#tgs fic

[bansheeoftheforest]

Would you believe me? [Ghost Au]

This is officially my 20th fic! Of course I had to celebrate with some hopefully humourous Ghost Au :) Originally I envisioned this as a first part of a series of different au oneshots, all with the basis of "no one believes Henry" but now I'm not quite sure if there will actually be something out of that. Regardless, I hope yall enjoy <3 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wordcount: 5807

Summary: Dr. Henry Jekyll meets an unfortunate end after escaping the sewers. Too bad not many seem keen to believe his little predicament.

CW: Gore (I consider it to be quite light/nondescriptive but just in case!)

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So... This is how it all ended.

  He stared at the mangled thing that used to be his body. He stared at the cracked skull, the blood that had already stopped seeping, and the dirt and mud which had further sullied the appearance he had so often sought pride in. You could barely see the green vibrancy of the waistcoat, or the rugged shape of the cape which had gotten stuck and torn by the carriage wheel. To think that this had once been a human being- once had been him- to think that this once had been Hyde, just moments ago, desperately attempting to escape through the sewers... But not anymore. There was no life behind those crushed eyes, no air within those lungs, no blood within that heart. 

  And yet, here he was. 

  Still conscious. Still watching.

  He did not look like the man on the ground, the one who would now be reduced to nothing but mere maggots and dirt. No, around his waist was his normally red- albeit slightly paler- waistcoat. Around his neck was his cravat. He was not the corpse in the too-short clothing or even the familiar younger, blonder man, no, he was the man he had always been. 

  He was Henry Jekyll. 

  Huh.... How strange. 

  He had not really expected any of this. Truly, it was almost cruel. To have fought so hard for survival, for dominance over the mind and body he shared, and yet it didn’t matter, now it was all gone, and so was Hyde. 

  ‘Well,’ he thought, ‘how unfortunate.’

  But it was over, now. He knew that it was. Perhaps he should be glad- after all, his soul seemed to be whole once again, if it ever had been. But that did not change that his life- his own, unhappy, miserably comedic life- was now over. No last wishes, no last actions, no goodbyes- it was just... Gone. Just like that. Taken just like that, by accident, not even deserving of an active attempt of someone who truly wished him dead, no, all there had been to it was the exhaustion, the weary eyes, the seemingly empty road and a speeding carriage... The coach, in panic, attempting to wake him, and as he had died in his arms, he had decided that this stranger was not deserving of a funeral, of justice, and had dragged him into an alleyway, before escaping the scene of the crime, into the everlasting night. 

  He had not even screamed. He had gone quietly, gone along with his lot in life, like he always had. 

  Oh well, how unfortunate indeed. 

  At least, he was quite sure that he was gone, now. 

  He looked pretty solid. Perhaps a bit worse for wear, a bit ruffled- perhaps, if someone looked a bit too long, they would see right through him, metaphorically and literally. Perhaps they would see the way his limbs could not grab ahold of anything solid, the way it melted into the bricks of the building he had attempted to brace himself against, as he had moved away from the tether of the body. Or perhaps the darkness of the night would hide it, disguise it, conceal the death and become the new corpse he inhabited, until the break of dawn, where the sun would shine right through him without warming up his cold body. Or perhaps he would not be seen at all. Perhaps he was stuck, now. Not even deserving of purgatory. Of neither Hell nor Heaven. He could not blame God, of course, if there was one. But at least an eternal punishment in hell would be better than an eternity of unrecognition, a limbo of observation as the world moved on without him. 

  So, what now, doctor? 

  Well, perhaps he did not have to stay and stare at his corpse all night. But... What else? 

  He squinted. He was dead, now, so what could he possibly do? Wait for his cadaver to be found, walk around London’s endless streets? Attempt to gain contact, try to go home? Nothing seemed appealing- or possible, for that matter- but he was a scientist, was he not? Was the impossible really that unreachable?

  He took in the sight of himself and his sorry state one last time. Then, he turned on his heel, and walked out of the alleyway, following the traces of blood, a trail of a body and the footsteps. Perhaps it would not have been so unusual in the grimy streets of London, where butchers threw remains as they pleased, but perhaps the hand sticking out from behind the boxes would get someone to realise what had happened. 

  Or perhaps the maggots would be faster. 

  He walked down the streets. His steps felt easy, like a weight had disappeared from his shoulders, which it quite literally had. All that was left of him was, of course, those seven grams. It was a funny feeling, having the wind breeze right through you, but it wasn’t unpleasant or unwelcome, it was freeing, like a cold glass of water in the middle of the night, or a breath of fresh air after weeks in the industrialised London Districts. Who could have known how limiting the physical body could be? He knew, oh, he knew- he would grieve. He would grieve the air which no longer stayed within his lungs, he would grieve the silent pulse of the heart he no longer had, he would grieve every laugh line, smile line, grey hair, wrinkle and blemish which would no longer grace his skin, a testament of his time on this earth. He would grieve the life he used to live, he would grieve the man he used to be, he would grieve the life which had been ripped out of his hands and he would grieve everything he had never achieved. He would grieve, oh, he would grieve, but now, nothing mattered. After all, he was nothing but a corpse, now. He was nothing but another memory, another corpse for the cemetery and another pile of food for the maggots.  

  He tried to touch every street lamp, every wall he walked past, tried to feel the cool touch as his fingertips went through the metal and bricks, as his new form took shape and hold and as his conscience stayed within his very soul. But his little walk, his little dance among the cobblestone paths was soon at its halt. 

  He was not at the Society, no, instead his little odyssey had led him towards a more discreet building- or perhaps discreet was a bad word. More humble than the bombastic residence of science that so many called home, he now stood before the Scotland Yard Police Station. 

  It looked abandoned, yet he knew it was not. It was not like crime stopped at night, no, and some lights were still lit. Through the windows, he saw the main office, where Sergeant Enoch Brokenshire currently resided. The closest he could ever get to a policeman who trusted him. 

  He did not bother to open the doors. He slid right through them, and luckily for him, no constables were lingering in the dark hallways. He doubted they would have seen him- but if they had, they surely would have gotten quite the midnight scare. The thought almost got him to laugh. 

  He arrived in front of the door, neatly and simplistically labelled “Sergeant Enoch Brokenshire”. He raised his hand to knock, attempted to make contact with the wood, and only realised his little problem as his hand simply went through- not deeply, mind you, but enough to get him to sigh. Instead, he attempted to call out.

  “Sergeant? Sergeant Brokenshire?”

  His voice- he heard it, but it sounded... Quiet, airy, like a loud whisper to the wind rather than the steady, unshakable voice of Dr. Henry Jekyll. Perhaps that was because he simply did not have a voice box, who knew? But he heard shuffling behind the door, footsteps, soon the door swung open, and he was face to face with the man in question. 

  The Sergeant- weary, tired, having been awake and working for multiple more hours than he should- had to take a moment to recognise the man in front of him, Dr. Henry Jekyll, a man normally tall and proud, now dishevelled. He squinted. Was there something wrong with the doctor?

  “Dr. Jekyll?” he finally spoke, “why on earth are you awake at this hour?” 

  Something within Jekyll seemed to light up, a spark of hope at being seen, of being recognised, of being heard and understood- but Brokenshire did not know that, of course, he might not even have noticed, what with the overtime looming heavy over his head. Yet he moved, away from the doorframe, back into the office, inviting the doctor to follow him. Jekyll did so, despite the others' confused look as he left the door open.

  “Well, Sergeant, you see, I seem to have run into a bit of a problem”. 

  He did not take a seat- as the seat, most likely, could not be taken- and instead stood close to the corridor, as if on the move. The room was dark, only lit by a single, lone candle upon the Sergeant’s desk. It did not take long for Jekyll’s nonexistent brain to piece together that the other seemed to be in the “migraine” stage of his overworking, a symptom which the doctor had been all too familiar with in the life he once had. Perhaps that's why the Sergeant did not manage to look closer, to notice a certain unfamiliarity, something wrong. Yet the furrow in his brow only deepened as the doctor spoke.

  “What’s the matter, Doctor?” 

  He thought it over, for a moment, attempting to find a way to explain.

  “Well, Sergeant,” he started, “would you believe me if I told you that I was just run over by a carriage, and that my soul may be slightly detached from my body?”

  “... what?”

  “So that’s a no, then.” 

  The doctor shrugged, a bit to himself, as the cogs in the Sergeant’s brain turned and turned. 

  “Well then, Sergeant, I think you best come with me, and I will explain when we are there.”

  The Sergeant blinked.

  “What? I’m sorry- what is going on?” 

  Jekyll did not respond, he simply turned around and walked out of the room again. He barely let the Sergeant grab his hat and coat, as he tried to catch up. 

  “Dr. Jekyll- what on earth is going on?” 

  “I think you will understand once we are there, sir.” 

  He slowed down slightly, just enough for Brokenshire to get to the entrance door first, masking the fact that he could not open them himself. Perhaps Brokenshire did notice it, perhaps he did notice the soft glow which seemed to follow the doctor, the lightness in his steps and his speed, but perhaps the late night was enough to make him question himself, rather than the state of the doctor.

  They continued onwards. They did not speak. Jekyll felt as if pulled, or perhaps called, towards the cadaver which was currently rotting away in that fated alleyway, and Brokenshire had no choice but to follow. The officer couldn't help but wonder if this was all some sort of joke, or a trick by God, but if something truly had happened, what manner of man would he be if he simply ignored the doctor? No, perhaps he had no choice. And so he followed, down the streets, past the crossings, through the back alleys and various grimy shortcuts the doctor seemed to know. They continued onwards, yet they did not speak.

  Suddenly, as they continued down the avenue, Jekyll stopped them. He put an arm out to keep the man behind him from continuing, a completely useless gesture as the Sergeant would have simply gone right through him, but it worked regardless. They turned towards the alleyway. Jekyll stared right into it for a moment, Brokenshire tried so as well, but could not see anything. Perhaps that’s when he noticed the dark, crimson trails upon the cobbled ground. 

  “Dr. Jekyll-” 

  “Come, in here.” 

  Jekyll continued inwards, slower than his steady pace here had been. Brokenshire- alone in the dark, with nothing but a gentleman and his baton- could not help but feel a bit nervous. The doctor continued and then stopped behind a few old boxes, rotten and with faded labels .

  “Here we are, Sergeant.”

  Brokenshire continued forward. Slowly, the subject of this odyssey came into view- first the hand, crushed and bloodied. Then the arm, twisted and broken. Soon the head, turned against the ground with large portions dented and missing. A freezing cold sensation washed over him, a horror slowly dawning, as he realised the sight before him.

  “Oh god-” 

  He felt sick, sick to the very core of his body, and yet Dr. Jekyll just stood there, emotionless. 

  “Turn it over for me, will you?” the doctor suddenly spoke, breaking the Sergeant out of his shock… Slightly.

  “I- What?” 

  “Turn the corpse over.” 

  Brokenshire just stared at Jekyll for a moment, trying to process what he was asking. Finally, he kneeled down next to the cadaver, took out his baton and carefully nudged it, until the face became fully visible.

  The face of Dr. Henry Jekyll. Slack-jawed, eyes half-lidded, nose broken, eyes crushed, teeth knocked out. The Sergeant jumped back, eyes wide and stare evident- this- this could not be, could it? This could not be Henry Jekyll- no- no of course not- Dr. Henry Jekyll stood right in front of him-

  “I was run over.” 

  The Sergeant blinked. Jekyll continued.

  “A carriage- could not necessarily see who it was, but I suspect he did not properly see me in the dark. When he realised what he had done, he panicked, and dumped me here.” 

  He said it all so casually, like it did not matter to him, like he just expected Brokenshire to understand what he was telling him. It was incomprehensible, truly. 

  “...What?” 

  Jekyll had to keep himself from rolling his eyes. 

  “I’m dead, Sergeant. Killed. Murdered, even. I am showing you my corpse.” 

  Yes, Brokeshire was definitely hallucinating, he was sure of that. 

  “Sergeant, are you listening to me?” 

  He was definitely not listening to him, way too busy staring at the mangled dismemberment that used to be Dr. Jekyll. 

  “This… This can’t be…” Was all the copper managed to get out. Jekyll actually did roll his eyes now.

  “I knew you wouldn’t believe me. Dear God, man, pull yourself together.”

  “I pull myself together?! You- you’re the one claiming to be dead!”

  The doctor groaned, frustration evident. 

  “Alright, listen; go home, get some sleep, whatever you wish- then come back, see the corpse in broad daylight, and realise that I was trying to tell you the truth, alright?” 

  He thought about it for a moment- he was sure that this was all some sort of fever dream, a hallucination, a trick of the light- but really- what could he do? If it was real, should he just leave the corpse here? In the alleyway? For anyone to find? 

  “Alright,” he said, “good evening, Dr. Jekyll.”

  And with that, the Sergeant spun around, ignored his own confused thoughts telling him to stay and figure out what was going on, and left the alleyway. 

  Dr. Jekyll grumbled.

  “Typical.”

  What now, Doctor? 

  Well, he couldn’t say that he was particularly keen on staying out on the street all night, ghost or not. He was not sure what time it was, the night might be eternal for all he knew, and so, he once more took one last look at his body, before he left as well.

  This time, he made his way towards the Society, not much further than the police station had been. He felt a tinge of melancholy, yet nostalgia as he watched his proud building come into view. His home, which no longer would be as such. He could not help but wonder what would become of him now; an eternal wanderer? Or perhaps a simple restless soul, bound to his corpse, or perhaps the life he had once lived? Would he be free once his body was buried, would he descend into Hell like he had resigned himself to? He did not know, for the moment he did not care, so as he stood in front of the portico of the building that had once been his pride and joy, he spared no thought as he silently walked straight through the doors.

  He could go to his office, although he had nothing to do there. After all, he could not touch anything, so what would he do? Stare at the uncorked wine bottle, the open window which Hyde had escaped through? Ha, no, he had to make himself known somehow. Perhaps he could find a Lodger, tell them about his little problem, hope they would believe him more than Brokenshire. Or perhaps he could simply act as normal, perhaps they would not notice that something was deeply, awfully wrong with him. Or perhaps they would, perhaps they would not care. He couldn’t say that he did. 

  “Oh, my- Dr. J! Why on earth are you awake this late?” 

  Rachel, of course. It must be early morning by now, although the night was still abysmal and everdark, so it should come to no surprise that she was awake by now. Then again, he was well aware as to why she looked to be in such a worse state than usual; her cheeks seemed red and puffy, and the bags under her eyes were severely darker. Yet she smiled, as if nothing was wrong. She was carrying baking sheets, presumably having raided Doddle’s room for her own supplies which he had stolen, seemingly needing to get her mind off of the previous night as fast as possible. 

  “Would you believe me if I told you I was run over?” 

  Perhaps not too different from Brokenshire, Rachel did not seem to realise that he was telling the genuine truth. Instead, she just laughed softly. Either she did not believe him, or her mentally exhausted mind could not grasp it just yet. 

  “Well, you certainly look worse for wear!” She said, as if she was not aware of her own state, “Did you even get any sleep? Was the banquet that fun?” 

  Ugh. 

  “Sure.” 

  “Well, I’m glad you are back home! Give me a few minutes and I will get you something to snack on, alright?”

  “Rachel, I can’t eat.”

  “Oh, nonsense! Not with all the alcohol Robert must have gotten you to consume- now, tut tut!”

  And with that, she continued onwards. Well. At least he tried. 

  With Rachel gone, he continued upwards. Perhaps a Lodger was awake, he frankly doubted any of them would believe him, or perhaps they were smarter than Rachel and Brokenshire- but regardless, he wanted something to do before Brokenshire would start his morning shift and hopefully return to the cadaver. He knew that some Lodgers most likely attended the now-raided bazaar, and could potentially be back and awake by now, as he doubted any of them had gotten caught. He also knew certain Lodgers were quite the night owls, perhaps the reason for why so many of them often did not show up until late afternoon the day afterwards, so he had quite a nice chance to find someone to pass time with-

  His thoughts were quickly interrupted by a loud ‘BANG’ from one of the laboratories. 

  Good God...

  Despite being dead, and therefore not really being responsible for the Lodgers anymore, Jekyll let his instincts and his curiosity get the better of him. His near-floating footsteps hurried towards the lab where the noise had been heard. Helsby’s lab, of course. 

  The door was locked, typical. No sense of lab safety. Jekyll just rolled his eyes and went straight through it. 

  Inside, the room was clearly lit. Turns out the loud “bang” he had heard was caused by Helsby’s pet kraken having knocked over its own ‘sleeping’ tank- which seemed to not have shattered, but had spilt water and all the different aquatic paraphernalia which had resided within it. The kraken moved like a kicked dog from the scene of the crime, while Helsby- wide awake and frantic- tried to figure out how to solve the problem. It did not take long until a dishevelled Bryson ran in, still trying to button on a shirt as to not be totally immodest. His eyes seemed to scan the scene, yet his attention was quickly caught by Dr. Jekyll, still standing indifferently by the doorway.

  “Oh- Dr. Jekyll-” Bryson stopped, and blinked. Helsby turned his attention from his labmate and to the aforementioned doctor, “How did you get in? The door should be locked.”

  “I’m dead.”

  Helsby sneered.

  “Don’t be dramatic, it isn’t that bad- Nicholas- Help me lift, please!” 

  How two men of their stature could lift a tank of that size was beyond Jekyll, yet he simply watched as they managed to get it back up. At this point he was glad that the floor was made out of stone and marble, otherwise convinced that it would already have begun to rot and mould by this point. 

  The two men panted heavily as they rested against the now upright tank, already dreading actually having to clean up the waste. Jekyll simply remained by his spot at the door, watching. The kraken cowered away from him. 

  “Could’ve at least offered a hand, Doc.” Helsby continued, “or are you scared to ruin your pretty little suit?”

  Jekyll continued to stare blankly, then stuck his entire arm through the still-closed door. 

  “So what, some potion of yours backfired? Big deal. Now, please get out.” 

  He could almost guess that Helsby wasn’t in a particularly nice mood. Oh well. He shrugged and walked straight through the door. Seemed like he would have to find another way to spend the last few hours until morning. 

  He continued to walk around aimlessly. As usual, he did not to bring any more attention to himself, perhaps because no one seemed to be around. Despite that, he had a sort of… Gnawing. Like he wanted to do something- slam a door, flicker with a light, break something… He knew that he did not get a sudden cat-like need for mischief simply because he was now a ghost, but he also knew that, since he was newly noncorporeal, it would take quite a while before he could actually manipulate objects. At least he knew that he should be able to do so, eventually. It seemed like listening to Maijabi paid off. So, really, he did not have much more to do than to find someone that could keep him company.

  It did not take long until he found his way to the alchemical laboratory, in which Ito was currently the only resident. Speaking of the Devil, his apprentice seemed to currently be working on something in the lab, as he heard movement inside. This time, the door was unlocked, but that did not really help him as, once more, he could not open doors. He quickly decided to simply glide through it instead, in hopes that his apprentice could entertain him for the remainder of the night. 

  Ito was, as expected, turned away from the door, slightly hunched over one of the tables and seemingly quite concentrated on the task at hand. He did not make any noise, but he doubted that she would have heard him regardless. He moved closer, until he was practically looking over her shoulder. Ah, that’s the problem; she was trying to decipher his own horrible handwriting on some notes he had previously given her. 

  Virginia stopped, seemingly feeling a light sensation by her side, turned towards said direction, and then proceeded to jump away and let out a small scream. 

  “OH- God- Dr. Jekyll- I’m sorry, you scared me- I- what on earth are you doing in here at this hour?” 

  Jekyll smiled gently. 

  “I was bored, and noticed that you were awake.” He replied, more matter-of-factly than he normally was. Ito- still trying to catch her breath- took a moment to process his words. He guessed she had been awake longer than she should. 

“I... Okay, alright.” She attempted to straighten her dress and her hair, which were more messily put up than usual. “I was just trying to follow your notes on-” 

  The door opened. 

  They turned, and by the doorway stood none other than Dr. Maijabi, their resident ectoplasmic pathologist. He looked surprisingly well-put together for this hour of the night- or perhaps morning. 

  “I’m sorry, I happened to walk past when I heard Virginia scream, is everything alright?”

  Virginia began to blush, embarrassed. Yet she attempted to explain the very simple situation- although she quickly noticed that Maijabi’s eyes were fixed on Dr. Jekyll, who stared back, as if he was challenging him. Virginia looked between them, confused.

  Finally, Maijabi moved the eyepatch. His paler spirit eye was now focused on the younger doctor. 

  “Henry,” he said, calmly, “Why are you dead?” 

  Virginia blinked. Had she really heard him right?

  Jekyll just shrugged. 

  “Carriage.” 

  Maijabi looked at him for a second, then nodded. 

  “Understandable, then.” 

  Jekyll grinned.

  Finally, Virginia seemed to process the conversation that had happened right in front of her. 

  “.... What?” 

  The two men looked at her, perhaps as if they had forgotten that she was right there. Maijabi simply closed the door behind him and moved towards the two of them.

  “Henry is dead”, he said, “what we are seeing of him now is nothing but his spectre, a ghost.” 

  “No-” she said, “no- that cannot be-” she turned to Jekyll, and looked at him- the ceiling light was turned on, the only obstacle to the truth was her own exhaustion. She stared at him, examined him. Finally, an expression of utter heartbreak graced her face. “Oh- Henry- Why did you not tell me?” 

  “Well, I did not get a chance to. Also, I did not think you’d believe me. I mean- I tried to tell Brokenshire, Rachel, Helsby and Bryson- neither of them believed me, so...” He shrugged, like it was the least bothersome thing in the world. “I mean, I kind of expected it.” 

  “I would have believed you!” she blurted out.

  “Would you?” 

  She hesitated. She tried to reach out, tried to touch him, but let her hand recoil as it simply went straight through her mentor’s shoulder. She did not believe it now, either. It was late, she had been awake for God knows how long- perhaps this was all just a very bad dream she would soon wake up from... She was brought out from her thoughts by Maijabi, who had pulled out a chair, and attempted to get her to sit down. She complied quite easily. 

  Henry decided to try to explain the situation to his two favourite Lodgers- of course not mentioning anything regarding the scuffle with Hyde, the meeting with Queen Lucy, nothing of such- simply that he had found himself out late at night and had gotten run over by a stray carriage. Quite unbelievable, the streets of London were neither that dark nor crowded so late at night, but it was, in synopsis, what had happened. If he was lucky, no one but the coppers and the morticians would get to see his corpse and the clothes he wore, so there was no need to explain anything else, and especially so when Hyde seemed to be... Gone? 

  Virginia did not seem to grasp how nonchalant Henry was about all of this- after all, what was he supposed to do? Cry, scream, or perhaps beg God for a second chance? Ha! God is just as dead as he and even if He wasn’t, he would not care. All Dr. Jekyll could do was to accept the state he now was in. After all, he had an eternity to grieve, he did not need to do that now. Maijabi seemed to understand his stance quite better, even if he did not seem particularly happy over the noncorporeal state of someone he once- still did- consider as his own son. 

  ...

  They tried to converse, but quickly fell silent. Time passed, and dawn began to break. Neither of them were quite sure how long it had been, after all, two of them had the inevitable fog of night clouding their brains and the third would no longer be able to understand the concept of time at all. But dawn broke, and Sergeant Brokenshire should be here soon. Perhaps to try to meet the doctor, try to convince himself that the supposed dream he had was just that; nothing more but a dream, or perhaps to inform the Lodgers of the find in the alley. Or perhaps he would still not believe him, and Jekyll would be forced to find him again, and attempt to convince him of the truth. 

  Virginia had, at some point, fallen asleep against the table. Maijabi and Jekyll did not say much, after all, what was there to say? It wasn’t like either could console the other, offer condolences, grieve- it was simply a new matter of existence which they both now had to get used to. Maijabi had eventually offered to go and make tea, but had quickly realised that Jekyll could neither hold nor drink yet, although the man himself found that blunder quite funny. 

  Finally, by the time the grandfather clock in the alchemical laboratory read five in the morning, there was a knock on the door, startling Ito awake from her slumber. In came Rachel, looking weary. 

  “Dr. Jekyll? Sergeant Brokenshire is in the southern foyer, looking for you.” 

  She seemed hesitant, worried, nervous- Jekyll could not help but grin. Perhaps not at her emotions, but more or less over what might soon take place upon the stage that was their Society. He followed her immediately, Maijabi and Ito following close behind. 

  As they arrived in the southern foyer- or more colloquially, the back entrance, they noticed a handful of Lodgers already gathering, the few early-birds the Society had, or some which might have gotten woken up by the commotion. They stood wearily by the balustrade which looked down upon the foyer, a similar scene to the arrival of Frankenstein and Moreau. Down the staircase stood Brokenshire, a few constables which Jekyll recognised, and a single stretcher with something covered by a white sheet. 

  Jekyll’s grin stretched further. 

  Rachel seemed to get even more nervous by the sight, perhaps Brokenshire had not quite packed up by the time he had asked her to find the Doctor. Henry couldn’t help but wonder about the state of the Sergeant’s mind right now- did he believe what had happened the night before, and knew that the Doctor’s spirit was still not-quite-alive and well? Or did he perhaps hope that Rachel would have found the actual doctor, to prove that whoever now laid upon the stretcher was nothing more but a coincidence or a doppelgänger? Had he asked her just to see if there would have been a doctor to be found? Had he even asked, or was that simply what Rachel said, having panicked at the sight of the Scotland Yard? 

  Well, whatever it was, as Dr. Henry Jekyll and his entourage descended down the stairs, Sergeant Brokenshire turned even more pale. He opened his mouth, as if trying to speak, yet only a slight stutter came out. 

  “My dear Sergeant!” Henry cut in instead, “You did well and listened last night, I presume?” 

  He came close, very close. Maijabi, Ito and Rachel stayed by the staircase. Henry’s hand ghosted over what used to be his own leg, covered under the sheet. 

  “I- Yes, Doctor.” 

  Oh, this was going to be fun. 

  If he turned around, perhaps he’d see distraught expressions upon the faces of Maijabi and Ito. If he turned around, perhaps he’d see the overwhelming anxiety dawning upon Rachel, a fear that the body upon the stretcher was her own Edward Hyde. If he turned around, perhaps he’d see the confused and perplexed faces of the rest of the conscious Lodgers. But he did not turn around, no, he simply gave the Sergeant one of those brilliant smiles he had trained into perfection. 

  “Sergeant,” he said, “would you be a dear and remove the sheet?” 

  “You- I- I mean- are you sure?” 

This was not necessarily standard protocol. Then again, it was not necessarily standard protocol for the Scotland Yard to drag a corpse to its place of work instead of straight to a coroner. 

  “You heard me.” 

  Brokenshire looked back at his constables, who looked as weirded out by the request as he was. Finally, the Sergeant took a deep breath, grabbed the end of the sheet which faced the back entrance door, and pulled it off. 

  A hush fell over the room.

  Indeed, the corpse of Dr. Henry Jekyll laid now in full display. The broken skull, crushed facial features, dirtied hair, broken bones, limbs stiff to their very peak, green waistcoat and ragged cape. 

  The ghost of Dr. Henry Jekyll was, however, too busy examining himself to look around at the horrified faces. 

  His hands rested- perhaps more figuratively than literally- against his waist as he leaned over, inspecting himself. Soon one of his hands came up, placing his index and thumb against his chin.

  “Oh my- whoever positioned me did excellent work! You would barely be able to notice the way I laid in before- especially with the rigour mortis!” 

  He laughed, so lightheartedly, like it was a funny little anecdote. 

  Brokenshire had often said that the doctor could be quite scary when he wanted to be. He now realised that he had severely underestimated how scary he could be when he was seemingly not even trying.

  Henry could not help but to wish that Lanyon would walk right in now and see the sight before them. 

  Finally, he turned around, back towards the crowd. It was almost laughable- their expressions of pure horror, pure terror, pure disgust, pure disbelief. Perhaps it was a bit unfair for him to laugh at them, but then again, it was a bit unfair that he was dead. Still, he smiled, and faced his dear Lodgers. His dear Lodgers, who might now question the demise of their leader. His dear Lodgers, who might question the clothes upon his beaten body. 

  His dear Lodgers, staring down at him from the balustrade.

  Yet his smile never faded, oh, no- the answers would come later, but for now, they had to believe him.

  “What?” He finally said, “You all look like you’ve seen a ghost.” 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[ireallyliketalldarksultrymen]

*clears throat*

‘ello, TGS nation!! are you a fan of jekyon? rarepairs? pirates and mermaids? maybe all three?

you should read @raine-st0rm and i’s fic! the first chapter was published a few minutes ago

Summary:

Robert Lanyon is one known to get attached. Things come and go. Animals, opportunities, people—as much as he cares for his crew, there are greater things out there.

When he encounters a mer for the first time, he should feel anything but pity for the cryptid in chains, right?

Right...

(Or: Robert Lanyon is insistent on capturing one Henry Jekyll while simultaneously hating Hyde. His crew's along for the ride, and hijinks ensue)

likes and (mainly) reblogs are greatly appreciated!!

[raine-st0rm]

ARE YOU LOOKING FOR A TGS CRACKFIC

Youre probably not, but now you are!! May I present, a crackfic made by two sleep-deprived maniacs who apparently only write at 2am?

⚠️ Reading might cause your brain cells to fall out

⚠️ You might cry reading it, not in a goodway

this fic was made by me and Pasta ( @feta-cheese-raviolis )

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54820216/chapters/138952126

[feral-roach]

working on a tgs/toh (the glass scientist/the owl house) crossover fic hear me out

hunter decides to remain in the human realm okay?? and he discovers he can craft palismen there (don’t ask how idfk) and he eventually hears about the society and is like “oh damn lemme get a bite of that” you feel me?

currently cooking this shit up

[ethereal-bumble-bee]

@getyourpaybackwithsomepayback it’s finally done!!!

(Under the cut due to it taking up a lot of space)

one and the same (1840 words) by etherealbumblebee Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Glass Scientists (Webcomic) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dr. Henry Jekyll/Dr. Hastie Lanyon | Robert Lanyon, Dr. Henry Jekyll & Dr. Hastie Lanyon | Robert Lanyon, Edward Hyde/Dr. Hastie Lanyon | Robert Lanyon Characters: Dr. Hastie Lanyon | Robert Lanyon, Edward Hyde, Dr. Henry Jekyll Additional Tags: Angst, Dr. Henry Jekyll Has Issues, Dr. Hastie Lanyon | Robert Lanyon is So Done, bc he is, Hyde is obsessed with Lanyon’s eyes it’s canon, the homoeroticism is strong with this one, Anger, Discovery, Transformation Potion | Formula HJ7 (Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde) Summary: Lanyon carries Hyde home from the incident at Blackfog, and is (so graciously) attempting to nurse him back to health. Hyde decides to stir up trouble. … It doesn’t go well.

[writingraccoon]

if you’d like to, I’d love to see just some sweet Jasper and Rachel, if you’re just looking for a quick fluffy idea lol 💙

Thank you for the idea! @narnianvalkyrieofberk I actually combined both of your requests into one fic, I hope you guys like it!

Summary: Rachel feels bad for making Jasper feel bad. Ito and Rachel have a bit of a girls night, and Jasper and Rachel have a talk. CW: none, really, this one doesn't even have any swearing in it

[dolorum-magne]

Fanart for @jekkiefan 's amazing vampire Lanyon fic! It's really cool and I just had to draw something for it!

It's so good, I've really enjoyed reading too and if you haven't already I highly recommend checking it out!

You can read chapter 1 here:

[jeks-tgs]

Decaying In Reverse - A TGS Murder Mystery

Part 1: The Impermanence of Death

It was a sleepy autumn morning in London when it occurred. Birds flitted about from place to place, their twittering songs serving as the chorus for the steady building symphony of the city below. As the sun's rays began to warm the brick and cobblestone of the buildings, and those who could spent a few extra hours in their beds, a far less sensible man was finishing the last of a stack of paperwork.

Henry Jekyll was known to many as many things; a perfect gentleman, an accomplished doctor, but most importantly, a workaholic. The Scotsman had spent the entire night slaving away at his desk, as evidenced by the horrible ache in his spine and wrist, and the bone-deep exhaustion weighing his too-thin body down. He failed to stifle a yawn as he added his signature to the final piece of paper, blinking tiredly at it. He squinted, bringing the sheet closer to his face, then nodded, satisfied with the level of neatness the writing possessed. He set the paper to the side, glancing about his office while he tidied up his workspace. Upon noticing the time on the clock he frowned. Had he really worked until five in the morning?

As if to answer him, his stomach growled, breaking the silence of the office in a way that coloured the doctor's cheeks a rosy pink. Right, then. If he wanted to get anymore work done today, he needed to grab something to eat. He could work running on no sleep, and he could work without food in his stomach, but not at the same time as he'd found out the hard way. Decision made, he finally stood from his chair, wincing as his back let out a series of cracks and pops more befitting a man at least twenty years his senior. He swayed slightly afterwards, causing him to grip the desk. Yes, he definitely needed some food, his blood sugar must be a bit low.

The trek to the kitchens was surprisingly peaceful. He'd forgotten how quiet the Society could be when no one was shouting or running around or blowing something up. He found himself smiling, tired and bittersweet, as he reminicsed on the memories of those exact instances. The first time Luckett had blown something up, Robert had nearly had a heart attack. The Lodgers had had a good laugh about that afterwards, and Henry had tried his hardest not to laugh at their dramatized impressions of his friend's reaction. His smile faded as he thought about how those moments quickly faded, the Lodgers absorbed in each other and Henry absorbed in his taxes and debts and legal fees. By the time he'd opened the kitchen doors, he was in a rather melancholy mood, which only heightened his surprise at what was inside.

A little pastry sat on a plate, coated with a pink icing, red writing on top spelling the words 'We're Sorry Jekyll!' He found his eyes stinging as the cornera of his mouth tugged up. Maybe all hope wasn't lost. Maybe their was still time to bond with the Lodgers, to rebuild those friendships, to be the leader they could rely on. Heart thrumming with timid happiness, he raised the treat to his lips and bit into it.

To an untrained tongue, the sweet flavour of the pastry might be mistaken for wild carrot, leading to the assumption they were eating a carrot cake of some sort. As a rather experienced alchemist, Henry immediately identified the taste for what it was.

His eyes widened with terror as he hastily spat the bite out, but it was too late. He tried to suck in a breath to call out for help, but already the poison of the plant was constricting his airways. The founder clawed at his throat until his nails were caked with blood, trying in vain to alleviate the pressure cutting off his oxygen intake. He began searching the countertops wildly; if he could get his hands on a small blade, he could puncture a hole in his esophagus, and while it was a last resort, it would allow him the chance to breathe. That thought had bately registered in his brain before his body seized, and he collapsed to the floor, jerking and twisting as the poison flooded his brain.

Aggravated Hemlock, a plant bred as a more fast-acting and lethal version of the common hemlock plant, could kill a grown in five minutes, which would be filled with the worst pain the victin had ever felt.

Henry Jekyll died after ten.

The clock read five o'clock, on the dot.

Henry sgared at it's glassy surface, his entire body trembling. His muscles still ached from seizing for ten full minutes, and the skin on his throat was an irritated shade of red with thin scabs reaching from beneath his jaw to the collar of his shirt, as if a faded remnant of the bloodied mess it had been after eating the poisoned pastry.

Heart racing in his chest, Henry clutched his head in his hands, trying to come to terms with suddenly being a good thirty minutes in the past after having been murdered by someone presumably living in his building.

[kittyypyre]

Greetings everyone! I’m proud to present a TGS fic based around my TGS oc, Catrine! I hope you all love this and eat it up, a few months of sprints and editing, SIGH…

https://archiveofourown.org/works/59010490/chapters/150435931

[this-strange-obsession]

So just had another fic idea, but my notes app is crying and I know I’m never gonna write half of that shit. So y’know if any authors wanna write something totally of their own volition and totally not from me begging uh..

Imagine if you will, Jekyll lies his way through most of his life, yes? However, somehow his lies magically appear on paper, glass, thin air— something— to Lanyon. (Ex. Jekyll says “Oh, I’m alright. How about yourself?” And “Oh, I’m alright.” shows up on the something.)

Only Lanyon can see this, and during a speech Jekyll gives, Jekyll says something about how everything is going well. The society is perfect, blahblahblah. And the lie appears, confirming that that’s what’s happening here. Because Lanyon knows for certain just the other day Jekyll was worried over keeping the lights on.

This could be used for a lot of different reveals. Like maybe Jekyll is talking to Jasper about Lanyon and says, “Fell in— Are you crazy? I wasn’t and will never be in love with Lanyon! That’s sinful!” And then the lie appears out of nowhere while Lanyon’s chilling at home. And he’s like W H A T.

Or..

Jekyll’s talking about Hyde to the lodgers and says something like, “Really? But me and Hyde are nothing alike! We’re two completely different people!” And when the lie appears, it includes the last sentence, which confuses Lanyon. But somehow he pieces that shit together.

Or..

Lanyon confronts Jekyll about how he’s neglecting his own basic needs. Maybe he asks about the last time Jekyll ate or slept, and the “most honest” he gets after pushing is shocking to know that it’s a lie. (Ex. “Okay, fine! The last time I ate was about two days ago. Sorry for lying to you, I just didn’t want to upset you.”) And after the knowledge of just how much Jekyll doesn’t care for himself, Lanyon freaks out.

Or..

Lanyon jokingly accuses Jekyll of hating himself or something. Because the man never stops working and throws himself joyfully at even the worst/most boring jobs. Jekyll laughs and jokes back, “I like myself just fine, thank you! There just aren’t enough hours in the day for what needs to be done! And there’s no getting around paperwork if I’m to lead this society!” Lanyon laughs but immediately stops when “I like myself” pops up. He’s like “oh shit.” And has a whole therapy session for Jekyll who tries and fails to lie through everything ofc.

Honestly, it could even be a whole amalgamation of these scenarios that scares Lanyon the most. To know the sheer amount of times Jekyll lies straight through his teeth about even the most basic stuff. Maybe by that point, he realizes there’s only a handful of times he recalls Jekyll being 100% honest. And that shit’s rough, but he doesn’t know if or even how to go about telling Jekyll about his newfound ability.

Anyway if anyone would like to write a fic about this, please do it I wanna read it so badly. I need the angst in my life .3.

[fanartsandstuff]

I just love ao3 authors

We live in a beautiful era of people not giving a single fuck

[kryptonitejelly]

draco malfoy x reader (female)

the one where Blaise notices the Malfoy signet ring on your finger.

send draco requests.

-

The air smells like a combination of Draco and yourself, but mostly Draco - notes of citrus overlaid with the scent of tea and smoky wood. His sheets are cool against the surface of your skin, a sensation which lends a sharp contrast to the warmth of his bare chest against your cheek. You can feel one of his hands tracing patterns onto the skin of your back, as he other hand fiddles absently with your fingers which you have splayed out across his chest, a lazy post-coital haze surrounding you both.

“Who knew the Draco Malfoy would be one for cuddling,” you say teasingly your fingers tugging lightly on the long slender digits which are still tangled with yours. This isn’t the first time you’ve been here, your naked form flush against Draco’s in the same bed in which he had you legs hooked over his shoulder, his name a litany on your lips just mere moments ago.

“I’m not,” he scoffs with a roll of his eyes, as he manages to squeeze your fingers in his, a subtle battle for dominance among you both.

“Alright then,” you say both suddenly and with a calculated carelessness as you push your hands, fingers still tangled in his against his chest as you make a move to sit up. The covers slip easily down your skin with no clothes to act as friction. It exposes you, your nipples hardening upon contact with the cool air. You’e barely managed to get up when you feel the arm wrapped around you shift, fingers pressing more firmly into your hip to pull you back down.

“Where do you think you’re going,” Draco questions. He keeps his tone indifferent but the arm which has tightened around your body tells a different story.

“I’m sure Theo likes to cuddle,” you express matter of factly, keeping your expression innocent and it earns you an icy gaze from the blonde, cool grey boring in you. Draco observes you for almost a full minute before speaking.

“I’m sure he does not,” is what he finally says as a retort, his tone more disgruntled this time.

You open your mouth to disagree only to feel your back pressed flat into the mattress, Draco’s body now covering yours, his movements swift. You see the glint in his eyes as he lowers his head towards yours.

“Draco,” you breathe his name out. He doesn’t respond but presses his lips to yours. His hands find yours, fingers tangling together, pinning your hands above your head. You kiss him back, teeth nipping his lip lightly which earns your a low growl from the back of his throat. You can feel Draco hardening, his length pressed against your stomach. Your almost miss it with the competing sensations overtaking your body - lips, hands, skin, but your brain manages to register the feeling of Draco slipping cool metal from the signet ring on his last finger onto your index.

-

“Well, well, well - look who decided to join us,” Blaise calls out too cheerily, taking in the sight of you and Draco walking into the small sitting room in what had come to be Draco’s side of the Malfoy manor.

“It is surprising that I’m joining you in the sitting room of the Malfoy manor,” comes Draco’s reply which earns a good natured chortle from Theo and an eye roll from Pansy.

“Well, you can’t blame us for thinking that you two would be,” Blaise pauses for dramatic effect, “…otherwise occupied.” His unsaid words clear.

As with the rest, you and Draco had been childhood friends. However, years of tension that neither of you had acted upon had only cumulated more recently, and with Pansy’s blessing, into this, whatever it was. You both hadn’t yet spoken about it, the touching, sleepovers, sex, and there had been no outward proclamations to the world at large that either of you was anything other than single, and yet - it was no secret among anyone who knew either of you that you were both very unavailable.

“You mean book club?” You managed to keep a straight face as you question Blaise too innocently. It earns you a smirk from Draco and an amused chuckle from Pansy, your joke clear as you stop by the table facing the floor to ceiling windows which they are sitting by.

You reach across the table for a handful of blueberries from a bowl beside Theo’s elbow when you feel Blaise grab your wrist lightly, his fingers curling around, as he holds your wrist up in triumph, brandishing it around. You place your free hand flat down on the surface of the table, stabilising yourself as you lean forward into Blaise’s pull.

“I didn’t know book club members were all given the Malfoy signet ring,” he grins wildly at the discovery. The group’s gaze flickers to Draco’s hand, noticing the lack of the ring, usually a mainstay, on his the last finger of his left hand.

“If I join book club could I get one too?” Theo quips cheekily as you feel your cheeks start to heat both at your current plight as well as with recollection of what had been a subtle act of possessive on Draco’s part earlier.

“Zabini,” Draco says, tone still even as he reaches over, his hand curling around your forearm, tugging you out of Blaise’s grip, while ignoring Theo, “if she’s wearing the Malfoy signet ring don’t you think you should think twice before manhandling her?”

“Is she yours Draco,” Pansy adds to the chaos, an equally wide smirk on her face as Blaise lets your wrist slip out from his hold with ease while throwing you a wink.

“If you thought otherwise then you lot must be more dim than I thought ,” is all Draco says as he sits down. He lets you drop onto the chair beside him before reaching over to pull the piece of furniture and you closer to his side, the drag of it on the floor audible.

It earns him a whoop from Blaise, two hands throw up in the air from Theo as he yells “finally”, and a laugh from Pansy who blows a kiss at you.

Draco slides his arm across the back of the chair, before looking at you brows lifted slightly, but his question is clear, you’ve never spoke about this and Draco wants to know - are you okay with this?

“I am,” you say as you lean forward to press your lips briefly against his. It only causes a louder ruckus at the table.

[stervrucht]

“Rough night?”

Steve jumps for the second time in far too short of a timeframe. He gasps in surprise and clutches at his chest. He didn’t hear any guests enter.

“Fu– I mean, you startled me.” Steve manages to sputter. Cursing in front of guests is definitely not appreciated.

Steve takes a deep breath before looking up, and when he does he is face to face with a guy roughly his age. 

Except this guy is nothing like Steve at all. All long hair, leather, and tattoos. His eyes do not leave Steve as he puts down a guitar case. It is littered with stickers, but one stands out in particular: ‘Corroded Coffin’.

Steve makes a mental note.

“Welcome to the Indianapolis Sweetwater Hotel. How can I assist you tonight?” The words are familiar on Steve’s tongue — he has said this exact line a hundred times before.

“Edward Munson, I booked for three nights.” The guy leans on his arm against the desk, leans close while he watches Steve’s hands move with a smile playing on his lips.

Steve opens the register. His hands feel clumsy under Munson’s close watch as he flips to the current date. 

“Mr. Munson, I have you right here. One moment.” 

Steve turns around to gather the key and he feels the guy’s eyes burn into his back. It makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, almost like static.

“There you go,” Steve says as he puts the key on the desk and gently pushes it in Munson’s direction. Before he can pull his hand away, however, Munson grabs him by the wrist. It’s so forceful it pulls Steve forward and they now are face to face — so close he can feel Munson’s breath on his lips. 

Munson looks at him, eyes so dark they are nearly black, so intense it’s like they're cutting straight through him. Munson’s eyes dart downward to Steve’s lips, then to his chest — his name tag — lingering there for a second. 

“Steve,” he says, dragging his name like he’s tasting it.

And then he looks up again, holds Steve’s gaze for another second before letting go of his wrist. He grabs the key off the desk, throws it, and catches it overhand with a practiced ease. 

“You workin’ tomorrow?” Munson asks, studying him like a predator.

Steve is still a little dazed by what just happened. Assaulted, he thinks, but his boss would probably not take it seriously. “Eh, yeah, I am.”

“Good.” Munson smiles at him, toothy. Dangerous. Steve feels like a piece of meat under his gaze. “Enjoy the night.” 

With a careless wave, Munson leaves for the elevators and Steve realizes he forwent a lot of his duties just now. It doesn’t matter, apparently, because Munson seems to know his way around. Perhaps he is a regular — or maybe all hotels are quite the same.

Steve’s wrist is red where Munson held it and there are two indentations where he dug his nails into Steve’s flesh. He rubs at it, looking back at his crossword puzzle.

'9. Creature of the night.'

Vampire, Steve writes down.

---

Chapter one is out now! ● Part 1 ● AO3 ●

If you liked this, please consider dropping by AO3 ♡

[raine-st0rm]

tgs merfolk/siren au!

Robert Lanyon is one known to get attached. Things come and go. Animals, opportunities, people-as much as he cares for his crew, there are greater things out there. When he encounters a mer for the first time, he should feel anything but pity for the cryptid in chains, right?

Right...

(Or: Robert Lanyon is insistent on capturing one Henry Jekyll while simultaneously hating Hyde. His crew's along for the ride, and hijinks ensue)

GO READ THIS AU ME AND @ireallyliketalldarksultrymen HERE :

[bloatedandalone04]

Guys My Age

➪the one where you’re bradley’s kid’s babysitter, but that doesn’t stop him from wanting you in every way.

Warnings: smut, fluff, unprotected sex, fingering, oral, swearing, multiple orgasms, squirting, hair pulling, dirty talk, dad bradley, age gap, aftercare aw, maybe a bit of a corruption kink (?), maybe size kink

Word Count: 4.1k

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡

Bradley was desperate to speed up guys night so he could go back home. Not only only was his one year old son, Theo, there, but you were, too. And he wanted you. Bad. 

But you were his kid’s babysitter.

His kid’s hot, kind and sexy babysitter he had no business feeling so attracted to.

It was bad enough there was a large age gap of ten years, with you being twenty three and him being thirty three. But you were far too stunning to pass up. He was down bad for you, and he wasn’t sure how much more he could take. He could only hope you felt the same way about him, even though it was so wrong. Bradley knew it would feel so right. 

Jake and the others teased him about being so distracted all night, and Bradley finally decided he was going home and hoping he didn’t make an ass of himself in front of you. He drove home, his body on fire as he pictured you sitting in his living room, waiting for him to come home and relieve you of your duties. 

You were so good with Theo, and it only made Bradley even more attracted to you. He simply couldn’t help himself. 

He pulled into his driveway, his heart beating loudly in his ears as he pulled the keys out of the ignition. He still couldn’t believe what was happening to him. His attraction to you was so strong and intense, it kinda scared him a bit. It had been so long since he felt like this, especially since his ex-wife had left him with their newborn son for him to try and figure out how to be a parent on his own. 

Bradley hopped out of his Bronco and locked it behind him before heading towards the front door and entering his house. It was quiet, so you were probably up in Theo’s room with him. He threw his keys onto the counter before making his way upstairs and down the hall. 

When he reached his son’s room, he poked his head inside and sure enough, you were standing over Theo’s crib, watching him sleep. Bradley leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched the sweet interaction of you leaning down to kiss Theo’s head. 

Seeing you be so gentle with Theo made Bradley’s cock twitch in his jeans, your sweetness sending waves of desire through his body. He had to bite down on his lip to stop the groan from coming out, because he refused to have you quit on him because you caught him watching you like a perv. 

Bradley cleared his throat, announcing his return to you. “Hey,” he greeted, trying to sound casual but failing miserably. You turned to face him quickly, and the surprised smile you gave him told him he’d caught you off guard. 

“Hi, Mr. Bradshaw,” you greeted back and he refrained from groaning again at that name. He loved when you called him that, but he craved to hear you call him by his first name, too. “You’re back.”

“Yeah, I just got back,” he replied, giving you a forced smile. “How was your night with Theo?”

Your smile grew as you looked down at his boy, “Oh, it was great. Theo is the sweetest baby ever,” 

Bradley hummed in agreement, knowing damn well your words were true. Theo was a sweet baby, and he had been since the second Bradley held him in that delivery room. “Um, have you eaten? I brought home pizza for dinner, and you’re more than welcome to join me,” he offered, hoping he wasn’t coming off as desperate, but also not caring if he did.

A blush took over your face as you looked over at him again. “Pizza sounds great. I haven’t eaten anything since I was planning on grabbing something on my way home,” you answered and Bradley grinned.

“Great,” he said and stepped aside, gesturing for you to lead the way. As he followed you into the kitchen, he was powerless to stop his eyes from taking in the curve of your hips and the way you walked. He had no idea why he found you so fucking intoxicating, but here he was. 

By the time he leaned against the counter next to the table, he was painfully hard and only a little ashamed of it. “So, um, how was guys night?” You asked as you hovered near the table, your eyes flickering towards the pizza box before looking back at him. 

Bradley ran his hand through his hair and cleared his throat. “Guys night was fine,” he responded. “But kind of boring. I gotta say, coming home to see you with my kid was probably the highlight of my night.”

Fuck, he really did not mean to say that out loud, but he did and now he can’t take it back. And now you’re blushing again and breaking eye contact with him. “Oh, um,” you trail off, dragging your finger along the edge of the pizza box. “That’s really nice. Thank you, Bradley- I mean, Mr. Bradshaw. I’m sorry.”

Well, fuck, he wants to hear you say his first name even more now. Bradley straightened up a bit and smiled at you. “Please, call me Bradley,”

When you looked back over at him, he knew something had changed. Something had shifted, he could tell by the way you bit your lip and looked at him with hooded, dark eyes he’d never seen before. 

Could you actually feel the same way about him? God, he hoped so, because he was about three seconds away from risking it all. 

He stepped towards you, hesitating for a brief second before he lifted his hand and placed it on your waist, and when you willingly turned to face him, he pulled you a bit closer. “I know this may sound inappropriate,” he started and reveled in the way your gaze flickered down to his lips. “But, God, Y/n…do you have any fucking idea what you do to me? Any idea about what I want to do to you?”

Your eyes widened a bit as you pressed your lips together and out of the corner of his eye, he could see the way your thighs pressed together, too. 

Bradley reached up with his free hand and gripped your jaw, his thumb pulling at your bottom lip. “Tell me it’s not just me feeling this,” he rasped. “Tell me you feel it, too.”

The sound of your breath hitching and the sight of your eyes closing a bit was all the confirmation he needed. Well, that and the way you leaned up towards him with hunger in your eyes. 

“Fuck it,” he grunted before closing the distance between you and capturing your lips in a deep, demanding kiss. His tongue pushed past your lips and delved into your mouth, his hand moving to cradle the back of your neck as he angled your head. His other hand tightly gripped your hip and pulled you forward until there was no space left between the two of you. 

He kissed you possessively, needily, and you returned it with nearly everything he gave, and it was everything he wanted. Maybe more. 

You gasped against his lips and he groaned when he felt your fingers tangle in his hair. He could feel goosebumps form on your skin when he slid his hand under your shirt and placed it firmly on your lower back. “I’ve wanted this for so fucking long,” he confessed against your mouth before going back in. He pulled you impossibly closer with both hands on your back, his cock throbbing painfully in his jeans as he allowed him to taste you in the way he thought he never could. 

A soft moan left your lips as you tugged on his hair and leaned back against the table, pulling him along with you. “I’ve wanted this, too,” you whispered before kissing him again. “Is this…this is…okay? I mean, I’m your son’s babysitter, I…”

Bradley pulled back, his chest heaving a bit as he kissed the side of your head. Really, was any of this actually wrong? It definitely didn’t feel like it, and you both clearly wanted it. So was it really wrong? “We’re two consenting adults, Y/n. There’s nothing wrong with this,” he finally allowed himself to admit. “Besides, you’re not just Theo’s babysitter. You’re smart, funny, gorgeous, and you make me feel things I haven’t felt in years.”

His hands slid down to the curve of your back, and his fingertips gently dug into the firm skin of your ass before he pressed his forehead against yours. 

“This isn’t just a fling for me,” he whispered as he brushed his lips against yours. “This means something more. Tell me you feel it, too.”

“I do,” you answer instantly. “Of course I do. I think you’re so attractive, but also kind and mature and everything I want.”

Bradley grinned, feeling his body heat up as he pushed himself closer to you. He was sure you could feel his boner by now, but there was no going back now. He was all in. “From now on, there’s no Mr. Bradshaw, okay? Just Bradley,” he whispered as he kissed along your jaw. 

“Okay,” you mumble with wide eyes and wet lips. “Bradley.”

He smirked, “Good girl,” then leaned back down to kiss you deeply again. His hand moved further down to squeeze your ass while his other moved up to grope your chest through the thin material of your tank top. You tasted so good, he was sure he would never get enough. 

“Oh, my God,” you whimpered, grabbing the sides of his neck as you leaned further back against the table, right next to the pizza you both had forgotten about. “You don’t know how hot you are when you call me that.”

Your body fit perfectly against his as he towered over you, his lips unrelenting as he kissed you. It felt like you belonged here, against him. “Good to know,” he grunted as he trailed kisses down your throat and pulled up your shirt until your lower stomach was exposed. “I want to hear every sound that leaves those pretty lips of yours. Every single one. Is that going to happen tonight, babygirl?”

You whimpered again when his fingers brushed against the underside of your bra. “What do you want to do to me?” You asked, breathless as you gripped his biceps. 

Bradley smiled down at you before pressing a much softer kiss to your lips. “That depends on you, sweetheart,” he began, pushing down one strap of your tank top. “First, I’m going to take these clothes off you and explore every inch of your sweet body with my mouth.”

Your quiet moans were probably the best thing he had ever heard in his life, and he continued, 

“I want to taste every part of you, and then I’m going to fuck you until you can’t even remember your own name,” he promised, pulling down your bra strap as well until you were nearly exposed. “How does that sound to you? Do you want that?”

“I want that,” you whined, nodding quickly. “God, I want that, Bradley. I’ve been wanting that for months now.”

“Months, huh?” He echoed. “Jesus Christ, why didn’t you say something sooner?”

You groaned and lifted your arms when he began to pull up your shirt, and you gave him a look once he let the fabric fall to the floor of his kitchen. “Why didn’t you?”

“Fair point,” he muttered, his hands gently pulling your bra off as well, leaving your top half completely bare. He bit his lip and ran his thumbs along the undersides of your breasts, leaning in to whisper next to your ear, “We can take our time then. No rushing this first time.”

You whimpered quietly, tugging on his hair. “First time?”

Bradley hummed against the skin of your shoulder. “Yeah, first time. One of many,” his hands came up to caress your face, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. “I meant what I said, babygirl. This isn’t some fling for me. I want you, all of you, if you’ll have me.”

Your fingers grab hold of his jaw as you nod. “Yes. Yes, Bradley. I want that, all of that, too,”

At your words, Bradley lets out a sigh of relief. He knew he wasn’t alone in this. He knew, at least a small part of him knew, that you were into him, too. 

He grabbed your hips and bucked against you, a small jolt of relief taking over his body, but it wasn’t enough. “Then let’s make it official,” he mumbled, stepping away from you and pulling off his shirt. He unzips his jeans to feel a bit more relief, and when he looked back at you, your lips were parted and your eyes were wide. “Like what you see, sweetheart?” 

At your quick nod, he moves closer again and leans down to take one of your nipples into his mouth. He gave it a gentle tug before soothing the sting with his tongue as his hand trails down your body. “Oh, my God,” you whispered, tipping your head back as you moved your hands to his hair again. “Are we really doing this?”

“We are,” he confirmed, releasing your nipple and looking down at you before dropping to his knees. His hands pulled down your jeans, and his eyes darkened at the pretty lace that covered your core from his greedy eyes. “These are cute, but they need to go.”

His fingers rubbed you through the material before he tugged it down and helped you kick them off to the side. Then you were completely bare to him, and you looked even more stunning than he imagined. Than he dreamed of. 

“God, you’re hot,” you moaned, trailing your fingers through his hair.

Bradley laughed. “Flattery will get you everywhere with me, sweetheart,” he mumbled as he stood back up and gripped the backs of your thighs, lifting you up and setting you down on the table. He nudged your thighs apart and guided your feet to rest flat against the service, giving him the perfect view of your soaked pussy. “Goddamn, baby.”

His breathing was uneven as he sank back down to his knees and gripped your thighs. “Bradley,” you whimpered, making him glance up and meet your gaze. “What are you going to do to me?”

“I’m gonna worship this pretty little pussy in the way it deserves,” he answered, leaning in to lick a stripe up your slick folds and moaning the taste he’s been craving for so long. “All night long, if you let me.”

Then he was going back in for a deeper taste, his tongue separating your slit  as his hands spread your thighs wider. Your sweet moans spurred him on, and he sucked on your clit as two of his fingers dipped inside your tight heat. 

“So fucking tight and wet for me,” he groaned, licking up your folds again. “I could devour you for hours, babygirl.”

“Fuck,” you cried out, gripping the edges of the table as you tip your head back. “Bradley.”

Hearing you moan his name had him grunting, and he throbbed in his jeans. This was getting to be too much, but he wasn’t about to stop now. He didn’t think he could physically pull away from your pussy if he tried. 

Loud, lewd slurping sounds filled the kitchen as he stayed true to his words and devoured you in the way you deserved, and your whimpers and gasps mixed in perfectly with the sounds his own mouth was making. “You’re so fucking responsive,” he rasped, blowing a cool puff of hair across your clit and making your body shudder. “How good am I making you feel, baby?”

“Fuck, so good,” you answered, pulling harshly on his hair. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop, please please please.”

Bradley fucked his fingers faster inside you, making sure to curl them against your tight walls. “I’m not stopping,” he swore, pressing his mouth to your clit. “I want you to cum all over my face.”

A soft cry left your lips as you ground your body against his face until you were coming. “Fuck! Oh, my God! Bradley!”

His eyes were fixated on your face as you writhed against him, and he wanted to drag this out for as long as he possibly could. He curled his fingers with each thrust of his hand, stroking that sweet spot deep inside you as his thumb rubbed your clit with no mercy. “Come on, baby, give me one more,” he fake begged. “I know you have another one in you.”

He went back to sucking on your clit and pistoning his fingers inside you, and he felt the way you tightened around him even more. 

Then you were squirting on his face. 

“Fuck,” you practically sobbed as you soaked his face. Your thighs were shaking violently now, your pussy clamped around his dripping finger as he pulled back with wide, dark eyes. 

While he knew he could make you cum again, he was completely unprepared for the river that flooded his mouth and chin. He was fucking covered in you, and he literally almost came right then and there. “Fuck yeah,” he grunted breathlessly as he pulled his fingers out of you and stood up. He cleaned you from his fingers, then his palm, as he moved to position himself between your still trembling thighs, all while keeping eye contact with you. “Holy shit, baby.”

He kissed you deeply, moaning at the way your tongue licked all over his mouth and tasted yourself on his lips. When he pulled away, he looked down at your wet thighs, and the small puddle that had pooled under you on the table that was beginning to drip onto the tiled floor. “That was the hottest fucking thing I have ever seen,” he grunted. “You almost made me cum from that.”

Your laugh made him grin as you finally regained control over your breathing. “Fuck, I’ve never done that before,”

Bradley groaned loudly, licking his lips and closing his eyes at the taste of you that still lingered on them. He pushed his jeans and boxers down, his eyes ten shades darker as he looked at you. “I need to be inside you. Right now before I lose what’s left of my mind,” he murmured, giving his cock a few much-needed strokes. “Please, can I fuck you, baby?”

Your gaze was locked on his cock as you nodded. “Yes…yes, fuck me, Bradley,” you said quietly as you grabbed hold of the edge of the table. “Right here.”

He couldn’t ignore the way your mouth practically watered at the sight of him, and his ego grew even more. He knew he was big, but you made him feel like he had the biggest dick in the world. He was definitely the biggest you had ever seen, he could tell that from the look you were giving him now, and he felt a sense of pride wash over him. 

Bradley gripped his base and your thigh as he guided his tip to your sopping entrance, and then he pushed inside with one swift movement. You moaned loudly, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as he felt your walls encase him perfectly. 

He couldn’t wait anymore, not when he felt like he was two seconds away from coming. 

Bradley gripped your hips and set a brutal pace, fucking you hard and fast as you whimpered and clawed at the skin on his neck. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room as he fucked into you ruthlessly, the table creaking under each thrust. “Yeah, baby, take it all,” he grunted, looking down to watch the way his cock came out wetter and wetter each time he buried it inside you. “This is what you needed, isn’t it, sweetheart? You needed this tight pussy to be stretched open and fucked by a real man, huh?”

You nodded, then let out a loud cry as he began rubbing your puffy clit, and then you were coming around him. “Oh, fuck. Fuck!” You moaned, your eyes squeezed shut as your body trembled in his arms. 

“That’s it, baby,” he cooed, his own body begging for release, but he held back as best as he could. His pelvis slammed against yours as he didn’t let up his pace, and your head tipped back as you let him continue to fuck you. “More, babygirl. I want to feel you cum for me again.”

You whine, wrapping your legs around his waist and pressing your heels against his back. “Fuck, Bradley. Don’t stop fucking me. You feel too good to stop…keep going,”

Yeah, you were pretty much perfect. 

Bradley grunted as he watched your tits bounce with each thrust he gave, and he had to tighten his holds on your thighs as he felt his whole body tense up. He didn’t want to cum yet. You felt too good, too. He never wanted this to end. “You’re mine,” he muttered, his cock throbbing inside you as he leaned down to press a hard kiss to your mouth. “All mine, baby.”

He reached down and pulled your thigh higher on his hip, the new angle allowing him to hit even deeper inside you. 

“You like that?”

“Fuck yes,” you moaned, your eyes rolling back as you clung to his biceps. “Your cock is fucking huge, Bradley. Feels so fucking good.” 

The filthy words pouring from your mouth only turned him on even more, because you were his son’s sweet babysitter. There was something incredibly arousing to hear such dirty words spill from your seemingly innocent lips, especially since less than half an hour ago, you were his quiet and shy babysitter. 

“Fucking hell. You’re so wet for me, baby, and you’ve got such a dirty fucking mouth,” he growled, feeling the way your pussy clenched around him. “Yeah, squeeze my dick just like that…just like that.”

When you came for a fourth time, he couldn’t hold back any more. Your hands were a bit frantic as you touched every part of him, trying to stable yourself as he fucked you through your high until he reached his own. With a loud groan, he buried himself deep inside you before coming hard. 

His cum filled you up, his thrusts slowing down to weak bucks of his hips as his head fell onto your shoulder. Both your bodies were covered in sweat, and you both were panting. “I think I might have broken you,” he teased softly, peppering kisses along your salty skin as he slowly pulled out of you. “But don’t worry, babygirl. I’m gonna take care of you now.” 

A soft whimper left your lips as you looked down to see his cum dripping out of you. “Bradley…that…that was…” 

You were still shaking and he didn’t blame you. If he came four fucking times in less than half an hour, he’d be on the floor right now. “It was amazing,” he finished for you, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your mouth. “I’ve never had sex like that before in my entire life.”

He gathered up your trembling body into his arms and carried you into his bathroom and set you down onto the bathroom counter as he got the shower ready. Once it was at a good temperature, he lifted you up again and stepped under the water with you. 

“Let me take care of you,” he whispered, waiting until he knew you could hold yourself up before he began washing your mixed cum away from the insides of your thighs. 

It was as if you couldn’t be away from him right now, as when he stood back up, you forced yourself into his arms again and clung to his chest. 

As the water poured down onto the both of you, Bradley kissed the top of your head and held you close. “That wasn’t just sex,” he murmured, running his fingers through your wet hair as he recalled his words from a few minutes ago. “It was something special. You’re more than just the girl who looks after my kid a couple times a week, babygirl. You’re someone very important to Theo and I.”

You blushed at his words and desperately kissed him back when he leaned down to press his lips to yours. “I am?”

Bradley caressed your face, his thumbs tugging on your kiss swollen lips. “You are,” he answered. “From the second I saw you, I knew there was something different about you. You brought light back into my life and you’re so perfect with Theo. And I intend to keep you right here with me, if you’ll let me.”

You pressed your lips together and wrapped your arms around his shoulders. “That wasn’t just sex for me, either,” you say against his mouth. “That was one of the best experiences of my life. From the start…til right now.”

Bradley grinned down at you before kissing you again. “You’re mine,” he repeated his words he said back in the kitchen. 

And the smile you gave him told him all he needed to know, and he leaned back in to kiss you again, and continued to until the water turned cold.

[ethereal-bumble-bee]

a snapshot of angst from a oneshot i’m planning on writing sometime

    There truly is so much regret all around him— he sees it in every cracked wall, every tired gaze that follows him as he stumbles down the street, every barely-formed word that comes out of his mouth— and Henry lets himself bathe in it. He simply lets himself cry for the umpteenth time, Gabriel’s memory wrapping around him like a thick blanket crafted entirely from the threads of his mourning.

    It hurts, it really does. It stings and it rips and it hurts, the knowledge that he’ll never see that smile again, never feel a reassuring hand on his shoulder, never hear Gabriel’s chipper voice greeting him good morning as he sleepily makes his way into the dining hall for breakfast. he’ll never get to tell that fire-headed nuisance how he felt, how he made Henry smile and laugh and ache, how he charmed him and his soul so completely.

    He will never know how much he loved— no, Gabriel deserves better than past tense. He will never know how much Henry loves him.

    It hurts, more than anything he’s ever felt, more than the weight of his dreams failing and more than any other grief he’s experienced in his life, and he doesn’t know how to push it away.

    He loves Gabriel, with his heart and soul, and now, he’s gone.