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sierraraeck · 3 years

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How to Apologize

Spencer x Luke x Fem!Reader

Masterlist

Summary: You can’t believe that for the four months since you’ve joined the team, and have been relentlessly flirting with the two hot agents, no one thought to tell you that they were together. Luke and Spencer decide they should apologize to you with an impromptu, late-night visit.

Category: Smut. Essentially pwp. A little fluff and a dash of angst if you squint.

Warnings: Cussing. Alcohol mentioned. Fingering (vaginal and anal), oral (male and female receiving), protected penetration, double penetration. Use of condoms and lube.

Word Count: 5.2k

A/N: Welcome back to episode three of me being in love with Ralvez. I’ve just really been in a mood for them lately, so I hope you enjoy what my mind comes up with when I just keep thinking about them ;)

You’ve got to be shitting me.

You couldn’t believe it. Luke and Spencer were together, and had been for over a year now. You’d only been on the team for about four months, all of which you spent unabashedly flirting with both of them.

Everyone knew it, too. It wasn’t like you were particularly quiet about expressing how much you enjoyed their company, and how easy they were on the eyes. It was fun for you, and you thought it was fun for them. They both seemed kind of into it, and the team found it a little funny.

Now you’re understanding why they found it funny. Because the whole time, you’d been embarrassing yourself by flirting with taken men. And they weren’t just taken. They were dating each other.

“You’re joking,” you said, with absolutely no humor. You were sitting on a barstool looking around at the shit-eating grins around you. They all shook their heads.

Your mouth was agape, “You’re fucking joking. You all saw this happening and not one of you had the decency to tell me!? This is bullshit!”

This just caused more laughter to erupt around you. Luckily, the bar you were at was pretty noisy, so not too much attention was drawn to your group.

“Honestly?” Emily started, “We just wanted to see, you know, as a profiler, how long it’d take you to figure it out.”

“And we,” Luke hopped in, gesturing to him and Spencer, “Wanted to see how well we could control our microexpressions.”

“This is some shit,” you mumbled to yourself, still wrapping your head around what was being said. You were trying to be light-hearted about it, and you had to admit it was a pretty good one they pulled on you, but you still felt a little insulted. And embarrassed. Oh god, you felt really embarrassed. Especially now that you knew they were ‘testing your skills’ or something, and you weren’t good enough to pick up on their relationship. You offered a disbelieving smile and shook your head. “You know what? I’m disinviting myself from this, and I’m going to go home, because otherwise… Actually let’s not talk about what would be happening otherwise.” The whole team gave you some strange looks at that comment, and you just took a deep breath and said, “Okay, I’m just gonna go.”

“Hey, Y/N, wait!” Tara called after you. You turned to face her. “We meant no harm by it!”

You laughed and acknowledged, “Oh, I know! I just think that maybe I should do a little mental detox now that I know I need to cool it.” You winked, trying to make everything calm and casual so that there would be no weird feelings when you returned to work on Monday.

But you definitely had weird feelings. About the deliberate joke that led you down a very deep rabbit hole, about the fact that you couldn’t just ‘detox’ the two men from your mind, and about how long they let the joke mess with your feelings.

It didn’t matter, though, because Spencer and Luke were together, and the last thing you wanted to do was make things complicated.

You were seated on your couch with a glass of wine watching reruns of your favorite show when you heard a knock at the door. You were in your pajamas, a navy tank top with matching shorts, and had been home for nearly two hours. It was a little past midnight, and you were actually about to go to bed. You couldn’t figure out who was at your door, and why the hell they’d be there past midnight, but one look through the peephole gave you clarity.

Two tall, handsome, nervous figures stood, waiting for you to answer. You sighed, unlocking the bolt and pulling the door open. You had the slightest idea to grab a jacket or something to throw on over your pajamas, but you were no longer trying to impress the agents before you.

“Hey guys,” you croaked, voice sounding tired.

Spencer and Luke were still acting a bit nervous, but Luke gave you a small smile. “Hey Y/N. May we come in?”

You gave them a once over, realizing they were both in large, matching, burgundy robes. You were confused, and gave them a strange look, but stepped to the side regardless. They quickly scampered into your apartment.

Once inside, Luke shut and locked the door, standing in front of it. You waited for them to say something.

Instead, they looked at each other, took a deep breath, then undid their robes, dropping them to the floor. They were completely and utterly naked.

“Oh, fuck,” you whispered, unable to peel your eyes away from the two of them.

They both smirked slightly at your reaction, and Spencer brought your attention back to his eyes when he said, “We figured we needed to apologize.”

All you could manage was a weak ‘uh-huh.’

“As long as you were serious about some of the things you said-” Luke started.

“And were actually flirting with us because you liked us-” Spencer continued.

“We wanted to show you that we were serious and flirting with you, too,” Luke concluded.

Again, all you got out was an ‘uh-huh.’ They looked at you expectantly, so you picked your jaw up off the floor and forced your brain to say something more helpful. “Yes, I was dead serious, yes, I was actually flirting with you, and, to answer your next question, yes.”

“The last yes was for what?” Luke half-teased.

“Whatever the fuck is happening right now,” you gestured to their bare forms, “yes.” They both laughed slightly, and just as Spencer was about to take a step toward you, you held up your hand. “Hold on, wait. I know you said you were serious, but is this something the two of you actually want, or is this just out of pity?” you asked skeptically.

Luke’s eyes went wide, “We actually want this.”

At the same time, Spencer said, “This is not out of pity.”

They seemed sincere, and that was good enough for you.

This time when Spencer stepped toward you, you didn’t stop him. His lips latched on to yours, and you immediately sank into his warmth. His lips were soft and his tongue was energetic, searching every part of your mouth it could reach. Luckily for you, he was already stark naked, giving you free reign to explore his bare chest.

As Spencer was exploring your mouth, Luke came up behind you and started lifting your shirt off your frame. His hands felt nice, just barely brushing up against your cold sides. You and Spencer had to part, but only for a moment, as Luke pulled your shirt over your head and tossed it to the side.

You already felt like you couldn’t breathe, but when Luke seductively trailed his fingers up your sides and around between you and Spencer to start toying with your nipples, you thought you might never breathe again. Spencer started kissing down the column of your throat, sucking slightly at each point. Without Spencer’s mouth to absorb the sound, they could both hear the small gasps and whimpers you made at each touch.

Luke was firmly at your back, his hot chest pressed up against your shoulder blades, or maybe the fire radiating from them was all in your head, you couldn’t quite tell. Spencer wrapped his arms around your back, and pulled you all the way to him, leaving barely any room for Luke’s fingers to continue their ministrations. You made a snarky remark in your head about how you weren’t surprised about Spencer’s possessiveness, until he reached behind you. Luke groaned in your ear shortly after Spencer squeezed your ass and continued his trail to the growing bulge behind you. Spencer was quite good at multitasking. Kissing, sucking, stroking… That didn’t surprise you, however. You knew how fast his mind could work, and how it always seemed to be thinking about multiple things at once.

It didn’t really surprise you either that Luke was less good at multitasking. Still amazing, but not like Spencer. With that in mind, you decided to turn the attention of the group a little bit. You turned in Luke’s now still arms, back against Spencer’s chest. You gave Spencer enough room to continue massaging Luke, but you did lean forward enough to plant your lips on his.

Luke’s kiss was different from Spencer’s. His lips were plump and captivating, and his tongue was a bit more languid than Spencer’s, granted that could’ve been because most of his attention was being drawn elsewhere.

“Wait,” Luke panted, pulling away from you. You and Spencer both immediately stopped what you were doing and looked up at him. “Bedroom?”

You tilted your head in the direction of the door down hall, and the three of you moved like it was a mad dash to get there first.

Once inside, Luke’s lips reattached themselves to yours, and he walked you backwards toward the bed, hands on your waist. They traveled lower, over your still-clothed ass, and spread flat on the back of your thighs. Somehow, you knew what he wanted, lacing your fingers together behind his neck and jumping into his sculpted arms. He swiftly strode the rest of the way to the mattress and plopped you down, following quickly with his own body. Your legs were partially wrapped around his middle and his hands were back on your waist again, this time toying with the waistband of your pajama shorts. You had a fleeting thought about how you wished you were wearing any of the cute lingerie pieces in your drawer, but before ten minutes ago, you never thought the situation you were currently in would even be possible, let alone happen. It wouldn’t matter much longer anyways, as Luke’s fingers were pulling away the remaining garments.

Now, completely bare in front of him, Luke pulled back to admire you. Spencer was at his side, also eyeing you, but wasn’t quite as patient. He crawled up the bed, looking you straight in the eye. You nodded to him, your silent consent for him to lower his head, placing delicate kisses all around your neck and chest. He was back to doing what he had only moments ago, only this time he travelled farther down, sucking one of your nipples into his mouth. You took a shuddering breath, weaving your fingers into his shaggy curls.

Luke stood, admiring the sight. His boyfriend was hunched over their mutual crush, drawing the most arousing whines from your mouth. It went straight to his cock. But, while this was definitely a mutual pleasure situation, it was also a way to make it up to you. He wanted to make sure you got all the attention first before going any further.

With that in mind, Luke joined the two of you, his focus a little farther south than Spencer’s. You’d been so caught up in the feeling of Spencer’s tongue and teeth nipping at your peaks that the feeling of Luke’s fingers circling your clit drew a dramatic gasp from your lungs. You tugged a little harder on Spencer’s locks, causing him to moan into your skin. You made a side note to yourself about hair pulling for Spencer for future reference. You were optimistic that you’d need it.

Luke started gradually picking up the pace on your clit as Spencer switched his attention to the neglected breast. You knew that you were already pooling, and despite not being able to see anything past Spencer’s mess of hair, you could tell that Luke was pleased. His index finger circled around your entrance, one, two, three times before pushing in. Your back arched off the sheets, pushing your nipples further into Spencer’s mouth and palm. Your jaw hung open in a silent moan.

Spencer noticed, and teased, “Come on, you’re usually not this quiet when it comes to expressing how much you enjoy our company.”

Luke leaned up, finger still pushing in and out of you, to see your face. He barely caught what Spencer was referencing, as you were trying to snap your jaw shut, and smirked down at you. He turned his head to the side and started kissing up the side of Spencer’s neck, who habitually craned it to the side, providing more access. Luke added a second digit, scissoring them inside you. Spencer hummed happily at the little hickies Luke was scattering all over his neck, and you felt the heat in your belly start to burn. God, it was so fucking hot, in every sense of the word.

Luke curled both of his fingers upwards, hitting that perfect spot, as he latched his lips to Spencer’s. With the combination of the sight and both men’s ministrations, you fell over the edge.

You squeezed your eyes shut, only a little disappointed that you couldn’t continue looking at them, as your lungs expelled any air you had in your chest.

When the waves of pleasure had mostly subsided, you managed to lift your eyelids, peering up at the sight above you. Luke and Spencer were still attached at the mouth, but they pulled away, Spencer laughing a little while Luke just grinned.

“Remind me to always kiss you like that when we have guests,” Luke said to Spencer, then winked at you. You gave a weak shrug, still too blissed out to form coherent sentences. It wasn’t your fault that the two people you’d been fantasizing about kissing on top of you turned you on. No way in hell you were ashamed about it, either.

Still laying there a bit dazed, the fluffy haired boys rolled over, taking all the heat with them. Spencer was hovering over Luke, tracing his tongue down Luke’s defined muscles before reaching his destination.

Spencer wasted no time running his flattened tongue up and down Luke’s length before sucking at the tip. Luke ran his fingers through Spencer’s hair, and both seemed to relax into each other. Despite the explicit sight in front of you, everything about the two of them, clearly starting to drift into their own world, was domestic. Caring and filled with love. You almost didn’t want to disrupt them, but the overpowering need to be near them won out.

Spencer’s lower half was over the edge of the bed, his toes being the only thing holding him up and giving him a vantage point. You slid off the bed yourself and tried to soundlessly move behind the younger man, coming to rest in a squat.

Spencer was getting Luke all worked up, raspy grunts mixing with satisfied hums as Spencer bobbed his head up and down. His movements came to a screeching halt when you leaned up against the foot of your bed and swiped your tongue quickly over Spencer’s tip. He let out a soft whine, muffled by Luke’s skin, who took a sharp inhale at the vibration.

Spencer’s dick was hard and spilling precum as you worked it into your mouth. His hips started moving of their own accord, forcing you to take him deeper, faster. The three of you started a steady rhythm that was already faltering. Both men were getting close.

Propped up only on your toes, you almost lost your balance once, digging your nails into Spencer’s side for support. He growled, and just because you could, you dragged your nails down the rest of his backside. All of the muscles tensed at once, and you smiled as best you could with your mouth full, moving your hands back to work what your tongue couldn’t.

Abruptly, Spencer pulled his hips back from you, and crawled further up the bed. You followed, getting up from your spot on the ground. Your toes, on the brink of cramping, weren’t complaining.

You realized why Spencer had pulled away so quickly, catching Luke coaxing Spencer into his lap. Even though they were in a slightly different position, it didn't stop you from what you’d been doing before.

Right as Spencer got situated on Luke’s cock, just starting to roll his hips, you took Spencer back in your mouth. You had one foot on the ground, the other knee next to Luke’s torso. Spencer was louder than you’d expected, letting curses and praises fly past his lips as if they were statistics of the utmost importance.

Luke was less vocal, but he seemed more coherent. Barely.

“Come here, baby,” Luke panted. Pulling off Spencer for a moment, you looked back at Luke. His face was already glistening, and he was gesturing toward your legs. You lifted the one closest to him, and he eased it over his head. Straddling his face, he pulled you down to him, licking a clean stripe up your slit. You moaned his name, letting your head hang.

He was just so warm. Everything about Luke was warm. His personality, his face, his tongue and mouth and literal body temperature. It made you feel safe. Thinking that, you realized just how perfect he was for Spencer. You could tell Spencer wasn’t someone who experienced warmth very frequently, you’d heard about his cold past, but you were happy that there was finally someone to show him some. It made you feel even more embarrassed that you hadn’t noticed their relationship sooner.

Lost in thought, you’d stopped doing anything besides feeling Luke’s tongue alternate between pushing into you and swirling around your clit, something Spencer was less excited about. His large hand cupped your face, causing you to look up into his pleading eyes. You stifled a giggle at the sight, quickly figuring out why he was looking at you like that. You returned to tracing your tongue up and down his cock, but it was becoming much harder to focus.

Luckily, you could feel how close Spencer was to finishing, and gave him the silent ‘okay’ to finish in your mouth.

Hot ropes of cum filled your throat, and tears pricked the corners of your eyes when Spencer pushed all the way into your mouth. You were gasping for air when Spencer leaned back from you, and so was Luke as he desperately called Spencer’s name. He must’ve been close when Spencer momentarily stopped moving to find his own release.

The pressure between your hips was building as you continued to watch Luke disappear inside Spencer. You started wriggling your hips for more friction against Luke’s mouth and slight scruff, but Luke wouldn’t let you. He wrapped his arms almost completely around your waist, and pulled you down like an anchor. No matter how much moving you did, there would be no getting out of his grasp, not like you really wanted to anyway.

You couldn’t tell which one of you finished first, but your collective moans filled the air all the same. You whined at Luke who continued to lick up every ounce of moisture from you, the sensations starting to become a little too much.

He let you go, and you took a moment or two to deep breathe, forcing oxygen back into your lungs. Once Spencer thought you’d gotten sufficient air, he took it all away from you again, leaning down to kiss you. He tasted himself on your tongue, which only made him relive the fresh memory over again.

He peppered little kisses down your neck and side, which was a tad ticklish. Spencer caught on despite you trying to keep yourself together, noticing the slight flinching in your muscles. He spent extra time working you up until you were laughing and begging him to stop.

Spencer was working his way down to Luke, who’d been absentmindedly massaging your cheeks for no other reason than he wanted to touch your tush.

You weren't sure how, but the two tall men were able to kiss each other around you, Luke sitting up and Spencer leaning forward. He got to taste you off of Luke’s lips, and was almost jealous that he didn’t decide to take Luke’s spot instead.

You leaned into Luke’s chest, resting your head on his shoulder and reaching behind you to thread your fingers through his soft curls, much shorter than Spencer’s but fun to play with nonetheless. They kissed each other with more passion than you’d really ever seen before, one hand touching the other man, their other hand tracing the curves of your body. You felt like you could fall asleep in the exact position you were in, half on Luke’s lap, half on Spencer’s.

But alas, there was still plenty of night to fill. Spencer asked if you had any lube and condoms, and you were about to get up and get them, but both men kept you where you were. You started wondering how much the two of them talked about or planned before showing up at your door, but decided those were questions for a later hour.

You directed Spencer to where both were kept while Luke turned you around to face him. You had a very quick discussion about cleanliness, something you were relieved to find out wasn’t an issue for any party, and Luke was sliding on a condom and pushing into you before you knew it. Pregnancy wasn’t something you were looking for at the moment.

Luke had been doing most of the work up until Spencer returned, his presence really only being a shifting of air behind you. Your eyes were locked on Luke’s eyes which were flicking between you and the man behind you.

It took you all the way up until Spencer’s hip bones came in contact with your ass that you realized what Spencer wanted the lube for. That and the guttural groan that ripped itself from Luke’s chest. At that point, Luke had stilled his thrusts up into you, so you decided to keep the pace, bouncing up and down on Luke’s ever-hardening dick. You braced yourself with a hand on his chest, his skin feeling like it might melt your fingertips.

Spencer snaked his hands around your body, cupping your breast in his hands and rolling your nipples around between his fingers. Spencer, you were convinced, had bad circulation, feeling colder than you and Luke. You arched your back into him regardless, giving him full access to nip down your neck as he continued to pound into Luke. You had barely noticed the slowing of your hips atop Luke’s until Spencer placed his hands on your waist with a bruising grip. He set a much faster pace for you and Luke than either of you had set before, but you couldn’t be mad. Each thrust pushed you further and further toward the edge.

That all stopped when Spencer lightly leaned you over Luke’s body, Luke gladly accepting by pulling you even closer, wrapping his arms around your back. The three of you were still moving, but only in the slightest way you could from your positions.

With your face buried in Luke’s neck, reveling in the momentary reprieve of a slower pace, Luke must’ve been looking at Spencer who was tracing all sorts of patterns on your ass. You felt like there was a silent conversation you were being left out of.

You were clued in when Spencer traced a single finger right over your puckered hole, all the muscles contracting at the sudden contact. Luke whined at the tension, as he was still completely sheathed inside you.

Spencer lightly continued his tracing, close but not too close, as he leaned over your back and asked, “Is it okay if I touch you here?” He emphasized his words with another swipe over your hole. This time, you were a bit more prepared.

You twisted your neck around to look at Spencer’s face. It was soft and questioning, showing you that, while he was interested, he clearly wasn’t going to do anything you didn’t want to. But you were intrigued. You’d only ever tried it once before with a definitely straight man, and it was just medium. Nothing you had really considered doing again until now, but you trusted Spencer. And honestly, who better to give it a second chance with than someone who knew what he was doing? Not only that, but frequently participated in it with his boyfriend?

You nodded, looking him straight in the eyes. “Yes.”

“Let us know if you are ever uncomfortable or need us to stop,” Luke reminded.

You turned your attention back to him and nodded again. “I will.”

Now with confirmation from you, Spencer dripped some of your lube at the top of your ass, watching it roll all the way down to where you and Luke were connected. Luke had stopped moving completely, and you were staying still enough for Spencer to slowly push a finger into you. He confirmed with you one more time that you were okay, which you assured him you were, before he started moving.

He was nice and slow to start, allowing you time to adjust to the feeling. As Luke started rocking back and forth with his hips, Spencer added a second finger, scissoring them to help stretch you out. You hissed at the added pressure.

Both men started moving a bit faster, pulling gasps out of you faster than you could bring air back in. You were surprised that you whined when Spencer removed his fingers, not realizing how much you were actually enjoying yourself. You felt empty with the loss of contact, but didn’t have to worry for long when the familiar ‘pop’ of the lube cap let you know it had been opened.

A few moments later and Spencer was filling you up at a tantalizing pace. Luke slowed again, allowing you time to adjust to the new sensations. The man at your back pulled clean out of you, drawing yet another whimper, as the one below you placed his firm hands on you back and rolled the two of you to the side.

Spencer was at your back again, already pushing back into you as Luke pulled your top leg over his hips, giving both men better access.

It started out slow and sensual, but gradually turned into something desperate and frantic. Hands were groping over bodies, mouths were attaching themselves to any lips or skin available. Spencer was massaging your tits from behind and Luke hand his arms draped over your hips to bring you closer to him with each thrust by your ass. The three of you were a mess of limbs and moans, each trying to meet your end.

Spencer came first, sloppy thrusts coming to a halt behind you, and tried to muffle his groans in the flesh of the base of your neck. It didn’t help much. You were right behind him, the brutal pace they had been pounding into you becoming too much. You were worried you might have blown Luke’s eardrum out with how closely you were screaming next to him, a sound your neighbor was sure to mention when filing a complaint you couldn’t care to feel guilty about.

You and Spencer were floating down from your highs, but Luke wasn’t as satisfied. He pulled out of you, cold air hitting your body and sending a shock through your system. His lips were on yours quickly, which had you melting again.

He growled in that deep voice of his about turning you around, which made you feel all tingly until he actually did it. It took more effort than you care to admit to simply change sides, facing Spencer now. It was good to look at his face again. You had absolutely no problem with Luke’s (who would?), but you wanted to look at them equally. Unfortunately, you weren’t born with eyes in the back of your head.

You were back in the same position you’d been in, just this time your other leg was propped up on Spencer’s more pronounced hip bones and not Luke’s. Spencer quickly took advantage of getting to see your face head on, capturing your lips with his. His tongue slid into your mouth when you gasped at the feeling of Luke entering you from behind. It was a bit easier for him to slide in, Spencer having already stretched you out. Luke joined Spencer as they both kissed down your neck, only stopping briefly to kiss each other.

The slightly younger man trailed all the way down to your breasts, taking your nubs in his mouth or fingers. Luke was still marking up your neck, brushing his fingers down your sides. With each of his thrusts, your heat was grinding against Spencer’s length, which you felt continually get harder. He looked into your eyes and you whispered the few words of your consent, not being able to get anything else out.

He bucked his hips up into yours, having no trouble as you were still wet from your previous orgasm and your impending one. The feeling of the two of them pushing and pulling inside you, hitting different spots from different angles, you knew you weren’t going to last long. It just felt so good to be completely filled up to the hilt.

Needing something to grasp on to, your fingers immediately found Spencer’s curls. You remembered from earlier he seemed to like it, so you tugged, pulling a delicious groan from his pink and puffy lips. You felt Luke’s labored breath on your ear, and with the few brain cells that were still working, you could tell that the three of you were very, very close.

You snapped first, clawing your nails down Spencer’s back, and the feeling seemed to be enough for him. The sound of his love and his crush moaning in harmony pushed Luke over the edge, joining your symphony.

The three of you laid there panting before both men got up to remove their condoms. Luke came back with a towel to wipe you clean of yourself, Spencer putting the lube back where he found it. Luke tossed the towel to the side, laying down next to you. Spencer walked back into your room on slightly shaky legs, which made you smile just a bit. He, too, collapsed next to you. You were able to see all the red marks on his back and thighs from your nails, and you almost felt bad for not spreading the wealth around a little more, only Spencer’s skin receiving the assault.

Soon, all of your breathing reached a normal level, and Spencer pulled the sheets up over his body, Luke helping him get you under, then sliding under himself.

You sighed with content, then laughed, drawing both men’s attention to you, as if it weren’t already. “Wow. You sure know how to apologize.”

They both chuckled with you, cuddling even closer now.

“So was it worth it?” Luke half-teased.

You pretended to think about it, but replied, cheeky, “I mean, you could have told me sooner, but I guess I don’t mind the two of you needing to apologize.” And to be honest, you hoped there’d be more reasons for apologies in the future.

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lazysublimeengineer · 3 years

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Bye Bye Baby

Summary: I want you bad but it's come down to nothing

And all I have is your sympathy

'Cause you took me home but you just couldn't keep me

Characters: Takemichi H. & Manjirou (Mikey) S.

It wasn't just like a movie

The rain didn't soak through my clothes, down to my skin

I'm driving away and I, I guess you could say

This is the last time I'll drive this way again

Lost in the gray and I try to grab at the fray

'Cause I, I still love you but I can't

The roar of the CB25OT rang against the road as he swerved ferociously into the right panel of the street. Nonetheless, the sounds were being swallowed by the heavy rainfall and the clap of the thunderclouds. His clothes were soaking wet and clung heavily into his skin. But Mikey didn’t care. All he cared right about now was to get rid of the heavy thoughts around him ever since Takemichi left and went back to the future. He wanted to stop Takemichi from leaving that day. But the words got stuck into his throat. He didn’t have any right to stop him. Takemichi needed to go back to the life where he belonged to. And it wasn’t in his arms and in this past.

Bye, bye, to everything I thought was on my side

Bye, bye, baby

I want you bad but it's come down to nothing

And all I have is your sympathy

'Cause you took me home but you just couldn't keep me

Bye, bye, baby

Takemichi always possessed a heart bigger than himself or any of them really. His honesty and sincerity towards them were pure as a snow. His promises to save all of them from their tragic fate was a beaming hope for their bleak and gray futures. It was one of Takemichi’s biggest strengths yet also one of his glaring weaknesses. Mikey could’ve take advantage of it. He could’ve stitch up lies about an impending danger to the gang or to anyone else just to make him stay. But all he could say to him was, “Go back to the future, Takemitchy. Go back to that future where Hina is waiting for you!”

Because Mikey can’t make him stay here if Takemichi’s heart doesn’t belong here and all he can give him was his sympathy.

He’s not cruel like that.

The picture frame is empty

On the dresser, vacant just like me

I see your writing on the dash

Then back to your hesitation

I was so sure of everything

Everything I thought we'd always have

Guess I never doubted it

Then the here and the now floods in

Feels like I'm becoming a part of your past

Takemichi stared at the picture where he stood beside Mikey and the other members of Toman. It felt like a long time ago yet it doesn’t. A month, a year, a few weeks or even a few days…where it all seemed like a minute or second had passed when he came back to the future. To the current present. Where he actually belongs.

But why does it felt like his heart was empty? A vacuum of nothingness?

He should be satisfied right?

But why he couldn’t shake off this feeling of emptiness?

The smiling face of Mikey before he returned to the future made his heart soar previously.

But now it also brought his heart down shattering into a tiny, million pieces.

How ironic.

Bye, bye, to everything I thought was on my side

Bye, bye, baby

I want you bad but it's come down to nothing

And all I have is your sympathy

'Cause you took me home but you just couldn't keep me

Bye, bye, baby

There's so much that I can't touch

You're all I want but it's not enough this time

And all the pages are just slipping through my hands

And I'm so scared of how this ends

They still meet up through a quaint café or in a nearby bar downtown to catch up. Mikey has been laughing and exchanging crude, childish jokes with them until Draken became annoyed at him as usual and they were beating up each other’s asses once again.

It felt normal. Yet it wasn’t.

There’s a lingering emptiness there that he could feel but avoided thinking about it further. Or even bringing that up.

Takemichi’s absence would seeped quietly into his veins when he was finally alone with his own thoughts and emotions.

Mikey stared at the ceiling numbly. A devastating ache started to fester inside his heart.

But he has to grin and bear it right?

Since he can’t drag people down with him.

And he already promised to Takemichi before they parted ways that he’ll protect everyone’s futures as well.

So, he’ll fulfill his promise no matter what it costs.

Bye, bye, to everything I thought was on my side

Bye, bye, baby

I want you bad but it's come down to nothing

And all I have is your sympathy

'Cause you took me home but you just couldn't keep me

Bye, bye, to everything I thought was on my side

Bye, bye, baby

I want you bad but it's come down to nothing

And all I have is your sympathy

'Cause you took me home but you just couldn't keep me

Oh, you took me home, I thought you were gonna keep me

Bye, bye, baby

Draken told Takemichi that Mikey was managing a restaurant overseas so that’s why he couldn’t attend Pah-Chin’s wedding.

Relief and disappointment flooded Takemichi’s veins at the news.

He should be relieved right? Everyone’s doing fine. And Mikey was having a great future as well. So why does it feel like there’s a pang in his chest from the moment he didn’t saw Mikey at the reception hall previously?

Takemichi couldn’t hold on too long for that niggling thought as Hina has called him from afar, letting him know that there’s already a cab waiting for them outside the hall to get into.

Maybe he should let it go…

And focus on his impending wedding soon…

Since he promised Hina back in the past…

And say goodbye to these ideas and thoughts of wanting to see Mikey soon just to ease his anxieties and doubt…

But his heart told him otherwise.

Meanwhile in an obscure bar hidden in one of the alleys in Tokyo…

“You sure you don’t want to gatecrash and invite yourself boss to their wedding?” Sanzu asked idly as he sat down in a barstool holding a glass of whiskey into one of his hands.

Mikey continued to read silently about the latest reports on his former friends and comrades. Even though he already cut off his ties with them, he made sure that he was carefully keeping tabs on them and ensuring that their futures were secured and normal.

All except for one.

Takemichi and Hina’s impending wedding.

A blank expression was still on his face yet his hand automatically tightened its grip on the paper.

It’s the best future isn’t it?

So why did the news made his heart break down into tiny pieces?

“It’s not my style to gatecrash a wedding where I’m not invited in the first place. Besides, events like these are a waste of my time and utterly boring.” Mikey replied in a monotone voice.

As he said those words, he knew that he already said goodbye to his feelings about the blue-eyed crybaby hero that tried to save all of them in the past.

This was for the best even if his heart disagreed with it vehemently.

(A/N: I don’t own any of these characters from this franchise nor Taylor Swift’s Bye Bye Baby song. While waiting for chapter 213 of the manga to come out soon, have some Takemikey angst for your daily suffering needs. Currently listening to the Fearless Taylor Swift’s version of the album and Bye Bye Baby is just screaming of pain and angst hence the inspiration behind this one shot angsty fic. Reviews are amusing. So, let me hear them from you.)

#tokyo revengers #fanfiction #one shot #angst #manjiro sano #takemichi hanagaki #mikey x takemichi #takemikey #mikey #takemitchy #spoilers #manga spoilers

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maxwell-grant · 3 years

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Vincenzo: The Gentleman Villain Reborn

Long before there were loudmouth buff guys in spandex, there was the gentleman villain.

There once was a time when the gentleman villain, whether a gentleman thief in the Raffles or Lupin mold, or murderous arch-criminals like Fu Manchu and Fantomas, organizations like Les Vampires, and even in-between figures like Rocambole and Judex, was the coolest thing in the pop culture block. The figures right around the corner of Baker Street, when Nick Carter and Sexton Blake and any billion old serial detectives weren’t quite cutting it. Their time was not to last long in the spotlight, as the pulp heroes consolidated domain in the 30s and then the superheroes took over, but every now and then, they return in various forms, never fully gone. But I’d dare say I’d never seen a gentleman villain story quite so bold, so modern, so dynamic and so gloriously over-the-top in pride over it’s existence, until I began watching Vincenzo.

Vincenzo is BADASS and I don’t use the term lightly. Not just the titular character, but the show itself. It’s currently a couple episodes short of the finale and you should stop everything you’re doing or watching and go watch Vincenzo. It’s been an utterly glorious ride from beginning to end with no shortage of great characters, terrific writing, great relationships and jaw-dropping moments as every episode succeeds in topping each other in WOW HOLY SHIT factor. It’s a shot of adrenaline and storytelling excellence to the eyeballs and you don’t have anything better to be doing right now than watching this.

I mentioned a while ago that Black was a show that, besides being also terrific in quality, captured my interest as a Shadow fan specifically because I saw in Black what I believe is the heart of The Shadow as a character: an embodiment of evil, motivated and created and warped by social catastrophe and strife, set loose to punish true evil in order to protect humanity. In that regard, if Black is where I find the heart of The Shadow, Vincenzo is where I find the spirit of what I like about The Shadow as a series: Cathartic urban fairytales where an extraordinary agent of change, armed with incredible cunning, sleight-of-hand and combat skills, rises above a dark background to command a folk brigade of ordinary people who reveal themselves to be extraordinary through their newfound purpose, to right the wrongs of society’s predators, by being better at their tactics than they are and turning their tools against them.

I’m gonna spoil it a bit under the cut but please go watch it. I cannot praise this show enough and I’ll do my best to try.

Vincenzo centers around the titular character, Vincenzo Cassano, an Italian lawyer who works for the mafia as a consigliere, adopted by it’s Don at the age of eight. After the death of the Don and an attempted betrayal by his son, Vincenzo flees to Seoul and ends up taking residence at a ramshackle building called Geumga Plaza. Geumga Plaza is the hiding place of a gigantic stash of gold hidden by one of Vincenzo’s former clients, and he intends to retrieve it to rebuild his life somewhere else. Naturally, not only is the hidden room completely impenetrable, but the building is occupied. by residents who are being forced out of it by criminals working for the Babel corporation, which intends to take possession of the building. And thus, Vincenzo has to put his skills into working out progressively bigger problems, as his efforts to uncover the gold turn into a fight against Babel and it’s lawyers, as the problems take on bigger and bigger proportions.

Vincenzo’s got a lot of what you’d expect from a k-drama at first glance. The leading man is a dashing young man, the leading lady is headstrong and stubborn, you see their romance coming a mile away and they take their damn time getting there, there’s emotional backstories that take a long time to be revealed, lots of wacky side characters and comedy interspersed with the darkest moments, a focus on corporate corruption, and so on. But it’s got an intrusion of elements brought by Vincenzo’s inclusion, such as mob drama, tonal and cultural imbalance, and the gentleman villain tropes that Vincenzo brings, as the catalyst of change whose antics backflip through action hero, romantic hero, super hero and super villain, cunning puppetmaster and gun-toting warrior alike, and start to have an effect on the world around him. His allies become stronger, more determined and effective, and the villains grow smarter and more horrid as they desperately try to avoid their own downfalls.

On paper, Vincenzo is almost a textbook example of how to craft a villain protagonist. He’s a mysterious foreigner with a hidden past and incredible skills who shows up uninvited in “our” world, who starts terrorizing and manipulating people into doing his bidding. He’s got a hotheaded and foolish investigator chasing after his every move, and frequently employs misdirection and sleight-of-hand to fool the authorities. He commits crimes and employs underhanded methods in the service of stamping out people worse than himself. He never really makes any claim of being a hero and actively rejects the notion he’s fighting for justice, but instead states he’s doing it as a matter of principle. One of the characters early on even states he gives off the vibe of a movie villain, even Vincenzo himself tells Hong Cha-Young, the female lead, that he’s teaching her how to be a proper villain. In another series, Vincenzo would be the hypercompetent sidekick to the main villain, or secretly the main villain, the lone badass that the action hero would have a tough fight against before defeating and moving on. But Vincenzo does not allow himself to be dismissed so easily.

On the first episode, when we’re introduced to him in Italy, he’s painted as the badass to end all badasses. But the minute he arrives in Seoul, he falls for a trick at the airport and is mugged by two cabbies, and has to walk around penniless and without dignity, shouting curses in Italian that nobody understands. He has to sleep in a broken down apartment, his “taking a steamy shower with classical music playing” fanservice scene keeps being interrupted because the shower doesn’t work, and a pigeon chattering outside his window keeps ruining his sleep.

The tenants of the building are all introduced as varying levels of unsympathetic and useless, or downright creepy. The tailor screws up his favorite suit, the chef who claims to have studied in Italy is a total fraud, there’s tenants who scare us by passing as ghosts and zombies, and Hong Cha-Young is introduced as an unlikable stooge for Babel. Vincenzo is a villain protagonist who is forced out of his grand mafia epic film, where he conducts business around lavish manors while classical music plays, and stumbles onto a korean drama, a world that operates by different rules and where no one has any reason to take him seriously at first, and gradually finds out that the difference between both worlds is not as big as he’d imagined.

It’s only at the very end of the first episode, when the neighborhood gangsters show up to terrorize the tenants, that Vincenzo starts to kick ass again, and he has not stopped so far. In fact, not just him, ALL of the tenants have gradually started kicking ass with him. Hong Cha-Young severs all connections to Babel and proves to be, as his main partner in crime, just as cunning, twice as driven, and three times as batshit and kooky. The tailor who ruined his suit turns out to be an ex-gang member capable of fending off groups of thugs with only his scissors. The creepy piano girl reveals herself a hacking genius, the zombie impersonators become incredible actors, the failed wrestler and badass wannabe becomes his most active field agent along with his equally strong wife, the chef improves his cooking and lends his restaurant as a meeting center, all of the characters, EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM gradually become incredible, competent, resourceful people, really no different than they were before, it just took a little courage and pushing.

The headstrong and foolish agent pursuing Vincenzo becomes 100% smitten with him and quickly becomes one of his greatest allies. Even the neighborhood gangsters, after being left to die by Babel and forced to start anew, quickly become some of his most loyal allies, and gradually redeem themselves in the eyes of the tenants to the point they become friends. In departing from his old family, Vincenzo forms a new one, even if never by his intention. They even all get matching suits.

This incredibly potent, human core surrounding the antics of an extraordinary figure of action is part of what used to make the Agents of The Shadow such a special, meaningful and beloved part of the series, and something every adaptation since then has been 100% poorer for neglecting. But Vincenzo does it, and does it right. I could watch a billion adventures with these people and never get sick of them.

Vincenzo is a slick, modern take on the gentleman villain that takes many of it’s oldest conventions and provides blueprints for making them work in modern times. His plans often take a performance art-edge as he employs tactics both old-fashioned and modern, like using social media to stage an event in front of the Plaza so the bulldozers set to demolish it won’t be able to pass, or copying files and passing them to his police contact while keeping the real ones when said police contact inevitably betrays him. The tenants put all of their skills to use, no matter how unusual or seemingly useless. Every episode lays the groundwork for a smashing finale where all of the threads come together and we bare witness to a grand tapestry of karmic retribution.

The villains themselves are no slouch, and also have that modern edge that gradually ramps up. They stage discreet assassinations involving gas leaks and watches meant to burst into flames. They stack the deck impossibly against all characters. They employ masked goons by the dozens, armies of lawyers to smudge any connections between themselves and their actions, and every sector of society in covering them, from journalists publishing pro-Babel propaganda to police commissioners. The assistant of the main villain does zumba classes amidst ordering assassinations, and is often likened to a snake and a witch with her "Crystal Ball” (the name she uses for ordering assassin contacts by the phone), complete with a cowardly, scheming assistant she bullies at every turn. The CEO of Babel has a dual nature not out of place in a Jekyll & Hyde/Dorian Grey kind of story.

The main villain is often painted as a slasher villain backed by massive corporate power, murdering people with hockey equipments and even outright named “Jason” at one point, with a tense string theme song accompanying his deeds. The show hides the villain at plain sight by using one of the most familiar set-ups of romantic dramas and the tension never stops even after he’s revealed.

Mobster films tend to paint an idealized version of it’s protagonists, not necessarily because of a genuine love or interest with mobsters (I mean, it really goes without saying that real life mobsters are obviously not admirable figures), but out of a sense of displaying a “this is what it could be” fantasy, a fantasy where the mafioso is a dark hero who will still ultimately do the right thing and stick up for the little guy, in a similar way to how superheroes often function as police officers except, y’know, actually dedicated to protecting people.

Vincenzo does go to great lengths to address the imbalance of putting such a dark figure as it’s hero, through showing how the situation can only be addressed by the intrusion of a figure such as Vincenzo. There’s a scene where Vincenzo and Hong proceed to explain extremely succintly to their cop ally why the “bad apples” argument is horseshit. One of the show’s characters, someone who’s spent his entire life being the best person he could, and dedicating himself 110% percent to fighting evil even at the expense of connecting with his own family, someone who absolutely should be the hero to take down Babel, admits shortly before dying that it wasn’t enough, that it was never going to be enough, and that what the situation calls for isn’t a hero, but a monster. That monster being Vincenzo, who is not only powerful and monstrous, but commands the loyalty of people high and low class alike, criminals and law enforcement agents, to fight Babel. In his words, “the ultimate monster”, something even the world’s biggest badass cannot defeat by himself.

On most other set-ups, Vincenzo would be pretty unmistakably the villain. But here, when he’s set up against a starkly realistic depiction of how corporations actually function in our world, depicts that Vincenzo’s ability to clear his way through goons John Wick-style is nowhere near enough, and to that end, he’s gonna have to fight impossible battles using his brains and his allies. And in the end, he defeats them, time and time again, and proves that they were not that impossible after all.

One can only hope he’s on to something.

Oh yeah and THE PIGEON BY HIS WINDOW ALSO KICKS ASS and I will not explain how, just watch the show, I can’t do it justice no matter how much I talk about it.

#k-drama #vincenzo #i've fallen in the k-drama rabbit hole and I am not getting back up #I love everything about this show so goddamn much #song joong ki #tvn vincenzo

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ladyeliot · 4 years

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Before we go (Part One)

Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

Pairing: Chris Evans x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your company has sent you to Boston to close a deal on the same day you have the most important date of your life at night in New York. Things get complicated, you can't return to New York and you have to spend the night in Boston with a complete stranger.

Warning: Fluff and a bit angst.

Word count: 3319

Notes: Sorry for my spelling and grammatical mistakes, English is not my native language, I am learning.

"Sometimes we are so focused on finding our happy ending that we don't learn to analyse the signs that life offers us".

It was a clear night in April, the city of Boston, Massachusetts had welcomed you that morning, but at that moment you needed to leave it behind. You had made an express trip from New York, your home, for business knows no days or hours, so it had fallen to you to catch an early Sunday morning train to Boston, when you had a really important Sunday night appointment. You figured it wouldn't take you too long to close the deal with the big multinational, and that you'd be in New York before ten o'clock at night. So that morning you headed for Pennsylvania Station in downtown Manhattan and 3 hours and 40 minutes later you arrived at South Station in downtown Boston.

You had never been to Boston, a magnificent city with a great history that you barely had time to enjoy. You arrived carrying your coat and your bag, you didn't need anything else, besides, the less stuff you had on you the better it would be for your mobility. When you arrived you realised that the city was preparing for a nearby holiday, as many streets were blocked off, preventing traffic from passing, which meant that your taxi driver was late arriving at the company's headquarters located in "East Boston".

The meetings went on forever, your potential shareholders were not entirely sure about the future that your company could offer them, and so the hours passed incessantly without reaching any concrete agreement. The constant interruptions from your boss wanting to know the situation were not very helpful either, and the bad mood that was taking over your body, as it was your day off and therefore you shouldn't be there, was a little bump in the road.

You had set yourself a time limit, but you knew you could not return to New York City without signing that agreement or you would be removed from your position at the company. Sometimes you begged for that reinstatement, because the position of head of external relations made your life more bitter than happy. This was evident when your partner of five years, Michael, decided to give up on your relationship, you were barely home and you discovered that he had been having several encounters with a former colleague at work, finally when you told him you knew, your partner opted to leave home and take a job in Los Angeles.

At first you thought that maybe it was for the best, that you should focus on your work projects, for which you had been fighting so hard, but eventually you realised that you were really in love with him, although at no time did you justify his cheating behind your back. Your ex-partner came to you two months later regretting his behaviour and asking for a second chance, at first you were reluctant, but finally you agreed to have dinner with him, he was returning to New York for a work trip, because you loved him. The dinner was that night, the Sunday night you had to travel to Boston, Michael had been in New York for a week, but you had barely seen each other, and first thing Sunday morning he returns to Los Angeles, so you only had that opportunity to find out if it was really worth it to resume something that had been lost.

The contract was signed at exactly 9:20pm, you had to call Michael, and inform him that you were not going to make it to the dinner, but that you would go to his hotel first thing in the morning to have breakfast with him before he got on the plane, he begged you to go straight to his hotel when you arrived, whatever time it was, you finally agreed.

You were inside a taxi, the last train leaving for New York was at 9:50pm, but as usual the universe was against you. The streets had become increasingly busy, the driver informed you that the following day was Patriot's Day, an annual event commemorating the battles of Lexington and Concord, and the Battle of Menotomy, the first battles of the American Revolutionary War. You tuned out completely as I explained the history of the holiday, just staring out the window praying that you would be on time to catch that train.

"How far is it from here to South Station?" you asked when the car could barely move because of the traffic jam.

"Fifteen minutes if you walk fast and shortcut down this avenue," he commented.

Without a second thought, you offered him the fifty-dollar note you had in your hand at the ready and dashed out of the car, dodging the other cars that were crowded together at the intersection. Your negative orienteering experiences were alleviated by the city's good signage that constantly pointed you in the direction of the South Boston station. Your mind was focused on getting there before 9:50pm when the last train was leaving, it was now 9:30pm and if you were informed by the conductor that if you were going at a brisk pace you could be there in 15 minutes, that is 9:45pm.

You ran trying to dodge the crowd, constantly uttering "excuse me" and keeping a proper rhythm in your breathing so as not to choke before your time, you could tell it had been months since you had been out for exercise as you had to stop twice to catch your breath. But what took your breath away the most was when you discovered that you were carrying too little weight. You stopped dead in your tracks and looked at your arms, your hands, your bag was gone. You looked around, quickly thought about whether you might have lost it running, but realised that you had actually run so fast out of the taxi that you had completely forgotten to take your bag.

Panic invaded every limb of your body, but as you reached into your coat pockets and found the ticket that would take you back to New York you thought that was all you really needed, everything inside your bag might be replaceable in the future. You continued on your way to the station, in a few minutes you could see the entrance at the bottom of Federal Street. You quickened your pace across the square, as you tried to enter you bumped into people who were trying to exit the building slowing you down. You entered the hall a little disoriented and ran towards the platforms where the trains were leaving, you ran down the stairs, but your eyes discovered something that your mind did not want to think about, they saw how the rear lights of the last train were lost in the darkness of the night.

Your body stood still for a few moments, while your consciousness didn't understand what had just happened, or rather didn't want to understand it. In your right hand waved the ticket to New York, your only possession at the moment. You stood to one side of the stairs, so that the last two people could walk up to the station hall, while you stood for a few minutes staring at the train tracks.

You decided that all was not lost, there would be more train or even bus stations that could take you to New York that night. You retraced your steps, finding that the shops in the hall were closing, but the information window was still open. You waited until he had finished serving a customer and bowed to the gentleman.

"Excuse me, I need to go to New York tonight," you said, showing him the ticket, being as calm as possible.

"I'm sorry, but the last train had just left," he said without so much as a glance at you, counting the cash register.

"I know, I know, but I need to get to New York tonight," you insisted again. "I suppose there's another train station in the city, or even a bus station."

"I'm sorry, but the last transport to New York City is the Northeast Regional that just left this station right now," he finally laid his eyes on you, interlacing his fingers. "But first thing tomorrow morning, you'll have trains available again so you can go to New York.

"First thing tomorrow morning?" you asked a little hopefully.

"At 6:05am the first train leaves for Pennsylvania Station," he reported, staring at his electronic screen.

"I can't wait until 6:00 am tomorrow," you said, raising your tone a little. "Do you think a taxi driver would be willing to take me to New York?

"You can try," he said with a shrug. "But they're not licensed to drive outside the state of Massachusetts."

"Okay..." you said with a blank stare. "Excuse me, one last thing, if I forgot my purse in a taxi, where can I go to pick it up?"

"If he is an honest person he will have taken it to Boston police headquarters to be handed over to the Hackney lost property division," he informed you, offering me a small card. "Call here.

"Alright, thank you." Your voice sounded utterly depressed.

With a tremendous disappointment inside you, you definitely accepted his words and did not insist any more, you understood, the last means of transport connecting the Boston and New York line had left, there was no more. You took a breath nodding and realising that there was a person behind you who wanted to ask a question, you opted to head towards the nearest seats to think. You were in a completely unfamiliar city, you had to spend the night there and you had barely a coat and a useless train ticket until the next morning. Even though your thoughts were racing, trying to find a solution, you couldn't find one, there were too many negative feelings that were making you despair.

"Are you all right?" the voice came from a shadow that covered the light of the station's harsh floodlights.

You didn't answer him, just stared at him and nodded slowly, but at that very moment a station cleaner approached you.

"I'm sorry but we are closing," he reported.

"Closing?" you asked a little confused.

"The station closes from 10pm until 5am," he commented, walking away again.

That was another inconvenience your head didn't count on, you had thought that since you had to wait for a new train to leave, you could spend the night there, since you had nowhere else to go, nor money or identification that could allow you to do so. You nodded to yourself and totally disoriented you got up from your seat and headed towards the main exit of the building, you barely noticed what was going on around you, you didn't even realise how the boy who had asked you if you were alright had followed you and stood next to you.

"Do you want to share a taxi?" he asked, which brought you out of your thoughts for a moment.

"Excuse me?" you had barely heard his words.

"I was saying do you want us to share a taxi," he repeated again showing kind features on his face.

"No, I'm fine," you said and looked around again for solutions.

The young man was not giving up after your refusals, so he finally closed the taxi door and approached you again, hoping that you would finally accept the help he wanted to offer.

"Really?" he insisted, "Because it didn't look like it in there."

"I'm fine," you frowned, beginning to feel uncomfortable at his intrusion, you didn't need anyone to help you. "Really."

"Alright," he held up his hands and headed towards the taxi again. "Hey buddy! Do you think you could get this lady closer to New York?"

His words fully captured your attention, you raised your face and turned it towards the man who was talking to the driver through a rolled down window.

"To New York City?!" exclaimed the driver somewhat taken aback by your words.

"Yes!" you exclaimed running towards the rolled down window. "Specifically to Midtown Manhattan, the corner of Sixth Avenue and Bryant Park."

"Midtown Manhattan, Sixth Avenue and Bryant Park," repeated the young man who was trying to help you.

"That would be an all-night drive," declared the taxi driver hesitantly. "Besides, I can't drive in another state, they might take away my license..."

"I'll pay whatever it takes if you can get me back to New York by six in the morning," you begged with a thread of hope in your gut.

"It must be 220 miles one way," he said, doing the math. "All told, about 440, counting gas and the risk that my license could be revoked..."

"Whatever," you insisted again. "I'll pay you anything."

"All right," nodded the man, gesturing for you to get into the taxi. "We'll leave it at $1,200."

"Thank you very much, I'll pay you as soon as we get there," you informed humbly before getting into the car, which caused the situation to take an unexpected turn.

"Wait, I need half the money up front," the taxi driver began. "Otherwise we won't get out of this block."

"The truth is..." you began as your hopes dwindled.

"It's on me," said the young man next to you quickly, which caused you to half-open your lips and look at him in complete bewilderment. "You'll pay me back."

"Wait," you said stopping his hands before he pulled out his credit card. How do you know I'll pay you back, and why are you doing this?"

"I guess I'm trying to do my good deed for the day," a smile appeared on his face, which confused you even more if that was possible. "Besides, do you have another option?"

The boy offered his credit card to the taxi driver, and you were stunned when you realised that the man was paying 600 dollars to a complete stranger to travel to New York. Who the hell does that these days? Who was that guy?

"This card is expired," the driver reported, handing the card back to him through the window of the car.

"Expired?" the boy looked at it. "Shit, it expired last week. Don't worry, I've got another one."

The blue-eyed young man looked at you and smiled a sheepish smile, you had hardly smiled all day.

"It's not active," the taxi driver reported again, handing back the card.

"Shit..." the young man looked at her, " Alright, let me get my phone out and... fuck, no battery."

"Really?!" you exclaimed at the situation before your eyes. "Is there anything working in your life?"

That question you blurted out without thinking that the most unfortunate person at that moment was you, you even surpassed what had just happened to that boy. Finally the taxi driver, seeing the situation, decided to roll up his window and leave instead of wasting his time with you.

" Oh shit!" you exclaimed, holding your hands to your head as you realised that your hopes were lost.

You were the same as you were, well worse, because now you had one more disappointment inside you. You opted that the best decision was to reap your own destiny, alone, so you returned to your original position and stood looking at the car traffic at that wide intersection in the city of Boston, wondering what to do. Surely you would find another taxi driver who would decide to take you to New York, even if you didn't pay him on the spot.

"Well," said the young man approaching you again. "What do you feel like doing?"

You narrowed your eyes, not understanding why he was trying to help you, nor the need he had to spend more time with you. What was clear to you was that he was not helping.

"Do you really have nothing better to do tonight?" you asked him somewhat quizzically, with an edge to your tone.

"Wow," he arched his eyebrows in a smirk. "Is that how you treat someone who's trying to help you?"

"Help me?" you laughed, shoving your hands into your coat. "Well, I guess it's the thought that counts."

"Yeah... even if my cards don't work and I have no battery in my mobile, at least I'm at my destination," he said with irony, provoking a shudder inside you. "Come on, what do you want to do, do you want to go to a hotel?" you frowned at his words to which he laughed as he contemplated your reaction. "Oh no, I mean spend the night, correction, for you to spend the night... Alright, leave it."

"I'm not going to sit idle in a hotel," you said gruffly. "I need to get to New York before dawn."

" Alright..."

You were both silent for a while, trying to avoid thinking about Michael, how he would be waiting all night for you to come and you probably wouldn't even get there before he left for Los Angeles. But in trying not to remember your situation, you realised how rude you had been to this young man, who only seemed to be kind to you and whose name you barely knew.

"I'm sorry," you said, turning to him and nodding.

"No problem," he said smiling at you and held out his hand to you. "I'm Chris, by the way."

You nodded looking at his hand, after all he was a complete stranger and somewhat peculiar, so you opted to offer a fake name.

"Adriana," you finally shook his hand.

"Nice name," he said, putting on his red sox cap, at which point you realised that his features were somewhat familiar. "I really love the night in Boston, so I could stay here forever, but I'm pretty hungry after the trip. I know you need to get to New York, but standing here you won't be able to do much, do you feel like joining me for a bite to eat? We can figure something out while we eat."

Those words reminded you that you hadn't had a bite to eat since lunchtime, and your stomach felt resentful, it was begging for some food to be shoved in, so that plan sounded really good. On the other hand, you weren't receptive to the idea of leaving the place with a complete stranger, and you didn't have any money on you.

"I don't have any money," you reminded him. "And you don't look like you do either."

"Just because I don't have six hundred dollars on me doesn't mean I don't have money on me so we can afford to eat something," he said, flashing his sweet smile again. "Come on. I know just the place on Beacon Hill. It's not too far from here."

You took a full breath, surrendering to her idea and nodded, if you had to stay awake until six in the morning, at least you'd have a full stomach. So you started to walk to your left.

"Hey! Where are you going?" he asked hanging up his backpack again.

"Beacon Hill?" you pointed to your left.

"Beacon Hill," he said, pulling his hand out of his pocket and pointing to the opposite side.

You accepted your confusion and misdirection and with a smile you nodded and stood next to him.

"Wow, you can smile," he exclaimed. "It could be a nice night after all."

to be continued . . .

Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

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roman-writing · 4 years

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the spectres vain (2/2)

Fandom: The Haunting of Bly Manor

Pairing: Dani Clayton / Jamie / Viola Lloyd

Rating: M

Wordcount: 6,525

Summary: She had said before, ‘so many people mix up love and possession,’ and now years later she wondered if that was the reason why they had been given so much time. That maybe Viola thought this was love. That maybe she loved this. Loved her. Loved them.

Content advisory: spoilers, horror, and ghost smut

read it here on AO3 or read it below

“The night isn’t dark; the world is dark. Stay with me a little longer.”

-‘Departure’, Louise Gluck

"I really thought this would go away. But it just hasn't."

They were sitting in a cheap diner, their local favourite down the road. Jamie had already received her meal -- an omelette with a cup of coffee and a side of toast, all of which was going to be far too much for her to eat; she never would get used to the size of American meals -- but Dani had yet to receive her own. Jamie paused in the act of picking up her knife and fork. Dani's eyes were glued to her meal, like a starving man who had seen food for the first time in weeks.

"What would go away? Food?" Jamie asked. She slowly passed the knife and fork between her hands -- clink of chipped cutlery -- and began to eat.

"Yeah."

Dani tore her gaze away from Jamie's plate and instead focused on the salt and pepper shakers between them, bracketing the serviette dispenser like little guardsmen. She was sitting on her hands, as though that were the only thing keeping herself from snatching Jamie's food away for herself. She worried at her lower lip with her teeth.

"I mean, I've always liked food. But after -" She made a nodding motion with her head. "- anyway after, it was like I'd never tasted food before in my life. It was so strange. Everything tasted so sweet. I could hardly choke down a cup of apple juice. And a cheeseburger? I thought that I'd died the first time I bit into one. All that sauce."

Dani trailed off. She was frowning contemplatively at her scratched reflection in the chrome-plated dispenser.

Jamie shoved a mouthful of omelette into her mouth and spoke gracelessly around it. "Always thought American food was too sweet, myself. Maybe you got used to Owen's cooking over in England."

Dani gave her a look. "You know that's not why."

"Yeah, I know." Jamie finished chewing, already cutting up another piece and loading up the back of her fork with her knife. "I noticed the appetite change, of course."

"Mmm." Dani nodded. Her mouth was twisted to one side; she was chewing the inside of her cheek and sneaking glances at her wristwatch as though even the ten minute wait was too long for her to bear. "But it just -- it hasn't gone away. It's more bearable now. I still struggle with cake that's really sugary or has too much icing. But food is -- well, it's an experience. Every time."

Jamie made a noise in the back of her throat; her mouth was too full for even her to speak. She finished her bite, and then said, "Anything in particular you two have been craving?"

If anything, Dani seemed startled by the question. The thoughtful groove in her brow deepened, before she answered, "Tarte au citron. She used to love lemons. Anything sour. Not too sweet. Always a hint of bite."

Nodding slowly, Jamie said, "Yeah, all right. We can make do with that. And what about you? Do you like sour things?"

Dani's mouth opened to answer, but before she could say anything, the waitress came by and placed an enormous cheeseburger with all the trimmings in front of her -- bacon, extra cheese and gherkin, the whole lot. "Thank you so much."

The waitress had hardly taken two steps away before Dani descended upon her meal. The cheeseburger was in her hands and then in her mouth in a flash. She took a large bite, and juice dripped all down her fingers. As Dani chewed, she moaned softly, eyes shut in rapture. “God,” she mumbled. “That’s so good.”

Jamie lifted her eyebrows and coughed discreetly. “Blimey. Do you two need a room?”

Dani nodded and took another bite. Jamie laughed, and she could see the way Dani's mouth curled into a smile even as her cheeks bulged.

Later that week, Jamie was passing by a bakery on her way back to their florist's shop. She stopped and peered through the window. All of the baker's wares were on neat display, ranging from little fancies to proud cakes dusted with chocolate shavings.

And there, near the middle, a row of lemon tarts the size of her hand.

When she returned to the florist's shop, the bell attached to the door by a string announced her arrival, along with her accompanying bellow, "I'm back! I see you didn't burn the place down in my absence! Well done, love!"

It was a Saturday, and the sign turned to 'CLOSED' on the door bounced when she shut it. The sound of footsteps drummed down the stairs, and Dani's legs appeared as she descended the steps. "Oh, hey! How'd the bank go?"

"The usual." Jamie walked forward to the countertop with the cash register. "All their old farts with all their old money. And some money that isn't theirs either."

"Uh huh," Dani said. "And the loan?"

Jamie lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. "Sounded like they were impressed by the little talk you had with them last week about tenants and estate management.”

Dani’s face split into a wide smile. “Really? They’re going to give us the money to buy the shop instead of rent?”

“And the apartment, too,” Jamie said, and she couldn’t help it either. Her own grin broadened. “Anyway, I got you something."

She held out a plain brown wax-paper bag. Dani blinked, and took it.

"Oh, thanks, I was just thinking about -" Dani's voice slowed, then stopped. Her smile lessened slightly, when she opened the bag and saw what it contained. A perfect lemon tart with a dash of cream that had been only slightly smushed on Jamie's walk home. "Oh."

Without a word, Jamie pulled from her back pocket the plastic fork that had come with it. "Go on, then. Let's see how it compares to 16-whatever."

For a long moment Dani fiddled with the plastic fork. It were as though she were standing at the edge of a dock, readying herself for a plunge into icy waters. And then with a brave smile towards Jamie, she cut herself a piece and took a bite.

Jamie wondered what it must have been like. Dani's eyes were closed. She looked utterly transported.

"Good?"

Dani opened her eyes again and nodded. "So, so good."

"Yeah?" Jamie leaned her elbows upon the countertop, watching as Dani went in for another bite. "Better or worse than 16-who-even-cares?"

Dani hummed around the fork in her mouth. Pulling it free and chewing, she said, "Better. Way better."

"Why d'you think that is?"

"It's -" Dani went quiet for a moment as she continued to eat, mulling over every morsel. "It's smoother. Richer. Tarter. More depth of flavour."

"Is that the ingredients talking? Or the fact that you've been stuck in a lake without a body for five-hundred years?"

Dani went very still. After a pause she kept chewing. “A bit of both, I think.” She swallowed, then took a deep breath and looked Jamie dead in the eye. “It’s still me, you know. I’m still me.”

Jamie smiled at her. “I know, Poppins. I know.”

When Dani held out the next forkful to her, she let herself be fed. And indeed, she’d been right. Smooth. Rich. Tart. And a depth of flavour.

At some point -- she could not say exactly when -- Jamie began doing things explicitly thinking of not just what Dani might like, but what Viola might also like.

She read old books. She asked a friend of a friend who went to university to study textile history for any hints of seventeenth century culture. Anything at all so long as it was between the years of 1645 and 1680. (She knew the dates perfectly, but she wasn’t about to let Viola know that. Couldn’t have their evil aristocratic ghost getting all uppity on them, could they?)

She grew specialty plants. She bought specialty food. She gave her clothes and jewelry, little trinkets, only what she could afford. Dani loved them all.

And Viola -- well, Viola was a mystery.

"Did you know that our very own Viola may very well have met Oliver Cromwell?"

Beside her in bed, Dani shifted and the mattress springs creaked beneath her weight. "Are you doing research on my ghost?"

In answer Jamie pointed at the place in the book she was reading and said, "In the year 1658 the daughters of one Mister Willoughby, Viola and Perdita, visited Court, aged fifteen and ten respectively. There they paid their respects and stayed for a few months in a London residence, before returning to the family estate." Jamie set the book down on her legs. "Do you think she actually met him? No. They couldn't have. The Lloyds weren't that reputable, were they?"

"She did," Dani said in a hollow tone. She was staring into the middle distance again, her expression slack.

"Oh, yeah?" Jamie asked. "She want me to know that, does she?"

Still gazing off into space, Dani nodded.

Jamie gestured with the open book. "Noted." She tried to go back to reading, but her curiosity got the better of her. "Okay, what was he like? Good ol' Ironsides?"

"Cold." Dani's eyelids fluttered and she seemed to come to herself. She cleared her throat, but continued, "And he was so critical of her nice new clothes. But she had the last laugh in the end."

Jamie snickered. "Sounds about right."

“He died that same year. Right after they’d visited,” Dani said. “She thought his beheading later was very funny.”

Hearing that, Jamie’s eyes widened. "Holy shit. Wait. Was Viola a secret Catholic?"

Dani scowled darkly at her. The air of their bedroom seemed suddenly colder.

"Whoops. Personal question, then?" Jamie held her hands together in mock supplication and thickened her accent. "A thousand pardons, m'lud."

With a snort of laughter, Dani pushed Jamie's hands down, but paused to lean forward for a quick peck on the mouth.

Sometimes Jamie felt like she was stalking a dead woman. Constantly trying to figure out what Viola might like, what might entice her to stay. And then worrying that perhaps it meant Dani was losing a bit of herself everyday. Like a coin rubbed smooth over the years, until the minted face was indistinguishable. One replacing the other. Or perhaps more like losing the line that separated them. Until she could no longer tell where Dani ended and Viola began.

Yet in time Jamie learned she would do anything if it meant that Dani was here by her side. Every action. Every game pie. Every tight-armed hug. ‘Don’t go. Stay with me. Just for today. Just one more day.’

And every time, Dani caught her eye and smiled as though she had heard the unspoken words, as though they had rung about in the pull-down attic of their little apartment. And every time she would reach out to squeeze Jamie’s hand, and pull her into a reassuring kiss.

Americans, Jamie had learned since living here, were obsessed with Halloween. Personally, she didn’t see the appeal. Now, lighting up the effigy of a Catholic who had once attempted to blow up Parliament? That was more her cup of tea.

Still, when in Rome...And the few friends they had made along the way had invited her to a costume party in town. It would be churlish to decline. They needed more friends. Friends that weren’t linked to a shared trauma.

Besides, as it turned out her friend’s friend at university studying textile history was also an amateur seamstress, and had a few period-accurate pieces that fit without too much trouble. Just a bit nipped in at the waist and -- done. Jamie was set for a ball, or whatever the appropriate equivalent would’ve been called.

“Hey, Jamie, could you help me with this wig? It’s being a real pain in the -”

Dani emerged from their bathroom, half dressed in a Bride of Frankenstein white dress outfit, and froze. It was an hour or so before they were set to leave on the night, and Jamie was in their bedroom draped in a seventeenth century gown, seated on the mattress, a thorn-stripped rose in hand. Dani dropped the aforementioned wig to the ground and stared.

“Too much?” Jamie asked. She adjusted the puffy sleeves so that they sat lower on her arms, revealing more of her chest. “I don’t think it suits me, and I was going to go for a bloke’s outfit instead, but she insisted that -”

“No,” Dani breathed, shaking her head. “No, it’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

“Well, I knew that, obviously.” Jamie winked. Then she made a shooing gesture with the rose, rising from the bed and walking towards Dani. “Now, c’mon! Let’s get that zig-zag wig of yours on. We’re going to be late.”

Dani stepped to one side to block the exit. Her gaze was dark and fixed, unblinking, upon Jamie’s outfit. “I was wrong, actually. What I said just now.”

“What? About me being perfect?” Jamie joked.

“No, not that. It’s just -” Dani reached out with a tentative hand and her fingers were trembling. She thumbed an edge of the dress at Jamie’s sleeve, testing the rose-coloured silk there. “It’s the wrong colour. You should be in green. Laurel as a crown.”

“Thanks?” Jamie said uncertainly.

Dani stepped closer. With her application of make-up and her pale flowing dress, she seemed more like a ghost than ever. Her hands were on Jamie’s upper arms now, stroking the fabric, following the line of the stomacher’s seams until they rested at Jamie’s narrowed waist.

Dani swallowed, and her voice sounded strained when she asked, “Are you wearing a pair of bodies?”

Jamie huffed with nervous laughter. “Am I wearing a -? What?”

As if coming to herself, Dani blinked and shook her head quickly. “I mean - uh - stays. Uh - What’s the name now? - a corset. Are you wearing a corset?”

“Yeah. And all the petticoats and frills.” Jamie straightened theatrically and tried to stretch her shoulders. “Bloody uncomfortable, too. I tell you what.”

Any attempt to break Dani out of this spell with humour seemed futile, however. She was tracing the metallic gold thread of Jamie’s stomacher with greedy fingertips. “What exquisite passementerie.”

“Yeah,” Jamie said haltingly. She was being guided back towards the bed, their steps slow. “The girl I borrowed this from is into the real deal. Wanted to make it as authentic as possible. I’m guessing she passed with flying colours?”

Wordlessly, Dani nodded. Her tongue darted out to wet her lower lip, her mouth painted a bold and bloody red. Her hands curled into fists, bunching up the skirts at Jamie’s hips as though she wanted to tear the cloth from her, only for her touch to slacken, and her palms to smooth down that same fabric like a caress.

Dani continued walking them towards the bed. “I don’t know exactly what’s happening right now, but I really really want you.”

Whatever reaction Jamie had been expecting, it hadn’t been this. Dani hadn’t blinked for what seemed like an age, and she held herself rigidly, every movement twitchy, as though she couldn’t quite remember how to control her muscles properly.

“Can I -?” Dani started to ask, fingers already slipping towards the laces at Jamie’s front.

Jamie lifted the rose between them and used it to bop Dani gently on the forehead. “‘Course you can, Poppins. So long as it’s still you in there.”

Dani blinked furiously and her head jerked back. Then she laughed softly. “Yeah. I’m - I’m here, too.”

Jamie’s mouth curled in a smirk. “All right, then.” She tossed the rose onto the ground, and reached to the laces that held the gown in place. “Help me out of this thing.”

“No.” Dani grabbed her wrists and held them firmly in place. She shut her eyes for a quick moment, shaking her head back and forth. “Not yet.”

“I thought you said -?”

“I know. And I do. Just -- slowly.”

Jamie stared, searching Dani's face for some hint of her there, but her eyes were still tightly shut, and her fingers were pressed coldly around Jamie's wrists.

"All right," Jamie said. "What do you want me to do?"

Dani's eyes opened then, and her gaze was piercing as a shot in the night. She let go of Jamie, stroking her wrists in silent apology, then said, "Be still."

Jamie lowered her arms, then tried her best to not move at all. A long silent moment stretched between them like a bolt of cloth flaring across a table for measuring. The muscles of Dani's face leapt, then settled, and it were as though the nervous energy ran right out of her to pool at their feet. She straightened to impeccable posture, and her expression was nothing but hunger.

It came as a shock, when Dani first tugged at the strings at Jamie's chest. Clever fingers, accustomed to such garments, worked the laces loose, criss by cross. When the gown had slackened just enough that it began to part from the under layers, she stopped. She brought her hands around, and dipped her fingers along the gap created between silk and cotton, running a line between them all the way from one of Jamie's shoulders, across her chest, to her opposite arm.

When her fingertips trailed across Jamie's collarbone to rest against her sternum, it felt like there was another set dragging along after them. Twin touches mirroring every movement of the other, until suddenly they weren’t. Dani leaned forward, and though her hand remained at the hollow of Jamie’s throat, Jamie could feel an icy caress continue to graze her warm skin.

Then Dani was kissing her neck. Jamie tilted her head to one side, only for some other presence to nudge it back upright. She nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt a second pair of lips against her throat. She swallowed, neck craned back, and teeth scraped against the sensitive skin there, harder than Dani would have ever bitten, hard enough to make her jolt. From the corner of her vision she swore she could almost see another figure shrouded in white, but when her eyes darted in that direction, there was nothing.

When Dani felt a hand reach around her throat, she stiffened. "No," she said. "Not around my neck."

Immediately Dani went very still against her, and the hand withdrew. "Sorry. Better?"

Jamie nodded mutely, but could not bring herself to relax. Not when those pairs of hands had moved to part the robe gown from her front. The ruffled bunch of rose-coloured silk dropped to the mattress just behind her in a rustle. Dani was kissing her mouth now, a long deep drawn out kiss, cupping Jamie's cheeks between both hands, but something was still expertly reaching beneath a layer and untying the ribbons that held the padded pillow around her waist under the over skirt, until that, too, was dropped to the floor.

That phantom touch roved, then began to trace the intricate patterns of the stomacher again. There was more strength behind the caress now. As though, the person responsible were gaining confidence, or perhaps becoming more grounded in reality. The warm lamplight on the bedside table behind them cast too many shadows, and over Dani's shoulder Jamie could clearly see the silhouette of three people instead of two.

Those hands pressed against the seams of the stomacher, and Jamie broke off the kiss to gasp, "Careful. There are pins holding that in place."

"I know," Dani murmured against the side of her mouth. The hands passed right over the pins, leaving them in place. "I don't want it off."

"And miss out on all the fun?"

There was a certain steely coldness about Dani's answering smile. "Who said anything about that? Now,” she pressed gently at Jamie’s sternum. “Lie down.”

Jamie dropped onto the mattress, which bounced slightly beneath her weight. She made to shuffle up towards the headboard, but stopped when Dani sank to her knees before her. And yet, there was a dip in the mattress on either side of her. The blankets bunched up at four points as though beneath another weight. Jamie held her breath and let herself lie completely flat with her legs hanging over the side of the bed. The air above her was thick and cold and almost solid. It felt like lying at the bottom of a lake and staring up at the watery surface overhead.

She could feel Dani pushing up the over skirt and petticoat and whatever other layers there were. Jamie had been told the names of each one at the time, but hadn't paid much attention then. Now, she wished she had. Now, Dani was running her hands along each one in turn, slowly sliding them up to Jamie's hips.

Something tugged at one of the black ribbon garters just above Jamie's knees, which kept those long white stockings in place. Then Dani was sliding the left stocking down her leg, pausing to press a kiss to each patch of bare exposed skin. She shivered. As Dani removed the first stocking and moved to the second, Jamie felt a kiss at her neck again. The suddenness of it made her twitch. She reached out, but her hands passed right through the air above her. A pair of hands gripped her wrists and pinned them down to the bed.

Jamie made a noise in the back of her throat. Dani paused, and the grip around Jamie's wrists slackened just fractionally until it became clear that she wasn't fighting back.

Once the final stocking was removed, Dani pressed an open-mouthed kiss to Jamie's inner thigh. Jamie squirmed. Though Dani’s head was only barely visible between her legs, Jamie could not escape the feeling of someone staring intently at her. Dani’s mouth worked its way up and up and -- Jamie hissed, shutting her eyes and clenching her teeth. While the rest of her was cold, Dani’s tongue was a length of heat, licking long warm stripes and small circles.

With a moan Jamie’s hands jerked, instinctively going to grab Dani’s head, but she was held back, tethered down by an invisible ghost that lingered over her like a dream. There came the sensation of something drawing closer, a draught of cold air that drifted across her face, and Jamie’s eyes flew open.

If she focused, she could almost see the monochromatic shape. Dark locks of hair dripped down past her head and puddled on the surrounding bedsheets. Viola was crouched over her in all her former glory. Sparkle of light glinting against the pearls at her throat. A rich cool and satisfied smile. Dark weathers for eyes. The cat that had caught the canary in its claws. She leaned down and kissed Jamie, and her mouth was full and soft, and thin and hard all at once, demanding, unrelenting.

Viola pulled away. She lifted one satin-gloved hand and stroked Jamie’s cheek. “Such a pretty thing.”

Her voice was a hoarse echo across space and time. Dani slipped two fingers into her, and Jamie had to bite back a whimper, her eyes squeezing shut.

“Look at me.”

With a hitched breath as Dani’s tongue worked against her, Jamie struggled to open her eyes, to keep her hips still.

“That’s it, darling,” Viola smiled, and her face began to melt, like a painting that dripped with wax. “Come for me.”

Jamie’s back arched, her head turning against the sheets. She came with a whine that escaped in spite of herself, and it seemed to go on for ages, until she trembled and jerked her hips away. Layers of cotton and silk stuck to her skin with a thin sheen of sweat. Hastily Dani clambered up to take Viola’s place, hands on Jamie’s wrists, crouched over her, her mouth a smear of bold red lipstick, staring intently down, as though trying to memorise every last etch of her face. She swayed closer for a moment to brush her lips against Jamie’s, just softly.

“You all right?” Dani asked, sounding breathless.

Jamie nodded. “Yeah. Good. Great, even.”

“Yeah?”

In answer, Jamie reached up and crushed their mouths together in a bruising kiss. Dani groaned, pressing down against her, then gasped her name.

Hands on her hips, Jamie urged her further up until Dani’s knees bracketed either side of her head. She pushed up the sheer white fabric of the costume around Dani’s thighs. Above her, Dani gripped the frame of their headboard, knuckles white, already panting.

Jamie shouldn’t have been so greedy. She should have taken her time. She should have made Dani writhe, holding her on that ledge for as long as she could until Dani finally broke. But Dani was so wet, her thighs were taught and trembling, and she was grinding down against Jamie’s mouth. Jamie could feel her chin and neck grow slick. She held onto the backs of Dani’s legs and urged her on, coaxing with every roll and swipe of her tongue until she came with a cry.

One of Dani’s hands was tangled in Jamie’s hair. The other was still gripping the headboard tight. She was resting her sweat-stippled forehead against her own arm. When Jamie scraped her teeth lightly against her damp inner thigh, Dani shuddered.

"Are you all right?"

“I need a moment,” Dani said, her chest heaving. “I want to go again, but - Just - Give me just a moment -”

Wiping at her face, Jamie helped Dani back down to lie beside her. “I’ve got you. Don’t worry.” She kissed her temple while Dani gasped for breath into her shoulder. “I’ve got you.”

She had said before, ‘so many people mix up love and possession,’ and now years later Jamie wondered if that was the reason why they had been given so much time. That maybe Viola thought this was love. That maybe she loved this. Loved her. Love them. Or at least the idea of them. In some twisted way. All that cold rage and loneliness clinging to whatever scraps it could find, winding around its prey like a snake slowly throttling the life out of its victim without even realising it.

But maybe Viola wasn't squeezing so hard after all. Maybe she couldn't. Maybe Dani hadn't died yet because Viola was trapped, because she could never again return to the lake at Bly. Maybe Viola wasn't possessing her at all. And if she wasn’t possessing her, then - well.

Even that was too good to be true. The best outcome by far given the circumstances. And really, deep down, Jamie knew that loving Danielle Clayton meant loving her enough to one day let her go.

They didn’t make it to the Halloween party. Eventually, Dani tired herself out, riding Jamie’s fingers for a third time before collapsing atop her and panting for breath as she seemed to come fully back to herself. Jamie was barely able to convince Dani to join her for a shower before she fell asleep, all a-tangle in Jamie’s arms.

The bedside lamp was still lit. Jamie carded her hands through Dani’s long damp and honeyed hair. From the light, the shadow of a woman standing at the foot of their bed was thrown in sharp relief against the opposite wall. Staring at the space where Viola stood, Jamie gently kissed the top of Dani’s head.

Not for the first time in her life she found herself hoping beyond hope that someone could be haunted forever.

One day she brought back a tin full of loose-leaf tea. It was intended for nobody but herself. A full and earthy black. Not the bog her father would've drunk before descending into the ground, but similar in colour to his lungs perhaps. Jamie pulled it out along with the rest of her shopping, and started to put everything away but the tin. And while she did so, she put on the kettle to boil.

The sound of the kettle whirring away on the stove drew Dani from another room, like a siren's song. She was dressed in an old pink shirt tucked into high-waisted, acid-washed jeans. Her hair was still wet from a recent shower. "Need some help?"

"Sure." Jamie handed over the last bag for unpacking. "Take care of that for me while I handle the kettle, will you?"

Without a word, Dani did as asked. She was the taller of the two, and didn't have to reach up onto her toes to put away things on the high shelves. And Jamie was too proud to admit she needed a stepping stool, herself. Why bother? That's what Dani was for. Among other things.

When Jamie opened the cupboard, she asked, "Don't suppose you want some as well? Might not be your cup of tea, so to speak."

"I'll have one. Thanks."

So, Jamie pulled out two mugs. The kettle hissed. She poured a bit of water into each cup to warm them, then spooned the appropriate amount of tea leaves into the pot. While waiting for the tea to steep, Jamie turned round and lifted herself onto the kitchen bench. There, she drummed her sock-clad heels against the cupboard and reached over to the jar that held an assortment of biscuits. Chocolate-drizzled digestives for herself, and ginger biscuits for Dani, who had the unfortunate American affection for cinnamon and ginger and cloves. Jamie couldn't stand ginger, herself. Tasted too medicinal.

Sticking a digestive biscuit into her mouth, Jamie wordlessly held out the jar. Dani was just finishing putting away the shopping bags, and wandered over. Her hand slipped into the glass opening and she fished out two ginger biscuits for herself. Jamie set the jar aside, and meanwhile Dani insinuated herself between Jamie's legs so that she stood snugly against her.

"Long day?" Dani asked.

"Mmm," Jamie mumbled around a mouthful of biscuit. She finished chewing. "Not too bad of a Sunday, to be honest. What about you?"

"I went for a walk in the park," Dani said, looking mischievous as she nibbled on the first biscuit.

"On a Sunday? The scandal," Jamie tsked, tapping her tongue against the backs of her teeth. "What would dear old Viola think about that?"

In reply, Dani arched her brows and smirked, "I think that was the appeal, actually. Plus, we're in the full swing of Fall now, and we won't have many sunny days soon. I wanted to take full advantage while I still had the chance."

"Buy anything while you were out?"

"A scarf for you," Dani answered. "And a pair of gloves for me."

She had a habit of buying articles of clothing out of the blue. Whenever the fancy seemed to strike her. Today was obviously one such a day.

"How very thoughtful."

"It's green. You look good in green," said Dani. "It brings out your eyes."

"I look good in anything," Jamie insisted. "And nothing."

Dani grinned. "That's true, too."

She stepped back and wandered over to the fridge for milk, when Jamie reached around to pour them each a cup of tea.

"Thanks, love," Jamie said, pouring them each a dollop of milk before handing the jug back to Dani, who put it away in the fridge once more.

Their fingers brushed when Jamie handed over the cup of tea. As ever these days, Dani's hands were cold. They eagerly wrapped themselves around the hot cup, and she pulled the tea close to her chest.

Jamie did the same. It was after all, as Dani had said, the throes of Fall; the weather was taking a turn to the icy. And that first sip of tea was pure heaven. It warmed her all the way down her throat and settled in her stomach. Jamie hummed at the sensation and closed her eyes. She could hear Dani do the same beside her.

"I wish I could take this moment," she heard Dani say in a soft murmur, "and press it into a big book for safekeeping. So, I could come back and look at it whenever I felt sad."

“Aye,” Jamie breathed. Then she opened her eyes, and said, “Though maybe only with another biscuit in hand.”

With a snort of laughter, Dani dragged the biscuit jar closer so they could each indulge again. Jamie took one. Again, Dani took two.

“There. Now, that -” Jamie gestured with her cup of tea, speaking around a full mouth, “- is a perfect moment.”

“I could not agree more.” Dani had already finished one biscuit and was busily dunking her second into her tea.

Jamie watched her finish the biscuit before nudging Dani softly with her elbow. “You’re normally more of a coffee drinker. I could’ve brewed a different brew, if you’d wanted.”

“Yeah. But - I dunno. Somehow,” Dani paused to take a sip. She smiled warmly around the brim of the cup. “This tastes like home.”

Polaroids were getting cheaper and more compact these days. She didn’t have to go cramming them into oversized pockets anymore. Jamie had thrown out countless photos over time, never quite satisfied with the outcomes but always searching for some way to keep a hold of her. The day she bought a new camera -- her old one had died the death of kings; a swimming accident, and cameras as it turned out did not swim very well -- she immediately wanted to try it upon returning home.

Dani had just gotten a new haircut. The barber had done something to her fringe to make it look like the sweep of a wing, and she was constantly brushing it out of her eyes. She did so when she looked up as Jamie entered the living room, greeting her with a curious smile.

Brown paper bag under one arm, Jamie took a moment to remove her jacket and sling it across the coat hanger, but she left the green scarf wound around her neck like a python. “I got a new toy,” she announced.

Dani tilted her head to one side. “I told you I’d buy you that nice pair of secateurs for Christmas.”

“And you still can.”

Immediately, Dani’s eyebrows rose and she seemed intrigued. “Then what kind of toy?”

Pretending to look scandalised, Jamie reached into the bag. “How naughty! Not that kind of toy.”

Dani’s cheeks tinged pink. “Oh,” she said. She sounded disappointed.

With a smirk, Jamie strode forward and pulled out the new camera. She chucked the now empty paper bag onto the kitchen countertop, and gestured for Dani to stand beside her. Shaking her head, Dani nonetheless complied.

Jamie grabbed a hold of Dani’s shoulders and kissed her on the cheek, before she lifted the camera up as high as her arm would allow. A press of her finger. A flash of light. A click and whir of cogs and internal mechanisms.

Dani didn’t flinch this time or duck her head. She returned the kiss, then wandered away, humming to herself, without waiting to see the film develop. Jamie watched her go with a warm grin and an appreciative glance. When she looked down at the photo it was to find herself beaming from the square strip of film, and beside her Dani smiling tentatively, grasping Jamie’s opposite shoulder. Both of them were clear and their characters easily distinguishable. She felt herself relax a little.

Then as the white veil continued to lift from the surface, she went very still. On each of their shoulders rested a pale hand, and in the space between them a shadow in the shape of a woman with hair as long and black as the night. The face was a mask worn of all features, but she swore she could see a pair of dark eyes watching her from the film, and a canny smile haunted the unmistakable likeness of the Lady Lloyd of Bly.

Wrenching her eyes up, Jamie stared after Dani, who had wandered into their kitchen and was humming over the kettle. Slowly the water began to build to a boil. The kettle began to hiss. Then to shrilly whine.

Dani removed the kettle from the heat and poured boiling water into the brown betty teapot. "How'd the picture turn out this time?"

Briefly, Jamie considered throwing this one away like all the others, but it were as though a hand was still squeezing her shoulder tight. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to be known and most of all obeyed. Clearing her throat, she took a few hesitant steps forward then held out the square strip of film.

Dani set the kettle back down, and took the picture. She turned it round for a better look. There followed a sharp inhalation, like tearing in one last breath before the plunge. Her eyes widened and then, a slow smile crossed her face. She gasped out an incredulous laugh.

"Y’know, I - I thought this was going to be terrible, but -" Dani stroked her fingers over the image. "It really isn't half bad. You look - I mean. We look -"

Suddenly she snatched her hand away from the picture, clenching her unruly fist and lowering it. Her breaths were shaky but when she glanced up, her eyes were bright. She held up the photo. "Can we keep this one?"

Jamie nodded and shrugged at the same time. “Sure.”

Relief suffused Dani’s face. She did not tuck the photo away in some little corner of the apartment, something to be passed by without a second glance. No. Instead, she turned and began pulling magnets from the fridge. She cleared their normally busy little refrigerator, pushing everything aside to make space. And right there at the very centre of the blank white canvas she pinned the photo into place with a single plain black magnet.

“There,” Dani breathed softly. Her trembling fingertips lingered against the white-edged film. “That looks right. That - It feels just right. Right there.”

The hand at Jamie’s shoulder withdrew, but then there was the feeling of something drifting from the top of her head to the nape of her neck. As though someone were trying to tame the wild curls there with a gentle, approving touch.

“Dani,” Jamie croaked, her voice cracking.

“Hmm?” Dani turned around.

Striding forward, Jamie stopped only when she was close enough that she could peer deeply into Dani’s eyes. They were as they always had been. Variegated as an infected holly.

“Are you -?” Jamie had to swallow down the burr in her throat. “Are you feeling yourself?”

Dani’s answering smile was puzzled. “Yeah,” she said, her words slow and thoughtful, as though considering something inward very closely. “Yeah, I am.”

And she reached up to card her fingers through Jamie’s untamed hair. “You know, it’s strange, really.” Dani’s hand followed the same path as the one had before, coming to rest at the nape of Jamie’s neck, a cool solid comforting weight. She stroked her thumb, and the motion was repeated by one that was colder, like an echo, before the two hands came together at last. “Somehow, I feel more myself than ever.”

#thobm #the haunting of bly manor #dani/jamie #dani/jamie/viola #dani clayton #viola lloyd #roman writes #ANYWAY here's the ghost sex don't @me

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ladyartemesia · 4 years

Text

▨ Lady Artemesia’s Milestone Message and Milestone Fic Preview ▨

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Dear Mutuals and Followers,

When I started this blog nearly six months ago(ish?) I never expected to fall so in love with the lovely people in this community. You have been wonderful and supportive and I have truly enjoyed getting to know you, and talking to you, and loving BTS proudly alongside of you. Thank you for every moment, I have so many truly incredible moots - ALL of whom are SIGNIFICANTLY cooler than I am - and if I attempted to list you all, my perpetually scattered brain would no doubt forget someone and I’d have to fall apart dramatically about it. So...to all of you - thank you for following me. I am so bloomin thrilled that you do. To my amazing mutuals - each and every one of you are brilliant creators and supportive members of our community and I benefit every day from the art and positive energy you bring to my dash. Thank you so much...

to my hearts...

There are a few of you who have been much closer than others and you I must recognize with only these inadequate words...

I utterly adore you. Thank you for being my friend.

▨ Amazing Ana @xjoonchildx ▨ Wonderful Lindy @ppersonna ▨ Sweet Sunshine Donna @taetaewonderland ▨ My First Friend and Angel Jahni @glossyfever ▨ Fabulous Lemon @lemonjoonah ▨ and my fellow Thirst Queen Reese (there is a line in this fic I wrote just for you - you’ll prolly know right away) @luxekook ▨

Honestly there are many more names I could put on this list, Many more people I have grown close to and I will continue to grow close too - believe me when I say - I luv and appreciate you all, but there are 7 members of BTS and these 6 ladies are - in many ways - my “other 6.” The roles they have played in my growth as a writer and a creator have been significant. They read my work, encourage me, hype me up, share my finished products, and - most importantly - share their friendship. I am blessed to be a part of their world.

Thank You All... My Lovlies...

- Viola

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Heart of the Storm

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• FIC PREVIEW •

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Genre: Fluff • Smut • Hint of Angst • Secret Feelings/Strangers to Lovers

Word Count: 4kish (preview 1kish)

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort • Hints of Classism • JK is Soft and Strong (full fic has more warnings)

Rating: Explicit/18+ (for the full fic)

Summary: Jeon Jungkook is the handsome RA that you could never quite bring yourself to talk to, and you are the ice princess whose status kept you far out of his reach... But a selfless act of kindness in the midst of a terrible storm forges an unexpected bond between you - one that could break your guarded heart... or finally set it free.

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This is the song JK sings...

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You’re afraid of storms.

Born to privilege (at least so you’ve been told), but money could not buy the love of absent parents, nor could it purchase any sort of freedom from the kind of fear that gripped you now.

You shouldn’t even be here...

Alone in a dorm while everyone around you caught planes and trains and buses back to their diverse points of origin.

The girl who usually slept in the bed across from yours is your roommate and best friend since sophomore year of high school. She was a scholarship case at the elite private prep where the obscenely wealthy dynasties of Southern California sent their entitled spawn.

A lone pair of Chuck Taylors in a sea of Jimmy Choos.

And a breath of fresh air.

Her father worked in stores; your father owned them. Yet you had become sisters in the truest sense of the word.

When the storms came, she climbed into your bed and held you till the thunder died down.

But she and the comfort of her familiar embrace were 30,000 feet above you now; well on the way to celebrate the spring holidays with her chaotic tribe.

You could have escaped for the week - like the majority of your peers - but your father was on vacation with his new wife (who graduated from high school a mere four years before you did) and the dorms were infinitely more inviting than the sterile halls of your family’s real estate holdings.

So here you were.

Alone in a storm.

Or so you thought...

Being an RA looked good on resumes and paid better than most work study jobs, but for Jeon Jungkook, the obligation to stay in the dorms over spring break (when he could be chasing music festivals along the California coast) was a definite downside.

He heard the sobs on his way up from the laundry and dropped the basket of clean clothes on the stairs.

Only one person signed up to stay over the holidays - the only person who managed to spark shivers down his spine without effort or awareness.

The princess.

That’s what they called you when they thought you weren’t listening - an unoriginal label laced with jealousy and petty bitterness.

But it fit you, nonetheless.

Elegant even when you were clumsy. Distant even in a crowd. Reserved in ways that spoke of intensive social training and endless expectations.

And you were screaming.

His hand wrapped around your doorknob in a matter of seconds, but you could not hear him calling out to you over the thunder and the ringing in your ears.

You did not hear the lock splinter when he slammed his body against the frame like his father taught him to do in case of a fire or an emergency.

Jungkook saw you often in and out of the dorms - yet you never really spoke to him, never offered him more than the occasional pleasantry or disinterested smile.

He was out of your orbit and you were out of his league.

But the princess was nowhere in sight now...

Now you were just a terrified girl curled up on her bed and Jungkook felt his heart wrench painfully at the sight of you so untethered.

You could not see him - even though he stood right in front of you. It wasn’t till his hands connected with your shoulders that you finally registered the presence of another human being and slowly brought your eyes up to meet his.

There was a moment of silence as your gazes melded together in a strange intimate haze unlike anything either of you had encountered before.

Then you reached out - curling your hand into the loose fabric of his shirt as you yanked him down on top of you.

“Please,” you whispered into the firm plane of his chest, “please hold me.”

Strong muscled arms wrapped around you.

And for the first time in so very long...

You felt safe.

He smelled like fresh laundry and a hint of vanilla.

But oh...

He felt like home.

Not the many houses you grew up in - but a home. The kind you only ever heard of.

“It’s ok,” he whispered, lips pressed intimately to the sweet softness of your hair, “I’ve got you.”

Thunder shook the room again and you burrowed impossibly closer to him, too frightened to notice that you wore only a t-shirt and nothing else, too terrified to care that the haven you sought was the beautiful man you passed by countless times in last few months, but could never quite work up the courage to speak to.

Now your body tangled desperately with his, drawing immeasurable comfort from his solid warmth and the soothing circles he traced over your back.

Jungkook was profoundly aware of both your state of undress and the soft curves of your body pressed insistently against his own, but that awareness paled in comparison to the fierce wave of protectiveness swelling up within him.

You were no damsel in distress. You were brilliant, beautiful, and president of the self-defense club. He’d seen you flip a linebacker over your shoulder like a pancake during a demonstration once (which had given him an immediate boner for reasons he deliberately never explored).

But right now - right here - in this moment - you needed him... and holding you close - keeping you safe was the only thing on his mind.

The tremors came and went sporadically as the storm raged on around you. His arms were an anchor each time the fear threatened to sweep you away.

It took a few minutes for your scattered senses to identify the new sound braiding hypnotically in between the rolls of thunder and the rhythmic cadence of your own breathing.

Jeon Jungkook was singing to you.

Another time it might have amused you to consider that a man whose face and form bordered on sinful possessed a voice that was utterly angelic. The notes he sang curled through the air, piercing effortlessly past the fog to wrap over your heart like a warm blanket.

“I see you getting sad... I see it running through your blood...”

Your muscles began to relax. The pounding in your chest began to slow.

“Let it run like water out of mud...”

Your breathing gradually evened out.

“Yell the sadness loud... Throw it up against the wall...”

Sensation crept back into your limbs. Awareness returned.

“See what stays then go and put it on... It keeps you warm…”

And suddenly you were in his arms - truly in his arms for the first time that night.

“I will love you anyway with all your demons in the way… Nothing can keep us apart...I walk through walls into your heart…”

His warmth was everywhere. The gentle comfort he brushed over your skin swirled around you till the sound of the storm faded away.

Till there was only him.

“I don’t mind… I don’t mind… I don’t ...mind…”

He felt the change in you, the incremental return from disconnected terror to tentative presence of mind, but you made no move to disentangle yourself, content to let his touch and his voice chase away the last trace of your nightmare.

You would stay in this moment - safe and surrounded and so unexpectedly content - forever if you could.

Jeon Jungkook had found you adrift and pulled you back from the edge. He’d done what no one else could..

What no one else (save your best friend) had even bothered to try.

And he’d done it selflessly.

As a corporate princess, you were worth millions in assets, but so often left begging for pittance when it came to genuine care.

You would have paid millions to be held like this just once.

The adrenaline raging through your body finally began to dissipate, and in its immediate wake, exhaustion crashed over you heavy and hard.

Sleep tugged insistently at the corners of your mind, but one last coherent urge burned so brightly that it could not be ignored or overtaken.

Your fingers twisted into the thick curls at the nape of his neck, drawing him down till you felt the soft press of his lips against your own.

You had never kissed like this; intimately - languidly - as if the brush of his mouth against yours was familiar across worlds and lifetimes. The small intake breath before he gave in to your gentle exploration was the loveliest sound you had ever heard.

He was the song that drew you - not like a siren to your doom - but like a lighthouse to the shore.

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FULL FIC POSTING TUESDAY 6/30

COMMENT ON THIS POST IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST

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Endnote: Please let me know what you think so far? Theories? Ideas? Anything really... Feedback is really the only compensation I will ever receive for producing this content. I swear I treasure each word like the gold.

Masterlist: I got more where that came from...

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#jeon jungkook #jungkook smut #ficswithluv #jeon jungkook smut #bts smut #jeon jungkook scenarios #jungkook x reader #milestone fic

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chrisevansgoodgirl · 4 years

Text

lips burrow so deep, give me good sleep

summary: requested: (1) Andy Barber insisting reader sits on his face and he makes her come so many times she can barely hold herself up... so he does it for her supporting her back and keeps going. (2) imagine Andy Barber’s reaction to reader wearing one of his old college hoodies with lingerie underneath. He definitely strikes me as the possessive type so seeing you in something so /him/ would definitely set something off in him

warnings: some smut. pretty vanilla shit until the end tbh.

word count: around 3,750

pairing: andy barber x reader

a/n: i can’t believe the show is almost overrrr...i’ll never be over this man tho!

The last time Andy came home early, it was purely under Lynn’s orders. He had a terrible fever that he’d managed to hide from you, his insistence that he not let anyone else manage any part of his case had made him think going to work while sick was a good idea.

So, hearing the door at two in the afternoon was nothing short of worrisome. You had been curled up on the couch with your tablet, resigned to a boring and quiet day until your husband got home. Normally, that was four hours out from two in the afternoon.

“Baby?” you called out. “Is that you or an intruder with a key?”

He snorted. “It’s me.”

You turned curiously, watching him as he went to place his keys and phone on the counter. “What are you doing home early?”

“What are you doing home early?”

“Finished with my most current client, they have simple tastes.” As an event planner, the simple clients were your least favorite.

He sat down next to you on the couch. “Well, I’m sorry to hear that.”

You took his hand, linking your fingers through his. You kissed the back of his hand before asking, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a bit of a headache.”

“Take your jacket off.”

He lifted his eyebrows. “My jacket?”

You gave him a flat look. “Yes, jacket and tie, off.”

He tossed them carelessly onto the arm of the couch and looked at you.

You pat the blanket that was draped over you. “Lay with me.”

He smiled softly. “It’s surprising when you have pure intentions, Mrs. Barber.”

You snorted as he settled his head on your thighs. He glanced up at you, hands grasping your hips to pull your further down the couch. You smiled. “What are you doing?”

He pulled and pulled until your stomach was level with his head and then laid his cheek against you. This was simultaneously cute and awkward since he didn’t want to lay on your legs, so he draped them over his shoulders.

You scoffed. “Because I’m sure that’s comfortable for you.”

“It is,” he promised.

You ran your fingers through his hair lightly and he hummed.

“Keep doing that, please.”

“Mhm.” You loved when he let you baby him just a little. Usually, he wouldn’t dream of it. You needed to be doted on and spoiled, but there were times when he was tired or felt under the weather, and so he would let you do something for him.

You weren’t sure when you fell asleep, but it was with your fingers buried in his hair. You were both startled awake by the doorbell and the first thing you’d noticed was that the sun had gone down.

You had to complexly slip out from under him so he wouldn’t try running to the door before you.

“Hey,” he protested, voice thick and still sleepy.

You bent down before you dashed away just to kiss his cheek. “Stay.”

The clock along the way told you it was just 6, Massachusetts always got dark earlier in the year than any other place you had lived.

Your neighbor was returning some mail that had been placed in her mailbox and you did the same. It was well established and discussed amongst everyone that whoever was delivering mail was a menace that needed to go. There was a neighborhood petition going around that amused Andy to no end when you told him about it.

He’d asked when you were going to start being a neighborhood housewife. He made it no secret that if you didn’t want to work, you didn’t have to. It wasn’t that you hated your job, you actually loved it, but it was stressful sometimes because you were a perfectionist and, to some extent, a bit of an empath. That was why you got along with him so well. But that was also why you hated letting anyone down ever.

As you walked back to the kitchen counter, you thumbed through the letters in your hand.

“Am I going to have to suggest someone to Clara when she kills the mailman?”

“Stop enjoying this so much.”

“It’s hilarious,” he insisted. “I thought this stuff only really happened on sitcoms. Not that I had the best parental models to go off.”

You glanced over the mail, finding him still laid out on the couch, and tossed it onto the counter. None of it looked immediately pressing. You glanced at the clock. “Do you want me to make dinner?”

“I just ordered something. Lay with me until it gets here.”

You would blame the setting sun for him not noticing what you were wearing until you were back in the living room. He saw your legs first, then his eyes trailed up until they settled on the print of the huge sweatshirt you’d borrowed from his side of the closet.

Andy didn’t have school pride in the traditional sense. He wasn’t the person to go to all the football games or other events, but he had managed to build quite the collection of sweatshirts and T-shirts. He also liked to play with the idea that one day in the future, some of your children would spare his heart and stay home for college, possibly even attend the same place he had.

You had rolled your eyes at him and he’d accused your college of being a “party school”. You wouldn’t humor him with a defense…maybe, mostly, because he was right.

He placed his hand on your hip bone before you could slip back on the couch. “You take that from my closet?”

“No, I actually realized that I want to get my law degree, so I bought my own. I hope you understand, until I’m a lawyer, we can’t have kids—”

“Very funny,” he interjected as he pulled you on top of him. He settled you on his stomach, hands on your inner thighs where he rubbed circles with his thumbs.

You smirked. “But would you be mad at me?”

“No, of course not…but I would insist that you let me help you study every night so we could finish it as soon as possible—”

“Mm. Professor role play? I never would have guessed.”

“So, my wife is a fucking comedian tonight?”

You shrugged. “Maybe.”

“I guess if you were in a tiny plaid skirt, I’d be whatever you wanted me to be.”

“Are you feeling better?” You brushed your fingers along his forehead.

“A little.”

“How much is a little?” you pressed. “Should I refrain from doing this?” You gave his hair just a minor tug. Really, just a little, gentle thing that he decided to blow up.

He snatched your hand out of his hair and bit your palm.

“Ow!” you scoffed. “Andy. I’m just trying to learn how my husband is feeling.”

He took your waist and pressed you back, until he could roll his hips and you would feel him against you. “You tell me. How do I feel?”

“Pulling hair makes you hard?” you teased.

He arched an eyebrow. “Pulling your hair, yes. You try that again and you won’t be able to walk right for a week.”

“Then what is it?”

He narrowed his eyes. “You know.”

“I know everything about you, you’re my husband. That doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear you say it.”

One hand slid from your hip up to your side until he reached your shoulder. He looked sweet and soft for a moment, but just as soon as he got his hand in your hair, that changed. He pulled your head back and bared your neck to him. “Seeing you in my clothes really does something to me.”

You were flushing just a bit, aware of how deeply he was staring at you. You didn’t wear Andy’s clothes often. Either it was so cold that you were bundled up in layers and layers or it was so hot that you were barely wearing anything. You also never anticipated that it would matter so much.

“Get up here.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I want you to sit on my face.”

“You want…where?” He wanted you to sit on his face? You weren’t completely surprised. Andy loved eating you out. He had done so within the first three weeks of your relationship, and hadn’t stopped since you let him start, but you were always lying down. Safely. On your back.

“Baby, sit on my face.”

“I don’t…I’ve never…”

“Yeah, I figured.” The first time he went down on you, he forced you to tell him all about your (very short) history of boyfriends and oral sex. Before him, there had been one. And a half. Of course, you’d never tried anything other than the most basic position.

“We should go upstairs and—”

“Nope. Right here.”

“Andy—”

He grabbed your hips and began moving you up.

“Wait—”

“You trust me?”

“Of course.”

“Well, I’ve got you.”

You weren’t completely sure what you were nervous about, you guys had just never done this. It was an utterly vulnerable position, so it rarely crossed your mind, but when Andy decided he wanted something...

Before you could protest further, he pulled your hips level with his face. You leaned over and caught the arm of the couch with both hands, keeping yourself hovering over him.

“Come on, baby, I know you’ll like it.”

There was never anything he’d done to you that you didn’t like. The last ounce of doubt you had disappeared as soon as he turned his head and kissed your thigh. You suddenly had the strongest desire to feel his beard against your cunt.

You pushed yourself up carefully, arms now at your sides.

His hands slid up your legs until he reached your ass. He yanked you down and wasted no time running his tongue down the length of your slit.

As you settled just a little, his beard began pricking at your skin. It always started out just barely tolerable, but after he’d make you orgasm, it was just another blissful sensation.

You were distantly aware of the uncomfortable position you were in. Your leg nearest the couch was bent at a weird angle, half buried in the couch, half pressed against Andy. He was clearly undeterred by that.

Like most things Andy enjoyed, he was in control. He had you as spread as he wanted you, deciding how much pressure he was going to give you. His hands on your ass dictated whether you could get away from him it became too much, and it would eventually.

He let the tip of his tongue explore you. He didn’t want to overwhelm you, but he also wanted to locate your favorite spots from this new angle. He knew you liked when he slowly slid his tongue up from your entrance to your clit, where he so gently lapped.

As soon as he started sucking, your hands disappeared in his hair. You needed something to hold onto and his hair kept you as close as possible to him. You glanced down for only a moment, unable to hold his intense stare. The way he looked at you, you would swear he had every intention of devouring you.

You let your head fall back, pulling him closer by his hair. He let go of your ass for a moment, encouraging you to sit down as much as you could. When he was satisfied, he locked his hands over your thighs so he could stop you from moving back.

He inhaled deeply, humming appreciatively as he licked you harder.

“Fuck, Andy.”

He hummed again, this time encouragement to keep talking. You moaned about how much you loved him, how good this felt. You didn’t even care that your absolute surrender was giving him future pull if he ever needed to talk you into something.

He took you to the highest peak you had ever reached and kept you there until he was satisfied. You didn’t mind as much as you usually did. He could tease you like it was his career and sometimes, it frustrated you beyond comprehension. This was different, different feelings and different sweet spots. Even the lightest touches were enough to make you whine and whimper for him.

He lifted you up just barley and said, “ride my face, baby.”

Any semblance of control you had was gone with those words. Your hips desperately moved over his lips, his tongue, his jaw, his beard in search of friction for your clit. You no longer worried about putting too much weight on him, you just needed to come.

You were surprised when he let you. You knew your husband and he loved dragging things out. You wouldn’t question him, however, because you didn’t have the mind to. All you knew how to do at that moment was grind your cunt against his mouth.

His beard was sticking your skin almost painfully, but you couldn’t bear the thought of pulling away. You could remember when you first met him, when he actually used to shave often. The only reason he started keeping it around was because you loved it. One of the immediate thoughts you’d had when you first saw it was how it would feel between your thighs, but he didn’t indulge you. He had made you beg for it and it was well worth it.

You were sensitive enough that with certain touches, your hips would buck but he didn’t seem to mind. He met those thrusts by angling his jaw up and rolling his tongue into you. The only sounds in the room were your moans and cries and his tongue trailing through your soaking pussy.

He moved like he was starving, like he was worried that you were going to pull away from him at any second. He was savoring every sound, every pull of his hair, every time you rose up and squeezed your thighs just a little.

You were shaking as he coaxed you to your second finish. That familiar winding sensation was building and you fucked yourself wildly against his open mouth, the only assistance he offered you was with his tongue.

You fell forward, narrowly catching yourself on the arm of the couch once more. Andy didn’t take that as his cue to be sweet or gentle. Instead, he held you tighter, his fingers digging into your ass and outer thigh. He focused his tongue solely on your clit and in seconds, you were coming hard.

But after, that was when he began to tease. He wanted you fucking his face, he wanted you to use him for your pleasure. From this position, you couldn’t do that, you couldn’t take anything, you could only receive. It was a wordless threat delivered by feather-light licks that left you wanting more. If you wanted anything tonight, you would have to get it yourself.

It took several tries to lift one arm and not collapse on top of him. Your body ached at the idea of being laid out underneath him, you couldn’t hold yourself up on your own, but you weren’t done with this yet. Your only option was to want more, that was the only pull he was going to give you. You were on top and in control to an extent, but the second you tried to pull away, he was going to drag you back down. You had nowhere to escape either, no way to shield yourself from him when he wanted to give you more.

When you were on your back, though it didn’t feel like it, you were in much more control. You could push him away, you had an entire mattress to make him chase you. This was all right here, on top of him, held exactly where he wanted you.

You reached back and pried his hand off your hip, lifting it to your waist. He didn’t wait for you to repeat the same with your opposite hand, he sat you up and held you there. You set your own hands on his stomach and he let you lean back just a little.

You watched him slowly run his tongue up and down your cunt, his lips leaving small kisses on your flesh, then sucking noisily at your clit. You watched every little thing he did until you couldn’t stop your hips from rocking against him once more.

Your third orgasm came and went, screaming his name, your head tossed back, your body moving on its own. He let you come down by neglecting your clit in favor of dipping his tongue inside you just enough that you could feel him but were still craving more.

He turned his head to kiss your thigh, turned to the other one to do the same. “Look at me, I want to see your face when you come.” And he continued those soft presses of his lips on both sides until you had situated yourself so he could see your face, your hands over his for more support.

You stared into his eyes the whole time. As he mercilessly sucked your clit, as he led you toward a finish that he wasn’t going to give you just yet, when he would let you come back down by just barely grazing you with his teeth, no tongue, no lips, just these delicate almost-bites on your soaking and sensitive flesh.

He loved seeing your expressions. The way your mouth would fall open when he found one of those really nice spots, the way you bit your lip when you thought you were being too loud, the pout that would settle whenever he didn’t give you the exact thing you wanted, the wrinkle in your forehead when you were frustrated and just wanted to come. But what he really wanted to see was your eyes filled with tears, your mouth open, blurting out unintelligible sounds, and he didn’t stop until that was the case.

When you finished, you were trembling, sobbing his name and many other pleas, once more clutching his hair to pull him as close to you as he could get. He lapped at your clit even after your hips would jerk back, until your eyes were rolling to the back of your head. He hungrily licked into you, desperate to have every last drop of you on his tongue.

You were mindless as he pulled you back over his chest, letting you comfortably settle against him as you came down. But that was the last thing you wanted when you saw how wet his face was, you were dripping down his chin and neck, all the way to the collar of his shirt.

Your hands greedily tore at his belt and pants and he didn’t once help you. Instead, he kept one hand over your ass, holding your aching cunt against his thigh just in case he thought you might need to come again.

You finally got your hand wrapped around his cock, pulling him out of his pants and boxers. You stroked him as you turned your head up and licked over his neck and jaw. You knew he was close when his hips started to move, impatient for your hand to make it all the way down to the base of his cock.

You draped one leg over him, pulling yourself over your arm. You were chest to chest, your hand still working him, your hips hovering just above your forearm, and now you could see his face. When he would say your name, it was soft, it was a sigh or a whisper, a plea to make him come.

“Are you close, baby?” you cooed.

He hummed, eyes shutting as he let out a shuddered breath.

You began nipping at his lips, his jaw, his cheeks. Your mouth brushed against his face when you spoke, “I loved fucking your face.”

“I could tell,” he assured, voice still holding power and control even though he was seconds away from spilling into your hand.

“Tomorrow morning...”

“Mhm,” he encouraged.

“I want you to take your tie and tie my hands behind my back.”

He nodded. “Uh-huh.”

“And then I’m going to get on my knees.”

“Okay,” he breathed, hands gripping whatever part of you was closest. Your ass and your free arm, you couldn’t wait to see the bruises in the morning.

“And I want you to grab my hair,” you flicked your tongue against his lips, he had them shut to silence any of those noises he was desperate to make. “And I’ll open my mouth wide, yeah?”

He nodded, brow furrowing. He was trying so hard to focus on what you were saying. “Yes.”

“And then I want you to bury your cock down my throat—”

“Fuck.” The hand touching your ass lifted and he pulled the bottom of his sweatshirt out of the way. You yelped, mostly in shock, when he spanked you.

You set your forehead against his temple, whispering, “And I want you to fuck my face before you leave for work.”

His hips stuttered. “Fuck, baby. Don’t stop—fuck!” Just as soon as his mouth fell open, you were kissing him. It was a filthy kiss even in the moment, even with your hand around his cock, even with his beard still wet from your pussy. It was tongue and teeth, moaning into one another’s mouth, sharing oxygen, hands grabbing each other violently.

You felt his cum on your ass first, cooling that spot that was still stinging from the contact of his palm. Then it was all over your hand as you continued pumping him until he was soft.

He finally opened his eyes, hazy and so beautifully, deeply blue. His eyebrow arched when you brought your hand up to your mouth and licked him off your fingers.

Before he could say anything, the doorbell rang. “Shit. I forgot I ordered food.” He slid out from under you, eyeing you as you still had your fingers in your mouth.

The sweatshirt had fallen back down, but he leaned over and pushed it out of his way. You shivered as you felt his tongue slowly licking his cum off your ass. He moved back to you, hand grasping your face, fingers pressing on your cheeks until you opened your mouth for him. He leaned in close and spit his cum on your tongue, and then went for the door without another word.

#andy barber x reader #wow i have one more andy request i think #so you can send me more tho bc i am not ready to let him go #!!! how am i supposed to just like...live without him????#my writing

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degenerate-perturbation · 3 years

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Chapters: 26/38 Fandom: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening, Dragon Age II Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Female Amell/Female Surana Characters: Female Amell, Female Surana, Anders, Velanna, Nathaniel Howe, Oghren (Dragon Age), Justice (Dragon Age), Sigrun (Dragon Age), Varric Tethras, Isabela (Dragon Age), Male Hawke (Dragon Age), Pride Demon(s) (Dragon Age) Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Self-Harm, Blood Magic, Prostitution, Drowning, Wilderness Survival, Mind Control, Human Experimentation, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better Series: Part 2 of void and light, blood and spirit Summary: Amell and Surana are out of the Circle, and are now free to build a life together. But when the prison doors fly open, what do you have in common with the one shackled next to you, save for the chains that bound you both?

Calder was dead.

She hadn't meant to kill him, but it was still her fault. She'd taken away his ability to feel pain or fear. She'd thought it kind.

Loriel put the body in stasis, so it would not rot, and sat down by it. The floor was sticky. Blood new and old stained her robes. She'd hoped to have years. He'd lasted hardly a month.

Idly she wondered whether he would still be her thrall, if she raised him. Probably not. Blood magic affected the mind through the body; it couldn't touch the spirit. But it didn't matter. She didn't need his spirit.

(Probably. Maybe.)

She needed to talk to her collaborator. By now the summoning spell came easily.

Veritas stretched catlike through the rip in the Fade. "Hello, little mageling. Have you updates for me? Did you try the experiment I suggested?"

"Yes," she said flatly. "It killed him."

Veritas tilted its head, curiously. "Oh? What did it?"

"I haven't yet ascertained the exact cause.” Her fingers curled into fists and released over and over again. “I didn't think...I didn't realize it would kill him."

Calder hadn't either. He hadn't felt the pain. Her own fault, for failing to appreciate the necessity of pain. How many times would she have to learn the same lesson? She should have known better.

"Shall we discuss the likeliest possibilities?" Veritas offered.

"Oh, you mean you don't know?" Loriel said sarcastically. "You are an utterly useless demon of knowledge."

"As you've so cleverly noted in the past, my dear Loriel Surana, I do not know everything," sniffed Veritas. "If I did, I would have even less use for you than I do now. I have never taken a mortal body and know comparatively little of such things."

It was true that Veritas had shown remarkably little interest in escaping its bindings or trying to possess her. Perhaps that was part of the reason she kept summoning it. The one time she had asked why it showed so little interest in the mortal world, Veritas had said, I prefer to watch.

"Be that as it may," she seethed, "You've killed my only subject. They are not easy to come by."

"Lie. You killed him. As for coming by subjects-they could be easier to come by if you stopped be so precious about where they come from."

"I’m past that. I don't care where they come from," Loriel said. "I care about keeping the loyalty of my Seneschal. If I were some apostate crouched in a filthy cave, I could do as you say, but I am the Arlessa of Amaranthine and Commander of the Grey."

"Hm. You are that. I wonder why?"

"I have to be. For any of this to matter."

"Lie," Veritas noted.

"Enough. We have work to do,” she snapped. “This situation must be salvaged. I have the body in stasis, but my magic and the taint interact strangely, and it likely will not last."

They talked a while more about what further use Calder’s body might be, before it was too far gone. The next few days went to those experiments. Not useless, but not what she needed.

She did end up raising his shade, out of guilt and grim curiosity. There wasn’t much left of it. Weeks under such crushing mental pressure had left his spirit confused, enraged, and in pain. It didn’t even look human anymore.

It tried to kill her. She dismissed it before it ever got close, but as it was ripped from this world she thought she saw hints of magma in its facsimile of skin.

For several heart-hammering minutes she believed that she had created a Rage demon.

Veritas confirmed that she might have, or at least, the beginnings of one. But more likely before the seed of psychic nucleation could form a demon, the shade would diminish to a wisp and eventually dissolve into the emerald waters.

Most likely.

tck

After that she seriously considered stopping. Would she have done that to Calder’s body if she had known what it would do to his soul? She had thought she had accepted the evil in herself, made her peace with it, but in the abyss of her heart there seemed always to be another unseen chasm, and each time she teetered on the edge she could not help but cling to it.

How could she possibly bear to do that again?

But...could she bear to have done that, and known it to have accomplished nothing? Could she bear to find another way, and know that she needn’t have?

Yes. Yes, she could bear it. Veritas would never let her pretend to be too weak for that. But though she could bear a world where she had done needless evil, that did not guarantee it was this world. It did not mean she was free.

She scrubbed her hands until they were red and stinging and almost clean, and went to go receive Brigit’s report.

No new deaths. No new Callings. No sign of the Architect.

“Oh, and Brigit,” Loriel said, almost on impulse, just as the Seneschal prepared to bow and go. “One further question. The sheriff of Amaranthine. What sort of man is he?”

Brigit had taken her Commander’s direction to dress more finely. She wore a high-necked woolen gown beneath a vest dashed through with silverite. Sapphires glittered at her ears. Her back was ramrod straight and she looked every inch a queen. But there remained the trace of hesitation when she answered: “I believe that he believes himself to be a righteous man.”

“And you do not agree with his self-assessment.”

“He is merciful. But he is not just.” Brigit’s lips pressed together. “I have had reports of certain crimes under his jurisdiction going unpunished, or punished far too lightly. Those committed against women, children, elves…I have thought about replacing him, but he is popular in Amaranthine. Mercy, however unearned, often is.”

“No need to replace him. No need to cause an upset.” The barest of pauses. “But perhaps we might consider having more prisoners sent to the Vigil for processing.”

Brigit listened carefully, and spoke slowly: “You wish to offer them the Joining?”

“Everyone deserves a second chance.” Smooth, perfectly reasonable. “Don’t you agree?”

The Seneschal took her meaning.

“But of course, I do not insist,” Loriel said quickly. "You know how much I value your opinion.”

Faint color came to the Seneschal’s cheeks. She could have said no. She could have taken the out. Loriel gave her every chance.

“I agree with you completely, ser,” the Seneschal said instead, and she knew what she was doing, she had to have known. “I’ll make the arrangements.”

Loriel did not thank her. Only nodded, and that was her cue to go.

She leaned back and closed her eyes.

If she was going to do this, she could not afford to let her pride keep getting in the way. She needed to talk to the expert. She needed to go see Avernus.

tck

She sent a short, impersonal note to Avernus that she would be arriving that week. She gave no further details. Even if she had been stupid enough to write down anything sensitive, every time she sat down to compose anything, after nearly a full year of silence, her mind went blank.

The ride to Soldier’s Peak was long and full of uneasy dread, but when she arrived, Avernus acted like nothing had happened. He shuffled around his tower, checking on bubbling reagents and pulsating petri dishes of living flesh, asking terse questions without waiting for answers. She couldn’t tell if he genuinely had not noticed the absence of her letters or if this was an act for her benefit—and if it was an act, if it was a kind one or scornful one.

Even if it were scorn, it wouldn’t matter. There could be no room for pride.

“I’ve begun to use human subjects,” she said bluntly.

She expected him to gloat, but he only snorted, “About time,” and carried on as though it was nothing, about some experiment with artificial flesh.

“Actually,” she interrupted, “that is what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Oh? So this isn’t merely a social visit?” As though they’d ever had social visits. “Well, then, I will say this much—I am certainly glad of it. In truth I did not think you would change your mind so soon, but I am glad you have. Now we might move forward.”

His approval pleased her, and her pleasure in that approval disgusted her.

Avernus knew in detail answers to questions she hadn’t even thought to ask. How to keep a subject alive, with minimal suffering. How to prevent a subject’s spirit from becoming...that thing she had made. She burned with shame to think that she hadn’t asked him before. So much could have been avoided. Already her pride had wrought so much waste.

The only thing she did not mention was Veritas. She knew what he would say if he knew, and did not want to hear it. Avernus was still sour about his encounter with the demon possessing Sophia Dryden, and would curse her occasionally, anytime he found another thing wrong with the quality of the Fade.

“By the way,” he said, “that black crystal of yours. I looked through my library. I cannot confirm it, but it may be depleted lyrium. You can copy my notes if you wish.”

“Oh. Thank you. I will.” She’d never even heard of such a thing before. When she had shown the crystal to Veritas, the demon had hissed and flinched and demanded she take it away immediately. It had been so enraged, all thousand of its eyes bent upon the thing in hatred; it was one of the few times Loriel had felt frightened of it.

Somehow, despite it all, they settled into an old rhythm, of stark and easy mutual curiosity and intellectual challenge. The extended period of no contact meant that there was much to discuss; his lab space was no longer even recognizable, and Avernus could talk about his ongoing experiments for hours.

There was only one bench he hadn’t spoken of.

“That is old work,” he said. “I figured out the formula years ago. There are some perfections to be made, of course, but there are greater challenges.”

“But what does it do?”

He raised a nearly nonexistent eyebrow. “Do you not know? This is the same tincture you stole from me, when you first barged into my fortress.”

“My fortress,” Loriel corrected. “My deepest apologies for the intrusion. I hadn’t realized you were so enjoying being trapped in your tower and tormented by demons.”

“I far prefer to be trapped in my tower and tormented by my superior officer.” The man’s grin was truly skull-like. She was thankful he rarely showed it. “So, you mean to tell me you never made use of it?”

“No. I hardly even remember taking it,” she said. Lie, she heard Veritas breathe in her ear. “It was only a passing curiosity. Though I suppose might still have it somewhere.” As though she did not know exactly in which drawer she had stowed it.

“Hmph. Your passing curiosity cost me four months of work. I had to reconstitute it from scratch. Mind you, the new one was better...so I suppose I should thank you.” Avernus hmphed in amusement and returned to his workbench. “I could tell you hadn’t drunk it yourself, but I thought perhaps you had passed it onto one of your less talented compatriots. That woman of yours, perhaps. Where has that one gotten to, anyway? I have not seen her here of late.”

At first Loriel could only stare in disbelief. By some miracle, in all these years, Avernus had not once, not a single time, ever inquired about her.

Loriel laughed, a thin dry sound, and couldn’t stop.

She knew that there was some reason that she liked him. No wonder he hadn’t written over the past year. What was a year to him? He probably had no idea she’d even been angry. That she had spent any time at all worrying about what he thought of her suddenly struck her as the height of absurdity.

“And just what is so funny?” the old blood mage said dryly. Dryly, of course dryly. Anything so old would be so dry. Would she live long enough to dry out like him?

The thought of enduring so many years sobered her instantly. “Nothing. Nothing. My apologies.” She shook her head. “So, what does this tincture do?”

“Yes, yes, don’t be so impatient. It allows a Grey Warden direct access to the taint in his blood, and draw power from it.”

“From the taint? Like blood magic, but with darkspawn blood?”

“Ah, but only a mage might learn blood magic. With my brew, any Grey Warden, even a mundane could have gained this power. Limitedly, of course, limitedly...there is simply no substitute for a lifetime of training, but a strong-willed Grey Warden born without a hint of Fade about him might have eventually bested a mage of mediocre Circle training. A Grey Warden is so intimately connected to the taint in his blood, you know...Many of my subjects mentioned how profoudnly it changed them to truly gain mastery over that part of themselves.” Then he shrugged. “But the side effects could be quite unpleasant. Took me ages to work out a formula that wouldn’t kill the subject sooner or later. Worth it, perhaps, but perhaps not. Certainly interesting for a Warden mage...there is nothing quite like it. The precision of blood magic, without the cost.” The old mage shrugged. “Mind—the vial you have must have long expired. It is likely poison now. Here is your chance, if you still want it.”

She glanced askance at the bubbling still. “No thank you,” she said primly. “I am not in the habit of experimenting on myself.”

“That is precisely your problem,” Avernus snorted. “But suit yourself.”

Lie, lie, lie, rang Veritas’s sing-song in her head. Of course she had not forgotten the vial. Every once in a while, organizing her cupboards, she would come across it, black and still bubbling, alive, after all these years. She would pick it up, and hold it, and feel its unnatural warmth in her hand. She had done so just last month.

She ended up staying longer at Soldier’s Peak than strictly necessary. There was, as ever, much to do, but for the first time in a long time she was not eager to do it.

tck

“How much powdered deathroot for a draught of neutralization?”

“One of a thousandth of fifteen grams.”

Loriel measured it out, and did not speak again for many long minutes, when she asked: “What is the temperature at which silverite melts?”

“Six-thousand and seventeen degrees.”

She checked the expensive thermometer, ordered for a kingly sum direct from Orzammar, and raised the temperature in the furnace. It would be some time before it would be ready. She would take the opportunity to organize her notes from Avernus.

Veritas prowled. The summoning spell Loriel had been using lately allowed for it.

“Where was Angletierre?” she asked idly, coming across a name she did not recognize.

“It is an old name for Ferelden, in Old Orlesian.” Loriel hummed vaguely and kept reading, until Veritas lost its patience.

“Was there a purpose to you summoning me? Or do you intend to sit in silence ignoring me except when you desire answers to your petty questions?”

“The summoning spell takes nearly five minutes,” Loriel said indifferently, turning a page. “It doesn’t make sense to dismiss and recall you each time I have something to ask. You have free movement about this space; use it if you like.”

“You are incredibly rude, to invite a guest into your home and then ignore him all day long.” When she did not respond, it prodded her: “So, how has your pet blood mage been?”

“Same as ever. Naturally.” She set the stack of books and notes that she had brought upon the oaken desk. “I believe I am comfortable moving forward now, with the next set of experiments."

“And when can I expect to meet him? I think he and I would get along.”

“Never. Not happening.”

“Why, Loriel Surana. It almost sounds as though you are ashamed of me. Don’t you want to take me home to meet the rest of the family?”

“Shut up,” she said vaguely, without much venom. “Go and find him in the Fade, if you are so curious.”

“That’s the problem with you blood mages. You hardly touch the Fade.”

“Then you will have to live with disappointment.”

Veritas’s lion tail swished back and forth. “It’s mostly the mages with an unusual propensity for my kind that I can find most easily. Spirit mages, you call them.”

“Mhm.” Loriel stayed focused on organizing the notes.

“She’s doing just fine without you, you know.”

She was at first so puzzled by the non sequitur that she had no idea how to respond. “Pardon?”

The demon’s eyes blinked and shivered all over its body, as its words slowly registered.

“You should see her from my end,” said Veritas, relishing every word. “Lit up like a beacon. Impossible to miss. Shall I tell you where she is?”

The spell broke. “No, thank you.”

“She’s in Dairsmuid right now. Surrounded by family and friends, free and whole at last.”

“Good. That was quite the point.”

Silence for a time. “You could have been so happy together.”

“We already weren’t.”

She got through several sheafs before the demon spoke again, “Does it bother you, that you are utterly alone?”

“I am no more alone than anybody else.”

“How interesting. You appear to really believe that.”

“Am I wrong?” She snorted. “We’re all alone inside our heads, at the end of the day.”

“And yet you pour your heart out to a demon, one you regard as not-even-a-person, so desperate are you not to be so alone.”

“I am pouring nothing.” She rolled the scroll up with a snap and turned to give the demon her full attention. “Veritas. Precisely what is the point of this little game?”

Veritas smiled broadly. “Simply making conversation.”

“Not one I am interested in having," she snapped. "I do not live in the past. You cannot draw me there with taunts.”

Veritas chuckled, so deep that the stone itself seemed to shake. “Ridiculous mageling. As though you are anything but a mountainous heap of Past, covered by the thinnest crust of Present.”

She rolled her eyes. “Clever. But if you wish to perturb me then I suggest you try a different approach. I do not think of her. I do not think of that time in my life at all.”

It tilted its head. “How interesting! That was the truth. You really don’t think of her.” It settled, and at first Loriel thought it was the end of it. “But she thinks of you. And such thoughts they are, shouted out into the Fade for anyone to hear. Aren’t you curious what they are?”

“I have no intention in indulging myself,” she said, which was not, strictly speaking, the answer to its question.

Veritas huffed. “You are intolerably boring.”

“I am truly sorry that I cannot be of more amusement. But there is nothing true in this world that I would flinch to know. I am not afraid of you.”

Suddenly the demon sprang up. She felt rather than saw it move.

“You should be afraid. And you should be sorry.” She could feel its hot breath on the back of her neck. “If you did not amuse me, I would not give you so many truths for free.”

Slowly, slowly, she turned around. It knew as well as she did that if it touched her, it would be bound. Loriel had embedded the glyph in her skin. She made a point to smile. “For free? As though I rely on your generosity?”

“You can no more force me to serve you than drink the Fade.”

“Try me," she hissed. "I like you, Veritas, and I like your company. You keep me honest.” She thought—intended—the spell of repulsive force. The demon skidded away from her, into the corner, growling. “But this latest game of yours is tiresome and nothing requires me to tolerate it. I summoned you in the first place because I was not on speaking terms with my collaborator, and that is no longer the case.”

“Indeed? You have no further need of me?” The demon’s thousand eyes gleamed. “Is that why you summoned me hours ago, just to keep you company?”

“I said I liked your company. Not that I needed it.”

“Hmm. That is so. It seems that there is precious little that you need. And even less you want." Again the demon settled. "You fascinate me, Loriel Surana. You are rude, but you are interesting.”

“I will take that as a compliment.”

A period of renewed silence, interrupted only by the scratching of her quill.

“Did you know,” said the demon of truth, “that your mother has been waiting in the courtyard to see you for over a fortnight?”

The spilled ink ruined several sheafs of parchment, and the stain never did come out of the woodgrain.

#dragon age #dragon femslash #please read my wizard lesbian fanfiction

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raendown · 4 years

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Pairing: TobiramaSakumo Word count: 5482 Rated: T+ Summary: When faced with death Tobirama performs the impossible and throws himself forward in to the future where he meets two Hatake who end up being everything he was always missing in the past.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Perversions of Honor

All things considered, he’d gotten off pretty easy. The experiments he’d conducted over the years in his never ending thirst for more knowledge, more progress, had led to some pretty devastating results on occasion. Not every trial was a success. Not every idea was a good one. Since the idea he’d pulled out of his ass this time had only been about half formed and under-researched Tobirama supposed he could be only grateful that it hadn’t ended with his corpse being strewn about the landscape in several pieces, his last moments full of pain and despair.

Under better circumstances he might have even been inclined to celebrate the success of something he’d always assumed would be impossible. Time travel; to think that he had accomplished such a feat boggled the mind even without taking in to consideration how little chakra had been left in his coils, how desperately sloppy his signs had been. He didn’t imagine many would blame him for experiencing a touch of panic with the Gold and Silver Brothers bearing down on him cloaked in the Kyuubi’s chakra and thirsting for his blood. With no other options left, his body tired and old and broken, Tobirama had gone with the first desperate plan that leapt to mind, a half-forgotten idea he never did get around to properly researching.

Looking deeper in to the spontaneous modifications he’d made to the hiraishin would have to wait, however, until he figured out exactly how far through time he had fallen and where he’d landed. The layout of the forest around him looked strangely familiar, like a path he had walked a thousand times before that had changed since last he saw it. Was this the past or the future? Should he know this place?

Such questions could probably be answered by the small body watching him intently from some bushes to his left. Tobirama very carefully did not look round, certain the presence was a child who thought themselves well hidden - and from anyone else they would have been. Whoever this child was they had excellent chakra dampening abilities already. If he were any less of a sensor Tobirama would never have known he was not alone here what with how tightly that small chakra had been pulled in and smothered. He was quite impressed, actually. Knowing he was under surveillance but secure in knowing there was no one else around for at least a mile in any direction, he allowed himself a few moments to simply breathe, to accept the loss of things he might never get back to. Jumping through time once had been a risk. There was no guarantee he would ever be able to recreate what he’d done in a moment of need. Only when he was sure his emotions were settled enough that he could soldier on as he had all his life did Tobirama stand and clear his throat.

“Can you tell me where I am, young one?” He asked. The bushes twitched.

“How did you know I was here?” a small, grumpy voice asked.

Tobirama looked over and resisted the urge to smile. “I always know where everyone is,” he boasted. It was only a slight exaggeration. “Will you answer my question?”

“Why should I? You could be a spy or a missing nin or something. A shinobi should never give information to the enemy!”

Reaching up to trace the shape of his brow, Tobirama already missed the happuri that must have been knocked off at some point. Without it he supposed it would be a little harder to identify himself as a Leaf shinobi but depending on where he had ended up that might turn out to be a good thing. One never knew what sort of grudges might exist in the future or what information he would need to hide from the past.

“I would appreciate it if you at least tell me what year it is, then, young shinobi.”

“Got your head knocked around, huh?” With a quiet snort of derision as though passing judgment on him somehow, the bushes parted to make way for an utterly tiny figure to stroll out.

Messy silver hair and dark eyes both drooped over top of a thin mask clinging to the bottom half of his face, the same color as the Leaf headband he wore on his tiny little head. Despite being clearly decked out for battle his clothing was of a cut Tobirama had never seen before and by his stature he could be no more than five years old. Which was ridiculous. Clearly he must have travelled to an entirely different universe because there was no way any iteration of the village his brother had built, present or future, would ever allow children of this age to become shinobi. Putting a stop to child soldiers was the entire reason they had founded Konohagakure in the first place.

Judging by the pride in the boy’s stance, however, mentioning any of these thoughts was not likely to make him any friends. Best to be polite. Later he could figure out who was responsible for this so he could express his very sharp displeasure to the correct channels.

“I see that you are also a shinobi of the Leaf,” he noted instead. “You show excellent caution. How would you like me to prove that I am a citizen?” That was the right question, he could tell by the minute straightening of thin shoulders. Concealing his indulgent smile took effort as he watched the boy preen with self importance.

“How many brothers did the first Hokage have? Anyone who took history in our village should know that.”

“Four,” Tobirama answered.

The calm in his tone thankfully hid the way his mind had already begun to spin. So he had travelled to the future, it seemed. Not only that but he had travelled so far ahead that his own time had been lost to history books and myths for young children to use as trivia to test a stranger’s identity. Just thinking about it reeled him so terribly he couldn’t even spare a moment to be amused at the disappointed pout that followed his answer.

“Hmph. Guess you’re really not an enemy. Konoha is that way.” The child lifted one arm to point west. “It’s still several miles out. You’re not likely to run in to anyone but patrols this close to home so I would recommend travelling at an easy pace if you’ve got a concussion.”

“You have my thanks. What is your name, young one?”

With a startled look as though he’d never encountered someone who didn’t know his name, the boy answered, “Hatake Kakashi.”

“It’s good to meet you, Kakashi-kun.”

“Right. Whatever, old man.”

“Old...man?”

Before he could even think about any lectures on propriety or respecting one’s elders the boy had already turned around and dashed away through the trees. It was only then that Tobirama finally took notice of the travel dust on his clothing, the dots of blood splashed on the sides of his sandals. Despite his age Kakashi was clearly only just returning from a mission of some sort in which it was very probable that he had taken a life and yet neither his bearing nor his voice betrayed any sort of trauma from such an act. This was not the boy’s first kill.

And that was troubling.

His viewpoint on the situation did not improve in the slightest after he made his way to the village to discover who exactly was in charge and in how many ways his once beloved student had failed him. In the moments before what he thought was his death, only hours before in his mind, he had chosen Sarutobi Hiruzen as his successor because he believed the young man to be a true student of the teachings he’d done his best to impart on the next generation. To be proven wrong so harshly was a blow that he wrapped around his heart to deal with another time. Nearly half a century in to the future and somehow possessed of a body some three decades younger than he’d been only the day before, Tobirama had quite enough to come to terms with already. Time travel was mind-bending on its own as a concept even without all these unforeseen consequences.

It took hours in conference with an ancient man who claimed to be Saru and yet seemed an entirely different person before at last his old student dismissed him with the air of someone attempting to sweep undesirable filth under the rug. Then to add insult to injury the Sandaime Hokage who did not deserve to be such added a parting shot like an afterthought.

“Many years have passed since last you were here and many more things have changed. You’ll need someone to act as a guide, of course. I have the perfect man in mind. To the east of the old Senju district there is a house that sits alone on a street; you’ll find a man named Sakumo there. Tell him I sent you.” Tobirama watched those faded eyes turn away from him, back to paperwork that his own time as Nidaime had taught him could always wait, and hoped that there was something better in this future to convince him to stay.

Leading the village had taught him a number of other things as well. He knew exactly the sort of waves it would make if the ANBU following behind him as he left the tower did not see him go straight to this glorified minder as he’d been oh so subtly instructed. For now it was best he keep a low profile. To make life easier on the ANBU only following orders he made sure to keep himself in plain sight and not simply reach for any of the numerous hiraishin markers he could still feel pulling at him from all over the village. New structures may have sprung up as the population expanded but the foundation remained the same. He could still find his way around just fine.

The last thing he expected to see as he turned on to the street with only one lonely house built on its long dirt stretch was little Kakashi hopping down from a newby rooftop, stopping to turn and look at him with sleepy curiosity in his eyes.

“What are you doing here old man?”

“Your words are as accurate as they are wrong,” Tobirama grumbled at him, taking heart in the confused tilt of a small head. “I am looking for a man named Sakumo.” He was unprepared for the boy to light up with a fierce pride.

“Tosan! Come with me!”

Kakashi leapt forward to grab him by the hand and began pulling him towards the house while Tobirama thanked whatever good fortune allowed him to continue crossing paths with this intriguing little tyke. Together they ghosted in through the front door, not even stopping to kick off their shoes, pattering down the hallways with a surprising lack of noise. Even here in his own home Kakashi was an exemplary shinobi.

Another crime that Tobirama would need to carve out of Hiruzen’s unworthy hide.

When the boy threw open a door that looked much like any other in the house things happened so quickly that Tobirama found himself reacting almost before he had properly taken any of it in. Distantly he registered the room as a study of some sort, automatically cataloguing his surroundings as he would in any unfamiliar territory. His eyes caught the flash of steel at the same time his ears twitched at the horrified gasp from Kakashi’s mouth and Tobirama was flashing across the room to stop the blade in Sakumo’s hand before the door had finished sliding open.

Dark eyes stared back at him with equal parts despair and surprise. Tobirama could see a hundred thoughts racing across the other man’s face as he very gently guided the blade down until shaking fingers released it to clatter against the ground. He kicked it aside without breaking eye contact.

“Nidaime…?”

“Tosan! Are you okay!? Was it a jutsu!? Did someone put you in a genjutsu or something!?” Kakashi hurtled in to the room and threw himself against his father’s chest for the briefest of hugs before pulling away to inspect him head to toe, assessing him for injuries.

“I’m- no, I was not in a- Kakashi, who is this?”

Distracting the boy from what he’d been about to do, that was a smart move. Regret was already there in the lines of his face, gratitude that he had been interrupted, all the signs of a man who did not truly wish to die. Tobirama wondered if there was blackmail at play here or something else but at the moment he supposed it was none of his business. Not yet, anyway. His brother had been the more infamous people person but he’d always been able to ingratiate himself with the people he needed to impress. Sniffing out whatever had driven this man to such a low could wait until later.

Explaining who he was and how he had come to be here was enough of a distraction that both Kakashi and his father seemed to forget entirely about the blade Sakumo had been about to sink in to his own belly before he was interrupted just in time. Answering their questions took hours, asking his own took several more. Sakumo was startled to hear that he had been chosen as Tobirama’s guide, though the surprise in his voice carried a peculiar tone that Tobirama couldn’t quite put his finger on, and he accepted the duty with a strange kind of relief in his eyes. Blackmail was already looking to be the less likely motivator behind what he’d almost done. A close eye would be needed to watch this one.

Luckily, without the duties he had left behind in his own natural time Tobirama was entirely free to watch as closely as he liked. When offered a place to stay in the Hatake household he accepted easily. If it came with the added benefit of making Hiruzen’s teeth grind so hard he could practically hear it across the village, well, he had always enjoyed that old killing two birds with one stone philosophy.

Making a new life here in this village that was so much the same and yet so different as well was easier than Tobirama would have thought. He spent his days dragging Sakumo from one end of town to the other, asking endless questions only for each reply to spawn a dozen new ones, more and more grateful as time went on and his companion responded with nothing but patience. Tobirama watched more than just the man at his side, however. Any shinobi worth their salt maintained situational awareness no matter where they were and even here in the place where he should be safest his eyes and ears were always open. He saw the way people moved to the other side of the street to avoid brushing up against Sakumo, heard the voices that murmured dark thoughts about their own comrade. He saw the narrow glares and heard the curses.

But most of all he saw the way Sakumo quietly flinched away from it all. In the many weeks since he’d been in the man’s company Tobirama had gotten to know Sakumo quite well, enough to build a healthy doubt that whatever put a wedge between this man and the rest of the village had likely not been a purposeful act. At least not on his part. No one who deliberately alienated those around them would cower away from the results like a dog with its tail between its legs. As the days passed and the two of them got to know each other, grew to trust each other, Tobirama did what he could to hold his patience, waiting for the day it would be more appropriate and less of a nosey attack to ask his questions. Watching Sakumo do his best to pretend he didn’t exist in public while also trying not to let his son see him act with shame was almost physically painful. It was something he could not allow to go on.

A man as good as the one who housed and cared for him did not deserve to be tucked away and forgotten about, let alone rejected by those who should have venerated him.

The time for questions came after Tobirama had been living here in the future for nearly five months, any thoughts of returning to his own era long abandoned. Whether it was he himself or the way he lived his life that changed the most was indiscernible. Once he had been a political leader tasked with guiding the village and sleeping barely four hours a night as he tried to carry the weight of his brother’s dreams alone. Now he rose late each morning to enjoy a lazy meal with two sleepy Hatakes and spent his days in leisure. Conversation between him and Sakumo flowed as easily as the river and assisting in Kakashi’s training was as delightful as teaching him how to relax and play. Exploring the village, learning the many ways technology had advanced, and slowly reintegrating himself with the gossip chains, all of these helped the days fly by.

Of course, that wasn’t to say that leisure was all he’d concentrated on. A few months was more than enough time to make a nuisance of himself for the ones he now renounced as his students. The men that Hiruzen and Danzo had grown up to be were not the boys he once trained with such loving care. But that was not what he wanted to spend this second chance at life worrying about, not when he would much rather concentrate on the way Sakumo’s hair turned from silver to gold in the morning light, how Kakashi could express so many emotions with only his eyes and lie with a rarely seen smile, the sound of Sakumo’s quiet rasping laugh when one was lucky enough to earn it. For a lifetime he had watched others around him building families and only now that he had an approximation of the same for his own did he understand the joy of it, only now did he understand how his brother could have been so consistently distracted with thoughts of his beloved wife. For how little time he spent apart from Sakumo it was embarrassing how often his thoughts strayed back to the man.

Lounging on the engawa and sipping perfectly brewed tea, Tobirama looked over at the figure beside him without turning his head. Half a dozen sets of paws bounded from one end of the courtyard to the other as Kakashi chased a number of his recently acquired summons with stern words about bathtime. It was a more peaceful afternoon than he thought he would ever see, one Tobirama was loath to disturb in any way, yet the curiosity that had been gnawing at him for months now had reached a boiling point at last, unignorable any longer.

“May I ask you something?” he murmured, sliding his eyes forward again to afford his companion the privacy of not having his emotions studied like an experiment.

“You ask a hundred questions a day,” Sakumo retorted.

“And you answer them all.”

“Indeed I do; not sure why you think this one might be any different.”

One corner of his mouth quirked with a brief smile before it faded away again. “Kakashi may not see it - the unsuspecting eyes of youth - but I do. What happened to drive you away from your own people?”

“Ah.” Sakumo sighed and even without looking at him one could practically feel the way he shrank in to himself.

Wanting to provide comfort but knowing he was terrible at such things, Tobirama’s hands wrung together in his lap as he debated whether or not to reach out. If he were his brother he would have thought nothing of taking Sakumo’s hand in his own for a gentle reassuring squeeze. But he was not his brother. The very mental image of them holding hands threatened to turn his cheeks to fire even if he knew the only intentions behind such a gesture would be those of friendship and comfort.

Thrown forward in to the future for a second chance at life and still he had the urge to flee at the slightest hint of his own beating heart. He was doomed to be hopeless, it seemed. At least when it came to emotions.

“It must have been about a year ago now,” his friend began with halting syllables. “My team and I were sent on a mission which might very well have ended the war if we were successful. If I had been less foolish.”

“Hard to imagine you ever treating a mission foolishly,” Tobirama said.

“Kind words, though I don’t know if I deserve them. We all swore our loyalty to this village, vowed to do whatever became necessary, but when my team got in to a tight spot I chose to abandon the mission like some genin still wet behind the ears. I disobeyed my orders and in doing so I lost the respect of those who thought they knew me. How could I accept any other missions after that when none of my teammates could trust me to do the job I was sent to do?” Sakumo’s profile tucked in to itself in the corner of Tobirama’s eye. “If I had only continued with the mission...well. I suppose there’s no use wishing to change the things we can’t.”

Something like rage stirred in Tobirama’s breast like an animal waking with hunger in its teeth. “You’ve been ostracized for saving your teammates from death?”

“For failing perhaps the most important mission of my life,” the other corrected him.

“They owe you their lives!”

With a sigh Sakumo shook his head. “How can we know that? It’s entirely possible that they could have survived without my intervention. I could have failed this village for nothing.”

Tobirama had never whipped his entire body around so fast.

“You failed nothing!” he snapped. Sakumo blinked at him in shock.

“I abandoned my mission-”

“No, you chose to protect the lives of your comrades. That is not failure. That is admirable. Am I to understand that the people of this village treat you like some unwanted half-breed cur because you chose to value them!?”

“Saying it like that certainly makes it sound quite pretty,” Sakumo allowed. “It’s just-”

Tobirama cut him off again without even waiting to hear whatever ridiculous point he was about to get wrong. “I won’t hear it! How dare they! If there is anyone who has been failed it is you! Your actions are exactly the sort of thing my brother dreamed of when he first conceived of Konohagakure, back before that name ever existed, when this land was nothing but untamed forest and blood-soaked loam. When he shook Uchiha Madara’s hand they promised that no more children had to die and that every able bodied fighter would give their last breath to protect each other because that is what makes a village!”

Hot tea spilled across the tatami mats as Tobirama surged to his feet, pacing along the ground just beyond the engawa. Sakumo remained on the ledge with fingers curled tightly around his own cup and watched but said nothing. Barks and yips cut the silence that might have fallen, clouds of dust drifting through the air to make a haze between them and the boy Tobirama had come to see as more precious than his own students had been to him. Like a son, if he could ever be as bold as to say so.

Rage burned hot on his tongue, disappointment like a heavy black cloud in his belly. Never in his life had he been glad his last remaining sibling was already dead but now - well. It was good, he thought, that Hashirama would never be cursed to see the pale shadow his dreams had faded to.

Spinning back around sent the sleeves of his yukata snapping out around him. This time there was no hesitation when he reached out to frame his hands around Sakumo’s, feeling the warmth of the tea leaching through pale cold fingers, cradling them with all the support he could never properly offer with words alone. Dark eyes watched him in shock as he stepped forward. Some small part of his mind noted that standing below the ledge of the engawa put him at just the perfect height to bend his neck, creating a small pocket of privacy where the rest of the world did not exist for the moments in which they held each other's gaze.

“I have lived two lives and never known a man better than you,” he whispered. “If it takes the rest of my time here on this earth I swear I will help you believe in all the wonderful things that you deserve.”

“You...know what I was about to do. That day. How can you say these things to a coward like me?”

“A true coward would have run from danger. Not towards it as you did.”

Sakumo looked away, though his eyes came back shortly as though drawn by some inevitable force. “I’m glad you came here to us. Whatever god sent you must have known that you were needed. I...if you hadn’t come Kakashi would be without a father.”

“May I ask - you do not have to answer - even at the time it seemed to me that you didn’t truly want to end your own life. What put you on that path?”

“It just seemed like the only option left at the time. My honor was gone, my comrades no longer trusted me to watch their backs, and Kakashi was still so young. He would come home from the academy talking about all the things he’d learned and how much he looked forward to fighting for Konoha someday and then he came home with his genin headband and I just didn’t want him to grow up with my failures staining the way that others looked at him.”

Breathing felt strangely difficult but Tobirama refused to look away. “You bring to your son, and to all of us, the greatest honor. It is I who should be thanking the gods for sending me to your side. I’m glad that I have this chance to know what a happy life feels like as my brother once had.”

“Ah, but your brother was a married man,” Sakumo murmured. “Surely a wife and a child at home cannot compare.” Such words were a chance he was terrified yet only too happy to take.

“Do I not have you and Kakashi?” Tobirama asked.

“M-me?”

Considering how pale the both of their natural complexions were, it was very probable that the color he could see rising on Sakumo’s cheeks was matched perfectly on his own. Tobirama had never been very prone to blushing. Emotions had always been the sole exception to that, the one true foil he’d never entirely been able to overcome. He never expected to find himself in a situation where he didn’t mind this most embarrassing of weaknesses until he was treated to the sight of Hatake Sakumo blushing like a young maiden. Seeing that was absolutely worth doing the same himself.

He waited patiently for a minute or two and when his first advance was not rejected in any obvious way he felt emboldened to make another, stroking his thumbs across the back of his friend’s hands. The electric feeling in his veins as he watched Sakumo try to suppress a shiver could only be described as triumph.

“I would give many things for the chance to show you how much you mean to me,” he said.

“You have always had strange tastes,” Sakumo retorted. It was a good sign if he was able to crack a joke, although a straight answer would have been preferable. Tobirama supposed he would probably have more luck with a straight question.

“Would you allow me to court you? Perhaps it’s my pride talking but if there is anyone who could help you understand just how worthy of a man you are I think it would be me.”

“Aye, it would be you.” Taking in a shaky breath, the other man swallowed after before finally nodding very slowly. “I don’t feel as though a man like you should be wasting your time on a man like me but I suppose that’s the point you’re trying to make. Kakashi will be fine on his own for an evening; would, ah, would you care to join me for dinner? We could go to that place you like in the market.”

Tobirama had never felt so light without accidentally inhaling the fumes of his own experiments. Every nerve ending in his body tingled in a way he simply did not have the time to pay closer attention to at the moment, not when gravity seemed to be pulling him closer and closer to the quiet smile he’d been falling in love with since the day they met. When their lips met it was soft, barely a brush of skin, not hesitant but unhurried. Sakumo never seemed to be hurried by much. Yet even that small display of affection was enough for Tobirama to wonder if it was possible to expire of sheer happiness.

For the brief moments that it lasted their first kiss was unequivocally one of the best things to ever happen in either of his lives; he still couldn’t find it in himself to do anything but laugh as Kakashi’s voice rang out across the courtyard.

“Gross! Ew! Pakkun, they’re kissing! Make them stop!”

“We may have to wait until privacy is more available to continue this conversation,” Tobirama murmured.

“Pakkun will bite you if you don’t stop!” Kakashi shouted, immediately backed up by a series of sharp barks. The rest of his pack seemed content to stand and wag their tags while they watched the humans interacting.

Sakumo took a long moment to look away towards his son, smile growing only wider. “Will he? That wouldn’t be very nice of him.”

Nodding imperiously, Kakashi scrambled across the yard to push Tobirama aside and crawl up in to his father’s lap, curling as tightly as his growing body would allow. It was adorable enough that Tobirama supposed he really didn’t mind being put off for a while just at the moment that he obtained everything he could have ever wanted. If a little patience was all it took to feel those lips against his own again that was a sacrifice he was very willing to make.

“We can discuss this in more detail later,” he said, knowing that his friend was smart enough to read between the lines. The long overdue blossoming of their relationship was not the only thing they needed to talk about.

“Of course,” Sakumo agreed.

“For now”-Tobirama dropped a hand on to Kakashi’s head and ruffled the silver hair only a few shades of from his own-“how would you like to help me plan a village coup, pup?”

“Tobirama!”

Putting one hand against his chest to profess honesty, he blinked with as much innocence as he could muster. “It’s only a training exercise, of course. Just to see how his studies are coming along. I would obviously never think to depose the ones in charge and reform the entire village back to the original concept it was meant for.”

His friend - partner, now, in every sense of the word - lifted one eyebrow without saying anything.

“I would start by gaining their trust, I think,” Kakashi mused, oblivious to the conversations his elders had been having. When his father heaved a deep sigh he looked confused.

Tobirama could only turn his head away to smile in to the distance, watching clouds of dust swirl and dance in the afternoon breeze. It had taken dying and not dying and leaping through time but at long last he had found the future his precious sibling always dreamed of for him, for everyone. He’d found happiness; he found peace. The first thing he intended to do with this newfound dream was to enjoy it.

After that, well, it was only right of him to pursue Hashirama’s visions of the future and share his happiness with the others in this beloved village. When he met his brother in the afterlife he wanted to carry with him stories of a life lived to the fullest, a family that loved him every day, and courage enough to be better in the future than he had in the past.

#rae writes #commission #sakutobi #tobirama #sakumo #kakashi #fanfiction

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nautiscarader · 4 years

Text

Smutember 15 - naked photoshoot

Anonymous30 May

gloria/marnie/victor 15

Smutember 15 - naked photoshoot,

Gloria/Marnie/Victor (Pokemon), E, 2.3k

(Ao3)

If you liked my story, here’s a Ko-fi link if you’d be so kind ❤️.

=============

Gloria and Marnie giggled when with a loud "pop", another bottle of excellent Bluk berry wine was opened, and Victor poured his ladies another glassfuls. They figured that as their stay at the Dojo at the Isle of Armor was coming to a close, they might as well end it with a bit of a bang, and their room was filled with music celebrating the trio's holidays mixed with another successful series of challenges.

As more sweetness entered their bodies, the atmosphere felt hotter and hotter, despite the cool, night breeze from the ocean, and neither Victor, nor Gloria batted an eye when Marnie was the first to drop her jacket. She wasn't surprised either when by the time she undid all the buttons, she found Gloria in Vitor's laps, sloppily making out, watching as his hands dash underneath her skirt

But as her clothes joined hers, Marnie got an idea. She grabbed Gloria and quickly pulled her from Victor's needy hug, much to both of them protesting. But when Marnie whispered her plan into her ear, the disappointment from lack of caresses turned into a sly smile and another fit of giggles.

- You stay there - Marnie commanded Victor, who was about to stand up as his girlfriends walked away from the sofa, grabbed their discarded clothes and disappeared in the bathroom.

The two didn't let Victor wait too long, as they were equally eager to test Marnie's idea. And when a girl in black, punk clothes appeared in the doorway and began walking towards Victor, he thought he might have drank a bit too much. Gloria's hairstyle clashed horribly with Marnie's clothes, but neither of them minded, as Gloria swayed her hips on the way back to Victor's laps.

But she had a competition in form of Marnie herself, who tried her best to hide her pigtails underneath the green cap of Gloria, but with no success. The long, plaid socks as a sight Victor didn't expect to see, and when the two girls surrounded him, his mind got fuzzy once more as their pinkish dresses mixed into one blob of colour, especially when they pressed their chests against Victor's face.

With twice as much to love, his hands automatically dashed to their waists, and they were about to kiss, but he was depraved once more of experiencing his girlfriends, when Marnie promptly realised what else can they do.

- Hey, let's make some cards! - Good idea. - Gloria added - You know, we have paid for the bloody Rotomi terminal, we might as well use it...

This time, at least the two didn't leave Victor's side, as they called the Rotom-possessed camera to take their pictures. A short moment later, a whirring noise filled the room and two league cards fell from the terminal, with Marnie and Gloria's updated pics. But as Victor stared at Gloria's he couldn't help but notice one element missing...

And when his fingers slid across Gloria's slit, lost balance and was toppled to her back, she realised their jig was up, as her fall exposed her lack of panties.

- Shame, I hoped to see how Marnie's lingerie looks on you... - Victor murmured and dived his head between her legs.

- You can see how I am rocking hers, though.

Marnie quickly lifted her - or rather Gloria's dress - exposing red plaid panties she was proudly wearing, though without the matching bra, as evident by two small bumps that were becoming more and more visible on her dress as her nipples hardened. Another bright flash of light temporarily blinded Marnie, and when she regained her sight, she was given one more card of hers, with her unashamedly lifting her dress up.

- Oh, you cheeky...

She pushed Victor once more between Gloria's legs, against her waiting, dripping sex, and as her thighs closed behind his neck, trapping him in the love lock, he knew what will come next. Marnie straddled Gloria, just so she could get a good angle and took a photo of Victor's face against Gloria's crotch, making her brown bush look like a very old moustache of his.

Gloria wasn't idle either. As soon as familiar panties came into her view, she dragged them down Marnie's legs, leaving both girls' snatches exposed and, when Marnie sat on her face, properly loved. Both Gloria and Victor didn't waste time, lapping at their girlfriends' pussies, which left Marnie the only one with nothing to do, at least not until she decided to lean forward and help Victor, when he had to take a breathe of fresh air.

Marnie's head nearly collided with Victor's, Bouffalant-style, when Marnie decided to repay Gloria for her oral skills, and as the two ladies engaged in a sixty-nine, it was up to Victor to take a few new cards, with an updated number, of course.

But Marnie soon had a choice of what to caress, when Victor finally jumped out of his shorts, and was about to press his cock against the same entrance that Marnie was so lovingly making wet for him. The brunette salivated at the prospect of caressing both of her lovers, but just like Victor before, they were promptly depraved of that experience, when Victor got an idea of his own.

- Be right back, my loves.

Gloria had to wriggle out from between Marnie's thighs, interrupting their intimate connection, as they both stared at the bathroom's doors, and when Victor emerged they both laughed, just as he wanted to. It was a bit of a problem for male Poké-athlets competing in the championships, and Victor exemplified this problem perfectly. Through the league-sanctioned white shorts girls could plainly see his erection, hidden in one of his legs, desperately trying to get out.

Marnie quickly grabbed the Rotomi camera and snatched an innocent-looking picture that might actually had a chance of becoming an official one, if one was just looking at his face.

The young man quickly returned to his position, gotten rid of his shorts and shirt, and once more taunted Gloria with the feeling of his cock's head spreading her lower lips, rivalling Marnie's tongue and fingers. The feisty gym leader allowed him inside her girlfriend, feeling as Gloria shakes underneath her. And thus, the three began rocking their bodies in sync: Victor with his hips, Gloria still lapping at Marnie's sex, and Marnie herslef, kissing not one, but two of her lovers at the same time.

Marnie thought that with Gloria being loved by not one, but two people at once, she'd be the first to reach her peak, but it wasn't the case. There was something deeply erotic in watching Victor's cock ploughing into Gloria, especially as she could feel him underneath the skin of Gloria's underbelly, as Marnie concentrated on her clit. The brunette sneaked her hand underneath Victor's sack, giving him a quick massage that earned her a moan or two above her head. With each push of Victor's cock and lap of her tongue around Gloria's clit, the girl underneath her was trembling, moaning something, in her aggressive accent against her pussy, which only deepened the vibrations she was sending through her body.

And with Gloria tightening her grip on Marnie's tights, and Victor's rapid thrusts right next to her love's face, Marnie was the first to reach her climax, not as powerful as she might have wished, but strong enough to make her voice ring in their partner's ears...

Her eyes were filled with a flash of slight, and she instantly realised it wasn't just her pleasure overwhelming her. She saw a sly smile on Victor's face, and when she turned around and reached for the card, she saw herself, with her eyes closed and mouth agape, in a moment Kalosians call a blissful agony.

- Do I- Do i really look like it?

She showed the league card to Gloria, and she simply nodded, sticking her tongue in a cocky smile, still licking juices Marnie had flooded her with.

Marnie decided to step up her game and with her wobbly legs, she left the duo for another change of costume. When she left the bathroom a minute later, she found that her space ahs been taken, as Gloria's legs found their way to Victor's shoulders, as he was now furiously mate-pressing her. Marnie couldn't let that opportunity pass, and she made a quick photo of their heated scene, decorating it with a background of a Daycare Center, hoping it wouldn't be too prophetic, given his record of virility...

A moment later, Victor roared Gloria's name and filled her with his seed, dragging Gloria with him, as her pussy milked him of his essence and their lips and tongues mingled, sharing the juices Marnie has left on her. And only when the two came from their orgasmic high, they noticed their girlfriend sporting a new attire: the official dojo jacket... and just that, leaving her lower body utterly naked.

Both Gloria and Victor stared at her alluring, provocative outfit, before Marnie decided she wants the same piece of cake Gloria got. Straddling Victor, she pressed her pussy against his cock, feeling as it became harder and harder with each slide of her wet folds. His hands tried to undo the belt around her waist, but she promptly stopped. She wanted to make love in it... She allowed him to bury his face in the v-shaped cut , just so he could kiss her breasts, hidden behind the yellow martial arts jacket, while his cock was slowly coming back to full power. And just when Marnie felt it, she stood up, and turned around, knowing Gloria was ready too.

Marnie sat back in Victor's laps, sliding onto his cock, giving Gloria perfect opportunity to take a picture of half-naked Marnie bouncing up and down on Victor's cock. But Gloria wasn't just gonna sit idly; once the card was printed and joined the collection, she stormed against their mashed sexes and added her tongue to the mix, just like Marnie before, lapping at her clit and occasionally kissing Victor's shaft.

To make her job easier, Victor leaned back, tilting Marnie too, and that allowed Gloria to fully cover their joined bodies with kisses, knowing it will drive them both crazy and speed their way to heir shared climax. And she wasn't wrong; with Marnie bouncing for the second time atop one of her lovers, and Victor's cock being caressed by two girls again, the two reached their climaxes swiftly, though this time Gloria got to watch as Victor's cum drips down from Marnie's overflowed pussy... and she documented it, with another "click", of course.

The three joined in for a shared kiss and reached for their drinks, realising that in between each sessions they have drank it all. Victor looked at the small stash that Honey has given them as a parting gift that was supposed to enrich their life back in Galar, and asked a rhetorical question

- Another one?

========================

When the morning arrived, Victor woke up not with a hangover, but in a state of blissful light-headedness that only Marnie and Gloria could have provided. Their whole room, which they were supposed to clean by now - was filled with many clothes they have collected during their travels, showing how much fun did they have last night.

But try as he might, he could only remember some of it, but fortunately, the technology has managed to restore his memories after they have succumbed to the drunken pleasures. He looked through the cards, and with each one, the memories of their night were coming back:

In one of the cards, Gloria sitting on a chair as a throne, with both Victor and Marnie tending to her breasts; next was a vertical one, showing the sofa, with Victor in the middle and both girls spread on each of his side, so their lips could meet around his cock. Another series pictured him taking Gloria from behind, leaving Marnie to lick him and catch any cum that spilled from her girlfriend's pussy; a second variant swapped the girls around. Fifth card looked perfectly innocent, if not for the fact that Marnie was sitting on Victor's face, hiding his hair underneath her dress she put back on.

And of course, the collection was completed with cards in which each of the girls smiled at the camera, proudly wearing Victor's thick cum splattered all over their faces, just before they were about to kiss and clean each other's loads with a series of delicate kisses on the third one. Now that's what Victor would call an "ultra-rare".

And the very last one depicted the three naked lovers, washed off all their energy after a night of sexual marathon, sleeping together amidst the pandemonium they've made of their wardrobes. They all wore tired, but content smiles, as they clung to each other, in tight, loving embrace.

But something was wrong with the picture, and with his mind hazed, it took Victor a moment to understand what. And then he asked himself a very important question: if they were all asleep, then who took the picture?

With trembling hands, he flipped the card around and his eyes widened at the hand-written note.

"You can stay a few more days if you want, and use my wardrobe. I wouldn't mind joining you either...

XOXO, Honey".

#pokemon sword and shield #Victor/gloria/marnie #lemon #nautiscaraderfics #smutember #day 15 #punkbladebarriershipping #??!?!?!?!#what is their ships name

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goliath-de-senfina-sango · 4 years

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They say no plan survives contact with the enemy. Danny wishes they were wrong.

Dash Baxter was a conflicted person right now. He’d been feeling off practically all school year, and Valerie, Star, and Paulina were about ready to tell him to fuck off while they went and did their own awesome friend stuff. If he was pressed to think about it hard, he would say that it started when Manson had gotten the school to change the menu for a whole ass week. Now, Dash typically cooked or baked his own food anyway, so it was hardly something that sucked for him but plenty of his teammates bought lunch at school and they weren’t weird vegans like Manson! He’d gone up to her to give her a piece of his mind about all of that shit since he couldn’t exactly go yell at a teacher, and maybe he shouldn’t have yelled but he was angry and his voice got louder when he was mad.

Then Fenton got between them like Dash was gonna throw hands with Manson or something. Don’t get him wrong, he knows how dangerous a girl can be – Valerie would never have been friends with him if he didn’t respect how dangerous a girl like her could be – but his father had raised him to never lay hands on a woman. And besides, Dash wasn’t feeling violent! Or, at least, he didn’t think he had been.

Except that when Fenton got between them, Dash had been pissed. He’d gone from mad to unseeing rage and stuffed one of the dumb mudpies in Fenton’s face, and then Fenton started throwin the garbage, and then a food fight happened. Now, some people might think that his year was off because of the fire that happened after this food fight, but it was actually the start of it. Dash Baxter only threw hands when someone was threatening his friends, not for getting between him and someone else. Not for nothing. It was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever done in his life and he felt horrible about it afterward but he couldn’t think of what had gotten into him.

Worse still was when it kept happening. Mikey and Lester were rambling kinda loudly about some stupid card game and Dash got annoyed, went over to ask them to quiet down. Then there was this weird this rush of some sorta warm slimy something down his spine that was there and gone in a flash, and he was barking at the two of them, “Shut the hell up or else I’ll make you.” He almost didn’t realize he’d said that but then Kwan elbowed him hard in the ribs and Dash winced, running a hand through his hair. “God, did I say that? Shit, sorry dudes I didn’t mean that!”

Except… he did. Dash was the one who said it, right? And he said it practically automatically, without even thinking it. Was that who he was becoming? Was he turning into his grandfather? Kwan promised him he wasn’t, Vincent said he wouldn’t let Dash turn into his gramps, but then Dash was shoving scrawnier kids into the lockers out of his way, and he’d been about to mouth off to Fenton for no freakin reason other than he was there and his freaky mad scientist parents had to be the ones to put that green fire and stuff. Then a god damn monster popped out of Fenton’s locker, attacked Foley, and Dash was out of there.

Right after the fire the school had everyone set up meetings with the counselor, Dr. Spectra, and Dash went too, just like everyone. She even gave him a journal to write his feelings down in so he could work out what he was feeling and put it in words at his own pace. He didn’t like how she was implying that he couldn’t put his feelings into words at the same speed as everyone else, but if she was then hey, she wasn’t… she wasn’t wrong . And after writing it all down in that black journal, Dash came to a bit of a conclusion: Fenton was at the center of all of this.

Danny Fenton was a bit of a freak already, his eyes glowed when he was pissy even back in 6th grade and Dash knew it had to be because his parents were mad fucking scientists and either they experimented on their kids or the radiation in their house had gotten to em. And now that freakiness was popping up and destroying the whole damn school! Hell, Dash was pretty sure one of the Fentons’ damn ghosts had stuffed a buncha frogs down his pants the other day, cause he heard laughter when he ran away. But that had nothing on how furious Dash had been when Fenton called him stupid .

Dash wasn’t fucking dumb he was a little slow but so were plenty kids! Nerds and geeks like Fenton and Mikey and Josh all thought they were so fucking smart that they could get away with calling anyone else stupid ? Dash had been planning on educating Fenton on just how smart an idea that was. Then Falluka yelled at him and Kwan… God, Kwan looked so fucking disappointed in him.

So Dash was feeling a little conflicted and a lot shitty when Danny Motherfucking Fenton walked up to him in his star trek hoodie and said, “Dash I need your help.”

“Oh yeah?” Dash snorted and sneered at the smaller boy. “Why should I help?”

“You remember the monster thing that nearly tore off Tucker’s leg?” Dash paled a bit and nodded. “Something worse is lurking in the school. Something smart. We need your help to expose it before we can get rid of it.”

“So you want me to put my ass on the line and risk getting mauled because your freaky monster is out here lookin to eat someone?” Dash scoffed and turned away. “I ain’t stupid, Fentina, no matter what you think.”

There was a growl behind him and the hairs on Dash’s neck rose up. He tensed and damn near sprinted when he remembered that Fenton was packing heat. Maybe he was stupid. But then Fenton sighed and the lights flickered. “Dash, did you notice that you’ve become more and more of a jerk lately? You used to be the awesome jock who could run faster than everyone but Valerie and you made cookies for the whole class.

“Now you insult everyone at every turn and you tried to beat me up for telling you off. Doesn’t that feel wrong to you? I know nobody wants to believe my parents about the ghosts but you saw the monster, you saw Tucker bleeding and this is real Dash. And what do ghosts do in movies?”

“You sayin I’m possessed, Fenton?” His voice was shakier than he wanted it but it made… well sense was the wrong word but it lined up. “Wouldn’t I blackout or somethin?”

“Not necessarily. Some ghosts are smart n subtle and they can make you do things, feel things enough times while you’re awake that it’s habit-forming. My friend Sydney Poindexter can show you.”

Dread hit Dash like a tidal wave and he turned to bolt. Then he was cold and he relaxed all over, went deathly calm. He was submerged in the utmost chill vibes. Then he was utterly terrified, so much so he almost needed a change of pants. But then he was over the moon happy, frothing at the mouth pissed and then calm again.

The heat slowly returned to Dash’s bones as the back of something- someone filled his vision. Then he was looking at the bucktoothed, weak chinned weird movie hologram ghost of - if Fenton was to be believed - Sydney fucking Poindexter . “You see, Dash,” Fenton said while Dash stared at Poindexter with a very real sense of dread and awareness that someone who could fly could catch him faster than he could run, “if Sydney here were to possess you from time to time and adjust your mood and behavior just a little bit each time, especially over the few months we’ve been in school, you’d start doing everything he made you do on your own. You wouldn’t notice it either, it’d feel like your own feelings.” Dash finally looked at Fenton. “Got the picture, Dash?”

“... I thought your family hunted ghosts down?” Dash’s voice was as small as he felt. Because of that, he nodded quickly when he realized he’d been asked a question. “Y-yeah, I get the picture. I’ve been. I’ve been fucking possessed. ” Icy hot fury and horror filled him up to the brim and Dash shook, fists clenching and unclenching. “I’m being haunted by someone and they’re fuckin with what kinda person I am. But who the hell would do that?”

“Dash, Sydney is going to hide so that Ishiyama doesn’t turn on the security system and shoot holes through him - and he’s a good person, Dash, trust me.” Yeah, sure he is. “And we’re gonna go to the principal and have her call a very specific person to the front office. I need you and I to be hiding right next to the door to the hall, because when he sees you, he’ll know what’s happening.” Fenton reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out- ok, he really did have bottomless pockets because no way he kept a gun and a belt in there. He handed it to Dash who held it in his hands, feeling a bit numb. “Put that on. It’ll give a nasty shock to any hostile ghost that touches you.”

“So that he can’t possess me again, right?” Fenton nodded and Dash was putting the belt on before he even knew it. It clicked into place and he felt a warm buzz rush through him. “Fuck, thanks Fenton. Danny. Do we uh. Do we go now?”

“Dash you’re heading to practice,” Fe-Danny said, and Dash sighed and slumped against a locker. “Don’t worry though, we have a plan.”

“Right. A plan.” Dash took a deep breath and nodded. He wanted to get whatever ghost asshole had been messing him up, making him into a total asshole, right the fuck then. But Fenton was the nerd with the sci-fi gun and a ghost friend here, not Dash. And he wasn’t all that keen on being near Poindexter of all dead people, so he nodded again and half turned. “...This… after this ghost dude is dealt with, I’ll… I’ll go back to normal, right?”

“That’ll take some effort on your part, Dash. Do you want to go back to normal?” Dash whirled around to tell Fenton of course he did but he was just gone.

Dash scoffed and shook his head, walking to practice. “Got his boyfriend’s dramatics.”

It was legitimately the simplest of plans. Danny had come up with it so it was very simple and easy to understand. Danny and Dash headed into Ishiyama’s office at lunch, Sydney waited just outside of Danny’s own sensing range for him - which had gotten alarmingly smaller since his resurrection - and when Dash identified Bertrand as his late grandfather, Danny, Sam and Tucker would turn him into a pile of green sludge, then go after Spectra after making the case that she was also something inhuman disguising herself to feed off of the students. Simple.

Easy to understand didn’t mean easy to execute. When Danny Fenton of all people approached Ishiyama and said something was up, with Dash Baxter backing him up, she called up Bertrand Baxter to her office. Dash looked absolutely floored by that revelation though and turned on Danny immediately. “Are you saying my fucking grandpa is the one who’s been haunting me?”

“I really hope you’re not like, attached to him or anything.”

“Oh no, he was awful but dude, you knew? ” Danny sighed and nodded. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“He could’ve possessed you in the shower when you took off the belt and figured out how much we know.” Danny looked to Ishiyama, who had gone pale and was typing furiously at her laptop. Danny, however, headed to the door to the hallway and crouched down, reaching into his jacket. Dash was still standing in the doorway to the principal’s office, however, and so when Bertrand came in and Danny got to see his disguise for the first time - short, grey slacks with dress shoes and a red dress shirt with a suit jacket and bowtie. His hair was grey and his eyes were green and he looked like a stereotypical rich white guy, reminding Danny how wealthy Dash actually was - Bertrand stopped and stared at Dash for three seconds.

“Oh. you. Wonderful to see you again you sissy ass brute, have you been sewing anymore wittle teddybears for yourself or are your sausage fingers too big for that?” Oh, Danny hated that tone. So, he pulled out his rifle, aimed it at Bertrand’s face, and smirked.

“Wow, you looked slimy in life too, huh?” Danny got to see wide green eyes filled with shock and terror before he squeezed the trigger on his gun and Bertrand became a green splat on the wall that Danny would have to clean up later.

“You didn’t even leave a little bit of ass for me to kick?” Sam groaned as she stood up from behind the wait desk, patting the shaking attendant’s back while she got closer. In her hands was a thin metal tube with the Fenton Logo on it and a button, looking to any trained eye like a typical collapsible bo staff. “I got this whole new weapon from your mom and everything.”

“Please don’t say that in front of the principal - and hey, we’ve got more ass to kick.” Danny grinned, maybe a bit wider than humanly reasonable, and turned to Ishiyama. “I’d like to make a complaint about Bertrand’s boss.”

“You can make that complaint to her right here in person, darling. ” Danny spun to look at the source of the predatory purr that was damn near right in his ear. Red suit, red hair done up in ridiculous horns, and eyes that were slowly shifting from green to yellow to orange. “I don’t believe we’ve met yet, Mr. Fenton, but it’ll be my pleasure to give yourself and your friends a session. Free of charge.”

“Hm, I hear you, Penny, I do. Counterpoint.” Danny grinned as Sam hit the button and swung her now humming staff - the Fenton Anti Creep Stick™ - at Spectra’s face and watched as it sailed through the air where Spectra had been. The creature named Penelope had twisted back and around fluid as water to avoid the strike and spun around, kicking Sam in the gut and knocking her into the reception desk. Danny snarled and raised his rifle, managing to shoot Spectra in the shoulder.

Spectra flicked the ashes from her shoulder where her suit and ‘skin’ had been burned - though her skin looked more like it’d suffered a fading sunburn than it did a glob of ionized ectoplasmic plasma - and backhanded a shocked Danny. He raised his arms in time to block the nails that were now claws with his jacket, but these sleeves were cotton and simply tore open while he was flung back as well. “Oh Danny, honey, you should really do your research more. I’m not a ghost .” Darkness flooded the room and they - Danny, Sam, Tucker, Dash - were in what Danny assumed to be her office. He hissed and pulled out the Peeler, but that was smacked out of his hands and clattered loudly to the floor.

The others disappeared in a cloud of smoke, which the room was steadily becoming. “Come now, Danny, none of that. We’re here to talk, after all. About you, before you ask. After all, you have quite a few pressing anxieties to address, don’t you?” A clipboard appeared in her hands from the smoke all around them and she read over it while Danny reached for the bonds to his friends. The threads were… slack, dim, quieter than they should be.

“Daniel James Fenton, your sister had an appointment set up with me for you, worried unlike every other child here you weren’t getting enough attention. But of course, someone like you can never get enough attention.”

“When I get my hands on you I-”

“Ah, that testosterone you keep shooting up with really is making you more aggressive, isn’t it?” Danny snarled at her and she tutted at him, walking slowly around her desk. “Or is that the ectoplasm running through your veins causing you to act out violently on mere speculations and possibilities from what’s more than likely just a bad dream from your little friend. That’s what it does, after all. Corrupt the mind and soul. Oh, but of course you know that, don’t you?

“Your parents have all the science on ghosts at their fingertips and surely you’re smart enough to read up on it. Oh,” she covered her mouth and sucked on her teeth, looking all the world like she’d just noticed something inconsiderate coming out of her vile mouth before vanishing into the darkness. “Oh, well I suppose you could read it but it wouldn’t stick, would it? The dead can’t learn anything new, after all, you’re just an echo of who you were before.”

“Bias and prejudice aren’t science!” Danny raised his rifle again, energy racing to his eyes as he searched the shadows desperately. The light rose to his call, filled him untethered him from the Earth, but what he Saw felt wrong . Even the lies the eyes tell him are truer than what was around him and he knew that but he couldn’t see through the smoke. “Sam and Tucker have hammered that into me plenty well enough by now to cut through bullshit like that! And really, I liked your office better after that flubber wannabe and I trashed it.”

A flash of red suit came into view and Danny pulled the trigger, but Spectra was faster than the green hot plasma, and claws swatted his weapon away while slashing at his chest. Thank Tucker for leather jackets and all the protection they offered but now Danny was on his back, the ground and somehow the kind of uncomfortable chair that all schools used to punish the students for the simple crime of being there.

“Ah yes, Sam the rich goth girl who befriended you as soon as she heard that you were the son of the town crazies. The one who warned you away from coming out to your parents so they could help you become normal again - or as close as someone like You can get.” She laughed, the sound of ice spilling down a glacier into the cold dark waters below, and it echoed around him like the chill of a winter night. “Don’t you know she’s only friends with you because you’re ‘unique’? Because you’re a freak ? Don’t you know, oh so darling Danny, that as soon if you were able to get rid of all this craziness and live a peaceful life, she’d grow bored with you and leave?”

“You don’t know a damn thing about Sam, she’s not like that!” Danny rolled out of the chair and got to his feet, every movement like he was covered in sandbags and the smokey shadows every two feet away seemed to swallow up his voice, growing darker and pressing closer like a rolling tide. Light curled into a ball in his palm, and he hurled it where Spectra was, but the shadows ate his light and left barely a foot in any direction to move.

“Oh and the year you’ve known her has revealed everything to you, hm? Well, I suppose when someone murders you with peer pressure and you stick around them it’s clear how pathetically desperate for another friend you are. After all, the only other one you have is your oh so precious Tucker . Precious, pragmatic Tucker who cheered you on to go to your parents about all this, more than ok with you getting dissected for it. After all, he’s a smart boy and you can’t have fooled him as well as you fooled yourself into thinking you’re the same Danny Fenton he knew before you died.”

Spectra laughed again, claws digging into his shoulders, and anger, resentment, and fury rang through his soul, the chime of a burning bell. Light struck Spectra in the face, the Fomorian’s cackles finally cut off with a shriek of pain as she stumbled back and the choking darkness ebbed a foot away again. Danny snarled at her, spying the empty hollowness where his light had sheared off the false skin on her face, another ball of orange-silver light crackling at his fingertips.

“You keep Tucker’s name out of your filthy lying mouth! He would never hurt me!”

“He sure did take his time making you any sort of protection though, and once he got your parents to give him something that made his very touch a taser’s spark to your skin he wasn’t in any rush to modify it for your safety. Almost like he didn’t want you able to touch him, or he didn’t feel like making you something genuinely substantial as protection - after all, he finally got another one working and where did that end up? On Dash.” Danny stepped back when the shadows closed around Spectra once again, glaring into the dark of her office and kicking the desk to the wall for room. It didn’t even clatter against the wall when it vanished from his sight and he couldn’t tell if that was because there was no wall or if he was simply losing his stars forsaken mind.

“Modifying the Spector Deflector took time, you slippery little oil stain, now come out where I can punch you.”

“It hardly took time for your parents to make it, did it? And oh your parents.” She purred, voice taking on a cloyingly sweet tone and Danny shuddered at the cold against his skin, the smoke curling against his jacket and following him as he flew up to the ceiling to make some room. Now, though, it looked like he was trapped in the abyss with no floor, no ceiling, no way anywhere and if he ever stopped flying he would fall and fall and fall and there was no end to this darkness, no stars to sing to him and comfort him and it was like the times before his very first self .

“We can’t forget the source of all this anguish can we? Those darn parents of yours that put ghost hunting and science and your better sibling before you the whole of our life and even your afterlife! Oh, even you know now that normal old human authorities would clutch their pearls and steal you away to a safer place to live than with them. How many times have you had artificial ectoplasm in your food, either poisoning you or bringing it to life for you all to fend off? How many times have they barged into your room with no concern for your privacy and dragged you away to do work for them like an intern? How many times have you nearly died because dear old Dr. and Dr. Fenton couldn’t be bothered to make their home a safe place for a child?”

Danny curled up into a ball then, clutching at his head and closing his eyes. The star song that rang through his body and warmed his bones when he was a ghost grew dimmer and darker and colder with each word out of the dark and past the echoes it took a moment to realize that whining sound was coming from him. “Shut up! Shut up shut up, you don’t- so they’re a little clumsy! No one can be the best parents ever, and they love us! They love me!”

“Is that why they killed you?” That laughter felt like a slap to the face and Danny slipped into intangibility, only to fall from the air as his power left him, and he landed on the cold hard ground, alone and shaking. “Your father so careless with the most outrageously dangerous things that he left a doorway to the land of the dead plugged in even with the door to the lab still open. Your mother, so stubborn, so sure of herself, would never listen to your advice on how to simply not mutate the food that her family eats let alone listen about how ghosts actually work from you . Daddy dearest doesn’t truly care what you want to be, he knows that you’re not smart enough to become an astronaut, skilled enough to live off your art alone, and that all you really have to fall back on is the family business of ghost hunting, so why shouldn’t he talk over you about it all? Your own precious Mommy didn’t have an answer for you as to what she’d do if she knew you were a ghost.

“Oh, your parents are just so awful that they went and let you die, and you don’t want to face the truth of it? Is it because you’re afraid that you’re just like them, keeping Agatha locked up in that soup can for a whole weekend before you let her out, turning Hunter into a splatter on the ground, shooting my dearest little assistant because he’s a ghost? Or is it because you know, deep down, that what they would do as soon as they knew you’re not human is strap you down and cut you up to see what you actually are. You don’t even know, after all!”

His light was a pinprick in the distance, practically gone and with it the gossamer strings that bound him to his friends and let him know he wasn’t alone. They were gone because he was alone, wasn’t he? How could he not be, with whatever the hell he was? There wasn’t a thing out there like him, and if the dark pressing in on him like oil choked sea water swallowed him up then no one would truly understand what was lost. Would they even feel they lost something at all?

“Are you a ghost pretending to be human again? Or are you a creepy little boy with creepy little powers? A changeling left behind by a faerie through that portal, or some kind of curse? Oh, who cares what you are? Not a boy, not a ghost, not a fae or jinni or beast of this earth! Who could possibly care for a thing - a mistake like little Danny Fenton? Or should I say, C-”

Orange, fury, protect, love, wrath, HOW DARE SHE blazed down the bond between Danny and Jazz and filled him with a warmth he’d near forgotten existed. Green light cut through the darkness and engulfed Spectra, peeling away her suit and her skin and the darkness that made her up like one might an onion or potato. “ How dare you, you worthless parasite? How dare you lay a single clawed hand on my baby brother while you sit here, curled up in your precious darkness to hide from the truth that would burn away your empty, worthless lies?” Danny had never heard Jazz so angry, had never seen such fire in her aura and it kindled that spark inside of him that was growing oh so distant. “Sydney?”

Danny had never loved the color green so much before he saw peridot flames leap from Sydney’s hands and engulf the room, before sweeping in to swallow Spectra up in a pile of burning rot . They were back in Ishiyama’s office and the waiting room before it, Tucker and Sam and Dash all pale and shaking like they were freezing, but the heat of Sydney’s flames and the rage in his screams were like a camp fire in the cold woods. When Danny turned to see Jazz she was practically a chrome and green knight, wearing armor he’d never seen before and brandishing the Peeler at Spectra like a shotgun at a mugger. “I can’t believe I thought someone so pathetic they had to pick at the insecurities of literal children for a misery meal would do anything to help my brother.” She squeezed the trigger and held it until even Spectra’s shrieks of agony were nothing more than echoes in the room.

Jazz turned to Danny and before she was even fully out of the armor he had his arms wrapped around her, clinging tight to the only person that felt well and truly real at the moment. She hugged him back just as fast and relief slammed into the horror and misery and blended with the vindication until he couldn’t tell what feeling it was that blurred his vision and made his face wet with tears, but when Jazz ran a hand down his back he shook with the force of his sobs. Tucker and Sam put hands on his shoulders and the threads between them were a sickly puce and bloody red that had him dragging them both into the hug with him. They stood there, leaning on each other in the office and crying, and some part of Danny knew that they were going to be alright.

They had each other, and nothing could get to them when they were with each other, right?

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xoruffitup · 4 years

Text

Flip Ficlets (Part III?)

Since the first time I saw BlacKkKlansman, I wondered what was going on in Flip’s head when Ron asks why he’s not taking the investigation more personally, and Flip answers “Rookie, that’s my fuckin’ business.” My brain supplied...

What if Flip had a girlfriend of color during the investigation?

Pt ii: This wouldn’t leave me alone

All it took was some nice Flip gifsets on my dash, and suddenly I wrote more of this. Here we’ve got the flashback scene to when Sarah first found out Flip was a cop, Flip getting dragged (somewhat) against his will to a disco, and Sarah’s feelings a few years in on being with a white guy.

Not beta’d or anything, just had fun.

Flip has no idea how he got talked into this.

“Hell no. No way,” had been his gruff reply when Sarah leaned away from the telephone to excitedly call, “Patrice and Ron are going to a disco tonight!”

It was a Friday evening after a long day and an even longer week. Apparently Ron had other ways he liked to recover, but Flip’s ideal Friday night usually involved reclining in a horizontal position. Definitely not dancing.

“You’re such a drag,” Sarah drawled, clicking her tongue disapprovingly. “Well, I’m going. You can either come along, or accept that I’ll spend all night dancing with other guys. And you never know, some of them might be hotter than you.”

Well, that was how right there.

Flip had just stared for a long second, then blinked slowly when Sarah twirled out of the bedroom in a spangly dress that flashed plenty of shoulders and thighs. His mouth suddenly very dry around the urge to march her straight back into the bedroom, he managed, “Sarah, I have nothing to wear.”

She’d just grinned, the glitter on her dark eyelids shimmering phosphorescent.

“Just wear my favorite shirt. The red one. I’ll be satisfied.”

Flip made a passing attempt to tame his hair before pulling his boots on. (Boots to a disco. There was no hope for him at all.) Before Sarah could pull her coat on at the front door, he’d drawn her close enough to kiss her mostly-bare shoulder appreciatively. She breathed out fast and gave his hair a brief, playful tug.

“No time for that, babe. Let’s go, let’s go!”

Flip released something between a sigh and a grumble of acceptance as he grabbed his own coat and followed her out the door. The sooner they left, the sooner they’d be home when there would be time for that.

“Brother!” Ron crowed as Flip and Sarah approached him and Patrice outside the club entrance. Flip dutifully extended his hand for his and Ron’s customary handshake-slide.

“Your glitter! You look dynamite,” Patrice greeted Sarah, immediately enveloping her in a hug.

Ron’s grin – beneath an afro boasting fresh volume – could only be described as shit-eating.

“I didn’t think there was a chance in hell she’d get you to come out.”

Flip sighed, his gaze sliding indulgently towards his girlfriend. “Looks like hell hasn’t frozen over yet.”

The moment they passed inside, Ron noticed Flip’s demeanor shift and stiffen a bit. He seemed to hunch his shoulders a bit, in a mostly futile bid to make his towering frame less conspicuous.

Not that he needed height to draw looks.

Sarah, while making it look perfectly natural and effortless, made sure to always be touching Flip. Whether linking her hand with his or staying pressed to his side, she made it clear he’s with me – he’s no trouble.

Ron navigated them to the bar and secured the first round of drinks. Just before Patrice dragged her off to the neon-light dance floor, Sarah tucked a kiss against Flip’s cheek and made the vaguely threatening promise, “Don’t get too cozy at the bar here, I’m coming back for you.”

Once the girls slid off into the dancing crowd, Ron raised his glass for Flip to toast.

“I always did want to see your moves, soul brother,” Flip joked, even as his gaze compulsively jumped from each set of potentially hostile eyes to the next. Without Sarah right there pressed against him, he couldn’t quite suppress the instinct.

“I’ll only show you mine if you show me yours.”

“Hate to break it to you, but even after all your tutelage I still don’t have a funky bone in my body. Probably a lost cause.”

Flip took a long sip and spotted Sarah over the rim of the glass, dancing at the center of the floor. Immediately, he found himself soothed.

Ron nudged his elbow into Flip’s side. “It’s all about the woman, partner.”

With some difficulty, Flip tore his gaze from Sarah to peer at Ron.

“What now?”

“All you gotta do is let your woman lead. The rest comes naturally, trust me.”

“I don’t know. Trusting you has landed me in some pretty deep shit once or twice.”

“Flip. It pains me that you don’t trust me as a reliable authority on disco.”

“Well. More of an authority than me, I’ll give you that. Though that ain’t saying much.”

“Sure as hell isn’t. Nice boots, by the way.”

“Fuck off.”

Ron just grins, looking to be having an absolute delight of a time.

When the girls rejoin them, and Sarah – all laughter and heaving heartbeat and smudged glitter around her eyes – shimmies in against his side again, Flip feels like a whole new kind of interloper.

She glows, the most enticing star that’s ever burned in the night sky, and no matter whether in a club frequented by whites or blacks, he’d still look utterly out of place with her.

Sarah loops her arms up around his neck and pulls playfully. “Time to face your fate.”

Flip tries to shoot a beseeching appeal to Ron, but only catches his back as Patrice tows him towards the flashing lights of the dance floor.

There’s no hope for him now.

“Honey – I’m gonna make you look a fool.”

He already looked the fool the second he stepped in here in his boots and worn flannel – even if it is Sarah’s favorite. But Sarah – her sashaying hips, hair flips, and light feet could put this whole place in the palm of her hand.

“Not with me, you won’t,” she promises brightly, seeming to have full confidence in the same power of the leading lady espoused by Ron.

Flip hates it, he really does. Never in his life has he been a dancer. Especially not in places where he’s a magnet for attention.

This is her night. It’s for her.

So he says nothing, and lets her slight, small hands pull him deep into the crowd of people on the dance floor.

In desperation, he recalls what Ron meant as advice: Let your woman lead. The rest comes naturally.

And somehow – his miraculous goddess of a woman makes it so easy. Her back to his front, Sarah holds his hands against either side of her hips, letting him feel the sway and dip of her movements. She presses back against him just enough to nudge him into the rhythm. Over her shoulder, Flip can see her smile as he gradually matches her pace. And it… isn’t so bad, moving where she moves, savoring the weaving of her body against his and just letting himself sink into equilibrium with her.

After almost three years together, the familiar yet no less spectacular shape of her small body pressed to his carries all the sure-footed reassurance of a bright blue, sunny sky.

She lets her head tip back against his shoulder, grinning between songs.

“Like I keep telling you, you’re not so bad, babe. Even for a white boy.”

Apparently not everyone agrees. Before Flip can make a joke in return, a young man detaches from the crowd with an impeccably styled afro almost to compete with Ron, armed with a charming smile all for Sarah.

Smoothly managing to avoid even a glance at Flip, the guy offers, “I couldn’t help but notice this gorgeous sister dancing near me, who looked like she might be in need of a proper partner. Might I be of service?”

Flip almost admires the guy’s nerve. He knows Sarah well enough to stay quiet and let her handle this herself.

Sarah just tucks herself closer to Flip, smiling sweetly at the guy. “Nice of you to offer, but I’m perfectly fine with my boyfriend here.”

The guy’s mouth opens in abrupt surprise. He finally looks at Flip now, reassessing.

Flip stays silent, but can’t help himself resting a possessive hand at Sarah’s shoulder. He looks somewhere other than the guy’s face, and makes every effort to temper his glare. While Flip concertedly doesn’t watch, the guy finally gets lost.

“What a presumptuous jerk, right?” Sarah looks up at Flip through her lashes, indulging him.

Flip keeps looking out into the crowd, a slight frown clinging to his lips despite his full knowledge that the guy was no threat.

Sarah is just about to poke him into dancing again when he mumbles only just audibly over the music, “If you want to have a few dances with a partner who knows what he’s doing… I won’t mind.”

Sarah just stares up at him for a long moment, before cracking an amused smile.

“How much did that hurt to choke out?”

“Nearly stuck in my throat.”

Smiling to herself and the happiest she’s been all night, Sarah draws herself closer against him and hooks her arms up around his neck, making Flip meet her eyes.

“You came out with me tonight. You’re the only one I want to dance with.”

The music slows into a gentle, easy beat and this – this Flip can handle just fine. He rests his hands at her waist, before sliding his arms around her and drawing her all the way in. Her breath is warm and soothing against his neck, as she hums in approval near his ear and settles into a slow, pleasant sway to the music.

This, Flip doesn’t mind one bit.

“Then I’m the luckiest son of a bitch here tonight.”

He wonders if the glitter on her face is rubbing off against his neck and shirt right now. He finds he really doesn’t care.

Sarah twirls her fingers in the hair along the back of his neck. She always loves when he lets his hair get long. She nestles in closer as Flip keeps them rocking back and forth. It’s her favorite place – wrapped in his arms and nearly enveloped in the breadth of his body.

Times like right now, Flip still can’t believe that, somehow, he’s to her taste. She’s the most beautiful woman in the place, and she’s spent the last three years with a lug like him. There are a hundred good reasons why she might never have given him the time of day – not the least being his job and the fact that her clubs, discos, and bars aren’t meant for him.

And yet – way back when, she was the one to kiss him first. She’s the one who keeps a hard line with her parents, who keep prodding her to “dump the pig already.” Three years and she’s still immovable.

Flip will never quite understand; he’ll just keep doing his best to treat her right and not tempt his good fortune.

The sweeping droplets reflecting off the disco ball dapple across her dark skin. Her long weave of braided hair is a bit mussed, and she’s warm and sweaty in his arms.

He dips his head, resting his lips near her ear.

“I can’t wait to get home and make love with you.”

She goes onto her toes, stretching up towards him in a way that’s simply sacred.

“You’ve been working late this week. I think you owe me an all-nighter.”

“’till dawn, at least.”

“Maybe straight through breakfast. We’ve got no plans tomorrow.”

And Flip wouldn’t even be surprised if she means it. She’s the tiniest woman he’s ever shared a bed with, but by far the most voracious. Keeping her satisfied is his supreme joy.

They only last another two songs. They find Ron and Patrice to say their goodbyes, before Sarah leads their way out with Flip’s hand gripped tight in hers.

He doesn’t plan on letting her go for the rest of the night.

Maybe not ever.

~~~~~

Flip had wondered when to broach it. Dreaded it.

On their third date, he thought it improper to put it off any longer.

“You haven’t asked me what I do for a living.”

Sarah had sat back in her seat across the diner booth. She knew that it had perhaps been intentional. She liked him so much so far. Perhaps she was scared of thinking of him separate from this – out doing things other than holding doors for her, waiting for her to initiate reaching for his hand before he so much as kissed her goodnight, smiling his crinkly smile and laughing his deep laugh at her jokes.

“I suppose I haven’t.”

Flip pushed fries around his plate, simultaneously relieved and deeply regretting steering the conversation this way.

Still. He knew putting it off any longer would only make it worse.

“I’m a detective. I… work down at the station.”

Her body stiffened. Her hands, which had been laid on the table as if in consideration of touching him, withdrew to her lap. Her jaw went rigid, mouth drawn tight.

“So you’re a cop.”

He only barely had the heart to look at her. Still, he nodded.

“You could say that.”

She crossed her arms, shifted on the seat. He wondered if she was weighing the option to walk out right then and there.

Instead, she asked in a voice deceptively light and difficult to parse, “You do fancy undercover work?”

“Sometimes. It’s not so fancy though, usually just listening to wire taps all day.”

She stared at him – gaze assessing and harder than usual, but not entirely closed off. Not yet, at least.

“You ever arrested people?”

“It’s in the line of work.”

“People like me? Who never done anything wrong but live in a world where others don’t want us to?”

Flip took a deep breath. He was already jonesing for a cigarette.

“I have arrested two black men, yes. But two who’d done quite a bit wrong and only after we had reliable evidence against them.”

Her eyes took on a fierce glint now.

“You ever been the type to flash your lights and pull over a black driver just to rough them up a bit?”

Flip’s mouth twitches into a frown, his tone turning a shade less gentle. “Do I seem the type?”

Sarah doesn’t give an inch of ground. “No, you’ve gotta tell me. Because you could be a very different person when you walk out that door than the one sitting here with me. For all I know, you may be the type who thinks it’s fine to bag a black woman, but wouldn’t blink an eye if you saw one of my brothers beaten on the streets.”

Flip sat back, all thought of food gone along with any trace of resistance. He kept fitting together then discarding answers – each more deficient than the last. Whatever he says, he knows it can’t entirely quell her misgivings. Only his actions and time can do that.

He doesn’t say that the barber who cuts his hair is black. He doesn’t say that he mows the lawn for the elderly woman across the street from him, who happens to be black. He understands that just like his presence here across the table from her, that doesn’t prove anything.

“I can tell you that no, I’ve never pulled over anyone of any color if they weren’t speeding. But I know that’s not enough. All I can do is ask for the chance to take you out again and start proving it.”

She took him in for a long time, simply assessing the sincerity in his expression – weighing the future burden of inevitably navigating the chasms between their experiences and views of the world. Would he understand that some of those chasms could never be crossed; but it was his responsibility to see them anyway?

“I should just warn you - I’m difficult to please,” she said, the hint of a smile returning in just the corners of her lips. “But I’ll give you that chance. From what I know of you so far, I think you’ll make it count.”

She rested her hands up on the table again, leaning in again over her seat.

On the other side of the booth, Flip relaxed. She was still there. He realized part of him hadn’t expected anything after this conversation. He’d thought it wasn’t even worth hoping for – that she’d still be comfortable spending time with him once she knew everything.

But she’d given him a chance, and Flip intended to earn and treasure her trust.

He slid his hand across the table, just so his fingertips could brush across the back of her hand. He waited, but she didn’t pull away. She just gave him a small, budding smile.

“Let’s go get a drink.”

~~~~~~~~

Since the day she first met him in the bar where she used to mix drinks, Sarah has always felt completely and utterly safe with Flip. He’d come over and interposed himself between her and three guys who’d been harassing her as she tried to leave from a shift. He’d walked her out to the parking lot, offered to drive her home, and she’d never wanted to be parted from him since. It was more than simply trusting him – more than knowing with absolute certainty that he was a good, honorable man who respected and provided for her.

It was his size, when they were out together and a pair of hostile eyes fled in the opposite direction when they caught sight of him at her side. It was his carrying license and shoulder holsters – the only weapons she’d ever known with certainty would never turn against her, but would only ever be used in her protection. It was the way his presence beside her at the grocery store made the checkout person smile at her with a brightness she’d never known before. It was the way no white man sneered or smirked at her across a crowded room anymore, ever since Flip became a permanent fixture.

For a long time, she never told him these things – afraid he would feel she was using him. Sarah never troubled herself with such qualms. She knew she loved Flip for the right reasons. All the advantages to being with him had only made themselves known after she chose his company, after all.

Of course, not all her friends and family would call them “advantages.”

“How could you?” her now ex-friend had hissed. “Racist cops are out there running us down like dogs, and you’re fucking one.”

Sarah had just fixed her hair, unperturbed. This was nothing she hadn’t already considered.

“If you respect me as a woman and friend, you’d trust me to never betray my people like that.”

“But that’s what it sure sounds like.”

“Know what I think? I think it sounds like you’re doing the same thing as those racist cops. Which – I’d care to note – Flip isn’t.”

“How could you even compare-“

“It sounds like you’re trying to tell me they’re all the same, but I thought we were more evolved than that.”

Sarah doesn’t shrink from her black pride. For a while, she wondered if it was a type of passing – enjoying the freedom from harassment thanks to her intimacy with a white man. Wondered if she had crossed some invisible line without realizing, and was now separated from her brothers and sisters.

But then she’d get groceries or go to the butcher on her own, and nothing had changed. Not really. Except she’d go home and be even more grateful for the warmth of Flip’s arms and the soft scrape of his beard when she kissed him.

Home was safe. Home was where he was. And so she stopped worrying about any of it.

Then he finally asked.

She’d been out late with some friends – a little tipsy when she rung him at the station to come pick her up from the club.

It wasn’t one of the clubs they usually frequented – one that was a bit more mixed. She and her two friends had only been outside for all of a few minutes before two burly white men started jeering from across the street. They crossed the street, but were only just approaching the girls when Flip pulled up. But they’d been close enough, and Flip was trained to read violence in body language.

He’d swung a sloppy park job, jumped from the truck, and blocked their approach. He’d flashed his badge in case the contempt in his glare wasn’t loud enough. Maybe it’d be enough to scare them off such behavior for good.

He’d had Sarah’s friends squeeze into the truck and dropped them off before bringing Sarah home. She remained silent – mostly because she wasn’t a talkative drunk, but Flip perceived different reasons entirely.

They were in the kitchen – Sarah chugging water, Flip hovering in the doorway, unsure if the comfort he wanted to give would be welcome – when he asked.

“Is it ever… too hard?”

Sarah needed a moment to focus on him. The kitchen lights were so bright. The concern and anxiety in his expression was a lot to take in.

“Is what?”

He huffed a slow sigh, lifting a hand to rub across his mouth for a moment as if feeling the shape of each word as he considers them.

“Being with someone who looks like me. Who looks like…. That.”

“Oh.”

Oh.

Sarah had filled and downed a second glass of water, willing herself sober.

When she looked at him again, she knew he hadn’t asked for any reassurance for his own sake. He wasn’t asking for her validation or forgiveness, nor was he trying to indirectly make some ‘we’re not all like that’ statement. The question had been solely for her sake – the rest of the world be damned.

And that… that makes her answer for him; with an answer no less true.

She comes to stand near him in the entryway to the kitchen, watching him look between her face and scanning her body, as if still reassuring himself nothing happened. She waits until he relaxes slightly, until she has his attention completely in the present moment.

“Flip. Baby. You don’t look like them. Not to me.”

She reached up to touch his cheek, to trace she shape of his mouth as he pressed a small, hesitant smile against her fingers. His hand on her hip was gentle and warm.

They got ready for bed in silence. Flip helped with undoing the back of her dress and sliding her head and arms into her pajama shirt – her coordination not quite at peak performance.

In bed, the lights out, Flip pulled her close and wrapped her up more tightly than usual. He kissed her ear until she’d gone utterly relaxed and content. At first, she burrowed her face in close against his chest, breathing in all the comfort he offered. She luxuriated in the strength she could feel at rest in his arms – alongside the tender circling of his fingertips along her back.

Suddenly, she had more to say. She lifted up just enough to find his eyes in the dim bedroom. She stroked his hair back from his face, leaning close.

“You look like the guy I don’t bitch about cooking dinner for. Who picks me up without a single complaint when it’s the middle of the night and I’m drunk. Who can fuck real good but love even better. The guy who doesn’t think he’s noble for treating me well – it’s just what anyone should do. You look like the guy who doesn’t ask if it’s a place for whites or colors, when we go out. The guy who says my hair’s beautiful, even though you’ll never understand why it takes so long to get it done.”

She leans a little closer now, her hands coming up cup his jaw, fingers gently stroking over his beard.

“You look like the guy I trust to keep me safe. The only guy I’ve ever known where it actually makes me feel better, knowing you keep a handgun in the closet. That’s what I see, Flip - the guy who gave me what means the most. A home where I know I’ll always be safe.”

As much as it enrages him, tonight had hardly been an isolated incident. Sarah had plenty of stories of experiencing such threats – some of which Flip had witnessed firsthand. But he has no power over people’s cruelty or small-mindedness. Neither of them do. All he can do is look out for her. And the whole time, part of him had just waited until it became too much for her. Until all his skin color represents became too burdensome to keep in her life any longer.

So this – it means something to him. She doesn’t see him as a turncoat or defector from enemy lines; still hovering in her line of vision. To her, he has always been behind her own line – on her own side, in private from the rest of the world.

“Sarah, I swear I’ll always protect you. Until the day when this world is less fucked up and you don’t need it anymore.”

“Mm…. but what if I still need you?”

Flip nuzzles the top of her head, draws her in a little tighter.

“Then I’ll still be there.”

She’s half asleep, head pillowed against his chest and his arms still twined around her, when she murmurs, “Flip?”

He rumbles out, “Hm?”

“Tell me you love me.”

Truth be told, he’d been thinking it. Just nervous to say the words – as he perpetually was, no matter that it wasn’t anything near the first time.

Flip opened his eyes to press a kiss to her forehead, then three more down the side of her half-asleep face. Warmth bloomed in him at her contented sigh.

“I love you. More than I know the words for.”

She rumbled a sigh, her head nodding sleepily against his chest as her lips curled in a smile.

“Good.”

#BlacKkKlansman #Flip Zimmerman #Flip fic #Adam Driver

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cablecorvid · 4 years

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The Night I Werked For Slenderman

Ah, the early 2010s, they were really much simpler times. I spent my days doing what most emo kids in their late teens did back then- sitting cross legged in my computer chair and scrolling through Tumblr. I would absentmindedly fiddle with the laces on my checkered Van's while I read through my friends' profiles, reblogging pictures of my favorite bands, and creating posts that were oh so relatable and original, ranging from "lol XD I'm so random" to "I'm so dark and edgy, and nobody understands me" depending on how I felt that day.

It was a night just like any other, just another Wednesday evening when I should have been sleeping before school in the morning. Me being me, the angsty 18 year old guy that I was back then, I had deliberately chosen to stay up late. I was keeping with my typical Tumblr routine, just clicking on various hashtags and hoping from topic to topic, my favorite songs streaming from YouTube on a separate tab.

I had always likened myself to the Mad Hatter, but you might as well call me Alice, because that night I fell down the most life-changing rabbit hole I would ever find. This was the night I discovered the realm of the Creepypasta.

It was like a whole new world had opened up to me. I went through so many posts, each one introducing me to or teaching me about the greatest creations of classic Creepypasta- Jeff the Killer, Smile Dog, Ben Drowned, one right after the other. After several hours of scrolling and clicking and almost a whole can of Monster, I was engrossed, disturbed and intrigued. Images of so many terrifying creatures had filled my mind; I had read just about enough on this topic for one night and was planning on finding something new to look at when I told myself I'd scroll down to one last post...

That was when I saw him. The tall man in black. The crown prince of Creepypasta. The one, the only, Slenderman. He seemed so simple, and yet so unnerving. The grainy black and white photo attached to the post sent chills down my spine. I was hooked, I just had to learn more. Before I knew it, another hour had passed. The can that once held my energy drink was empty, and I wasn't going to stop reading until I was thoroughly versed on all things Slender.

I don't remember what was on before, but I took just a moment to change the song playing on YouTube. Everyone has that one guilty pleasure song that makes them want to bust a move, and I found mine right at the top of my "recommended videos" list. Now, an important side note: the 2010s were a wild mix of pop culture advancements. Alongside the rise of the Creepypasta and the Emo genre, a new dance trend had come into the limelight: the twerk. My best friend, Victoria, who ran in the "cool" circles at school, had attempted to teach me, but I hadn't ever been what you would call good at it. I turned the song on, clicking back on the Tumblr tab on my browser, and kept scrolling, dancing in my chair and singing along while I read.

Over the sound of my music, I heard a tapping noise. I thought it must be the wind or something. I ignored it until again, I heard it, a tap tap tap coming from my window, louder this time. I turned around and felt my heart drop, letting out a scream. The pale, faceless figure I had been reading about was standing outside of my house, his long black tentacles snaking out from his body and, every so often, bumping against the glass with another tap. "This can't be real!" I said to myself, stifling another scream. I turned around to turn off my music, but instead of my regular browser the page was a background of static and, to my shock, the still image of a hyperrealistic set of asscheeks, clad in black formal trousers. It looked like they could pop out of my monitor at any time.

I jumped out of my chair and ran across the room. This can't be happening, I told myself. But, in my heart I knew it had to be. I turned around and he was still there, and he was… Shaking. His menacing form blocked the moonlight, casting a long thin shadow that wobbled through my room. We stared at one another for a little while until I caught my breath. A tendril pressed at the edge of my window, trying to open it. I realized that I hadn't locked it after my last time sneaking out of the house, but it was far too late to do anything now- eventually, after, prodding and pushing, the window gave a creak as it opened and the noodly appendage slipped inside. It curled and gestured towards Slenderman, as if it was beckoning me to come forward. I don't know what possessed me to do so, but I made the decision to go outside and face him, man to man.

I made my way through the house, through the kitchen to our back entrance, hoping desperately with each step that he would be gone by the time I got out of the house. My hopes were dashed when I threw the door open and stepped out into the chilly night air. I realized then, as I laid eyes on him, what he was doing- it was something that I can’t fully describe even to this day. Slenderman, the internet legend himself, was throwing it back in a way I had never seen before, and may never see again. He turned his head slowly, menacingly, his eyeless gaze landing upon me.

No story I read could have prepared me for this encounter, for that itty bitty waist and the round thing in my face. Slenderman, they called him? I beg to differ. Those thighs, that booty? He was thicc. So very, very thicc. He stared at me, unflinching. I stared back in shock, examining the scene before me. One of tentacle-like tendrils made its way towards me, the same beckoning motion it had in my bedroom. I took a step forward. “Okay, big guy. What do you want?” I said aloud, my own courage surprising me.

Slenderman slowed to a stop, then stood straight up. His height, his stance, it shook me to my core. Then, he slowly took his former position once more, his hands on his knees, and waited, his unseeing glare seemingly peering through my very soul. “What do you want?! I already asked you.” Slenderman tilted his head quizzically. He raised his hand slowly, gesturing to me, then returned it to its place on his knee.

My eyes widened, the realization hitting me. “Do you want….. You want me to…. Join you?” I sputtered. He nodded slowly, and I paused. What was I doing? Was I really about to twerk with a being so powerful he struck fear into the hearts of anyone who saw him and could make me disappear without a trace? I told myself that if this really could be the last night of my life I might as well have fun with it. I placed my hands on my knees as he had and nodded to him. It was then that Slenderman started to twerk once more. I slowly shook my head, he slowly shook his ass. I heard the music from my computer grow louder and he really got into it. I tried my best to keep up but there was no way I could match his technique- he was just so advanced and so fluid in his movements. His hips moved in ways that no human could ever compare to, shaking what his momma or whatever unholy creature that made him gave him.

I can’t tell you how long we werked it for, but I could feel my legs growing tired. I wouldn’t dare stop until he was ready to, though I was afraid he could go on forever. I tried to follow his form, shaking it to the beat of the music, but I knew I wouldn’t last much longer. I was almost ready to admit defeat, to collapse after the vigorous dancing that I’d been doing.

My saving grace came in the form of my mother’s voice, and I spun around just as she flicked a switch and flooded the kitchen with light. “What on God’s green Earth are you doing out here, blaring your music at this time of night?!” My mother screamed at me as I put an arm up, shielding my eyes from the sudden illumination.

“It’s not what you think Mom, it’s!-” I turned to look back at Slenderman, but, to my surprise, he had vanished. Not a fleck of dirt on the ground was disturbed where he had once stood- he had completely and utterly vanished.

“I don’t want to hear any lip from you! You get back inside this instant, turn off that racket, and get yourself to bed! Do you hear me?”

“But Mo-”

“No buts!” Mom snapped, grabbing my arm and pulling me indoors. As she shut the door behind me, I thought to myself. If only she knew what I had just experienced. Maybe she would have known that “buts” were the whole reason I was out there in the first place. I promptly went to my room, turned off the music, and slept like a rock. When I woke in the morning, I questioned myself. Could it really have been real? Did that actually happen? I knew in my heart that it could be, that it was, and that it did.

It’s been years since that night. I don’t think of it all that often, but anytime I’m in the club or dancing in my room and bussin it down, I get a chill and the memories come flooding back to me. Not out of fear, no no, simply out of my mad respect for the best in the game. If there’s any lesson that I hope you take from this story, dear reader, it’s this: If you should find yourself in the presence of the creature of your nightmares, don’t throw away your dreams. Throw some ass. You may just be alright after all.

Source: The Night I Werked For Slenderman - u/SkeletonicKeys on r/Iconpasta

#slenderman #slenderverse #wtf do i tag this as #creepypasta #its almost 3am #reb please go to bed #not mine #not my work

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patricianandclerk · 5 years

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Chez Bernice Lodging House

Montparnasse, Paris

I don’t know the date, dearest, but it is some time past noon, and the lilacs are blooming splendidly. I am sure, as last I was, that the year remains 1922.

My dear and beloved Ginger,

I write to you from the desk at my lodging house, wherein I shall stay another few weeks, at least, and if not, I shall leave them with a forwarding address, that your next reply should be delivered unto me with the greatest of alacrity. How I ache for your next word, when we are gone from one another, even now – I do like Paris immensely, but her embrace is a paltry ghost of yours, my love, and I should have your arms about me once more, as soon as my work here is done.

Mr Fell and Mr Crowley are visiting here, and Mr Fell tells me when I send my letter that he’ll do his strange bit of working on the parchment of my envelope – I know not what it is he does, nor what connections he draws upon, but he has a way of ensuring no letter is opened and read, nor even looked at strangely, as it makes its way upon its journey, except by its intended recipient. Is that not strange? I think it marvellously so, but such is the way of Mr Fell, as long as it has been. He is the proprietor of that bookshop, you know the one, with those two floors, and the spiral staircase that has hanging baskets hanging from its every step, hosting such splendid, viridian plants? Strawberries grow from that stair come springtime, you know, and it is owing to Anthony’s – that is to say, Mr Crowley’s, but the spirit does rebel at calling him Mr overmuch, for one gets the sense that he is smug about such things – paternal care of the things, for he waters them and feeds them, and I thought for such a time that he spoke to them as some men do, but Mr Fells tells me that actually, he whispers to them vile threats.

Oh, I do hope you remember them, Ginger – you’ve met them in passing each twice before, but my remarks will make so little sense if you’ve forgotten them. Mr Fell – Ezra the name he gives, although his initials are A.Z. – is a portly fellow some ways shorter than me, with round cheeks and eyes that are the hue of the sea in a watercolour painting (you know, husband, what I mean, I hope? That sort of blue-green, rendered dainty by the sun?), and he has blond hair that is lank but somehow rather charming, long strands that he draws back from his face. He wears spectacles, at times, these crescent-shaped things on golden frames that do naught to encourage a youthful reading of his features, but those features are, I will assure you, most well-preserved – the only lines that show on him are the happy crinkles at his eyes, and the furrow in his brow he gets when he reads, which is, of course, very often. He keeps such wonderful hands, you know, and he has taught me all a manicurist would never. Mr Crowley is a tall fellow, gangling in an infuriatingly graceful manner, and with such a handsome face that upon meeting him, one is usually agog for a few moments before one remembers that, much as he looks as one, he isn’t an artistic exhibit – it’s quite strange, you know, for often I find myself finding in his features some curious dimple or movement of the face I have seen in a painting or a sculpture of which I am fond, and yet how his face moves, how expressionate it is! Oh, he is handsome, Ginger, but in the most uncanny way, so much so that it does rather unsettle one, if one lingers on the thought too often. He is possessed of rather too much muscle, which clings to his skinny frame as if he is packing it to smuggle, and he always wears these sunglasses, for he is possessed of a strange condition of the eye. Dark hair, always windswept, but in a somewhat dashing way.

Reading this back, I rather worry it seems I might be in love with Anthony, but you must understand he is quite unbearable, and a wreck of nerves, besides his marriage to Mr Fell, and while he is handsome, that handsomeness is strange and eldritch, in its way, as if it ought perhaps be locked away rather than cooed over, as is my usual wont.

Oh, Ginger, you do remember them, you must.

In any case, I am taken away with them in turns. They are so dreadfully in love, and it makes me pang for the want of you, so far from me, you know. I don’t believe I have ever seen a pair of souls so utterly bound up with one another, and it rather takes me away to see them: they rather treat me as if I am some beloved nephew of theirs, or perhaps a son they have recently come into possession of, although this has always been their manner with me. I rather think that this is Mr Fell’s manner with every young fellow of a certain bent, if you take my meaning, for he is a great patron of the Hyacinth and Vine, that gentlemen’s club on Portland Place, and I rather think he oft has his angel’s wings spread out for young gay fellows to gather under, as if he is an umbrella against the coming storm. He is an angel, in many a way, and so too is his husband: I cannot name a time where we came into contact and he did not bail me out of some spot of trouble, and Anthony is so cruel to policemen, he must be a saint to all with a heart in defiance of the law. I should be rather seduced by religion, if the figures were a bit more like Mr Fell and his young beau, and less with all this business with priests and sacraments and so on.

In any case, I think often on you, when I see them together.

Oh, my love, to think that we might be like that, at one time, together, bound up forever. It is in the way they treat each other, you see, in the little soft mannerisms of a life together.

I asked Mr Fell how they met, and he said to me, “Oh, well, you know, it was… We were both working, and I was guarding the door, er, I suppose I was a receptionist, or something, something like that, and Anthony, he’d done something a bit thick, you know, as is his way. And he sort of crept up to me and rather startled me, but he accosted me with the most enticing small talk – you know, dear boy, about the work, but about the weather, and about philosophy… And it was beginning to rain, so I put out my— We shared an umbrella, and you know, fiendish creature that he is, he came so much closer than he needed to.”

“Did you love him,” I asked, “even then?”

“Oh, yes,” he said, and his watery eyes seemed to sparkle with seafoam, and for a moment I fancied he was a thousand years away from me, frolicking in some place with Anthony in his arms. “Oh, yes, dear boy, I always rather did.”

Oh, they are so superbly in love with one another that it makes one most angry at them. They seem so happy, do you know? One must hate those who are so deeply happy that they find themselves quite unconcerned with the happiness of others…

I have watched Mr Fell with Anthony, and oh, how he besets upon him: he fusses over his clothes and his hair, reaches up to comb it properly, or to adjust his tie or the set of his waistcoat. Several times, I have watched him reach over to remove things from Anthony’s pockets, and use them as casually as he might use his own; he always orders the wine, for Anthony knows little about such things, and he tells Anthony the history of every bottle he touches, and Anthony looks at him with his lips parted and such devotion painted on his face, and surely in his eyes, although I could not see them to judge by. He often asks Anthony if he is too cold, although the weather here is very fine, and sometimes I believe Anthony says yes merely that Mr Fell will fuss over him, and fuss he does: he will draw off his own jacket or his scarf and set it about Anthony’s shoulders, and draw him close to embrace him, that he might share the heat of his body! I don’t know that I have ever seen a fellow cup another man’s cheek with such tenderness as Mr Fell cups Anthony’s, nor seen a man lean so gracefully into another’s palm, that he might bestow a kiss upon his wrist.

I asked Anthony how they met, and he told me, “Well, the first time, it was in this garden, and it was… You couldn’t imagine it, this garden, but it was beautiful. Verdant, luscious, with fruit heavy in the trees and flowers in a meadow on the ground, and I’d had the worst of days, the worst day that had ever been, so far – that I’d ever had, er, I mean, that I’d ever had – and I looked at him at the gate and he just looked so…” He took off his sunglasses, presently, and laid them upon his thigh, and I saw his eyes, which are so very serpentine, when one sees them like this – they are a sort of bright yellow, and the pupil has some manner of coloboma, or something like it, so that on each side they are rather like the eyes of a cat, or a snake. Now, they were misted with memory. “He’s never been handsome, you know. Not… Not like you think of it, he’s not that sort of man. Even if you put a handsome face on him, he’d make it less handsome, just by living in it, you know? But I looked at him, and I thought, oh, don’t you fit in with all this fruit, and all this grass, and all these flowers? Aren’t you a juicy, delicious thing, waiting to be plucked and eaten, and then I got closer, and I… Miles, young man—” (He often calls me young man, although I don’t know that I am so much younger than he is, and yet at times I think he is unutterably old and merely hides the evidence from his face.) “Have you ever seen a fruit on a tree, and it looked so perfect, just the right colour, with the light hitting it right, and so perfectly ripe you couldn’t bear to pull it down?”

“Oh, yes,” I said.

“He was like that,” Anthony said, and he looked so immensely happy that I nearly burst into tears.

Oh, if Mr Fell pays his court to Anthony, now, although they’ve been happily together such years, he pays it back a thousandfold. You should see the way he dotes on this fellow, pays for everything, but the way he looks at Mr Fell as if he is the world and a half, as if he is so immensely beautiful and wonderful and perfect, and he says it all!

He calls him “angel” and whispers in his ear, and brings him such gifts and presents, and kisses him and touches him, holds his hands and kisses his knuckles… He orders his meals, you know, and he eats so little, Mr Crowley, but he always orders desert for himself and only eats a bite, and then slides the rest over to Mr Fell so that he might have two, and isn’t that the most darling thing you’ve ever heard? Isn’t it so awfully lovely?

Oh, my heart is full of them, Ginger – I wish I could be similarly full of you.

Do write me soon, my dearest, my only one, for my heart longs for your handsome hand upon the page (almost as much as I long for it in my own).

Yours (and only yours, always),

Miles

#as defined by dictionary #aziraphale #crowley #miles maitland #good omens #kinda fanfic #??#fanfic

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midnightcindy · 5 years

Text

Make You Mine

WHO IS READY FOR A FUCKED-UP YANDERE! LEO SHORT? If you are uncomfortable with violence, mutilation, blood, or suggestive situations, please read one of my other fics. I have tons that don’t involve scary, possessive boyfriends with a thing for marking.

If you’re into this like me cough then PLEASE ENJOY GETTING A LITTLE SCARY WITH ME.

“Darling,” Leo called out to me.

My lips curled upward, and I spun around to see my lover already reaching for my hands. The biting October wind swirled my skirts and hair, turning my cheeks bright red. It was cold, but Leo’s arms were warm as they wrapped around me. “My love,” I said.

Leo tucked me into his chest, nestling my head under his chin. “It’s far too chilly out here for you darling,” he said, rubbing up and down my back. “Won’t you come inside?”

“But you can’t hold me like this when we are inside,” I pouted, burying my nose in the collar of his coat. “I don’t want to go back. I want to stay hidden in the gardens with you forever.”

Leo sighed. “I know,” he whispered, reaching for my face with a smooth palm. Cradling my jaw, he tilted my lips upward and met me in a slow kiss.

I whimpered. It had been nearly a week since we were able to meet in our secret place. Leo’s days were full with the upcoming Samhain celebration, and preparations had to be made. I was also busy, but it was for a much less exciting reason; Giles had packed my days with visits from possible suitors. Unfortunately, my heart had already been stolen by the man currently pressing me back against a marble pillar.

Leo’s hands settled on my hips, squeezing at my corset. His lips continued to assault my own, trailing down to my jaw, settling on my neck. He nipped at my pulse, earning a giggle.

“Leo,” I laughed. “Careful, someone will see that mark.”

“Good,” he said, voice deep and serious. “It’s time I claimed you as mine.”

My stomach twitched with nerves and excitement. “There is nothing I want more,” I breathed, as Leo pulled back to look in my eyes. I pressed our noses together, saying, “I wish I could be yours.”

“Why can’t I?” Leo seethed. “Only I can protect you, my darling. Only I can please you.” His hands roamed the front of my bodice, slipping gently beneath the buttons covering my breasts.

I bit my lip, allowing Leo to unclasp the fastenings. I gasped when my cleavage met the chilly afternoon, heart racing when Leo greeted it with small kisses.

“Only I can touch you,” he growled, tugging upward on my skirts. Softer, he added, “I’ll fucking kill anyone who tries.”

I laughed. “Leo, don’t be so dramatic.”

Leo’s eyes met mine, and the darkness there startled me. Then, his lips quirked into a smirk, and he snickered. “I’m sorry, my darling. You have no idea how… crazy you make me.”

I grinned, and pulled Leo’s hips to mine. “You have no idea how crazy I am for you, Leo.” I wrapped one leg around him, and he happily grabbed onto my thigh.

One of his hands started travelling down to the buttons at the front of his trousers, but we froze when we heard Giles calling out my name. Leo rolled his eyes, setting my leg back down on the ground. “Bastard,” he complained.

I groaned, rebuttoning my bodice and returning myself to propriety. “Sorry, my love.” I pulled Leo down by his collar and gave his lips a quick kiss. “Duty calls.”

Leo watched my back as I retreated from the maze of hedges, back toward the palace. His fists clenched angrily. “Don't let him touch you, my love. I won’t forgive you.”

I paused in my steps, half turning back to Leo. The seriousness of his voice startled me. I opened my mouth to reply, to question his tone, but he was already gone. I chewed on my lip, shaking it off.

____

Rayvis Harneit was the perfect gentleman. We sat together in the library on a sofa, discussing politics and poetry, sipping tea while we chatted. We had met a month ago, and he was the suitor who visited me most frequently. No doubt Giles believed he was the most ideal candidate, being a successful noble in Stein, with a track record that was beyond spotless. Our outings were always enjoyable, but of course I did not see him as a potential consort.

My thoughts kept drifting away to Leo’s frightening words in the garden. We had been secretly seeing each other for a matter of months, and this was the first time I had heard his voice sound so angry. I pinched my brows, mulling over his words in my head. I won’t forgive you.

“Princess?”

“Hm,” I shook away the thoughts, returning to the conversation at hand with a smile. “I apologize Duke Harneit. I am afraid I did not rest well last night,” I lied.

“You must forgive me then, Your Highness,” Rayvis replied kindly. “I should have taken better note of your state. I can take my leave early if you like.”

I shook my head. “Please, do not feel the need to rush. Our conversation has been pleasant as always.” I gave him a weak smile. If Giles found out that I had sent him away, I would never hear the end of it. Best to grin and bear it for now, I figured.

Rayvis smiled, a surprisingly dashing expression. “Your company has been the highlight of my day, Princess.”

I hadn’t noticed Rayvis moving closer until it was too late. I was turned away, fiddling with my tea, and by the time I turned back, our noses were almost touching. “Duke Harneit!”

“You will also have to forgive my boldness, Princess,” he said, swallowing thickly. “I am thrilled to have this moment alone with you. Over these past weeks, I have grown very fond of you.”

I blushed furiously, turning my head away. Oh no, I thought. This is going to be uncomfortable.

Rayvis must have seen my reddened cheeks as an invitation, and his hand found its way to the side of my neck. He turned my face back toward him with his thumb, and my eyes widened. He was smiling, his eyes hazy and utterly lovestruck.

“Duke Harneit,” I said, shaking my head away. “I- I’m sorry…”

His hand fell, as did his expression. “You are right, this is not the proper way to express my feelings to you. I apologize for making you uncomfortable, Princess.”

I sighed, feeling truly bad for him. “Rayvis,” I said his name, sweetly. “I did not lie when I said I enjoy your company. I simply…” I trailed off, unable to reject him.

“Your heart belongs to another, does it not?” Rayvis guessed, a defeated smile on his face.

My shoulders slumped. “It does,” I conceded.

Nodding, Rayvis stood. “I understand, Your Highness. Thank you for your honesty.”

I also stood, meeting his eyes. “And thank you for yours, Your Grace. I am sorry to have wasted your time.”

“No,” Rayvis said, bowing to take my hand. “Any time spent in your presence is hardly a waste, Your Highness.” Then, he kissed my hand, and left me there with two cups of rapidly cooling tea, and a guilty heart.

___

That evening, I held a blanket close around my shoulders, watching the full moon rise. I didn’t know why I was so saddened by Rayvis’ departure. It’s not as if I truly wanted him to be my Prince Consort; I only wanted Leo. It was really the saddened look on his face when I rejected him that I couldn’t shake. I didn’t expect anyone to actually develop feelings for me under the pressure and stiff propriety of royal outings. It was difficult for me to be myself under those circumstances, yet it seemed that Rayvis had fallen for the modesty and prudishness I showed with him.

I almost laughed, thinking about how Leo had seen me. Wild hair flying while running through the gardens. Loud drunken laughter as we shared brandy kisses in the privacy of his chambers. My legs thrown around his head and the lewd noises that he could drag out of me with just his tongue. I shivered, wondering where he was this evening.

As if reading my thoughts, my door slowly creaked open. “Darling,” said a voice.

I smiled into the darkness. “My love? Is that you?”

Leo stepped to the edge of the ring of light coming from the balcony doors. “Yes, my darling. I have been dying to visit you.”

I walked closer, confused as to why Leo wasn’t joining me, reaching for my hands like he usually did. “Leo, come here. I have missed you.”

“Have you?” His voice was angry again, a darkness lilting in his tone.

I tilted my head. “Leo, what’s wrong? I don’t understand…” That was when I smelled it. A strange metallic twinge in the air. A dirty stink, like death.

Leo walked closer, and I squinted in the darkness to see his clothes. The smell got stronger as he approached me. “I warned you,” he said, voice strained. “How could you?”

I shook my head, staring at the dark spots staining his white shirt. I thought he was wearing gloves, but as the skin shimmered in the moonlight, I realized they were covered in a thick muck. My mind wouldn’t let me linger on what it could be, even though I knew. Blood.

“Leo,” I said, backing away, “Leo what happened to you?”

Tears filled his voice. “I told you I wouldn’t forgive you… How could you let him touch you like that?”

I shook my head. “Leo, calm down. I am confused.”

“Don’t lie to me!” Leo screamed, suddenly grasping onto my shoulders and hovering over my face. The stench of blood filled my senses. “I saw you together in the library!”

“Rayvis,” I said, knowingly. “Leo… where is Rayvis?”

“Why do you care about him,” Leo spat onto my face, tears filling his eyes. “Why would you let him so close to you?”

“Leo, I rejected his feelings!” I shrieked. “Dear God, Leo, did you hurt him?!”

Leo’s face softened, and he almost smiled, eyes brightening as if we were still chatting in the gardens midday. “You… You did?”

I gasped, trying to push away from him. “Answer me, Leo!”

“Oh, my darling, I am so sorry for doubting you,” Leo said warmly as he grinned, pulling me in tight for a hug. He sounded so relieved.

I tried desperately to yank away from his hold, but it was strong. I could feel the stickiness and warmth of Leo’s hands digging into my back through my thin gown.

“But I did tell you,” he continued, pressing a kiss to my ear as he whispered, “not to let him touch you. I am afraid I can’t let that go.”

I began to cry, my heart racing out of my chest as I squirmed. “Leo, you… you didn’t…”

“Don’t worry, darling. He won’t touch you again. I am here now.” Leo shushed me, as if my tears were caused by anyone other than him.

“Leo, please, don’t…” My body felt weak in his hold. I was paralyzed with fear; my body didn’t know how to react.

“My love, let me make it better,” he said, pressing my face between his dirty palms and kissing me passionately.

The kiss felt so strange. I knew these lips, and had felt pleasure from them many times. But now, they were cold and clammy, and made me feel hollow inside. I finally shoved myself away from him, and ran toward the balcony. I wasn’t thinking, I only knew I had to run. When I reached the railing, I wanted to scream into the night. I wanted to call for help, to let the guards know what was happening. But when I opened my mouth, nothing came out but a choked sob.

“Daaaarling,” sang Leo’s voice, twisted and alien. “What a wonderful idea!” Coming up behind me, Leo caged me against the railing, his breath hot on the back of my neck. “You said you wanted everyone to know you are mine. This is the perfect place to show them.”

I shivered, hating the way my core sparked at the feeling of his already hard cock pressing into my ass. I looked down, seeing Leo’s bloodstained fingers pulling at my nightgown strings. His hands found their way beneath the thin fabric, squeezing my breast and sliding upward around my neck. I gasped when Leo pressed a kiss to my cheek.

“Tonight, I’ll give you exactly what you deserve. I’ll make you mine, mark you just as you asked.” He pulled up at my gown, exposing my backside.

I was in a daze. My heart was racing in fear, my brain still unable to comprehend what was happening. Until I felt Leo bit down onto my neck, specifically, the exact space where Rayvis had touched me. This was no love bite; it was carnal, hostile. I felt my blood running down my shoulder from the wound. I could tell that Leo had no intention of treating me gently when he “marked” me. This was mutilation, meant to be ragged and animalistic. This was my punishment, and I snapped. I started to scream, crying for help.

Leo’s hand was over my mouth in an instant, and he dragged me back inside. I could taste the blood on his hands coating my lips. He let go of my neck, and spat, “Darling, don’t be too loud. I know you love me, but there’s no reason to ruin the fun early.”

“How could I love you?” I shrieked, squirming away from his arms and pressing a hand to my wounded neck. The pain was unbearable, my neck throbbing and bleeding profusely. “You murdered Rayvis! You’re covered in his blood!”

Then, Leo laughed. The sound was eerie, not at all the rich sound that I knew and loved. “Murdered? No, darling. He’s not dead yet.”

“Then… what did you do,” I dared to ask, head spinning from the pain.

Leo smiled, eyes flat and lifeless. “He shouldn't have touched you,” he replied, as if it was simply a matter of fact. “He didn’t deserve to keep those hands.”

My stomach heaved at the ease with which Leo said those words. I softly cried, “Help,” but the word wouldn’t form into a solid entity, and came out as a hoarse whisper.

Leo stepped closer, “I can help, my darling.”

“H-help,” I tried again, but only choked.

“Shh,” Leo hushed. “This will be over soon. Your punishment won’t take as long as the duke’s did.”

My back hit the wall next to my bed, and I crumpled to the floor. I felt dizzy, my hand hot with my own blood as I tried to stop it. It felt weak, and fell loosely to my lap. Help.

Leo only grinned, my blood smearing his lips. “You’re finally all mine, darling.”

#leo crawford #midnight cinderella #rayvis harneit #yandere #drabble #short #fic #fanfiction #midnightcindy #cindy writes for yall #yandere!Leo #poor ray #sorry guys #we still stan

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