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forbidden-forest-witch · 2 years

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Destiné à Être: A Remus Lupin story

Chapter 3: New Places and Friendly Faces

(Warnings:Smoking, drinking, language, sexual themes. 18+ only)

Word count 4.6k

...

"The most wasted of all days is one without laughter" -E.E. Cummings

It does not take long for Brigitte and the rest of the Beauxbatons group to get acclimated to their new, English surroundings: the vibrant autumn colors against the gray skies are eye-popping and the castle is something out of a fairytale.

The students and staff are friendly enough (although some of the Durmstrang come off a tad too friendly), but they haven't seen any reason to explore the medival school. The carriage has enough room to house, feed, and act as a portable school. And any handsome Englishmen to follow around have been scarce.

Any need for Brigitte's legal assistance is nonexistent, as precaution to keep each tournament task a secret until it begins. She will simply act as a Bystander, unless there is any injury or incident that requires her expertise.

It doesn't take long to realize that her free time won't be occupied mending the werewolf laws, either. The English Ministry of Magic is tediously bureaucratic. The process to get permission to practice law in the country is a long-lasting headache. Her consolation the good news sent by her boss two weeks after arriving to Hogwarts: the legislation allowing businesses to ask about werewolf status, and fire people for having the disease has been totally ratified.

Her parents sent a letter, telling her how incredibly proud they are. Brigitte's father and oldest brother have been werewolves since before she was born. It's a huge deal for her family. Even her brother, Auguste, in London finally responded.

'Good work. Nice to have you close. Ps. Might be able to visit at Christmas'.

So in her free time, while waiting for Fleur to finish classes, Brigitte wanders the schoolgrounds. She mostly keeps to herself and stays outside near the massive carriage. That's where she formally meets the ground keeper, Hagrid. He's the only person Brigitte's ever met who can rival Madame Maxime's size.

But he's full of nothing but kindness. Hagrid is spoiling the flying horses and is thrilled to be hosting Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. After a quick introduction, Brigitte offers to help him feed the horses their single malt whiskey.

"They've been nothing but darling ever since ya got here", Hagrid says of the horses, petting their sides. "Can be misunderstood because of their size, but they are purely sweet creatures".

"Gentle giants?", Brigitte giggles as she empties the last bucket of whiskey into the trough.

"Yeah, I like that". Hagrid smirks under his bushy beard. He hands Brigitte a brush so she can tend the horse's manes, while he stacks up a ton a hay bells. "I've enjoyed lookin' after 'em. Remind me of my Buckbeak", Hagrid sighs, wiping the corner of his eyes with a dirty cloth.

"Who's Buckbeak?", Brigitte asks gently.

"Ah, he is the best hippogriff anyone could ask for. So beautiful, always cleans his feathers! And followed directions... there was an accident. The Ministry wanted to execute him, but that smart boy escaped". Hagrid takes a scraping tool and lifts up one of the horse hind hooves to clean out the packed dirt.

Brigitte looks over in Hagrid's direction in horror. Something truly gnarly better have happened in order for an innocently unaware animal to be killed, though the more she learns about England's magical laws, the less shocked she is by this. They are ruthless. It's just another reason why she's here— being a voice for the voiceless.

"That's horrible. I'm glad he's free... Maybe you'll see him again one day? He sounds smart, he'll know when it's safe to return", Brigitte affirms. Hagrid smiles appreciatively at her and gives a single nod with his large head.

"That's very kind, Miss Moreau. I appreciate your school for letting me take care of these beauties in the meantime". Hagrid moves to the side of the enormous horse and strokes its wing.

"Though, these feathers are practically colorless, the whitest white! Buckbeak was every shade of grey you could imagine. Ya could even see blue when the light hit him right".

"I'm sure it was a beautiful sight. Perhaps you can ask Madame Maxime to let the horses out to stretch their wings?", Brigitte suggests.

"Great idea! I'll ask Olympe if she'd like to watch them with me...", Hagrid ponders with a dopey smile.

'Olympe' Brigitte whispers comically. She puts the brush away and pats the horses. "I should get back up to the carriage. Class is over soon, but can I ask-- where are the House Elves?". These little creatures are unfamiliar and fascinating, as their free and forced labor is no longer legal in France and Germany. Brigitte saw a gaggle of them early one morning, and she's been wanting to meet them ever since.

They're sneaky, and don't come out amongst the students once the sun is up, which makes them impossible to track down and ask about living and working in the Magic school.

"Take the far staircase. Ya want to get under the Great Hall. When ya smell dinner, yer getting close".

So like a madwoman, Brigitte follows the smells. A scent of warm butter, cinnamon, and stew. It fills the lower level, but she finds no doorway leading to the kitchen. Just before she gives up finding the little helpers, a large figure turns down the hall. It's a man, a professor Brigitte saw the night of their arrival. He's worn that same black cloak every day since, with his matching long, black hair.

"Hello...", Brigitte greets the stranger timidly, stepping in his path. It was obvious he wasn't even going to spare the girl a glance. "M-my name is Brigitte. I'm with Beauxbatons". The man looks down his nose at her, contemplating if he should bother with a response.

"Professor Snape", he finally gives in when her nervous smile doesn't falter.

"Nice to meet you. I was wondering-- well I'm a lawyer and I work specifically with magical creatures-- and I was just wondering if you knew where the House Elves stay?".

"So you can make Hogwarts look bad? Send gossip to the Daily Prophet, or some international media? I think not, now out of my way, girl", he hisses, continuing on his way. Her first real conversation with a young English man-- Francesca will be thrilled.

Brigitte watches him disappear down the hallway, feeling totally dejected by the encounter, until a mysterious body prances into view and then behind a distant painting. She lingers for a moment, then slowly slinks towards the painting— a still life of fruits and vegetables. She looks for a handle along the frame, pokes a prods a few pieces of food, until she finally touches a pear that turns into a doorknob.

"Ha!", Brigitte cheers to herself. She walks through the narrow passageway into a grand industrial kitchen. Tall fires line the back of the wall of ovens. Pots and utensils clean themselves in the bathtub-sized sinks, and chopped up vegetables and meats float into their designated saucepans.

"Hello, Miss! How can I help you, Miss?". Brigitte looks down to see a big blue-eyed Elf tugging at the hem of her jumper. She returns a big smile and waves to the other approaching house-elves. One of them offers Brigitte a warm biscuit on a plate, which she graciously accepts.

"Hello, how are you all?", she asks gleefully as they shout over each other, trying to ask Brigitte what she'd like to eat. They ignore her questions and continue their kind berating.

"Please! No, I don't want anything but you're so kind to ask. I actually just have a few questions for you! About life working at Hogwarts?". That silences the group. They look at one another anxiously before taking a few steps away from Brigitte.

"No, please—" she sticks out her hands defenselessly, "I only want to know how you all like it here!".

"Ignore her!", a house-elf in the back of the group shouts.

"She's like that girl. The one in Gryffindor tower", another grumbles. "It's a trick to free us!". They all scatter back to their postings and turn their back to Brigitte, all except one. A tiny elf with a stack of wool cloths on his head and oversized green eyes stares at her curiously.

"Hello...", Brigitte waves hesitantly at him. The elf perks up and stands up straight as a board.

"Hello, Miss! Please, don't let the others offend you! They don't like Miss Grainger questioning they master! Dumbledore is a nice wizard", he squeaks. "Oh? And what about you?".

"I don't have a master! My name is Dobby", he says proudly. "And this is the most amazing place Dobby has ever worked, ma'am!".

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Dobby. I'm Brigitte". She extends her hand, to which Dobby stares at in awe momentarily before vigorously shaking it and jumping up and down on his sock-clothed feet.

"Miss Brigitte is too kind! I can assure that Dumbledore is the best master Dobby has ever seen! He even pays me a wage!". The other house-elves glare at Dobby as he dotes about his earnings.

"I'm so glad to hear that, Dobby. Can I visit you again?".

"Yes, please ma'am! Dobby would love to make miss anything she'd like! Miss will be getting extra tea and biscuits every breakfast!", he rambles as he follows Brigitte to the portrait door.

"Make It coffee and we have a deal", she winks. Dobby eagerly nods, and Brigitte pats his head on her way out. She wanders through the endless stairs until she reaches the open corridors leading to the lawn.

The grounds are still bearably warm enough with the sun shining down, and students are scattered along the green grass taking advantage of these last days. Brigitte scans the crowd: a group tossing a bludger back and forth, some sitting in study circles— when a flicker of light catches her eye.

It's Fleur's silver hair reflecting the sunlight. Uncharacteristically, she's sitting next to the carriage outside with a powder blue blanket separating her from nature. Gabrielle is knelt behind her, braiding a small section of Fleur's hair while she copies notes from a textbook, ignoring her baby sister as she's played with like a doll.

Brigitte chuckles to herself as she approaches them, hearing Gabby ramble on and on about her classes while Fleur tries to ignore her. She's been more uptight than usual. It's her final year, and she's thinking about signing up for the Triwizard Tournament when the time comes.

"Britt! Where have you been!?", the youngest girl leaps from the ground and wraps her arms around Brigitte's waist.

"I'm sorry, my little Love. I finally found the house-elves and they couldn't be happier!", she says. "I'm not a huge fan of that whole practice, but I wouldn't complain about working in there either".

"Perfect... mhmm", Fleur absentmindedly mutters while focusing on her homework. Brigitte and Gabrielle sit on the edge of the blanket to let Fleur focus on her studies, while they talk about their day and watch two tall redhead boys toss around a pocket-sized firework. A small crowd is gathered around them, including a few Beauxbatons students who were brave enough to venture out of the carriage. They haven't been as eager to make foreign friends as the Durmstrang.

"Why don't you go join those kids, Fleur? The redheads are handsome, no?", Brigitte teases. Now that Brigitte has left school, Fleur's friend group has become microscopic. Whether it be because of her crassness or beauty, she doesn't always give the best first impression. That's something else that bonded the two, not many people are getting in line to be friends with the girl whose family is full of werewolves.

Fleur looks at the crowd, judging the boys. She points her pencil to a distinguished brunette boy in blue-lined robes. "He's alright, I guess, but I don't know about these English boys. They're silly", Fleur shrugs before returning her attention to her work.

"I think they're cute!", Gabrielle exclaims. "I like funny!". She goes into a long story about seeing some older Hogwarts students when her Herbology class walked past Hagrid's Care of Magical Creatures. Brigitte listens on contently, fluttering her fingers over the grass. Wild flowers magically pops up, and Brigitte places them in Gabrielle's hair.

─── . ˚*☆ ☾ ☆*˚ . ───

A full month after arriving and Brigitte finally receives permission to practice law as a visiting witch, which means she can possibly make more work besides delegating the safety of children's sports competition or housing conditions of Bowtruckles.

The first thing she does is to notify St Mungos hospital that she is here in case there are any werewolf bite victims who need help. It's no guarantee, but someone might contact her, rather than informing the Ministry who will treat them like a violent monster instead of the victim of an attack. She's had time to read the laws thoroughly, and there's nothing in them that shows compassion.

Which means the second thing she does is write up her drafts of a complete revision of the anti-werewolf laws, making arguments for why werewolves should get the same opportunity for housing and work like any other person and how inhumane it is to dissuade them from having families. (The wording leads Brigitte to believe that the Ministry will take their children if they see necessary).

She receives the good news about her job status the same day they are called to gather in the Great Hall. All day, Beauxbatons students have been excitedly whispering about what this game will entail, who will be picked, what they'll win. It's a cold and damp night as Brigitte, Fleur, and Gabrielle migrate to Hogwarts castle with the rest of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. And now that Fleur had put her name in the running, it's become a lot more than just a simple game.

"I didn't want to say anything because that would just make it real. I just couldn't pass up the chance to try it, Britt! I'm more than my looks, having Veela blood. I'm a capable witch", Fleur told her the night previously. Despite her angelic looks she never shied away from a challenge, but the prospect of actually competing is a whole other reality they're not ready for.

"Oh my god, what if they call my name?", the suddenly timid eighteen year old blurts out.

"Then you'll show everyone how damn tough you are; that Beauxbâtons' witches aren't to be messed with", Brigitte says firmly. Fleur gives a stiff nod and leaves her to sit with her classmates. Brigitte leans against the wall with the Beauxbâtons professors.

The chatter dies off when Dumbledore stands up to make a short speech. Words like 'eternal glory' and 'dangerous' are mentioned. Then he approaches the goblet of fire to announce the competitors.

A piece of parchment spews out the blue fire and flutters into the Headmaster's hand. Eruptions of applause and cheers break out among the Hogwarts students after 'Cedric Diggory' is called. Dumbledore motions him to a door at the end of the room. There's less celebration when 'Viktor Krum' is called, but his stoic face give off the impression he's not the celebratory type.

Then Brigitte's heart leaps into her throat, making it impossible to breath. Time slows down as the last parchment floats into Dumbledore's hands.

"Fleur Delacour" echoes in her ears. She jerks her head to Fleur, who looks completely stunned. Brigitte gives her an encouraging nod, and the young French girl walks confidently to the door to join Cedric and Viktor Krum.

Everyone is in an elated state, excited for the first task. Students converse eagerly to one another in their seats while the staff utter apprehensive groans. Getting the students to focus on their schoolwork with all this excitement will be a job of its own.

Brigitte is ecstatic and extremely nervous that Fleur has been chosen. She looks around at the Beauxbâtons students, giving Gabrielle a quick smile after seeing the concern in her eyes. Other girls are consoling their friends, who hysterically cry from not being chosen.

But the lively talk and sobs stop when the blue flame starts dancing erratically again. It spits out a piece of paper right at Dumbledore and everyone watches in awe. He looks at the note, his expression made of stone.

"Har-Harry... HARRY POTTER?!", he shouts, his voice echoing harshly.

The room lets out a collective gasp and heads turn to a messy-haired teen. He looks like he wants to disappear, but the girl beside him nudges him up and he rushes to the door which all the other champions disappeared through.

"Wasn't there an age limit? He's like 14... what the hell?", she whispers to an old Beauxbâtons professor next to her who looks utterly offended by what's happening. Even over in France they know all about the famous "Boy who lived".

Most people in the room seem angry at the unfair call, scoffing at the crime, but Brigitte's brow furrows. A mistake like this shouldn't be happening with such strong magical bonds in place. She saw those two redhead boys turn into old men when they put their names in. Madame Maxime has been told countless times about the magical contracts and security spells put into place, reiterating that anyone underage who tries to put their name in will face detention.

The Beauxbâtons table anxiously watch their headmistress storm out of the room with the other headmasters. Brigitte finds Gabriele and the two file out of the school with the other visiting students. The Durmstrang men grunt and argue in their language, no doubt about the unfair advantage Hogwarts now has. Brigitte can only think about Fleur competing in these dangerous challenges, and the underage boy who most likely doesn't have the skills for them.

─── . ˚*☆ ☾ ☆*˚ . ───

Her theory is proven incorrect in the first task. When Brigitte wasn't continuing her anti-werewolf amendments, she was looking for bylaws that would allow Harry to drop out of the Tournament. But they were unhelpful. The most she could do was go over the tasks safety measures herself, so she'd know if something wasn't going according to plan.

So she stood there with her hands over her eyes as Harry went out on the field to steal an egg from a live dragon. She hears the hollering of the crowd, their gasps, their cheers, until finally a set of fireworks go off.

The stands are filled with waving flags, and magical confetti bombs. Everyone is screaming cheerfully for Harry's dramatic victory against the Hungarian Horntail, but Brigitte is furious as she stands at the edge of the competitors tent, watching the spiky dragon fly across the Black lake. 'So much for everyone being safe— the hell?!'. It was supposed to stay chained up.

She pushes past the dragon keepers standing behind her and rushes to Fleur who is saying her goodbyes to Cedric and Viktor. She gives her a hug, whispers some reassuring words in her ear, and watches her disappear around the corner.

Brigitte looks back over her shoulder when she hears a familiar laugh, and sees Harry standing with Charlie Weasley and a tall, curly-haired blonde boy, all boasting about his flying skills and raving over his broom like he just won a quidditch match, not a race against a fire- breathing dragon— a dragon THEY were in charge of.

"Harry! Are you okay?! My dear, if you weren't such a good flyer your broom would be nothing but a toothpick", Brigitte rambles to Harry as she grabs his arms and checks for injury. His face and robes are smokey from the dragon's fire, his glasses cracked, but no real damage.

"Britt, really I'm fine. I'm very lucky but I'm fine, thanks", Harry breathes out, still in shock and out of breath after the ordeal. "I'm just glad to have it done". He looks into her big blue eyes, trying to ease her nerves as much as his.

"And what the hell was that, you two?!", Brigitte fumes at the two young men standing behind Harry, "We went over the plans so many times this week! How did the chain break?! Do you know how dangerous that was for everyone, including the dragon! You're lucky no one was hurt, goddammit! ... Idiots!".

She did not like the idea of using magical creatures in the tournament. They're vulnerable, don't have a voice, and are often labeled 'dangerous' when put under stressful situations. The candles around the tent start to flicker uncontrollably as her anger radiates.

Charlie looks frightened of the young woman, the reprimand reminding him of his mother. The young man next to him simply scoffs and brushes a loose curl from his eye like he didn't believe the threat, but he knows she's serious.

"Don't look so scared of my sister, Charlie, we work with dragons", the man says with a thick French accent. "Calm down before you start breathing fire! You saw how amazing Harry did out there and we'll get the damn dragon, Britt! It's probably half way home to Romania by now".

"Julien Moreau, you're such an idiot! Did Gus or Beau drop you when you were a baby? You won't have to deal with worried parents! I can and WILL light your head on fire with one glance if you ever tell me to calm down. I used to change your diaper, you little shit", Brigitte curses her baby brother in French. He's been apprenticing in the Romanian dragon colony with Charlie Weasley, and the two jumped at the chance to pay their old schools a visit.

Hesitantly, Charlie speaks up to diffuse the tension, "Really Brigitte, we're sorry. The heat from the dragon must have weakened the chains and we should have given her new ones. We promise nothing will happen to the dragon. She's smart. Your brother is right, she's probably flying home", he smiles weakly.

Brigitte rolls her eyes but accepts the apology. "Okay fine ... Why a bunch of rambunctious boys are put in charge of man-eating, fire-breathing dragons I will never understand! Bigger idiots than those who willingly work up-close with the fire-breathers!", she says jokingly as Julien pulls her into a side hug.

A quiet throat clearing coming from the entrance to the tent make them turn. A tall man with messy hair and robes to match is leaning against the tent post with his hands in his pockets. He smiles crookedly at the group. Harry steps towards him waving.

"Professor Lupin! What are you doing here!". Brigitte immediately notices his kind eyes as he smiles at the boy. He's very handsome. There's a certain roughness about him, but it's softened by the boyish grin and sparkling eyes. She also notices the distinctive pink scars on his face. 'I wonder how he got those...'. They look familiar to the lawyer, but there are plenty of ways to get gnarly scars in the magical world.

"Please, Harry, just Remus now... And I had no plan to be here but whenever I saw the articles about you in the paper, I couldn't miss this. Are you alright? I stopped breathing when that chain snapped", Remus says sincerely.

Harry nods his head, "yeah, I'm fine-"

"He miraculously survived despite these idiots being in charge!", Brigitte cuts Harry off and mockingly glares at the young men with her arms crossed.

Remus scoffs amusedly and looks at Brigitte, and his breath catches in his throat when they make eye contact. Despite her annoyed expression, she's the most beautiful person he's ever seen. He smiles at her. Then realizes he's staring and glances at Charlie and Julien, looking anywhere but Brigitte when he feels the heat creeping up his neck the longer his honey eyes are set on her sapphire gaze.

"Good to see ya Charlie, it's been a long time", Remus says, offering a handshake.

"Too long. This is Julien. We work together".

"Nice to meet you, man", he says shaking Remus' hand.

"And this is his sister, Brigitte. She's working with the Beauxbâtons school".

Remus lets out a breathy 'hi' and holds out his hand, which Brigitte kindly takes with a shy smile. But then she takes a step forward and plants a soft kiss on both his cheeks. A typical French greeting. When she steps back, the look on her face says that she felt that electricity too. It takes everything in Remus to not reach up and touch his burning cheek, where he can still feel her lips lingering.

"Nice to meet you, Remus. Please, uh, call me Britt". She smiles up at him, their hands still entwined. Okay, now this is someone to write Francesca about. The handsome man who she tragically will know for about three minutes and never see again.

"Britt", he repeats with a nod, unable to take his eyes off her. He squeezes her hand and reluctantly releases it before making a fool of himself. "I'm Remus. Old friend of Harry's parents".

"And the best Defense Against the Dark Arts professor we ever had", Harry interjects, "how long are you here for?". Remus turns back to him and awkwardly clears his throat. He takes half a step away from Brigitte and explains how he's only here for this one task, and asks Harry to speak privately.

"Oh, Remus, call me Britt", Julien whispers mockingly when they're out of earshot. Brigitte punches him in the arm and tells him to shut his mouth, to no avail. "You totally like him. You only let friends call you that".

"Ouch", Charlie says. She introduced herself as 'Brigitte' to him earlier. The Moreau siblings snicker.

"And you might want to thank me. I just heard a cannon. I think little Miss Fleur caught her egg", Julien smirks. Brigitte gasps looking at the tent opening and seeing the fireworks. She hugs her brother and runs to see Fleur. She stops short of the exit and turns around.

"I'll see you around school, Harry. Great job today... And it was nice meeting you, Remus Lupin", Brigitte enunciates his name slowly and waves her dainty fingers at him in a way that makes his heart palpitate.

"Pl-pleasure's all mine, Britt". He bows his head subtly and watches her run out on the field, picking Fleur up and twirling her around as they celebrate her surviving a dragon and completing the round.

"Well, I gotta say. Her yelling at us was scarier than facing the dragon. Did anyone else see those candle flames go crazy?", Charlie asks.

"Eh, she used to be worse. It's because we got he riled up with Harry and the damn dragon. Innocent little creatures. She's sensitive but scary as hell", Julien explains.

"We could've chained her up outside to protect the egg and I bet Harry would've have a harder time", Charlie quips.

"I'm not so sure about that", Harry mutters, looking at the burnt bristles on his broomstick.

"She can produce fire without a wand... man, we could've brought one less dragon with us!", Julien bemoans.

"Pardon me?", Remus chimes in.

"She was a fun kid... Yes, she's gifted in elemental magic like that ... doesn't like showing it off though", Julien shrugs, "it's the unwanted attention I think, we already get that enough with—" Before he can elaborate on their family history the dragonologist in charge comes to the tent and whistles for his and Charlie's help, leaving Remus and Harry with unanswered questions about the unassuming witch.

Masterlist

#Remus Lupin #Professor Remus Lupin #remus lupin x reader #hp and the goblet of fire #hp fanfcition #harry potter fanfiction #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin oc

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galaxiepoupeafropuff · 2 years

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Vincent Griffith at the farmer's market fanfic Ep 2

Vincent

" Got a fresh batch of spring onions Vince"

the vendor Sagine uttered while walking out of her van. I sped towards her and grabbed the wooden crate packed with a few herbs and radishes, and carried it over to her tent. I grunted from the feel of the heavy vegetables pulling down my arms. Behind me, Miss Sagine's feet shuffled on the grass

" Where do you want em?"

" You can put them on the table, it'll make the work easier with my back and all"

" No problem ma'am" I said , catching my breath and running a hand over my throbbing palm. I've been helping Sagine install her tent at the annual Black farmer's market since this morning—-an initiative the council chewed, argued, made casual threats on behalf of the people it would benefit to make it happen.

With agricultural oppression blowing so much breath at the back of our necks and the blinding indifference of white folks in this forsaken town, there was only one way to effectively pull this off and get everyone on our side— get Marcel invested. Urge him to see the light. Which is exactly what I did. I still remember the gleam in his eyes, that devilish grin that lived beneath his features waiting to be summoned at the right time, for the right ideas. This wasn't just about good will, although for me that would've been enough. Except, being entangled with the supernatural, I've learned long ago that for some, righteousness is hardly a motivator to enact good deeds. Money does, blood and the promise of status —-and dealing with someone like Marcel Gerard? Well, let's just say that the odds were leaning dangerously in my favor. How predictable.

Marcel knew in order to maintain the peace, he needed to apply pressure for every member at the city council to say yes. He knew catering to Black farmers in this city meant preserving the wealth of his blood empire, keep the human factor and witches wrapped around his finger—-which are the demographic this affected the most—-it meant more money flowing into the local economy, depends on how well that went, it meant more curious outsiders seething to get their hands on our local goods, to invest, travel and food influencers coming in. More buzz, more tourists, more tourists, more blood. We gathered 22 ay, only 9 nays at the final vote— My plan had worked.

Dozens of farmers and fishermen traveled from nearby counties to be here. Their laughter glazed over the early afternoon, while they replenished their supplies of cheese, bread, oysters, local honey and a ridiculous amount of veggies—Some I hadn't had the chance to taste myself. My cooking has been a bit rusty these days. Occupying my newest role in the community had its perks and equal sets of downfalls, a haze between meetings, counseling youths, long nights and days relying on takeout and boxed mac and cheese while revising old spells and developing new ones —not for the faint of hearts but the job had to be done. People were counting on me to maintain order not only in the ancestral realm but in the household of people who made up the 9 covens.

Sometimes that included making housing arrangements for those who needed it and making sure they had food on their table, that bills were being paid and their children were safe. I admit, it was at times emotionally draining. The shit going on around here, the housing crisis, the wage gap, stuff the average tourist had absolutely no idea about.

I clenched my teeth then released. Take a breather Vincent, you're good man, shoulders relaxed, your breath is a bundle of rosemary let the scent appease you, your heart your soul, every muscle.in our body. Feet to the ground, feet to the ground

I repeated this mantra a few more times in my head, allowing every syllable to penetrate every fiber of my being like smoke. When I cracked open my eyes, the trees, the clouds and dwellings in the distance became sharper. My feet settled, my heartbeat slowed and i can feel the ground beneath my toes. I was suddenly in the mood for coffee.

" I'm gonna go ahead and grab a cup of joe, miss Sagine can i get you an—"

The old woman waved me away before i could even finish. I grinned, amused by the annoyed expression on her face. She swatted flying mosquitoes lingering on her wrinkled arms " Get outta my face boy, you've done enough, go on stretch those legs, it's good for the health"

I raised my palms up " that's all i needed to know. Doctor's orders then"

" you're damn right" she offered.

The aroma of caramel and roasted coffee beans rocked me into an unusually good mood. I stirred some brown sugar into my americano with a wooden stick, examining the scene before me. Pedestrians carrying bags wandered, pointed and ate samples on paper napkins and plastic ramekins as they went.

Across the street a tent with bouquets of some of the healthiest eucalyptus i had ever seen sat in white buckets. They were wrapped in clear plastic sheets and pulled the attention of anybody that brushed past them. Adjacent to the aromatic plant was an installation of small jars filled with whipped butters I had seen Eva use around the house, soap bars and other toiletries laid on a riverbank made of colorful satin cloths. A woman with a flowy black dress cut to her upper thighs engaged in conversation with her customers. The matron I suppose, the woman with the orange hair I saw at the bar just last week. Her hair was wrapped in a bright purple headwrap today and she wore a series of earrings along her earlobe that flowed down to meet her bare shoulders. I don't think she could ever look any more stunning than the last time I saw her. Oh but she did. The frothy drink moved down my throat, to my chest like a warm and cozy hug.

The woman picked up a product on the table, showed it to the interested parties before proceeding to demonstrate the pasty substance on their skin . The golden bangles at her wrists moved up and down as she rubbed the product in and watched it melt. Whatever she was doing, had her focused on trying to make this thing work. That charisma alone was enough to make any customer fold, I know I would. Passionate people always had a way about themselves, I can recognize them from a mile away. That flame had once burned within when it came to my gift, the magic running in my blood. I'm not sure when that changed but sometimes i feel myself hovering on the edge of that void.

The woman's brows knitted in dedication, bringing a kind of intensity to her face that seemed foreign—her features struggled to adjust, not knowing what to exactly do with it but it looked good on her. I found myself admiring the dip at her cupid bow, particularly the bubbles of sweat piling up in there from the Saturday heat and labor. She reminded me of old books, a craft table smeared with old paint, suggestions of geranium leaf and metal still pungent in the room, more importantly she reminded me of dragonflies dancing with the southern sun on a summer afternoon. Something funny awoke in my stomach. I straightened my shoulders, zooming out to look for any sign of Marcel. He wasn't here. At least not yet. As much as I appreciated him vouching for this, I don't think his presence would've necessarily been a good idea. We were not on the best of terms, if ever. Our relationship was strictly business, and tie to a common cause. I avoided places he frequented as much as possible, carving new ones of my own.

So I plumped down on the grass, feeling the weight of the world hesitating to come down with me. This distance that I so often denied myself was perhaps a good thing, a necessary thing.

The woman counted money and pulled change from a fanny pack wrapped around her waist. She smiled and waved at her customers, excited by their brand new purchases. I reveled in their joy. They were a family of three. The little girl with afro puffs was blowing bubbles at her dog's face while her parents beckoned her over. I chuckled. When my gaze left them i was met with something so unsettling, earth shattering or maybe even pleasant. Pleasant? I thought. But that didn't make the woman staring at me any less intimidating. This could end here if I choose to. I could walk away, go about my business and never think of her again—-if i could get my legs to work. That was the power she iminated, without ever touching people . A goddess standing on her own, reeling you in towards her altar. A faint voice—-the irrational part of myself, the untouched, sanctified in innocence —who didn't care about my footmarks in this world wanted to see about this religion, its jubilees, its sacred texts—-i wanted to worship her.

Mélisse

The last thing I heard myself say to Simoli was something about me taking 5. I didn't linger much. I handed him the fanny pack, the car keys and trusted his common sense to hold it down while I was away, on a so-called coffee break. My toes plunged into the bed of grass coursing up the small hill, making my red painted toenails look like ladybugs. Just for a moment, I can pretend the beignet stand is the thing calling to me and not the guy who finally made eye contact with me at Rousseau's just last week.

I'm starting to think he's a weirdo that one, or a loner of some sort. Somehow, he strikes me as a religious man, or a man bound to a lifestyle that keeps him closed off, isolated and intense. Everytime i see him hanging around these parts he is always by himself. Something about him reminds me of bayou tree barks, incense, and old ancestor songs from the countryside back home. When I imagine safety, to hold someone's hands in the early mornings and being made love to by a running river, I think of him. I can't really explain it but the feeling is equally exhilarating as it is suffocating—-a pulse of peace i can't seem to necessarily wrap my head about. The plush and gentle expansion of it leaves me weary. An ache throbs in my underwear, circling around my needy clit and I am aware of the sweat trailing down my back. Great

When I make it to the small wooden table serving desserts and coffee, I place my order, and try to focus on the powder sugar dusted treats that await me and not the guy sitting a few feet away sipping on his coffee. On instinct i pull one of my coils and starts to mindlessly twist it around my fingers, i arch my back a bit more and start to think Mélisse what the fuck are you doing? Maybe I'm just a fan of the dress I am wearing today, that my ass surely looks good in and want others to notice it as well.

My heart thumps while I think of a million scenarios where me and stranger guy would be talking. I come up with none. Idiot. I bite on my lower lip whirling in this sudden interest I have to speak to him. Gosh I have a crush don't i? I groan, rolling my eyes at my own predicament. It's been a minute since I've had one of those. One forgets how tedious all of it can be, the yearning, the guessing, the tiptoeing at the beginning and knowing me, I hang on to people for a while. Once a person falls under my radar, I obsess over them for months, sometimes years. That's why I chose to be single for this long and try to keep my head down so I can make jardin the best that it can possibly be while i heal some of my shit out.

Doing so has allowed me to discover things that i liked outside of a romantic scope, like cooking, beading. In the past few years i've discovered a liking for dancing, reading, masturbating and oh how could i forget the joy of attending carpentry workshops so i can learn how to make my own furniture— mainly because i was obsessed with interior design and the shop has been my main domain to experiment with it. It would take a special kind of person to infiltrate all of this now. It has taken me a long time to build this nest around me, the heavens would be melting like candle wax out of the Louisiana skies before I ever let anyone barge in and ruin my focus. Maybe this is what i've been reading about, Old patterns is it? Abandoning the margins of my spiritual books to be more than just a theory, a conspiracy that happens to other people. A nuisance, a ghost long buried gearing up to take breath over my life. Fuck this.

"Medium coffee with milk and three beignets"

I jerk up and cease my rambling. I take the neatly folded white paper bag from the young cashier and my cup of coffee. I can smell the vanilla extract and fried bananas concealed inside. I look forward to sinking my teeth into them and forgetting about all of this. I am tossing the layers of temptations over my shoulders, shedding the flashes of his angular face and dark eyes, the thought of a smile meant for me spread across his face. I am determined to forget all about him by tomorrow morning when I hear someone shouting behind me, with running feet following. I pick up my pace, fixating my truck and table ahead. " Hey" the voice a panting mess comes into my periphery, I turn around to meet it ,startled but ready for a confrontation in case this is a catcalling situation.

My brows softened when the stranger came into view " Oh.." It's him. As I feared.

" Didn't you hear me calling you back there?" He says with a reprimanding tone, huffing and puffing. I tilt my head and narrow my eyes . What the hell? " No i…"

" You dropped a 20" he says, thrusting the crumpled bill in my direction. His thick brows shoot up to meet his hairline, his look expectant. I smile and shake my head, flushed with embarrassment. He's just trying to be nice. Be nice. I tuck my guards away

" I'm sorry" I say, grabbing the retrieved item from his hand, our fingers accidently touching the other's, sending a sliver of electricity towards my pussy. " it's been a long day" i chuckle " thank you."

" No big deal, we all have our days" he says with a plain shrug. My toes wiggle for more room inside my leather sandals. For a brief moment he looks at the paper bag still clutched under my arms. Then back at me. We wait for one another to speak, for someone to break the ice, but none of us do. I'm too busy averting my eyes, focusing on the things around him, the canopy of trees, the cloud patterns in the sky, the lint on his shirt, the way black beads adorn his neck, anything other than his thin umber lips that i so want to be claimed by. His gaze runs across my face with something like staggering awe ,caressing my cheeks like a florist examining a delicate flower. I swallow, my mouth dry. " w-well um i have to get back….thanks for this"

I flash him the now sweaty bill. He nods, clasping his hands behind his back " it's my pleasure"

" Kay. See you around… i'm gonna " my thumb darts towards my truck, my legs taking slow strides backwards

" of course…" he replies. I turn to leave.

" You're a regular at Rousseau's right?" His words bring me to a halt. The hairs at the back of my neck rise, the air suddenly crisp against my forearms. So he noticed. " I go there sometimes. You know the owner or something?" He smiles, tiny wrinkles creasing at the corner of his mouth and eyes. It's so contagious I can't help but smile too.

" No…but we go way back" he hesitates, then continues " a close friend of mine bartended there for what feels like centuries ago"

" That's nice. Friends are good, God knows I forgot how to make those " i supply rocking on my heels. It's true. The older I get the more difficult connecting with others has become, like a dormant muscle I can't seem to make flexible again. I quickly recover, biting my bottom lip " and you're the regular who has a habit of stuffing his face with french fries while reading shitty classics… very neat"

" Excuse me?"

I click my tongue, resting a palm at my waist.

" So was it not you?"

" W– well, technically yes, yes…. minus the shitty classics part"

" Oh! So you weren't diving head deep into some of the most boring volumes literature has ever seen?"

The space between his brows knits with tension, his lips curling up in amusement. He licks his bottom lip " You seem to have strong opinions about Marcel Prousts"

I take a sip of my drink, anxious that it might go cold amidst this conversation but more than anything I could use all the reinforcement that i can get. My heart lifts at the coffee's warm touch " There's no beef there at all, i just find your talent to skip over the good stuff fascinating" i drawl.

" Fascinating huh" he replies seeking comfort in the pockets of his jeans " i guess i deserve that. And the criticism over my reading habits is on behalf of?"

I smirk. Oh he is smart, more reason for me to give him my name. " Mélisse" .

He nods, trying to collect the name with the woman standing before him. " Mélisse" he repeats " Beautiful name…very botanical"

" What can I say, I have a green thumb!" I beam

" Mmh"

" I didn't catch your name?"

" Vincent" he responds with eagerness. Vincent, Vincent. " Nice to meet you Vincent"

" Pleasure is all mine Mélisse"

Not once have I ever seen him smile at that bar, not when he's alone or with friends and yet standing here talking to me, he couldn't help himself but do just that. I have a hard time associating this jovial side of him with the one I've previously been exposed to—- Intense, removed and always pensive as if measuring the weight of the world on his shoulders.

I cut the conversation short, making an excuse to rejoin my cousin, despite every part of my body instructing me not to. I was a bit disappointed when he stood behind and didn't fight back. I wanted him to, to insist more, to impose himself against my better judgment. I wanted him to ask for my number, invite me out for a drink, and I wanted to have exchanged more than a few words with him.

Throughout the remainder of the afternoon I searched for him, to no avail. When we pack I scout the perimeters one last time, hoping to say goodbye, but my assumptions tell me he had already left. What a shame.

Later that night, when I came home, took a shower and scrubbed the day off of me, I summoned him from my memories. His gentle fingers washing my hair, the stream from the shower head cascading over us, his beard oil and the scent of tree moss dissolving from the steam while we swap stories and long kisses. When I finally reach my bed and melt within the sheets, the aftershocks of my orgasm are still reverberating through me. I sigh, and close my eyes, Sade's voice serenading on the radio, weaving along the lace curtains. I drift into a peaceful sleep, knowing full well soon enough this man would become a delicious problem.

Photo credit: pinterest

#black writers #black tumblr #writblr #writerscommunity #the originals #tvd fandom #vincent griffith #black witch #the originals fanfiction #vincentgriffithfanfic

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philadelphia-hq · 2 years

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“No man chooses evil because it is evil; he only mistakes it for happiness, the good he seeks.”

TYNDALL SCOTT

Age: 35 Gender and pronouns: Female, She/Her Occupation: Bartender / Volunteer at Women of Change Neighborhood: Fishtown

BIOGRAPHY

tw: domestic abuse, gaslighting, general criminal activity

When Tyndall Schott turned 18, she left her home and never looked back. The lush, rolling hills of the countryside were constricting to her, despite the hundreds of acres of open air. The sea-soaked fields of her childhood home only spoke to one future; simplicity. Perhaps she hadn't been the most well-educated, or well-spoken girl, but Tyn had two things; lavish dreams and a hard head. Sprightly as the coils of her midnight hair, she'd set off with a mission to find what every young woman wanted. Love and money. What else was there to want? What else could have been more fulfilling?

Theodore Noble had kind eyes and a beautiful smile. Tyndall's rickety brogue painted her as a country girl right away, immediately identifiable everywhere she went. Teddy found it charming and reveled in every opportunity to tell her so. With every compliment he'd coaxed her admiration further, until everywhere that Teddy went, Tyn was sure to follow. But as fast as their romance had come together, it just as quickly had begun to tatter at the seams. There were many things about Tyndall that Theodore didn't know, and even more that Tyn could ever have imagined about Teddy.

In the beginning, she thought his possessive behavior was just a joke; even found it kind of endearing. But it never simmered, instead swelling into its ugly monster. After a while, the young woman didn't work anymore but spent her days alongside Teddy and whatever whim he'd been off on. It used to be that they'd move from bar to bar, spending time with his friends while she nursed her drinks at his side, but after a while that wasn't enough. They'd run out of money, and Ted never liked the way those drunks looked at Tyndall, anyway.

So their days became nights, and their lives had soaked in little more than shadows and moonlight. Motels were cheap, but cheap still cost money, and so they'd learned how to skip out on rent. Pretty soon, Tyn was stuffing her pockets with whatever goods she could fit while Teddy kept the convenience store clerk busy. 'Never mind how I'll keep 'em occupied. Just get what we need.' And believe me, she never minded. Their lifestyle wasn't sustainable, and they'd both known that, but Tyndall didn't have it in her to question the motives of her man. He would never do anything to put her in danger, surely. They were in love, after all.

They were still in love the first time they'd robbed a liquor store, but Tyn couldn't deny the way her feelings began to falter as their escapades went on. Tyndall knew that Teddy could feel her starting to shy away, it became evident in every locked door, and colorful bruise that painted her now pale, tawny skin. What was worse, was how strictly she'd had to curve her behavior. One off-kilter glance in the wrong direction got her in trouble, and despite the number of ways they'd been intimate, his ire tore her body and soul into pieces that love could not fix.

Then on the eve of her 23rd birthday, Teddy fucked up her life for the last time. Her sentence was severely diminished compared to the time he'd spent in prison. But prison walls would not hold him forever, and Tyndall awakens every day knowing that eventually, she will come face-to-face with her nightmare once again.

TYNDALL SCOTT has the face claim of DIANE GUERRERO and is played by CEE.

#fishtown #b

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frankmillerturnonyourlocation · 2 years

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Spotify Wrapped Prompt #49

I'm sick of slow rock, I'm sick of quick quips/Sick of holding onto nothing when i just wanna hold your hips

Luther's playlist was nostalgic in the most distracting kind of way.

"Doesn't he have anything on here other than slow rock and…" You fumble around for the cassette's case and drag a finger over the ridges of the careful handwriting. "…80's hits?"

Your friend doesn't answer you. He's got a wrinkle between his brows so deep it could be a gorge and a little bit of hair that needs to be combed over to the other side. You start folding the candy wrapper you've been using as a bookmark, keeping your hands occupied and nowhere near fixing it for him.

"'Cause like, listen, I like Sting as much as the next guy, but." With a bit of breathy laughter, you try to catch his eyes. "That's not a whole lot, you know? And between him and, like, Aerosmith or whoever we've been listening to for the last twenty minutes, I'm about to say we shut it down and go back to working in silence."

He presses his fingertips into the nape of his neck, mumbling something you can't quite catch over Sting's crooning.

"Sorry–" You reach around the stack of records and turn down the music, just a little bit. "–could you say that again?"

With a world-weary sigh, Five Hargreeves drags a hand down his face. "I'm tired, Em." He tosses the manila file folder onto the stack haphazardly, as if to punctuate his point. "I'm calling it a night."

He still hasn't met your eyes. You shift in your seat. "You want to take a break? I can keep going for a little while, if you want me to take over your pile of–"

"No, Emerson, look. Look at me." He's focusing somewhere around your chin. "I know you want to get to the bottom of this as fast as possible. But it's a marathon, not a sprint." He reaches a hand out, as though he can feel you slowly recoiling from his words and wants to hold you in place. He doesn't, though– his hand rests about an inch away from yours, covering the article you had just combed through. "Nothing is going to change between now and tomorrow morning." His mouth seems to stumble over the unspoken promise of nothing will happen to you.

He must truly be exhausted, you think vaguely.

Part of you– a young, trembling, bleeding part of you– wants to ask him why he doesn't care about this as much as you do, or else why he doesn't seem to believe you enough to care. It stands in the center of your mind and sobs. You leave the grocery store without it.

Instead: "Is it okay if I leave everything out, I don't– I just don't want to lose my place."

With a heavy kindness usually reserved for maybe two of his brothers, Five nods. You place your makeshift bookmark delicately between the pages of the census records on the table in front of you, eyes glossing over the records within. You stay there for a moment or two, letting your eyes unfocus slightly. You don't want to stand up.

Then you hear another tired sigh. "Come on," Five says, already pushing his chair in. "You're not staying there all night. Take a break."

You lift up your head. He's reaching a hand out to you, waiting for you to take it. He's looking straight ahead, though, a rare little half-smile on his face.

The next song on Luther's cassette begins to play. You take Five's hand and let him pull you to your feet.

He makes a face, standing there with you in the study. "I'm not giving this cassette back to him," Five murmurs, swaying back and forth ever so slightly. "It's going in a landfill."

"Aw, you're telling me that Sting hasn't grown on you at all?" You crack a tired smile and, before you can stop yourself, squeeze his hand. "Sounds to me like you just want to keep the mixtape all to yourself. This modern music is growing on you, old man, admit it."

He lets out a short breath of generous laughter. Five is almost exactly your height. You're standing almost nose-to-nose with him, the soft music warm and alive with static, and it takes you until his hand slips out of yours and moves to your hips to realize that he would like to dance with you, if you would let him.

Warmth floods your body, embarrassment and fondness swirling together into something bright and shining and almost to much to look at directly. So you close your eyes. With stuttering breath and a slow grin you're too tired to hide, you close your eyes, bring your hands up to cup his face, and bump your forehead against his. You feel him relax against your body. You figure that you probably do the same.

"I know this song," you say, feeling as though you should whisper. Your eyes are still closed.

"Mm?" He smells like coffee, like warm skin, like sleeping in on a cold morning. You wonder if he's looking at you.

"Yeah," you say, letting him guide you in a slow circle. "I think I had to sing it in high school for something."

"Mmm," he says.

If his eyes are closed, and your eyes are closed, then the two of you could be anywhere, really. You could both be here by choice.

#writing #drabble #....nine of them...anyway.....#what is that. a nonadrabble? like a pentadrabble. that can be a thing right #*grips writers block by the neck* yayyy writing :)))#i have at least three wips that i would LOVE LOVE LOVE to be able to finish #but to finish anything i do bullshit like staying up til 11. like i just did.#bc god forbid my brain let me write before 9pm #tired. ah well. im happy. im glad i wrote this one.#reverse urashima taro #wish me luck waking up tomorrow. I'm gonna do my best.

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frogtanii · 4 years

Text

oh fuck, fuck, shit. this was not how things were supposed to go down.

what was supposed to happen, according to the magnificent imagination library of sugawara koushi (don’t judge him, he made the name when he was like 5), was that he’d get a little drunk after spa night and share his story with his newfound friends. he was hoping for a maybe a few hugs, no words of pity and, once again if he was lucky, a seat beside you while you watched some sappy lighthearted comedy to get his mind off of the whole situation.

what suga got instead, however, was an increasingly pissed you, ready to pounce on meiko the second you got. he couldn’t pretend that your reaction wasn’t incredibly endearing, especially since he’d never seen you get this angry in all the time he’s known you, but koushi couldn’t help but worry that after this... everyone would know.

so he raced after you down the hall, until you burst into meiko’s room with the rest of the group hot on your heels.

meiko looked up from rummaging through her bags, startled, while iwaizumi immediately jumped to her defense. you were not deterred, peering around him with such fire in your eyes that not even meiko was immune.

sugawara was actually rather impressed with the stoicism you held even when you stood face to face with iwaizumi’s biceps.

god, those arms.

“meiko, you fucking bitch,” you muttered, lowly and under your breath. the gasp meiko let out was absolutely scandalized as iwaizumi pressed himself closer to you.

“hey, don’t you dare talk to her that way,” iwa expressed, instantly drawing your attention. suga didn’t even pretend to hide the gasp that escaped his throat as he watched your eyes turn even more steely and cold.

he’d hate to be on the receiving end of your empty gaze.

“get the fuck out of my way,” your smaller hand found its way to the center of iwaizumi’s broad chest and pushed.

faintly, over the sound of blood rushing in his ears, koushi could hear atsumu yell something along the lines of get em angel! but his eyes were utterly stuck on you fiery form.

your own eyes remained focused on meiko who was now cowering behind iwaizumi’s back but for the first time ever she actually looked... scared?

koushi felt something alight in stomach (rage? hurt?) as he watched the woman who’d unapologetically taken something he’d never ever get back with no remorse, look fucking scared.

of course she would have the audacity to be afraid in the eyes of pain and not her horribly absent morality.

fucking hell. she was so going to get what was coming for her.

koushi let a manic grin grow on his face as he watched you shove iwaizumi harder to finally, finally, get your hands on the woman who’d destroyed his life.

when hajime tried to get back between you and meiko, bokuto, atsumu, and sakusa stepped up to keep him away. suga suddenly felt two solid presences appear at his sides, a quick glance out of the corners of his eyes informing him it was kuroo and kenma beside him.

“do you wanna leave?” kuroo leant down to whisper, his deep voice vibrating at the shell of suga’s ear. koushi absentmindedly shook his head no, brown orbs watching as you whispered something in meiko’s ear, her eyes immediately going wide in shock.

god, he wished he was right there next to you, listening to every piece of bullshit meiko spat out of her mouth and from the looks of it, it was a ton.

kuroo and kenma began to speak over suga but he was too occupied with you — you looked so powerful and in control as you stood over meiko, saying something else that he couldn’t hear but whatever it was, it must’ve upset meiko because her face twisted from afraid to fucking pissed.

he couldn’t do anything but watch in slow motion as meiko’s hand flew up and slapped you square across the face.

the room fell silent as everyone looked on in utter shock. (un)surprisingly, you weren’t startled at all — you actually looked pleased as you touched your cheek gently as though you were surprised it even hurt.

koushi’s theory was then proved correctly as your voice rang out through the silent room. “wow. that actually kind of stung.” kenma snorted next to him at your nonchalance as another wave of admiration overtook him.

suga knew he must have been looking pretty enamored by you but it was only amplified as the whole house watched your hand fly down into meiko’s face, slapping her at least twice as hard.

now, kenma straight up cackled as you and meiko fell into an all out fight where you clearly had the upper hand.

behind your little defense squad, iwaizumi attempted to fight past the wall of strong men to get to meiko, but there was no way he could get past bokuto’s arms that were big enough to rival his.

unfortunately for suga (and kenma who was having the time of his life), all the noise from the thrashing and screaming (coming mostly from meiko) had attracted quite the crowd. daichi and osamu immediately rushed to yank you off of meiko who was now lying on the ground yelling and sobbing.

she was an absolute wreck, her mascara smeared across her face, extensions pulled every which way and a bright red handprint plastered on her left cheek as a black eye seemed to be coming in on the same side.

you, on the other hand, whilst being dragged away by osamu and daichi, looked absolutely stunning.

your hair was a mess, blood was running from your nose down your to your chin, and you had a feral grin spread across your face but even still, to suga, you’d never looked more beautiful.

at first, koushi thought it was because he had a minor blood kink (don’t ask) but after more thought, he discovered that it was more than likely due to the fact that you had physically fought for him.

you’d decided, on some merits unknown to him, that he was worth getting bitchslapped for and that meant more to him than you could ever know.

“hey,” kenma’s soft voice shook him out of his thoughts as he gently led him out of the room. “they’re putting yn in her room so we’re gonna go there, ok?”

koushi thinks that kenma could’ve led him straight into a pit of lava if that’s where you were. he just desperately needed to see you, to thank you for what you’d done for him.

suga needed to prove to you that your bloody nose wasn’t in vain — that he was somehow worth fighting for.

℗ poker face

a boy worth fighting for

series masterlist

(●’◡’●)ﾉ

an - ahaha get the mulan reference?? wow m so funny ALOS this chapter sucks ass cs i’m so bad at writing fighting (&& it’s 1a m so tired) lmao pls just take this w a grain of salt ;-; don’t forget to feed me <3

taglist - if your name is in bold, i cannot tag you

@boosyboo9206 • @geektastic84 • @elianetsantana • @trashy-simp • @infinitebells • @6mattsun9 • @suhkusa • @sazunari • @kotarosbabygirl • @fucktheworlddude • @insomniacwreck • @calumsfringe • @saltylettuce • @chai-blu • @al3x1ss • @hawksyoongi • @syndellwins • @jooleuuh • @amberalisa • @kissungjae • @liberhoe • @tetsurocore • @animeoverdosee • @duhsies • @saikishairclip • @afire24 • @premiyagi • @kit-kat428 • @doctorspencereid • @daphnxy • @kyomihann • @maer-333 • @sinoflust19 • @peteunderoos • @peachiikichu • @iidanotlida • @yongboxerrr • @kac-chowsballs • @tanakaslastbraincell • @memorableminds • @risjime • @starry-magicshop • @sugavwara • @smuttyanimeslut • @kiwibirbs-library • @haijkk • @airybnb • @babierin • @iwaisa • @decaffinatedtealover • @notameera • @kawaii-angelanne • @rintarovibes • @urlocalsimp

the rest of the tags will be in the replies!!

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ace-of-gay · 3 years

Text

Nap time

845 words... this one is a bit shorter

Doctor strange x little (gn) reader

Warnings: age regression, names like daddy, little one, baby. Mention of, stuffys, and bottle. Names like daddy, baby, little one. This was falsely labeled as ddl(gn) at one point

(They/them) used as collective for all instead of single gender defining pronouns

Edited to the best of my ability.

《~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♡~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~》

You'd been acting up for the past few days, you just couldn't sleep, three to four hours to get you through each day was not at all enough, but you just couldn't sleep when your daddy was gone.

Stephen had been out on some sort of mission, he promised tony would come by if you requested, he loves spending time with you, both little and big you’re his other science buddy.

Even with tony as an option to rely on you still couldn't bare being a burden on the time he uses, to fill the antsy void in your chest you spent your time divulging in sweets, soda and junk food, your stuffys and other toys have been scattered and strewn throughout the room, your blankets and pillow in a pile on the couch, you cant sleep without your daddy holding you.

Stephen was more than aware of your antics, he knew what was going to go down when he got back? It happens every time he leaves.

The moment the grand doors opened you were out of your daze and running to greet him, setting yourself by his side and holding in a tight hug, all of your stress form the built up time alone came falling and your body felt normal again, you missed him so much and all you wanted to cuddle up and nap with him.

Lifting you onto his hip swaying back and forth, exhaustion riddling all of your senses, leaning your head against his shoulder with your eyes closed, neither of you were ready for sleepy attitude but that’s what happened

"Can you be good for me and clean up your toys and the bit of trash you mindlessly discarded around the room please"

You grumbled as he put you down but instead of listening, you plopped onto the floor with an umph, sitting on your knees and crossing your arms you let out a disgruntled "no" that surprised the both of you.

"Excuse me?"

Rolling with it as if it was on purpose you repeat your decline a bit louder than before

"okay ill do the cleaning but you’re gonna go sit in the corner and you’re gonna write lines on why we don’t talk back" he lifts you back up off the floor walking to the table grabbing a piece of paper and a pencil.

"i-im sorry d-daddy" pouting up at him he shakes his head,

"no write your lines telling me why you’re sorry you where given four days and none of them were used to clean up"

"yes sir" you mumble, you really are tired and would have happily cleaned if you were well rested.

He walks away to clean leaving you to your lines, with no more protests, a pout on your lip and a sleepy gaze in your eyes as you start jotting down your lines, you get through almost 20 when you placed your head down on the table for a moment, you had 20 more to write but your eyes felt so heavy, you just couldn't keep them open and yourself awake, nodding off at some point you stop fighting it and just let it encapsulate you.

All you’ve needed was sleep, even just a nap but you were always insistent on not needing em, while he was gone you listened to your displeasure of sleeping, ignoring every urge of a yawn, your mind drawing pictures the sleepiest little ones could think of, pulling tiny coos and sleepy murmurs from under your breath.

Not more than fifteen minutes later when Stephen had finished cleaning, and making you a bottle did he come back hoping to see that you’d have finished your lines and started drawing to keep you occupied, but what he saw when he walked in wade him audibly coo, you were slumped over, your head resting on one arm as the other dangled down by your side, the pencil on the floor, his sweet baby just needed daddy, so restless and irrational because they couldn't sleep without daddy present.

He sets the bottle down, lifting you into his arms causing you to shift and stir. Whining while trying to push yourself further into his chest he sways with you.

"Shhh I’ve got you, you’re okay baby, just go back to sleep "

After putting the bottle in the fridge he takes the both of you upstairs to nap, laying down with you on top of him, delicate kisses to your face, "my sweet baby, just so sleepy, i love you” closing his eyes and falling into a mid day nap with you, frankly he couldn't sleep without his baby as well so right here right now, with you on top of his chest and the delicate murmurs from you, it has him falling asleep better than any time while he was away.

Now that he’s 100 percent sure you’re safe and cozy he’s happy, he thinks maybe sometime in the next few day it’d be a good idea to go swimming with uncle tony, he’d love to see you, but for now, you’re all his.

《~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♡~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~》

I have two new fics im working on now that this is finally finished, i was stalling, busy with school stuff and dealing with issues at home that left me unmotivated, thank you all for being patient and even bigger thank you for getting me to 200 followers like i said ive got 2 somewhat related fics in the works as a special for hitting 200.

Much love

-ace

#doctor strange imagine #doctor strange fanfiction #stephen strange x gn reader #stephen strange x little reader #stephen strange reader insert #stephen strange x you #stephen strange #doctor strange fic #doctor stephen strange #doctor strange x reader fluff #doctor strange #doctor strange x female reader #doctor strange x male reader #doctor strange x little reader

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yandere-daydreams · 4 years

Text

Title: Survival of the Fittest.

Pairing: Yandere!Bakugo/Reader/Yandere!Kirishima (BNHA).

Word Count: 3.6k.

TW: Apocalypse/No Quirks AU, Unhealthy Codependency, Non-Consensual Touching, Mentions of Death/injury, Non-Graphic Violence, Imprisonment.

You were lucky Kirishima had been the one to find you.

‘Find’ might’ve been the wrong word. It implied that he was looking, that he wanted to discover you, bleeding and battered and bruised, cowering in a grimy corner of what used to be a grocery store. It must’ve looked pathetic, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be embarrassed by your torn clothes, your matted hair, the way you’d whimpered as he first approached, all wide eyes and open arms. Survivors were few and far between, and it’d been weeks since you saw another living, breathing person. Kirishima hadn’t seemed like a god-send, not in the moment, but he was a miracle. You’d been too shocked to thank him properly, as he pulled you to your feet and practically carried you out of the city, but you should. You wanted to. You owed him that, if nothing else.

You were lucky it’d been him, rather than Bakugo. You were grateful it hadn’t been Bakugo.

You’d probably still be rotting in that corner, if it had been.

He didn’t seem to like you very much, even if he had begrudgingly moved aside when Kirishima asked if he could bring you inside. It was a bunker, judging by the sparse furniture littered around the common area, plain cement walls only adorned with the occasional hunting knife or bat left to lean against them. The bench Kirishima had left you on was wooden, too stiff to ever be comfortable, but it was a practical choice. Fabric was a luxury to be stowed away and treasured, saved for things more important than a stranger’s comfort. You’d do the same thing, if you’d been in his shoes.

That didn’t stop Bakugo from glaring, though, perching himself on the edge of a nearby crate and refusing to take his eyes off of you, as if you’d already earned and lost his trust. “There’s no fucking advantage,” He started, but he wasn’t talking to you. You weren't worth his time, just yet, not while you were still just a stray Kirishima was too much of a saint to turn away. “We’re not a damn food bank. It’s not out responsibility to babysit every dumbass on the verge of death.”

“Don’t listen to him.” At least Kirishima was kind enough to address you as he slipped back into the common room, taking his place at your side and handing you something – a mug, cremated and unchipped and filled to the brim with something watery, steam still rising off the top. Your first sip was hesitant, but you couldn’t stop yourself from draining the cup once you recognized the taste. Coffee. Cheap, bitter, heavenly coffee, the kind you didn’t have enough clean water to risk trying to make. You could’ve kissed him. You might’ve, if the calm levity in his voice hadn’t snapped you out of it. “Katsuki’s just a little defensive, when it comes to guests. We’ve got plenty of supplies to go ‘round, and…” He trailed off, glancing over you. To the bruises circling your wrist, the stained bandages peaking out from underneath your shirt. To the spot where your ankle twisted just a little too far to the left for the angle to be natural, the evidence of a fall you tried and failed to break with something besides your own body. “I don’t think we can kick someone out in good faith with those kinda injuries. Not with all the crawler activity, lately.”

You flinched at the name alone. Crawler, creatures, the things that used to be people and weren’t, not now, not anymore. You used to think of them as zombies, but that wasn’t right. Calling them zombies would be an injustice, even if they did tend to rot if left to their own devices. Zombies weren’t that fast. Zombies weren’t that distorted. You’d encountered three or four, but you tried to avoid attracting them, when you could. It was easier, when you were on your own.

Bakugo groaned, bringing you out of your thoughts. You tried to stop your hands from shaking, as he spoke. “You’ve got a group to run back to, right? Nobody survives that long without one.”

You tried not to sound as small as you felt. Judging from the way Kirishima glanced away, it was a futile effort. “Nobody survives that long with one, either.”

Kirishima’s hand came to rest on your shoulder, and Bakugo crossed his arms, a sign that must’ve meant submission, judging by Kirishima’s optimistic response. “Just until your ankle’s healed up,” He promised, a compromise you hadn’t asked him to make. “You’ll stay until then, right? ‘d be a shame if we had to lose another person because of Katsuki’s bad attitude.”

There was a sharp ‘hey’, a barely stifled laugh, and slowly, you forced yourself to nod, immediately receiving a bright grin from Kirishima by way of reward. It was a practical choice, honestly – they had food, they had shelter, they didn’t seem to be grasping at threads just to get by. Even if Kirishima was a little too friendly and Bakugo wasn’t nearly friendly enough, you could life with that, you could get by. Once you’d worn out your welcome, you’d leave. As soon as you were fixed up.

You didn’t want to wait for things to go bad, this time.

Despite his reluctance, Bakugo didn’t take long to warm up to you.

Kirishima was still the approachable one, obviously. He was who you went to when you needed to find something, when you had a question about their ration system or weaponry or the parts of the bunker you weren’t allowed to go in, rooms with steel doors and deadbolts on the handle and a raw, metallic smell emanating from the other side, but Bakugo always seemed to be lingering just behind him, ready to scoff and roll his eyes before he took you by the wrist and explained that, if you expected to reap the benefits of their hospitality, you had to at least try to pull your weight. He was helpful, like that, his help less patronizing than Kirishima’s, albeit twice as easily frustrated. Still, he didn’t hate you. If anything, he seemed to—

“If you slow down one more time, I’ll feed ya to the damn bears myself.”

You sped up, reflexively. He didn’t hate you, but it wasn’t too late for him to start.

It’d been Kirishima’s idea for you to go hunting. You were still in a splint, the majority of your calf an abstract blend of medical tape and cloth padding, but you bit back the pain as you followed Katsuki down the rough, unpaved trail, gritting your teeth past the ache forming under your skin. It wasn’t a raid. If anything, you were only getting further from the city, working your way up the mountain their bunker was carved into the base of. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been concerned about the crossbow in Katsuki’s hands, the weapon already loaded and poised, but the hunting knife strapped to your thigh eased your nerves, as did his disinterest in doing anything but trudging forward. If he didn’t take the time to call back to you every few minutes, you might’ve thought he’d forgotten you were there entirely.

But, silence never suited you never well. Not with a near-stranger, at least. “You’re not afraid of crawlers?”

“This far out? Fuck no.” It was an immediate answer, quick and shameless. Like an amputation, if an amputation left you nursing a bruised ego rather than bleeding out. “There’s enough fresh meat in the city to keep ‘em occupied. Only the runts ever bother coming out here to look for scraps.”

“I would’ve been that meat,” You mumbled, absent-mindedly. It was an idle thought, more of an admission than an accusation, but judging by the way his posture slackened, how quickly his attention shifted to the foliage, he wouldn’t have cared either way. “If Kirishima hadn’t found me, I mean. God knows I look like an easy target.”

“You are an easy target. Just be glad he’s got a weak spot for charity cases.”

You opened your mouth, ready to ask what he meant, you lost your footing before you got the chance, slipping on the damp leaf litter as a spike of something agonizing ran from your heel to your knee. Bakugo didn’t flinch, letting you catch yourself on his shoulder as he raised his crossbow, barely taking a moment to aim before firing. You could feel the kick-back, a jolting reverberation that only seemed to make the wet thunk that followed a little worse, the sound of an arrow piercing skin and flesh.

You expected that. You were ready for it. But, you hadn’t been prepared for the deafening scream that came afterwards, heart-piercing and human. You moved to rush toward its source, but Bakugo only caught your arm, shaking his head. Like he’d missed, like he’d only killed a deer. Like there wasn’t a person thrashing in the underbrush, still crying out as he spoke over them. “Looters,” He explained, like that was an excuse. “We’ve been dealin’ with them for a while, now. ’s just a scout, but he would’ve been back with reinforcements if we let him run off untouched.”

Bile rose in the back of your throat. For your own sake, you chose to believe him. “So? We can’t just—”

“Yes, we can.” It wasn’t a question. He didn’t need your permission, and he didn’t want your compliance. He didn’t even bother to justify himself before he turned away, starting back on the trail as you stood, still too shocked to move. “C’mon, we’ve already lost enough sunlight, and I’m not wasting arrows on scum. The fucker can drag himself back to his hideout, for all I care.”

You could’ve argued. Bakugo didn’t seem to think the blow was fatal, but you could’ve checked, made sure, offer what might’ve been a dying man a few last seconds of company before he bit the bullet. You could’ve, part of you wanted to, but…

But then, Bakugo tossed a glare over his shoulder, and your attention was brought back to the crossbow in his hands, to the machete strapped to his belt, to how pitifully small your knife was, in comparison. You didn’t want to lose the trust you hadn’t really gained, just yet. You didn’t want to take that kind of chance, not when Kirishima wasn’t around to give you the benefit of the doubt.

So, you shut your eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to ignore the quiet sobbing in the background as you followed in his tracks.

Surprisingly, Kirishima was the first one to slip into your bed.

You told yourself it was a mistake, when he let himself into your room in the middle of the night, closer to sunrise than it was to sunset. None of the doors locked, thin plywood serving as more of a source of comfort than an actual barrier, and beyond your small collection of personal possessions and the bedside table you’d commandeered from storage, your room was identical to any of the eerily unoccupied barracks on the lower layers of the bunker. Still, you expected him to turn around, to see your sleeping form curled up in a corner of your cot and realize he had the wrong room. It was late, and he made a mistake. It didn’t have to be anything more.

But it wasn’t that late, and Kirishima never really made mistakes. He was too careful for anything like that.

At least he was being careful now, too, as far as you could tell with your eyes clenched shut, your breathing restricted to slow, shallow inhales that left your lungs feeling just a little too tight. He was gentle, if nothing else, wrapping a strong arm around your waist, pulling you against his chest and burying his face in the nape of your neck. You didn’t squirm, you didn’t push yourself away, but you must’ve been too stiff, too still, too rigid. He didn’t seem to buy the act, however desperate it was.

“’suki’s real proud of you.” His voice was tired, weighted down by exhaustion. Clearly, he wouldn’t be leaving. “He told me about yesterday. Says you were good, cooperative and all. He likes that kind of thing.”

You didn’t respond, digging your nails into the sterile, medical sheets. Your ankle throbbed, and you tried to focus on that, to justify it. To remember why you could still convince yourself to stay.

“He’s a big softie, though. We both are, but I don’t try to hide it.” There was a light squeeze to your side, the ghost of his lips over the crook of your neck. His breath was warm, compared to the bucker’s constant chill, and you tried to think of his smothering body heat as a small silver lining. “I think it’s sweet. Gets lonely ‘round here, y’know? You’re a good fit.” There was a pause, a chuckle. For a moment, you thought he might push a little further, hold you a tighter, but Kirishima only shook his head, going on with that same careless, tired lilt. “I knew you would be, when I first saw you. A fragile little thing like you could never survive out here, not all alone.”

He was half-asleep. He didn’t know what he was saying. He’d probably apologize tomorrow, if he even remembered. “I’m not going to stay for much longer. I’ll be on my own again, in another month.”

“We’ll see.” The cot’s barred frame creaked as he shifted, his weight coming to rest against your back – a constant, oppressive reminder of his presence. A memory flickered to life in the back of your mind, a familiar intimacy that’d been earned and asked for, but you pushed it away quickly. You didn’t want to think about things like that, not here, not when this was so one-sided, in comparison. “Get some rest. You haven’t been getting enough sleep, lately.”

You’d leave when it was safe to. When you healed. When you’d worn out your welcome and become more of a burden than a benefit.

You wouldn’t stick around long enough for things to get suffocating, this time.

It was a mutual decision, when Bakugo and Kirishima stopped you from leaving the bunker.

They didn’t ask. That was the part that stung, really, the thorn that started working itself under your skin the moment you caught them standing in the threshold, an empty duffle bag slung over Kirishima’s shoulder and a baseball bat tucked under his arm. Bakugo had his crossbow, a pistol you’d never seen before holstered at his hip, but that bothered you less than the way they were muttering, keeping their voices purposefully low. Like they knew how you’d feel, if you saw them. Like they wanted to avoid the tension.

You’d never been very good at picking up hints, though. Much less those you were desperately trying to ignore.

“You’re going out?” You called, approaching them before you could stop yourself, suppressing a yawn as you made a show of rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. It was early, and you didn’t want Kirishima to know you’d already been up for hours. If he thought you were tired, he’d assume you were losing sleep, and if he thought you were losing sleep, he’d take it as an excuse to visit you at night, again. You… you didn’t like it, when he did. “Let me grab my stuff, it’ll only take a minute. If I knew you two were planning a raid today, I would’ve—”

Bakugo was the first to shut you down. “Sit this one out, alright?” It was a question, this time, but barely, his usual bluntness wrapped in a layer of kindness so thin, you could practically see through it. “’s just a quick supply run. We’ll be out and back before you notice we’re gone.”

“We’ve done this a thousand times,” Kirishima added, offering a small smile. At least he was trying to be nice about it, in his own, patronizing way. “It’s starting to get boring, honestly. It‘d be a shame to ruin all the progress you’ve made for something so minor.”

Right, your ankle. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d complained about it, the last time you’d been in enough pain to limp, even if Bakugo still insisted on tending to your ‘injury’ once a day, at least. The truth was glaringly obvious, even if they still made a half-hearted attempt to hide it, to let you avert your eyes and pretend you believed them.

You didn’t bother trying to hide your disappointment, your expression dropping as your nails bit into the meat of your palm. “You don’t think I can keep myself safe.”

In their defense, neither tried to deny it. Bakugo only looked away, and Kirishima smiled apologetically, his hand already pushing against the bunker’s metallic door. “We don’t want to risk it,” He explained, like you were a liability. Like you hadn’t survived out there for months without their help, injured or uninjured. “If something happened to you, if someone got to you, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. We both care about you, even if Katsuki doesn’t want to admit it.”

“It’s practical.” Bakugo didn’t look at you. It was a small mercy, really. At least he was self-aware enough to be ashamed. “You need more time. You fucked yourself up bad before Eijiro found you – all that doesn’t go away overnight.”

Expect, it hadn’t been a night. It hadn’t been a day, or a week, and you were starting to question if it’d even been only two months. It was hard to keep track of time, but the weather was already turning, every scrape and bruise Bakugo could’ve concerned himself with was already healed, and you’d already let yourself get comfortable. You’d stayed too long. You’d let them get attached, and you’d failed to make it clear that you weren’t.

You had to get out. Now.

Or, you could try to get out, at least.

You’d waited too long for Bakugo and Kirishima to just sit back and let you walk away.

They were stronger than you’d assumed. It was easy to forget what the human body was capable of, when you were so used to be exhausted and half-starved, but it wasn’t difficult to remember, not with Bakugo’s hands wrapped around your wrists, one of Kirishima’s arms splayed over your knees, stopping you from thrashing as they shoved you against a bed, a real bed, the frame wooden and the mattress more than just sponge and stuffing. It was one of theirs obviously, and if you’d stumbled onto it at any other time, you might’ve felt insulted, left out.

Right now, the only thing you could feel was terrified.

“Fucking bitch.” It was a grunt, a growl, followed by something close to a snarl as your elbow connected with his check. He was the one who’s caught you gathering up what little you had to take with you, a canteen already filled and strung across your back. It was on the floor, now, the metal dented and the contents spilling out, but if either of them minded wasting clean water, you couldn’t tell. They were busy, now, too busy dealing with you to worry about something so minor. Too angry to care, leaving you as the center of their rage. “We tried to be nice. We tried to give you a choice. You just couldn’t take the fucking hint, could you?”

“Let me go.” You couldn’t bring yourself to raise your voice, but you tried to come across as frantic, desperate, as betrayed and as disgusted as you really felt. “You’re both fucking crazy. I don’t want to—”

Kirishima didn’t let you finish, he’d never really bothered to. He was already shifting, leaning on one of your calves while grabbing at the other, calloused fingertips pressing into your newly-healed ankle, the remaining bruises still raw and tender. You cried out, more out of instinct than agony, but Kirishima only grit his teeth, rubbing circles into your skin, like that would be enough to soothe you. “We’re just taking care of you, alright? We’re just doing what’s best.” It was pointless to say, but the didn’t stop him from going on, rambling like he was going to convince anyone, including himself. “It’s dangerous, out there. You just need a little more time to realize that. You just need to see that ‘suki and I are your best option.”

They weren’t. They weren’t your best anything, but you didn’t have a chance to retort before Bakugo cursed under his breath, gathering your wrists up with one hand and forcing the other over your mouth, cutting you off before you could protest further. “Just do it,” He spat, all-but ignoring you as he spoke to Kirishima. “There’s no point in trying to explain this to someone so irrational. Let’s just get it over with before we have to do something worse.”

For a moment, you went still, a series of worst-case scenarios flashing before your eyes before you could rationalize them, before you could tell yourself to stay calm. For a moment, there was panic – pure, unadulterated, brutal panic.

And then, something cracked under Kirishima’s hand, and you forgot how to think of anything at all.

You let out a stilted, faltering sob, something akin to liquid fire running from your thigh to your calf to the point where everything stopped – everything below your ankle numb, disconnected, dead meat that still managed to hurt. The rest of your body went limp, your survival instincts gone and replaced with the unbearable desire to curl into yourself and cry, but Bakugo was still holding you, his arms strung around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest as Kirishima slotted himself against your back, cooing soft nothings as you fought not to break down completely. They were talking again, both of them, but you couldn’t seem to listen. It didn’t matter.

Your ankle was broken. Not sprained, this time, not bruised, but broken. Shattered. Dislocated. Forced into a position that meant you’d be forced to stay, voluntarily or otherwise. Whether or not you could still stomach looking at Bakugo and Kirishima, let alone living with them.

You couldn’t leave, and you were beginning to think they were never going to let you.

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imaginingmanyfandoms · 3 years

Text

Paul's Lullaby | part two

It had been a few days since your attack on the beach. Since then, Paul really didn't like when you were home alone. Or walking to work alone. Or anywhere alone really. It didn't have to be with him, but he needed to know he, or someone he trusted could get to you in time.

He was worried that the leech had caught your scent, and would come back. Sam didn't think so, Sam was under the impression that this person was actually testing their lines, and he wouldn't let the same mistake happen again. You were still waiting for Paul to tell you the whole truth, but you were being patient, as he had been with you. It was clear that whatever it was, was hard for him to say.

Your couch was permanently occupied by Paul, who picked you up from work to drive you home. And if he couldn't make it, he'd send one of the pack, or one of the imprints to pick you up and bring you to Emily's house.

You were cautiously optimistic about where things were going with Paul. There was still some trust issues, but you were working on it together. And no matter how much Embry or Jared talked about Paul's anger issues, you didn't really see it.

Currently, you were at Emily's, sitting on the couch and trying to stay awake until Paul got there. He made you feel safe.

"Have you seen this?" Emily asked holding a newspaper. There were missing people all over Seattle. It's what had Paul working overtime. He was pulling more than his fair share, and you knew that had to do with you. But you didn't understand what.

"Is anyone ever going to tell me what's going on?" you asked, but your tone was light, joking. Emily laughed, and sat by your legs on the couch.

"Paul really is taking his time, huh?" She gave you a sad smile. "He's doing that for your benefit."

"I know, I know," you said. "I'm just really confused. I swear the scenarios I'm making up in my head must be worse."

"Probably," she said. You both laughed this time.

"Well he better snap to it."

"I'm heading to bed," Emily said, patting your leg over the thin blanket. "You okay out here?"

"Yeah, thanks Em. Goodnight," you said.

"Goodnight."

"Wake up honey."

Paul was gently shaking your arm. He was sitting on the edge of the couch, trying to wake you up as nicely as possible. Jared laughed in the background at how soft Paul was around you, but quickly said his goodbyes as he took the night patrol. It takes a tough guy to make fun of someone and then rush out the door. But Paul didn't care.

"Paul?" you asked, finally coming to. "What time is it?"

"Late, it's very late."

"Take me home," you said, holding your arms out to him.

"I like you when you're sleepy, you're very nice." Paul picked you up, and said a quick goodbye to Sam as you closed your eyes again. It made Sam smile.

Paul carried you to his pick up truck, and got you settled into the passenger seat. He even did up your seat belt. You woke up a little more, but your squirming and stretching was the cutest thing to him. He was so enamoured with you. He didn't really care how long it took until you trusted him. Or even if you never wanted to be with him, he didn't care. As long as he got to be around you, he would be fine.

"Let's watch a movie tonight," you said, yawning right after.

"I don't think you'll be able to stay awake," he said, smiling.

"Can we try?"

"How about we watch something tomorrow, after work?"

"Okay," you said, closing your eyes again. "Tomorrow."

You fell back asleep before you got home. Paul was driving slowly, and the cool air was filtering in through his open window. He was listening to some folk band, and the whole thing just lulled you to sleep.

When he parked the truck, he did everything he could to get you into your room without waking you up, and he was pretty successful. But as he was tucking you into bed, you woke up a little. He moved to leave but you grabbed his wrist.

"Goodnight Paul," you said, not letting go of his wrist.

"Goodnight honey," he said, daring to lean down and kiss your forehead. You made a happy sound as you rolled over, getting comfortable in bed.

Paul would've done anything in the world to crawl into bed with you and fall asleep. But he was happy just to be here.

So, Paul went back to the couch. And got as comfortable as he could, and fell asleep, reminding himself that you were safest when he was here. And that he was doing a good job protecting you.

The next morning went better than most mornings. You woke up in a good mood, and decided to make breakfast for Paul. He'd been working so hard to protect you, that he deserved at least a fraction of that devotion back.

You made the lot, pancakes and eggs. A small fruit salad and a plate of bacon. While the pot of coffee finished, Paul wandered into the kitchen stretching.

"Mmm," he groaned, "something smells good."

"I made you breakfast," you said, a smile on your face.

Paul was in love with you, that much he knew for sure. And today he got his first sign that maybe you were at least starting to fall for him too. It was a good day.

"Eat up," you said. "I have to work in a few hours."

"You're going to eat too, right?" he asked.

"Of course I am," you said, stopping before you left the room. You turned on the radio against the wall. It was some band you'd never heard of, but it was nice enough. Paul was already filling his plate, but you went to pour two coffees. "Cream, sugar?"

"Just black," he said, mouthful of food. "Just come sit."

"All right," you said. "But for the record I wanted the coffee."

You chose the chair beside him, instead of across from him, and he took note of that but didn't say anything. You smiled at him, and he smiled back, like he always did.

Breakfast was relatively quiet, you made small talk about what was going on that day, but mostly you just enjoyed the silence. It didn't feel awkward, it felt right. It felt comfortable. When you were done, Paul wasn't. So you carried your plate to the sink, and rubbed your hand across his back as you passed. His breath hitched slightly, and it made you smile, thinking about how different Paul was.

Maybe it was time you cut him a little slack.

When he finished, Paul helped you clean up. And even shooed you away to get ready for work while he did the dishes.

"Thank you," he said, as you walked back down the hallway. He wiped his hands on a dishcloth and dropped it back on the counter. He leaned back, and you couldn't help but notice how beautiful he is.

"Thank you for being here," you said, suddenly self conscience under his intent stare at you. You pulled your sweater sleeves over your hands, keeping the fabric pinched between your fingers.

"I uh, packed up the rest of the fruit salad. I thought you might like to have it at work." Paul had one of your Tupperware containers sitting on the counter.

"And the bacon?"

He looked guilty. "I ate it."

"It's okay!" you said, laughing at his face. "It was made to be eaten."

He drove you to work, and although you missed to walk, you knew you'd get back to it eventually. When he dropped you off, you hesitated to leave. Paul sat patiently, giving you a moment to collect yourself.

"I want the truth tonight," you said.

"Honey..."

"Just, think about it from my perspective. I have no idea what it is I should be scared of, I have no idea where you work or why you're gone all the time. I'm worried about you, and I'm scared."

"I'm scared too." Paul took a deep breath. "I'm scared that something will happen to you. But mostly I'm scared that if you know the truth you'll be scared of me."

"I wouldn't."

"You don't know that," he said, he looked terrified. "You hated me earlier this month. Couldn't even look at me throughout high school and I am so embarrassed about that. And it's going to be even more embarrassing when I tell you everything because then you'll know that we didn't make eye contact from two years attending the same school."

"I'm sure we made eye contact," you said.

"No." He looked at you, and you could see the pain in his eyes. "We didn't." The look on his face made you hurt. It made your heart deflate, and you would've done anything to see him smile again.

You unclicked your seat belt, but didn't move as it sprang back into place. It didn't feel right to leave the air like this.

The heat he gave off seemed to float right into your space, and there was something about his presence that made you feel more settled than you had in a long time. You wanted to touch him, so you leaned across the middle seat, and placed a tender kiss against his cheek.

"Just think about it," you said, sliding back towards the door and starting to get out. You didn't want to leave him feeling sad, but you had to get to work.

"Have a good shift," he said, watching you leave. He hated watching you walk away.

"You too."

Work had been horrible. Your boss was kind of a jerk, and waiting tables had really lost it's appeal. You'd been serving tables in La Push's best diner, but when the new owners took over, it quickly began to lose it's charm. You wanted to buy it when they were selling, but coming right out of high school you didn't have that kind of cash.

You just felt kind of miserable, so when you saw Jared and Kim waiting for you outside, you just felt annoyed. You were under the impression you and Paul had made plans.

"Hey," Kim said, smiling from the passenger seat. You got in behind Jared. "Don't worry. Paul said another hour, tops."

"Can you guys just take me home? I had a long day and I just want to relax," you asked, pulling your upper body between Jared and Kim's seats.

"I don't know, Y/N," Jared said, making a worried face. "I don't think Paul would like that."

"C'mon Jared," you said. "I'll lock the doors, and I'll call you if I get nervous."

"Jared, she wants to go home." Kim smiled at you. You really liked her.

He rolled his eyes and started the car. "When he freaks out on me, I'm throwing you both under the bus."

"He won't get mad at us," you said, "he said himself. An hour tops."

Jared and Kim were actually really great travel companions. Kim always made sure you were included in conversation, and Jared was not afraid to sing at the top of his lungs which was hilarious. They really cheered you up.

And of course, they waited until you were in your house to pull away.

Inside, you were tired, and cold. And you had wanted to spend some time with Paul. But he said an hour, and you figured we wouldn't lie about that. It wasn't too late that you couldn't give him some of the patience that he had given you.

So you spent the time bringing out some blankets, and pillows. When that was done you made some popcorn and fresh lemonade.

Paul should've been there any second. So you just spent some time tidying up the place. You saw some fabric poking out from under on the blankets, and you yanked on it, pulling out one of Paul's shirts. You laughed. Because it seemed rare to even see him in a shirt.

You pulled your shirt over your head, and put on his instead. Your shorts were hidden by his baggy shirt, even baggier on your small frame.

Twigs snapped outside the window, and you gasped. You knew you locked the door, but decided on checking the windows too. Just so you could say that you did. They were all locked. When you walked back into the living room, Paul was standing there - jaw clenched tight just like his fists were. But you could see the restraint. You could tell he was actively calming himself. You took a step closer.

"Don't," he said, voice cracking. He closed his eyes, hating the way you stop dead in your tracks. He didn't want to scare you. "I told you that I didn't want you here alone for a reason."

"I was so tired after work," you explained. "I wanted to sit on the couch and watch a movie like normal people do."

"I am trying to make things as normal as possible for you," he said, the anger was already washed away, but it wasn't gone. Not entirely. "You just have to trust me."

"How can I trust you when you don't trust me?" you said, voice starting to raise with unavoidable frustration.

"You think that I don't trust you?"

"I'm not allowed to be by myself, how else would you like me to interpret that?" You felt tears brimming at your eyes, the confrontation bringing out your anxiety.

"If we're going to fight, I need you to take three steps back."

"For what?"

"Your safety."

"What does that mean?" you shouted. "Are you scared you'll hit me?"

"I would never hit you," he shouted back. "How could you even think that?"

"I don't want to argue," you said, quietly. "I'm sorry I shouted."

He saw the sad look in your eyes, and could've kicked himself for driving you to this. He nodded, prying his eyes away from your sad ones to look anywhere else. He looked at your shirt, for the first time, and even though he was angry with you, he loved the sight. It calmed him down knowing it was you, in his shirt, a couple feet away.

He held his hand out, palm up for you to take. You did, and he guided you, as if you were dancing - not fighting, to the couch. You sat beside him, and he kept your hand in his.

"I need you to really listen to me," he said, his eyes glossing over with the realization that if he loses you, he'd never be whole again. "For now, I need you to follow all my rules. Even when they seem excessive, or dumb. And in return I will explain everything. And I won't keep any secrets from you."

"I can do that," you said. "If you're always honest with me, I'll be honest with you."

"Okay, tomorrow I'll explain everything. You're off, right?"

"Yeah," you said, shuffling over so you could lean your head against Paul's shoulder. "Can we watch our movie now?"

He put an arm around you, and you fit to him. Like you were always meant to be there. Well, technically, you were.

"Yeah, honey. We can watch a movie now."

[if you want to be added to a taglist for this story then let me know :-)]

#imagine #imagines #paul lahote #paul lahote imagine #paul lahote imagines #twilight #twilight imagine #twilight imagines #the pack

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navegandoaciegas · 4 years

Text

Crybaby

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!reader (College AU)

Warnings: smut, ass fingering, orgasm denial, humiliation, lots of talks about panties.

Summary: You catch Bucky trying to steal your panties on laundry day.

A/N: this is partly @buckycuddlebuddy ‘s fault tbh. Enjoy some desperate, horny Bucky. Minors DNI.

The timer on the dryer unit you’d occupied went off, signaling that your weekly load of laundry was dry and ready. Bucky cast a nervous glance around the eerily empty room, fingers twitching in the front pocket of his hoodie.

He knew it was wrong, but his laundry was done too (just a coincidence, really, not like he’d wake up at 3 am on a Monday because he knew you did your washing around that time), and you weren’t there yet. You usually retrieved your load in the morning anyways.

Just a peek, he reasoned. Out of curiosity. You wouldn’t even realize they were missing, and if you did you’d chalk it up to the washing machine eating your clothes.

You’d show up to class on Tuesday and sit next to him while he’d be wearing your pretty lace panties and you’d be none the wiser.

Fuck, he was getting hard just thinking about it.

He dug in your laundry, sifting through mascara stained washcloths and an endless amount of oversized t-shirts, until he found what he’d been looking for.

Small, so tiny in fact that he wondered how your lips could fit in them. He groaned -the idea of your pussy hanging out of the material made his cock twitch, and brought the panties to his face, rubbing his nose all over the lace. He’d fantasized of burying his face between your legs all semester long, and this seemed close enough, the closest he could get to you anyways.

They seemed stretchy, and he hoped he could manage to stuff himself inside them.

“Didn’t peg you for a panty sniffer, Barnes.”

The world stilled around him, the ring in his ears so loud that he wondered if you could hear it too.

He was so engrossed in his creeping, that he hadn’t heard the door open and click shut, nor your steps as you walked behind him, or the slight groan that the washing machine behind him emitted when you settled on it, swinging your legs.

Slowly, he turned around, your lace panties still tightly clutched to his chest.

You almost chuckled at the sight of his bulging eyes and gaping mouth. Almost.

“That- it’s not- not how it looks like- I-”

“What, you were gonna fold my laundry for me? How considerate,” you sneered, but the look on your face was far from disgust.

Derision, sure, but not disgust. The mischievous interest in your eyes sent chills down his spine, not necessarily the good kind.

He felt dread settle in his stomach, anticipating whatever consequence his actions would have.

“You do this often?” you asked, tilting your head to the side, naked legs still swinging over the washing machine.

Bucky couldn’t find the words, and honestly the gall, to speak, so he just shook his head vehemently, shuffling on his feet.

“Hm, you like sniffing ‘em?”

He remained unmoving, too humiliated to do anything.

“Oh, I got it,” you beamed, pointing a finger at him and squinting your eyes, “You like touching yourself with pretty panties, hm? Like using them to fuck your dick, and cum all over ‘em?”

He wanted to answer, tell you to fuck off and sprint away to hide in his dorm for the rest of his life, but honestly he deserved this and so much worse. He almost considered dropping out of college entirely, but that glint in your eyes kept him anchored to the ground.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, keeping his gaze on his white sneakers, “I-, I promise, I never done it before, I don’t know why-, look I won’t do it again, I swear,” he pleaded, tears pooling in his crystal eyes and threatening to stream down his face.

You cooed, honest to God coeed, a mocking pout on your lips.

You should have left, and reported him, but those pretty tears of his, the tremble in his voice, the stuttered pleas, only served to spur you on, a familiar warmth building up in your core.

“I bet if word got out of this, no one would want to hang around the resident creep anymore. Good luck getting girls then. Although, well, I don’t think you get too many under normal circumstances, do you?” you snorted, “That would be embarrassing, hm? Wouldn’t want that, would you?”

He found himself shaking his head, trying to swallow the lump in his throat to avoid giving you any more reason to mock him.

“It’s your lucky day then, because I have no intention to tell anyone,” you announced, stepping down to lean against the machine, arms crossed over your stomach.

“You- you don’t?” he wondered.

The notion should have elated him, but he felt himself growing more uneasy and confused with the smirk on your face.

“Won’t tell anyone if you don’t. Cross my heart,” you laughed, making a show of placing a hand on your chest.

He eyed you suspiciously. “Why?”

“Where’s the fun in that, Barnes? I wouldn’t enjoy bullying you if I’m not the only one doing it,” you chirped, “That doesn’t mean that my forgiveness should come for free, tho.”

His breath hitched, and you followed his Adam’s apple as it bobbed up and down his throat.

You could feel the control in your grasp, panties getting wetter with each one of his tears.

“I’ll do anything,” he swore, and you almost wished he’d fall on his knees and beg.

“Anything you say, huh?” you paused, “Strip,” you commanded, leaning back against the washing machine.

Bucky furrowed his brows and looked up in confusion, then disbelief, finally embarrassment. “Wh- what? But, but what if someone sees, I-”

“Then you better hurry.”

“But I-”

“You fuckin’ heard me the first time.”

He was startled into action, hands hastily pulling at his hoodie and jeans until he was standing in nothing but socks and underwear.

“I’m not gonna repeat myself again.”

He gulped visibly, and hesitated before hooking his fingers around the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down his legs.

He blushed harder, ducking his head.

His cock sprung out of his boxers, and the mouthwatering sight of it had you reconsidering Bucky Barnes and all your life choices during this semester.

He was glistening in pre cum, painfully hard and veiny, and definitely thick enough that fitting it inside your cunt would be hard work on both parts. You imagined taking him in your mouth, how you would definitely choke around his girth, and your jaw would be sore for days.

Not today, though. Bad boys did not get that kind of privilege.

You bit your lips, and Bucky fought the impulse to squirm under your intense gaze.

“Something wrong?” he rasped out, praying for the ground to open up and swallow him whole in case you found him too small, too crooked, too hairy.

You snorted, eyebrows raised skeptically. “Yeah, babe, the fact that I haven’t seen you naked before. You been hiding all this,” you eyed his crotch suggestively, “from me all this time?”

“T- thanks,” he stuttered, offering you a small smile, eyes trained on the ground. He tried to ignore the way his heart fluttered when you called him an endearing term, reminding himself that this was all a game to you, a game that he was more than willing to play if it ended up with his cock buried deep inside you.

You sighed then, pondering your thoughts. He was not your usual type, but he was cute in a nerdy way, shy and quiet, and he was packing more than any other man you’d had before.

Plus, this was way too entertaining for you to pass up.

“Wear ‘em.”

Bucky’s head snapped up at the command, but this time he did not hesitate to follow your instructions, a bit too eager as he slid the panties up his thighs.

The shutter of your phone’s camera brought him out of his thoughts, and his eyes widened in horror when he saw you take pictures of him. He trusted you wouldn’t spread them around, but the thrill of danger had him leak more pre cum, wetting a patch on the lace.

“So that’s your deal? You like wearing panties? Didn’t even try to act like you didn’t want to,” you snickered, “What a whore.”

The situation couldn’t get more humiliating, and he couldn’t get more desperate for you.

“Be a good boy, Bucky. Fold the laundry for me, since that’s clearly what you meant to do,” you laughed scornfully, nodding to the basket at your feet.

He walked to you slowly, bending over to pick it up, and yelped when you slapped his ass harshly, the sound bouncing off the walls and shooting straight to his aching cock.

“Cute. Now go, you got something to do and I don’t have all night.”

He sighed, and got to work, unloading each item from the dryer, and folding it neatly.

You eyed the lines of his back, the round globes of his ass, the string of your thong dipping between his cheeks. You almost lost yourself imagining how pretty he would look all scratched and marked before you furrowed your brows, observing the way he folded on of your nicer shirts that you wore on interviews and internships.

“Can’t even fold laundry, look at you,” you tsked, shaking your head, “Try that again, I don’t want to spend more than necessary ironing it.”

He obeyed, without any protest, smoothing the creases he’d created, and continuing with your load, until the dryer was empty and you were satisfied.

“Good job, baby boy,” you praised, beckoning him over.

He got closer, close enough that you could feel the heat emanating from his body. He looked so pretty like that, all teary and obedient.

You wanted to make him yours and ruin him for everybody else.

“You’re a fuckin’ pervert, you know that? A creep and a pervert.”

You saw the way his cock twitched behind your lace at the words, and almost doubled over in laughter.

The night couldn’t get any better.

“Fuck, you really are a pervert. This what you get off to? You imagine me calling you names, degrading you like the bitch you are? You want to be humiliated, don’t you?”

A desperate, pathetic whine escaped his throat, and he felt his knees growing weak with need. He was naked in a public space where everyone could see him, being belittled and humiliated by the girl he’d been pining over, and he was hard as a rock, getting off every word that spilled out of your mouth.

“Well,” you purred, fisting the hair at the back of his neck and tugging harshly, “I think we can arrange that.”

“Yes, yes, please, I want it,” he whimpered, chest heaving, “I want you, I’m your slut, I-, you can do whatever you want to me.”

You almost moaned then, intoxicated by his burning desire.

“Good boy,” you hummed, releasing his hair to stroke his cheekbone, smiling at the way he leaned his head against your palm, letting his eyes flutter shut.

“Remember you can tell me to stop or slow down whenever you want, and I will. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to,” you added more serious, observing his face for any trace of anything but enthusiasm.

When you found none, and he nodded feverishly, you let your hand fall from his cheek to his shoulder, tracing the outlines of his lean muscle.

“Can- can you kiss me, please?” he asked, and he begged so prettily that you could do nothing but humor him, crashing your lips against his.

It was messy, rough. He was sloppy, and from the way he moved against you, you guessed he didn’t have too much experience.

Better, you reasoned. You’d teach him all he needed to know to please you, and you only.

You bit on his bottom lip, and Bucky yelped in surprise, parting his lips.

He tasted like mint on your tongue, and you sighed in content, letting your hands travel down his sides, barely grazing his skin, scratching the hair on his belly.

He shuddered under your touch, goosebumps erupting in your wake.

When you reached his lower stomach, you felt him tense, his breathing getting harder, his tongue more insistent.

He was drooling and crying, you realized, as he snapped his hips against your leg, humping you like a dog.

You broke away from the kiss, catching your breath.

“Look at you, you gettin’ real worked up and I barely even touched you. What are you, a fuckin’ virgin?” you chuckled, playing with the little bow on the front of your panties.

You’d expected him to laugh, or deny, but he just stood there awkwardly, avoiding your gaze,

“I’m not,” he grumbled, avoiding your gaze.

“Then why are you acting like one?” you prodded, but didn’t wait for him to answer, claiming his mouth in a searing kiss.

His hesitant hands groped your breasts, finally gaining the confidence to do more than linger awkwardly on your hips. He twirled your stiff nipples, rubbing his thumbs over them, movements getting more frenzied the closer he got to his release.

He crouched awkwardly to be at your chest level while still pressing his hips onto you, and tugged your loose tank top down, moaning at the sight of your tits.

“Go on baby, suck on my tits.”

He didn’t need any more encouragement to assault your nipples, latching his mouth onto one of them, and suckling. You wondered if he’d ever even touched a pair of boobs before, but his ministrations were working either way, making your walls clamp down on nothing.

You finally grasped him in your hand, his cock heavy and throbbing in your palm as you stroked him lazily, spurred on by his little whimpers.

His whole body quivered when you ran your thumb over his slit, and you marvelled at his sensitivity.

“You like it when I touch you like this, baby?” you moaned in his ear, “I bet you do, I bet you could cum already just from this. Just a handjob, like the pathetic little boy you are, hm?”

He released your tits with a wet pop, and rose to full height again, resting his forehead on yours.

“Yes, yes, please,” he sobbed, “please, princess, more.”

You complied, doubling your efforts. He inhaled sharply when you added your other hand and began twisting both your wrists in opposite directions.

“You want your princess to suck your dick, baby? Want me to get on my knees and take you in my mouth?”

He nodded against you, grinding his hard cock against your hand, desperate to chase his release.

“Or maybe you want your princess’ pretty pussy? You want to fill me with your fat cock and stuff me full of your filthy cum, don’t you?”

He began blabbering, breathing harder, sloppily snapping his hips. He had a look of pure bliss on his face, his eyes shut tightly, mouth hung open and a layer of sweat coating his forehead.

You could feel him grow and throb in your hand, and just before he was about to reach his high, you stopped your hands.

His eyes shot open and he opened and closed his mouth to protest, but you gave him no time, fisting his hair and slamming him against the washer, bending him over the cold surface.

“What, you thought I’d catch you stealing my panties and I’d let that go?” you tutted, bending over him, pressing your front to his back, whispering in his ear “Bad boys need to be punished, don’t you agree?”

A choking sound escaped his parted lips, and you giggled against his skin, licking a strip behind his neck.

You let your hands wander down the expanse of his back, settling on the waistband of your panties. You indulged yourself again, slapping his ass because you liked how it jiggled and how Bucky whined.

“You have a nice ass, you know,” you mused, slouching back to get a good vision of it, “You ever had anyone stick anything up there?”

“W-what?” he sputtered, crooning his head to look at you, “N-no, never.”

“Cute.”

He squirmed in embarrassment when you spread his cheeks, groaning when he felt your spit drip down on him. You massaged a finger around his rim, your hand coated in your spit and his pre cum.

“Relax, I’ll make you feel really good, promise.”

You gradually felt his muscles relax under your touch as you soothingly ran a hand down his back and kept whispering calming, sweet nothings in his ear.

Then, you dipped a finger past the rim.

“See, not that bad, huh?” you smiled, working your finger inside him, caressing his walls.

You nipped the skin of his back, peppering his muscles with fluttering kisses, grazing your teeth over his column.

You dipped another in, and Bucky hissed, wiggling his legs.

“Hey, it’s okay,” you shushed him, “You’re doing so good for me, baby.”

He preened under your praise, and you began scissoring your fingers inside his ass, working him open and looking for the spot you knew would make him beg for more.

The heat between your legs was almost unbearable, your pussy desperate to be stuffed full of his cock.

You loved how pliant Bucky was being, obedient and submissive in your grasp. You noticed the tears that hadn’t stopped streaming down his face, and huffed a laugh.

“A pervert, a slut, and a fuckin’ crybaby, aren’t you?” you mumbled, a genuine smile tugging at your lips.

“Fuck, oh fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chanted, holding onto the washing machine for dear life, tongue lolling out of his mouth, drool dripping down his chin, making it known that you’d found what you’d been looking for.

“Yes, fuck, please princess, gimme more,” he begged, overwhelmed with a pleasure like he’d never experienced before.

He felt like a fire had been lit in his lower belly, and it was spreading to every limb, encompassing him whole.

You grasped his cock in one of your hands while your fingers kept pummeling into his ass, feeling the rim clench around you and his cock pulsate.

You thought you could cum from his beautiful sounds alone, and you kept going until you were sure he was on the verge of a mind shattering orgasm.

Then, you stopped again, and this time Bucky sobbed, blabbering and wailing, begging you.

“Please princess, I’ll do anything, just please let me cum, please, please,” he continued, shamelessly bucking his hips against nothing.

You released his cock and pulled your fingers out of his ass, cleaning the fluids against his panties.

“You’re so fuckin’ pathetic, begging like that,” you mocked him, retrieving your phone from the pocket of your shorts.

You snapped a couple of photos of him bent over the washing machine, pent up and debauched. His balls hung from the lace of your panties, and you made sure to zero on his tear stained face.

“So pretty, my pretty crybaby,” you cooed, helping him stand up again.

He fell on his knees, clutching the hem of your t-shirt.

“Please, you can’t leave me like this, I-, please,” he blabbered.

You committed the image to memory, knowing you’d see it again soon.

You could see it in his eyes how hooked he was to you.

“Baby, bad boys don’t get to cum, do they? You can’t go around stealing people’s laundry,” you tutted, lightly slapping his cheek, “You deserve some punishment, don’t you agree?”

He hesitantly nodded, slumping down on his shins. You grasped his chin, tilting his head up to meet his gaze.

“You got to bed now, no touching, and I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll know if you disobeyed, and trust me, you don’t want to know what’s gonna happen if you did.”

You smiled, and took a few steps back to retrieve your basket, leaving him to catch his breath on the floor.

“See you tomorrow at 4 pm, you know where my dorm is,” you chirped despite your own neglected arousal, sauntering to the door, “Get dressed before someone comes in, you wouldn’t want to see how much of a pervert you are, right?”

He shook his head, agreeing with you despite the sobs that silently shook through his body.

“Good boy,” you purred, hand twisting the knob. You paused, and threw him a look over yourself, “Oh, and thank you for the laundry.”

I hope you liked this! Please leave some feedback if you can! ❤️

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you

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belphies-cuhm-sluht · 3 years

Note

So a scenario (please please please feel free to ignore it if it's not your liking, no pressure on you, I really really appreciate your hardwork and I love your writing thank you so much for all of this amazing fanfics you keep bringing) where f! Mc urges Lucifer to take break from his relentless overworking but Luci refuses and says something harsh which he didn't mean, Mc get's extreamly upset and leaves the house to get fresh air but she got kidnapped which Luci didn't realise till 2-3 days because he put spells on his office door to keep away his brothers and MC's whinning but when he comes out he sees whole house on rampage Because mc was missing and they can't sense anything with pact Because it was fading and Everyone is extremely angry at Luci, Luci realises his mistake and finds his Mc almost half dead where before falling into coma Mc makes Luci realise how much they (his brothers & Mc) all need him to be physically with all of them and Mc ends up in Coma, end it with fluff (wake mc up) please I beg you 😖 I know you love angst but I don't think I can take more angst I cried whole night yesterday after reading your "A question of time", love you and please take care of yourself ~ 💜

House of Stone (Lucifer x GN!MC)

There you were, skipping into his office as you always did, the softest smile gracing your lips as you reached his desk, leaning over it to look at him, but he didn’t look at you. There was no time to play your games, there was no time for anything, not when Lord Diavolo had his desk constantly stacked with paperwork that needed to be completed. He didn’t mind doing it, not before you came along, but now there was the constant pressure of keeping you occupied and satisfied while also trying to complete the never ending work pile. His pride never allowed him to put you at the top of his list of priorities because as much as he cares about you, he needed his Lord's respect, and he owed it to him as well. “Lucifer, you should take a break. You’re working too much, and way too hard. We’re all worried about you.” Your voice broke through his thoughts and his head whipped up to look at you finally. His eyes narrowed, and he found it almost laughable that you’d try to have a say in how much or how little he worked. He scoffed at you, flicking his wrist to shoo you out of his office. “I don’t need your opinion, or your worry, Y/N. If you’d stay out of my office and let me concentrate, maybe I could actually get something done. You think you can do that?”

For once you didn’t put up an argument, you actually backed away from his desk and left his office quietly. He knew that what he had said was out of line, but as always, his pride kept him from going after you to apologize, well, it kept him from apologizing at all. You meant well, but he also had to finish his work, and it’s not like what he said wasn’t entirely true. If everyone would just leave him be for a little longer he could finish what he had to get done and maybe he could actually get some rest, which is what everyone was apparently worried about. The door was quickly put under a spell, no one would come in and no one would get out, and by no one, it meant him. He wouldn’t allow himself to leave until every single sheet of paper on his desk was read and signed off, no matter how time consuming or exhausting it was, he would get it done. Along with what was basically a locking spell, he also soundproofed the room, the only noises he could hear was his own breathing and the sound of pen against paper as he scribbled his name at the bottom of each paper. What he hadn’t heard was the sound of the front door slamming shut and all his brothers begging and pleading for you not to leave, and then the sound of their fists pounding against the door to his office as they tried to tell him that you had left.

How much time had passed since he had snapped at you, since that spell had been placed on the door? He’s not sure, and if it wasn’t for the coffee pot that he had set up in his office, he would have figured out sooner, but the fact that he was able to survive somehow on solely coffee and stale bread while he was working made it quite easy to lose track of the days and how many had passed by. The work on his desk was finally done though, and he could finally leave his office, and he was hoping that the home that he had left to the care of you and his brothers was still standing outside of his office. Long legs and arms stretched out in front of him as he finally pushed his chair away from the desk, gathering up all the papers and preparing them to be taken to Lord Diavolo. “Then I’ll see how Y/N is doing…” He told himself, because deep down, he knew that he had been too harsh. It wasn’t that he didn’t want you or his brothers to worry about him, it felt nice to have people actually care about him for once. His brothers usually cared about themselves, well, most of them did, and you, well… you always cared about him, although he didn’t know why.

As he took the spell off the door, that’s when he first heard it. The commotion of his brothers outside of his office, although they weren’t right outside the door, they were speaking loud enough for him to tell they weren’t all in their own separate rooms, which was strange. His first thought was that someone had unintentionally burned the kitchen down, or maybe they had made a hole in the wall while fake wrestling, and he was entirely prepared to brush it off until he got an adequate amount of sleep, but then he opened the door and saw all of his brothers rushing around the halls, their phones in their hands as they fervently typed out messages, others had their phones up to their ears, growling loudly when they clearly didn’t get an answer. “What is going on?” Every head in the room turned to look at him, all of their eyes were shooting daggers in his directions, and for once, he was the one who didn’t have a clue of what was happening or why everyone seemed so irritated.

“Y/N is gone!” “I don’t know what happened!” “-Just walked out the door, looked like they were crying!” “-Not answering their phone!” “I don’t feel it anymore…” “-Like the connection is fading.” All of his brothers were speaking over each other, but all of their words were directed at him. You had walked out, you had left the house, and he felt this strange sense, a pang of guilt mixed with worry. He was worried about you, as were all of his brothers as well. It looked like none of them had gotten a wink of sleep, not even Belphegor who looked like he was struggling to keep his eyes open just to glare at him. “Will you all be quiet!? Mammon… tell me what’s going on!” All of the tiredness he had felt before had quickly vanished as soon as he heard that you weren’t there, and now the only thing that he wanted to do was make sure you were okay, to get you back home safe. Mammon would know what was going on better than any of his brothers because other than himself, Mammon was the one who kept a close eye on you, he was the one who made sure you stayed out of trouble.

“After leavin’ yer office… Y/N just walked straight out the door. We tried callin’ for them, but they weren’t listenin’. We tried callin their phone too, and textin’, but they ain’t pickin’ up. Now… we can’t feel ‘em anymore… like the pact is fadin’ or something.” It was like everybody in the room froze, because that “or something” wasn’t good, the pact fading wasn’t good. Although he himself hadn’t made a pact with you, he knew that his brothers weren’t lying, because he didn’t need a pact with you to feel a connection, and now that he was out of his spellbound office, he could feel that something was fading, he just didn’t know for sure what it was until his brothers verified it for him.

How long had he actually been locked up in his office? How had he allowed something like this to happen? He knew this was his fault entirely. If he would have just gotten up, satisfied you just enough to make you feel better, pretend that he was getting some sleep… anything but scolding you for caring… this wouldn’t be happening. But then again, his pride won’t ever allow him to admit that he was in the wrong. This was somehow his brother's faults for not stopping you, for not going after you. Why hadn’t they tried to stop you, why didn’t they follow you? They knew well enough that it wasn’t safe for you outside of the house, that you shouldn’t be roaming around the streets of the Devildom by yourself, but they let you go. Maybe this was more of his brother's faults than he thought, but he didn’t have time to argue with them.

“We have to find them. Mammon, Asmo, and Levi, you take the upper side of town, Beel, Belphie and Satan, you take the lower side, I’ll stay in the middle and look around. If any of you find them, you call me immediately and tell me exactly where you are. Now go.” He’s hoping that you hadn’t gone far, that nothing terribly bad has happened to you, although their words of the connection with you fading has him beyond worried, and he’s almost terrified of what he or his brothers will find if they do find you. There’s only one reason why pacts would fade, and that’s a reason that he doesn’t want to dwell on too long. If he starts believing that you’re dead already, he’ll give up, his brothers will give up, and that’s something they can’t risk. As long as there’s some type of feeling… no matter how faint, it means that you’re still alive. You’re somewhere, and they’ll find you, and hopefully it won’t be too late.

The groups dispersed and Lucifer went out on his own, searching everywhere and anywhere for you. Places he never would have stepped foot in, he was right there. He was on edge, and every second that passed just set him further into a panic. “Where…?” Where could you possibly be? None of the brothers had texted him, so they clearly hadn’t found you either, and he was starting to feel hopeless, like he would never find you, and if he or they ever did, you surely wouldn’t be breathing. His brain was fogged with worry, and he couldn’t even begin to think of where you could have ended up, or what could have happened to you. At this point, he was walking through the streets in a daze, he wasn’t even watching where he was going, and that’s when he ended up in a back alley that was almost too dark to navigate. It led to a dead end though, and just as he was about to turn around and walk back out onto the street something caught his eye. A single shoe sticking out from behind a pile of rubbish, and he felt the bile rise in his throat as his blood began to boil. He knew without a doubt that it was you, he knew those shoes, and he knew they were yours, and he immediately ran over, pulling your body up off the ground. “Y/N…”

He could barely hold himself up on his own two feet anymore, just the sight of you like that had made him weak, and he was seeing red. If he hadn’t known any better, upon first look he would have thought that you were dead, but your heart was still beating, although feably. “Just… hold on a little longer… Okay?” Did you even hear him? Your entire body was limp, and even though he knew there was still some life in you, it was fading fast, and you already appeared lifeless, and you weren’t responding to him at all. He had hoped for the best, but no amount of preparing could have gotten him ready for this.

There was no time to rush to the castle, and until he knew just who exactly had done this to you, he didn’t trust anyone in the Devildom except Lord Diavolo, Barbatos, and his brothers. His arms wrapped around you tightly as he zapped you and himself to the castle, standing in the entryway, and he didn’t even know what to do, and he couldn’t find his voice to call out for the butler, so he was more than grateful when the demon walked around the corner and kind of froze when he saw him standing there with you.

He wasn’t the type that asked for help, but in this instance, there was nothing else he could do, and even though he couldn’t voice the word, he was pleading to Barbatos with his eyes to do something, anything to fix you, to make you better. “Right.” Was all the butler said as he rushed over to grab you from his arms, but he wouldn’t allow it. Wherever Barbatos planned on taking you, he would go to. All he needed was for the butler to lead the way, and he would follow. The last thing he wanted was to be away from you again.

Hours, days, weeks passed by, and he never left your bedside. You had been laid up in one of the guest bedrooms of the castle, it had been turned into a makeshift hospital room, the slow, steady beeping of the heart monitor had been the only sign to him and his brothers that you were still alive. Other than that, you were lifeless, a shell of the person that you used to be. “Lucifer, it’s alright if you go back home. Y/N will be fine here, and you’re just making this harder on yourself sitting there and staring at them.” Diavolo’s voice sounded from the doorway of the room, and for once, Lucifer disagreed with him. He deserved all the pain that came along with seeing you like this because it was his fault that you ended up like this in the first place.

“I’m staying here until they wake up. It’s the least I can do.” You were always there for him and he had shooed you away, he had pushed you away, and this is how you ended up because of that. He’ll sit by your bed for another week, for another month, he doesn’t care how long it takes, because when you do wake up he wants to be the one you see first. “Lucifer, I understand… but your brothers need you back at the house. They’re just as upset about this as you are.” As if he didn’t already know that. They weren’t just upset about what happened to you, they were upset with him, as they should be, because he was the reason behind it. That wasn’t the thing that was keeping him from going back though, it was you. You were keeping him from leaving, because he refuses to go back to the house when you’re not there, because as much as his brothers and you need him, he needs you and his brothers just as much.

“Lucifer…” He had fallen asleep, and it happened so scarcely that once his eyes shut, he found it difficult to open them again even if he did feel fully rested… but that voice… it wasn’t Diavolo’s, it wasn’t his brothers, it was weak… soft, almost a whisper. It was you. He sat up straight, his eyes shooting open to look at you, and a sigh of relief escaped him when he realized that it wasn’t just a dream, that he hadn’t heard your voice calling his name in his head. You were awake, and you were saying his name, and Father, it sounded so sweet. “Y/N… I’m…” How does he say he’s sorry? Would you even accept it if he did? Why would you? Why should you? He didn’t expect you to, but he still felt the need to say it. To push his pride aside for once and actually own up to his mistake, because this was the biggest mistake he had ever made.

“I know you’re sorry…” You had said it for him, before him, but it wasn’t enough. He needed you to hear it from his own voice, because this past month as he sat beside your bed wondering if you’d ever wake up again, he realized that he doesn’t just need you, and he doesn’t just care about you. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean what I said… and I hope that you can forgive me.” Because he loves you, and he never wants to go through the fear of losing you again. He needs you more than you’ll ever need him, and although his pride would never allow him to say it out loud, it’s the truth, and he doesn’t know what he’d do without you.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #om! shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #obey me x reader #obey me x mc #obey me! shall we date #obey me scenarios #obey me lucifer x reader #obey me Lucifer x mc #obey me Lucifer #lucifer avatar of pride

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redrobin-detective · 4 years

Text

sleep like the dead

“And now, I, Technus, shall finally have my electronic vengeance on you, ghost child and conquer this puny human world!” Technus shrieked, exiting the portal in a suitably dramatic fashion. The various weapons around the lab shook and trembled from his power and static from his core crackled, raring for a fight with his favorite enemy. Only the Phantom didn’t appear.

“Hmm, maybe I wasn’t loud enough,” Technus mused before starting up again. “Pathetic Phantom! You can only hope your miniscule half human strength will be enough to take on my squiggling mess of the tangled wires of terror!” He threw back his head and cackled loudly, waiting for his nemesis to show and the battle to begin. His laughter petered out after a bit and the lab became silent once more.

“Well, now he’s just being rude,” Technus fumed, floating up through the ceiling. “Don’t ignore my threats, child. I know you’re here, I can feel your cold core.” He stopped once he reached the ghost boy’s human lair, hovering a few feet from the bed where his rival was sprawled out, sound asleep.

“Come ghost boy, it’s time for fisticuffs! I have some new moves and some great catchphrases I’m ready to try out on you!” The technology ghost exclaimed in excitement, miming some punches. Phantom didn’t answer, just kept laying there barely moving save for his soft, shallow breaths. Technus watched as his breath fogged with each exhale, his core’s ghost sense but it still didn’t awaken him. “Child? Have you expired?”

He leaned forward and gently poked the boy’s cheek. It was squishy but firm unlike a ghost’s exterior and he could feel the dense bone underneath. Phantom didn’t so much as twitch. Technus drew back his hand, unsure of what to do. He’d surprised the child while he was in bed before but he always woke up and they fell into the usual routine. But now he’d changed the script and if there was something ghosts didn’t like, it was change. He flew back down to the portal and sped into the Ghost Zone at top speed, searching for someone who would be able to help him understand.

“Wow, baby pop whooped your butt that fast? Either he’s getting better or you’re getting more pathetic, my bet is the latter,” Ember teased as she strummed to herself from a floating rock near her lair.

“The ghost child won’t wake up and fight,” Technus said in a rush. “I went to the human world but no one answered my challenge. I went to his human lair and he was just lying on his bed thing and he wouldn’t move, even when I touched him.”

“That’s not like him, he’s usually more hopped up and ready to fight than a groupie on coke,” Ember frowned, setting aside her guitar. “Well come on, sparky, lets go check the kid out.”

They developed something of an entourage making their way back to the human portal. A few of the locals had heard that the infamous half ghost child was behaving differently and well, curiosity didn’t stop when the cat was killed. Skulker chuckled menacingly under his breath, Youngblood bounced around the adults. Johnny and Kitty had been going to the real world anyway and decided to tag along.

“Were his folks or Jazz home?" Johnny asked, riding his cycle slow enough to keep pace with the group.

“Who?” Technus questioned, “er no, the annoying children always with him were not around for once.”

“Annoying yes but they don’t live- uh occupy the same lair as the brat,” Johnny explained. As a younger ghost who’d held onto his humanity more than some, he had a better grasp of human culture. “His parents, the crazy ghost hunters in the blue and orange jumpsuits. Or his sister, Jazz. She has red hair and is kind of a know it all. They’re his family, they live with him.”

“Oh those weirdos,” Youngblood said wrinkling his nose. “Always loud and shouting about ripping apart ghosts. They’re not even good hunters.”

“Obviously, they haven’t noticed they got a ghost living with ‘em,” Ember added with an eyeroll.

“It’s a very stressful situation, Danny was worried about what they’d do if they found out,” Kitty frowned before sticking her tongue out at Johnny. “Danny’s a good guy, at least he talked to me about things that mattered.”

“Good target practice, you mean,” Skulker declared as they entered through the portal. Instinctively they all looked up to where the ghost boy’s core was humming but sensed no movement. “Alright, I will admit that is weird. Let’s see what the whelp’s up to.”

It was a bit cramped, the five of them crammed into the small room especially when they were keeping their distance from the room’s only living occupant. He had not moved since Technus had last been in here. At their entrance, his breath fogged again and he shivered for a second before settling back down.

“Well, he’s alive at least,” Johnny shrugged before leaning in close to examine him. “Kid looks wiped though.” He picked up the boy’s bony wrist which had been dangling off the bed, his fingers brushing the floor and held it up before dropping it. His knuckles rapped against the ground but he didn’t stir.

“Johnny, leave him alone, he’s trying to sleep,” Kitty hissed, yanking her boyfriend back by his ear.

“Come on, I’m not doing anything bad,” Johnny defended. “But, come on, how often are we gonna get a chance like this?”

“Hmm is human sleep that interesting that the ghost child would ignore all of us?” Technus asked, floating over and laying himself down on the bed. He laid there on the bed next to the boy for a few moments. “I do not believe I’m doing this correctly.”

“Nah you gotta close your eyes and go off to dreamland,” Youngblood said, grabbing a sock off the floor and then some papers from the desk and began stacking them on the half ghost’s head. The boy still didn’t react in the slightest.

“Is dreamland close? Another pocket dimension like the Zone?” Technus, ever the scientist, asked curiously.

“No, you idiot,” Ember sighed before tentatively reaching out and laying a hand on Phantom’s chest. “Yow, man that’s weird.”

“What?” Skulker asked, having been mostly content to watch until now. Youngblood had now piled several more items on the ghost boy’s head but he slept on, unawares.

“It’s just,” she scrunched up her face as she looked for the words, “I know what ghost cores feel like and I’ve been around enough humans to know the signs of life but he’s got both at once. His core flares and fades opposite his heart beat. It shouldn’t work but it does, somehow.”

“He is a most curious specimen, I rarely see Plasmius in his human skin so it’s hard to compare,” Skulker commented. “Of course Plasmius I can understand. He acts like a ghost, thinks like one. But the child, he’s certainly a ghost but he’s also decidingly... human.”

“That’s why we should be leaving him alone,” Kitty frowned, plucking Youngblood out of the air and moving him away from the sleeping teen. “If Danny isn’t waking up with all of us causing a racket then clearly he’s exhausted. We bother him enough, let him rest and fight him some other time.”

“But I wanted to fight now,” Technus whined, rolling over on the bed and resting one arm over the ghost boy’s body. “The Phantom surely wants to hear my latest monologue on how I’m the supreme ruler of everything electronic and beeping.”

“I know I don’t,” Youngblood shrugged.

“Me neither,” Johnny scoffed.

“Or me,” Ember muttered, putting her hands on her hips.

“Just let him rest,” Kitty said shooing the others back and gently brushing some of the kid’s hair out of his face revealing sallow features and dark marks under his eyes. “It’s hard enough being human much less a ghost on top of that; between fighting us and trying to have a normal life I bet he hardly gets any sleep. The least we can do is give him a break before he breaks.”

“I suppose it’s not sporting to kill a sleeping prey,” Skulker pouted. “And it’ll make his defeat more meaningful if he’s well rested and not uh,” he gestured to the Phantom’s general state of disarray.

“Better appreciate it,” Ember sulked for a second, kicking away some pajama pants from the floor. “His stupid human life. I’d give anything to sleep again, just for a minute.”

The ghosts sat in quiet contemplation for a moment, the dead looking enviously and curiously on the silent, sleeping boy, on a world they could only watch but not engage in. The moment was shattered by the front door slamming open.

“DANNO WE’RE HOME AND WE BROUGHT CHINESE!” Resonated through the house. Startled awake, the ghost child leapt out of the bed and hovered about a foot above it for a moment before sinking back down.

“Darn it Dad, I was napping,” Danny grumbled before he opened his eyes and saw several of his ghostly enemies standing awkwardly in his room. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Technus lounging on his bed. “What the-”

“Oh good, you’re awake!” Technus tittered happily, leaning into his personal space. “Ready to hear my spiel?” The temperature in the room dropped rapidly as his core ramped up and spilled over into his eyes which were no doubt glowing a fierce green.

“Get out of my room!” He shouted, reaching over to grab his emergency under the bed thermos but a sock falling from his hair into his face distracted him.

“Hey, just stopping by but we were just on our way out, sleep well, Danny sweetie!” Kitty said dragging the whole group through the floor. His core thrummed in agitation until he felt them cross the portal into the Ghost Zone. He sat there for a moment, shaking and panting from the adrenaline rush before he decided he really didn’t want to know. He flopped back onto the bed and reached over on his nightstand for the bottle Jazz had given him the other day.

“The heck is in this stupid sleep aid?”

#danny phantom #another flash is the pan DP fic #just something about Danny being so tired (also ODed on Nyquil) that he just misses his ghost sense going off #and the ghosts being there and without all the threats of death #just kind of hanging around #looking over him curiously snooping #how often do they get to like see him up close?#he's a freak! lets look him over also stack shit on his head!#and the weird space where you just cant remember being human and what sleeping is like but also being so envious that you cant do it anymore #((also just a note that Danny had all his enemies in his room and slept soundly but woke up in a jolt when his parents got home))#((take that as you will))

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datawyrms · 3 years

Text

Ghostly Mystery Tour

For Phic Fight 2021! dey’s lovely prompt c:

On Ao3

Maddie and Jack had fully prepared for their adventure into the Ghost Zone—or so they thought. The fuel on Specter Speeder had fizzled out about a mile in. They're stuck. At least, until Phantom comes by, offering help.

“I just don’t understand it Maddie, I swear I charged it just this morning!” Jack’s voice managed to be louder than his frantic jabbing at the fuel gauge in the enclosed space, the sickly green glow outside making him look ill instead of agitated.

��I’m sure you did honey, but we need to think of a plan.” Maddie was already trying to think of what they could use. They weren’t too far away from the portal home, with how quickly the Speeder ran out of power. They had plenty of gear and weaponry packed in for their research trip, but the Specter Speeder wasn’t powered with something they could just toss in a gas can and bring along. “Maybe we can hook some of the ropes to the floating land masses and tow it?”

“Oh! Great idea!” Jack brightened, shoving the previous problem aside, hands now occupied with measuring the distance of the nearby rocks. “The sooner we get moving, the sooner we can get back to work!”

The problem about how safe it actually was to breathe in the air when in the realm of the dead had been accounted for, but if they had to waste the air tanks just to get back- well they wouldn’t get to have nearly the amount of time to actually explore on foot, let alone gathering samples. They could learn so much about the ectoplasmic terrors from the world they clawed out of, weaknesses they didn’t need to fear on Earth even! So to have their expedition, a trip that had been months in the making derailed like this in mere moments hurt. At least Jack could keep his eyes forward, his positive attitude the only thing keeping her from screaming from the absolute unfairness of it all. “Just run the best options past me before you open the hatch, okay darling?”

“You betcha!”

She was still going to enable the Fenton Child Safety Lock as a precaution, he could get a little over eager when he saw an opportunity. It was just a matter of what tools could be repurposed into a makeshift claw or skewer to actually keep hold of the rocks. What would be the smallest loss?

The sound of something hitting the roof of the speeder halted her thoughts, turning to look out of the windows, drawing up her hood in case they’d be fighting so soon. Even Jack had stopped with his mental calculations, pulling a weapon from under the seat. “Company already? Guess we’ll show em what for, eh honey?”

“Well it is the Ghost Zone, they’re probably braver here. Not that it’ll be any problem.” A little boasting could help keep morale up, even if the situation was less than ideal. Stranded with a ghost already trying to take advantage, typical.

“Well one little zap with this baby and it’ll scoot right on back!”

If the ghost could hear them, maybe it would be frightened off just by their voices. Whatever had hit them hadn’t shown itself near the window, or hit their vehicle again. It didn’t feel right. There might be no evidence for whatever it was lurking around, but sometimes you had to follow your intuition. Jack was inquisitive, but didn’t ask out loud as his wife stood to knock the ceiling herself.

“Sooo are we doing knock knock jokes, or do you need a tow?”

She should have known. Of all the ghosts, it would have to be the one that always managed to get her hackles up, pretending to be helpful so people trusted him. A ghost that even tried to have a human name to fit in, not that she’d ever call this thing ‘Danny’. It was an insult to her baby boy, quite frankly. “What are you up to now?”

“Asking you if you need this thing moved. Duh,” the ghost snorted, the metal clanking as he knocked it again. “Talking at you from the roof feels dumb, you gonna shoot if I go to the front?”

“Depends on what you do, ghost scum!” Jack had looked pensive for a moment, but spoke up quickly on spotting Maddie reaching for a notebook. He just had to give her time to think it over, and he was great at distractions.

“Is scum what you call all people who help you out, or am I just your favourite?” A white haired head appeared at the top of their window, looking down with an amused smirk at the pair. Still playing innocent when they were at a disadvantage.

“You’re a ghost ‘claiming’ to want to help.”

That earned a frown, though the ghost stopped half hiding to float in front of their stranded speeder. “Riiiight. Put it that way, whatever,” he paused, as if studying their faces. His green eyes lingered on the weapon, notably so even as he went back to jabbering. “I’ve got some stuff to do, but I can drag the s-that thing back to the portal. So?”

The hunters shared a glance, unsure how to handle it. Phantom liked to claim he liked humans and protecting them, but he was a ghost. There had to be something he wanted out of them in return. Or might get violent if refused in the wrong way. At least he shouldn’t be able to see the quickly scrawled message to Jack. ‘You play the doubtful one, I’ll pretend to trust him- it’ll underestimate us’

“As if, spooky! Jack Fenton doesn’t need any ghost’s help!”

The ghost bought the open hostility without a second thought, eyes rolling to a sky that wasn’t here. “Really? I heard tow trucks were expensive out of state! Can’t imagine the out of dimension costs.”

It was going to be difficult to stay civil when it would be so much easier to just demand the ghost stop playing around. “We’re listening. So what do you want?”

“Awwww Mads, we don’t need this punk’s help! He doesn’t even have toes!”

The passion Jack had put into his moping managed to baffle the ghost. “Wait, what? Of course I do! No, stop, why does that matter? I know tows and toes are different things! I’m not that bad of a student, sheesh.” He seemed quite thrown, which was good. If the ghost forgot what the plan had been he might just get lost.

“Yeah, and you don’t have either Phantom!” Her husband managed to keep from laughing, but the shake in his shoulders showed it was a near thing.

Phantom glanced down at the black wispy tail that made up his legs, muttering something. “Well okay I don’t right now, but I normally do!”

It was a bit fascinating that Jack had distracted the ghost from his goal so completely. They’d have to think about an invention that could replicate the effect. “Can we focus please? I already said I’d listen to what you wanted.”

“Oh! Right, sorry,” he coughed, a strangely human expression of embarrassment. “I don’t actually need anything? I just have some stuff to do so you’d need to wait a bit.”

Oh right. Sure, the most dangerous ghost in town wanted to help the ghost hunters that wanted to destroy him ‘just because’. Just wait here while he goes to get some friends to attack them! Honestly, did ghosts think they were stupid? “Then why not tell us when you’re done? We’re not moving very quickly.”

“Cus he wants to make us think we’re safe before WHAM! Outnumbered by cowardly ghosts!” Jack expressed her true feelings effortlessly. “Not that it’d help em!”

“No way, you think I’d leave you guys here where anyone can try something?” The ghost still seemed confused, eyebrows raised and arms crossed. “You guys are here to study or whatever anyway, right? So you can look around while I get my errands done. And you know, you don’t get attacked. Most of the little guys leave me alone.”

As if that was a surprise! A ghost of Phantom’s strength could destroy smaller and weaker entities without effort. Perhaps it was a subtle threat slipping through his mask of ‘helpful child’. The idea of going deeper into the Ghost Zone, completely at his mercy was...well absolutely idiotic. Even if they could probably overcome him...being able to still get some studies done would make it not a complete waste of a trip. “So you think it’s likely we’ll be attacked here, so close to the portal?”

“Yeah, by him!” Jack looked tempted to grab his weapon, but refrained. “So what if we say no, huh?”

“Then I guess you can float here? Up to you, I guess.”

It was strange, to see the cocky ghost a bit hesitant. Even if there was an obvious threat he wasn’t mentioning. “Well if you could pull the Speeder, you could take it even if we don’t want you to.”

“I think that’s called kidnapping.” Phantom’s cocky smirk returned “Which is weird, you’re not kids! Adultnapping? Nah, that sounds dumb.”

“Ah cut the innocent act, we’re not falling for it!”

“Hey, I said it’s up to you! Either you agree to come along and I get you back home, or I just leave you guys to do whatever you plan to do. Even if yes, I could totally just drag the ship anyway. I’m not, because I’m trying to help, remember?” A hint of frustration slid past the confidence at ‘remember’, but the ghost folding his arms behind his head as if kicking back to relax did defang most of the threat. “I don’t have all day here.”

“We don’t have all day either Phantom. We have family to get back to, and no idea how long you plan to be ‘on errands’.” Maddie pointed out, still unsure what they should do. Trusting him was stupid, but he had showed his hand. Refusal might be met with the same result anyway, but ‘agreeing’ might trick the ghost into thinking they fell for his ‘trustworthy’ act.

“Like an hour or two? Not too long.”

“Well I’d use my Fenton Stopwatch! So don’t think you can pretend it’s a shorter time than it is, ghost!”

“Yeah yeah, you do that D-Jack,” he stumbled over the ghost hunter’s name, but otherwise didn’t move from relaxing. “It’s not gonna kill you to trust me for a bit.”

Even though it very much could kill them. He really was a smug bit of ectoplasm, thinking he blended in with humans well enough to be considered one. “So only a few hours, and you won’t stop us from researching or taking samples? Or lead us to a trap?”

“If I wanted people to get threatened by ghosts, I could just take some days off. No trouble, cross my heart. I’d swear to die but I got the jump on that bit,” he snorted at his own joke, but otherwise left the family to consider.

It was just safer to say ‘yes’ so the ghost thought they were fools. It had nothing to do with wanting to salvage something out of this disaster of an expedition. “Yes. We’ll accept your help, this time.”

“And you aren’t getting any thanks until we’re home, got it?” Good, ghost hunter, bad ghost hunter. An easy enough trick. Even if she wished Jack was the ‘trusting’ one. Yelling would feel nice.

“Yeeeah, kinda expected that too. Rude.” The ghost only shrugged before flying up and out of sight. She half expected to hear the ghost grab the Speeder, but they only really noticed when they started moving. Moving very, very quickly.

She couldn’t help it, her curiosity tamped down some of the fear she should be feeling, pointing out interesting landmasses as they passed, Jack just as enthusiastic to discuss what caused them, if the ghost built them or they were simply generated when a ghost squirmed into existence. A great castle that seemed familiar, an island with some sort of skull as a decoration and thousands of doors. Most ghosts they only could get sparing glimpses at, even when carrying an entire vehicle the ghost boy was fast. Ridiculously so. She thought it was his small figure that contributed to how quickly the pest could move- how the ghost could just vanish out of range in moments. That most of the power behind his physical attacks came from the speed they were delivered with instead of raw strength. Clearly that was an incorrect hypothesis, moving this quickly and carrying so much extra weight without any real difficulty. They slowed near what seemed to be another castle, though it was much less foreboding looking then the other one.

That sinking dread returned after they landed. She had some landmarks, but this much distance would be a big ask to get back. That, and this castle seemed more...occupied, judging by some humanoid ghosts loitering near the gates. One even waved. To them, or the ghost carrying them?

“Okayyy so. Ground rules? Don’t shoot anyone. None of these guys even go through the portal, they’re not the fighting type. Other than that? Have fun, I guess?” He’d stopped floating, standing on the ground beside their stalled craft. He didn’t look as if preparing to fight, which is what she’d assumed the ghost meant by ‘errands’. So what was he up to?

“We won’t do anything if they don’t.” A lie, honestly, but the ghost nodded.

“Wait, what’s that stuff for?” White gloves pointed at the masks the ghost hunters were pulling from under the seats. “Like you can hear me, there’s air out here.”

“It might be safe for ghosts, but we aren’t ghosts.”

Phantom opened his mouth as if to protest before shutting it with a frown. Strange, it was hard to get him to shut up most of the time.

“Nice try, we’re not gonna choke on ghost air today, Phantom!” Jack chuckled, adjusting his mask before popping open the hatch.

“I wasn’t expecting you to- oh whatever. Just don’t embarrass me,” he sounded like a sulking kid, only glancing at them for a moment before kicking off the ground to fly closer to the castle. Off to fight whoever ‘owned’ this area, perhaps?

“Well look at that! Regular plants!” Jack shook her from her pondering, crouched over what looked like a tended to flower bed near the walls. “Well, ghost plants that aren’t trying to attack. Think we should sketch em for the kids?”

“Well Jazz has been more interested in ghosts lately, I suppose.” It was interesting, but she was more curious about the ghost meandering past the walls. They seemed docile, almost like people just walking and apparently talking with one another. Not attempting to fight for territory or resources. Perhaps they were just repeating the memories of their lives over and over? Yet none of them had reacted badly to Phantom zipping past either. A different breed of ghost, perhaps? Or ghosts often had ‘kings’ that kept the lesser ones from squabbling. The large brute of a ghost that stole the town had claimed to be a king of sorts, and this was another castle...but she didn’t want to test anything by getting their attention. They might only act savagely towards humans, being jealous of those still alive after all.

“Yeah, she has! Danno might not like em, but that goth chick he’s eyeing might like em too!” He was already sketching away, quickly getting the basics. He’d fill in the details from memory back home. “You want to try seeing if those ones talk? Not sure how the ghost kid thinks we could embarrass him, ha!”

“Oh he was probably just trying to insult us. He likes to pretend to be a teenager,” she waved that question away, double checking her weapon was easy to reach in case of an emergency. No reason to make their predicament worse by being unprepared. While still considering to go near those ghosts instead of safely observing from a distance. Jack’s enthusiasm was too infectious, really, but that’s how they made so many discoveries!

The ghosts didn’t object to her moving closer, but she kept off the busier paths to be safe. So many stalls of what seemed to be goods, clothing and paintings, rugs and nick knacks. Well, the ghosts didn’t need anything to live, so it would make sense for them to prioritize other items first, but the art was strange. What did the dead know of creativity? Were these all recreations of something found in life? No, some of the paintings had the green skies of the Ghost Zone, implying at least some ‘new’ thought. They were strange, very unlike the wild animals that often attacked the town, or the showy inhuman mimics that tried to claim world domination. They just looked like greener, more transparent people. Barely any of them even floated much. They’d need new categories, they broke too many rules that stayed true on Earth.

“Oh that’s a lovely shade of blue! I wish I could make something like it.” The voice echoed, but it wasn’t growling or mocking. In fact, the ghost woman who had paused beside the hunter was smiling warmly, despite the dead red eyes. “Are you just visiting for a bit?”

“We’re mostly stuck going wherever the ghost boy is taking us, our ship broke down,” Maddie struggled not to frown, her natural inclination to get away from the still potentially dangerous ghost strong with so many fights. She could tell it the truth, in a sense. Phantom was far more likely to be dangerous then this waif of a woman. How she could move in so many ruffles was baffling.

“Oh dear! Well if he’s any trouble you can let Dorthea know, she’s a caring ruler. A human helped her get her rightful throne back, so I’m sure she’d be happy to help!” The ghost tittered a little, as if expecting that to be obvious.

So the ghost did know she was human? Far more alarming was the idea some other human had been dragged this far from home, possibly trapped. Maybe this would turn into a rescue mission. Unless it was too late for them, a distinct possibility. “Oh really? How did that happen?”

“Oh I don’t really know the details, but it was a human that inspired our good Queen that she didn’t need to fear that tyrant and she could fight back. I wish I’d seen it!”

It was disquieting how human the ghost sounded, a friendly sort of gossip. If only she had a way to record it. “The human got back home after helping, right?”

“Well I assume so, she had no intentions of staying here very long, that’s for sure!” She laughed easily, apparently blind to Maddie’s confusion and apprehension, or just unable to see it past the mask and goggles. “I’m fairly sure Sir Phantom took her back, you could ask him.”

Sir? That town terrorizing scoundrel was respected around here? And had been taking humans out of the ghost zone? Probably because he made whoever it was get here in the first place, just to rescue them. Was that why he was here? To stage some new act with this ghost queen? “Right, I might do that.” Would she? This morning she hadn’t expected to talk to ghosts, let alone multiple.

“Oh! If you see any of those angry blobs you can just run back towards the guards and they’ll deal with it. It’s their job, and they’re quite good at it. I actually considered doing that job for a bit, but I like looking after the plants more. Maybe I’ll switch in a decade or two!” The ghost kept talking, apparently taking Maddie’s lack of further questions as permission to keep chattering.

“Can’t you deal with them yourself?” Attacking ghost blobs was something she knew about, and if this ghost was strong enough to mimic humans, shouldn’t it be able to deal with the much less sophisticated tactics of blobs?

“Me? Oh no, I’m not not trained. Do you still have lions on the other side? It would be like trying to fight one of those with a stick!” She laughed, but not unkindly.

“You’re both ghosts though, aren’t you?” Perhaps they differentiated themselves by name in the Ghost Zone? It would lend some evidence to the ‘different breeds’ of ghost hypothesis she was rapidly stringing together.

She tapped at her chin for a moment at the question. “I suppose we are, but they’re more like animals. They might have always been animals, or never alive at all! It’s perfectly safe here though, they usually fight more among themselves.”

Well that was fascinating. Some ghosts didn’t instinctively know how to fight and had to be taught? Yet didn’t consider themselves completely separated from the more animalistic ectoplasmic terrors. Perhaps the more ‘domestic’ setting here made the ghosts less feral and more reliant on their previous memories. Well, the ghost could be lying, but she couldn’t see the benefit she’d gain from deception here. “So you’re kind of stuck here then? We saw a lot of those outside of this place.”

“No no, we’ve got safer ways to travel than just flying around! Not all of us are that brave, dear. Though I don’t think I’d want to stay somewhere else very long anyway. Here it’s safe, all my friends are here and we have one of the largest markets in the whole Ghost Zone. Other ghosts come to us!” There was a hint of pride as she spoke about her ‘home’, gesturing over to some of the stalls Maddie hadn't had time to look at before getting interrupted. “I was really hoping to get something from the seven armed bloke over there, but he’s not very interested in my clothing. Maybe next time.”

Said ‘bloke’ had far too many eyes to go with the arms, and a collection of honestly terrifying little statues with strange designs that made her head hurt if she looked at it too long. A clear outsider to the more human ones, but not causing a stir. So much for constantly fighting out groups, but they barely had anything in common either! Not to mention engaging in some kind of simplistic trading. “So this happens often?”

“Pretty much. It’s fun to make new things, but you get bored of just your own stuff after a few centuries you know? So we swap and find new things.”

Well of course, it’s not like the ghosts needed to trade for something vital to existence. Swapping ‘things’ made more sense in that context. So why weren’t any trying to trade strength or favours? Or simply taking what they wanted? Was it related to having a queen? She had so many questions that knowing what ones needed to be asked was next to impossible. “I suppose you would. How can you tell if a ghost that comes is peaceful?”

“Asking!” She laughed again, apparently finding the question funny. So they didn’t deal with constant attacks from spectres like Phantom trying to ‘take over?’ Why?

“Oh geeze, I’m so sorry if she said anything about trying to-” Phantom’s voice interrupted her thoughts, the ghost suddenly floating beside the other ghost and sputtering.

“Sorry? She’s been perfectly lovely! Haven’t you- oh I’m so rude, I didn’t even get your name!” the ghost tisked at herself, once again strangely apologetic.

“Wait, she has?” His doubtful tone made the ghost hunter scowl. As if he had any room to judge them.

“We’re scientists, not uncontrollable monsters.” Like him. She was fairly sure he caught the implication when the boy muttered something she couldn’t hear.

“Cool. Anyway, got another stop, then I’ll get you two back home.” He still hovered, glancing between the two of them a few times. “Oh. Maddie, that’s her name.”

“Lovely speaking with you Maddie! Had a good trip back, I’m Guenivier if you’re ever in the area again,” she smiled and gave another wave before somehow drifting back into the crowd without displacing even a bit of that dress.

“Who said you can give out my name?” Maddie hissed, once certain the other ghost was out of earshot.

He leaned back on teenager mannerisms, scoffing and heading away. “Because she wanted to know and thinks you aren’t a total ghost hater? It’s not gonna hurt anything.”

“How can I know you don’t have a way to locate people by name?”

He was rolling his eyes again as if she was being ridiculous. “You live in a house with a giant glowing sign. Not exactly subtle.”

“That isn’t in the ghost zone.”

“It’s attached to the ghost zone, it totally counts.”

It really was like arguing with a teenager when he bantered on like this. “Just don’t do it again.”

“Yes ma’am. Sheesh.” He hopped on top of the speeder, kicking his heels against the side. “Hey Jack, you coming?”

“Coming!” he bellowed back, jogging over from the patch of plants she’d left him at. However, he wasn’t just carrying his notebook, but a folded glowing bit of cloth. Some sort of tapestry judging by all the stitching? “Just wanted to get a few more lines done-” he broke off after spotting his wife, apparently reminded that he shouldn’t be so chummy with the ghost. “I mean I leave when I want to, you can’t boss Fentons around!”

“Oh come onnn, can you pretend you don’t hate me for like five minutes? I’m not even doing anything!” Phantom complained, flopping backwards onto the Speeder. “You were totally having a good time”.

“How did you get that, dear?” Maddie chose to ignore their sulking captor and instead look at what Jack managed to gather besides sketches.

“Oh, one of the ghosties liked my pictures and asked to trade for one! So I gave em a page for this! We can study how they made it back home, neat huh?”

Apparently he hadn’t been too worried about it being a trap, but a picture he’d just sketched wasn’t a big ask for something that could teach them a lot about the ghosts in here, so it was a good trade nonetheless. “You did great sweetie. Just make sure to store it safely, just in case.”

“Already on it sweet cheeks!” He was indeed, already pulling out a large sample bag to store their find before opening the hatch again.

“Ew. I changed my mind, go back to threatening me. Sappy is worse.”

Well, at least the ghost regretted his actions a bit. He’d be more sorry if he tried anything, but this did just seem to be something to sooth that hero complex it had. So far, anyway. She was tempted to ask the ghost what it had been up to at the castle, but it didn’t really matter. He’d just lie anyway, he clearly wasn’t the same sort of ghost as the weaker ones back there.

“Ha, he crumples in the face of our love Madds!” Jack laughed, hugging his wife and they got comfortable back in the speeder. “You think he’d take us back home if I said how much I love ya?”

“I so don’t need to hear this.” He was muffled, apparently still flopped on the speeder. He didn’t add anything before the Speeder lifted from the ground and resumed speeding through the strange green expanse.

“Clearly he buys his own teenager delusion.” Maddie mused, content to rest against Jack and look through his sketches. “Did they seem strangely lifelike to you too?”

“Oh sure! They just talked and didn’t even seem interested in going to the human world! Even though one was very jealous of how bright my jumpsuit is.” He leaned a bit to flick a few pages forward. “I sketched a couple and got their names, so we can see if we can look em up. See if they’re similar to their old selves according to history and all.”

“That’s a good idea. I didn’t get a complete name, but apparently they have jobs? Not like the wilder ghosts, and they do have a queen…” she paused, remembering the ‘human’ Phantom apparently ‘helped home. “Hey! You did help someone home from the ghost zone before, did you?”

“Huh? Oh! Yeah, she’s back safe. Wasn’t even a whole day.” He sounded distracted, or at least surprised by the question.

It could be a valuable lead. That, and the human might need help after such an experience. Who knew how ecto contaminated they might be! “Who was it?”

“How should I know? Just because I’m in town a lot doesn’t mean I know everyone’s name.”

She frowned, glancing at Jack who only shrugged. So he hadn’t heard that story, only her. “You know ours.”

“Because you shout them at me and shoot at me a lot? Pretty easy to remember!”

“Ghost kid’s got a point.” Jack admitted, patting her on the shoulder. “We’ll just find who it is ourselves! Just an extra project.”

“What, and just make their life weird again by bringing up ghost stuff? Leave em alone.”

Well now they absolutely had to look into it, if Phantom wasn’t keen on the idea. Better to let him think they agreed though. “True, it could just lead you back to them.”

“Hey! This is all you, not me!”

Jack chuckled. “You’re really good at riling him up. Almost sounds like our Danny like that, getting all touchy about fun family activities!”

“Well he probably copies behaviour from local teenagers,” she didn't like that comparison though. Their children were nothing like life destroying ghosts. It was better to turn her attention to the passing green and how the amount of doors seemed to dwindle as masses of ice started to become the most prominent detail. That made more sense, actually. Phantom had started using ice in addition to ectoblasts, if he came from somewhere with this sort of climate it seemed less out of place with his other abilities. Even if he was otherwise ill suited to snow and ice with how he insisted on looking like a kid.

The next stop felt more like a mistake, with only hills of untouched white powder and ice to see, but the crunch of snow below confirmed they were no longer moving. Good thing they came prepared with heated coats!

“Not a whole lot around here! If it wasn’t for all the green we could pretend we were in Alaska.” Jack chattered as he shrugged a coat on, still apparently too excited to look around to keep his suspicion up. “They don’t all like castles, or maybe it’s a hidden one!”

He better not be thinking Santa had an ice castle. That was probably what he was thinking of, but she didn’t really want to bring up their annual argument at the moment. He could be wrong today, there were more important things to do. “You do realize it’s a frozen wasteland you’ve stranded us on?”

“It’s not that cold.” Phantom objected, circling the Speeder idly.

“Easy for a ghost to say, you’re always cold ghost kid!”

He stopped at that, glancing back at Jack. “It's not that bad, is it?”

“Only because we brought warm clothing. Jumpsuits aren’t enough for the living.” Maddie huffed, looking at the snowfields to find anything worth looking at. The structures of ice were somewhat interesting, but not inherently ghostly.

“Well you guys can stay here, I guess.” The ghost bit at his lip, playing up the concern now that they pointed out a frozen wasteland was cold. Honestly, how did anyone fall for Phantom’s act if he made mistakes like this? “I don’t think Frostbite’s people come out this far…”

“Oh, are they dangerous? We can take any of your little ghostly pals!”

Phantom looked as if Jack suggested exploding a building. “No! Don’t fight any of them! They just look scary, okay? Just ignore them, if any show up.” He didn’t wait for a response before flying off this time, apparently in much more of a hurry this time.

“Sounds like he’s worried about what we can do to his little pals, huh?” Jack elbowed his wife with a grin. “Well, maybe we can find something weird about the ice here!”

It was better to try getting some of the ghost ice instead of doing nothing, though she doubted it would be very different from regular ice, beyond the ectocontamination. Now what would a ghost think is ‘scary looking’? He hadn’t given such a warning when close to all of the other ghosts, after all. It was a bit of a mystery, and none of the ice here had any identifying marks or hints of another odd little ghost ‘civilization’. ‘Frostbite’ wasn’t much of a name either, perhaps they were more like the wild sort that came to Amity?

“Oh hoh! Look at this!” Jack yelled out, pointing to something below him as he waved her over.

A large, clawed footprint left in the snow, and fairly deep. So something monstrous after all, as expected. “Maybe we can get a cast of it?” They had supplies for it, but she wasn’t certain if it would work in the ice correctly. The tracks didn’t go for long, but following them wasn’t a very tantalizing idea. Better to keep a distance and be well armed if they wanted to tangle with whatever left this. It wasn’t as distracting as the previous stop, but the sound of crunches increasing in volume had the couple back on edge and wary.

“Seriously, we should just go-”

It sounded like the ghost boy was near wherever the crunches were coming from, which didn’t improve her mood one iota.

“Nonsense! I have been asking to meet them for how long?” A deep, growling and carrying voice came in response as Maddie readied a weapon.

“Yeah, that’s the problem. You don’t want to, trust me.”

“Seems he doesn’t have a very high opinion of ghost hunters, eh Mads?” Jack was less noticeably readied, still half crouched near the footprint, but his hand hovered where a weapon was concealed. She focused on her breathing as the sound grew louder, eyes narrowed as she spotted a large figure cresting the nearby hill. With the little white haired ghost boy completely at ease near it. Nothing like his regular behaviour, let alone the talking. Why would this huge beast know of them?

“What did I say about not shooting people?” Phantom actually seemed to blush on seeing her holding the weapon, smacking his face. “Okay, you saw them, bye now!”

The large furred creature ignored how the smaller ghost pushed at their shoulder, instead waving with a horrific ice claw, bones gleaming from within as it seemed to rip at the very air. “Well our first meeting was hardly perfect either, I can manage.”

“Yeah but I can’t just pull a ‘won’t shoot a big yeti’ icicle out of their jumpsuits!”

For a human loving ghost, Phantom was certainly very concerned about this giant horned monster being harmed by ‘mere humans’. More proof of his act, at least. Though the large creature did have a cloak of some sort and clothing. He spoke well, if you ignored the fanged mouth and growls. A strange contradiction of appearance and intent. That wasn’t a normal thing for ghosts either, you could gather a decent amount about one by how they looked. So why was this one chatting and apparently interested in seeing two humans? “So, you’re the ‘Frostbite’ he mentioned?” She hazarded a guess, but wasn’t going to put the gun away.

It showed its fangs, maw wide and unnerving. “Yes, I am! It is an honour to meet you” The furry head bowed slightly, as if trying a sort of nod of respect. “Your work assisted the Great One in vanquishing Pariah Dark, we all owe you a debt of gratitude.”

“Please don’t call me that. Especially in front of them!” the green eyed ghost practically squawked, somehow flushing even harder when he didn’t even have blood.

Maddie’s mind almost flipped over from the sheer confusion of what this terrifying ghost said. They had ‘helped’ vanquish something? More likely, Phantom had stolen something. So why did this ghost still give them credit? That wasn’t even starting to touch why the ghost boy would be considered great in any aspect. “Assisted him? Do you mean with that ghost who took our town into the Ghost Zone?” She wasn’t sure if that was what the ‘king’ ghost was called, but it made more sense than anything else she could think of.

“Indeed. The King of All Ghosts would have sent the infinite realms into chaos and conflict. Of course we are grateful for your help in preventing that.”

“That’s when you stole the Ecto Skeleton!” Jack spoke up, no longer tense. “You never brought it back.”

“That’s not my fault, that thing almost wasted me! It was gone once I woke up!” The boy objected, but seemed to settle down when the larger ghost ruffled his hair. “I wanted to bring it back.”

“I’m sure now they understand how vitally important that technology was, for your world and ours.” The ghost’s yellow eyes watched them expectantly, the unnerving void of pointed daggers thankfully closed now.

“Well it did get Amity back where it belonged.” Losing the Ecto Skeleton had been a blow, but an acceptable one to get back to normal. The fact that more ghosts seemed to know and care about their part of it was somewhat unnerving. She very much doubted Phantom just ‘lost’ it either. Jack suffered from the demands of the suit, but the ghost was just ectoplasm and electricity. Quite unlikely he could be drained that much, it wasn’t meant for ghosts to use in the first place.

“Your world? Doesn’t the kid live here?” Jack asked, making his wife blink. She hadn’t noticed that odd phrasing.

“No, no. The Great One prefers the human world and his friends. How are they doing?”

He froze up, eyes flicking to the hunters and back to the yeti. “Fine. They’re great.” He darted closer to the two hunters, gesturing at them to move. “Okay let’s go.”

How much interacting was this ghost doing with humans to have ‘friends’ it told other ghosts about? They could be in danger, or used as targets! “No no, we’d love to hear about your friends.”

“Nope, you don’t, gotta get home right? Big hurry, don’t trust me, remember?” He was practically pleading with them.

Frostbite’s ears twitched as he tilted his head. “Don’t trust you? Surely they’re the ones who taught your friends how to drive that craft of yours?”

Phantom had the gall to turn invisible.

“We were unaware anyone other than us was using it, actually.” Maddie didn’t bother to keep the frost from her voice.

“Ah, well at least the good news is I already knew how to make a replacement battery for it when the Great One came asking for help.” His tail twitched, as one of the great claws scratched at his furry chest. “It should be good as new once you can install it.”

So not only was this ghost stealing technology and bringing humans to the ghost zone, it was teaching other ghosts how it worked! The second that ghost was in their grasp, he’d have some serious answering to do. “Do all of you call him that?” It was the only question she could ask without wishing to spit acid, quite frankly.

“All of the Far Frozen recognize him as such, but not all ghosts are the same. He should be proud of the title, a savour of two worlds.”

“Frostbite I’m begging you, stop! It’s embarrassing!” The ghost dropped his invisibility, still looking more like a flustered kid instead of the heroics seeking fame junkie he was.

“Well if it helps your relationship with these ghost hunters, I think it is important that they know.”

“Yeah no. Let’s not.”

It felt like there was something the two ghosts weren’t saying. That, and the fact Phantom didn’t seem to like being hailed as a hero here in the Ghost Zone didn’t make sense. Why all the grandstanding in Amity then?

“Well we’ll be glad for the lift home. You shouldn’t steal from us, kid.” Jack tried a stern approach, and the ghost actually flinched from the rebuke.

“You’re not the only ones who want to map this place out, that’s all,” he didn’t really seem to be answering them, more talking to himself before launching himself at the Speeder again. “You can shoot at me about it back home or whatever.”

“Travel safely! Do try and explore your other half more often, Great one. You’re always welcome here.” His great furry head watched them all easily, seeking out the ghost hunters eyes as well. "I understand you are less interested, but you are welcome to see the realities of my home as well. It may surprise you, in a good way."

She desperately wanted to ask what that monster of a ghost meant by that, but managed to hold her tongue. If all the ghosts here saw Phantom as some sort of godlike hero, chewing him out here wasn’t safe. Jack’s small nod of agreement and warm hug helped, but it couldn’t stop her mind churning. They’d seen and hurt so much, and none of it made any sense! This Frostbite just threw in several more wrenches in the works with only a few sentences, but with how agitated Phantom was getting now wasn’t the time to push their luck. Perhaps when the shoe was on the other foot, and the boy needed their assistance.

He didn’t speak up or grumble this time as they left the frozen land behind. Though that might be them as well,m sitting close together and considering the notes and samples they had taken. That and the huge list of questions Jack had scrawled down in the margins of a sketch of Frostbite. How could a ghost like Phantom truly manage to stay in the human world most of the time? Did it have to do with this ‘other half’ that ghost had mentioned? Would knowing what it was reveal a weakness in the ghost? So many questions, but no answers. Why had Phantom even let them speak to any ghosts, considering how badly he’d reacted to some of the information given? He couldn’t genuinely be wanting to help.

The inviting glow of the portal appeared sooner than either of them could expect, the ghost dropping the ship on the lab floor with a loud clunk.

“See? Home. No ‘evil plan’” he floated into view, and she was fairly sure he only did so to make those air quotes with his hands.

“So you say, ghost kid. Don’t think we won’t be checking for tricks!”

“Yeah sure,” he shrugged, grinning after a moment. “Oh hey, by the way, you do know what the Speeder is powered with, right?”

Maddie didn’t actually know how to take that question. “Of course we do, we built it!”

“Uh huh.” His grin widened as he kicked back, legs vanishing into that strange tail. “All you had to do was take the cover off. It’s the Ghost Zone! There’s ectoplasm everywhere! I just had Frostbite make a backup.”

...Had they really- They had. They’d been dragged around by a ghost for no reason at all! “Why you little-”

He kept laughing before turning and getting out of the way. “Thanks for flying with Phantom Zone Tours! I’m out.” A jaunty wave and he was gone, leaving two baffled ghost hunters behind.

“I think some fudge is in order after that!”

She couldn’t say he was wrong. Maybe fudge could make sense of that whole affair. All that for a prank? It didn’t add up. They’d have a lot of work to do.

#Danny Phantom #phic fight 2021 #Maddie Fenton #jack fenton #hey look a fun one!#tho they are kinda mean about poor danny-boy #but hey minimal angst! woo!#Team Ghost

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333sth · 3 years

Text

dove. (frankie morales)

chapter i. previous.

pairing: frankie morales x ofc (’dove’) no use of y/n.

warnings: mention of ptsd/military service, language, violence, brief mention of torture/kidnapping, injury detail, fighting.

summary: frankie was going to propose, until dove found the ring and ghosted. even santi can’t track her down.

rating: mature. wc: 1.6k

Dove was a nickname coined by an old general during her training. He was a traditional man, though not disrespectful. It was a term of endearment that probably softened the influx of powerful women breaching into the male territory. He’d drawled, ‘I ought to call you Dove – I ain’t never seen a girl so swift, yet so fuckin’ lethal.’ She kept the boys in line too, he’d noted. When Benny got too reckless, or Tom’s temper ran away with him, she was the first to snap them out of it. In environments where peace was a very distant concept, she played the peacekeeper.

One time, during a two-month deployment in Nigeria, the group was shoved in the back of an ancient pick-up truck for six hours. Dove was wedged between Will and Frankie, sweltering in the humid air. The stale smell of sweat mixed with blood and diesel was permeating the air, and they were three hours from the nearest checkpoint. To pass the time, she asked them what they’d do if they weren’t special forces.

That was easy for Will – he’d be a teacher of some kind. Benny waffled about sports, making some brash comment about how he’s got to channel all his aggression somewhere. Tom and Santi couldn’t come up with anything that suited them more than the forces, which was not surprising. Frankie would still be a pilot somehow. Dove had never seen him more comfortable than in the pilot’s chair.

Dove dreamed of owning her own bar or café, somewhere relaxed and laid-back. A beach perhaps, somewhere quaint and peaceful, where the air is warm well into the late evening and the waves are gentle, collapsing onto the sand like white noise. She imagined the hum of conversation meeting tinkling music, beach lanterns dotted around the decking to cast an ambient glow beneath the stars. Maybe a chef on weekends could make bar snacks. Tom had snorted at that, throwing a jab about how she can burn the water they use to make their dried food sachets.

The men had recalled this conversation, desperately trying to fathom where Dove might have taken off to. It was met with an aching nostalgia for the type of teammate she was too. That conversation had been a tactic, a peaceful one, to prevent the terrible concoction of adrenaline, exhaustion and heat forming an argument in that truck. She was a natural tactician as well as a good friend.

Frankie had recounted each country they had been stationed and exactly how Dove had felt about them. She had loved Argentina, even when she got shot and Will spent three hours with his finger crammed in the wound to stop the bleeding. But she also liked Jamaica, Brazil and Hawaii. None of their contacts in the forces had any trace of her, not even Santi’s in South America. Her family were none the wiser – they brushed it off, her dad mumbling something about it sounding like her usual antics.

All he had was a scribbled note that read, ‘I need space. I’m safe. I love you.’ It was folded neatly in his wallet, like he was carrying the last piece of her that he had.

Mexico. That was where she was. A small town on the West coast that had enough life to keep her occupied, and the guarantee of anonymity.

If people asked, she was a retired nurse, which wasn’t entirely untrue. She told them she spent a lot of her career in humanitarian aid, to explain the occasional jitters on a rowdy Friday night and the nasty scars. There was a particularly gruesome one leading from the base of her throat up to her bottom lip from a knife fight. She told them it was shrapnel, flung from a collapsing building, and she was lucky it didn’t catch her jugular. The locals had gasped in awe at her heroism. She’d flinched against the memory of how her own knife buried into her attacker’s throat instead.

A few days into her move, Dove had found what could only be considered a derelict shed on the beachfront. It was probably the remains of an old boathouse. With some help from the locals, she had restored the ageing planks of wood. What was spare formed the bar and some rustic furniture. She pieced together a jumble of second-hand bar stools, chairs and lanterns that made for an eclectic combination. It had character and history in its walls, rather than some swanky, expensive build devoid of any personality. It was exactly what she had dreamed of, huddled in hypothermic temperatures or insomniac in her cot at base, sleep beyond her reach.

It didn’t change the fact that every time she entered her bedroom, the old polaroid of Frankie pinned to the wall hits her like a ton of bricks. Frankie knows she took it – it was pinned to the fridge at their home before she left. It’s quintessential Frankie, sat with his arms folded to his chest, biceps straining slightly against an old denim shirt that was getting a little too snug post-retirement. It was at a barbecue, his skin tanned and flushed from a day in the sun drinking, tousled hair peeking out from the sides of a dog-eared cap. Every time Dove glances at it, she wonders if he still has that hat.

‘Of course he has,’ the voice in her head snaps back. Any piece of clothing she’d suggest replacing would be countered with, ‘over my dead body’. The man was sentimental, a little too attached to his home comforts. She’d also bought it him in a seedy gift shop in the middle of nowhere as a joke.

“To add some variety,” she’d said. He would never let it go now.

Once, Veronica had eyed the photograph on her mirror and asked, “Who is he then? An ex?”

Veronica, or Roni for short, had lived in the town her whole life until university. When she graduated and moved home to save money, she needed a job. Dove needed a friend, so she took her on as a bartender. She was young and giddy, but harmless. More importantly, she was too self-absorbed to notice or even care that her thirty-something year old boss had bullet holes in her back.

“Something like that.” Dove had replied, rifling through her sorry excuse for a makeup bag. She’d closed the bar early to have a rare night off in the next town over, which had considerably livelier nightlife.

“You never talk about relationships. Or men.’ Roni observed, peering over Dove’s shoulder to eye another photograph. It was a group picture of the boys, huddled in the same fraying booth in their favourite bar back in Florida. “Looks like you were spoilt for choice.”

Dove scoffed, meeting her friend’s twinkling gaze in the mirror. “Shut your mouth. They were friends from work.”

“Were? Does that mean you can’t set me up now?”

“They’re almost twice your age. You’d tire ‘em out.” Dove set down the lip-gloss she dragged out for special occasions. “Come on, I’m not getting any younger either. It’s already passed my bedtime.”

Thankfully, that was enough to amuse the younger girl into linking her arm and hauling her out the door to the taxi, no more questions asked.

The hollering of spectators and thudding of skin slapping against the mat was reduced to a distant buzzing in Frankie’s ears. It was dimmed by the incessant ramblings of Santiago and Tom, discussing the files Santi had put together on Lorea. He could feel the reawakening of his rusty military senses as he follows the familiar tactics, mentally registering his agreement or noting what he might do differently. He doesn’t vocalise it though, because he hasn’t even agreed yet. Joining the debate would inadvertently signal his agreement. He didn’t want that.

There was a shadow lingering in the space on the bench beside him. It was an empty presence, not Will, who was hooked on the cage of the ring yelling encouragement to his brother. Not Benny, thumping his leather gloves together with his teeth pulled harshly over his mouthguard, judging his competitor with a predatory glint in his eye.

The opponent was a monster, but he lumbered like his limbs were filled with lead. Frankie notes that Benny, nimble and tall, will have a breeze tiring him out. Dove would have joked that it wasn’t worth coming, that they’ll be sat here until their asses are numb watching Benny play cat and mouse. His chest twinges. Sometimes it’s too easy to remember what she’d do, what she’d say. He wished he knew what she’d make of Santiago’s proposition. She always saw through Pope’s glamourisation and Tom’s greed.

What Frankie misses while he observes his pitiful surroundings is Tom and Santi descending into a hushed conversation. Tom nudges Santi, “You got anything on Dove?”

Santi sighs, long and solemn, “Maybe.” As Tom’s face quirks in interest, he holds up his finger, “It’s just a hunch.”

“A hunch is better than what we’ve had in the last year.”

Santi takes a sip of his beer, casting a glance at Fish, whose eyes are trained on the floor and the swirling contents of his cup. He knows him well enough to know his thoughts are the only thing that have his attention.

“I worry about him. We all do.” Tom whispers. “Getting busted just made things worse.”

“Don’t get his hopes up, man. It’s nothing solid. It’ll crush him if I’m wrong.” Tom nods solemnly before Santi continues, “A friend of mine saw an ex-Delta in a bar, a woman. He knew ‘cause of a tattoo she had on the nape of her neck.”

Tom’s eyes widen. In front of them, Benny lands a sickening punch on his opponent’s nose, complimented by an audible crack. He’s barely breaking a sweat, dancing around as the guy heaves and stumbles forward.

Santi’s gaze doesn’t break from the ring. “Mexico. I think she’s in Mexico.”

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