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rosesgonerogue · 5 years ago

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Just a Friend

Daminette December Day 1

It wasn’t often that Damian had to deal with the Agreste child, but with both their fathers being such big names, it was inevitable. Agreste was preferable to the Bourgeois brat, but he still reeked of a sheltered life. And now Damian was going to have to put up with him for the next several days while Father discussed business with the elder Agreste.

“Remind me why Drake couldn’t come instead?” Damian demanded once again.

“You know the reason,” Bruce sighed. “I was specifically asked to come with one of my sons. But if I come, Tim had to stay behind to keep the company running.”

“Grayson?”

“He’s standing in as Batman.”

“Why couldn’t Todd do that? Or come here?”

Bruce fixed him with a flat stare. “We would either have a slew of corpses, or an international incident on our hands.”

Damian growled, knowing that his father was right. That didn’t mean that he liked this cursed city.

They came to the Agreste mansion all too soon, and Damian already dreaded the awkward conversations that awaited. It had been a few years since he’d been forced to associate with the boy, and Damian could only hope he was somehow less sheltered.

The mansion was more ostentatious than ever. It had a way of looming over people that felt cold. He never would have admitted it, but he almost wished his brothers were here to cause chaos and bring some life into the dead house.

To complete the aura, the door was opened by Agreste’s stoic assistant, the one with glasses and a harsh bun. Gabriel was standing staunchly inside with Adrien at his side, green eyes dull.

“Thank you for travelling all this way, Bruce,” Gabriel said in perfect English. “We welcome you and your son.”

“It was our pleasure,” Bruce said with a cordial smile. “Damian was curious why you wanted one of my sons to come, though.”

“We’ve found a rather interesting young designer, and if things work out in our deals, we were hoping your son might consider modelling her designs, potentially taking the brand over to America.”

Translation: Gabriel thought his son was too good for this, so Damian was stuck modelling for an amateur.

Bruce’s smile tightened ever so slightly, knowing that this would be a hard sell to Damian. “We’ll see how these negotiations go first.”

“Very well. Adrien, why don’t you entertain young Damian in your room?”

Damian bristled at being dismissed in such a manner, but before he could do anything, Adrien actually spoke up.

“Actually, Father, I was wondering if I could show Damian around Paris, maybe introduce him to a friend or two?”

Wow, the boy had a backbone now, as well as friends. Interesting. His friends were probably just as rich and sheltered as Agreste, but maybe they would distract one another until they forgot about Damian entirely. One could hope, anyway.

At least Agreste had a seemingly competent bodyguard, Damian noted as he followed the blond out to the shiny car. The whole way Adrian yammered on about his friends, but in particular some girl named Marinette. With all the praise he was giving her, it was a wonder that this Marinette hadn’t cured cancer yet.

Adrien paused in his praises of her long enough that, despite himself, Damian found himself asking, “Is this Marinette your girlfriend? You certainly have plenty to say about her.”

The boy laughed. “Oh no, Marinette if just a friend, my first friend, really. You’ll love her, just wait.”

“Tt.” Damian couldn’t help the noise of disbelief as he gazed out the car window. He was expecting and dreading being taken to some tourist attraction, but it appeared that they had arrived at… a bakery?

“Marinette is actually the designer you might be working with. She’s amazing, and this is her family’s bakery.”

Ah, Agreste was likely trying to sell the virtues of the girl so Damian would look more kindly on whatever shoddy designs the girl had come up with. It was a more underhanded tactic than he thought Agreste capable of, and kind of impressive.

The bakery was small, but clearly good quality. Damian had to admit that the food appeared to be comparable with Pennyworth’s cooking. At the counter, they were greeted by a petite Asian woman.

“Oh, Adrien, it’s nice to see you again. Are you and your friend here to see Marinette? She warned us you two might be coming. She’s in her room, you know the way up.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Cheng. We’ll head up there now,” Adrien said, leading Damien deeper into the bakery. Before they made it to the hallway, however, they were intercepted by a hulking bear of a man.

Damian tensed -- he was even carrying a weapon, one of those wooden paddle things that were used to get things out of traditional ovens. This man would be formidable because of his size alone, but--

“It’s nice to see more of Marinette’s friends here. Take this up with you,” he said, setting the paddle down to hand Adrien an entire quiche. “You boys are welcome to have some as well, but make sure Marinette eats a slice. She got a commission, and we’re not sure when she last ate or slept.”

Damian sighed as he accepted a pile of plates and forks. So, she was obsessive like Time as well. This girl already sounded exhausting, but breakfast had been a while ago, and the quiche smelled amazing.

Agreste led them through the bakery and up the stairs as Damian attempted to mentally reconcile what could have resulted in the union of the slight Asian woman and the hulking baker. What he expected, however, was not at all what he got.

“We’re here with food, Marinette,” Adrien called as he stepped into the room.

“I’ll eat in a minute, Mom, I just need to finish this applique,” the girl mumbled. She wasn’t visible yet, hidden behind a massive ball gown.

“Marinette, you have a guest,” Adrien said gently.

“Yes, papa, I’m getting plenty of sleep,” she mumbled.

The dress the girl was working on was quite possibly the most intricate thing Damian had ever seen. The dress appeared to be scarlet silk, the skirt resting on layer upon layer of tulle and crinoline, The body of the dress was patterned with hand-appliqued black lace. Normally the color combination would have been garish, but it was vaguely reminiscent of a ladybug, and definitely worthy of the red carpet.

Suddenly Damian was filled with the need to know more about this girl. He heard her humming to herself before making a noise of satisfaction. “There, I’m officially done, now what did you--”

The girl cut off when she peeked from around the gown, eyes wide as she squeaked, “Adrien, what are you doing here? And who is that?”

He had never had such an absurdly intense reaction before to merely seeing someone’s face and hearing their voice. Her eyes were wide in shock, and they were the bluest eyes Damian had ever seen, complimenting her blue-black hair that looked unbelievably soft. As he contemplated taking that hair out of its pigtails and -- holy infatuation, Batman, Damian was beginning to sound like Grayson. Besides, this girl looked more like a Wayne than Damian himself did.

“Marinette, meet Damian Wayne, one of your potential models,” Adrien said in English, most likely for Damian’s benefit.

“That was today!” the girl exclaimed, in adorably accented English as she scrambled to get off of the ground where she had been kneeling to finish the dress. “I’m so sorry, I got so wrapped up in this commission and lost track of time. I’m Marinette Dupain-Cheng, it’s nice to meet you, Damian.” She finally emerged from behind the dress and held out a hand. It was warm and unexpectedly calloused, but tiny, just like her. She was almost pixie-like, obviously taking more after her mother than her father.

“It’s a pleasure,” Damian said, shaking her hand longer than was strictly necessary. “This dress is truly a work of art.”

“Oh, you speak French!” Marinette said delightedly. Honestly, he hadn’t noticed he’d switched languages. “My English is okay, but your French sounds amazing!”

“Well clearly your sewing ability surpasses almost anything I’ve ever seen before. Now I can’t wait to see what your fashion line has to offer.” Why was he saying this? Why was Damian smiling in an imitation of Grayson whenever he was near a female?

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Marinette said, ducking her head to hide her slight blush. “But if you’re going to be my model then I’m going to have to tailor a lot of things to you, so you’re going to have to put up with me for a while.”

“I think I can handle that.”

As Marinette stammered a reply, Adrien awkwardly stood to the side, still holding the quiche. Had… Had Marinette forgotten him? Marinette never forgot him! He was always oddly the center of attention when Marinette was around because they were such good friends! Adrien felt slightly unsettled. He had hoped that Marinette would soften Damian, but he didn’t expect him to smile at her like that.

Throughout the rest of their stay in Paris, Damian found any and every excuse to spend any moment with Marinette. Bruce was curious and slightly suspicious about this turn of events. He expected this kind of thing from Dick, but it was entirely baffling from Damian.

One night when Damian had been out particularly late with Marinette, Bruce decided to wait up. He heard the door opening followed by Damian murmuring lowly in French, and… was that a chuckle? Yes, his son was softly laughing into his phone. The slight smile dropped off of the boy’s face when he met Bruce’s eyes and he murmured, “I’ll talk to you later, Angel.”

Raising an eyebrow, Bruce asked, “Angel?”

He regretted the way Damian instantly snapped into his rigid, emotionless persona. “Is something wrong, Father?”

Bruce was quick to say, “You’re not in trouble, Damian. I’m just worried, you’ve never been in a relationship before, and this all seems--”

“You’re mistaken, Father,” Damian interrupted. “Marinette and I are just friends.”

Bruce nodded and was going to leave the subject there before a small smirk crawled across the boy’s face. “For now, at least.”

Hi! I’m kind of new to this community, but you can call me Rose! Or Rogue, whichever you prefer! I found this pairing just a while ago, and when I saw the prompts for Daminette December, I got so freaking excited! I don’t do a lot of romance writing, so this is kind of an experiment. I want to get better at it, so please, let me know how I’m doing! Unfortunately, not all of the prompts will be this long, I’ve got finals coming up. I’ll try to keep up posting daily, though!

Taglist:

@ozmav @daminette-december2019 @maribat-archive

#daminette #maridami #daminette december 2k19 #maribat #marinette x damian #damimari #just a friend

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artificialqueens · 4 years ago

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The Parent Trap, Chapter 8 (Biadore) - Henny

WELL WELL WELL I hope you bitches are ready!

Hello, my loves!

Did you miss me? That was a loOOooooOoNg hiatus, almost *holds up three fingers* this many,I think. I have no excuses, I really just lacked the passion to continue this one. But, I’ve been lurking on Tumblr too long and I’m just so ready to get back into this. I have most of it plotted out already. I won’t promise a regular update, but I’m sure I’d get to finish this one way or another.

ALSO, I don’t want to get clocked or whatever, but I know when it comes to IVF and basic biology (I guess) The twins aren’t going to be identical since they’re from two separate sperm cells?? BUT, LIKE ALSO, I DON’T CARE?? It’s fanfiction, not fact. SO LET’S JUST SAY THESE GIRLS ARE IDENTICAL, BUT ONE OF EM IS DANNY’S AND ONE OF EM ROY’S (BUT YOU WON’T REALLY FIND OUT). Just please don’t make me think about science-y stuff. Sorry, STEM Majors!

Another thing, assume AS2 didn’t happen, okey?

All the love, Hennies!

xx Henny

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“Well… well… well… I hope you bitches are ready… “ Nerissa smiles, excited to meet Portia’s favorite. And when the screen shows her a face that is all too familiar and a voice that hits a little too close to home,

“I’m Bianca Del Rio, I’m thirty-seven years old…”

She pales.

Portia notices the quick change of mood. She reaches out to press the spacebar to pause the video, a little upset with the fact that they won’t get to finish the episode. The other girl is silent as she moves from Portia’s bed to her own, and something within Portia knew that Nerissa was in her head, deeply in her head. Not wanting to force the girl into anything she wasn’t comfortable with, Portia fiddles with the edge of her laptop with her head down.

Nerissa can feel the blood draining from her face. Some things were clicking into place. Her dad was a drag queen. Was Riz surprised? Not really. She has seen her dad put makeup on some models, not full-drag, but glam nonetheless. The dresses? Obviously. But, why didn’t HE tell HER? Anger rises in her system, she wanted to scream but something was holding her back. Her and her dad were always so close, and she’d like to believe that he didn’t have any secrets from her. Except that one room in their home. HMMM.

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A memory unlocks in her head. Age 7, finally mustering up the courage to rebel against her dad’s instructions,specifically about the one room in their apartment her dad said to never go in. It was always kept locked, except Uncle Shane accidentally left it unlocked that fruitful day. Nerissa remembers sneaking in, both adults thinking she was taking a nap. When she turned the lights on, her eyes were met with different colors. Sparkly, colorful, sequined dresses; Tall boots and heels; wigs of blacks, browns, and reds neatly perched on mannequin heads. It was beautiful and excitement bubbled up in her tummy. She walked over to a wall that was filled with picture frames; some people in them she knew, the others she didn’t.

One thing that struck her the most was a portrait that was nearly as big as her then-7-year-old body in the middle of the wall, the chandelier breaking the light in a myriad of colors on the photograph. The picture was of two beautiful queens, a little heavy handed on the makeup, now that she thinks about it. The two ladies wore beautiful black gowns, she would even assume that it was cut from the same fabric. The one with black hair wore a giant crown on her head, smiling a dimpled smile with her face to the spotlight. The other had fire red hair; she looked like she was screaming with joy as she lifted a sparkly scepter up in the air. They had one arm around the other’s waist and they looked very happy. She didn’t think much about it then, but…

“That was Bianca… and oh my god– that was Adore.” Nerissa says out of the blue, catching Portia’s attention from the other side of the room.

“I’m sorry what?” Portia asks, leaning closer to indicate that she was listening carefully now and that Riz had her full attention.

“Back in New York, my dad… he always kept this room locked. I only went there once, but he got really mad when he caught me.”

Portia moves to sit on Nerissa’s bed. “Yeah, okay… but you said something about my dad. What about Adore?”

“In that room,” Nerissa licks her lips, speaking slowly to help her rationalize her story in her head better. “… and I’m not sure if it’s still there. There was a picture of my dad as Bianca, and I think Adore. My dad wore a crown and Adore was holding the scepter.” She says thoughtfully. “Wow, spoiler alert. Ha!” She tries to joke, but now Portia looks at her with a shocked face.

“Wait, YOUR DAD IS BIANCA DEL RIO?! LIKE YOU’RE NERISSA HAYLOCK?? HAYLOCK?!?! AS IN ROY HAYLOCK?”

Nerissa blinks. “I thought you knew – how many Haylocks do you know?”

Portia blanches. “I DIDN’T WANT TO ASSUME! Roy Haylock has always been very hush-hush about you. You don’t even appear on social media, so you can’t really blame me. And my hatred for you, then, really blinded me. Sorry again, by the way. WAIT, LET ME JUST FANGIRL FOR A MINUTE.” Portia grabs a pillow and lets out a giddy scream.

Nerissa lets out a soft laugh before rolling her eyes playfully. “ANYWAY! FOCUS!! So, as I was saying, my dad has a picture of Bianca and Adore during, what I assume was, the coronation in his super secret closet.”

“Wait… but– No… no… that can’t be.” Portia says once she gets to calm her erratic heartbeat. “Bianca won season 6, I don’t think a photo like that photo exists– unless–” She stops talking abruptly and runs to her laptop. Nerissa watches her type furiously, obviously looking for something. When Portia finds it, she makes her way back to her position earlier.

“Look, see” Portia redirects Nerissa’s attention to the laptop’s screen. It was under a folder called “conspiracy theories” and from Riz’s point-of-view it was nothing but screenshots from Tumblr or twitter. “Back then, during their time, it was rumored that Bianca and Adore had filmed an ending where they both won–like they shared it. “

“Did you really search this about your dad?”

“YES! Now, pay attention” Portia huffs, brushing her hair back. “I don’t have more proof though because apparently the receipts back then were trashed when people started losing interest in Season 6 because we’re like in its, I don’t know like, 1000th season now. Then suddenly, when Bianca said she was quitting drag for good, more people deleted stuff about Bianca to respect her wishes then full-blast supported Roy in his fashion career.”

“Wait– wait, Bianca quit drag? Why?”

“Well, people started speculating that it was probably for his daugh–” Portia stops mid sentence, looking at Nerissa’s sudden sad face sheepishly. “Hey, don’t feel bad!”

“He was so happy, Porsche! I may not remember the picture’s every detail, but he was so happy being Bianca. Did you see the way she smiled the minute she walked in the werkroom? You mean to tell me I did that??”

“No, that’s just one of the speculations, really.”

“What were the others?”

“Retirement, boredom… to name a few. One thing I found interesting, but I highly doubt is that people said it was because of Adore.” Portia snorts as she mindlessly scrolls to her photos on her laptop. Nerissa observes her for a bit, before asking;

“How come?”

“If you’re talking about why people thought Adore was involved; that’s because before Bianca quit drag, her and Adore were really close. As in, super close, they were always seen or spotted together. When Bianca did quit, there was complete radio silence from Adore. They cut all communications on social media. Then people saw that they unfollowed each other and whatnot, PLUS they also found it odd that Roy was still talking to Courtney and would go to support local drag scenes, but would completely cop out if Adore was in any shape/form involved.” Portia explains, and Nerissa notes the hints of sadness in her voice.

“Makes sense to me, so then why do you doubt it?” Nerissa’s head tilts slightly as she watches Portia put her laptop on the bed. Her eyes then drift to the mirror that’s adjacent to the side of her bed and stares intently at their reflection.

“Well, for starters, if it ever happened, my dad would tell me. He knows that I absolutely adore Bianca, so I think if they ever had a relationship; he would let me know. It is weird though how he doesn’t really like talking about her. He’d just smile and shrug, so maybe there was a falling out or a fight.” Portia narrates, her sadness becoming a little more apparent.

Nerissa hums, in deep thought. A pregnant pause lingers in the air. With her curiosity getting the best of her, Nerissa asks out of the blue;

“Hey, Portia?”

“Yeah?"

"Did your dad adopt you?"

Portia looks at Nerissa as if she’s grown another head, which coming from her is ironic in itself.

"Well, no, but it’s kind of complicated. My dad was actually married in the past. He would tell me that they tried both fertilized eggs and hoped for the best. Nine months later, I was born and up until today, he doesn’t know if I was his or his ex’s biological baby, but he loves me nonetheless.”

“But won’t you look predominantly like one though?”

“Yeah, I look like my egg donor who looks eerily like my dad.” Portia pauses, head tilted.

“Aren’t you a little curious which one’s your biological dad?” Nerissa continues to probe. If things lined up correctly, Nerissa knew the both of them were going to be thrown into a loop. Portia thinks for a while, considering the idea, before her face contorts with distaste.

“Nah, he never really cared for me in the beginning, so why should I bother now? Even if I was his biologically, he didn’t raise me. He’s just a sperm donor to me, if ever. Why’d you ask anyway?“

"Because I refuse to play stupid when it’s so obvious that we’re twins.” Nerissa exclaims with such vigor, Portia nearly fell over the bed in surprise. ”Can’t you see how identical we look?"

"But…”

“No, no! Don’t try to deny it. I know there’s this whole theory about at least 5 people in the world looking like you–but not like this! Especially not when we basically have the same story growing up!” Nerissa is shaking as she stands to retrieve a picture in her bag; the very same frame she showed her friends her first day in the camp. She traced the edges of the frame before following the lines of her sleeping dad’s face. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?' She thinks inwardly, willing the man in the photo for an answer.

“Riz, I think this is too much of a stretch. Our dads would’ve told us if it was something this serious. And our childhood couldn’t be that similar! And, even if–IF we were siblings; I wasn’t born a twin.”

“Oh yeah? When’s your birthday?”

“January 12.”

“Same here. I’m turning 11, you’re turning 11, too, right?. I’m telling you… It makes sense! My dad ALSO said he had a partner a long time ago and like you; I don’t know who my biological father is because I could be my dad’s or his ex! And, to be honest, I really don’t care to know at this point, but it all lines up!” Riz gets flustered now, there’s a funny feeling in her tummy as Portia still looks at her with an unreadable expression on her face.

“And my dad said I looked mostly egg donor too, but he always says that he can see the things that remind him that I’m his or his partner’s– ex partner .” Nerissa finishes, plopping down to sit beside Portia who was still silent. “Well… what do you think? Say something!” She urges, almost pleadingly.

“So… you mean to tell me…”

“Yeah?” Nerissa prompts, watching the girl add things up in her head and the growing realization dawn on her face.

“BIADORE WAS REAL?!?!” Portia screeches with excitement before Nerissa hits her with a pillow.

“UGhhhhhhH!” Nerissa groans, “Can you stop thinking about drag race? This is bigger than us now. BUT, IN HINDSIGHT, YES! I genuinely believe that my dad and your dad used to be together, and they were probably the “ex” in our birth stories.”

“How are we twins with different dads though?” Portia asks once she calms down again.

“It’s possible. I read about it once, it’s like what happened with Neil Patrick Harris and his partner. They had a surrogate accept both eggs, so they had twins. Theirs was fraternal though, and seeing how identical we are– I’m guessing we’re a pretty special case of science and sheer luck.” Nerissa sighs, then sadly adds “It’s kinda annoying how they didn’t tell us. It’s one thing to divorce each other, but to raise kids and hiding a part of their truth? I think it’s cruel.”

“No… It kinda makes sense to me.” Portia says after a few minutes of silence and letting the question linger in the air. “My dad didn’t tell me about you… about how I was a twin because he knew…” she continues to say, breath slow and soft, almost wavering. Tears slowly fill her eyes as she looks at her twin in front of her, “He knew if he told me about you, I would go looking for you. I- I would’ve done everything to meet my sister because I’ve always wanted a sister.” She sniffles, her hand reaching out to grasp the other girl’s hand. “And now I have one” Portia pulls Nerissa in for a hug.

They let the tears flow; tears of confusion, anger, frustration, joy, and love. They murmured their “sorry”; “it’s okay”; “I’ll still fight you when it comes to boys though”; and “Nah, don’t worry, I don’t even like boys…”

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When sobs turned to sniffles and feelings were pacified by food and other words of affirmation, they found themselves nestled on the ground between their bed frames with their mattress and heaps of pillows and blankets surrounding them.

“We still have a few weeks in here, what do you want to do till then?” Portia asks as she stuffs another cookie down her throat. Nerissa lifts a leg up nonchalantly in the air before dramatically dropping it to Portia’s side of the bed.

“Well, I still have more episodes of season 6 to go, right?” She proposes, making Portia smile with excitement. Portia, then, scrambles to get her laptop and plop back down to their little nest.

“Ready to see my dad kick your dad’s ass?” Portia taunts as she hovers to play Episode 2 from where the left off.

“Yeah, as if…”

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Los Angeles, California. 9PM.

Adore sat in front of the mirror, already cinched and dressed, 30 minutes before she was supposed to go on. She had arrived at least an hour before call time, something she had picked up when her and Bianca used to go to gigs together. She rolls her eyes at the memory, mostly due to her annoyance with herself. She knew deep down that she should’ve moved on; it’s been years. But, can you really blame her? You never forget your greatest love and your most painful heartbreak; it was rare for both storylines to be the same person. Because, who in their right mind let’s their greatest love go? Adore did; Danny did. She lets out a few lip thrills to recompose herself and blinks away at the tears threatening to ruin her makeup.

Her phone rings; without looking at the contact, she answers it with a few sniffles.

“Hello?” Adore drawls while grabbing a tissue across the table and dab it slowly under her eyes and her nose.

“Adore, darling!” Ru’s voice rings loudly across the speakers. Adore can hear him talk to someone in the background, but their conversation couldn’t be heard from her end.

“Hi, Ru…” She tries to mask the surprise in her voice. She knew the RuPaul didn’t make social calls UNLESS it was a big social event. If there’s one reason, one reason at all, Ru could be calling it’s…

“Hey, baby, I just wanted to call you myself since this might be a big favor to ask you…”

–that.

“Of course, Mama, what is it?” Adore was barely listening at this point, trying to come up with excuses already.

“Well, would you be interested in joining the first all-stars: battle of the winners in place of Bianca?”

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PREVIOUS CHAPTERS:

TAGS Biadore, Bianca Del Rio, Adore Delano, Courtney Act, Parent Trap AU, Henny, Family, Slowburn

WELL WELL WELL I hope you bitches are ready!

Hello, my loves!

ALSO, I don’t want to get clocked or whatever, but I know when it comes to IVF and basic biology (Iguess) The twins aren’t going to be identical since they’re from two separate sperm cells?? BUT, LIKE ALSO, I DON’T CARE?? It’s fanfiction, not fact. SO LET’S JUST SAY THESE GIRLS ARE IDENTICAL, BUT ONE OF EM IS DANNY’S AND ONE OF EM ROY’S (BUT YOU WON’T REALLY FIND OUT). Just please don’t make me think about science-y stuff. Sorry, STEM Majors!

Another thing, assume AS2 didn’t happen, okey?

All the love, Hennies!

Xxx Henny

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“I’m Bianca Del Rio, I’m thirty-seven years old…”

She pales.

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“That was Bianca… and oh my god– that was Adore.” Nerissa says out of the blue, catching Portia’s attention from the other side of the room.

“I’m sorry what?” Portia asks, leaning closer to indicate that she was listening carefully now and that Riz had her full attention.

“Back in New York, my dad… he always kept this room locked. I only went there once, but he got really mad when he caught me.”

Portia moves to sit on Nerissa’s bed. “Yeah, okay… but you said something about my dad. What about Adore?”

“Wait, YOUR DAD IS BIANCA DEL RIO?! LIKE YOU’RE NERISSA HAYLOCK?? HAYLOCK?!?! AS IN ROY HAYLOCK?”

Nerissa blinks. “I thought you knew – how many Haylocks do you know?”

“Did you really search this about your dad?”

“Wait– wait, Bianca quit drag? Why?”

“Well, people started speculating that it was probably for his daugh–” Portia stops mid sentence, looking at Nerissa’s sudden sad face sheepishly. “Hey, don’t feel bad!”

“No, that’s just one of the speculations, really.”

“What were the others?”

“How come?”

Nerissa hums, in deep thought. A pregnant pause lingers in the air. With her curiosity getting the best of her, Nerissa asks out of the blue;

"Hey, Portia?”

“Yeah?"

"Did your dad adopt you?"

Portia looks at Nerissa as if she’s grown another head, which coming from her is ironic in itself.

"Well, no, but it’s kind of complicated. My dad was actually married in the past. He would tell me that they tried both fertilized eggs and hoped for the best. Nine months later, I was born and up until today he doesn’t know if I was his or his ex’s biological baby, but he loves me nonetheless.”

“But won’t you look predominantly like one though?”

“Yeah, I look like my egg donor who looks eerily like my dad.” Portia pauses, head tilted.

“Nah, he never really cared for me in the beginning, so why should I bother now? Even if I was his, biologically, he didn’t raise me. He’s just a sperm donor to me, if ever. Why’d you ask anyway?“

"But…”

“No, no! Don’t try to deny it. I know there’s this whole theory about at least 5 people in the world looking like you–but not like this! Especially not when we basically have the same story growing up!” Nerissa is shaking as she stands to retrieve a picture in her bag;the very same frame she showed her friends her first day in the camp. She traced the edges of the frame before following the lines of her sleeping dad’s face. 'Why didn’t you tell me?' She thinks inwardly, willing the man in the photo for an answer.

“Oh yeah? When’s your birthday?”

“January 12.”

“Same here. I’m turning 11, you’re turning 11. I’m telling you… It makes sense! My dad ALSO said he had a partner a long time ago and like you; I don’t know who my biological father is because I could be my dad’s or his ex! And, to be honest, I really don’t care to know at this point, but it all lines up!” Riz gets flustered now, there’s a funny feeling in her tummy as Portia still looks at her with an unreadable expression on her face.

“So… you mean to tell me…”

“Yeah?” Nerissa prompts, watching the girl add things up in her head and the growing realization dawn on her face.

“BIADORE WAS REAL?!?!” Portia screeches with excitement before Nerissa hits her with a pillow.

“How are we twins with different dads though?” Portia asks once she calms down again.

“It’s possible. I read about it once, it’s like what happened with Neil Patrick Harris and his partner. They had a surrogate accept both eggs, so they had twins. Theirs was fraternal though, and seeing how identical we are– I’m guessing we’re a pretty special case of science and sheer luck.” Nerissa sighs, “It’s kinda annoying how they didn’t tell us though. It’s one thing to divorce each other, but to raise kids and hiding a part of their truth? I think it’s cruel.”

t(-.-)tt(-.-)tt(-.-)tt(-.-)tt(-.-)tt(-.-)tt(-.-)tt(-.-)tt(-.-)tt(-.-)tt(-.-)t

“Well, I still have more episodes of season 6 to go, right?” She proposes, making Portia smile with excitement. Portia, then, scrambles to get her laptop and plop back down to their little nest.

“Ready to see my dad kick your dad’s ass?” Portia taunts as she hovers to play Episode 2 from where the left off.

“Yeah, as if…”

t(-.-)tt(-.-)tt(-.-)tt(-.-)tt(-.-)tt(-.-)tt(-.-)tt(-.-)tt(-.-)tt(-.-)tt(-.-)t

Los Angeles, California. 9PM.

Her phone rings; without looking at the contact, she answers it with a few sniffles.

“Hello?” Adore drawls while grabbing a tissue across the table and dab it slowly under her eyes and her nose.

“Adore, darling!” Ru’s voice rings loudly across the speakers. Adore can hear him talk to someone in the background, but their conversation couldn’t be heard from her end.

“Hey, baby, I just wanted to call you myself since this might be a big favor to ask you…”

–that.

“Of course, Mama, what is it?” Adore was barely listening at this point, trying to come up with excuses already.

“Well, would you be interested in joining the first all-stars: battle of the winners in place of Bianca?”

#rpdr fanfiction #biadore #bianca del rio #adore delano #original child characters #canon compliant #parenting au #parent trap au #the parent trap #henny

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psychicreadsgirl · 3 years ago

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Hi again, hope you guys are doing well n wish u the best 💛🌻💛🍀💛🌼

Please I'm really curious. Can I know about my past life? In which soul contract I'm in :c ?

I got the feeling that I got not the best karma. F Recently felt like I got into something that shouldn't got in u.u

There are to unknown energies around me that keep trying to contact but at this point I'm sure they are NOT whom I tough they where. I know now that they're dangerous TT^TT

What are they? Are they both goshts ??? What can I do to protect myself n kick them out my place pleaseeee???

Truth is I'm so confused about my life right know. I'm about to study a higher education in commerce n marketing.

But I would really love to work in something related to arts or music since child u.u.

But not sure if it's my path, but my hearts feels so moved to it. I'm also very interested in psychology but it's difficult to get to study it at this point.

I gained a lot of interest in the occult in 2020 for some reason and I was about to offer paid n free reading in tumblr, but I don't think I will.

I honestly n truly feel so confused to about where put all my energy n efforts in. Where can I get a more stable or higher income? What can make more happy o fullfill me? What's my life path this time?

I am meant to marry to someone this lifetime? I been feeling like I mind end up alone * it's fine tho* or living with a fried at the end haha. I don't want to be lonely but neither I'm not sure if i can be happy in common marriage + kids :'<

Please can u give some light to my confusion about my career n love life in this lifetime?

Where honestly do you thing it's the best work or place to me?

I will listen openly, even if what I hear I not what I want. It's okay if your words are harsh I prefer honesty n truth.

My apologies for asking so many questions, I'm really confuse and I don't know or have someone trustworthy who to ask advice T^T

Truly thank you the both of you for this amazing blog. You guys saved my life to some extend and opened my eyes, will be forever grateful ^~^ 💛💛💛💛

The blog has absolutely changed radically my view on "spirituality" a the dangers of some popular practices that popular in this community. Or the truth behind a lot of things in life u.u

Once again thank u for this blog n all the great work u guys do really helpful n grateful for it 💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛

Xoxo J💛🧡💚

Thank you for taking the time to read my posts. I appreciate it.

I'm not doing personal readings at this time. Sorry.

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cheryl-in-a-barrel · 6 years ago

Text

Drive safely (choni one shot)

Based on this prompt list, using the prompt, “Drive safely.”

Sweet Pea places a hand down on top Toni’s rapidly bouncing leg from where he sits beside the shaking girl. His eyes hadn’t even been open, they still aren’t. He’s leaned back in the cheap hospital waiting room chair, the back of his head pressed against the wall behind him, and his gigantic legs stretched out on the floor in front of him.

Toni is in a much different position. She’s in an identical chair, however, her body is scrunched forward, legs close to her body as she bounces them in anxiety. Her lip is bleeding from how much she’s been chewing on it the past hour, and her face is much paler than her normal colouring.

As soon as Sweet Pea’s hand makes contact with her thigh, her own shaky, much smaller hand clings to it. Threading her fingers in-between his, and squeezing tight as if she’s terrified of what will happen if she lets go.

Sweet Pea says nothing, does nothing, nothing but squeeze his friend’s hand back just as tight. There was nothing left for him to do, and he knows this. He’s here to support Toni, pushing down his own fears and anxiety that’s bubbling in his chest, in order to be a strong front for the other girl to lean on.

Fangs comes shuffling in, taking a stand next to the pair, a plastic cup of water in his hand. “Here, Toni, you should drink something,” he speaks softly, leaning down to the distressed girl.

Sweet Pea opens his eyes, looking between his two friends with a solemn expression. When it doesn’t look like Toni is making any attempts to accept the water, Sweet Pea just slowly shakes his head to Fangs.

He sighs, and moves to take the seat on the other side of the shaking girl, bringing the cup up to his own lips instead.

“She’s going to be okay,” Sweet Pea says, and the words solicit Toni to meet his eyes for the first time since they got there.

“You can’t know that for sure,” is her response.

Toni’s face is a complete mess of ruined makeup and tears as she stares up at Sweet Pea with an almost desperate plea in her eyes. As if she’s begging him to be able to tell her that he does know for sure, begging him to have all the answers she needs. But he doesn’t. Toni’s right, Sweet Pea can’t know for sure. He knows Cheryl Blossom is one badass chick, but he doesn’t know if that’s enough to save her life.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers instead, a tear of his own escaping down his cheek, as he watches his best friend break apart.

“She’s strong as hell,” Fangs comments, and Toni turns around to face him. “We don’t know if she’s going to be okay, but if I had to bet on anyone making it through this, it’d be her every time.”

Toni starts crying even harder at the words, moving forward and wrapping her arms around Fangs for a hug, soaking his plaid shirt with her tears in the process. He doesn’t mind though, he simply holds his friend close, trying not to let his heart break at the tragic sobs that wreck Toni’s body.

Cheryl has been in surgery for an hour now, and with each minute that passes, Toni becomes more and more consumed by the impulsive, dark thoughts in her brain telling her the girl she loves is dead.

Yes, the girl she loves. She hasn’t even gotten the chance to tell Cheryl that yet, and now she might never get to.

Sweet Pea had told her that Cheryl already knows, even if she hasn’t heard the actual words yet. Toni finds ways to say I love you without actually having to say it. It’s silly, because she knows she should just come out and tell the truth, she knows Cheryl feels the same way. But something always stops her from choking the confession out, so she finds other ways to ensure her girlfriend knows just how much she loves her.

Tonight, before absolute hell broke loose, Toni had done just that.

“My shifts over,” Toni speaks into the phone as soon as Cheryl’s voice came through the speaker with a cheerful greeting.

She holds the phone to her ear with her shoulder, while she digs around her bag for the key to the trailer her and Sweet Pea share.

“About time,” Cheryl teases.

Toni finds the key and shoves it into the lock, jiggling it for good measure, before responding, “You were welcome to come hang out at the Wyrm, you know?”

“As much as I love your little greaser bar, TT, I think I’ve had one too many nights sat next to drunken men with all too curious eyes, for the week”

The serpent girl smirks as she enters her trailer and throws her bag down on the couch. “Just give me the names,” she says, “and I’ll destroy them all for looking at you.”

Cheryl snorts, “How chivalrous.”

“I’ll always be your knight in shining leather,” Toni walks into the kitchen, grabbing an apple from a bowl sitting on the counter. She hadn’t eaten since before her shift, and knew Sweet Pea wouldn’t mind some missing fruit.

“You better,” Cheryl hums, and then Toni hears some sort of shuffling on the other side, “Can I come over now?” the redheaded girl asks.

“You sure you don’t want to me to come to you?” Toni questions, “It’s kind of a mess around here,” she takes a glance around the dishevelled trailer with a small grimace.

“I don’t mind,” Cheryl promises, “Besides, If I’m being honest, I’m sick of being at Thistlehouse right now, only took 17 years, but this stupid house is finally starting to give me the creeps.”

Toni can sense the deeper emotion hidden behind Cheryl’s causal wording. A frequent tactic implemented by the redhead. She still wasn’t the best at communicating her feelings, but she had improved tremendously since Toni met her.

The serpent didn’t want to divulge into the reasoning for her girlfriend’s sudden apprehension for the house she’s previously defended to Toni on numerous occasions, over the phone. Instead, she made sure to take note of the information, and decided she could try to talk to her about it later, once they were together.

In the meantime, she just chuckles and replies, “That’s because you practically live in a haunted house attraction, Cher.”

“Hey, it once held a certain charm, believe it or not.”

“I’m sure it did,” Toni rolls her eyes, knowing the other girl can’t see her.

“So,” Cheryl clears her throat, “I can come over?”

“Of course,” Toni tells her. “Sweet Pea was still at the Wyrm when I left so we should have some time alone together.”

“Perfect,” Toni can hear her smile over the phone, “I have to admit that giant is actually quite entertaining, but he’s also much too loud.”

Toni laughs. “I’ll agree as long as you promise to never tell him I did.”

“Your secret is safe with me, TT,” the sound of a door opening and closing is then heard.

“You leaving already?” Toni asks.

Cheryl takes a second to respond, “I may have been ready and waiting for the past hour.”

Toni’s more endeared by the response than she’d ever admit out loud. She doesn’t know how she got so lucky with Cheryl Blossom. The girl is too good to be true sometimes.

“Someone’s eager,” she grins.

“Don’t tease,” Cheryl scolds, and Toni swears she can see the little pout on her girlfriend’s lips even though she’s miles away from her.

“I’m sorry, baby,” she speaks, “Get over here, and I’ll make it up to you.”

Cheryl seems to like the sound of that. “Already in my car.”

“Good. I’ll see you soon,” Toni wants to say something else. The confession sitting on her tongue, begging her to make sure Cheryl knows. But she can’t. The first time she tells Cheryl she loves her isn’t going to be over the phone.

“Cher?” Toni asks quietly before they hang up.

“Yes, TT?”

“Drive safely,” she says in place of I love you.

“Always.”

Cheryl did drive safely. Turns out, some drunk asshole driving down the opposite lane from her, did not.

Toni gets a call a mere 25 minutes after she gets off the phone with Cheryl. She’s expecting it to be her again, perhaps with a reason for her hold up considering it only takes her 15 minutes to get to Sunnyside Trailer park.

She definitely gets her reason, but it wasn’t Cheryl on the other line.

After Toni gets the call, she’s in a state of shock.

She calls Sweet Pea, but honestly she can’t even remembering dialling his number. All she knows is one minute she’s being told her girlfriend’s in critical condition, the next minute she’s in the back of Sweet Pea’s truck, and now, she’s here in the Riverdale hospital waiting room.

It hurts. Everything hurts. Her lungs feel like they’re on fire, every time she tries to breathe, knowing that Cheryl may have taken her last breaths tonight.

She can’t stop thinking about Cheryl dying. Toni didn’t even know that was her biggest fear until tonight. If someone asked her what she was most afraid of a couple days ago, maybe she’d say something about following in her parents footsteps and ending up in jail, or maybe being stuck working a lousy bartending job in this small town for the rest of her life, or hell, she’s always been kind of uneasy around clowns. She thought she knew her biggest fears, but she’s living her worst nightmare right now, and nothing could ever come close to this amount of pain.

“I’m sorry, I haven’t heard anything about your friends condition,” a sympathetic sounding nurse says to Sweet Pea who has found his way to the reception desk for what might be the fourth time that night.

“Okay,” he nods, wringing his hands under the counter to hide his impending nervousness.

Fangs shoots him a look from over Toni’s shoulder, and he shakes his head. No news.

Sweet Pea looks around the empty waiting room save for him and his two friends, and wonder if they should be calling anyone else.

He hadn’t even told Jughead where they were going when he and Fangs rushed out of the Wyrm after receiving Toni’s call. Cheryl’s other friends, Betty, Veronica, Josie, even Archie, they all had no idea anything had even happened to her. Sweet Pea didn’t know if calling a good percentage of Riverdale’s youth over here was the best idea right now though. It’s not like they knew anything yet anyway, and Toni doesn’t seem to be in the appropriate state of mind to handle more people. They’d all be fawning over her at a time like this, bless Veronica and Betty’s hearts, but they were extremely prone to prying, and Toni didn’t need that. Sweet Pea decided he’d call them the minute the they heard anything, and for now, the three serpents could just wait in silence.

It took half an hour longer.

With Toni growing progressively worse in that time, as she seemed to equate the passing minutes to the likeliness of Cheryl’s death.

It was during a particularly rough breakdown in Sweet Pea’s arms this time, when a doctor, looking a little worse for wear himself, came through the swinging doors.

“You three here for Cheryl Blossom?” he questions, easily spotting them out in the sparse room.

They all but sprint towards him. Toni is immediately front and centre, despite the fact that she’s beyond a mess at this point.

“Is she alive?” she frantically asks, her heartbeat jumping out of her chest. The blood is so loud in her ears, she’s afraid she won’t even hear the doctor’s response.

“She’s stable,” he confirms.

Toni feels air enter her lungs without the sting of fire for the first time since she got the call.

“Will she be okay?” Fangs questions quietly, rubbing his hand along Toni’s back in comfort.

“Ms. Blossom will recover. She lost a lot of blood, the drivers side door came in and crushed her left side, leaving a pretty bad wound. She also broke her arm on that side, and she broke multiple ribs as well. She suffered a small concussion, but it doesn’t appear too serious or to have any long lasting effects, all in all, Cheryl’s a very lucky girl right now.” he finishes, a small but tired smile on his face.

Toni doesn’t know how to feel. She’s relieved that Cheryl’s going to be okay, but hearing everything she went through still breaks her heart. She didn’t deserve this. Cheryl’s been hurt over and over again her entire life, and she didn’t fucking deserve this. It wasn’t fair.

“Can we see her?” Toni asks with a small crack in her voice, there are still a few tears rolling down her cheeks, but she’s managed to get her crying somewhat under control.

The doctor shares a look between the hopeful and worried teenagers in front of him. “You can,” he tells her, “But just one at a time, okay? You don’t want to overwhelm her right now. She may be a little dazed from the medication as well as her concussion.”

She’s given a room number, and that’s all it takes before she’s rushing off to Cheryl’s room. Sweet Pea and Fangs promise to wait outside, and Sweet Pea mentions he’s going to make a couple of calls.

Toni only partly processes what they say, if she’s being honest. She’s way to focused on getting to Cheryl to concentrate on a single other thing.

Once she’s standing in front of Cheryl’s door, she takes a deep breath before turning the handle.

Oh god. If she thought her heart was broken before.

Toni has to cover her mouth with her hand as she feels herself begin to sob again. She doesn’t know what she was expecting, but seeing Cheryl so broken and weak, lying in a hospital bed that her skinny frame sinks right into, was more than she was prepared for.

“Cher…” she whispers brokenly.

The redheaded girl has her eyes closed. Toni moves closer, coming to stand directly beside her, choosing her right side instead of her significantly more battered left. With a shaky sigh, Toni grasps her hand, holding it tight and letting her thumb run over the smooth skin.

“I’ve got you,” she says, kissing Cheryl’s palm before gently bringing it back down to the bed.

“I’m so sorry this happened, but I’ve got you now, and I’m not going to let something like this happen to you ever again,” she promises through her tears.

She falls to her knees, pressing her forehead down on their conjoined hands as she cries. Toni’s sure she’s cried enough for the whole year in this one night. She’s beginning to get a headache, and her throat is awfully dry, but none of that matters to her.

“T—Toni?” A weak voice pipes up, and Toni quickly lifts her head just as Cheryl’s eyes flutter open.

“Hey, you,” she replies with a watery smile.

Toni stands and puts her other hand on Cheryl’s cheek. “You really scared me.”

“I’m sorry,” Cheryl dreamily sighs, blinking her eyes a few times.

“How are you feeling?” Toni asks.

“Really good,” Cheryl smiles, “Everything’s all tingly.”

Toni can’t help but chuckle softly. “Yeah, they’ve got you on the good stuff all right.”

Cheryl doesn’t reply for a moment, her smile turning to a frown once she takes a better look at Toni’s face.

“Why are you so sad?” she wonders aloud, attempting to sit up only to have Toni quickly push her back down.

“Take it easy, Cher,” Toni frets, holding the girl at her shoulders now so she wouldn’t get up. “Baby, you were in a car accident, you’re at the hospital right now,” she explains, as Cheryl’s clearly too out of it to hold much awareness of her surroundings.

“Oh,” she pouts. “I was going to offer to beat up whoever made you so sad, but I guess that would mean I’d have to beat myself up.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Toni pointedly tells her, “You, my princess, are too high to even remember your own name,”

Cheryl just pouts some more, and Toni leans down to kiss the girl’s temple. “Again,” Cheryl requests with innocent doe eyes once Toni pulls away.

Toni laughs, but happily complies. Coming back down to kiss Cheryl’s forehead, both her cheeks, her nose, and finally her lips.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” Toni breathes. “Thinking I lost you, was the scariest thing I’ve ever had to do.”

“I’m here,” Cheryl whispers.

She then starts shuffling over a little, making more room on the side closest to Toni.

“Cher, be careful!” Toni reaches out immediately, helping the girl gently move over and putting a stop to her fast paced movements.

“Cuddle with me,” Cheryl states, more so than asks, looking up at Toni expectantly.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Toni says, her bottom lip between her teeth worriedly.

“You won’t,” Cheryl tell her, “not unless you tell me you don’t want to cuddle with me.”

Toni shakes her head at the girl’s antics. “Fine, but the minute you look like you’re in pain I’m getting up.”

“Deal.”

Toni slides into the bed incredibly slowly, dreadfully careful not to discomfort Cheryl in any way.

“How’s this?” Toni asks once she’s laying down.

Cheryl moves to rest her head on Toni’s chest, moving her body, and specifically her left side, as little as possible.

“Better,” Cheryl breathes.

Toni kisses the top of her head.

They lay silently for a few minutes, the only sound is the consistent beep of a heart rate monitor, and the gentle rise and fall of both their chests.

Toni breaks the silence with a smile, a thought popping into her head as she stares at the cast on Cheryl’s arm. “Sweet Pea’s going to write something dumb on your cast.”

“No, I forbid him,” Cheryl nuzzles a little deeper into Toni.

“Then Fangs will,” Toni suggests.

“I forbid them both, and you’ll be next if you even think about it,” she threatens.

“I would never, serpent’s honour,” Toni promises, and Cheryl agrees with a little hum, too out of it to remember that serpent’s honour isn’t a real thing.

The room goes quiet again. Toni can tell Cheryl is getting sleepy in her arms, and she’s quite exhausted herself after the night she’d had.

As tired as both girls are, and as high as Cheryl may be, Toni knows she can’t let another minute go by without telling Cheryl something she should have told her a long time ago.

Because the only thing she could possibly ever fear more than losing Cheryl, was losing her before she told her she loves her.

That ends now.

“Hey, Cher, I have to tell you something.”

Cheryl lightly grips one of Toni’s hands that had been resting near her stomach. She fidgets with a couple of the serpent girl’s fingers before quietly asking, “What is it?”

“I love you,” she lets the words she’s been dying to say finally slip out her mouth. Toni doesn’t even know if Cheryl will remember this, but it doesn’t matter, because starting now, Toni’s going to make sure she tells Cheryl she loves her every single day, so she won’t ever forget.

She’s not even expecting a response, figuring Cheryl may want to be in a clearer mindset before addressing Toni’s confession. She didn’t need a response now, she just needed Cheryl to know.

That doesn’t mean she’s not a little excited when the redheaded girl does in fact repeat the words back to her.

Cheryl threads her fingers through Toni’s before saying, with the most sincerity she’s had since Toni walked into this room, “I love you too.”

Toni feels complete in that moment.

Yes, her girl has been badly broken once again, and Toni’s heart still aches when she thinks about all the pain Cheryl is going to be in. But she’ll be there to take care of her, every single step of the way. Most importantly she’ll be there to love her. Something Cheryl hasn’t had a whole lot of in her relatively short life, but Toni’s determined to change that.

The girl she loves, loves her back, and it’s an exhilarating feeling.

In the end, Sweet Pea does write something on Cheryl’s cast. He makes some dumb joke in sharpie marker, You should see the other guy.

Cheryl slaps him over the head with her good arm when she sees it. He only laughs before running off in the other direction, before she gets the chance to retaliate any further.

Toni writes something too. It has Sweet Pea and Fangs making fake gagging noises after reading it, and has Cheryl beaming, with adoration practically oozing from her eyes when they skim over the words.

She signs, in small, neat lettering, I love you - TT.

#choni #cheryl blossom #toni topaz #sweet pea #fangs fogarty #riverdale #madelaine petsch #vanessa morgan #madnessa #choni fanfiction #one hundred ways to say i love you

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tap-dat-agent · 7 years ago

Text

Who Knew? (Merlahad) 6/?

Part 6

“You see ‘im?” Eggsy smiled, watching Roxy from a distance. It amazed him, the way almost every bloke (and some ladies, too) on the floor had their eyes on her and yet were too distracted by how gorgeous she was, in her tight black dress, to notice her focus on second-floor balcony.

“Just about,” Roxy’s voice picked up on a well-hidden mic despite the volume of the music and the sea of drugged out clubgoers jumping at the opportunity to bump and grind against her. “Second floor, right of the stage.”

“Right.” Eggsy directed his gaze to the second floor and zoomed in, catching just the fluff of faux hair on the man they’d been canvasing all day. “He’s packed in with his mates in a crowded venue. What could go wrong for us?”

“That’s never stopped you before,” Roxy cooed, swaying her hips to some god-awful DJ remix. “What about the partygoers on V-day?”

“That was different,” Eggy shrugged. “Complicit and all that.”

“And the rEvolution cult?”

“I didn’t hit all of them,” Eggsy shrugged again, “just the unlucky few who were brainwashed to kill me.”

“Galahad,” Merlin’s voice broke in, from the surround-sound mic piece equipped in each arm of Eggsy’s glasses, “I’ve got confirmation through Lancelot’s feed. That’s indeed Karloff.”

“I’m going in,” Eggsy said, with a smirk, standing determinedly from his table.

“What do you mean you?” Roxy scoffed. “I’m always the honeypot, remember?”

“I did my homework,” Eggsy shot back, moving through the throng of people. “Karloff’s into the gents.”

“What makes you think he’d be into you, though?”

“Please,” Eggsy scoffed, his smirk endless.

“Between Harry, Tequila, and you, what makes you think you’re his type?”

“I’m everyone’s type.” Eggsy ascended the elaborate spiral staircase leading to a second-floor balcony of dining tables, private booths, and undisclosed rooms. “What gay man wouldn’t want me?”

“Merlin,” Roxy huffed into the air, the roll of her eyes in the ruffle of her voice. “Would you explain to Galahad that just because someone’s gay doesn’t mean they’ll wanna shag anything with a pulse?”

“Let the record show that even homosexuals have standards.”

“Hey!”

“Ha.”

“Now, get on with it!”

“Harry, where are you?” Eggsy paused amid a sizeable crowd, staring straight at Ernest Karloff from three meters off and to the right of an adjacent entryway that he assumed led to the club’s behind-the-scene operations. “I’m about to make my move.”

“I’ve taken an alternate route,” Harry answered, nondescript to the fullest.

“You not in the club? Could’ve danced your way through, bruv,” Eggsy smiled to himself, really just wanting any and every excuse to see what Harry dancing looked like.

“I am but, given the make of individuals patronizing this establishment, I’d stick out like a sore thumb were I to simply saunter across the dance floor.”

“Oh, come on.”

“Harry’s right, Galahad. Let ‘em be.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry asked Merlin, his voice and demeanor as poised as ever, but even Eggsy felt a tinge of dread shoot up his spine at the defensiveness in the man’s tone.

The length of dead air before Merlin’s response spoke volumes to the same.

“It’s not as if you’re of the club-going variety, are ya?”

“And what’s the club-going variety look like?” Harry probed Merlin’s meaning, in a sharp Kingsman suit, standing at the center of an elaborately decorated office. “Should I have blundered in as boisterously as imaginable, wearing ill-suited designer accessories and a football jersey, or do you have something to say about my age?”

“…Well, you and I aren’t exactly spring chickens, are we?”

Eggsy, silently laughing at Merlin’s expense, spotted Roxy who had gone red in the face with the discomfiture of hearing the two men bicker. When he remembered Merlin could see him staring at Roxy, Eggsy had to try even harder not to laugh out loud.

“I could listen to this all night,” he happily sighed, tears in the corners of his eyes.

“Well, tough shit,” Harry snapped back, “because I’ve already accessed the offices from a secret lift in the basement. I took out two goons on my way up. I wager you have roughly ten minutes to charm the pants off Karloff, find out whatever you can firsthand, and put a bullet through his skull before things get terribly interesting.”

“Right,” Eggsy nodded, assuming a determined mindset. “Goin’ in, goin’ in.”

Eggsy eyed Karloff’s posse, eventually catching the man’s eyes with a wink and a smile. Karloff considered him for a moment, his eyes lingering on Eggsy’s body, before urging him forward with the wave of his hand.

Eggsy moved in when an ‘INCOMING MESSAGE’ alert flashed across his glasses.

“Eggsy?” Princess Tilde appeared before Eggsy’s eyes. “Eggsy, are you there?”

“Princess Tilde,” Eggsy said, gobsmacked, ducking out of sight. He attempted to disappear in the loose sea of bodies occupying the upper floor, very much aware of the curious glances on offer by Karloff and Friends. “Hey, babe! I’m sorry, but I can’t talk right now.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Tilde stared in bewilderment and, though she couldn’t possibly see him, Eggsy felt like she could see him. “You don’t call for days, and you can’t talk to me right now?”

“Shit.” Eggsy knocked himself on the head for his obliviousness. Amid the excitement of Merlin’s rapid recovery, finding Roxy alive and well, and their current mission, he’d neglected to check in with his own wife. “I’m sorry, babe, really I am. I forgot to call.”

“Yah, no shit,” she agreed. “I’ve been so worried but, if you were working, I didn’t want to jeopardize mission.”

“Not at all,” Eggsy squeaked out, reassuringly, though his eyes strained to focus on both the worry in Tilde’s eyes and the eyes of those now watching him with cautious consideration.

“Eggsy, you can’t do this to me. You have to talk to me.”

“Yeah, I know, I know, I’m sorry but…I gotta go.”

“What? Eggsy, I can’t hear you.” Tilde moved in closer. “Where are you? Are you at a club?”

“Gotta go now!”

“Eggsy…!”

Eggsy closed communications, the knowledge that he’d pay for hanging up on Tilde gnawing at the back of his head, but he had to. He’d garnered a bit of suspicion, enough to blow the mission wide open, so as he pretended to put away a phone and readjusted his track jacket he did so with an easygoing smile on his face.

“Let’s keep the personal calls to a bare minimum, shall we, Galahad?”

“Yeah, sure…”

Eggsy’s smile quickly dropped in finding Tequila had moved in on his target.

“Oh, what the fuck?”

“You took too long,” Tequila muttered behind a cocktail glass, smiling above Karloff’s hair piece. “Puttin’ the whole mission at risk.” Tequila slinked his hulky body down against Karloff’s side, draped in a half-buttoned silk dress shirt and form-hugging trousers, and offered the older man the drink in his hand.

Tequila wound an arm around Karloff’s shoulders and winked Eggsy’s way.

Tequila was right, of course, but that didn’t stop Eggsy from telling him to, “Fuck off.”

“Galahad. Tequila’s got the target. Regroup with Whiskey and Lancelot downstairs and ready the exits.”

“Fine.”

“Ich kenne dich.”

“Pardon, mate.”

“Ich kenne dich, nicht?”

Eggsy tried brushing past someone on his way back downstairs but the bloke wouldn’t let up, hanging onto his sleeve.

“’xcuse me?”

“Ich glaube, ich kenne dich,” the man, maybe a few years older than Eggsy and a foot taller, elaborated. “Woher kenne ich Sie?”

Translations worked their way onto the bottom of Eggsy’s lenses.

“Sorry, mate,” Eggsy shrugged, backing away. “Don’t think you know me...”

“Ich sicher, tue ich!” The man pulled him in closer, a zealously hopeful grin on his face. “Sind Sie berühmt?”

“Get off me, bruv!”

“You’ve got eyes, Galahad. Get the heck outta there.”

Eggsy wrestled his way out of the man’s grip and pushed him back against a dining table. The act caused a considerable amount of commotion as other club goers quickly became curious onlookers. The man, his eyes unblinking, glared at Eggsy as he backed away.

“Ich kenne ihn! Ich kenne ihn von Irgendwo!” The prick retreated all the way back into Karloff’s inner circle, all the while wagging an accusatory finger Eggsy’s way. “Ich kenne ihn von Irgendwo!”

“Well, fuck me,” Eggsy breathed, the legion of Karloff’s men simultaneously rising from their tables and reaching for their weapons.

“Good and proper, Eggsy. Tequila, now!”

“Ugh,” Tequila rolled his head back, pulled out a previously concealed six-shooter, and shot Karloff—two taps to the back of the head.

The sound of gun shots alerted everyone. The DJ, especially, hopped off the stage and bolted for the entrance like a bat outta hell and hopped up on E.

Karloff’s goons didn’t know who to take out first, Eggsy or Tequila, so the two agents took advantage of the confusion. Eggsy pulled out his Tokarev TT-33 and went to town, dodging innocent bystanders as they fled left and right. Tequila opted for close-combat, when he ran out of bullets, until he got hold of dead goon’s gun.

“Everyone out, now!” Whiskey, in an equally fitting, shimmery blue ensemble, yelled across the main floor, waving the fleeing masses towards the exits. A melody of tearful and fearful screams and shouts could be heard in the absence of music and in the presence of gunfire. Eggsy entered a Zen mode, adapting his fighting style to the chaotic rhythm playing out before him. “Lancelot, the basement!”

Eggsy dislocated a goon’s knee with the stamp of his foot and shot him in the head. He looked over the balcony to make sure Roxy was alright. Not that he didn’t trust her skills, having recently experienced her stealthy accuracy firsthand, but that didn’t stop him from wondering, worrying, glancing her and Whiskey’s way every so often.

“Got it,” Roxy said, pulling her gun out from a strap hidden beside her left breast. She shot two down before they could raise their weapons but two more flanked their sides.

“I got them,” Whiskey said, and Eggsy looked over just in time to watch the woman pull a series of dart-like objects into the grooves of her fingers and toss them with enough force to stick the two goons in the neck and forehead.

“Holy shit!” Eggsy blocked a punch. “Were those…pens?!”

“Nice shot, Whiskey! Harry, the basement’s clear if you wanna head back down.”

“Nonsense,” Harry said, emerging from the entryway upstairs, a suitcase in one hand and a gun in the other. He quickly shot the goon fighting Eggsy and the goon whose beefy hands were wrapped around Tequila’s neck. Eggsy and Tequila looked to him appreciatively. “Right then, lads. Shall we?”

A stray bullet came out of seemingly nowhere and struck Harry in the upper right quadrant of his chest. He faltered, his once immaculate suit now stained with blood splatter, but never let go of the suitcase in his hand as Eggsy and Tequila quickly rushed to his side.

“Harry!”

Roxy turned round and quickly shot the goon aiming from the stage, not letting up until he collapsed on top of the DJ booth.

“No…”

“It’s only a flesh wound,” Harry said, shakily, looking straight into Eggsy’s glasses with a grim smile. Eggsy and Tequila helped Harry down the stairs and at the center of the now emptied venue sans them and some twenty dead henchmen that littered the floor. “Lancelot, Whiskey,” Harry nodded. “Are you alright?”

“We should be asking you that.” Roxy frowned.

“Did it go clean through?” Whiskey asked, assessing the damage of Harry’s injury. “We need to stop the bleeding.”

“Authorities are en route and headed your way. You lot need to get out of there.”

“We can leave through the back,” Whiskey offered. “There’s a street level to the hidden elevator.”

“You need to split up,” Merlin said, his voice somewhat disturbed. “You’re too big a group to go together. Whiskey and Lancelot, take Harry and hotwire a car in the back. Galahad and Tequila, make it to the taxi at the safe zone. Everyone meet back at the rendezvous point. I want Harry back on the jet for medical assistance, YESTERDAY.”

Everyone did as Merlin ordered, departing with worried but determined faces.

Eggsy couldn’t stop himself from watching as Whiskey and Roxy stumbled off with Harry even if he fucking tried.

“Galahad, what the hell are you doing?!” Tequila pulled him along by the collar of his jacket. “Come on, man!”

The two pushed out of the club with abandoned, looking every which way for any lingering muscle. Sirens sounded imminently, creeping closer with every passing nanosecond. Tequila went left and Eggsy followed, his mind in too much of a fog for much decisiveness. All he could see was Harry, standing on the balcony, with blood pulsing out of the gaping bullet-sized hole in his chest. Harry’s lack of shock haunted Eggsy, dulled his sense of urgency, as he reimagined the moment Richmond Valentine shot him in the head with the same lifeless look on his face.

Tequila pushed him up against something solid and pressed his lips against Eggsy’s.

Eggsy almost shoved him off, on instinct alone, but the blare of sirens suddenly on top of them forced him to reconsider. He tugged on Tequila’s shirt, pulling him closer, forcing their mouths together in a more than convincing snog.

Berlin police cars raced past the alleyway they were standing in, followed by emergency vehicles and bookended with more police cars, their flashing pursuit and emergency signal lights dancing across Eggsy’s closed eyes.

The procession drove right past them and, just like that, Eggsy and Tequila were in the clear.

“Wanker!” Eggsy spat, eventually shoving Tequila off, scowling in the face of the man’s insufferable smirk. Eggsy made a show of wiping at is mouth, trying to get the taste of Tequila off his lips…fucking literally.

“I reckon myself a mighty fine kisser,” Tequila said, hooking his thumbs into the belt loops of his trousers. “You should be so lucky.”

“I’m going to murder you.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“Gentlemen.” Merlin’s peeved voice sounded alarmingly loud in Eggsy’s ears. “Get yer arses to the taxi NOW.”

Eggsy and Tequila did as they were told, retrieving the LTI TX4 Eggsy had inherited from Harry and driving off in resolute silence.

#merlahad #kingsman #merlin #harry hart #eggsy unwin #roxy morton #kingsman tgc #fanfic

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2x2verse · 8 years ago

Text

I’LL NEVER CATCH UP FOR STRIDERCEST WEEK [takes another bite of toast, transforms into a shiba inu]

hello my kink is “nonbinary robots with interchangeable genital attachments”

cw for genital/orientation fuckery

It’s Only Science If You Write It Down [dirkhal]

Switching out panels is... doable. By yourself, theoretically. You think you have all the ports lined up, and you think the arrays are communicating, but it’s hard to tell, because everything’s so delicate and sensitive anyways. A good double-check would be looking at it in a mirror, but it’s at an awkward angle, and you don’t want to risk walking and dislodging something in the process.

Good thing you have a built-in double-check that’s just sitting there in the living room doing something that isn’t you. With your network connection, you tap into the television speakers to call out to him: “Dirk!”

TT: Stop showing off, bro, you have my attention.

“I need to run an experiment.”

TT: Then just get some graph paper and a pencil. It’s only science if you write it down.

“I also need all constants present to verify the results.”

TT: Implying I’m one of the constants, because you’re talking to me. TT: Fine. Where are you?

You can hear him shift off the couch, start following the hallway to the back of the apartment you share. “Just past Parliament and the second star to the right,” you say, your voice following him over intercom.

“Of course, right where I left--” Dirk’s voice stutters to an abrupt stop as he gets past the threshold of the bedroom.

Well, you must make quite the sight, you have to admit. The mattress has made for the best surface for any repairs or maintenance that needs done to your chassis, especially when you have to do it yourself; surrounding you are eyeglasses screwdrivers, a soldering iron, and some patching wires, along with other spare parts from your recent panel exchange. To that end, your legs are splayed open and you’re full naked, your ankles at each corner of the foot of the bed and your crotch on full display to anyone who walks through that door.

Your genitals, of course, being the panel that got swapped out. Your robodong is safe, out of the way on the nightstand, and back in its place (securely, you hope) is a yonic structure: clitoris, vulva, labia, vagina.

Dirk is fucking staring at it. Not at you--at it. Like it could bite him from two yards away or something. “What?” you challenge him. Shame is not exactly a thing you can feel, but irritation is.

“Why did you do that.”

“Mm, I think the better question is, why did you make this.” One hundred percent of your chassis, replacement parts and all, was designed by the man standing right in front of you.

“I--what--Hal, close your legs when I’m talking to you.” He’s pushing his shades up his face with his thumb on one point, middle finger on the other; it very conveniently totally blocks his view of your everything.

“I’m not sure that’s safe,” you tell him. “I can’t be sure it was installed correctly from this angle.”

“Then why the fuck--” Dirk takes a deep breath in through his nose, pushes it out heavy through his mouth. “Seriously, dude, this is weird.”

“Yes, I agree, you’re being weird.”

“Because you decided to do cosmetic surgery on yourself without telling me!”

“And would you have helped with this project?” Conspicuous silence from Dirk’s end. “Which is strange, because there’s no reason to make me a cunt if you don’t have some expectation of using it at some point.”

“Why would I use it? I’m gay,” Dirk says in a long-suffering tone.

“Christ. You transphobic shitlord. Get in here and help me make sure I didn’t damage myself.”

A snort. Then, Dirk drops his hand. “Okay. Okay, fine, but then you’ll--I’ll help you take it off again once you’re done doing your science, or whatever.”

“This is part of the science,” you tell him. This is really getting to him, and it’s interesting to watch his reactions. “Why is this bothering you so much?”

Dirk’s taken two steps into the room; he kneels at the foot of the bed, reaches up carefully. Still can’t bring himself to touch you. “Why isn’t this bothering you?”

“Having interchangeable parts?” He shakes his head. “Wearing this one?” A nod, and a soft hand on your thigh--but no further. “You can’t tell me you’ve never thought about it.” Well, he could, but he’d be lying to you--that’s something you both remember, idle twelve-year-old fantasies. “I have the option, so I pursued it. I can uninstall this whenever I want--with your help, of course--and go back to the other set.”

“So you just... don’t care?” His other hand comes up, runs a caress up from your other knee, and why does it feel like his thumbs are holding your thighs apart for inspection?

“Not so much. Is it really that strange?” Maybe he needs a more metaphysical explanation; the practical one doesn’t seem to be getting through to him. “I spent more than eight years not having a body, let alone a dick. And now I have genitals. It’s great. Everyone’s happy.” Or at least you thought Dirk would be jumping at the opportunity to try this without having sex with some icky gross girl or something.

The way Dirk has his hands on you right now is the same posture as when he’s about to go down on you, except his breath is nowhere near your skin. That’s the real disorienting part to you. His thumbs run up the insides of your thighs, end up where your legs meet the gap between--oh, that’s so sensitive, it takes some real effort not to close your legs and trap his hands there. You know what he’s trying to feel out: near-invisible screws holding you together, making sure your connections match up. Usually this maintenance is a little more routine and has a much... happier ending. Right now, though, Dirk’s hands are tensed, and you know he intends his touch to be as clinical as possible. Even his lips are pursed together when you deign to look down.

“So?” you prod him. “What’s the verdict?”

“Everything seems fine,” he admits. “So can we switch this out now?”

“Okay, let’s try this again: What the fuck is your problem, bro?”

His thumbs still haven’t left that sensitive gap. It’s too far from your labia proper, but it’s just close enough to be in a place where the sun don’t shine, and it’s a hint that there’s more sensation to come. “I’m--I mean, you’re--this is--” He swallows and tries to articulate himself a little better. “It’s not supposed to look like this.”

That doesn’t make any sense to you, but if you make this silence as uncomfortable as possible, you know Dirk will try to fill in the gaps in his meaning. He won’t do that if you’re staring at him, though, so you let your head fall back to the mattress.

“It’s like looking in a mirror,” Dirk tries to explain. His hands still haven’t left the vague area of your crotch. This isn’t just a maintenance inspection anymore; his thumbprints can’t leave the soft skin you’ve exposed to him. “Except there’s one part that’s just wrong. Everything else is the same, face, build, hair, stature, but--It’s like I’m looking at myself and I just don’t look like I’m supposed to. I can’t believe it doesn’t feel like that for you.”

“I have zero problems with this.” Especially since Dirk has extremely capable hands and they won’t leave the vicinity of your princess parts; your hips have started a very gentle tilt with every sweep of his thumbs. “Now, are we doing science, or should I just spend a few hours undoing all the work I just put into this?”

Dirk lets out a long, exasperated sigh. “What science did you want to do.”

“And here I was, thinking you’d be curious about how the neural pathways correspond when I’ve never had these parts before.” That pricks his ears up. He’s always a slut for robotics. “It’s not as though you don’t have experience with digital manipulation or oral stimulation or penetration.”

“You seriously want me to fuck you while you’re wearing this?”

“I said or,” you point out. “Any or all of those would be acceptable.”

“I’m...” You’re starting to lose him again. And then you see the HUD on his shades flickering just that slightest bit. “Not really all that experienced with this set of equipment.”

“I’m sure the skill sets are analogous,” you reassure him. “You’re doing great.”

“I’m--what?” It’s like he didn’t notice his thumbs were still caressing you, right before he would actually touch anything like a genital. “Oh, that--that felt--okay?” Another flicker of his lenses.

That dirty cheater, he’s pulling up diagrams. (You ignore, for the moment, your own natural advantage over him in this department, having the entire Internet at your disposal at literally all times.) “A little bit of a tease, but yes, it’s okay.” You’ll upgrade that adjective if he ever starts getting a move on.

“So I’m--okay. I’m going to--” He doesn’t exactly warn you, but at the same time, it’s not painful. Just awkward. He kneads the pads of his thumbs into you, then ever so gently pries apart the delicate linear structures. “I might need you to scoot down.”

Something in a hidden, interior part of you clenches. You’re not used to that feeling being there. It’s not unpleasant, just strange--and the way Dirk’s peering at you so inquisitively makes you want to shove yourself in his face and chase down that sensation again. You push yourself down, but Dirk meets you halfway, hauling you towards him until your cunt is right at the edge of the bed.

He’s still just kind of... looking at it. Massaging at it a little with his fingers, but definitely staring. Your voicebox does a little glitch, the equivalent of you clearing your throat, and Dirk startles. “Sorry, I--still weird. Internal monologue. Having a... a pussy right here.”

“Then maybe don’t call it that?” Yes, you’re a little petulant, but he’s being so damn difficult. “It’s just...” Well, casting around for words isn’t exactly easy when Dirk’s hands are still doing a thing that’s just far enough away from anything meaningful that it frustrates you. “A node,” you tell him. “And a front valve. And some... channels.”

“And this part is your node,” Dirk guesses, moving his thumbs up and keeping you spread apart so he can expose your clit.

“Smart man.” Funny, once you get past that mental block, he doesn’t have near as much reluctance to touch you. “Guess which one’s my front valve.”

One thumbprint stays where it is; the other finds the seam of you, darts down until he finds that entrance. “Right here.”

“Much better. Oh--” when the thumb still at your--your node massages a slow, small circle around it. There are things happening to you internally that you don’t quite recognize, but you feel very open, very vulnerable, and very scrutinized.

“You’re--Hal, you’re,” Dirk tries to say, and his other hand slips; it feels like he’s smearing something between your legs like this. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

“Do wh--” It cuts off in a filter of static as you realize you’re, for lack of a better word, leaking onto his fingers, and he’s tracking it all through your channels down here. “Ew, fuck, I feel wet down there.”

“Guess I’m a better structural engineer than I thought.” Delicate fingertips fold your channels, first one way, then the other, while he tries to get a better hold on your anatomy. And he’s just idly rubbing at your node with his thumb, in gentle up-down sweeps. The more of your lubrication he gets on his fingertip, the easier it goes and the better it feels.

You don’t know why it’s occupying so much of your attention when it’s objectively so tiny compared to what you’re used to working with. And the more Dirk manipulates your node, the less it squishes, like it’s--hnn... like it’s trying to distractedly connect to an output it’s used to and harden up so it can drink in every little touch. Or maybe it’s supposed to do that? You earmark that sensation for further testing, but not now. You don’t want to interrupt Dirk from his weird little genital trance and get him off his game again.

“So,” he says, his voice quiet and low. “This valve right here,” and he sinks his fingertips into you, drawing attention to that divot but not penetrating it just yet. “Does it act like your other one?”

“I imagine it would,” you half-truth at him. You have no idea. This is your first round with this thing, too. But if it’ll make him more comfortable, “Putting your tongue on it wouldn’t be too dissimilar to rimming.” Right?

Dirk frowns; you see it more in his eyebrows than in the turn of his mouth. “I don’t think you need any more slicking up down here, bro.”

“It’s also to relax the valve for further penetration.” You really wish you could roll your eyes without him catching on.

“Oh. Right.” The fingertips that were dawdling at that entrance slip away to hold you open instead.

As delicate as his touch has been, you weren’t prepared for the sinfully hot, wet softness of his tongue against your parts. He finds the cleft of you, dips in but not inside, traces up, and you’re melting into his mouth, trying your damnedest to keep your hips still so you’re not outright trying to fuck his face. “Oh, fuck, Dirk!”

He does that thing with his eyebrows he always does when he knows he did something right and does his best to retrace that movement. You need to hold onto something if he’s that determined for you to flip right off the handle. No sooner than your fingers run through his hair, though, and Dirk’s pulling away to glare at you. “No pulling.”

“I won’t.” He doesn’t want you to guide him where you want him? Fair enough, this is his show at this point, you’re just here to get pleased and look pretty. Still, he slithers his tongue through your channels and finds the shut of your valve with the tip and you’re tightening your hand, making him groan right into the core of you. This isn’t yanking, this is tugging. Completely different, and you’re prepared to argue with him on this.

If he ever stops making you a wet, shivering mess with his mouth, that is. His tongue is curling, persuading, encouraging, feinting at your front valve, his jaw constantly moving his lips in a strange little swallowing kiss around you. Your front valve, though, doesn’t seem as cooperative as the back one--because you’re unfamiliar with it, or because that’s how you always would have been, if you--? “I just want you to know,” Dirk says once he takes a breath; you look down and everything from his nose to his chin is dripping with you. “This is nothing like eating ass.”

“Yeah, it really doesn’t feel that way,” you have to agree. “Wait, what--”

“Well, like you said,” Dirk narrates, getting his fingertips up to the entrance of your front valve now that his mouth has fallen away, “it’s supposed to relax you, right?”

“Supposed to,” you point out, and then your voicebox shorts out in a dial-up warble as Dirk pushes forward and in.

It’s weird. It’s weird it’s weird it’s weird. Good, sort of? You can understand that it might feel better if you’d been at all ready for it, but you feel all tight inside. Not like your usual valve, but unsteady and soaked and nearly swallowing down what offered. “Hm,” Dirk says idly, and pulls back just enough to skirt a second fingertip around the ring of your valve.

“Nnn,” you start with, trying to get your vocal glitchfest under control. “Not that, no.”

“Not this?” You make an embarrassing stutter of fax-machine noises that come out long-short-long-long, and he stops with that doodling outside touch. “What about this, is this all right?” with a crook of the finger still inside you. A long screech followed by a short one, and Dirk sighs, starts trying to pull it out. Not easy, with how much you’re subconsciously trying to resist him, but there’s a hard-to-hide sense of relief once he’s not actually inside you anymore. “Okay, i’m at a loss. I don’t think you overloaded or anything, am I right?” Vigorous nodding from you. “You still want to?”

“Yes,” you hiss out--just because that last attempt was a completely bungled misadventure doesn’t mean you want to stop. Everything between your legs is still vaguely throbbing and definitely wet.

Dirk’s staring at you again. This one’s different than the way he was looking at you before, though. This time, you’re not a sideshow freak to be gawked at and avoided; you’re a puzzle, an equation that needs to be solved. When he plucks his thumb across your node, you shiver, and you watch a few variables slot into place behind his shades. Again, and you end up yanking harder on his hair than you intended, pulling his cheek down against your thigh. “Whoa, okay, I get the idea, hold your horses,” and then he’s.

Leaning down, breathing against it, and then swirling. His tongue? His tongue is on your node. His tongue is on your node. Folding around it, cupping it lightly before licking off, replacing that teasing touch with the heated seal of his whole mouth as he sucks you in, and yes. This. Like with your shaft, only all those sensors condensed into such a tiny space, and you feel a lot less guilty about tipping up with your hips and shoving your node further against his tongue when you can’t accidentally choke him off from his stupid human need to breathe with your eagerness.

Dirk’s mouth is fucking talented, and in a completely different way from his hands. His fingers are precise, ten surgical instruments that are search-and-destroy for any erogenous zone you ever thought you could hide from him. His mouth, on the other hand, is delightfully sloppy, and he always throws himself into giving head until he nearly swallows his own tongue with his exuberance. Right now he’s running his tongue in long, eager slurps against your node, laving it in affectionate attention, and you grab at his hair with both hands lest he have the audacity to stop. That same internal clench you’ve been feeling has evolved into a coil, a clamp, closing down around--around--chasing--

You overload with sparks in your eyes and shakes in your legs, one of those sublime, hovering orgasms that erases your id and crushes you into nanofigments of cosmic dust in the meditative space of a minute. Dirk just encourages it, never stopping that constant motion of his tongue until your slack frame falls back to the mattress.

While your fans stutter back online, you see him--or his blurry outline, given how fuzzy your optics are--wiping his mouth on his forearm. You have to give him credit for not viscerally spitting your juice out of his mouth. “Should I,” you lazily slur out, and start to prop yourself up on one elbow so you can reach for him.

“Don’t bother.” Curt, to the point. Then, a little softer, “That was for you.”

Fuck, that felt way different from what you were expecting. Not one hundred percent positively, either. But that overload... Really, you’re just dithering around in your head because you have no idea what to say to Dirk. He’s not still disgusted. You don’t think he’s still disgusted, anyway. You’re not about to apologize, but something about this seems awkward. Still fizzing a little in your circuits, you admit, “I don’t think this was very good science.”

Dirk’s breath catches. Catches again, this time in a snort. “Given that you wrote down jack shit with a side of fuck-all, your method needs a little work.”

“I’ll stipulate to that.” You go to sit up and the spot you’re sitting in makes the least dignified squelch noise you’ve ever heard. “Uh, bro, I could use a towel-off and a panel switch.”

“I gotcha,” Dirk says, picking up an eyeglass screwdriver and a corner of the fitted sheet so he can work on you in a totally different way. “Let’s see if I can’t remind you why original recipe is always the best.”

#stridercestweeknsfw #day 4 #dirkhal #lil hal #dirk strider #hal strider

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