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sadoeuphemist · 2 years ago

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"And where were you on the night of the 14th, between the hours of 1 AM and 1:45?"

The ghost of Nathaniel Wyrmwood stared back in disbelief. "Where was I? Art thou mad? I was here, dalcop, as I always am! I am bound to this accursed place! My spirit haunts its grounds!"

"Mm-hm." Detective Halsford Laurel took his outburst in stride. "And on that night, did you become aware of any intruders onto your estate?"

Wyrmwood shifted uncomfortably. "No."

"No?" Detective Glorian Oakes slapped a folder down on the table. "That's funny, because we have in custody four kids who admit to breaking into the Wyrmwood manor on the night in question on a, quote unquote, ghost-hunting expedition. There were five of them, mind you, who broke into the manor. Only four came out."

"I know nothing of that," Wyrmwood muttered.

"Nothing? When you just said you were here all night? It's like you told me, Wyrmwood, there's nowhere else you could've been." Oakes leaned forward on the table, jutting out her chin. "Just help me understand. How's something like that possible?"

"I - I was asleep."

"Asleep? These were not quiet kids, Mr. Wyrmwood." Oakes flipped through the folder. "They tell us they were scared out of their wits, screaming, running around -" She jabbed her pen at him. "And they tell us they saw a figure matching your description, who yelled at them to leave the manor and then gave pursuit."

"I did nothing of the sort! I was asleep, I tell you! Whatever they say they saw, it was - it was delusions of a feverish mind, or some impersonator, or - or -"

Oakes slammed her hands down on the table. "And you expect us to believe you slept through it all? We've got a missing kid, four witnesses who can ID you, and your own admission you were at the scene! You think you're above the law just because you're dead? You know what they do to ghosts in Containment?"

"Take it easy, take it easy," Laurel intervened. "Mr. Wyrmwood, we want to help you out here. You say you were asleep. Lots of other paranormal entities in the house. Any of them who can vouch for you?"

"No." Wyrmwood became even more sullen. "I have as little to do with those damnable entities as possible. Fortunately they are bound to their rooms, and I may avoid them at my leisure."

"Oh, sure, very convenient," Oakes sneered. "You were asleep, no alibi, completely slept through all the ruckus while a kid went missing in your house. You're done, Wyrmwood. No jury in the world is going to buy this."

"Take it easy," Laurel repeated. "Mr. Wyrmwood, you do have to admit it sounds unlikely. These kids, they broke into your house, they trespassed onto your property. They were hunting you, they admit to that. We want to hear your side of the story here. Talk to us. Tell us what happened."

The spectral form of Nathaniel Wyrmwood stared down at the floor, pensive, and then raised his head again with a cold fire burning in his eyes. "It is as I told thee. I. Was. Asleep. Ask any spirit and they shall tell thee the same - that in our graves we sleep as the dead! I know nothing of this, and have nothing more to say to thee! Where is my lawyer? I demand a lawyer here at once!"

---

"Are we coordinating with Spectrals on this, or was Wyrmwood's grousing enough to set them off?" Oakes asked. The forensics team had finished sweeping the bottom floor and opened it up for questioning, and she and Laurel were canvassing room to room. "How's a guy like him even know about Miranda? Fucker probably didn't even have those rights while he was alive."

"Bill of Rights is pretty old," Laurel said mildly. He tapped on a doorframe, listening for a reaction. "Anyway, Spectral's keeping us looped in, for now. While it's still a missing persons case. If a body turns up, well . . . you know how it is, they don't even consider murder to be a crime."

"So how many goddamn 'entities' are in this place anyway? They got that sorted out?"

"They're not keeping us that looped in." Laurel tapped on another door. A low rumble sounded through the wood, rattling the floorboards. He made a note. "Okay, parlor's haunted." He looked to Oakes. "Did that guy at the door have my order?"

Oakes held up a plastic bag.

"Great." Laurel reached in and took out a cheese slider and wafted it in the room. "Hungry, buddy?"

The room gave a low growl.

"Are we allowed to do this?" Oakes said. "The caretaker's pretty pissed at all of us stomping around in here already. He said this was a historical site, worthy of preservation. They got pamphlets and everything." She waved one in front of his face. "Not sure how tossing cheese sliders around squares with that."

Laurel shrugged. "Gotta break a few eggs." He tossed the sandwich into the middle of the room and ducked back out. There was a terrible snarling and gnashing of floorboards. They both peeked back in. "More where that came from," Laurel called out. "You see anything go down last night?"

The room was deathly silent. Tears of blood began to bead on the far wall, running down the wallpaper. SOME KIDS GOT IN, they spelled out in streaky letters. RAN AROUND A LOT. MADE A RUCKUS.

"How many kids?" said Oakes. "Can you describe them for us?"

I DUNNO. FOUR OR FIVE? ALL YOU HUMANS LOOK ALIKE TO ME.

"Four?" said Oakes. "Or five?"

I'M PRETTY MUCH TRAPPED IN THIS ROOM. HUNGRY. SO HUNGRY. Blood streaked down the walls, wiping out the previous messages, pooling darkly on the floor. THEY CAME PAST HERE. DIDN'T FEED ME. SCREAMED AND RAN AROUND A BUNCH. SHOOK THE FLOORBOARDS. DIDN'T COME IN. I AM THE MAW THAT WILL DEVOUR THE WORLD IN ITS ENTIRETY.

Oakes crossed her arms, noncommittal. The blood slowly sublimated, disappearing like it had never been. "You ready to cooperate?"

The blood began to run again.

YOU GOT MORE OF THOSE BURGERS?

---

"How can one house have so many inhabitants," Oakes said in disgust, "and yet none of them saw a damn thing?" She flipped through the notes again. "Caretaker goes home for the night. Wyrmwood's lawyered up and refuses to talk."

"Ancient curse?" said Laurel.

"On a thirteen-year cycle. Last manifestation of the curse was ten years ago. Curse is clear. Other than that we've got entities in the parlor, the conservatory, the wine cellar, the, uh, psychomanteum?" She looked up at Laurel.

Laurel shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. Looked like a storage closet."

"The kitchen, the servant's quarters, the library, the first floor bathroom, the second floor guest bedroom, the master bedroom, and the attic. All occupied by ravenous, soul-devouring entities. And yet - none of them ate our missing person."

"Would've left way too much forensic evidence to clean up in such a short time span," Laurel agreed. "All the rooms turned up clean."

"And all of them incredibly vague about what happened that night. Kids got in, screamed a lot, ran around. Everyone agrees on that. Estimates on the number of people involved varies from two to six."

"Not that surprising," Laurel remarked. "They were all confined to a single room while this was going down."

"If we limit this to rooms that our intruders actually entered, the library says that people went in and out of it about six times, although it's not sure if they were the same people each time. Largest group it saw was four people at one time, one of them supposedly chasing the other three. That's a common thread, actually. One person chasing around the others."

"Person. Not a ghost."

"Not a ghost. Flesh and blood. Looks like Wyrmwood might have been telling the truth about not being involved, but now he's lawyered up and we can't get anything else out of him." She tossed the notepad down on the table. "I think there's a limit on how much we're going to get out of this front. How's the Spectral investigation going? We need ghosts talking to ghosts."

Laurel shrugged. "Investigation ongoing. No news yet."

"Fuck. They're definitely stonewalling us. Pissed off that we were leaning so hard on Wyrmwood, trying to pin it on a dead guy." Oakes stood up, cracking her knuckles. "Fine. Let them handle the paranormal side of the investigation. We need to focus on the mundane side. There's something funny going on with those kids."

---

Castalia Blaise squirmed under the harsh lights of the interrogation room. "Have - Have you heard anything about Fuzzy yet? We're all so worried about him. I - I just don't know what I would do if something happened to him. He didn't want to go, you know. He was scared." She blinked, her eyes filled with tears. "We practically dragged him there to begin with."

"It's all right, ma'am." Laurel offered her a box of tissues. "Rest assured, if we have any news about your friend you're going to be the first to know. We just have a few more questions about your experience there that night."

Castalia nodded eagerly.

"You said that you all went in as a group, explored the manor a bit, and then you were confronted with someone matching the description of the ghost of Nathaniel Wyrmwood. You panicked and ran, splitting up, and that's when you lost track of, uh, 'Fuzzy'."

Castalia nodded. "That's right."

"Well, the various entities of the manor - they're not too good at distinguishing one human being from another. But they do corroborate that there was a lot of chasing going on in the manor that night, a lot of running around. But it was a bunch of living, flesh and blood people chasing each other around. No ghosts involved."

"Oh!" Castalia nodded thoughtfully. "That's what me and Irma suspected, actually! That there wasn't a ghost of Nathaniel Wyrmwood at all, that it was just someone in a costume trying to scare away would-be buyers of the property by making it seem like it was haunted!"

"No, there's definitely a ghost," Oakes interjected.

"Oh." She frowned. "Really?"

"We interviewed him. Nathaniel," said Oakes. "Let's leave it at that."

"But he wasn't involved that night," Laurel cut in. "And it wouldn't be hard for someone to dress up as Nathaniel Wyrmwood, would it? He's a local legend. People go as him for Halloween."

"So whoever it was - he must have done something to Fuzzy." She looked up, eyes pleading. "You've got to find him, please!"

"Nah," said Oakes. "I don't buy it."

Castalia looked at her in confusion.

"You outnumbered this guy five to one," Oakes continued, pacing a slow circle around the redheaded teen. "Your boy Frank, he's a big guy. Fuzzy's pretty skinny, but I pulled up his academic record. He runs track. He's an athlete. Huey's got some muscle on him too. And you expect us to believe, that when confronted by some guy in a bad Halloween costume, you all panic and split up, leave Fuzzy on his own to have who knows what happen to him?"

"I - We thought he was a real ghost! The house - it was full of these awful moans and growls and -"

"Really? Because you just admitted to us that you and Irma had your doubts about the authenticity of the whole thing."

Castalia huddled into herself, on the verge of tears.

"Here's the thing," Laurel said gently. "We've found no evidence of foul play. No body. No sign of violence. Your boy Fuzzy doesn't doesn't seem to have been killed so much as -" Laurel splayed out his fingers. "Poof. Disappeared. And combine that with the Nathaniel Wyrmwood Halloween costume, and this all starts to seem sort of like a hoax."

"You know that faking a missing persons incident is a crime? Wasting police time and resources?"

"But - but I -" Castalia broke down into sobs. "We didn't do anything! Fuzzy's gone! You've got to find him!"

"We're not saying that you did anything," Laurel said. He knelt down to meet her at eye level. "But if you know anything, anything at all, about why Fuzzy might have wanted to disappear, you need to tell us. Think about it. Did he say anything at all in the days before he disappeared?"

Castalia looked up in despair.

---

"Okay, so Blaise didn't know anything," Oakes said, splaying the papers across the desk. "But we went down the line and his buddy Huey finally laid it all out.

"Our missing person: Norris 'Fuzzy' Raymond. A record for two counts of marijuana possession, and according to Du, deeply in debt to his dealer. Had an appetite like a garbage disposal, that couldn't have helped with his financial situation any. Also widely renown as an inveterate coward."

Laurel had his feet up on his desk. "So why would a guy like that get involved in ghost-hunting?"

"A haunted house, already known for the mysterious death of one Nathaniel Wyrmwood? A group of credulous witnesses willing to testify that they were attacked by a supernatural entity? The perfect cover to just -" She mimicked Laurel's gesture from the interrogation room. "Poof. Disappear."

"Still the question of who the sixth person in the house was," Laurel remarked.

"An accomplice, someone he knew from school? Shouldn't be too hard to go down his list of friends and lean on them until someone fesses up." She leaned back in her chair as the phone started ringing. Laurel picked it up.

"Yeah, it's Laurel." He frowned. "What?"

Oakes looked over at him. "What?"

---

". . . and this place hath always reeked most foul, but over the last few days the stench did become near unbearable, and so I hastened to contact the authorities . . ." The ghost of Nathaniel Wyrmwood hovered over the scene as the forensics team had crowded back into Wyrmwood manor, taking a prybar to the wooden walls. Laurel and Oakes stood at the back, Oakes pressing a handkerchief to her nose as the sweet sickly smell of rot filled the air.

The lead technician pried away a final plank and stepped back, revealing a lanky body contorted in the narrow space, a halo of flies shrouding its rotting flesh. Laurel retreated back outside the house, gulping in the fresh air.

"Shit," Oakes muttered. "He was in the walls the whole time."

---

"So it appears the shaft was originally used for a dumbwaiter," Laurel said, going over the report. "Caretaker says that the dumbwaiter itself got uninstalled years ago and it's just a drop straight down. According to the coroner, Norris Raymond died of a cervical fracture consistent with dropping down the shaft and breaking his neck. Thinks death was near-instantaneous."

"Fuck. Fuck, fuck." Oakes paced the office. "So what, he tried to hide in the shaft, fell straight down and broke his neck, that's it? Death by misadventure?"

Laurel tapped the coroner's report against his chin. "There's still the matter of who the fake Nathaniel Wyrmwood was. If he terrified Raymond into it, we could pin a manslaughter charge on him, maybe."

"Right." Oakes circled to the filing cabinets, paced a circle around the desk. "Wait. The rooms. They said they heard the kids breaking in. But our mystery ghost had to be there already, lying in wait. None of them reported anyone creeping around before the kids got noisy. So . . . it would have to be somebody who could get in quietly, without arousing attention."

Laurel scratched his chin. "Someone . . . the rooms were used to?"

---

"Abednego Jenkins. Caretaker of Wyrmwood manor." The old man sat twitchily behind the table as Oakes slowly circled him, long lank hair dangling from the rim of his otherwise bald head. "You've made multiple police reports in the past six months, complaining about kids breaking into the premises, vandalizing the property."

"That - that's right!" Jenkins croaked out. "And what have you done about it? Nothing! And now some - some kids got in there and got themselves in trouble, and - and one of them got hurt . . ."

"More than hurt, Mr. Jenkins," Oakes said. "Dead." She watched him flinch at the word, and then straightened up to her full height. "Where were you on the night of the 14th, between the hours of 1 AM and 1:45?"

"Where was I? In - in my house! Asleep!"

"Really?" Oakes said casually. "See, here's the thing, Mr. Jenkins. We had a little look-see at the traffic cameras surrounding the manor. And guess what we caught, twelve minutes past midnight on the 14th?"

She slid a glossy black and white photo across the table.

"That's your car, isn't it? And if we look at who's in the driver's seat . . ."

Jenkins' face went pale.

"It's not too late to come clean," Laurel said.

"I - I - This is your fault!" Jenkins said, rising to his feet. "If you had just done your job! Kept the kids out!" He jabbed his finger at Oakes and in half a second she had his arm twisted behind his back and his face pressed down against the metal desk.

"I just wanted to scare them!" Jenkins sobbed, tears running down his wrinkled cheeks. "I didn't want anyone to get hurt! I just wanted to scare them away, that's all!"

"But they did get hurt," Laurel said carefully. He motioned for Oakes to back off. "A kid is dead because of you."

Oakes released him, stepping back. Jenkins continued to sob. "I never meant to hurt that young man. I - I didn't even know what happened, I thought I'd chased them all out, I didn't even know what happened until the next day . . ."

"You chased him," Oakes said. "He hid from you. It turned out deadly."

"No, no, I . . ."

"It's going to be okay, Mr. Jenkins," Laurel said, bending down to look him in the eye. "We can work through this. All we need is for you to tell us your side of the story . . ."

Jenkins huddled over in the harsh light of the interrogation room, and between his sobs began to talk.

---

"Another case neatly wrapped up, with a confession to tie the bow on it," Laurel said, watching Jenkins through the one-way glass. He glanced at Oakes. "Not helped by you putting hands on the suspect, by the way."

"He was aggressive with me. Besides, we can leave that part out." She leaned back on her desk. "And there's one not-so-neat snag you happened to overlook, by the way."

"Oh?"

"We went through that entire house, interviewing every paranormal entity in it. If Raymond died on the 14th, where was his ghost?"

Laurel considered. "Doesn't need to have a ghost. Most deaths don't leave ghosts behind."

"Oh c'mon. That house has a dozen bogeys haunting it. You're telling me you die a tragic death in there and don't leave a ghost?"

"Hrm." Laurel wandered over to Oakes' desk, idly riffling through the collected pile of evidence. The Wyrmwood pamphlet caught his eye, and he picked it up and flicked it open. The historic Wyrmwood manor, he read, featuring ten hungry rooms, an ancient curse, and the ghost of its previous inhabitant . . .

He frowned. "Say that again?"

"Huh? You die a tragic death in there and don't leave a ghost?"

"No." He picked up his notepad and started flipping through his old notes. "Before that."

"Uh, that it has a dozen bogeys haunting it?"

Laurel tapped his finger along a list, silently counting. "Ten hungry rooms," he said aloud.

---

Laurel and Oakes stood in the kitchen of Wyrmwood manor, a small, dark, oppressive room made even more foreboding by its dark hardwood furnishings and shelves full of ancient dusty plates and ceramic statuettes. "Ten hungry rooms," Laurel called out. "Not eleven. We looked up the history of this place. The kitchen's never been haunted." He looked around. "You can come out now, Norris."

The kitchen shuddered, dishes vibrating against each other in a tooth-rattling thrum, cast iron pans swaying on their hooks, and then a sheen of ghostly ectoplasm condensed on the kitchen surfaces, floated into the air like a suspended mist, and then coalesced into the form of a gangly teenage boy with a fuzz of hair surrounding his head.

"Hello, Fuzzy," Oakes said.

Norris Raymond blinked, and looked down at his own translucent hands. His voice came out wavery. "Uh, like, hello?"

"You had us on a real wild goose chase, you know that, buddy?" Laurel shook his head. "We interviewed you, man. Why didn't you just tell us who you were from the start?"

"Uh, like, I was hungry?" His whole body shivered. "I was hungry and I was scared and I was dead, and, like, it seemed easier to just be one thing? To not have to think about it or to talk about it or to, y'know, like, be me anymore. And to have to tell my buddies I was dead, and leave them all behind, and have to say goodbye to Huey, and -" He shook his head and then managed a smile. "And besides, you were handing out free sliders, y'know?"

"Yeah," Laurel agreed, and beckoned. "C'mon over here, Fuzzy." The ghost amiably floated over. Laurel took a silver locket out from his coat and slipped it over Fuzzy's neck. "Norris Raymond. You are under arrest for trespassing, obstruction of justice, and criminal impersonation of an eldritch entity. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you -"

"Like, wha-?" Raymond got out, and then his ghostly body warped and was sucked entirely into the locket, the chain clinking lightly to the floor.

Laurel picked the locket up, weighing it in his palm. "How's that for tying a bow on it?"

Oakes nodded appreciatively. "Wrapped up nice and tight."

---

The spectral form of Nathaniel Wyrmwood hovered in the parlor, peeking out surreptitiously. "Ghouls," he muttered, and glanced over at the bleeding walls. "Infernal demons as you are, I'll give thee this much: I would rather take my chances with thee."

FUCK THE POLICE, the ancient evil agreed.

Text: The house has long been haunted. Even the detectives know. While my hidden body rots, the list of suspects stands: four close friends, ten hungry rooms, a curse, and the previous ghost.

#fiction

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bubblyhoney · 4 years ago

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spicy

warnings: kissing, mainly fluff, suggestive language and insinuations (steamy), 1 ass tap, mentioning of a name brand of spectacular hot sauce

tags: dreamwastaken x gn!reader

words: 1047

A/N: had a burrito with cholula for dinner tonight and suddenly had the motivation to write this drabble for dream?? a little out of left field for how long it's been since i have written for this green idiot but i like it hehe.

requests/inbox status: open

“C’mon.”

You slide the plate half an inch closer. He just shakes his head, half of a disgusted look on his face.

“It’s going to hurt me. I don’t want the inside of my mouth to sweat,” he complains with his body tilted away from it. He acts like it’s going to sink its teeth into him and take a meaty bite.

You stare between him and the chicken and cheese burrito. It has a singular stripe of Cholula on it; it’s the sweetest hot sauce you own, not awfully painful but still spicy enough to taste good.

“One bite, and I’ll leave you alone. It’s not that bad, baby.” You scoot it closer. “I’ll make you those cookies you like after. Promise,” you offer, eyebrows wiggling.

“Extra chocolate chips?” He asks, wincing as he picks up the fork. You nod, fond smile growing on your face.

He’s not a massive fan of spice, per say. He only gets barbecue wings when you go out, and even gets his pad Thai without red pepper flakes. The one time you coaxed him into a spicy garlic boneless wing at Buffalo Wild Wings he coughed and sputtered like you spiked them with something radioactive. His lips and nose turned this cute shade of red and you kept teasing and asking about what shade of blush he uses. Sapnap got him convinced that eating the white parts of jalapeños was actually the least spiciest part of the pepper and Dream spent 45 minutes in the bathroom.

So he just glares at the bite of burrito in his fork and sniffs it suspiciously. Sucking in a big breath, he puffs his chest and takes the bite off of the fork with his teeth scraping on the metal. He chews so hard his jaw pops, like he’s afraid to actually taste it. But he swallows, smacking his tongue on the roof of his mouth. He looks around at you, one eyebrow tilted in surprise.

“That wasn’t the worst.”

You clap, wiping an imaginary tear off of your cheek. Grabbing his hand, you bring the back of his palm to your lips for a kiss.

“They grow up so fast,” you simper through a sniff, voice weak. He rips his hand from you with a short laugh, standing to bring your now-empty plate to the sink.

“Shut up.” He hides his smile.

You follow, snorting, and lean up against the fridge to watch him put away the dishes in the dishwasher.

“Who knows. Maybe one day you’ll graduate to buffalo sauce. That day I will drop dead,” you say with finality, grin wide on your lips. He just shakes his head and closes the door of the dishwasher with a snap.

And then he’s nearing you, head tilted, shoulders relaxed and confident. He presses an arm up onto the fridge above your head, leaning down to your level. Your grin melts into a smirk. His lips find your cheek, and his other hand your lower back. Eyes falling closed, you revel in his touch with a hand clenched in the material of his t-shirt. He smells like the cologne he keeps on his desk, all warm and spicy and sharp.

The hand on your back slides down to the belt loops of your jeans and he slides two fingers in them, hooking his hand to you.

“What is all this for?” You ask, too breathy for your liking, and he gives you a kiss to the corner of your mouth. Pulling away just slightly, your lips open to see that look in his eyes. Hm. You know that look. He has that expression on his face right before—

Click.

Sapnap’s entrance to the house saves you from your most definitely steamy interaction with your boyfriend.

“Kitchen!” You call, loosening your fistful of his shirt and standing up straight. He gives you another look but backs off, leaning up against the counter with his arms folded. Like a father awaiting his child to come home past their curfew. Sapnap’s bearded face comes into the light of the kitchen and he sets his keys down onto the island with a loud sound.

“Dude. Dream tried Cholula.” You sound proud.

“No way!” His mouth drops open, looking between you two.

Dream groans, smacking his head on the cupboard behind him.

“And didn’t even pitch a hissy fit! That’s growth.”

God, you’re having so much fun with this.

“Proud of you, bro,” Sapnap adds before slapping his best friend's bicep and leaving for presumably his room. Dream just shakes his head and calls out some sassy remark you're too enthralled in turning to the cupboard to get cookie ingredients to hear.

You’re halfway through pulling out a measuring cup for the flour when he sidles up behind you and presses you flush to the counter edge. You make a noise of acknowledgment but continue on to dump the powder into the plastic mixing bowl. Two long arms drape over you and press flat to the counter as his head drops onto your shoulder.

“Do you want my help?” He mumbles, muffled from the material of your shirt. His mischievous mood seems to have disappeared, you note. Good. Sapnap just got home and he’d probably not love you two christening the kitchen.

“Yes.” You turn your head and press a kiss to his temple. “Go get me the chocolate chips, big boy.”

His pressure from on your back lifts, but not before he lands a firm smack on your butt. You jolt and glare at his back as he reaches up to the shelf where he hides them from Sapnap. (Sap likes to eat them by the handful and Dream plays with him by putting them on top of the cupboards. Meanie.)

“No hot sauce in the cookies, right?” He jokes and plops the bag down right next to you.

“No,” you start, and tear off a corner of the bag. “But I will put a healthy dose of sichuan chilies in.”

He seems to not know what you’re talking about, for his eyebrows furrow and he chews at his lip.

“Are those hot?”

“Nah.”

And you don’t put them in his sacred chocolate chip cookies. But you slip in that little detail for future reference when you get Chinese food. I mean, he’s got to branch out somehow, right?

A/N: ask or send me some stuff!! requests, rants, anything. :] let me know what you think in the comments!

#dreamwastaken #mcyt imagine #dreamwastaken x gn!reader #dreamwastaken fluff #dreamwastaken fanfic #dreamwastaken oneshot #dreamwastaken drabble #dmsp #mcyt #mcyt x reader #bubblyhoneyfics

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tamhrayis · 4 years ago

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I brought a theory from Reddit.

Disclaimer:

I am here to not disrespect the author by any means. I simply have questions as a person who is reading it and pointed out which parts are confusing. It’s up to you to believe this theory or not.

What’s more, reborn Ymir will be in the same position as 2000 years ago – the Founding Titan's shifter. BUT, this time she's free. Therefore, once she pops out and gets her abilities back, she can do whatever she wants with them. She no longer needs to be commanded by royals, which gives her the ideal opportunity to conclude everything. [How does Eren know that an infant can assist him in such an endeavour?]

Well...Ymir was definitely not free, but Ymir wasn’t born with her abilities. She got them because of hallucigenia attached to her back when she fell into that water in the tree. She wasn’t born special.

Another point. How Ymir being born with titan powers will stop the cycle of hatred?

Zeke’s death was a necessary distraction, deliberately included by Isayama to divert our attention. It tricked us into thinking that the baby inheriting Zeke’s titan is relevant as it would help Eren resume the Rumbling. But that’s not the case. The child will indeed inherit the Beast but what’s important here is the baby inheriting the Founder (what Isayama tried to hide behind Zeke’s death). Also, his death served the purpose of stopping the Rumbling as it is not needed anymore. Most of the world's population is already massacred. [What was the point of Zeke dying? Will the baby inherit the Beast Titan?]

Hm...Yeah, Zeke’s death indeed helped to stop the rumbling, because Eren could reach the Paths because of him and killing him stopped the whole process, but why would Isayama make such a distraction at the last third chapter of the whole manga? Shouldn’t he kill Zeke before, so Eren and Historia’s plan would work and it had more screen time?

“In a vision, Eren saw that Ymir will be reborn after his death. He told Historia that he has to figure out which random child will inherit the Founder”. [“What would you think… about me having a child?”]

Which vision? Ch.1 or after kissing Historia’s hand? Ch.1 vision was Eren and Mikasa’s shared dream and we still don’t know what exactly Eren saw while kissing Historia’s hand.

Of course it’s safe to say that it was his future memories, but it yet has to be revealed.

Random child. How Eren can predict that the baby will be Historia’s? Does he know how many pregnant women are there on Paradise? Okay, let’s say that it’s FT and Paths magic, but can he control which child will be born with Founder’s powers?

It would also explain why Historia didn't appear in Ch. 138 – if Isayama showed the baby coming out seconds after Mikasa decapitated Eren then it would’ve been obvious what’s going on.[“What would you think… about me having a child?”]

Chapters are 45 pages long. Why Isayama didn’t cut out some panels and didn’t put it here? Why not to show it right after the kiss page? Distraction?

Moreover, Ymir is smiling at Eren and Mikasa not simply because she saw affection. Yes, she does care about bonds but another thing could be that Eren's plan downed on her – she connected the dots and figured out that it's now her turn to contribute and complete the mission Eren wordlessly gave her. I believe next chapter will start with her disappearing from inside the Founder's mouth and switch to her being born. [“What would you think… about me having a child?”]

Okay! I agree with the part that Ymir smiled at Mikasa and Eren because of the affection they showed to each other and the part that she will contribute to the “mission”.

They showed affection to each other. Why would Eren show affection to Mikasa if he is having a child with the woman he loves?

What about the hallucigenia? Will it still stay there or disappear with her?

Immediately after she cries for the first time, all Eldians will perhaps be summoned in Paths, where Eren will be waiting. To their surprise, he will announce the end of the Titan Age. Then, Ymir will make the command and Paths will begin collapsing. Eren will hold her in his arms as all traces of titans disappear. "You're free." will collectively be directed to Ymir and all of her Subjects. [What will happen after she is reborn?]

Hold on. Can the power of Founder be shared between two people? Is it like One for All? If Ymir was born with FT, doesn’t that mean that Eren no longer has FT, AT and WHT? How Ymir can summon them? She is an infant. She doesn’t have a proper consciousness to purposely summon everyone into Paths. Where AT and WHT will go? To random Eldian children or Ymir?

It has always been suspicious as to why Eren teased Zeke about them not reaching "the part where he eats their old man". It's strange that Grisha gave Eren the power of the titans when beforehand he begged Zeke to stop him. The only logical thing would be that Eren showed him what I described above: the resolution. [What did Eren show Grisha?]

Wait. Why would Grisha be this heartbroken and scared if Eren showed him the resolution? He doesn’t look like crying from happiness. Sure, he was crying because he killed children and others, but why would he look at Zeke like that? He was in literal pain.

What used to be nonsensical before is now super logical. Grisha and Kruger were not helping the Alliance because Armin’s TnJ (talk no jutsu) worked. They aided them because beforehand Eren revealed the truth of what is to come and that they will NEED to kill him in order for Historia’s baby to inherit the Founder. Basically, they didn't feel sympathy for Marley all of a sudden – instead, they were helping Eren in liberating Eldians from titans. [Why did Grisha and Kruger help the Alliance? Why did Ymir revive them if they were going to go against Eren?]

Well...Besides Grisha and Kruger, Marcel, Ymir, Mr. Xavier, Porco and Bertholdt were there. Did they want to help Eren too?

As it has been confirmed by Isayama's notes on Ch. 138, it’s not an AU. So we should probably forget about time loops. It's a dream. Eren entered it (through Paths, duh) as he wanted to convince Mikasa to behead him as fast as possible as they have no time left. Him joining her is why Aaron Yogurt dream Eren got shifter marks on his face and why in Ch. 1, he saw this particular moment. [What’s up with Mikasa’s hallucinations?]

Oh! “A long dream” topic again. I went to the link author put and this is what I see (see below).

Okay, let’s say that he entered it via Paths, but why not to straightforwardly say that? Why to create a dream where they live happily? Why to show this hug, “I want to live with you for the rest of my 4 years”?

I don’t really like the time loop concept myself, because I don’t like time travel stuff, but why then he saw the exact same dream in ch.1? Something is not clicking.

The former will likely return to being humans. There’s no reason for them to disappear as they’re material beings that exist in the physical world – what will be removed is just titanization. Plus, with this, Eren will keep his promise of his friends living long lives. Though, this is something I cannot predict properly and just speculation. The latter will be free from the Curse of Ymir (good luck, Reiner, no dying for you). [What will happen to the titanized Eldians and titan shifters?]

Fully agree! No debate.

There's no question really. I feel like it should be self-explanatory after everything discussed so far. The farmer being Ymir's father would be a more shocking twist than Eren being the dad. [Is it sure that Eren is the father?]

Why wouldn’t Isayama add a plot twist into his story? It’s not hard to do. But Isayama’s plot twists work because he visually foreshadows it or uses characters’ dialogues. He already has showed us farmer. Why he is here? For cover up? Why would Isayama put these words if farmer is unnecessary? Why not to add more information?

To stop the cycle of violence and hate once and for all. If Eren removed titan powers without the Rumbling, most people (especially Marleyans) would’ve still despised Eldians and they would've just been defenseless. So Eren wanted to prevent that. [Why did the Rumbling have to occur?]

I agree with this. Rumbling was a cause for people to work and stop fighting each other as I said here. Rumbling plan was very risky, but it was unavoidable, because Marley is way more advanced and Paradise would terribly lose. Good point!

But why would Historia, who has decided to live for herself agree with Eren’s plan? How would she benefit from it? Okay, she and Historia are in love, but why would she want the person she loves to become a mass murderer? Why she couldn’t stop him? Why she was crying when he told his plan? She is a royal blood after all too! They could come up with another plan which wouldn’t involving Zeke.

I assume it would just die/disappear/go back to the tree it emerged from. [What about hallucigenia?]

Where’s that tree? How it will get there?

In conclusion, the theory isn’t bad, but it would work if Historia and Eren had more set up, the importance of Zeke would be explored a little more here and ch.138 didn’t have clear symbolism between Eren and Mikasa. There’re some holes, but the author gave some good points, which is truly appreciated!

#it’s theory time #attack on titan #shingeki no kyoujin #eren jaeger #mikasa ackerman #eremika #zeke jaeger #snk 138 #snk spoilers

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mysweetgeo · 4 years ago

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Do You Want to Know a Secret ? (Part 5)

Summary: Reader and George have been best friends since they were kids, but when The Beatles got big, they were forced apart. What happens when George returns for a couple weeks wanting their friendship to return to normal?

You didn’t see George for a few days after your night out at the pub, which was fine—you knew he was busy and had other things to do besides dote on you.

On the days you didn’t see George, you spent working on overdue schoolwork and working at the record store.

You’d been sitting at the desk in your room, working on a paper for school when you heard a soft knock at your opened door.

You didn’t look up, assuming it was your mother, “Hm?” you mumbled.

“Y’know I could’ve been a murderer or somethin’” the voice said.

Your eyes snapped up as you saw George standing in your doorway, a cheeky grin on his face.

“Thought you were my mum,” you said as he came to lean on your desk.

“Be a bit weird if your mum had a deep voice, yeah?” he said, joking.

You laughed softly, “I suppose,” you said as you turned back to your paper.

“What’re you writing about?” he asked, turning so he could read your handwriting.

“Stupid paper about wars ‘n such. Not really puttin’ much effort into it,” you mumbled, scribbling the last of the paragraph you were on.

He was silent for a moment as he read it, “You’re a good writer, y’know,” he says.

“Chatter on, Harrison, you don’t need to make fun,” you said, rolling your eyes.

“I’m being serious, love,” he says, squeezing your shoulder and leaning in to press a kiss on your temple. “Wanna write me some songs to sing?” he half jokes.

You let out a snort, “Nothing I could ever write would do your voice any justice, George,” you said, nudging him with your arm.

“I highly doubt that,” he says, looking down at you with the hint of a smile on his lips.

You looked up at him with a grin, a feeling stirring in your stomach that seemed both distant and familiar at the same time.

It was quiet for a few seconds before you broke your mutual trance by speaking, “What’re you doing here then?” you asked.

He shrugged, walking over to skim your records on your shelf, “Missed you, I guess.”

You looked at him through the corner of your eye, “Missed me?”

He hummed in response, picking up one of your 45s.

After watching him for a few seconds, you went back to your paper, finishing it before you heard him place one of your records on the turntable.

“You ‘ave all our songs then?” he asked, looking through your collection.

You blushed, keeping your face out of his view, “Maybe,” you mumbled.

“D’you really need two copies of this one?” he asked, holding up two copies of The Beatles cover of Roll Over Beethoven.

You turned to look at him and laughed, “Well of course—what if I wear out the other?” you asked.

He rolled his eyes, “Isn’t this a Canadian import?” He asked as he held them in his hands for a second before putting them back where they belonged.

You nodded, “Yep! Saw two copies at Loni’s and I jumped right on that, wasn’t lettin’ anybody stand in my way,” you replied.

He let out a soft chuckle as he continued to skim your collection.

When you finished the last of your paper, you slapped your pen down on your desk, “Free at last!” you exclaimed, stretching your arms out before slumping in your chair.

George laughed at you, “Free, eh? Fancy going out to lunch then?”

You laughed, “Is that all you think of Georgie? Food?”

He grinned, “Well of course! Food and girls,” he teased, poking your side.

You rolled your eyes, “Of course you’d say that,” you mumbled, standing and pushing your desk chair in before grabbing your purse and a light coat.

“Alright?” you asked, standing in your doorway waiting on George.

He grinned, jumping up and following you out the door and down the stairs.

The ride to the diner is quick, and soon you’re sat in a corner booth looking over the menu.

The two of you end up getting sandwiches, splitting a basket of chips.

George inhales his food, and more than half the chips, but you don’t mind, knowing this is just one small way you can make him happy.

‘I missed this,” you admit, as you finish your food and watch George finish his.

He looked up at you when you spoke, his cheeks stuffed as he nodded in agreement.

You laughed at this, waiting as he swallowed the mouthful of food.

“Me too, love. ‘Spose next time we go on tour I’ll ‘ave to take you with me,” he said, as he looked back down to his food.

“Maybe,” you murmured, just loud enough for George to hear.

You saw a ghost of a smile on his lips, as you settled back into a comfortable silence as George finished his food.

You pay this time, not giving George any time to object before slipping the money to the waitress.

The two of you walk out of the diner with your arms looped together, laughing at something George had said.

Soon enough you’re back at your house, inviting George back up to your room again. He declines this time though, “Mum wants be back home for dinner with the family soon, I’ll see you tomorrow for dinner, yes?”

You nod, “Yes, it’ll be nice to have a dinner like we used too—Lord knows its been ages since we’ve had one!”

He smiles shyly and looks down, “Wish I could’ve been home sooner, I’ve missed our joint family dinners dearly.”

You grab his hand and press a wet kiss on the back of it, “It’s alright George, you’re not leavin’ for another week, ‘s plenty of time to make up for lost time. Plus I can always come visit! ‘S only a couple hours train ride away,” you said.

He smiled, “‘Spose you’re right,” he says, leaning over to press a kiss on your cheek.

The warm feeling spreads throughout your body again as his lips linger, giving you a sense of déjà vu.

A smile breaks out on your face, causing George to grin as well. He squeezes your hand, “I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

You nodded, trying to dull the smile on your face, “‘Course you will.”

George’s grin never disappeared, even as you hopped out of the car and walked to your front door, waving to each other before he took off down the street.

#love #george harrison #the beatles #1964 #beatles x reader #george #george harrison fic #george harrison x reader #john lennon #music #paul mccartney #ringo starr #female reader

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hms-loop-45 · 3 months ago

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50%

New character unlocked!

Heart

Species: Astral

#chonnys charming chaos compendium #chonny's charming chaos compendium #chonny jash #hms loop 45 #heart chonny jash #cccc heart #cj heart #hms #cccc au #cccc hms #cccc fanart #heart loop 45

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emma045 · 4 months ago

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BEHOLD! AFTER DAYS AND WEEKS OF PROCRASTINATING! My version of Heart is finally done!!

#chonny jash #chonny heart #cj heart #cccc heart #heart chonny jash #cccc #cj hms #hms #chonnys charming chaos compendium #chonny's charming chaos compendium #chonny jash fanart #HMS loop 45

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a-silly-poll-side-blog-yay · 3 months ago

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#mod note #cccc #cccc mind #cj mind #chonny jash mind #chonny's charming chaos compendium #hms loop 45

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bellafarallones2 · 4 years ago

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So I wrote more Vincent/Apollo - this is roughly a sequel to ThisWasInevitable's excellent fic but all you need to know is that Vincent and Apollo met on The Bachelor. I would categorize this as PWP.

The sky was blue, the air was crisp, and Apollo was almost shivering in one of Vincent’s sweatshirts: autumn hit hard in Vincent’s hometown in the suburbs of Minneapolis, especially compared to Georgia. (Apollo had joked it wouldn’t be the peach state anymore without him, and Vincent had laughed and patted his butt and said that it was true.) That was why, in mid September, they took the Subaru to L.L. Bean to get Apollo some cold-weather clothes.

The handles on the front door of the store were shaped like canoe handles, and Vincent held the door for Apollo and then followed him in. “Where do you want to start?” said Vincent. “Sweaters or a real winter coat?”

“Sweaters,” said Apollo, already leading them past the camping equipment and brightly-colored kayaks into the men’s clothing department. Looking at the price-tag on a button down patterned with tiny blue sailboats made him feel light-headed. Sixty dollars for a shirt? “Holy shit that’s expensive.”

Vincent laughed. “It’s because they’re made to last.”

Apollo looked over at him, and put out his hand for Vincent to squeeze. “I’ll take your word for it.”

Picking out flannel shirts was a far cry from Apollo’s original designer dreams, but he loved how Vincent looked at him as he came out of the dressing room, how he ran his hands appreciatively over Apollo’s shoulders and commented on the softness of the fabric. Apollo didn’t think he’d ever worn a cable knit sweater before in his entire life (maybe in a family Christmas photo when he was eight?), but he found one he liked in a lovely jewel blue. It sort of made him look like Vincent. Even better, it made him look like Vincent’s.

When Vincent’s arms were full of flannels and quarter-zip sweatshirts, they moved on to the winter coats. The label on the coat Vincent suggested promised to keep the wearer warm at temperatures down to -45°, which didn’t even sound like a real temperature. Apollo figured the next time he visited the surface of Mars he’d be all set.

When they were done Vincent whipped out his credit card (and green L.L. Bean rewards card) to pay for everything, and Apollo carried all the bags back to the car like the strapping young thing he was.

“Thank you,” Apollo murmured once they were back in the car, and kissed Vincent deeply across the console. “You always take such good care of me.”

“I can’t have my handsome husband being cold,” Vincent teased. “Besides, you’re good at showing your appreciation.”

When Vincent talked like that, Apollo really wanted to. As a teenager his father had given him and Indrid a clothing allowance, and then when he turned 18 and moved out he’d bought his own clothes, thrifted designer or Forever 21. Having someone help him pick out clothes and pay for them was strange.

At home, Vincent carried his new sweaters upstairs and cut the tags off and hung them up in a neat row in the closet. Coming downstairs again, he found Vincent on the couch reading a magazine, but he put it aside and spread his thighs obligingly as Apollo sank to the floor at his feet. Apollo always liked the way Vincent looked down at him, making him feel small and safe and beloved, like the spoiled pet that he was. “Will you let me suck you off?”

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” Vincent cupped Apollo’s cheek and ran his fingers up through his hair. “But why don’t we go somewhere more comfortable?”

Apollo nodded, and Vincent helped him up and led him by the hand into the bedroom. Kissing him, Apollo undid Vincent’s belt and his pants and pushed down his underwear, and then the front of his shirt was concealing his genitals (can’t have that) so Apollo unbuttoned the shirt and took Vincent’s cock in his hand and stroked it gently.

“Come here, sweet thing,” said Vincent, guiding Apollo up between his legs as he lay back on the bed.

Vincent preferred to do this in bed. He wanted Apollo to be comfortable, not kneeling on the hard floor. Apollo didn’t much care where they did it. He stroked his hands down Vincent’s thighs and took his still-soft cock into his mouth, heard Vincent sigh. He played with Vincent’s balls and stroked the tip of his tongue down the underside of Vincent’s cock and felt him get hard.

He felt safe, with his head between Vincent’s warm thighs. He liked the way Vincent smelled, too. Familiar.

Before Vincent he didn’t do this with anyone often enough for their smell to be familiar, certainly not often enough for their smell to feel like home. And before he’d always tried to show off, make his partner cum as fast as possible, but now he had the luxury to linger.

Vincent was stroking his hair. “You’re allowed to touch yourself, you know. I want my good boy to enjoy himself.”

Apollo pulled off just enough to speak. “I want you to make me cum.”

“Of course, darling.”

Eventually Vincent’s hands tugged more insistently in Apollo’s hair, and Apollo swallowed around him and felt him cum, warm in his mouth, warm like a sixty dollar sweater that’d last him years.

He caught his breath resting his cheek against Vincent’s thigh, and then Vincent pulled him up to sit in his lap and kiss him some more. “How do you want to cum?” Vincent said.

“Mmm,” Apollo murmured. “Want your fingers.” He hadn’t even noticed how hard he was. Vincent made it easy to stop focusing so much on himself.

“Of course.” Keeping one hand on Apollo’s shoulder, Vincent reached over to the drawer on the bedside table for lube and gloves. Apollo shifted, clinging to Vincent’s neck, and one gloved finger teased his hole. “Good?”

“Yes please,” said Apollo, and Vincent slipped one finger inside him. He went slower than Apollo would jerking off: Apollo didn’t mind a little burn but Vincent was always so gentle, waiting until Apollo was whimpering for a second finger. He massaged his prostate and jerked him off and Apollo was drowning in pleasure, it felt like Vincent was everywhere. So close, inside him, surrounding him, cooing praise into his ear - what a good boy you are, you take me so well.

“Daddy,” Apollo gasped, and felt Vincent smile against his cheek.

The daddy thing was their little secret. He’d called Vincent it a few times when they were on television together, but it had always been jokingly. When it had come out in a breathy moan afterwards, after Apollo had sworn off doing things for the cameras, he couldn’t claim any such excuse. Luckily Vincent’s cock had jumped when he said it. He wanted - he wanted to be taken care of, alright? Was that too much to ask? He was gorgeous and brilliant; he deserved it. And it wasn’t an all-the-time thing, just when he was feeling particularly submissive, particularly needy, sitting with his legs spread in Vincent’s lap with his eyes screwed shut.

“Let daddy take care of you,” Vincent murmured, and Apollo came hard, his whole body tensing.

Vincent cleaned him up and kissed him, and Apollo let himself drift, until Vincent was solid against his back and Apollo could curl up against him like taking shelter from the wind in the lee of a hill. “Thank you for the clothes,” Apollo murmured, and was asleep before he heard Vincent’s response.

Vincent never thought he would have this. He was old enough when he met Apollo that he’d given up on finding love. He’d gone on the Bachelor mostly on a whim and knowing it would make for a good story if nothing else; he knew perfectly well television romances rarely worked out long-term. But it had been months, now, and he was still waking up with Apollo beside him. Apollo, who was young and clever and good-looking as Vincent was middle-aged and boring.

“You’re not boring,” Apollo had said once. “You’re stable. I like that. I know you won’t suddenly change your expectations for me. You make me feel safe.”

And by God did Vincent like making Apollo feel safe. He liked being the only person who saw the softness Apollo hid from the rest of the world.

(He’d never felt possessive about a partner before he met Apollo, but now he felt like if Apollo slept with someone else he might die. Or commit murder. One of the two. It would be infinitely worse than Apollo just leaving him.)

So tonight, when Apollo slid into his lap after dinner, the first thing he said was “I love you.”

Apollo looked surprised. “I love you, too.”

“I know.” Vincent grabbed his face and kissed him hard, felt Apollo roll his hips.

For a few moments they just breathed, holding each other. Finally Apollo spoke. “Can we do tonight?”

Vincent stroked his hip thoughtfully. He was referring to a scene they’d been planning for weeks. “Yes.”

His arm looped around Apollo’s torso was a restraint, now, and he brushed a piece of fluff off Apollo’s shorts. Apollo’s inner thighs were always maddeningly sensitive, and even that light touch was enough to make him squirm. Now Vincent rested his hand more deliberately on Apollo’s leg, pressing down slightly, fingers edging close to the seam of his shorts.

“Do you like it when I touch you inappropriately, Apollo?” Vincent’s authority voice also never failed to get Apollo going.

“Yes,” said Apollo, voice barely a squeak.

“Do you want me to do bad things to you?”

Apollo didn’t immediately respond, and Vincent took the opportunity to palm him through his shorts. So sensitive, he was, so vulnerable underneath Vincent’s searching fingers. “Y-yes.”

“Hm. What if I told you I wanted to tie you up? Would you let me do that?”

“Yes, yes sir, I’d let you, let you do anything you wanted to me.”

“Now that’s what I like to hear,” said Vincent approvingly. “Now, up. Come with me.”

He led Apollo to the bedroom and spread him out on the bed. “You do too much of your thinking with this, sweetheart,” Vincent murmured, groping Apollo’s dick through his pajamas. “But that’s okay, we can fix that. Stay right here.” One last affectionate squeeze and Vincent was gone, digging through the toy box under the bed. He came up with a cock cage, clear plastic. Apollo was half-hard from anticipation and Vincent touching him, so the ring didn’t fit. He looked up at Vincent, as though hoping that Vincent might let him get off one last time as he pulled Apollo’s pajama pants down around his knees.

Vincent tutted. “You young men, so excitable.” He wrapped his hand around the glass of ice water dripping condensation on the bedside table, and Apollo realized what he was going to do an instant before he did it and tried to squirm away, but Vincent’s grip on him was too strong, and Apollo shrieked as Vincent’s cold hand touched his dick. “There we go,” said Vincent, and locked the cage closed.

Apollo squeezed his eyes shut. This was because of him, because weeks ago he’d said I want you to take advantage of me and they’d talked about it and Vincent had ordered different cock cages off the internet to test which kind was the most comfortable for long-term wear.

And now here they were. Apollo opened his eyes. “How - how dare you!” he sputtered, pulling on the cage just enough to make his balls ache, enough to establish that it wasn’t coming off without the key that had just disappeared on a string beneath Vincent’s shirt. “You old fucking perv, you, you-”

“I’d be polite if I were you, seeing as that’s the only way you’re going to get to cum.”

“It’ll, it’ll make my dick shrink!”

“Are you telling me that you, Apollo Cold, the brilliant and beautiful, depend on your dick size for self-esteem?”

Apollo mumbled something unintelligible, mollified despite himself by the praise.

Vincent pulled him into his lap and kissed him deeply, tugged his hands away from fiddling with the cage. “You’ve been acting so recklessly, going around asking older men to do dirty things to you. Maybe this will help you control yourself.” Apollo’s legs fell apart easily as Vincent teased his nipples, moaning in frustration as his dick tried to get hard but couldn’t. “See, this is good,” said Vincent. “You’ve always been embarrassed about shooting off too fast and now I can fuck you for as long as I want.”

“When do I get to cum?”

“When you ask nicely and I feel like unlocking you. Supervised, of course.”

“Can I please cum?”

“Not tonight. It’s time for bed.”

Apollo groaned in frustration.

“I’m an old man, I need sleep.” Vincent opened his arms, and Apollo surrendered. If he fought he wouldn’t get to be held.

It took him a long time to fall asleep, and he groaned again when his phone went off the next day at 5:45 in the morning. Fuck. He’d forgotten he had an opening shift. He shut the alarm off so as not to disturb Vincent, still asleep, and kissed him on the cheek.

Apollo worked at Starbucks. He was good at it, he made good use of the employee discount, and swearing off Instagram had cut him off from a major source of income as a former reality star.

While he was pulling his pants on he remembered they were out of Pop Tarts and his heart sank, but when he went downstairs and opened the cabinet to scavenge for breakfast, he found a brand-new unopened box. The brown sugar cinnamon kind, his favorite. His heart panged. Even though Vincent only ever had oatmeal for breakfast like an old man, he’d noticed the Pop Tarts were gone and bought more.

At work Apollo folded his black apron up before he tied it, tight to make his waist look narrow. Luckily the apron meant nobody could see the bulge he felt in his crotch.

He got home from work before Vincent did, dying of horniness. A customer had given him their number, which always annoyed him, but less so than usual with the reminder around his cock of who he belonged to. Of Vincent.

Apollo kicked off his clothes and lay sprawled facedown on Vincent’s king-sized bed. Maybe he was imagining it, but with his dick caged every sensation was more vivid. The quilt against his bare skin, rubbing up on his nipples and the sensitive skin of his thighs. His hair curled against his neck. The sound of his breathing against the pillow.

Apollo ground his hips against the mattress, and reached down between his legs to grope the cage, but it didn’t do anything. Vincent hadn’t told him he couldn’t use toys, though, so he grabbed lube and his favorite dildo, the one that vibrated and hit his prostate just right, but when he pressed the ‘on’ button, nothing happened.

Apollo flipped open the battery casing at the bottom. Empty. That cruel bastard. Vincent always thought of everything; of course he’d think to take the batteries out. Apollo lubed it up and eased it inside him anyway. Fuck, that was good. His hips rocked of their own accord, fucking himself on the plastic. His cock tried hopelessly to twitch.

Actually, he remembered now. Last week the batteries in the TV remote had died when Vincent was at work and Apollo had disemboweled the vibrator to replace them rather than trying to find new ones. He could go looking now, if he wanted; they were probably in some neatly-labeled box in a closet somewhere, but that would require standing up.

The tip of the dildo found his prostate and made him sob. He fucked it in and out until a pathetic dribble of fluid leaked out of his caged cock.

He’d shaved his pubes the day before yesterday so the hair wouldn’t get caught in the cage, and it had felt weird, but the way Vincent pinned him to the bed as soon as he’d come out of the shower more than made up for it. You look good, all smooth like this, Vincent had said. Makes me want to lick every inch of you. He’d come hard that night, with Vincent’s clever tongue tracing up his taint.

Lost in the fantasy, Apollo looked up vaguely when the bedroom door creaked open. Vincent was standing there in his work clothes, suit and tie and green-and-gold argyle socks. “Fuck,” he breathed.

“Am I in trouble?” said Apollo.

“Of course not, baby,” said Vincent. He shut the door behind him and moved to the end of the bed. “May I join you?”

“Please.”

Vincent kissed him so hard he almost forgot about the toy inside him, hips twitching as his fingers fumbled with the buttons on Vincent’s shirt. “Please,” said Apollo again. “Please fuck me. Want you. Also where do you keep batteries?”

“On the third shelf of the linen closet. What’s this about?”

“Nothing,” said Apollo, pulling the toy out of him and leaning around Vincent to throw out the condom that had been on it. He undid the buckle on Vincent’s belt and then yanked down his pants and boxers just enough to wrap his hand around Vincent’s dick. “This is the only D I care about right now.”

Vincent laughed as he got his pants the rest of the way off and crawled onto the bed, between Apollo’s spread legs. The cage was so small he could wrap his hand easily around the whole thing. “You’re so hot like this, all locked away safe.” He pressed a kiss to the skin just above the cage. “This belongs to me.” He grabbed Apollo’s ass, lifting his hips up and pulling to expose his hole. “This too. All mine.”

“All yours,” Apollo agreed. “Now fuck me or I’ll go find someone who will.”

The thought of Apollo fucking someone else, which they both knew he’d never do, was one of the only things that got Vincent to really lose control. He sucked a hickey into Apollo’s neck, and then Apollo was too busy getting fucked to think about the cage, about the way his cock was dripping, riding the high of just-before-orgasm that didn’t end, just a pleasant heat low in his stomach. There was no point in touching himself, so he touched Vincent, kissing him and running his fingers through his neatly-combed hair.

Vincent came inside him, and Apollo kept squirming even after he pulled out, from the cum dripping out of him. It always felt strange, his hole stretched open. He just managed to gasp out “unlock me?” in between kisses, and Vincent produced the key from somewhere and there was a little click and Apollo’s cock was free again, heavy and hard.

“You need a shower,” said Vincent. “We both do.”

“Alright,” said Apollo, and allowed Vincent to help him to his feet.

The shower in the ensuite bathroom was easily big enough for both of them, with water pressure that always felt like a massage and a very versatile detachable showerhead. When Apollo moved in Vincent had put up extra shelves in the shower for all his products.

Apollo reached down to touch himself, but Vincent gently took his wrists and guided his hands away. “Hands on me, baby, alright? I’ll take care of you.”

He did. He always did. Apollo clung to him as he carefully rinsed the cum out of Apollo’s hole and cleaned his ass and thighs with a soft wash cloth, gentle enough to feel like foreplay on his dick and balls.

Apollo watched as Vincent washed himself as well, Vincent’s eyes closed against the soapy water and his dark eyelashes curled up on his cheeks. Wrapped up in a fluffy towel it only took a gentle push to get Apollo sprawled on the bed again, Vincent lying between his legs, still touching his dick. Checking to make sure the cage hadn’t chafed or pinched, Apollo realized. He lost himself in the feeling of his cock soft and vulnerable under Vincent’s hands, only looking up when he heard Vincent picking up the cage again.

“Aren’t you going to let me cum?” Apollo asked, hating how plaintive his voice sounded.

“You didn’t ask for that,” said Vincent. “I can if you want me to. But if you wait until tomorrow I’ll give you a special reward.”

“What kind of a reward?”

“Any kind of reward you like, baby boy.” Vincent rubbed his thumbs gently against Apollo’s inner thighs.

Apollo sighed. He couldn’t believe Vincent was seriously doing the marshmallow test in bed with him. But he was still going to take it. Vincent’s rewards could be amazing. Vincent sucking him off with a plug in him had given him probably the strongest orgasms of his life. But there was something else… “Will you let me fuck you?”

Vincent’s eyebrows went up in surprise. They’d never done that before. They’d made each other cum lots of ways, and Apollo had fingered him a few times, but every time they’d actually fucked Apollo had bottomed. The few times they’d tried to do differently Apollo had gotten impatient watching Vincent open himself up and Vincent had laughed and indulged him. “Of course, if that’s what you’d like.”

“Then I want that. ”

The cage closed, and the lock went click. Vincent moved upwards to kiss him. “I look forward to it.”

The next day Apollo wasn’t working, so he cooked dinner and cleaned the house. It probably would have been more fun if he’d had a French maid outfit to really set the mood - maybe he should talk to Vincent about that. In any case, Vincent was very complimentary when he got home, and after dinner cuddled him without teasing until Apollo asked if they could please get on with the fucking.

Unlocked at last, Apollo lounged naked on the bed, watching Vincent undress, returning his jacket to its hanger and putting his underclothes in the hamper. “How do you want me?” said Vincent, turning back to the bed.

“...Can I hold you while you open yourself up?”

“Yes.”

Apollo scooted up to lean against the pillows, and Vincent sat between his legs. He wrapped his arms around Vincent’s chest and tried to resist the urge to hump his back. He wasn’t going to let himself cum until he was actually inside him. He couldn’t see what Vincent was doing, just hear the soft wet noises of him fingering himself.

“Tell me about your day,” said Vincent after a few moments of (to Apollo) awkward silence.

“My day?”

“I like hearing your voice. And it’ll distract you from anticipation.”

“Alright. I… went to the grocery store for stuff for dinner. I sent you that picture I saw on Twitter of someone’s pet turtle trying to go down the stairs.”

“It was a good thing to see, coming out of a budget meeting.”

Apollo kissed his neck for awhile, and finally Vincent lifted his head. “I think I’m ready.”

Apollo startled. He’d almost forgotten what they were actually doing. He crawled around to look. Vincent’s hole was pink and wet and open around his thick fingers. “Can I touch?” said Apollo, fascinated. In answer Vincent just spread his legs. Apollo teased the rim of his hole with one finger, watched it twitch, felt it swallow his finger up when he pressed it inside.

Vincent laughed. “Pass inspection?”

Apollo turned his head up to kiss him. “So I just… stick it in?”

“Any way you like.”

In the past they’d fucked mostly missionary, since Apollo liked to be kissed, so he figured he might as well try that. Sometimes Vincent had him bounce in his lap, but Vincent was big, probably seventy-five pounds heavier than Apollo was, so that wasn’t going to work. Apollo got lube on his hand, stroked himself to full hardness, and pressed in. But the angle was awkward, he couldn’t sink as deep as he liked to, even as Vincent groaned in pleasure. And thrusting was… his hips weren’t used to that motion, his quads weren’t used to the stretch.

Was this what it was like for Vincent? Was the length that felt so satisfying not even Vincent’s full cock? He could see the cock in question lying there hard against Vincent’s stomach, and it seemed a damn shame not to be using it for anything.

“Can we switch positions?” Apollo said.

“Sure,” said Vincent. “Want me on all fours? I believe that’s traditional.”

“Yes please.” How was it that Vincent managed to be so in charge even on the bottom, guiding Apollo along? And how was it that Apollo bent so easily to his suggestions?

Vincent hauled himself up, supporting himself on his hands and knees. Apollo knelt behind him, kneading his ass for a moment. Vincent’s back was scattered with pale freckles. It was easier to sink in deeper in this position, and fuck, Vincent felt good, hot and wet and tight, groaning Apollo underneath him.

The actual fucking was still awkward. He had strong fucking kegels, could squeeze a dick like nobody’s business, but topping was different. He wasn’t sure he was good at it. And they weren’t touching enough, so Apollo rested his cheek on Vincent’s shoulder and wrapped his arms around Vincent’s chest from behind, reaching around to jerk him off.

“Thank you,” Vincent gasped, and Apollo realized he was dripping precum onto the sheets. As for Apollo, well. He was young, he hadn’t cum in two days, and also it was Vincent underneath him, the smell of Vincent’s stupid drug-store shampoo and the sound of his breathless praise.

He came hard, and clung tightly to Vincent’s back until he came as well. Then they collapsed together, Vincent rolling them over to avoid the wet spot on the sheets.

“I hadn’t expected fucking someone to be so much work,” Apollo remarked, before resigning himself to getting up to change the sheets. He knew once he started cuddling Vincent he wouldn’t want to get out of bed again.

“Mm. Now you appreciate everything I do for you.”

Apollo paused to kiss him. “I always appreciate you.”

Sure enough, he fell asleep that night curled up against Vincent’s chest, and woke up with morning wood reminding him that Vincent hadn’t locked him back up afterwards. Vincent was already awake, looking up at the ceiling, thinking about whatever it was Vincent thought about. At this angle Apollo could see the wet convex of his eyes.

“You didn’t put the cage back on,” said Apollo.

Vincent turned to him. “No, I didn’t.” He tilted his head just enough for a kiss. “My mistake. I didn’t think you’d be so desperate for it, but I’ll put it back on if you want me to.” His hand slipped easily under the waistband of Apollo’s pajama pants. “I never can say no to you.”

#pwp #vinlo #apparently that's what this ship's name is

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