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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 months

Text

Someone New 2

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Warnings: this fic will include angst, pining, romcom tropes, and some darker elements later in the series. Some triggers may not be specifically tagged. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This fic will contain explicit content. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’ve had a crush on your best friend for years, but you’re slapped in the face with reality when he takes things to the next level with his girlfriend.

Characters: Steve Rogers, Thor

Note: Idk why but I'm so over dealing with people!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You swipe away another phone call. You have at least a dozen missed. Let them buzz in your pocket for another few hours. You try not to think about it as you turn your attention back to the plot before you, the tight foot by foot square, and continue to gently sift through the dirt. You stop only to make notes on the map and examine the odd bit of animal bones you find.

Bzzzzzz. The constant vibration in your pants makes you anxious. You should put it to silent but keep forgetting. Whatever. You’re busy. Whoever it is will have to wait. You know who it is. He’s been calling for days. You’ve been ignoring him just as long.

You should pick up. You should be there for him. You should be happy for him but your heart feels rotten. Years of pining and you can’t pretend any longer. Not after the party. Not after seeing him on his knee for another woman. That’s it. That’s the seal on the envelope. The dream is crumpled up and in the bin.

He didn’t even notice that you left early. You don’t think anyone did. You spent all those weeks planning and fretting and laying awake at night and for what? To pretend that it could ever be all for you?

You sigh and sit back on your heel, one leg bent under you as you rest your arm on your other knee. You blow an insect away from your face and push your hat back. The sun beats down, offering great light for the excavation but less than ideal temperature.

“Eh, there you are,” Arturo waltzes up in his round tinted spectacles, “find anything good?”

“Nah,” you shake your head and shrug.

“You know where you’d find something amazing? Norway,” he smirks, hands on his hips. “So... you thought about it?”

“Mm, yeah, been thinking,” you utter dully as you look up at him from under the brim of your hat. “When do you need a decision?”

“The sooner the better. The grant proposal is all but approved, we just need a name on that blank line,” he says, “this could be really good for you. No, I know it will be good.”

“Right,” you nod and stand up, dusting off your tan pants, “I know you said you weren’t sure but any idea how long? I’d have to worry about my apartment and telling my family...”

“A year. That’s about right,” he proclaims, “could be longer but I’d plan for that.”

“A year?” You wisp as your chest deflates. You put your hand on your pocket as your phone buzzes again. “Wow.”

“You really want to spend another year in the city sweating for crow bones?” He asks. “Not trying to push you but these opportunities don’t come along often.”

“Norway,” you suck your teeth and angle your chin as you think, “viking stuff?”

“Possibly, could be an early Christian settlement too. How about I send you the proposal and you give it a look?”

“Sure, I... I guess I should.”

“It’ll all be taken care of; accommodation, travel, stipend,” he lists off with his fingers. “I know it’s not Ireland like you wanted.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” you assure him, “I’ll keep thinking.”

He winks and grins triumphantly, “tomorrow. I need to know tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” You echo back in a hollow murmur.

He’s already walking away. Your phone starts to shake again and you growl. You shove your hand in your pocket and rip it out. Your gloves smear dirt on the screen as you press the red button. You pause before you can drag your thumb over. You inhale and push your finger the other direction.

“Bucky,” you answer in confusion. He wouldn’t be calling if it wasn’t an emergency.

“Ah, there you are kid,” Steve’s voice comes in place of the expected timbre. You hiss. “You avoiding me or something?”

“Uh, no,” you reply thinly, “I’m working,” you rub the back of your neck with your other hand, “it’s been busy and I’m sure you’ve been running all around with... everything.”

You can’t bring yourself to say it. Wedding. Ugh. He’s getting married... to her.

“Well, Peggy’s doing most of the planning, really. I don’t know,” he chuckles crisply, “you know, more a lady’s thing. She’s already knee-deep in the engagement party. Maybe you could give her a few pointers.”

“Yeah, maybe,” you grumble as you bring your hand forward to rub your thumb with your index, scratching away more of the dust.

“I didn’t get to say thank you. Again. That party was amazing. It was perfect, kid.”

“Steve, we’re the same age,” you gripe at his pet name.

“Yeah, but you hate it so much,” he teases.

You can’t smile. Even as your cheeks pinch, you can only grimace. You drop your arm and close your eyes as you push your head back.

“She loved it. I did too. We’re so happy and you made that happen--”

“Steve, why are you calling? I’m buried right now,” you huff.

“You are? I thought you’re supposed to dig stuff up--”

“You know what I mean.”

“Well, you missed Opening Day so I thought maybe you’d wanna come watch the game. Sam’s doing his famous nachos and Bucky is... coming.”

You hear the very man mutter in the background. Great, you even have an audience. You wouldn’t be surprised if he had you on speaker. Why would anything between you ever be intimate?

“Tonight?” You wonder, “you sure you’re available?”

“Me, I should be asking you,” he scoffs, “come on, how long’s it been since we’ve been apart a whole week?”

“Work...”

“Can you dig in the dark?” He challenges.

“Steve,” you sniff, “I’m tired...” you feel your heart sinking. You feel bad. You never say no to Steve. It’s not easy. You tried but he’s right. You can’t remember the last time you didn’t see him at least every other day. “Fine, twist my arm.”

“Good,” he chirps victoriously. “I wasn’t looking forward to driving up there and digging you out. So, seven?”

“Seven, right,” you agree. “See ya then.”

“Don’t make me come find ya, kid.”

You hang up and cringe. You don’t even like baseball. It was just another personality trait you took on hoping to be close to Steve, hoping he might realise you’re destined to be together. Well, that’s not true. You’re just stupid. It took you too long to grow out of being that stupid college girl fawning over the blond hunk in his coed sweater.

Still stupid, still alone.

💟

You never show up empty-handed. Even when you were a poor sophomore. So it is that you delay the inevitable by stopping at your favourite local bakery. They’re closing and you get the eclairs for a discount as they’ll be on the day-old shelf in the morning.

The owner, Marigold, knows you and puts in an extra one. You leave a tip as you listen eagerly to her rambling story about her granddaughter’s first soccer practice. Usually, you would be checking the time but today, you got more than enough. Finally, she sends you off as she turns off the sign.

Fine, you’ll go.

You find a visitor’s spot behind Steve’s building and linger in the car. You eat the extra eclair to keep from crying. Sugar is good for clogging up your tear ducts. You wipe your mouth and make yourself get out of the car.

As you wait in the lobby for the buzzer to pick up, your insides squirm. You’re not ready for this. You’re not ready to face the truth you’ve been running from. The one you know you can’t deny any longer.

“Hey kid,” Steve unlocks the door without awaiting a response. It’s typical; you have your patterns. Those little rituals are all going to end.

You go through to the elevators and contemplate taking the stairs as you wait. The doors open and you step on, facing your reflection in the mirror doors. Your pants are still filthy from working in the dirt, your shirt is stained with your sweat, but at least you remembered to change your shoes. The elevator dings and you nearly let the doors close again before you can find your strength.

You walk down the hallway and knock. You can hear their voices through the door. Steve opens it from within and gives you a strange look.

“What’re you knocking for? You know you can come right in.”

“Yeah, sorry, tired, long day,” you babble out the lazy excuses. “Here.”

“Oh, nice,” he takes the box of eclairs, “you weren’t lying. You look exhausted.”

“Ah, you really know how to talk up a woman,” Sam interjects as he appears in the doorway further down the entryway, “it’s a wonder Peggy said yes.”

“Shut up,” Steve throws back as he turns to head back to the kitchen.

You take your time in pulling off your shoes and sense Sam lingering, watching as you meander. You clear your throat as you stand and head down the hall. He nudges you as you step into the doorway next to him.

“Where ya been?” He asks, “these jackasses have been driving me nuts.”

“Work,” you repeat again, “lots going on.”

“Right, yeah, now that you’re not spending all your time planning someone else’s girlfriend’s birthday.”

You give him a sharp look and he shows his palms. You shake your head. He’s right. You wasted all that time. You’ve wasted years. All for nothing.

“Fiancee, now, I guess,” he adds.

“Yeah, the happy couple,” you snip and step into the room, “so we watching the game or are we giving him another pat on the back.”

“What? You’re not excited? You’ll get to be a bridesmaid or whatever. Since I’m best man, I’ll be sure to save you a dance,” Sam chuckles.

“You? Best man?” Bucky sneers from the couch where he slouches and flicks through a motorcycle magazine, “don’t think so, bud.”

“Oh, you don’t think I’m better than you?” Sam challenges. “Let’s race for it.”

“You cheat,” Bucky growls.

“No, I have strategy,” Sam counters.

You roll your eyes. Wedding talk, already. The exact thing you can’t handle right now. Bucky sits up to glare at Sam as he closes the glossy pages. You let them argue and posture at each other.

You leave the room and let yourself onto the balcony. The fresh air is chilling. You shiver as you step up to the railing and look across the city. You take in the skyline, each window, each peak, each speck of a car on the streets below. It feels so grey. Like it’s the last time you’ll be standing here looking over it all.

Maybe it is.

💟

You sip from the bottle of beer as Sam nearly drops his nachos off his lap in excitement. He hollers at the screen as Bucky gives him a look. Steve shakes a fist at the second base run. You’re happy enough to tamp down the heat of the peppers with the wheaty ale.

Sam rights himself beside you as Steve reaches forward to set down his plate. He grabs the square of paper towel folded on the coffee table and wipes his lips. He sits back and slings his elbow over the armrest as the next batter takes his place.

“So, how do you guys feel about a destination wedding?” Steve asks.

You clamp your lips tight and scoop up more fixings with a chip. Sam swallows loudly as Bucky shrugs. No one says a word.

“Peggy asked earlier. I wanted to do it at a cathedral here. Just how I always pictured it,” Steve says.

Yeah, that sounds like him. He likes old-fashioned and elegant. Everything Peggy is and you’re not. Makes you wonder why she wouldn’t want the same venue.

“Back home?” Sam wonders.

“England? No. I suggested that and she was not into it.”

“Somewhere tropical?” Sam prompts again. He’s at least trying. You’re too sick to open your mouth.

“Sure, that’s what I was hoping,” he smiles, “especially if it’s a winter wedding. The date... yeah, that’s a big deal too. You know, I thought the ring was a pain.”

You keep your head down, hoping the pain doesn’t show. Not only did he propose to her, he kept it from you. You’re best friends and you had no idea. How much had you been through with him? He had you plan that whole party but he couldn’t tell you that?

No, no, you’re being dramatic. You’re friends. He doesn’t owe you that. It’s between him and Peggy. His future... wife. Ugh. You can’t even imagine that happening. You try and try but you just can’t stomach the image. Peggy in white, Steve in his tux, and you just standing, watching.

“I can’t come,” you blurt out abruptly.

“Huh?” Steve blinks and flinches as if he’s been slapped.

Sam angles beside you to squint at you and Bucky’s brows pop up. Another silence, this one deadly. You’re suffocating as you search for words.

“I won’t be here.”

“Well, yeah, like I said, it’s gonna be somewhere else. You don’t even know when it is,” Steve blusters as his face creases in disappointment.

“I’m going to Norway,” you blather and nearly choke at the realisation of what you said.

“Norway?” Sam repeats hollowly.

“Yeah, uh, work... offered me a grant contract and I’ll be going to Norway. For at least a year. So... yeah.”

“Wait, you’re leaving?” Steve blinks rapidly, “how-- when were you going to tell me?”

“I’m telling you now,” you push your shoulders up, “I just found out.”

“You can’t...” Steve begins.

“That’s awesome,” Sam speaks over him, “hey,” he nudges you, “that is so fucking cool. Norway. Vikings and shit.”

Bucky nods and gives a thoughtful look, “rains a lot.”

“So I’ve heard,” you utter dumbly, not sure how to respond. “I got a lot to do before then so I might be a bit absent.”

“Don’t even worry about us,” Sam insists, “you need any help at all...”

Steve stands up suddenly and slams his bottle down. Before you can speak, he twists on his heels and storms across the apartment. You stare after him as he disappears into the next room and you hear the balcony door slide back then snap shut just as quickly.

You grip the beer bottle tight and look down. You didn’t think he’d be mad. You’ll be out of the way. He can get married and be happy.

“What a baby,” Bucky grumbles, “can’t be happy for anyone but himself.”

“Well, you are his best pal,” Sam snipes, “birds of a feather.”

“So that means I’m best man,” Bucky intones mischievously.

“No, it’s not best buddy, it’s best man--”

They continue their banter and you get up. You put down your chips and beer and leave without notice from the bickering couple. You near the balcony and look through to Steve as he leans on the rail, his head down. Gently, you slide the door open and step out.

Only the wind blows as you come closer to the railing. He roils in the cool evening air. You take a breath as you come up next to him.

“Sorry, it’s... a good opportunity.”

“No...” he drones, “I’m happy for you. I just... I can’t imagine my wedding without you. Or my life.” He lifts his head to look at you. “What am I going to do? You’re supposed to tell me what bowtie to wear and how to do my hair.”

“Peggy can do all that,” you cross your arms, “Steve, I can’t pass this up. If I stay in the city...” you let your voice trail off into the wind. If you stay, you’ll have to watch his happily ever after while yours never comes. “I’ll never do anything.”

“I know,” he dips his head again, “I’m proud of you. Really. But I’m going to miss you.”

Your cheeks tauten and your throat clenches. Your voice is creaky as you speak, “I’ll miss you too.”

He’ll miss you but he’ll never love you like you do him.

#steve rogers #thor #fic #series #au #someone new #mcu #grayish fic #angst fic #marvel #avengers #captain america #steve rogers x reader #thor x reader

298 notes · View notes

see-arcane · 3 months

Text

Before the journal opened

Before it saved his life

Before Hell staked a claim

Before he swung his knife

A storm rolled in with the spring

And hope paved his long way

Through monsters and their red wants

He takes step one today.

WARNING: Contains some grisly imagery towards the end.

PDF Version

Chapter 2 Preview is available here

Harker

C.R. Kane

March to April

Spring rolled in more grey than green that week. It dribbled rain through morning and noon, pondering to itself whether it would save an encore for evening in the way of a proper storm. The songbirds and the street noise went on as best they could between showers. They made up the only true din in Jonathan Harker’s corner, not counting the hammering of the typewriter or an occasional rustle of sheets. The usual low cacophony of the firm had been whittled down immensely due to the cough that had been shared at the start of the week and sent the greater part of Peter Hawkins’ small legion home to hack and sniffle in private.

This left Jonathan somewhat abandoned, not counting Hawkins’ presence behind the office door. It was just as well. He’d been splitting his attention between the eternal tower of logistical and legal chores that ruled his desk and the shorthand notes made in preparation for his exam. Such had been his constant state for the past two months. There had been ribbing from all directions, some bemoaning the imminent loss of a load-bearing clerk, others saying now they could draw lots and boot someone else out the door, and still more wheedling about whether or not they could still drag him in place as a shield when clientele of a certain incendiary temperament came around. Please?

Jonathan had remained ominously mum. Groans and lamentations ensued.

This was a joke, of course. Young Mr. Harker was nothing if not dedicated to the task of transmuting Hawkins’ charity to a whipcord child fifteen years prior into a proper investment. Case in point, using a lull in his own workload to get things in order for those bedridden solicitors who had the nearest deadlines pending. Bentley idled through with his tea as he did and shook his head.

“Don’t know what it is that comes with your kind, Harker, but it’s a busier thing that any of us idle English have. We’re down two thirds of the building and here you are doing three-quarters of the work. Get the examination out of the way and you may as well tell the old man to retire.” A thoughtful sip came from behind the porcelain. “Must be something they teach you Gurkha sorts, eh? Some kind of discipline our doughy little English schoolboys never get knocked in their heads.”

Jonathan weighed the decision of whether or not to give Arnold Bentley his bimonthly reminder that he was, in fact, English by birth. His parents as well. But the reminder would likely fall into the same pit between the man’s ears where all the others had gone. Worse, it might risk a tally mark against him in whatever invisible score was kept by peers. The one that determined whether the combination of Jonathan’s physiognomy and disposition really were enough to pardon his status or not. He finished this measuring of scales in less than a blink. A smile was summoned.

“Not at all. Just helping where things can be helped.” He straightened a sheaf of forms back in order. “That, and I cannot go a day without productivity, or else I shall have to go home and carve my hand with the kukri knife in penance.”

Bentley paused halfway through his laugh when Jonathan held his gaze. He gawped over his cup.

“God. Really?”

“No, not really. My penmanship would suffer terribly.”

This spurred a louder guffaw from the man, likewise a rattling clap of his open palm to Jonathan’s shoulder. Then he was out like a breeze to carry on with whatever it was he had drifted from in his own territory of the building. Jonathan resumed his interrupted rhythm. Read. Check. Write. Type. Read. Check. Write. Type. So he went for another hour before his watch told him it was time to check the post.

He stepped out during a lull of rain. The thunder talked with itself in the slate-dark clouds, debating whether or not to turn the spigot on the moment the wad of envelopes was out in the open. Jonathan applauded himself on dodging the first drops of the deluge by seconds. Peeking through the window, he saw there were even a few fitful winks of lightning hopping through the sky. What few pedestrians were left went running for shops they had no interest in, restaurants they had no appetites for, and cabs that turned frustratingly scarce within the minute. Jonathan grimaced in premonition of the dash he and Mina would have to make under the umbrella once she was free of her students.

But that was for later. For now, he flipped through the day’s heap and dealt them out to the waiting desks, occupied or not. The last in the stack was a familiar packet and one of extraordinary make. It was patterned with the stamps of myriad countries with ornate flourishes in the writing. A thick crimson seal sporting a rearing dragon marked it as the second delivery from the same foreign estate that had written to Hawkins in February. A castle set in the backdrop of the Carpathians.

Jonathan had felt his heart twist the first time he’d handled a parcel from the address and it twisted doubly hard now. There had been time in the interim to start combing through Exeter’s libraries for any beginning details to have ready should Hawkins want some background to aid one of the solicitors, especially in the case of a potential trip. If the latter came to pass, it would mean a visit to London and a perusal of denser material. A fine enough excuse to wander the superior bookcases and the British Museum on its own. But the luster of the errand was already gone in his mind. The first glimpse of the prospective client’s territory in the first book he’d cracked open, wrought in illustrations and sparse photographs as it was, sent a spear of longing through Jonathan’s chest that still hadn’t left.

Why would anyone living there want to trade such a place for England?

Jonathan was not oblivious to the advantages of the country. He understood his good fortune in access to modern works, from amenities to entertainments; at least in theory. With cautious budgeting. But all his life had been spent in cramped rooms or congested streets. The presence of a park, a farmer’s field, a distant beach, or a picturesque cemetery were the nearest he would ever come to the broad and chainless beauty of places not yet stomped flat with bricks and smoke.

Imagine! Meadows and hills, valleys and forests, all topped with the great serrated crown of the mountains. Cities and villages worn smooth with generations going back through centuries.

Imagine being there with her. Seeing sunrise flood over the peaks, walking old roads and footpaths, tasting and seeing and playing and breathing in a place without its laces drawn like a noose around throat and purse. The trains alone would be enough for her, true, but we would find somewhere to stop. Somewhere in every swatch of the countryside. At some point, as she became lost in a view, in a meal, in a walk, she would see me on my knee and what I held in my hand, and the wedding could happen right there in an ancient chapel, and then…

But the fantasy turned to dust before it could finish.

The required funds were cudgel enough to smash the whole daydream to atoms. At most they might manage a trip someplace other than their usual heights of hedonism. That was, a brief trip to Piccadilly and back. Maybe a bit of theatre. Possibly a picnic. Perhaps even some further place in the Isles. Somewhere rich with quiet and history of its own, but likely not across the Channel. Never a locale so far and mythic as the place Hawkins’ new client seemed interested in abandoning. Jonathan pictured Hawkins writing back to the noble on his behalf, wailing at the stranger not to forsake his fairy tale castle for the doldrums of a Londoner’s garish crate of a manse, no matter how crusted in filigree.

Save yourself! Do not trade your mountains for an English molehill! Turn back, turn back!

But that would be a poor way to run the firm, wouldn’t it? Resigned, he brought the packet to Hawkins’ office and knocked at the door.

“It’s open, Jonathan.”

Jonathan ducked in with his smile already nailed in place. It was an expression he now had to work at as recent months plodded on and Peter Hawkins’ complexion failed to improve. The man behind the broad desk was only half as rubicund as he’d been the year before. He had insisted to everyone who dared ask that he was merely suffering from a particularly ugly attack of gout and that he would be fine in a week or so. As it stood, Hawkins could still sit up straight and bellow thanks when Jonathan came by with his delivery. He even turned a shade ruddier upon seeing the dragon’s seal.

“Well now,” he said through a grin. He turned the packet over and pointed it at Jonathan. “Have you taken lunch?”

“Not yet, sir.”

“Go on and fill up quick. If this is what I believe it is, I expect I’ll need your ear within the hour.”

So saying, Hawkins slit the packet open and began to read. Jonathan dismissed himself with his fingers crossed in his pocket. Perhaps the British Museum wasn’t too far off after all. That and the London libraries. It would be too brief a visit for anything more extravagant than what Lucy referred to as his and Mina’s ‘academic holidays,’ but it would make an interesting exercise just the same. Plotting the trip was a pleasant enough distraction to eat to.

He finished just as he heard the tell-tale grunt and shuffle that meant Hawkins was hefting himself up to trudge around his desk. Jonathan flew to the door first, only just recalling to swat his knuckles against the wood before opening it. Hawkins looked up with a shock before gratefully flopping himself back into his chair.

“You have a dog’s hearing and cat’s feet. Ought to have a bell on you to give an old man some warning.”

“Apologies.”

“Nothing to apologize for. Saved me dragging myself around unduly.” Hawkins thumped a hand on the desk as if patting a horse. “I suppose I need to throw this out and trade desks with you. I can make it past that little square of yours in no time.” He thought further on it. “Less than a minute, anyhow.” He made a face that couldn’t decide itself between a smile or a grimace. “My doctor, who only seems to tell me what I already know, declares that I am not fit for any arduous travel. In his terms, that includes going further than the street corner on foot. Even a train ride is apparently a gamble, being that I should be in bed resting and rotting like a good patient rather than hobbling my way to and from the cab to work. Already I press his orders and my luck. Which means this,” he held up an envelope, “is out of the question for me.”

Jonathan recognized the torn envelope and scarlet seal. What held him up was the recognition that it was the first of the two packets. The February delivery.

“That’s unfortunate. Who was the client?”

Hawkins grinned in earnest now, purposefully turning the envelope so that the address was hidden.

“You tell me.”

Jonathan offered half a smile back. It was an old game that had begun years ago when he was still just a bookish boy underfoot, helping around the office for whatever could be spared for a child’s wage. Even then his eyes had been hungry things.

“Count Dracula, from the castle of the same name, of Transylvania. The address is from a Bistritz postal service situated in the Carpathians.”

“True and true.” Hawkins set the envelope on the desk and tapped it with a thick finger. “Curious taste in property, this one. Likely has the cravings of a renovator. No trouble on our side but for the hunting. But the esteemed gentleman is so damnably far into the Continent that I couldn’t rightly offer myself up in the way he’s asking. I ought to say, the way he insists upon buying. The way our Count puts it, he would rather pay every fee of travel for his English solicitor to and from his keep in the mountains, and play host on top, rather than, he says, ‘Suffer bartering land through stationery.’ In short, he’s willing to ship a solicitor to his door rather than play at this back-and-forth for all his questions, all out of his own pocket. He wants someone who’s not just going to find and sell the manner of place he’s after, but someone who can play encyclopedia if he’s unsure of something.”

“Hence him being prepared to rent out the owner of the firm for an in-person visit,” Jonathan finished. Hawkins gave a nod.

“And the owner might have been up for it a decade or so ago. But time marches and gout outweighs gold. So I fear that leaves me out of the picture.” Jonathan watched Hawkins fold his hands with a calculated laxness on the desk. “Your examination is coming up.”

Lightning flickered outside. More danced across Jonathan’s brain.

“Yes, sir. It is.”

“You have been my clerk since you were old enough to rent a flat,” Hawkins went on. “My apprentice and professional living plaster to this place well before that.”

“Yes,” Jonathan breathed more than spoke. He feared his vocabulary was leaking out both ears while his heart tried to climb his throat.

“And,” Hawkins half-leaned over the desk, “you have been holding onto her ring since last year. Haven’t you?”

Heat rushed up to Jonathan’s face as he got out, “…Yes. I have. Sir, are you—,”

Hawkins brandished the packet Jonathan brought through the door an hour ago. This he laid beside the February envelope so that the pair of them seemed like strange square eyes staring up at him.

“I need you to understand: This is not an offer as much as a prayer. If there’s no chance with you, that means Bentley is the next choice. He’s my longest running man here and is liable to set up his own firm before the decade’s out. But for all that, and for all that he is a trustworthy one to patter with most Englishmen, I would sooner trust a cat with a lame canary than Bentley to not choke on his own tongue with a foreigner. Clients of noble lineage included. The man can barely toe his way around an Irishman let alone anyone from across the Channel. And, since the door is shut and no one is around to cry nepotism, I can speak the unvarnished truth.

“You could do with one week what anyone else here could manage inside a month and have it done better. That is not me being rosy about the past or present, that is me having eyes that work and a basis of comparison between how things ran before you began working here and after. The after is smooth as silk compared to the pre-Harker gravel. Stable gravel, I allow, but not nearly as easy a burden as things became once you were attacking the paperwork. And the footwork.” Hawkins raised a caterpillar brow at him. “Any good finds in the local bookshelves?”

“Not as many as I hoped,” Jonathan thought he heard himself say. It was hard to tell as he seemed to have relocated to some remote island in his skull and could only register what was happening as if from across an ocean. “I wanted to stop by the options in London if I had the chance. Just to gather some background on the client’s location if it was needed.”

“I’d say it is,” Hawkins hummed. “Supposing you can tell me you have your schedule open for some traveling come May.”

Jonathan told him it was. Hawkins told him to go to the corner cabinet and move the bust of Alexander off the high shelf. Then to bring down the bottle and two tumblers. There were toasts and there was talk and there was a laughing chide from the older man as he shooed Jonathan’s pocket notebook back from whence it came. No notes today, young man. At least not right now. Actually, perhaps one for later. Did he have time open to visit a tailor? There was a travel budget that was about to go unused if the Count was to have his way. It may as well go toward a good cause. Hawkins could hardly send his best solicitor to a noble’s door without looking his best, and it was for the firm’s image, really, so it could hardly be helped, and the doctor couldn’t grudge him such paltry exercise as going to harangue a suit seller…

Jonathan’s eyes burned and his face ached with smiling. He was mortified to find himself close to a sob before turning the sound into a coughing laugh. Hawkins told him to drink, not inhale. That turned the next sound into a true chuckle. He couldn’t tell whether it was an effect of the liquor or his own imagination that made it seem as if the thunder was laughing too.

“Transylvania,” Mina said for the dozenth time.

“Transylvania,” Jonathan echoed. He turned to face her rather than cling to the charade that either of them were focused enough to continue their mutual study. His pile included the texts that had come to haunt his subconscious with its rules and rites of property law, now with the hypnotic temptation of the library books waiting just an arm’s length away. Mina, who Jonathan knew was as much or more a pillar of solid focus than himself, had not a mote of attention to spare for the papers taken from the realm of educational etiquette or her personal project of mirroring and translating his shorthand. The latter made a certain gleeful anticipation turn over in his stomach. It left him floundering between elation and anxiety with equal force until he thought he might lose his last meal on the floorboards.

Which would be a shame, as he and Mina had combined their efforts into a delightful result in Jonathan’s narrow kitchen. Jonathan had only half-jokingly implied that they were making a child’s ideal feast because he was, in fact, giddy as a boy who’d just shaken hands with Father Christmas. Mina had declared this was nonsense.

“A supper made of breakfast is an entirely sound culinary decision.”

“Yes, Miss Murray,” in his best schoolboy tone. “Did you want crêpes or toast?”

“Crêpes. Extra cream.”

They had giggled like children over their respective plates. Just as they did over the rapidly ignored chores they had planned for themselves after. It was the frightful intoxication of feeling the future unrolling into a new smiling mystery before them. One that whispered, yes, yes, this is real, this is coming true. A future that might include…

Jonathan gulped down a heavy lump of air as his gaze flicked again to the sheet of shorthand messages he had scribbled out for her to translate. She had stopped halfway through. Close, close, close. But he didn’t let his stare linger. Instead he found her face again, still glowing. Jonathan was forever surprised that he had not dreamt her up as a boy and continued dreaming her until now. It surprised him more that he had managed to earn her love and dumbfounded him entirely to think that she regarded herself in the same terms. More, that she insisted she was the luckier half of their equation. He did not follow her meaning then, nor did he think he ever would.

“Mina, anyone with a sliver of sense in their head would feel the same for you,” he had insisted more than once. Each time she had smiled and shaken her head. Her eyes forever bright with a sweet-somber knowledge he couldn’t decipher.

“There is plenty of sense to spare. Loving hearts as well. But there is a different lens that women see the world through and it shows things men shall never have to see. It shows so much to watch for. To be wary of, or to hope for, or to know not to expect because life has made it clear that so much of what’s dreamt of only exists for a few, while the rest make do with storybooks and stage plays.” Her hand had held tight in his. “You were not meant to exist outside the borders of a fairy tale, Jonathan Harker. That you cannot see as much for yourself makes me wonder if someone really did peel you off a page and if you will vanish back to a fair princess somewhere when I wake up.”

“That implies I am either a prince or some clever farmhand. I’m cut out for neither. I am a squire at best. Though I would not settle for a mere princess either way, however fair.” He had dared a grin at her. “Or have you already forgotten Mrs. Westenra’s unique stance on the matter?”

Memory had nettled Mina out of her glumness with a sputter that tried and failed not to turn into shamefaced laughter. She had improved somewhat in the years since the incident itself, back when the whole ring of persons involved had flamed with embarrassment over the misunderstanding of Jonathan’s presence when spotted with Miss Lucille Westenra and her companion Miss Mina Murray now that all of them had stretched out of childhood and into the far end of adolescence. Followed by the ensuing inquiry as to why Mr. Harker had been baffled at the very concept of seeking to gain Miss Westenra’s affection as anything more than a friend.

Jonathan remembered sitting in one of the gilded rooms of the Westenra estate, sat across from Lucy’s increasingly rose-faced mother as she came to the belated realization that Mina Murray’s young man was not trying to court anyone other than Mina Murray. Worse, it had been left on his shoulders to steer the conversation out of potential wreckage by thanking his hostess for clearly being concerned on Mina’s own behalf, as there were too many people in the world who took the notion of seeking out a secret paramour behind another’s back as a matter of course. He was heartened to know that Mrs. Westenra cared enough to be mindful should an actual cad come into the orbit of her daughter or her friends.

Still flushed, Mrs. Westenra had chased agreement in this, poured on apologies for the mistake and had thankfully never brushed the topic since. Though Lucy had words enough to spare on the matter for months afterward. She had languished at them in the garden about it, the image of woe in peach blossom tailoring.

“Jonathan, I fear we must become enemies,” she’d intoned gravely. “You must walk with a cane in hand and I must brandish my parasol so that we keep our distance and never risk breathing the same air. We cannot even deafen poor Mina’s ears with the Bard or eavesdroppers will take us knowing the lines of Hamlet and Ophelia as proof of a tryst. Perhaps we should go around with our hats pulled down over our eyes, lest we give into temptation and acknowledge each other’s existence while being the opposite sex. It is our only chance of salvation.”

“Miss Lindon again?” from Mina, her smile placid. Jonathan knew she wore the same callused shell he did when it came to the patter that trickled down from higher tiers than theirs. Those tiers were many and their squabbles almost alien in what they deemed worth sniping about behind their fans and cigars. The infamous Miss Lindon was apparently a thorn too serrated even for Lucy’s compassion to withstand.

“Very much Miss Lindon again. ‘He would just do for you, Lucy.’ As though she thought I would be doing a charity by going behind my friend’s back and she were doing a charity by her sneering compliment. At least nature was kind enough to spare me having to think of a similarly charitable rebuttal, as a beetle helpfully flew into her hair a moment later and she went running. One must take silver linings when they come. Unrelatedly, Jonathan, when you do become a solicitor in full, should Miss Lindon and her future beau ever approach you for a house..?”

“I shall do what I can to find them a lovely estate,” Jonathan assured. “In Northumberland.”

“Next door to an entomologist?” Mina asked over her cup.

“Of course.”

Jonathan blinked the recollection away, wondering whether it was the dizziness of the day or the ticking of the clock between Mina and the final line of shorthand that was making his mind slosh. Perhaps it was simply the subconscious’ effort to dodge the weight of the evening and what it might promise. His thoughts were fleeing to hide from hope and worry. But Mina knew him too well. She caught him with her eyes before pulling him back into the headiness of the present.

“You will do fantastically, Jonathan. Tell me you know it as well as I do.”

“I will not say I know it. Too much confidence risks laziness. I will only say that I shall give all of myself to the task. It must be done so it will be done. If I think any further than that simple fact, my head will burst.”

“If you do, I promise to sweep you up and put your pieces back in order.” Her smile softened an increment as her hand settled in his. “I mean it.” She squeezed. He squeezed back.

“The same goes for you. We are neither of us allowed to hold ourselves together with string and brittle smiles once the door is between us and,” Jonathan flapped his free hand at the rain-streaked window, “all of that. No acting when it’s us alone.” He flashed her a decidedly less-than-brittle smile. “I promise not to tattle to your girls.”

“You were bad enough today, Mr. Harker. Half the classes were watching.” Her voice tutted, but the grin showed in her eyes. Jonathan had arrived at the school with the umbrella in one hand and a bouquet in the other. A bundle of her beloved lilies that he’d used as a screen behind which to steal a kiss and drop the announcement of Hawkins’ assignment in her ear. Forgetting her audience, Mina had kissed him back, forgetting to mask herself behind the petals. They had absconded to the cab to the sound of a dozen girls cooing their farewells, Miss Murray, see you tomorrow, Miss Murray, has he got a brother, Miss Murray?

“Hardly a terrible thing. If you are one of their examples, mustn’t they have something to look forward to at the end of all their practice?” He assumed a pose of scheming innocence, lashes batting. “I could be especially nefarious come Valentine’s Day. Take a holiday from Hawkins and show up toting chocolates and train tickets and a florist’s worth of flowers.”

“You will do no such thing.”

“I can hire an orchestra to follow us around. Have them play waltzes the whole day.”

“Jonathan.”

“No, of course, an orchestra would be too cumbersome. A singer and a violin, perhaps. I can hire a paperboy to throw rose petals after us. Or else I could send them up to the classroom to follow you in procession out of the building…”

The typewriter hammered back to life. Its keys were struck with more force than they needed.

“Sorry,” Mina sang above the din, “no hearing you over this. You will have to be a foul minion of Eros a little louder.” Jonathan bit his tongue against a reply. Yes, she was typing again. Yes, she was reading the last of the shorthand. Tap-tap-tap, clack-clack-clack. So far it was all the lines of a love note—a common enough surprise, if one that fished more than the usual dimpled grin out of her tonight—and she had not caught on yet to the conclusion. “How long will the client need you over there?”

“Between the travel to the estate, the stay, and the return trip, the whole thing should be over within early May. I shall have time to hoard you a while before you and Lucy have your summer escape to the coast. Was it Whitby?”

“Yes, quite near the landmark Abbey. I mean to harass the townspeople with demands for any ghost stories they might spare about the place. Perhaps Marmion is but a single drop in a sea of waiting legends.”

Tap-tap-tap.

“Then I shall try to collect what I can abroad in turn,” Jonathan said from behind a fan of notes. He kept only the corner of his eye pinned on the swimming lines. “There should be spirits in abundance along the route.”

Clack-clack-clack.

“I would think so. But don’t settle for ghosts alone! I shall happily adopt any devils or revenants or folkloric fiends the locals can share—,”

Her voice died mid-key.

Jonathan looked over the top of his pages. Mina sat frozen as a sculpture. Her hands still hovered at the typewriter, lax and immobile. But her eyes were in motion. Flicking back, forward, and back again between Jonathan’s shorthand and the five words they had translated to in plain ink.

Will you marry me, Wilhelmina?

By the time she finally turned her head back to face him, he was already on the floor, swift and silent at her hip. The box sat open in his hand. Set inside was a petite gold band whose stone gleamed like a fleck of starlight.

Mina looked from the ring to its holder with eyes that were already spilling.

“Yes,” Jonathan heard a dozen, a hundred times in the ensuing night. Yes, yes, yes, a thousand, a million times, yes. Between kisses, between tastes, between touches and takings that skirted the furthest edge of propriety between unmarried bodies. Yes.

“We are engaged. We must prepare for the wedding night as one must study ahead of an examination. Isn’t that right, Miss Murray?”

“It is, Mr. Harker.” Then, furtive despite her position over him, she grew a smile both shy and sly. A lure surrounded by the hanging curtain of her hair, “…Can you say it? For practice’s sake.” He did not have to ask her meaning.

“Mina Harker.”

Her teeth bared in a white moon.

“I didn’t quite hear you. Say again?” As she asked, her hand moved. He gasped in the trap of it.

“My pronunciation must be off. How is this?” His own hand moved. Her eyes went wide and dark. “Mina Harker. Mina Harker. Mina Harker.”

More practice unspooled. Harker, husband, wife, I do, I will. Around and around again until their tongues ran dry and they were left folded into the tangle of each other, their last fig leaf still reserved for the nuptial night itself. As midnight rolled past, the storm slipped off with it and left the moon to throw its rays through the edges of the curtains. Mina’s ring trapped its glow on her knuckle. He almost wept to look at it.

Real. This is real. I am awake and this is real. God, God. Thank you.

“Thank you,” he murmured into the top of her head. Her hair massed into a perfect curling cloud under his chin. The cloud tickled there as she lifted her gaze to him.

“For what?”

“You know.”

“If I must say, ‘You’re welcome,’ so must you.” Jonathan held his tongue. “Exactly.” Her hand cupped his cheek as she went on, “I feel much the same. Like a lottery was won and the prize is an unfair gift by dint of how precious it is compared to the recipient. By how that prize refuses to acknowledge their own value. But there is time yet to filter that all down into something better. We will have our vows to smother each other with and neither of us will be able to shush and insist, no, no, I am the luckier one. All while the pews roll their eyes. For tonight I ask that we have a truce. No deprecation, no hoisting onto pedestals. Just for now, we will pretend we each feel equal to the blessing of the other. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

“Good.” Mina lifted herself high enough to find his lips with hers. “I love you, Jonathan.”

“I love you, Mina.” He mouthed the words to himself long after she had fallen asleep atop his heart. I love you, Mina. I love you, Mina Murray. I love you, Mina Harker. I love you. Thank you.

Jonathan faced the covered window and the sliver of pane visible at the cloth’s edge. He spotted the moon hovering in a split among the breaking rainclouds. As sleep finally found him, he could not shake an unpleasant certainty that he was looking at a great glowing eye. And that it was staring back.

Jonathan discovered Carfax Abbey on a clear blue day. His immediate impressions of the place ran in quick succession. First, that the location was so precise in its accommodation of Count Dracula’s specifications that it might have been commissioned. Second, that it looked like a place meant only to exist after dark on a sinister moor. This remained true despite the brilliance of spring stubbornly budding along the edge of its high stone fence.

He sent back a late thanks to himself as he’d been that morning, when he had tossed a coin on whether or not to bring the Kodak with him for the day’s hunt. Though the cab would be trusted to take him to the general area, it would be down to more literal footwork to inspect the properties he hoped to survey as far as he could without increasing the fare. Which would not bother him too much if he were going light. He did have a fondness for a run when it could be gotten away with sans pedestrians. But there would be no jogging with the camera to mind. Only a steady trudge.

Yet even that predicted march was trimmed down to a mere amble by dint of the cabman’s suggestion. He had heard out Jonathan’s description of his ideal quarry and first assumed him to be a tourist who’d gotten lost in a search for haunted houses.

“The area hasn’t much in that way, lad. Only place that comes close is old Carfax. Used to be an abbey, but looks more like a hideaway for the Dark Ages’ ghouls.”

“Do you know if it’s for sale?” This had earned him an odd look before the cabman admitted he had seen a sign staked out front that might have claimed the place was available. Supposing one cleared away the accumulated grime.

“I have to wonder if your buyer will bother with such a place. Ghosts can be dealt with, but it has more unsavory living neighbors to deal with.”

“Who are they?”

“Can’t say I know them personally, thank God, but I know for certain they’re perfectly mad.”

“Really?”

“Well, they’d not be in a private madhouse otherwise.”

The cab passed said lunatic asylum en route to the site. Jonathan was happy to note that it was at least a stately building, clearly a former domestic estate that had been expanded into suitable proportions for the inmates and staff. Better still, it was so far from Carfax as to be invisible through the facility’s wall of tended trees even when standing outside the latter’s stonework border.

Seeing the composition of said fence’s rough stones had plucked at Jonathan’s boyhood itch for play. If it were not for the cabman as a witness, he might have clambered his way up and walked along the edge as he’d done around his aunt’s home before he was declared too old for such nonsense. Still musing, Jonathan thanked the man again for the find and paid for the ride, promising another fare if he would return in an hour’s time. The cabman hesitated even after he had taken the first half of the pay.

“You’re certain you’d rather not go up the whole road first? There aren’t many houses, but they’re each of them empty and all far less a stain on the eye than that evil heap of rocks.”

“Do any of the rest have a chapel attached?”

“Don’t believe so. But if your buyer’s so keen on his prayers he ought to make do with a trip to church like the rest of us.”

“I imagine he means to refurbish it for that very purpose.” Jonathan offered a smile. “I’m certain whatever spirits might be lurking will have to clear out once he’s put the place in order.”

“Or torn the bloody thing down,” the cabman muttered not quite under his breath. He huffed and checked his watch. “An hour, you said? Just to wander around the place?”

“To wander here and across the neighboring grounds. I need to take note of the full landscape as well as the estate.” The cabman snorted at this in time with his horse.

“I hope your buyer is paying what you’re worth, lad. Any more on his list and he’d have you mapping out all of Purfleet to be sure it suits his fancy.” When the cab pulled away Jonathan began the photography. As much as he could manage from outside the fence. But then, because there were no witnesses, and because there was no way of opening the gate without ruining the rusted lock, and because it really wouldn’t be a thorough survey of the property without a glimpse of things on the inside of the towering stone walls, Jonathan shouldered his bag and scaled the rock as blithely as a spider.

He landed in the shade under one of the sundry trees that crowded the interior grounds. Jonathan marveled at how the trees’ shadows and that of the hulking abbey combined to hold a permanent dusk in place. So much so that it was a challenge to find any well-lit spots in which to take pictures without losing details. Up close the chapel was no less imposing than the abbey. It stood apart in its overgrown gothic solitude while the abbey puffed itself out with late additions to the structure. Jonathan made a note to reserve some pictures for Mina once he’d set aside an album for the Count. Sadly there was no letting himself indoors without becoming a full intruder, and so he satisfied himself with touring the rest of the land. A tour he was happy to make at a run.

The camera and his bag were set carefully aside with the chapel to manage this—for he must manage it, seeing as the grounds seemed to cover no less than twenty acres—and sent another belated thanks to his morning self for donning more active shoes than his workplace pair. While the place was no forest, it was an easy enough copse to imagine as such. A private patch of woodlands in which he had no one to be mindful of on a trail or blush over as they gawked at him, wondering what his hurry was. Here the exercise even bore fruit in the form of revealing a pond set at the estate’s southern end. A pool clear with spring water and trickling a faint stream through a grate into denser growth beyond the rear gates. Another run and a returning walk ensured this too got its photograph.

It was as he took these pictures that he saw the place even had some refreshment in the way of brambleberries snarling their way along the masonry. They were still some months away from being in season, but the desire to steal a piece of their thorny nest to plant his own shrub gnawed. At least until he reminded himself it would be hopeless with his current lodging. A mint tin of a flat slotted wall-to-wall with the rest of the street. Mina’s was worse still, he knew. When they married, they would pool their funds to find somewhere with a little girdle of a garden around it. Or else they would have window-boxes to grow things for the kitchen. Or both. Just a wedge of greenery to tame and taste for themselves.

For now, he satisfied himself with adding it to the marital itinerary and took out his notebook to jot the impressions of Carfax Abbey as he had for half a dozen other estates, all of them falling short on one preference or another. Too new, too near to the hub of a city, too compact, too bright, and, most damning, not a single chapel to spare among them. At least, none that were not in use by the general public. He would likely run around for another couple weeks to check on other prospective options, but he held little hope for a finer match than Carfax.

Carfax, Carfax. I wonder…

The notebook was tucked away in exchange first for his watch, which showed he’d somehow burned only twenty minutes, and then a compass. A minor note from the Count had mentioned a desire to have, ‘an open sky with which to see all the night and day, the dusks and dawns, without men’s brick and smoke in their way.’ Jonathan could not fault such a wish and so had brought the compass to see if he might happen upon a house with the view clear for the east’s sunrise and the west’s sunset. The compass revealed he had done even better with the abbey.

‘Carfax.’ Quatre Face. A four-sided house with its walls facing the four cardinal directions. All clear of any rooftops and their belching chimneys. I’m sure it will please you, Count.

The thought sank his joy like a stone. Jonathan looked again at the abbey. Haunted and a relic of dead centuries, true, but a place of dignity and grand dimensions all the same. A voice rose up in him with smiling malice as he stared at it.

You will never have such space. You will never have a home so broad that Mina can have rooms all for herself and more for the daydream of children. You will live close to all the fruits of a metropolis, as near as the gutters themselves, and only ever know what it is to skim them, to borrow them, to daydream without laying your lesser hands on them except to use them for another. You will have neither the sprawling beauty of nature or the boons of modernity. Not for your entire life, Jonathan Harker.

And, because he could not stop the flow once it was running:

She should have found someone better. Someone with more than your scraps to offer.

He ground the heel of his palm against each eye until they dried.

“What would she say?”

Something kind you do not deserve.

Jonathan shook his head and marveled at the paradox that still found its way to nettle him even with the ring on her finger. Perhaps because of it. It was the miserable uncertainty of the hours preceding his examination turned up a hundredfold. Time, experience and evidence all stood in favor of him passing his tests on the professional and romantic fronts, yes, yes, he knew it…

…But what if he didn’t? What if he had somehow fooled himself and Mina and Hawkins and peers and the world itself into thinking he was more than what he was? What if?

What if you stop wallowing and get out before the cab returns?

Jonathan stopped long enough to skip a stone across the pond before following his route back to where he’d clambered over the wall. With half an hour to spare, he began walking at a healthy gait across the spread of land between the abbey and the asylum. If only to say he knew how many paces it was between the properties. One, two, three, four, five…

The pacing turned irregular once he had to cross through the border of trees that stood for a property line between Carfax and its company. Jonathan was stunned to discover there was no proper fence hidden behind the picturesque rows. Only a walled and gated section at the rear of the asylum that suggested an area for outdoor excursion or perhaps a private kitchen garden. He hoped it was the former. Even the insane needed leave to stretch their legs beyond the borders of a cell. As he mulled this, he heard a shout. It sounded like it held the weight of every expletive known to the English tongue and several more beyond it.

Following this was the same livid voice grating seemingly out of thin air, “Idiot! Fool! One damned page and you do this?” Jonathan heard a clatter of hollow things against a wall. “Imbecile!” He stepped fully beyond the wall of trees and saw the voice’s owner pacing back and forth inside a barred window set at the foot of the asylum’s wall.

“Sir? Are you alright?” Jonathan was almost as surprised as the man in the window to realize he had not only spoken, but come closer. There was an instant in which the man tensed. The picture of one who’s realized someone of influence has caught them in a bad moment. Yet upon actually seeing Jonathan and recognizing his lack of import, he relaxed enough to smile. Albeit sourly.

“Apart from this most inconvenient stint of homemaking, courtesy of concerned friend and kin, I am quite fine, young man. Ebullient, ecstatic, elated.” The polite rictus hardened. Jonathan thought queasily of wild dogs. “Apart from the fact that I have lost the last of my stationery to an overfilled glass. My cup runneth over. My cup ruins days of work and turns the remaining space to so much waste. Just look!”

The man thrust something up to the gaps in the bars, stopping just short of throwing the spoiled pinch of paper out onto the grass. For it was spoiled. Jonathan saw the stationery was really little more than a large cut of butcher paper folded and refolded until it made a sort of accordion-book. The whole thing was so waterlogged that Jonathan could barely tell tally marks from letters as the crayon bled together and the pages sagged.

“Ruined,” the man punctuated with what was either a sneer or a sulk. “At best I can try to mash and dry the thing out as a new sheet. But the stuff was already muddy enough to write on and I shall have to reduce myself to the penmanship of an infant with the bluntest marks just to make anything legible. And I had just started to make progress.” He cocked his gaze more fully at Jonathan. His look was one accustomed to giving brisk appraisal. “If you are a journalist, you are quite tardy with your pen. You’ve not even set up your camera’s tripod to record the travesty.”

“I am no journalist, unfortunately,” Jonathan admitted as he unearthed his notebook. “But at least that leaves some of this to work with, if you’re amenable.” Covering the shorthand of the last full page, he showed the man in the window the remaining blank sheets. Not a great many pages left, and certainly not of impressive size considering it was a pocketbook, but it would be a fair amount of writing space for a careful script. The man’s expression did not change, but his eyes brightened.

“I may be. Supposing I know the price at the other end of such a trade.”

“No price, sir. You would do me a kindness in taking it as I shall have to start a fresh one for another project soon. The predecessor would be left unfinished and forgotten in the meantime.”

“Ah, a worse fate than a journalist. An author. How many poor diaries have you left abandoned in their pretty bindings for the sake of a new volume?” The man clicked his tongue through a grin. “I jest, of course. You do not seem the sort to waste what he has.” The grin, still genuine, flattened an increment. Bloodshot eyes gleamed. “I fear I wasted a great deal of what I once thought mine on the other side of these delightful accommodations. Never make such a mistake as mine, young man. Do not doubt for an instant that what you trust today cannot turn on you tomorrow.”

“I won’t, sir.” Jonathan thought of adding that he had lived under that knowledge since the day he attended the funerals which ended his childhood. He swallowed it back. “May I..?” He held the notebook up, his shorthand sheets pinched between thumb and forefinger.

“I would be most grateful.”

Jonathan tore his filled pages neatly out. The remaining clean pages were barely thicker than a pamphlet, but clung sturdily to the little spine. Jonathan knelt low enough to lay it within reach on the grass. He noticed a small dusting of white powder at the window’s edge. A crowd of ants whittled away at the mound.

“Ants,” the man scoffed as he followed Jonathan’s line of sight. “Pitiful company. I had hoped the thaw would bring in something heartier. Flies, ladybugs, perhaps some early butterflies. But the real trouble is keeping them around. Ah, apologies, might you bring it a little closer?” The man raised his forearms into view. “I haven’t the best angle from where I stand.” Jonathan scooped up the notebook and brought it an inch nearer.

The man’s hands were abruptly out through the bars and clapped around Jonathan’s. Tight. Short of hurting, short of breaking, but locked as firmly as a vise. Jonathan tensed without pulling back. Again he thought of wild dogs. Of things that only seemed to be dogs until they closed in. Creatures that chased once they saw something run.

Jonathan was still. The man was still. Grasping Jonathan’s hand and the notebook in a pantomime prayer.

It’s my left hand. Smart enough for that, at least. I can still do my paperwork with the right intact and the other broken. Will the fingers heal in time for Mina to slip the band on? How mortifying to have to explain it all to her. I wonder if the asylum would make up a cast without charging for it…

“There is no need to shake upon it, sir,” Jonathan heard himself say. “The book is yours.” The man regarded him with less of a smile now. His lip still curled, but it seemed only to hold on by sheer will. It dropped entirely with the gust of a sigh.

“The book and a lack of tact, I fear. Even if I were not mad, I would still be a churl.” The hands relaxed and a set of fingers drummed once on the back of Jonathan’s wrist. “Though I suspect you are a soul used to them. I would tell you to be more wary on your way, but it is only a simpleton of a preacher who would bother teaching his flock wariness in a world where they must interact each day with wolves. Though I will advise that it is rather foolish to go around making conversation with confirmed lunatics up close. I am confirmed, you know. The facts are printed and signed all over by professionals. I saw the document myself.” The man’s look floated away from Jonathan and into a distance he couldn’t guess at. “Printed on far finer paper than what we settle for.”

One of the gripping hands came away, leaving only the one folded over the notebook and Jonathan’s palm. They shook. The notebook was collected in the same gesture.

“My thanks,” from the window.

“Quite welcome,” as Jonathan righted himself. He surprised himself with his own steadiness. The rote pitch of the office and a life’s worth of reflex steered his tongue while mind, heart, and stomach rattled where they hid. Because he had to do something with his freed hand rather than clasp it in its brother, he fished out his watch. Only now did a ripple of worry manage to rise to his face.

“Some trouble?”

“I fear I may have lost my ride.”

“You came from the by-road, yes? It hardly sees traffic. If your driver’s gone on without you, go around the front here and see if you cannot bribe our beloved head doctor into lending out the wagon. Just say you have managed to wring a whole quarter of an hour’s worth of nattering from his friend R.M.”

“R.M.?”

“Short for Mr. Rig R. Mortis.” The man chuckled at Jonathan’s look. “Pseudonym, young man. Can hardly have the family being shamed under my real title. He will know who you mean. Though I do hope you manage your ride instead.” With that, the man ducked back from the window and was gone. Jonathan had made it three strides away when the voice called behind him, “Here!” Something small struck the back of Jonathan’s heel. He turned and saw gold winking up at him. A sovereign. “It is not payment. You are merely ensuring the attendant who lost it when I had my last room search never gets it back.”

“Sir—,”

But the window was already abandoned. Jonathan picked the coin up. It was partially obliterated on one end, erasing part of Victoria’s face and the rider on the reverse. This was because the edge had been ground to a sharp edge that nicked his thumb open as he turned it over. Blood smeared Saint George, his steed, and the dragon hissing up at the sword and hooves.

Cold fingers seemed to walk up his spine as he examined it. Shaking the chill away, he tucked the coin in his pocket alongside the notebook’s harvested pages and dashed back the way he’d come. He made it to the waiting cab just as it was pulling up to the gate.

“Well, lad? Is it what your buyer’s after?”

“I believe so.” Jonathan smiled as he said it and held the expression admirably until the cabman turned his gaze back to the road. He gloved his hands despite the balmy weather, sheathing his thumb as it traced the thin impression of the cargo sitting against his breast.

“If you keep up with that you shall tear the whole cheek off,” she said at his shoulder. “You are awake, I promise.”

Jonathan stopped pinching at himself and split his attention between Mina’s face and the clock’s. The magic circle of Roman numbers seemed to shake a phantom head. No, it said, not yet. But soon.

“This is happening, then?” he asked as he turned fully to Mina. Mina, here at the last moment together until mid-May. Mina, wearing the ring he had saved a year for on her finger. Mina, who had clasped and kissed and kept him from collapsing outright in stupefied relief upon the announcement that he had passed his examination, her fiancé now a solicitor. Mina, who held his hand and kept him from floating off through the ceiling and into the sky. “This is really happening? Are you sure?”

“Quite sure.” Jonathan’s eye traveled to her neck and the glimpse of a cord peeking from her shirt collar. She caught him and spared her free hand to tuck it out of sight. “Just as I am sure you will not fly off with my treasure, you magpie.”

The treasure being Jonathan’s own plain gold band now worn as a necklace. He had been the one to slip it over her head the night before, mesmerized by the soft shine as it landed over her heart. It was done by mostly mutual agreement. Mina wished to hold a scrap of tradition close and leave his hand bare until they reached the chapel. And, though Jonathan suspected this was mere theatre, she said she wished to hold onto it as proof to herself that she was awake and that the engagement was a reality. Besides, it was practical! If he were wearing the cord on his trip, what if he should lose it in any number of countries as he traveled? It was one thing to risk forgetting it at the office or leaving it at home. Quite another to imagine losing it in a hotel in another nation. Even with all this logic at her disposal, Jonathan donned his best moue. Mina covered it with her hand.

“That is unfair.”

“I am not above unscrupulous tactics, Mrs. Harker.”

“Like trying to break me by calling me Mrs. Harker?”

“Possibly.”

“Well, you are foiled. My will is too great.” She brought her hand away to brush a strand of hair from his brow. “There is no need to scheme anyway. You shall have the thing back soon enough.”

Jonathan pretended not to hear the slight tremor at the word ‘soon.’ Yes, it was only a few weeks’ separation. A month at most if there were delays in train or coach. But even in this zenith of excitement, knowing unequivocally that this was where their future began—a future where they were taking their first steps up rather that walking the same flat circle in the dust—it felt strangely like waiting to leap into a chasm. A gorge that required endless paperwork to keep track of, plus what was required for the travel itself. Documentation, letter of credit, passport, polyglot dictionary, and, carefully packed, the first new suit he’d had in three years.

Mina had insisted on his modeling it before packing it away. After, she declared she must send a letter of gratitude to not only Mr. Hawkins, but to the tailor. They would have to see him again about the suit for the wedding. Lucy had already written back in response to Mina’s last letter with the announcement, erupting with insistence that, while she was not the sort of girl to live and die by fashion plates, she wanted to know the very instant she began hunting for a dress.

In the present, however, the only new attire was the coat Jonathan wore. A companion piece Hawkins had insisted join the suit before Jonathan could escape the tape measure. Jonathan’s hand drifted up to one of its pockets now and found it unexpectedly light. Worry spiked for a moment before his mind caught up to what it was he’d been feeling for. He almost laughed. Mina canted her head at him, searching. She never missed even the most minute shift behind his eyes.

“What is it?”

“Nothing. Only I’ve realized I was so adamant about packing everything for the needs of the trip and the client that I forgot the one item I meant to bring solely for me.”

“Your books?”

“No, the law texts are there. A bit of Dumas as well. But I have forgotten my book.” He offered a bashful smile. “Ours, I mean. For your assignment.”

Her brow furrowed a moment before she recalled, “The journal?”

“Yes. I meant to grab one of the spare pocketbooks from my desk, but it’s not in its place. Maybe I bundled it in the case without thinking.” If not, he could shave out a little of his emergency budget for something en route to the castle. But Mina was beaming at him.

“An ordinary pocketbook might suffice for a clerk, but not a solicitor. Especially not when I’ve held onto this since you turned your back to peruse the dictionaries two months back.” She brought out her reticule as she spoke. From the reticule came a slim leatherbound volume with supple pages made to resist the traitorous smudges and tears of its precursor’s flimsy leaves. The whole thing was tied with a white ribbon that pinned a matching pen to its cover. “All shorthand. Promise?”

“Promise,” Jonathan nodded as he took the book gingerly from her hand. It fit so perfectly in the coat that it failed to even dent cloth. “Though I don’t believe the same applies to the recipes. Which I shall collect in abundance and inflict upon us both once I return. Is there anything specific you want me to bring back?”

“You know my tastes already.”

“Other than the cuisine, I mean.”

“Nothing comes immediately to mind. A good story or two would be nice, but,” again her hand found his face, cupped against the angle of his cheek, “as long as you come back, I will be satisfied.”

“I suppose that can be managed.”

The clock tolled and the call went out to the station. All aboard, come along. Mina’s eyes flicked with brief wonder to the train itself. Locomotives and their railways had been one of her chief interests for as long as Jonathan had known her. She regarded her copy of Bradshaw’s Guide with the same reverence as some did their Bible, to say nothing of the clipped articles she had collected concerning new routes and models being laid out within various countries. In sum, Mina loved the practicality and potential of trains. To her they were proof that their world was not limited by whether or not they could hail a hansom or how far it was willing to take them. But now her smile dimmed.

“It had better bring you back on time,” she said as they walked arm and arm up to his car. “I shall be standing in this very spot with my watch out.”

“I’ll warn the conductor.” Because they were among strangers, she had allowed him to hold her arm rather than the reverse. He gave a gentle squeeze first to her arm, then her hand. The lump of the stone stood out under her glove. “If it runs late, I will simply run ahead.” Her laugh did little to hide the dew in her eyes. It matched the mist in his. Their hands held tight.

In that moment, an absurd impulse leapt up in him. An animal-twitch of fear that went deeper than mere anxiety, deeper than love, deeper than concern of career or separation or wandering in unknown lands. It was the needling of a sense he had no name for. A thing that smelled or heard or tasted some imperceptible sign that bodily and mental awareness refused to acknowledge. It whispered:

Do not go. Do not do this. Go home. Go now. Before it’s too late.

The whisper froze him. Mina appeared to freeze with him. Her eyes reflected a feverish glimmer of his own disquiet. They stood locked in that second like a hart and doe with their ears pricked toward a huntsman’s tread in the wood.

But then they blinked. Mina’s gaze lightened and the uncanny sensation left Jonathan as quickly as it came. Only a shudder of nerves disguised as a portent. Really, he could hardly bow to it even if it had meant anything beyond a hiccough of his own fretting. Fact outweighed fear and the fact was he had a job to do. A job that began here, now, with the release of Mina’s hand so he might grab his other bag from her.

Thus unburdened, Mina abruptly trapped his face between her palms. Jonathan bent down until his mouth met hers. Here was the plush press of her lips on his, feeling so much like a reverie he thought once again that he must be asleep. He would wake any moment and the fantasy would fall away into foam. Now. Now.

“Now, I don’t mean to intrude, but there is a train waiting. I’m afraid you must save the rest of the young man for his return trip.” They both snapped up at once to see the uniformed man at Jonathan’s back. He was eyeing them with a look that spoke of a career forever encumbered with similar scenes. The man peered at Jonathan over his spectacles. “You are boarding?”

“Yes, sir. Apologies.” But an apology not even fractionally meant. He turned back to Mina who now steamed from the neck up as she avoided the gawking of an older couple taking in the show. The wife gestured at the sight of them, muttering something in a tone of mingled mirth and query in her husband’s ear, to which the husband rolled his eyes. Jonathan spared them only a mote of attention. “Mina.” She looked to him. “I love you. I’ll be back soon.”

“I love you, Jonathan. I’ll be right here.”

He found his seat at the window and did not turn his head away from the glass. Not while the train idled. Not while it pulled away in its hiss and puff of turning wheels. Not while Mina stood there waving after him, her feet tugging her forward a few unconscious steps so that she might see his window longer while he craned his head to keep her in view. Only when the station itself was a speck in the distance did he turn back around. Off to the future to lay an invisible track for them both. To collect countries as keepsakes and bring them home on paper like pressed flowers.

Jonathan tried to imagine what he might cross on his travel to and from the castle that would be a worthwhile souvenir. Images of books and baubles were conjured as he traced the edges of his journal. So he went on musing until excitement burned out to exhaustion and the first doze of his trip dragged him down into sleep.

A dream came and went.

He was still on the train, still at his window, but the seat facing his was no longer empty. A face he knew was there. One harvested from the far end of his school days and the nascent career as a clerk. So he believed.

It was a familiar countenance in the way that the sight of a stranger always seen in the same place amounted to vague acquaintance. Known enough to nod at in passing. Jonathan had nodded at this one and been given a nod back in student years. He’d thought of introducing himself once or twice, only for the young man to flush and hurry off like a frightened stray. Jonathan had never quite understood it.

Now here was his anonymous acquaintance again, finally sedate in his seat and hidden in his newspaper. While he was not Jonathan’s senior by more than a year, he looked to be in a more professional state of dress. Pressed and tailored and relaxed in that way men can be when they know they have a wardrobe full of similarly fine ensembles waiting at home. But it was his choice of accessory that gave him away as being on a similar pilgrimage to Jonathan’s. The unoccupied portion of his seat was taken up by the paperwork of a sale, carefully weighted by a discarded hat. His companion spared it no attention, having his gaze pinned on the newspaper open in his hands. It blocked the view of him from the whiskers down. Jonathan was still wondering whether to announce himself when a voice came from behind the newsprint:

“My way goes through Munich. Yours as well?”

“Yes,” Jonathan said. “Though I fear there will be no real stop there. At least, the Count did not pencil a hotel stay in the route.”

“Hm,” his companion nodded. “I suppose he would not gamble it twice. Even if he did set it right the first go around.” The newspaper rustled and the young man’s eyes finally lifted above the print to find Jonathan’s. They were bottle glass-bright. “What all have you packed?”

“Necessities, mainly. Everything for the sale, some changes for the overnight stays and—,”

“And what haven’t you packed?”

“I…” His hand traveled again to his chest. “Mina saved me at the station. I forgot a notebook, but she had one ready. I should be fine.”

“No. You are still missing something. Rather, I expect you will be missing it quite soon.” There was a sigh behind the paper. “All that practice and you go and leave the damned thing under your bed.”

Jonathan straightened in his seat. His right hand clamped reflexively, as if palm and fingers were dreaming of a hardwood handle.

“I’m not going to the jungle.”

“There are worse things than animals to worry about. If you cannot cut them down, what will be left to you?” Another page turned. The bottle glass eyes slid to look out the window. Jonathan followed his gaze and saw that the world had gone black and white under a skull-faced moon. “But then, you might make do without the steel. You handled the worst of our schoolmates well enough back then without even raising your voice. Whatever you may lack as a full-blooded Englishman you make up for in softer stuff. Enough that one or two of the lads confessed over drinks that they wished you were a girl. I was not one of them. You gave me trouble enough as a boy.

“All that said, you have skills that will help. Appealing attributes. Ones I could have used myself.” The unblinking eyes slid back to Jonathan. It was a greyer stare now. Almost filmy. “I had nothing to sell. Neither in English property or my personal wares, so to speak. I could not even muster charm enough to be worth an extra hour’s chat.” Jonathan watched his companion’s hands crumple the paper in two fists. He saw for the first time that those hands were red. They left dry maroon stains across the gazette. “Who is waiting for you, Jonathan Harker? Who at home? Your Mina, old Hawkins, and who else? Any names come to mind?

“Of those friends, are there any who will know to worry when it goes wrong? Anyone to ask questions? To watch the calendar and the post and wonder how you are? Because I thought I did. I even knew the difference between friends and amiable acquaintances, unlike you. Fellows in and out of my firm. Even a girl who understood my needs and was willing to play her part. They all said they expected letters from me. Said they’d be on watch if I was not back within half a month. That was a year ago. And still they do not know where I am. Nor have they cared enough to look.

“But you would have, I think. If I had ever gotten over my cowardice. If I hadn’t wasted boyhood cringing, so afraid I would give myself away. If I had not made a ghost of myself rather than a friend. I was so proud of myself for not daring at the time—I fear I would have made a wretched scene when I first realized you and the pretty schoolmistress were serious. Instead I took my wine and my pain in silence. Told myself how wise I had been not to try. Ha.” Jonathan watched pallid lips peel open on a smile glazed pink with bleeding. Red rivulets trailed out between the young man’s teeth and into the trimmed beard. “Not that it would have mattered in the end. If we had been friends, if we had been more, if we had been anything at all, there wouldn’t have been much for you to find.”

Jonathan leaned forward. It took an effort. A growing stench was starting to waft from the opposite seat. The stink of copper and rot.

“Please, just tell me what this is. Tell me how to help. What’s happened?”

His companion’s grisly smile wilted. The bottle glass eyes ran like his mouth.

“What’s happened is you have climbed onto the same train I took. You will ride on plenty more. The same coaches too. Perhaps that will help. They never caught on to the truth of things when it was me. After all, he does have work to do, being what he is. People must have made it to and from that place before in official capacity. They must have thought it would be the same for imported goods. Hopefully they will know better now. But then, so will he. Soon all you will have to rely on is yourself. Use what you have. All that you have. Play the game as best you can. As long as you can.” Red tears and dribble flowed in a thickening cascade. “I could not last a week and so lost everything. Or nearly so. I am restless, true, but it could have been worse. Much worse.”

“I don’t understand,” Jonathan almost rasped. Fear choked him like a noose.

“I know. And I am very, very sorry to say that you will.” His companion sighed, releasing a crimson haze of spittle into the air. “Well. This is all I can manage as I am. I suppose I shall not need this anymore. Here.” The newspaper was shut and held out for Jonathan to take. “Somewhat out of date, but well worth the read.”

Jonathan spared barely a mote of attention for it. There was no headline or story that he could make out. Only a flash of what looked like the stanzas of a poem, though he couldn’t say for certain. He was too gripped by the sight of the young man below the neck. Seeing the fullness of it hooked something in Jonathan’s stomach and drew it up to the very edge of his teeth. He wasn’t sure if it was his breakfast or a scream.

That was when the hand fell on his shoulder.

Cold. Just as cold as the lips now pressed at the side of his neck.

Whatever sound he might have made was cut off as something sharp drove into his throat and the train went as dark as the world beyond it.

“Sir?” Jonathan fell against his seat as if thrown. The uniformed man started back himself, taking his hand away from Jonathan’s shoulder as he did. “We’re coming to the station soon. Can’t have you sleeping through your stop.”

“No. No, of course. Thank you. Sorry.” The man glanced at Jonathan’s lap with a look possessed by every father who has ever known better than his progeny.

“You could pick lighter reading to nod off on. You’re only setting yourself up for sour dreaming if that’s what you skim beforehand.” He didn’t loiter long enough to explain what he meant. Jonathan looked down.

He had picked a gazette to stuff into his things before he and Mina reached the platform. He’d had an idea that he was reserving his books for the far end of his travel and so would make do with some final updates from his native soil. At some point he had turned all the way to the obituaries. His hand rested on one describing the tragic loss of a young man at sea. A sailor fallen overboard in a storm, presumed dead.

They could be wrong, Jonathan thought with sudden desperation. Perhaps he lived. He made it safely to an island or some distant beach. They could find him alive and well. Couldn’t they?

The newspaper was shut, folded over twice, and tucked back in his luggage. Jonathan did not touch it again until he left the final station that spat him out by the shore, feeding it to the first wastebin he saw. He almost laughed to himself when it came time to board the ship. It would be May by the time he cracked open the journal and wrote anything of interest.

“I shall do better on the return trip,” he promised the naked pages. “I’ll record a view of the sunrise on the water, I swear.” And he meant it. But for this first voyage across the water, Jonathan stayed shut in his room. If he dreamt of a black tide coming up to swallow him, he was happy to wake without recalling it.

#this is a whopper #hope you have snacks #Harker #my writing #horror #dracula #re: dracula #dracula daily #jonathan harker #mina murray #r.m. renfield #peter hawkins #lucy westenra #dracula's guest #c.r. kane

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bloodyymaryyy · 5 months

Text

Gossip girl xoxo

F1 grid x driver reader

This is part 3

Part 1 / part 2 / part 4 /masterlist

((Side note : I can't find the interview where Charles got in the way when an interviewer was interviewing lando on the pit lane so you have to use your imagination for that bit. Also those are not chronologically correct))

Request : no

Type : smau with texts, tweets and a plot in between those ( also I think the narrative is going to change a few times so beware to to get confused

After meeting up with your colleague / friends and whatever you were with them you had a lot to talk about because you went out with your friend group 2 and saw your friend group 3 and heard stuff that wasn't for your ears and an argument broke out saying stuff that they would regret after and naturally you had to tell your friend group 1 about it aka the grid.

It started with max when you found him entering the same time as you, it took you an hour to tell him everything, while you worked out both, next came lando and Oscar which you told them the half off it to save it for later because you had to go to a meeting with max and the time, after you found yuki and Pierre but you didn't name dropped most of it to save yourself from something that may came out to bite you because everyone knew that Pierre like you are big yappers but you knew when to stop talking about something that did not had to be said... Or at least outside because inside secrets spilled.

Then after a couple of hours before the race you went to your track walk and meet up with Charles and you spilled the tea with details and you accidentally went into the frame with Charles and almost immediately stopped talking and your facial expressions were everything like you were caught red-handed about something.

The interviewer quickly tried to include you both but you nudged Charles took his had and ran away.

Lewis knew about it right after you got home that day so he was unbothered driving his scooter behind you with one headphone on and sunglasses. Lando was left behind laughing but longing to know the rest when you could talk next.

( the second pic on the first tweet it this. Just pretend that y/n is like in the middle on the space )

Texts

Landinio

Y/n

Hello?

I know you are reading them anwser me

Yourusername added a new story after a while!

Liked by landonorris charlesleclerc lewishamilton and 2.986.832 others

Replies:

User1 replied to your story!

Wow mommy

User replied to your story!

Holy shit you hot asf

User 3 replied to your story!

One chance I am begging 🙏

🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️

Landonorris replied to your story!

Answer my texts!

🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️

Lewishamilton replied to your story!

Nice pic and car wanna go for a ride some time?

Yourusername : yeah sure tomorrow I am free all day so I can do that whenever you can! Just text me time, place and I will be there!

🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️

Texts

Landinio

Bitch answer me

The fuck?

I have tea!

You: oh do tell!

I was busy having a life

Sorry

Landinio

Okay whatever!

You know my friend Philip?

You:

Who?

Landinio : the one that is same height as me with the short hair and brown eyes that had a really annoying gf which is a nurse!

You : oh him yeah I remember! What happened?

Landinio :

Okay so he got into a car accident and he got to the hospital! And you know he wasn't exactly loyal... He got into an accident with his side chick and injured both but they are okay but! His girlfriend was examining the side chick and the girl was asking about Phil referring him as her bf and they were in those rooms where there are only curtains and he wasn't injured much and opened the curtains and saw his gf and his side chick speaking and the sc said : oh my god baby!? Are you okay?! And the gf was like... What are you talking about he is my boyfriend while looking between those two and long story short now he is without a gf and a side chick 👀🤭

You:

Holy

Shit!

You never fail to get me more juicy tea every day wow! I raised you well 🥺

Landinio:

oh shut up I shouldn't have even told you because you were ignoring me but anyway

You didn't raise me? What are you talking about we are the same age dumbass

You :

Whatever you say dude anyway gotta go I have something to do rn ttyl<3

Okay done! I hope you like it!

#x reader #f1 x reader #drive to survive x reader #marriswriting #max verstappen x reader #my writing #charles leclerc x reader #lewis hamilton x reader #daniel ricciardo x reader #max verstappen x you #lando norris x reader #lando norris #lewis hamilton #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc #fake texts #fake tweets #send help #bloodyymaryyy

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hadischara · 9 months

Text

How do they react to you jump scaring them?

ɑׁׅᥣׁׅ֪hׁׅ֮ɑׁׅꪱׁׁׁׅׅׅtׁׅhׁׅ֮ɑׁׅꩇׁׅ֪݊ :

Uh....you probably can't really do that

But let's pretend, for this scenario, you can

He'd totally get revenge.

You can tell that he did that, but there is no evidence,so it's kind of pointless to try and convince someone

How he got revenge?

Whatever you're scared of is done. Well, the mild stuff, he isn't going to actually traumatize you.

Spiders? There are two big ass ones on your bed now.

Darkness? Well, your light ain't working anymore...no he doesn't know why

Insects? Look! Your next mission involves a ton of them!

𝕷𝖞𝖓𝖊𝖞:

Lyney probably had the heart attack of his life when you jumped out of now where.

He is now scared, for the next 2 hours that you'll come again.... wait 3 and do it.

You bet that you're the next victim of his new magic trick after that.

Lynette is probably so done with him but eh

He also jump scared you, you're even now, but god forbid you do that again.

Spoiler: You did do that again

But he'll gladly jump scare others with you if you want to

𝔽𝕦𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕒:

Ok, you can say bye to any privilege you had before that, she'll be petty over it.

She probably doesn't have it in her to scare you, but she tried and it's an a for effort at least right?

Nope, she just isn't scary enough to do such thing.

But please, do yourself a favor and 𝗍rᥡ to act like she got you.

Bonus points if it's believable!

If, you somehow DID get scared, she'll feel so guilty about it.... if you also do feel guilty about your little stunt.

Hello there! Ik I haven't posted a really long time and I'd like to remind you of my existence.

However I hope you had a good new year and Christmas and liked the little scenario here

(◍•ᴗ•◍)

#x reader #genshin impact #lyney #lyney x reader #genshin lyney #kazuha x reader #furina x reader #genshin furina #furina #kazuha

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wolfjackle-creates · 11 months

Text

Bring Me Home Arc 2 Part 17

Damn, how did this get to a part 17????

Here's the promised WIP Wednesday (on a Thursday)!

I had a lot of fun writing this part. The words just flowed so easily.

If you didn't notice, I now have the first arc posted on AO3. It covers the first three parts I've shared here along with some extras that I never did.

Story Summary: Tim and Danny are both neglected by parents who care more about their work than their families. They deal with this by spending too much time online and find each other playing MMORPGs. They keep up their friendship as Tim becomes Robin and Danny becomes Phantom and don't bother keeping secrets from each other.

Part 1, Previous

Word Count: 1.9k

-----

By the time morning had rolled around, Tim had also signed them up for a 7:30 AM and a 6 PM TV interview. Hopefully they could do enough damage control to mitigate the worst of Walker’s bad PR, whatever that turned out to be.

Tim nudged everyone awake at 5 AM. Conner and Cassie got up the easiest.

“Morning, Rob,” Conner said through a yawn. “Time to prepare for our interview?”

“Yep. We’ll be going in uniform since this is an interview for the Young Justice.”

“Great,” said Cassie. “We’ll be ready.”

Tim went to Danny next. “Hey, Danny.” The boy didn’t move, so Tim shook his shoulder slightly.

“Wha…?” Danny blinked his eyes open. “Wha’s goin on?”

“Me and the others are going to our interviews. We’ll be back in a few hours, kay?”

Danny just blinked at him and Tim laughed fondly.

“I’ll leave a note.”

Tim skipped breakfast on their way out, though Bart offered him some breakfast bars.

“It’s too late to be up,” Tim yawned.

Conner laughed as he hugged Tim and wrapped him in his TTK. They rose several feet into the air. “You should not have pulled that all-nighter.”

“How else was I supposed to be awake in time?”

Tim could feel the way Conner shook his head. “Just tell me where to go. I’ll get us there.”

Tim pointed to an area in town. “It’s over that way.”

Bart grinned. “I’ll meet you three there!”

“We won’t be long,” said Cassie.

With the benefit of flying, they were at the radio station within fifteen minutes. Sometimes being friends with metas made life so much easier.

As soon as they entered, a team of people greeted them.

“You were actually serious!” exclaimed a tall, white man. “Thought for sure it was a joke when I got your email last night. I’m Steve and I’ll be your interviewer this morning.”

Tim shook his hand. “Good morning, Steve. Robin at your service, and these are Superboy, Wonder Girl, and Impulse.”

Then they had to be introduced to all the producers, sound engineers, and assistants. If it hadn’t been for his parents’ gala training, Tim was certain he would’ve forgotten all the names instantly.

The employees knew how to do their jobs, however, and despite everyone wanting to meet the heroes, in less than twenty minutes, they were set up in the recording studio.

“So,” said Steve. “I just want to make sure I get this right. You, Robin, have been friends with Phantom for a while now and wanted to tell our listeners the truth about him. That he’s actually a hero and not a menace.”

“That’s right, Steve. I knew him before… Well, he’s a ghost. You know what before implies. He was there for me when I first became Robin. Now I want to be there for him when he’s dealing with similar struggles.”

“That’s not what any of the experts believe.”

Conner snorted. “The so-called experts in this town want to completely destroy any and all ghosts. Don’t think they’re unbiased.”

Bart nodded. “Yeah. We may not have known Phantom as long as Robin, here. But he’s a good guy. Helped us out when we got stranded here.”

“Stranded, eh? Mind if I ask you more about that on air?”

Tim laughed. “You can ask whatever you like. But I can’t guarantee we’ll answer everything. Secret missions and all that, you understand.”

Steve sighed theatrically. “It was worth a shot. Now, we’ll be going live in about five minutes and we’ll have three segments of eight minutes separated by two minute ad breaks. For a total of thirty minutes in the studio. Anything in particular you want me to ask?”

Tim pulled a sheet of paper out of his utility belt. “I wrote some down, if you don’t mind. They should be engaging and broad enough to please your audience and personal curiosity.”

“I won’t ask only from this list, you understand,” said Steve as he took it.

“Of course not. The first three are ones I do request that you ask, however. Beyond those, they’re just suggestions.”

Steve skimmed the list and nodded. “I can work with this.”

Beyond the window, the sound technician made a signal.

“All right, everyone. That’s the one minute mark. Let me introduce you before you say anything, capiche?”

Tim gave a thumbs up and the others added their assent.

The “on air” light turned on and Steve spoke in a voice much more performative than the one he’d been using. “Good Morning, Amity Park! This is Steve Boyce here to help you bring in the day. How are you early birds doing? Have I got a treat for you today! So last night I got absolutely no sleep because at nine thirty, shortly after our newly implemented curfew, I got a surprise email. From no other than the heroes who helped us out the other night when we were attacked! That’s right! The one and only Robin from Gotham emailed my and asked to come on my small, local show. So he and the Teen Titans are here with me. Let’s give them a warm Amity welcome, what do you say?”

Cassie laughed. “Thanks for that introduction, Steve. I’m Wonder Girl and I’d like to clarify one point. The former Teen Titans have kept the name Titans even if they’re no longer Teens. So we’ve decided to go by a new name.”

Bart nodded. “Yep. We’re the Young Justice now.”

Steve laughed. “Looks like I’ve already put my foot in it. Let me correct myself, let’s give the Young Justice a warm Amity welcome.”

Tim put on the happy gala voice his parents had drilled into him. “Not at all! It’s a new change and we’ve never really operated out here before. Even back home in San Francisco or Gotham we get called the Teen Titans more often than not. We’re just on a crusade to get the name change to stick.”

“Well I’m sure all of my listeners will be sure to get it right going forward. Now, let’s get down to business. We’re all thrilled that you were around to help us out the other night, but what brought you to Amity to begin with? Mayor Montez has publicly stated he never even had a chance to reach out for help before you were on the scene.”

“That was all Robin’s doing,” said Conner. “He’s friends with Phantom, you know.”

“Yep,” agreed Tim. “We were in the area when our transport broke down. Impulse figured out where we were and I knew of Amity due to my friendship with Phantom. Since we weren’t on a time limit, we decided to pop into town for a visit. Imagine our surprise when our very first evening here, we experienced a ghost invasion!”

Cassie laughed. “Oh, come on, Rob. With our lives, it really wasn’t that surprising.”

“Yeah,” said Bart. “We’ve totally had weirder things happen to us.”

Steve leaned forward and pitched his tone lower as if conspiring with them. “Well, I’ll definitely be asking for some of the details on what those might’ve been later. But first, I have to ask. Robin, how did you meet Phantom? He’s that ghost in the black-and-white jumpsuit, right? As far as I know, he’s only ever been seen in Amity. And you’ve certainly never been here before.”

Tim took a breath, this was the moment. “Yep, that’s him. And, well, it may be strange, but I knew him before he was ever Phantom.”

“Before he was Phantom? Do you mean…” Steve let his voice trail off.

Tim let out a low sigh and closed his eyes. He really had to sell this. “Yeah.” He made sure his voice was rough. “Yeah. I knew him before he died. He was one of my best friends growing up and we’ve known each other for years.”

Conner put a hand on his shoulder. “Rob…”

When even Steve needed a second to figure out how to reply, Tim figured he did a good enough job. “So you know him when he was alive,” Steve said. “Who was he? Where did he live?”

“I’m afraid I can’t answer that,” said Tim. “He was young when he died and his family don’t need people harassing them. They’ve been through a lot. And I know Phantom’s reputation isn’t the best.”

Steve let out another put-upon sigh. “And there you go being reasonable when all I want is the hot gossip. Fine, no questions about who Phantom was. I’m sure you were thrilled when you found out he came back as a ghost, though.”

Tim laughed and was glad Steve was able to change the mood of the interview so quickly without him doing anything. “Oh absolutely. I near about had a heart attack when he called me up out of the blue to say he was a ghost now! This was my first opportunity to visit him since, you know.”

Conner nudged him. “So he brought us along for the ride.”

Steve hummed. “So for the rest of you, this is your first time meeting Phantom?”

“Yep,” said Bart. “I like him. He’s cool.”

“So, Impulse, you think he’s trying to help us. Because it seems like whenever he shows up, things get broken and we have to spend days or weeks and tens of thousands on repairs.”

“Robin knows more about it than I do,” said Bart, “but I guess what let Phantom cross back over to Earth is allowing other ghosts to cross back over. Phantom just wants to spend more time with his living family and friends. The others ghosts…”

“They want more than that,” finished Tim. “Phantom’s explained it to me a bit. They all have something driving them that can only be fulfilled on Earth. And they don’t care what they have to do to satisfy that drive. So Phantom steps in to try and prevent them from causing too much damage or hurting anyone. Then he forces them back to the dimension they come from.”

“In fact,” added Cassie. “We spent all night talking with Phantom and we got his side of the story on several of his fights since he first came to Amity. We’ve written it all up and submitted them to the local paper, so look in the OpEds over the next few days if you want to know the truth.”

“Oh, well now you’ve definitely got me intrigued! I think I will. Anything you'd be willing to share with us now?”

“Do you remember how a month or two ago, a giant robot was seen in Amity?” asked Tim.

“Not something I’m likely to forget!”

Tim laughed. “I’m sure! Well, what you don’t know is that he crossed over to Earth from the Ghost Zone about three or four days before you ever saw him. Phantom kept him from gaining a physical body for days before Technus was able to get past him.”

“Really? So you’re saying that without Phantom, we would’ve been dealing with that robot for a lot longer?”

“Yep.”

Steve asked several more questions about Phantom. Some serious: How does he plan to decrease property damage going forward? We’re coaching him on how to move a fight and deescalate conflict. And some light hearted: So I heard he’s a dog person? Oh, absolutely. A ghost dog adopted him a few weeks ago.

Then the questions turned more personal as he moved on from Phantom and asked about their lives and exploits. And before they knew it, the interview was over.

“Thanks for reaching out,” Steve said as soon as they left the recording studio. “You are by far the biggest guests I’ve ever had on.”

“Thanks for agreeing to have us on so last minute,” said Tim.

“How could I possibly say no?”

-----

Hope you enjoyed the interview! I probably won't go into detail for the TV one since it'd just be rehashing the same information.

I no longer do tag lists, but I do have a Subscription Post if you want to be notified of updates.

#dpxdc #tim excels at interviews #his parents trained him for it from the cradle #and the rest have done them before #and they actually care about making danny look good #so theyre gonna behave #steve didnt sleep a wink before this interview #he got the email and was half convinced it was a prank #had a backup show planned and everything #the staff totally made copies of this show #and everyone took home a tape #(management turned a blind eye though thats usually discouraged)

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carionto · 11 months

Text

How to beat Deathworlders

I don't know what I want to write and it's a little frustrating. So, to fix that, I'm just gonna throw this at me - Giant Ant Planet

The first call to arms Humanity has declared. They mobilize with unseen speed and precision seven of their mightiest Dreadnoughts, hundreds of transports, and amass fifty thousand soldiers, fully armed and trained on the target.

They are headed to a world Humans scouted as having great potential for life to flourish. How correct they were.

In orbit above the planet Chromathium-2-4, the station Truncated Crescent Ellipses was tasked with conducting experiments to test the viability of Human-digestible flora and fauna living on Chromatoff (as the scientists began to call it for short).

When the fleet arrived, the final message from the station turned out to be true - it had crash landed on the surface. From the chaos of the recordings they received, there was a containment breach and the systems were under attack by some unknown electronic waves and incomprehensible code. A hostile act, but by who?

This was two weeks ago. Whoever it was, they would know the wrath of Humanity. Once we find your traces, there will be no hiding for long.

Preliminary scans show the station was dead and only local creatures and plants appeared, in greater density than elsewhere, but no matter. Just some animals.

The first unmanned craft landed and began exploring the wreckage. All of the digital systems were fried, not a hint of power remained anywhere. Attempts to manually power anything up proved fruitless - the data had been replaced with pure garbage code. Then, the drone vanished underground and went silent. Connection failure.

Orbital sights showed nothing, all frequencies were monitored and were free of unaccounted signals. The next group of drones descended and shortly after touchdown they too were seemingly devoured by the ground, all power and electronic signals cut.

A deep scan showed the same dense biological activity, but looking closer at the data it was like a carpet just below the actual surface layer. And for whatever reason the pulse couldn't penetrate below a few meters. Scanning areas further from the crash revealed a much more detailed and sparsely populated map going down the expected three kilometers.

For the third attempt they kept several drones above the landed ones at different altitudes. The moment the drones on the ground were vanished again, a sudden signal struck the ones floating up to seventy meters above and cut them off as well, but didn't seem to reach any beyond that. The visual was not as detailed as they'd like, but it was enough - the tips of large pincers and antennae and beady eyes. Ants.

The fleet maintained a perimeter around the entire system just in case, and spent half a day consulting professionals and former colleagues of the deceased scientists to get a better understanding of the current situation.

Two experiments the team had worked on before and supposedly continued when relocated to the new station stood out - metabolic acceleration, and unassisted neural interfacing via modified brain waves. Far from the wildest here, such as the self-relocating giant sequoia, but ones that offered a plausible explanation.

Ants serve a variety of critical functions in the maintenance of an ecosystem, so naturally they are a part of most late stage terraforming efforts.

Here, however, something went wrong and they evolved alongside technology at an intimate level. Perhaps deliberately made to do so.

They are spreading fast too. Twelve hours ago the "carpet" of underground ants was roughly two square kilometers. Now it was close to three and a half. In mere weeks they may spread across the entire continent, perhaps make it across (or below?) the seas somehow and ravenously consume all life on this planet before succumbing to extinction themselves.

This world is bountiful. Also, we're here already. Hmm...

Eh, may as well. Plenty of us have seen Starship Troopers and only joined to hopefully one day shoot at alien bugs. Guess these are more like home grown critters, but whatever.

With that brazen attitude (and a quick orbital bombardment) the troop ships landed, well, were forced to crash land the final few meters, but whatever electromagnetic warfare these ants were throwing our way didn't account for reinforced alloy armor and hand-held rail guns. Their sharp pincers, acid throwers, and thick carapaces did however.

Actually, fucking hell, they move real fast underground. Uhh...

This isn't looking so good in retrospect. Did they add cockroach DNA in these bastards too? Some of them literally don't care about losing their head, what the fuck!?

Okay, holy shit, abort mission! Good thing we still install regular ignition engines as an added redundancy to the military ships. Not very fast or efficient, but screw you, burn beneath the thrusters. BURN!

*deep breath*

Okay. So. We lost 831 soldiers, and 4625 are injured. And the ant casualties don't matter cuz they're ants. Super mutant ants. Who are going to take over the world if we don't nuke them. Which might not work anyway because HUMAN scientists made them.

Hoisted by our own petard or something.

Right, let's just chalk it up as a... military exercise gone wrong and quarantine the planet. Wait, make that the whole system.

...so this is what it must've felt like to lose the Emu War...

#humans are space orcs #humans are space australians #humans are space oddities #humans are deathworlders #humanity fuck yeah #story #scifi #carionto #ant #giant ants #you can really see where my brain process switched

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treacheryinblue · 4 months

Text

Chapter 2/4

A Noah Sebastian x F!Reader One Shot Series

Word Count: 7.1k

Masterlist

× Summary: Noah is Death, the ruler of the after life (or whatever you want to call it), though he is cursed to watch you come and go from his never ending existence time and time again.

× Warnings!: Eh-level smut (oral [f receiving], P in V obviously, touch of spanking), language, little bit of violence, tiny fluff if you squint, slight dom!noah, smut with plot aka this became more in depth than I meant for it to aka a one shot that's now a series. Let me know if I missed anything!

× Author's Notes: ( 1 ) Thank you sooo much for all the support this story has been given. It was never was supposed to be more than a one shot, but after all the excitement behind it, I've decided to make it into a short series! I'm going to try to keep it at four parts, just to show the lore behind the characters and also maybe why it's happening...if I can make my brain create such things. ( 2 ) PLEASE suspend all thoughts of how time works when reading this. Time is pretty much just NOT a thing in Noah's realm. It's nonlinear and I refuse to be tied down by it! Also, hopefully the context clues are obvious enough for people to pick up on what time period the female character is from in each chapter. If not, feel free to hit me with a question.

Happy reading! xoxo

“The Dark Lord will be pleased with this one.”

An unknown voice sounded out around you, immediately sending a chill down your spine. You heard yourself expel a whimper of fear as your hands responded by trembling in their bindings. The man must've noticed this because a sadistic sounding laugh rang out, echoing through wherever you were and reverberating in your ears.

How long had you been tied down to this slab of rock? It easily could've only been hours, though it felt like days. Weeks. An eternity. Nothing felt longer than waiting for your impending death.

“Please…” you pleaded in a soft and broken voice. “Let me go and I will make sure no harm comes of you.”

The men again cackled, the kind that you were sure had them gripping their bellies and arching back. Maybe it was a good thing you couldn't see their dirty faces and broken teeth taunting you. That would never be the last thing you'd want anyone to have to witness before their untimely demise.

“The blade. Now.”

Something cool pressed to your chest and immediately forced a slight gasp out of you. Again, you began to tear up and pull at your restraints, although you had no idea what you would do if you happened to free yourself. The noises you had picked up on told you that there were more than two people there, and after so long without food or water, you'd never be able to take them. You were doomed one way or the other.

As the blade traveled downwards, it was made to puncture and rip the bodice of your dress. Another set of hands tugged the thin fabric to further open it, revealing your bare torso beneath it.

“Please! Don't do this!” You cried, now feeling shame from being so exposed.

How horrible was it that you were briefly only concerned about what your mother and father would say of this? They'd scold you, hissing words of how it wasn't very ‘lady like’ and that ‘no man would want you now’. You would be the ‘shamed whore’ of your village.

Before those thoughts could lead with any traction, the sound of faint chanting snapped you from your own thoughts. It started as a whispering and ever so slowly began working its way higher and higher with every repeated line. Unfortunately, you couldn't make out any of the words. It was possible that it was in another language, though also likely that your sobs took the forefront of the focus.

As the volume grew, so did your fear. Your breathing was rapid and uneven, a cool sweat forming across your chest and along the back of your neck. It was not being able to see what was happening that was also truly terrifying. Your captors had blind folded you after securing you down, this being the last time you saw any of their faces. It had been days of darkness - if not longer.

The chanting had started increasing in pace. Voices roared all around you and you could sense someone probably just within your reach (had your hands been free) but they had yet to do or say anything. You sobbed beneath your blindfold, the ropes holding you down rubbing your poor wrists raw from how you had been desperately trying to pull them free. They burned with every motion, and you were sure blood had been coating them since day one. Not that anyone around cared enough to take note.

“Please!” You yelled again, the single worded plea broken from your constant waterfall of tears. You swore you even heard another chuckle from right beside you.

“Send our love to the Dark Lord.”

A fierce pain punctuated his final statement as the blade ripped through your chest. You screamed in terror, just for the blade to be retrieved and then forced through skin, muscle, bone, again and again until you were nothing but a husk of who you had once been.

× × ×

Piercing eyes stared at you from across the long table, silently watching every move you made, no matter how small. You could feel the weight of his gaze despite having told him before how uncomfortable it made you - this had shocked him into a brief silence - but it obviously hadn't been important enough information for him to retain.

As you reached for your glass of wine, he did the same. His motions mirrored yours when you both took a swallow from the glass, followed by another, then another - the third being a mere test to see if he would or not.

“Stop.”

The demand left you with an irritated sigh, your wine glass then being loudly placed back to the table top. He chose to do the opposite, instead opting to lightly set his own glass down in a more respectable manner.

“Stop what?”

Your eyes narrowed at him, lips pressed tight together to showcase to him just how completely and utterly annoying he was. Ever since your arrival, he had done nothing but get under your skin day after day, night after night, second after second.

Maybe you really were in Hell.

“I'm going back to my quarters.”

You weren't going to do this with him again. It had become an every encounter sort of thing at this point - both of you engaging in an argument until you finally stomped off or he dismissed you before you ‘fell victim to his true nature’. How in the world were you supposed to live like this? For how long? Every time you’d yell this inquiry at him, he would only smile like he knew a secret you didn't.

Dropping your napkin to your plate, you were just about to push away from the table when his voice halted your every movement.

“Sit back down now. I haven't excused you.”

There was a sternness to his demand that you had yet to hear from him prior. It shook you to your core…in a way you hadn't expected.

There was a brief pause as you stared at him. You were silently debating with yourself as to whether or not you should listen, weighing the options. Since you had nowhere to go where he couldn't find you, you did as he requested.

“Maybe I've gone about this the wrong way. Maybe I've been too nice. Too lenient. Too patient. Since those approaches don't appear to be working, we're going to switch up to the way I prefer things.”

The man you knew as Noah slowly stood from his chair. Those eyes of his never broke from yours, not even as he placed his palms on the table top and leaned forward a bit to assert only an ounce of his dominance. You wanted to say it didn't make you want to cower in a corner, but it did.

Or maybe take your clothes off…

“You are here in my domain. Do you know what that means?”

Noah's eyebrows raised when he paused, though you knew he wasn't looking for an answer. He already had one of his own loaded and ready to go.

“It means I'm the fucking King and it would be in your best interest to not disobey me.”

You thought it would end there. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case.

But wait…what was this new sensation you were beginning to feel? It was warm and tingly…quite different from any you had experienced before, both when dead or alive.

“It doesn't matter to me that it's you. You are still required to make sure I remain pleased.”

This caught your curiosity and it showed in the way your own brows pulled together ever so slightly.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that you listen to m-”

“No, the first part.”

You could see the way his features softened when he realized what he had said. Was this one of those secrets he always seemed to be keeping from you? Obviously. The issue was that you had no clue what it meant.

“For the love of Go-!” Noah paused before he could get the entire saying out, his jaw clenching and face reddening as if it would truly pain him to say the words. With a deep exhale through his nose, he stood to his full height and raked his fingers roughly through his hair. He was frustrated, though something told you that it wasn't all because of your defiant behavior.

The anger he held was bubbling to the surface and forcing him to lose his composure. He growled as he latched onto the chair and sent it hurling to the ground, followed by the glass of wine he had previously been nursing. Both became shattered pieces that would be impossible to repair.

“Why do you not remember yet?! Is this some cruel joke you're playing on me? Is that it?!”

Before you could even blink he was in front of you. He had forced your chair out a bit, enough for him to wedge himself in front of it to prevent you from escaping. His tattooed hands firmly grasped at the arms of the chair, intense eyes level with your own.

You weren't frightened of him. You had endured the wrath of more vile men many times in the past, your father being one of them, so this temper tantrum of his did not register as a threat.

Plus, you were already dead. What more could he do to you?

“I need you to remember.”

These words were spoken in a much softer tone, almost like he was begging you. Pleading. The pain was clear in his eyes and for some reason this hurt you as well. Why did you care about his feelings? Why did you want to make him feel better? Never during any of your previous altercations had you felt this way.

“I'm sorry…I don't know how…I don't understand…”

Noah appeared crushed. You swore you could hear the sound of his heart breaking; that's how deep his emotions ran along his features. He dropped to his knees in front of you, his head bowed to keep his face hidden. The hands that had once been gripping the arms of the chair fell to your covered knees, now grasping tight to you in any way he could.

“Please…try for me? There's a part of you that would do anything for me, just as I would do for you.”

Although his words continued to confuse you, they didn't disturb you or make you uncomfortable as they previously had. There was even a fraction of you that believed him…which only made you want to try as he was requesting.

Maybe he could sense this, because you felt one of his hands fall and begin lightly tracing along your ankle. The other remained on your knee, still clutching tight.

“Close your eyes…will yourself to remember…I know you can.”

There was a flicker of something behind your closed eyes, almost like a thought. Maybe a memory. You weren't too sure because the scene clip was foreign and not anything you had ever experienced in your living life. All that was familiar within the abrupt flash were his eyes and the way they devoured you.

“That…what was that?”

Noah’s hand cradled your cheek, his touch immediately causing you to open your eyes and connect with his own. There was now a hopeful gleam within them, so much that you swore you even saw his lips threatening to turn up into a smile.

“Did you remember something? Tell me.”

All you could do was slowly shake your head. Even if you wanted to tell him what the brief image had been, you knew you wouldn't be able to put it into words. It was like trying to describe a color to someone that they would never see for themselves. An impossible task to say the least.

Without another word, you quickly pushed him away from you and stood from your chair. Noah was stunned by your actions but made no move to stop you from running away, not like you had expected him to. As you exited the dining room, all you heard behind you was the sound of more glass breaking and Noah’s pained yells.

× × ×

Sleep eventually took over you that night, though it hadn't come easy. To bring forth this needed unconsciousness, you had to think of the images from earlier and imagine what scenario it was attached to.

It took place in an unknown room, though you could assume this room was in the same domain you currently were held in. The decor was the same, the walls and lighting giving this away. It wasn't your current room, though, but somewhere a little more lived in. It was comfortable, if you were being honest. Almost as comfortable as the bed you were laid out over in this flash of images.

There was a warmth that accompanied them, one that you were only barely accustomed to. You had experienced it before during your living existence when you had hiked your dress up to your hips and buried your fingers between your thighs - these moments were fleeting and only happened enough times for you to count on one hand.

Although, it wasn't your hands that brought forth the unfamiliar but welcomed warmth this time, but something - someone - far more enticing.

A pleasure radiated throughout your entire being in a way that had your body trembling and your voice crying out for more. You had managed to open your eyes long enough to see his head between your spread thighs, decorated fingers holding tight to you to make sure you remained fully open for him, all while his mouth worked wonders in ways you didn't know possible.

“Noah!” You moaned and whimpered, his name on your lips only sending him into an excited frenzy. He groaned into you as his mouth secured around your clit, harshly sucking before soothing the nerves with swipes of his tongue that made your hips buck and your cunt clench in a desperate need to be filled.

“You're so perfect…” he breathed as he pulled back just enough to watch his fingers disappear inside of you. The sensation was heavenly, as ironic as that was, even more so when his long digits dipped and curled within your dripping wet warmth. Noah stroked along a spot that immediately had you gasping for air and gripping tight to the already tangled sheets your body had become well acquainted with. The mess of linens told you that you had been at this for a bit now, and it definitely wasn't his first time admiring you from below.

“Don't stop, please…” you begged, soft and gentle between your labored breathing.

Noah happily obliged, not that he had any plans on stopping until he was thoroughly satisfied with your amount of pleasure. His wicked mouth returned to your clit, tongue swirling and flicking in a way only the Devil could know how, while his fingers assisted in bringing you right to the edge.

If this was eternal damnation, then you would willingly devote the rest of your existence to it, to him.

Just a couple more firm strokes of his fingers and your body was tensing, a pressure building so high that it literally felt as if you were going to explode. And almost as soon as the thought passed your mind, your body released - literally and metaphorically. Moans heaved from you and your hips writhed beneath Noah’s form, a sudden wave of pure heat traveling through you and coating his fingers. The bed became soaked, though Noah seemed less than concerned about this. He hadn't even let up on pulling your clit between his lips and forcing his fingers harder within the collapsing and pulsing walls of your cunt.

You awoke from your slumber with a gasp, your body abruptly sitting up in bed. It took a moment for you to gather yourself, but you eventually noticed that you were alone and no longer in the room from your…dream? Memory? It was still so hard to say. As you made a motion to move, you felt a throb between your thighs, a deep pulsing just like the one your subconscious had just been experiencing.

You thought nothing of it at first, not until you stood from the bed only to realize the sheets, as well as your clothing, held a wet spot right where one could assume.

It only took a moment for you to change, though you left yourself bare beneath the sleeping gown with not even the top tied securely. There was no reason for you to waste time with it when there was one thing on your mind now.

After a few wrong turns and having to backtrack more than you'd like to admit, you finally stumbled upon the study where you knew Noah to spend the majority of his time. Sometimes you swore this domain liked to purposely switch up and change on you, just to make finding your intended location all the more difficult.

“Stop lingering,” his voice called out after you had stood outside the cracked door for far too long.

A small jolt in response to his voice being directed to you caused your heart to skip a beat, though you did as he said and gently pushed the study door open enough for you to slip through.

“How did you kno-”

“Nothing happens here without my knowledge of it. No matter how small or…private.”

That's when his eyes lifted to meet with you, they focused in on your hips first before slowly trailing up to your own gaze. Something gleamed within his stare, but it wasn't something you were yet capable of putting your finger on. All you knew was that it further stirred a sensation inside you.

“It's late,” Noah then pointed out as he leaned back in his chair, sights still locked on you.

You nodded in understanding, slow steps being taken closer to the desk he resided behind. Instead of stopping in front of it, you moved around the side and only paused once you were in front of him, just within arm’s reach. You could see Noah's chest inflate with a deep inhale, his eyes further darkening at the close proximity. Had his gaze even flickered down to where your hardened nipples were evident beneath the thin fabric of the dress you wore? You swore they had.

Speaking of your clothing…it was drastically different from what Noah always wore. His black on black suit wasn't like anything you were used to seeing, though your clothes were reminiscent of your time, unchanging from what you knew. How odd, you thought to yourself. This wasn't the time to ponder such things, though. It was just one more mystery added to the collection you were keeping note of.

“I had a dream,” you finally revealed. A hand hesitantly reached out so you could trail a finger slowly beneath his jaw, a simultaneous step closer to him also being taken. “At least…I think it was only a dream.”

“A memory, perhaps.” Noah spoke up, his eyebrows raised.

“Perhaps.” Your hand fell from his face and you swore you noticed a sadness quickly glaze over his eyes, almost as if he missed your touch already. Lucky for him, you had no intention of keeping your hands to yourself right then.

Delicate fingers clutched the fabric that covered your body, now being pulled up just enough so you could freely move while settling into Noah’s lap. Your knees straddled him and his hands moved to lay atop the bare skin of your thighs, almost like a reflex.

“Tell me what you remember.”

A slight shrug of your shoulder caused the gown to fall away, revealing more of your skin to him. His eyes followed the trail of your neck down your shoulder and to your chest, just as he reached up to further tug the fabric away in a gentle manner until the swell of your breasts were shown.

Noah had learned forward so he could slowly kiss along the bared skin of your chest. His hands traveled up the sides of your thighs, purposely pushing the hem of the dress up more, but not fully. He was then gripping your waist, slyly pulling your body even closer to his while his lips dipped between the valley of your breasts.

“It's mainly feelings that I remember, not necessarily specific moments…”

A question lingered at the tip of your tongue, one that you weren't really sure the meaning of. It was merely plaguing the back of your mind, leaving you curious for an answer that could possibly mean absolutely nothing to you.

“How…many times have I been here?”

The inquiry caused Noah to pause, his eyes flickering up to yours before he relayed an answer.

“This makes five. Five lives…five versions of you…and this you by far has been the most stubborn.”

This knowledge didn't frighten you like it would have mere hours ago. No, it actually made a bit of sense now, like the puzzle pieces were all slowly starting to come together.

“And each one is me?”

Noah hummed lightly, his lips returning to their trek along your chest. He was being much softer with you than you would've imagined, especially given the outburst you had witnessed from him earlier.

“Same body, same eyes, same markings…” he punctuated this with a slight bite to a prominent freckle that sat off to the side of your right breast. “Even the same name.”

“So…where are all of the previous versions of me at?”

A heavy sigh followed your question, his jaw clenched in obvious frustration. Having not yet answered, Noah swiftly picked you up and laid you down atop his desk after swiping the unnecessary items aside. There was a darkness in his eyes again, and you noticed that his previous soft caresses were becoming much more defined and needy. Witnessing this had your insides stirring, but in a way that made you thankful for wearing nothing more than your sleep gown.

“You’ve been taken from me.”

Noah’s voice was harsh, the words almost being hissed through gritted teeth. Apparently you had touched on a sore subject without even realizing it. But still, he began undressing himself as you laid beneath him, vulnerable and aching. Not even his growing anger was going to stop him from having you.

With his torso now bared to you, you took a moment to take in all of the permanent etchings that crowded his skin. You had never seen such things before, though you've heard tales of tattoos and these being described as the ‘mark of the Devil’. Clearly your time wasn't too far off, considering who you were currently in the company of.

A hand grabbed your face and forced you to look up at him as his body hovered over your own. Noah’s eyes were as intense as ever as he searched within yours, on a hunt for something.

“You aren't meant for this world but you are mine. I'll see to it that every death brings you to me. They can't stop me.”

They?

There was no chance for you to inquire about this because Noah’s mouth was then on yours, all hot and desperate. He kissed you like his life depended on it - funny enough - like you were the only thing that could breathe oxygen back into his lungs. And much to your own surprise, you kissed him back with just as much ferocity. His taste was addicting and familiar, one that you wanted to hold onto for as long as you could.

Even as he pulled back, you swiped your tongue along your lower lip simply to savor what remained.

One strong pull was all it took for Noah to rip the gown you wore straight down the middle, his eyes immediately drinking you in. He leaned down and took one of your nipples into his mouth, moaning against your heated skin while flicking his tongue along the hardened bud before sinking his teeth in. You gasped at the slight pain, but the rise of your hips to grind against his let him know that you actually enjoyed it.

Noah smirked as he moved to your opposite nipple, displaying the same loving abuse to it. A warmth was pooling between your thighs and you were suddenly so eager for his touch that you didn't know what to do with yourself. Your hips continued to grind along his, desperate to feel any sort of relief, but the material of his pants were too soft and not at all what you were aching for.

“Not so defiant now, are you?” He taunted, his clothed hips firmly pressing into yours just to further rile you up.

“Look at you…desperate and whining…you must be remembering how good I can make you feel.”

Indeed you were, because never have you felt a need as strong as this before. Something in you knew just how mind blowing a climax at his hands could be and you wanted it now. You were so caught up in your own selfish needs that you hadn't even heard the sound of his belt coming off or the distinct ripple of the zipper being dragged down. When your eyes met with him again, he was fully naked and standing between your legs, slowly stroking along every inch of his hard cock.

“Fuck…the things you do to me,” he murmured to himself, heavily exhaling through his nose. You watched in awe as he continued to touch himself, his hips pushing forward to thrust into his hand, even as he rubbed the head of his cock down between your folds. Noah’s eyes closed and his head tossed back, reveling in the sensation of you being so wet for only him.

“Please…” you whimpered, your legs spreading more as if that would help entice him in. As much as you liked watching him get himself off, surprisingly enough, you were far too needy in that moment to have any bit of his stamina wasted on his hand.

Releasing the hold he had on his cock, he instead grabbed your calf and lifted your leg to his shoulder. His strong hands now held your hips, the tip of his cock pressed right to your entrance since he had produced the perfect angle after maneuvering your body around however he saw fit.

“You have to be a good girl and take it,” he instructed, his voice soothing but still holding an edge to it.

Noah pressed forward, allowing only the swollen head of his cock to stretch through your tight walls that hugged him just as close as he remembered.

“Say it.” He demanded, refusing to go any further until you had.

You shakily breathed out, your heart racing and blood pumping so fast that your cheeks were flushed a deep red already. “I'll be a good girl,” you repeated his words, nodding. “I'll take it, I promise.”

Happy with this, Noah thrusted forward in a swift motion that you had taking every inch he had to offer. Your tight pussy welcomed him into your depths with a constricting pulse that would've made him cum right then had he not had an eternity of practiced self control.

Noah deeply groaned, his jaw set and biceps flexed while holding you in place. Your own moans mixed with his, your body trembling in his grasp from just how intense it was to be fully filled by him. It was like nothing you had ever felt before…quite literally since your living existence had yet to experience the touch of another. You had only known a release at your own hands, which was nothing compared to this.

“That's it…” he cooed the familiar phrase as he began his rapid pace of driving his cock deep into you again and again, forcing moans and profanities never yet spoken from you each time. “You're always so good at taking it.”

Oh, how you wanted nothing more than to take all that he had to offer.

The stretch of your walls were so tight around him that you swore you could feel every engorged vein throbbing when he forced himself as deep as possible. Noah turned his head so he could kiss along your ankle, the grip he had on your calf tightening just before leaning forward a bit. It was a good thing you were pretty limber or else a cramp would've surely ruined the mood by now. Noah didn't seem concerned about this, though. He was far too focused on the shape of your lips as you cried out his name.

This angle had to have been created by this Devil himself though, because you could barely take a breath from how overpowering it was. You looked up at him with furrowed brows and nothing but silence as your breath caught in your throat. Every inch of your body tensed, though this had yet to cease his quickening thrusts. Your cunt felt too good, too warm, too tight, for him to let up now.

“Noah!” His name finally erupted from you again, just as an unexpected orgasm took charge. Your head tossed back and your hips arched up as much as possible, your pussy now gripping his cock like a vice. Your walls were so strong that you noticed he was finally beginning to break a sweat.

As the climax shook through your body, his motions began to slow before coming to a complete halt. He stared down at you, a fire in his eyes.

“Did I say you could cum?” The question was punctuated with a firm spank to the side of your thigh, a sting radiating outwards that you knew you'd be feeling for some time afterwards.

“Hadn't I just told you that you're meant to listen to me? That I'm the King and you do as I say?”

Noah had shifted your leg off his shoulder and pulled his hips back until he was no longer inside of you. The loss of connection made you whine and pout because one orgasm hadn't been enough. You desperately needed more.

“I couldn't stop it,” you explained while he forced you up, around, and then back down so the front of your body was pressed to the desk.

“You promised you were going to be a good girl.”

There was a bit of rustling from behind you, followed by the faint clink of metal that you recognized from his belt when he had been removing it not long ago. Your thighs pressed together in anticipation for whatever he had planned for you now since you knew that fleeting moment of softness from him was long gone.

“But good girls ask before they cum, and you didn't ask.” The sound of something moving quickly through the air garnered your attention, but a mere second later a sharp sting forced a yelp from you when the folded edge of his belt made contact with your ass. The pain shot right to your core, your cunt clenching eagerly around nothing.

Another crack rang out when the belt again collided with your tender ass cheek. You whimpered and writhed, your hands desperately trying to grab onto something to steady yourself but there was nothing within reach on the desk. While it did hurt, and the pain only worsened with each spank, you still couldn't help but to crave more. Maybe it was because Noah was now rubbing his palm soothingly over the red and welted area, or maybe it was because you liked allowing him this power over you.

You held a power of your own over him as well, whether he wanted to admit it or not. Although now may have not been the time to bring that up.

“Look at how fucking wet you're getting from this,” he mused gleefully as his fingers dipped down to brush along your pussy. He gathered the wetness around his fingertips after sinking his digits into you, though he only graced you with a couple of pumps before their retreat.

Noah leaned over your body so his mouth was at your ear, his wet fingers forcing their way between your lips for you to obediently clean. Which you did without hesitation or complaint, even going so far as to moan softly at the taste of yourself.

“Now, are you going to be my good girl or do I need to punish you a bit more?” He whispered into your ear while lightly brushing your hair back from your face.

You could feel his hard cock between your thighs, teasing you with what you so badly wanted again. This assisted in you making up your mind, despite how much you enjoyed the punishment given.

“I'll be your good girl,” you promised once his fingers were pulled from your mouth.

Noah circled his strong hand around your jaw before placing a firm kiss to the side of your head. “That was the correct answer.”

Gently forcing your body back around to face his, he was careful to then set you on the edge of the desk. You winced at the weight being placed on your abused bottom, and it was only intensified when Noah purposely grasped the exact area, fingertips digging into the welts. There was no room for true pain when it was quickly overpowered by the euphoric sensation of him thrusting into you again.

Christ, if you weren't already dead then this man surely would've been the death of you.

Both hands squeezed your hips as he helped drag you along his cock, maneuvering your body in just the right way so he was hitting every spot inside of you that had you gasping for air. Your mind was occupied solely with thoughts of him, especially when taking in how he was gazing at you. It didn't matter that bits of his hair clung to his forehead with sweat or that you could barely take a breath without demanding that he fuck you harder, because Noah was still staring at you like you were the only thing in this entire melancholic universe that mattered.

“You're fucking amazing,” he grunted just as he pushed against your chest to lay you back on the desk again. This allowed him free reign to drive his cock at a maddening pace into your depths, his thrusts relentless to what your mere mortal body could handle.

Did it matter since you were already dead, though? Were you technically a mortal still? So many questions.

Your noises of ecstasy echoed through the study as your cunt throbbed around his twitching cock. The way Noah’s hips began to slow until he was taking long drags out of you, only to roughly thrust forward again, told you that he was close. You weren't sure how you knew, but you did. Just as you somehow knew other things little that would make him tick - both in good and bad ways.

“You look so beautiful like this.”

You couldn't help but to smile through your delightful torment, your body already so sensitive from your previous orgasm and all of the other things Noah had made you feel that night. From his unmatched stamina, so you could assume, to the pain of his belt across your ass that made your cunt clamp tighter around his cock just from thinking about it.

Noah must've noticed because he released a deep growl from his chest, his head now bowed and eyes closed as he continued his unforgiving thrusts.

“Oh!” You gasped the moment his palm pressed against your lower stomach and his thumb made contact with your clit. Your hips jerked and your thighs threatened to close, but his grip on the one only tightened to a harsh squeeze to keep you perfectly spread for him.

“You have to ask.” Noah reminded you, since he was well aware of what your reactions were pointing to.

Your eyes rolled back and your teeth sunk deep into your lower lip, breathless moans escaping one after the other, making it nearly impossible for you to say much of anything.

“Please!” You finally were able to pant out, a faint whine to follow. “Can I cum? Please?”

Noah smirked at your obedience. The sound of your begging only made him drive harder into your core, his thumb still working against your overly sensitive clit.

“Please please please,” the pleading continued in a faint whisper, this being all you could manage out now in a little chant of desperation.

Instead of voicing his approval, he merely gave a single nod just before planting both of his hands on the desk near your head. He was leaning over you now, his hips violently colliding with yours. Dark eyes focused down on your face and you immediately knew he wanted to watch up close as you fell apart for him again.

Your hands ran up his sides and back to clutch his shoulder blades, nails sinking harshly into his inked skin the moment your climax took over. Every inch of your body spasmed beneath his, your knees digging into his hips and nails dragging down his back in a way that made him sharply inhale in an almost hiss.

“Oh my go-!” The cry was nearly completed when his hand covered your mouth, preventing you from voicing the final word. Though this didn't stop you from moaning in a continuous yet muffled fashion as a wave rushed through your body and your cunt hungrily tried dragging in more of his cock.

“Fuck, you're doing so good,” he murmured in a low tone that had your insides melting and your orgasm freely flowing around him. “Fucking hell!”

Noah groaned as his thrusts became a little more sloppy before a final drive forward had him pausing as deep as possible inside of you. The muscles in his arms and shoulders tensed as he erupted, the vein in the side of his neck now more prominent. You couldn't help but to crane your neck forward just a bit in order to sink your teeth into it, bringing forth a moan from him directly into your ear.

Shivers traveled your body from the overly full feeling of him cumming inside of you and filling you to the brim, his arousal mixing with your own and overflowing. Still, your cunt continued to pulse and flutter around his cock, emptying him for all that he was worth. Your hips even rolled up into his again, purposely working yourself along his length simply because you could and because it felt so fucking good to have him stroking your g-spot, no matter how sensitive and spent your body was.

“I told you I could be a good girl,” you breathed against his neck while trailing your lips up in search of his. Noah chuckled into the kiss you eventually indulged him with, his brow finally relaxing now that you had stopped grinding into him and he could properly think.

Lifting his head after you parted from the kiss, he gazed down at you to admire how beautiful you looked with your cheeks flushed and a post-sex glow setting in. It was the first time he had seen you appear genuinely happy since your arrival, and while he of course wanted your body again and again, he also wanted to see that as often as he could.

“Don't think I've forgotten about how you acted at dinner.” His tone was serious only for a fleeting moment. Your eyes widened slightly, the welt on your ass pulsating as if to remind you of the punishments he could make you endure.

Noah cracked a faint grin before dragging his hand along the side of your face and claiming your lips once again. He was then standing to his full height and carefully pulling you to a sitting position along with him, where he slowly pulled himself out from your drenched core. A faint whimper escaped you, though you quickly covered it with a bite to your inner cheek.

“No need to worry about that now. I'll let you know when I'm coming to collect for your defiant behavior.”

Well, that surely made your pussy clench in eager anticipation.

Flexing and rolling his shoulders back, he muttered something about giving him a second and then scurried off, but not before making a quick turn back to kiss you again. As he disappeared, you took this moment to glance around the study. It was one of the many rooms you hadn't really been in before, Noah's bedroom included, because you always felt they were too personal for you to see.

And much to your own shock, Noah never entered your room either. At least you knew he could respect boundaries to a degree. But now? Well, now you weren't so sure what sort of boundaries remained for you two.

Taking in a deep breath, you lifted a hand to gently massage into the back of your neck, just as your eyes swept across the large bookcase that lined one side of the room. Something on one of the shelves immediately acquired your attention: a knife of sorts, a dagger, with rubies embedded in the handle. There was something very familiar about it, so much so that you found yourself slipping from the desk to make your way over to where it was displayed.

“I wasn't sure if you wanted to remain in the clothes you're used to, so I brought that and another option…” his voice grew quieter as it trailed off upon realization that you were no longer on the desk.

Noah's returning presence couldn't pry your eyes away from the dagger, nor could his soft demand for you to tell him what you were doing. Instead, you reached out to lightly trace along the sheath the dagger was housed in before ultimately picking it up and pulling it from the enclosure.

“What is this?”

Noah was by your side within seconds, his hand reaching for the item though you made an abrupt turn to step away from him.

“I need you to give me the dagger now…please. Then, maybe, we can discuss just what it is.”

There was a churning in your stomach and your heart was now beating so loud that you could hear it thumping within your ears. You recognized this dagger despite having only seen it for a few seconds after your captors all but dragged you to your death. A multitude of memories flashed before your sights of this dagger in particular, although in many different scenarios and situations.

Your eyes were pooling with tears as you finally looked up at him, both confusion and hurt written all across your face. It appeared as if Noah wanted to say something but he remained silent, his hand still outstretched like you were actually going to hand the item over to him.

“This was what was used to kill me, Noah. More than once. Why do you have it?”

#bad omens #bad omens cult #bad omens band #noah sebastian #bad omens fanfiction #noah sebastian fanfiction #bad omens fan fiction #noah sebastian fan fiction #bad omens fic #noah sebastian fic #smut #bad omens smut #noah sebastian smut #noah sebastian x reader #smut with plot #god of death complex

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wifey-ohara · 1 year

Note

Yooo

Could I request a Hobie x gn reader where they're roommates and both can't sleep and just kinda catch eachother snooping in the kitchen at 3 am and then decide to cuddle until they fall asleep?

(Have a nice day/night!)

Ok this is funny asf bc i can imagine one of them elbow deep in some bag looking at the other like a deer in headlights while the other is "👁👄👁"💀😭

And they were (are) roommates

Hobie brown&gn!Reader

notes: fluff, could be read as platonic or going-to-be-romantic, hobie is the best raccoon out there, cuddles! We love that, author forgot how to write snackes,does he plural end in "es" or just "s"? Just ignore it, not proofread, written on the spot

You couldn't sleep. It was a simple fact, yet so fucking annoying

Dropping your gaze from the ceiling you looked at the clock beside you

2:17am

With a goan you turned around on your side, taking your cover with you and tried getting comfortable in the bed

And kept doing that for the next hour

Finally you gave up sitting up on your bed and glaring at nothing in particular

"if i ain't getting no sleep at least i can eat" you whispered, kicking off the cover with your legs as if it assaulted you

Standing up, you made your way to the kitchen quietly, you didnt want to wake hobie up, at least one of would get some sle-

Too much for that...

You stared as you tried to hold in your laughter, doing your best at a poker face attempt as the sound of something moving inside a bag stopped as your roommate , hobie, snapped his head towards you and stared at you, as if he was a raccoon you caught eating your food

Giggles started to escape your throat as the thought crossed your mind, pressing your lips together to contain your wide smile

"ay, whacha laughin'bout!?" he barked out, a frown on his face yet a smile making it way through

You couldn't hold ot any further, you threw your head back, eyes squeezed shut and howling with laughter, shoulders shaking and arm holding you up right by grasping a wall nearby

You didn't see him rolling his eyes at you and continuing to ravage through the bag he has in hand

With a more steady breath you calmed down, at least enough to talk and understand talking, giggles still bubbling up in you chest

"you couldn't sleep too huh" hobie asked, glancing at you going to the fridge

"yup" you answered "stuffing my face with food was next best option"

"fair" he agreed, noticing how you grabbed a handful of snacks, an idea popped up

"how bout we go and put on a movie, grab more snacks and make this into a movie night? -day? Eh whatever" he thought

".. Yeah that sounds good, you go, put something on and I'll grab the snacks " you answered, and he groaned

"ughh, you know i don't know how that crap works" he grumbled, going to do it anyway

You chuckled, grabbing more snacks and following him, plotting yourself on the couch and watching him trying to work out a streaming service, you're still confused on how someone (as cool as him) can't do something as simple, especially since he was your age

After a couple of tries he succeed and throws himself beside you, leaning to get the blanket on the other end of the sofa

"get closer, the blanket's too small" he reminded, you always said to replace it but you never did

Scotting closer you leaned on him and he dropped the blanket on both of you and laid down, focus drawed over to the screen in front of you

An hour in you noticed the he stopped reaching out for the m&ms on the coffee table and that his breathing slowed

Glancing up you saw he was fast asleep, features relaxed and peaceful

You decided to join him so you cozyed up to him and closed your eyes, letting his breathing, and steady heartbeats drive you to a peaceful slumper too

#spider man: across the spider verse #hobie brown x reader #atsv hobie #hobie spiderverse #hobie x reader #hobie x reader platonic #hobie brown

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notyour-valentine · 2 years

Text

A Secret, a Fear and a Hatbox ~ dad!Tommy Shelby (Fluff)

[Masterlist] [Taglist]

Summary: With his wife away, Tommy feels more helpless than ever at the change of behaviour in his children

Note: Written for @look-at-the-soul and her 900 follower celebration: I hope you enjoy!

All my writing is produced by an adult and created with an adult audience in mind (18/21+). You are responsible for your own media consumption. I do not consent to my work being translated, copied or posted elsewhere on this platform or any other.

Warning: unrealistic dog behaviour

Wordcount: 3076 words

Of course, Tommy thought.

Of course, something would be wrong with his children in the one week of the year when his wife was out of the house, worse: un - fucking - reachable.

Ada be damned, for wanting to take all the women of the family minus Linda over to America for a week.

They were on their way back now, but that didn’t help.

While she was on that boat, Tommy couldn’t reach her and ask her if (1) she knew what was up, (2) how he could find out what was up and (3) how he could resolve whatever was up.

And that would be another three days, eight hours and forty-seven minutes, at least according to the advertising of the cruise company.

He shut the lid of his pocket watch with a sigh and slipped it back into his pocket.

Maybe, he thought as he reached for the whisky, he was simply overthinking.

He had never been alone with the children before, well technically he wasn’t now, with Frances and the maids, but he was the only parent around.

Despite their astronomical rise, she had resented the idea of a nanny, and shuddered at the thought of a nursery maid, and Tommy had agreed.

He didn’t mind other people cooking his food and ironing his shirts, but a near stranger holding his children, changing them, bathing them, rocking them to sleep?

Someone who wasn’t blood? Who wasn’t family?

Occasionally, he could tolerate the thought, but as normality?

Absolutely not.

Something tribal in him prevented the entertainment of such an idea, but that left him in the tight spot of now shouldering the responsibility for the two in her absence.

For all his faults, he had noticed the change in his children.

It had started well enough, but after a few days, it had all shifted.

Usually, Betty would be the essence of decorum, more perfect in every way than one of the children in the catalogues, as if she was born in a place like Arrow House and not, unlike her brother, in Watery Lane.

But she wolfed down her food like her little brother did, and requested to leave the table while still chewing.

That had never happened before, even at Christmas, or on Birthdays.

And little Georgie, well, usually it nearly took force or bribery to get him to stay indoors, always climbing trees and tending to the horses, but now he was his sister’s constant shadow, and as silent as one too.

His head snapped up as he heard the rhythm of little feet on the grand staircase which led right past his office, and hushed voices too, even though they were too soft for him to make out the words.

With a sigh he pushed his chair back and crossed his office in long strides. When he pulled the door open, he saw both Betty and Georgie already halfway though the entrance hall - with Betty carrying a large white box in her hands.

When Georgie saw him, he gasped and grabbed his older sister’s arm, his eyes wide in horror.

Betty turned, saw him, gulped and then offered him the sweetest of smiles.

“Hello Daddy!”, she chirped as bright as the early summer sun. “I’m so sorry if we were loud. We were just going outside for some fresh air.”

“And what’s that then, eh?”, he asked, nodding to the box.

It seemed vaguely familiar but on closer inspection, he remembered that the dark green accents were that of the London Hatmaker he had sent her to before taking her to the races a few years back.

“Are you playing with your mother’s clothes?”, he wanted to know.

“I’m sure she won’t mind!”, Betty said at once, her hands tightening around the box.

“Oh she’ll mind when you get stains on it.”

That hat had been expensive, paying not just for the craftsmanship or material, but double for the name.

She had been furious about the price, he remembered, but it had been worth it. They were moving up in the world, and that meant moving on beyond the little shops at the Bull Ring in Birmingham.

“I’ll take great care.”, Betty promised. “Goodbye now.”

With that, for her, the conversation was over.

Tommy shifted, glanced back at his office door and cleared his throat.

“I’ve got a few more papers to go through and then I can join you.”, he suggested. After all, he had hoped to spend some time with his children while their mother was away.

“Take out the horses, or the cart, how about that George?”

He could see it already, him and George driving that cart up and down the roads leading to and from Arrow House, with little darling Betty lounging beside them in one of her mother’s gigantic hats. That is, until she’d get the idea to jump on a pony’s back and try to outrace them.

To his surprise, George shook his head. “Perhaps some time else.”, Betty agreed.

That stung more than Tommy thought it would, and so he tried again.

“Why’s that then, eh?”, he wanted to know, cautiously coming closer.

“We’re very busy.”, his daughter said sharply. “Busy?”, Tommy asked as his brows threatened to vanish in his hairline.

“What have you two got to be busy about?”

George looked caught out and stared at his feet, but Betty was unfazed.

“Children’s matters, Daddy. You wouldn’t understand.”

With that, she turned, her hair and the ribbon that held it in place, fluttering behind her.

“Come along now Georgie.”, she instructed, and with that off they went, leaving Tommy alone in the hall.

He watched them leave and tried to ignore the ache in his chest as he returned to his office.

He knew he worked long and hard, but he did it to give them everything. Still, every single time his wife had reminded him he ought to spend more time with them, with his family, rattled around in his head, as memories of every event, excursion or trip he had cancelled his participation in came back to haunt him.

He was there, for every birthday, for Christmases and Easter, even if he occasionally slipped away to his office for some work, and almost every performance?

He taught to ride and how to care for horses.

He kissed them goodnight every time he could and didn’t shy away from embraces and hugs.

Still, what if it wasn’t enough to make up for all he had missed.

What of all the family memories they had acquired were less due to him and solely due to his wife? That picnic at the lake? That trip to the sea?

In truth, he had expected that with their mother away, the children would flock to him the way they did when he returned from work, wanting to spend as much time with him as they usually did with her.

He had thought he would have to distract them in order to get a few moments alone in the office and not that his seven year old would order his return there to be rid of him.

But perhaps his children had gotten so used to his absence that his presence no longer made a difference to him.

That idea hurt, and he wished more than ever to pick up that stupid telephone hearer and demand his wife be summoned to the other side. If he couldn’t feel the warmth of her hands and the softness of her embrace to soothe his worries, her voice alone would have to do.

Three days, eight hours and fourteen minutes.

No, he would try again, he thought and hurried outside.

The swing was empty, the trees void of all invaders, and the green without anyone playing croquet or catch or hoops or anything, really.

And when he’d ask a gardener, he was told that Betty and George had formed a procession all the way behind the hedge, stayed there for a moment, and then returned to the house the same way they had done.

“Well, not exactly, Sir.”, the gardener had told him, rubbing his sun-tanned forehead. “They took the servant’s entrance, they did.”

That was the one that didn’t go through the hall and thereby avoided passing his office.

Fuck, Tommy thought and lit a cigarette on the way back.

In the coming hours he couldn’t focus on the reports, the letters and papers. He couldn’t focus on anything except the fact that his children clearly and undoubtedly were avoiding him, and that at a time when they should have come running.

When Frances asked him if he would like to join his children at their dinner, a formality, since he usually tried to if he could, he declined.

After a whole case of cigarettes, his appetite was gone anyhow.

That made him feel like a coward.

He should talk to them, should try to do better, to make up for the lost time, but a debilitating weight had draped over his shoulders and the one person to lift it was still on a boat crossing the Atlantic.

Three days, four hours and two minutes.

She’d know what to do, how to fix it.

She always did, like with Georgie’s ear infections of Betty’s coughs, or his own headaches. From somewhere in the back of her mind and the depths of her cabinets, she’d find a magical cure to make things right.

But until she returned, he was all on his own and he had never felt lonelier.

When Frances told him the children were headed for bed, it was as if he had been called to his own execution.

He knew that feeling, had felt it more than once, so it wasn’t an exaggeration.

The night nursery was right next to their shared bedroom, something they had both wanted, for their children to be close.

When he entered, they were already tucked in, Betty on the right, Georgie on the left.

“All ready for bed?”, he asked.

Both nodded.

“Would you like a story?”, he asked, glancing over his shoulder to the bookshelf, his eyes lingering on the Tales of Robin Hood - Georgie’s favourite.

For a split second he saw a glint in his eyes, but then he slammed his jaw shut and shook his head.

“No thank you!”, Betty said, leaning forward and presenting her cheek to him.

With a sigh, Tommy leaned in and kissed her goodnight, proceeding to do the same with Georgie.

At the door, he turned, and looked back at them both who were watching with wide eyes, as if they couldn’t wait to be rid of him.

“You know,”, he mumbled, his hands clutching the door knob until his knuckles turned white, as he tried to find the words.

It wasn’t too difficult, he thought, just tell them you love them, Tom

Whether it was his voice or his wife’s, he could not say.

But before the words had a chance to pass his lips, he heard a shuffle.

Then Betty was on her feet. “Right!”, she said loudly, giving him a gentle shove. “Goodnight, Daddy, goodnight!”

This insistence was new, and he didn’t know what to make of it, so he just stared.

Then he heard it again. The shuffle.

But it wasn’t coming from Georgie’s bed on the left, nor her now deserted bed on the right, but from the wardrobe across from it.

“What’s that?”, he asked, eyeing it suspiciously.

“What’s what?”, Betty asked, batting her eyelashes.

At the same time, Georgie said: “It’s nothing.”

When they realised what they had done, Betty blushed and Georgie paled.

Slowly, Tommy looked from one to the other. “You’ve got to the count of three to tell me what’s in there!”, he demanded, seriously considering if he could head back to his bedroom and reach for the bedside drawer to retrieve his gun.

Neither one of his children made a move to speak and so the three counts passed without a reaction.

“Daddy!”, Betty warned, tugging at his sleeve as he pushed past her and towards the wardrobe.

He opened it and was met with - clothes.

Betty’s dresses and skirts, all hanging in a neat, tidy row, an explosion of pastels and floral prints.

Then he heard it again, the shuffle and scratching and when he looked down, towards the boxes of shoes and hats, he noticed one large one atop a smaller one, the lid slightly ajar.

With one flick, he sent the lid flying, ready for anything.

“Fu-”

He caught himself just in time as he saw the content.

It was a dog, he realised after staring at it for a few heartbeats, even if it was in size far closer than a cat, and even smaller than one too, with pointed ears and dark, clear eyes.

He looked away, then down again, before turning to his children.

“Why -” the absolute fuck “is there a dog in your nursery?”

“Mummy!”, Georgie quickly said.

“Mummy?”, Tommy asked.

Georgie nodded, but he didn’t miss the way Betty stared at him in surprise.

That told him it was a lie, but Georgie went further.

“Daddy, you know Mummy doesn’t like the horses as much as we do, so we thought a dog will make her happy.”

Another lie, or rather an impressively tall tale to cover up, but it didn't change the fact that he was staring at a dog, small or not, who was very much alive and who's mere existence in this moment required a reaction.

Pinching the bridge of his nose with the hand that wasn't holding the box, he sat down on the foot of Georgie's bed and stared at the intruder.

"And instead of asking for a dog,", he sighed, "you two…nicked one? Stole one?"

He wouldn't put it past them. Georgie had the guts and Betty the wits to pull it off.

Made evident by the fact that they had snuck it past him for the devil knows how long.

"Oh don’t be silly Daddy,", Betty giggled. "There was no time to ask."

Wasn't there, Elizabeth Shelby? He wanted to ask, but Georgie came to his sister's defence.

"When I found him he was all wet and shaking and he crawled into my coat, right here!"

He rubbed his side where his upper arms brushed against the side of his torso.

"And when was that?", Tommy wanted to know, sounding as tired, old and helpless as he felt.

Georgie looked to Betty who gave a shrug of resignation.

"When we were at Uncle Charlie's. We were playing Coppers and Blinders and I found him tied up in one of the caves."

The pup wouldn't have been put there by Charlie or Curly.

Charlie had his faults, but he preferred animals to humans and Curly, well, he couldn't harm a fly even with a gun to his head.

And the caves, as Georgie called them, were the places they stored boxes of goods before sending them up it down the Cut.

But that time at Charlie's Yard had been two days ago.

"How has he not made a mess yet?", He asked, seriously hoping that they wouldn't stumble on a far worse surprise under a carpet or in the corner of a cupboard.

Then he realised - the hat box.

The children must've smuggled him in and out time and time again, right under his and all the servants' noses.

Betty sat down next to him, covering his hand with her little one, soft as rose petals.

"He's been so very good and he hasn't even disturbed you with barking, has he?", She asked, batting her eyelashes up at him. "No trouble at all."

Tommy sighed, already knowing where she was intent on going.

"You can't keep a dog in the nursery, Elizabeth."

Besides, he'd probably have lice or worms.

Fuck

If his wife came back from America and the children had lice, there’d be hell to pay.

Betty stroked his hand again.

“We’d be ever so sad if we’d have to give him away now.”, she told him. “We’d cry for days and days, won’t we Georgie?”

“I don’t cry!”, he argued, puffing up his chest.

And yet when his sister glared at him, he quickly shifted gears.

“But I-I would, if you’d make us give him up.”

That appeased his sister, who gave him a pleased nod before turning back to their father. “So either a sea of tears, Daddy, or we take one my prettiest ribbons and tie it around his neck and make Mummy the happiest Lady in the whole world when she comes back.”

Tommy rubbed his temple once more.

Although he was beyond relieved that he found the reason for his children’s shift in behaviour, this caused a whole host of problems.

He didn’t want a dog.

They didn’t need a dog. Besides, this wasn’t even a proper dog who could guard a house, chase away an intruder or catch a rabbit.

But he also knew that the threat of tears wasn’t just an empty promise.

Knowing Betty and her antics, she’d probably throw herself at her mother’s feet the moment she came into view, and that Georgie wouldn’t be far behind.

And as a betting man, he knew his way around odds.

“No.”, he said, looking from one to the other.

“What?”, Betty gasped, her large eyes filling with tears, while George erupted into a cascade of protests.

He raised his hands for silence, but struggled to get it, and when he did, both his children pouted.

“You’re not putting this on your mother.”, he said sharply, pointing at them both. “If you want this dog to stay, he will be your responsibility and you’ll take care of him. You will walk him. You will wash him. You will feed him and if he pisses on the floor, you will clean it up, is that understood?”

George nodded eagerly, but Betty hesitated. “But we will have help, no?”, she asked. “After all, he’ll have to go to the vet some time and Georgie and I can’t drive. And we aren’t allowed to touch the cleaning products either.”

Sneaky menace, Tommy thought, not without pride.

She had inherited his wits and his wife’s way with words and always found a loophole in absolutely anything, and she had caught him out once again.

He nodded.

Betty looked to Georgie, who was grinning from ear to ear and nodded eagerly.

Then, on behalf of them both, she spat into her palm and stretched it out to him, a triumphant smile on her lips.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed and as always I'd love to hear your thoughts!

Daer Mar, I hope you enjoyed this story! Once more congratulations on your milestone and celebration and all my best to you and your little friend!

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sihtricfedaraaahvicius · 10 months

Text

Doctor's Assistant chapter 2

Note: 'tis the season! chapter 1.

Warnings: mention of cheating.

pairing: Doctor!Sihtric x Assistant!Reader/You (f) (x Doctor!Sigtryggr).

summary: Some Christmas decorations changed everything between you and Sihtric.

wordcount: 5,4k

Masterlist

Yule.

It was another early morning when you heard footsteps come up the narrow stairs of the doctor's practice, and you turned around to find Doctor Ivarsson gazing at the front desk.

'Oh,' Sigtryggr smiled at the festively decorated desk, 'you've been busy, huh?'

'I have,' you chuckled as the doctor gave you a firm hug.

'It looks great, darling,' Sigtryggr said, and looked at the Christmas garland that was draped over the welcome desk.

You had decorated the green garland with small ornaments and, above your desk, you had put up some slowly blinking Christmas lights, and a small Christmas tree was positioned next to your desk.

'Thanks,' you smiled while you both admired the jolly decorations, 'I wasn't sure if you guys were going to decorate anything, so I took it upon myself, as Christmas is approaching.'

'Yeah, Sihtric and I don't celebrate Christmas,' Sigtryggr said and chuckled, 'we're both pagan. We celebrate Yule in our own ways. At home I do decorate, but we don't decorate the practice. In fact,' Sigtryggr scoffed, 'I don't think Sihtric decorates at all, not even at home.'

'Not even at home?' you asked, stunned.

'Nah, he's, eh… his childhood sucked. At least me and my brother tried to make this time of year somewhat festive when we were young,' the doctor explained, 'but Sihtric had no one. And he still has no one. So he's not really used to,' Sigtryggr gestured at the decorations, 'this kind of stuff.'

'You think he won't like it?' you asked, suddenly feeling a little insecure as you felt your heart sank.

A few weeks had passed since your first work day at the new practice, and you had really grown fond of both doctors and their constant flirting with you and bickering about you. But you were especially fond of Sihtric, which made your crush on him even worse, and you actually weren't sure anymore if it was still just a crush. Every day he was a flirt and a tease and every day, when you had lunch together, you noticed he opened up a little more to you, but he hadn't brought up much about his past yet. You only knew he was a Dane, that he had no living family anymore, and that he had been single for a while. But that was as private as your conversations had gotten.

'Oh, no,' Sigtryggr said as he noticed your sudden insecurity, 'he'll love the decorations. I actually think you should decorate our offices too,' he smiled and nudged your shoulder, 'if you want to of course.'

'I'd like that,' you smiled and leaned against the tall doctor.

And Sigtryggr was right. When Sihtric arrived at work, he had a beaming smile on his face once he saw the decorated front desk, but he became serious when he saw Sigtryggr's arm around you.

'What did I tell you about getting near my future wife?' Sihtric asked with a stern look on his face, while he desperately tried to fight a grin before he pulled you in for a regular good morning hug.

'Whatever,' Sigtryggr rolled his eyes and left for his office, much to both yours and Sihtric's pleasure.

'Good morning, sugar,' Sihtric said as he squeezed you in his strong arms, to which you blushed, 'the place looks great, I love it,' he smiled.

You were glad Sihtric liked the decorations and that you hadn't accidentally offended the doctors, despite their religion.

In fact, during your lunch break with Sihtric, he told you more about some Yule traditions, and you were intrigued. You could listen to Sihtric talk for hours, about anything, but before you knew it your lunch break with him was over again, and the rest of the day flew by too.

The next morning you arrived early at work again to decorate both offices. The first to arrive was Doctor Ivarsson, again, who absolutely loved how you had draped his desk with a garland, as well as the skeleton prop he had stolen from Sihtric, which you had also given a Santa beard. Sigtryggr laughed at the prop and then walked back to the front desk after he had admired the many little decorations you had placed all around his office.

'And?' you asked, like an overly excited puppy.

'You did great,' he smiled and hugged you, 'thank you, darling.'

'You think Sihtric will like it too?'

'If you decorated his office the way you have done mine, I'm sure he will love it.'

You fought a grin and hoped the other doctor would hug you with such a big smile on his face like Sigtryggr just had done. But moments later, when you both heard Sihtric stomp up the stairs of the practice, you knew something was wrong.

'Good morning, handsome,' Sigtryggr teased as he still had his arm around your shoulders.

'Morning,' Sihtric grumbled as he walked past you and Sigtryggr.

Your heart broke when you saw Sihtric's tired and empty eyes in passing, and you immediately noticed that his behaviour and entire look was just completely off. Sihtric was wearing black sweatpants and a black hoodie, which was nothing new, but his hair was loose and messy, which was unlike him. There was also no 'good morning, sugar' with a smile, no hug that lasted a little longer than it should for it to be friendly, no flirty wink, and no 'get away from my future wife' remark to Sigtryggr. There was nothing. Sihtric wouldn't even look into your eyes as he passed you.

'Wow, what happened to you?' Sigtryggr asked when he noticed all the same things.

Sihtric sighed and stopped walking, then turned to face you both.

'I got stuck in traffic,' Sihtric began, 'then some idiot tried to cut me off and I had to brake really hard, which caused my whole fucking coffee to spill in my car. Oh, and I barely slept because that bitch of an ex wife of mine contacted me last night, claiming that I owe her some money. Which I don't!' he snarled and threw his hands up.

You opened your mouth to speak, but you had no idea what to say. You looked up at Sigtryggr, who also wasn't sure about what to say, but before any of you could even try to say anything, Sihtric turned on his heels and made way to his office.

'Sihtric is divorced?' you whispered.

'Yeah,' Sigtryggr sighed, 'his ex took everything when she left. She cheated on him, he found out, they divorced, she took a shit ton of his money, almost all his belongings, and even his kids-'

'Wait,' you scoffed, 'Sihtric is a father?'

'He is,' Sigtryggr said sadly, 'but his children are completely out of the picture, they have been so for many years. And everytime it seems like he is finally doing well again, his ex contacts him for some bullshit reason. It's almost like she can smell that he's healing. But I already know why she contacted him.'

'Why?'

'Yule is approaching, she probably needs money to buy the kids presents. And Sihtric's a fool, but not that kind of a fool, so he knows exactly why she reached out. Which is even worse, because he would love to spend Yule with his children, but he never can. She just won't allow it.'

'Oh, no,' you whispered, suddenly feeling awful that Sihtric was about to step into a fully decorated office, and you ran after him.

'Sihtric!' you called, but he had already opened the door and switched on the lights.

When you reached him, he was frozen to the ground, staring at the decorations you had put up only an hour ago.

'I- I'm sorry, Sig told me yesterday it would be fun if I decorated both offices too. If I had known you had such a shitty night, and morning, I would have never rubbed this jolly stuff in your face. I'm so sor-'

'Don't,' Sihtric said quietly, and you froze, just like him.

Anxiously you awaited his next words, as he was clearly taking in his decorated office. You felt your heart beat out of your chest and accepted you had just made his day even worse.

'Don't… what?' you whispered, when the doctor simply wouldn't say anything else.

'Don't,' he sighed and turned to you, 'don't apologise.'

And when he looked up at you, you saw his tired eyes had teared up.

'I… I love it,' Sihtric whispered and swallowed hard, 'thank you, it's really sweet and thoughtful of you.'

'Oh,' you exhaled with relief, 'you're welcome,' you smiled faintly and pulled anxiously at the sleeves of white your sweater.

You looked at Sihtric, who looked down at his feet again and raked his hands through his wild hair as he sighed, clearly not knowing what to do with himself. The ticking of the clock on the wall filled the awkward silence for a few long seconds.

'Do you… do you want a hug?' you asked softly without thinking.

Sihtric looked back up at you, and he hesitantly nodded after a moment of contemplation.

'Yeah,' he said, barely audible, 'I- I think I do,' he sniffled.

You stepped closer and locked into an embrace, arms tightly wrapped around each other as you both heavily leaned in and enjoyed each other's warmth and scent for a moment. You quietly held each other until you both felt a sudden energy shift in the room. A certain electricity had filled the air when you looked at each other again, and you slowly tucked a strand of hair behind Sihtric's ear while you looked into each other's eyes.

'Better?' you whispered.

'Definitely better,' Sihtric said softly, 'sorry for being so grumpy.'

'It's okay. We all have bad days.'

'I suppose,' he smiled softly, 'but… thanks for this,' Sihtric looked around the room again, 'I really appreciate it. I love it, really. Thank you, sugar.'

'You're welcome,' you smiled and felt your cheeks heat up as he still held you in his arms.

'So,' he cleared his throat and finally took a step back, 'you, eh, think about what you want for lunch, okay?'

'I will,' you said.

And when you finally let go of each other, you went to make Sihtric a cup of fresh coffee. You returned to his office a few minutes later and placed the coffee on his desk while he was on the phone, staring out of the window, and he turned just in time to see you sneak out the door.

About half an hour later Doctor Kjartansson came up to your desk, holding the empty cup. He leaned in on the front desk to get your attention while you stared at your computer screen, and when you looked up you found Sihtric staring at you with a smile.

'H-hey,' you blushed.

'Hey,' he said with a sly smile, 'thanks for the coffee, sugar,' he said and winked.

'Would you really do that?' Sihtric asked and took a bite out of his apple as he sat back in his chair.

'Sure,' you chuckled, 'why not? But do you even have any decorations at home?'

'Eh,' Sihtric grimaced, 'no?'

'Oh,' you laughed, 'okay, well, you'll have to buy them first, otherwise I can't decorate your house.'

'Okay,' Sihtric said, 'I'll buy them after work.'

You nodded in agreement and finished your tea. During your lunch break, Sihtric had started to become more like his usual self again. He eventually jokingly asked if you wanted to decorate his house for Yule, to which you shrugged and said you didn't mind, not thinking he was serious. But Sihtric was very serious. He liked you. He liked being around you and he liked the way you had completely cheered up the work place with your festive decorations, and Sihtric figured his house could use that same vibe, unless he wanted to have another miserable Yuletide. When you found out he was serious about it, you still said you wouldn't mind, but that you didn't have enough decorations at your own place anymore to bring to his house. And so Sihtric said he'd buy his own decorations after work, which you could use when you'd visit him after work tomorrow, to decorate his house.

But today, when your work day had come to an end and Sigtryggr had already hugged you goodbye, Sihtric shyly came up to you as you packed your bag to go home.

'Good luck shopping,' you smiled at him.

'Yeah, eh, about that,' Sihtric chuckled awkwardly, 'I, eh… I… I don't know where to get those… things.'

'What? The decorations?'

'Y-yeah…'

'Oh, well, you can get them at garden centres, they have these big Christmas set ups every year.'

'You buy them there?' Sihtric asked while you zipped up your coat.

'Yep,' you smiled.

'Oh, okay,' Sihtric said, 'thanks.'

You waited for Sihtric to make way so you could get down the stairs, to the bus stop, and go home. But Sihtric didn't move, instead, he just looked troubled while he rubbed the back of his neck.

'Are you okay?' you asked.

'Yeah, just,' Sihtric paused and bit down on his lip as he kept fidgeting with his hands, and then said, 'I… so… maybe… would you, eh, I could use some help, you know? With the, eh, looking for decorations I mean. So, I was wondering if… if maybe you want to, you know, g-go with me?'

'Now?' you blinked, surprised.

'Y-yeah,' Sihtric smiled shyly, 'I mean… only if you want to. Otherwise I guess I'll, eh, figure it out,' he chuckled.

'Oh, eh,' you also couldn't help but chuckle nervously, 'yeah, I guess I could… join you.'

Sihtric anxiously tapped his fingers on his steering wheel. He was as nervous as he was excited to go shopping with you for Yule decorations. Or Christmas decorations, whatever you wanted to call it, Sihtric truly didn't care. He only cared about getting to know you outside of work. Whereas he teased and flirted with you throughout the day when you just met, he felt himself become a little more shy around you as weeks passed by. He didn't expect to ever meet someone again who would set his heart on fire, but he had; you.

Everything about you was perfect to him, but he just couldn't say it. He was terrified you didn't feel the same and he didn't want to ruin the pleasant atmosphere at work. He knew you were interested in him in some way, but he wasn't sure anymore exactly what way. And when he had jokingly asked you to decorate his house, he didn't let the opportunity slide when you said yes. And he couldn't believe he got to spend time with you outside of work today, so abruptly. And now that he sat in his car, with you next to him, he felt nervous because he actually wasn't prepared to be around you after work right now.

Fact was Sihtric is very confident, but once feelings get involved, he becomes a little clumsy and shy. And sensitive. He was too shy to admit at first that he had no idea where to buy decorations, but at least he got over that. He had a much bigger problem now; he was too shy to talk to you. So all he did was stare at the road, tap his fingers, and change the radio station every twenty seconds, which drove you insane.

But you didn't want to come off rude and tell him to stop changing the stations. You were nervous and excited about the fact that you sat next to someone as handsome as Sihtric, that you forgave his odd driving behaviour. Every now and then you looked at him from the corner of your eye, too shy to say anything, and Sihtric didn't speak either. You weren't sure why he was so quiet, but you also didn't want to be weird, so you kept quiet too. Until Sihtric sneezed.

'Bless you,' you mumbled.

'Thanks,' Sihtric smiled.

And it seemed the ice had been broken.

'So,' you cleared your throat, 'are you feeling better than this morning?'

'Yeah, yeah,' Sihtric nodded, 'for sure.'

'Good,' you smiled, then cautiously went on, 'I, eh, was a little surprised to find out you are divorced.'

'Hm,' Sihtric hummed as he pulled up to the parking lot of the massive garden centre, 'yeah, it's not something I talk about a lot. I guess Sig told you some stuff?'

'Yeah,' you confessed, 'he did.'

'Saves me the trouble,' Sihtric said with a faint smile, 'I'm kidding. But, yeah. I'm divorced and a father of three kids, who I never get to see. My ex cheated on me, and because she's the mother she got full custody and moved out of town with my kids, so… yeah.'

'I'm sorry,' you said, compassionately.

'It's okay,' Sihtric said, 'I mean, I'm over her. I'm over the whole situation in general, but I guess during the holidays it just… I don't know,' he sighed, 'it gets lonely, I guess.'

'I understand,' you said, 'I mean, I can't relate to having kids or being divorced, but my ex cheated on me too and left me quite abruptly last year.'

'Gods, I'm sorry. Why are people such assholes?' Sihtric asked as he shut off the engine.

'Beats me,' you shrugged, and you both got out of the car.

'Well,' Sihtric said as you walked up to the store entrance, 'you deserve better than a cheater anyway.'

'So do you,' you said, to which Sihtric smiled.

He hoped he deserved you, at some point. But he couldn't possibly tell you that now. Not yet, it was too soon. Maybe if he'd get drunk enough during the Christmas party at work in a few weeks he might be confident enough to confess his feelings to you. Maybe.

You grabbed a shopping cart and Sihtric followed you into the store, where you turned to him with a grin and said, 'Well, go nuts.'

Sihtric gazed around the place, like a lost puppy, and he just had no idea what to do. He had never seen so many lights and decorations in one place, and it was actually overwhelming. He was already overwhelmed by having you with him, but now he couldn't think straight at all anymore. Christmas music blasted through the speakers, the choo-choo sound of miniature trains came from every direction, and on top of that, the smell of gingerbread and hot chocolate filled his lungs. Sihtric had no idea what kind of place he had just walked into.

'Are you okay?' you asked when the doctor looked like he had an internal error.

'I… I,' Sihtric stammered, 'I just… don't know where to start.'

'Okay,' you chuckled, 'I understand. These places are very overwhelming,' you reassured Sihtric that his reaction was completely normal. 'Okay, so, do you have a tree? A Christmas tree? Or a… Yule tree, if that's a thing?'

'Eh, n-no,' Sihtric said, 'I don't have a tree.'

'Well, then let's start with that,' you smiled and grabbed his arm, pulling him with you to the tree section, where you walked between the many trees with your elbows linked, 'the best thing to do is to get a fake tree, so you can use it every year. Real trees are cool, but messy and you have to replace them every year.'

'Oh,' Sihtric chuckled, 'okay, then I guess a fake tree?'

Sihtric looked at the insane variety of trees, and he felt lost once again.

'There's… so many,' he mumbled as he enjoyed the way you kept your arm hooked with his, 'how do I know what to choose?'

'It's all about height,' you said and looked up at him, 'do you want a tall tree? Or a small one? And then you can choose if you want one that has lights in it already, or maybe a tree with fake snow on it, those are cool! Oh! There are also white trees, black trees, even red trees!'

'I… O-okay,' Sihtric shook his head, 'calm down, sugar,' he chuckled, 'you're going to give me a sugar rush.'

'Sorry,' you smiled sheepishly.

'Don't be,' he smiled, 'but… I guess I'll take a tree that's as tall as I am. That makes sense, right?'

'It does,' you said and pointed out some trees that matched his height.

'Gods,' Sihtric grimaced when he looked at the price, 'maybe a smaller one, perhaps.'

You giggled and walked Sihtric over to a few smaller trees, which seemed to have a more fair price, and after some contemplating, Sihtric finally loaded one of the boxed trees in the shopping cart.

'Okay, that's one thing done,' you said, 'now onto the lights and tree decorations!'

Sihtric felt like his heart would explode by the way you excitedly showed him various ornaments and garlands, and he wished he could just grab your cheeks and kiss you on the mouth. But he had to fight his urges. Instead, he just agreed to almost everything you showed him. He didn't care about what you loaded in the cart, or what it would cost, being around you and seeing you so excited while being sweet to him was simply priceless to Sihtric.

After a while of strolling through the endless Christmas aisles, you found yourself walking next to Sihtric with your fingers lightly intertwined. You enjoyed his touch, it made you all warm and fuzzy inside, and even a little lightheaded at times when he suddenly stroked your hand with his thumb. It seemed that with each new item you showed each other, you both leaned in closer and closer, as if you couldn't hear each other otherwise, which was a lie. You could hear each other perfectly fine from a decent distance, but you both just wanted to be close. And yet neither of you was going to confess that. You felt like this was the happiest you had been in a while, while it was such a simple concept; shopping for decorations with a cute guy. It was a dream. But that dream turned into a nightmare when you suddenly spotted your ex across the aisle.

'Fuck!' you hissed and ducked behind Sihtric.

'What's wrong?' the doctor asked, bewildered.

'Okay, don't look,' you said, 'but the guy behind you-'

You had barely said the words or Sihtric turned to look at the guy, and you slapped his arm.

'I said don't look!' you hissed.

'Sorry,' Sihtric mumbled, 'what did you expect, really?' he grinned.

'Whatever,' you smiled and rolled your eyes, 'anyway, that's my ex.'

'The cheater?'

You nodded and Sihtric looked back over his shoulder again.

'He looks happy,' Sihtric shrugged.

'Yeah, because that girl next to him is the one he cheated with!' you snarled quietly.

'Oh, yikes,' Sihtric said, 'do you still like him?'

'What? Ew! No, not at all,' you said, 'I just despise him- oh, fuck! He saw me.'

Before you could pretend you never saw your ex, he already waved at you and walked over. Sihtric took a step back while you feigned politeness and engaged in a conversation.

'I thought that was you,' your ex smiled, 'how have you been?'

'Fine,' you shrugged, 'you?'

'Good, good,' the guy said, 'we are, eh,' he pointed to the girl he picked over you, 'we're expecting!'

'Oh,' you faked a smile, 'that's, wauw,' you swallowed hard, 'a-amazing, heh. Congratulations!'

'Thanks!' the couple smiled, 'so,' your ex continued, 'what about you? Are you seeing someone? The guy you just spoke with?'

'Oh,' you chuckled nervously, 'he's, eh, he's-'

'Honey,' Sihtric suddenly said as he held up a random deer plushie, 'what about this one? For in our bedroom?'

'H-honey?' you wheezed as your cheeks burned up, 'b-bedroom? Eh,' you cleared your throat, catching on to Sihtric's plan, 'eh, yes! Yes, that would work,' you smiled.

'Great,' Sihtric smiled and loaded the plush deer in the cart, then wrapped his arm around your shoulder, 'hi, I'm Sihtric,' he introduced himself to your cheater and his pregnant side chick.

'Oh, hi,' your ex smiled, 'eh, boyfriend?' he looked at you.

'Y- yes?' you said, awkwardly.

'Fiancé, actually,' Sihtric smiled and squeezed your shoulder, 'right, babe?'

'Oh, eh, yes,' you agreed, and wrapped your arm around him, 'Doctor Kjartansson proposed a few weeks ago.'

'Doctor? Oh… n- no way, hey, congrats!' your ex smiled weakly, and Sihtric enjoyed the fact that he could clearly see the sudden heartbreak in your ex's eyes.

'Thanks,' you smiled when you noticed the pain in his fake smile too, 'but, eh, we have a lot of shopping to do, so we better get going, right, Siht?' you looked up at your fake fiancé.

'You're the boss, sugar,' Sihtric winked at you and gestured to you to show him the way.

'O-okay, yeah,' your ex stammered, 'h-have fun. I'll, eh, see you around.'

'Ah, I doubt that,' Sihtric said, then grinned, 'we'll be moving soon.'

You had already moved on when Sihtric suddenly snuck his arms around your waist from behind. You were startled for a moment, but simply weakened at the sound of his voice in your ear when he murmured that your ex was still looking back at you over his shoulder.

'Oh,' you chuckled, 'well, I don't care.'

'Good,' Sihtric smiled and pecked your cheek, 'because he clearly does.'

You felt your cheeks heat up and, to distract yourself and Sihtric from your shyness, you grabbed a plant to keep up your relationship facade.

'How about this plant for the bedroom?' you asked, loud enough for your ex to hear you.

'It's perfect, sweetheart,' Sihtric replied loud enough and put the plant in his cart, 'just like you, sugar.'

'Did you see the look on his face?' you snorted as you held a cup of hot chocolate, 'that was such payback. Thank you, Siht.'

Sihtric chuckled while he sat across the table from you, sipping his own cup of hot chocolate in the garden centre's restaurant.

'You're welcome,' he smiled, 'I'll admit that it was fun to see the confidence being squeezed out of him.'

You laughed again at the memory of your ex looking all hurt and upset when Sihtric announced your fake engagement. You looked at Sihtric and your smile slowly faded as you stared at him, and the same happened to Sihtric. He slowly reached for your hand, lacing his fingers with yours while your eyes remained locked on each other, and you both slightly leaned in over the small table. The Christmas lights above and around you made it a cosy place, and the burning candle in the middle of the table made it even romantic.

'I hope your ex realises what he has lost,' Sihtric said softly, and slowly caressed your hand with his thumb, 'he really didn't deserve you, sugar.'

You blushed and looked down at your cup, not knowing what to say to the doctor who you had a huge crush on. If it was still just a crush, because you weren't sure. Every time you looked at him you felt warm inside, and happy. And whenever you locked eyes, you felt shy and giddy, and you were nervous whenever he was around. Sihtric was the last thing you thought of at night, and the first thing in the morning when you woke up. You couldn't believe you even dreaded the weekends, because that meant you wouldn't see him, and you couldn't wait for Mondays to arrive.

And unbeknownst to you, Sihtric felt exactly the same. You had Sihtric's number, as he had given it to you during your first week of work at the new practice, but you had been too shy to text him. And Sihtric didn't want you to feel pressured or for him to make things weird, so he had never texted you either. And yet you both couldn't get each other out of your mind.

'Well,' you cleared your throat, 'your ex really fucked up too.'

'Maybe,' he shrugged lightly with a soft smile, 'anyway,' he chuckled and sat back, his fingers still intertwined with yours, 'you're still up for coming over tomorrow evening?'

'Yeah, of course,' you said, 'would be shitty to watch you buy all this stuff and then for me to bail on you.'

'Stranger things have happened to me, lady,' Sihtric smiled, 'but, good. I'm glad you're still up for it. But what's the plan? Will you come with me after work? I can make some food while you decorate, if you'd like. But it's fine if you want to go home first.'

'The first plan sounds good,' you said, 'oh, but did you hear about that snow storm?'

'Oh, yeah,' Sihtric groaned, 'I totally forgot about that. But what are the odds? They always predict crazy weather and then nothing happens.'

'I know,' you said and finished your hot chocolate, 'but still, better not risk it, right? The earlier I finish at your place, the better I guess.'

'Already looking forward to go home, huh?' Sihtric joked.

'What? No,' you chuckled, 'not at all-'

'Not at all?' Sihtric frowned with a sly smile.

'I- you- oh come on,' you buried your face in your hands, 'you know what I mean.'

'I do, sugar,' Sihtric said, 'and I agree. I'll make sure to have you back home before the storm. It's near midnight, right?'

'Yeah, it's supposed to start quite late. So I'm not worried, but better safe than sorry.'

Sihtric agreed and finished his own drink, then said you two should probably continue your shopping as the store was closing in about half an hour. You made your way to the checkout, and Sihtric said he had never spent that much money at a garden centre before.

'It'll be worth it,' you promised.

'I hope so,' Sihtric laughed as he struggled to close the trunk of his car.

You got in the car and, after Sihtric finally managed to shut the trunk, he sat down behind the wheel and gave you the plush deer he had thrown in his cart during the encounter with your ex.

'Here,' he said.

'What am I supposed to do with this? Didn't fit in the trunk anymore?'

'It's for you,' Sihtric smiled, 'I mean, what am I going to do with it?'

'I don't know?' you shrugged, 'it's cute but… what am I supposed to do with it?'

'I don't know,' Sihtric also shrugged, 'keep it in your bed? You can hug it when you miss me,' he grinned.

'Oh, cocky aren't we?' you laughed, 'but, thanks. I'll make sure to give it a good spot in my apartment.'

'You do that, sugar,' Sihtric smiled and started his car.

The drive back to your place was way more relaxed than the drive to the store had been, and you felt a sadness creeping over you when Sihtric pulled up to your apartment building.

'So, I'll see you tomorrow then,' he smiled at you, 'thanks for tonight. You're all- I mean, I really needed this.'

'You're welcome,' you blushed, 'and thank you too, I needed it as well. And thanks for the plushie,' you chuckled as you held up the deer.

'You're welcome, sugar,' Sihtric said with his warm, smooth voice.

You stared at each other for a few long seconds until the tension in the car was almost visible.

'So, eh, hug?' you chuckled.

'Always,' Sihtric smiled and leaned in as he pulled you in for a hug.

'Good night, Siht,' you said softly as you hugged.

'Good night, sugar,' Sihtric murmured and then pecked your cheek.

You felt your heart skip a beat when you both pulled back slightly, only to look into each other's eyes. Sihtric's heart was beating out of his chest, like yours, when his eyes trailed down to your lips.

'I'll see you tomorrow,' he whispered, desperately trying to fight the urge to kiss your lips.

Sihtric tried to keep his eyes locked with yours, but when your own eyes trailed down to his lips for a split second, he couldn't keep it together anymore.

'Fuck,' he breathed, 'I'm sorry,' he whispered, then cupped your cheeks and planted his lips on yours, capturing you in a soft but firm kiss.

You stopped breathing when his lips touched yours. Your eyes were wide open before you understood what happened, and then you completely surrendered right after your realisation. But just when you wanted to kiss him back, Sihtric broke the kiss. His hard, shaky breath filled the silence in his car while you heard your heartbeat in your ears.

'Don't,' you whispered while your lips still touched.

'Don't… what?' Sihtric murmured, his voice vibrating against your lips as he held your face in his trembling hands.

'Don't… don't apologise.'

taglist: @clairacassidy @finanmoghra @uunotheangel @hb8301 @bathedinheat @neonhairspray @anaeve @bubblyabs @travelingmypassion @sylasthegrim @andakth @chompchompluke @willowbrookesblog @lady-targaryens-world @skyofficialxx @elle4404 @alexagirlie @sweetxime @solango @gemini-mama @cheyennep3107 @little-diable @jennifer0305 @drwstarkeyy @mrsarnasdelicious @verenahx @urmomsgirlfriend1 @moonchildrenandflowercrowns @foxyanon @djarinsgirl27 @sigtryggrswifey @liandav @diiickbrainn

#sihtric x reader #sihtric x you #sihtric kjartansson #the last kingdom #sihtric #tlk #sihtric fic #the last kingdom fic #sigtryggr #modern!sihtric

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flashyzz · 5 months

Text

Erm..

Pairing; Geto Suguru × reader

Content; smut ig..?

Geto was a busy person and you knew that, you loved him though he barely had time for what he called a 'monkey'— but you just took that as a sweet nickname he calls you. Actually you didn't even care about him sometimes cause of the heavy workload you have. Though it was kinda toxic, you still made it look like a nice relationship infront of friends and family because if they knew, they would just start yapping about weird nonsense.

In this cute relationship of yours you both had little sex since you were both really nonchalant people and usually manage to go to work all day without even considering your sexual desires. But this time, this time was very different.

You and Suguru were out on a simple coffee date or as you thought you were. Anyways, you ordered a cappuccino while Geto ordered tea. The waitress came and you both had made eye contact. Great! She said, and it was so familiar, something was off but— eh, it's just a waitress. You said, trying to convince yourself that nothing was wrong.

Hey, by chance do you know anybody named Shoko..? You asked, trying to confirm that she was just a waitress— None, ma'am. See, I was right! You shouted in your brain. Gosh, I can't believe I got so paranoid over a innocent waitress...

Hmm..? Paranoid, what are you even talking about y/n. Geto ordered you to calm down and shut your mouth because he wanted to enjoy his tea peacefully and you obeyed him like the little monkey you were. When your cappuccino had finally arrived, you immediately thanked the waitress and drank your cappuccino. Little did you know that it was spiked, and it was not the normal 'spiked drink' it was the aphrodisiac kind of drug.

After you both finished enjoying your little date, you both went to work again— just like normal right..? Well, you were absolutely wrong. After 2 hours of working on a specific document you started to feel oddly dizzy and lightheaded. Shit, my head is in scrambles, ugh, it wouldn't be a sin to skip work today, right? Eh, whatever. You said before leaving to head straight home. When you finally arrived home, you were surprised to see Suguru laying down on the couch, eyes covered by this arm, groaning.

Suguru.? I thought you were at work..? You asked, baffled to see him skipping work. Something was definitely wrong about this whole occurrence and you needed to get to the bottom of it. You tried to call Shoko for help, which was your best friend but there was no signal? Weird, you vaguely remember paying the internet bills this month, how come?

Fine, I'm leaving to see her. You said before picking up your keys and trying to leave, but before you could even do that you were tackled by Geto, panting and groaning as he removed his joggers and underwear, his cock springing out, angry tip was leaking pre-cum. Suguru!? What are you do— you tried to question him but was silenced as he kissed you. Hngh,sshut your haa— fucking mouth. He muffled while you both kissed. You wanted it to stop but you also needed his dick inside you. Geto lowered his head equal to your pussy and started to lick your bud before eating you out, it was so fucking amazing that you started to moan. Ngh G- Geto! He's had enough of tasting your juices, he craved to be inside your tight walls so bad it was almost like a slave drag. He started to insert his index finger in your small cunt pumping it in and out. Shit, this was some hardcore sex, you thought. Fuck— haa, G- Geto! You moaned in pleasure due to his skill in fingering, I mean how did he even develop that skill? Before you could even stop to think about weird reasons he had already aligned his cock with your hole. Good luck monkey, haa— shit. He starts to thrust in and out surprisingly at a slow pace little did you know he was going to make somebody's monkey limp today.

He starts to moan in pleasure but notices you trying to stay silent which makes him irritated since it just means that you're not pleased by his cock so he decides to thrust at a faster pace making all your juices flow to the base of his dick. You little ungh— haa, slut, you better mo—! He was suddenly cut off when your walls started to clench and tighten around his member. You broke out into inaudible moans, fuck, you were about to cum. Geto's pace remained fast and strong, making you whimper and moan in pleasure, this was all too much for you especially when your ass was filled with red hand marks because of him.

You gripped the sheets, sweat drops forming on your forehead, this was it, you were fucking about to climax and Suguru knew that. Oh, is my little bitch about to come..? My, my it seems you were so fucking horny f'me. He said before slamming down on your poor cunt at an impossible pace. It was sooo fucking good including the feeling of having your pussy walls get filled every single time he pumped his cock.

Shit! Shit! Shit! Fuck, m'gonna cum! Argh—! After one last push he finally reaches heaven, ropes of cum gushed into your warm cunt as you sprayed his cock with your own. You both were such a moaning mess, and didn't even notice that somebody was watching.

Until he spoke. Aww man, why do people leave me out when they do something fun! Geto snarled at the intruder which was— his own best friend.

GRRRRRRR, MY BRAIN IS GETTING BOMBARDED BY WEIRD THOUGHTS 😔

MEUEHHEHEHEHE I LOVE YALL 😜

#jjk smut #gojo smut #jjk #jjk x y/n #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk geto #geto suguru #geto x reader #shoko ieiri #jjk shoko

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deceptive-daydreams · 1 year

Text

The Under-Ground

Chapter One - Welcome to The Under-Ground

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 |

Modern!Barista!Eddie AU - In which you work at the local Hawkins coffee shop where you thought you'd be able to escape the horrors that were high school a few years after graduating. Until one of those horrors lands a job in the closing shift with you...and you have to train him.

Enemies to Lovers, Modern!Barista!Eddie AU, Eddie x Fem Reader

5K Words

Warnings - Eddie is an asshole, eventual smut, I don't think there's anything else but please let me know if I missed anything

Author's Note: I finished this sooner than I thought I would...pls let me know what you think, I am having so much fun writing this so far and I can't wait to keep going

Masterlist

Next ->

The chill Autumn air infiltrated the apartment and left you shivering, the wool blanket atop your comforter did little to aid you in getting warm. That’s what five hundred dollars a month got you in small town Hawkins, it's what you could afford. Old striped wallpaper that alternated a faded baby blue and pale yellow that seemed to have been glued to the wall since the 70’s barely clung to the walls, a majority of it peeling and begging to be torn off. The stained white linoleum throughout the kitchen had seen better days and the carpet in the living room and bedroom was dingy, so dingy that no vacuum could possibly come close to cleaning it. The lock on the door was on the verge of breaking and almost didn’t work–almost. And of course the heater was definitely broken, the creepy landlord would take his sweet time to fix it, leaving you with a freezing apartment as the seasons changed and Hawkins welcomed the fall. A broke college student by day and a barista by night, these are the cards you were dealt for now.

Classes at the community college had finished for the day, rotating to the night courses. A few papers were due next week, one for your business class on the effects of product promotion in business growth that happened to be stressing you out extra. Your fingers tapped away at your laptop from your mattress nestled in the corner on the floor of your tiny bedroom. 4:30PM, the time in the corner of the screen read, just half an hour before your shift at The Under-Ground. With a groan, you click save on the document and shut the laptop which was certain to be opened later tonight after your shift only to continue the torturous essay. Begrudgingly you began your pre-work ritual of grabbing whatever snack or meal you had in the fridge, scarfing it down, and then tidying your appearance a bit while listening to your daily playlist named “Eh” on Spotify. Today’s vibe was set by Dreams by Fleetwood Mac.

The rusty bathroom faucet sputtered water before allowing a full stream to flow into the sink. You splashed some water on your face to feel more alive although it may have been a mistake in hindsight since the apartment was already cold and rather than feeling refreshed, you felt like a wet dog. Dabbing your face with a towel hanging from over the rod where the tie dye shower curtain hung as well, you collected any leftover mascara from the previous night beneath your waterline and around your eyelids. Moving to the compact closet in the bedroom, a simple outfit of jeans and a maroon knitted sweater you’d ‘claimed’ from the lost and found at the college were chosen and paired with your only signature docs. Lastly, your apron was tied around your waist in a neat knot.

Grabbing your keys from the laminate countertop and shoving your laptop in your bag, you make your way through the damaged and scratched up wooden door that was the entrance to your apartment, the number seven nailed to the front of it. “God dammit.” you jam your key in and out of the lock, twisting and repeating until it finally clicks in place. The door leads right outside into the biting air and you scurry down the concrete stairs while avoiding touching the nasty railing, Mrs. Harrison’s chubby cat, Raphael is perched right at the bottom like he always is. His large green irises stare up at you, giving the appearance that he was just a fluffy ball of black fur with eyes. “Ralphy” you mumble your nickname for him affectionately as you steal a pat from his head on your way out of the apartments, a small meow chiming through the air.

The Under-Ground wasn’t a far walk but it sure did seem that way the colder it got. You’d been working there since the Spring and so far had no issues with weather but you knew it would bite you at some point. The walk through downtown Hawkins is crisp and cloudy, leaves blowing delicately from the trees and laying perfectly in the street, colors varying from red, orange, and brown. It was mid September. Patrons wander about the streets attending to their daily errands. Teenagers mess around at the entrance of The Hideout, no doubt attempting to use their fake IDs only to be turned away by the bouncer, Stan.

Joyce Byers cleans the storefront window of Melvald’s, taking care to not miss a single streak. Her face lights up as her son, Will approaches the store. Max Mayfield skateboards past you down the sidewalk at lightning speed, the only reason you know it's her is a flash of her flaming red hair as well as Lucas Sinclair trying to keep up with her on his own board, a nervous expression written on his features as he carefully maneuvers. Nancy Wheeler hurriedly gets into her car, wrapping up her workday at The Hawkins Post while Jonathan Byers gives her cheek a kiss and heads over toward Will and Joyce.

The Under-Ground comes into view as you round the corner, the brick building vacant of customers at the moment from what you can tell through the windows. The evening rush hasn’t picked up yet, usually kicking in at around six when the college students like yourself would make themselves at home and study over lattes and espresso shots. The bell chimes above the door as you pull it open, the smell of coffee beans and pastries flooding your nose and some upbeat jazz playing through the speakers. Robin sits atop the counter much to the boss, Ronnie's dismay but he’s not around to scold her. Her dirty blonde bob is freshly trimmed, bangs laying just right across her forehead while she has a lollipop sticking out her mouth and she skims through a magazine lazily. One leg is hitched up onto the counter with her bright yellow converse on display, knee to her chest. She’s wearing jeans with a few holes and a vintage tee. Her bright blue eyes glance up and land on you, face lighting up as she greets you. “Hey, Robin!” you greet back, making your way behind the counter to clock in on the computer.

“You’re lucky, it’s been dead for hours.” she says while setting aside the magazine. “Think it’s gonna rain too so it’ll probably stay that way.” she continues.

“Good, I can probably catch up on some homework then.” you hum, punching in your employee number.

“Oh and some new guy is supposed to close with you tonight, I think you’re training him.” she mentions.

“So, no catching up on homework then.” you sigh. Training someone new wasn't necessarily difficult however it was draining since you already knew how to do everything like the back of your hand. Dumbing it all down always took a minute since you had to slow down and give them time to catch on.

“Did Ronnie say who?” you ask, turning to face Robin. Hawkins was small which meant that everyone knew everyone. Which was unfortunate sometimes since that also meant everyone knew everyone's business.

Robin hops off the counter, hair bouncing as she does. “Nope, I just know that it's some dude.” she crunches down on her lollipop and discards the stick in the garbage a few feet away.

With a sigh, you head to the back room to put your bag in your locker only to find Steve lounging at the lunch table, his feet crossed on top of it while scrolling through his phone and two legs of the chair he occupies off the ground as he balances. Today he sports some red corduroy pants and an ivory crewneck sweater finished off with converse, just like Robin’s, only black. “What’s up?” he greets, not once looking up from his phone.

“Scrolling through Tinder again, Stevie?” you mock while setting your bag in your locker for safe keeping, hooking the lock around the metal and clicking it into place.

“Actually, it’s Grindr.” he says matter of factly.

“My bad, you find anyone cute?” you ask, peering over his shoulder, his aftershave smelling subtle and pleasant.

He lands on a cute blonde guy with green eyes, most likely from a town over. “Not really.” he exhales, running a hand through his voluminous hair.

“Well what about him? He’s pretty cute.” you encourage.

“Dude, it says he likes to do Karaoke for fun.” he glances behind at you with a raised brow. You shrug, unaware of why that would deter him.

“If that's not a red flag, I don’t know what is.” he states, shutting his phone off and shoving it in his pocket while standing, making his way to the vending machine. “What happened to me, Socks? I used to pull 'em left and right and now no guy or girl will give me the time of day.” Socks was your nickname given by Steve and Robin after the dreadful incident where a pipe burst from one of the sinks and you happened to be standing in front of it, the bottom half of your pants along with your socks becoming soaked. The rest of the evening you worked your shift without shoes, only in your sopping wet socks with your jeans rolled up. It had been an ongoing joke since, although you always reminded them how horrible it is to go around in wet shoes, the squeaky sound they would make against the floor and the squishiness of the soles. They always disagreed, insisting that it would be worse to work in only socks and how they’d just opt to continue wearing the drenched shoes.

“Steve, I think Grindr and Tinder and all the dating apps might be giving you unrealistic expectations.” you tell him truthfully.

“Okay, but who the hell else am I gonna find in Hawkins? Been there, done that, this is my only option." He inserts a dollar into the vending machine and punches in his selection, shortly after a bag of pretzels falls.

“Pretzels, Steve? Really?” you taunt. “How bland of you.” you deadpan. He pulls open the packaging and tosses a pretzel in his mouth all while giving you his signature pout. “Maybe that's your issue, you dumb yourself down for these people you don’t even know.” you continue.

“Wow.” he raises his arms in disbelief, a hint of humor evident. “That…” he flings a pretzel at you, hitting your chest. “...was mean.” he sasses. “But probably true.” he finishes. “Don’t you have a job or something?” his head tilts toward the door.

“Yeah, and so do you.” you shoot back, grabbing his apron from where it hung over one of the breakroom chairs and throwing it at him.

Exiting the room, you hear Steve chime in one more time. “I’m off in like fifteen!” Your shifts always overlapped with Steve and Robin’s, them usually taking the morning to afternoon shift and you taking over closing. Ronnie would always hang out in the back office so you didn’t have to close alone but that was pretty much the extent of his labor. The beans needed to be ground for the next day, chairs stacked on the tables, bathroom tidied, ingredients prepped, counters wiped down, etc. And you were always the one to do it, not that you minded so much. Ronnie never micromanaged and you had gotten good at closing so it became somewhat of a meditation time. The town winded down and the dim lighting provided a relaxing glow, almost as if you were in a spa. You could at least pretend anyway.

Robin was making herself a latte, carefully pouring the milk over the coffee in an attempt to make a design. She’d been practicing for weeks with no success. “Dammit! Another wasted latte!” she slams the small pitcher of cream onto the counter.

“That for me?” you question over her shoulder, spotting the blob of white draped over the coffee. You ended up drinking them most of the time, always looking forward to your daily latte handcrafted by Robin.

Letting a breath out, she hangs her head in defeat. “It is now.”

Steve saunters out from the back, stopping in his tracks right next to Robin. “Another one? Seriously?” he mutters before continuing to the espresso machine to make probably his fourth drink of the day.

“When is the new guy scheduled to come in?” you ask as you pour yourself an iced coffee. Everyone was allowed one free drink a day however it was never enforced unless the owner, Ronnie’s mom was around. She owned The Under-Ground while her husband owned The Hideout.

“5:30, I think?” Robin answers. The clock on the register currently reads 5:20. Steve glances at you, trying to hide a smirk as he quickly looks in the other direction.

“What?” you demand. Shaking his head he continues pouring an espresso shot into paper to go cup. A tug on his sleeve doesn’t get him to budge. “Steve, why did you give me that look?!” you hound him.

“Nothing!” he raises his hands in defense, a shit eating grin on his face.

“Steve.” you narrow your eyes at him, brows knit in frustration.

“Yeah, Steve. What do you know that I don’t?” Robin steps towards him while crossing her arms in offense.

“Nothing!” He lies, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Steve.” Robin glares at him.

“Y’know, this is already getting to me.” he points to his cup. “I gotta run to the bathroom.” he rushes to the back once again, holding his stomach and pretending to grimace in pain.

“What’s up with him?” you look at Robin, the two of you left standing there without any idea. She shrugs, handing you the botched latte she just made.

Pushing aside your theories, you begin setting up for your shift, restocking the cups and making sure there’s enough whip cream in the canister. The Under-Ground had a very cozy vibe, dark mahogany woods decorating the interior, little twinkly lights draped above the windows, and a snug book nook tucked away in the back corner with large shelves that took up the whole wall. Accompanying it are a few tables and chairs, their wood matching the counter and on top of each table sits various houseplants that you’d have to remind yourself to water.

Robin tops off the pastries as she always does at the end of her shift, adding some chocolate croissants, blueberry muffins, brownies, and a brand new lemon loaf to the case. She finishes off by wiping off the glass with a rag and then ensures the display of gift cards and bags of coffee beans on the counter is dusted off and pristine.

You busy yourself by restocking the to-go sandwiches in the open cooler at the front of the counter, making a note to also grab a few more parfaits from the back since those were running low as well. A few books are scattered among one of the tables so you take it upon yourself to collect them and tuck them neatly back on the book shelf. Other than that, nothing else is left to do and you should be ready to start training the new hire without any distractions. You reward yourself by sipping on the latte, the bitter taste gracing your tongue and warmth coating your throat. Robin disappears to the back briefly, coming back out with her bag while shoving her apron into it, ready to clock out the second it hits 5:30.

The roaring of an engine suddenly echoes in the streets, an obnoxious sputtering filling your ears as you glance up and out of the front window. It comes to a screeching halt as a motorcycle pulls up into one of the parking spots horizontally rather than vertically like the rest of the vehicles. Jackass, you think to yourself as the owner kicks the kickstand down. He wears a standard black motorcycle helmet, a leather jacket, ripped black jeans, and some combat boots, a walking stereotype for some kind of punk ass kid.

Jim Hopper catches him, his cop car parked a few spaces away while he does his crossword in the driver’s seat. You can’t quite make out what's being said but as Hopper exits his car in a hurry, you can tell they have most likely had run-ins like this before. The jackass looks up in aggravation as he still straddles the bike, the sky reflected in the visor of his helmet. Hopper appears to be telling him off but not giving him a ticket when he most definitely should. Jackass reparks the bike correctly, gesturing to it as if he’d performed a magic trick, Hopper with a hand on his hip and a scowl on his face. He points a finger at him, muttering one last thing before retreating back to his own car, eyes never leaving the guy.

Steve emerges from the back again, carefully. “Shit.” he mumbles.

Your gaze moves from the scene outside to behind you at Steve who is also now looking out the window. This provokes you to look back outside. Just as you’re about to ask, the jackass removes his helmet, revealing a head of wild brunette curls, his hand adorned in chunky rings as he grips the helmet. Rolling your eyes, you turn your attention back to inputting some inventory in the computer. Out of the corner of your eye you can see that he’s making his way toward the door. “Are you kidding me?” you say under your breath.

“Thought trendy coffee wasn’t his style.” you say to no one in particular. Steve inhales as if waiting for some kind of impact.

“Oh…” Robin says in some kind of realization.

The bell above the door rings as he swings it open, striding across the shop and in front of the counter, his eyes are a dark abyss as he looks from you to Robin and then to Steve.

“Munson.” Steve acknowledges him.

“Harrington.” he says back, a tinge of disgust rolling off his tongue. Robin’s eyes are wide as they shift between you two.

“What do you want, Eddie?” you bite, voice full of malice as you glare up at him.

Bringing his hand to his chest, his face contorting into a mock pout, he sets the helmet on the counter. “Ouch. That make you feel better, sweetheart?” Sarcasm drips from his tone.

You scoff about to tell him to leave but he just continues. “Make you feel all big and bad? Get it out of your system yet?” he taunts, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Oh no.” Robin says quietly, leaning over you to clock out and then subtly making her way around the counter.

“Why don’t you get the hell out of here and find someone else to dick around with?” you snap, grabbing his helmet and forcing it into his hands.

A cocky look takes over his features. “Well what if I’m a paying customer?”

“I have the right to refuse service so, I’m refusing.” you can feel anger coursing through your veins, blood running hot.

“That’s unfortunate.” he frowns, moving to make his way behind the counter. “For you.” his stare burns into you, two black holes nearly swallowing you up.

“I don’t have time-” you begin but are cut off when he reaches over you and starts typing away at the computer, clocking in. His cheap cologne and cigarette smoke flood your nose.

Steve looks at you apologetically as Eddie passes him on his way to the back. A silence lingers as you process that you’ll be forced to work with the one person in this town you can’t stand. Eddie Munson was the new hire and of course he had to be scheduled on the closing shift with you. Life couldn’t get any worse than this, a shitty apartment, and now a shitty job that you used to love combined with mountains of homework. Your eternal hell. Work was supposed to be a place you could briefly escape. Sure it was still work but you didn’t mind.

“Steve!” both you and Robin scold him at the same time. He squeezes his eyes shut in preparation for more yelling.

“You knew Ronnie hired him and you just didn’t tell me!” you seethe. “You could have warned me! I could have switched shifts or something-or, or–or tell Ronnie he’s a criminal or something! So he wouldn’t get hired!” your eyes are bulging out of your head as you reprimand the poor guy.

“Okay, see, the way you're reacting right now doesn’t give me any confidence that you would have reacted any differently if I told you earlier.” Steve explains while clocking out.

“So you think springing it on her like that was any better!” Robin says loudly. Steve contemplates for a moment.

“Look, Socks. I’m sorry.” he apologizes sincerely.

“Socks?” Eddie stands in the doorway that leads to the back, now free of his leather jacket and wearing a black Metallica tee. “What kinda fucked up thing did you do for a nickname like that?” he asks, a smug grin on his face.

“Oh, kill me now.” you drag your hands down your face in agony. Steve and Robin slowly make their way toward the front door, looking at you sympathetically.

“See you tomorrow?” Robin awkwardly points finger guns at you before they speed up and shuffle out the door.

You sigh heavily, dropping your arms limply to your sides. Turning around, Eddie is about to speak up again but you cut him off.

“I don’t wanna hear it. You don’t talk unless it's about work. I’ll train you today and then I’ll ask Ronnie to move you to mornings or something.” you tell him in one breath.

He laughs before replying. “You’d like that wouldn’t you? Hate to be the bearer of bad news but you’re stuck with me, doll.” he chuckles lowly. “I only work nights.” he says with that stupid grin.

“Who did I piss off for this to happen?” you mumble to yourself, rubbing at your temples. “Put this on.” you shove an apron at his chest.

He grunts at the impact. “No.” he simply says, refusing to grab it from you. His expression is blank.

Scoffing, you shove it against him even harder. “This is work. We work here. Stop acting like a damn child.” you say sternly.

Now taking the apron in his hand, you think he’s finally come to his senses until he bunches it up and tosses it onto one of the counters, eliciting a groan from you. You were foolish to think he would play nice.

–

Trying to train Eddie was as useful as training a fly. He didn’t listen and would purposely mess things up claiming he didn’t know any better and he almost charged one of your only customers that night double the actual cost. It was like watching a toddler, you couldn’t take your eyes away from him or all hell would break loose. The cherry on top was all the snide comments he would make which led to more bickering.

When it came to closing time at 9:00, you were exhausted and could practically feel the eyebags hanging off your face. There was not enough espresso in the world to keep up with Eddie’s antics. You were counting the money from the register, making sure all was accounted for, Eddie watching as he was supposed to be learning when really he was zoned out.

“Alright, Socks, are we done here?” he says with a bored tone.

You glance between him and the cash, still counting under your breath while ignoring him. Poking your arm, he tries again. “Socks. I got things to do.” he continues. “Hey, I’m talking to you–”

“--Oh my god, just go.” you break, finally completing your counting and setting the money back in the drawer neatly.

“Fuck yeah.” he whispers, rushing to the back to collect his things. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you only hope he quits before you have to work another shift with him. Eddie wasn’t just an asshole, he was the asshole who was partially responsible for your shitty high school experience. You know it's dumb, there’s no reason to let something keep a hold on you for so long but it just does. It makes you cringe, it's like the equivalent to peaking in high school but opposite, and yet you can’t seem to look past it.

Nothing but the twinkly lights and the dim overhead lights lit up the shop, a moment of peace taking over you while the town outside laid itself to rest. Shutting off the music and untying your apron to drape it over your arm, you do one more scan to make sure everything is set for tomorrow. Satisfied, you head to the back to retrieve your bag. Eddie passes you, almost running you over on his way out, his stupid helmet in hand.

“See ya tomorrow, Socks.” he salutes as he clocks out, shortly after you hear the bell chime signaling that he had left. He was overusing that nickname but you knew it would only please him to call it out. You had to keep your cool until he figured out he didn’t fit in here and quit. Exhaling, you unlock your locker, grabbing your bag and tossing your apron in before exiting and heading for the door.

The door is locked and double checked as you step out onto the sidewalk only to find that it was still raining. Just my luck. Eddie’s dumb motorcycle roars to life again a few feet away from you, a nuisance to the tranquil town around you. Rolling your eyes, you begin your damp journey home. It’s not until you’re in front of the movie theater that you hear that damn bike behind you. You think he’s going to speed past you, maybe splash some water on you while he’s at it but the engine rumbles as if right next to you–which it was.

“Are you lost?” you spit, continuing to walk.

He rides beside you slowly, irritating you to your core. “Need a ride home?” he asks, slightly muffled by his helmet.

You huff before responding. “No. I don’t need anything from you. Get the hell out of here.” You keep your gaze straight ahead as you walk, him still following behind.

“Sweetheart–”

“--Do NOT call me that. Ever. Again.” you scold, taking a moment to point your finger at him, your face displaying disdain toward him.

“Look, I may be an asshole but it's raining. I can give you a ride.” he coaxes but it doesn’t work. You keep on, the rain drops collecting on your eyelashes.

“Get bent, Eddie.” you say, now walking faster, hoping to evade him.

He lifts the visor on the helmet, now showing his eyes as he keeps up with you. “Get on the damn bike.”

“Fuck you.” you snap at him.

Desperate, you start jogging across the crosswalk and that's when he gives up. Glancing behind you, he flips the visor down and revs the bike before speeding off. You weren’t stupid and you weren’t going to play into his little sadist games. Life was already steamrolling you and you did not need some jackass to factor into it. After a few minutes of walking, you finally rounded the corner and the faded powder blue apartments came into view, street lights illuminating the way. The streets were sleek with rain and oil, giving off reflections of the traffic lights and buildings. You were careful to scurry your way across the parking lot to avoid any of the creeps that hung around late at night. It wasn’t exactly the best area, being notorious for drug deals and any other illegal side hustles.

Raphael’s spot on the stairs was vacant due to the downpour which you frowned at, you always looked forward to seeing him upon coming home. A few skeezy looking men stood nearby however they seemed to be involved in their own drama as they argued and took no interest in you. Gratefully, you continued quietly up the stairs and hurriedly unlocked the door, jamming the key in the lock until it gave out to you.

Slipping into your nightly routine, you begin to unwind as much as you can. A quick shower awaited you since the hot water was limited and you couldn’t wait to munch on one of the sandwiches you snagged from work. In your defense Ronnie had ordered way too many for the week and the back fridge was overflowing with them. The local deli they came from, Anderson’s had some fairly good quality meats and cheeses so for that you were thankful as they pretty much kept you fed. Tonight’s would be turkey and swiss with mayo on sourdough, your favorite. The lights flickered on as you hit the switch, another quirk that came with the run down apartment. The living room and entryway were now bathed in a warm and quite dim glow, or in other words if you wanted to read a book, it’d be quite difficult to see. Shivering from being drenched in rain, you set your bag on the kitchen counter adjacent to the entryway and start taking off your damp clothes, peering into your room to toss them into the hamper and slipping into the bathroom. It was a tight space, not a whole lot of room to do much but it was home.

Turning the faucet to ‘hot’, you wait for the water to get warm enough to bear, the fluorescent lighting of the bathroom still bothered you no matter how long you lived there. You stood on the bath mat feeling the water with your finger until it was to your satisfaction, stepping in and feeling welcomed by the sudden warmth you’d been waiting for all day. In that moment you feel relief from the pressures of the world, the deadlines, bills, loans, essays, all of it. Everything melts away for approximately three minutes and that's when the water starts to turn cold again, returning you back to the dreadful reality you wish you could neglect.

But to your dismay, the cycle just starts all over again, keeping you hostage.

~end~

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Masterlist

tags - @mmunson86 @haylaansmi

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x you #eddie x you #eddie x fem reader #eddie x female reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson angst #barista!eddie #eddie munson fic #eddie fic #eddie munson smut #stranger things fic #eddie munson fluff #the under ground

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