethan was lost, completely and totally lost—figuratively at least, he thanked the Tesla’s self-driving capabilities for stopping him from getting physically lost.

Kate shook her head from where she said, “I was texting my grandma.” The word made Grayson’s eyes open wide as a pang of guild hit him in the stomach. Kate continued, “What did you think I meant?” “I don’t know, that maybe you were going on a date or something?” Grayson knew how stupid he sounded the minute he finished the sentence. He could have said anything, literally anything else and it would have sounded better. A silence hung in the air for a moment, the only sound coming from the Tesla’s turning signal. Grayson tried to amend his statement by saying, “I thought you were getting back out there?” He wanted to shove his entire first in his mouth and never speak again. “Oh, no,” Kate said, “I just have orientation for my new school.” She admitted shyly, not wanting to talk about whether or not she had tried to move on from Grayson. Grayson’s heart sunk, “Oh, that should be fun.” He wanted to offer her something in return for embarrassing her. “I haven’t been out with anyone,” he admitted. He was disappointed he didn’t feel a sting of embarrassment. “But you have?” Kate’s tone was puzzled.

“No, not since you.” “But you did? That girl? That blonde girl that morning?”

Grayson swore internally a million times. He wanted to bury his head in sand and never see the light of day again. He wanted to bathe in as much holy water as LA county could fit. He ran his hands through his hair, hoping to stimulate his brain into saying something intelligent. He couldn’t find anything worth saying. The trio were silent until they dropped Kate off at her apartment.

Grayson went to bed that night still upset with himself. He wondered why it was so hard to be just friends with someone was wonderful as Kate. But a part of him knew he could never be friends with Kate. She was too much and not enough all at the same time: too much of everything he so desperately wanted in his heart of hearts, but not enough of tender life partner his heart panged for. He felt an internal pressure to make a decision: choose to silently exit Kate’s life or try to win her back. He didn’t sleep a wink that night.

#grayson dolan #dolan twins #youtuber #fanfiction #grayson dolan x oc #romance #fiction #writing #story #ethan dolan #grayson

[elliethesuperfruitlover]

Sensual Soliloquies

A/N: This is the first time in a couple years that I’ve attempted writing any type of fanfiction, let alone smut. This is going to be extremely detailed as well, so try not to cream yourselves too early. I give the credit for the Klaus traveling in time shit to @badsext because of her Klaus x Nathan fic. Go read it, it’s quite lovely.

Warnings: smoking, detailed sexual actions, probably some cussing here or there, unprotected sex (wrap it up before you back it up), and threesome I guess if that counts

 “Klaus, where the fuck are we?” you ask him, confused to no end.

“Um, Berlin, Germany. Some time in the far future, and the apocalypse of 2019 either happened and didn’t fuck anything up, or just didn’t happen.”

  Klaus touched another fucking suitcase (he told you about the previous time, and the previous heartbreak) and somehow ended up transporting the both of you to Berlin. Everything around you is very neon, and drone-like machines fly by, carrying what seem to be food boxes. You two landed in an alleyway of what seemed to be a bigger building. There was an old fashioned looking car, and a concrete overhang type place. The “Only Employee” door gave off the vibe that you weren’t supposed to be there. Well, to be frank, you weren’t even supposed to be in that year.

“This place might be a strip club or a hooker joint.” Klaus points out, closing his eyes, deeply sighing.

“What makes you think that?” you ask, curious as to where he got that outlandish idea from. (Honestly it’s not the most outward idea he’s come up with since you’d met him.)

  He points to the window, where there seemed to be a naked robot with exaggerated female features dancing on a pole. Through the window, there’s also people, presumably strippers, dancing on tables, shaking ass, getting handed money. It turns you on just a bit, because something about cellulite being pushed against tight clothing got you going. That thought process, however, got pushed aside when a person walked through the employee door, outside. They were alone. The person looked somewhat like Klaus for some odd reason, mostly in the face region. Blonde hair swooped into a low-grade emo fringe, what looked like plastic covered their forehead, a kimono with tassels, and a deconstructed suit vest with tight pants.

“Oh fuck, hide.” Klaus whispered as quiet as possible, prompting the both of you to dive behind the old car.

“The suitcase!” you thought, about to reach out to get it, but the person was already swaying their way towards you two. They, however, didn’t seem to notice you two, as they lit what looked to be a cigarette, and took a deep inhale.

  The position that you find yourselves in proves to be quite compromising. Literally and figuratively. You were pushed up against Klaus’ groin area, as you couldn’t be choosers when about to be possible prosecuted. He groans lightly, trying to adjust you off of him, but that proves to be quite stupid as the person stops mid drag and calls out.

“Who’s there?” You have half of a mind to answer, but Klaus was just a tad drunk so he squeaked lightly.

“What the fuck?” they yell, looking to the source of the sound, only to find you and Klaus huddled together behind the car. The person seemed to have a slight accent, German, you suspect, and a higher pitch to their voice. Although that might be due to the fact that they were scared out of their fucking mind to find two people, one who looked like them behind a goddamn car.

  The two of you come out from behind the car, like two children caught trying to steal candy. Klaus tries to put his hands in front of his crotch, as his bulge hadn’t faded yet. You were already willing to formulate the truth instead of a lie, it was Germany for fucks sake, and you didn’t know if they went back to the old ways.

“Please explain to me who the fuck you two are, why the fuck you’re hiding behind a car that isn’t yours, and why you have your hands in front of your pants, hon?” he says, nodding his cigarette over to Klaus, who blushes at those words.

“We-” Klaus starts, but he was drunk, and you didn’t want to cause any confusion.

“We come from the past, and the suitcase you saw on the ground is how we got here. It allows you to go to a specific place and time, typically to kill another person. Klaus, here, um, grabbed one in his stupor and here we are, in front of you. Might I ask, what year is it?” you said in one breath, about to be prepared to start running if this person had a hidden glock.

“It’s 2037 love. For starters, my name is Luba, I work at this strip joint here and as an escort, uh. Sorry, I’m just a little baffled, understandably. You know what, my shift ends in like 5 minutes, and my boss won’t mind if I leave early. How about I order some food for all of us because I can’t cook for shit, and we’ll talk over at my place. It doesn’t seem like you two planned anything ,so I’ll care for you two ‘til then.” he offers, looking at us with curiosity.

“That sounds good, but before that, could I please get a drag of that, might as well cross-fade in fucking Berlin. Maybe we’ll get Amsterdam next time.” Klaus asks, looking for approval.

  Luba obliges, and the two of them make shared eye contact, and hand contact, which ends up being lingering. Oh, the thoughts running through your head at that moment in time. Naughty, very naughty indeed. You just meet Luba though, and he might not even be into chicks. He goes back inside, and tells the two of you to meet him up front, and you travel there, and he shows up exactly when the two of you were about to dip out.

“Come on, my place is just a walk from here, it shouldn’t tire the two of you out too much.” he says, starting to walk in a direction. You two follow him, hungry, cold, and of course horny. 

  The moment you two arrive at Luba’s apartment, the feeling of hippy isn’t uncommon. There were tapestries on the walls, and potted plants decorated the shelves. There was even an old fashioned bong sitting on the table, and it looked clean for the most part. It seemed like a very cozy place, and the serenity was only bound to end. The two of you lurked around very lightly, taking in the fact that the Nazis didn’t find you. Luba presumably went to his room to set his kimono and keys down, then he came in, only to find you and Klaus wandering around his living room, trying to figure out the vintage things from the modern ones.

“Hey, um, what do you too want for dinner? We can talk over it, and it doesn't take too long to order since everything is air-delivered,” he said, in which Klaus mumbled whatever’s fine, and you nodded along. “Chinese it is,”Luba says, typing into a little machine, and opening his living room window for the bot to come through.

    The food couldn’t come soon enough because Klaus started to sweat and get the shakes, a clear symptom of his withdrawals. They’d been getting a little better, but ever since the cult fucked him over, he’d been drinking again. Plus, the 60’s were like the haven for every drug in existence. Klaus wanted to make sure he got the freshest Mary Jane whenever possible. You, on the other hand, tended to stay away from drugs, only drinking every now and then, and smoking weed only when you felt like it. It wasn’t a constant feeling, but sometimes it was stronger than others. All three of you made your ways to the kitchen, and looked out of the window until the bot announced itself, and dropped the food off on the coffee table with the bong on it.

“Thank god! Food’s here. Limes and cherries from cocktails only go so far y’know. And those peanuts, ugh, they’re stale and taste like sweat.” Luba says, ripping the box open on the kitchen island. The box contained what looked like non-cardboard containers filled with soup dumplings, lo mein noodles, a very small order of broccoli, crab rangoon, and a fuck garlic chicken. Luba pulled out a bottle of wine and some water in glasses.

  The lot of you dug in quickly, as you and Klaus hadn’t eaten in a good 8 hours, and Luba had only eaten a small breakfast that morning. Between bites, you and Klaus explained how you two got in Germany, and your lives before that. He mentioned the Umbrella Academy and his siblings, even mentioning their powers. He was truly comfortable around Luba, he didn’t even mention his siblings when he first met you. They both even mentioned the fact that they look very similar, even though they’re years apart. The meal was stretching to a close, but Luba asked a very compromising question.

“What about the two of you, huh? I’ve been trying to figure out, with the small amount of time that I’ve known you two. Are you two friends or fuck buddies, hmm?” he asks, a sly smirk on his face as he sultrily wipes his mouth, and sets his napkin on his plate, steepling his hands under his chin. These words caused a blush to dust across the both of your cheeks, and out of the corner of your eye, you see Klaus adjusting his bulge as well as he could.

“We’re lovers, but started off as friends.” you answered, leaning forward, letting your cleavage become slightly visible. Sticking your ass out just enough to get Klaus riled up from beside you.

  Luba nods in acknowledgement, then also adjusts himself from what you can see. You all put your plates away, making quick work of rinsing them, then placing them in the deep sink. Luba moves to the living room, sitting on his couch and spreading his legs just enough to make his bulge visible in those oh-so tight pants. You both sit on the side of him, trying to edge those naughty thoughts from your heads.

“So, are we gonna fuck or what?” Luba asks casually, looking between the two of you, glancing at your lips and Klaus’ little problem.

“Yeah, why not. When in Berlin, I guess.” you say, leaning across to catch Luba’s lips with your own, catching his braided hair with your hand. His lips are surprisingly soft, and his tongue fights for dominance with your own, slowly becoming more of a stalemate, settling for pleasure.

   You move into Luba’s lap, softly grinding against him to take the edge off of the simmering pleasure in your lower abdomen. Klaus turns the two of you lightly, only so he could catch Luba’s neck, gently kissing and nibbling it, leaving red marks in his wake. He licks the prominent carotid vein in his neck, biting it to draw a high moan out of Luba, causing him to draw away from the kiss to dust your neck with kisses, stopping at your collarbone to bite there, and to continue to grind against you, and Klaus pushes up against the blonde haired individual, trying to rub his dick slowly against the rough material of Luba’s vest.

“We should move somewhere more….accomodating for three people, some would say.” Klaus says, breathing lightly on Luba’s neck, licking along the length of his earlobe. You shudder at the ending of your session, but oblige, knowing that Klaus could get a little squirmy when he was being pleasured substantially.

  The bedroom is somewhat different from the couch..or should I say love seat. You sit on the bed making out with Luba, but Klaus is sitting on the edge of the bed, sneaking a hand behind his navy blue bell bottoms, and slowly rubbing himself to get that constant source of endorphins moving. You moan lightly at the sensation of Luba rubbing himself against you, giving you just the lightest of clitoral stimulation. Wet smacks fill the air as you move down Luba’s form, biting at his smooth chest, and he moans beautifully next to your ear, giving it a nice bite to punctuate his gyrations against your pelvis. He pulls away from you just long enough to catch Klaus about to cum, only to stop him in his tracks.

“Don’t you fucking dare, I haven’t even sucked you off yet.” Luba says, making his way over to him.

  Klaus sheepishly stands up with his prominent boner not being even close to hidden in those pants of his. You take your pants off on the bed, along with your shirt, and slip a hand into your panties, getting ready to enjoy what was about to be placed in front of you. Luba lands a kiss on Klaus’ lips, gropes his ass once, then kisses the loathed bulge put before him. He pulls Klaus' pants down, just so he can see his project, then gets to work. Luba takes Klaus’ cock entirely, balls in all and moans around the length, Klaus replying in earnest. He pops off of Klaus’ balls, focusing on the head of his dick. He gives little kitten licks to the tip, making prolonged eye contact with Klaus. He takes him inch by inch, savoring every little bit of his dick that he could get his plump lips on. You also saw Luba’s tongue making work of the vein showing on the underside of Klaus’ dick.

   Luba reached his hands around and groped Klaus’ ass, kneading it between his hands, paying special attention to it. All while looking at Klaus with the biggest, brightest doe eyes the world did see. His emerald pierced the identical ones Klaus owned, sending him into a fit of moans and whimpers. He starts bobbing his head around the length, hollowing his cheeks to get that perfect feeling Klaus wanted deeply. He pulled off with a delicious pop , Klaus giving one last perfect moan from his lips. You’d been touching yourself heavily, not yet letting the slick fingers fully penetrate your hole. Just barely getting there. Luba strips himself clean, leaving his dick standing proudly against his flat stomach, small beads of precum falling from the tip, slowly making their way down to the base of his dick. Klaus also strips himself, moving over to where you were sitting on the bed, catching your lips between his own, then making quick work of your bra and panties.

  He catches each nipple between his mouth, suckling lightly on the buds. Luba also joins in on the fun, and starts slowly fingering Klaus’ asshole, drawing a low moan out of his busy lips. Klaus draws himself away from you, just long enough to also draw Luba away, who drags you on top of him. Klaus takes his spot behind you, jacking himself off lightly. You don’t know where this is heading, but it looks like it’s about to be beautifully seductive and erotic. Apparently condoms didn’t exist in the future, but that was the least of your worries. Luba sat patiently, waiting for you to slip onto his cock, hands ready to catch you if you fall.

  You slowly climbed onto Luba’s cock, stretching yourself deliciously, drawing a surprisingly strong moan from yourself. Luba’s dick is just about the same as Klaus’. It’s thicker than it is long, and light stubble covers his pelvic area. It’s not much pain, but lots of pleasure for you. Luba closed his eyes in pleasure, and lets out a loud grunt, putting his hands on your hips, grasping onto you. You slowly start to move on his length, moving up and down very slowly, then very quickly, as you’re used to Klaus being rough with you, and that’s what you took best.

And apparently so does Luba.

   He moans and yells underneath you, moving his hips up to meet yours at every interval you move. Your breasts bounce wonderfully to each movement, and whenever Luba opens his eyes, it’s all he can see. Every now and then, his eyes go to Klaus, who attacks your neck and jerks himself off to your pace with his near lookalike. As well as that, Luba likes to look at where your pussy and his dick meet, being the source of this delicious pleasure. Things start to get a little calm, but Klaus gets a very, very naughty idea. He leans into your ear and fucking dirty talks you while you’re riding Luba into the goddamned sunset.

“Fuck yeah, you like riding that cock huh? Oh, such a dirty fucking girl, getting me all riled up. Yeah, clench that sweet pussy of yours around his fucking cock. Feeling it reach deep into your fucking love tunnel, banging up against your womb. Such a fucking slut. You know you want that cum painting your insides.” he says into your ear, humping a pillow from Luba’s bed. He moans in deep pleasure, grunting and whimpering at the noises you make. Klaus reaches forward to grope your tits, harshly squeezing them so that you can feel each finger rubbing against that skin.

  Luba hears what’s going on, and it only brings him closer to his own orgasm. He moans louder now, confident in his ability to pleasure you. Him speeding up his own thrusts makes you clench your wet pussy around him, squeezing with all the might in your being. Klaus also speeds up his humping, and his words get dirtier and hornier. 

“Yeah, make him cum hard, just like you milk me whenever you can. He’ll be saying your name like a mantra when you’re done with him. Oh, good girl, riding him like a fucking champ. Don;t you feel him getting closer and closer while his dick gets harder, yeah? Want him to pump your fucking womb full of cum, yeah? Make you want more.” he says, reaching his own peak, moaning sensually in your ear as he releases onto his stomach and your back.

That action may have given you the best orgasm in the history of your sex life.

  You moan loudly and clench the hardest you’ve ever done so, sparking you to squirt messily all over Luba’s stomach. He cums after you, pumping you full of his cum. He covered his face when he came, and he moaned into oblivion. The three of you slowly recover from your orgasms, very slowly. Luba went to go fetch a wet washcloth, but not after kissing the both of you on the lips. You recover the slowest, and Klaus rubs your back as the aftershocks start rolling in. Luba cleans you up, and places his pillowcase in the wash. He also changes his sheets, but not after handing you a morning after pill, because in the early conversation over dinner that seemed so far away, you mentioned that you’d wanted kids much later in life.

  You three sleep soundly, cuddled up against each other for warmth. You feel like you’re on Cloud 9 with that day and it’d only go downhill from there.

Masterlist

#klaus hargreeves imagin #klaus hargreeves smut #luba #smut

[docholligay]

The Long Black Road

I FINISHED SOMETHING EVERYONE CONGRATULATE ME. This was @yamadara87 prompt, “MA after Haruka dies” takes place in the MaS AU. 

The shop was quiet for a Wednesday afternoon. It could have been owing to the cold as much as anything, and the fact that with so many holidays having recently been laid to rest, women were not nearly so fussy about having the latest style. It was always a slow period of the year, one where Takuya and MA generally set about to improving parts of the shop, thinking about the coming year, and running the books. 

But Takuya was alone in the small but exclusive shop today, and had been for the last few weeks. He’d just finished with a client determined to keep her hair black despite her age, washing up in the back corner, when he heard the door open, the high bells chiming across the pristine shop. He knew damn well he didn’t have an appointment lined up, and their shop was the sort of place that only did a walk-in if your cash and your pedigree matched up. 

He’d even sent their receptionist home for the day. 

“Welcome!” He beamed brightly as he walked out the back, setting aside the actual thoughts in his head for something much more encouraging. 

“It’s just me.” M.A. stopped at the front desk and looked over her appointment book, whipping through the pages until she came to the clean emptiness of the current week. “When Masami comes in tomorrow, let her know I’m taking appointments. Make sure she calls Ms. Sato, I’m sure she’s having a heart attack right about now.” 

“I--” Takuya leaned against the wall near the back of the shop, “Wasn’t expecting to see you. For awhile.” 

MA looked up at him and grinned, tossing the curly hair back from her face. On anyone else it might have looked careless, but it was in these moments that Takuya was reminded that MA was a Kaioh by bloodline and inclination, and had her mother’s way of making something look intentional and stylish. 

“Get used to having the place to yourself, huh?” 

“No,” he shook his head, straightening up off the wall, “I missed having you. But, M.A….” 

“Pop died this morning, to answer your question,” she punctuated the thought by dropping the pen into the cup, “so I’m back.” 

Takuya nearly sighed, but then thought better of it. Since they’d met in school, he’d always been taken with MA’s blend of brashness and breeding, the way she could play at either without skipping a beat, her intense refusal to allow anything to push her off the balance beam of her own life. She was stubborn and strong and all the things Takuya wanted for himself, and had cultivated a bit of, in his adult life. 

But things are never simple, Takuya had learned as life went on, and strength can be an anchor, and an anchor can do many things at once, while never changing shape. MA was not weak, because she never let herself be weak. She never gave herself permission to be weak. 

He doubted he could give her that permission either, but at the very least, he could try. 

“You don’t have to be here.” 

MA scoffed and shook her head. “What else is there to do?” 

She looked at him when he said it, a mild look of amusement on her face. She wanted him to have an answer. MA would have loved for Takuya to know what a human being was supposed to do, after a mother dies. He would have loved to have an answer, as well, and, tugging at his sleeve, realize he should have known the question would come long before it did. 

MA didn’t give him a chance to come up with anything before she parried each blow. 

“Funeral home got her body,” she closed the schedule book, “Pop planned most of her own funeral,” she took mail from the desk and shoved an envelope in the correct slot, “wrote the eulogy,” another envelope, in the garbage this time,” So, what is there to do? Other than sit around and cry about something we’ve known is coming for months. Kimi has that down, I don’t think the family needs me for that.”

Takuya came over and sat at the desk, looking up at her. 

“What about your kids?” 

She stopped for a moment, mail still in hand, and looked past the desk and out the front window. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out, and eventually she closed it, shaking her head, returning to her mail. 

“MA--” 

“What, Takuya?” She tossed down the rest of the mail. “What do you want from the entire conversation? You want me to cry? Would that make you feel like I was doing all of this correctly?” she crossed her arms. “There is nothing on earth left that I can do for her. My Papa is dead, and there’s no bringing her back, and all the ridiculous throwing myself into open sobbing is going to change that. It would just be to make everyone else feel better. It won’t make me feel better, because she would still be dead, and I would be annoyed and crying.” 

“What I want, Marine, is for you not to do this--thing, that you do,--”

“I don’t know why you bother even trying to say my name. You pronounce it like a donkey.” She sat down at the desk and opened the computer file. 

“--where you pretend everything is fine, and that nothing can possibly rattle you, and then all of a sudden, you’re gone. You just suddenly decide to deal with things, and God fucking forbid you let anyone help you.” 

She just looked at him, an unimpressed stare on her face. 

“Remember when you and your boyfriend broke up? And it was nothing, until I looked up, and you were in some cheap-ass onsen, drunk, for five days. That was a month later!” 

M.A.’s face turned from unimpressed to thoughtful, though still there was no betrayal of sadness. 

“You’re, and I don’t say this to piss you off, a little bit like your mom sometimes.” 

M.A. let out a loud groan and threw herself back in the chair. “God, I am, aren’t I?” She sighed. “It’s some Greek tragedy of mine.” 

Takuya shrugged. “I like your mom. But, she definitely is, emotionally avoidant.” 

M.A. rested her hands on her chin and stared down at the appointment book. She and Taskuya sat there for a moment, saying nothing, at all, until M.A.’s voice came softly from the desk. 

“I was such a bitch to Pop when I was a teenager.” 

All of life is a play, and there ware times in our lives when we must recognize the act and stage on which we stand. There is a time for the quick back and forth of Wilde, and a time for the ponderousness of Chekov, and above all, a time for a Shakespearan soliloquy. 

And so Takuya did not respond. 

“She was such a good mom,” M.A. folded her hands into her lap, looking more like Michiru than ever before, though he would not have dared say it, “She packed my lunch every day, with these little notes about how she loved me, or was proud of me. Sometimes just a little drawing. I started throwing them away, when I was 13. All my Pop had ever wanted,” she took a deep breath, “ was to be a mom, and I just kept throwing it back in her face.”

“She tried to take me to the movies, shopping, and just--” she gave a difficult huff, “I wanted nothing to do with her. She just wanted me too badly. Isn’t that horrible? My Pop loved me so much that I resented her for it. I thought she was pathetic.

“I really am like my Mom, sometimes, Takuya. You don’t know the half of it. I’ve heard stories of my Mom, when she was a teenager, even up into her 20s, how she was vain and petty, and self-centered. Mom always turns a little pink when anyone mentions it. And then I did the same thing, but to Pop. To someone who only wanted to love me for everything I was. Didn’t matter when I screamed at Mom, didn’t matter when I snuck out. Didn’t even matter when I stole her medication and sold it. And I hated her for it.” she gave a chuckle, “I’m such a bitch.” 

M.A looked up at the ceiling, hands still folded, unable to even glance over at Takuya. 

“I was so cruel, those next few years. I told her she was embarrassing. I told her to leave me alone. Once, when I was 15, I told her she wasn’t even my mom. I wasn’t related to her at all. She started to cry, right there in front of me. You know what I did, Takuya?” she looked over at him, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Fucking nothing. I stood there, and watched my Pop cry, when she had thrown her entire life into raising me. What kind of fucking...monster…” 

Sometimes, a soliloquy becomes a spiral, and so Takuya stepped in. 

“I knew your Pop for, well, as long as I’ve known you. You two were really close, M.A. So you were a bitch for three years as a kid. I knew Haruka, and I saw her with you, and I never would have known any of that. She forgave you. And you changed. So.” 

M.A laughed and wiped away her tears. “Well, at a certain point, my aunt Mina had enough of my shit and threatened to beat my ass if I couldn’t treat Pop with some kind of borderline kindness.” she cleared her throat. “She told me everything that ever happened to Pop. I never knew all of it. She never told me, and, you know, her mom died when I was really little. And--and, Pop had a pretty big surgery around that time, and I remember cutting class and taking Kimi--” 

“Kimi cut class!? Kimiko. Your sister.” 

M.A. nodded. “The first and last time. Pop hadn’t wanted us to see her until she was a little better. But since when was I listening to Pop? Kimi was so worried.We got there and Pop was so...I felt bad for her.” 

Takuya smiled and leaned over the desk. “And the Snow Queen melted, and became a real girl.” 

“Eat a dick, Takuya.”

“With pleasure.”

She shook her head. “I never apologized to her. I never told her how much I regretted being a complete asshole.” 

He touched her shoulder, and she looked up at him. “Did you stop being an asshole?”

“Yeah.” 

“I think the best apology is changed behavior.” He sat on the desk. “Your Pop loved you. And she knew you loved her. After all that, what else is there?” 

M.A. thought for a moment, looking off into the empty shop that smelled perpetually of the fine shampoos and conditioners they used on the clients, over to where her scissors lay covered in their case where she had left them weeks ago. There was nothing to be done, she was right in that respect. And when there is nothing to be done, at times, we can only be left with the reality of how we feel. 

“I miss her.” 

It was so plain that it surprised the both of them. Artless and plain, without any kind of bravado, laid out there on the counter. Takuya walked across the shop into his station, opened a drawer and pulled out a bottle of HIbiki. 

“She was a hell of a person,” He put two plastic glasses in front of them, pouring, “I’m better for having known her.” 

“I’ll drink to that.” 

M.A. did not stop feeling guilty that day, or for a long time, for life does not work that way, and rarely affords us an instant release from that which binds us. But on that day, in a closed shop in a fancy district, she drank good whiskey from a poor cup, and cried, and took the first step toward the sun.

#AU of Mystery and Shadow #Doc that's technically a monologue and not a soliloquy #I know! #But the lyric of the narrative demands #pillory me if you must but I couldn't make monologue work

[ladymarrianna]

So, instead of just posting the last chapter, I decided to post the whole thing together, as I think it works better as a oneshot (ok, so it's actually because the last chapter is really short because I may or may not have been watching Tangled: the Series) Anyway, here goes! ( @laadychat , @sassakitty , I'm not sure if you wanted to be tagged in this?)

The Three Musketeers

Alix Kubdel, Le Chien Kim and Nino Lahiffe were waiting outside the Agreste mansion when they heard soft footfalls walking down the sweeping stone staircase and through the huge iron gates behind them. They all turned around, expecting to see one of their best friends, Adrien Agreste, almost running towards them as he usually did with a huge smile plastered over his face. Instead, they were met with the cold smile of the Agreste family's assistant,  Nathalie. She didn't bother greeting them.

"Gabriel Agreste has forbidden Adrien from attending your gathering today" she stated emotionlessly, and walked away before the three teens had time to formulate a response. They stood there, seething on behalf of their friend, for a few seconds, and then Alex and Kim turned their backs on the sweeping stone staircase, and the huge iron gates. Nino, however, faced the gates for a few moments longer. He was thinking about how, if he were to imagine the gates of Hell, they would probably look almost identical to those of the Agreste mansion.

As the three friends began to walk away, Nino spoke.

"This is just so unfair!"

The words burst out of him, as if he had been wanting to say them for a very long time, and, to be perfectly honest, he probably had. The others were quick to agree.

"We have to do something about this."

"Gabriel's almost as bad as Hawkmoth,"

"He's probably worse, dude," Nino almost spat. He even managed to say "dude" in a suitably indignant voice, although the others were at a loss as to how he managed it.

"At least Hawkmoth isn't such a bad parent,"

"He probably would be, if he had kids."

"Nah, I don't think even he'd stoop that low,"

"Come on Alix, he's literally a supervillain, how could he stoop any lower?"

"He's stooped so low that his nose is practically touching the floor."

"Wait a second." Nino's voice again cut through Kim and Alixs' indignant ramblings.

"What if Gabriel... is Hawkmoth?"

Kim and Alix turned to look at him in disbelief.

"You must be kidding," said Kim, but it sounded more like a question.

"Hear me out. Gabriel's rich, rich enough to have a secret lair, and he wants his wife back, so there's a motive... And he never goes out of he house, so he has plenty of time to do it."

Kim nodded excitedly, a grin forming on his face.

"And their house has huge windows - it must be so light in there."

"What?" Nino asked, confused.

"You know, because moths like light," The others stared at him blankly.

"Oh ok, don't worry about it," he blushed slightly.

Alix also nodded her head up and down.

"He's also really tall, just like Hawkmoth,"

 The three teens stopped in their tracks, the light of their discovery shining in their eyes. Then Nino's face fell.

"But what will happen to Adrien when we catch him?" He dispaired.

"Whatever it is, at least it will be better than living with Hawkmoth," Alix said, with a determined set to her jaw.

The following evening saw Alix, Kim and Nino sitting in a circle on the roof of the Agreste mansion. They had got up there with a piece of timely help from Bunnyx, and they were waiting up there for anything suspicious that they could use to catch Gabriel red-handed. Admittedly, it was not a very well thought out plan, but it was better than nothing and, after all, they were only 14.

While they were sitting there, Alix had a stroke of (self-proclaimed) genius.

"Drainpipes!" She exclaimed excitedly, "I can climb the drainpipes and look through the windows to spot Hawkmoth!"  The others shared a grin and looked expectantly at her, waiting for her to get started.

As Alix disappeared over the edge of the building, she soon ran into a difficulty. While she could get up and down easily enough, she couldn't get from side to side. She waited where she was for a minute whilst thinking her problem over, but her hands soon became slippery and she had to carry on moving down.

The first window she came to was Adrien's room and, although he wasn't inside it himself, the door was locked from the inside.

"Strange," Alix thought to herself. She noticed that the window was open. That was strange too, she thought.

Meanwhile, on the roof, Nino and Kim had spotted a black shape moving from rooftop to rooftop. In actuality, it was Nino that spotted it first, but later it would be Kim that claimed that he was the first one to have seen Chat Noir coming along the rooves towards them. They soon realised that, if he hadn't already, he would see them, sitting here, on the roof of one of the most guarded places in the whole city. However, Chat Noir's path had taken him not towards them but down, downwards into... the wall of the mansion?

Chat Noir vaulted through the open window and detransformed before Alix had time to blink. Adrien Agreste was sitting on his bed, waving awkwardly at her, a pink flush rising on his cheeks.

"Uhm... Hey, Alix," he said casually, although his voice was slowly getting higher and higher, "so, er, how did you get here? I was just, um, taking a shower?" His statement sounded more like a question, as if he was trying desperately to think up a believable excuse. He probably was, thought Alix, and it was failing.

Adrien Agreste lay on his bed, staring blankly at Alix, who was on the outside of his window. How did she even get there? He certainly didn't know. All he knew was that he had come in the usual way, detransformed, saw her standing there with her mouth wide open, stuttered out a would-be casual greeting (it wasn't casual at all) and then collapsed into a puddle of shame. What was Ladybug going to say? Again, he didn't know. Then, dragging him out of his spiral of self-pity, Alix began to speak.

"Can you help me get back to the roof?" she asked. Adrien wondered why on earth she wanted to get up there, and what she was doing up there in the first place. He only realised he had spoken these thoughts aloud when Alix responded.

"Nino and Kim are up there," she replied, as if that would answer all of his questions. Sadly,  it didn't accomplish it's goal, and only succeeded in giving him even more questions that he probably wouldn't get the answers to. Nevertheless, he agreed and, ignoring Plagg's protests and Alix's incredulous stare (at Plagg, not him), he transformed.

As they arrived up on the roof, Alix whooping as the wind rushed in her ears, Nino and Kim came into view. Nino was eating crisps from a bag, and Kim was throwing them into the air and catching them in his mouth. When they saw Alix with Chat Noir, of all people, they stopped eating immediately to glare at her. Kid's crisp bounced harmlessly off his nose, which, if you had to ask Adrien, somewhat spoiled the effect.

"Why did you go telling someone else about our plan?"

"It was supposed to be a secret, Alix, do you not know what that means?" Kim was indignant.

"Think about it. He's a superhero, which will make it infinitely easier to get evidence against Gabriel, and it will give the police more reason to listen to us," Alix said seriously. Adrien, however, spluttered.

"Evidence against Gabriel? Evidence for what? My Fath -um - favourite designer hasn't done anything wrong, has he?" Alix snickered when he came to "favourite designer". Kim and Nino looked at her curiously.

"Chat, would you mind detransforming for us?"

"I'm not sure if I'm allowed, Ladybug's going to kill me as it is."

"Well you can't be killed twice, can you?"

"Oh ok fine, I'll do it, but you can't breathe a word about this to anyone. Especially not Ladybug. Or Gabriel Agreste."

A green light washed over his body, and Plagg appeared from out of his ring, clutching his stomach. Nino's jaw dropped open. Kim blinked, smirked, and said

"I knew it." (He hadn't really known it, of course, but he was a good actor).

Once Nino had got over his shock - which took a remarkably long time - and he, Kim and Alix had filled Adrien in with their theory, he said,

"So that's why I found the Miraculous grimoire in his study! I was wondering about that, but the Guardian wouldn't tell me anything about it. I expect he didn't know anything about it either."

"You found WHAT in his study?!"

"There's a guardian?"

"He sounds useless!"

"Yeah, he only really tells stuff to Ladybug. She's training to be the next guardian," the bitterness was clearly evident in his voice,  and the others were quick to assure him that no, it wasn't fair and yes, the guardian should have told him, especially as it was his father who they suspected of being Hawkmoth.

Just a few metres underneath the four friends, an enormous circular window was sliding smoothly open, revealing an even larger circular room. So the window opened,  hundreds of pure white butterflies rise up from the floor, and there was just enough light to see a tall figure standing in the centre of the room with a long cane in their hand. Although the figure was alone, they clearly still felt the need to give a long, dramatic monologue as they captured a butterfly between their fingers. From their voice, it was evident that the figure was a man.

After several minutes, he finished his soliloquy, instead choosing to stand, motionless, clearly waiting for the - now black - butterfly to return.

"...so fly, my little akuma, and evilise her broken heart!" the deep voice came from directly below the four teenagers, and a black butterfly fkuttered over the edge of the building. Before the other three could react, Adrien had punched the air with a loudly spoken phrase.

"Plagg, transform me! Cataclysm!" As his hand closed around the akuma, it crumbled to dust.

"So," he said grimly, emptying the dust from his hand, "Your theory's true."

Nino Lahiffe looked out of his bedroom window to see Chat Noir leaping from rooftop to rooftop. To the average Parisian citizen, he would seem to be simply showing off, but Nino knew what he was really doing. Adrien was trying to be as conspicuous as possible, in the hopes of catching Ladybug's attention so that she would transform and come to join him.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng was lying on her bed, her history textbook spread open over her eyes. Meanwhile, her kwami, Tikki, was attempting to pull her out of bed. It wasn't working. In fact, it was failing miserably.

"Marinette, you have another two messages and a missed call from Chat Noir, five texts from Nino, two from Alix and one from Kim. You have to get up Marinette!"

The girl in question groaned loudly and pulled the textbook down her pace so her eyes were visible. She blinked a few times from the change in lighting, groaning again, and croaked out a short but indecipherable phrase. It was clearly good enough for Tikki, though, and a pink light washed over Marinette's body. Ladybug sat up, then stood up, the history book sliding down until it hit the floor with a crash. Ladybug winced at the noise before climbing up, through the trapdoor in her ceiling and onto her balcony. A dark shape was visible, leaping from rooftop to rooftop. Chat Noir.

"So what did you want to tell me, Kitty?" she asked lightly as she dropped onto the roof beside him. He turned towards her, face uncharacteristically serious.

"My lady, I know who Hawkmoth is, and I have a plan." Marinette stiffened.

"Who is it?"

"It's Gabriel Agreste."

"Hello Father," Adrien said calmly, holding his staff out in front of him. Beside him, Ladybug spun her yoyo. Honestly, Nino thought, it wasn't particularly threatening. He, Alix and Kim stood behind the duo, a hand resting on each of their respective weapons, and while Alix held her umbrella naturally and Nino had rested a confident hand on his shield, Kim looked vaguely uncomfortable holding his flute. If he was the in charge of handing out the Miraculous, he would at least have given Kim a weapon more suited to combat. After all, you can't do much with a flute, even if it is magical.

Nino's thoughts were interrupted by Adrien opening his mouth to speak again, and, when he heard what his best friend said, he knew that the battle would be short.

"Cataclysm!"

So it's finished! I hope you enjoyed and thanks for reading!

#marinette dupain-cheng #miraculous ladybug #mlb #Adrien Agreste #Nino Lahiffe #Le Chien Kim #Alix Kubdel #Gabriel Agreste #she can write! #kind of #ladybug #chat noir #hawkmoth

[wolfpawn]

I Hate You, I Love You, Chapter 127

Chapter Summary - Danielle and Tom return home and organise themselves for their next time apart, but Danielle's trip to the shops leads to a peculiar situation.

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long.  This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously.

Copyright for the photo is the owners, not mine.

I WILL get there, it is my dream!

All image rights belong to their owners

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog​​ @jessibelle-nerdy-mum​​ @nonsensicalobsessions​​ @damalseer​​ @hiddlesbitch1​​ @winterisakiller​ @fairlightswiftly​​ @salempoe​​ @wolfsmom1

‘Where are my best boys?’ Both dogs were almost frantic to get to Tom and Danielle as she knelt down in front of them. Mac got there first on account of his longer legs and Bobby tumbling en route. When he righted himself, he decided to seek attention from Tom before both dogs seemed to hear a silent signal and both swapped humans almost as though they had choreographed it. ‘Did you miss us?’ Bobby all but climbed into her arms and licked her face.

‘What happened to not rewarding this behaviour?’ Tom asked as he scratched the fur on Mac’s chest.

‘I saw you do it first.’ She grinned as she cuddled the pup in her arms.

They got the dogs into the car, securing them before heading back to the house. Tom spoke about different engagements to do with Early Man as they went.

‘Did you spend much time with the rest of the cast for the movie?’ Danielle asked.

‘No, you don’t with voice work, you are in a recording studio, mostly by yourself.’

‘Do you know the rest of the cast well, bar Redmayne?’

‘Not really, I mean, I met most of them a few times, the British circuit is a smaller one, but I will have to spend the most of my time with Maisie and Eddie for the promotion.’

‘Maisie Williams, right?’

‘Yes….’

‘I like her, she and I spent way too long talking about her stunts when she and I were on the set together, she is mad in the loveliest possible way.’ Tom stared at her. ‘She’s in Game of Thrones you absolute numpty.’ Danielle laughed.

Tom shook his head and chuckled. ‘Oh course, how foolish of me. You will see Redmayne before me though.’

‘No, he is there for the second week, he is doing stuff for Early Man the first one.’

‘How do you know this?’

‘I may have checked the schedule on the flight back.’

‘Elle!’

‘What, you were asleep and I am leaving first thing, so I wanted to get ready and that way get in the shopping and walk the dogs at home instead of readying for this.’

Tom nodded slightly. ‘That does sound like a better idea, in all fairness.’

‘So, we drop the dogs and bags back, I get some shopping while you sort the house and...why are you looking at me like that?’

‘You’re not even going to be here, why are you getting the shopping?’ Tom chuckled.

‘Because I don’t forget half the list because some people recognise me and then forget why I was there, leading to a return to the shop fifteen minutes later to forget….again!.’

‘That was one time.’

‘You mean you only forgot twice one time, it is not the only time you did that.’ She laughed. ‘You can remember Hamlet, including five soliloquies but you cannot remember to get red currant jelly.’

‘I am a terrible man.’ Tom chuckled, taking her hand and kissing it.

‘Well, you had to have some faults. Contrary to many of your fan’s beliefs, you’re not actually a deity.’

‘You seem to think me a deity when we’re in bed.’

‘Behave.’ She warned, giving him a momentary glare, but there was a grin edging its way into her features as she did.

When they got back to the house, Mac saw fit to mark the two cars as well as the two brick gate posts before finally going inside, Bobby having already went to ensure their bed was still where it had been before. Tom and Danielle brought in their bags and their gifts that they had gotten, into the house.

‘I am not going to lie, your way of doing this is far easier.’ Tom beamed as he took his suitcase upstairs as Danielle brought hers to the back kitchen to the washing machine.

‘Well, it makes more sense, all the dirty laundry in one bag, the clean in the other, otherwise you are forced to wash everything, and that is not practical.’ Danielle explained as she ascended the stairs after him.

‘Very thrifty, Ms Hughes.’

‘I am a very practical woman.’ She smiled as she entered the bedroom, laughing as she watched Tom jokingly toying with her unused underwear, a cheeky grin on his face. ‘You fecking eejit.’ His smile only widened at her reaction. ‘How are you a man that is assumed to be so professional and proper and here you are, messing with my panties?’

‘I am a very talented actor.’ Tom beamed proudly.

‘Fecking eejit.’ She laughed. ‘I am going to get some shopping.’ She grabbed her purse that she had left at her side of the bed and left the room.

‘What about…’

She paused on the stairs as a concerned looking Tom came out of the room. ‘Yes, love?’

‘Why would you pay for the food when I am the one that will eat most of it?’

‘Because there is a water charges bill that needs paying on the counter, they will be about the same.’ She dismissed.

‘Fair enough.’ Tom shrugged. ‘Don’t forget the Hobnobs.’

‘I plan on getting two packs.’

‘I love you.’

‘You love Hobnobs.’ Danielle laughed.

‘I love you more though.’

‘Good to know.’ She chuckled as she grabbed her jacket and went to the shops.

*

Danielle paid little heed to anything around her bar the road as she parked and paid her ticket before grabbing a few bags from the back seat and rushing into the first shop.

It did not take long to get what she needed, eggs, milk and other such items, before heading to the butchers for meat. Grabbing the few things for the rest of the week, she didn’t really think too much of anything before bagging her purchases and leaving again. It was at the last stop, a small Tesco Express not far from the car to get Tom’s biscuits that she paused and frowned.

She had seen Tom on magazines before, especially after the whole Taylor Swift situation, but seeing herself and him on them seemed to make her brain incapable of processing it. On the front cover of three different magazines, there were photos of her and Tom on their arrival to Rome, as well as a comparative picture with him there with Taylor, and a few headlines that made her brow raised. Shaking her head, she turned slightly only to see a women flicking through one of the magazines only to stop at the page of her and Tom, the woman reading ardently what few lines that were there before noticing Danielle next to her.

‘My daughter is stone mad about him, he’s not bad to look at. Could do with a shave though.’

‘I prefer a beard, personally.’

‘Well, his girlfriend doesn’t seem to mind. Poor Amanda was gutted to see him with someone, as though she’ll ever even meet him.’ The woman rolled her eyes. ‘She seems too down to Earth for all that madness, look at that outfit, she’s not trying to show off her knickers like half of them.’

‘I don’t blame her.’ Danielle smiled before going to get the biscuits, laughing to herself. As she grabbed Tom’s favourites she fell into fresh giggles and forced herself to breathe deep before laughing again. When she got to the checkout, the girl behind the counter was looking at her oddly, which did little to help Danielle’s giggles. She barely uttered out thank you as she took her change, noting the girl checking her hand. Danielle, unable to stop herself, turned over her hand and gave a pretend saddened face before thanking the girl again and walking off, another checkout girl nearby laughing loudly as she did, also saying “I told you it was her” as she did so.

Danielle was still laughing when she parked the car in the driveway and collected the bags of shopping and heading into the house. She was about to see where Tom was to tell him her funny story when she heard him speaking on the phone.

‘So nothing too mad then? No, I told you I wasn’t going to propose. No, she loved it. She needed the break, work has been hard on her recently.’ Danielle closed the door gently and went to make her way into the kitchen quietly so not to startle Tom and interrupt his call. ‘No, I haven’t asked her.’ Danielle paused for a moment. ‘She could tell I wanted to ask her something and I froze.’ She frowned at his words, remember the odd look he was giving her and her questioning it before he dismissed it. ‘Because she will say no and everything will become awkward and it could very well destroy everything.’ Danielle felt odd about what Tom was saying, not sure what he was wanting to ask her. ‘She actually allowed me to embrace her and she kissed me, in public, I am not risking all that. I….I can’t. If she said no and felt as though I was pressuring her and...no, it’s not worth it. I know I do, but not at the cost of her.’

Deciding not to let the conversation continue without Tom knowing she was there, Danielle inhaled deeply and used her elbow to open the door. Tom swung around, clearly startled by her appearance. She gave an attempt at a smile as Tom ran his hand through his hair before clearing his throat.

‘Luke, I need to go, Danielle is back and I need to help her get sorted here. I’ll talk to you more tomorrow. Yes, I will send back the paperwork to them as well. Bye.’ Tom hung up the phone and rushed over to Danielle. ‘Wow, you weren’t kidding when you said you were getting everything.’ He smiled as he brought the meat to the fridge. ‘Was there anything of note in the village?’

‘No, here?’ Danielle asked, wondering if Tom would think to mention the earlier content of his call.

‘Nothing much. Luke rang, as you gathered, letting me know that there was a few pictures and articles, nothing of note.’

‘We are on the front page of a few magazines.’ Tom stared silently at her. ‘There are a few of the weekly trash ones with the pictures of us in Rome on them. Going by the publishing dates, if there is any of us elsewhere, they will happen in the next issue.’ She did not even look at him as she put the rice and other foods in the cupboard.

‘Are you alright?’

‘Fine, you?’

‘Fine.’ Tom eyed her cautiously. ‘Are you mad?’

‘About what, the magazines?’ He nodded. ‘Not at all, I couldn’t give a fuck about them, I thought it was funny if I’m honest. I giggled the whole way around Tesco’s and the entire journey home about it actually.’ She stated as she all but threw the groceries away. ‘I am going to get changed. Are we both walking the dogs or am I going alone?’

Tom could not help but notice her harsh manner. ‘I thought we were both going?’

‘Well, we better get started so, I need to get an early dinner as I have to be up at stupid o’clock to get the half six flight.’ She left the room and a baffled Tom behind her.

For the whole of the walk, though Danielle ensured she kept her tone light and spoke casually, Tom did not reveal anything of the conversation that concerned her with Luke, upsetting her slightly.

He tried to suggest ordering something or going out to dinner since they were tired out after their holiday and Danielle was up so early, but she insisted on cooking, making sure both their steaks were done as they liked them and putting together a delicious dinner to go with them.

‘Thank you, Elle, that was incredible.’ Tom kissed her cheek as she soaked the dish she had put the roast potatoes in. ‘I am going to miss you terribly.’

‘Yes, it is odd after so long of both of us in the house to be apart again, but we are well able for it.’ Danielle smiled. ‘Unless we don’t count my hell hours.’

‘How will Safeguard do without you around for two weeks?’

‘Well, I will have a shit-tonne to do again on my return, obviously, but for the most part, I am needed to ensure the set is ready but that is going to be mostly before shooting, I can deal with a lot of the paperwork while on site, so I will be fine, just checking over everything when I...stop that.’ She gently pushed Tom, who was snaking his hands down her sides. ‘You are insatiable.’ His lips pressed against her skin. ‘The dogs are looking at us.’

‘So?’

‘Tom, I am not a prude, you know that but we are not going any further in front of our pets, that is not something I am into.’ She nudged him again.

‘Then leave the dishes and get away from the dogs.’

‘I need to tidy and pack.’

Tom groaned. ‘Spoilsport.’

‘Finish these and let the adult get her work done.’ She scoffed, drying her hands and tossing the tea towel at him before leaving the room.

When Tom joined her upstairs half an hour later, Danielle had a fresh bag packed and everything she needed ready. ‘I will bring that down for you.’

‘You’re fine. I am going to get a cab in the morning, let you sleep in.’

‘What? No, I will drop you.’

‘You don’t have to, I’m better off getting there myself.’

‘Elle, are you alright, you have been bothered since coming back from the shops?’

‘I’m fine, I just don’t want you having to get up early for no good reason.’

‘Seeing you off is not “no good reason”.’

‘Are you that desperate to get rid of me?’ She joked, putting her arms around him. ‘Tom, I mean it, nothing happened when I was out today, well, it did, but positive, I was actually in a great mood from it all.’

‘But you seem …’

‘Don’t go looking for issues when there are none,’ She warned, throwing a pair of folded clean socks at him. ‘I am trying to get myself ready for two weeks of hard work after a fortnight of shit, then a nice break, it’s a lot to organise in my head.’ She explained.

‘I’m sorry, I just don’t want something like magazines coming between us, I don’t want to lose you to something so inconsequential.’

‘Do you think you will?’

‘No, or I hope I don’t, but the way you kissed me, you actually leant up and kissed me, in front of others, in full view of everyone...I…’ There was some emotion in his face that Danielle found difficult to place, it was almost like happy disbelief. ‘I love you, so much. And the idea that we are developing this much...You have no idea how incredibly happy I am, Elle.’ She could not help but smile as he looked at her adoringly. ‘I love this, I love you and I love us.’

‘Tom, you are too loving, do you know that?’ She smiled. ‘I love you too.’ She leant up and kissed him. ‘But no matter what, I am not going to run off over something small, I promise, so don’t ever feel you can’t talk to me about certain things that are bothering you, okay?’

Tom’s brows knitted together slightly before he nodded. ‘I know.’ He kissed her and pulled her in against him, but said nothing else on the matter, causing Danielle to wonder again as to what it was he was referencing in that phone call.

#I Hate You I Love You #chapter 127 #Tom hiddleston fic #Tom Hiddleston #wolfpawn

[aquamarineicecream]

Rewind Sanders Sides Superhero AU - Chapter 4

Ao3 Link

>Chapter 1

>Chapter 5

Logan regretted it.

He regretted everything that had led to that unimaginable moment. The shock was slowly subsiding and giving way to a much deeper emotion. Anger flooded through him, mingling with the grief to form a near deadly combination. The pain crept in, not unlike tomorrow creeping in this petty pace from day to day. Logan loathed his ability to effortlessly recall the iconic line from Macbeth’s Act V, Scene 5 soliloquy much like he currently loathed the man responsible for talking passionately about Shakespeare's dramas so frequently that the knowledge in its entirety had long ago become instilled in his head. The same man who was also at fault for the destruction of one of his most prized possessions. The man who was now looking at him with the innocence of a puppy, yet with the notorious mischief of a raccoon lying just underneath the surface. Roman.

It all started the day after Deceit’s suggestion to train Virgil. The team decided it was best not to waste any time and instead to begin the training after a small, slightly rushed breakfast cooked by none other than Logan himself, who'd been taking cooking lessons for the past month and was more than happy to put his new skill to use.

“Okay kiddo, so I talked it over with Logan before you got up and we figured it would be best to start the training on the roof. Is that okay with you?”

“Sure. But I really don't think this'll work. I've been trying for the last five years to control this thing but I've found it's pretty pointless.”

“Oh cheer up and don't be such a Negative Nancy! We'll have your powers shipshape and Bristol fashion in no time.”

“I'll take your word for that,” Virgil mumbled into his pancakes, avoiding Roman's overly optimistic gaze as though worried it was contagious. Logan had observed much about Virgil Messana in the past day alone. As one of the top intelligence workers in the Superiors’ organization and the soon-to-be head chairman of the entire intelligence sector of the association if he played his cards right, Logan had already created a mental list detailing Messana’s habits and ticks, down to the way he tugged his worn hoodie sleeves further over his hands every time he got particularly anxious.

Quite frankly, Virgil Messana fascinated him. He knew every detail about the man’s file, yet the man himself was slowly proving to be quite the enigma. He was rather quiet at times but he always was able to come up with a snarky response if needed which appeared to be having some effect on Roman. They'd begun to have quite the rapport and even Logan, despite all his oblivious glory, was able to sense underlying tension every time Virgil was near Roman.

“Lo, everything a-okay?” A gentle voice interrupted Logan's thoughts and he abruptly realized that for the past minute, his unfocused gaze had been fixated on the chair where Patton had previously been seated.

“Hm? Oh, yes. I'm alright. I merely became momentarily lost in thought, that's all,” Logan was quick to reply as the world shifted back into focus and he became vividly aware of the fact that he and Patton were the only two left at the table.

“Okey dokey. If you're sure you're okay, then we can head out.” Patton's voice was warm and grounding, as Logan had discovered it so often was. It was comforting, and refreshing even, when put into context with the cold reality they all called normalcy.

“We should join the others,” Logan agreed with a nod. He stood and picked up his mug to bring it with him, ignorant, as always, to Patton's gaze lingering on his retreating figure as the young hero began to lead the way up the stairs.

“What a beautiful day to blow stuff up!”

Roman’s enthusiastic remark was met with a disapproving look from Logan.

“What? I’m just trying to lighten the mood a little. It’s too early to look so serious,” the larger man protested. Logan merely crossed his arms and turned away to look at Virgil, electing not to dignify Roman with a response.

“Alright, Virgil. It’s time to begin. Please hold this and stand a small ways back.” Logan handed Virgil a small beanbag and waited for the other man to take a few steps back before picking up a notebook and pen he’d left on a small table he’d set up earlier that morning. Patton had arrived by now and was standing alongside Deceit and Roman, all three a safe distance away from their new recruit. Logan and Deceit had spoken last night and decided on how they were going to conduct the experiments. He nodded at Deceit to ready the stopwatch before speaking again. “On my count, I would like you to attempt to explode the item you’re currently in possession of. Ready?” It was evident to all of them that the young soon-to-be-hero was far from ‘ready’ based on his trembling hands alone, but Virgil gave a small nod, allowing Logan to proceed with his plan. “Three… two… one… now.”

The team watched with bated breath as Virgil closed his eyes. Logan had a tight grip on his pen which was poised over the paper, ready to scribble down notes and observations at a moment's notice. They watched on as…nothing happened.

It was the epitome of underwhelming. Logan made sure to write a note of how Virgil’s entire body, not just his hands, was trembling now as the young man opened his eyes, the disappointment in himself evident.

“Maybe you just need to hold it a little longer?” Patton suggested hesitantly. Virgil set down the beanbag without meeting the other man’s gaze.

“That won’t make any difference. I told you all this was pointless,” Virgil replied darkly, haunted by his many failed attempts from the last five years.

“Aw, kiddo, you can’t give up already! It took me a while with my powers too, but I’m sure you’ll get it sooner or later.”

“I guess…” Virgil picked up the beanbag with a sigh and studied it for a moment before closing his eyes to concentrate again.

“Alright.” Logan readied his pen once more. “Begin your second attempt.”

~~~~~

The sun was beating down, making the day uncomfortably warm. Uncomfortable also happened to be the optimal word to describe the tension the group shared at the moment. It had been hours of trial after trial yet no matter how many times Logan instructed Virgil to attempt to corrode and subsequently explode the item in his hands, failure appeared to be inevitable.

By now, their efforts had become both more tired and desperate. Logan had suggested Virgil try holding different objects since the beanbag remained unaffected by Virgil’s powers. These objects included but were not limited to: Virgil’s old pair of gloves, a sponge, an umbrella, an engraved gold pocket watch (given to Virgil by Roman after the latter stole it from Deceit), a handful of playbills (given to Virgil by Deceit as his revenge on Roman), a Rubix Cube (as Roman’s attempt to pull Logan into Deceit’s and his mini war), and lastly, a package of Oreos. No one was quite sure why Roman chose the last one, yet none had time to question it since Virgil refused to even attempt to corrode and explode it, saying he was insulted by the very notion of being told to destroy his favorite cookie.

However, the process of experimenting with different objects had ended almost an hour ago and their spirits were once again low. Logan’s notebook now contained multiple pages detailing the distinct ways in which Virgil held each object, hands still shaking each time he concentrated regardless of how many times they had already gone through this process.

“I believe that we should all take a respite. It would appear that one is far overdue.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea, Lo. A small break sounds like just the ticket.” Patton turned to Virgil. “How about we go get you something to eat for lunch, kiddo?”

Logan closed his notebook as Virgil set down the beanbag in the pile of other unsuccessful, now-neglected objects before following Patton to the kitchen.

“Maybe we should try another remote. That could be his specialty,” Roman joked while walking over to Deceit and Logan.

“Don’t be foolish, Roman. We already know his powers have worked on other materials in the past. There must be some minute element to this that we’re missing.” Logan handed his notebook to Deceit for the other man to look through.

“In all seriousness, what do you two make of Virgil?” Deceit asked without looking up from the page he was reading.

“He’s a good guy deep down. I know it. But our stupid Superiors are keeping stuff from us, I’m sure of that. And it wouldn’t be the first time either. They’re always up to something.”

“Relax, Roman. You know better than to speak ill of our employers. You’re beginning to sound like Deceit with his constant suspicions.”

“I’m only saying that we shouldn’t keep trusting them so much when we never know if the next legislation they pass will stop us from even seeing each other.” Roman crossed his arms. “And you’re only happy with them because you’re their golden boy who’s one successful mission away from becoming their new Head of Intelligence and leaving the rest of us to try and deal with whoever they choose as your replacement.”

“There is no cause for you to be upset over this. My replacement will most likely be Virgil at this rate, which is fortunate for you considering the fact that ever since he was kept alive, you’ve appeared to be happier than you have acted in quite some time. But either way, nothing is for certain yet, especially because they might not even choose for me to retire from being ‘Logic’ and take the mantle and responsibilities of the new position instead.”

“Logan, we all know that you’ll get the promotion. All I ask is that you consider looking closely into the reason the position is vacant in the first place.” Deceit spoke calmly as he looked up from the notes before closing the notebook and handing it back to Logan.

“It’s shady,” Roman added to break the silence that had begun to fill the space. “And you should also keep in mind that not all of us started here by choice, so you never know what you’re gonna have to deal with in a spot that high up.”

Logan had no response as both his and Roman’s thoughts drifted to what Patton had confided in the others precisely two years and 314 days ago. Their momentary distraction allowed Deceit a chance to force the pained expression from his face without either of the other men noticing it was ever even there at all. It seemed that his return to a neutral expression had come just in time too, as at that moment, Patton and Virgil walked back onto the roof, each carrying plates of snacks to share with the others. They set them down on the table and Virgil grabbed a couple chips before retreating to a deserted corner. Roman ate a pretzel before immediately going after him.

“Hey, Messana.”

“Hey, yourself.”

“So, you liking your second day so far?”

“You mean, am I enjoying disappointing you guys and making a complete fool of myself? Meh, it’s just another day for me.” Virgil shrugged as Roman rolled his eyes in response.

“You’re hardly disappointing, my Chemically Imbalanced Romance. You just need to keep practicing and I’m sure you’ll get it.”

“I guess,” Virgil replied doubtfully.

“C’mon, I’ll prove it to you. All you need is to try a little thing called trial-by-fire. Though I guess in your case, it’s trial-by-matchstick since it’s not exactly a life and death thing.” Roman led the way over to the table and Virgil hesitantly followed, curious to see what Roman had in mind. Roman’s back was facing Virgil so the smaller man didn’t notice as Roman grabbed the first object on the table, without stopping to check what it was, and flung it at Virgil while shouting “catch!”

“Roman!”

Virgil fumbled to catch the object but it slipped through his hands and Logan looked on in horror as his prized TARDIS-shaped mug smashed on the concrete.

“Roman!!”

It was Logan, not Virgil, who shouted this time. The educated man had a look of murder on his usually inexpressive face as he stormed over to Roman and Virgil.

“What were you thinking?! You can’t simply surprise someone by flinging easily breakable mugs at them! Especially when the mug isn’t even your own,” Logan fumed.

“I’m sorry, Specs. I didn’t realize it was that. But it’s just a mug and I can get you a new one online,” Roman offered apologetically.

“You should have stopped to consider your actions before proceeding with them. And I would not like to receive a new mug from you, I can purchase a new one myself. But it is the principle of the matter! You always do actions such as these, including on our missions when you hurl yourself into combat and potentially dangerous situations with a complete lack of forethought and without having paused to either listen or contribute to the plan. You’re impossible! And another thing -” Logan paused momentarily from his tirade to adjust his glasses and take a breath but Deceit shushed him before the other man had the chance to finish his sentence. Logan, in turn, turned his deadly glare on Deceit, silently imploring him to have a justified explanation for the interruption.

“Everyone be quiet and listen,” was the only response Deceit gave. They all held their breath while listening attentively. Patton was the first of the others to notice the faint pounding coming from downstairs.

“Someone’s here.”

The alarm in his tone was evident and in mere seconds he was racing down the stairs with his coworkers on his heels and Virgil, slightly unsure of what to do, bringing up the rear. Once the group reached the living room, it became evident that the noise was due to someone banging on their front door. Patton, being the nicest of them, walked over to answer it, leaving the rest in suspense. Logan shared an uneasy look with Deceit, both men hoping the person at the door was a civilian who’d gotten lost instead of who both men had a sneaking suspicion the unidentified visitor truly was.

“Of course you can come in, sir.” Patton’s cheerful voice carried into the room and Logan’s heart sunk with the knowledge that his guess at the mystery person’s identity was all but confirmed to be who he worried it was.

“Wait in here for a sec, please,” Patton said, leaving the person by the door before rushing back into the room where the others were.

“A representative is here. He’s come for Virgil,” Patton explained in a hushed tone.

“We can’t let them take him!” Roman whispered in reply.

“We won’t. I’ll talk with them to try and come to a reasonable resolution. Logan, Patton, it would be best if you join me.”

“I’m coming too. If we’re gonna give a case for Messana to stay here then I want to help.”

“No. You’re not diplomatic enough so it’s better if you stay here and keep him out of sight.”

“But that’s not fair. I should be able to help just as much as the rest of you do, Snakey McSnakerson,” Roman argued while crossing his arms defensively.

“You know, Ro, your never-ending nicknames don’t exactly help your case.”

“Fine.” Roman gave a slightly exasperated sigh before motioning for Virgil to start walking down the hall that led to their bedrooms.

“Wait, Roman,” Logan went after him as the others left to go speak with the representative. “I apologize for allowing my temper to get the best of me earlier. It was childish and unprofessional and I quite hope that you’re willing to forgive me.”

“Don’t worry about it, Calculator Watch. You’re already forgiven. But are you sure you don’t want me to get you a new Doctor Who mug?”

“I am certain of it, Roman. However, thank you anyways for the offer.”

“It’s the least I can do.”

“About the conversation I’m about to partake in, I am sorry that you can’t join us but it’s for the best. Deceit has proven in the past that he often has an overarching plan, so it’s better that we trust his decisions to be logical.”

“I guess…”

“You shouldn’t concern yourself about the matter. Currently, your main priority is to assure that Virgil does not dwell too much on the setbacks of today nor that he worries an excessive amount about the meeting at hand. I have a working theory that I’ll explain to you later regarding his powers in relation to his emotions but for now, attempt to keep him calm so that we may ensure no inopportune mishaps occur whilst our visitor is present.”

“Okay, you got it. I know exactly how to deal with our resident emo.” Roman gave the other man a reassuring grin and turned to go the same way as before, hearing Logan muttering a doubtful “I’m sure” under his breath as Roman made his way to Virgil’s temporary room.

Roman walked into the practically bare guest room, unsurprised to see Virgil awkwardly perched on the edge of one of the only pieces of furniture in the small room. Roman sat next to him, midnight blue eyes a striking contrast to the drab gray sheets of the twin-sized bed. In fact, everything about Roman looked out of place compared to his surroundings, from his auburn hair to his bright red and white bomber jacket covering both his fitted black shirt and toned muscles, which Virgil was now realizing he was having a weirdly strong urge to keep admiring. He despised that urge much like he hated how seeing Roman this close and in a casual outfit instead of his uniform. It felt so commonplace when it should be feeling foreign considering this man was still a stranger to him.

“There’s nothing to do in here so do you wanna go to my room instead?” Roman offered, interrupting the other man’s thoughts. Virgil stared at him without responding. “It has a TV,” he added with a disarming grin.

“Alright, I’m sold. Let’s go.”

With that, Roman stood up and led Virgil down the hall to the furthest room from the one they’d just left. Roman flopped back on his bed while Virgil entered. The room was accentuated with as much red and gold as possible, falling just short of appearing cluttered. Roman’s room had an assortment of both poster sized and polaroid photographs showcasing deserted beaches and sunsets peeking through from behind snowy mountain landscapes, which covered the starch white walls. There was a distinct vintage feel to the decor, yet it lacked the element that made it feel lived-in. Instead, it was closer to one of those display rooms one sees in department stores; perfect at a glance, but disguising an empty feeling underneath.

The only indications of life there were a red and black acoustic guitar propped up in the corner furthest from the door and the man currently sitting up in order to start flipping through channels. Roman watched out of the corner of his eye as Virgil took in the new surroundings.

“Do you like the photos?”

“Yeah. Surprisingly, they’re pretty cool.”

“Thanks. I took them myself.” Roman continued looking through channels for a minute longer before giving up.

“Nothing good is on so I’m gonna look for something on Netflix.” Virgil sat down next to him as Roman opened the streaming service only to have it crash moments later, causing Roman to groan in frustration.

“Oh, come on! You’d think being a world-renowned superhero would at least warrant having fast enough internet to let us watch a movie!” Roman tried opening it again in hopes that it would load but his attempt was in vain. “This stupid thing won’t work.” He tossed down the remote and crossed his arms, appearing bothered by the device yet in truth, it was for another reason. “First, I’m not even considered to have another chance to help and defend you and now this thing refuses to work!”

“Well none of you should be talking for me. I don’t need some kind of knight in shining armor. I can take care of myself.” Virgil paused to narrow his eyes suspiciously. “And what do you mean ‘another chance’?” Virgil’s distrusting gaze landed on Roman who looked like a deer in the headlights for a moment before quickly racking his brain for an answer.

“That’s classified.”

“Seriously?”

“…yeah.”

“Alright then.” Virgil examined Roman for a moment before adding, “If everything’s gonna be classified and we can’t watch anything, then I’m going back to the guest room.”

“Fine, I’ll tell you. But for the record, I know what you’re doing, Count Woe-laf, and it totally didn’t work. I’m just nice and enjoy breaking rules. But anyways, what I was talking about was that I wasn��t exactly on board with the whole ‘Let’s Kill Messana’ party but following orders is part of my job so I couldn’t really protest.” Roman looked down to study his crimson comforter which he decided had just become the most interesting object in the whole universe. He was sure Virgil suspected there was more behind Roman’s original comment that he was holding back but he didn’t press for details. Virgil stayed quiet while watching Roman for a moment before speaking again.

“Can I ask you a question? How did you start working like this? And why do you guys sometimes act like you know each other and other times act like total strangers?”

“That’s more than one question,” Roman joked in an attempt to lighten the mood to which Virgil rolled his eyes. “I started when I was recruited when I was 19. I was working with a partner at the time and doing jobs for hire when some people saw me use my powers, I guess. I got an anonymous message giving me a time, date, and location so I went to see what it was all about. I met a guy there who told me he wanted to recruit me for a program they were setting up for people who were ‘special’.” Roman paused at the memory, guilt plaguing his features for a brief moment before he hastened to finish the story.

“I took him up on the offer, they trained me, and now, here I am,” he said, giving Virgil a forced smile.

“Oh…what about your partner? Are you still close?”

“He was like a brother to me. But no, we don’t talk too much ever since I left three years ago.”

“I’m sorry,” Virgil offered after a short, unbearable silence.

“Don’t be.” Roman gave Virgil a smile in reassurance that he hoped appeared more sincere than his last one.

“So...you were recruited like one of the Avengers?”

“Think more like the Justice League, though all those comic book heroes don’t have anything on the real thing. But pretty much how it works is that we’ve all got our own places to protect, like how Batman has Gotham, but we team up for certain high profile missions. This place is where we stay when we're doing those missions so it's pretty much our version of the Watchtower. And, to answer your question from earlier too, we only know bits and pieces about each other and our pasts. Our Superiors give us information on a need-to-know basis, so all we’ve got to go on when it comes to each other is whatever they decide to tell us or we want to share with the rest of the team. For example, none of us knew each other’s secret identities for almost a year. And we still don’t know Deceit’s name. Or pretty much anything about him.” Roman turned so he was directly facing Virgil before speaking again. “Now it’s my turn to ask you a question.”

“Alright fine. Ask away.”

“Is your favorite song ‘The Black Parade?’” His eyes had a mischievous glint that perfectly complemented his teasing grin. Virgil only glared at him in reply. “What? You look emo enough,” Roman added, feigning innocence.

“You know what? I’m not even gonna answer that. I’m pretty sure if I did, it would only encourage you, which is literally the last thing I want.”

“You’re no fun, Marilyn Morose.”

“Wow, another nickname. So original,” Virgil retorted sarcastically. “Besides, you can’t judge me when your favorite song is probably something from a cheesy, overrated musical.”

“Excuse you, my favorite song is not even close to that, actually. It’s ‘La Canción’ by J Balvin and Bad Bunny.”

“I’m sorry- Bad what?”

“Bad Bunny. You know I gotta support my fellow Puerto Rican.”

“What kind of name is Bad Bunny?”

“Shhh. Don’t question it.”

“Alright fine Princey, I’ll admit it. I wasn’t expecting that at all.”

“Well, I’ve got a good memory associated with that song,” Roman explained with a shrug. “It’s a pretty good song too.”

“In that case, you’ve gotta play it for me sometime.”

“Okay, I will,” Roman agreed with a smile. Before either could say anything else, they heard shouting coming from the kitchen, interrupting any chance they could have had to continue their conversation.

“We should go see what’s wrong.”

“Wait, but I’m supposed to keep you here and away from the representative.”

“Technically yeah, you are supposed to do that. But don’t you wanna go with me to see what’s happening?” Virgil asked while standing up.

“You know I do. We gotta make sure no one catches us over there. I’m sure we’ll be fine though, so let’s go.” Roman stood and walked into the hallway, being as quiet as possible as he and Virgil made their way to the source of the ruckus.

“-we will not hesitate to remove him from your custody by force if necessary.”

“If you want him you’ll have to go through me!”

“That can be arranged,” the stranger’s voice snapped coldly.

“If you insult Patton one more time, I can personally assure you that you will be leaving this building both without a job and possibly with a stronger understanding of the importance of self-preservation considering that I will make you regret ever setting foot in here,” Logan threatened, immediately jumping to the sweeter man’s defense.

Roman noticed Virgil's visible surprise at hearing Logan speak in such an emotional manner twice in one day, especially considering that this time was much more passionate than the first.

“They have a kind of thing going on between them. It's complicated,” Roman whispered to Virgil to serve as an explanation before staying quiet so they could eavesdrop once more.

“Calm down boys,” Deceit, ever the negotiator, said in a placating tone. “I swear to you that we’ll uphold our end of the bargain as long as you stand by yours.”

“I still say this whole deal is ridiculous.”

“Maybe it is, but keep in mind that you were the one who set the terms for our compromise. Terms that we’re going out of our way to agree to.”

“Fine. I’ll be sending someone in a month to verify that you’ve made the progress you assured me you will. I hope we won’t have the misfortune of seeing each other again.”

“The sentiment is mutual,” Logan fired back.

Roman and Virgil moved from their hiding place in time to see the scathing glare the representative gave the three other men in the room before he turned on his heel and stormed out the front door. They, in turn, rushed into the kitchen the moment they heard Deceit close the door after him.

“What happened? Are they coming back for Virgil?”

“Calm down, Roman,” Deceit said in a soothing tone. “We have until December 2nd to train our new friend. That’s when another representative will come back to check up on us. If we fail, they’ll take him to train him using their own methods.” Seeing the clear worry on Roman’s face, he quickly added, “But that’s a month away. Everything will be fine by then.” Deceit’s reassuring smile was just as false as his reassurances, but Roman didn’t want to question it. The two continued talking about ways to speed up the training, with Virgil giving occasional commentary, while Logan and Patton walked back into the living room.

“Are you alright? In regards to your emotions, I mean.”

“Yeah, I’m okay, Lo.” Patton sighed heavily as he sat on the couch. “You didn’t have to defend me back there.”

“It was only right of me to do so.” Logan sat next to him, stiff posture relaxing slightly, the way it only ever did when he was alone with Patton. “You make a conscientious decision to act as kind as you possibly can to every individual you meet in spite of your upbringing and the events you have lived through which have all figuratively shaped you to become the amiable and considerate person you are now. I possess a profound respect for you for that and you should not have to tolerate sitting by and listening to your good-natured personality be slandered in such an unjust fashion.”

“Thanks, Logan. That’s nice of you to say. I should be asking if you are okay, though. We never got a chance to talk after the whole thing that happened on the roof.”

“Oh, that. I must implore you to consider moving past my immature actions from earlier. I shouldn’t have reacted in such a rash manner to the situation and quite frankly, am ashamed and embarrassed by the part I played in the ordeal.”

“Logan, it’s alright to show your emotions more than just once in a blue moon. It’s not healthy to bottle all these tricky feelings up all the time and only let them out in bursts when you can’t help it. You don’t have to try and deal with it on your own so no one will think any less of you if you need help sometimes.”

“I appreciate your concern, Patton, but please do not take offense to the fact that I am going to continue managing things the way I always have.”

“Okay, if you’re sure. But just remember I’m always here for you.”

“Thank you.”

“I was wondering though, why did you get so upset about the mug? I get that it’s your favorite one, but you can replace it, right?” Despite Patton’s expression remaining as gentle as ever, Logan lowered his head to avoid the other man’s gaze, his own expression quickly becoming clouded with a look resembling shame.

“I am very much aware of how juvenile it is for me to have attachments to inanimate objects, yet, despite my best efforts, it would appear that I unintentionally allowed myself to mentally form an emotional connection to that particular mug.” Logan quickly adjusted his glasses to give himself a moment to collect his thoughts just as Patton’s gloved hand gently cupped to Logan’s face and tilted it up so they could look each other in the eyes. Patton looked silently into Logan’s eyes for a second before speaking quietly, unaware that Logan’s mind had completely blanked of all thought the second Patton had touched him.

“You don’t have to tell me any more if you don’t want to.” He lowered his hand. “I don’t want you to be pressured, Lo.”

“No - I mean, that’s alright. I want to tell you, Patton. If only based on the fact that at the very least I owe an explanation for my unconventional behavior.” He glanced down in an effort to hide any residual hesitance in his emerald green eyes, before meeting Patton’s gaze once more.

“I cared so deeply about it because that mug was the first thing I was ever able to purchase with my own money that was not an absolute necessity. I purchased it when I was only eighteen years old, a few months after I had been forcefully instructed to leave my aunt’s house for being too much of a burden ever since I had no choice but to move in with her. The mug was symbolic of a milestone for me, I suppose. It was physical proof that I truly was free and no longer had to rely on her for anything thanks to my new job working in intelligence for our Superiors, even before I discovered my powers. Furthermore, that mug was the first thing of mine, ever since I moved in with her, that I could own without being worried what repercussions might occur due to it being an object designed to represent one of my favorite television programs.”

“Wow, I had no idea it meant so much to you.”

“I’m sure you think I’m rather foolish now, though.”

“What? No way! Tons of people have stuff they associate with a memory or feeling. That doesn’t mean you should think you’re silly for having those feelings, Lo.”

“Well, thank you for listening. However, I regret taking so much of your time.”

“Don’t worry about that. I like spending time with you.” Patton’s smile was infectious, causing a hint of a smile to grace Logan’s features before he schooled his expression back to the emotionless one he usually had.

“We should go discuss Virgil’s training with the others. Who knows what eccentric ideas they may have come up with while we were gone?”

“Good point.”

The two stood and made their way back into the kitchen, rejoining the rest of the group, anxious for a solution to controlling Virgil’s powers.

~~~~~

In what felt like no time at all, December 2nd arrived and they had yet to find a solution. Virgil had been training for hours every day, but so far the only times he’d successfully managed to blow something up had been unintentional. Now, as they sat around the kitchen table in palpable tension, they restlessly awaited the foreboding knocks that were bound to mark the arrival of the representative.

“Kiddos, I know today’s a big day, but you should eat up as much as you can. We’d hate to host a guest on an empty stomach.” Patton attempted a calming smile, yet it fell short of reaching his eyes.

“I don’t think any of us can eat anything today, padre,” Roman replied, noting how Patton too had been pushing his food around on his plate for the past five minutes.

“Yeah, I know.” He sighed, worry leaking into his expression for a moment before he quickly smiled again to save face. Patton turned to Logan. “Lo, can you come with me to the kitchen to help me get a serving dish I left there?”

“Of course.”

“Great!” Patton said cheerfully and led the other man to the kitchen.

“I wasn’t aware that there was still a dish remaining. I was under the impression we had already brought all of them to the table but it appears I must have been mistaken,” Logan said as they arrived.

“Actually, you’re right. We already took all the food for the others over there. But the thing is, I needed an excuse to get you to come here so we could be alone,” Patton admitted sheepishly as he took off his gloves which had previously had syrup spilled on them. He quickly began to wash his hands as both as excuse to get the remaining syrup off his wrist and to avoid Logan’s perplexed stare,

“Patton, if you needed to talk to me about a private matter, you are aware that you could have simply said that from the start and I would have come, right?” Logan leaned back against the counter as he spoke, a touch of amusement and curiosity in his tone.

“Yeah, I know. It’s just that I know you don’t like showing any feelings in front of the others.” Patton dried his hands and kept his back to Logan as he opened the cabinet in front of himself, making sure Logan couldn’t see what he was now holding with the utmost care. “Plus I didn’t want to spoil the surprise,” he added, barely able to contain his excitement.

“What? Patton I’m afraid that you have - metaphorically - lost me.”

“Well, you told me how much your TARDIS mug meant to you, and I know it’s been a month but I can tell it’s still bothering you a bit and on top of that there’s all the nerves of today, so…” Patton trailed off as he turned around with a small smile, a Baymax mug cradled in his hands. “I made this for you. I remembered when you were telling me all about how much you like the message and symbolism in Big Hero Six, so I really hope you like this.”

“Patton - “ Logan cut himself off before his voice betrayed how overcome with emotion he truly was. “I can’t believe you actually listened and remember what I told you months ago. And,” he paused to quickly adjust his glasses in an attempt to distract himself from his slightly watering eyes, “thank you so much for taking the time to make this. It’s one of the kindest things anyone has ever done for me.”

“It was no trouble at all, Lo,” Patton replied, beaming. He turned the round, white mug in his hands so the front decorated with the two black dots and line between them representing Baymax’s eyes along with the small gray circle located close to the mug’s base and hand painted to mirror where Baymax’s ID chips could be inserted was facing away from Logan. Instead, Patton showed the other man where he had painted the feeling chart Baymax used in the movie.

“Now with this you can ‘rate your pain on a scale of 1 to 10’ without having to try and find the right words to talk about all those icky emotions. And if you’re ever feeling down and wanna talk about it without interrupting the others, you can just look at me and point to however you’re feeling so we can go get a quiet space to figure everything out. Just know you can always come to me.” Patton smiled, the same way that always made Logan feel a strange warm and tingling sensation in his chest.

“This means a great deal to me.” Logan felt a small smile tugging at his lips and for once, he allowed himself to experience the fleeting blissful feeling. Logan didn’t hesitate to reach out to take his new mug from Patton so that he could admire it further, taking Patton by surprise and rendering him unable to set down the mug fast enough. Logan, still distracted, had yet to realize his mistake. The moment their skin touched, it was too late.

Logan’s body hit the floor with a thud.

Next Chapter>>

Tag list: (let me know if you want to be added or removed)

@milomeepit , @captainhadeslover , @yep-another-fander , @pattson , @lala-the-rebel , @artistictaurean , @ironwoman359 , @ab-artist , @wicked-rosie , @starsinger , @superarrowholockian , @shapoodle , @virgil-the-virgin , @fun-with-colors , @theloveliestsweetspongy , @anastasialestina , @inferablossom , @confused-pat , @midnighteclipse98 , @silversmith-91 , @pattons-second-cookie , @harboring-hatred , @creativenostalgiastuff , @sadb0tt , @today-only-happens-once , @thelogicalloganipus , @the-shark-boi , @mantha-has-fallen , @averaillisa , @emochechirecat , @camillenicole , @thedukeofdeodorant-main , @time-out-for-thee , @sandersstuffsblog , @letsmoonkid , @iampengwing , @5150brotherbear , @approximately12lbs-of-ducks , @bexxbeauty , @elvis-has-been-dug , @ollyollyoxinfree , @magsnine , @littlewolf432 , @logical-princey

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #superhero au #sanders sides au #virgil sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #janus sanders #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit #ts roman #ts virgil #ts logan #ts patton #ts janus #ts deceit #eventual prinxiety #eventual logicality #my writing #writing on tumblr #rewind #rewind chapter four #k makes content

[purpletigertaetae]

Back and Forth (Part 1?)

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Word Count: 1874

Genre: Dancer!Yoongi x Dancer!reader

Rating: Pretty PG

Warnings: Lots of angst. Sorry Wistful glances, pining, unsaid thoughts

Notes: So this is my first BTS story ever written. @taetaesbaebaepsae this is for you, because you always put me in my Yoongi feels. @illneverrecover you make a little cameo here as does the rest of our beautiful cirque. Cirque, I love you guys! Thank you for encouraging me to write! 

You danced for a prestigious hip-hop company, and this year you had gotten the lead for the newest production your troupe was putting on. The Cirque was the name of the production and had a mix of all dance types, from ballet to contemporary to some Asian classical dancing too. Every routine had at least two dancers to partner up, but you had asked for a solo. The only other dancer who could keep up with you was Yoongi, and you didn’t want to have a charged performance with him. It would confuse you even further.

Yoongi and you had history. A back and forth, complex than most dances, that most people didn’t understand. Forget most people, you didn’t understand it either. You had met over two years ago and the dance had begun. Six months ago, you had to break it off, stop the dance abruptly, not because you had fallen out of love with him, but because it became too much. You told yourself that it was because you worked better as friends, but deep within, you knew it was because you were scared. Yoongi had pulled out the softness within you, and destroyed the hard outside shell you portrayed to the world. He created a safe haven where you didn’t have to worry about anything and your insecure self, ran for the hills when he opened up.

For six months, you pondered if you had made the right choice, losing sleep every night because of the way Min Yoongi made you feel even now. Every night it took longer than necessary to fall asleep, because his steady breath, his warmth, his arms wrapped around you were missing from your bed. He would come watch your performances, being friendly, but never engaging in conversation. He’d throw a small tightlipped smile your way, and your heart would ache, hoping to catch a glimpse of his bright gummy smile. But, you guessed, that was reserved for girlfriends or more. You didn’t hold that title, never had and probably never would.

In those six months, the Cirque main lead had fallen into your lap. You threw yourself into the solo, focusing all your energy into putting on the best performance possible. You entered a dance haze, alone and determined to not think about a certain blond haired gentleman. You isolated yourself, spending the most time at the studio but not interacting with anyone or anything besides the music. Your other friends in the production grew worried for you, begging you to eat, take a break, not strain yourself, and those moments were the only times you arose from the haze. Even the other boys saw the strenuous rehearsals you were putting yourself through.

However, you had noticed one thing. In the three months since you had requested a solo, Yoongi hadn’t come to watch you rehearse. Your eyes would look for him every day, but he never showed up. Everyone, even Jin, would watch every day as you would scan the studio with expecting eyes and a small frown on your face when you realized he wouldn’t come. That frown, the pain in your eyes, the hurt across your features sure portrayed beautifully in your dance, but were breaking your heart.

Yoongi finally showed up on the last day of rehearsals, but you hadn’t seen him yet. Taehyung, Jimin, Jungkook and three of the girls finished their contemporary performance and stepped off stage when Yoongi slipped into the theater and took a seat in the front row. You were next, waiting backstage for the music to start so you could enter. As you did, Tae took a seat next to Yoongi.

“Hyung, you won’t go up and say hello to her? She missed you, you know?”

“No, she wanted space. I’m giving her space. But I’m here, if she wants to come say hello.” Yoongi clenched his jaw, unyielding.

“Hyung, please don’t be stubborn. You haven’t been here in almost three months. We all missed you. Y/N noona especially.”

Yoongi took a big sigh, his mouth turned down into a pout, “I missed you all too Tae, but I had to take some space. But I’m back. I’m here, whenever and wherever she needs me. If that’s as just friends, then I’ll do it or I’ll learn. I don’t like being away from her.”

“Then go say hello, Hyung. Nothing wrong with hello.”

“Maybe after her performance. Look it’s starting.” Yoongi cut the conversation short as the music began and you started dancing. You had gotten thinner, he noticed, the bags under your eye evidence that sleep evaded you too. But your dancing was incredible. You didn’t miss one beat, the practice evident with every flick and every move. He couldn’t keep his eyes off you.

You, on the other hand, for the first time didn’t scan the seats. You didn’t look for Yoongi. He hadn’t showed up for anything else, why would he come now. You lost yourself in the music, muscle memory taking over as you wiped your brain of everything, until you turned. When you turned to face the front, your eyes caught sight of the blond wavy hair you hadn’t seen in months. He looked at you, his face showing no emotion, his brown eyes deep pools you couldn’t read, and for the first time you lost concentration. You meant to twist, but your body wouldn’t cooperate. Your ankle gave way, and with a cry you stumbled.

Yoongi watched you snap out of concentration as you linked eyes with him. He saw the twist that was supposed to happen but didn’t. He heard your cry, it echoed in his heart, ringing in his ears. He saw you stumble, but he knew had to be there before you crashed into the ground. His eyes widened and he bolted out of his seat, jumping up onto the stage before Taehyung, or anyone could move.

“Princess!” The pet name escaped his lips before he could stop. He ran, and slid himself under you so your weight would be on him, his arms coming to wrap around you in comfort.

“Yoongi… I-” You went to speak.

“I know you don’t want me to be here baby, but you were about to break your foot. I couldn’t let that happen.” He shushed you gently, cutting you off.

“Yoongi, it hurts…” Your attention finally went back to your ankle. You whimpered into his chest as he cradled you.

“Come on, let me take you to the green room so you can stretch it out.” The rest of the crew looked on as Yoongi slid his arms around and under you and lifted you bridal style to the green room. It was empty when you both got to it, so Yoongi gently set you down on the couch and closed the door giving you two both privacy.

Yoongi knelt down to your ankle inspecting it before getting back up and rummaging around in the cupboards looking for bandages and ice. Your eyes followed his figure, your heart racing, missing the warmth his embrace had given only moments ago. He looked thinner, his hair long and untrimmed. You mused to yourself, had he missed you like you had missed him? As he turned around, you quickly looked away, not wanted to get caught staring. He walked back to you, and knelt back down, his hands full of first aid materials.

He worked quietly, while you looked at his blond mop, almost wanting to run your fingers through it. The silence became stifling, but he didn’t seem to notice. Taking a deep breath, trying to calm your pounding heart, you opened your mouth to speak.

“Yoongi, I-”

“You-”

Both of you stopped and stared at each other, you registering the redness in his eyes, the bags under his eyes. He looked tired, the realization that you had hurt him setting in.

“You go first,” he said

“Nuh-uh. You first.”

“Aish, woman you’re going to kill me.”

You stared at him unyielding.

“Ahhh, fine.” He exhaled deeply through his nose, and then spoke. “You need to get this ankle checked.”

You stared at him incredulously, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Really? That’s all you were going to say?”

Yoongi widened his eyes in surprise. “What did you want me to say?” he stated frankly, not willing to start the dance between you two over again.

You stared at him for a beat longer, hoping he would say something more, anything at all. But, no. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” You looked away, willing yourself not to cry as your eyes welled. You would not show him this weakness. You would not show him the heartache you had caused yourself.

Yoongi stared at your profile, wanting to say more. In his head, he had a whole soliloquy planned out. He wanted to tell you that he loved you. He still loves you. But you had wanted space. You did. He didn’t. Now what? What could he do? He had to draw the line somewhere. You looked back at him and he stared at you, so much love in his eyes, just unable to express it.

You kept thinking about his pouty lips. You wanted to kiss them so much. You wanted to tell him how wrong you were to break this off. You wanted to tell him you loved him then. You still love him now. But you were so incredibly afraid. So afraid to say something. So afraid to be with him. So afraid to open up. What if he didn’t like what he was met with? You looked at him with a mixture of doubt and love, but the words kept getting stuck in your throat.

You two stared at each other, the silence charged, the sore ankle forgotten. Words stuck, eyes speaking to each other. The dance had started again, hesitant steps, nothing more.

BANG! The door to the green room crashed open, and your charged tension, the bubble you two had created vanished. Popping away into inexistence. Those words would not come out. The entire dance company crowded into the room, headed by the maknaes. They ran in and stopped suddenly, the tension still lingering in the room. Yoongi stood up and took a step back while the girls crowded around you. Jackie, the nurse in the group, came to your ankle while everyone else pushed their way in. In the hubbub, Yoongi stepped even further away.

He whispered, “I guess I’ll see you later…” and escaped the room before you could even notice. As everyone fussed over you, you looked around trying to catch Yoongi.

“Babe? Are you okay? Why was Yoongi here?” One of the other girls asked as everyone stared at you quietly while Jackie looked at your ankle.

You sighed deeply. “No reason. He was here for no reason at all.”

Your face fell, and the company looked at each other, worried for you even more.

“Luckily he saved your ankle. You should rest today with ice and take two painkillers, but you’ll be fine for tomorrow.” Jackie made her judgement.

You took a resigned sigh, while Taehyung, Jimin and Jungkook looked at each other. Yoongi would be there tomorrow. Tomorrow, they would fix you and Yoongi. You two belonged together and they would make sure it would work out.

A/N: AHHHH okay okay, I’m so nervous to post this because it’s not usually what I write. But I hope you like it! Send thoughts okay?

#Yoongi #yoongi x reader #bts #angst #bts imagines #bts reactions #min suga #suga #suga x reader #suga imagine

[honeylikewords]

What kind of proposal do you think Poe would do? How about Santi? Miguel?

What a romantic question! I love proposals; they’re so sweet! So it’ll be lots of fun to think about these lovely, romantic boys and their lovely, romantic gestures of devotion!

So, first of all, a proposal is a deeply personal, intimate thing. All three of these men are mature, kind, responsible, and loving enough to know that a proposal is supposed to be about the person being proposed to: it should fit with their needs and their desires, their personal stance on the affair. It shouldn’t be just about what the proposer wants. Like the marriage that will be entered into, it has to be a mutually fulfilling gesture, and one that appeals to the partner as much as (if not more than) it does to the proposer. 

Anyway, all of that is to say that all three of them would base their proposals around what their partner wants. If their partner is shy and nervous, they would avoid doing a public proposal (though, generally speaking, proposals should always be private so that if the answer is ‘no’ there’s no pressure on the proposed-to partner, nor any embarrassment to the proposer, but I digress). If their partner has expressed in the past a way they’d like to be proposed to, the man would remember that and try to match to it as best he can. So on, so forth. The key is that, in the larger picture, each proposal would be tailored to fit more closely with what each of their partners actually, truly want in a proposal.

But that’s all just vague, general stuff. You want to know specificities based on each boy! And, so, I shall deliver them!

But under the cut, because it’s so long.

Poe: 

Poe has been thinking about his proposal for a very, very long time. Ever since he was young, he’s imagined how it’ll go; him, down on one knee, holding out Shara Bey’s ring to his one, his only, his truest love. 

The scenery around this act has changed depending on the daydream– sometimes he’s delivering this beautiful proposal in the forests of Yavin IV, sometimes he’s kneeling in the center of the finest restaurant in Bespin, sometimes he’s at his beloved’s front door, gazing into those beautiful eyes, spilling his heart– but the core ideal has very rarely wavered.

However, now that he’s older, more rooted in reality, and actually with the one person he wants to spend the rest of all time with, he finds himself imagining the proposal in much more specific ways.

Now, instead of just fuzzy, hazy daydreams about some part of the forest or some imaginary restaurant, he sees her face before him with the backdrop of their shared living quarters. Everything has more detail– he can see the color of the walls and the way the light would filter through the windows, the position she’d be in, the dust motes floating around her– and it feels so much more real and more weighty.

Now, instead of some great, overblown soliloquy about the depths and ravages of his love, Poe starts planning his words more carefully. In all of his new daydreams, now, instead of saying something like “my love” or “my dearest”, he calls her by her name to initiate the proposal. It’s about her, now, and not himself.

But the thing is, for all his plans, all his dreams, all his fantasies, Poe is not a man famous for his patience. He cannot reign in his love, his desire to be with her forever, his need to call her his wife, call her “Mrs. Dameron”, his longing to have her and hold her and be hers and hers alone until the fading of every star in all the galaxies. He cannot make his love for her small and compact and convenient enough to be deployed strategically: it must come out, and out it does come.

Poe had been planning a whole big thing. He was going to take his sweetheart out for a real meal somewhere, go on a walk, look at the stars, and then he was going to pop the question, down on one knee, eyes shining with love and starlight.

But then she had to go and throw all his plans off.

He’s on a sliding platform under his X-Wing, yanking angrily at a particularly nasty piece of shrapnel that had managed to embed itself in his ship’s undercarriage. He’s tugging as best he can, growling curses and unsavory words through grit teeth as he tries to rip the thing out, but it simply won’t budge. After a last, furious attempt at clawing it out, he flops back onto the platform with a loud, exhausted groan, rubbing his oil and grease-coated hands on his face in exasperation.

“Ooh, that looks rough,” coos a familiar voice.

Poe peeks through his fingers to see his beloved, bent at the waist so she can peer under his X-Wing. Embarrassment floods him– how could he look so weak in front of her?!– but is quickly flooded out by a new wave of emotion: love. 

She looks astonishingly beautiful. It’s not that she’s not always beautiful (she always, always is, to him), but rather that there’s something about the way she looks so at home, so comfortable right now. 

She’s wearing one of his machine-work jumpsuits, the kind set aside for getting messy in: he can tell because it’s ever so slightly too big for her around the waist and arms, so she’s rolled the sleeves up and cinched the waist with a spare belt. Her hair is pushed out of her face, spare a few flyaways which have landed around her face, catching the lights as she turns to look at him. Her eyes glitter with mirth, and the small beginnings of a smile tease at her lips.

“You want some help there, Commander Dameron?”

“Lovebug,” Poe grumbles, leaning up on his elbows, streaking his face with sooty black fingerprints from the oil, “It’s really, really stuck in there, and I don’t want you to feel like you have to exert yourself–”

“I wasn’t going to,” she interjects. “Stay right there.”

Poe squints in confusion, his mouth pursed as he watches her quickly walk to a different part of the hangar bay. She dips out of sight for a moment, then returns, wheeling some droid-sized contraption on a handcart with her. 

She approaches the X-Wing, something in her hand; it appears to be some kind of clamp with tubing attached, the tubes leading back to the main body of the contraption. Poe furrows his brow and scoots the platform he’s laying on out of her way to allow her to fiddle around under the ship.

Attaching the clamp to the base of the shrapnel, she tinkers for a moment, making sure the clamp is positioned just right, then leans over to the main body of the machine, flicks a few switches, and pulls back, scooting closer to where Poe is.

Inside the machine, a loud, whirring engine sound starts, and before Poe knows what’s going on, the shrapnel detaches from the ship with a “pop” and stays suspended in the clamp. Poe’s sweetheart claps her hands together with a smile, giving a soft “yes!” as she moves to detach the clamp and remove the shrapnel.

Poe had entirely forgotten about the hydraulic extractors– since that was, precisely, what she’d brought over– as he was too lost in trying to perform the manual aspect of the mechanical maintenance to remember the tools at his disposal. Yet, somehow, he doesn’t feel foolish forgetting it, the way he would have if some other, smug person had performed that same feat in front of him: he feels flattered.

Flattered that she’d gone out of her way to do this for him, and flattered that she is there, with him, looking at him, happily holding a chunk of shattered starship shrapnel in her hands like a trophy.

“See?,” she asks playfully, waving the bit back and forth. “Not so hard.”

She looks so beautiful when she’s ribbing him.

And, that, of course, means he has to throw all his plans out and do it now.

“Marry me,” says Poe.

There is a moment of silence. And then she bursts out laughing.

“It’s not that big of a deal!,” she giggles, tossing the shrapnel in the pile of dirty rags Poe had set aside to be trashed. “No need for hyperbole!”

“I’m not being hyperbolic.” 

Poe stands up and removes himself from under the X-Wing, walking over to where she’s still crouching under his ship. He kneels, undoing the collar of his shirt to reach in and pull his necklace out. The ring dangles on the chain between them, silver shifts glinting in the hangar bay lights, and Poe removes the necklace chain from around his neck, undoes the clasp, and slips the ring off, holding it between his forefinger and thumb.

“I was going to do this next week, you know, properly, with dinner and all that,” Poe explains, giving her a smile that sits somewhere near the center of the gradient between sheepish and giddy, “But, well, you know me, and I can’t put off until tomorrow what I can do today.”

���Poe,” she breathes, eyes flitting between the ring and his face, “Are you serious?”

“Yeah.”

“You want me to…”

“If you’ll have me,” he offers shyly. 

She stays silent and stares at his hands, at the ring, her face moving around in a silent journey as she tries to process all that is happening. Poe reaches out and touches her arm, rubbing his dirty fingers on the sleeve of her jumpsuit.

“I love you,” he says with an infinite softness he has reserved only for her, “And I want you to be my wife. I want to give you everything I have and ever will have, starting with this.”

His hand skates down her arm, gently taking her wrist and guiding her hand up. He coaxes her fingers until her palm opens, then places the brushed steel ring into the well of her hand. Poe closes her fingers around it, watching her face, hoping to find some signal, some indication of what her reply will be. She stares at her closed fist.

Another moment passes between them, and Poe feels the smallest and most vulnerable he’s ever felt in his entire life. He fears that if she so much as breathes on him too hard, he’ll disintegrate into dust and be blown away to float out the airlock, lost in the wilds of space. But, then, as reassuring as the first glimpse of sunlight after a long night, she meets his gaze firmly, smiling that wonderful, wonderful smile.

“Yes,” she whispers. She unfolds her fingers and puts the ring out to Poe, her smile expanding with every passing second. “I’ll marry you.”

Poe cannot contain himself. He grins and grabs the ring, hastily reaching for her left hand and slipping the ring onto her finger, the tears already pushing at his eyes. For a half of a split second, Poe gazes at the sight of it– Shara Bey’s ring, encircling his now-fiancee’s finger (he has a fiancee!)– and his heart bursts inside his chest, forcing him to leap onto her and squeeze her in the tightest embrace he’s ever given as he kisses her neck and cheeks and jaw and every other inch of skin he can reach.

“I love you, I love you I love you IloveyouIloveyou,” Poe groans enthusiastically, his words bleeding together as his lips stay pressed in kisses.

“I know!,” she exclaims, clinging onto him as she laughs at the ticklish rub of his stubble on her skin. “I love you, too!”

“Forever and ever and ever–”

“-And ever and ever, and even after,” she finishes, grabbing Poe’s face and kissing him hard enough to shut up him.

He’s never been so delighted to be silenced.

Santi:

Santi used to never think he’d get married. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to– he certainly did– but more that he was afraid he’d never get the chance. After all, the life expectancy of men in his particular line of work isn’t all that high.

But after Lorea, after Colombia, after Redfly and the money and the disappearing act Santi had pulled, now living back in the U.S. far from where anyone could ever find him, he’s since retired from anything close to active duty and anything even remotely resembling putting himself into unnecessary danger. 

And with that removal has come the time to settle down, to find himself living a normal life, and, as if by magic, to find a woman who loves him just the way he is, normal and abnormal as he may be. In her, all his facets are seen and loved, and Santi swears he’s never felt as at home as he does when she’s holding him close. 

Santi has been with her for a good while now, and has, as such, begun to find himself wandering by jeweler shops and eyeing billboards for sparkly big rings. One Tuesday as he’s walking back to his car from the laundromat, Santi finds himself taking a turn down a different street corner and standing in front of a little jewelry boutique.

It’s no place exorbitant– certainly not a Tiffany’s nor Cartier’s– but a local shop, small and unassuming, and Santi stands in front of the window, looking into the display case.

In little navy-blue boxes settled on top of piles of crushed velvet sit the loveliest array of silver, gold, and platinum rings he’s seen in a long time. They’re not gauche, with tacky-looking oversized jewels and encrustations of diamond chips, but small, demure, understated. His eyes land on a ring with a thin silver band that blossoms into a lily-like shape, its jewel set where the stamen of the flower would be. 

It’s a relatively small jewel, opalescent and shifting in color depending on what angle Santi views it from. He catches himself turning his head side to side to admire its oscillating colors, then stops abruptly. He stands still for a heartbeat, then chews his lip contemplatively before crumpling his resolve up like a poorly-worded note and going inside the shop.

He walks back out a few minutes later with a navy-blue box tucked into his jacket pocket.

From there, Santi agonizes to himself about how he’ll ask her to Big Question. Of course, it’s been on his mind for a while– he’d never admit it aloud, but the thought of ‘she’s the one’ had crossed his mind somewhere around the sixth date, and from there his imaginations on the topic had only grown– but he’s not sure exactly how he wants to go about it. 

Of course, there’s the classic “go to dinner and ask her in the middle of the restaurant” gig, but… it feels too public for Santi. He wants this to be their moment, and theirs alone, not something broadcast to the entire world to watch unfold like some sort of sporting event. And he wants her to have an out, a chance to leave the situation, if she needs it. 

So he continues to mull it over to himself. Oftentimes, if he’s pondering it particularly hard, he’ll rub his fingers over his lips– his first two, the index and middle– as if trying to smoke an invisible cigarette. He doesn’t smoke anymore, but the stress he’s putting himself through trying to imagine the perfect proposal sure makes him wish he did.

Then, one night, as he’s about to drift to sleep (and she’s there in bed beside him, already fast and dreaming), his eyes snap open. He’s figured it out. He finally knows. It takes all of his self-control to keep him in bed instead of running to prepare everything and make the necessary arrangements. But, instead of leaping up and readying himself for his plans, Santi decides to slow down.

He rolls over in bed and curls up against his dearest’s back, spooning up on her and rubbing his cheek against hers as she sighs in her sleep. Santi falls asleep in that position, cradling her close, hand encircling her belly and chin tucked between her shoulder and her neck. He wishes to be nowhere else both in sleep and waking.

A few weeks later, Santi dresses himself in his second-best suit. He forgoes a tie and instead keeps his collar open, providing a sense of casualness and relaxation so as not to raise his darling’s suspicions about his true intents for the evening. Smiling at his reflection anxiously, he checks and double-checks himself. Wallet, keys, phone, and navy-blue box tucked into the inner pocket of his sportcoat. Everything set and steady.

His beloved meets him in the living room; she’s in a pretty little cocktail dress, one that tempts Santi to ask her to dance with him right then and there. He abstains, swallowing his giddiness down to save it for the appropriate venue. 

Together, they head to the local art museum, despite it being well-after normal operating hours. Santi has told his sweetheart that they’re attending a members-only party for a new installment opening at the museum, a statement which she did not question too intently, given that Santi was well involved with many of the local museums and such small parties weren’t unusual for openings of exhibits.

However, when they arrive, her interest is piqued by the lack of other guests. In fact, it seems to be just them, alone, excepting the security guard who had let them into the museum. Still, Santi assuages her worries, taking her hand and guiding her deeper into the museum, into one of their favorite rooms: the Romantic paintings collection.

There, a small table with a red velvet tablecloth is set, with two chairs on either side. A lantern is set in the center of the table, and Santi guides her into a chair as she looks all around, confused.

“Santi, honey, what is this?”

“This,” he says softly, “Is our little, ahem, Romantic evening.”

She laughs despite herself at his small joke, and Santi seems to visibly relax as he sees her smile. Taking his own seat, Santi reaches out to take her hand and stroke it with his thumb, gazing at her as she gazes at the room, the paintings, and then him.

“I made a special request with the directors,” Santi explains, answering her unasked question. “I thought we could do something special for tonight.”

“But… it’s not our anniversary, is it?,” she frowns. “I thought that was in March!”

“You’re right. It’s not our anniversary. It’s something… well, it’s something very different.”

“…Did I forget your birthday? My birthday?”

Santi makes a huff of a laugh, too nervous to fully commit to a real one, and chews at the well-bitten swell of his lip, trying to steel himself for what’s about to come. Be brave, soldier, he scolds himself. Be brave.

“It’s something that I’ve been meaning to ask you for a while now, sweetheart,” Santi murmurs, squeezing her hand. “So… may I ask?”

She draws in a sharp breath. She knows, without knowing any details, what must be coming next. Her eyes rake over his face, scrambling to understand, and she nods wordlessly, her face glowing in the lantern light.

With that, Santi gives her hand a final squeeze before standing up, coming around to her side of the table, and kneeling down. He makes a soft grunt as he kneels– it hurts, and he should have known it would, he grumbles internally– and she instantly frets over him, putting her hands on his shoulders and knitting her brows together with worry.

“Oh, Santi, don’t, don’t hurt your knees for this, baby, come on-”

“I’m fine,” he says, giving her a quick flash of a smile. It’s sincere, but laced with anticipation and the anxiety of what he’s about to do. 

He takes a deep breath to soothe himself, then reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out the box, smiling ever-so-slightly to himself when he hears her gasp. Santi opens the box to her and shows her the shimmering ring, its colors dancing in the light of the lantern.

Santi says her name so softly he worries she can’t hear him, but her nod, her hands covering her mouth, her watering eyes: all tell him, yes, she can hear you, and he feels the courage to carry on.

“I… love you,” Santi begins, his words trembling a little. “And I want you to know that you are, without a doubt, the most important thing in the world to me. I would do anything for you.”

His hand rises to cup her cheek, and she leans into his touch, warm tears spilling out of her eyes and onto the pads of his fingers. He’s half-tempted to cry himself, but he takes a strong breath and continues.

“You are my greatest joy and my greatest treasure, and you have brought something into my life that I knew I was missing but could never name…. until I knew your name, and suddenly, it all made sense. So, if you would be so kind…”

Santi presents the ring to her, removing it from its box and holding it up for her to see and know is hers, should she want it.

“Will you marry me?”

He barely manages to get the full sentence out before two hands are gripping either side of his jaw and two lips are smashed against his, demanding, needy, seeking. Santi is taken aback for all of five seconds as he reels, feeling his beloved kissing him so hard he thinks he might not be breathing. She moves her lips against him in some kind of desperate plea, and if they were anywhere else, doing anything else, Santi might have gotten more than a little aroused.

But instead he clings to her and feels her excited, happy sobs pass through her lips and into his mouth, coaxing his own tears out. She presses her forehead to his, nodding wildly, hot tears raining on Santi as he grips her tight.

“Yes!,” she rasps. “Oh, god, yes, Santi! Every yes I can give!” 

She goes back in for another heady, untamed kiss, pressing down into Santi’s chest with her weight, and only when this kiss parts does Santi remember that he’s holding a ring that needs to be on a certain beautiful woman’s finger.

When he slides it onto her, he feels as though the pieces of his heart have finally clicked back into whirring symmetry inside of himself. A warm feeling of wholeness washes over him as he stares at her– his fiancee!, bride to be!– and as he is lost in another delirious, delicious kiss.

Santi doesn’t spare a thought for paintings or museums or security guards in that moment. All he can think of is the feeling of the woman he loves (and will very shortly marry) hooking her arms around his neck and kissing him as if the sky were falling, and the way she breathes his name between the parting of their lips.

“Santi, Santi, Santi.” 

Mine, mine, mine, he hears. And he is. All hers, now and forever. 

Miguel:

Miguel had told himself, with absolute certainty, for the past 20-odd years, that he would never, ever get married.

He had a rotating list of reasons why this would never happen; at first, because he claimed not to believe in love (”It’s just brain chemicals,” a young Miggy would snap at curious fellow teens), then because he claimed not to believe in submitting to the expectations of religion nor the state, then because he believed that no two people could ever be happy together for more than a few hours at a time. 

He’d pepper in other reasons from time to time– monogamistic mating being limiting for good genes, his bad temper being unsuitable for a marriageable partner, his “never having found anyone worth spending the rest of his life shackled to”, et cetera, ad nauseam– but he knew deep down that it was all… exaggerative.

After a good few years in therapy (and some hard-hitting maturing he’d done), Miguel knew that his defensiveness about marriage came from having watched what his parents did to each other.

He feared becoming what they had been to one another, and feared worse yet that he would love someone with all his heart and all his soul only to realize that he, Miguel O’Hara, was making their life more painful, more impossible to bear, by being a bad partner.

After he’d broken down the wall of shame around his fear, Miguel worked hard on his therapy to heal, to allow himself the vulnerability to love, and to love with the intent to stay. No more would he run: he was going to stay, to fight, to do his best for both himself and the person he loved. 

Now, he has managed to turn his practice into reality; he has been in love with his girlfriend for several years, constant and true. They’ve supported each other through pain, through sorrow, through loss and anger, through joy and jubilation. Miguel knows he doesn’t have to be afraid anymore: not of becoming his parents, not of her abandoning him, not of anything. He is strong enough, and stronger yet with her love.

Which is why he is now standing in the middle of the most expensive jeweler’s in all of Nueva York, peering into the cabinet of rings. He scans over all of them, gnawing at the inner part of his cheek with his sharp fangs, pontificating on the various styles of rings, the cuts of the jewels, the shape, the color, the style.

The ring is, for some reason, essential in this process, to Miguel. He knows on an intellectual level that it doesn’t matter– all that matters is the being together, the promise of eternity– and that the ring is a frivolity, a social power move to assert himself as the provider capable of giving his mate shiny things to collect and show off, and that they could be as happy with a ring-shaped hoop of tin foil as with a 24-karat gold band and the world’s biggest diamond, but that doesn’t stop him from wanting to… well, give her a big, fancy frivolity.

He has the money for it (being the best of the best in a field as selective, intense, and competitively paid as genetic research and modification does tend to put a pretty penny in one’s pocket), so that’s not the issue: the issue is that he finds himself displeased by every ring in the shop.

Some are too gaudy, looking like costume jewelry from a 10th-grade production of Romeo and Juliet. Others are too plain, frustrating Miguel in their lack of panache, their absence of flair. He wants her ring to sit on the cusp, right on the razor’s edge between tastefully elegant and just a little bit of a flex on his part about how much he’s willing to do for her.

But none of these rings match his desires. They’re too banal, too plain. So, in his frustration, Miguel rolls his firey-red eyes behind his sunglasses and leans on the counter towards the salesman trying to sell him on every run-of-the-mill ring in the place.

“Tell you what–” Miguel pauses, quickly checking the salesman’s name tag– “–Brain, I’ll make a different deal. I want two– no, three– loose diamonds. No ring. One 2.25 carat, the other two 1.00, size-wise. Throw in some diamond chips while you’re at it, and a block of silver. Big block, don’t skimp.”

The man– now Brian– seemed flustered until Miguel produced his wallet, sliding his credit card across the counter. Then, Miguel slides a large-denomination bill across the counter, towards Brian’s hand.

“Money’s no object,” Miguel says, smiling in a manner that shows off his pointed teeth. “Now be a good lad and get them for me, hm?”

Brian takes both the bribe and the threat and hastens off to produce the requisite jewels and metals.

Miguel takes these materials off to his workshop, where he researches and studies metallurgy and ringmaking. He’s intent on it: he’s going to make her engagement ring himself, and it’s going to be perfect.

The following weeks see Miguel working to hone his craft to perfection, and he takes to the art shockingly quickly. His intelligence and determination are in his favor, keeping him close to the grindstone as he goes through practice pass after practice pass on the ring. Finally, he does it: he has the idea set, the sketches drawn, the practice rings to study from, and he’s ready.

He spends the next few hours carefully, diligently working at the ring, making sure every aspect of it is just so, from the heating system to the molding to the positioning of the jewels. Everything in its right place, made perfect for her.

Just as Miguel is laying the final diamond into the three-piece cluster he’d designed as being the heart of the ring, he hears the doors to his workshop open and the familiar patting of feet on the floor.

“Miggy?”

Oh, god, that’s her; the woman he’s hoping to marry, and she’s here, in his workshop, about to spoil the best surprise he’s ever concocted in all his life.

“Shit shit shit,” he hisses; the metal isn’t fully cooled yet, and there’s no way for him to hide this all, not now, not while he’s still knee-deep in the process. “One minute!”

“Oh, there you are!”

Miguel growls a few more uncouth swears at himself, and she rounds the corner into his workspace. He tries to cover up the ring with the hunched form of his body, but she comes up beside him to give him a hug, and all too soon, his web unweaves itself.

As she presses in for a kiss to his cheek, she sees the still-hot ring sitting in its dock, the three gems glimmering up at her. She gasps, squeezing him tight, and Miguel feels both proud and embarrassed, disappointed and elated.

“Miggy, what is that?”

“It’s… well, I could lie to you, but I don’t think I want to.” He turns away from his workbench and smiles up at her, taking his glove off his hand and cupping her cheek, stroking his thumb over her skin. “It’s…”

“For…,” she coaxes, trying to get him to say it.

Miguel chuckles at her excitement, her impatience for him to just pit it out. She looks so adorable, hinged on the edge between anxious anticipation and relieving revelation.

“Well, honeybunny, sugar-star, my flower of the fields, my daisy-nose-buttercup-kissy-wissy–”

“Miguel, come on!”

“…I was making you a ring,” he says, soft and sincere. “And I think you know what for.”

“Oh, honey,” she breathes.

“Yeah. And, well, since the surprise is gone… do you mind if I use one of the practice rings while the main one cools? I don’t really want to burn your finger off during the proposal.”

They exchange yearning, eager, anxious giggles, and Miguel grabs one of the rings he’d made during his trial runs, turning it over in his fingers softly. He draws a stabilizing breath, then kneels down, watching her face with hawkish excitement.

“My love, you are the person. The Person, proper nouns, capitalized. My person. You’re the one person in the world I can really, truly imagine spending all my days with, all my nights, all my many, many hours. You challenge me, you inspire me, you frustrate me, you delight me. And more than anything, you are the person I love the most in all the Earths in all the universes in all the timelines and multiverses and strands of reality.”

Miguel kisses her hand, sincere even in his silliness.

“And I want you to know that I will be here for you, without fail and without question, for the rest of my life. So, if this feeling is… mutual, please…” He places the ring out in front of his face, supplicating her with it. “Will you take this ring and marry me?”

She gazes down at him with sweet, kind, teary eyes, and nods, cupping his cheeks as she lets out a whimpery, small sob. She’s clearly trying to compose herself, to stay strong, and though Miguel isn’t one to cry very often, he finds that he, too, is right on the verge of openly weeping.

“I-I know that wasn’t easy for you, baby,” she says tenderly, petting his face. “Th-thank you for being so brave and choosing me to be brave w-with you!”

She bursts into tears and collapses into Miguel’s arms, and just as Miguel is about to be afraid that this is a decline to his offer, he feels her encircle him in an embrace as she whispers her answer.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes! Yes, in every universe and timeline and multiverse and strand!”

Miguel cannot help himself; at this reply, he sobs. He sobs openly, shocked by how hard and abruptly the wave of emotion hits him. Until just then, everything had seemed removed from reality by his veneer of the work; the ring had been a distraction from facing the huge, emotionally-taxing impact of realizing…

He is loved. He is wanted. He is needed.

And he’s going to be her husband.

She rocks him in her arms and allows him to shakily put the ring on her finger, the two of them curled into each other like ivies growing in the garden of Eden, ancient and new, perfectly made, bound forever. Miguel squeezes her so tightly that her back pops and her ribs ache, but she doesn’t tell him to stop, just squeezes back as hard as she can to let him know just how much she loves him. And it makes him feel infinite, boundless, enraptured in her.

Miguel is ready, now, to tell everyone, in every world, that he’s getting married. No caveats, no explanations, no jokes. He knows, now, that he will never be ashamed of their relationship, and he’s ready for all the world to see him and know he is Miguel O’Hara, Amazing Husband With An Even More Amazing Wife.

And it’s more than anything he ever could have dreamed of being.

#Anonymous #all three are a little on the longer side like....somewhere around ficlet? length? sorta #gif warning #santiago garcia #poe dameron #miguel o'hara #holy matrimony #i stayed up til 4 am working on this and then fell ASLEEP before posting aghlkg #can you tell i like....marriage..... #messages #original

[anorakofavalon]

Another Way Chapter 3

If you haven’t, go check out Chapter 2 here.

Illusions and conjurations and restorations, healings of all the things that matter. That’s what Merlin had taught her in that time. That precious time. Months now, almost a year since that night they had made reparations over wine and whispered confessions. She had learned to make of things that were not there, or not wholly there, things that were more whole than ever before. Her heart being one such thing, in one way or another...

Morgana had learned in that time also what it meant to be struck in a perpetual wonder of things. To appreciate the glory of all that wasn’t within her grasp. She quickly came to realize, under Merlin’s instruction, that he was fond of not knowing things as much as her sister was fond of knowing everything. It was a tremendous dichotomy of truths and Morgana wasn’t sure which one to hold on to.

Despite all of her lessons with Merlin, despite helping him in the situations that came up every now and again, a large part of her did not fail to sympathize with her sister. That same side of her compelled her to attend every meeting Morgause arranged in the forest near Camelot, but the compulsion wasn’t nearly strong enough for Morgana to pay much attention to what Morgause planned or soliloquied about.

Morgana had come to notice, during the past year, that Morgause was partial to monologuing. It was an ironic little quirk, and she firmly believed she only noticed it at all because of Merlin’s influence. He was constantly making such quippy little observations. He’d make one about how much time she spends thinking of him, or some of the things he says, but he was clueless as could be in that regard. Thank the gods for small graces.

Morgana walked into the forest’s clearing. She passed the fifth tree with a notch carved into its trunk and turned right. Morgause was there, waiting.

“Hello, sister.”

“Morgause,” Morgana moved to hug her sister, and what she said as she held her close was true. “I’ve missed you.”

The sorceress agreed. “It’s been a long time.”

Morgana nodded warily, “Longer than usual. It’s been a month or two.” She pointed to the treescape around them. “Fall is rolling out now.”

Morgause offered a mysterious, mischievous smile. The sort that unsettled Morgana the most. Much as Morgana loved Morgause, her sister had a tendency to act a little erratically. Rashly, even. Her cool demeanor meant she had something up her sleeve. She did.

“I’ve been planning,” said Morgause. “And now all my time and effort will be brought to fruition, sister. Has anything changed in the castle?”

Morgana offered the truth. “Everything has been the same. Not many invasions or attacks or anything of the sort, just the dreadful routine.”

Morgause’s smile was wicked now. “Good, then they won’t be expecting the trouble that’s coming for them.”

“What trouble?”

“The type that will put us on the throne, sister. The type that will bring Uther to justice.”

The idea would have once thrilled her. Part of it did. The thought of putting Uther to justice was more appealing than anything in the entire world could have been. But being on the throne? That was trickier. But that’s what she wanted, ultimately, wasn’t it? If they were on the throne magic could be returned to Camelot.

Merlin wormed his little warlock words into her head. It’s never that simple, Morgana.

It had been one of the many discussions they shared throughout the past year on the topic. For the most part they left it aside in favor of nurturing friendship, but it was a major issue. Clearly ignoring it had led to nothing. Morgana would have to make some decisions.

Frankly, she didn’t want to.

She cleared her throat and pulled nervously at the bracelet her sister had gifted her. “What’s the plan, then? When will we be attacking?”

Morgause’s smiled widened, it was malicious now. “The plan is not the typical affair. I’ve decided it was time to innovate, sister. Don’t you think? I see it as a great way to begin our reign.”

“Innovate?”

“I think I’m spent on armies.” Morgause moved around the clearing, glancing about the trees. “It’s all so boring. Seducing kings, killing them. And then on top of that I have to manage their armies. Even the undead ones are a handful.” She stopped short. Shook her head. “No. Enough of that. We’re High Priestesses of Magic itself, Morgana. I don’t believe we’ve been using it enough.”

Morgana shook her head. “I can’t seem to follow.”

“A small force. They’ll be expecting armies and brute forces. But subversion? Sneaking? A small team for infiltration. We’ll kill the Pendragons and take down the citadel.”

Morgana’s heart beat much faster. “You have a team?”

“No, we have a team Morgana.”

Morgana offered a shaky smile. “Yes, of course… when will we be attacking?”

Morgause looked to the sky. “It’s a full moon tonight.”

It was. The moon was starting to peek through. Morgana had come to the clearing right after supper with the king. It was dusk, but not dark.

“Will we wait for the new moon?”

Morgause laughed. “A time of darkness? You always had a flair for the dramatic. We share that in common, you and I.”

She continued. “But no. We’re attacking tonight.”

Morgana’s heart dropped. She had run out of time. “Tonight?”

“I will see you at midnight, dear sister. By dawn we will be queens. We’ll be the saviors of every sorcerer in the land.”

“How will I know when to do my part? I’m not even sure what my part will be?”

“You’ll know when it’s time sister. I can’t share anything more.”

Morgana curled her fingers in frustration. She moved up to Morgause, imploring. “Don’t you trust me, Morgause?”

Morgause was astonished by the concept. She took Morgana’s fingers in her hand and said “Of course I do my darling. I trust you with my life. But the plan must succeed. It’s our only hope, you understand?”

Morgana nodded numbly. Morgause disappeared into the night with a curl of wind. The sun had set.

Morgana ran back to the castle.

~{(0)}~

“Merlin!”

She had burst right through the door to Gaius’ chambers. The old man startled from where he was, presumably pouring over a text on medicine. It was a gift Merlin had given him recently. She recalled its spine and binding. Merlin had talked to her about it for weeks.

“Ah, Lady Morgana. I did not expect you at this hour. You haven’t had a resurgence of your dreaming, have you?”

His eyebrows suggested something Morgana did very much not like him suggesting. She blushed anyways. “I came to see Merlin.”

“Now that’s a surprise.” The old bastard knew it wasn’t, and she did not appreciate being teased over it at all. “Unfortunately, it seems that Merlin is still with the Prince. He hasn’t come in yet.”

She said “I see” and left the room. Morgana was annoyed at the pace she walked at, but within the citadel she had to keep up appearances of grace. The walls had eyes.

It didn’t take too long to find Arthur and Merlin. She heard their bickering from two halls down from where she was, and they were approaching her.

“Arthur, it’s impossible to do.”

“Now, Merlin. That might be the case for your, but fortunately for me, I am not an idiot.”

“Actually, you know what your Highness? Please, by all means. I invite you to -- Morgana.”

She had basically run into them, her feet moving quicker and quicker as their half-hearted disagreement sounded around the corner. “Merlin!”

Arthur bristled at the lack of acknowledgement. “Morgana? What are you doing all the way over here?”

“I need Merlin.” Her tone was final. She had presumed Arthur’s protest at having his servant whisked away. She didn’t pay much mind at the way that Merlin flushed when she said that. She didn’t pay it much mind at all. Really.

Arthur began the slow process of forming a witty remark, but Merlin cut him off with a pat on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. As your friend, I’m bound to express my complete confidence that you’ll live two minutes without me. Beyond that, though…”

The prince narrowed his eyes a little but broke into a grin not long after. “Don’t you know Merlin? I can live up to even a whole three hours without you by my side. As a matter of fact, I’m willing to put it to a test. You can clean the stables for a few hours tomorrow, all alone.”

Merlin groaned and began a remark that sounded suspiciously like “clotpole” before Morgana tugged at his sleeve and guided him away.

“All things considered, I think I won that one.”

She could hear the mild smile in his voice, but she couldn’t bring herself to share in the humor. Her heart trembled, uneasy.

An alcove a few corridors down proved to be a perfect spot for the sort of conversation they were going to have. Moonlight filtered in through an opening in the walls, and it illuminated Morgana’s face grimly. Light caught in the green in her eyes which were wrought with desperation.

“What’s going on Morgana? Have you had a dream?”

“It’s Morgause.”

Merlin tensed. “Did you meet with her again?”

She’d told him she hadn’t in other occasions, just to circumvent the very argument brewing in the alcove. “Yes.”

“I see.”

“Merlin…”

“You’re going to have to make a choice Morgana. You know this. I won’t force you either way, but there are forces out there that would have your choice removed.”

“Maybe they’re right?”

“You’ve never been the sort to believe in Destiny before.”

“And you’ve always been the first to believe in it.”

“Things changed over this last year Morgana.”

She looked out through the opening, staring down at the city that had adopted her with open arms. In a few hours, for better or worse it could belong to her.

“So what do you believe in Merlin?”

“I believe in you, Morgana.”

She spun around to look into his eyes, but the customary depths of blue were exchanged for flashes of gold. He had a finger to his mouth. “Shhh.” He pointed through the entrance of the alcove, beyond which stood two people. Arthur and Guinevere, exchanging soft words and chuckles. Shy and sweet. “And I believe in them,” Merlin whispered.

She looked to him once more, his eyes twinkled in the moonlight. Maybe it was hope. Whenever she was around him she could feel it too.

Morgana extinguished it. “Morgause is attacking. Tonight.”

His eyes stopped shining.

“I don’t know what to do Merlin,” she continued.

“We have to do the right thing Morgana.”

This. It was always this. “I think you and I have different definitions of what it means to do the right thing.”

“I can’t -- I won’t let you kill Uther.”

“So you’re still willing to let others suffer for--”

“You know for a fact Morgana that hasn’t happened here in a long time. We’ve been able to prevent instances like that. By working together . Don’t pretend this isn’t about something more.”

She bit at the inside of her cheek and looked away from him again. She moved on. “Morgause is attacking with a smaller force of powerful sorcerers. Their aim is to infiltrate the citadel and take control subtly.”

He nodded. Merlin looked calm, but in the small space of the alcove she could feel his legs tapping on the ground incessantly. He was itching to go plan something. He stayed. “And what is your role going to be in this, Morgana?”

“I.. I don’t know. She told me that I’d know when it was time.”

He sighed and slapped his hand against his forehead. “It never ends.” Merlin joined her in looking out the window, but only briefly. He clapped his hands together once, loudly, obnoxiously. “Right then, let’s get on with it.”

She didn’t move.

“Oh come on now. You can be dramatic later. Or actually, just it get it all out now. Deliver a monologue into the open night. I wouldn’t want you delivering any when we kick your sister’s arse.”

She glared at him, but a small smile played at her lips. “I think I’m starting to sympathize with Arthur.”

“As far as I’m concerned, that’s character growth on your part and I think you should thank me.”

She had grown to sympathize with Arthur more recently. And not just about Merlin’s infuriating remarks. She had come to see that he had the potential to be a great man.

Her smile faded into melancholy and her eyes shined, but not with any measure of hope. “I’m not sure what to do.”

Merlin took her hand. “Like I said, Morgana. I believe in you. And whatever happens... I’m grateful to have been your friend. Even if it was just for this year.”

She stared down at where their fingers touched, she felt Merlin’s magic thrumming just under the surface of his skin, pulsing like it had a heartbeat of its own. The connection was golden and sparkling and all too brief.

“She’s my sister, Merlin.”

He sighed. “I know. But I have a duty. My place is by Arthur’s side-”

Morgana grabbed his arm. “Can’t something be sorted out?”

“There’s nothing to be sorted out. You know that.”

Her eyes flickered with annoyance. “Now you’re an absolutist? Aren’t you always the one saying that we can find another way Merlin?”

“That’s not-”

“Or is it just that we can only find another way if it’s your way?”

“Morgana, please.”

She scoffed in disgust. “Forget it. You’re a self-righteous ass Merlin.”

He intoned once more, calmly, maddeningly “It’s the only way.”

Morgana looked right into his eyes. “Do you really believe that?”

A moment. “It must be.”

She stepped back, keeping her eyes on his. “I just want to keep us safe, Merlin. I want to give us a chance at happiness. At living a life unafraid.”

Morgana turned out into the corridor, but Merlin caught her arm. “What role will you be playing in this, Morgana?”

“I told you I don’t know, Morgause said-”

“What role do you want to play in this Morgana?”

She stared at him, tears collecting in her eyes. She swept away without answering.

~{(0)}~

There was fire and tremors and terror abound for the noble blood of Camelot. Morgause’s “silent and stealthy” attack on Camelot proved to involve a few more pyrotechnics that Merlin imagined. It was something about the citadel. Its white, tall, untarnished walls. Surely it begged for destruction from a vengeful witch. A castle so glorious surely couldn’t belong to a king with so much blood on his hands.

The attack was well-orchestrated. Arthur’s forces were stretched thin and Merlin was stretched even thinner. Despite the bountiful warning, it was a struggle to get Arthur to listen without asking too many questions, and it was even more of a struggle to assemble a group of knights as late as it was.

“Arthur!” Merlin said.

The prince heard his bellowing and ducked down without even thinking about it. He swiped at the feet of the would-be assassin.

A sorcerer turned up from around the corner, a ball of flame in his hands.

Arthur insisted “Merlin! We have to retreat into the throne room.”

Merlin’s heart dropped. “We can take him.”

The sorcerer, dressed entirely in black, let out a nasty grin and extinguished the fires that lit the corridor and darkness consumed their vision.

“Merlin?”

“I’m here!”

A fireball zoomed past him and flared out as it struck a body next to him. Merlin heard a pained scream and the sound of metal hitting the floor. “Arthur!”

He threw his hands forward and closed his eyes. He felt for a presence with his magic and felt the sorcerer approaching. Merlin was certain that he was doing something similar because he felt the figure stop short and prepare a spell.

Merlin lunged at him with a sword and struck his abdomen. His body broke the fall, but the blade was shattered by the weight and the hilt bruised one of Merlin’s ribs. Grunting in pain, he willed the torches to come alight.

“Arthur, where are you?”

Merlin stood up uneasily against a wall and made his way towards the prince. Arthur was standing up shakily. His armor was singed and his face was grimy. “My father, we have to…”

The warlock nodded and raised his friend’s arm over his shoulder, guiding him towards the throne room with the certainty that Morgause planned for them to do exactly that. He went anyways. The door was ajar, but only because Morgana and most of the remaining guards had just gone in. They were fortifying it against attacks as best they could. Merlin caught her eye from across the room.

“Arthur!” Uther said. “What happened to you?” He looked at Merlin and barked. “Explain!”

The prince answered for him. “We were defending the north corridor father. Merlin killed a sorcerer but there’s bound to be more.”

Uther swept his hand in the direction from where they came.“Close those doors! Barricade them as best you can and get in your formations.”

The room was busy with all sorts of people. It was nearly full to the brim with nobles and soldiers and the anxiety of an attack. Merlin didn’t see or hear Morgana come up by his side what with all the chatter.

“You can’t stop this alone.”

He looked at her intently. “I’m not alone.”

“I won’t stop her, Merlin. But…” Morgana busied herself helping one of the older nobles and a few servants find a place to sit. “I’ll try to minimize the damages.”

“Morgana...”

“It’s the best I can do.”

His head dropped. “I see.”

Merlin looked her in the eyes and she hurried off. He was alone for the first time in a long time.

The room shook with a tremor more ferocious than the previous one. Darkness crept in and nervous whispering ensued. Uther demanded silence and barked commands at his sorcerers. Merlin sensed for Morgana’s magic. It had become familiar now, and he did not struggle much in placing her in the room.

She stood by one of the arcades that lined the windows. Despite this, she was perfectly calm when they exploded into the room. Screaming ensued, but no sooner had it started than silence swallowed the chambers. It was a contrived quiet, the works of a sorcerer. Nobody had even heard the rest of them bombard their way through the chamber door. The only warning Merlin had was the glow of a growing flame in the distance. Morgause wanted to roast them all alive.

So much for subtle.

Merlin looked to Morgana in desperation and she gave him a slight nod. Tears had slipped down her cheek. She would only help him to an extent. He wasn’t willing to test the limits.

Dismantling the ball of fire ferociously flying its way towards the hall was an act of extreme will and Merlin struggled to make his efforts unnoticeable. The enchantment of quiet upon them served in his favor in this regard, but it was a bigger burden than it was a boon. Somebody would get hurt because the sorcerers were too quiet and too well hidden to be fought.

The flame was smothered in the air, and Merlin only just had time to cancel the silence charm before Morgause prepared another spell. Merlin kept low to the ground as the soldiers began shouting orders at each other. He couldn’t see Arthur, but he was sure the prince was somewhere in the front. Fighting, even blind.

Merlin fixed the lighting situation by summoning a floating orb into the air. It became bright enough to see that they were in a rather difficult situation. Twelve sorcerers in all, not including Morgause, had the chambers surrounded.

He would be revealing his magic today. There were very few ways for him to do anything even remotely useful without it being obvious. Part of him wanted to blame Morgana, but she was right. Despite proposing that she could choose her path, Merlin had been strong-arming her into his way of thinking. Before, he would have been comfortable with this. It was for the greater good, no? But these days Merlin respected Morgana’s autonomy more than the greater good. If this was her choice -- at least it was hers.

Now able to see where they were and who they were fighting, the knights moved into action in a flurry of yelling and the clinking of armor. He kept by Arthur’s side in the middle of things, discreetly trying to take down any sorcerers he could, or impede on their progress. Morgause was nowhere to be seen yet, but he expected her soon.

Merlin spotted a sorcerer preparing to attack the group of nobles and blasted him across the room with a flick of his wrist in his direction. Merlin did it with such vociferous conviction that the back wall was marred by a new opening into a hallway. The majority of the nobles scurried through the hole.

None of the knights saw him, but plenty of the sorcerers did. Seven remained of the original twelve, and they almost all began to converge on him. Across the room Morgana’s eyes widened and she began weaving an enchantment. Merlin abandoned the remains of his desire to hide his magic as he desperately battled against the onslaught of spells and curses.

Morgana’s enchantment proved to be among her greatests so far. Mist rolled in from nowhere and swept them up in grey. Only Merlin and the sorcerers could see one another. The knights were blinded and further immobilized by the sparking, crackling, and popping of sparks in the air. They took strange forms of creatures long since gone from the world.

This gave Merlin just enough breathing room to defend himself. He motioned at one of the sparks in the air and fanned flames into it from his hands. The spark-beast, potentially a hydra, came to life with vigor and began an assault on the assailants.

The fire beast was enough to paralyze some of the attackers, but it soon grew so large that it escaped Merlin’s control entirely. It raged across the room.

Morgana watched in horror as it moved towards the knights. She took the reins on the enchantment from across the room, guiding it towards sorcerers amassing in the corner to form a spell. She snuffed the oxygen out of the air around it. She gathered the clouds in the room and sent it their way, condensing it until it began to soak their efforts.

Merlin smiled at her, but she watched him warily. The knights began to converge on the remaining sorcerers in the corner, but one of the columns by the window toppled over Arthur and Uther’s path. They were isolated. That was no accident. That was the work of Morgana.

Rain barraged the interior of the throne room. It had begun to storm at some point, but Merlin was so caught up in himself he hadn’t noticed. He ran towards Arthur, jumping in front of him just as a bolt of lightning struck from outside. Morgause appeared in the room with a rush of wind.

The breeze of the rain was cold and sharp against his skin and his sides ached too much for him to bother breathing. He hadn’t died because a shield of shimmering energy had protected him, it had the texture, the fingerprint of Morgana’s magic -- and her indecision.

Merlin stumbled up as Morgause approached Arthur and the king and laughed with mad, almost drunken glee. Morgause was the sort to indulge herself with abandon, but Merlin had no doubts she would reserve any indulging until after Arthur and Uther’s heads were on sticks outside the castle walls. They had escaped her clutches too many times. No chances would be taken.

As he weakly leaned against a wall, Merlin wondered if he could let them escape just one more time. Arthur watched him with horror from where he stood as Merlin drew a sword, bloody at the hilt, from the ground.

“Merlin! Don’t!”

Merlin threw the sword, knowing it wouldn’t even make the halfway mark. It was more of a distraction than it was an attack. There was only one course of action now.

Merlin tapped deep into the roots of his being, reaching for a part of him that had been smothered and oppressed for as long as he could control it. He felt the heat under his skin flare up. He opened his eyes, which he was sure were blazing gold, only to find himself inside of an illusion. The world around him sounded distant and muddled, like he was listening from underwater.

Morgana was shaping the world around them to a two-fold image. In the right light, he caught glances of her fighting him with all her might. In another, he caught saw his prone figure on the ground as Morgana assaulted Morgause with a sword.

He understood one was for the benefit of Morgause, and the other was to hide his magic from Arthur and Uther.

The reality, however, was that Morgause stood five feet from him, looking down imperiously, a vision of Morgana standing by her side with an evil glint in her eye. Merlin caught his second wind and began attacking Morgause with more vigor than he had ever fought anyone. Fire and bolts of lightning struck out around the throne room, blazing energy was exchanged in flurries of blasts.

Morgause’s spells were all tremendously flashy affairs, but Merlin preferred the indirect approach mostly. He shifted the wooden floor around her, disbalancing her as best he could. The debris of glass and stone began to form into golems. Morgause’s eyes widened and her attention was shifted, momentarily, to the task of a fist of glass making its way towards her.

She let loose a scream and a radius of light emanated from her body instantly. The golems were pulverized completely and Morgana’s illusions fell apart. Merlin and Morgause stared at one another from across the throne room. Morgana stood by the window, wind blowing at her hair, darkness framing her figure.

She knew for certain that Merlin and Morgause’s confrontation was one of a final variety. There was little choice left to either of them now, and all the choices came down to her. Merlin or Morgause?

But despite Merlin’s newfound absolutism, Morgana’s thoughts tended back to his hopeful words in the Catacombs of Camelot, such a long time ago. And yet, not. The promise of another way. She fiddled with her sleeping charm in a brief flare of anxiety.

For a moment, she felt something akin to what Merlin had described as the sensation of time coming to a stop. This, she was sure, was not the work of magic.

The flickering sparks of magic Merlin had shown her that drunken winter night, the image of Freya he had conjured resounded within her. Not all magic was lethal. Not all spells need be.

Her eyes snapped towards Morgause as she toyed with her charm.

“Sister!” she shouted.

Morgause glanced at her in time to catch the sleeping bracelet she had crafted for Morgana. In a flash of light, the sleeping spell shattered itself free. Her sister’s body dropped to the ground, the bracelet nothing but pieces of charred metal.

Knights began to rush in as rain continued to pour through the opening where stained glass used to be. Uther and Arthur stared at her dumbly, but Uther was the first to begin making demands. Morgana ignored him as she made her way to her sister’s prone form. Morgause’s chest rose and fell in even breathes. Morgana sighed in relief and fell to the ground, spent.

“Sorcery!” Uther shouted. “M-”

“It was me” Merlin said, limping from his place. “I did it.”

Arthur stood up, made his way towards his friend. “Merlin. What are you doing? This is ridiculous.”

Merlin shook his head.“No Arthur. It was me.” His eyes flashed gold and the form of a dragon shimmered in front of Arthur, taking flight soon after. “I’m sorry,” he continued, “that I didn’t tell you. You’re my friend and I should have told you.”

“Guards!” Uther ordered.

Morgana’s heart dropped. Her throat constricted itself and she could barely whisper his name. “Merlin, no. Please.”

Nobody heard her, except for him.

I’m sorry, Morgana. I can’t let you live in fear of Uther. Not for my sake. His voice was clear and strong in her head.

Please she said.

Take care of the prat. Don’t let him hate me.

Merlin why are you doing this?

Because. He smiled at her from his place in the room as the guards began to converge on him and Arthur pleaded with his father to stop it. I trust you, Morgana.

Merlin stepped towards Morgause’s form, and kneeled down. He took her hand and they were gone in a flurry of wind.

Chaos broke out in the throne room as Morgana stared at the ground in disbelief. She stayed that way for some time. But Merlin spoke in her head once more, his voice soft and intimate. They faded as he went off into distances she knew not.

Talk to Gaius. He will know what you must do. In the meantime, I’ll keep your sister safe, Morgana. There’s a lesson, a hope that I gave you once. It was the most important one. I’m sorry I failed my end of it. There’s always another way.

#mergana #merlin #bbcmerlin #merlin x morgana

[crimes-and-gelato]

Only Half a Blue Sky (Chapter Three)

Rating: M Pairings: Tony Stark/Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes

Chapter Title: Hooked on a Feeling

A/N: First and foremost, thank you to aoifelaufeyson for beta reading this at the last minute. Thanks a massive, dear. :) And of course, all remaining mistakes are still mine.It was Leez's idea actually for the plot to go like this: with Bucky learning that he's Tony's soulmate before Tony learning that he's Bucky's soulmate, too. Because she's brilliant. So, it's all thanks to her.We change POV on this chapter. Two new POVs: Nat and Bucky's. Since, we're gonna deal with a Bucky POV, you should be warned that he's going to go through some depressing thought about his Winter Soldier days. And as for Nat's part, it's going to have some mentions of Howard's A+ parenting, which I will probably add in the tag as well.Okay, I talked waaaay too much. Thank you for being here, if you're still here. Let's get on with the show. :))

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“Nothing ever ends poetically. It ends and we turn it into poetry. All that blood was never once beautiful. It was just red.” -Kait Rokowski

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It’s been two weeks. Two weeks of these awkward evasive dance from James and Tony. Natasha’s sure Steve hasn’t noticed yet, he’s too busy focusing on James’ rehabilitation and Avenger business to have detected this game of avoidance between his two best friends. But she saw it.

The two didn’t start up great with how they have Maria’s death between them. And she was sure there won’t be anything more between them besides trying to be civil with each other for Steve’s sake. But of course, he’s Tony Stark and he plans to prove her wrong with how generous he can be with his kindness and forgiveness to those who deserve it.

Natasha’s a testament to Tony’s generosity even after she betrayed his trust, and wrote down words about him that she can never take back all because Fury wanted her to push Tony’s button. The evaluation was all scripted because she somehow got a glimpse of the real Tony Stark in the days she acted as his secretary.

Yes, he’s egotistical but only when he’s trying to annoy people and push their buttons, or when he’s trying to hide the fact that he has a heart and cares too much about how others perceive him. Howard Stark might have been the main root of all the self-doubt he covers up with dramatic performances as he’d heard snippets of Tony’s childhood from the man himself.

Unfortunately, the senior Stark wanted Tony to be a man who should only focus on important things like creating an outstanding future with robotics and science, anything that’s unrelated to both are considered unnecessary. Feelings for example will only get in the way of progress and brilliance, Howard said. And Tony, being the sensitive person that he truly is despite all the hard layers he hides under, had a hard time trying to fulfill his father’s wishes.

And Tony never has, he tells Natasha so. That’s why everything he does will never be good enough, because all his life all he had heard from Howard was how he was never good enough. Stark men are made of iron and Tony’s not there yet, his father implied constantly when he was still alive.

Even when Howard’s rotting in his grave for more than two decades now, Tony continues to carry around the man’s expectation. If Natasha could bring Howard back from the dead, she’d stab him a couple times for all the pain he brought on his son. But she can’t do that, all she can do is help Tony see that he’s a far greater man than his father ever will.

Both she and Tony had started on the wrong foot, but they have come far away from that awful beginning of lies and manipulations. Now that they have both come clean of their masks and bluffs, they’ve discovered how much they have in common and they draw strength in that as they rely on each other.

By far Tony’s one of the three people she will trust with her life. First has to be Clint, then Pepper, and then the genius. Maybe Coulson too and Steve. It’s a very short list because it’s hard to get on it. They all need to pass by several tests and personal issues first.

Now, Tony’s acting all weird around James. She’s curious and concerned about this sudden change in their dynamic when a few weeks ago Tony couldn't  stop talking about James’ arm and all he planned to do with it, and sometimes when he forgets himself he gushes over the super soldier’s strength and physique. And it’s cute. She can tell he has a crush that he tries to hide but he fails at times when he has this fond and nostalgic smile on his lips when he talks about the James he saw on the old reels.

What’s not cute is the fact that Tony shouldn’t go on with  this infatuation because it’s only set on heartaches. She doesn’t want that for him. Never. He’s been hurt too much and deserved better.

She observes  from a distance and tries  to figure out if Tony had suddenly realised that he had feelings for James that will never be reciprocated and is now doing his very best to keep away from the super soldier.

But then, James is also acting bizarre. The ex-assassin keeps glancing at the genius when Tony isn’t looking. And there’s something about the gaze that’s somehow translates to longing. The why is still blank. She needs to investigate further.

It’s one thing for Tony to avoid James. But it’s another for James to avoid Tony as well but still look at the engineer like he’s itching to touch him and be near him.

Bizarre. Her family is confusing. It’s actually interesting as well. Better than all the spy mission that Fury sends her these days.

Natasha sits down on her usual breakfast chair in the kitchen and watches quietly as James digs holes behind Tony’s back in the living room. The billionaire has his back on the sofa, facing the window that looks out over Manhattan as he talks to someone on the phone in French. Even from this view she can appreciate his form that's perfectly fitted into a charcoal grey suit. She wonders if that’s also the reason why James’ is looking far too many times than should be normal.

What’s it with these super soldiers and Tony? She’s not even going to mention how Steve has the same look towards the resident engineer. Really interesting.

She sips her coffee and formulates a plan to get answers. She might not be a scientist, but she’s not against experiments is all.

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Tony is a very tactile person, and even more so when he’s exhausted or when he’s lost in his science thoughts. These are the perfect moments to cuddle with him without him being so damn defensive about being snuggled because ‘I’m a grown ass man, Natasha .’

And yes, she had mentioned a lot of times that she doesn’t like to be embraced as well. Especially in public, and how any show of emotion or affection makes her defensive, too. But she gives an exception to Tony. Because he’s Tony.

At first, she was wary of Tony. Of anyone for that matter. She doesn’t want to get attached because she’s a spy, an assassin, a seductress. In short, someone who’s not made — the Red Room guaranteed that — for permanent domesticity because they’re weapons first, and people last.

They’re only people when the work needed them to be. But it’s all a façade in the end because they will always come back to their original role: a weapon. It’s their function. It’s how they were brought up to think.

Not anymore for her. Thanks to SHIELD. But habits stick and so does the brainwashing, and everything else that’s been fed to her from the moment she was able to understand words and orders.

So, she’s always cautious. She doesn’t want to get attached.

But she did, because it’s Tony. The genius is an idiot who has sacrificial tendencies engraved into his bone that’s borderline —nine out of ten — exasperating. And also, because he’s funny and different.

And as time moved  further they grew to gravitate towards each other for comfort often enough that it became a habit. One she doesn’t want to depart with because she likes being close to Tony. He feels safe. And safe in their line of work is scarce. And what’s rarer is her finding someone she can trust like she trust him. So that’s that.

‘Now, that Tony’s here we have to start with the whole Star Wars saga,’ Clint announces. ‘Since Barnes hasn’t seen them yet.’

It’s the first team movie night that Tony is attending since James arrived. And she already made sure that the seat next to her will be empty so the engineer can have it. She usually sits with Clint, but he’s sitting next to Sam, Steve’s veteran friend.

Before James’ arrival, Steve and Tony have always sat together because Cap’s the only one who can tolerate the genius’ unnecessary — and most of the time, funny — commentary. Cap always smiles on Tony’s jokes during movie nights.

It’s ridiculous and silly how they both get along so well — although they do tend to rile each other up at times. Still, they work together in perfect synchronization that at one point she believed that they must be soulmates or something. But Cap is bonded to James (who was believed to be dead at the time). So, is it possible for him to have another soulmate? Because that’s the only explanation she can come up with with how much Steve and Tony complement each other.

Their science hasn’t explained much about soulmates and the other mysteries about it. By far, the only law about it is someone mentioning your name or your preferred name and then your bonded.

Thinking back now, she’s still curious on whether Steve and Tony could have been soulmates? Is that even possible? They both continue to steal glimpses of each other, only now it’s more like of the glances that James is throwing at Tony.

What is up with these three?

‘I don’t know,’ Bruce inserts, taking his place next to Thor, who’s currently eating pop tarts. ‘Do we really want to start another long discussion about Luke Skywalker?’

‘The new Star Wars then?’ Clint offers.

Bruce shakes his head with a soft smile. ‘Clint, you’re not the one who’s going to have to listen to him soliloquy about Poe.’

‘Fine.’ He rolls his eyes sarcastically. ‘What do we watch then?’

‘ Mamma Mia !’ Thor bellows excitedly. ‘I have great likeness when Friend Anthony sings along to the hymns. It reminds me of home after winning a battle when me and my companions feast and the bards plays a tune we can all carol to.’

‘This is absurd,’ Tony exclaims as he enters the room. ‘That was one time, Point Break.’ He sternly glares at Thor, mockingly. ‘I trusted that you’d keep that secret close to heart and guard it with your life. But no, you have to unravel these happenings behind my back where I cannot defend my honour.’

‘I apologise, my good friend,’ Thor amends, smiling and looking far from apologetic. ‘You have a fantastic voice that needs to be shared and heard by our friends.’

Tony’s gaze wanders for two seconds on the seat next to Cap that James occupies. But the engineer immediately darts his eyes away and proceeds to the empty one next to Natasha.

She wants to say it’s not hurt she saw in Tony’s eyes when he surreptitiously glances at the two super soldiers. But clearly it’s a little bit of that because he’s suddenly all stiff and talkative as he sits down next to her.

‘And no, we cannot watch Mamma Mia just to please Point Break,’ he announces. ‘That was only a one time occasion because he was homesick and moping around.’ He leans further into Natasha’s side. ‘If it’s all the same to you guys, we should go with Twilight .’

Everyone makes an exasperated groan, except for James, who doesn’t have any idea about the turmoil ahead of them.

‘Oh please, at least they had great casting,’ Tony chides. ‘Not like you-know-who creator.’

‘You only like it because you think Dr. Cullen is hot,’ Clint retorts back and throws a popcorn at Tony.

‘Wait, I thought you said you watch it because of Alice?’ Steve interjects, turning to the genius.

Tony only shrugs at the blond and stares ahead on the wide TV screen. ‘J, put on some Twilight , please.’

There’s another series of displease voices as the room darkens further and the screen bursts into life. And as on cue, Tony curls more into Natasha’s side when the lights dim.

Solely on instinct, she wraps her arm on his shoulder to pull him closer to her as he lets out a quiet, satisfied sigh. Their whole side glued together as they get comfortable in their position.

Bella’s narrating the opening scene when Natasha feels being watched. And she knows she is because her instincts tells her so, and her instincts are always ninety-eight percent correct. So, she looks around subtly to investigate.

Viola! It’s James.

The two super soldiers are across them, just on the other end of the U-shape couch. She and Tony are on the other end with Sam and Clint in the middle.

And yes, that’s James secretly throwing a glare at her and Tony. The engineer on the other hand seems to be oblivious, concentrating on the movie. Steve is also watching the screen along with everyone else that is not her or James.

Why is James so mad at Tony?

She meets his eyes because she won’t stand it that he’s trying to threaten the engineer. James have to go through her first. Or her through him. She’s opting for the latter.

When James is caught, he looks away immediately. He didn’t seem chastise that she scowls back at him. He looks away, but there’s that annoyance in his features as he turns his eyes back towards the screen.

She’s going to ask Tony later if James is threatening him. She’s not going to let James bully Tony in his own household. She doesn’t care what Steve says.

Appeased with her decision to talk to James later about his attitude towards their resident genius, she also begins to watch the movie and pulls Tony even closer into her side.

And just as expected, Tony made a running commentary about the movie. But halfway through he’s out like a light and is leaning peacefully into Natasha’s chest, where he snores slightly. She’d had a mission these last two days and he made sure to snatch the opportunity to defy his regulated sleeping schedule. Even Bruce couldn’t drag him out of his workshop.

So, it’s no surprise at all to have him exhausted and asleep at any given time of stillness.

She’s petting his hair softly, loving how it curls at the end. She also likes the low mewls he makes when she cards her fingers through his hair. She’ll say he sounds like a cat, but she won’t tell him that because he’s going to pout and will only make him more adorable.

How she loves these few moments of vulnerability from him. He looks so peaceful like this, younger than when he’s awake and ready to fight anything that he thought was wrong.

Somehow, having him like this in her arms kicks off a bit of her maternal instincts. It’s a part of her that she doesn’t show often, that she refuses to. Only in times like this when it’s dark, when she it’s just them.

She looks up to the screen again to where Bella’s on Edward’s back and jumping from tree to tree like a couple of idiots. That’s when she senses it again; the presence of someone watching her.

She turns and there’s James again: staring. He doesn’t glare this time. His feature is cross between incredulity and hurt. He also seems to have not notice her watching him because his eyes aren’t fix on her. No, those blue grey eyes are laser focus on Tony.

James whole face is a picture of longing. And she’s not sure why is that. Why does he keep looking at Tony like that? It doesn’t add up to the theory she has in her head.

**

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Taking himself back into sanity has not been an easy journey, just ask his therapist and the amount of tea he has at 2am when he doesn’t want to go back to sleep because the nightmares continue to unravel — one after another — once he closes his eyes. Not that being awake helps him forget the faces of the people he killed, but he’s trying to humour himself.

And his conscience doesn’t take it too well when he wakes Steve up when he starts screaming in his sleep. They’ve decided to sleep in separate rooms before when Bucky’s just healing up. Now they sleep in the same room, but still on different beds.

He wants to think that it’s Steve’s presence that keeps most his nightmares away. It might be the whole soulmate thing. Only that, it’s still difficult for them both when it comes to waking Bucky from his nightmares. Five times had he managed to punch Steve in the face. Twice had he choked his lover. And there are a few more instances that he wants to forget.

His therapist tells him it’s normal. That he should not worry too much. That he’s doing his best. And that he’s getting better.

On the first few weeks he wanted to ask his therapist, Sasha, about the last one. He’s getting better. But when? When is he going to fully recover? When will he stop sleeping under the bed at times he doesn’t feel safe to sleep on his mattress even when he had checked the door four times to know that it is completely locked, with JARVIS assuring him that he is safe.

He screamed at her a few times on days he can’t help himself. Those were during the first few weeks of therapy. They were the toughest days. The longest days, too.

He had long accepted now that healing takes time. He knows it before but he doesn’t have the right presence of mind to learn to accept it. He’s still trying to do so on his bad days. And Christ, there will always be bad days.

The bad days are fewer now. He’s glad they are. But they are still there, there’s no way he’s going to forget, or that his demons will ever not remind him. At least it isn’t always going to be bad days even when he's constantly awake at the wee hours of the morning.

But these last weeks he’s been awake at some forsaken early hour for a different reason. The nightmares still come but with the help of therapy they’re scarcer than they were before.

The reason why he’s drinking tea at 2am this time around is because of Tony. Who knew such a harmless looking man could contest his nightmares at keeping him up. He wants to complain but he prefers this over his usual turmoil.

At the back of his head he can hear Sasha’s voice telling him to talk to someone. Communication is a key in fixing Bucky’s usual problems. And he should probably listen to that small voice.

It’s not like he hasn’t tried. God, for the last two weeks — blending into three now — he had tried to say something to Steve. He can tell that Steve knows he’s anxious about something. But well, Bucky’s constantly troubled about everything — thank you very much, HYDRA assholes — so Steve won’t push him to open up unless Bucky wants to.

He really needs to talk to Steve about it because it’s eating him up. It makes him feel guilty and he’s actually surprise there’s still room in him to feel guilty about something else other than taking the lives of those innocent people HYDRA had told him to eliminate.

Natasha already noticed him acting weird. And it’s going to take a spy of her calibre to find out his dirty little secret. And when she does, she’s going to tell Tony and Steve. Steve will be heartbroken. And Tony? Well, the engineer’s probably going to kick him out of his home.

Just two nights ago Natasha had warned him to stay away from Tony — and he’s trying isn’t he? — or else she’s going to do some very interesting things with his anatomy that would put HYDRA’s torture to shame. And he believes her. She had been his pupil before, one of the best he’d taught by far.

His mental health is once again in jeopardy all because of one single man. One beautiful, smart, kind man.

‘I’m starting to think I should keep a tracking device on you,’ a voice states, startling Bucky from his internal tumult.

He looks up and finds the very man that’s adding to his insomnia: Tony Stark.

The man yawns reluctantly and hides it at the back of his hand. He’s all sleepy eyes and bedhead hair, all soft and at ease. It makes Bucky want to reach out and touch his warm skin because he feels so cold all of the sudden. Tony looks very warm.

‘Why you up, Robocop?’ the engineer asks. He walks tiredly towards the coffee machine and turns it on. ‘Do you want some coffee?’

‘No,’ he answers and continues on staring at his now empty cup of tea.

The silence blankets around them with only the coffee machine breaking its wake. It’s awkward, he’s not sure if Tony notices or if he minds. But Bucky wants to fill it with something. A question that’s been bugging him since his last few days of observation, and especially after the team movie night.

Although, he isn’t in the right place to ask anything — especially not personal — he’s itching to do so. There’s no settling in peace unless he can voice out his query because it’s digging deep into his bones, his mind, his soul. He needs answers.

The problem is: he’s afraid to ask. Afraid to have his hunch confirm. Afraid of the truth that lies ahead.

Jesus Christ, his life is hard.

‘Are you okay?’ Tony inquires worriedly that brings Bucky out of his headspace.

‘What?’ he asks dumbly, confuse as to why all the sudden concern.

‘Shit!’ The engineer grabs something and dabs it softly on Bucky’s hand. On Bucky’s flesh hand that is, which at the moment is bleeding. ‘Oh shit!’

It’s not that painful, is what Bucky thinks as he sees the blood on the light grey breakfast bar from where he had broken the cup he was holding. He only glances it for a few seconds knowing that it will heal in a while. Super soldier serum benefits. His eyes fleet to Tony though, who is more awake now with how he’s panicking at the sight of Bucky’s blood.

‘I’m sorry for running your table,’ he mumbles weakly, feeling guilty for the bloody table and Tony’s concern for cleanliness.

‘What?’ Now, it’s Tony who’s in disbelief. ‘Are you seriously apologising for bleeding?’

Bucky looks away from those brown eyes, not wanting to see them morphing from disbelief to disgust or anger. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll clean it up.’

There’s a short pause. A short time where Bucky expects Tony to say sarcastically ‘Well, I certainly hope so.’ But instead, there’s a warm finger on his jaw making him face Tony.

And how on earth was Tony so close to him. He’s so near that Bucky can count the genius’ long lashes that frames those beautiful hazel eyes, now burning with concern. Why should Tony be concern about him? The genius should be disgusted to touch him; the skin of his parents' murderer.

‘It’s okay,’ Tony soothes, his other hand on Bucky’s good shoulder, touching Bucky instead of being mad because he's Tony. Kind and generous Tony who forgives, and sees everyone else's redeeming qualities rather than their flaws. ‘You shouldn’t apologise for something you can’t help.’

Bucky’s not sure anymore if this is still about the cup or something else. Something else like the death of Tony’s parents which he had a hand with.

‘But I should,’ he whispers weakly. ‘Right?’ He meets those conflicting brown eyes.

Tony removes his finger on Bucky’s face like he’s remembering that he’s not suppose to touch. Then the other hand goes as well — awkwardly.

And he suddenly misses Tony’s warmth.

‘Yes,’ he answers firmly. ‘But not forever.’ There’s resolve in his eyes now as if he’s trying to convince someone. Maybe Bucky? Maybe himself? Bucky doesn’t have the courage to ask.

Except. He has the audacity to ask, ‘So, you and Natasha, huh?’

‘What?’ Tony’s so surprise by the question he takes a step back away from Bucky like he’s been physically threatened by the simple query. ‘What do you mean me and Natasha?’ His eyes narrow, meaning he’s suspicious and about to be defensive.

Huh, when did he start to learn these little Tony quirks? Bucky tells himself that it’s because he’s a trained spy and old habits are hard to shake off. But also, a smaller part of him knows that that is a fucking huge lie because he’s been following and observing Tony these last two weeks after the whole incident .

‘Nothing,’ he replies. ‘Just wanna know since when? And how?’ He cleans the table top with the piece of cloth he’s been handed. The laceration is closing and looking like it's a week old.

Tony lets out an exasperated sigh and runs a hand over his face. ‘Where do these sudden questions come from?’ He’s got two hands on his hips now, sounding defensive as expected.

He shrugs. ‘Just curious.’ He turns on the faucet and rinses the cloth with blood, running the water red. He deliberately avoids meeting Tony’s eyes, playing nonchalant when he’s actually burning with curiosity as to Tony’s relationship with the other spy.

‘Curious of what, Barnes?’ Natasha asks, emerging from the shadows unexpectedly. She’s giving him that threatening look again. The one that could make a lesser person cower. And Bucky’s not immune to it either.

Bucky doesn’t cower though, even when he knows he should because only fools rush in. But he needs answers once and for all. He can’t take another second not knowing what exactly is the relationship between Natasha and Tony.

‘Curious as to when and how did you know that Stark is your soulmate,’ he replies, taking on those dangerous green eyes.

Tony ungracefully chokes on his coffee. And within a flash Natasha’s there beside the genius to help him out, rubbing a sympathetic hand on his back as he wheezes air back into his wind pipes.

She’s so careful with the engineer; Bucky can see that. And Tony’s calm with her; Bucky’s jealous of that.

He looks away, afraid he’ll break something else with how much annoyed he is with the current predicament. Because why is he jealous? He shouldn’t be jealous. He has Steve, whom he needs to talk to, or else he’ll go crazy with this insane secret he’s been hiding for two weeks now.

He can probably keep his mouth shut for a longer amount of time. But that won’t do great with his mental health, which is one of his top priorities right now.

Besides, it’s getting harder and harder to hide his secret with Tony around, all kind and generous and soft and beautiful, and everything Bucky should not crave for. He shouldn’t because he has Steve. And he needs to mend his relationship with Steve.

Steve who is his soulmate. Steve whom he was willing to die for — had died for. Steve who’s willing to die for him, and go through hell and back. Steve whom he loves so much.

And Tony whom he loves almost just the same.

His gone crazy, he thinks, if he’s reached this insane conclusion. He loves Tony? It can’t be. Right? He can’t. He shouldn’t because he loves Steve. He’s bonded to Steve. And he doesn’t know Tony like he knows Steve.

Right?

But he does know Tony. Or is getting to know him.

Tony who would choose to save someone else over himself. Tony’s who’s always showing off to mask his insecurities. Tony who keeps all the Iron Man drawing he receives from his fans. Tony who makes time to go to children’s hospital and secretly pay off the bills of those who can’t. Tony who’s not flawless but tries to make amends when he can.

So, maybe he does know Tony. A little.

Also, he already knows Tony is kind, generous, smart, snarky, brave and gorgeous. And when he laughs — truly laughs, not like the ones he does for show— it’s small but deep and hearty like nothing in the world had ever been wrong. It’s beautiful, just like the man himself. Bucky wants to hear Tony laugh some more.

There’s so much more about the genius that he wants to uncover. And he wants, too. Very much.

So, yes, he’s fucked.

#stuckony #steve x tony #tony x bucky #bucky x steve #fanfic #winteriron #stony #stucky #marvel fanfic #only half a blue sky

[oscopelabs]

War Starts At Midnight: The Three Wartime Visions of Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger by Josh Spiegel

Few filmmakers have made films as thematically rich as those from writers/directors Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger in the 1940s. From 1943 to 1949, Powell and Pressburger, better known as the Archers, made seven superlative films that leapfrog genres with heedless abandon, from wartime epic to fantastical romance to psychosexual thriller to ballet drama. Thanks largely to cinephilic champions such as Martin Scorsese and his longtime editor Thelma Schoonmaker (who married Powell in 1984), as well as home-media ventures like The Criterion Collection, the Archers’ films have received a vital and necessary second life.

While the Archers’ 1940s-era septet have recognizable throughlines as well as a reliable stable of performers, three of those films are cut from the same cloth, despite telling radically different stories with varying tones. The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp, A Canterbury Tale, and A Matter of Life and Death all take place, at least in part, during World War II, and all three films depict a nation at war, as much with other countries as with itself. When we think of British culture, we think of the stiff-upper-lip mentality depicted in popular culture for decades, typified by how Brits acted and reacted in World War II. But the Archers, in this wartime trio, debated the validity of fighting a war with that old-fashioned mentality, offering up films designed to be propagandistic enough to be approved for release but that also asked what it meant to be British in seemingly perpetual wartime.

* * *

“But war starts at midnight!” -- Clive Wynne-Candy

“Oh, yes, you say war starts at midnight. How do you know the enemy says so too?” -- Spud Wilson

The nuance of The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp was likely always going to make it a sore spot for the British government. Colonel Blimp was not original to The Archers; he was a comic-strip character created by David Low in the 1930s, meant to skewer puffed-up elder statesmen of the British military. The stereotype of a fatheaded, pompous fool had pervaded the national consciousness so much that Winston Churchill feared the Archers’ adaptation would revive the public’s critical perception of the military when support was needed the most. But while the title invokes Colonel Blimp, the lead character is never referred to as Blimp, and is much less foolish than he may seem when initially seen attacking a young British soldier in a Turkish bath. Powell and Pressburger used the character and the staid, fusty old notions of British militarism as a jumping-off point for a detailed, poignant character study.

Set over four decades, The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp begins near its finale, as Great Britain struggles to gain a foothold over the Nazis. We first see our Colonel Blimp, the portly, bald, and mustachioed Clive Wynne-Candy (Roger Livesey), beset upon by younger soldiers in the club where he now lives as part of a training exercise. Clive is infuriated because they’ve started hours earlier than planned; before the smug young soldier leading the charge can explain himself, the two get into a tussle that speaks to why Powell and Pressburger wanted to tell this story. In the production of their previous film, One of Our Aircraft is Missing, the directors removed a scene where an elderly character tells a younger one, “You don’t know what it’s like to be old.” (The idea that this could serve as the thematic backbone to an entire feature was provided by the Archers’ then-editor, David Lean.) Clive’s rage at being taken off-guard leads him to thrash young Spud Wilson and teach him a lesson: “You laugh at my big belly, but you don’t know how I got it! You laugh at my mustache, but you don’t know why I grew it!”

And so, The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp flashes back 40 years, a rare instance where a movie indulging in the now-hoary in medias res technique pays dramatic dividends. The rest of the film focuses on three points in the life of the man known first as Clive Candy: his time in the Boer War, the devastating World War I, and his twilight years of service as World War II ramps up. For a war film, The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp offers exceedingly little bloodshed. Powell and Pressburger’s film examines how such gruesome action informs men like Clive away from the battlefield, instead of depicting that action in full. Each section of Blimp shows how his noble efforts make him hardened and intractable over time, even against the tide of a truly tyrannical force. At first, Clive’s militaristic mantra is honorable: “Right is might.” But as the film reaches its third hour, he learns that his theory, one embodied by his nation, has been so cruelly disproven by the Nazi scourge that he and Britain must change their ways.  

In the earliest section, Clive steps to the aid of Edith Hunter (a young Deborah Kerr), a British governess in Berlin who’s concerned about a German soldier spreading anti-British lies regarding their treatment of South African women and children in the Boer War. In so doing, and after insulting high-ranking German officers, Clive must duel with a German soldier chosen by lot, Theo Kretschmar-Schuldorff (Anton Walbrook). Watching a Brit face off with a German soldier might’ve felt appropriate, at least to the watchful eye of the British government. But Powell and Pressburger shrewdly show us the build-up to the duel itself, not the actual fight; instead, we see the aftermath, as Clive and Theo both convalesce in the same hospital, become close friends, and fall in love with Edith. Only Theo is lucky enough to win her heart; though Edith has as much love in her heart for Clive as for Theo, Clive only grasps his feelings once she’s left his life.

Portraying Theo, the film’s major German character, as surprisingly decent is one significant way in which the Archers brought nuance to what might have been another propagandistic WWII-era film. His innate humanity becomes heartbreaking as the film progresses. In the second section, Theo is a prisoner of war who’s initially too proud to admit his previous connection to Clive, before they reunite briefly. In the final section, Theo is older and much wiser than his friend, yet no luckier. He’s seen in a British immigration office, attempting to leave Germany on his own: his two sons have become Nazis and Edith has passed away. (“None of my sons came to her funeral. Heil Hitler,” Theo says grimly.) Theo then explains what drew him back to the UK, in a measured yet passionate soliloquy. No matter how many faults Theo sees in the Brits—after he reconnects with Clive post-WWI, Theo tries to point out that regular citizens “can’t be adjusted from war to peace as easily as you”—it is still a far kinder place to live than Germany. That the film’s most impassioned speech, expressing fondness for the British way of life, comes from a German is one of its many welcome surprises.

The film’s most haunting twist revolves around the women in Clive’s life. When Edith joins Theo in Germany, Clive is so shaped by her memory that when he settles down and marries the charming Barbara Wynne, she just so happens to look like Edith’s twin. Barbara, like Edith, passes away before World War II begins, but though Clive has aged, he hasn’t changed; his driver, Angela “Johnny” Cannon, looks just like Barbara and Edith, to the point where he introduces Johnny to Theo, fully aware that both men spot the similarity. Kerr, thus, is playing three strong-willed women, all of whom feel like perfect fits with the men of the film.

Clive, like his country, stays firmly and proudly rooted in the past, much to his detriment. When Theo, as an older man, reasons with Clive about how his way of waging war is outdated, it falls on deaf ears despite being a darkly accurate portrait of how WWII could have been lost: “If you let yourself be defeated by them just because you are too fair to hit back the same way they hit at you, there won’t be any methods but Nazi methods.” Only after Spud Wilson’s gambit to throw oldsters like Clive off their game in the training exercise does Clive begrudgingly realize that time has passed him by. The old-fashioned sportsmanship of battle could no longer apply for the Clive Candys of the world; at least this one realized it.

The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp ends wistfully, as Clive surveys the literal waterlogged wreckage of his life, having lost his house in the Blitz. He, Theo, and Johnny stand by the debris, and he recalls Barbara’s long-ago declaration: “You’ll stay just as you are till the floods come.” As he looks at where his house once lay, he says to himself, “Now here is the lake and I still haven’t changed.” Livesey, one of the very best actors to work with the Archers, imbues that line with a fine blend of pride and heartache, as he does with the salute he gives to the passing, much younger army of his native land. This elder statesman isn’t quite Colonel Blimp, only grasping Theo’s warnings about the Nazis after it’s too late, but he can see complexities of his life where others might not.

It took The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp, like the other films explored here, years to fully get its due in the U.S. While Churchill didn’t bar Blimp from release in the United Kingdom, he enforced an export ban on the feature because he saw it as a less-than-helpful presentation of the military at such a dire period. (Or, as some have wondered, he may well have seen the older Clive Candy as a critique of him. Of course, Churchill reportedly never saw this film, because that would have been too challenging.) A shortened version was released in U.S. theaters in 1945, cutting out the flashback structure. The truncated TV version, which runs just 90 minutes—the original is 163 minutes— was still able to excite a young Scorsese, who helped fund a restoration in 2013 for this classic.

The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp was, perhaps, doomed for failure; its treatment of people perceived as the enemy could gain resonance only with distance from WWII. The British War Office and Churchill stated their antipathy to the production even before it began filming, refusing the Archers’ request to release Laurence Olivier from service to star as Candy. (Livesey, to note, is wonderful in the film, so the Archers’ loss is our gain.) But Clive Candy was able to weather attacks, and so too was Blimp, the beginning of a seven-year period where the Archers upended expectations, strove to break cinematic ground, and stayed true to their artistic principles. Here is the lake, and still, this movie hasn’t changed. It only grows with age.

* * *

“It’s a great thing to sit back in an armchair and watch the world go by in front of you.” – Sgt. Bob Johnson

“The drawback is…that people may get used to looking at life from the sitting position.” – Thomas Colpeper

Fourteen months after The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp, Powell and Pressburger released another film set during World War II, which presented both the natural wonder and beauty of England while calmly displaying the ways in which the war had devastated some of its history. A Canterbury Tale wasn’t a hit with critics or audiences in the late summer of 1944; by the time it was released in the United States, the year was 1949, and a movie about three young strangers who journey towards Canterbury Cathedral in the waning months of World War II needed new, American-focused framing scenes to entice audiences.

Over 70 years after its initial release, what can we make of A Canterbury Tale? The allure of this low-key drama is, like its setting, ineffable and mysterious. The three leads, waylaid in the small English town of Chillingbourne while they wait for another train to Canterbury, ostensibly try to solve a mystery whose solution isn’t that mysterious. Some aspects of this film—whose three protagonists were all newcomers—feel less like drama and more like the Archers trying to make UK citizens turn away from the dark days of World War II and remind them of their land’s own beauty. From the vantage point of the 21st century, A Canterbury Tale is an utterly fascinating and serene look at how small towns tried to maintain a community-wide calm in the midst of terror.

Bob Johnson (Sgt. John Sweet) is an American soldier on his way to Canterbury Cathedral to meet a fellow Yank and do right by his mother back home in Three Sisters Falls, Oregon. Peter Gibbs (Dennis Price) is a British soldier who seems outwardly as arrogant as Blimp’s Spud Wilson, even though his true passion is playing the organ. While he plays it at cinemas back home, he’d rather play the kind of organ in the handsomely appointed Canterbury Cathedral. Alison Smith (Sheila Sim) has been conscripted into the Women’s Land Army; assigned to a farm in Chillingbourne, she has personal memories from her time near Canterbury that she can’t help but unearth. These strangers are brought together one dark Friday night by happenstance: Bob misheard the station stop and got off early, but he and Peter end up helping Alison after she’s beset upon by a mysterious figure who puts, of all things, glue in her hair. Strangest of all, this isn’t the first time a young woman was attacked by “the glue man” in Chillingbourne.

In a more predictable film, this inciting incident would lead our trio down some dark paths in Chillingbourne, a name that portends something terrifying. But while there’s an unquestionably disturbing subtext to a man placing “sticky stuff,” as Alison describes it, in young women’s hair, there’s little in the way of conventional twists in A Canterbury Tale. When our heroes meet Thomas Colpeper (Eric Portman), the magistrate of Chillingbourne who’s coincidentally the farmer to whom Alison has been assigned, it’s immediately obvious that he’s the glue man. Our heroes use the summer weekend, as they wait for the next train to Canterbury, to build up evidence, but as the weekend progresses, Bob and Alison (and eventually Peter) lose interest in solving the case as they fall in love with the British countryside.

Unlike Blimp, A Canterbury Tale has an ensemble of disparate characters who mostly have never seen serious battle. So many of them are average people conscripted into action, trying not to admit how terrified they feel. A Canterbury Tale features no bloodshed, but Powell and Pressburger stuck to the notion of making the film feel like a document of regular civilians by casting few recognizable actors. Portman worked with the Archers on the earlier film 49th Parallel and was, at the time, this film’s most well-known actor. Sweet, on the other end of the spectrum, was the least well-known; this was his first and only role in a film.

Recently, much was made about how Clint Eastwood’s The 15:17 to Paris, in which three young men who foiled a real-life attack, feature those three men playing themselves. When Powell and Pressburger cast their American character, they didn’t change his name to match the actor’s, but they might as well have: John Sweet was an Army Sergeant at the time, and his first-time performing style is always evident. Unlike the performances in The 15:17 to Paris, however, Sweet’s work is oddly charming. Watching him interact with the ensemble allows for the understandable awkwardness of his performance to take on a double meaning; Sweet is the outsider as much because he’s untrained as because he’s American. Bob Johnson is incurably curious and inquisitive, having so little awareness of British traditions, making his languorous journey through Chillingbourne all the more compelling.

By the close of A Canterbury Tale, all three of our heroes receive a blessing in the style of Geoffrey Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales. For Bob, it’s a revival of a romance he presumes is finished. His paramour, who he figured had moved on, has instead joined the Women’s Army Corps in Australia and has responded to the letters he thought had been ignored. Even before that, the people Bob meets in Chillingbourne, from the boys playing soldier to the local mechanics and a fellow military man from Seven Sisters in England, serve as a kind of blessing. When we first meet Bob, he’s all too happy to get his visit to Canterbury out of the way; before the movie ends, he’s taken to running down the sloping hills of Chillingbourne with his new friends, an overgrown boy at play. Stopping in Chillingbourne brings him joy even before his love life is given a new chance.

Alison, too, becomes closer to nature as she explores Chillingbourne. Of all people, she finds herself associating with Colpeper, even after she’s correct in presuming that he’s the culprit. Her blessing arises from memories she has of spending a summer outside Chillingbourne in a caravan with her fiancé, now presumed dead. But before she can receive the happy news that her fiancé is alive and well, she has to almost commune with the Earth to try and move on. By the second half, Alison is so in touch with nature that she hears the sounds of music and voices in the hills, akin to the centuries-old pilgrims Chaucer wrote about.

Alison’s connection is validated and shared by Colpeper, with whom she’s convening in those same hills Bob runs down. Even after Alison confirms Colpeper’s nighttime habits, she admits, “I was very mistaken about you.” Their connection is more emotional than anything else; Colpeper tells her that hearing voices as she does only works “when you believe strongly in something.” Colpeper’s strong belief in respecting Britain’s history is how he became the glue man. After his historical lectures were met with boredom and few attendees, he made it so British soldiers had little choice but to listen about their homeland’s history. By giving the soldiers a bad name (other townspeople, including the young women, presume one of them is the glue man), Colpeper assumed he could make a small encouragement to the British military to learn about the land it defended. As he explains to Peter on the train to Canterbury, “There’s no sin in being a savage, but a missionary who doesn’t try to do his duty is a bad missionary.”

Though Portman’s enigmatic performance turns Colpeper frosty even here, the magistrate receives a blessing from an unlikely source: Peter. Though Peter is the most gung-ho of the three young people to find the glue man, he chooses not to give Colpeper away to the authorities after he receives his blessing: the chance to play the Canterbury Cathedral organ. But Peter’s decision to let Colpeper walk is portended in one of the wonderful flourishes thrown in by the Archers in the film’s lush black-and-white cinematography. While on the train to Canterbury, Peter scoffs in response to the magistrate asking him if he is an instrument of judgment and says, “I’ll believe that when I get a halo over my head.” Cue the train light creating a halo effect over him.

There is no action-heavy setpiece in A Canterbury Tale, which instead features plenty of images of the main characters taking in the beauty of Chillingbourne. Through Colpeper, we see how hard it is for regular people to both support the military in wartime and forgive soldiers their vices. Through Peter, we see how soldiers didn’t quite grasp that their presence in small towns threw other people’s lives into upheaval. You could argue that very little happens to the characters in A Canterbury Tale; all that does happen is that Powell and Pressburger let the audience watch these people’s unremarkable yet compelling lives, and that they each secretly want to find some purpose when they arrive in Canterbury. The heroes appreciate what it meant to be British in decades gone by, and reflect on how that impacts their actions in the present. A Canterbury Tale was a love letter to England, made as gorgeous by its rolling hills as by its people. Though it didn’t hit big originally, and additional footage featuring Bob reconnecting with his girlfriend (Kim Hunter, about whom more very shortly) didn’t help it translate in America, A Canterbury Tale is a truly entrancing story of how badly people needed their unique burdens eased in such a horrific time of history.

* * *

“This is the universe. Big, isn’t it?” – Narrator

It’s hard to decide which is the best Archers film. Black Narcissus and The Red Shoes, perhaps their most broadly appreciated films in America, are remarkable leaps forward for Technicolor cinematography, while showcasing incredible performances, breathtaking set designs, and more. They are gorgeous films, featuring some of the most jaw-dropping images in the Archers’ filmography. But the film released the year before, suggesting the possibilities of what the Archers would do next, is just a touch greater. It is a film that was well-received initially, despite receiving a new title for its U.S. release; a film that’s only getting its first Region 1 Blu-ray release this summer although it offers some of the richest, most colorful images in Three-Strip Technicolor; a film that’s influenced everything from The Simpsons to Harry Potter. It is A Matter of Life and Death.

What if someone was supposed to die, but got misplaced? What if that person, with their extra time, fell in love before they were found by their bringer of death? This, in effect, is the concept of A Matter of Life and Death, in which Peter Carter (David Niven), a cheerful RAF pilot, is meant to die when he escapes his damaged plane without a parachute. Before Peter jumps, he contacts June, a winsome young American radio operator (Hunter), to share what he presumes are his last thoughts in the strangest Meet Cute ever. Peter jumps from quoting Walter Raleigh to brazenly declaring, “I love you, June. You’re life, and I’m leaving you.” But once Peter exits the plane, the damnedest thing happens: he wakes up on the beaches of England very much alive, after which he meets June in person, officially starting their relationship.

The whimsy of A Matter of Life and Death is clarified when we learn why Peter was apparently able to cheat death: his French conductor (Marius Goring, who co-stars in The Red Shoes) couldn’t locate Peter in the thick English fog. Peter is dismayed to learn that his permanent eternal presence is requested in the Other World, taking him away from June. She, of course, is concerned that her new boyfriend might be going mad; kindly local doctor Frank Reeves (Livesey again) believes Peter might be suffering from a brain injury. The perpetually unanswered question is just that: is Peter hallucinating the Other World because his mind is going, or is he really at death’s stairway?

Powell and Pressburger don’t answer the question, providing just enough medical details, down to the smell Peter notices when he speaks to his Conductor, that it might just be a mental malady. (I submit that Peter isn’t hallucinating the Other World because the film never answers one question: how the hell did he survive that fall from the plane?) The closing moments of the film suggest that either option is possible, when it’s revealed that the judge of the Other World’s court of appeals and the surgeon operating on Peter are played by the same actor.

But the mystery of Peter’s circumstances is not what makes A Matter of Life and Death so special. This is one of the most ambitious films the Archers ever made. It is a buoyant, bursting-with-emotion romance between two star-crossed lovers whose connection is straight out of a fairy tale. It is a film designed to help bridge divides between the British and the Americans in the immediate aftermath of World War II. (The story begins just six days before the European section of WWII concluded.) And it is, above all else by the finale, meant as a rousing and spirited defense of the British people. When the Other World allows Peter to appeal his case, he chooses the firm, well-spoken Reeves—who dies tragically in a motorcycle accident before Peter’s surgery—to plead Peter’s case, passionately arguing in favor of his client’s basic humanity.

In these spectral, spiritual moments, Reeves goes head-to-head with Abraham Farlan (Raymond Massey), the first American felled by a British bullet in the Revolutionary War, in arguing for Peter’s clemency. But it becomes clear that Reeves and Farlan are not arguing over Peter’s right to live longer than originally planned: they are debating what it means to be British and to be American. Farlan doesn’t think much of the romance between Peter and June, seeing it as another case of two people ruining relationships back home because they’re thrown into unexpected circumstances abroad: “Men and women thousands of miles away from the love they left behind. Minute sparks, instead of scorching flames.”

This is the Archers’ irreverent way of presenting the British and American states of mind post-WWII. It’s also a sign of their empathy as filmmakers: when Reeves argues that the current jury—all men from different countries around the world impacted by England’s imperialist rule at varying points of history—is unfairly biased, he asks for six American citizens. The reveal is powerful in 2018 as much as it may have been in 1946: the six American citizens are all immigrants, French to African to Irish. There is no one type of American citizen, as there is no one type of British citizen: this film is a dissertation on what it is to be human.

Visually, A Matter of Life and Death is unparalleled in the Archers’ work; the cinematography shifts from Technicolor (in the real world) to black-and-white (in the Other World), and the design of the Other World creates a series of gasp-inducing images. There is the impossibly wide shot of the attendees of Peter’s appeal, in a vast auditorium that reveals itself to be the size of an entire galaxy; there is the design of the literal stairway to heaven (hence its American title, Stairway to Heaven), which seems appropriately infinite without being terrifying; there is the moment when Peter’s fellow RAF pilot, waiting for him in the Other World, peers down to the vast center where files on all people from Earth are kept, and we see his silhouette from far above. The sense of scope and scale in moments like these should be teachable moments for anyone crafting some big-budget spectacle; this film’s moments of wonder were accomplished with a meager budget.

The grandness of A Matter of Life and Death—a movie that begins with the camera panning through the vast universe and closes with lovers reuniting happily—is coupled by its creators’ aims, to emphasize the humanity in people of different creeds and cultures. Peter Carter seems almost carefree in his opening scene, throwing slang left and right to the woman who he’ll fall for even as he expects to die. By the end, Peter and June are united by what Reeves deems the most powerful force on Earth: love. It’s a declaration that manages to be corny and life-affirming at the same time, much in the same way as Powell and Pressburger attempt to emphasize the universal qualities of mankind throughout the spiritual-court climax. In this film, as in The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp and A Canterbury Tale, to be British is to be human.

* * *

Unlike some of their British cohorts, such as David Lean and Alfred Hitchcock, most of the Archers’ films didn’t immediately hit big in America. Powell’s 1960 horror film Peeping Tom didn’t exactly end his career (he kept making films after that disturbing effort), but it garnered fiercely negative criticism. Over the last couple of decades, the Archers’ films have received well-deserved revivals. Last year, A Matter of Life and Death received a 4K restoration overseen by Scorsese and Schoonmaker, which is translating to the film soon receiving a Region 1 Blu-ray from the Criterion Collection. (It is painfully overdue.) Before that, The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp and the operatic The Tales of Hoffman both received restorations, hopefully introducing more people to the wonder of these filmmakers.

The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp, A Canterbury Tale (which also deserves the Blu-ray treatment), and A Matter of Life and Death are the product of fertile creative minds who used the backdrop of World War II to explore vastly different worlds that all happen to exist in Great Britain. This trio runs the gamut of genres and emotions, all while showcasing the kind of soldiers who protected the United Kingdom throughout the first half of the 20th century. The raffish romantic lead of A Matter of Life and Death could easily have been the same kind of soldier to surprise the elderly Clive Candy in the opening of Blimp, or he could have just as easily stumbled across Chillingbourne’s glue man. He could have even been the young Clive Candy. These characters are distinct enough to exist within their own stories as they are to represent attitudes and personalities across all of the Archers’ films. These films encompass a vast universe, one that offers new wonders to cinephiles. Just as the pilgrims came to Canterbury for blessings, so too do true cinephiles receive blessings when they make the pilgrimage to watch Powell and Pressburger’s films.

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