#i read all your tags. i know what the people want. i shall happily oblige.

[secretagentspydetectiveninja]

posting this also without context

[zodiyack]

A Work Proposition

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Female!Reader

Warnings: Nothing really

Words: 1,370

Summary: The female detective Lestrade has introduced is compelling, and upon seeing her and Sherlock interact, Enola’s cupid skills subtly kick in.

Taglist: @matth1w, @redspaceace-writes, @fandom-puff, @darling-i-read-it, @simonsbluee, @sebastianstanslefteyebrow, @missihart23, @maan24, @beck07990​

Masterlist | Henry Cavill Masterlist

The woman often hired to work with Lestrade, who was a common friend with Sherlock, had been at her job for a few years now. Lestrade thought highly of his new detective friend, so much so that he introduced her to the well known, Sherlock. His plan was to have them crack some cases they’d been stuck on, two mighty detectives better than one, but he had to get them to agree without scaring them off with the idea of meeting and working with a complete stranger.

Y/n agreed quickly, Sherlock taking some convincing, but the thing was, he didn’t tell either of them that they’d be working with another person. Both, however, showed up with mild confusion. It was his fault, he admitted. Confusion had to have been expected with his letters. The letters he’d sent out for his plea of summoning them went as this;

“Dear Detective,

You’re receiving this letter because I am of urgent need. I would like to request your assistance in a case that has us rather stumped. If it isn’t too much trouble, of course.

Though I will not explain too much of the case at hand, I will give you some convincing, hopefully, reassurance. Fear not for your life nor safety, you will be far from death’s doorstep on this mission.

The rest of the details of the case will be provided upon your arrival. Once informed, you may still have the choice of rejecting or accepting my beseechment. I ask you to at least hear out what I would like to solve before any denial of this matter.

Nothing is required except you and a healthy amount of sleep, for both you and your extraordinary intelligence. Bring your tools, or supplies if you prefer that name more, if you wish.

We shall supply you with any and all information you need, as well as a meal in apology for dragging you away from your personal life. I do hope you take my imploration into consideration.

Sincerely, Inspector G. Lestrade.”

It wasn’t the most specific of information, nor the longest letter he could write, but it would do. He sent it off in the mail then went home and slept peacefully. Early the next morning, Y/n was at his door, up and ready without a trace of sleep lingering on her face, whereas Lestrade had bags under his eyes and was yawning ever few seconds.

“Sorry to disturb your sleep, Inspector. Your letter lacked any instructions for when I do indeed accept...which would be now.” She waited by the door politely as Lestrade walked to his kitchen.

“Come in, Y/n, I would hate to make you stand outside.” He called from the other room. Y/n obliged happily, stepping in and closing the door behind her. A few seconds later and Lestrade was scurrying back to her with another piece of parchment. “My apologies, I knew something felt left out.” He chuckled nervously.

“Oh, it’s no worries, Inspector!” She put the note in her satchel, then faced him again. “I hope you get some rest. Again, I’m ever so sorry to have woken you-”

He held out a hand, quieting her instantly. “Y/n, you’ve done no wrong, there’s no need to be distressed.”

Y/n nodded, approaching the door again but stopping with her hand upon the handle, “Perhaps you should go back to sleep whilst you still can. I’ll see you then, Inspector.” A warm smile was thrown his way before she carefully opened the door and left.

They awaited Y/n’s arrival. Enola had tagged along with her older brother, hoping to be granted permission by both men, more hopeful with Lestrade’s words of guaranteed safety. Both Holmes siblings and Lestrade were sat patiently in his office. Well, in truth, only Lestrade dawned patience.

“Excuse my impoliteness, Lestrade, but why exactly are we yet to begin?” His brows were knitted, blue eyes holding great confusion.

“It’ll be only a few more minutes now.” He commented rather casually as he fished out his pocket watch, inspecting it for a second before placing it back in his waistcoat pocket. “My sincerest apologies for the hold up.”

Like he had promised, a few minutes went by and then- Just as Enola and Sherlock were about to rise, thank Lestrade for the job offer, turn it down and then return home for a quiet reading in the library, knocks sounded from the glass of the door.

Y/n stood on the other side, rapping her knuckles against the door, her eyes trained on Lestrade. He rose from his seat, her hand dropping and the knocking ceasing. Enola and Sherlock looked over, suddenly intrigued with the surprise guest as she stepped into the office.

“Please, detective, have a seat.” He smiled and gestured his hand to the large leather couch against the wall.

Enola scooted to the end, resting her palm and the arm of the sofa, Sherlock scooting slightly to make room for the detective despite there are already being enough that no one would be forced to move. It was only polite, plus, they were still strangers.

“I’m very sorry for my lateness, I got rather sidetracked with the anticipation for this case.” Y/n explained with a sheepish chuckle, sitting down and turning to face the others on the leather seating. She extended her hand to Sherlock, “I know you. You’re Detective Sherlock Holmes...and that must be your sister, Enola, I’ve read fantastic things of you two, marvelous work by the way. I’m Y/n L/n.”

“Detective Y/n L/n.” Lestrade corrected before either Holmes could respond.

“Ah, yes. I am indeed a detective, as Lestrade has mentioned, however, I see no need for either of you two to reference me with such formalities. My work pales in comparison to the Holmes cases.”

“I’m honored you think that, but you mustn’t put yourself down,” Sherlock drawled, a small grin upon his lips.

This peculiar, new woman aroused his curiosity just as much as he did hers. If she were a case, he’d be at work on her for hours at a time and still have towers to unravel. A mystery, complex but something he was determined to solve, shrouded her.

Sherlock had his eyes trained on her, the world becoming silent around him as he took in her face, mind creating a mental photograph he could hold onto as long as he pleased. The details of her features were like a rare piece of art, but not one he could find in the museum. No, she was far too unique, far too rare to be held up in a marble building with works nowhere near as beautiful, as desired as her.

“Now that you’ve made acquaintances, we shall speak about the case! I called you both here without knowledge of each other’s appearances, and I am deeply sorry for tricking you, but I wanted to introduce the two...” his eyes drifted to Enola, “three greatest detectives I’ve ever met. I originally intended on having Y/n and Sherlock work on the case, but I assume Enola would enjoy helping out?”

The older Holmes opened his mouth, ready to confirm his sister would be joining the two, but Enola was much faster. “Thank you, but I’m afraid I’ll be the one to decline your invitation for this case. Nonetheless, I don’t doubt that my brother, or detective L/n, would be up for the task.”

She stood up and left the office. Lestrade was ready to begin his explanation on the case before Sherlock rose suddenly and started after his little sister. He pushed past the people working at the station until he reached her, grabbing ahold of her arm and giving her a perplexed look.

“Where are you going?”

“Home.”

“I thought you said you wanted to help?”

She smiled softly at her brother, “I saw the way you looked at detective L/n the second she walked in. You should work with her, get to know her. Worry not, brother, she isn’t here to usurp your name, only provide whatever assistance she can.” Then, she left the station, her words racing through Sherlock’s conscious the entirety of the day.

Maybe Y/n really would usurp his name...without the illegality of it obviously.

[therenlover]

In Sickness And In Health (An 18+ James Patrick March/Reader Oneshot)

This is 18+ content! If you are a minor, this work is not for you !!!

This fic is a sequel to my oneshot Heartsick, but it can be read as a standalone oneshot!

Synopsis: Normally people don’t have their wedding and funeral on the same day, but you and James don’t quite have a normal relationship, do you? Besides, you wouldn’t wanna go any other way.

Tags: Smut with Plot, Weddings, Fluff, Ghost Smut, Cunnilingus, Sick!Reader, Obnoxious Titanic Knowledge

Rating: E, 18+

Warnings: Swearing, Major Character Death, Romanticization of Death, Murder, Unsafe Sex (it’s with a ghost, but just to be safe...), Mentions Of The Reader Having A Long Term Debilitating Illness

Word Count: 5500~

This fic has been crossposted to my AO3 under the same title

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“How are you feeling, my darling?”

James’s voice was soft as he entered your suite, slipping off his shoes before joining you on the bed. He smelled like antiseptic, hair and hands still damp from a recent wash. Underneath, though, was the sharp, coppery tang of blood.

You stretched as you answered, weak muscles shuddering with effort. “It’s a good day. Not great, I still feel like absolute shit, but I don’t feel like I’m actively dying anymore,”

“Well, that’s certainly an improvement,”

Your fiancé offered you a rare, genuine grin. Seeing him smile made the lie worth it.

In truth, you still felt truly terrible.

It had been almost three weeks since Mr. March had proposed, and true to his word he had been glued to your side helping you recover ever since. He helped you bathe, fed you meals, gave you medication, kept you entertained; days with him were filled with small, simple pleasures. You had never experienced anything like that attention before. Unfortunately, though, the time spent with James only seemed to help your mind, and not your body.

After close to two months of bed rest, your muscles were weak. It still took significant effort to do simple tasks like walking to the bathroom or using cutlery. Some days were better than others, but everything generally tended to end up as part of the indistinguishable haze of pain that clouded your memories lately. If nothing else, at least the fevers were less extreme.

The only light at the end of the tunnel was your wedding. It was still two weeks away, (“That’s plenty of time for you to recover fully, my dearest,” James had insisted) but once you were married that meant you could die. Oh, what a happy day that would be. There would be no more sickness, no more achy muscles, not another day of forced bed rest, just peace and quiet and plenty of sex. God, how you missed the sex…

Every day was another day closer to your peaceful end, and yet they seemed to stretch endlessly. Deep down, you worried that you might not even make it long enough to walk down the aisle alive. You shuddered at the thought. If James ended up having to carry you down the aisle you might just die of embarrassment before he had the chance to kill you.

“I can’t believe you killed someone without me,” You huffed, reaching out your shaking arms and inviting James to lay with you. He happily obliged.

“Would you have preferred me to let him live?” James pulled your torso gently onto his chest, letting you rest against him.

“No, but you could have at least let me watch. I’ve been stuck in here for weeks, James. I get bored,”

He ran a hand through your hair. “Perhaps next time darling, but hopefully, you will be well enough to join me before our next victim walks through the door,”

“Who was it this time?”

“A florist. Liz invited him to bring over a few samples before hiring him to do arrangements for the wedding, but they were atrocious. You should have seen them, my love, they were simply grotesque, not to mention that the color schemes didn’t even slightly match the carpets in the entrance hall. Who puts pink and yellow tulips in a wedding arrangement at a hall filled with reds and oranges?”

You gave a soft hum. “Were they all really that bad?”

“Well… perhaps I was a bit harsh, but can you truly blame me? I want our wedding day to be perfect. There shouldn’t be a single flower or ribbon out of place,” He emphasized his question by gently squeezing you to his chest.

“Is it really that important?”

James went still. “What do you mean by that, dearest?”

A sigh pushed through your lips, your chest aching from the effort. “I just don’t understand why we have to wait for this perfect wedding when we could just get married now. I’m not saying I wouldn’t enjoy a big ceremony, I’m sure it would be wonderful, but I’m just so tired James. Why does it matter if we say our vows in front of other people? There’s not gonna be anything legally or religiously binding between us anyway. Getting married to you, in my mind, is just promising to be by your side forever, so why does anything else matter besides you and me?”

Looking up, you noticed that Mr. March seemed to be deep in thought, lips pressed into a line as his thin eyebrows furrowed together. Your heart sank. Did a wedding ceremony really mean that much to him? In an instant guilt began to flood your stomach. You were really ruining a special moment in his life to die faster? Hell, did he even really want you to die? He had always relished in your warmth, enthralled by the thudding of your weak, living heart. Of course, he would hate you for rushing into marriage just to throw your life away. Or maybe he was stalling because it would be too much for him to kill you himself…

“James-” you placated, lifting a hand to his face, but he quickly snapped out of his thoughtful haze.

He gazed down at you with love in his eyes and a wicked grin on his lips. “You’re right! We shall be married this afternoon!”

A jolt of shock ran down your spine.

“What?”

“As you said, our wedding is a binding of souls, my darling! Our love is sacred, withstanding time and mortality, so who are we to bend to the rules of the common man? If an intimate ceremony for two is what you desire, I shall not deny you,” In one smooth motion, James rolled on top of you, arms boxing you in as he loomed above. He looked absolutely unhinged, eyes glinting wildly in the yellow lamplight.

You knew then that there would never be anyone else. No one could compare to James, your James. He would devour you whole and you would thank him all the while. With a sudden burst of energy, you reached up and pulled him into a scorching kiss.

It was sloppy, all battling tongues and clashing teeth, nothing like the soft pressing of lips that you had been sharing lately. How had you gone almost two months without this? Your heart felt like it was about to burst right out of your chest. As James bit down hard on your lower lip, you pulled fistfuls of his pinstripe suit into your hands.

After a few more seconds of desperate, breathless kissing James pulled away. You panted for air below him. “Why’d you stop?”

To your dismay, he climbed off of you. His hard-on was fully visible through his thin dress pants as he stood. “As much as I would love to ravage you now, dearest, I believe we have vows to exchange,”

“Can’t we just do them in bed? I want you now,”

He chuckled at your whining. “I may be willing to compromise on many things, but this is not one of them,”

“Please, Mr. March,” Your words were loaded, innocent doe eyes boring into his very soul, “for me?”

You could tell it was a difficult decision, but James stood strong. “I can’t say you haven’t thoroughly tempted me, but I’m afraid not darling,” he said firmly, “Forgive me?”

With a sigh, you nodded. “Of course,”

The instant you gave in, he beamed. “Splendid! Now, it’s a shame that we don’t have your dress, but I believe I have given you several gowns that would serve nicely,”

“You’re not gonna let me get married in my pajamas?”

“Would you prefer that to wearing a dress?”

The genuine concern in James’ voice was enough to make you fold. The things his voice did to you….

“Darling,” you groaned, fighting your weak muscles as you pulled yourself to the edge of the bed, “look in the closet. There should be a black zip-up garment bag in there,”

He quirked up an eyebrow.

“Just do it,”

“As my bride commands,” James rushed to the closet, thumbing through gowns. By the time he found it you were on your feet, leaning on a nearby wall for support. “This one, darling?” he asked, pulling it from the rack.

You grinned. “That’s the one. Open it up for me?”

James undid the zip quickly. Once he saw the contents, he gaped. “You know it’s bad luck for the groom to see the dress before the wedding,”

Slowly, you made your way to James and hugged him from behind. “Well, it’s a good thing the wedding is happening now... can you help me get the dress on?”

He happily obliged.

In less than 15 minutes you were laced into your wedding dress and sitting at your vanity. James was by the phonograph looking at records while you finished pinning up your hair. It was finally time.

“What would you like me to play, darling? We don’t have the wedding march, but there are some decent options. Let’s see… The Swan? You always have loved Saint-Saëns. Or perhaps Songe d’Automne?” James asked. He had been strangely lenient; bending to your will on the wedding, letting you pick the music, allowing you to tease him with no repercussions. You shrugged it off.

“You would really play the song that played as the Titanic sank at our wedding?”

“I find it strangely fitting,”

With a soft laugh, you put the last pin in place and turned to your groom. “And so it is. I’ll compromise. We have Mon Coeur S’Ouvre A Ta Voix, don’t we? You’ll get your morbidity while I get my romance,”

“That sounds delightful, my dear. Good choice,”

James found the correct record and set it on the phonograph, placing the needle and cranking the arm with a well-practiced hand. Then, as the music began to play, he stood. It was like he was devouring you with his eyes, drinking in every detail of you as he approached. He offered you his hands. “Shall we begin, my darling?”

You joined him in the center of the room without hesitation, taking his offering with a smile, “I think we shall,”

“I admit,” James said, voice sweet and low, “that I am well out of my depth here, but before we begin may I say that you, as you are now, are more beautiful than I’ve ever seen you?”

Your face flushed. “What’s gotten into you, James? Are you getting soft on me?”

“We can only hope not, I have a reputation to uphold you know! I just can’t help but think…” his sentence drifted off as his gaze fell on yours, “I am a hard man, one of custom and habit. My life has been filled with monotony for as long as I have lived. Even killing has become commonplace for me. Things do not phase me the same way they phase you, darling, in all of your softness and perfection. I wonder if this is what will truly make you happy,”

“James!” you dropped his hands in order to cup his face, “I love you. I want to be with you. What would make you think I’m unhappy here?”

He covered your small fingers with his own, voice wistful. “I love you too, Y/N. Don’t misunderstand me, this wedding brings me more joy than you know. I simply wish to say that you will only get married once and I want it to be exactly to your liking. I have been engaged thrice and married once before, all of the pomp and circumstance is old news to me. For you, though, in all your youth…”

In a rare moment of openness, James bared himself to you. It was only right for you to do the same.

“I have never been more sure of myself than in this moment,” you whispered, leaning to let your forehead rest against his, “You are enough. I don’t need guests, or flower arrangements, or a cake to know I love you and I want to spend the rest of eternity at your side. You’re right, I’m young and I’ve made a lot of dumb choices in my life, but loving you isn’t one of them. Take me, James, make me yours. This is where I belong”

As you spoke, you felt him relax against you.

��Well, you’ve certainly convinced me,” he murmured before pulling back and bringing your hands to his still, unbeating heart, “now, on with the show… my queen, the woman who has tamed my heart, you are the only one of your kind. No one else could move me the way you do. The moment I saw you walk into my hotel I knew that you would be mine, but I had no clue of the things you would do to my heart. You have changed me, mind, body, and soul. I can only hope that I’ve changed you in similar ways,”

While he was speaking, it suddenly hit you that this was it. Usually, brides had months of build-up to their weddings, filled with cake tastings and dress fittings and family and friends. You, though, had had only a few weeks to prepare, most of which were spent on strict bedrest while James took care of the planning. Even then, you had disregarded the plans. Tears of joy began to roll down your cheeks. Nothing had ever felt so right in your whole life.

“Oh darling, don’t cry,” he cooed, wiping your tears away with the pad of his thumb.

“I’m just so happy!”

“And you shall continue to be happy. As long as you remain by my side, you will want for nothing! I shall be with you in sickness and in health, through life and through death,” Suddenly, his voice lowered to almost a whisper. “You, Y/N, have captivated me. I wish to never be without you again,”

“You never will be,”

James smiled, squeezing your hands. In an instant, you realized it was your turn. You hadn’t given much thought as to what you would say, but as you gazed into his dark, hopeful, hungry eyes the words came to you as clear as day.

“James Patrick March,” you said, “I have never met anyone quite like you. When I first saw you, I had nothing. I was destitute. The Hotel Cortez was my last hope in life, but then, I spoke to you in the Blue Parrot Lounge and I suddenly knew exactly what my purpose in life was. Somehow, someway, I realized that I had been made to find you. You’ve given me so much, James. You showed me that life was worth living. I can’t think of a future for me that doesn’t include you. From this moment on, once I’m finally Mrs. March, we can finally be what we were made to be… one heart, one mind, one soul. I’ll never let you go. Marry me, James? Stay here with me until the world ceases to turn?”

“I will, darling. I do,” while he spoke, he reached into his pocket. “I had hoped that this ring would be sitting on your finger sooner. It belongs to the woman of the house, the holder of my heart… you, my dearest Mrs. March. Please say you love me, and that you’ll stay with me until nothing of this world remains?

You responded with a grin. “I love you, James… I do,”

Slowly, he slid the ring onto your finger. It was the first time you’d actually seen it up close, and it was more stunning than you remembered. A large, square-cut diamond sat on a bed of smaller rubies, and it was all held together by a delicate silver band that fit your finger perfectly. The red stones were a new addition. Had James had the ring altered just for you? You were about to ask when you caught his gaze.

“May I kiss the bride now, my darling?”

Instead of responding, you surged up and kissed him yourself. It was like none of the kisses you had ever shared before.

There was a passion to it, but it wasn’t desperate. It was more of a low, roiling thing, a time-bomb ticking down to explode. In seconds James’ cool hand had found its way into your hair, pulling you closer and messing up the pinned curls you had put in earlier. You found you didn’t quite care.

Your limbs were beginning to feel weak as you ran out of air, and you couldn’t tell if it was because of your long-forgotten illness or if it was just the power James held over you. Part of you didn’t care anymore. As you pulled back for air, your husband reached around to the lacing at the back of your dress and began to pull at it, earning a few giggles as he loosened it enough that it fell from your body, leaving you almost bare in front of him.

“How I’ve craved you, my lovely wife,” he growled, palming your breasts through your bra, “it’s been far too long,”

His touch felt electric against your thin, soft skin. “Please, Mr. March, more,” You pressed yourself against your husband, feeling how your words affected him. He was rock hard. Something about that satisfied an ache in your heart. Even with you sick and weak, he needed you as much as you needed him.

In a swift movement, he scooped you up and carried you to the bed, setting you down gently before settling himself between your legs. You whimpered as he sucked a deep bruise into your neck. He was an expert with his tongue, licking and sucking the skin like a man starved. It felt delightful, but you couldn’t help but think about how it would feel elsewhere.

As if he could read your mind, James grinned.

“All in good time, you little minx,”

Ever impatient, you fisted a hand into his hair in an attempt to get him to move lower. He stayed put.

“Does my lovely wife want something from me?”

You groaned as he wrapped his teeth around your bra strap and tugged before letting go, the elastic snapping against your already sweat-slick skin. “James, please,”

“Ah, ah, ah! Use your words, dearest. What do you want?”

His tutting made you flush from your cheeks to your chest. There was only one way to get what you wanted, and you knew exactly how to do it. With as much innocence as you could muster in your debauched state, you whispered, “Please sir, will you eat my pussy?”

James couldn’t hold back as he snapped his hips against the sheets. “That’s it darling! How could I say no to such a polite request?”

You released a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. In a blink, your husband was undoing your bra and pulling it off, working his sinful mouth down to your breasts. His teeth grazed your nipple, drawing a high-pitched whine from your throat as your back arched, pushing you up towards his touch. It was like your body was a live wire. Every nerve was alive, buzzing at the slightest touch. Still, it wasn’t enough.

Thankfully, he was quick to move once again. He left a trail of gentle, sloppy kisses down your ribs and stomach before arriving at his desired destination. His hot breath against your soaked panties fanned the flames of arousal building within you. Once again, you whined.

Your husband had always loved eating you out. He never seemed happier than when he was buried between your thighs with his tongue buried between your folds, and once again he was faced with his favorite activity. The hungry look in his eye told you that he wanted it as much as you did.

“It’s a shame I didn’t get to remove your garter in front of the hotel. I would have so enjoyed showing them all just how lucky of a man I am. Perhaps it’s a blessing in disguise though… I do hate to share” he murmured, pressing a few torturous kisses to the hot skin of your inner thighs as he skimmed your panties with his fingers, “I suppose these will have to do,” Then, in a sudden movement, he was dragging them down your legs by the lace with his teeth. Once they were removed, he tossed them aside to be collected later. The way he looked at your wetness was reverent. It only made you wetter.

“What do we have here,” he muttered, letting the tip of his nose just barely brush your core, “what could possibly be making you this wet, my darling?”

His taunting was, surprisingly, less severe than usual. On any normal day, it would have taken a good 10 minutes for him to be anywhere near your heat, but you could tell he was obliging your whims as a treat. It was a special occasion, after all.

“You,” you groaned lowly as his breath ghosted over your pussy.

“That’s right, my dear heart, me,”

In an instant James had buried himself in your lower lips, suckling your clit with vigor as your hips bucked to meet him. For once, he let you chase your pleasure with reckless abandon. It had been months since your last proper orgasm, so you were extra sensitive as he licked long stripes up your slit. Soon enough you were keening as you teetered on the edge of pleasure.

“James- James, please!” you shouted as he finally worked a finger into your tight, wet hole, his tongue lazily circling your clit as he gazed into your eyes across the planes of your body.

He pulled off momentarily, making you groan. “Please what, dearest?”

“I wanna cum! Please- OH!”

His lips were back on your clit instantly, his eyes smiling as he pumped in and out of you with his fingers and sucked with reckless abandon. Every muscle in your body felt poised for action, your hands gripping James’ hair at the roots with enough force that you were surprised it was still attached to his head. You tipped over the edge into pleasure the second he curled his fingers upwards, roughly pressing into your sweet spot as he hummed, his voice vibrating against you in the most heavenly way.

Your orgasm was like a wave of pure bliss rolling over you as James pleasured you through it, milking you for everything you had. Only once you stopped convulsing did he remove his mouth. Even then, he continued to fuck you gently with his fingers. “Did that feel good, my love?” he asked, rubbing circles into your still-shaking thigh with his free hand.

“Yes, James! Your mouth is perfect,” you whimpered.

He seemed to enjoy your answer because he slowly pulled his fingers from your sensitive pussy before climbing up your body and rewarding you with a passionate kiss. You enjoyed it thoroughly but suddenly became aware that he was still fully dressed. “James,” you whined against his lips, “you’re wearing far too many clothes,”

He tasted like tobacco and absinthe as he kissed you again, guiding your hands to the buttons on his suit jacket before tugging at his cravat. “Perhaps we should remedy that, darling?”

You were quick to undo each button before ripping the jacket from his body and tossing it on the ground. His dress shirt and cravat were quick to follow. He focused on undoing his pants while you relished in his bare chest, running your hands down the firm planes of flesh. “God, you’re gorgeous,” you whispered, biting down gently on his collarbone.

“No need to call me God, dearest,” he chuckled, shoving down his pants and boxers to free his leaking cock, “though I don’t oppose to it,”

He was a big man, long and thick enough that fitting all of him in was just slightly painful but more than enough to make you feel deliciously full. You drooled as you reached between your torsos to stroke him, but surprisingly James caught your wrist before you could touch him.

“I appreciate you taking my pleasure into consideration, my love, but I won’t last long as it is,” he crooned, holding your wrist to the bed with one hand as he lined himself up against your dripping heat with the other. He ran the head of his cock against your folds a few times, gathering up your wetness in the hopes that it would ease the stretch when he finally pushed in. To you, though, it was just torture, and how James did love to torture his victims.

“Please, fuck me, Mr. March,” you groaned, “I need you! It’s been so long,”

“Such a good little minx,” his voice rolled low as he smiled down at you, “using your words just like I taught you. Perhaps you deserve a reward,” Then, as he locked his hungry eyes with yours, he pushed fully into your heat.

You cried out in ecstasy the second he filled you up, your head lolling back against the headboard as he rocked in and out, letting you ride out the initial pain as he warmed you up for the main event. It wasn’t long before the sting was gone. It was replaced with a dull ache, but that was mostly overshadowed by a sweet, building fire spreading through your abdomen again as James pounded into you with reckless abandon.

Every muscle in your body felt weak, loose and slack as your husband found that spot inside you. Each thrust was a shock through your overstimulated body. It was like you were toeing the line between pain and pleasure, always an instant from falling fully into one or the other. When James picked up his speed once again, you started to lose yourself to the pleasure.

“Mr. March!” you wailed, body jolting as he released your wrist and instead used his hand to steady your thigh and hold you wide open, “ Mr. March! Oh god, please let me cum!”

Surprisingly, despite the fact that he was dead, James seemed almost as breathless as you while he purred into your ear. “Close your eyes, Y/N. Let the pleasure take you. Cum for me, Mrs. March,”

With one last sharp stroke from James, you wailed and let your orgasm overtake you. This time, though, it wasn’t a wave. Instead, it hit you directly like a ton of bricks. The feeling was heady, a high derived from the shockwaves of pleasure mixing with the sweet pain James always provided when he lost control. Distantly, you could feel your thighs covered in your wet essence as your husband gripped them and drove himself into you ceaselessly, quickly reaching his own climax.

Maybe it was that you hadn’t been satisfied so thoroughly since before you were sick, but you felt absolutely exhausted as the last remains of your release drained from your body. Perhaps you had gone too far with the enthusiasm after being on bed rest for so long… Something deep inside you felt whole, like a piece of you that had been missing all your life had finally slotted into place. You fell into a dreamless sleep as that satisfaction resonated through your thoroughly fucked-out body.

When you woke, you almost felt disconnected from time. It was like waking up from an unexpected nap that went on longer than you had intended it to. Your eyelids felt heavy, but the familiar ache in your lungs and muscles that had been your constant companion was gone, replaced with a cool, tingling numbness. You chuckled a bit to yourself. Had sex been the answer to your problems all along?

Slowly, you rolled onto your side, stretching out your arms and legs before curling up in the sheets. Five more minutes of sleep wouldn’t hurt anybody.

Unfortunately, your plans for rest were foiled as you felt the bed dip beside you.

“How do you feel, my darling?” James asked. His voice was soft. If you didn’t know him better you would have thought he sounded frightened.

You smiled, letting your eyes flutter open as you took in his face. “Surprisingly, I feel great. I don’t think I’ve felt this good for a long time,”

James smiled back at you, his brown eyes glimmering with some distant emotion. “That’s good. I’m glad you’re starting the road to recovery,”

There was something strange about your husband, you noticed as you sat up, looking around. You definitely weren’t in your own bedroom anymore. Instead, you were tucked nicely into a four-poster bed with soft, red sheets, surrounded by dark wood and art deco accents. Distantly, you touched your chest and registered that you were wearing one of James’ shirts.

“You brought me to your room?” You propped yourself up on his headboard as you took in your new surroundings, watching the golden evening sun filter in through the gap in the heavy velvet curtains.

“Our room, my sweetling,” James corrected.

You hummed thoughtfully. “I like it. I know I’ve technically been here, with Devil’s Night and our little trysts and all, but I’ve never slept in your bed before. It’s soft… nice,”

He offered you a tinny false smile, his hands fidgeting nervously with the edge of the bedspread. “I’m glad you think so, dearest. What’s mine is now yours,”

Distantly, you smelled the faintest traces of the antiseptic soap James used to rid himself of blood. You raised an eyebrow. “How long was I out?”

“Just a few hours. I took the liberty of calling Mrs. Evers to turn down your sheets while you rested,”

“You had time for a kill in just a few hours?”

“Y/N, I-”

As he spoke, you reached out to touch his fidgeting hand only to yank your fingers back to your chest. No… this was wrong.

“Y/N, please, stay calm-”

“Why are you warm?” You asked, breathing heavily, “James? Why are you warm?”

James steadied himself with a deep breath before reaching over to rub gentle circles into your thigh above the blanket.

“I… I may have taken the liberties of… Y/N, please understand that I only did what I must. You were wasting away! And a promise is a promise…. What I’m trying to say is-”

“You killed me?”

“Precisely,”

Your husband bit down on his lip, averting his gaze in the hopes of avoiding your wrath. To his surprise, though, you threw yourself into his arms, peppering his face with kisses as you laughed joyously. You were free! Free from pain and sorrow and th e endless trappings of mortality. And James was the one to free you.

“You brilliant man!” you shouted, excited giggles escaping from your lips as you squeezed his frozen body to your own, “I didn’t even notice! Oh my god, and on our wedding night too? That’s so romantic! How did you do it? Did I have a heart attack and die from the best orgasm I’ve ever had in my whole damn life? Well… existence. I’m not quite alive anymore, am I? What did you use? Did you send me down the body chute?”

As you babbled, James slowly began to function again. You truly were his perfect match. “I slit your femoral artery just as all your muscles began to contract,” he explained, reaching up a hand to cup your cheek, “and I came to my own climax as you showered me in your blood. You didn’t feel a thing,”

You happily settled yourself against James’ chest. “You’re right. If anything, it felt kinda good…” you paused, “What about my body?”

He grinned. “You’re dead now, darling, we can revisit killing you during your little deaths at any time you like. As for your body, I didn’t put you down the chute. I cleaned you up, retrieved your ring, and took you to your casket. It’ll be bricked up in a wall within the week,”

“Aw, James, you had a casket ready for me and everything!”

“I commissioned it the day we first met. After we slept together and I led you to your suite, I went right to Liz and had her make an order. I spared no expense. Dark wood, red velvet lining…”

“Mmm,” you hummed, “It’s a shame we’ll never get to christen it… unless…”

“Darling, you cannot truly be thinking what I presume you are thinking,”

You giggled, pushing James flat onto the bed. Slowly, you leaned down to whisper in his ear. “Wanna go fuck over my dead body?”

James Patrick March had never gotten hard quicker in all his 126 years of existence.

-------

a/n: Welp! That’s the first smut I have ever written in my entire life. I hope it wasn’t terrible! This oneshot was great practice for a future instillation of Till Forever Falls Apart, so look forward to that lol. Let me know if you liked this and what types of oneshots you’d like to see next! Also, I love comments, so feel free to comment if you feel so inclined.

Please do not upload my works to other sites, thank you!

[bexterbex]

A Soul to Mend His Own | Ch. 61

Warning, PLEASE CHECK TAGS IF YOU SEE SOMETHING YOU DON’T WANT TO READ THEN DON’T READ | Tag lists are closed | INBOX OPEN

Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Will tag as I go along, Will update tags, Slow Burn, Influenced by Star Trek and other Sci-Fi themes, References to We Happy Few, Tons of References and quotes to George Orwells 1984 see if you can find them all, The First Order is the new Big Brother,  but who is really surprised, Blatant Nazi Symbolism, Interrogation Themes, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Really just drawn out Slow Burn, Don’t repost without permission, Torture themes, Suggestive Themes, Execution themes, Disturbing Themes, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Verbal Abuse, Controlling Kylo Ren, Physical Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kylo Ren is Not Nice, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, Possessive Kylo Ren, A character shamelessly based on Zelda

A Kylo Ren x Modern! Reader in a soulmate au with canon divergence. —————————————SLOWBURN————————————–

He is already the Supreme leader, searching the universe to find you, his Empress. Your name on his wrist has been the only constant in his life, while you have doubts about his existence and his acceptance of you. He isn’t in the database and why did the name Kylo Ren cover Ben Solo?

MASTERLIST

Chapter 61: The Hold on Your Mind

TW: Slight Dubious Consent. 

You, Kylo, and Hux went back to your chambers. The little piece of forever being left in that conference room. You entered and Kylo removed his helmet, giving you a kiss before he left to go take care of some other matter. Leaving you with Hux, Mitaka, and your new staff.

You all got situated upstairs in the large lounge space. Hux spoke to them for you, “As you all know these positions are highly coveted and are highly important to the First Order. You shall all need to be careful with who you discuss things with outside each other. Lady Ren’s safety comes first and foremost as decreed by the Supreme Leader. This shall be reflected in your behavior.”

You watched as he slowly looked each staff member in the eye, to prove his point. “If you have any concerns about your position ever, you can make them known to Captain Mitaka, Lady Ren, the Supreme Leader, or myself. I ask that you follow proper hierarchy chains at all times when applicable. You six will also be in close proximity to her ladies-in-waiting, it is up to Lady Ren to decide if they are to help you in your positions or not. But note that they may be privy to much of the information in this group, but there might also be information that may need to be kept from them.”

You watched as slowly every single staff member nodded in agreement with the general. And you watched him carefully analyze each reaction.

Your mind drifted off to Kylo. He was somewhere on the ship. After a few seconds of thinking about him, you could feel the tendrils start to stir and caress your mind. They were happy that he was on your mind, that you were thinking of him. You heard the general say your name, which snapped you out of your mini daydream.

“Lady Ren is there anything you would like to add?”

You looked at him, wondering how long you were not paying attention. “No, but if I think of anything, you will all be informed.”

The general stared at you for a moment before speaking to them again, “You all shall need to review FM 22-100 Military Leadership 1965 tonight before you report for duty tomorrow morning. Captain Mitaka will always be the first one on call for Lady Ren, but you all must be prepared too, at any hour.” They were all then dismissed except for Mitaka as he was to stay with you through your lesson.

“I shall have your press secretary write up a press release announcing your first patronage, it should be sent to you by the end of today. But for now, let us continue with your education. We have spoken about diplomacy, and I believe you have expressed interest to the Supreme Leader that you may want examples from your own people, versus ones from the Empire. Is this correct?”

You don’t remember ever discussing this with Kylo, but then you felt the tendrils shift, a sign that he probably found it in your mind without having to ask. Before the rational part of your mind could raise alarm to this, one of the tendrils smothered it.

“Yes, I apologize general, I just feel as if I would connect better to examples from my own peoples’ history versus people and history that is still too new to me.” You weren’t lying, galactic history still confused you, there was too much of it. Too many people are involved over too wide of an area for you to really make sense of it all.

“Yes, I have done some searching and have modified much of my initial lesson plans to accommodate this. For the rest of the evening, you shall be watching The King’s Speech while you don’t have any speech impediment it will serve you well for when you will need to address an entire assembly of people, not just a meeting room.”

You then spent the rest of your tutoring time watching the movie, you watched as Captain Mitaka occasionally asked you what pieces of technology were. Being that the film was set back right before World War II much of the technology on your planet that he had come into contact with had changed. You also explained some other differences to him while he made important notes.

Once the movie was over the general informed you that he would see you tomorrow during a luncheon meeting again, and the captain informed you that he would see you in the morning.

You all headed downstairs together as you bid them goodbye for the evening. You watched them leave and then headed to your dressing room where you called upon your ladies-in-waiting.

Both of them came to prepare you for dinner, Adlez insisting that you should change again as the Supreme Leader had already seen that dress this morning and that a change wouldn’t hurt anything. You relented as you could feel the tendrils caressing your brain at the mention of his name.

Once changed you sat in front of the vanity, watching yourself. This made the tendrils the happiest they had been all day. You could feel them dance around your skull, caressing and stroking as they moved around. You slowly allowed them to feel more of your mind and to see more of your memories. They carefully handled the happy ones while they caused the painful ones to disappear.

You got up to head to dinner, a doll’s smile painted on your face. A blissful sense of security caused by the tendrils hold on your mind. You waited for a few moments for Kylo; the tendrils getting more excited the closer he got to you.

When he entered your chambers and took off his helmet, you could feel them trying to leap out of your head. This caused you to involuntarily jerk forward. Kylo caught you in his arms, “Excited to see me Kitten?”

If you thought the tendrils were happy earlier nothing could compare to how they were acting now. Especially when his lips found yours. The tendrils caused your brain to go numb, which caused your legs to give out under you. Kylo held you close to him as this happened. His lips crossing over your cheek as he then whispered into your ear, “I am excited to see you too Kitten. Shall we go eat before we play?”

You nodded dumbly in response, words failing you as your mind was numb from his touch, both physically and whatever he was doing with his hold on your mind.

He then bridal carried you to the dining room. Only after trying to drag you with him for a second, while your legs failed you. Setting you down in your seat he gave you a long deep kiss before taking his seat.

Dinner went by with no discussion. Both of you content to stare longingly into each other’s eyes. He then stood and took your hand, your legs finally working again. You made your way to the bedroom, your mind still fully entranced by him.

He sat on the edge of the bed while he beckoned you to him. You numbly and happily obliged by straddling him. Your hands wound in his hair as you began to devour his lips in kisses. Feverishly kissing him as if he was your life force and you were a dying man, holding on to your last bit of strength. Consuming him like oxygen.

The tendrils numbing your brain; you had no idea where you ended and where he began. Everything blending together in some sort of euphoric haze. You felt his hands skimming up the side of your thighs pushing your dress up. His hands were then behind your back, unzipping it. Soon your dress was over your head and then somewhere on the floor.

His tendrils dance in your skull, keeping your mind occupied while his hands dance over your now bare flesh. He was fully clothed, but you were stripped down to your undergarments. In a much more intimate position than you had ever been in with him.

You felt his hands wander over the bare skin on your back and slowly caressing your bare stomach. His hands mapping out your skin, you sucked on his lower lip as he then fell back. You were over him as he laid back on the bed. You felt his hands come up and hold your face as they moved your hair to the side. Exposing your bra strap to him. As he slid that down your arm, and his other hand caressing your still clothed heat you felt alarms go off in your brain.

The rational part of your brain fighting back against the tendrils that threatened to take over, that threatened to pacify you, to make you numb. To make you obedient to all his wishes. You felt your brain kick into overdrive. The rational part started alerting the rest of your brain as to what was happening. You broke the kiss; you moved away from the hand that was pushing down your bra strap; you took hold of the hand that was caressing your crotch.

It took all of your willpower to choke out, “Get out of my head.”

His face was unfazed by your actions, his dark eyes analyzing your new reaction to all of this. “But Kitten we were just playing.”

Your stomach lurched with disgust, “We agreed to wait, this isn’t waiting.”

You heard him chuckle, “I wasn’t going to do anything Kitten. We were just playing.”

You released his hands and pushed yourself off of him, backing up off the bed. “Get out of my head.” You could feel the tendrils fighting the rational part of your brain, but she was winning this fight.

He sat up and held his hands up. Something swirled in his dark eyes, something you couldn’t place. “Alright, I admit I was having too much fun during our playtime. There is nothing to be afraid of, Kitten. I will never harm you. So I will do as you wish.”

You felt the tendrils surrender within your mind, shrinking and backing away from your brain. Seeming to disappear into the corners of nothingness. You looked at him for a moment before grabbing your discarded dress. “I am going to get ready for bed,” you announce.

You then walked into your dressing room and shut the door. You got yourself ready for bed, not wanting to face the questions from Adlez and Olivia-Rose. You spent a long moment staring at your reflection in your vanity, staring into your own eyes as a single tear fell. You stared for a moment longer before leaving the sanctuary of your dressing room and heading to bed.

You heard the shower run, and the door to the bathroom was open once more. You ignored it as you climbed into bed. Begging that sleep would take you soon. But alas Kylo was finished with his shower before that could happen. You ignored him as he walked into the room, the same as the night before with no towel around his waist, forgoing any sense of modesty.

He crawled into bed like that, crawling up to you and placing a kiss on your exposed shoulder. His hands beginning to wander over your clothed body, “I would like to go to sleep,”  you said to him.

He paused for a few seconds before running his hand through your hair, “As you wish.”

You then felt blackness take over as you drifted off into sleep. You hoped tonight would be a night of pleasant peaceful dreams, but of course, it was not.

Your blackness swirled to meet a face you were not entirely familiar with, but one that seemed recognizable to you. As you had seen her in many different forms throughout your dreams since you met Kylo. The older woman who called his name. The woman you assumed to be his mother.

A/N: Feel free to message me with your theories, ideas, or anything you want really (you can even ask me unrelated questions to A Soul to Mend His Own). The inbox is always open. If you tag your ask that you want it answered privately I will respect that, otherwise all asks will be answered to the public. Many more chapters to go, we will at least hit 80 I believe.

[theshadowspecter]

Nuisance

(Bloom: I need to keep leaving notes at the top so I can add a line break under this. Death is only assumed in this one, but I think for future chapters I’ll just tag it instead of commentating on it. Also I can’t draw boats.)

Abigail awoke to sunlight pouring through her window onto her face. She sat up, the paper she had been using as a pillow sticking to her cheek. She pulled it off, glancing it over. It was a list of things she had to do, and a few notes to think about while devising her next trip to Subcon. Her to-do list comprised of meeting with the Mafia Boss and telling him the bad news about the fellow Mafia man, meeting with the Conductor to tell him the bad news about the owl, and manage to convince not 1, but 2 others to follow her into the forest. And once they were in Subcon, she would have to find a way to deal with those...those beings that worked for Snatcher. At the thought of the shadowy specter, she remembered what he had said the first time they met, 'THERE USED TO BE SEARCH PARTIES'. An idea forming in her head, Abigail quickly left, headed for Mafia HQ.

“And just where have you been? And where is the one who went with you?” The boss wasted no time interrogating her the moment she arrived in his throne room. She squared her shoulders; the Mafia boss was intimidating, sure, but next to Snatcher his temper was almost laughable. She wasn't afraid of speaking up to him, “I've been in that forest you said I could go to. We got separated, and I've spent most of my time trying to find him. Those woods are very dark and very big, so eventually I had to give up and come back, which I did, last night.” She lied. But what did it matter? He wouldn't have believed the truth, that's for sure.

The boss, who had gotten off his throne to scold her, sat back down to think. “This is not good, a Mafia member lost in those woods...he is not the first.”

This was Abigail's moment; she approached the Boss, “why don't we send a search party out? Just a small one? Me and, oh, maybe 2 other mafia?”

“You want to go back?!” The Boss all but shouted, “That forest has claimed many of my men!”

“What about me, then?” She argued, “I made it out!”

Silence followed as the Boss pondered this. Abigail stared him down, waiting. Finally, the Boss nodded, “I will give you 1 last chance. Go back to the woods and find him. However,” he held up a finger, “you may only bring 1 other Mafia member with you. And it shall be 1 that I choose!” Abigail gave a slight bow, “understood,” and walked away.

'That didn't go nearly as bad as I thought it would!' she thought. Knowing the Boss, she would probably find her 'search party' waiting outside her home either tonight or tomorrow morning. She considered going to Dead Bird Studios and dealing with the Conductor, maybe doing the same song and dance and getting another Express Owl to join in, but ultimately decided against it. It was risky enough going back with even 1 extra person. Getting a jump on learning some history was not worth risking the lives of these people. If it weren't for the contract, she wouldn't even be bringing others in the first place! That reminded her, she had to come up with some way to keep both Snatcher and his...entourage at bay long enough to mark her progress on the contract and get the Mafia man she was bringing with her out of the woods alive.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It seemed like in no time at all, Abigail was back on her speedboat, Mafia man in tow, with Subcon on the horizon. She had a plan on how to evade the forest's inhabitants...or at least not alert them to her accomplice. Once the boat pulled up on the outskirts of the forest, she tied it up but halted the Mafia. “You stay right here, ok? I'm going to retrace my steps to where I last saw Mafia, then come back for you. I need you to stay here and guard my boat.” The Mafia gave a gruff nod, and she took off at a brisk pace deeper into the woods.

'This had better work,' she thought to herself as she retraced her footsteps. She had hoped that the smaller beings, and maybe even Snatcher himself, wouldn't go into direct sunlight. Subcon was in perpetual night, after all, so it made sense. The crackle of fire interrupted her thoughts. It was either more fire spirits or...”the firewall,” she gasped, coming across the beginnings of it. Her latest contract, just like her initial one, had said she was to stay inside the firewalls, so that must mean these lead to Snatcher's home. Perfect! She broke into a light jog, adrenaline and anxiety fueling her need to get to the middle of the forest as soon as she could...

She came upon the clearing with the giant hollowed tree much faster than she had anticipated, and she paused to catch her breath. From her viewpoint, the interior was blocked from view, so she cautiously approached, unsure of what to see. When she finally was able to glance in, she paused. Snatcher was there, right there. He looked...either slightly smaller or just less intimidating, and he was curled up on a big red chair, deep into a book. She nervously knocked on the side of the tree, hoping he wouldn't get mad being interrupted from his reading. “HMM?” he said, looking up from his book, “OH. IT'S YOU. WHAT BRINGS YOU BACK HERE SO QUICKLY? DON'T TELL ME YOU'VE GOT ANOTHER SOUL LINED UP FOR ME ALREADY?”

“First of all, my name's Abigail, a-”

“YEAH YEAH AND I'M SURE THAT OWL FROM YESTERDAY HAD A NAME TOO. BUT GUESS WHAT? I DON'T CARE. NOW DID YOU BRING ANOTHER VICTIM WITH YOU OR NOT?”

“I brought somebody with me, yes, but he's waiting back a ways for me to return. Said he was too scared. So I figured I'd tell him to wait, come find you, go back to him to tell him all is good, lead him right to you and...well...” she trailed off. “WOW. I'M ACTUALLY SORT OF IMPRESSED! WHO KNEW YOU COULD BE SUCH GOOD BAIT!” “Yeah yeah,” she waved it off, “but before I go I was hoping you could mark that part of my contract off? I'd rather not stick around for...what you've got planned...” “SURE THING!” the specter cheerily obliged, snapping his talons. She pulled the contract out and saw a little tally mark.

She started to leave before Snatcher stopped her, “I'VE GOT TO WONDER, WHY DID YOU COME TO MY FOREST IN THE FIRST PLACE?”

She looked back at him, “to learn about its history.”

“YOU COULD'VE JUST READ A BOOK.”

The history nerd in her started speaking up, “The history I want to learn about isn't written in books. Subcon's history ends with the last Ice Age. I was simply curious why nobody had tried to claim the land and fix it. Also why there were so many disappearances.” She paused, “well...you're the reason for the disappearances, but why is Subcon still like this? Why is it still so dead, even though the air is ripe with magic? There's a huge gap in the history of this forest, and I'm just a curious girl with a passion for history.”

“YOU'RE MORE LIKE A NUISANCE.” Snatcher thought for a moment, “TELL YOU WHAT. BRING AT LEAST ONE MORE VICTIM INTO MY FOREST, AND I'LL TELL YOU A LITTLE BIT ABOUT ITS PAST.” Abigail's eyes lit up, “really?!” “THINK OF IT AS AN INCENTIVE! THAT SHOULD GET YOU BRINGING OTHERS IN AT RECORD SPEED!” Abigail couldn't help but grin as she started to turn on her heel when she stopped, “wait a minute!” she spun around, “I know your game.” Snatcher froze, looking at her questioningly. Reaching into her jacket, she pulled out her contract. Giving him a smug look she stated, “I want that in writing. An addendum.” Snatcher gave a small laugh, “OH YOU ARE A NUISANCE! VERY WELL!” He flicked his hand and an addendum appeared on the contract stating that after the next delivery of a soul into the forest, Snatcher would tell her a bit of Subcon history. “DON'T EXPECT ANYTHING FROM WHEN PEOPLE WERE ALIVE,” he added, “I DIDN'T ARRIVE IN SUBCON UNTIL AFTER THE...INCIDENT.” He said the last word with a bit of anger. Abigail took pause to consider what that meant, before tucking it away to consider later. Instead, she gave a nod, “understood,” and left.

On the way back she remembered she had wanted to know more about those small creatures, but decided she could just ask him the next time they met.

All seemed to be going well....at least until she got back to where she had left the Mafia man, and found the place deserted. Her boat was still where she had left it, but no Mafia. 'No, no!' She thought 'I'm so close! Where could he have gone?'

Her thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of one of those hooded figures. “The boss says not to worry, he found your friend.” Abigail felt like her heart sopped. “D...did you know where 'my friend' was?” The little one happily nodded, “yeah! We lead him right to one of Boss's traps!” “Traps?”, the girl questioned, remembering those vines that appeared when she brought the owl. The other nodded, “yeah, Boss keeps traps around. Don't fall into one, he hates when that happens!”

Making heed of the little one's warning, she began to walk back to her boat. “Well, I've got to head home now.” Without waiting for a reply, she sprinted back to her vessel and jumped in. Before she roared the engine into life, she took a glance back into the forest.

The ...'Subconite' was gone.

Once back in Mafia Town, Abigail decided to tell the Mafia boss about the disaster of a trip. He...did not take it lightly.

“Because of YOU, the Mafia lost two members! What do you have to say for yourself?” “I'm sorry!,” she pleaded, well aware of the two Mafia behind her, blocking her only way out. She continued, “if you want, I'll go back on my own and-” “NO!” The Boss shouted, “you will pay! Mafia!” On cue, the two brutes behind her went in for the attack. Luckily, she was able to move out of the way fast enough to avoid capture, as well as slip past them and back outside. She heard the Boss call out, “Mafia! Attack!”

Running out of the Boss's main room back into the main casino area, she saw the entire place up in arms to get her. Luckily, since she worked there, she knew of a back exit. She scrambled into the kitchen, out the back door, and out the back of Mafia HQ.. Taking the secret entrance gave her maybe ten minutes before the rest of the Mafia made it down to the main streets, and then the whole town would be after her! Nobody messed with the Boss, and now she was on his hit list!

Luckily it didn't take long for her to get to her little house. She burst in, grabbing her backpack and stuffing all that she could find and fit into it. Her notebook, camera, some of her favorite books and some clothes. By the time she left her house, she heard a Mafia call out “there she is! Mafia stop you!”, and knew she had overstayed her welcome. She sprinted down the street away from the mob, using her fear to fuel her adrenaline to get her down to her boat before she got caught. As soon as she saw her boat, she also saw about five more Mafia around the docks, though by the looks of it they were just boxing fish, so they hadn't heard the call to arms. Thankful for the Mafia's bad form of communication, Abigail jumped into her boat, threw the rope off, and throttled the engine. With a roar and a splash of water, she was off! Looking back at Mafia Town, she saw a few Mafia standing near where her boat had been. They had just missed her.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Abigail faced forward. She'd stay at Dead Bird Studios for a little bit, until things cooled down around home. With that matter settled, her thoughts turned back to the only thing she thought about lately: her contract. As her boat sped through the waves, she pulled out her parchment and looked it over again. A person a week...well, tragic as it was, that Mafia member did count for a whole week, so she had a few days to actually calm down and find a workable solution to this issue. 'No more deaths. Not mine, nor anyone else's! I'll beat that Snatcher at his own game!'

[stormtrprinstilettos]

Chameleon - Ch. 3, part 1

Summary: Reader (that's you!) moves to London, hoping to leave her past behind and find happiness. She makes friends with her new neighbors. (Guess who?) I can’t summarize the whole story because it’s going places I don’t even know. It’s like it has a mind of its own.

**Note: Have to split this chapter into two posts because I’ve apparently hit a limit. Or you can read the whole thing in one swoop at the AO3 link below**

A/N: [insert scream here] I battled hard with where I was going to send this story but I’ve made my decision and I can’t turn back now. I know, I know, there’s still no relationship established, but, trust me. Next chapter? *phew* You’ll get it. You’ll get it… We’ll be doing a time warp soon. Just go with the flow. I wasn’t going to post until Saturday, but if I don’t do this now, I’ll end up driving myself crazy.

Language and angst about, as usual, but you, Y/N – you’re a strong ass female… and no man is gonna bring you down!

Tagging @chocolatealmondmilkshake and thanking my beta tester & cheerleader @clogwearingspacepoodle (and everyone else who is actually reading this, too!)

Ch 1 | Ch 2 || AO3 link here

(Enjoy this gif of our main players that separates all of this dribble from the story because the formatting sucks balls and because Angry Brian is how I felt when Tumblr wouldn’t let me post the whole thing, or when I try to post from the Tumblr app.)

You insisted on paying for dinner since you felt like you owed them from rescuing you from madness your first night in London, but the guys didn't want you to. You assumed it was some macho pride thing, so you shoved a wad of money into Freddie's pocket and told him to pretend like he was paying if it made them feel better. You guided them to a small, quiet Italian restaurant you loved and walked in before any of them could stop you.

You were all seated in a circular booth, Brian to your left and Roger to your right. Freddie was quite amused by the unspoken, minor rivalry between Brian and Roger when it came to deciding who would get to sit next to you, so he made sure you ended up in between them, just to see if anything would happen, purely for his own entertainment. He knew what was going on in your head. You vented about it to him many times.

There’s Roger, who you knew you’d have fun with, and you knew without any doubt would help satisfy the need that you didn't even know was pent up inside until your little episode earlier in the day. But then there’s Brian. You know he would bring so much more to your world, but he was just so seemingly unattainable – which made him even more attractive to you.

You convinced yourself that it was nothing more than choosing between the sprint or the marathon. The only thing that you were absolutely certain of was that you had to tread carefully. You’d never been able to forgive yourself if you came in between friends. When you’d talk about this internal conundrum of yours with Freddie, all he would tell you was that it was your decision and that he couldn’t make up your mind for you. He knew who he would rather see you with, and you knew who as well, but it just wasn’t happening, for whatever reason.

You stayed quiet most of the dinner, listening to the three guys talk about the band mostly. You’d smile and laugh and nod along with their conversation, pretending to pay attention to most of it when your mind was preoccupied.

The most you spoke was to nag them about letting you hear them play, and they promised you’d be the first person to hear them as soon as they found their new bass player. You had heard Freddie sing many times. You were completely entranced by his voice and would often ask him to play a song on the piano and sing to you, to which he would happily oblige. You’d hear Brian sometimes singing and playing his guitar from the other side of the apartment wall but wouldn't dare let him know, given how he was easily embarrassed. He had absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about, but you didn't want to risk it.

Your group was interrupted by a tiny redhead who ventured over to the table. She was cute, lightly freckled with green eyes. "Hey, Roger," she screeched when she spoke. You find her voice incredibly annoying, and her personality is way too bubbly for your liking. You, Brian, and Freddie all turn to Roger who is looking quite shocked.

"Oh, hey… you. How are you?" He doesn't remember her name and is struggling to not let it show.

"Are you coming to The Troubadour tonight? A friend's band is playing. I'd love to see you again." She flirtatiously bats her eyes and smiles a flashy smile in his direction, completely ignoring the fact that he is sitting at a table, in the middle of dinner, with three other people. You don't know if you want to shoo the girl away or if you are enjoying watching Roger squirm.

"Oh, well, umm, you see..." He doesn’t know what to say. He’s still trying to remember her name.

You decide right then and there that squirmy Roger was entertaining. You always found it funny when the usually quick-witted guy was left speechless. So, you decide to play your own little game and ask the redhead, "what kind of band are they?"

It seems like she just realized there were more people in the room, and she skittishly answers, "rock and roll, of course. Roger wouldn't enjoy anything else. That's why I'm inviting him."

"We were going to head to The 606 after we finished here..." he hastily states before you cut him off.

"Oh, Roger, we can go there any time. How many chances will we get to hear your friend's band?" You pat him on the shoulder.

"Not my band. My friend's band," she snaps at you while rolling her eyes.

"That’s what I meant…” You try to explain, but she’s not even paying you attention. Her eyes are fixated on Roger. You look over at Freddie. He knows exactly what’s going on and shrugs with his hands letting you know he’s okay with going. You then look to Brian who had covered mouth to hide his smile as he nods that he’s also okay with going. Then you look at Roger, who has a look of absolute betrayal on his face. You put your right hand on his thigh, underneath the table so no one could see, and give him a gentle squeeze as you look him in the eye. "So, what do you think?"

He gulped, wondering why you’re doing this. "Whatever you want," he answers quietly.

You turn back to face the redhead. "What's your name, sweetie?"

Roger leans into your ear and begs you, “please, Y/N, don’t…” Freddie and Brian try not to make noise when they start to chuckle. You ignore them all.

"I'm Lyla. Nice to meet you....?"

"I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you, Lyla. Have you met these two?" pointing to Freddie and Brian.

"Oh, yes, I met them..."

Roger clears his throat and interrupts. "Yeah, she's met them. Lyla, we're going to finish our dinner and we'll see you later. Alright?"

“Would you like to sit with us, Lyla?” You wave your hand for everyone to scoot over to make room for her at the table. She happily takes a seat next to Brian, her face beaming as she stares at Roger. Freddie keeps looking around and fiddling with his napkin. Brian is doing his best to control his amusement, but failing miserably. You pat Roger on his thigh as you clear your throat.

“So, Lyla, how’s it you know these guys?”

“Well, I met Roger after one of their shows a while back…”

“She’s his biggest fan,” Brian says with a chuckle.

“Yeah, she thinks he’s just spectacular,” Freddie pipes up, clearly making a joke you aren’t keen to. .

“No, Fred,” Brian corrects him. “Impressive.” He and Freddie are obviously more amused by all of this than you are.

“Alright, alright, I think she gets it.” You look at Roger and he’s still squirming in his seat, silently pleading with you to stop. You, of course, cannot.

You look back to Lyla, who how has her chin resting in her hands, still looking at Roger. “I haven’t experienced Roger’s drumming. Is he really that good?” you ask her, quite suggestively, but she doesn’t pick up on the innuendo.

Roger grits his teeth and leans over to whisper in your ear. “What are you doing? Stop it.”

“Oh, yeah, he’s really good.”

Brian chokes on the water he’s trying to drink. “Impressive.”

“Spectacular,” Freddie chimes in.

“Hmm.” You look back at Roger. “Really. That good, huh?” You smirk and this time he smirks back.

“Roger?” Lyla tries to get his attention, completely oblivious to the looks the two of you are sharing. “So, you’re coming tonight?”

“Yeah, yeah…” he replies, never taking his eyes off of you.

Freddie throws his napkin on the table and takes the last sip of his wine. “We’re all done here?”

“I think we are,” you say, still smirking at Roger before you look back at everyone else. “Shall we pay the bill and go?” Everyone agrees.

As you are walking in a group to the next stop of the evening, Roger pulls you back behind the group.

“Impressive, huh? Spectacular?” You joke.

He leans down to talk to you so no one else will hear. “The last time I saw her it took me three days to get rid of her, Y/N.”

“Then I guess she’ll be easy for you to get.” You give him a wink and a nudge on his arm.

“Maybe I don’t want to get her,” he whispers in an aggressive tone.

“Calm down, tiger,” you chuckle. “You need to get someone or you’re going to hurt yourself.” You make sure he follows your eyes down to his crotch so he knows that you notice what’s going on under his pants. You leave him with a smirk, joining Freddie and Brian for the rest of the walk.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

"They have a good sound." Freddie nudged Brian as he pointed to the stage. "I wonder if they're serious about all of this, because if they are, they'll need better lyrics." He walked off with a laugh and headed to the bar.

It was the truth. The tunes had a descent vibe but the lyrics were absolutely terrible. Every line made you cringe. The guys seemed to be enjoying the sound and were either not paying attention to the lyrics, with the exception of Freddie, or they were more focused on the sounds and the beats coming through the speakers.

You lean over to Lyla to ask her more about the band. "Do these guys play much?"

"Not really. They just like having fun with it. Gives them something to do with their spare time." She chuckled. "It does help them get laid. Do you know how many girls will do anything to be with a guy in a band?" Lyla winked before she continued. "Especially if he's a drummer."

You give Lyla a blank smile as you watch her start move her body against Roger. "I have a feeling there's a lot of them," you mumble.

Roger didn't seem to mind the attention he was getting. Of course, the amount of alcohol he had consumed up to this point may have caused him to forget all about the annoyance he felt about Lyla earlier at dinner, and the moment the two of you shared earlier.

You quickly turn your attention over to Brian, not wanting to watch the public display going on between the two over to the other side. You watch his head bobbing to the beat, with his mind intently focused on what he was hearing. He must have felt you looking at him, because he looked down to you and a warm smile came across his face. "That bass player needs a better band," he told you, and it was like a lightbulb went on in his head.

"Roger! Come on!" He grabbed Roger by the arm and pulled him away. "We need to find Freddie!" As the two walked over to the bar and started chatting with their friend, Lyla leaned up against you, pouting.

"Is he going to come back?" The stench of whatever she was drinking almost knocked you for a loop.

Rolling your eyes, you give Lyla's head a pat. "Don't worry. You'll get him back." They better not leave me with this girl for the rest of the night, you mumble to yourself.

After the band's set was complete and most of the patrons had left, you were sitting on one of the torn and ratty sofas at the back of the room with Lyla. She was leaning on you, drunk rambling about Roger and how much she hoped he would take her home tonight. Becoming increasingly frustrated, you start staring down Brian and Freddie, hoping they’ll sense your annoyance and leave. They, along with Roger, were in a deep conversation with the band's bass player, and soon they all shook hands with him and turned around to see you and Lyla at the back of the room.

"Up you go. Roger's waiting for you." You didn't know if he really was, but she became his problem once he started handing her shots. You lift a beaming Lyla from the sofa and guide her in the proper direction. "Go on. He's right in front of you."

After seeing the two lovebirds, or whatever they were, reunited, you walk over to Freddie and Brian. "Oh, young love. Isn't it..."

"Disgusting. It's disgusting, Freddie," you pop back. "She's disgusting." The guys laugh hysterically. "Did you ever hear about the time she sucked his dick in the shower? With graphic details?" They cringe. "No? Well I have."

Freddie rubs on the top of your head. "Well what do you know. Princess here is a prude." You knock his arm away.

"No, I am NOT a prude, but if I want to know how it feels to deep throat, I'll do it myself to find out!" Brian took a hard gulp and Freddie howled with laughter.

"Hey, what's so funny? What am I missing out on?" Roger comes stumbling over with Lyla wrapped around the shoulders in his arm.

“Y/N was just telling us about de…” Freddie tried to answer."

"Fuck off, Freddie!" you snap. Brian is standing next to you with his hand grabbing the back of his neck. "Are we leaving or staying here until they kick us out?"

The group assembles to start the walk home as Freddie bids you all a goodbye. "I've got someone to go see. I'll see you all later." He leans over and whispers to you, "it's my friend from the college." He winks and kisses you on the cheek before walking away.

On the walk home, you and Brian walk behind Roger and Lyla, part in order to make sure they didn't fall on their asses, part in order to make sure the two of you could hold a conversation without the other two butting in.

The night air was giving you the chills, and Brian, noticing you started walking with your arms crossed, took off his jacket and draped it around your shoulders. "So, we'll be auditioning that bass player tomorrow afternoon," he tells you as he covers you with the jacket. "He seemed pretty excited. He's seen some of our shows and feels like he could fit right in."

"Oh yeah? That's great! He was really good up there tonight.” You start to bite the left corner of your bottom lip. Neither one of you know what to talk about. Usually your conversations flowed, but tonight it’s struggling for some reason. You don’t want to blurt out something stupid, so you try staying quiet to see if he would talk, but he doesn’t. You had never been at a loss for words with anyone before, but for some reason, he makes you… nervous.

“You know… I hear you playing sometimes." You cringed as the words left your mouth, because the last thing you wanted to to was embarrass him into even more silence.

Brian stutters, "You... you do?"

"Yeah, through the wall.” Jesus, you sound like a stalker, Y/N, you tell yourself. “I can't make out everything, but the things I do hear sound really good."

The smile on his face lets you know that he’s not embarrassed at all. If anything, he’s quite proud of himself. "I could always play you something when we get home… maybe… if you want me to."

"I'd really like that." You wrap your arm in his. You don’t know why you did that, but it felt nice, and he doesn't seem to mind.

After a few minutes, you look up at Brian and tease him, because he’s adorable when he gets embarrassed, and it happens so easily. "So, is this a date now? We had dinner together at a fancy restaurant. We had some drinks. You gave me your jacket and now you're walking me home," you joked. "Yeah, I think this is a date." He freed the hand that was attached to his free arm from his pocket and grabbed the back of his neck while an embarrassed smile came to his face. "Oh, silly, stop that. I'm just picking on you," you say to him as you tap him on his chest.

"Stop what?" he laughs, not realizing what he’s doing.

"You get embarrassed so easy. It's cute,” you say with a nervous giggle.

"I am not embarrassed." He tries to protest, but you know better.

"Yes, you are. You grab the back of your neck every time you get embarrassed."

"Oh, you mean like how you smile and bite the left corner of your bottom lip when you get embarrassed?"

You nudge him and he pretends to stumble. "Yeah, something like that.”

"Home at last!" Roger yells, snapping the two of you out of your haze. "Come on, girl," he commanded Lyla as he slapped her butt. She laughs loudly and runs up the steps.

Brian takes a deep breath as he watched Roger chasing after the redhead. "It's going to be a long, long night."

"Nah. Let's go get your guitar and come play me one of your songs." You jokingly slap Brian on his butt. "Come on, boy." You mimic Lyla's laugh and run up the steps and turn to look at Brian, who’s just standing there, shell-shocked. "Well?" You cross your arms and start tapping one of your feet. "Are you just going to stand there all night?" He shakes his head and laughs before following you.

[Keep going to Part 2]

[adorkablephil]

The Roles We Play (3)

Title: The Roles We Play Summary: Dan Howell and Phil Lester work together as voice actors for BBC radio dramas in the late 1930s, but slowly begin to develop “inappropriate” feelings for each other Rating: G Word Count: 3,760 (this chapter) Tags: Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Historical AU, 1930s, BBC, Radio, Actors AU, Slow Burn, Eventual Romance, Love Letters, Period-Typical Homophobia, Closeted Gay Characters, Past Character Death, Grief, Angst Author’s Note: This fic was inspired by the @phanfichallenge 20k History Challenge. A bazillion thanks, as always, to my amazing beta, India! See my note on the first chapter regarding historical inaccuracies. Note some changes to the tags, including reference to grief and past character death, because—even though no one actually dies in the story—I decided I should warn people there will be some angst about that. I’ve blatantly stolen from Wikipedia in this chapter’s brief section on existentialism. And, lastly, I cast no aspersions on cucumber sandwiches, as I personally adore them.

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6 November 1938

After a solid week of grueling rehearsals with Drury as their slave driver, the actors finally broadcasted their first live performance of A Midsummer Night’s Dream: Act I.

Phil didn’t need to be there, since his role didn’t have any lines until Act II, but the repertory group seemed to habitually come to every performance of a play in which they were cast, as if every member supported all the others with every broadcast. It was a lovely tradition, actually.

And so Phil was there, even though he had no lines to speak. Dan, on the other hand, had a great many lines, but his performance went off without a hitch, and he found himself smiling madly when the BBC sounded their tones to indicate the end of the broadcast.

Dan looked around at his fellow cast members, and everyone smiled at him and at each other. Men shook hands, patted each other on the back, and laughed heartily while the ladies gently touched each other on the arm and spoke softly but happily amongst themselves, their faces glowing with quiet pride.

No sooner had the immediate excitement begun to die down than Dan saw Phil approaching him. Face bright with excitement, Phil asked, “Would you like to go to my club for a bit? Celebrate the first day of the broadcast and all that?”

Dan bit his lip in indecision. He knew he shouldn’t. He had responsibilities and obligations. But this was an unexpected opportunity to get to spend time outside work with Phil again … how could he pass that up? Not to mention the fact that Dan had never been inside an actual gentlemen’s club before. The idea made him feel quite sophisticated.

Dan decided to throw caution—and responsibility—to the wind. “I would be honored,” he told Phil, and Phil’s face brightened even more. The fact that Phil actually seemed so pleased at the opportunity to spend more time with him made Dan positively giddy.

******

The club to which Phil belonged seemed very impressive to Dan’s eyes, all dark wood and polished brass. Apparently, most of the club was reserved for members, and only one front room allowed members to entertain their non-member guests.

This room contained several opulent-looking sofas and armchairs, as well as some small tables where Dan imagined food could be brought if members and their guests wished to dine. Perhaps half a dozen men sat scattered about the room, each sitting alone and occupied in some solitary pursuit, most of them apparently reading newspapers. Dignified silence practically echoed in the high-ceilinged room, with only the occasional rustle of pages turning to disturb the quiet.

Servants hovered in discreet locations, probably nearly invisible to members of the upper class who were used to such things, but very noticeable to Dan. His family had always been comfortable, but he was not accustomed to strangers hovering in the periphery of his vision at all times, waiting to satisfy his every wish at the slightest wave of a hand.

Phil navigated the room with obvious comfort and ease, as if accustomed to this opulence ... as he no doubt was. Dan found himself wondering about Phil’s home life before he’d come to fame as a radio star.

“Would you like some tea?” Phil asked as he guided Dan to a corner table with two comfortable leather chairs. He sat down, lounging comfortably, and continued, “I’m sure we could get something stronger if you prefer, but—to be honest—I myself usually prefer tea or coffee.”

“Tea would be lovely, thank you.” Dan felt like a child at an adults’ social occasion.

Phil made a gesture with his hand, which in some secret language apparently meant, “Please bring us tea for two as soon as possible, my good fellow,” since tea service appeared almost immediately afterward, along with a plate of cucumber sandwiches and a bowl of fluffy whiteness.

Dan was not fond of cucumber sandwiches in general. He didn’t recognize the food in the bowl.

After the servant had left, Phil leaned forward to confide, “They always bring the cucumber sandwiches, even though they know I won’t eat them. But perhaps they consider popcorn insufficiently dignified unless accompanied by some traditional English fare.” He chuckled to Dan and assumed a ridiculously exaggerated upper class accent. “Pip, pip, my good man, you simply must have some elegant cucumber sandwiches with that uncouth American popcorn.”

“Must I?” Dan asked, teasing.

“Good gods, no! Ignore the horrid things and just go for the good stuff!” Phil dipped a hand into the bowl to pick up a few pieces of the stuff and popped them into his mouth, chewing with obvious relish.

“And ‘the good stuff’ is ... popcorn?” Dan asked. He’d heard of the snack, but had never tried it.

Phil’s face grew ecstatic. “The most sublime food imaginable! Try it for yourself. The crunch is just delightful!”

Dan took a few pieces and cautiously gave them a try. He had barely finished chewing and swallowing before he exclaimed to Phil, “This stuff is smashing!”

The other gentlemen in the room all glanced disapprovingly at Dan, and he abruptly lowered his voice, cowed by their simultaneous glowers. “You were right,” he whispered. “Anyone who prefers cucumber sandwiches over this stuff is clearly mentally imbalanced.” Phil nodded soberly, and then they both giggled before eating more popcorn together with much enjoyment and a complete disregard for propriety’s cucumber sandwich preference.

As they snacked, Dan noticed a nearby table with a chess board set up. Phil apparently noticed his glance. “Do you play?” he asked.

“I love a good game,” Dan admitted. “I don’t often find a good partner, though.”

“Then let’s test our mettle against each other,” Phil suggested, looking supremely confident.

Two hours later, thoroughly whipped, Phil made another suggestion. “Perhaps next time we could play a different game, since you so clearly outclass me at chess.”

“Do you only play games you know you’ll win?” Dan asked archly.

Phil rolled his eyes. “No, but I do prefer games I have a chance of winning. You utterly mopped the floor with me! I have no remaining dignity and shall have to return to my home in abject shame after this poor showing.” He shook his head in a pretense of dismay.

Dan just laughed at his antics. “I’d be happy to learn any games you wish to play, so long as they only require two players. I’m not particularly fond of larger groups of people, and none of the other members of your club seem to appreciate my company.”

Phil leaned close, and Dan could smell the sweet, spicy scent of his cologne. “To tell you the truth,” Phil said in a confidential tone, “I don’t much like the fellows here. But the club itself is a pleasant place to go when I just want somewhere quiet where no one will bother me. I can hide in a corner here for hours and never be disturbed.”

“You can’t get that kind of peace at home?” Dan asked, puzzled.

“Well, you see,” Phil explained, “at home, the phone may ring. And one must either instruct the servants to lie about one’s presence at home, or one must speak to the person phoning, and neither option appeals to me. The club’s policy forbids confirming or denying the current presence of any particular member.”

Dan nodded, impressed. “So it’s as if you can become socially invisible. Completely unavailable without offering any offense. Perhaps I need to find a club of my own.” Immediately upon saying it, though, Dan found himself embarrassed, because few gentlemen’s clubs admitted men of his social class.

But Phil frowned at him. “You would prefer to attend a separate club, rather than coming with me to mine? Do you wish to become socially invisible to me, as well?” His smirk implied a joke, but the tone of his voice sounded honestly hurt.

Dan reached out spontaneously to rest his hand on Phil’s on the table, just for one brief moment before he realized what he was doing and drew his hand back into his own lap. “Of course I would always prefer to be here with you.” That sounded too serious, too earnest, too vulnerable, and so Dan floundered on, “Even if it requires allowing you to believe that you can win games against me.”

Phil laughed again, the injured look in his eyes disappearing, replaced by a glint of approval and amusement.

“We’ll see about that arrogance,” Phil proclaimed firmly. “I’ll take you down a peg or two, just watch me.”

Dan nodded in mock seriousness. “You believe whatever you need in order to retain your confidence in yourself as a man and a game player.”

Phil raised an eyebrow. “You doubt me as a man?”

Flustered, Dan opened and closed his mouth a few times before finally exclaiming, “Of course not! That wasn’t what I meant at all! I’m so sorry!”

The other gentlemen in the room were positively glaring at Dan now, but he was much more concerned with Phil’s good opinion than with theirs.

Phil shook his head, smiling, and assured Dan, “I jest. Do not worry, Dan. It was merely a joke. I know you meant no offense.” Then, with an impish glint in his eye, he added, “Besides, no one could doubt the virility of my impressive manliness.”

Dan spluttered with laughter.

Phil confided, “I was going to say ‘manhood’ instead of ‘manliness’ ... but ‘the virility of my impressive manhood’ just ... some things are better not said.”

But some things were now certainly imagined. Dan laughed, but he could hear a bit of hysteria in the sound. He hoped Phil could not.

******

15 November 1938

The next time Phil took him to the club, they’d barely emerged from their taxi before Phil randomly exclaimed, “Dog!”

Dan looked around them and saw a man walking a corgi on a leash. Phil turned to the man and begged, “May I please pet your dog? I love corgis!” The man agreed with good humor, and Phil crouched to pet the brown and white dog, who seemed to enjoy the attention immensely. Phil looked up from his crouch to tell Dan, “The Royal Family have a corgi called ‘Dookie,’ so all corgis are basically royalty!” The corgi’s owner chuckled.

Dan could bear it no longer and asked the man, “May I pet your dog, as well?” And the man simply shrugged in amusement at these two grown men fawning over his dog in the middle of the pavement. Dan, too, crouched so that he could scratch the dog behind his ears, which seemed to go over quite well, as Dan got his face licked in response.

They did not want to overstay their welcome, however, and so Dan and Phil both stood to allow the dog and his owner to continue on their way with many thanks. “I love dogs!” Dan proclaimed as they turned toward the club’s doors.

“So do I!” Phil agreed as they entered the front room. He lowered his voice instinctively. “I’ve always wanted a dog, but I’ve never had one.” Phil guided Dan back to the same corner table where they’d sat the first time he’d brought Dan as his guest, and they took their seats. “When I was seven years old, I wrote my parents a ten-page letter on why I should be permitted to have a dog. It was ten pages of the sentence ‘May I please have a dog?’ repeated over and over again.” They both giggled, just as a pot of tea, a plate of cucumber sandwiches, and a bowl of popcorn were set upon the table between them as if by magic.

Dan eagerly took a few pieces of popcorn and chewed them with much delight. Phil placed a rather inelegant amount in his mouth all at once. For an obviously wealthy and well-educated person, he showed remarkably little snobbery or even elegance. Yes, his hair looked debonair and his suits were of excellent quality, but Dan would never have expected a gentleman of high social standing to excitedly pet a stranger’s dog on the pavement or to shove a handful of snack food into his mouth with such apparently unselfconscious glee.

“I don’t mean to make you envious,” Dan remarked, “but my parents have a lovely dog called Colin. He is most definitely the highlight of any visit to my family.”

Phil frowned after swallowing his popcorn, and Dan cursed himself for the possibly overly-revealing comment. Phil took a sip of tea, coughed a little, and asked, “Do you not get on with your family?” He drank a bit more tea.

Dan shrugged and tried to deflect the question. “They’re fine. What about you? Do you get on with your parents?’

Phil smiled broadly and nodded. “Oh, my parents are wonderful, and I’ve recently become an uncle, as my brother Martyn’s wife Cornelia gave birth to a baby boy just days ago!”

“Oh!” Dan proclaimed immediately, “We must toast the little fellow! Shall we request something stronger for the purpose?”

Phil shook his head, explaining, “I was honest when I said that I really do prefer tea and coffee. I’m not a very sophisticated drinker, I’m afraid.” Phil said all this as he placed three entire lumps of sugar into his tea cup.

Dan grimaced. Phil had done this their first time here, as well, but Dan had been too shy to comment on it. He felt more comfortable with Phil now, however, and so asked with an amused smile, “Isn’t that quite a lot of sugar? Can you actually drink tea that sweet?”

Phil widened his eyes, making their fantastical color only more striking, and insisted, “I’ve already told you: There’s no such thing as ‘too sweet.’”

“If you say so,” Dan replied with a dubious and exaggerated shudder. It made Phil laugh.

Phil raised his disgustingly sweet tea and suggested, “Would you mind toasting the newest member of the Lester clan with tea?” Dan shook his head and raised his cup obligingly. “To Steven Bartholomew Lester!” Phil declared. “May he grow up to be a fine and elegant young man, leaving me the only eccentric in the family!” Dan chuckled, and they clinked their cups together and sipped in honor of the babe’s birth.

“I wanted them to name him Sylvester,” Phil said after a moment of solemnity out of respect for the child’s no doubt very bright future. Dan nodded, then thought a moment and frowned.

“You wanted your brother to name his son ‘Sylvester Lester’?” If he’d been aghast at the amount of sugar Phil put in his tea, it was nothing compared to this.

Phil giggled delightedly. “I think he would have been the most popular child at school.”

Dan laughed, recognizing Phil’s sense of humor now, almost as if they really knew each other. He really did feel as if he was beginning to know the man, rather than just the famous radio star. And Philip Lester was nothing at all that he would have expected. He found that he liked the real Phil much better than that elegant idol. “I’m sure he would have,” he responded dryly, and Phil giggled again, the tip of his tongue showing at the corner of his mouth. That was one of those inelegant things that Dan had come to love.

Love? No, that wasn’t what he meant. It was one of the things he’d come to like about Phil.

They barely knew each other. And Phil was a man. Like. That’s what he’d meant. Not love. Obviously.

******

23 November 1938

Dan felt quite comfortable walking into the club at Phil’s side now, as this was actually his fifth visit. He and Phil had begun to make it something of a habit, coming regularly just to snack on popcorn, play the occasional game of chess, and talk about whatever happened to cross their minds. Phil showed remarkably little interest in politics and literature, but professed a love for the horror stories of someone named H. P. Lovecraft, whose work was published only in American pulp magazines. At university, Phil had met a young American fellow who had come abroad to do his degree at Oxford, and they had become fast friends. The American had left England to return home upon the completion of his education, but he still sent Phil regular shipments of Lovecraft’s work as it was published.

As he and Phil took their accustomed seats at their accustomed table, Dan admitted, “I don’t read fiction very often.” He hesitated, not wanting to sound pretentious, but then decided that he trusted Phil not to think less of him. “I read primarily philosophy, though I did recently read a new novel by Jean-Paul Sartre.” Phil pushed away the plate of cucumber sandwiches that had appeared, and the both snacked on some popcorn while waiting for the tea to steep.

“What’s the book about?” Phil asked with obvious interest.

“Well,” Dan hesitated. “It’s called Nausea.”

Phil made an exaggeratedly disgusted face. “It sounds … er … delightful.” Then he lost control of the giggle Dan had seen hovering on his lips.

Dan rolled his eyes. “Would you like to hear about it or not?”

“Yes, yes!” Phil insisted, pouring the tea and acquiring his usual three lumps of sugar. “I want to know what you enjoy reading. I’ve bored you halfway to Hades with all my talk of monsters. It is your turn to bore me with talk of nausea!” His tongue peeked out of the side of his teasing smile. “We even have the plate of cucumber sandwiches as illustration!” Phil grabbed the plate and put it between them, gesturing at it elaborately while urging Dan. “Now. Please do tell me more about nausea.”

Dan couldn’t help but chuckle. “The novel isn’t really about nausea. It’s an existentialist consideration of the ways the world encroaches on our ability to define ourselves.”

Phil’s eyes looked a little glazed. “Existential consideration…?” he repeated blankly.

Dan waved a hand in some impossible attempt to explain an abstract concept. “Existentialism focuses on the disorientation, confusion, and dread of trying to live an authentic life in a meaningless and absurd world.”

Phil bit his lip and nodded hesitantly. “I think I understand the confusion part, anyway.”

Dan shook his head and chuckled. “Never mind. It’s just … it’s a philosophy that interests me, because I find it rather difficult to find a way to live a truly authentic life in a world with so many ridiculous rules and expectations. You seem to live your own life authentically without the same kind of difficulty, and so perhaps this makes little sense to you, but I sometimes find myself experiencing what you might call an ‘existential crisis.’ I just don’t know how to even define the truth of myself, let alone live it.”

Phil pushed the plate of unpalatable sandwiches aside and took Dan’s hand from where it rested on the handle of his teacup. “You are living your true life, Dan! You are pursuing your dreams!”

Dan looked away, disturbed by the reassuring warmth of Phil’s hands and words. “I … I try. But I find it a struggle. Every day it is a struggle to find my truth, and to live it. There are some truths more difficult to face than others, less socially acceptable.” He pulled his hand away and picked up his cup, though he could see it shaking in his grip. He drank a bit and found the bitter liquid fortifying. He placed the cup back in the saucer and reached for the popcorn. “But you promised me a distraction.”

Phil slowly let the concern fade from his face, though he seemed reluctant to drop the subject. He was so kind—of course he would worry about a friend who said such things. Dan resolved never to speak of his existential concerns to Phil again, as he did not wish to worry his friend unduly. It was simply a personal issue with which he had wrestled for years, with no end in sight.

“Goofspiel!” Phil declared.

“God bless you,” Dan replied.

“It’s a card game of pure strategy. I think you’ll enjoy it.” Phil made a gesture to a nearby servant, who approached their table. Phil asked him to acquire them a deck of cards, which were then quickly provided.

Phil taught him the game, and it was, indeed, very intriguing, with complex strategy and occasional dramatic plays. “No!” Dan cried aloud when Phil devastated him with a particularly clever play. “I was so close!” He tossed his cards down on the table and crossed his arms in a fit of pique.

A very self-important man in an expensive suit approached their table a moment later and said firmly but quietly, “I am afraid we must ask that you leave the club, gentlemen.” He cast a dubious glance toward Dan at that last word. “Your raucous behavior has for some time disturbed the other members, but today’s actions have convinced the management that this simply cannot be tolerated any further.”

Dan felt horribly embarrassed, but he watched as Phil simply rose to his feet and popped another handful of popcorn into his mouth. He looked at Dan and gestured expansively toward the front door. Dan rose and walked, head hanging low, through the room of smug-looking prigs watching their shameful expulsion with obvious satisfaction.

They emerged into the blue-gray of twilight. Dan stared at the pavement as he said morosely, “I am so sorry for causing you to be ejected from your own club, Phil. I’m certain you’ll be welcomed back … as long as I am not with you.”

Phil swallowed audibly, and at first Dan thought it caused by emotion … but then realized the other man was probably simply finished chewing that last rebelliously-grabbed handful of popcorn. “Oh, no,” Phil replied lightly. “I shall be finding a different club.”

Dan looked into his face and insisted, “No, Phil! I know they would still value your company and your membership!”

Phil shrugged. “Well, I don’t value an establishment that does not appreciate and welcome you, so there we are. I shall find a different club.”

Dan felt his jaw drop, then quickly closed his mouth to avoid looking like an idiot. He gazed helplessly at Phil’s beautiful face and felt a stirring in his heart and soul.

A stirring that most likely indicated an existential crisis in the making.

******

[ Continue on to Chapter 4 ]