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#instead of garish christmas colors
nobodyfamousposts · a month ago
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.
And. Marinette. Froze.
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…
…wait…
"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 icky.
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.
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tanzen-neko · 8 months ago
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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.”
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physics-magic · 7 months ago
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Baby, You're the Light
Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid
Rating: G
Chapter: 1/1
Word Count: 2005
Summary: Hotch should have known better than to promise to be home Christmas day, but the words had been out of his mouth before his usual pragmatism could interject with cold reality.
They’d gotten a case on Christmas Eve.
Really, he had only himself to blame.
Tags: Christmas Fluff, Christmas Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Established Relationship, Angst with a Happy Ending, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Mating Bond, Mating Bites, Domestic Fluff, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse
On AO3
Note: Late in posting to tumblr, but! Written for the 2021 Criminal Minds Holiday Gift Exchange. @ssa-sarahsunshine requested "A fic about Hotch and Reid spending Christmas together, maybe?" with supernatural or ABO elements.
I don't know where all the angst came from, but it has a fluffy, happy ending, so I hope that makes up for it.
Hope you enjoy!
***
Hotch hated breaking promises.
It wasn’t that failing to keep his word rankled his pride—though that was certainly part of it, there was certainly a bit of truth to the prideful alpha stereotype in his case, as Spencer so often teased him for. Or took him to task over.
Hotch wasn’t all too fond of making promises in the first place because it only led to disappointment for all involved when it was broken; a lesson first learned at the hands of his father’s alcohol drenched breath and bruised knuckles, his mother’s empty words of comfort that promised things would change.
It’d been a bitter pill to swallow that the wider world was no different. As a prosecutor, and then as a federal agent, he learned not to make promises that were not within his power to keep: that a court of law would always prevail on the side of justice, or to bring loved ones home safe and sound.
The world didn’t always care for his promises. They’d ended in tears and angry accusations far too often.
And yet...
It was hard not to promise his son whatever he wished.
Foolish, really.
With the team being on call the week of Christmas, he should have known better than to promise to be home Christmas day, but the words had been out of his mouth before his usual pragmatism could interject with cold reality.
They’d gotten a case on Christmas Eve.
Really, he had only himself to blame.
Hotch growled lowly at his thoughts, alone in the kitchen as he stirred a pot of hot chocolate vigorously. The bells sewn to his ugly green Christmas sweater jingled merrily with every movement, cheery in the face of his growing irritation. He had no idea where Jack and Spencer had found the garish thing during their holiday shopping, threaded with fake garlands and white snowflake stitching, red and gold bells acting as festive ornaments.
Jack had picked one with Santa riding on the back of a Tyrannosaurus rex for himself. Spencer, after much consideration, had settled for the periodic table shaped as a Christmas tree with the phrase ‘Oh Chemistree’, which he’d worn to the Bureau holiday party earlier in the month and promptly presented Hotch with his own festive sweater, to the team’s amusement.
Now here he was, preparing a batch of hot chocolate on New Year’s Eve, determined to celebrate a belated Christmas with his family of three.
His pack.
A soft, pleased, rumble vibrated through Hotch’s chest, warmth blooming behind his ribs. Three years on and he still sometimes woke in surprise to the morning sun spilling soft tendrils over their bed, Spencer draped over his chest like a second blanket, warm, comforting, and his. A long-buried dream turned tangible in the morning light.
As if summoned by thought alone, the scent of cinnamon and ripe summer peaches drifted through the kitchen doorway, followed by the muted thud of socked feet on tile. “If you stir that any longer, we’re going to be eating chocolate whipped cream instead of drinking homemade hot chocolate,” Spencer commented, sidling up on Hotch’s right in his holiday sweater and a Santa hat colored purple and blue. Cold fingers brushed the small of Hotch’s back as Spencer peaked over his shoulder to observe the state of the thoroughly mixed hot chocolate. “Where did you hide the marshmallows?”
Hotch snorted, leaning back into the caress. “Don’t you mean, where did I save the marshmallows?”
“Same difference.”
Hotch raised an eyebrow, glancing at Spencer as he turned the burner off, setting the wooden spoon aside for a ladle. “What happened to the second bag we had in the pantry?”
“Science experiment.” Spencer shifted until he could wrap his arms around Hotch’s torso, molding himself to the taller man's frame, content to watch as Hotch finished preparing their drinks.
Hotch paused in the middle of grabbing the last cup. “Would this experiment also have something to do with the several missing toothpick boxes? What exactly were you testing?”
Spencer hummed, nosing at the back of Hotch’s neck. “The tensile strength of marshmallows when put under varying amounts of pressure.”
“And the toothpicks?”
Hotch felt a grin pressing into neck. “Art. We decided to re-create different molecular structures out of our leftover marshmallows.” That grin slipped lower, the faintest hint of teeth grazing the bite mark, Spencer’s mark, that claimed the base of Hotch’s neck. He shivered, a spark of electricity zinging down his spine. Spencer’s arms tightened. “We had to think of something to do while you spent an inordinate amount of time stirring the hot chocolate into submission.”
Hotch set the ladle aside to cover the arms around his chest, lacing his fingers with Spencer’s. “I haven’t been in the kitchen that long, have I?” he teased. When Spencer didn't answer, Hotch repeated quietly with creeping trepidation, “Have I?”
Spencer nuzzled behind Hotch’s ear, warmth breaths a counterpoint to the soft fuzz of his hat as he answered, equally quiet. “You get lost in your head when you’re brooding. I thought you might want some time alone to work out what was bothering you before I asked.” 
Guilt immediately flooded Hotch. Here he was, celebrating a belated Christmas at home with his family, and all he could focus on was wallowing in the time and circumstances already lost to him instead of cherishing the time they did have together.
Spencer let out a soothing purr, instinctively trying to chase the bitter note from Hotch’s scent—gunpowder, pine, and honeysuckle—through sheer force of will. “Tell me what's bothering you, Aaron.”
Hotch’s iron resolve dissolved like wet tissue paper in the face of Spencer’s command. And that’s exactly what it was, a command; he had a weak spot a mile wide when Spencer chose to wield the authority he usually eschewed, and Spencer knew it. 
Spencer brushed a kiss behind Hotch’s ear but maintained the silence, content to wait him out. 
Hotch squeezed their laced fingers in silent gratitude. Taking a deep breath, he savored the aroma of cocoa, cinnamon, and peaches, allowing himself to lean fully into the safety of his mate’s arms as he exhaled. Here in their home, he had nothing to fear. “I broke my promise to Jack.”
Spencer let out a small sigh. “Unpredictability is the nature of the job, my love. Serial killers unfortunately do not abide by holidays. Jack understands.”
“He shouldn’t have to.”
“I agree, but he also understands how important this job, this calling, is for you.” Spencer dropped his head to rest a cheek against Hotch’s shoulder. “There’s a reason you’re his hero.”
“Being a hero isn’t a substitute for being a father and I—” feel like I’m failing, he couldn’t bring himself to say, even ensconced in Spencer’s arms in the home they built together, Jack snuggled down in the next room watching The Nightmare Before Christmas for the third time in as many days. He only knew that because Jess told him during their call on the flight home yesterday, filling him in on how Jack was doing in the wake of their sudden departure and how their visit with her family went.
Jess had even gone shopping for them the day before so they wouldn’t have to brave the grocery stores teeming with New Years party shoppers.
Hotch doesn’t know why she still puts up with him after all these years but he’s forever grateful.
Slender hands nudged Hotch’s ribs, prompting him to turn in the circle of Spencer’s arms to face the younger man head on. Warm amber eyes greeted him. Long brown curls brushed Spencer’s shoulders, a festive holiday hat on his head, and still the most beautiful thing Hotch had ever seen.
Spencer cupped Hotch’s head between his slightly chilly hands, leaning in until they were nearly nose to nose. “Jack loves you all the same, Aaron, that will never change,” he stated as sure as irrefutable fact, “Besides, you’re here now , just as ready to celebrate the holidays as you were last week. Who cares if the date is different? It’s the thought that counts.”
“But—”
“I would know, I’ve put quite a few thoughts to work over the years and have seven degrees to show for it.” Hotch opened his mouth to continue arguing but Spencer silenced him with a single finger pressed to his lips. “Stop being contrary for the sake of argument, Mr. Prosecutor. My logic is sound.”
Hotch smiled beneath Spencer’s index finger then gave it a gentle nip. Spencer yelped, yanking his finger away. “That’s unsanitary.”
Hotch couldn’t resist bending down to kiss the tip of his nose.
Spencer scrunched his nose adorably. His hands slid from Hotch’s jaw to loop around his neck, drawing them both impossibly closer. Hotch’s hands slid to Spencer’s waist.
“I knew there was a reason I mated you, Spencer Reid,” Hotch rumbled, pleased at the shiver his tone elicited in Spencer. 
“For my hygiene?” Spencer snarked, eyes twinkling.
“Of course,” Hotch deadpanned. “Nothing whatsoever to do with that beautiful brain of yours and all its sound logic that saves me from burning hot chocolate...” Hotch gently bumped their foreheads together. “And myself.”
Spencer’s eyes softened to burnished gold. “We save each other,” he whispered.
Spencer pressed up on his tiptoes as Hotch leaned down to cover the scant inch of space between them, their lips meeting in a firm yet tender kiss. Hotch felt more than heard Spencer’s purr start up again, his own chest reverberating with a purr in kind. Deep down, Hotch knew Spencer was right: they were both home in one piece, Jack was still on holiday vacation, the house was suitably decorated with holiday knick knacks, an eight foot pine tree stood in their living room adorned with a menagerie of ornaments and lights, presents waiting to be opened. It was even snowing outside.
It was the quintessential, idyllic Christmas moment—
“Ew, gross, don’t kiss over the hot chocolate! I don’t want to drink your kissing germs.”
At least until Jack came to investigate where Hotch and Spencer had disappeared to.
Hotch chuckled, giving Spencer one more quick peck before untangling their bodies to face Jack. “That’s not how it works, buddy.”
Jack grimaced, slowly stepping into the kitchen to inspect the still faintly steaming pot. “Could you kiss after you make the hot chocolate? It’s been, like, an hour since you said you’d make some and the movie is almost over—”
Spencer reached out to ruffle Jack’s hair, his other arm still looped around Hotch’s waist. “While your father is correct, I will wash the cups myself just to be thorough. How does that sound?”
The eight-year-old beamed at him. “Rad, thanks pops!”
And then he quickly escaped the kitchen with a parting, “Don’t forget the marshmallows!” thrown over his shoulder, leaving a quietly stunned omega and his overjoyed alpha partner in his wake.
“Did he just—” Spencer stuttered, looking at Hotch with wide eyes. His fingers clenched compulsively in Hotch’s sweater, bells giving a faint jingle.
Hotch gave him the same beaming smile as his son. “He’s been thinking about how to tell you for a while now.”
“But what if I’m not—”
Hotch shushed him in the same manner as Spencer had earlier, a single finger halting Spencer’s anxieties. “Jack loves you all the same, Spencer, that will never change.”
Spencer frowned. “Haley—”
“Will always be his mother.” Hotch interjected. “That will never change either, my love. You’re not filling her role or replacing her, but creating a space of your own in Jack’s life. And he’s decided he sees you as another parent.”
Spencer blinked back tears. Hotch crooned softly, drawing the brunet to his chest in a tight hug.
“I guess you can’t beat logic,” Spencer said thickly, burying his face in Hotch’s neck. 
Hotch smiled to himself, nosing Spencer’s crown as he held him, content.
The hot chocolate ended up a bit cool, but no one minded under their respective mountain of marshmallows.
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spooderboyandtincan · a year ago
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/
I
“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.”
II
“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.
IV
“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 · a year ago
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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.
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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.
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jomiddlemarch · a year ago
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everything could yield him pleasure
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The doorbell trilled when he rang it, which was a fucking relief, because Sam really didn’t see how banging on the front door at 2pm on Christmas Day could be a good beginning. Or even an okay one, because no one was ever expecting anyone who’d actually make a racket with a door-knocker on a major holiday, and he wasn’t anticipating getting a merry response to the sight of his face.
“Sam? What—what’re you doing here?” Ruth said. She looked mostly blank, which was a far cry from merry or pleased, but was also a decent distance from disgusted. Or hostile. Besides blank, she looked pretty good, though to be honest, he was comparing her now to the last time he’d seen her when she’d been red-eyed, pale, trembling, tearstains apparent when she was under a streetlight. She was wearing a sweater that was aggressively Fair Isle over a blouse with a ruffled collar and cuffs and an Omaha department store’s version of a tweed skirt instead of the usual sweatshirt and jeans he was used to seeing her in (unless she was in full make-up and that scrap of metallic red fabric she called a leotard as Zoya and yeah, he thought of her that way but not the majority of the time, which he used as evidence he wasn’t a total prick.)
“Would you believe me if I said I came to say Merry Christmas?” he asked. It was about twelve fucking degrees out and he was in a leather jacket and jeans but he was still stalling for time because even though he’d had plenty of advance notice, unlike Ruth, he wasn’t exactly sure what he wanted to say. Or how.
“No,” she said. “Why’re you here—is someone hurt? Justine, is she okay?”
“She’s fine, we went to midnight Mass with Rosalie’s family and I left her there for Christmas morning, presents and shit,” Sam said. Ruth had seemed genuinely concerned about Justine, even though the audition had been a fucking fiasco—or rather, the aftermath had been, which wasn’t really on Justine’s head but his own.
“I don’t get it—” Ruth began.
“Ruth dear, who’s at the door? Did Aunt Marion decide to come after all?” a woman’s voice called out. It was funny how it sounded just like Ruth and not at all the same; Sam wondered whether anyone would ever think the same thing about him and Justine or whether he would have had to raise her since she was born for something like that to happen. There was an approaching sound of high heels and a sudden, frantic look in Ruth’s eyes.
“No, Mom, it’s just someone who needs directions. I’ll be right back,” she said, pulling the door closed behind her.
“That’s a fucking believable excuse around here?” Sam said. “That you’d give directions to a complete stranger. On Christmas Day.”
“Yeah, it is,” Ruth said, crossing her arms in front of her. “I didn’t think you’d want to try to talk inside and it would be impossible for us to get a moment alone.”
“Can we talk in the car if I promise not to kidnap you? It’s fucking cold out here,” Sam said. He refrained from any mention of a witch’s tit, but it had crossed his mind.
“Okay. I can’t be very long,” Ruth said. “Eventually, they’ll come looking for me. Uncle Rudy is telling the Christmas ham of 1957 story and they’re on round one of the egg-nog and my brother Jack hasn’t spiked it enough yet.”
“That’s fine,” Sam said, opening the car door for her which she obviously hadn’t expected. He walked around to the driver’s side and got in, turning the car on to run the heat. Ruth wasn’t wearing a coat and he might as well not be, for all the warmth the leather jacket provided.
“It doesn’t smell like your car,” Ruth said. She was about as far away as she could be, pressed up against the window like she was about to make a run for it.
“It’s a rental. I’ve only had it a few hours. It takes a while to get that funk of cigarettes and fucking up your life really worked into the upholstery,” Sam said.
“So, are you going to tell me now, why you came?” she said, her blue eyes shadowed, apprehensive. It was like the expression she’d had when she’d asked if it was too late for them, before they’d made a good stab at breaking each other’s hearts.
“To say I’m sorry,” he replied.
“You could’ve called to say that. But you flew out here, on Christmas. You came to my parents’ house,” she said. “Why?”
“Because I wanted to see your face. Because I didn’t know when you were coming back to LA and if you’d agree to meet me. Because it’s fucking Christmas and I wanted to be with the person I care about the most, even if she doesn’t want to see me for more than five minutes,” Sam said.
“What are you sorry about?” Ruth said, not touching anything else he’d said in a hard-ass move he would have applauded her for if it weren’t his fucking heart he’d just ripped out and offered to her on a silver platter with fucking mistletoe for garnish.
“Driving away. That goddamn audition. Not answering when you sent all those notes from Vegas about the show,” he said. He didn’t mention his heart attack or how he’d kept it a secret; he hadn’t told anyone, not Justine, not Cherry. If he told Ruth now, he was sure that would be it for them. Him. Maybe that made him a fucking coward; he could live with that. “Cherry was horrified when I told her what happened.”
“You talked to Cherry about it? About us?” she asked. She’d said us, which was a hopeful sign. Still, he was Sam Sylvia and he’d learned not to hope when he was fully capable of cocking up even a sure thing which this emphatically was not.
“Yeah, she and Keith went back to LA after the last show,” he said. Cherry had had a lot to say about everything from the failed audition “you invited Ruth up there and then didn’t cast her at all, after everything, you couldn’t find some role for her in Justine’s movie?” to his choice to leave Ruth after their fight “woman you say you love’s hurt, you did it and you fucking leave her? Even Debbie showed up in the hospital after she broke Ruth’s leg.” Cherry hadn’t had much patience with his explanations about how it was Justine’s movie and how Ruth should have trusted him, shaking her head at him before reminding him of the notes Ruth had sent “for months, you fucker, no one else gave a damn about your opinion after you ditched us” and how however his feelings had been hurt, he’d pretty clearly put himself or his kid first and let Ruth know it. And then let her play Scrooge-Zoya to a packed house that didn’t include him.
“You wouldn’t have come on your own,” Ruth said.
“Probably not, because I’m a fucking moron,” Sam said. “I can appreciate good advice though. Occasionally. And Cherry and Keith managed to salvage their relationship.”
“She knew he loved her,” Ruth said.
“She did,” Sam agreed. Ruth looked at him, waiting to see if he was going to make some argument, some defense or quip or something, anything. She was beautiful, even in the outrageous sweater, and he wanted her, loved her, and he knew if this was going anywhere, she was the one who had to say something next. He had to be patient, for once, and attempt not to be a selfish dick. To be the same guy she’d called when she was in trouble, who she listened to when he told her to take another card from the dealer and when to stay.
“Why did you come, Sam?” she asked again, unsmiling, serious. So fucking lovely.
“Because I love you,” he said.
“And—”
“There is no fucking and. Or but. That’s it. I love you, Ruth,” he said. It might not be enough but it was all there was.
And then she reached over and touched his hand. Then his cheek, stroked the hair above his ear, her fingers very gentle, very sure.
“Show me,” she said. “You can start with a kiss.”
He didn’t need to be told twice.
“Everyone inside is wearing a sweater like mine, just in different colors,” Ruth warned him. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were literally fucking shining softly like she’d come to life from a Christmas carol and they were sprawled across the car’s bench seat with Ruth’s head cradled in the crook of his arm. It had been about fifteen minutes since he’d told her he loved her and it hadn’t gone to hell. It was a new record and a Christmas miracle; it would also be a miracle if he kept from coming in his pants if she kept looking at him that way. “My mother knits them for us every year. It’s a tradition.”
“Like a serious one?” he asked, shifting a little, trying to think about Ruth’s mother and yarn and nothing as erotic as the feeling of Ruth’s skin under that stupid sweater and the taste of her in his mouth, how easy it would be to ease that skirt up to her waist and lay her back...
“As the grave. Well, not to my father, he thinks they’re hilarious but he’s the only one who can get away with saying anything about it,” Ruth said. “She gets back at him by making his the most garish.”
“Sounds nice,” he said, realizing it was true.
“Sam, what happens next?” she asked.
“After Uncle Rudy and helping Jack spike the egg-nog and me not losing my shit seeing Joseph’s Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat Fair Isle Winter sweater line or embarrassing myself having a hard-on for you at Christmas dinner? You mean after that?” he asked. He left out getting caught kissing her while they washed the dishes or whatever fucking talk he was going to have with Ruth’s father who was probably only about five years older than he was; neither was very funny and they both were going to happen and he didn’t want Ruth to stop smiling at him. He leaned over and kissed the apple of her cheek, the corner of her mouth.
“You come home with me. If you want to. And we figure it out,” he said.
“Figure what out?” she said.
“Your acting career, my directing, how we’re going to keep from killing each other writing the next screenplay we’re going to end up collaborating on, how we’re going to keep from killing each other sharing a bathroom, how I’m going to keep making you happy,” he said.
“So, you mean everything,” she replied.
“Damn straight,” he said. “Now can I say Merry Christmas?”
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tar-mairons · 2 years ago
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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
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hoodoo12 · 2 years ago
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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
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laventadorn · 2 years ago
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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.
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lady-divine-writes · 2 years ago
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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.”
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the-ipre · 2 years ago
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.
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numbah34 · 2 years ago
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Ghosts of Christmas
They had been called “heroes.” Perhaps that was why the offer had been made to them; an opportunity to help others, even after…
They could still see each other; and after they served their time, they, too, would receive a special gift for their efforts. The spirit had been rather vague about what that might be, but given their predicament, the unknown particulars of the deal seemed better than the unknowns of the alternative.
So they had taken it.
Becoming the Ghosts of Christmas did come with a catch, however; Lance and Pidge would be able to see each other again in fulfilling their duties as the ghosts of Christmas Present and Christmas Future… but only on Christmas Eve, and even then, only for an hour.
The rest of their time was dedicated to preventing what Hunk called a “Scroogening,” or so Lance said. They had been thrilled to learn that Hunk had also been offered and accepted the spirit’s pact, but as the Ghost of Christmas Past he only had contact with Lance, as he passed their charge off to him. An hour was all the time they were allotted to discuss that year’s Scrooge, trade any information they had gathered and consider their strategy for saving the person’s soul. If they were quick (and they usually were), they would have a little time to catch up before parting ways for another year.
An hour was not much time at all, but as Pidge realized year after year upon seeing Lance appear in his garish Christmas Present clothing, grinning and glowing with joy at being reunited with her, any amount of time would never feel like enough. She was thankful for the time they had.
In the ghostly mists of the between, Pidge in her dark, flowing cloak, the hallmark of Christmas Future, would have been a foreboding and ominous sight to anyone. Lance, regardless of the bright colors and merry atmosphere he had come from with their Scrooge, thought she was the loveliest thing he had seen in… well, a year. Her eyes shone brighter than twinkling Christmas lights at the sight of him, and her ecstatic expression contradicted the eerie aura she was meant to present.
They embraced each other with delight, then immediately exchanged the pertinent information about the job, hoping to maximize their time together.
All too soon, the hour was drawing to a close. A mysterious archway materialized, just as it did every year, and Pidge felt herself being pulled toward it, as if by invisible chain. It was time to say good-bye, and complete the night’s responsibility.
She and Lance gripped each other’s hands as she began drifting toward the archway, and she looked at him with a mixture of sadness and longing.
“So… I guess time’s up,” she said. Appearing grim before the evening’s Scrooge would not be difficult, as usual. She swallowed. “But we’ll see each other again. Next year?” She felt a little ridiculous phrasing it as though they were merely confirming a date that they were planning far, far in advance.
Lance didn’t seem to mind, instead gazing intensely into her eyes as he raised a hand to stroke her cheek. She raised her own hand to meet his, wanting to maintain their contact for as long as possible before the indifferent, persistent pull of the archway separated them again.
He nodded. “I’ll look forward to the future.”
~🎄Merry Christmas, @myfandomsownmyass! I hope you enjoy your @plancesecretsanta fan art gift! I tried my best to fulfill your angst request, and because I’m a little extra it ended up including a ficlet (Thank you to @anchoredtether for beta reading! I appreciate you!). And what’s this time of year without a little of Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol”? I always enjoyed the ghosts in that story, and thought an AU based on them would be interesting. Hope you enjoy, and I hope you have a wonderful holiday season!🎄~
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