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tj-dragonblade · 1 year

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[Fic] Use Your Words

Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling (Hob x Morpheus) Rated: T Word Count: ~2500 Warnings: Mistletoe Notes: My first foray into this fandom. Be gentle; I may not have them quite right. It's been four years since last I wrote anything and I'm a bit rusty. Many thanks to @virgo-dream for the beta!

Summary: Hob finds mistletoe hung in the bar. Dream is. Insistent. That they adhere to tradition.

On AO3

~~~***~~~ "Now where did that come from?"

'That' was a bright sprig of dark green leaves and waxy white berries, hanging innocently from a random low beam near the end of the bar, and Hob was very sure that he hadn't hung it there. Mistletoe was all well and good among friends and holiday parties and such, but putting it up in the pub where random strangers might happen beneath it in the middle of the afternoon, not so much. Bit of unneeded potential for harassment and Hob wasn't keen to invite that sort of trouble. He'd have to take it down post-haste and make sure his staff knew not to re-hang it.

Beside him, Dream blinked up at the little plant. "Mistletoe," he pronounced, in precisely the overly-casual tone of discovery one might use to imply one had just noticed something one had in fact already been aware of. "We. Would seem to be standing beneath it."

Hob frowned and peered up at the little sprig, which they were indeed now directly under when he was quite certain they hadn't been a moment ago. "…So we are." Which. Huh.

And didn't that set his nerves afire, just a little bit.

"We are meant to share a kiss, then, I believe?" Dream was staring at him now, intent and direct, the bare tilt of a question in his eyebrows.

And that set Hob's pulse racing, quite definitely, no 'little bit' about it.

"You know the tradition, then?" he hedged, mouth gone suddenly dry.

Dream favored him with a look that could have withered the greenery above them, and yes, right. Prince of Stories, entirety-of-the-collective-unconscious, all that. Holiday traditions surely fell within that purview.

Hob swallowed, nerves still singing a gloriously freaked-out tune over the drumbeat of his racing heart. Surely Dream was not expecting—

Dream was still looking at him, expectantly.

And it's not like Hob had any objections, of course! Not like he hadn't thought about the possibility of kissing Dream dozens of times, hundreds even—thousands perhaps, who was counting—but he'd never expected that Dream would suggest it first, under any circumstances, that it would ever be anything Dream could possibly want.

Was he reading things right?

He didn't think he was reading them wrong, but...well. Sure it'd been a hundred and thirty-odd years and there was certainly an openness to Dream these days that hadn't been there then, but "You DARE??" still haunted Hob on many levels and he'd rather not earn himself an encore. Especially not over a frivolous holiday tradition.

He cleared his throat a little awkwardly, aware of the heat in his face. "Okay but don't feel like you have to; there's no obligation." He glanced away, fiddled self-consciously with his earlobe. "I mean, it's just a silly tradition, not as if there's mistletoe police lurking about…"

Hob's dismissive rambling trailed off unconvincingly and Dream tilted his head a little, eyes narrowing the slightest bit.

"I would honor this tradition, Hob. Unless. Are you opposed?"

"Oh no! Not opposed, no." God, no, couldn't have him thinking that. "In that case then, ah, let me just—okay—" He leaned over and brushed a quick peck against the corner of Dream's mouth, quick enough to avoid the temptation of more, but not quick enough to avoid feeling the cool smoothness of Dream's skin beneath his lips in a way that would surely keep him awake long hours tonight.

Desperately trying to school his expression to 'normal' versus 'hopelessly besotted and dying to do that properly except I'm afraid of driving you off for another hundred years', Hob dared a glance at Dream's face. Which was…impassive as ever, with a hint of not-what-I-expected lurking in the downward tick of his mouth.

Wrangling his nerves, Hob flashed a grin and glanced up. "Can't forget to pick a berry, now, else people'll be stuck kissing under this forever—" What a completely inane thing to say, but he couldn't seem to quite get a handle on his tongue. At least none of the bar patrons were paying them any mind; they may as well have been alone for the lack of attention they were drawing.

The berry vanished from his grasp as soon as he'd plucked it, dissipated into nothingness, but that was to be expected, perfectly normal, right? He glanced at Dream to confirm and instead found himself watching transfixed as Dream reached up, pale, slender fingers caressing a waxy white berry of nearly the same shade, and Hob's fool mouth just kept running. "We don't both have to pick one, it's only, y'know, one berry one kiss—"

"I am aware." Dream cut him off and then, quite deliberately, pulled the little berry free of its stem. "But, as I wish to receive another kiss��" He was staring at Hob expectantly again.

Oh.

Still off-kilter, still not sure quite how this was actually happening but also still possessed of enough faculties to not question his good fortune just yet, Hob leaned in and pressed his lips softly to Dream's, full-on this time, lingering just a little. Dream tilted into it, moved his own lips in complement—and oh. Again. Hob shivered, a thrill of delight running effervescent down his spine, goosebumps blooming all along his arms.

He pulled back before he could let himself get lost in it, because getting lost in it would be so easy yet terribly unwise.

"Dream?" Now apparently was the moment to question, his mouth decided, to suss out what his (very dear) friend intended because surely, surely this couldn't be as straightforward as it was trying to appear?

But Dream was regarding him with something approaching consternation, mouth flat and eyes disbelieving; he reached up to pluck another berry, swift and precise, flicking it away to dissolve into thin air as he spoke. "Hob Gadling." He plucked another, and another, punctuating his next words sharply. "I would—" pluck "—have you—" pluck "—kiss me—" pluck "—properly."

Okay. However they'd gotten here, that was clear enough, and Hob wasn't waiting to be told again.

Dream met him halfway this time, fingertips lighting on his face to guide him properly-as-requested to Dream's mouth and Hob just went with it, tossed aside dozens of decades of caution and restraint and finally kissed Dream like he meant it. Dream made a tiny little sound, high and soft like a wish at long last granted and that was it. Hob threw his arms around Dream's skinny frame and Dream's hands tangled eagerly into his hair and they were kissing, kissing, kissing like they couldn't get enough and never mind the public setting.

Hob couldn't hear whether or not they were getting catcalls or wolf whistles, not over the thunder of his own pulse in his ears, and he couldn't have cared anyway because Dream was clinging to the curve of his skull, was kissing like he meant to devour him and Hob was one hundred percent down for it. He pressed himself flush against Dream, arms wrapped tight around him, feasting on Dream's ravenous intensity as the kissing went on and on.

Dream pushed forward and Hob followed his prompting, let Dream guide him one step back, two, and then they fetched up against the bar, the edge of the counter digging into Hob's spine. "Hob," Dream murmured, right against his lips, and Hob shivered at the way his name sounded in that voice at this moment. Dream was kissing down the line of his jaw now and Hob sighed, tilted his head up to offer his throat as well.

"God, is this really happening?" Running his mouth was going to be a continuing theme, apparently. "D'you have any idea how long I've dreamed about you, like this?"

Dream tucked his face into the arch of Hob's neck, breath soft against the skin there before he kissed, grazed it with sharp teeth. "Have you any idea, how long I have wished to do such things with you?"

"I—wait, no. Really?" Hob pulled back to look at him, but was caught instead by the silence of the pub around them. Was everyone staring; had they made that much of a scene?

No, as it turned out, because when Hob actually looked, he found that all the patrons had vanished and the pub itself was sort of washed over like watercolor, barely-there around the edges, an unfinished painting. Only the two of them and the beam hanging the mistletoe above them were in focus and fully rendered.

"Oh no, this is only—I'm dreaming, aren't I." He kissed Dream again anyway, absolutely crestfallen, remembering vanishing mistletoe berries and other unheeded anomalies that suddenly made sense. "You aren't even—this isn't real, is it, just my imagination. Again."

"I have told you, Hob, the Dreaming is as 'real' as the waking world."

"To you, I'm sure," Hob lamented, kissing him mournfully, speaking against his mouth, drawing the words across his cheek. "But are you actually here? Am I even going to remember this when I wake up?"

Dream paused at that, stepped back—stepped out of Hob's arms—and Hob ached at the sudden loss. Then, with an expression somehow equal parts annoyance, arousal, and apology, Dream reached up and pulled down the entire mistletoe sprig from overhead, made a quick horizontal gesture with his other hand. "This dream is over."

Hob startled awake, sprawled into the corner of his couch, disoriented for half a second at the abrupt change and scrambling madly to sit upright, to hold onto the threads of the dream. Because Dream had been in it, had all but demanded his kisses—and if he'd really been there—

His head jerked up toward a sudden shifting of displaced air across the room. Dream stepped into existence in a soft swirl of sand and stalked toward him, dropping the mistletoe sprig on the coffee table, swinging himself down to straddle Hob's lap with his knees snug against either hip. He pushed Hob back into the couch, looming over him in a way that had every bit of Hob paying very rapt attention.

Dream's hands smoothed over Hob's shoulders, as if to gentle a high-strung animal; ironic, that was, when Dream himself was held taut as a bowstring, so tense he was trembling with it.

Hob barely managed an almost-steady tone. "Not just a dream, then?"

Dream's eyes were boring into his with intensity, gone dark and starry. "Be assured, Hob. I would have this in the Waking as well as in the Dreaming. I would not have you…doubt, my affections—"

"Oh good," Hob croaked, and then both hands were buried in Dream's hair, mouth open and angling for Dream's, and Dream collapsed against him, melted into the kiss with a soft sound of relief that sent Hob absolutely soaring.

It was several moments before they drew apart, Dream's hands carding through Hob's hair now and Hob's at Dream's hips, keeping him settled close. Dream rested his forehead against Hob's, eyes fluttering shut, fingertips stroking gently against Hob's scalp. Hob shivered at the sensual touch, fragments of their dream encounter resurfacing while he caught his breath.

"How long, then?" He slid one hand gently up Dream's spine and back down.

"Long enough." Dream kissed him again, soft and eager. "Too long."

"You never said anything."

"Nor did you."

Hob slipped both arms around Dream's waist, underneath the galaxy-lined coat, giddy that he was allowed. "You were—I didn't think—clearly I'm an idiot, because here we are, but I couldn't imagine you taking kindly to my interest."

Dream drew back enough to study him, considering his words carefully. "I…would not have taken it kindly, before, no matter my own feelings. You are correct."

"But now?"

Dream kissed him again, fierce and insistent and sincere, a long moment of poured feeling before reining it in. "Much has happened, to alter my perspective." His lips brushed Hob's as he spoke and bloody hell but it was difficult for Hob to hold back when the promise of kissing him again was right there. He managed, though, because Dream wasn't done yet and Hob was desperately interested in what he had to say, actually.

Dream put a little more distance between their faces, held his gaze now, fingers still laced into his hair. "Hob. I would. Give you candor. I would have you know, the value I place on your friendship. I would express my regard for you in every way you will accept it."

"In any way. Every way. I'm yours. However you'll have me, whatever you'll allow." Hob was reasonably successful, he felt, at corralling his mental babbling into coherent speech. "I'm yours, Dream. I'm yours."

Affections. Regard. Bloody brilliant. He felt the radiant smile splitting his face and let it happen.

Dream kissed it as it blossomed, reverently, and Hob's heart ascended.

"I should like to kiss you more often, Hob Gadling," Dream declared then. "It is every bit the delight I had hoped it to be."

Hob was never coming back down to earth, was he. "Y'know, if you'd led with that and your pretty little speech instead of bleeding mistletoe, I would have been kissing you sooner?"

"It was meant to be…spontaneous, and whimsical." Both things that Dream was decidedly not, generally speaking, but Hob held his tongue. "The dreamers are currently…awash, in their various holidays and accompanying traditions. This tradition, in this season, seemed an opportune means to express my intentions."

'Intentions'. Wasn't that just a fine old-fashioned way of saying it.

Hob grinned wider, trying (and mostly failing, but trying, dammit) to keep the giddiness under control. "So…what you're saying is, you're my Christmas present?" It was a terrible joke. He couldn't help it.

Dream gave him a look halfway between askance and consideration. "…If you wish to view it as such, then…very well. I am your Christmas present."

Delighted, joyful, Hob leaned up and kissed him, because he could.

Dream straightened up a moment later, regal as anything never mind that he was still perched astride Hob's lap, and his well-kissed expression shifted into something mildly imperious. "It is customary to unwrap one's gifts when presented with them, is it not?"

Hob's brain stuttered, ground to a shuddering halt, full record-scratch Hob-dot-exe-has-stopped-working blue screen. Dream had allowed his terrible joke to stand, that was remarkable enough, but now he'd gone and turned it around and lobbed it back? Embellished it with innuendo, of all the impossible—?

He stared up at Dream, wide-eyed and tongue-tied. "Um."

Was he. Did he mean it?

Dream gave him a mildly unimpressed look, with a little curl of smugness underneath; he leaned back in, pressed himself close, grazed his rose petal lips across the shell of Hob's ear. The softest of sighs ghosted after, and then his voice, warm and dark and rich as velvet.

"Unwrap your present, Hob. That you may. Open it, properly."

Hob-dot-exe restarted with gusto; he didn't need to be told a third time.

All in all, it was a very merry Christmas indeed.

===== Started: 12/8/22

Drafted: 12/23/22

Posted: 12/25/22

#Dreamling #The Sandman #Dream of the Endless #Hob Gadling #TJs Fics #it's 4:30pm Christmas here as I post this #still timely go me #Sandman

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a-reader-and-a-writer · 2 years

Text

Worth The Wait (Part 1)

Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick, Jake "Hangman" Seresin, f!reader

Word Count: 3857

TW: Fluff, Kissing, Lead Up to Smut, Unwanted Flirting, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Misunderstanding, Reference to Reader's Appearance

Note: Thank you to @skvatnavle for both the(secret 😉) request and for beta reading for me!

Top Gun Masterlist

Part 1, Part 2 (Coming Soon)

The first time Jake laid his eyes on you, it seemed as if everything else in the room faded away until you were the only thing left in his world. You were behind the bar wiping down the bar top, a cheeky grin on your face as you exchanged a few teasing back-and-forths with some of the other patrons. Jake had only been to The Hard Deck a few times before, but he knew you mustn’t have been working those days because there was no way he could ever forget your face.

There were a lot of beautiful girls in the town around the Navy airbase, but he had never seen someone like you. And as he walked up to the bar, all he could think about was how much more beautiful you were going to look later tonight in his bed.

You smiled as you saw him approaching and asked, “What can I getcha?” Your voice was sweet yet there was a playful edge to it that just drew him in even further.

Jake flashed you a toothy smile that usually had the ladies swooning and flustered. “How about your number?”

However, instead of seeming flattered as expected, you just rolled your eyes as your smile withered. “Wow! You know that’s the first time someone has used that line on me….. tonight. Unfortunately, that’s not on the menu. So, I can either get you a drink or you can make room at the bar for someone who actually wants to order.”

Jake’s face dropped immediately as he stuttered out an apology, introduced himself, then asked for a beer.

You gave him your name and nodded before offering him a soft smile. “And hey, it’s okay. I just need to let people know where we stand right off the bat. Don’t get me wrong. You’re very easy on the eyes, but I don’t date fighter pilots.”

Jake scoffed. “Then why are you working at a bar specifically targeted for the airfield?”

“Because I also don’t date customers. So that just gives me two reasons to turn you down.” You placed his beer in front of him, patted his hand lightly, and walked away.

His eyes followed you as you approached Rooster on the other side of the bar and began chatting to him. He said something that made you laugh, and you reached over and ruffled his hair before stealing his aviators off his face. You put them on and danced out of his reach as he leaned over the bar trying to snatch them back. The joyful look on your face made Jake’s heart leap in his chest and he wished he could make you smile like that. But no, of course, it had to be Rooster of all people to make you that happy.

Jake had butted heads with the other pilot from the first day of Top Gun and things had only gotten worse since then. Rivalries were always expected in these kinds of situations, but this was quickly turning into something deeper. Jake couldn’t stand how everyone always seemed to buy into Rooster’s nice guy routine. And while Jake had made a few friends, Rooster seemed to be loved by everyone. Now apparently, that included you.

But Jake never gave up without a fight. Sometimes it just took a little persistence.

“So why don’t you date fighter pilots?” Jake asked as he settled onto one of the bar stools the next Friday night.

You sighed and put your hands on your hips as you turned to face him, but Jake could tell it was more in jest than in true annoyance. “Have you seriously been waiting all week to ask me that?”

“Yeah, pretty much. I just want to know what I’m up against trying to convince you to go out with me.”

“It’s a pretty solid case, but good luck. Currently, both my brother and godfather are fighter pilots and my dad used to be one before he was killed in a training accident before I was born. So, I have personal experience with the kind of stress and worry it takes to love someone whose job puts them in constant danger and it’s just not something I’m looking for in a relationship. I have enough people to worry about dying in a fiery plane crash as it is, I don’t need to add a boyfriend to that list.”

Jake smiled as he slid a toothpick between his teeth. “Then you’ve got nothing to worry about with me, sweetheart. I’m the best pilot here. I own the sky.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly as your expression darkened. “Yeah, well, it’s attitudes like that which get people killed. Maybe it won’t be you, but then it’ll be someone who’s counting on you.” You glanced over your shoulder and your hard glare softened slightly. “And besides, I think a few people may disagree with your claims.” You set his beer down on the bar before walking over to where Rooster and Phoenix had just arrived.

Jake felt his blood begin to boil. Once again, he had lost your attention to Rooster. For someone who said they didn’t like fighter pilots, you sure did seem close with him. You said something and Rooster’s eyes darted to Jake’s. His jaw was clenched as he started to rise out of his seat, but you smacked him in the chest and sternly said something while jamming your finger in his face. Slowly, Rooster lowered himself back onto the stool but his eyes never left Jake’s.

There was definitely something between you two and Jake wondered if it had anything to do with why you wouldn’t give him a chance. But he was always up for a challenge. One way or another, he would wear you down eventually.

“So, you’ve never tried dating a fighter pilot before? You’ve just decided it’s not something you want to do.”

You shook your head in mock disbelief. “I don’t even get a hello anymore? A ‘how are you doing?’ or a ‘you look nice today’?”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t think that needed to be said. You’re always the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. I could go into detail if you want, but it would take the rest of the night to properly do you justice.”

“Wow, that’s a bit overkill but thanks.” You tried brushing off his comment like it didn’t matter, but Jake could see you flush slightly as you tried to hide a soft smile. “And actually, I did date a pilot once. It went exactly how I expected, and I spent the whole relationship worried about him and not enough time actually enjoying our time together. So now we’re just friends and I don’t date pilots.”

Rooster. It had to be. That was the relationship between you two. The way you acted around him definitely showed there was something deeper than just a casual acquaintanceship there. Jake could tell from the first night he saw you two together that you had some sort of connection, and this made perfect sense.

“But one bad experience made you swear off pilots forever? That doesn’t seem fair to all the eligible guys around here. You’ve never been tempted to give it another shot with one of us?” Jake leaned across the bar until he was only a few inches from you.

You bit your lip before leaning in towards him, the space between you now almost nonexistent. Softly, you whispered, “If I’m being honest…. When I first saw you walk into the bar a few weeks ago, I couldn’t breathe. You were so handsome, and your smile just made me melt.” You leaned over even further so your lips practically brushed against his. “Then you came over to talk to me and…… You opened your mouth and ruined it.” You smacked him playfully in the face with your rag as you straightened up.

Jake swallowed hard as he tried to wrap his head around what just happened. He had been so sure that this was it, that he was finally going to kiss you. Yet, every time he thought he had you figured out, you managed to completely pull the rug out from underneath him. And he was finding it irresistible.

Your playful smile began to droop as Jake remained frozen in place after your little joke. “Hey, are you okay? I was just messing around. I didn’t mean to offend you or anything.”

“Um, no, sorry.” Jake cleared his throat as he straightened up. “I just wasn’t expecting that.”

“Well, maybe now you know how it feels.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

You sighed. “Listen, I like you, Jake. You seem like a great guy, but only when you drop all this bullshit flirting. I’ve met plenty of guys like you and know what you really want. And I’m sorry, but you’re just not going to get it from me. So, either you can move on to your next target and I’ll just hand you your beer in peace, or you can drop the whole suave, cool guy thing and we can be friends. Take your pick.”

Jake didn’t even consider it. As much as he wanted something other than friendship, he had also become too intrigued by you to lose you completely. So, he stuck out his hand, “Friends it is then. No more flirting, I promise.”

You narrowed your eyes in mock skepticism, but you took his hand. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

But Jake kept his word. Every Friday and Saturday night, he would show up just as your shift started and the two of you would chat in between customers. He learned more about your family, your friends, where you were born, what brought you to work at The Hard Deck, what your goals were in life, what you were scared of, what your favorite food was, what your favorite movie was, what your favorite color was…. The list went on and on.

Jake couldn’t remember the last time he got to know someone on such an intimate and personal level. And each of these tiny little facts made his heart soar each time he managed to uncover a new one. This was starting to turn into something so much more than he had ever anticipated when he first laid eyes on you, and yet, he couldn’t get enough.

In fact, about week five, he stopped even considering switching back into his flirtatious mode. This relationship had become something so much more than chasing that “yes” to him. So, it came as a complete surprise when you finally asked him out instead despite your earlier objections. It was just something small to test things out, but it was more than Jake had ever expected and he jumped at the chance.

So, that Sunday he arrived at the bar to pick you up. The two of you had planned on meeting on the beach in about twenty minutes, but Jake couldn’t wait, and he thought meeting you here would be a nice surprise. However, as he walked into the bar, he heard heated voices volleying back and forth. Sticking to the shadows, he snuck closer to the main room until he was able to make out what the voices were saying. And he was stunned as he realized who the voices belonged to.

“No!”

“Brad-”

“I said no! End of discussion. You are not going out with Hangman.” Rooster’s voice was firm and unwavering as he made his decision known.

But you weren’t having any of it. With just as much force, you said, “Listen, I respect your opinion, but you can’t tell me what to do. If I want to go out with him, I will. I’m not ten anymore where you can tell me I can’t go to the movies with a boy. I’m an adult and if I want to date Jake, I’m going to date Jake.”

“Well, Jake is not a good guy. He’s an arrogant prick who only looks out for himself and hits on just about every girl he sees. You don’t need to become just another notch in his bedpost because you know as soon as you put out, he’ll just move on to the next girl.”

“Oh, don’t be crude. I can handle myself and I’m not an idiot. I know what kind of guy Jake is and what he’s done in the past. But honestly…. I feel like he’s different with me.” Your tone softened for just a moment before it regained its sharp edge. “However, I’m not naïvely thinking I’m special or I can change him or any of that. I’m not going to just throw myself at the guy. We both said we would take it slow. Like tonight, we’re just going for a walk on the beach to talk. That’s it.”

Rooster scoffed. “That’s what you said about Bobby Pierson, and I found him sneaking out of your bedroom the next morning!”

“I was sixteen! Don’t even get me started on the stupid shit you did at that age!”

Rooster took a slow, deep breath. When he spoke again, he was calmer, and Jake could feel the concern and affection in his voice. “I’m not trying to control you, okay? I’m just worried about you and I want to make sure you’ll be alright. I know you like him, but I just have a really bad feeling about this.”

“It’s just because you don’t like him,” you responded, also calmer and more tenderly. “I’m not saying Jake’s a perfect person. I just really like him and want to see where this might go, good or bad. And I’d appreciate if you could support that choice.”

“You know I’m going to support you in anything you do. Just… be careful, okay?”

“Always. And thank you for being there for me. I know I don’t always seem appreciative of it, but it means the world to me.”

Jake peeked out from his hiding place just in time to see you wrap your arms around Rooster, and he quickly returned the embrace. The two of you remained like that for a moment before you reached up and placed a soft kiss on his cheek. That was the final straw for Jake.

He stormed out of the shadows and into the main bar area as he scowled, “What the hell is this?”

You and Rooster both dropped your arms but neither one of you moved away from one another. You looked surprised but not as if you had been seen doing something wrong. More as if you were just caught off guard. “Jake! I thought I was supposed to meet you on the beach?”

“Yeah, well, I thought I’d surprise you, but I guess the surprise is on me. I show up to find this dickhead trying to bad mouth me to you and then you kiss him? Minutes before we’re supposed to go out? What the hell!”

Both you and Rooster stared at Jake like he just grew another head. Then slowly, a look of realization settles on both of your faces as Rooster turned towards you. “You didn’t tell him?”

You shrugged in bewilderment. “I thought he already knew! Or that you would have given him ‘the speech’ or something by now.”

“I was going to, but I haven’t gotten around to it.”

“I mean, I thought practically everybody knew. Phoenix knows, Penny knows, all your instructors who come in here know. And we talked about stuff, but I guess I never made it explicit?”

As Rooster opened his mouth to say something else, Jake cut him off frustratedly. “Do either of you two want to tell me what the hell is going on?”

You take a few steps forward and gently take his hand. “Jake…. Bradley’s my brother.”

Jake’s mouth fell open as he glanced back and forth between the two of you. “You- your brother?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry, I would have mentioned it sooner, but I honestly thought you knew. We talked about my brother being a fighter pilot and we have the same last name. Plus, I mean, we do look a lot alike.”

Jake had never thought about it but now that you pointed it out, you were right. The two of you shared a lot of similar features though you were by no means identical. Still, it was something he should have picked up on especially since he saw the two of you together all the time.

Still trying to grasp the situation, he pointed at both of you. “So…. this was all just about your brother trying to talk you out of dating me?”

“I mean, can you really blame him? You two don’t exactly get along and he’s always been pretty overprotective.”

“No, I’m just protective. You get yourself into a lot of stupid situations, and I don’t want to see it happen again. Especially not with him.” Rooster jabbed a finger in Jake’s direction.

You roll your eyes. “Glass houses, Bradley. Just because you’re older doesn’t mean I’m the only one who makes mistakes they need to be protected from repeating. Or should I tell Jake about you and Melissa Goodman?”

Rooster’s face instantly went white as a sheet. “You wouldn’t dare!”

“Just try me! Now, are you going to leave us alone and let us go on this date, or do you want me to keep talking?”

He glanced back and forth between you and Jake before grabbing his jacket off the bar top. “Fine. Do what you want. Just don’t come crying to me when he hurts you.” He started to storm out but paused as he got shoulder to shoulder with Jake. In a hushed tone, so only Jake could hear, he growled, “If you do hurt her in any way, I will find a way to shoot you out of the sky for real.” And then he was gone.

You looked up at Jake, lips pursed as you tried to gauge what he was feeling. “I’m sorry but I really thought you knew. But now that you do…. does it change anything? Do you still want to go out?”

“Of course, I still want to go out. This doesn’t change anything between you and me, so I don’t see a problem with it.” Jake said with a shrug.

Your smile lit up the room as you gave him a quick hug. “I’m so glad! Okay, let me lock up and we can go!”

An hour later, the two of you finished your walk and were just reapproaching the bar. And while the conversation had been light and interesting, Jake could tell you were still thinking about what happened earlier. So, he finally asked, “Is there anything else you think we need to talk about?”

You sighed. “About my brother…. Are you sure you’re okay with this? I know you two aren’t exactly friends and Bradley’s not thrilled with me seeing you.”

“I mean, it’s a little weird but Rooster can just suck it up like the big boy he is. Though, I can’t wait to see his face when I get back to base tonight.”

You sighed again and stopped walking. “Jake, if we are going to try this, it has to be about us. I’m not going to just be a way for you to mess with my brother. So, if that’s what you’re planning, I’m calling it quits right now.”

“No, no, hey. I’m sorry. Listen, I liked you long before I found out about your brother. Sure, it might be fun to give him a little extra jab about it every once and a while, but not at the cost of losing you. I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

You raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “You really think you can do that?

“Of course. If I could stop flirting with you for weeks when all I wanted to do was kiss you, I think I can stop from rubbing it in Rooster’s face I’m dating his sister.”

“You… you’ve been wanting to kiss me?” You asked softly.

Jake hadn’t even really realized what he admitted to when he said that, but it was the truth. “Well, yeah. I figured you knew that since I was coming on too strong and you had to tell me to stop flirting with you. But that time you teased me and leaned over so we practically kissed? I almost leaped over the bar and carried you out of there right then! It was tough but I-”

Jake was instantly silenced by your lips on his. You pressed your body tightly against his as you ran your hand through the back of his hair. Though surprised, Jake leaned into your embrace and gripped your hips tightly, using them to pull you in even closer.

After a moment, he broke away and breathlessly asked, “I thought you wanted to take things slow?”

“Maybe I lied. Maybe I just wanted to see if you’d still want to go out with me after that. And besides, just because I’m not a pilot doesn’t mean I don’t like going fast.” You placed another long, lingering kiss on his lips before adding, “But if you tell Bradley about this, we’re through.”

“Yeah, no, that’s fair.” He captured your lips again and lifted you up, your legs immediately wrapping around his waist. With his mouth still on yours, he carried you into the bar and set you down on the bar top. Then, he ripped off his shirt and grinned as your eyes grew wide as they soaked in his finely sculpted physique. Tentatively reaching out, you ran your fingers lightly over his firm stomach muscles, sending a shiver of pleasure through him.

You smiled at his reaction before removing your own shirt. Now it was Jake’s turn to marvel at the sight before him. He leaned in to kiss you again, but you placed a hand on his chest. “Jake, just….. please don’t break my heart.”

He reached out and softly brushed a loose strand of hair off your face. “Never, sweetheart. I could never do that to you.”

“How do I know that’s not just a line? That Bradley’s right and you’re just using me?”

“I know there’s nothing I can say that won’t sound like a line or an empty promise. But we can stop, right now. I really don’t want to, but if that would help make you feel better about things, we can just go finish our walk on the beach. I don’t want this to be one night of fun. I want this to be potentially a lifetime of fun. So, if that means waiting, we will.”

You stared at him for a long moment, and Jake could see you weighing all scenarios in your mind. But finally, you said, “You’re right. That did sound like another line. But damn it, it was a good one.”

You pulled him into you once more, and as Jake laid you down across the bar top, all he could think was you had been well worth the wait.

Taglist: @loverhymeswith, @babblydrabbly, @lorecraft, @skvatnavle, @edwardbaldwin, @lacontroller1991, @the-untamed-soul, @inglourious-imagines, @fangirlinc, @srry-itshockeyszn, @clints-lucky-arrow

#fic #top gun #top gun: maverick #top gun maverick #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin #hangman #jake hangman seresin x reader #hangman x reader #hangman seresin x reader #f!reader #glen powell #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #rooster #rooster bradshaw #fluff #friends to lovers #kissing

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ao3feed-stingue · 5 months

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Everyone Knows (You Silly Bakas)

by Newget

He couldn’t quite place her expression. Mirth floating in those chocolate pools, yet far away as gauntleted fingers clapped his shoulder. The damn woman still feigned to her own strength as chromed steel pushed him toward the doors with one last piece of wisdom, “Judgment ceases to exist around those who are close.”

One might think he was strong. Sting’s ego slowly withering as he wilted into the velvet seats of his train cart. To think that Erza of all people knew.

OR: The new title of becoming a guild master has strained Sting's relationship with Rogue. Meetings, scheduling, and keeping to a budget has never been his forte. Rogue holds him as his rock, yet it's hard to admit that their relationship is not the same as it was.

Words: 4177, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Fairy Tail

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Rogue Cheney, Sting Eucliffe, Erza Scarlet, Rufus Lore, Minerva Orland, Yukino Aguria, Jellal Fernandes

Relationships: Rogue Cheney/Sting Eucliffe, Sting Eucliffe & Erza Scarlet, Jellal Fernandes/Erza Scarlet, Rogue Cheney & Minerva Orland

Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Eventual Romance, Boys In Love, Sabertooth gang, these are my babies, no beta we die like men, Secret Santa, i don't know how to tag, Romantic Comedy, Comedy, Bisexual Sting - mentioned

Source:https://archiveofourown.org/works/52534774

#stingue #ao3feed #stingro #fairy tail #fanfiction #mlm #slash #sting x rogue #sabertooth

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kiwiana-writes · 8 months

Note

For your fanfic ask game: 👨‍👧‍👧, 📚 and why not one more bc this is funny 👩‍🏭

Oooooh going for the tough ones, I respect that!

👨‍👧‍👧 Do you tell people in real life that you write fic?

Some people! My spouse definitely knows—I have friends whose partners don't know they write and I'm just... in awe of the self-restraint y'all have, because I am incapable of not being super annoying about my hobbies. My closest IRL friends also know—my BFF is also a fic person and we actually lived together when we were both in the Supernatural fandom a million years ago. Highly recommend, live-in betas are great.

Also, I do not recall telling my mum I write fic, but a couple of weeks ago I was on a FaceTime with her and was visibly distracted and she was like "what are you doing" and I was like "oh sorry just writing a thing" and she was like "oh, your fanfiction?" and I think a part of my soul withered away. Mum, I'm begging you, please don't read my smut.

📚 Do you read your own fic?

Sometimes! I mean, there's so fucking much of it. But occasionally I'll get a comment or a flurry of kudos on an older fic and I'll reread it to see what all the fuss is about 😂 And there's definitely a couple of things I've written to fill an extremely specific niche gap so I'll find myself back at those ones a bit more often.

I also bookbind/ficbind and so when I'm binding one of my own works I always end up rereading that work 87,000 times during the typesetting process lol.

👩‍🏭 If one of your fics was going to get you arrested, which one and why?

fajljakdhkad This question is WILD. Should I be writing more fucked up fic?? 😂 😂 😂

Um, I have no idea! Is accidentally leading multiple people to discover a latent humiliation kink a crime? Because according to my DMs at the time hung!sub!virgin!Patrick should probably have gotten me arrested in that case 😂

[Fanfic Ask Game (the movie, the sequel)]

#fanfic ask game #ask meme response #myheartalivewrites

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artaxlivs · 11 months

Note

I really really like your works. I get so excited whenever you post a new fic. You're really talented and one of my favorite writer. I'm always looking forward to a fic from you. Please don't make your talent go to waste. Please don't let negative comments to effect you.

I'm not good with words like you especially in another language but I hope you don't stop what you love-enjoy.

I don't know if the ask date posts when I answer it but this was asked/sent back on January 23rd. I didn't see it then because I was in a funk and ignoring a lot of things. I'm glad I didn't because when I started doing WIP ask games a few weeks ago as way to engage with Steddie mutuals and keep my WIPs moving along, I saw this in my inbox and realized just how much I'd repaired my mental headspace since this was sent by @free-space-4-myself all those months ago.

Back in January, mere days after my one year anniversary of writing fanfics, someone wrote an "inspired by" fic from one of mine which was meant to be complimentary but was pretty rude. Basically they said they wanted to write a more "realistic" view of my Through the Looking Glass which is a Winterhawk BDSM fic (very nsfw). I was heartbroken. I felt terrible and uninspired and pulled away from the fandom and creating. I wrote only one more fic in that fandom. A fic about how we carry words with us and even when we know they aren't true, they affect us. And keep affecting us. And I cried the whole time. Every word from start to finish, I cried. Then I cried while I edited it and I didn't send it to my perfect beta bestie @feistygina because I knew she'd tell me I'm amazing and I didn't want to hear it.

Mutuals reached out and supported me, hyped me up, sent me love, and I researched that writer and realized they were a trash person who did that kind of shit all the time to writers that I consider amazing so I knew it wasn't me or my writing, it was them. I knew it. But that didn't stop the Nothing from spreading. Didn't stop my creativity from withering up and dying. I couldn't even read Hawkeye fics anymore, they just turned to ash in my heart. I felt nothing for them. And I really love Clint Barton. I really love him. I miss writing him because he's so very much like me. He, too, was raised with bruises and hateful words. He, too, never thinks he's as good as everyone tells him he is. "The bad stuff is so much easier to believe."

So - yes, when someone hurts you, do what you need to do, lick your wounds, burn it down, scream into the void, whatever it is that helps you cleanse the rot from your soul that someone else whispered there. And then fill that space with something that heals you. For me is was Steddie. I realized that Steve and Eddie were both like me in different ways and that made me remember how much I love writing about journeys like my own. How I like to repair the damage done to other people by giving them flawed characters like themselves who deserve love and happiness. How I shouldn't care who reads it or how they feel about it because I'm one of those people, too. That what I put out into the world is for me, too.

So, thank you to every single person who has ever said nice things to any writer or artist or podficcer or creator because, yes, it takes a thousand of you to make up for that one shitty one but yours could be just the drop that the bucket needs to tip in our favor.

#if you don't have anything nice to say - shut the fuck up #what you say matters #steddie #winterhawk #this ask was a drop in my bucket #thank you

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ao3feed-todoroki · 2 years

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To Help Sadness Wither

To help sadness wither by Blancfortune

“Sensei's very sad, isn't she?”

Fuyumi pasted an amused upswing of her eyebrows onto her face. “How did you come to that conclusion? But even if I were sad, honey, I'm an adult. I know how to be sad.”

The kaleidoscopes crawled forward before darting into motion becoming swirls of color. Fuyumi swallowed down the urge to avert her eyes.

“Ne, Sensei, you know? I can help you make less sad. People always say you should help others feel less sad.”

Toki-chan surged forward and wrapped her fingers around Fuyumi's wrists. “I'll help you,” she giggled.Her eyes were ensnaring and hypnotizing, injecting weakness into Fuyumi's limbs like snake venom.

Fuyumi tasted bile at the back of her throat. Her knees trembled, once, twice, before she collapsed.

Words: 2375, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 26 of Fic Fight 2 - Here we go again

Fandoms: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: Gen

Characters: Todoroki Fuyumi, Dabi | Todoroki Touya

Relationships: Todoroki Fuyumi & Todoroki Natsuo & Todoroki Shouto, Dabi | Todoroki Touya & Todoroki Fuyumi

Additional Tags: Time Travel, Vigilante Todoroki Fuyumi, Canon alteration, fuyumi wants her damn family to stay together...her family includes her siblings, Running away from home, no beta we die like sir nighteye, NWA Fic Fight Team 1A

Read Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39728229

#AO3 Feed #FanFiction #AO3 Fuyumi #♦#Fuyumi Todoroki #Dabi #Touya Todoroki #Natsuo Todoroki #Shouto Todoroki #❄️#🏮#⛄#R:T #A:Blanc #Vigilante AU #Time Travel

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wesper-ao3feed · 7 months

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wipe your tears (i'll be damned if i let another hand)

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/gCVa1NB by wastethenight "It’s like Wylan sleeps and dreams in reverse to juxtapose Jesper his whole life before they even knew each other. Wylan sometimes thinks he was young and wild and free but his father would say he was more naive, stupid and ignorant. Wylan remembers everything he used to have, but he doesn’t scream anymore when he wakes up in the middle of the night covered in sweat like Jesper. He doesn’t sleep to escape, he sleeps because if he doesn’t his body will wither away and die, the petals of his skin easily cracked and broken into dust like the petals on dried flowers." or wylan and jesper have dreams but mostly nightmares Words: 1417, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Shadow and Bone (TV), Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: M/M Characters: Jesper Fahey, Wylan Van Eck Relationships: Jesper Fahey/Wylan Van Eck Additional Tags: other characters or ships mentioned briefly, past kesper, or whatever you call it, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, jesper has adhd like damn, wylan also doing not great mentally, Past Child Abuse, short fic, no beta we die like van eck should, Dreams and Nightmares, Idk how to tag anymore read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/gCVa1NB

#wesper #wylan x jesper #wesper fanfiction #wesper ao3feed #ao3feed #fanfiction

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ao3feed-crimeboys · 2 years

Text

A War Of No Victories

by Syrupsucks

Finally, the gunfire stopped.

The withers were dead. Smoke still pervaded the air around him, rising from the rubble. L'manberg was gone. It was gone, all of it. Tommy's ears were still ringing, he lifted his hands to his head as he whipped around. Sounds of screams and cries were running through the hills, through the cervices of broken buildings. His eyes watered and his legs wobbled. People were walking away behind him, giving up. He saw Techno disappear over the horizon, Phil close behind, neither of them spared a look back.

Or;

Another lore oneshot, this time it's post manberg vs pogtopia war. Chaos ensues.

Words: 1278, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Dream SMP, Minecraft (Video Game)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death

Categories: Gen

Characters: Wilbur Soot, TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF)

Relationships: Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit

Additional Tags: Mentioned Niki | Nihachu, Mentioned Alexis | Quackity, TommyInnit-centric (Video Blogging RPF), DSMP, DreamSMP - Freeform, Major Character Injury, Manberg-Pogtopia War on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Dead Wilbur Soot, Post-War, Hurt No Comfort, no beta we die like ghostbur, Author is a TommyInnit Apologist (Video Blogging RPF), that wont stop me from writing him in pain

#ao3feed #wilbur soot #tommyinnit #crimeboys #crime boys #crimebois #crime bois #mcyt #This is an automated process #If you see any fic that breaks boundaries #or the fic is yours and you don't want it shared send an ask #it will be looked at and removed if need be

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bcdrawsandwrites · 3 years

Photo

Fandom: Psychonauts

Rating: K+

Genre: Gen?? Sickfic?? mild H/C??? you got me, man

Characters: Caligosto Loboto, Boyd Cooper, Gloria Von Gouton, Fred Bonaparte, Crispin Whytehead, Sheegor

Warnings: Vomit, blood, depictions of sickness... (SPOILERS: implied torture + amputation)

Description: Loboto is having a very bad night. The inmates are not helping.

Beta Readers: @jaywings and Rocket

Notes: This fic is based on a theory that comes from a few figments in Loboto’s mental world in the demo footage of Psychonauts 2. ...also I wrote this while sick with a fever, edited it while still sick, and illustrated the cover while recovering from said sickness. have fun

—~~~—

He did not remember arriving back at the tower.

Partially because he wasn't even back in the tower, instead standing on the frosty shoreline, the chilly waves lapping at his boot heels.

Loboto stared dumbly out at the cliffside for a long moment before frustration simmered beneath his fogged mind. Yes! Of course, they wouldn't send him back to his lab. No! He could do with a good climb, especially on a frigid night like this! His chest heaved with quiet, dazed laughter before he took a gasp of cold air that grated against his sore throat.

The wind, though not harsh, cut through every part of him that wasn't covered by his shower cap or lab coat like a fine knife, as cold as it was painful. It grazed his shoulder, and his vision went white as his mechanical eyes flashed. But even with the blasted optics glitching, he could still see. His imagination ran wild with absurd visions of ridiculous things that had never happened.

On top of that, the slice of pain brought with it a violent realization that it was not the only pain he was in. The numb shock he’d been in gave way to an agony that tore through him, ripping up and down his side, nearly bringing him to his knees. No, no, no, that pain could not be real, just like the horrific visions of red and yellow that flashed through his mind. It was all a trick—all a stupid trick from his malfunctioning eyes and his brain. Pah!

He found himself clawing at his shower cap, occasionally stopping to smack his mechanical eyes a few times until they flickered back into focus, the desolate beach snapping back into view. "Enough of this!" he growled hoarsely at the sand beneath him. "That little army man will be back any day now, and we can't keep him waiting."

With a grunt, Loboto marched forward and heaved himself up onto the first narrow ledge, already finding his body shuddering with the effort and his mind struggling to push back the imaginary waves of pain. "Ridiculous!" he blurted into the rock he leaned against for balance. "A child can climb a mountain ten times this height!" And it wasn't like he'd never done it, either. Muscle memory helped him get from one step to the other, but keeping his balance was harder than normal, especially as his mind repeatedly dipped back into brain fog.

His eyes flickered in a blink when he found himself on the ladder, his boot slipping on the frosty wood and one hand losing its grip. Realizing he was about to fall, he flung his weight back against the ladder, biting down on the nearest rung to keep himself in place. A frantic giggle worked its way through his clenched teeth—ah, teeth! Useful for so many things! They would never let him down.

If you let us down one more time—

Ripping himself away from the rung and leaving rough teeth-marks behind, he let out a snarl and heaved himself the rest of the way up the ladder and onto the ledge. He sat on his knees for the moment, his mechanical eyes pulling back as he tried to make sense of the gate that seemed to be spinning around him. No, not just the gate—the entire cliffside spun beneath him like some wild carnival ride. He couldn't remember it doing that before, but the absurdity of it made him laugh, the action tearing through his sore throat. Yet he continued to laugh until his stomach lurched and a cascade of vomit silenced him.

He managed to scoot himself away, spitting and coughing as the world slowly came to a halt. At the same time, a figure that had been sleeping against the opposite wall snapped alert with a panicked gasp.

"Ah—ah!" Boyd stammered, scrambling to his feet and whipping his head around until he spotted Loboto on the ground. "Who are you working for?"

"That fool Oleander," Loboto grumbled under his breath, his eyes swiveling to glare at him.

Boyd's eyes blinked separately before recognition dawned upon him. "Y-yes! Of course!" Fumbling with his keys, he got to work unlocking the gate. "It's said he knows the milkman..."

Gritting his teeth, Loboto shakily began to push himself back upright. A large hand suddenly clapped against his shoulder, and he gave a yell as he was heaved to his feet. Without turning to look, he struck at the one who'd grabbed him. "Tricky terrible traitors try to trap—"

"AH—no, I am no traitor, I am the guard!" Boyd cried, stumbling back and holding up his hands as Loboto found his balance.

The two stared at each other for a tense moment, Loboto's eyes glowing harshly as Boyd trembled beneath his gaze. He couldn't help feeling a twinge of satisfaction at seeing his subordinate cower.

"Th... the milk is not ready yet!" Boyd said, wincing away as he eyed the doctor's clenched fist.

Loboto stared.

"I'm lactose intolerant."

Boyd glanced at something on the ground. "I-I noticed."

With a growl, Loboto finally marched past the guard, who frantically closed the gate behind him.

Now that that mess was over, he could finally get back up to his lab and get back to—

He paused.

"SHEEGOR!"

His voice boomed through the empty grounds. It was empty of people, now empty of crows, and empty of elevators.

When his assistant did not spontaneously appear, he clenched his fist until his knuckles turned white beneath his glove. "Yes! Wonderful!" he proclaimed to no one as he stamped toward the withered garden with a harsh laugh. "I can scale this dilapidated tower myself then. Fine night for some exercise!"

He knew his way through his asylum, of course, so it wouldn't be overly difficult, but he would have much preferred the express elevator so he could get back to work immediately. But as it was, he ducked through the entrance to the greenhouse, fighting to keep steady as the action made his head spin, his back ache (no it didn’t, he was fine), and his shower cap to catch against the branches overhead. Turning his optics up, he pressed a hand down into the cap, pulling it away from the plants. He'd hoped to avoid the woman who occupied this corner of the asylum, but as he straightened his back, he bumped into one of the flowerpots, knocking it to the ground with a dull clunk.

"My, you need to buy seats in advance if you want to come to my shows!" Gloria said, turning to him with a patient, hazy smile. "No need to be harassing the paying customers."

"What do they pay you in? Leaves? Seeds?" Loboto asked, the frantic giggle that followed clashing with his strained smile.

Gloria ignored the comment, glancing him over and waving him off. "Please see yourself out. I'm not an usher, but since they seem to be ignoring their duties, I'll have to tell you you cannot bring food or drink into the theater."

Swiveling his optics in an approximation of an eye roll, Loboto turned away to head out the other side of the greenhouse. "I don't have any."

"Not anymore, but anyone can see that wine you've sloshed onto your nice suit."

Loboto froze.

"It's a wonder it didn't get onto the carpet—"

The next thing he knew, he was staring down at an entire line of flower pots that lay in pieces on the floor of the greenhouse.

"Oh!" Gloria cried. "I'm sorry, ladies and gentlemen, I'm sure the ushers will attend to this ruffian, and the play can resume..."

He left her to continue rambling to her imaginary audience as he tried to rid the imaginary nonsense (visions, pain, glowing yellow eyes) from his mind. "Fickle fumbling females feeling faint for fading flowers..." he mumbled as he stepped into the lower floor of the asylum. It brought its usual sights and sounds of one of the former orderlies dozing over a makeshift game board (with stolen game pieces, he noted), the artist in the room overhead scraping old brushes furiously against a canvas, and finally Crispin standing dutifully in front of the asylum's only other elevator.

"Crispin!" Loboto said, and the man turned to face somewhere slightly to his left. "Let me up, will you?"

"Of course, Doctor Loboto." Crispin turned toward the elevator controls, only to pause, his dull eyes squinting as he turned back. "Wait..."

"Wait for what?" Loboto threw out his arm in a wide gesture. "Do you want to hear that army man ranting at us again? Or perhaps you find it funny! Though it is, isn't it? Shouting about sneezing powder and tanks! HAH!"

While he'd been talking, Crispin had been leaning forward, eyeing him up and down. He frowned. "You're not Doctor Loboto," he said at length.

"WHAT?!"

Behind him, Fred sprang to his feet. "Sacré bleu! We have fallen asleep on ze battlefield!"

Ignoring the man and his terrible French accent, Loboto stepped closer to Crispin, finding himself trembling—in rage or in suppressed laughter or something else, he wasn't sure. "Of course I'm Doctor Loboto! I was, last I checked. Highly trained and professional!"

"Yes, well," Crispin began, leaning back and raising a brow, "the real Doctor Loboto does not wear an actual straitjacket. It's merely a strappy jacket fashioned from one."

"This is my jacket, you milky-eyed moron!" Loboto cried, tugging on the front of his coat in demonstration. "It doesn't have my arms tied up!" He lunged toward Crispin to grab him by the collar, but stumbled as the world spun once more. He struggled to keep his stomach from flipping again.

"Well, that's because you're wearing it poorly. But you are certainly not Doctor Loboto. I can tell. You don't have the right jacket, or the right complexion." He tipped his head. "The real Doctor Loboto is blue, not sickly gray. As you can see, you can't fool me. Now go back to wherever you came from and—"

"He has returned from ze war!" Fred blurted behind him. He blinked, then shook his head, hunching in on himself. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt, we really shouldn't—" He straightened again. "Yes, shut up! We are in ze presence of a great war hero!"

Crispin rolled his eyes. "What are you going on about now, Fred?"

"Do you not see? He bears ze blood of his enemies upon his robes, and ze scars of victory—"

Loboto whirled on him faster than he could think, managing a swift kick to Fred's shin.

With a yelp, the man crashed to the ground, curling up on himself and whining. "Ohhh... can we just postpone the battle until morning?" He twitched. "NON! Ze enemy never sleeps, so neither shall we!"

"Well, Fred's down for the count again," Cripsin remarked. "So if you're done, kindly step away from my elevator and off the nearest cliff, thanks."

Loboto wanted nothing more than to knock Crispin to the ground and find a few bad teeth to remove, but his vision was blurring and flickering, and he found it hard to think.

"No, really, we can't fight in the dark, and the enemy can't either, can they?" "Rrrrrghhh, I suppose you are right, for once. We shall camp here for now, but come sunrise, we fight!"

A weak laugh made its way past his lips as he stared down at the former orderly settling on the cobblestone. Yes, that crazy man had a point. There was no point in fighting tonight—he'd get his work done in the morning. And that work would have to include getting back into his lab in the first place.

After a brief moment, he snatched an item from the floor before stumbling back through the greenhouse and toward the entrance.

A nice night for sleeping under the stars, he supposed.

---~~~---

Judging by how bright the world was by the time his mechanical eyes flickered back on, the sun was starting to rise. But he couldn't tell for sure when there was a large metal cage blocking his view, with something else within—

"He said he would be back by nightfall, but he hasn't come!" a high pitched voice cried as a familiar form stepped out of the elevator, her back to him. "Oh Mr. Pokeylope, do you think he's gone for good this time?"

The corner of Loboto's mouth twitched.

"Oops!" She clapped an oven mitt over her mouth. "I'm glad he's not around to hear me say that," she said as she began to turn. "If he was, he'd be—EEK!"

Sheegor jumped back at the sight of Loboto laying sprawled out at the foot of the fountain, having slept (or passed out) there the remainder of the night. He clutched his worn teddy close to his chest and stared her in the eyes.

"Oh—I—I—!" Sheegor held her pet turtle close to herself. "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry Doctor Loboto, I didn't mean any of that, I—"

"Yes, well it's a nice morning, isn't it?" Loboto grumbled, tucking the teddy bear under his arm so he could push himself to his feet. His entire body ached (from sleeping on the ground, not from anything else). "A nice morning to get some work done after you left me stranded here all night!" He took a threatening—but wobbling—step forward, fist clenched.

Oddly, Sheegor didn't seem as intimidated as usual. Her mouth gaped, and her eyes darted between his face and his right side.

"What are you looking at?"

"Y... you..." A trembling mitt was covering her open mouth. "D-Doctor! What happened to you?!"

His eyes flickered. "I slept out here with a rock for a pillow."

"N-no, it's—it's—!" Her whole body was shaking now, but not, he sensed, in fear of him. It should have made him angry, but exhaustion pulled at him instead, making his frame droop.

"Yes? Well, spit it out."

Sheegor held out one hand, pointed toward his right side. "Y-your arm!"

Loboto's optics slowly angled down to his right. For the first time he noticed the enormous, darkened bloodstains on his jacket, and a torn, empty sleeve hanging limply at his side.

"Oh," he said dully, feeling himself wobble as the pain finally worked its way to the forefront of his mind. "How did that happen?"

At once the world tipped to the side, and Sheegor caught him, straining to keep him from fully collapsing to the ground.

Wordlessly she helped him into the elevator, letting him lean onto her while he bit back the urge to scream. He wanted to protest, to berate her for touching him, but everything felt distant, even the upper floor of the asylum as they rapidly ascended toward it. And anyway, once they reached the top, anything he would have said was held back by his rolling stomach ejecting whatever bile still occupied it.

As he gagged, he could hear Sheegor whispering to the turtle in her mitts: "I know, I know, but I-I can't leave him like that—th-the asylum wouldn't... w-we were supposed to..."

"Just... get back to work... Sheegor," he managed to slur around the acrid taste in his mouth. Bitter bile breaks brittle bones of the mouth.

Sheegor looked from him to her turtle a few times, her mouth wobbling, and carefully eased his arm over her hunched back again. Instead of leading him to his lab, however, she led him down into the asylum, into the usual room he slept in: a mostly-intact bedroom with a mattress and blankets over a broken bed frame shoved into one corner, a chair and a desk with papers scattered across it, and a meticulously crafted and framed (and official) DDS license on the wall.

After easing him down into the bed, Sheegor stepped back, looking away. "Um... I-if you want, Doctor, I can clean that robe..."

His initial thought was that the blood stains made a wonderful addition to his ensemble, but glancing down at them again caused his brain to supply him with more awful, made-up nonsense. No, he wouldn't have that any longer.

With some amount of struggling he managed to get the thing off, unceremoniously tossing it in Sheegor's general direction. She managed to catch it and quickly scurried out. "I'll get this back to you as soon as I can Doctor bye!" she squeaked before the door slammed behind her, leaving Loboto sitting in the empty room.

Everything felt surreal, being in familiar surroundings after spending an entire night on freezing cobblestone. The sight when his gaze turned downward, however, was less familiar: there was new stitching across his chest, and on his right shoulder where his arm had been. It was cleanly done—they hadn't wanted him too much worse for wear, since he still had a job to do for—

Oleander. He had a job to do for Oleander right now. The sneezing powder, yes. His mind drifted over the things they'd discussed in their last meeting.

They'd both figured out a way for it to be made, more or less. The remaining issue was how to properly dispense the stuff. Oleander had suggested keeping it in a bag, but that was easily-spilled, and it may lose potency if pre-ground. But what was he supposed to do? He didn't have a grinder with him on-hand at all times—

A shock of brilliance bolted through him, and he stumbled to his desk with renewed energy. He grabbed a well-chewed pencil and began to write, his non-dominant hand shaking badly as he forced it into motions it was not used to.

But that was fine. It wouldn't have that job for long.

A manic giggle bubbled out of his throat as he worked out the notes and rough sketches, detailing a jointed pepper grinder with claws and a strap to secure it to his now-unoccupied side.

This loss of a limb, baffling as it was, was exactly what he needed.

#caligosto loboto #sheegor #crispin whytehead #boyd cooper #psychonauts #fred bonaparte #gloria von gouton #my writing #my art #fanfic #aka 'loboto and the terrible horrible no good very bad night'#also okay Boyd does try to help a bit #and also Sheegor is Very Good and she does not deserve the crap Loboto puts her through

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redheadgleekfic · 3 years

Text

these inconvenient fireworks - chapter 6

Title: these inconvenient fireworks Fandom: glee Link: FF.net (T rated version). AO3. Warnings: None apply. Rating: Mature to explicit. Pairings: Kurt Hummel/Blaine Anderson, very slight Kurt/Adam at the beginning.

Thanks to @snarkyhag, @wowbright, and @slowcookedwriting for their handholding, cheerleading, and betaing of this fic. This fic really did require a village.

Written for the @fandomtrumpshate 2020 charity auction for @sunshineoptimismandangels. Completed as part of the @wipbigbang project.

Summary: After an unexpected Tony award, Kurt Hummel is Broadway's hottest up and coming star, which comes with expectations and some admirers that won't take a hint. When his best friend Elliott Gilbert suggests that they pretend to fake-date to get the leeches to back off, Kurt takes him up on the idea. It's all working out great - until Kurt starts to fall hard for dark-haired music director of his latest musical.

Read the sixth chapter on AO3, the completed (safe for work version) fic on FF.net, or click below to continue reading on tumblr.

“May I join you?” A melodious voice startles Blaine out of his thoughts.

“Kurt! Sure. Um, just let me move some things around.” He gathers up some of the sheet music that he’s had spread across the table and Kurt squeezes in beside him. He’s been spending his lunch break with a pen in one hand and a sandwich in the other, marking up the songs for his afternoon sessions, but he certainly doesn’t mind the interruption from Kurt.

“Do I dare get my hopes up?” Kurt asks, staring down hungrily at the pile.

Blaine shakes his head. “Sorry, it’s still not for you. This one is a duet between Tina and April.”

“Damn.” Kurt swears. “I swear, I’m going to go apeshit if we don’t have the music soon.”

“This isn’t usual?” Blaine questions. “Kitty said—”

“Kitty worked with Ryan on his tv show back in LA. That may fly in Hollywood, but here, most shows wouldn’t even be able to book a practice theater much less a stage without a complete libretto and score. But Ryan has pull and money.”

“I did think it was a little strange but I didn’t want to question much.” Blaine says, ruefully. “Besides the musical that I wrote in college, all of the experience that I’ve had has been with musicals already written, so I didn’t know if this was how it’s supposed to go.”

Kurt nods thoughtfully, “It’s the first musical that I’ve been involved in from creation too, so maybe I have unrealistic expectations, but it certainly seemed like things were flowing more at the workshops last month. I thought there would be additional edits, I just didn’t expect this absolute famine of music this late in the game.”

“I wonder what’s holding it up, if the songs were mostly written as you said.”

“It could be anything, but,” Kurt leans in conspiringly, “Mercedes Jones and Marley Rose are brilliant songwriters—one of the reasons that I was so excited to join this production because their music is just breathtaking—but they are also new in this industry and Ryan Durphy, as I said, has money and power and I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s contributing to creative differences.”

“They'll figure it out soon. I'm sure they’re all eager for this play to be a success too.”

“Mmh, probably. I’m just not a patient person when my voice is withering away from disuse.”

“I highly doubt that’s true.” Blaine counters, highly amused.

“I’m a musical guy, not a Shakespearean thespian and unless I get to belt my emotions out in song soon, I fear that I’m going to have to march myself over to the Gershwin theater and take over Wicked some night.”

“That I would pay to see.” Blaine laughs, picturing it.

“I’ve always thought that I would make an amazing ‘Guy-linda’ and here’s my chance.” Kurt preens. “But tell me more about your college musical. You made it sound like you didn’t do much composing.”

“Oh, I don’t really. It was for one of my graduate level classes. We had to write a one act musical and I wrote one about the time I serenaded my teenage crush with our entire prep school choir at the Gap.”

“Oh no.” Kurt giggles, loudly.

“Oh yes. So I wrote a series of songs about finding love in department stores. It was so terrible.”

“What grade did you get?”

“... An A.”

“That’s what I thought.” Kurt contemplates him thoughtfully and takes a bite of his sandwich. “From what I’ve seen, you aren’t giving yourself nearly enough credit.”

“Ah. Thanks.” Blaine blushes at the praise. “I haven’t really written anything in years. Just haven’t had the time or the inspiration, I guess.”

“Until now.” Blaine’s breath catches at the intensity in Kurt’s eyes.

He bites his lip, blushing more at his memory of how inspiration had struck him. “Yeah. I guess being surrounded by stage magic has awakened a muse.”

Kurt chews more on his sandwich. “I have an idea. I mean, since we’re still waiting for music, you should play some of your songs for me to sing. It would be good practice for me, so I’m not so antsy while we wait. And, you know, that way, you can keep polishing your work and I can work on my voice.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“I’d… I’d like that.”

“We could go over it on our break time or lunch. I don’t want to keep you afterwards.”

“I wouldn’t mind. That's why I’m here.”

“Great! It’s a date! Bring it with you tomorrow, okay?” Kurt grins excitedly and then looks down at his wrist. “Crap, is that the time? I’m late again with Unique. Sorry, I have to run or she’s going to kill me. See you tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.” Blaine promises, a little overwhelmed at Kurt’s kindness. A date. Kurt had to be aware of his word choice, right? Did Kurt really just ask him out?

“Present time!” Unique sings as she waltzes over to where Blaine’s sitting at the piano and hands him a large tablet. “The payload had dropped.”

“Is this what I think it is?” Blaine says, accepting the iPad greedly and starts flipping through the pages and pages of sheet music. “The whole score?”

“Should be. Although with Ryan Durphy at the wheel, who really knows?” She shares a look of exasperation with Blaine. “I got an email from Mercedes this morning and she swears that this is it.”

“Wow.” He blinks, still scanning. “This is a lot of music.” There’s more than a dozen songs for each act, with at least two reprises, and he’s only had access to a smattering until now. Blaine would have liked having the entire score to play through and master, rather than this haphazard distribution. He already spends his evenings rereading the script to fit the songs in their proper context and he constantly feels like he doesn’t know the music well enough because new music arrives before he’s familiar with the old. Now that they’ve got the full score, maybe he’ll finally, hopefully, be able to visualize the whole musical, but right now, it feels daunting.

“Mmhmm. There’s going to be a stampede in here to learn the songs so we’d better get creating a schedule.”

Blaine grimaces and nods. Rehearsals have been chaotic enough—he can just imagine the inevitable squabbles to practice with the piano. “Right. I had planned to work with the girls some more on ‘Groomzilla’ in a half hour and then ‘Baby Clues’, but we can rearrange.”

“Nah, we should keep those.” She pulls out her phone. “Let’s get Tina down here after lunch to work on her songs from act one and then start working on Kurt and Adam’s duets this afternoon.”

“Sure.” Blaine agrees, his stomach suddenly filled with butterflies. “That works for me.”

Unique pats his cheek, her eyes twinkling with delight. “We’re finally getting to the good stuff. You’ll see. Meet me for lunch and we’ll suss it all out.”

Blaine takes in a deep breath after she leaves, trying to center himself and not panic. First steps first. He makes plans to drop by a print store at lunch—he definitely prefers paper sheet music to mark up. He hopes that having the physical paper in his hand will help ground him. He can do this.

But right now, the reality of all that he has to do feels overwhelming.

When he took this job, he had expected that as assistant music director, he would just be doing what he was told while he gained experience about running a professional musical. It’s the music director’s job to translate the composer’s songs and the stage manager’s vision into a live theater production, and Blaine figured that he’d just strive to be as helpful as possible so Brad could do his job, whether that was fetching coffee or scribbling notes.

The first week, Brad had pretty much ignored Blaine, which Blaine tried not to take personally. Despite his taciturn exterior, Brad was an exceedingly talented musician, and melodies blossomed under his dancing fingertips. He thawed towards Blaine when Blaine showed eager interest in learning from him.

However, Brad showed little interest in teaching the actors their parts—he huffed when the actors would ask him to accompany them on the piano and muttered about jukeboxes and puppets. Instead, Brad mostly worked with the orchestra or on a piano in the corner, fiddling with the arrangement or expanding the orchestration. And the responsibility of directing the actors and teaching them their harmonies or pointing out their trouble spots in the complicated musical fell on Blaine’s shoulders.

That first day when Blaine took over directing the actors was a level of anxiety he hadn’t experienced before—it’s one thing to direct high-schoolers and it’s another altogether to do so for actual Broadway performers. It went smoothly, though. They seemed to accept his advice and didn’t think he’s a charlatan. And Brad was positively cheery after having that responsibility off his shoulders.

Since then, with the solos and duets still being hammered out, Blaine has spent most of his time working with the chorus members and teaching them their harmonies. Although several years younger than him, most are veterans to the stage, having been in multiple ensemble roles in the past, and they help guide him through the unknowns of working on the stage. As Tina’s roommate, he’s adopted into their rag-tag group, with all of the gossip and bickering that entails, easing his homesickness and that ever present feeling of being an imposter.

But because of the delay in the songs, he hasn’t had a chance to work much with the main cast yet besides Tina and Kitty. Besides those two, there’s Adam Crawford, April Rhoades—a washed-up Broadway starlet looking to redeem herself by playing the controversial Mother Superior—and of course Kurt. Kurt who throws him warm smiles across the room and asks how he’s adjusting when they pass on the stairs. Kurt who slides into the seat next to him at lunch and asks Blaine’s opinion about fashion choices at various celebrity events (these lunches are fast becoming Blaine’s favorite part of the day). Kurt who is mesmerizing and passionate when Blaine peeks in on the blocking rehearsals.

Kurt who Blaine has to direct for the first time today. His palms sweat at the thought.

He hasn’t had a chance to take Kurt up on his offer to workshop his song. Not that Kurt would remember his offer; he’s never brought it up again. It was a sweet gesture in the moment, but Blaine’s fooling himself if he thinks that Kurt really wants to spend additional time tinkering on Blaine’s hobby. Especially now that Kurt’s going to realize how inexperienced Blaine really is.

Blaine manages to shove aside his nerves as he coaches Tina after lunch, rehearsing one of her songs from the second act. This is her first leading role and she’s fiercely determined to make an impression - which unfortunately, at first, translated to her overcompensating to hide some insecurities about her voice. It has been challenging to correct her technique as Blaine has come to think of her as a close friend, but she has been receptive to his guidance and their hard work is already paying off. Even with this new song, she sounds more sure and strong in her delivery than she did a week ago.

“Brava!” Blaine grins up at Tina. She prefers standing beside him as she sings, sight-reading over his shoulder. “You hit that last note perfectly. Let’s go back to measure 50 at the top of page 3. You’re a little off on the rhythm there. It’s du da du du.” He plays the notes on the piano.

“Knock, knock. Am I interrupting?” Kurt walks into the room, that infectious grin lighting up his face, and Blaine’s stomach alights in flutters again.

“Hey! Um, no, we were just finishing.” He says and stands up from the piano, gathering up the sheet music to hide the slight tremor in his fingers.

“I can’t even tell you how excited I am that we’ve finally got songs!” Kurt says, the happiness evident in his voice. “I was going out of my mind and it was not pretty.” He winks as if Blaine is an old friend and Blaine’s nervousness lessens a little.

Tina clears her throat noisily to get Blaine’s attention. “Thanks for the lesson, B,” she says and gives him a hug, clinging for a moment until Blaine gently disengages her. “See you at home?”

Blaine nods briefly, his focus again drawn back to Kurt and he’s only dimly aware of her leaving in a huff. “I’ve got some water here if you need some before we start.”

Kurt frowns as he looks back briefly at the door before he shakes his head and accepts the water. “I do, thanks. Unique had us practically running laps on the stage today.”

“I saw.” Blaine sympathizes. He had run some of the new orchestra score to Brad in between his lessons and had to practically tear himself away after watching Kurt “exercise” in tiny shorts for a choreographed dance. It’s a scene from when Brian is trying to convince his husband that he can be the “sports dad”—it’s supposed to be a comedic scene, but Blaine’s one track mind hadn’t heard any of the dialogue to judge.

“Payback, I suppose, for all the trouble I’ve caused her.” Kurt continues, thankfully unaware of Blaine’s wandering thoughts. “But now I finally get to experience the ‘Blaine Anderson voice make-over’ that Kitty has been bragging about.”

“The what?”

“Oh, you haven’t heard? Kitty has been singing your praises about your coaching, saying that it’s completely transformed her voice.”

“I’m sure she’s exaggerating.”

“She wouldn’t say it if she didn’t mean it. She was very impressed. I’m excited to find out myself.”

Blaine flushes at Kurt’s flirtatious compliments. He was flirting, right?

“Find out what precisely?” A deep British voice questions and Kurt’s coworker steps more fully into the room. Adam Crawford holds a hand out to Blaine. “I don’t think we’ve had a proper meeting. Adam.”

“Blaine.”

“Ah, our assistant director. Where’s Brad? Shouldn’t he be here?”

“Brad told me to take this one.”

Adam frowns. “A first time pass through, where we are establishing the tone for the song and therefore the entire scene, and he leaves it to his underling?”

Kurt interjects before Blaine can open his mouth. “It’s going to be fine, Adam. Blaine knows what he’s doing.”

“I do hope that is true. I am not relishing additional time in fixing mistakes that become habitual.”

“I can have Brad come in.” Blaine stammers.

“No need. I’m sure you’ve got this.” Kurt stalks to the music stand. “Well, then, should we begin?”

It’s an awkward beginning and Blaine fumbles through the first notes on the piano. Sight reading isn’t necessarily his strongest point and having Adam breathing down his neck, frowning more with every small little mistake, and Kurt, all smiles and gentle encouragement, standing beside him is a little overwhelming. But he’s a professional and he soon gets into the flow of his work. Adam and Kurt’s voices blend beautifully together. It’s a humorous song, with the two of them reminiscing on their disastrous first meeting, but there are notes of insecurity that weave through. Blaine grasps onto those notes and focuses their attention there, trying to expose the bittersweetness of their changing relationship with the addition of a child.

Adam’s resistant at first at Blaine’s direction, but he thaws as he starts to see Blaine’s perspective and Kurt, well, Blaine can hardly keep his eyes on the music when Kurt’s voice rings out in the final chorus, strong and clear and vibrating with emotion.

The piano notes fade away with Blaine resting his foot on the sustaining pedal to keep them lingering in the air a little longer. He stares up at Kurt, the keys forgotten under his fingers. “That was—”

“A very good start,” Adam states, scribbling on his music. “I had not noticed that particular emotion, Blaine, so I thank you for your perspective.”

“You’re welcome,” Blaine replies, wrenched out of that ethereal moment. He supposes that one would get used to Kurt’s stunning voice after months and months of practice.

“I am missing my cue on measure 14, if you could take us back there. Kurt, you’re slurring into your high note on measure 42—you know that’s a weakness of yours.”

“I am not.” Kurt protests, folding his arms across his chest.

Blaine speaks over both of them—he’s had enough experience dealing with bickering teenagers to know that it’s best to nip all complaints before they even start. “Neither of you know your parts perfectly yet, which is not surprising, given this is our first rehearsal. You are a little sharp on measure 42, Kurt, it’s—" he plays the notes “—see how it falls slightly there, and Adam, part of the reason that he’s sharp is that your timing is off here. See? It’s a quarter note instead of a half.” He plays the line again and both sing along. “There, that’s better.”

Adam nods in agreement. “Quite. Thank you, Blaine. We should go through each bar until we perfect it tonight. We are three weeks behind and haven’t a moment to waste. Kurt, your boyfriend won’t mind you being late for supper, will he, or did you have plans?” Adam asks expectantly.

Boyfriend.

Kurt pauses for a moment. “No, no plans. Elliott will understand, but I’d better call him to let him know.”

Blaine’s stomach drops and he tries to keep his face neutral. Boyfriend. Oh.

“Alright, I’ve got the booze! What’s the emergency?” Kitty hollers as she pushes open the apartment door. The large loft that Blaine and Tina had found out in Bushwick allows them space for their meager budgets, but it severely lacks in security features.

“It’s Blaine. He’s just been crushed by an unrequited love.” Tina says in a whisper as she leads Kitty into the kitchen.

“I am not crushed.” Blaine protests from the table.

Tina gives him an unimpressed look. “You have been listening to the Last Five Years for two days straight. I cannot take it anymore. We’re going to stuff our faces and get thoroughly smashed and you’re going to get this all out of your system.”

“You do look terrible.” Kitty agrees. “Like a puppy who ate all of the Skittles and then puked them up.”

“Thanks for that image.” He says, rolling his eyes. “I … had let myself start to build an emotional attachment. It didn’t work out. I promise I’m fine. Now, I don’t want to intrude on your girls’ night—”

“Oh no, Blainey-boo, you’re going to sit your perfectly perky and delicious behind on that couch and we are going to wallow.”

“I’m not wallowing.”

“Fine. No wallowing.” Kitty says, surprising Blaine, “but I’ve come all the way out here which required two subway transfers and I am not lugging all of this back. You’re ordering us pizza and we’re making bourbon cocktails.” Blaine dares not push back—Kitty is tenacious when she wants to be.

Which is how Blaine finds himself three hours later, with his head in Kitty’s lap, his mind pleasantly buzzed and drifting. This is nice, he thinks, girls' hands are nice when they pet his curls. But not as nice as Kurt’s. Kurt has really soft hands, he can tell, and they would feel so nice stroking his hair or tugging his curls while he calls out Blaine’s name in bed.

Kitty stops petting his hair. Oops. Blaine thinks he said that last part aloud. “Kurt? You have a hard-on for Kurt?”

“I don’t have a hard-on, I have a love-on. A like-on. But I can’t anymore because he has a boyfriend. Who isn’t me.”

“Kurt has a boyfriend?” Kitty questions again.

“Yes. His name is Elliott. What kind of name is that? He wears eyeliner and is in a band and is a sexy glitter rock vampire with tattoos. Maybe I should get a tattoo and then Kurt will like me.”

“No! You’ll ruin your perfect dewy skin.” Tina protests from the floor.

Kitty ignores her. “I hear everything. Everything. All gossip exists because of me. And I didn’t know that Kurt has a boyfriend. I thought Kurt was a sexless monk married to the stage.”

“He is not sexless! He is sex-more, sex-ginormous. I bet he has lots of sex with his dumb boyfriend.”

“Something’s not right here.” Kitty insists.

“I know! You need to make Kurt jealous.” Tina announces solemnly, lifting her head up. She crawls over to the couch, grabbing his hand and staring intently into his eyes. “Blaine, you have to make him jealous.”

“How do I do that?”

“By dating me! You kiss me and Kurt will get all angry and will forget all about his glittery vampire.”

“But I don’t wanna kiss you.” Blaine stares. “That’s a terrible idea.”

“I’m a good kisser! I can show you.” She says and leans in.

Blaine scrambles up from Kitty’s lap. “No, no, no. You’re a girl and I’m a gay. I’m gay. Gold star gay. I told you already.”

Tina pouts. “Fine. But I can still be your girlfriend.”

“I don’t want you as my girlfriend. Not even a fake one. Sorry, Tina.”

Kitty snaps her fingers. “That’s it. We’ll go undercover and expose Kurt.”

“Expose Kurt?” He thinks about those shoulders and arms that Kurt keeps covered with so many layers. He’d like to expose those.

Kitty seems unaware of the images of naked Kurt that Blaine is picturing. “He’s hiding something and Kitty does not like secrets.”

“Oh.” Not the good kind of exposure then. He lays back down on Kitty’s lap and she resumes combing through his curls. “I don’t need your help exposing Kurt. I can expose Kurt all on my own.” He giggles again at the thought.

“Trust me, Blainey, we’ve got you. We’ll get your boy for you.” Tina says.

“Or else he’ll regret it.” Kitty replies.

It’s awfully nice having such supportive friends, he thinks, the alcohol and soothing pressure of Kitty’s fingers causing him to blink drowsily.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep and it’s way too early in the morning when he wakes up with a headache and a crick in his neck from the awkward way he had been sleeping on the couch, after Kitty had apparently dumped his head from her lap. He pries his sleep crust eyelids open to see Kitty curled up in the loveseat and Tina sprawled out like a starfish under the kitchen table.

He manages to gulp down some water and ibuprofen before dragging himself to the shower. The water melts the tension in his shoulders and after he’s carefully dried and gelled his curls, he feels almost human again.

Kitty’s gone back home per her text messages when he exits his bedroom, saying that she’ll meet them later after she’s changed and showered, but Tina barely stirs when he nudges her to ask about coffee and eggs for breakfast, so Blaine sets off by himself to the little cafe around the corner, sunglasses protecting his still sensitive eyes.

There’s a small line up to the counter and Blaine distracts himself by scrolling through his social media feeds. He had been slightly fearful that the girls had posted incriminating pictures of his drunken state after he had fallen asleep, but luckily, his notifications are quiet.

“Blaine?” A hand touches his arm and he jerks back. “I didn’t mean to startle you! I just wasn’t sure if that was you.”

“Kurt.” He breaths. “Hi. Sorry, no, I was just distracted.”

Kurt smiles, one that blinds Blaine with its radiance, even with his sunglasses. “I don’t mean to keep you from your phone.”

“No, no, it’s fine. Really. I wasn’t doing anything important. Um. Do you live around here?”

“No, actually, I live downtown now, but I used to live here and their egg sandwiches are the best in the city. So whenever I’m visiting my, um, Elliott, I make sure to stop by.”

Blaine tries to keep his smile in place at Elliott’s name. “Um, well, it was the first place I tried when I moved in, and now I think I’m addicted.”

The line steps forward as Kurt’s name is called. “There’s an open table in the corner. Would you like to join me for breakfast?” He gestures behind them.

The early morning light streams through the window, highlighting Kurt’s stunning features. He’s not getting over this crush anytime soon, is he? “Sure.” He says, cursing himself for his weakness.

The waitress slips them a basket of warmed cronuts when she brings over their sandwiches and Blaine distracts himself with a mouthful. “My god, these are amazing.”

“Aren’t they? One of my favorite treats.” Kurt tears into one himself and Blaine has to look away at that blissful look that passes his face. “So,” he says, “how are you enjoying New York? Or at least the outer city limits.”

“I haven’t had much time to explore yet,” Blaine admits. “It took longer than I expected to unpack and Brad and Unique have been keeping me pretty busy with learning the new songs. But I have some free time this weekend and have been planning to do some of the touristy stuff. Empire State Building, Times Square, and maybe rush for a ticket to some show.”

“You should do that tomorrow morning. It’s too late today to have a chance, but I can show you how to sign up for the different lotteries.”

“That would be great. Thanks.”

“Not a problem. I spent many a Sunday afternoon when I first moved here going to the shows. I know a lot of the secrets to score cheap tickets.”

“Do you still go to the shows?”

“Not as much as I would like,” Kurt says ruefully. “Unfortunately, as you’ve learned, rehearsals keep me pretty busy and of course, once the show starts its regular run, there’s not much opportunity to break away.”

“Do you get recognized in public?”

“Thankfully no. My one surprise Tony wasn’t enough to thrust me into fame. Once The Boy From Oz closed, everybody forgot about me. I’ll occasionally get asked for an autograph from a devoted theater kid, which I gladly do. I remember being that kid back in Ohio, longing to escape.”

“Do you miss Lima?” Blaine questions.

“Oh gods, no. I moved here, hmm, nearly 15 years ago and it felt more like home the moment I stepped foot here than Lima ever did. I go back to see Dad, and that’s enough for me. You?”

Blaine swallows a bit of his sandwich before answering. “I never anticipated staying in Ohio, I’m from Westerville, not far from Lima. When I left for college for Boston, I thought I was leaving forever. But the job market sucked, so when McKinley became the flagship for performing arts, it was an opportunity that I couldn’t pass up. I didn't intend to stay there that long—I thought it'd be a launching pad, but, you know, time just passed by. It was definitely time to move on and, well, that led me here.”

“No plans to return?”

“No. I mean, you know as well as I do that this business is fickle, but I hope to be here for a long time.”

“Good,” Kurt proclaims. Blaine’s breath catches at Kurt’s intense gaze. “A man with your talents... I think you’ll succeed here.”

“That’s kind of you. Thank you.”

“I’m not being kind,” Kurt insists. “I’ve been involved with a whole bunch of people who are trying to make it here in this city and believe me, Blaine, from what I can see, you have the gift.”

“Thanks. I enjoy being a music director. I mean, I’m new at it, on this level, but Brad’s given me a lot of autonomy as the assistant director and I’m grateful for his mentorship.”

“Brad? Really?”

“He’s not so bad when you get to know him,” Blaine defends.

Kurt shakes his head. “You would make friends with a porcupine.”

“Porcupines are super cute! Have you seen their little noses?”

“Tell me why you enjoy being a director.” Kurt rests his head on his hand like he’s absorbing every word that Blaine is saying. Blaine can’t help leaning in a little closer.

“I like the creative process of translating the lyrics and music to the stage.” Blaine opens up. “I never dreamed that I would get to work on Broadway—well, I did, when I was a kid, but real life happened, you know—and now I get to be part of bringing a musical to life, I get to see my ideas on stage, even if it’s just a small part. This is my life now, working with so many talented people and arranging vocals and harmonies, and talking with Unique about the structure of the songs and how it all fits together. All of those decisions, that’s my work too.”

“You love it, don’t you? Like I love being on stage.”

“I guess I do.” Blaine smiles.

Kurt stirs his drink idly. “You still haven’t taken me up on the offer to work on your song together.”

“I thought with the real rehearsals starting, you wouldn’t have time anymore.” Or interest.

Kurt laughs fondly. “You are so modest. After living in this vicious city where we all trample each other to prove our worth, it’s refreshing. Look, my self-deprecating friend, I want to sing your song. From what I saw of it, it’s a really great song and I would be honored to sing it with you.”

Blaine can’t believe what he’s hearing. “I mean, yes, sure, if you want to. I’ll bring it to work on Monday.”

“Great!” Kurt claps his hands excitedly, and then drops them near Blaine’s. His gaze is intense again, laser focused on Blaine. “You know, I don’t have plans for this afternoon. I could act as your tourist guide.”

“I… I would love that.” He can feel the warmth seeping from Kurt’s hand where their fingers are just brushing.

“There you are, Blaine!” Tina startles him and he jerks back from Kurt. “You just left this morning without a note and you weren’t answering your texts. I was getting a little worried. Ohhh, cronuts. Did you get me some as well? My head is killing me.” She pulls a seat close to Blaine, grabbing at the pastries.

“Um, hi Tina. Kurt, do you know Tina?”

“Blaine, sweetie. We’re starring in the same musical.” Tina coolly regards Kurt as if she expects him to deny this.

“Right, right. I. Duh.” Blaine babbles, feeling exceedingly stupid.

“We actually go way back. We first worked together 8 years ago in that revival of Starlight Express.” Kurt carefully lifts his coffee, more withdrawn now with Tina’s intrusion.

“Oh my god, I had put that memory out of my head. Shortest open to close ever.” Tina gives Kurt a warmer smile. She sips at Blaine’s coffee with a grimace. “Seriously, Blainey, how can you stand to drink this stuff?”

“You could get your own.”

“If you had gotten us both breakfast like I thought you were going to, it wouldn’t have been an issue.” She argues as she shakes a sugar packet into his coffee.

Kurt stands up abruptly, sliding a couple of bills under his plate. “Well. I need to go.”

“Go?” Blaine asks in surprise. “You don’t—”

“I forgot about a prior commitment.”

“Oh. Okay. Another time then.”

“Thank you for the lovely breakfast. I hope you have a great time exploring the city. You’ll have to tell me all about it on Monday. Tina, good seeing you today.” He’s formal and stiff, compared to his relaxed demeanor only moments before.

“You’ll text me?” Blaine asks a little desperately. “About the theater tickets, I mean.”

“Oh, I can get you tickets, that’s easy.” Tina says and snaps her fingers. “We should go tomorrow! Kurt can join us if he wants.”

“Thanks, but no. I have plans.” He slides his jacket on and nods briefly. “Tina. Blaine.”

Blaine watches Kurt leave with his heart in his chest. He turns back to see Tina watching him with a concerned look. “What?”

“You were supposed to use last night to wallow and get over him, not invite him out for brunch.”

“I ran into him in line! I swear, I didn’t seek him out.”

“Mmhmm.” She does not look convinced.

“This is a good thing, Tina. I know he’s in a relationship, but we’re both adults and we can now be friends.”

“Sure, honey, you keep telling yourself that.” Tina shakes her head. “New York is way too large to be holding on to unattainable crushes, believe me, so the sooner you get over him, the better it is for all of us. Now, come on. Finish up so we can meet up with Kitty and the others.”

Notes: I took info about what a music director does from these articles: What Does a Broadway Musical Director Do? and Four of Broadway's Hottest Musical Directors Sound Off. Interestingly, music directors are not eligible for the Tony awards, but composers are. This might be important later.

Last Chapter | Next Chapter

#klaine #klaine fic #klaine fanfic #blaine anderson #kurt hummel #fandom trumps hate #fth 2020 #wip big bang #redheadgleek writes

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myfearless-love · 3 years

Text

The Wildest Place You Run (1/?) - Better Safe Than Sorry

It's finally here! My contribution to this year's CSSNS! This is my first time participating in this event and I couldn't be more excited to share my story with you! Recently I watched a lot of supernatural/fantasy TV shows on Netflix and so the concept of this fic was born. It has all kinds of creatures, mixed with adventure, drama, mystery, suspense, and of course, most importantly CAPTAIN SWAN.

Huge thank you to my beta and artist, @thejollyroger-writer for clearing up my mistakes and help me get this story to you. Check out what gorgeous art she made for the fic!! ☝️

I hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Summary: Vampires, Werewolves, Mages, and Elves. For centuries, they kept their existence a secret, but the constant rebellions against the strict laws of the Guild had led to a terrible tragedy. In an open clash, it became apparent to humans just what kind of monsters lived among them. Emma Swan loses the love of her life in the first battle of the war. A few months later, while still trying to process what happened, a mysterious and terrifying figure worms his way into her life. But the man is hiding far more terrible secrets than he reveals to her, pulling them both into a horrible situation...

Chapters: 1/? - Better Safe Than Sorry

Fandom: Once Upon a Time

Rating: M

Relationships: Killian Jones/Emma Swan

Read on: FF.net or AO3

Words: ~1.7k

The cobbled streets of the city were dripping with rainwater, and the light from the tall lamps hung like balloons in the cool, misty night air. The harsh wind tore at the branches of the balding trees, a vast amount of withered yellow and brown leaves stirred up a path on the uninhabited sidewalk.

The weather had cooled down more than she’d expected. She pulled up the zipper of her red leather jacket and quickened her steps. She knew it would have been wise to get home on time, she was sure David was already working up an ulcer, marching up and down in the living room.

Somewhere nearby, the clock tower struck ten and she shuddered, accelerating her pace as the curfew had just taken effect. Her hand instinctively slid onto her bag where her Glock 19 lay safely.

She dug into the satchel, and the startled hammering of her heart subsided somewhat as her fingers touched the barrel of the gun. She very much hoped she wouldn’t have to use it. In this world, bandits and robbers were the least dangerous kind, as it was enough to just simply shoot them…

When she finally emerged from the cover of the trees in the park, she opened the heavy wrought-iron gate and hastily crossed the narrow street to continue on the main road. Her footsteps echoed emptily on the deserted avenue, not a soul in sight.

Her destination wasn’t far off, and she fought the urge to run the last few yards. She turned around the corner and into a narrow alley, rushing toward the last, albeit slightly shabby, apartment building.

At the front door, her nearly frozen fingers rummaged awkwardly for her keys in her pocket. But before she could slide the key in, she heard the click of the lock, the massive iron door slamming open with a bang.

As she had suspected, she found herself face to face with a seething David, who, for the moment, was still silent. She risked an angelic and rueful smile and quickly slipped into the house beside him.

All her hopes were dashed when the door crashed back into its frame behind her and David turned to her vigorously. He put both his hands on his hips, a move she found rather comical despite the situation - it reminded her of an agitated lunch lady before scolding a kid in the cafeteria. Still, she couldn’t laugh at it. At the sight of his flashing eyes, she squared her shoulders and waited.

Come what might.

“Where the fuck have you been?”

Her only brother never cursed unless he was furious.

“I was just taking a walk in the park,” she replied quietly, and by that time, all her humor was gone. David was right. What she had done was really stupid. “I’m sorry. I should’ve kept better track of time.”

“Didn’t you even notice it got dark in the meantime?” David grew angrier by the minute, and her face began to burn with shame.

She hated arguing with him, so when the opportunity arose, she tried to heed his advice. Today’s case was an exception. “I’m really sorry,” she muttered, lowering her gaze to the pave-stone.

After long seconds of no response from him, she looked up cautiously, only to see him disappear behind the door that led to their apartment.

“David!”

She took off her boots and rushed after him, but as soon as she caught up with him, she grimaced. In the living room, on a mahogany-carved coffee table, David’s nearly complete arsenal of weapons lay spread out. Pistols, knives, rifles, magazines…

“What happened?” She dropped her bag on the couch and walked over to her brother, who was lounging in front of the window.

“A pack of werewolves in the middle of town in broad daylight! That’s what happened!” he hissed between clenched teeth, he was still trembling with fury.

“In the city center?” she repeated, stunned. That was a new one. Plus, it was happening during the day? It was getting weirder and weirder.

David took a deep breath, but it didn’t help much. He was still too upset.

“What happened? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine. Although, it wasn’t up to me. If Killian hadn’t intervened, I would've certainly kicked the bucket," he shrugged as if it was incidental.

"Jesus…" She reached for David's shoulder, but he pulled away.

"At least fifteen people died. We weren't fast enough."

"Stop it," she admonished him. She grabbed im vigorously by the shoulder, turned him to face her, and urged him to look her in the eye. "And tell me, how many people did you save? A hundred? Two hundred?"

He expelled an angry breath. His tousled, sandy blond hair almost resembled a crow's nest, and his five o'clock shadow made his handsome face look unkempt. His light blue eyes stared at her with mixed despair. Meanwhile, he involuntarily stroked the small scar on his jaw.

"David, for God's sake, you’re a Hunter. I understand it's a shitty feeling, but you can't mourn every single person you can't save."

"I know," he whispered hoarsely, finally raising his head, then he shook it slightly, staring up at the ceiling dotted with tiny cracks. Emma could see his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed hard. "I'm sorry I yelled at you. I was just afraid something had happened to you. I was about to call Killian and the others to search for you."

"I understand and I'm really sorry. I’ll be in my room if we’re done here."

"Alright. I'm going to pack up my things then," he signaled with his head towards the pile of weapons adorning the table.

Emma nodded and picked up her bag, marching across the living room, and heading straight for her room. But before she could peel off her coat, someone outside their apartment started frantically knocking on the door.

"I'm coming!" David's voice was calm, but Emma could still see him securing his favorite rifle as he strode toward the entrance.

"David, open up! It's us!"

When she recognized Robin’s voice, her lips twisted into a relieved smile and she hurried to the front door as well.

"Hey, mate. Are you happy to see us?" Robin laughed at the troubled expression on David's face and the gun in his hands.

"Very funny." David pursed his lips, then stepped aside to let their friends in.

After Robin, Mary Margaret entered, followed by Ruby and Killian.

"We heard Emma had wandered away, so we thought we should sniff around town and look who we found!" Laughing, Ruby flicked playfully at Mary Margaret's back who grimaced as she walked away from the long-haired brunette.

Ruby wasn't exactly your average type of girl. She wore her waist-long chocolate brown hair in wild curls mixed with pink streaks. She invariably wore her favorite black leather garments: military boots, pants, and her signature black studded leather jacket. She looked like a rock star of the nineties.

"I need to make a call,” Mary Margaret said, nodding toward the kitchen, fishing her phone out of her pocket.

"Of course,” David nodded, kissed her on the cheek, and quietly closed the door once everyone was inside.

Robin, Ruby, Killian, and David took a seat in the living room while Emma joined Mary Margaret in the kitchen. Her friend walked over to the counter, unlocked her phone, but her fingers were trembling so badly that she was unable to dial.

“What’s wrong?” Emma anxiously stepped next to the brunette, who just shook her head violently, but her chalk-white face suggested the opposite.

“Didn’t David tell you?” she lifted her troubled hazel eyes to Emma. Her rain-soaked pixie-cut dark hair clung to her forehead, a stark contrast against her alabaster skin.

“What was he supposed to tell me?” she asked carefully.

“Leo was in that run-in with the wolves this afternoon, too. I just found out from Robin that he had to be taken to the hospital right after,” her voice trailed off and Emma could see her shaking.

“He’s probably fine,” she said firmly, trying to give her friend the hope she so often received from her.

“Yeah,” Mary Margaret nodded profusely, then feeling ready, she grabbed the phone and made the call.

While Mary Margaret talked to the hospital receptionist, Emma walked over to the refrigerator and returned to the counter with an unopened orange juice in her hand. She snagged two glasses from the kitchen cabinet and filled them both almost to the brim while tactfully not eavesdropping on Mary Margaret’s conversation because judging by the few words she could pick up, she was already talking to her cousin.

And it was rude to listen in.

“So, how’s our little lion?” Robin entered the kitchen with a grin and plopped casually down on the chair at the dining table.

“Fine,” Mary Margaret replied, not even reacting to Robin’s mocking tone.

It remained an eternal mystery to Emma why they disliked each other so much, but as long as they behaved in a relatively civil manner when they were in the same room together, she didn’t particularly care.

“Anyway, we need to get going soon. Someone saw some of Vampires near the nightclub. So far, they haven’t done anything that would violate the Guild’s rules, but better safe than sorry. They ordered us to look around.”

“And what about the curfew?” Emma raised an eyebrow.

“Humans are stupid. They don’t take Mages seriously. A lot of people aren’t willing to accept the existence of Werewolves and Vampires, even after what happened…”

Robin fell silent at Emma’s expression. He coughed sheepishly, then ran his fingers through his rich brown hair. “I didn’t mean to… I apologize,” he muttered and walked out of the kitchen with his head down.

“Emma…” she felt Mary Margaret’s hand on her shoulder. “Neal wouldn’t want to see you like this. You have to let him go…”

“I know… But… he shouldn’t have been the one to die…”

#cssns21 #cssns 2021 #captain swan supernatural summer #cs ff #cs fic #emma swan #killian jones #emma #emma 2020 #TWPYR #cs au #captain swan #captain swan ff #captain swan fic #my fic

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from-cj-with-love · 3 years

Text

To The Sky!

Fandom: OSMP

Chapter 5 - Surplus

Rating: Teen

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, emotional distance, established friendship, fanmade lore, origins mod, beta read

Words: ~500

Notes: Pls be nice, this is one of my first multi-chapter fics. (6 parts, 5 chapters and an epilogue)

No romantic relationships. OSMP!Jack Manifold & OSMP!Smajor-centric.

While the rest of the hybrids celebrated Jack’s recovery, Scott wouldn’t really be seen. It’s been about two weeks now. He’s stopped hanging around the pub, and when he appeared, he avoided everyone. He didn’t eat and rarely drank water. Even though he was who Scott was trying to stay away from most of all, Jack was the one to notice.

So of course, he’s the one to check the observatory as night sets in. The uncomfortable still and quiet took over as Jack walked in. Only the soft tings of metal against precise tools was audible. Again with the tinkering? In what world would an incident with a wither utterly shatter a man like this? This was beyond avoidance. Scott was isolating himself.

Jack pauses for a moment, examining himself. He’s still injured, yes, but better. The wither spots on him have faded, he could walk again, he didn’t burn everything he touched… He snuck a look at Scott’s blueprints. A rocket ship. While Scott sensed he was there, he didn’t dare look at him. Not because he didn’t care, but because he would focus on the blaze’s bandages, for they are a testament to his bravery. Bravery that is now shown through permanent scars, with no other reward.

“Are you okay?” Jack near-whispers.

He laughs sharply, taken aback. “Am I— I should be asking you!”

“You’ve evading my question.” Jack’s words are sharper, tinged bitterly. “You’re evading everything.”

“I’m perfectly fine. I just need to keep going.” He lays out the statement flatly as he turns his eyes back to his work.

“Why? I know you’re stressed, but I… You don’t have to push yourself like this.”

“I do.” He flatly stated, voice small. “It doesn’t concern you.”

“A lot about you concerns me. Why do you have burns? What happened while I was bedridden? Why is this only happening after I—”

“I JUST WANTED TO MAKE SURE YOU SAW THE STARS, JACK! You almost missed your chance, and it was my fault!”

…That is the most passionate Jack has ever seen him. And he knew, in his heart of hearts, the answer to his questions.

And with a strained smile, he admits in a rough, shaking voice, “No, Scott... I asked Phil, he fuckin’ told me. I know I can’t go. I know you were just trying to make me happy.”

Both of them know exactly what Jack’s talking about. Scott’s shoulders tense. “…I’m sorry. You almost died, I’m so sorry—”

“It’s okay! Hell, I’m sorry! There’s enough room down here, innit? Home on the ground?” He opens his wounded arms, gesturing around him.

Smajor thinks for a minute, about how this is the first time both of them have had a home. Sure, he’s lived in space, but you could never settle in space. And the Nether… Poor Jack.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. Of course we do, Jack.” Scott smiles.

“Yeah?

The starborne embraces the two-tone blaze, very gently for the sake of his injuries. “More than enough.”

#jack manifold #scott smajor #osmp #cjournals #To The Sky!

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ao3feed-ladynoir · 3 years

Text

The Ballad of the Fallen Goddess

The Ballad of the Fallen Goddess by candles and crafts

This starts out as your typical “Marinette is the creation goddess and Lila lies about it” but grew into so much more. Cast out of the heavens with only a few loyal friends fleeing with her. Marinette finds herself seeking shelter from a very confused Lord of the Dead/Destruction. Luka agrees to provide the lost goddess and her friends with sanctuary, although he can't understand why the Sun God Adrien and the rest of the pantheon would cast them out.

As the world above them withers away, the fallen gods realize the underworld isn't as bad as they were told, and their host certainly isn't a tyrant. In fact, he seems to have a soft spot for Marinette and the souls around them have certainly noticed as well. They could get used to life down here, I mean it isn't too bad and there's great company.

Up on Olympus however, the mood is not so bright (pun intended). Adrien has married Lila, the “Goddess of Creation” but why is nothing growing? Why is he and everyone else so miserable? It will all be fine though, Lila is probably just conserving her energy to do something great at the Solstice. However he can't stop the sinking feeling in his stomach that something is very wrong and someone VERY important is missing.

Words: 3077, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Miraculous Ladybug

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death

Categories: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Other

Characters: Caline Bustier, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir, Chloé Bourgeois, Ivan Bruel, Alya Césaire, Juleka Couffaine, Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Mylène Haprèle, Max Kanté, Markov, Alix Kubdel, Nathaniel Kurtzberg, Nino Lahiffe, Rose Lavillant, Lê Chiến Kim, Sabrina Raincomprix, Lila Rossi, Luka Couffaine, Tikki, Plagg, Other Kwami, Nathalie Sancoeur, Kagami Tsurugi, Sabine Cheng, Tom Dupain, Marc Anciel, Original Characters

Relationships: Luka Couffaine/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Lila Rossi, Marc Anciel/Nathaniel Kurtzberg, Chloé Bourgeois/Kagami Tsurugi, Alya Césaire/Nino Lahiffe, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added

Additional Tags: Miraculous Ladybug, Alternate Universe - No Akuma, Inspired by Hades and Persephone (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Fluff and Angst, Evil Lila Rossi, Lila Rossi Bashing, Lila Rossi's Lies Are Exposed, Adrien Agreste Knows, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir Bashing, Classmates Bashing, Alya Césaire Bashing, Awesome Nino Lahiffe, Badass Nino Lahiffe, Adorable Kwamis, kwamis are spirits, mainly lukanette, Potentially original characters if I need them, some classmates will be spared, turns out the underworld isn't so bad, Aged-Up Character(s), Persephone Goes Willingly With Hades (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Non-Graphic Violence, Explicit Language, no beta we die like men, Written at three am

Read Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32130397

#AO3 Feed #FanFiction #AO3 Adrienette Plus #💙#💖#Adrienette Plus #Lukanette #Miraculous Ladybug #♧#R:M #W:D #A:Candles #God AU #Fluff

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mythiica · 4 years

Note

Sorry if this isn't the place to make requests. I really like your writing and I was wondering if you'd do a NSFW Kiro [MLQC] one-shot? The boy is too sweet for how own damn good.

Title: Sweeter Than Sweet

Fandom: Mr. Love Queen’s Choice

Character: Kiro

Genre: SMECCI with semi plot

Warnings: sex

Kinks: sexy dancing, public sex, food kink, blowjob/handjob, nipple play, biting, strip tease, grinding, riding

Intended Gender Audience: Female Audience

Word Count: 2652 words

POV: second person

Other comments: okay you said “sweet” in your request, and I really could not resist doing some dessert/eating out kink so here u go. Yes the title is a reference to bts idol dont @ me ; also thank you thank you thank you to @breadcheese444 for helping me with beta reading! First smut in a while and i was a bit rusty

You watch Kiro from the doorway of his fitting room as he completes the dance routine without making a single mistake. The music echoes throughout the studio, and you hum along softly, having memorized the song from the countless times you listened to it while he practiced. Really, you could recall every step by memory if you wanted to – that is how often Kiro practiced with your company.

He is completely in synch with the rhythm – hell, even his golden hair bounces to the one, two, three, four that you know is repeating in his mind. Kiro gives the camera his undivided attention paired with his irresistible smile. His motions are fluid and smooth, and it is easy to lose yourself in his dance.

Kiro strikes his final pose: his nose is tipped down and the hat obscures his face for a split second before he cranes his head upwards slightly. The lights overhead click off, leaving him under an intense spotlight. His bright blue eyes shine from under the brim of the hat, cutting through the empty space to the camera. To finish off, Kiro flashes a dangerous smirk just before the last light goes out.

There is a moment of complete silence when you can only hear Kiro’s heavy breathing. Then, the studio erupts into applause and the lights come back on. You hear the director yell cut and then that’s a wrap, signalling the end of today’s shooting.

With Kiro’s immaculate performance today, they have everything they need to finish editing the new music video. Everyone is cheering, and they end up swarming Kiro to congratulate him. He runs a hand through his damp hair and smiles joyfully, accepting their compliments politely before looking around the studio.

His eyes lock with yours and he gives you a bright sunshine smile – it’s not like the smirk he wore a few moments ago, but it still makes your heart melt. Kiro thanks the crew for helping out and making everything run smoothly before slipping past them and walking over to you. He clasps your hands and kisses your cheek. “You made it!”

“I arrived just in time to watch the end of your performance! You did very well. I got goosebumps–”

Kiro blushes slightly and presses his forehead to yous. “I’m so happy you’re here. I can change and then we can head out for dinner. Where would you like to go?” He takes his jacket off and reveals his toned muscles. The boy is a whole meal looking like this: the cotton shirt leaves little to the imagination (and the studio is usually kept cold to reduce sweating, hence his nipples poke through the black material with ease.)

You lick your lips. “Anywhere is good. I’m really hungry.”

Putting a hanger through the jacket, Kiro leaves it on a rack with other clothes he had worn during the music video. “Well, there is this really good restaurant about ten minutes away from here. We can go and then walk to the park for some ice cream!”

As Kiro speaks, he does not realize that you are pulling him into his changing room until the door clicks behind the two of you. Whipping around, you smile devilishly at him.“I was thinking about something else before we leave…” you whisper as you trill your fingers down Kiro’s chest. His breathing becomes labored, like he knows what you are getting at, but he does not want to jump to conclusions.

“W-What do you mean?” When you push him onto the plush chair in the middle of the room, Kiro yelps softly.

Your eyes narrow, and Kiro melts at the thought of having sex in a public place like his changing room. “Here?! We can’t do that here. What if we get caught?”

“I locked the door!”

Kiro squirms but only successfully makes his shirt lift. You invite yourself to trace his muscles and place a soft kiss to his bellybutton. He swallows hard and groans, informing you that you have indeed intrigued him with your proposal. “Alright, but we’ll have to hurry. My agent doesn’t like it when the door is locked from the inside–”

The moment his confirmation leaves his lips, you stand up and smile. “Brilliant.” Kiro watches you pad over to his dressing table and is expecting you to pull a condom out of your purse, but instead, you take the small cardboard box sitting on the edge. Confused, Kiro props himself up with his elbows against the arms of the chair. He follows you as you click back and take a seat in front of him. With the box on the ground next to you, you rest your chin on your arm and flutter your eyelashes at Kiro. “You were really good today, I have to tell you again!”

“T-Thank you!”

“And I don’t really know how you can change from ultra sexy to super cute in just a matter of moments. It’s like a secret ability of yours.” Your words are a mere distraction as you take your time pawing at his crotch. Kiro whimpers softly and leans forward to brush your hair back. “Kiro, I’ve got a surprise for you~”

You unbuckle his pants to pull them down slightly – just enough that they linger at his thighs while you have access to his underwear. It is obvious that your antics have already made Kiro hard, and it pleases you to see the seam of the undergarments fighting against his growing erection. As you free his member, you coo at Kiro, “I brought you some cake to celebrate the end of the filming. I think now would be a good time to have some, no?”

“I–I thought that we were–”

“Shh.. you’ll see,” you whisper with a smirk. Flicking the top of the box open, you pull a strawberry off of the chocolate icing and brush it over Kiro’s tip. The wet flesh of the fruit makes Kiro tense up – who would have guessed that you would use them for this? You cup your palm over his cock and keep the strawberry between your hand and him, using it to coax a harder erection.

As you expected, Kiro withers under your touch and begins to buck against you, seeking more friction and a faster release. Pink juice from the berry dribbles down his shaft, but you catch it with your tongue and lap up Kiro’s full length. “Hmm… so sweet, Kiro…” You giggle and look up to smile at him, precum and strawberry juice running down your chin.

His cheeks have flushed to the same shade of red as the fruit, but he cannot bring himself to meet your gaze, for he fears that he will come undone immediately. When Kiro swallows hard, you press a swift kiss to the base of his cock before focusing on his tip. “A-Ahh… Your mouth is really warm,” he praises, his hand snaking down to lace his fingers in your hair. Kiro tugs slightly, and you nuzzle against him momentarily before flicking your tongue out to catch a new bead of precum.

Retracting your hand, you let the crushed strawberry fall into the open lid of the box before picking two fresh ones up.

“Do you plan to make me numb with those?” There is a concerned lit in his voice, like he knows that he won’t last long at this rate.

A giggle tickles the back of your throat and you shake your head. Instead of resuming, you stand up again, fruit in hand, and sit comfortably on his lap, making sure to grind against Kiro so he can feel the inevitable wetness soaking your panties. “I want to play with you more; we’ve barely done anything!” You lean forward and play with the hem of his shirt.

“May I remind you that we could get caught at any second?”

Pouting, you opt to just unbutton his shirt rather than trailing kisses up his chest. You don’t hesitate to press the cold berries to his nipples, and the sudden change in temperature makes Kiro shiver and groan. They harden rapidly, and you marvel at the bright pink. “So cute!” you giggle, leaning forward to kiss Kiro deeply.

“Ah! Please! They’re really cold!”

“That’s the point,” you shush, passing both fruit into one hand. As you focus them on his right nipple, you tuck your hair back behind your ear and start suckling on his left one. Kiro arches against you and squirms gleefully. A quick bite on his skin makes him yelp and sit back down. With his nipple still between your lips, you look up and smile at Kiro. His face is even redder than before, and you see a sliver of drool hanging from the corner of his mouth reflecting in the artificial light from above.

With every motion, Kiro only successfully buries against the flesh of the fruit, causing fluids to run down his pale abdomen. You shift over him, sitting up slightly to trade treatments. Moans tumble from his lips as he subs for you. Lowering your free hand down, you take hold of Kiro’s cock once more and spread the precum over his tip, using it as lubricant to pump him with the same vigor of your tongue as it flicks against his nipple.

Kiro grips your arm and half whine-half moans your name before he throws his head back. Desperately, your beautiful idol begins bucking against your hand and arching his back, seeking out release from your merciful touch.

Looking over your shoulder, you beam when you see that even Kiro’s cock is blushing. “Kiro, you want to cum, don’t you?”

He bites his lip and nods yes, so you discard the berries on his stomach, opting to suck his tip to make him cum instead of simply pumping him with your hand. You sink back to your knees and take half of his length into your mouth, wrapping your tongue around him until you feel Kiro tense and inevitably cum.

It tastes half like strawberry, making it easier to swallow, but you let a few drops of white hang from your mouth to show Kiro. He shivers at the sight and covers his eyes in embarrassment. You take the chance to kiss up his body now, throwing the used strawberries behind you. When you pull Kiro’s hands away, you cup his face and kiss him repeatedly, praising him between every one. “I love you, Kiro, you did so well! So sweet…”

He gives you a gentle smile and traces shapes on your thigh. “Let me treat you–” Kiro’s fingers tug at the elastic of your panties. “You got excited from playing with me, I can tell.”

“You did put on a private show for me,” you respond playfully as you lean back enough to remove your underwear. Kiro takes it from you and drops it on the ground, but his arm lingers over the edge as he contemplates something. You can see it splattered across his face: the quizzical expression that makes his eyebrows tip upwards and the corners of his mouth curls into a smirk.

“Do you have an idea, baby?”

Kiro keeps a steady hand on your waist, but then scoops up some icing off of the cake with his thumb. He turns his attention back to you and brushes some of the icing against your bottom lip. When you go to lick it away, Kiro catches your tongue with two fingers. “Ah! You had your fun, it’s my turn now.” With that, he closes the space between the two of you and kisses you deeply. His own tongue brushes over the icing, and he smiles widely upon leaning back. “Sweet indeed…”

You love how Kiro can switch from a sub to dom within moments – he takes another lick of icing and paints it across your tongue as his free hand pushes your shirt up before it winds up your thigh to pull your skirt up to your waist. While you are distracted, Kiro slips his fingers through your folds, making you squirm with anticipation.

Biting your lip, you sway your hips back and forth, just like Kiro did for the music video. You do not stop moving until his cock is penetrating your wetness, and even then, you sink down further onto his cock and release a satisfied groan upon sitting down completely on him. You take a moment to strip your shirt and bra, letting both of them fall to the ground.

“Which tastes better: the cake or me?” you ask innocently, raking your fingers through your hair to pull it over to the other side. It falls over your face and Kiro grasps your jaw to kiss you repeatedly. “You, always you. The cake is a bonus!”

You squirm around and Kiro groans and then bites your bottom lip to praise you. Kiro’s hand goes up your spine and he presses you against his chest so that your nipples grind together. His are still slick with juice, and the friction is delicious. As you preoccupy yourself grinding, Kiro guides you to bounce on his cock.

Both of you have forgotten about the small room and need to keep quiet, but it does not seem to be a concern anymore. You moan against Kiro’s ear and worship him, telling him how wonderful he feels inside of you. Kiro is still sensitive from cumming before, and you can feel him tensing hard. His muscles are tired from performing earlier, but he gives you his all. Gripping the back of your thighs, Kiro bucks into you and kisses up your chest. His breath is hot and heavy, the room smells like sex, and your pussy squelches with every thrust he delivers into you.

“K-Kiro! I’ll cum if you keep doing that!”

His blond hair is matted down with sweat, and he kisses across your collarbone to coax you further to your climax. It does not take long for you to unravel completely on his cock. “Kiro, my sweet, please cum with me!” Your tongue falls out of your mouth as you ride out the orgasm.

Kiro tenses, his fingernails digging into your skin, and follows you. It’s warm and wonderful: you sift around so that he fills you completely. The two of you are panting heavily for a few minutes as you regain your bearings.

You laugh and lean back. Your blouse is wrinkled and stained with strawberry juice and saliva. Kiro brushes his thumb against your hip before you sit up and pull your panties back on. The cake is a mess when you look at it – half broken and crumbling, chocolate icing all over it. The sight makes you laugh, but you pull down your skirt and offer Kiro a new shirt.

“To be fair, I didn’t think that the cake would end up like this. I really did think that we would share it…”

Kiro brushes his hair quickly before wrapping his arms around your waist to kiss your neck. “I am not complaining! But next time, I would… like to do this at home where we can have more fun.”

“Alright! Alright. Now, where was that restaurant you wanted to go to?”

The two of you sneak out of the changing room, but when you run into Kiro’s agent, he does not look happy. His foot is tapping against the ground, and he is wearing an angry expression. “If you are going to act like children and do that here, I suggest you at least try to be discreet about it. Kiro, you are known for having a good voice. That seems to carry, even when you are doing more.. Intimate things.” He huffs. “Now leave.”

Kiro grabs your hand and pulls you away, but the two of you break into a run before anyone can make a comment about your trouselled hair and wrinkled clothing.

#mlqc #mr love queens choice #mlqc kiro #mlqc smut #paper games #elex #love and producer

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