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nobodyfamousposts · 2 years

Note

Thank you for making me laugh during these trying times with stories of The Dolls and Mominette. More, please?

In which the dolls are very creative.

And also possibly evil.

____________

Far be it from Lila Rossi to let Marinette have anything good without trying to butt in.

When anyone made any accomplishment, she had to regale the group with a story of her own as if to compete.

When Marinette and Adrien were spending time together, she had to get between them and demand his attention.

And when it got out that Marinette was “babysitting children” (which was really just their excuse for taking care of the dolls), Lila just had to find a way to show off as well.

“It’s a gift.” Lila said with a false smile, presenting the garish green and red bag. Which would have been an acceptable color combination had it been anytime of the year closer to Christmas instead of summer.

“I saw it and I couldn’t help but think of those little kids you’ve mentioned babysitting. I figured they would probably want something new to play with.” She fake gasped. “Not that there’s anything wrong with your old toys, of course!”

“Of course.” Marinette replied dryly, forced to accept the underhanded insult with politeness due to the crowd currently present. She had little other choice but to accept the gift with a false smile of her own.

Said “gift” was a fox plush. Which from anyone else would have Marinette accept with some gratitude but from Lila only came off as mocking. Especially as the doll seemed…unusually orange. And looking a bit too similar to Lila herself.

It was arguably an abomination to Marinette’s eyes.

Even worse in that it was not only a jab at her, but also clearly an attempt on Lila’s part to try to claim she could win over any children in Marinette’s care just as easily as she had won over everyone else she’s encountered.

“Thanks, Lila.” Marinette said, trying not to let her irritation show. “I’m sure they’ll appreciate it.”

Not that Marinette really intended to do anything except dump it in the trash. First chance she got. As soon as she was home and alone and out of sight of any witnesses, it was going straight in the trash to be forgotten about and never spoken of again except in lies that she did in fact give it to the kids.

…if only the “kids” in question hadn’t seen it first.

Before she had managed to find a trash bin or perhaps make a trip to the dumpster outside, Chaton and Littlebug had gotten curious at the bag and what could be inside. It was in their colors, after all—and okay, she needed to explain the concept of Christmas to them and why red and green were not an appropriate color combination any other time of the year. But since they didn’t know that and the bad was in what they considered “their colors”, they managed to get into the bag and pull out the toy inside before Marinette could properly dispose of it.

They were immediately enthralled.

Yes!

Perfect!

Need!

Want!

For us?

Yes?

Please?

And…well…how could Marinette say no to that?

She wanted to, though…she really did.

But…it would be wrong of her to deny them a gift just because it was atrocious to look at. And came from someone she hated. And made her eyes water because it was atrocious to look at.

“Okay, you can have it.” She agreed, trying to hide the inner ring of hurt when the dolls seemed to cheer.

“I’m proud of you, Marinette. You’re putting their feelings first.” Tikki praised her. Which was nice, but felt a little hollow as she watched the dolls cooing over the fox plush.

“As long as they’re happy.” Marinette agreed.

It wasn’t like they would really like Lila over her just because she got them a cheap toy, right?

It was a little harder to believe when the two spent the rest of the day playing dress up with the fox doll—going so far as to put it in a little jacket and dress. And…give it hair that looked like sausages.

…nope. Not gonna think about it!

It didn’t matter because the dolls were having fun.

And that was the important thing. So Marinette wasn’t going to feel bad over it.

Nope.

Not at all.

She was admittedly in a funk by the time she made it to Adrien’s place with the dolls. And despite it being hours later, the two were still so excited about the toy. So much so that they insisted on bringing it with them.

Probably for the best. At least this way she didn’t have to see it anymore or have it in her house. And this way it wouldn’t bother her if the dolls played with it.

…probably.

But the dolls were pretty excited though. They practically jumped out of the bag she was carrying them in and ran off with the new toy in tow once they arrived.

Finally!

It’s time!

Yay!

“Time? Time for what?” She asked, though they didn’t respond. She turned to Adrien and shrugged helplessly.

Adrien gave her a sympathetic look, having been there for the…”peace offering” earlier. “You okay? I know it wasn’t easy earlier.” “Well, I couldn’t refuse without her doing something.” Marinette replied with a shrug. “Besides, it’s better to let Lila think I was just talking about the twins or Manon or some other kids.”

“What will you tell everyone if she asks about it?”

Marinette smiled sardonically. “The truth, I guess. That they liked it very much.”

She sighed and shook her head, turning her attention to the kids in question.

“Yeah. But seriously, what’s this about?”

Adrien looked confused for a moment before a thought struck him. “Oh! I think they’re talking about the adjustments to the Fort.”

Marinette smiled. “Okay, what adjustments?” She asked as he led the way, her gaze moving from him to the Fort and whatever new additions the two have made.

…wait…

In the few minutes Marinette had been distracted talking with Adrien, Littlebug and Chaton had set up their Fort and changed outfits. Littlebug was wearing what looked like a general’s jacket with a miniature plastic sword in hand while Chaton was wearing a black hood over his head. Which…okay, it was cute, she supposed? But…odd? What was it about? What were they doing?

It took her a moment to realize the fox doll had been placed carefully on a block. A block that wasn’t just a block as Chaton snapped another block on top of it. A block that was connected to two support columns…leading up to…

And. Marinette. Froze.

"That's a guillotine, Adrien!"

“Oh, it’s theirs.”

"Why do they have a guillotine, Adrien?”

“They made it!”

"WHY DID THEY MAKE A GUILLOTINE, ADRIEN?!"

“Well, they kind of watched a documentary on the French Revolution and made a little add-on for their Fort.” Seeing her look, he waves his hands. “But I'm sure it’s safe! It’s not like it actually works!”

Littlebug gestured with her sword and at her command, Chaton pulled a lever.

In a second, the blade dropped down.

…and sliced through the fox plush, removing its head from its body and leaving bits of stuffing and fabric behind.

And the dolls cheered.

Evil witch is dead!

Ding dong! Witch is gone!

Yay!

Marinette stared.

Tikki gasped.

Adrien winced.

“Oh…so it does work.”

Plagg cackled.

It took about an hour during which time Adrien and Marinette carefully dismantled the guillotine and gave the children a very stern lecture on personal safety and why making a guillotine was in no way acceptable, even if they were only using it to damage a toy.

Not a toy.

Yeah! Toys are fun. Nice good happy gifts from Mama and Papa!

“Then why did you just behead the fox?” She questioned, gesturing to the now sad-looking fox.

The two shrugged, altogether unconcerned.

Not from Mama or Papa.

Yeah. Weren’t gonna use the thingy on anything important.

Been wanting to try it on something. But needed something bad.

Thing was icky!

Not from Mama. Not special. Finally had a thing to use! So okay to try!

The dolls just looked at her like it was obvious.

And really, what could she say to that?

She looked to the side where Adrien and Tikki cooed over how precious it was. And Plagg just floated and remained altogether unconcerned.

….oh right, she was the only mature authority figure here.

“Yeah, you’re both grounded. No more building murder machines. Or any implements of violence.” She said flatly, making the dolls pout.

"Well..." Tikki said sheepishly, "at least we know they don't prefer Lila over you?"

Marinette twitched.

Needless to say, everyone ended up grounded.

The dolls for the beheading and making dangerous constructs.

Adrien for showing them the documentary and not thinking that the working guillotine might be a bad idea.

Tikki for encouraging it.

Plagg for enjoying it.

And no one had cookies that night.

#ml fic #dolls au #littlebug #chaton noir #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #tikki #plagg #lila sucks #ml funny

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candycandy00 · 1 year

Text

Unmerry Christmases

Non-smut. Light Angst. Alcohol use. Mentions of child abuse.

Shigaraki and Dabi drink a little too much eggnog at a Christmas party and start talking about their worst Christmas memories. Platonic Shigaraki/Dabi.

The Christmas party had been Toga’s idea, with both Twice and Mr. Compress getting on board with the idea very quickly. When asked, Spinner had said, “If they really want to, fine,” and Dabi had shrugged and said, “I don’t care.” So Shigaraki had talked to the Paranormal Liberation Front higher ups about it. Turns out they normally had a New Years party for all the members every year, so they just repurposed the funds for that to pay for the Chrismtas party instead. Toga and Twice were excited, and Shigaraki didn’t care much as long as he didn’t have to be involved in organizing it. The party would take place at the Mountain Villa, where there would be plenty of room.

On the day of the party, Shigaraki wore black pants and a red Christmas sweater with a snowman on it that someone from the PLF gave him. It was scratchy and hideous but when he walked into the main party room, Toga squealed with delight and declared it cute. She was wearing a green dress and kept showing off her green ankle boots that curled up at the toes and had tiny bells attached. Spinner was standing nearby, wearing a Santa hat, but that was apparently as far as he was willing to go in terms of dressing up for the party.

Someone in a full head to toe reindeer suit ran up to Shigaraki and handed him a glass of milky liquid. “Try the eggnog! It’s homemade,” the reindeer said, identifying himself as Twice by the sound of his voice. Shigaraki took the glass and Twice ran off, mingling with the crowd. He looked at the eggnog for a moment before taking a drink. It was surprisingly sweet and spicy, so Shigaraki finished the glass. He even grabbed another from a tray as someone walked by.

He stood there for a while, drinking the eggnog, scanning the room. The decorations were surprisingly elaborate, with wreaths and lighted garland and red ribbon everywhere. Some poppy American Christmas song was playing in the background. A gigantic tree had been erected in the middle of the room, covered in lights and round glass ornaments, a pile of brightly colored presents stacked beneath it. Oh right, someone had said something about a random gift exchange. Shigaraki wondered if someone had placed a gift there on his behalf. Actually, the very idea of a gift exchange stirred bitter thoughts in the back of his mind.

On his fourth glass of eggnog, he was feeling buzzed. He bumped into Mr. Compress, who stumbled back and said, “Oh, hey, are you alright?”

Shigaraki steadied himself, glancing at the glass in his hand. “Yeah. I just remembered that real eggnog has alcohol in it.”

Mr. Compress was wearing a garish red sparkly jacket with tails and had attached antlers to his top hat. Shigaraki couldn’t see his face behind the mask, but the older man seemed to be studying Shigaraki’s face. “How many of those have you had?”

Shigaraki shrugged. “Four? I think.”

There was a pause, then, “Have you ever been drunk before?”

“Compress, I used to live in a bar.”

“I know,” Mr. Compress said, concern evident in his voice, “but I never saw you drinking much. Kurogiri-”

“Kurogiri never let me get plastered. I know. But I’m fine,” Shigaraki said, a little irritated. He tried not to think about the comrades who had died or been captured, especially not Kurogiri, who had been with him the longest.

Mr. Compress patted his shoulder. “Alright. Try to enjoy the party then.” And with that, he walked away, fading back into the crowd, most of whom were wearing Christmas sweaters or full-on costumes. The sea of red and green made Shigaraki feel slightly delirious, so he looked around for a place he could go to be alone for a few minutes. He certainly didn’t want this crowd to see him being tipsy.

Across the room he spotted a doorway that, if his memory served, opened out onto a large balcony. Deciding that the cool night air would do him some good, he made his way toward it, grabbing another glass of eggnog on his way. Probably a terrible idea, but the stuff was becoming more delicious as the night wore on.

When he walked out onto the balcony, the cold winter air hit his face, making him feel more sober and more awake instantly. It was snowing faintly, and someone had strung colored lights along the balcony walls. Shigaraki moved to the railing and looked out over the grounds. They weren’t quite covered in white yet, but they were getting there. He watched his breath puff out in little clouds and disappear into the air, and looked up at a sky full of stars.

“Not much of a party guy?” someone asked.

Shigaraki turned around, tracing the sound of the voice back to a darkened corner of the balcony, where the glow of the Christmas lights couldn’t quite reach. Dabi was standing there, perfectly still. If he hadn’t said anything, Shigaraki never would have noticed him. “Same for you,” Shigaraki said.

Dabi stepped over to the railing, and in the better lighting, Shigaraki could see that he was wearing a red furry Santa coat left unbuttoned over his regular clothes. It had been ripped and stitched back in places. Dabi really was committed to that aesthetic, wasn’t he? Shigaraki had the urge to laugh, but he held back. After all, he felt pretty stupid in his snowman sweater.

Dabi looked at the glass in Shigaraki’s hand and said, “Careful with that stuff. It’s good but it packs a punch. Twice made it himself. Said it was his grandma’s recipe.”

Shigaraki took another drink, looking at Dabi curiously. This might be the most the man had spoken to Shigaraki the whole time he’d known him. Since Dabi clearly knew what the eggnog tasted like, had he perhaps drank a few too many glasses himself? “It’s pretty good though. Maybe a little too sweet.”

Dabi had one arm draped over the railing, looking out toward the distance. “I’m not a big fan of Christmas,” he said, “too many bad memories.”

Shigaraki watched the snow fall quietly, a few flakes landing on Dabi’s hair. “Yeah, same.”

Dabi glanced at him and chuckled. “So are we both members of the ‘Fucked up Childhoods’ team?”

Shigaraki snorted, feeling heat spread through his body from the alcohol. “Member? I’m the captain.”

Dabi leaned his head over onto the railing. “What’s your worst Christmas memory?”

It immediately sprang to Shigaraki’s mind, that memory. He’d only recently remembered his whole childhood, just like it had happened days ago instead of years. The memories had come back like a flood, filling his mind, carving fresh wounds into his heart. He looked down at his half empty glass. He’d need to finish it before he could talk about that worst Christmas. He turned to face Dabi and said, “You go first.”

Dabi was staring at him, his eyes slightly glazed. Oh yeah, Shigaraki thought, this guy is definitely buzzed. Perhaps that’s why Dabi turned around, leaned his back against the railing, and began talking.

“One year when I was a kid, my mom decided to make a big fancy dinner for Christmas. She’d planned it for weeks, made a big deal about it. But when Christmas day came, my old man came home three hours late. No explanation, no apology. The food was already cold, but we all sat down at the table to eat anyway, my siblings and me. Mom had helped me buy a present for dad. I don’t even remember what it was now, but I was so excited to give it to him that I couldn’t wait until after dinner. When I reached it to him, he sat it on the floor beside his chair, said he’d open it later. Things were kinda tense already, and then mom asked where the presents were. Dad was supposed to pick them up at a store or something, but he completely forgot. It didn’t even cross his mind.”

Dabi paused and took the glass from Shigaraki’s hand, then took a big drink. He reached the glass back and wiped his mouth with the back of a furry red sleeve. “They got into a big fight then. Yelling, screaming. Dad pounded his fist on the table, which made my little sister’s glass of juice topple over and spill across her new white dress. She started crying. My youngest brother, who was barely a toddler then, started crying too. It was a whole mess. Dad got up from the table, knocking his chair over, and stormed out of the house. As he left, he slammed the front door so hard the tree we’d stood up in the living room fell over, smashing the glass ornaments."

Dabi sighed and stretched his back, leaning almost backwards over the railing. “Mom didn’t say a word. She just got up from the table, grabbed my baby brother, and went to her room. Didn’t see her until the next night. My other brother went to his room and shut the door. That left me with my sister, who was struggling to try to stand the tree back up in her stained dress, crying her eyes out. That’s when I looked down and noticed the present I’d given dad. Not only had he left it behind, he’d trampled it as he left, probably without even noticing.”

After a few moments, when it was clear Dabi was finished with the story, Shigaraki looked at him and asked, “So did you help her?”

Dabi’s eyes shifted to him. “Huh?”

“Your sister. Did you help her stand the tree back up?”

Dabi pulled away from the balcony and turned his back to Shigaraki. “Of course not,” he said, his voice a little higher than usual. “Why would I do that?”

Shigaraki didn’t say anything, but all he could think was, “Liar.”

Dabi turned back around and pointed at Shigaraki. “Your turn. Spill it.”

Shigaraki downed the rest of the eggnog and looked up at the cold, star-filled sky. “When I was a kid, there was a specific rule in our house. We couldn’t talk about heroes, because dad hated them. In kindergarten, our class did a random gift exchange the day before Christmas. When it was my turn, I picked the biggest present left, which turned out to be a big All Might action figure.”

Dabi laughed suddenly, and Shigaraki grinned. Even he appreciated the irony of it all. Then he went on. “I loved that toy. I’d never had an action figure before, so it was really special to me. I played with it all day at school, then I hid it as soon as I got home. I knew dad would be mad if he saw it. But as soon as he went to sleep, I got up out of bed, got the action figure out of my closet, and played with it until I fell sleep. The next day I hid it again, but then dad had to go run some errands, so I got it back out. I guess I didn’t realize how quick he would be coming home, because he walked in and caught me playing with it.”

There was no grin left on Shigaraki’s face as he looked at the empty glass, wishing there was more alcohol to down. “He ripped the toy out of my hands and dragged me outside to the yard. He didn’t give me a chance to explain that it came from school. He grabbed a trash can and started a fire in the bottom of it, then he reached me the action figure and told me to throw it in the fire. I couldn’t do it. I just stood there staring at the fire, clutching the toy. That’s when dad hit me, right across the face. I tossed it into the fire then. Dad told me to stay out there and watch it burn until there was nothing left. So I spent Christmas standing in the yard, not even a jacket on, watching my favorite toy burn in a trash can.”

When finished, he looked over at Dabi, who was staring at him. “Sounds like we both had shitty fathers.”

Shigaraki nodded. “Yeah, sounds like it.”

Suddenly a great cheer rose up from the main party room. Shigaraki could hear lots of glasses clinking together and numerous shouts of “Merry Christmas!” Maybe someone made a toast. He was reminded, in that moment, that there were people in that room who supported him, maybe even cared about him. One of the great things about the League was that they accepted anyone, regardless of how they’d lived their lives before joining. Their past didn’t matter. But knowing them, he could imagine that they had plenty of bad Christmas memories of their own. And somehow, they were enjoying a Christmas party all the same.

Dabi stepped closer and knocked the back of his knuckles against the glass in Shigaraki’s hand, wearing a grin. “Merry fucking Christmas, boss.”

Shigaraki grinned back. “Merry Christmas.”

#Shigadabi #Shigaraki tomura #Dabi #Shigaraki x Dabi #Shigaraki #BNHA fanfiction

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satans-helper · 4 months

Text

Reaching for Stardust - Part XV

Read Looking for Space here / Playlists / Read RFS on wattpad

Word Count: ~3700

Warnings: none

Sorry for the delay, folks. I've been bopping between this series and my Sanny one and we're nearing the true climax of RFS, which has made me want to slow down posting a bit. The past few days have been very difficult and I will be struggling for a little while longer, so the next chapter may also be delayed. Thank you to those who are still reading along. I really hope you're enjoying this sequel <3

---

There was still so much to be jam-packed into the matter of what became just about a couple of months. No matter how much I ever tried to “relax” or slow down, it felt like there were still a hundred things I had to do. My focus was perpetually disconnected from work, although that felt more and more like a good thing–it was everything else besides work that solidified its importance. Namely family and friends, of course. Josh recovered completely, and quite quickly, from the little bout of pneumonia and then we were thrown into the midst of the couple’s shower. I discovered it really did involve being showered with gifts and with family being there, and I personally was spared from more sexual gag gifts and things that, generally, no parent or aunt or whoever needed to see. Josh and I could save all of those for ourselves.

Josh was the only boy–man, whatever. He would always be a boy to me, and I meant that with the utmost affection–there. We sat on the couch in my aunt’s living room, the female relative who had the most space for this flurry to take place. She was all decked out for Christmas, which was also right around the corner–a long, fluffy fake fir garland snaking around the white mantle with an array of shiny colored, round ornaments dotting it and reflecting in the mirror above it. Instead of any overhead or tableside lamps illuminating the event, we were all sitting and hovering in the glow of white Christmas lights wrapped around the mantle and strung over the windows, plus the white lights wrapped around the real pine tree in the corner between the windows that bounced off more glass ornaments. The scent of the tree was still strong with it being so fresh and I thought about how our woodsy lodge wedding would smell–hopefully a lot like that, I concluded, like sharp, cool pine and sap.

The mulled wine in my glass smelled excellent too, a warm, sweet contrast to the Christmas tree. I took a sip, a slice of orange bobbing against my upper lip, while Josh opened what felt like the hundredth gift. I had no idea where we were going to put some of this stuff. My aunt had given us a really nice looking toaster–sleek and white, brand new and shiny–but we already had a toaster. We’d been given a new coffee machine too, and it made me question if being an adult meant just tossing out old stuff and replacing them–sometimes unnecessarily–with shiny new toys. But as the unwrapping and revealing went on, the gifts got smaller and more personal, truly beginning with something special my mom had picked out for Josh.

“Oh wow, this is lovely,” he remarked, peeling the blue tissue paper away. “I’m stunned. Thank you so much.” He lifted up a white silk robe monogrammed with a gold “J” on the back. It was a small and tasteful touch, not a garish, giant letter smacked on the back, but just a subtle detail right below the back of the collar and then another on the front, stitched into the breast pocket. His hands moved over the fabric slowly, always wanting the most tactile experience–he cared about material far more than color most of the time, craving rich and fine fabrics against his skin.

My mom handed me a box that matched the shape of Josh’s next: “And this one's for you; you might be able to guess what it is.”

I certainly could, but actually seeing and feeling the coordinating black silk robe with my own silver initial monogrammed was a delight. “These are awesome,” I said. “Thanks, Mom. We needed new robes anyway, actually.”

“Yes, we did,” Josh agreed, carefully folding it up and tucking it back into the box. “Mine is unraveling into shreds.”

My sister’s gift came next–a beautiful black and midnight blue photo album, the black bottom fading up into a blue with tiny silver stars stitched into the canvas. In more silver thread it said, “To the Moon & Back” and, beneath that, it was finalized with our monogrammed initials. Josh and I leaned over it as I held it in my lap, mesmerized, and Kirsti told us that she’d already printed a few pictures and put them in to begin the album curation. I flipped to the first page and there we all were–Josh, myself, the boys, my sister, and all three sets of parents.

“This is so sweet,” I said, staring at that picture of all of us as one big happy family. “I love it so much. It’s perfect.”

After my aunt’s living room became full of torn-up wrapping paper, Josh and I took a breather on the back porch, drinking more wine and nibbling on crackers and cheese in the cold. A small layer of snow was stuck to the yard, the deck, the roof–the world was coated in it and the world was quiet. Bare trees held no birds, no wind whipped through the naked branches and there wasn’t even the sound of a single car rolling through the street out front.

“You know something?” I began and Josh looked at me, pausing, eyes bright, with a cracker between his lips. “None of our parents are divorced. Isn’t that pretty rare? Seems so against the odds.”

Josh chewed, swallowed, then dabbed his mouth with a napkin. “We have some excellent luck on our side then, perhaps. Our predecessors all succeeded–why can’t we?” He wrapped his arm around my waist. “Of course we will. It’s not even a question.”

“Soulmates,” I said, the puff of condensation from my breath covering the word with a little resolute cloud.

“Soulmates,” he echoed, squeezing my waist.

A little while later, Josh and I were pouring over some of the gifts again in front of the empty fireplace. My mom sat down on the arm of the couch next to me. “I know you two said you’re not really looking for houses at the moment,” she began, pulling out her phone. “But I saw one that I think would be really cute.”

“I mean, I think we’re open to it,” I said, looking at Josh, who nodded. “I did like the one I saw back in the spring. But it just wasn’t the right time. It sold, anyway.”

“Very quickly,” Josh added. “And for more than we could afford.”

“Well, look at this one.” My mom handed me her phone and folded her hands in her lap, watching me as I brought the phone between Josh and I. It looked nice from the outside, simple and cute, and it was in our price range at least according to Zillow, but it didn’t call to me. I could tell it didn’t call out to Josh either.

“I think we’re far more fixated on the honeymoon,” Josh told my mom. “We still haven’t figured out what to do and that’s where a good chunk of our savings will go.”

“Even with the help from you and Dad and Josh’s parents,” I added, handing the phone back. “I think maybe we’ve been so busy with the wedding planning, our brains haven’t had much of a chance to work out where we want to go or what we want to do.”

“We’re between something like a cabin in the woods. A nice little quiet retreat,” Josh explained, gesturing even more than usual with the aid of the wine buzz. “Or a hot, beachy getaway. It’s difficult to choose right now. The possibilities are sort of endless.”

“There’s no time constraint,” my mom reminded us. “Inspiration will strike you and you’ll figure it out.” She laid a hand on my shoulder. “I just know you two get a little cooped up in that apartment. If you want, we can always take the honeymoon money and put it into a house for you.”

It didn’t even feel that long ago that my mom was criticizing Josh, saying he wasn’t serious enough, thinking he was too silly. Now here she was, offering not only financial support but emotional support. Things really were all coming together. That, in addition to my own wine buzz, made my heart feel all warm and fuzzy.

Back home, I was fully sober and quite tired from the festivities. We unloaded the car and set boxes and bags in the hall and the living room and our space suddenly seemed so much smaller. It got me thinking–did we want a destination honeymoon, really? Did we want it to be something we’ve done before, like a winter cabin or a sandy beach, or something completely new? There were cities we’d never been to. We could go to Europe–maybe. That seemed expensive. Vegas, even. Seattle. There were options. Or did we want our funds and the financial help from family to be put into a house and, subsequently, would that new life project become the honeymoon itself?

“Alright,” I said, sitting down on the floor amidst the gifts. “I’m getting stressed out again.”

Josh sat down next to me, pressing his back against the couch. “By all this new stuff?”

“There’s that. There’s also all the decisions we have left to make.” I scooched back to sit right next to him, our legs touching. “Part of me feels like we really do deserve a break. Part of me also feels like we deserve a house, but then I know we haven’t even decided exactly where we want to live. Part of me also wants to say fuck it and just like, go on tour with the boys for six months or whatever.”

Josh chuckled, putting his hand on my thigh. “If we could both swing that, we would do it. As for moving somewhere else, like to the big city,” he said, waving his other hand around with each word. “That would probably take more time. I’d have to secure another job.”

“You could become the band’s professional photographer and videographer,” I suggested, only partially kidding.

“Let’s go to the desert,” Josh said suddenly, sounding sure and emphatic. “We have so much winter every year and especially this year. We’ve never been to the Southwest–what do you think? Cacti and scorpions and scalding sunshine?”

I’d written about the desert before for work–scanned images of flat banks of red sand with impossibly clear blue skies, the sky a backdrop to sudden, staggering, rocky mountains, giant cacti looming menacingly in the foreground, rattlesnakes and desolate highways leading to mayhem. I could picture Josh and I there. It would be like an entirely different world.

“Yeah. I’m into it,” I told him before I allowed my thoughts to unravel any further. I rested my head on his shoulder, looking out the window at the sky that was too dark, too early and the snow clinging to the glass. “Desert daydream. That’d be really fun.”

He climbed right over me, straddling my thighs. “Really?”

Hands instantly moving to his hips, I said, “Hell yeah. That’d be so cool, Josh. I was just thinking earlier how maybe we should do something totally different, right?”

Josh placed his hands on my shoulders, arching his back. “We can be cowboys–what do you think of that?”

I smiled, reaching one hand up to gently tug at his hair. “I love that. You’re gonna look so good in a cowboy hat and those fancy boots.” My other hand drifted to his ass, giving it a squeeze. “Want me to be your horse?”

He laughed, the sound like bells in my ears, and kissed my cheek. “You’re my partner,” he said, then lifted his hand to tip an imaginary hat on his head. “Howdy.”

I laughed too, hugging him closer to me. “Howdy right back at ya.” I closed my eyes and tucked my face against his neck, his hair brushing against my temple, my hands pressed flat against his upper back. “I know it’s almost all we do now–getting ready for all of it, making the plans–but sometimes I still can’t believe all of this is happening.”

“Same for me,” Josh said, reciprocating the hug in his own snug, determined style, like he never wanted us to be apart in any way. “It’s been a long and marvelous road. Some trouble along the way, of course, but we’ve just shown there’s nothing we can’t charge through. Always victorious, right, darling?”

“Always. Always, always.” I sighed, opening my eyes to peek at the gifts around us again. “So should we really get rid of our toaster? It’s been through so much alongside us.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure it’s choking to death with burnt bits we can’t get out,” Josh replied, eyelashes fluttering against my skin. “Perhaps we can give it a last hurrah with some cinnamon toast tonight but, yes, I think that new toaster was actually quite a poignant present.”

I hummed, closing my eyes again. “Cinnamon toast sounds good.” I gave him a squeeze before I patted his back. “If I could carry you to the kitchen, I would, but this horse just ain’t that strong.”

Josh chuckled sweetly and stood up, feet planted on either side of my thighs, to extend his hand down to me. I slid up in the scant space, our bodies still so close, and he twirled around to lead the way into the kitchen. Our too-small but lovely, comfortable kitchen, where he pulled out the old, tired toaster from its cabinet and began to cut thick slices of French bread. Another light snowfall was coming down outside, the fluffy flakes lit up by the lights outside our apartment, and I thought about how nice it would be to be spared from the inevitable upcoming storms that came with the dead of winter–those long, blue, dreary months that felt inescapable. Those months that dragged down even Josh. We could escape to bright sunshine and golden landscapes, bask in warmth on another adventure. The adventure that would punctuate the biggest adventure of them all, the adventure that would last a lifetime or, quite seriously, eternity.

With the night deep and dark, we laid in bed surrounded by the blue Christmas lights we’d both hung around the bedroom. I lifted my hand to my face, admiring my ring as it caught that artificial celestial glow: “You’re picking up your ring on Monday?” I asked Josh as I slid mine off to place on the bedside table.

“Yes indeed.” He rolled onto his side and snuggled into mine. “I think you’re going to like it.”

“I know I will,” I said, running my fingers down the chain around his neck. “It’s coming up real soon, Josh. Are you nervous?”

“A little. You know I’m going to be nothing but a bundle of nerves the day of.”

“Me too,” I said, thinking about the vows I was still working on. I felt so confident in every word so far, just not so confident in saying it amidst a large group of people. That fear still lingered, itched in my brain each time I went to work on them. “But it’s gonna be so good.”

“Oh,” Josh said, looking up at me, cheekbones cut with blue light. “It’s gonna be the best. We’re all going to have such a ball. We don’t have to worry about THAT.”

Forever feeling calm in his presence, his body so warm against mine, I asked, “Do we have to worry about anything at all?”

“Absolutely not,” Josh assured me, his voice getting a little rougher with sleepiness. “Never.”

And so I believed him.

I was, however, just a little worried about sledding. Although Sam had taken it upon himself to find the best, tallest, most majestic snow-covered hill for all of us to repeatedly slide down, the thick cove of trees down at the base seemed a little foreboding. Just far enough to be acceptable; just close enough to seem like a hazardous imposition. Even Danny, the birthday boy, eyed those trees warily as we all inspected the land from the top, bundled up as even more snow began to fall.

“Buckle up, buttercup,” Josh said, pressing a hand to my lower back. I could barely feel it through the thick layer of my coat. “It’s not like we haven’t done this a hundred times before.”

“That’s a little hyperbolic,” I replied, still gazing down the hill.

In honor of his birthday, we all came to the decision that Danny should ride with each one of us before deciding who was the best at steering the ship, so to speak. He hitched a ride with Jake first, who looked determined to make it the best sledding experience of Danny’s life. Josh and I readied ourselves in our own plastic sled while Sam took the far left, leaving Danny and Jake in the middle–the three of us held back to watch them go first, with Danny laughing loudly and joyfully as soon as Jake scooted forward, then shot right down at a high speed.

Josh and Sam shared a quick but poignant look at one another, then they were both kicking forward and we began to fly down the hill at the same time, me clutching Josh’s middle taut while he laughed wildly as if we were back on that tea cup ride and not flying down a frigid hill. I laughed too though, the slight rush of adrenaline quickly shooting up my spine, making me alert yet newly frivolous, and I laughed even more at Sam’s very focused, very serious facial expressions. He was seemingly doing everything in his power to navigate the sled like a ship, not like something that only had a rope handle and gravity to help it along its way.

At the base, Jake and Danny were already throwing snowballs at one another, red-faced and exhaling white clouds of breathless laughter. Sam immediately joined in and quickly opted to use Danny, the poor birthday boy, as a shield so he could try and pummel Jake. Never one to waiver in his loyalty to any of the Kiszkas, Danny settled for meeting them in the middle, throwing handfuls of snow at both of them while Josh gathered all three sleds in his hands.

“There will be more time for bruised faces later,” he declared, trudging back toward the upward slope. “Danny has yet to decide who’s the master–or mistress–of sledding.”

Danny and Josh went next; I rode down with Sam, who insisted that I take the lead so he could see what he was up against, although we both knew there would never be a contest. Sam was always going to be Danny’s number one whether it was in sledding, snowball fights, funneling beers, musical solos, inhaling dabs, whatever–they were two peas in a pod. I did not quite feel that way with Sam myself, who was all gangly, sharp limbs surrounding me in the literal plastic pod we were temporarily trapped in.

“God, your feet are like skis!” I remarked, grabbing the toe of his boot and jostling his foot around. “We should just slide down the hill on those with me on your back.”

“This is a more even weight distribution,” Sam replied, clapping me on the shoulders. “Now, come on–mush!”

“Alright, alright,” I grumbled, beginning to shove our way forward and then we were soaring, with Sam clinging to me and yipping in delight all the way down. We made it to the bottom before Josh and Danny but after Jake, who had to hop out of the way before I collided the sled right into his ankles.

Of course Danny declared Sam the best person to sled with, though there seemed to be no prize, unless we were all meant to count Danny throwing Sam over his shoulders and parading off into the pine trees as the prize. It was such a fun, easy birthday afternoon that I was sure none of us wanted to end–thankfully, we were all in the mood to keep things going beyond the long drive back to the more familiar plains of our hometown. We went back to the apartment to peel ourselves out of wet, clammy clothes and for boozy hot chocolates; we bundled in the spare, dry clothes Josh and I had to offer, nestled together under a couple throw blankets and sat on the balcony while the sun set in starkly warm hues contrasting against the blank white space beyond. The air was calm and still, not even all that cold–it helped that all of us were still recovering from so many excursions up that big hill.

I sipped my hot chocolate spiked with a generous amount of peppermint schnapps and looked over at Danny, who appeared to be totally content in this very quiet, relaxed mode. Sam was cuddled up against him, head on Danny’s shoulder, his face unusually sleepy while he cradled his own hot chocolate in his hands, Danny’s placed on his thigh in return. Josh, Jake and I were on the bench, with Josh in the middle. I realized it was one of those rare times that happens only once in a blue moon–where we were all together but no one was speaking a word and no one was bothered by it. We were as calm as the gently twinkling snow down on the ground, as placid as the imperceptibly moving clouds in the pink sky, yet as close and as comforted by one another as all coexisting animals were. I was always so unsure of what the future held–it didn’t matter how many things we planned, from every damn detail of a wedding to a honeymoon to everything in between. It was all still so uncertain but, as Josh had taught me time and time again, that was part of the beauty of it.

And one thing was certain, I concluded, pressing a kiss to Josh’s temple–all of us were a family and it would always be that way.

---

Tagging: @sparrowofrhiannon @starbuggie @lightsofthe-living-gvf @sanguinebats @gvfrry @clairesjointshurt @bizzielisteningtogreta @jjwasneverhere @gvfrry

If you'd like to be tagged in any of my fics, you can go here or DM me :)

#josh kiszka #josh gvf #jake kiszka #jake gvf #danny wagner #danny gvf #sam kiszka #sam gvf #greta van fleet #gvf #gvf fanfiction #josh kiszka x reader #lfs #rfs

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queen-erika-the-songful · 1 year

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So I refuse to watch Lost Birthday bc when it came out I had fresh birthday trauma from 2020 and I was so, so mad at Mattel for releasing the movie at all. Like from my perspective just from the title it seemed in such poor taste after everything that happened, and angry me thought it was trying to make the real world events grossly cutesy for kids like “Oh it’s not so bad, Chelsea lost her birthday this year too!” minimization. But now seeing it on that meme of yours, I’m curious as to your opinion on why it’s let’s just say not the greatest.

Damn, I never even thought about it that way. That adds a whole new layer to it...

Well, I mostly found it boring with garish colors and questionable character designs (the "tiki head", the monkey, and that goddamned sentient flower). BUT I recognize I wasn't the target audience for that one. It was definitely aimed at the much younger Barbie fans, probably 5-7 range. But I also felt like even as a kid that Barbie movies tried to appeal to a wide audience, at least a wider age range of kids and not just around kindergarten age.

I also can't get past the whole setup for the plot because of how insanely stupid it makes the characters look (this is why I can't stand Puppy Chase, Barbie is so dumb and insensitive). So, Chelsea's birthday is coming up, and George and Margaret take the girls on a big family cruise. Sounds fun, right? Right! But here's the problem: they're going over the international date line. Their parents, a documentarian that travels the world and an intelligent computer programmer working on the very cruise they are taking - did not account for the fact that their 7-year-old-to-be's birthday was going to get skipped over. None of the other sisters notice this either. Chelsea at least has an excuse as the youngest.

The pacing was off too to me. It felt like everything slogged even though it didn't even reach a full hour (58:52 to be exact). Maybe that was just me though.

I also explained in this post that the villain was pretty bad at being bad. Even if he won in the end, everything HE did would've come back onto himself. (Plus his magic world equivalent was an evil tiki head and that seemed kinda racist).

I think it could have been even better if Chelsea and her sisters just sat down and talked about her feelings instead of her having her run away and go on this big journey that turned out just to be a dream anyway. It would have been more helpful to the kids in the audience if the sisters had to work together and think of ways to turn a bad situation into something good (see Barbie: A Perfect Christmas).

Overall I just really didn't like it.

#asks #anonymous #barbie & chelsea: the lost birthday

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husbandomail · 1 year

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got this up before midnight my time so I’m still on track lmaooo

my own Christmas prompts; arguing over yard decorations

The Christmas lights wrapped around the porch posts blinked on a set rhythm; the ones that were hung from the eaves were spaced exactly an inch apart, the original bulbs long replaced by newer ones with stronger filament, a better glow. Their pattern had been planned too— chromatic arrangement. Red first, followed by blue and then green—

He’d been meticulous with his calculations. He’d factored in every possible variable. His perfect formula would not be tarnished.

And yet, when Sho Minamimoto glanced toward the neighbor’s house, it became increasingly obvious that your lack of aesthetic sense was a powerful threat to his manufactured beauty.

Your own strings of lights were still half-tangled, and curved in on each other even where they were fastened— haphazardly— to your home with tacks, of all things. They blinked at random, too, with no rhyme or reason to their colorful dance. And god, you had some of those garish inflatables in your front yard— that one cartoon reindeer, and then some pine trees with faces plastered across their plastic. Worst of all, those trees played music whenever anyone wandered too close— and it just so happened that their sensor was near enough Sho’s front door, he was serenaded every time he returned home.

Something had to be done.

You were seated in the living room, curled up in your favorite spot on the couch and sipping a warm drink after a long day. The television was tuned to some stereotypical holiday movie, but you’d long since turned the volume to low; the trees out front had been singing for several minutes by now. The neighbor was definitely standing out there again, sulking, in the exact same way you’d seen him do all week.

Finally there was a harsh knock from the entryway. A smile curled across your face as you gently set your drink down; when you opened the front door, Sho Minamimoto towered over you, his golden eyes glinting under all the colorful lights. With every huffy sigh, his breath frosted in the air between you both.

“Your decorations are ugly,” he snarled, and you couldn’t help but wonder if his little fangs had always been that sharp.

Your grin brightened. Arms crossed against the chill, you leaned against the door frame and eyed your neighbor up and down; Sho grit his teeth, frustration clear on his face as he waited for some, any, kind of response. You just shrugged. “I think they’re nice, actually. That’s why I put them up.”

He shook his head and some of the snow off his hat. Taking a step closer, he pointed towards his own yard. “That’s what you call nice,” he said. “They’re arranged and formulaic, unlike the clear miscalculation covering your damned yard. Fix it.”

False bewilderment crossed your face as you looked from his lights to yours. “If we’re being so brutally honest here, I think mine have a bit more personality. They make movies about yards like this.”

When Sho growled, it reminded you of a lion. You hadn’t even realized a sound like that could come from a man— and over Christmas decorations, of all things. Instead of responding, your neighbor whirled on his heel and trudged through your snow-covered yard, his footsteps crunching in a way that negated his threatening aura. He came to a stop in front of the inflatable trees and, predictably, they started singing.

“These things need to die, radian,” he shouted, more so you could hear him than anything else. Then he spun and pointed to a particular string of lights. “And those are uneven— there is a formula for hanging them in a way that their glow doesn’t blur together. It’s simple enough, anyone could do it—”

“Are you volunteering, then?”

Your voice stopped Sho in his tracks. It was rare for anyone to catch him off-guard, but you’d done it; the gears were clearly turning behind his eyes. You stepped out of the doorway and onto the porch. Hands planted firmly on your hips in triumph, your smile grew as large as the Grinch’s new heart. Gottim.

A few days later and your neighbor was in your yard yet again, only this time he was untangling your lights and grumbling about the placement of Rudolph while you stood to the side with a reward for his help. Who knew the grim heaper would work for hot chocolate?

#twewy #Sho Minamimoto #scenarios #imagines #christmas list

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tar-mairons · 4 years

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got an apple blossom scented candle that came in glass the most delicate shade of pink bc it must be perpetual springtime in my room always

#or i WILL perish #and wither into a wizened crisp before crumbling into ash that scatters on the wind #anyway there's easter and spring stuff out at all the stores and!!! i feel alive again!!!#i mean capitalism is bad yeah yeah but just seeing gentle pastels on the shelves while buyin some paint #instead of garish christmas colors #is so relaxing #do apples blossom in the spring??? i have no idea actually

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tanzen-neko · 2 years

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Santa’s Little Helper (Shaw x MC)

Here is my Dec 14th entry for @voltage-vixen’s “Tis the Season for Smut 2.0″ Challenge. And I made it on time! Christmas miracle. Thanks to the ever awesome @voltage-vixen for the challenge. Hope you all enjoy!

Santa’s Little Helper (Shaw x MC)

MLQC

Tis the Season for Smut Challenge- Dec 14th: “Why sit on Santa’s lap when you can sit on mine?”

Warnings: Semi-public sex, fingering, improper(?) use of evol (Full disclosure, I know nothing about electric sex toys. I just know they exist.)

“C’mon. Are you done yet or what?” Shaw’s irritated voice grated on your ears. Why or why had you asked him to come Christmas shopping with you? Was it because you kept canceling plans with him? No, that couldn’t be it. Shaw was notorious for texting you 20 minutes before whatever… activity you two had scheduled. And he never gave reasons! At least you were decent enough to explain why you couldn’t make it to a live that night, or the reason you couldn’t eat your weight in ramen. But Shaw was never that considerate. It was usually just a “change of plans. Contact you later” text. I mean, who was supposed to not worry with something like that?! You stomped your foot, before realizing you were in public. Hoping that your internal tantrum had gone unnoticed, you quickly shot a look around the mall. Luckily, none of the other last minute shoppers had seen your outburst. Shaw’s amused chuckle, however, alerted you to the fact that he had seen it all. Well, whatever. He should see it since he was the one who caused it. So instead of apologizing for your aggression, you tilted your nose up and headed to a rather garish and cluttered jewelry store. Kitty’s Corner was displayed proudly, the smell of bubblegum hitting your nose before you entered the store. It seemed like everything in sight was either pink or frilly, sales clerk included. She flashed you a bright smile as she twirled her curly pink locks. You smiled back at her, and held back a sigh. You didn’t really want to shop here, but it would be rude to leave when you just entered. It was all Shaw’s fault! So you forced yourself to browse the shelves, not really seeing anything that caught your eye until you hit a small display case near Hello Kitty charms and rings. There was a rather tame silver bracelet with delicate lavender gemstones studded along the top nestled on top of a white pillow. Shifting your bags to one arm, you ran your fingers gently along it.

“The stones are the same color as Shaw’s hair,” you thought absentmindedly, feeling a wave of affection for the annoying man. You flipped the bracelet over to check for the price tag. Oh. You immediately set it down. No amount of affection was worth that price tag. You turned around to search for Shaw. He was standing by the edge of the entrance as if he would burst into flames if he entered the store. He had his phone out, a small smirk at whatever he was looking at. It still blew your mind sometimes that he was related to Gavin.Though they shared the same striking amber eyes, Gavin’s face was ruggedly handsome while Shaw’s held a hint of boyish charm. Gavin was thick and sturdy, while Shaw’s form was lithe and slender. And don’t get started on their personalities. Given how stoic Gavin was, it was still quite easy to call him a dear and close friend. You wouldn’t dare to call Shaw an acquaintance on the best of days. He must have felt your prolonged gaze because he suddenly looked up. Feeling embarrassed at having been caught checking him out, you quickly averted your eyes to the ground before walking back over to him after shooting the sales lady one last smile. For once, he held his tongue. He put his phone away, and snatched some of the heavier bags from your hands. It caught you off guard, and you didn’t let go of the bags. Shaw rolled his eyes, glaring down at you.

“Geez. I’m not tryin’ to rob you or something. We both know you’re too weak to hold all this junk. Besides, all your gifts suck.” He laughed at your angry face, before walking away. Seriously… had you indulged in too much eggnog when you texted him? You made a face at his retreating back, childishly sticking your tongue out as you pulled at your eye. Dragging your feet as you followed behind him, you soaked up the atmosphere of the mall. Christmas had always been your favorite time. The hustle and bustle of the holiday season, the beautiful and over the top holiday light displays, and the wonderful smell of gingerbread and cinnamon that seemed to linger in all the stores. You loved seeing the chubby cheeked faces of children, rosy with the cold as they pressed their faces against toy stores. You loved gift giving, over eating with friends and family. Though you had never gotten to celebrate it romantically, it was still a hopeful dream. Shaw had slowed his pace to match yours. The two of you walked side by side in silence. You took the chance to steal peeks at him. Honestly when he wasn’t speaking, Shaw was quite attractive. You had thought so since the first time you had met him on the bus. You walked with him aimlessly, not sure where he was going, but enjoying the comfortable silence too much to ask. Besides, the answer came soon enough as your nose was assaulted with all the delicious smells of the food court. Pulling out two chairs, Shaw plopped down lazily in one and gestured at you to sit in the other. He threw the bags on the table and let out a long sigh.

“Shopping is such a pain. I’m sure your feet are sore too. Never understand why you girls wear heels everywhere.”

You decided to be the bigger person, and not respond to Shaw. Truth be told, your feet were kinda’ sore. You had put off all your Christmas shopping until the week before. Not because you didn’t want to, but it was always so busy at work before Christmas and New Year that when you had free time, you just wanted to sleep. Once again, Shaw pulled out his phone. His face seemed more focused than before when you were in the store, and you let your eyes drift over his fingers that flew over his obscured screen with a purpose. You had noticed before how nice his hands were. Long, thin fingers. Wide palms clad in his fingerless gloves. You noticed that this pair too was worn down at the knuckles. Smiling to yourself, you decided to get him a new pair tomorrow when you were done with work. Suddenly, Shaw snapped his fingers in front of your face, a little blue spark flaring between his thumb and forefinger. You jumped and glared at him.

“You know, there are more normal ways to get someone’s attention than threatening them, Shaw.” He scoffed, a small playful smile on his face as he leaned towards you. You moved back on instinct, and his smile grew.

“Well, when someone’s calling your name for a few seconds and there’s no response…” Shaw trailed off. You rolled your eyes at him.

“Besides,” he said in a low, teasing voice. “There’s some other ways I can use my evol that are less… threatening. Let me know if you wanna’ find out what they are.”

You looked at him for a moment, a look of disbelief on your face. Was Shaw flirting with you?? He turned back to his phone so nonchalantly, you felt like you hallucinated the whole moment. You cleared your throat, and looked around at all the different food spots. Slapping your hands on the table, you cleared your throat.

“Right. Well while we’re here, we should get something to eat. What are you in the mood for?” Shaw rolled his eyes at your question, propping his feet up on the table.

“Go get yourself something. I’ll sit here with the bags until you get back.” You nodded and made your way to a stand that advertised smoothies and fresh salads. Knowing that you were about to indulge over the upcoming weeks, you wanted to play it safe for now. Still, your eyes drifted over to the French fry place, mouth watering at the kimchi fries someone was happily paying for. He walked past you, the smell drifting towards you. You ‘hmphed’, trying to stay firm in your resolve. Unfortunately, when you were handed your smoothie, it began to weaken considerably. You sulked back to your seat, stomach gurgling loudly. There was no way this smoothie was going to satisfy you. But as you sat down, you let your head fill with thoughts of bbq, rice cake soup, and cake that you’d be able to enjoy with Minor, Kiki, and Willow. Since you were all single, you enjoyed having a little celebration at Willow’s apartment. You exchanged gifts, had drinks, and ate as much as you all could before putting on cheesy holiday movies. Maybe you would be able to get Victor to make you pudding. Your thoughts of food were interrupted by Shaw’s disbelieving noise.

“That all you eatin’?” You nodded, a glare on your face directed at the table next to the two of you. It was the guy from the kimchi stand, and his fries looked even more delicious as he and his friend dug in. “Must be nice,” you thought to yourself. The delicious flavors of lychee and pear burst over your tongue, but you weren’t happy. Shaw swung his legs off of the table, and stood up. He walked off without saying a word. You weren’t surprised. He was probably on his way to grab food. A while passed, and he still hadn’t returned. You figured he probably had to go to the bathroom before he grabbed food so you pulled out your own phone and pulled up Miracle Finder’s social media page. You liked to check for any posts about the show, though it wasn’t really your job outside office hours. You guys tried hard to keep your presence in the social world, and posted things that weren’t just about the show. When you made this move, you had actually seen an increase in both followers and viewers of the show. Currently, you guys were running a survey on what holiday esque evols the audience would like to see. So far your worker Santa and an adorable grandmother of 10 who could create multi colored light shows with her hands were in the lead. You sucked down the last bit of your smoothie. Maybe a cold drink wasn’t the wisest choice, but whatever. You were getting impatient while waiting for Shaw’s return. What the heck could be keeping him? You were contemplating calling him when he plopped back down in his seat, startling you with his sudden arrival. He flashed a lazy smirk at your jumpiness, and you resumed your glare from earlier before you smelled the delicious aroma of the take away container he had set down on the table. He shot you a knowing look as he opened the lid. Kimchi fries. Shaw tossed a fork your way before picking up one of his own.

“Eat,” he said before grabbing a forkful of his own. You shook your head, not wanting to give in to temptation coupled with the desire to not display your regret at only getting a smoothie. Honestly, that was wasted on Shaw. He shrugged before continuing to devour the greasy meal in front of you. You lasted for one more of his mouthfuls before you threw your resolve to the wind. Picking up your own utensil, you dug in. You let out a groan of appreciation after a particularly cheesy bite. Had anything ever tasted so good? Shaw shot a smile at you, sipping a cup that clearly wasn’t from the food court. You knew his gross soda combo was in there, but you didn’t want to ponder about where it had come from. Instead you just stuffed your face more. Everything was acceptable when you had kimchi fries. Except for when the container was down to the last two bites. Shaw made a show of throwing his fork down and commenting on how full he was. You tried (and failed) to keep the smile off your face. Maybe Shaw wasn’t so bad after all. That thought was immediately erased by him making fun of the sauce on your face. Such a little shit.

Now that your stomach was sated and your shopping was done, there really wasn’t any other reason for you to stay at the mall. That was until you saw him. The most lifelike mall Santa you had ever seen in your life. For a moment, you were sure it was your worker, but the eyes and face structure was different. That didn’t stop this Santa from putting on a production as he walked to the center area where he must be for taking photos. His suit was such a sparkling bright red, and the accompanying mall staff had adorable elf costumes with little bells on their shoes that twinkled merrily. Despite the hour, he still did his best. He let out a jolly laugh that seemed to feel the air with happiness. You felt your own face break out into a smile, excited like a child. Briefly, you wondered if he had some sort of charisma evol like Kiro, or if he was just that dedicated to the holidays. Either way, he was outstanding. Maybe you should try and slip him your business card too. You quickly chewed through the mouthful of fries before reaching over the table to grab Shaw’s arm.

“Shaw! Let’s take a picture with Santa!” Shaw’s only response was to look at you in outright disgust. He made no effort to move from his seat.

“Shaw,” you pouted. “I’m serious!! It would be great for Miracle Finder’s page!” You threw a glance at the Santa station. It was already filling up, mostly teenagers and the few smatterings of stressed out mothers with crying babies and excited toddlers. Jumping to your feet, you grabbed the rest of the bags. You were practically jumping from foot to foot. Shaw’s face seemed turned between amusement and exasperation. He stood up, and pulled you close to him. You could feel the heat of his body seeping through yours. You felt your heart pick up speed. Shaw’s nose ran along the edge of your jaw, and you gasped a little at the unexpected contact.

“So you’re really that intent on sitting on an old perv’s lap, huh?” You squirmed, but his hands just gripped your waist tighter. When had he gotten so strong? And since when had it felt this good to be held against him? He pushed into you, so subtle that if it wasn’t for the lack of space between the two of you, you wouldn’t have realized it. You felt his lips against your jaw, the tiniest of kisses followed by a slight nip of teeth.

“But I gotta’ ask. Why sit on Santa’s lap when you can sit on mine?” The sweet rasp of his whisper made you feel weak. The bags slid out of your hands, hitting the ground. The resounding sound broke you out of your daze, and you jolted before pulling away from Shaw. Your face felt like it was burning, and your heart was pounding as if you had just finished a marathon. Shaw’s lazy smirk made you feel stupid. It was dumb of you to take him seriously. It was all just a game to him, and you were the idiot victim. All of a sudden, you hated him. Where did he get off anyway? Though the phrase “get off” in relation to Shaw made it hard to focus on your anger, and led you down a path of soda sweet kisses, and mocking laughs. If possible, your face burned even more. You were no longer in the holiday mood. You felt too keyed up. Too… oh god. Too turned on. Your mouth opened in shock. Shaw turned you on. But shock quickly turned to something else as he tilted your chin up to meet his gaze. You wanted to advert your eyes, but like with Gavin’s, that amber gaze never allowed you to. His eyes raked your face, and you realized something. Shaw was nervous. That seemed to soothe your own frazzled nerves, oddly enough. It was comforting to know that you weren’t alone in feeling unsure. But it would have been a disservice to the both of you to ignore whatever was trying to rise between the two of you. So instead of shaking off his hand, you leaned towards him a bit. He adjusted his hold, the leather of his gloves cool against your chin. He brought his thumb up to run it across your bottom lip. You stuck your tongue out just enough to lick it. Shaw’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly. His signature smirk broke out on his face. Pulling away from you, he swooped down to grab the forgotten bags. He stood up, grabbed your hand, and pulled you in the direction of the bathrooms and rest area. It was on the tip of your tongue to ask him where you were headed, but you stayed silent. With a quick look around to make sure there was no one lingering in the hallways, Shaw pulled you into one of the nursing women pumping rooms. He dropped the bags carelessly as he locked the door. Part of you wanted to scold him. Yeah, there were another 2 rooms, but what if there were multiple women who needed to pump? Your fussing died on your lips, however, as Shaw spun you around and sat down on the plush leather chair and pulled you on to his lap. Almost immediately, his hands were at the buttons of your shirt. He hadn’t even bothered to remove your jacket!

“Shaw! Wait a moment,” you gasped out. You wiggled around to get off of his lap, and he squeezed your chest as he let out a groan.

“Stop moving like that if you’re gonna’ ask me to stop.” You felt yourself heat up as you gave an experimental roll of your hips to feel his hardness pressing up against your rear. Shaw’s hands left your blouse in order to yank the sleeves of your jacket down. Your arms were stuck and you weren’t able to stop Shaw’s hands from returning to your front. He soon worked all the buttons open, his mouth finding all the sensitive parts of your neck with nips and kisses. You tried to keep your voice down. But when he bit gently at that spot behind your ear… you weren’t able to stop the yelp that left your mouth. God, you wanted him to do it harder. To mark your skin, and show the world who had you so undone. His hands had gotten underneath your bra now, and you let out a whine as he teased your nipples with featherlight touches. Without warning, his fingers sparked as he squeezed. The pleasure/pain caused you to throw your head back.

“Shaaaaw,” you dragged his name out on a moan. “Shaw, again. Please.” You heard a soft ‘fuck’ behind you, but you didn’t care. All you wanted was for him to do it again. And he did before his hands dropped down to your jeans. Why, oh why did you pick today off all days to wear such stiff denim? If you had known you’d end up like this, you wouldn’t have even worn underwear let alone something so constricting. The cold be damned. Shaw’s hands tugged at your jeans, and you lifted your hips in order to aid him. Hands hooked in your underwear next. You let out a sigh of relief when Shaw’s hand finally touched where you wanted them to the most. But he didn’t do much more than drag a finger through your slick, barely grazing over your clit before repeating his path over your soaked lips.

“Fuck, you’re so wet for me, aren’t you?” Shaw let out a laugh in disbelief. “Have you wanted it this whole time? Damn, if I woulda known, I’d have done this ages ago.”

“Shaw, stop teasing!” He made a soothing murmur. Bringing his hand to his mouth, he pulled off his glove. Suddenly, he plunged two fingers into you. You jerked up in surprise. He didn’t give you much time to adjust before he began moving them inside of you. You tried to pull back, but he was insistent.

“Shaw, it's too much. Slow down.” He didn’t respond to you. Instead, he began scissoring his fingers back and forth before curling them upwards and stroking. He began alternating between the two, and you couldn’t stop the pants coming out of your mouth. The other hand went back to work massaging and kneading your chest. Every now and then, he would pull gently at a nipple. It was so much rougher than how you did it. But why did it feel so damn good? He wasn’t even directly touching your clit besides the brushes his palm caused. The sound of his antics filled the enclosed space. Adjusting you on his lap, he spread your legs wider. Adding another finger, he moved where you told him to, this time moving slower when it got good and faster when you relaxed.

“Dammit, Shaw. Stop teasing me, and make me cum already!” You shouted out in frustration. As if that command was what he was waiting for, Shaw began moving with a purpose. Oh, and what a purpose it was. His body was so warm behind you, and his fingers so hot. You could feel the sweat trickling down the small of your back. God, you wished you were naked. Your flesh against Shaw’s, your bodies moving in tandem. All the filthy things he was saying to you now echoing in time with the movements of his hips. You fantasized about that while the real Shaw took you apart piece by piece. You couldn’t help the circles your hips moved in on his lap. You could only hope that they were giving him even an ounce of the pleasure his sinful fingers were giving you. Your head was thrown back over his shoulder, mouth open wide.

“Fuck. You’re gorgeous like this, you know that? So glad I got to you first. C’mon, baby. Let me see you cum for me.”

“Then give me what I want, Shaw. It’s okay. I promise.” It took all your concentration to get that sentence out. With not a second wasted, Shaw removed his hand from your breast to rub against your clit while he still grinded against that spot deep within that made you see stars. You squirmed harder on his lap, until finally when you were sure it couldn’t feel any better, he released the tiniest bit of spark against your clit. You came without warning, body jerking upright off of Shaw. You didn’t think you screamed. Honestly, you didn’t know. All you did was bask in that sweet pleasure soaked current that shot through your body. As you came down, shudders still wreaking havoc on your nervous system, the thought of “ I could get addicted to this” crossed your mind. But that was for tomorrow you to deal with. Currently you just wanted to soak in the afterglow of orgasming. And as Shaw still gently stroked inside and out with those sinful hands of his, you couldn’t even focus on the next 5 seconds, let alone the next day. You were a boneless mass against him, not even reacting when he brought the hand that had been inside you to his mouth and cleaned your slick off of his fingers with relish. You just gave a “hmph” in protest, body still like putty. He helped pull your jeans back on. You tried to button up your shirt, but your fingers seemed determined to fight you every step of the way. You were the type that became sleepy and lethargic after a good orgasm, and today was proving that in spades. Shaw brushed your hands away from your top, and made such sweet sounds of praise. You began to drift off on his lap after he pulled your jacket back up. You were still sweaty, and the accumulation of fluids in your panties was disgusting. But with Shaw rubbing your temples, the smell of the leather of his gloves he had returned to their proper place combined with the seaside smell of your own body relaxed you. He moved you around gently to redress you, and pulled up your jacket. You stood up on legs as wobbly as a newborn calf’s, and noticed that he was still hard. You felt selfish for not thinking about his pleasure while soaking in your own. You reached for his belt. His phone chimed loudly, and he smacked your hand away. Looking up at him in confusion, you knew you were pouting. But why wouldn’t you? What, was he too above you touching him?

“Stop whatever you’re thinkin’,” Shaw said nonchalantly while looking at whatever message was on his phone. “ I need to go.”

You nodded, still too blissed out to be upset. Besides, this wasn’t anything unusual. A lot of get togethers had to be cut due to whatever antics Shaw had his deceptively pleasant hands in. Shaw studied your face for a moment before surging forward and taking your lips in a deep and thorough kiss. You felt him slip something in your pocket before he stuck his tongue in to glide smoothly against yours. By the time he pulled away, you had to sit back down on the sofa. Your lips tingled pleasantly with his kisses. He tossed a ‘get home safe’ your way before he left the bathroom, closing the door firmly behind him. You took a moment to catch your breath before you reached into your pocket to grab whatever Shaw had stuck in there. Pulling out a eggshell white box that had the letters “K. C” embroidered on the lid in a beautifully flowery font, a part of you had a suspicion what it could be. Your suspicions were confirmed when you opened it to reveal the beautiful bracelet you had seen early. It was too much. You hadn’t even looked at it that much. You really shouldn’t have been surprised though. Shaw had always been more observant than you would have thought. As if on cue, your phone buzzed with a text. You pulled it out, and were unsurprised to see a message from Shaw. He had sent a simple message: a time, an address to his apartment, and the message of “Wear it when you come over tonight.”

“Seriously.” You thought as you gathered up your bags and wondered if you would have enough time to visit the shop that his gloves would be at along with the lingerie store. The smile on your face was growing wider by the second.

“Such a little shit.”

#mlqc smut #mlqc shaw #'tis the season for smut content creation challenge #'tis the season for smut

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spooderboyandtincan · 3 years

Text

The 12(ish) Days of December

A/N: I intended to write a Hanukkah themed chapter, but unfortunately I suffered some burnout and I couldn’t really start it :(((((( I plan and hope to add on to this in the future, I just wanted to get it out here on time! Happy Holidays everyone!!

Read on Ao3

/ST*RKERS DNI/

“Che palle!” May cried as she and Peter stepped out of the elevator. “Tony, what the hell is that?!”

“It’s a giant teddy bear,” Tony called back from the kitchen. “It’s for you, Pete!”

“Me?” Peter gasped, his face lighting up. He charged toward the ten-foot teddy bear and tackled it. The giant brown bear teetered slightly with his weight but didn’t tip over. “He’s so soft!”

Tony came out of the kitchen with a wide grin on his face. He wiped his flour-coated hands on his pants and tried to give Peter a hug without pushing him off the bear,

“He’s so beautiful!” Peter giggled, wrapping his arms around the bear’s neck. “And huge!”

Tony nodded in a proud, self-satisfied sort of way. Besides being delighted that the boy clearly adored his gift, he now had proof that this was obviously how one should react when presented with a ten-foot-tall stuffed animal. He'd have to take a picture and send it to Pepper.

May tossed her purse on the floor and shook her head at Tony. “As long as you can find a place for it, I’m not complaining,” she chuckled.

“I’ll rent a storage unit somewhere,” Tony supplied, taking a sip of coffee from his Iron Man shaped mug. Tony treasured that mug, which had been gifted to him by Peter several months ago. He never brought it in the lab for fear that Dum-E or U would break it, and he kept it in the cabinet next to his “1# IronDad” mug (also a precious gift from his kid).

He looked back to Peter, who had wrapped his arms around the bear, which was tilting dangerously. “Be careful, kiddo,” he said, biting his lip. But the moment the words got out of his mouth, Peter and the gigantic teddy bear started to topple to the ground.

“Shit-!” he began, darting forward, only to be met by Peter’s giggles.

“Nooo. Leave me. ‘M comfy.” He rolled onto the bear’s big belly and sprawled across it. “This’s perfect,” he hummed, closing his eyes.

Tony and May shared a slightly exasperated yet fond glance. Tony flopped down next to Peter, tucking a curl behind his ear. “Now that I think about it, spider-baby,” he mused, “I’ve got something else for ya.”

Peter perked up and opened his eyes. “What?”

Tony gave him a large grin and ran a hand through his curls. “C’mere.” He wrapped an arm around his shoulders and led Peter to his room.

May sighed. “I swear to god, Tony, if you’re giving him an Audi….” she muttered.

“I’m not!” the man insisted. Peter rolled his eyes and sat down on his bead.

Tony put a warm palm over his eyes. “Close your eyes, bud.”

Peter tried to keep his eyes closed as Tony ran to his own room, tearing through what sounded like wrapping paper and knocking boxes over with no absence of cursing.

Moments later, a small, leather 4x4 inch box was placed on his open palm. He opened his eyes and looked first at the box, then at up Tony, who smiled. May shrugged and gestured to open it.

Inside the box rested a thin, slender watch with a smooth black strap. The face of the watch was rectangular, and when Peter pushed the button on the side it lit up, displaying the time above what looked like a mini arc reactor. It resembled the StarkWatch he was wearing that very moment, except it looked more high-tech.

“A new StarkWatch, specially customized for you, by yours truly,” Tony said. “Your old one looked pretty busted, even though they’re supposed to be indestructible.” Peter snickered at Tony’s gentle jab. “And it’s got a few minor upgrades. You can set the lock screen, for one. And it should be trackable from anywhere in the universe, and I mean everywhere. And you can call me, or May, or Ned or Rhodey or whoever from the top of Mount Everest or the bottom of the Mariana Trench.”

“Wow,” Peter whispered, tracing the sides of the watch before strapping it onto his wrist. “Thank you, Mister Stark! I love it! It’s so cool!”

“What happened to ‘Tony?’” he grumbled playfully, giving his spider-baby a kiss on his head. “I’m glad you like it, buddy. It’s basically the same stuff as your old one, just better.”

Then, to both Peter and May’s surprise, Tony bent down and grabbed a colorful red bag covered in golden glitter. Peter laughed.

“Tony, it’s only the ninth!” May snorted, her eyebrows raised past her hairline.

“That’s because we’ll need these before Christmas,” Tony said wisely. He handed Peter a soft package wrapped in green tissue paper and watched him tear the packaging in half.

“It’s so ugly!” he cried, holding up a garish green sweater. There was a plastic red ball attached to the big reindeer's nose and tiny bells were tied onto the reindeer’s harness. Little snowflakes were patterned all over, and Peter couldn’t help but laugh. “I love it, Tony!” Peter pulled the sweater on and was delighted to find that the fabric was incredibly soft, instead of the unbearably itchy sweaters he had owned in the past. “It’s perfect!”

Tony laughed fondly at his already thrilled kid. “If you think it’s good now, wait till you see this. FRI, lights off,” he ordered.

Peter felt Tony fumble with something on his shoulder, and suddenly the sweater lit up. The reindeer’s nose lit up bright red, the snowflakes began to glow, and, as cliché as it might have sounded, the bells gave a merry jingle as Peter laughed.

“I love it!” He tackled Tony with a hug, relaxing slightly in the man’s arms.

“Good,” Tony chuckled, “‘Cause I’ve got about three more for you and your aunt each.”

“Tony, where’re we going?” Peter whined, his breath fogging the window. “Tell meeee!”

“My lips are sealed,” Tony said, pretending to zip his lips shut and throw away the key. “We’re almost there, Rudolph, don’t worry.”

“Rudolph?!” Peter snorted.

Tony reached over the console to ruffle his hair. “I thought you might want a Christmas nickname,” he explained. “Plus, y’know, you already had a nickname available that only required a bit of simple reconstruction, Roo.”

Peter shook his head. “Just tell meeee!”

“No. Never.”

“Pleeease?”

“I physically can’t, buddy.”

“Tell me! Tellmetellmetellme pleeeeeeeeease?”

“Will… to keep secrets… decreasing,” Tony said robotically. “Fine. We’re going ice-skating, Petey-Pie.”

Peter gasped, his big chocolate eyes going wide. “Really?!”

Tony grinned and glanced over to his kid. “Really.” He wished he could stop the car and give his sweet boy a hug.

“But…” Peter bit his lip. “I don’t really know how. I mean, I went ice skating with Ned a few years ago but we mostly fell over and bruised our butts.”

Tony chuckled fondly. “That’s okay kiddie, I’ll show you the arts. Rhodey and I went when we were in college, and man, we had a blast laughing at each other. Oh- we’re here!”

“Tony, I don’t have any skates!” Peter realized as they hopped out of the car.

“I already got you some, Pete, don’t worry,” Tony assured him. He opened the trunk of the car. “And I brought you an extra hat, a coat, a scarf, some better gloves, extra socks and a pair of snow pants.”

“Tony,” Peter began, leaning into the hug the man offered him all the same. He grumbled and rolled his eyes but let Tony wrap a scarf around his neck and trade his thin woolen gloves out for much warmer, thicker ones. Peter had to admit he felt a lot warmer. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Thanks, Pete. M’kay, I’ve got these fancy red and blue skates for you and red and gold for me.”

“And I’m sure the color choices were random?” Peter asked sarcastically. “Wait- these have the Spider-Man logo on them! Mr. Stark, are there Spider-Man ice-skates?!”

Tony bent to kiss his forehead. “There are, Pete. Pretty cool, huh?”

“So cool! I love ‘em, thank you, Tony!” He held up the skates to admire them. “They’re great!”

“No problem, buddy. It was my pleasure.”

Peter flopped down in the snow and pulled on his skates. He looked up to admire the tall oak and pine trees swaying gently with the wind, the last leaves of fall scattering along the icy roads. A pair of snowflakes drifted down to his coat, and Peter felt a sort of peace flow through him.

“Petey? Are you comin’?” Tony called, skating back and forth along the edge of the pond. Peter knotted the laces of his skates tightly and struggled to his feet.

“I’m trying!” he yelled, staggering forward. He leaned over the ice and felt a bit dizzy. It was about a foot down to the actual ice, and Peter knew without a doubt that he would slip if he tried to get down. “I dunno, um….”

“I gotcha, Petey, don’t worry.” Tony held out his arms and gave him a reassuring smile. Hesitantly, Peter lowered stepped onto the frozen pond, grabbing Tony’s arm and clinging to him as he got both feet on the ice.

“Good job, Roo!” the man praised, lifting him up by the armpits so he was standing up a bit straighter. He couldn’t help but compare Peter to a fawn who just stood up for the very first time, and the boy’s big bambi eyes weren’t helping his case. “Getting on the ice is the hardest part. I’ve landed on my ass more times than I can count.” Tony frowned at himself. “Sorry I said ‘ass,’ don’t repeat that.”

Peter snorted. His skates slipped and he felt Tony’s arms tighten around him. “Whoa there, buddy. I gotcha.” He tucked a loose curl behind the teen’s ear and kissed his cheek, wrapping an arm around his shoulder.

“‘M’kay, you ready, Pete?”

“Heck yeah!”

Tony grinned. “Okay, first, you said ‘heck yeah’ instead of ‘hell yeah’ and that’s adorable,” he teased, chuckling at Peter’s eye roll. “Second: let’s wreck this rink!”

Though of course, they ended up making more of a wreck of themselves rather than the rink.

The very second Peter slid his foot forward, he found himself spontaneously falling backwards. Luckily, Tony caught him easily and gently pulled him back up.

“I meant to do that,” he huffed, his small hands scrabbling at Tony’s coat. “It was- completely- intentional.”

“Of course it was, Roo, I know that,” he said with a raise of his eyebrows. “No one has the grace and agility you do.”

“I am graceful, Tony! How dare you?!” Peter grumbled.

Tony might have made a quip about the arms wrapped tightly around his waist for support, but he decided his poor kid had suffered enough. Despite bumping into every table or chair in his path, Peter was surprisingly graceful, especially when he swung with ease through the air on a thin stand of webbing. “You are graceful, buddy, I promise,” he admitted. “You wanna give it another try?”

Peter stuck his tongue out at him, adjusted his hat, and gingerly took a step forward. Tony tensed, ready to lunge forward and catch him if the boy slipped, but found himself letting a quiet cheer. “Nice job, Pete!”

Peter beamed at him, his legs spread far apart and his arms extended for balance. He tipped backwards and Tony started to jump forward, but Peter flailed his arms around and regained his balance.

“I think you’re getting the hang of it, kiddo!” Tony called as Peter made his way to the opposite side of the pond. He winced suddenly, protectiveness flooding through him at his retreating figure. “Be careful! Wait for me!”

He caught up to Peter easily and zipped in front of him, catching him by the shoulders. “You’re doing great, baby!”

“Thanks,” he giggled, looking down at his shoes. He wiped his red nose with the back of his hand and sniffled. “‘S fun!”

Tony smiled and adjusted Peter’s scarf. “Glad to hear it.”

“Tony?” he asked. “Can you do a figure eight?”

The man paused to consider this, clicking his tongue. “Only one way to find out!” he decided.

Peter watched excitedly as he skated out to the middle of the pond, looking practically weightless. Tony took a deep breath, prayed he didn’t break any bones, then pushed off. He zoomed around the pond in a perfect figure eight, only faltering for a brief moment, and traced over it twice before he skidded back to Peter. “Ta-da!”

Peter applauded, clearly very impressed. Tony bowed exaggeratedly and pretended to be embarrassed.

“D’you think I should try?” Peter asked.

Tony smiled fondly. “Only if you want to. I know you’d nail it though.”

And he did. Peter skated carefully to the edge of the pond and performed the figure eight beautifully, spinning in circles and laughing when he got a bit too dizzy.

Tony skated up to him, his eyes huge. “Jesus, Petey, that was fantastic!” He pulled the embarrassed teen to his chest and wished, not for the first time, that Peter wasn’t wearing a hat so he could kiss the top of his head. He settled for Peter’s cheek instead. “Wow, baby, that was amazing! Wait- I gotta sign you up for the Olympics. Where’s my phone- oh, I got it.” He pulled his phone from his coat.

“Tony, nooooo!” Peter protested.

“Tony yes. You’re too talented.”

“It was just a figure eight!” he giggled. “And you did one too so you hafta sign yourself up.” Peter looked up to the gray sky and shivered as the brisk winds tore at his heavy coat and scarf. He leaned even closer to Tony.

“You cold, baby?” Tony rubbed his back gently, hoping to generate some warmth. “Wanna go back home? We can come back here anytime you want.”

Peter sighed a bit sadly, but he had to admit he was freezing. He and Tony skated back to the car quickly. Snowflakes began to fall rapidly down as gusts of wind tried to upset their balance. Tony helped Peter onto the bank and they hurriedly yanked off their ice skates.

They found refuge in the car only when Tony turned the heater up full blast and leaned over the console to pull Peter into his arms. Peter’s shivers that had been worrying him far more than Tony had been willing to say eventually died off and together they watched what was now practically a blizzard raging outside.

“Just in time,” Tony mumbled into Peter’s curls. “Feel any better, baby?”

He grew worried when he received no response and pulled back. Peter’s eyes were shut and his breathing slow, though he made a small whimpering noise in the back of his throat when Tony pulled away. Tony smiled, a tender, loving light in his eyes and pulled Peter back into his arms, cradling his kid against his chest and rubbing his back soothingly. “‘M here. ‘M here, baby, don’t worry,” he cooed, planting a kiss on his forehead.

Peter curls tickled his cheek, his warm breath heating the skin of Tony’s neck. The console between him and his kid was uncomfortable and hard against his side, but he wouldn’t have moved for the world. Tony held Peter tightly and closed his eyes.

Maybe they could stay there a little while as they waited for the blizzard to pass.

III

Tony had been brewing a hot cup of coffee in the kitchen when a disheveled, sniffling, sleepy Peter face-planted into his back.

“Whoa, bud!” Tony spun around and caught the boy under the armpits. “Hey, hey. Are you okay?” He tilted Peter’s chin back and found that his nose was bright red, his eyes were half-lidded, and his bedhead was a lot worse (though still absolutely adorable) than it usually was.

“‘M fine,” Peter sniffled, leaning heavily against his chest. “Missed you.”

“Oh, baby,” Tony murmured, wrapping his arms around the small teen, “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere, okay?” He gave his definitely-not-sick spider-baby a smooch on his temple. “You’re pretty warm,” he noted with a hint of worry in his voice. He pressed the back of his hand to the teen’s forehead. “Do you wanna lie down, kiddo?”

Peter shook his head weakly. “Wan’ you.”

Tony’s heart melted and he turned into a pile of mush. In this tired, sick, achy state Peter was clingier than ever, and all he wanted was him. He wanted Tony. He kissed Peter’s temple. “I’m gonna stay right here, Petey, don’t worry,” he assured his kid. “I promise.”

Tony held Peter with one arm while he rummaged through the kitchen cabinets with the other. “FRI? What’s up with the spider-baby?”

“Peter is exhibiting symptoms of a common cold, such as coughing, sneezing, a runny nose, and a fever,” the AI replied. Tony felt a pang of worry and empathy in his heart.

“Okay. I’ve got your pain meds,” he announced in a whisper. “Do you want water or OJ?”

Peter decided on the latter, not bothering to raise his head but simply mumbling “juice” into the man’s chest. Tony hummed in agreement and attempted to pour a glass for himself one-handedly (most of the juice ended up on the counter, but holding his sick kid was far more important than pouring orange juice).

He led the boy to the couch, a steadying hand around his shoulders. Peter snuggled against him, coughing and sniffling. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand and shivered.

Tony placed two white pills into palm. Peter took a hesitant sip of his drink and gulped down the pills. Tony tucked an errant curl behind his ear and placed a kiss one his temple.

With Peter still in his hold, he strained to reach the weighted electric blanket that had fallen behind the couch. With a painful crack from his twisted back, he finally managed to get his fingers around the feather-soft blanket and settled back on the couch with a triumphant grunt.

He wrapped the electric blanket tightly around them both. Peter’s shivering caused a surge of fierce protection to run through his veins, and Tony hugged him to his chest, pressing a kiss to his soft, though slightly sweaty curls. He glared at the dark corners of the room, as if somehow the very cold that was making his child suffer so much would leap from the shadows.

Peter found comfort in the vibrations of Tony’s chest and the beat of his heart. The calloused fingers running through his hair and the occasional kiss against his temple soothed him beyond measure, and without ever realizing it, Peter started to drift off. Compared to when he had woken up, soaked with sweat, wheezing and sniffling and rather nauseous, he felt so much better in his father-figure’s embrace.

Dimly, he noticed that Tony was talking to him. He thought he recognized the words coming out of his mouth, and he realized suddenly that Tony was reading Mr. Willowby’s Christmas Tree to him. That book had been Peter’s favorite when he was a small toddler, and hearing the familiar words aloud brought a big burst of happiness to his chest.

Peter let his eyes slip shut for a second. The headache that had been pounding in his head was completely gone and in Tony’s arms, he felt incredibly warm and cozy and happy.

When his eyes opened again, he determined that Tony had finished reading the book. If he had had enough energy, he would have asked him to read another. But much to his delight, he realized Tony had already picked up another book.

And just before his eyes fluttered shut, he heard Tony’s gentle voice speaking, full of love. “I love you, Petey.”

I love you too.

“Mmm, Tony, the spaghetti was fantastic!” May exclaimed as she loaded her plate into the dishwasher. “I need that recipe, it’s just too good!”

Tony looked at Peter out of the corner of his eyes. The boy shook his head frantically and drew a finger across his throat. Tony snickered. “Thank you, May, I’m glad to hear that,” he said.

To be completely truthful, he felt like throwing up. During the dinner, Peter had chatted enough to distract him, but now his emotions were left to himself, and Tony had barely been swallowed by them. He stuffed the last plate in the dishwasher and took a few long, deep breaths. He massaged his forehead and blinked, sitting down heavily on the couch.

Tony’s heart was beating out of his chest. He looked up to the boy, who was texting someone- probably Ned, completely oblivious. “Pete?” he began shakily. “Do you think we could talk for a second?” He and May shared a glance. She realized immediately what he was about to do and gave him an encouraging smile and a thumbs up.

“Yeah!” Peter vaulted onto the couch with a laugh. His grin faded when he saw how worried, how scared the man looked. Alarm kindled in his chest. “What’s wrong, Mr. Stark?”

Tony couldn’t bring himself to laugh at the cookie crumbs in the corners of his mouth or the way his hair frizzed everywhere as he pulled his Santa hat off. He swallowed and took a deep breath.

“Um-” Tony had to clear his throat. He reached down and grabbed a briefcase leaning against the couch that Peter hadn’t noticed before. “Uh,” he tried. He pulled two papers out of the briefcase and stared at them for a long while. “Do you think that you could give these a read, kiddo?”

Peter nodded silently and took them. He looked up at Tony, his head tilted in confusion.

He looked to the papers. His eyes widened in disbelief. “W-what? I-” He turned the papers over as if there would be a sticky note saying “IT'S A PRANK!” on the back. “What? W-what? I-I don’t-” Peter shook his head.

He couldn’t stop looking at those cream-colored papers.

Child: Peter Benjamin Parker

Adopting Parent(s): Anthony Edward Stark

The rest of the paper was blank, except for Tony’s signature at the bottom.

“Am I asleep? This-this is a dream, right?” Peter's eyes were filling with tears but he didn’t bother to wipe them away.

“It’s not a dream, sweetheart,” May said gently. “It’s real.” She squeezed his knee, hoping to ground him.

“Really?” He opened his mouth but couldn’t seem to form words. He gaped like a fish, reading the adoption papers over and over again. “You-you wanna adopt me?” he finally managed to squeak out.

Tony finally gathered the courage to look at his kid. “Yeah, baby. But only if you want to, okay? Nothing would change, though. We’d- just be making it official. Everything would be the same except-” He throat closed, and suddenly he couldn’t speak.

Except Peter would be his official son- legally, on paper. And Tony would be his official dad. (There was no way Tony wasn’t already his dad.)

“What are you thinking, baby?” he murmured, instinctively tucking a curl behind Peter’s ear with shaky hands.

Tony’s gentle touch was enough to break the dam of emotions that had been holding back. Peter sniffled, then burst into tears and practically jumped into his dad’s arms.

Tony hugged him tightly, rubbing a hand up and down his back and pressing long kisses to his temple. Peter blubbered into his chest, happy tears soaking Tony’s sweater. May wrapped her arms around the two and squeezed them both tightly.

Tony felt tears prickle in his own eyes and he dropped his forehead to Peter’s curls. “Is that a yes?” he finally managed to say.

Peter giggled wetly and nodded frantically against his chest.

A grin as wide as a dinner plate crossed Tony’s face. He realized suddenly that tears were streaming down his cheeks, but he didn’t wipe them away. He kissed the top of Peter's head and squeezed him tighter.

May pressed a quick kiss on Peter’s cheek and stood up. “I’ll be back in a bit,” she said, sensing that the father and son might want a moment alone.

Tony rocked his kid back and forth, rubbing his back and pressing kiss after kiss to his cheek. “I love you,” he murmured into his chestnut curls. “I love you.” IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou.

“Love you,” Peter babbled. “I love you too. I love you.”

He held Peter at an arm’s length, still grinning. Then he pulled his kid back to him again and kissed his cheek, wiping away his tears with the pad of his thumb. “I love you.”

Peter sniffled, wiping his nose with his sweater. He wrapped his arms around Tony’s neck and curled around him like a koala. He leaned heavily against his dad’s chest, his breathing beginning to even out. Tony’s chest vibrated with every “I love you so much, Petey” and his ceaseless murmurs of love and comfort.

“Love you, Dad,” he said sleepily, his eyelids drooping.

A lump formed in Tony’s throat that he couldn’t seem to swallow past. Tears started to trickle down his cheeks. “Petey-” he murmured, his voice hoarse. “I love you so much. So damn much, okay?” He ran his hand up and down the boy’s back, kissing his temple and trying to blink his happy tears away.

Tony felt himself slowly drifting asleep. He blinked, and then his cheek was resting on his kid’s curls. His eyes closed again, and suddenly May was there, draping a blanket over them. He tried to tell her to get Peter’s special heated blanket, because his poor kid couldn’t thermoregulate and absolutely hated the cold. Then he realized that she had already tucked it around the boy and sighed in relief, finally letting himself relax.

May settled on the opposite side of Peter and wrapped an arm around him. Within minutes she was snoring quietly, but Tony was too tired to notice. A wave of joy and peace and love washed over him, and his eyes slipped shut.

~~~~~

/ST*RKERS DNI/

~~~~~

Taglist: @imissyoutoo @aj-that-person @tonystark-deserves-better @nathaly-ab @skeeter-110 @peter-and-tony-vlogs @teammightypen @joyful-soul-collector @loveliestdisappointment @depuella @scwene-qween @honeythepooh @pixiethefirecat7 @spider-man-lover @jami161 @bringitonvoldie @queen-of-sarcasm-25 @roxy3457 @memilon @iron-loyalty @gralaca @bitchingpretty @pillowspace @thatminecraftgal @clockworkteacup @hatakehikari @wtfischeese @keep-a-bucket-full-of-stars @skydiving-without-a-parachute @yansi1923 @slytherin-hamilton-life-12 @dead-inside-pt2 @name-me-regret @zanderljones @spidy8664 @hold-our-destiny

If anyone wants to be added/ removed please let me know!

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reinabeestudio · 3 years

Photo

To celebrate Valentine’s Day, I wrote a humble one-shot featuring Phantom Thief Karamatsu and Detective Shinshia, inspired by the Phantom Thief set from Hesokuri Wars lol.

It is very simple, and I did it just to cater myself LMAO. But maybe some of you find it cute✨. As a small fact, I titled the story “Alone Together”.

Story under the cut!

Finally, February was here! Heart-shaped decorations in every store, roses of different colors were seen over different parts of the city, cute sweets… last but not least, there was the romance. For a long time, this was a sour month for the sextuplets. They were phantom thieves of renown, yet they never got a single chocolate in their whole lives by their fans! It was truly demoralizing, almost as bad as Christmas.

Tradition said that women were the ones that gifted chocolate for the men they had chosen. This year, however, the blue phantom thief had a mission. An important gift to give.

Karamatsu tried so many times in the past to convey his feelings to the new detective: Shinshia Doremi. She acted rough and distant at first. “We are enemies,” she declared coldly. But in the rare moments they could spent together, her behaviour softened and the real Shinshia Doremi was exposed: a warm, yet shy girl. Sadly, everytime he tried to tell her about what he felt, someone or something would interrupt their moment together. Often their separate duties, as detective and phantom thief.

Oh, Cupid, how cruel was he! Keeping the hearts of this couple in the scale of Lady Justice, its pans so close but never together! Such a tragic fate!

Well, perhaps the vision he had of their love inside his head had evolved into something more dramatic than what it actually was in real life. But it added some excitement to whatever their situation was.

Karamatsu was no fool, either. He knew there were others interested in the girl… Mostly, his boisterous, shitty eldest. He noticed the way that idiot looked at her, and it wasn’t love. At least, not the the type of love he felt inside. The blue thief decided it was time to strike while he still had the chance, and ask her out. Subtly.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♡ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

Once more the young detective ended up being one of the few remaining people in the department. Rookies got so much paperwork, it was just ridiculous. She had to keep a dictionary close to her, too. Some of these characters looked like an amalgamation made of nightmares.

To keep boredom away, Shinshia started singing, the words echoing throughout the empty office. A soft duet, the name of which she could not call to mind at the moment. However, she did remember that it was a popular love song. It was one of the first songs she heard when she first arrived to Japan.

The sun goes to sleep once more

In this lonely time, I wonder

Is your heart dreaming of me?

The detective finished with the paper she had in front of her, and grabbed the next one in the pile. “How tedious,” she thought. She kept singing to herself.

Stars twinkle above our heads

And the moon gives us her best glowing smile

But tonight, I’ll be yours...

“... And yours alone.”

Another voice joined in with her song, singing along. Shinshia went silent and turned around, but she saw nothing besides empty desks. She went back to her paperwork, along with her song.

However, before she could sing another word, Shinshia stopped entirely when suddenly a pair of hands covered her eyes. “Who is it?” a familiar male voice asked in a sing-song tone.

“The sweet release of death, I hope.”

She resumed her work when she regained her sight as the infamous phantom thief, Karamatsu, casually leant against her desk with a subtle smile. “Long day, I presume.”

“You have no idea,” she sighed and tucked her hair behind her ears . “You should leave before someone sees you. Unless you want me to handcuff you.”

Karamatsu laughed quietly. “Heh, being helpless at your mercy sounds like a very tempting offer, darling. ” Shinshia’s face immediately flushed and he laughed again, genuinely. “But I am here to steal you away.”

“Steal me away?” Shinshia asked, not even looking away from the papers. She put some loose locks of hair behind her ear again. She was often pulling hair away from her face lately. “Sorry Karamatsu, but I have a ton of paperwork left to do. I can’t be stolen right now.”

“C’mon, Shia-chan! It won’t be for long. I’m just asking you to take a break.”

“I told you, I’m busy right n-”

The phantom thief put a hand over the paper she was writing on, and the scowling detective finally looked up at him. It was in that moment when she noticed that he was wearing casual clothes, and not his usual garish outfit filled with blue glitter. The only part that did stand out was, perhaps, the black eyepatch on his left eye. He felt triumphant over this, how she looked at him.

“Tonight, be mine alone ♪.”

After a minute of silence and a staring competition that was perhaps getting a bit too intense for the situation, Shinshia got up from her desk grumbling. “Fine. A short break.”

With a triumphant spring in his step, he suddenly scooped her up in his arms effortlessly and left the office. His plan was working so far.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♡ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

Now this was strange.

Karamatsu dragged Shinshia out of the office. That was not the strange part, but instead of avoiding crowded places like he always did, they just… kept walking. Out in the open. Walking didn’t bother her, it was just unusual. He was a famous criminal, after all. It was a miracle they left the building so easily. Or maybe the author was just too lazy to think of something smart.

Wait, author? What author? That makes no sense. Just ignore it.

It was snowing outside. Snow wasn’t common where she was from, so she still marvelled at the sight of it everytime. Despite how much she enjoyed watching the snow fall, it was still cold in the streets. So smart was she, that she forgot to grab her jacket before they left, and now she was constantly rubbing her hands together.

Karamatsu laughed. “You’ll end up setting them on fire, Shia-chan.”

Shinshia snorted. The comment was lame, yet she snorted, like the fool she was. Karamatsu took her hand on his own and blew on it, before he decided to put both of their hands inside his coat pocket. She glanced at him, noticing that he was actually doing the same at her. However, as soon as he noticed her eyes on him, Karamatsu quickly looked away and instead focused on the cars that passed by.

After spending their evening with an impromptu stroll, they finally headed back to the building. Karamatsu spent most of the time silent, which was even more unusual that this whole situation. Usually, he loved doing long monologues filled with inscrutable flowery words that probably sounded cool only in his mind. But during that evening, Karamatsu seemed focused in whatever was going through his head at the moment. Then again, Shinshia didn’t talk much herself.

The poor detective couldn’t help it! He was a man that had to be put behind bars for his crimes, she knew this. However, everytime they were together, her mind just stopped working properly. This had been happening since she actually caught him once: Karamatsu, one of the six-colored phantom thieves that stole valuable pieces of art all around the city. He was pretty popular among the youngest members of her department, some of them even called themselves his fans. That was done in secret, of course.

Shinshia knew little about the man next to her. Truth be told, she wanted to unveil that air of mystery around him by herself. Not as a detective, but as… something else. Maybe as a friend. Or maybe as something deeper. Only the author knew.

Hold on, what-- you know what, nevermind that.

First she thought, maybe she was just starstruck. After all, as soon as she arrived to that building, she was assigned to the case of the phantom thieves. Shinshia was in a country that was so different to her native Spain, and she knew no one, besides this guy. A criminal. But he kept coming back when she was alone, giving her advice and listening to her troubles… And then a bond bloomed between them. So sudden, yet so natural, as if it was destined to happen.

“Shinshia,” Karamatsu called to her softly, pulling her from her thoughts, “I have a little present for you.”

“A present? Why?”

“Just a little something I got for you! It’s fine, I promise.”

Shinshia sighed. “Well, fine.”

His eye glittered as he clasped his hands happily. Gosh, what a big baby. “Good! Close your eyes, and don’t open them until I say you can, understand?” He said that last part in English, for some reason.

Strange request, but Shinshia did what he told her anyway, and closed her eyes. She could hear Karamatsu fumbling with something- not sure with what, but it was small, she supposed. He did say it was a little something, after all. Suddenly, she felt his hands on the sides of her head, playing with the locks of her hair. He put them back, and then she felt those same hair locks being slightly pulled back by something. She feels his warm hand linger on her chin, delicately caressing along her jawline before pulling away.

“Open your eyes.”

Shinshia opened her eyes, feeling really curious about what Karamatsu did. He took out a round pocket mirror and then he showed her: a blue hair bow was holding back her hair.

Karamatsu smiled at her softly. “Your hair is growing long, Shia-chan. It keeps getting in front of your eyes, doesn’t it?” She nodded, impressed. When did he notice her annoyance at her hair? It was such an insignificant detail. “Now I can see your cute face again.”

Shinshia looked down, feeling her face warm up. “T-Thanks.”

After he put the small mirror back in its place, he took an envelope out of the same pocket. He gave it to her. It would have looked like a normal letter, if it wasn’t for the small heart on the back… And the blue glitter. So painful.

“What is this?” Shinshia took the envelope and opened it. Inside there was a single piece of black paper with text in gold letters. “An invitation?”

“Observant as always! It’d make me very happy to see you there.”

“I’m not sure, Karamatsu… this is very sudden.”

“But, Shia-chan! It will be so much fun!” Karamatsu looked at her with puppy eyes. Uh, eye. “Do it for me. Please?”

How was that working so well, what the hell. Shinshia sighed in defeat. “I will think about it.”

Feeling victorious yet again, Karamatsu took her hand and kissed her knuckles. “Good night, Shia-chan. I hope to see you there.” Those were his last words before he turned around and walked away, quickly melting into the crowd. Now Shinshia Doremi was left alone at the doors of her workplace with her heart beating incredibly fast.

The detective looked down at the sparkly envelope. This thing was so shiny that it hurted to look at it for too long. It was so painful! It was so tacky!

“You're so troublesome.” she said to no one. She released a deep sigh.

She was in love with the blue phantom thief called Karamatsu.

Shinshia decided to attend to the party, after all.

She didn’t go to parties often… mostly because she wasn’t invited to any of them. But, if she was being honest with herself, the promise of meeting him again was too tempting to resist. Also, free food and drinks.

Woah. She really had to have a deep crush on the man of strange monologues, if she was going to ignore her insecurity just for him. What a guy, he was making miracles happen even when he wasn’t present.

So she got ready, donning the prettiest dress she could find inside her closet. She wore the blue bow he gifted her, and after checking herself in the mirror, she grabbed her clutch purse and left to the party.

“Even if Karamatsu isn’t there, it’s better than to be alone during Valentine’s day,” she thought as she locked the door of her house behind her.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♡ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

It was a Valentine’s dance party. It should have been obvious, considering the day it took place. But she wasn’t aware that Valentine’s Day parties existed at all. Of course they do, why wouldn’t they? Maybe the host was single as hell, and this was their attempt in trying to find a partner. Or maybe it was a Jay Gatsby trying to find their Daisy Buchanan. Yikes, hopefully not.

Also, every celebration needs a party, obviously.

Somewhere, someone in the world will throw a party for Cat Day. Maybe they will put a silly little hat on top of their cat’s head, followed by the confused pet trying to swat it away with its little paws and failing as the owner was in the floor laughing to tears.

That turned to be a very amusing thought, after all. It’d be so funny if someone celebrated Cat Day like that. She didn’t even know if Cat Day existed at all, but now she really hoped that it did.

Back to reality, Shinshia grabbed a glass from the nearest table as she looked around, moving between the many guests that were having fun together. Where in the world was Karamatsu? How could a single man wearing a black eyepatch be so difficult to find among so many colorful outfits? Pretty sure his full name was Karamatsu Sandiego. A famous thief whose signature look features a blue, glittery matching top hat and long cape. Of course, it all checked out, she just solved the case.

The detective was so into her own dumb line of thought that she didn’t notice the carpet, and her shoe caught. There was barely time to react; carpet veered up, her drink tipped forward, and suddenly the floor was very close. Extremely close. However, she hadn’t bit it, and that didn’t quite make sense. Gravity existed, and through gravity, she should have hit the floor.

There was something holding her up. A hand, which connected to an arm, which led all the way to a well-tailored suit. A delicious, familiar fragrance reached her nose.

“Well now,” a voice purred so slowly, and hands turned her to face upwards. Karamatsu’s face slowly turned into a tender smile. “I see you decided to come after all, darling.”

“Ah, well…” Shinshia really couldn’t say much with her waist held so enticingly by those hands, as warm hands brushed up against her skin and tickled. “I... I had to make sure that you didn’t steal anything! There are many people here wearing valuable jewelry, I’m sure you’d manage to steal something.”

“Heh, it seems my plans were ruined by the great Shinshia once more!” Karamatsu continued onwards with that smile just deepening at her sight, and somehow, he seemed to be leaning a bit closer. The room rang with cheery laughter, and the party carried onwards without a single glance towards the thief and the detective.

“You always seem to be,” one hand caressed its fine way up to her shoulder, “Stumbling around me. I’m starting to wonder if you are tripping on purpose now, hmmm?”

He knew well she wasn’t doing it on purpose. But before she could complain about that, he pressed a finger to her lips, silencing her completely. The hand on her waist pulled her just a little closer that she could feel the warmth radiating from him. He laced his fingers with hers. “I enjoy our moments together, darling.”

The orchestra struck up a mesmerizing waltz, and Karamatsu’s eye perked up enough that Shinshia could practically see the lightbulb above his head.

“Let’s dance!” he invited her without a second thought, and Shinshia stumbled as Karamatsu guided her to the dance floor. A violin hummed and a key plucked, and then his hands were on her waist, a smile beaming away.

Unexpectedly, he was good at the waltz. What the hell, that was not fair. Shinshia found herself tripping quite a lot, and the phantom thief just chuckled everytime she crashed into his body. It didn’t seem to phase him either, he just grinned all the wider and adjusted until she fell back into rhythm.

Finally, somehow the rhythm came to Shinshia. Maybe it was the guiding steps of Karamatsu. Maybe it was the smile he gave her as she fumbled along. Or, perhaps, it was the hand he still had on her waist, caring as it kindly led her along despite her inexperience. Whatever it was, it had her steps synchronize with Karamatsu’s, and suddenly she started noticing other things: how his rings glistened in the light as Karamatsu led both of them through the swarm of couples, or how his brown eye never looked away from her face. Small details, yet they were such lovely little things that made her heart beat wildly inside the detective’s chest.

“Say, Shinshia.”

“Yes?”

“You said you came here to make sure I didn’t steal anything, right?”

Shinshia raised an eyebrow in confusion, but she nodded. Where was he going on with this? Was he actually going to do that? She told it as a joke, she didn’t want to work tonight.

“Heh, well, my beloved Shinshia... ” Karamatsu leaned down slightly and whispered. “I believe I already stole something.”

Shinshia didn’t really notice the song grew faster until a violin screeched in delight and suddenly Karamatsu was really close. When the song was over, he had dipped her just as the last violin ended with an exaggerated flourish.

Karamatsu leaned forward, his lips brushing hers, and perhaps it hadn’t been such a bad thing, tripping over her own shoe. Not when she could feel him gaze at her in rapt adoration. Not when Karamatsu had her so lovingly wrapped in his hands, and clutching as if she was the most fragile, most precious thing in the world that had happened to him.

No, perhaps it was for the best.

#Self Insert #Shinshia Doremi #Karamatsu #osomatsu san #My writing #my art #HAPPY VALENTINES DAY!!! HAVE SOME CRINGE <3 #the lyrics song she's singing to herself was written by me!!!#the song is called ''alone together''. hence the title lol #also yeah shia gets distracted easily by her own thoughts (bc shes me AKLSDMA)#i have no idea if valentine parties exist actually. they prolly do tho #btw if you wonder: ''Also every celebration needs a party obviously'' part?? yes it was sarcasm LMAO #more or less what you can expect in Nil Admirari #albeit the romance wouldnt happen so fast AJKSFNAJKS this is a oneshot after all

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laventadorn · 4 years

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Snape's Closet

(A little something for my favorite fanfic author. The REAL reason why Snape’s clothing was, while simple in color and lacking in embellished adornment, very well made and stylish.)

It was a normal thing, that twice a year both Dumbledore and Narcissa (not together, mind you) would steal away into his closet (it was the only time Narcissa would ever step foot in Spinner’s End) to comment, bemoan, and deride his personal tastes in clothing. To the point that Snape would let them both (again, never together) take him on a day long shopping spree just so long as they’d shut up about his wardrobe and leave him alone (at least until that same time the next year).

Dumbledore was always the first to comment on his dreary clothes (because of course he was) here and there as the school year progressed. Until just about the end of the winter season, Snape would arrive in his rooms, usually on a Friday, after a long day of teaching to see half his wardrobe flung over tables, chairs, and his own bed. He’d usually appear just in time to have a black shirt or black cloak flung in his face, whilst hearing Dumbledore (who’d always perfectly anticipated Snape’s arrival) say, “Honestly, Severus, my dear boy, do you own anything that isn’t black? Here I thought I had done a good and thorough job of sneaking some color into your wardrobe.” Dumbledore was referring to the six-feet-long-technicolor-socks-that-could-only-really-be-warn-as-scarfs that he’d gifted to Snape every year for Christmas and Snape’s birthday since 1982 (the year after he’d first started teaching).

Snape remembered that first time so distinctly as it had been the first present he’d ever received since he was fifteen.

Those very same socks-that-were-so-long-they-could-only-be-worn-as-scarfs were, once Snape was alone with them, always magically shortened to a more modest length and their garish colors transformed to a much more tolerable black. Not that that didn’t stop Dumbledore from trying almost desperately to insert color into Snape’s grim existence. The sly old man simply went about it in a more cunning, and unGryffindor, way. He now chose darker colors, but one’s that were not black, in hopes of sneaking color into Snape’s closet. Dark greens, purples, midnight blues and once a dark burgundy. The last of which Snape had magically turned black right in front of Dumbledore out of principle that as a Slytherin he would never wear red, no matter how dark the shade of color was. Red was still red, and he was a Slytherin.

The end result to Dumbledore’s invasion of Snape’s closet was Snape tersely agreeing to go shopping with Dumbledore in Hogsmeade the next day (sometimes Snape didn’t even agree, tersely or not, yet somehow always found himself in Gladrags). Snape, at the very least, always came prepared to the fittings with his pockets filled with at least three potions to ward off any headaches he knew he was bound to have.

The shopping trip always seemed to appease Dumbledore enough that it would be another year before Snape would inevitably have to endure it again.

Narcisssa, on the other hand, was more subtle in her efforts to turn Snape into a proper gentleman of the Wizarding community. She did not foist color on him as Dumbledore did. Instead, the would occasionally send him a lovely silver inlay cigarette box, or new wand holster, or a fashionable new cloak - all well made and all very expensive. Upon the rare occasion she appeared in Spinner’s End it was usually to drag him out of his gloomy cave with promises of cigarettes and the chance to insult fops and dandies as they shopped. In the end, he still prepared himself a few potions to stave off the headaches the poking and prodding of seemingly endless fittings would induce.

Overall, he appreciated (or more like tolerated) Narcissa’s efforts better. She at least respected his need to stay in the fashionable confines of the black color spectrum. After all, he could make the argument that black was at least a respectable color. Narcissa also never tried to foist sequins into his wardrobe, for which he was eternally grateful.

#submission #this came 1 million years ago during some tumblr hiatus i was on fhghgjajgh i am so sorry!!#tner tag

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hoodoo12 · 4 years

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Ménage (1/13ish)

Based on a rp I’ve done with the insanely talented @monsterlovinghours , here’s 13 chapters + 2 supplemental stories featuring my Beetlejuice, her OC, and a surprise guest star . . .

SFW and NSFW chapters, Beetlejuice/f!OC, smut, trespassers, violence, comfort and care

Enjoy!

@beetlewise-and-pennyjuice @dilfyjuice @thewolfisapartofmysoul

The air felt charged, heavy with static and anticipation as she set the final pieces of her altar in place. Herbs to attract, to sanctify the space and make the veil between the living world and the next paper-thin, easily breached. Incense, to purify. Sigils to charge her magic, like amplifiers drawn in white chalk to channel and to cast. Lastly, she set three tapered candles in separate jars, evenly spaced, and lit them from right to left. First, the black candle, for grounding and focus. Then, the green, for good fortune in her endeavor. And finally, the white, for goodness and purity. There was no way the ritual could fail. Right?

Molly took a deep breath, in for three, and out for five. The incantation she had spent the entire day memorizing ran through her head, line by line; she knew it by heart, but even so, her heart wavered. There was no guarantee it would work the way she wanted to, or even work at all; magic was tricky that way, she had found. Spells of this magnitude were just a little beyond her pay grade; she had stuck mostly to kitchen magic, green magic, safe magic. Things to help her garden grow, to bring a sense of peace into her empty home.

Empty.

She cleared her throat. Steeled her resolve. She had faith in her ability, and if there was anything her home needed, it was a good spirit to help fill it. Another deep breath, and the spell began to spill from her lips, palms placed flat upon the altar. The words filled the quiet space, gathering momentum, until the final syllable dropped like a guillotine, and the candles blew out, plunging the room into the darkness.

Did it work?

As always, there was the bittersweet taste in his mouth and a pressure in his gut that made him want to curl up and stretch at the same time. He grimaced at first, but the sweet grew stronger than the bitter with each recitation of his name, and by third syllable of the third repeat, he felt like he could take on the world.

With an ecstatic laugh, Beetlejuice stepped out of the nowhere and into here, wherever here was. His amber eyes landed on the breather who'd been so kind as to call him.

"Baby, you have made my day!" he crowed, and swept towards her, arms open wide for a hug.

She screamed. She couldn't help it. The laugh was answer enough that her spell had worked, jarring and maybe just a little bit unhinged. Not the gentle chill or whisper that she had been expecting. And then, to see something so very solid and un-spiritlike come charging out of the darkness, arms open as its eyes and teeth glittered in equal measure? She scrambled backward, heart hammering in her chest. That was not the result she had been hoping to yield.

Pressed to the wall, she paused a moment, willing herself to settle down; there was no reason to believe she was in any immediate danger. After all, it had called her baby, seemed practically giddy to be here in her living room, and had approached her with gratitude. Very intimidating gratitude.

"Wh . . . who are you?"

Her heart still galloping in her chest, she fumbled for the light switch, flooding the room with light and getting a better look at her new houseguest. At first glances, yes, he seemed terrifying. But, as she looked closer, the less imposing he seemed. Tall, wearing a dingy, threadbare suit in garish black and white carnival stripes, chipped nails a dull black, his hair a mossy green.

"Are you . . . you're not a spirit, are you?"

"What is that, sage?" Beetlejuice asked the woman who was half cowering against the wall. "Smells good, baby, but not as good as you, I bet."

He winked and swooped in, giving her a hug that squeezed her arms to her sides. She was cute. To be polite, he should answer her questions.

"Am I a spirit?" he replied. "Like the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come? Nah. More like the Ghost with the Most. The spirit of here and now and let's have some fun, ya know? But first things first--you called me up. Who do I need to kill?"

Before she could reply that yes, that was sage, sage and lavender and palo santo and a host of other herbs, he had swept her up into a bone-crushing hug that nearly pushed the air out of her lungs. Her spine creaked in protest, groaning as the smell of him surrounded her, wet earth and moss and a hint of something sulphuric. Unusual, but not altogether unpleasant. And there was that pet name again; he certainly was a flirtatious . . . whatever he was.

Her eyes widened when she heard the word kill leave his mouth, and she frantically shook her head.

"No! No, no, no one, no one needs killing!"

Despite her arms being pinned, she did her best to grasp at him, managing to grab his hips and try to push him back just enough to allow her to take a full breath.

"Let's . . . whoa, okay, slow down a second. So you are a ghost? You seem pretty solid to me." The Ghost of Here and Now, he had called himself, and she didn't want to think about the kind of fun he was alluding to.

"And you don't have to call me baby. My name is Molly."

Her hands on his hips were a trigger to press into her more tightly. He couldn't help it; it just felt right.

He barely listened to her list of whatever ingredients she was talking about, but his ears perked up at the word "kill", only to realize that once again, that was off the table. As to her other question, the one she seemed stuck on, he replied,

"Ghost, spirit, demon . . . Does that really matter? You called. I, uh, came. And I like calling you baby. If that doesn't vibe with you, there's always ‘baby girl.’ How's that for a compromise?"

He grinned at her, and tried not to show too many pointed teeth.

Now not only were his arms pinning her, his body was as well, crushing her against the wall. Okay. Wrong place to grab. Molly instead wriggled her arms up to press against his chest, hoping to push him back a hair so she could breathe.

"'Baby' is fine," she muttered in defeat; 'baby girl' was a realm she was not comfortable stepping into only knowing him for a minute and a half at most. "And no, I . . . I suppose it doesn't matter."

She sighed in defeat; the spell had done its job, and it wasn't her guest's fault she didn't specify exactly what kind of spirit she wanted.

"Can, um, can you let up a bit? I'm getting lightheaded."

Her gaze lifted to his face, noticing now that there were patches of green on his jaw and by his nose. Moss? Mold? Rot? Each possibility seemed more disturbing than the last. Yet, past the unidentifiable substances, he wasn't half-bad on the eyes. Eyes the color of honey, framed by dark lashes. Grinning lips that held a distinct purplish hue, and rather sharp teeth. Huh. Surprisingly enough, she wasn't afraid of his inhuman appearance, no small amount of fascination creeping into her gaze. Well, he may not be the spirit she had wanted, but she could be happy with what she got.

"Is there something I can call you?"

Her wiggling felt nice, until he remembered breathers needed to breathe, and he relaxed his grip. He only took half a step away, though, she was too warm to just let go!

"What to call me?" Beetlejuice mused, licking his teeth. "Honey or lover are good. Sweetheart. Love of my life! Don't laugh, but I'm a little partial to lambkins, even if it's from like the fifteenth century. "

He'd seen the slow interest growing in her eyes disappear like candy floss in water, and reined it in.

"You can call me BJ. Or Beej," he quickly amended. "So what made someone sweet as you call up someone like me?

Much needed oxygen filled her lungs as he took a half-step back, his arms still pressed around her. That was fine, as long as she could breathe. As it was, her hands were still on his chest, despite the sought-after distance. It was just . . . nice. Despite the lack of warmth or discernible heartbeat, it was nice to touch and be touched. When was the last time she had actually experienced deliberate touch?

Molly couldn't help it; at the offered pet names, she let out a short laugh.

"Sorry, wow, but lambkins?" She hadn't meant to laugh; it had slipped out before she could catch it, and for the first time since his arrival, she was able to slip into a small smile. "Beej is good. Or, y'know, I used to call people 'honey' all the time anyway. That's fine with me.

"Well," she started, nodding to what remained of her altar; she had accidentally kicked it as she had scrambled backward, knocking the candles and half the herbs to the floor, "I was attempting to summon a spirit that would be good for my home, a . . . calming presence. I don't think I did it right."

She sighed. "Still learning the big stuff. But you're here anyway, and honestly? It's just . . . it's nice to hear someone else's voice."

It may have been a trick of the light, but what could have been hope glinted in her eyes as she looked up at him. "So, I mean, even though you're not what I meant to summon, you're welcome to stay, if you'd like."

Beetlejuice smiled as she laughed, even at his expense. It had been a while since he'd spent time with a warm living person, and the fact that she hadn't actively pushed him away was nice. Nice enough that she was going to feel the effect she was having on the ol' Sandworm in his pants, if he couldn't will it away.

"You have a pretty voice," he told her, before shaking his head. "A calming spirit? Like a brownie, uh, house spirit or some kind of fey? What the hell for? Those things aren't calming, they're like goddamn raccoons on speed, getting into all your stuff. And if you invite them in, then piss them off?! They'll make your life a living hell, baby."

He stared off into the middle distance for a second, then gave himself a shake.

"So. Yeah. You're lucky you got me instead! You did a good job wrapping your tongue around those syllables . . . I bet it'd be good wrapped around other things too."

He cocked an eyebrow at her.

Despite the alarming oddness of her current situation, the compliment caused a petal-pink blush to spread across her cheeks, eyes dropping as he admonished her against inviting spirits into her home. At least, the troublesome sort, of which she was not fully convinced he was not.

The pink quickly flushed to red at his very thinly veiled innuendo, choking on air at the insinuation and the suggestive arch of his brow.

"U-Uh . . . " She had nothing. Not a single response. Her brain short circuited at the thought. "Well, th-that . . . is not outside the realm of possibility, but . . . Jesus, I haven't even talked to another person face to face in almost two years. Let me get to know you a little better before I wrap my tongue around anything, huh?"

Her hands gave his chest a gentle pat, then dropped, indicating that she wanted to move from her spot against the wall. "Do you wanna go sit down? Personally I could use a drink. Do you drink? Can you drink?"

His eyes flicked from her lips to the color on her cheeks and back to her lips again, amused at her cute flustered stuttering. The rest of it though; he pursed his own lips for a moment and cocked his head.

"You haven't spoken to anyone in almost two years? Did you take some vow of silence? Did talking to me break that vow, and--" he dropped his voice in a conspiratorial whisper, "--now you're going to hell? Let me tell you, it's totally worth it, minus the smell. All the demon dick or snatch you might want. Everybody swings both ways, sexually."

In case she wasn't one hundred percent sure what he meant, he released her and made two hand gestures, one to each side to give a visual demonstration. He glanced back up at her with a smirk before it came to him he may have overstepped a little, and he reeled it back in.

"But you know what? You've probably got your reasons," he said, waving the whole thing off. "What've you got to drink? Absinthe? Gin? Corked wine? I'm not too picky."

With that, he finally backed away, spinning on his heel to investigate the room she'd called him too. He knelt and picked up a candle that had fallen to the ground, the green one, and twirled it between his fingers. He pinched some of the scattered plant material he found too, and sniffed it; to his disappointment it was not weed. Standing again, he righted all the candles and set the green one in its place.

"How'd you find my name, anyway?" he asked casually, lighting the green candle from the tip of his finger, and then extinguishing the flame again. "Usually people pronounce it differently and, uh, get this shorter version. Of me."

He lit the candle again, then smashed the flame between his thumb and fingers peevishly, imagining it was the other guy's face. Suddenly, though, he whipped around to her.

"Where are my manners? What's your name, baby?" he asked, as if he'd been horribly rude.

The gesture made her flush deepen a shade, a strange knot forming low in her belly, and she shook her head.

"No . . . no, no vow of silence. It's . . . well, it's a long story, and I'd prefer to have liquor in me if I'm gonna unpack all of that." She took a deep breath, willing the burning in her cheeks to fade before starting for the kitchen. "I have strawberry whiskey. Pink as French whore but it kicks like a rifle. Or I have regular whiskey, but that's not as fun."

She quickly poured drinks, the familiar sound of ice crackling as she poured whiskey over it into two glasses helping her calm back down. Okay. She had a ghost in her living room. A very solid, very bold, and admittedly very handsome ghost. This was fine. This was good. This was basically what she wanted, and the fact that she could touch her guest? A perk.

She came back out with glasses in hand to find him at the altar, settling the candles back in place, lighting one only to snuff it out again. Apparently he can produce fire from his fingertips. Neat.

"Well . . . I had to do some digging, but . . ." She sighed and handed him his drink. "This is embarrassing. I searched for a spell that would attract a good spirit . . . to a lonely soul." She grimaced and jerked her thumb toward herself. "Three guesses who that is.

"And my name is Molly. Nice to official meet you, honey." With a smirk, even daring a wink at the suggested nickname, she sank onto the couch and indicated that he should do the same.

Beetlejuice accepted the glass and sniffed the pink liquid in it suspiciously.

"It's a nice color," he told her. "Matches that pretty blush of yours.”

It smelled like alcohol, with a faint top note of sweet, so he shrugged and threw it back. The familiar burn of booze gave him faux warmth on its way down. Then the ice hit his teeth and it dawned on him people put ice in drinks that were to be sipped. Breathers and their weird social rules.

"Molly. Nice to meet you too, baby," he said, holding up his now empty glass in a toast. He sank onto the couch, like this was a proper social visit. "Lonely? A hot babe like you? I have a hard time believing that. But--"

He paused and dropped his gaze to the glass in his hand.

"--it's something I'm familiar with. That spell might've worked just fine, baby. Connected two lonely people. Brought 'em together."

That was a little more personal than he tended to get. He'd toss it off as an effect of the booze, if she asked, but one glass of whiskey wasn't enough to affect him. It was just her and the fact she called him.

He lifted his eyes to hers again, although he didn't pick up his head, gazing at her from slightly under his brows, slightly from the side.

"So, Molly, what were you hoping would come out of inviting a spirit into your place?"

Hot babe? She scoffed derisively, sipping her drink as he settled into the couch beside her. "Dunno what's hot about a social recluse with emotional baggage, but whatever you say, hon."

Her brow raised as he admitted that her spell might have worked better than she thought, that he was just as starved for company as she was. Did ghosts get lonely? Where were all the other dead people? Molly couldn't help a small smile, her heart feeling tugged toward him. When he cast his gaze at her, looking aside as if afraid to face her directly, she scooted closer, cross-legged on the couch facing him.

"Mostly I was hoping to feel less alone. I cut off contact with people for my own reasons, but that doesn’t keep me from getting lonely. I figured if not the living, try the dead." Gently, her touch feather light, she reached out and put a hand on his arm. "Honestly? I wasn't expecting to have a guest I could touch. So I'm glad I got you."

It was foreign to him why someone would purposefully choose to not be with people. That was a driving force in his existence; a need that was only marginally met, and usually only a fraction of the time he wanted it.

He lifted his head more properly and looked her over more fully. No matter how she scoffed her own personal opinion of herself, she was pretty.

Her shifting closer on the cushions and even going so far as to put one of her hands on him sent a thin electric jolt through him. He could even imagine the warmth of her palm seeping through his jacket sleeve.

"A guest you could touch, huh? Some beings can become corporeal, baby, but not all of them are willing to let humans touch them. You're lucky you didn't call something celestial," he said with a grin. "Luckily, I'm not one of them."

Her grin seemed to mirror his, though hers was decidedly less sharp.

"Honey, I'm still small time, I don’t think I have the juice to call something celestial."

Her hand rubbed his arm, noting the interesting texture of his suit, ragged and coarse. Already, the house felt less cavernous, less empty, less haunted with him here, and how was that for irony? It may take some adjusting, but she was looking forward to him staying here.

If he even intended to stay.

Her hand faltered a bit at the thought. No one stayed. That was the point. As if wrapped in iron bands, her chest suddenly felt tight, and she looked down as if noticing his empty glass for the first time.

"Let me top you off," she said quietly, taking the glass, the ice inside barely melted, since there was no body heat to warm the glass. "You wanna try regular whiskey this time or are we sticking with the pink stuff?"

The petting was nice. Even if it was to just feel the texture of his suit, he could imagine it was for him.

"Don't think you couldn't catch the attention of something celestial, baby," he told her sincerely, before dropping his voice as if maybe one of them was listening in. "Like demons, they're whores. Always looking for attention. But with their aversion to being touched by a human, they're more Dommy than anything else."

He threw her a wink, but his smile faded at her sudden change in demeanor. She'd become smaller, somehow, as she took his glass. Still, he couldn't help but try again.

"You can definitely top me, Molly," he replied as he gave up the glass, deliberately leaving any reference to drink out.

His bold joke made her somber expression break into laughter suddenly, a quick chuff as she hid pinked cheeks behind her hand. Molly pretended to scold him, though her eyes smiled, a grin twitching on her mouth.

"Behave."

In the kitchen, she poured him a measure of the regular whiskey, which unfortunately was cheap. The plastic jug it came in sloshd half-empty as she filled his glass. His various suggestive comments and innuendos hadn’t gone unnoticed, or, frankly, unappreciated. The thought, ghost or not, made heat shiver down her spine, a feeling she was very unfamiliar with. But still, Molly remained doubtful that he could actually mean it. Sure, it was all fun and games until he figured out her story, understood the weight of the burden he'd be taking on with her.

Why was she even worrying about this? He was dead. What higher standard could he possibly have? Molly rolled her eyes and took a swig straight from the jug, grimacing at the bitterness. She'd spend all night in the kitchen fretting at this rate.

Refreshed drinks in hand, she settled back on the couch, in the same position as he before, her folded knees brushing his thigh. Her unoccupied hand reached for his, the chill of his flesh less of a shock now, with the warmth of the liquor in her blood.

tbc

#writing #fanfiction #beetlejuice #Beetlejuice x OC #rp #Beetlejuice based on blumjuice

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lady-divine-writes · 4 years

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I Was Praying for You and Me: Chapter 3 - You Are my Favorite Distraction (Rated NC17)

Summary: Kurt and Sebastian are not together, and Kurt is sure that this break up is the last one. But when tragedy strikes over Christmas, of all times, Sebastian is the only person who comes to Kurt's rescue.

This is an ACITW inspired ficlet that I wrote, written for the Hummel Holidays prompts 'Christmas' and 'New Years Eve'. Based off the head canon I had, and mentioned in the one-shot 'Under the Fireworks' that I wrote, that during the course of their relationship, they suffered several small break ups, and one big one. This happens during the big one. But it has a happy ending. :)

Read on AO3.

Lights.

To get his mind off things, Kurt stares at all the lights he can see from the passenger seat of Sebastian’s car. He names them, counts them, categorizes them the same way he did with street signs driving home from his mother’s funeral. Mindless busywork his dad had called it, which sounded insulting except it gave him something to dwell on instead of reality - a future where he never sees his mom again. Truth be told, that’s a reality he never has gotten a firm grasp of. There are days that, despite all of the love and support he has around him, he wishes she was there.

And there are days that, despite the years gone by, he wakes up and, in the haze between awake and dreaming, forgets that she’s dead.

He’s not ready to go through the same thing with his dad.

He can’t lose him yet.

Single street lights, traffic lights (in units of three), Christmas lights strung in fifties, hundreds, two hundreds, the neon light from a diner Kurt doesn’t remember ever seeing before, a garish purple sign in the window flashing the word closed. Kurt wonders if that diner, with it’s shabby-chic gingham curtains and picnic tables instead of regular tables, is one of the places Sebastian called in his search for the impossible – a restaurant open on Christmas. It’s just a diner, but its existence proclaims something stronger, more terrifying than Kurt wants to acknowledge.

Times have changed.

This city – Lima, Ohio - that Kurt once hated with a burning passion, has changed.

His father, sleeping in a hospital bed and surrounded by cellophane-wrapped cocoons of inedible food when he should be at home, has definitely changed. More than Kurt is comfortable with.

He has changed. No longer the closeted kid waiting for his moment, he’s had moments. Tons of moments. Moments he’s proud of. Moments he’s learned from. Moments he’d rather forget. Moments he wishes he could go back to.

Sebastian has changed, too.

And as a couple – romantic, friends, or otherwise - he knows they’ve changed together. He’s owned up to that change more than once. It’s one of the reasons they’re in this situation. Because they’ve changed, and Kurt doesn’t know if they can change back, even in some small way so that they can see eye to eye again.

Does he want to? Will it help?

Or is there a path forward that’s better even if he can’t see it now, where they walk alone for while but meet each other at the end?

But since that thought strays into Sebastian territory (territory that, for the time being, Kurt is trying to avoid) he goes back to looking at the lights. Because the lights are keeping him from grilling Sebastian for information, ask him what happened back at the hospital, what it all meant. Ask him if he knows the thing that no one’s telling him.

Is his father going to be okay?

Kurt watches the lights pass by, the buildings change into houses, the amount of cars parked by the curb increase. He counts the cars, sorts them by color in his head. But the mundane begins to drive him insane, and the words piling up in his brain behind an ever crumbling wall of minutiae tumble over the edge.

“So,” he says. It’s an opening, an invitation if Sebastian chooses to take it.

Even if he doesn’t, Kurt will more than likely keep going anyway. The floodgates are opening. The barricades won’t hold.

“So ...” Sebastian returns, eyes scanning the road ahead unnecessarily.

He’s not a complete idiot. He knows what Kurt is doing.

“What did he say to you?”

“When?”

“You know when?”

Sebastian makes a middle-ground face - the face one makes at a car salesman who comments about the weather as an opening salvo before he starts haggling about price. “Honestly, not much.”

Kurt huffs. “I don’t believe you.”

Sebastian shrugs. “It’s the truth. He just wanted to make sure that you were okay. Asked me to keep an eye on you.”

“You’re lying.”

Sebastian smirks. In this low light, it makes him look years younger, makes Kurt’s heart skip a beat. He wishes that smirk could transport them back in time to when things were simpler, when the most pressing thing on Kurt’s mind was that his so-called soulmate had cheated on him and how in the hell he was going to come up with ten thousand dollars to pay for admission to NYADA.

If he’d only known then how petty those things were, how easy to solve.

Ironically, he was able to overcome both those problems with the help of the man sitting next to him.

“It’s been known to happen, but I’m not lying now.”

Kurt considers debating the point further, not because he doesn’t believe Sebastian, but because provoking Sebastian into an argument would give him something else to take his mind off things besides staring out the Goddammed window.

He’s running out of things to count.

“If the silence is wearing on you, you can put on the radio,” Sebastian offers, reading Kurt’s mind. “I’m pretty sure there’s one or two stations not playing Christmas carols.”

“I doubt it.”

“It’s worth a shot.”

“I guess …” Kurt reaches for it, but an inch away, he stops. Memories flood back - good ones, bad ones. This car, his house, this town are chock full of too many memories.

Too many landmines he can’t seem to avoid stepping onto.

They show up without warning, incapacitate him when they explode.

It’s becoming too much.

He pulls his hand back, crosses his arms over his chest. He hugs himself tight, hunkers down in his seat, and starts counting wreaths.

***

Sebastian pulls up in front of the Hudmel house and parks by the curb. Kurt doesn’t move. He hasn’t fallen asleep, he just doesn’t have it in him. He doesn’t want to sleep in Sebastian’s car but he doesn’t want to bother with incidentals like walking and finding his keys.

And Sebastian knows.

He lets the engine idle, keeps the heater running.

Waits in silence till Kurt has the energy to move.

Kurt stares at the cozy house decorated to the nines for the holidays. His dad and stepmom love Christmas as much as the next middle-aged, suburban couple, but they decorate mainly for him and Finn. He and his stepbrother have managed to spend most every Christmas since high school graduation at the Hudmel house, and usually, Sebastian and Rachel spend it with them.

Not this time.

His and Sebastian’s situation is, of course, complicated.

Finn and Rachel were scheduled to join them the following week. They’d gone on some Rosie O’Donnell comedy cruise with her dads. Carole called Finn from the hospital, just to give him the news, but he’s making arrangements to fly in the second he reaches their next port of call. Until then, it’s Kurt holding down the fort. But no amount of sitting outside in the cold, wearing down Sebastian’s engine, is going to make his father get better faster.

And as awful as it sounds, Kurt has to think about himself.

Kurt starts to stir, and Sebastian turns off the engine.

Sebastian gets out of the car, reaching Kurt’s door before Kurt can open it, and offers him his arm. Kurt takes it. Looking up into his ex-boyfriend’s face, the street lamp behind him giving him a blurry, sodium-orange halo, Kurt yawns.

“Ready to pass out, huh?” Sebastian asks, leading Kurt up the icy walk. He catches Kurt’s keys when he fumbles them and helps put the correct one in the lock.

“My body is,” Kurt says, opening the door and walking inside. “My brain wants to solve the Riemann Hypothesis.”

“Brutal.”

“Yeah. It would make more sense if I liked math.”

Sebastian locks the door for Kurt, who looks ready to knock out where he stands. And as much as he wants to let Kurt crash, he doesn’t want him to drop emotionally. What Kurt deserves is twenty-seven hours of peaceful, uninterrupted sleep, but he needs to ease into it.

“Are you in the mood to watch a movie?” Sebastian asks, turning on the central heat and switching on the lights, bringing the house to life. “Maybe binge watch some late night television? I can rustle up some snacks. Uh …” He’s about to make a comment about Kurt’s dad hiding something in the kitchen he shouldn’t be eating, but it strikes him as tasteless to make jokes, no matter how much he knows Burt would appreciate his humor. “I could whip up some French toast. You remember how stellar my French toast is.”

Kurt cracks a small smile and triumph, for the moment, is Sebastian’s.

Another memory, but this one not as devastating … the damage to the kitchen notwithstanding.

“Thanks,” Kurt says, “but I’m (yawn) exhausted. So, if you don’t mind …”

“Do you want me to leave?” Sebastian asks, feeling uneasy for suggesting it considering what he’d promised Burt.

“No. I just … I would rather hang out in my room, if that’s not too weird for you. This way if I fall asleep, you won’t feel obligated to carry me to bed.”

An image pops into Sebastian’s head of him carrying Kurt, bridal style, to his room. Then his brain helpfully reminds him of all the times he has carried Kurt to bed, and it almost does him in. “The boiler room would be weird. Your bedroom, not so much.”

“Boiler room? Who do I look like? Freddy Krueger?” Kurt mumbles, trudging his way to his room. Step by step everything becomes difficult. The act of lifting his foot can go straight to hell and burn in a fire. He feels very much like he’s fighting molasses and the molasses is winning. Part of him wants to stop, lay down in the hallway and conk out. But he can’t do that.

He can’t give up.

He can’t sleep here since he doesn’t know how often Carole or his father cleans this floor, and he’s wearing one of his best pairs of jeans.

He reaches for the doorknob about three feet before he reaches the door. He might as well do it now while he’s thinking about it. Otherwise he might not have the motivation when he gets there. He turns it, pushes in, lets the door swing. If it rebounds while he’s walking through, there’s a fifty-fifty chance he might let it smack him in the face.

He couldn’t care less.

He stops at the foot of his bed and starts taking off his coat.

“Why do bedrooms always seem smaller when you go back to them?” he asks. “I mean, I only lived here during high school, but it still seems tiny to me.”

“I think because when you’re young, your bedroom is your whole world. But when you leave home, you outgrow that world. Ergo, you outgrow them.”

Kurt chuckles dryly. “You’re one to talk. Your childhood bedroom’s about the size of a studio apartment!”

“Yes but the penthouse I live in now makes it seem so much dinkier,” Sebastian claps back with a smirk. “Did you want to take a shower or …?”

“If you don’t mind …” Kurt tugs off his sweatshirt, tosses it on a chair, then starts unbuttoning his shirt “… I’d really rather fuck if it’s all the same to you.”

Sebastian’s face goes blank and his eyes pop. “I’m sorry. Wha---?”

Sebastian doesn’t finish his question.

Kurt digs into the last of his reserves and crashes their mouths together. “Did I stutter?” he whispers, reaching for Sebastian’s belt.

“No, I just … mmph … I want to be sure …”

Kurt tugs hard on the leather, freeing the strap from the buckle in one pull. “Do you want me to stop?”

“That depends … do you really want to do this? I mean really?”

Kurt looks into Sebastian’s eyes, the right corner of his mouth sliding up into a cocky grin. “Absolutely.”

Sebastian’s grin matches Kurt. “Then by all means.” He crouches, hugs Kurt’s legs around the thighs, then picks him up and carries him to the bed. “You know, when your dad told us to go do something fun, I was hoping we’d do this.”

“Probably not the best time to mention my dad,” Kurt says, starting in on Sebastian’s shirt even though he’s only about halfway done with his own, “all things considered.”

“Gotcha.” Then Sebastian kisses him. And apart from taking a breath or two, he doesn’t stop.

Despite the fact that Kurt is wearing a pair of jeans so tight Sebastian thought he might have to cut Kurt out of them, both of them end up completely naked in a ridiculously short amount of time, clothes tossed about like confetti, not in keeping with Kurt’s usual edict that everything be laid out neatly on the nearest piece of unused furniture. Lube and a condom are located and not by Kurt. Sebastian knows all of Kurt’s tricks and hiding places. He doesn’t look as he reaches under the mattress and to the middle drawer of the dresser, completely confident that what he needs will be there when he reaches out a hand in search of it.

And he’s right.

Sebastian sits up with his back against the headboard. He rolls the condom over his cock while Kurt straddles him, taking a moment to stack pillows behind Sebastian’s back so the wood doesn’t dig into his spine.

“Thanks, love,” Sebastian whispers as Kurt positions himself, starts working himself down. He nips at Sebastian’s bottom lip, never staying in the same place longer than a second, keeping him on his toes.

“Jesus fuck!” Sebastian growls when Kurt begins to move, grabbing his shoulders and pushing down, burying himself in Kurt’s body deeper … deeper …

Kurt goes deeper. He also goes faster, hitting Sebastian’s thighs hard - deeper and faster, pleasure and pain bouncing off one another until he begins to see stars.

“You know,” Kurt moans, “this doesn’t mean anything. I’m just … I’m just using you as a distraction.”

“Kurt” – Sebastian grabs Kurt’s hips to slow him down, but Kurt slaps his hands away. He’ll go as fast as he likes, as hard as he wants, and when they’re done, they’re going to do this again. They’re going to do this till he can’t remember his own name, till his mind is wiped clean, till the exhaustion in his body is so overwhelming he can’t do anything but close his eyes and pass out. He’s going to do this until he can effectively erase the past twelve hours of his life. And then, they’re going to do it again – “when have I ever objected to being used as a distraction by you?”

“Yeah, well, I could just as well slap you in the face.”

Sebastian bucks up, willing to play this Kurt’s way if this is really the way Kurt wants it. “Do you … nngh … want to slap me in the face?”

“Only every time I see you,” Kurt admits, stopping and hovering so Sebastian can have a turn at pounding him instead.

But Sebastian stops altogether and it pisses Kurt off, especially with the addition of his raised eyebrow and his smug-ass expression.

“Then do it,” Sebastian says.

Kurt chuckles nervously. “Are you kidding me?”

“Not at all. If you want to slap me, go ahead. Get it out of your system.”

Without another beat lost, Kurt rears back and slaps Sebastian across the face. Sebastian’s face flies to the side as he takes the hit. He turns back to look at Kurt, a red hand mark visible across his cheek. They lock eyes, both with peculiar looks of surprise on their faces.

Kurt can’t lie. Slapping Sebastian feels amazing.

Sebastian must think so, too, because he stares at Kurt, lips twisted into the most sinisterly erotic smile Kurt has ever seen.

Kurt considers asking Sebastian if he hurt him, but he doesn’t. He slaps him again. This time, Sebastian hisses, but Kurt doesn’t let him catch his breath, slapping him a third time for good measure. Sebastian catches Kurt’s wrist and holds it; holds his gaze, too, trying to decipher what’s going on in his mind.

“I’m gonna switch things up a bit,” Sebastian says. “Do you mind?”

Kurt shoots him a curious look. “Not at all.”

Sebastian slides out of Kurt’s body only long enough to re-position him on his knees facing the headboard, then grabs his hips roughly and enters him from behind. His hands roam, pinching at Kurt’s thighs and slapping his ass while he gnaws his shoulders. He wraps an arm around Kurt’s body, a hand creeping up to his neck. The hand doesn’t close around, doesn’t squeeze. It’s just there, a symbol of Sebastian’s possessive nature where Kurt is concerned.

Mine.

I call him mine.

Even if they’re not officially together, on some level, Kurt belongs to him, especially now when he’s consuming him.

Kurt grabs the headboard and holds on tight, turning at an angle to catch Sebastian’s gaze. He loves looking at Sebastian during sex, loves seeing the desperation in his green eyes.

And Kurt does see it, but it has little to do with the sex they’re having. Sebastian is begging, trying to hold on to every second, hoping it’s not the last time they’ll have together.

He’s looking at Kurt the way Kurt looked at his dad, and Kurt realizes he’s not okay. He’s not okay with losing his dad.

But he’s also not okay with losing Sebastian.

What exactly had Sebastian done?

He’d overstepped a line, the same way he always does, but not necessarily in a bad way.

He didn’t cheat on him.

Like the hand on Kurt’s neck, he was being possessive. He did what he did because he cares. But Sebastian’s numero uno solution to everything is to buy a way out, so there are times when it seems he doesn’t take anything seriously, and Kurt can’t live that way. He can’t live in a sit-com where every situation that comes up, good or bad, has a punchline followed by canned laughter.

And he comes out looking like a naive idiot.

Why is tonight different?

A few thousand dollars, a few million dollars, can’t buy a solution to what’s going on with Kurt’s father. Yet Sebastian is here in bed with him, letting Kurt open up, be vulnerable. And aside from a few attempts to ease the tension at the hospital, he hasn’t cracked a single joke.

Because Sebastian has changed.

And if Kurt loved Sebastian then, he adores him now.

“Talk to me,” Kurt moans, unsettled by the quiet in the room, as if they’re together in this but still apart.

He can’t be apart.

He needs to be whole.

“What do you want me to say?”

“The first thing that comes to your mind.”

“I …” Sebastian hesitates, a brick lodged in his throat. “I love you, Kurt.”

“I love you, too,” Kurt admits. “But say something else.”

Thank God! Sebastian thinks, on the verge of tears. The sex is incredible, but hearing that Kurt still loves him … that’s what he’ll take awake from this, what he’ll carry with him if this ends up being the last time.

Dear God, don’t let this be the last time ...

“I love your ass.”

Kurt chuckles. “Better.” He pushes back, sticks his ass out, lets Sebastian have his way with him.

And Sebastian does because (this might sound lousy to say) here in Kurt’s bed, the man is in his element.

When it comes to sex (because that’s what they’re doing - having sex. Kurt refuses to think of this as making love. They’re fucking. That’s all …) Kurt hit the lottery with Sebastian. Ever since the first time, sex with Sebastian has been glorious, and it gets better the more they do it.

Kurt tries not to dwell on why that is.

But the man knows his way around a human body.

And he has the hands of an artist.

“Oh, Kurt,” Sebastian pants into Kurt’s shoulder, “Jesus Christ … I’m cumming … I’m cumming, I’m cumming ...”

Kurt huffs, put off by the fact that they’ve only been at it for around forty-five minutes - a mind-blowing forty-five minutes - and Sebastian is already throwing in the towel. Of course, Sebastian hasn’t been with anyone for the time they’ve been apart, so Kurt can’t blame the man.

Kurt hasn’t, either, so when Sebastian’s palm starts caressing his cock, his resolve starts circling the drain as well.

“Yes, yes, yes …” Kurt chants, his vision going prickly, then black before he even closes his eyes. This is it - this is where he escapes. Behind his eyelids, into the recesses of his mind, where thought disappears and sensation takes over. If he can just hold on to it, if Sebastian can make it last. He’d try if Kurt asked him to, but the words won’t come out. As with everything, there’s a point where things start to spiral out of his control. His muscles spasm and his body shudders. He has to choose between thinking of something to stop his orgasm and risk going unfulfilled, or giving in to the void, letting his body do its thing, and then start all over from the beginning once they catch their breath.

That’s the most logical course of action. And it’s not a bad one.

The thing that scares Kurt is that space in between, when he comes back from ecstasy and Sebastian’s heat and has to face the cold and dark. He’ll have to exist there with whatever thoughts his brain decides to throw at him until they can start again and Sebastian can wipe his mind clean.

He’ll have time, he figures. Time to get his head on straight, stop reeling, before the plunge happens. Three minutes? Four? He’ll only need five minutes before he’ll be ready to go again, to lose all thought in Sebastian’s arms. That means one minute of depression. Two at the most.

But he’s not as lucky as he thinks he’ll be.

It comes at him much too quickly.

Kurt leans against the headboard, hugging what he can of it so he doesn’t drown when the wave hits.

“Kurt? Honey? Are you okay?”

Kurt shakes his head.

“Is this … not what you wanted?” Sebastian slides his hand off Kurt’s shoulder and backs away. Kurt hears him gulp behind him. “Did you change your mind in the middle and I didn’t hear you?”

Kurt shakes his head again. “That’s not it. I did want this. I …” His body curls, sinks towards the pillows. “He’s not … he’s not leaving the hospital? Is he?”

Sebastian sighs. “I … I don’t know, Kurt.”

Kurt spins around and shoves Sebastian away, but he doesn’t go far. He doesn’t get up. He doesn’t leave. Kurt didn’t want him to, but he needed to be sure he wouldn’t.

As immature as it sounds, he needs to know that Sebastian won’t leave, even if Kurt pushes with all his might.

He needs Sebastian, but he needs to be able to hurt him, just a little, to even out the pain inside of him.

He’ll find a way to make that up to him later.

“Yes, you do!”

“I don’t! I swear!”

“You’re lying!”

“Kurt, babe, I’m not that cruel a person. Not to you. Even if he told me in the strictest confidence, I would still tell you because you deserve to know. We’re all on edge about this, all jumping seven steps ahead and assuming the worst, but to be honest, I don’t think he knows for sure.”

“Then what did he tell you?”

“Nothing! Like I said, he wants me to look after you. He’s scared, like you. That’s all. But you need to have a little faith.”

“In what?” Kurt snaps, irritated that Sebastian would spout faith with him of all people.

“In the people who love you, Kurt. The people who want to help you. Look, I know that at times like this, it feels like the best thing is to be alone, but I disagree. That’s just the easiest. And I get that. When you’re around people, you feel the need to be accommodating, and you don’t have the energy for that. But I think you need all of the fun and laughter you can find right now, with people who get that this is hard for you and will give you your space when you need it. Turns out, I just so happen to know a big house not two hours from here filled with people who would love to see you, who will shower you with love and affection, but will also ignore the shit out of you if you need it. Because, again, they love you.”

Kurt glares at Sebastian, eyes hard as glass, but he begins to soften when Sebastian’s hopeful gaze starts to slip.

He’s tired, too, but he’s doing everything in his power to be strong for Kurt.

Kurt needs to start giving some of that strength back.

“You’re really working hard to sell that love angle, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, well, it’s important. I want you to know that you’re loved.”

“I do,” Kurt says quietly, plopping on his side with a body-deflating sigh. Sebastian wastes no time lying behind him and winding his arms around him. He doesn’t hold tight in case Kurt wants to put some distance between them.

He doesn’t.

He moves closer.

“What do we do now?” Sebastian asks.

Kurt doesn’t want to be rushed into giving him an answer, even though he has one more or less figured out, but he also doesn’t fault Sebastian for asking. Sebastian had hitched quite a few of his future plans to his relationship with Kurt so Kurt understands.

Kurt did, too.

“I say we keep going on the way we are, not think about anything too heavy for the moment. We’ll go visit your folks, celebrate the holiday, and then, when we get back to New York, we’ll revisit it. I promise.”

“Fair enough,” Sebastian says, sounding a bit disappointed. “Do we still get to fuck?”

In another lifetime, it would have embarrassed Kurt how fast he answers. “Provided you’re a good boy, yes. Yes, we do.”

“Groovy. But just so you know, I’m always going to be yours, Kurt. Always. We’ve done everything aside from mortal combat to push one another away, and guess what?”

“What?”

Sebastian takes Kurt’s hand, weaves their fingers together. “I’m still here.”

“Me, too.” Kurt wriggles back into Sebastian’s embrace, buries himself against his body. Despite the confusing and uncomfortable situation they find themselves in, he’s grateful for this, that Sebastian would be so generous with his body even if Kurt isn’t giving him the security of absolutes. But Kurt can’t make decisions right now. He needs to hide from the world, from his life, his responsibilities.

From the inevitable.

There are way worse places to do that than Sebastian’s arms.

“Mortal Kombat?” Kurt snickers. “Still keeping up that nerd boy street cred, huh?”

“Oh, I don’t know …” Sebastian hugs Kurt tight, pulling the sheets over them and rocking him back and forth. He missed this. God, did he miss this. And even though he didn’t believe in God an inch, he silently prayed that he could get this back. Somehow, in some way, he needed this back. But for the moment, he was content to hold Kurt together, keep him from shattering. “I’d say that was a … flawless victory.”

Kurt rolls his eyes, groaning to the moon and back. “Shut up, Smythe, or I’m never fucking you again.”

#kurtbastian #acitw #acitw au #sebkurt #sekurt

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the-ipre · 4 years

Text

Fantasy High TMA AU for @rabdoidal, happy birthday! can be read here on ao3

half human

“End recording.” Adaine put the statement she had been reading back on the desk, pushing her glasses up as she rubbed at the bridge of her nose. The statement had been about a man who had collapsed into a pile of bones when a book he carried everywhere was stolen, and she could almost feel the flesh sloughing off of her own skeleton.

That had been happening more often as of late. Not specifically the feeling that she was going to lose all her skin, although that did sometimes happen, but more that strange sensation that she was taking on the stories that she recorded. Vertigo and the tickle of legs crawling on the back of her neck and a dozen other things really didn’t help lessen her anxiety, and she found herself getting even less sleep than she had before.

Adaine knew that the dark circles under her eyes had just been getting worse, and she had her meds but they weren’t as helpful as they used to be and that was just one more thing on the list of things she had to do, but instead she just picked up the next statement to record.

She heard her recorder click on, but before she could open the folder her eyes were drawn to the doorway, a moment before a figure stepped into it.

Fabian was pinned in place by her gaze for a second, and then he visibly shrugged it off and sauntered into the room. “Hello, Adaine,” he said, dropping himself in the chair across from her. “Why haven’t you replaced this yet? I swear, it’s poking into me in at least three places.”

“Hi? And usually it’s just me, people don’t usually stay here for longer than just dropping things off.” Adaine let her unspoken question hang in the air while Fabian adjusted, crossing one leg over the other and avoiding her eyes.

He lifted a shoulder up in a shrug and put on that sharp smile he wore when he needed the world to believe he knew what he was doing. “It is your lucky day, then, because I am not just here to drop something off.” Fabian paused, and Adaine folded her hands and raised her eyebrows, waiting to see if he was going to actually tell her what he was doing. When she didn’t say anything, he sighed, floating a hand in the air in what was probably exasperation. “Fine, I was talking to Kristen, and she told me that I needed to give you a statement, which is honestly ridiculous, but now here I am, so.”

Adaine blinked at that. Fabian talked a lot, blustering with enough stories to fill the archive by himself, but he hadn’t given a statement before, and he seemed heavily opposed the times that she had asked. “You want to give a statement.”

“I don’t want to, Adaine, but Kristen told me to, and if I had stayed and argued she would have, I don’t know, tried to make me actually deal with the issues she says I have and I know I don’t have, so. Here I am!” He smiled, put his hands on his knees as he leaned forward. “I am Fabian Aramais Seacaster, and I have a story to tell. Look, your recorder is already on, might as well!”

“Oh, it is. Huh.” Adaine pushed up her glasses and locked eyes with Fabian. “Statement taken directly from subject, February 29th, 2016. Statement begins.”

Fabian seemed to sit up straighter, dramatic movements of his arms becoming more intentional, pointed, even though they wouldn’t be caught by the tape recorder. “So, this particular story takes place in high school. Junior year, if my memory serves.” The tone of his voice said of course it serves, with the constant undercurrent of because I’m Fabian Aramais Seacaster . “It was Christmas Eve, and my buddy, Ragh – Ragh Barkrock, if you need his full name for research – called me up, and asked if I wanted to go fuck shit up. I said yes, of course.”

Fabian sighed, lowered his voice. Adaine did her best to keep her face neutral, because for the moment, his posturing seemed to be slipping away. It usually did when she took statements – for some reason, people seemed to want to tell the truth when the recorder got turned on – but Fabian was a fan of stories, especially ones that made him look good. From the hunch of his shoulders, she didn’t know if this would be one of those.

“My parents were, ah, what’s a good word. They were difficult to be around, sometimes, and the holidays didn’t exactly help with that. So when Ragh gave me an out, I grabbed my letterman jacket and left. We were on the football team together, and we weren’t really friends, because who has friends in high school, but it was, again, high school , so we both had a lot of unresolved issues. Easier to not discuss your unresolved issues together, you know? “ Fabian huffed out a laugh, but it wasn’t the kind that he usually threw around, the one that was all show and look over here . It was just a self-deprecating huff of breath, and Adaine nodded, encouraging him to keep going.

Adaine hadn’t had quite the same high school experience – also bad, but in a different direction – but she let him keep talking. She wasn’t a therapist, despite once thinking that she might like to help people like that. Instead, she just listened, and recorded, and gently encouraged Fabian to keep talking.

“We met up at the old arcade. It was locked and dark – I don’t think that I had ever seen it open the whole time I lived in that town – but Ragh had a scowl on his face and a crowbar in each hand, so when he tossed me one I took it. See, football is a good way to get out your aggression, but there are still rules to it. You have to play by them, even if you don’t play fair , but for all of the tackling it is still so…” Fabian ran his fingers through his carefully styled hair. “It’s so civilized . What happened that night- well, football can’t really compare, can it?”

“We broke in – I was kind of surprised that there wasn’t an alarm, honestly, but by the time I was worrying about that Ragh had already broken the glass of the door and we were inside. It was- have you ever been in an abandoned place at night?” Adaine shook her head. Her high school experience was much more along the lines of staying home and barricading herself in her room as best she could. “Well, the only light came from the street lights outside and the flashlight on my phone, but the colors of the carpet were still garish. The glass and plastic of the games reflected light that I wasn’t able to see the source of, and it felt like the whole place was just, I don’t know, holding its breath.”

Fabian flexed his hand like he was remembering the feeling of a crowbar in his hands, and Adaine realized that she hadn’t blinked since Fabian started giving his statement. She did, just to show that she could, and that this was normal, and that Fabian was still just Fabian .

“I realized that neither of us had said anything yet. It’s a strange thing, to just accept a crowbar from someone and break into an abandoned arcade, but I suppose that’s just what it’s like to be in high school. Well, it was all so quiet, and then, suddenly, it wasn’t. Ragh let out a scream, smashing his crowbar against one of the games, and there was no point in asking how his day was going then , so I took a swing as well.”

As Fabian lifted his chin and grimaced, Adaine almost thought that his teeth were more pointed than they had been when he first came into her small office. “At some point one of us broke into the money collector of one of the games and there were quarters rolling across the floor. Honestly, most of that night was a blur, but there was...there was this one game that I stayed away from, at least at first. It had a little pixie on it, a tiny dude with a weird grin and big glasses, and above the screen were the words ‘Beat Biz.’” Fabaian cracked his neck, barked out another laugh. It seemed like there was an energy crawling under his skin as he spoke, fingers starting to move restlessly, twisting in his pressed pant legs or tugging at the air.

“The vibes of that game were just putrid , so I stayed away, and I’m pretty sure that together Ragh and I pushed over a different game. But then, it was the only thing left untouched in the whole room. It almost looked like it was, I don’t know, glowing, or something, but there wasn’t really much light coming in from outside at that point, and I didn’t know where my phone had gone. I turned to look at Ragh, and I was pretty sure that he had started crying at some point. Then, something in his eyes...changed.” At that, Fabian stood up, paced a few steps, and then returned to stand in front of the desk, casting a shadow over the tape recorder and Adaine’s hands.

“He ran past me, and he swung his crowbar into the screen, and there had been a lot of noise in that arcade that night but that one seemed to break through everything else.” Fabian exhaled, crossed his arms, and looked at the wall over Adaine’s head.

“The game screamed .”

With that he started pacing again, steps growing less and less measured and more movement for the sake of moving, letting off energy, chasing without running and the barely contained need to sprint. “He went crazy, hitting it again and again.” Fabian’s voice grew quiet. “I helped him push it over.” There was a tension in his shoulders, and his hands were flexing, and all Adaine could do – wanted to do, if she were honest, and she really didn’t want to be in this moment – was just watch. “I looked down, and there was blood on my sneakers. It was- the broken screen had shattered inwards, and the glass was stuck in some sort of meat , and the game was oozing blood onto the floor, and it was soaking into my socks , and Ragh was still there, crying and screaming and attacking the thing with a crowbar.”

All the energy seemed to leave Fabian at that, body tense and hands curled at his sides as some horror played out before his eyes again. Adaine glanced down at the recorder to make sure that it was still recording. It was.

“I went home. I couldn’t stay, and I knew that if I tried to get Ragh to stop he would attack me just as brutally as he had that machine. Don’t ask me how I knew, but I did , and so I just went home. My papa saw the blood on my shoes and he congratulated me.” Fabian sat back down. “Ragh was back at school in January, but something was different. He seemed...hollow. After that night, he didn’t invite me out again. I think...I think I’m glad that he didn’t. I don’t know if I would have gone, or if I would have been able to escape again.”

Adaine spoke, throat dry even as her voice was clear and even. “Statement ends.”

When Fabian blinked, he seemed to come back to himself, and he drew his shoulders up. Those layers of defenses rose again, and hidden was the high school boy who had been lost to that destruction of the arcade. “Well, that was, ah-”

Adaine clicked her recorder off before she spoke. She wasn’t a therapist, she was just someone who was supposed to listen and watch and record, but this was her friend. She didn’t want to be someone who only wanted to observe. “Fabian, are you okay?”

Fabian shook his head and took a breath, and for a moment Adaine thought that he was actually going to process an emotion for the first time in his life. Then, she smelled the copper tang of blood, faint but unable to get away from in the small room, and Fabian lifted his chin and put that smile back on again. “Tell Kristen that I gave a statement so she gets off my back about it.”

With that, he stood up and left, taking the smell of blood with him.

Adaine was left alone in her small office, surrounded by files and dust and stories that were not her own, and she had the sinking feeling that she wasn’t going to be getting much sleep that night.

#dimension 20 #fantasy high #the magnus archives #adaine abernant #fabian seacaster #ash writes

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